I said: “Yes; but I think it will be all right. See, I can wiggle my toes.” And I pointed out that this was a sure sign of hope for a recovery without amputation.
Then commenced a daily routine of bandaging which stretched into months; every conceivable treatment for my betterment was given me; a plaster-of-Paris cast was put on my knee, and after it was on a week or two, the effect was simply wonderful.
By this time, my hand could be used a little, but I found myself minus a finger and with two others broken. They, however, healed to normal.
Every week, during our long stay in the hospital, entertainments were given for us by professional actors and actresses. Visitors were permitted to call Wednesdays and Sundays from 1 to 4 P.M.; on other days from 1 to 3 P.M. I cannot describe the generosity and kindness of the people of Edinburgh.
Every day came armfuls of flowers—the most soothing offering a convalescent Tommy can receive, outside of the occasional kiss some dear wee lass would imprint on his cheek. Both are wonderful in their ability to cheer a lonesome Tommy, who, perhaps, finds himself far from his home folk! Every day the ladies and young girls of the town came to sit by our cots and read to us or write our letters. It was an enormous hospital, having often as many as 1100 patients and every man in it, even those who were strangers in Scotland, had daily visitors in plenty. English and Welsh soldiers, too far from home to receive the attention of their own people, were given even more favours than the Scots. Every day, a flock of big motor cars drew up and carried away those who were far enough toward recovery for a ride. We had many delightful hours rolling swiftly through the picturesque city of Edinburgh, along the banks of the Forth and up through the beautiful Pentland Hills.
Our lockers were well filled, and we never wanted for such dainties as chocolates and fancy biscuits, and we had magazines, and—above all—cigarettes.
A party of our lady visitors brought us wool and volunteered to teach us the art of knitting to while away our idle time. Most of the boys took kindly enough to it, but I wanted to learn embroidery. It caused no end of merriment that a man should want to sew. However, I persuaded them to try me, and one of them offered to do so.
In India I had done quite a little at sketching, and my teacher found me an apt pupil in this allied art. Very soon I had mastered the art of making long and short stitches, French knots, border and buttonhole stitches, etc. I was so highly commended that I received many requests from these ladies for cushion covers, doilies, etc. They brought the materials and I plied the needle. It was such enticing work that very soon two other fellows “joined in.”
We had many other ways of passing the time. Visitors would ask us to write or sketch something in their autograph books, which we did with much pleasure, and I can tell you that some very, very funny local sketches and poetry—composed on the spur of the moment, with fellow mates, nurses, and doctors as the subjects—were carried away from that hospital. They were highly prized by the recipients. We had also a monthly Gazette recording the events of the daily life of the hospital in a breezy and interesting way.
I saw many a bad case brought in, get well, and sent home, but still I remained, and so Corporal Charles Palmer, who had been there the longest, promoted himself to be “Commander-in-Chief” and took me as second in command, I being next to him in length of time there. One of his legs had been blown off six inches above the knee and the pain he suffered at times was excruciating. Another lad, a German, sixteen years of age, had had both legs blown off below the knees by one of the Germans’ own shells just as he was about to give himself up to the British. He spoke very good English and was surprisingly cheery. The fair sex found him very attractive and he always got an ample share of the dainties they brought.