The Medical School, the object of Mr. Kipling’s attention, manifestly requires no explanation. It was founded in 1835 and stands upon its own merits. Some of the scholarships and prizes in question represent the gifts and endowments of generous individuals interested in the progress of medical science. Others are provided by the School.
A distinct, and most important, branch of the Hospital is the Cancer Charity with its Research Laboratory. The history of this department is certainly worth a little notice. It was established in 1792, mainly through the munificence of an anonymous donor, who turned out to be Mr. Whitbread, father of the famous Whig member of Parliament. It began with the allocation of one ward in the hospital to the care of patients who were to be kept in “until relieved by art or released by death”—a phrase retained to the present day. The disease was described by Mr. John Howard, surgeon, in his letter to the hospital of October 12, 1791, as one which “is, both with regard to its natural history and cure, but imperfectly known”—a statement which, unhappily, is not yet entirely out of date.
Further endowments came from Mrs. Stafford about 1815, and from Sir Joseph de Courcy Laffan in 1848. In 1900 a separate wing for the treatment of cancer cases, and for laboratory research was opened. It contains forty-nine beds. These poor sufferers are allowed certain privileges and indulgences outside the usual routine of a hospital ward.
At intervals the cancer department has been more or less the victim of quacks.[1]
[1] The conditions upon which new remedies or alleged cures for cancer are permitted in connection with the treatment of patients in the Cancer Wing are:—
(1) The treatment must be carried out by a member of the Hospital Staff.
(2) The composition of all remedies must be disclosed to the Cancer Investigation Committee.
(3) The consent of the patient must be obtained before the treatment is commenced.
In 1817 one Ashby was allowed to try his hand, and was immediately exposed as a fraud. Presently Mr. Whitbread, the younger, introduced a friend of his own, whose treatment by compression he averred to have resulted in “joyful declarations” on the part of patients that they were “greatly relieved.” It sounds an ungracious return for the Whitbread benevolence to hear that the Governors remained “uncontaminated by that love of quackery which is so common among the gentry of England.” But we are told that the treatment “often gave much pain, and often appeared to hasten the end; and in the latter it did not retard the progress of the disease.”