Forty years of 'Spy'

by Sir Leslie Ward

Sometimes as the late summer comes round, my wife and I prefer to take our holiday or part of it abroad, when the change of scene and living is a possible attraction.

Five years ago we had been told of a quiet and charming little watering-place in Belgium, not far from Ostend, called Wenduyne, and having in advance booked rooms at the hotel recommended to us, we arrived and found it most comfortable. I took no work with me, not even pencil and brushes, for I was determined to have a complete rest. We were pleased to learn that the golf links at Le Coq were quite handy, and we lost no time in taking the tram there and inscribing our names as temporary members. These links are beautifully kept up, and in the vicinity of the Club House are gaily decorated with flower beds.

Drawn in September 1899 by Mr. A. G. Witherby. What was mistaken for the gout was a broken bone in the foot.

Mrs. Oakes (my wife's cousin) and I soon arranged to play a game of golf. The nailed boots that I had been wearing during the morning were new and uncomfortable, so I changed them for a pair of canvas shoes with india-rubber soles, which were well adapted to the course in dry weather. A sudden storm, however, made its appearance, and the rain fell in buckets, saturating the ground completely. We were soon wet through, but knowing there were but two holes more to play we decided to continue to the bitter end, which shortly came. I made a bad shot and placed my ball awkwardly. In my endeavour to move it, and at the same moment of striking (and I conclude the india-rubber soles of my shoes were the cause) my foot slipped and I fell helplessly to the ground. My companion, in ignorance of the serious consequences of the fall, urged me to try and rise to my feet, when I found that my leg was badly fractured above the ankle. In time, but not before I was exhausted, a chauffeur turned up with a private motor-car on a road near at hand, and I was borne off by some cottagers and placed inside, while Mrs. Oakes, who had been in search of aid, escorted me back to the hotel.

After being jolted two or three miles over the rough, cobbled road, I was deposited on a sofa until surgical aid came. Fortunately I was soon in very competent hands, although the pain I underwent during the setting of the fracture I shall never forget, for it was agonising.

My wife returned to the hotel to find me safely installed in the proprietor's (M. Machiel's) private sitting-room, which he most kindly gave up for my use. She nursed me for some time under the surgeon's directions, until I urged her to enjoy the remainder of her visit and procure the services of a hospital nurse from London to relieve her.

It was over a month before I was allowed to stir, and when the time came that I might be wheeled on to the balcony of M. Machiel's villa I breathed again. The surgeon, whose temporary villa was adjoining the hotel, was a well-known town-councillor and scientist in Antwerp who must have weighed twenty stone. When giving me permission at first to get up, he invited me to waltz with him, which gave me hopes of my permanent recovery, but I did not accept the invitation.

On returning home, after the kind attention I received both from M. and Madame Machiel and the officials at Ostend who saw to my comfort before boarding the boat, I found every aid awaiting me at my studio, where I remained in the experienced hands of Dr. Reginald Ingram, who attended me until I was convalescent.