A Question of Equality?

Two Canadian Nurses [Imperial War Museum Q30392]

     Right at the start I have to say that I admire the work done by Canadian military nurses during the First World War - every pair of hands was sorely needed. My problem is with the way their working lives have been interpreted and reported in recent years, in particular the comparisons made between nurses of the Canadian Army Medical Corps and British nurses of Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service and the Territorial Force Nursing Service. I've been aware for years that many Canadian reports, while understandably desperate to promote the virtues of their own nurses are, at the same time, lacking in knowledge of the British military nursing services that they seem so keen to misrepresent. This week I was sent a link to this recent article:

Women in North Bay's Great War

Although it’s brief and contains no references or sources, it repeats a frequently-out-of-the-mouths-of-Canadians passage:

In July 1917, Marian applied for (and was granted) a transfer to the Canadian Army Military Corp, as a lieutenant. Most Canadian nurses applied for transfer since, in the Canadian Army, the nurses were given the rank, pay and privileges of an officer.

‘Rank, pay and privileges of an officer.’ These are the things often held up as elevating the Canadian nurse above the British during the Great War, but they fail to accurately reflect the situation as it existed at the time. Canadian military nurses had been active for a many decades prior to the Great War, but only in tiny numbers - a few here, a few there. In 1914 there were just five regular members of the Canadian Army Nursing Corps. That must be compared with Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service, formed and firmly established in the mid-19th century and which in 1914 had 300 regular members serving throughout the world in permanent, pensionable posts and who formed an elite nursing service of mature well-educated, well-trained women working under contract to the War Office. From the earliest days they had officer status even if they lacked military rank. Few British 'gentlewomen' of the time would have welcomed military rank - they knew their place and didn't yearn to be soldiers. Their place was assured, and everybody respected that.  The Library and Archive of Canada states that:

… only the Canadian nurses were under the direct control of the army and held a military rank. In comparison, the British nursing services were affiliated with the army, but not integrated into it. The higher status accorded to the nursing profession in Canada than in Great Britain may explain, at least in part, this breach of tradition by the Canadian military authorities. Most Canadian nurses with diplomas had gone to high school, and in Canada, training in a nursing school was seen as a sign of prestige.[1]

What does ‘affiliated with the army, but not integrated into it’ mean? During the Great War more than 22,000 British trained nurses served under contract to the War Office. In what way did the military rank afforded Canadian nurses make their position different from their British counterparts? And the reference to the 'higher status' of nurses in Canada is also puzzling - a turn of phrase that might be difficult to prove. The same website goes on to explain that:

... their [Canadian Nurses] authority as officers was limited to the functions that they executed in the hospitals. They had no decision making power at the military level, unlike medical officers. In addition, although they were lieutenants, they were known simply as "nursing sisters," a title reminiscent of the religious vocation with which caregiving tasks were often associated. [1]

That sounds remarkably similar to every other trained military nurse, and of course, it was. Whatever the Canadians thought was the correct title for their nurses, the fact remains that their status, work, responsibility and accountability was identical to their counterparts in the British, Australian, South African and New Zealand nursing services, all of whom were considered to have officer status. Even the Canadian Gazette made a distinction when announcing appointments - the male officers given as ‘To be Captain’ or ‘To be Lieutenant’ while the women were ‘To be Nursing Sisters.’

     There were differences.  Canadian nurses received higher pay; as a group they were younger than their British colleagues and their length of service was often short, many serving one-year contracts before returning to Canada. Canadian sources suggest that the average age for their own members was twenty-four and I assume this was their age on enlistment. The British were a good deal older and a random sample of 500 nurses from my own database give an average age in 1916 of thirty-four years. So the British were a considerably older group and most would have been trained longer as nurses and acquired a far greater depth of experience. I have rarely read any personal account or memoir by a British nurse which suggests any ill-feeling or tension existing between them and the Canadian nursing sisters, and it might be something which was perceived only by the latter, but it has worked its way into Canadian history:

More tense, it seems, were the relations between Canadian and foreign* nurses, particularly the British ones. These tensions were due to the more advantageous conditions that Canadian nurses enjoyed. Their higher salaries, more distinctive uniforms, and apparent popularity with the officers seem to have inspired jealousy among their foreign colleagues. However, the greatest source of frustration with regard to the Canadian nurses had to do with their military rank. Indeed, their officer status gave them greater freedom of movement and a higher level of prestige, two elements that their foreign counterparts did not enjoy. The rules of the Canadian and British armies required that officers, female or male, communicate only with their peers unless they were in civilian clothing, so the British military nurses, without a military rank, could not spend time with their own officers or with those of the CAF if they were in uniform. On the other hand, the Canadian military nurses could spend time only with other officers because of their rank as lieutenants. It is thus understandable that the British nurses perceived the arrival of the Canadians with some apprehension. What is more, the Canadians' rapidly acquired reputation for compassion, gentleness, and hospitality made them formidable rivals. [1]

*Foreign here appears to refer not only to the British but also to the other Dominion nurses from Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa and a strange and inappropriate word to use in this context.

The paragraph above is truly confused waffle.  Who does the writer think the British nursing sisters' peers were? They had always had officer status from the earliest days. I often wonder how it was that so many British nurses married officers if they were barred from all contact – but yet another myth of course.

     It’s only right that Canada should be proud of its nurses and their work in the Great War, but there's no place for sloppy and incorrect reporting relating to British and other ‘foreign’ nurses. Canadian accounts should take care not to denigrate and demean British nurses who were easily the equal of their own and in most cases were more experienced and with a longer period of war service. Do your research Canada – find out about the history of the nursing services you seem so happy to belittle, and provide some solid and reputable sources.  Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service was long-established, elite and confident in itself. It’s members were educated, well-trained women with a wealth of experience both in nursing and life in general.

Lucy Liptrot, a QAIMNS Reserve Staff Nurse

     The last word must go to Mabel Clint a Canadian nurse who served France during the First World War and who in my opinion got it exactly right:

Next to us in the fields was an English Stationary Hospital, and as Harold Begbie had some months before criticized our uniform very severely, and gratuitously assumed we would not be worth much professionally, I'm afraid the English Sisters looked upon us at first with some prejudice. Discipline and routine were carried out by them exactly the same as in the barrack military hospitals, and it did seem that some of the "Regulars", trained with a certain rigidity, perhaps failed to allow for front-line conditions, the immense mental strain, and the fact that the Territorials, and afterwards "Kitchener's Army" were different material, and not accustomed to strict regulation of their actions. If ever the "human touch" was needed, it was in the Great War. We allowed our patients more liberty, but our wards looked less orderly. We often heard men comparing systems, and sometimes had several guests at tea-time crawling under the ropes, because our Sisters were accustomed to supplement the rations with fruit, eggs, or other extras. For steady, efficient service however, sacrifice of personal comfort, ability to work without recreation, the English personnel could not be surpassed. Many of their Matrons, as someone said were "Personalities" in their own right. They had a great deal of authority, and the Sisters also completely controlled their wards, subject only to the Medical Officer. We had the military rank, and they the real, established position. Personally, I met many at home and abroad, and fraternized with them equally as with Dominion Sisters, and I think they remember us with kindness. [2]

     A clear and astute summing up and yes, you may have had the military rank Canada, but ‘the real, established position’ was ours.  There were undoubtedly differences between individual nurses but all the allied nations provided the same high-class nursing service over the course of a long and difficult war. We must celebrate the art of nursing and all that was done during the hardest of times without looking for problems which were really very unimportant.

***

For a fuller article on the women who made up Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service see:

A Suitable Woman for the Job

[1]  Library and Archives Canada: Caregiving on the Front: The Experience of Canadian Military Nurses during World War 1.

[2]  Our Bit: Memories of War Service, Mabel B. Clint

A Case of Instant Dismissal

There was considerable unrest during wartime about the lack of protection afforded to nurses in their contracts of service and the risk of instant dismissal with no power of appeal. Following many protests this was changed in early 1918, but prior to that a number of nurses had the misfortune to discover how powerless they were in certain circumstances. More details of the background to this can be read on this page of The Fairest Force website:

Contracts and the Serf Clause

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Mary Elizabeth Southern was born in August 1882 in Binchester, Co. Durham, the daughter of an official in a coal mine. She worked for four years at the Newcastle-upon-Tyne City Lunatic Asylum, Gosforth, before taking her General nurse training between 1910 and 1913 at Newcastle-upon-Tyne Union Infirmary. She joined Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service Reserve in April 1915 and was quickly posted to Egypt where she served for a year before being transferred to the Lord Derby War Hospital, Warrington, in August, 1916. Her work and behaviour appeared entirely problem free, but events in the summer of 1917 were to prove her downfall. On the 29th August Mary Southern was dismissed without notice by the Matron, Maud Banfield, herself a nurse impeccably trained and with great nursing experience pre-war both in the UK and also the United States of America. That day Miss Banfield wrote the following letter to the medical authorities:

Copies of some of the photographs are contained in Mary Southern's service file held at The National Archives and one is reproduced below.

It can hardly be thought of as shocking to us today and even then was probably considered fairly mild in most circumstances, but the horror expressed by Miss Banfield knew no limits. Her letter fails to mention quite how angry she was at the time, but a letter written  the following month by Miss Southern to Ethel Becher, the Matron-in-Chief, gives a better idea of what was said by Miss Banfield:

I have served over one year abroad and on a Hospital Ship, and a year in the Lord Derby War Hospital, Warrington, and from this hospital I was dismissed, my offence being that I had given a picnic to five patients and my night nurses. I confess to the deed, at the end of my run of nights I gave that little pleasure to those people. ...  What I must complain of is the severity with which I was punished and the awful personal accusations of the Matron, amongst them the following: 

"You are a disgrace to any nursing staff"
"You are absolutely unfit to wear any nurses uniform"
"You are capable, and guilty of leading nurses astray"
"You are a dangerous woman to have about the place"
"Your familiarity with patients is contemptible."

These and other cruel and untrue things ... 

"Pack up and go as quickly as possible."   In three hours I left the institution, no longer time was allowed me or any other warning given. Thrown instantly out of employment and robbed of reputation. The sentence was as unjust as it was drastic and out of all proportion to the offence.  I was given no opportunity to speak in self defence, evidently I was to be punished to the limit of Matron's power as a warning perhaps.  But if this is such a huge crime I am not by any means the first or only offender. Altogether it does not appear to be a fair example of British mercy and justice. My patients' gratitude and enthusiasm was reward enough for the pleasure I had given them. And though I have had to pay so dearly, I can only regret in so far as it prevents me from doing any further nursing in the Army where every British nurse feels she ought to be serving if possible.

A grievously dishonoured servant, M. E. Southern.

On the 17th October, Miss Banfield replied to Miss Southern's remarks:

On leaving, Miss Banfield added a note to Mary Southern's file saying 'I regret I cannot recommend Mary E. Southern for a gratuity.'

On the 26th September 1917, the QAIMNS Nursing Board met to discuss what should be done about Miss Southern's dismissal, and whether the chance of resignation would be a fairer outcome:

The Nursing Board met to discuss a report received in regard to Miss M. E. Southern, Q.A.I.M.N.S.(R.), employed at Lord Derby Hospital, Warrington.  Miss Southern had been summarily dismissed by the Matron, Miss Banfield, Q.A.I.M.N.S.(R.), on account of flagrant disobedience to rules.  The case was referred to D.P.S. who did not concur in the action taken by the Matron.  Miss Cox-Davies proposed that Miss Southern's contract should forthwith be terminated, but on account of her previous satisfactory records of work, her resignation should be accepted. This was seconded by Miss Lloyd-Still and carried unanimously.

Miss Southern was allowed to tender her resignation rather than having the stigma of dismissal on her record and she did later receive the gratuity due to her. Unfortunately there's no service record for Maud Banfield at The National Archives, but after another intricate affair the following year, full of intrigue and complaint, the Nursing Board recommended that Maud Banfield should be moved from the Lord Derby War Hospital and reign supreme elsewhere.  My sympathies definitely lie with Mary Southern whose account throughout sounds entirely reasonable, and congratulations must surely go to the soldier who had the knowledge and enterprise to develop photographs on the ward of a War Hospital!

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Details above from the service file of Mary Southern held at The National Archives, WO399/7811. Images from the file used with TNA permission and an image fee paid for web use. 

The Photos Left Behind

     Last week I was at the Royal College of Nursing in London listening to Professor Christine Hallett talking about her new book ‘Veiled Warriors.’*  In part it explores the myths surrounding nurses during the First World War – the nurse as a romantic figure, the nurse as heroine, and the myth of the overworked, mistreated V.A.D.  At the end, someone posed a question about the images used to accompany the talk. They asked, why, when trying to dispel myths, were the images used all supporting those same myths? Why were they showing a romantic view of the nurse and her patients; where were the wounds, the horrors – why were there no images of those to accompany the words of the women involved?

     As someone who relies heavily on images to add colour and detail to my own talks, it caused me to consider the whole range of photos, drawings and fine art that portray hospital life and medical care during the Great War. My first thought was how lucky we are to have them. So many snapshots of nurses, patients, hospital buildings, ships and trains; glimpses of the great variety of equipment used at the time – the operating theatre, beds, lockers, tents and huts; interiors, exteriors, wards, kitchens, nurses at work, nurses’ leisure time – reading, writing, walking, relaxing, tennis and tea. They provide a unique view of nursing and medical care in a form never seen before or since the Great War.

     In the spring of 1915 an Army Order decreed that it was forbidden for members of the British Expeditionary Force to carry a camera in order to take photographs of life overseas, except those acting in an official capacity and authorised to do so. For nurses, using a camera and passing personal photos to the press, even though they may have been taken in all innocence, was likely to result in them being returned to the United Kingdom or even in dismissal. Luckily for those of us who came after, many women were willing to risk the consequences of breaking this rule, and collections of these personal photographs have survived the years though many more must have been lost over the decades.

     What’s left today falls mainly into two categories; official images taken on behalf of the War Office, and personal images taken by the brave. Some photographs of wounds and various aspects of surgery and treatment were kept for clinical purposes and survive in archives and in the pages of medical journals and textbooks. Other than those, why would anyone have wanted to publicise the surgical horrors of war?  Official photos were important for propaganda purposes and were essential for showing the organisation and depth of our medical services to the British public, relatives, the men themselves, and also to the watching enemy. They display good care in calm surroundings; clean, well equipped hospitals and disciplined soldiers, happy though wounded. They show that our women were eager to be part of the war, professional and willing; they provide a picture of the British soldier as bloodied but definitely unbowed, ready to re-join the fight. Within this framework there was no place to display the brutality of what came before the wounded were transformed once again into upright, smiling figures – who would have benefited by it?

     With regard to personal photos taken by members of the nursing staff, they would have been well aware that there was a line that must not be crossed. The majority of their photos are also of happy groups, off-duty time, tennis, walks and holidays. Though it might be acceptable to go inside a ward with a camera, would anyone really have taken a photo of a wounded man in the process of having his dressing done to send home, or to grace newspapers or magazines?  Would any nurse think that was appropriate then, or even today, other than perhaps for specialist clinical reasons?

     We have to be content with what survives, which is so much, though of course it will never be enough. The full picture can only be reconstructed by adding in official accounts and the personal testimony of all participants.  But the calm and smiling groups will always remain the outward image of the Great War even though they may support a myth, because that’s what was created at the time and therefore remains the gift that is left behind.

*Veiled Warriors; Christine E. Hallett; Oxford University Press, 2014

The Mobilisation of Maud Hopton

Maud Hopton was born in Aberystwyth in November 1871 and trained as a nurse at Charing Cross Hospital between 1902 and 1905. At the outbreak of the Great War she was a nursing sister at the same hospital, and was mobilised on 5th August 1914 as part of the Civil Hospital Reserve. She went overseas with No.2 General Hospital, arriving in Le Havre on the 15th August 1914. Although her initial appointment was to No.2 General Hospital, over the course of the war she served with many different units. She was an efficient and capable nurse. Towards the end of 1918 she was a candidate for the post of Matron at Charing Cross Hospital and although in the event she was not appointed, a testimonial sent at that time by Matron-in-Chief Maud McCarthy showed how valued she was:

'Miss Hopton mobilised with No.2 General Hospital, and has been a most valuable worker. She is a gentlewoman, with very pleasing manners, and has been thoroughly trained and is a most capable administrator. She has taken charge duties both at the Front and the Base with success, and has recently been Matron of the large Sisters' Hospital at Etaples which she managed in a most satisfactory manner, her staff being composed of V.A.D. workers with the assistance of some French servants. She is capable not only of working happily with everyone with whom she comes in contact, but also of getting the very best out of them. She will be a very great loss to the Nursing service in France.'

She was demobilised in October 1919 and took a post as Matron of a nursing home in the South of France at L’Hermitage, Mentone, where she remained for many years until her retirement in the late 1920s.  In 1919 she wrote an account of her early days in France which gives a fascinating glimpse into conditions at that time.  She was in her mid-forties and had worked in one of the UK’s most prestigious teaching hospitals for many years and it’s amazing to consider how adaptable nurses needed to be, putting their normal, everyday lives behind them and coping with the difficulties of active service with such flexibility and enthusiasm.

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An ambulance train waits at the Gare Maritime, Le Havre, underneath the buildings of No.2 General Hospital

     After nearly five years of work in France it is really wonderful how clearly one remembers every detail of the first few months at a Base Hospital in 1914.  There was no other time afterwards quite like it.  Nothing could equal that first enthusiasm and thirst for work. I came out with No. 2 General Hospital.  We were honoured as we had Sir Douglas Haig and his staff, and Dame Maude McCarthy on the same boat. We had to wait a few days before four buildings were taken in various parts of the town to form the hospital.  During that time we were consumed with impatience as we were firmly convinced that the war would end before we could start work.  I was detailed for duty at the Gare Maritime on the Quai d’Escale.  The building was wonderfully adapted for a hospital, the large first class waiting hall where it was easy to find room for 120 beds, the Douane [Customs Hall] with the tables for luggage that we found most convenient for dressings. The third class waiting hall was as roomy as the first class, and many smaller rooms which we used as Theatre, X-ray room and officers’ wards.

No.2 General Hospital, Havre; the Douane or Customs Hall as a ward

     A wide balcony ran the whole length of the building, open in front with a beautiful view over the harbour. Here, on the balcony, in the early days of the war, nine of us slept.  It was glorious on fine nights, but I can remember when a gale was blowing, and the rain coming down in torrents, exciting chases after my ground sheet in night attire.  Getting up in the morning too was fraught with difficulty.  We seemed to be objects of great interest to the mariners on the boats in the harbour and you had to choose the best moment to spring up from your bed and dive through the window into the waiting room where the others slept and we all dressed. The intense interest taken in us by the sailors on an American Man-of-War made it apparent to the authorities, to our great regret, that it would be better to board us in, and we lost our beautiful view over the harbour.

It was very hot weather when we first started work at the Gare.  The building was singularly dirty.  Belgian refugees in large numbers had recently passed through, and for several days we all scrubbed hard at the paint and every part of the building we could reach, while the beds and the most essential parts of the Hospital equipment were being unpacked.  We had hardly got the beds made up and some dressings cut up, when we were told that in a few hours the first convoy of wounded would arrive.  What a lot of necessary preparation we crowded into those few hours. The theatre was arranged and made ready for operations; every Sister had provided herself with a steriliser, dressing trays, lotions etc.  Endless bread and butter was cut up and hot cocoa prepared, and at last we heard the first train steaming into the station underneath us.  It was a very thrilling moment.  It was just a train made up of cattle trucks.   There were no ambulance trains in those days;  I don’t know how many hours those men had spent in the train, but they were grey with hunger and fatigue.  The hot cocoa and bread and butter we had got ready was eagerly disposed of and almost before we had got them into bed they were asleep.  It seemed hard-hearted to wake them up to do their dressings, but it had to be done.

The next morning, I think what impressed us most was their extraordinary cheerfulness. Most of them seemed to regard the experiences as an excellent joke. One man, badly wounded through the leg, told me roaring with laughter, how he came by his wound. He said the Germans had surprised them resting, just as they halted for tea, and most of his Company had been taken prisoners, but he and a few others had escaped by running down a ditch.  After having run some distance, they were feeling so pleased with themselves for having escaped that one of them produced a mouth organ, and the rest of them danced a Highland fling, and just as they were dancing he said ‘bless me, if the beggars weren't at us again and copped me in the leg’.  We had a busy day; there were so many operations, but I think our efforts with soap and water were as much appreciated by the men as anything else we did for them.  Not that day, but the next, the hospital ship came in and took them away, cheering as they went and shouting ‘we will soon be back to have another go at them’.

The days that followed were very busy ones.  Train after train brought down fresh convoys of wounded, day and night  and after a time we did not even try to go to bed but just lay down for a sleep when we could.  The hospitals at Amiens and Rouen had closed down and retreated and we knew it would be our turn next.  It became very difficult to find room for the patients as often, before we could get a hospital ship, fresh convoys poured in on us.  The smaller hospital ships in those days carried comparatively few patients.  I can remember one day our CO who had marvellously arranged the accommodation up to then, but felt he was getting to the end of his resources, sent out an urgent SOS for a hospital ship, hoping to get one of the larger ones.  The little St. David steamed in and great was his disgust.  I saw his stamping up the stairs, muttering to himself ‘I sent for a hospital ship and they have sent me a damned canoe!’

Our turn to close came all too soon, and we had a luxurious voyage on the ‘Asturias’ down to St. Nazaire.  We were sent to await orders at La Boule, a really beautiful seaside place where, in spite of our great impatience to be at work again, we spent ten very restful enjoyable days.  Then came a long train journey and we found ourselves back at Le Havre, at the Gare once more. I think we arrived about 4a.m. and started straight away putting up beds and getting the wards ready for a convoy which was expected almost at once.  How glad we were to be back and at work again.  This time everything was unpacked, all the equipment, and the hospital was soon running in such an orderly methodical way that it was hard to realise that it had only started a few weeks and was just an ordinary railway station turned into a hospital.

No.2 General Hospital, Havre; the large waiting-room as a ward

It was perhaps more wonderful how the Nursing Staff adapted themselves to the work and to each other.  We had rather limited accommodation; the first-class waiting room was boarded and curtained to form cubicles, and the balcony, now boarded in, was divided in the same way.  We had a small mess room, so we were rather at close quarters and thrown much together off duty, and yet the whole feeling was one of good humoured, good-natured camaraderie and we all liked each other.  Even a certain lady who in peace time had apparently accustomed herself to eating a little, and often through the night, kept us awake, scratching in paper bags for nourishment, only afforded us amusement, and never annoyed us.

     At the time I knew, and since am absolutely convinced, that, for the well-being of the Nursing Staff, the thing that matters is the Matron.  We had a wonderful one, and it was her personality, enthusiasm and humour (how well I remember her humour, she is the wittiest person I have met) that kept us all going and at concert pitch. You cannot make a Matron, she must be born one.  We were a small staff at the Gare to start with, and when convoys came to us at night, we all got up to help, and when the work in our own ward was finished, we never thought of going back to bed until we had helped where anyone needed us; and what a difference it made!  The one who was always most ready to help us in any way with anything was the Matron, and the men loved her to do things for them; she was so wonderfully sympathetic.  I learnt many things from her and am grateful.

     The work grew and developed.  Huts were built, and an enteric block opened.  It became necessary to have more staff at the Gare and they built us quarters and bathrooms, but I doubt if we were ever happier than in the early days, when we never thought of what there was not, but were quite content with what there was.  It was rather a sad day when I got orders to go elsewhere, I have loved in turn all the work I have been sent to do in France, but I only felt homesick once and that was when I left the Gare.

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Images above courtesy of the Imperial War Museum Collections, Ministry of Information First World War Official Collection, under the licence for non-commercial use

Back to Blighty, but Which Hospital?

I often get asked how and why an individual man ended up in hospital many miles from home rather than a local unit, and here are a few reasons and pointers, though certainly not the complete picture

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     It's highly unlikely that any decisions were made overseas about a patient's destination once back in the United Kingdom except perhaps for a few senior officers, nurses and other women who had special accommodation set aside in London.

     The port of departure, and thus arrival in the UK, would depend on the position of the overseas Base Hospital, which in itself may have been a random choice initially. As the war progressed, specialist units were set up to treat various classes of illness and wounds, and that would have been a deciding factor in the fate of some men on arrival. There was also an enormous concentration of beds in London, Manchester and Birmingham and the chances of being treated in one of those areas was high. There was always a likelihood that men from London or Manchester would end up near home, just by chance.

     Although I have read accounts of men being purposely sent away from home to prevent hospitals being over-run with visitors, it seems that this was never the intention. By September 1914 there were three main aims when men arrived back wounded in the UK – to give priority to those most seriously injured, to clear beds in the largest hospitals as quickly as possible to make room for new arrivals and to ensure that the men were transferred between medical facilities as few times as possible.

     For men disembarking at Southampton, the most serious cases were transferred to the Royal Victoria Hospital, Netley and the Southampton War Hospital, the latter soon earning the reputation of being one of the busiest and 'heaviest' hospitals in the country. From Dover, the sickest men were found accommodation in London. Men needing specialist treatment were separated out and given some priority to admit them to a unit which suited their needs. Lightly wounded men and the walking wounded were often the ones chosen to do the longest journeys and therefore more likely to end up in cities such as Plymouth or Aberdeen.

     Apart from the worst cases the men would be found a place on the next available train whatever its destination – there seemed to be little question of a Highlander turning down the 16.00 to Waterloo because he’d rather wait for the 19.30 to Glasgow. Because men were often wounded in large actions it follows that men of the same regiment would frequently be wounded, treated and evacuated together, and find their way back to England if not ‘en masse’ then certainly in tens, dozens and scores. So it was not surprising that, for instance, fifty Scots ended up in No. 2 Eastern General Hospital at Brighton and fifty Royal Sussex men in Manchester – often it was just the luck of the draw.

     As the war progressed the pressure on beds became more severe and it was even more difficult to find accommodation than previously. However, as there were more trains there may have been several waiting at Southampton and Dover at any one time and always the chance of different outcomes, but it’s said that even the men themselves were often reluctant to make a decision about destination.  Where was nearer, where was more exciting, where were their friends going; where would the soldier from Cornwall choose when he was in the West Yorkshire Regiment and most of his friends were going north? The vast majority of officer beds in the UK were in London, so an officer was very likely to be accommodated there, at least initially, wherever his home was. As the war progressed there were other important decisions to be made about special categories of patient.

     Before the ‘average’ man could be moved, account had to be taken of mental patients, neurological patients, those with venereal disease, enteric fever and dysentery, serious orthopaedic cases, cardiac and rheumatic conditions, eye and facial injuries - an ever lengthening list.  Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders and South Africans also had to be filtered off to their own hospitals and the movement of patients soon became a very intricate and complicated process which didn't always allow a free choice of destination. Where this was impossible, facilities were put in place for seriously ill men who were going to be in hospital for a long time to be moved nearer home when their condition was stable. If a man was expected to be in hospital for more than three months there was a high chance that arrangements would be made for him to be transferred to a hospital in his home area – these transfers were often long-distance, and carried out by fitting extra patients into existing ambulance train journeys.

     Throughout the war the pressure on beds was always enormous and all Home Commands were instructed to expand their hospitals to the fullest limit.  Of course this ‘fullest limit’ was never enough, and the number of beds was still increasing in October 1918. The expansion of the auxiliary hospitals and convalescent homes meant that most soldiers would eventually be transferred out of the main hospital, and this was most likely to be to a facility affiliated to that hospital, and therefore in the same locality.  Initially he bed state nationally was being updated weekly and later on twice weekly but as the situation became critical it was done on a daily basis. At time of the Armistice available beds nationwide stood at approx 364,133 and included 18,378 for officers. Between autumn of 1917 and beginning of 1918 the usual daily occupancy was 317,000.

I'm sure there must have been many a bright young ‘walking wounded’ who, seeing more than one train drawn up in front of him, found some way of making a choice but it was really a question throughout of squeezing casualties in anywhere that had enough room to take them – choice would have put an impossible burden on a massively overstretched system.

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After the Crimson Field

7 General Hospital, Malassises, Imperial War Museum

     According to the Economist there have been more than 25,000 books and scholarly articles written about the United Kingdom's part in  the Great War since 1918. I can't vouch for the figure, but it seems perfectly plausible to me. Most relate to the soldiers' story, to strategy and tactics, to organisation and administration and every detail of life in various armies during the conflict. If you need to know how a soldier enlisted, what he was paid, how he was transported, fed, equipped; how he washed and relaxed and 'went over the top' there's plenty of choice on where to find the answer, in official records, books, film, TV and increasingly on the web. If official accounts become a bit dry they can be supplemented by thousands of surviving first-hand accounts and memoirs. There must currently be hundreds of historians and researchers of the Great War who would have no difficulty at all in instantly giving chapter and verse on all aspects of a soldiers' life.

     This is far from the situation in relation to any area of women's service. A relatively tiny number of books have been published on nursing during the Great War and the majority of those are personal accounts in which the facts cannot always be verified or substantiated. In recent years female academics have tried to close the gap a little but however well-researched, the results are often unappealing to the general public and inaccessible due to the high cover prices set for the academic market. These books also appear to turn their back entirely on giving the same grass-roots information about the fine detail of nurses' service which can be so easily found in similar books relating men within a military setting. The result is that to the question 'Can you recommend a good book about nurses' the answer will invariably settle first around Lyn Macdonald's 'Roses of No Man's Land,' Vera Brittain's 'Testament of Youth' and occasionally something else that probably doesn't even relate to a British nurse's experience of war. It seems almost impossible to find the answer to same questions of organisation and administration relating to women's service that are so clearly defined for men.

     The fine detail of military nurses' service during the Great War is largely lost - it's a yawning gap waiting to be filled. In some respects you could fill it with anything and few people would be any the wiser. There would be few opponents to a statement that nurses earned £20 a year, or £50 a year or £200 a year because it's information that's hidden and difficult to find. There would be few opponents to comments that Great War nurses could marry, or maybe couldn't marry, or if they could marry they had to leave - or perhaps they were allowed to stay? And did VADs actually spend their time outside washing bandages or collecting sticks in the woods? Who is there who knows? So when the BBC decided to commission 'The Crimson Field' they had a gap to fill and unfortunately it was a gap that to the viewing public was an 'unknown.' They had the freedom to fill it with whatever they felt was suitable regardless of whether it was historically correct. And by 'historically correct' I don't mean the tiny things like fine details of uniform and kit, but the basic knowledge of what life was like for nurses and doctors and how hospitals worked in France at that time. What's missing from the programme is any deeper understanding of the nurses and hospitals - their foundations are missing and experience and integrity have been removed.

     To those who say 'it's only drama' I'd reply that it's historical drama and has been heralded by the BBC as an important part of their Great War Centenary programming. Because of that it has a duty to be as historically accurate as possible. To those who say that it's no different to believing that 'Holby City' is an accurate portrayal or that crime drama fails to reflect modern policing, I insist that there is an enormous difference. Hospital life and police procedure today are part of our current knowledge. If we watch modern hospital drama we have experience to judge it by, either our own or that of our friends and family. We can dismiss what is unbelievable because we have the personal knowledge of what it's really like. In 'The Crimson Field' the BBC have produced a programme that has filled an existing gap in history that is outside people's experience and they have filled that gap with stories that could not and would not have happened.

     Because of the high regard in which the BBC is held, the programme has made itself historically correct and has set a model for the future. It has given a representation of nurses, doctors and hospitals that will now be followed, honoured and repeated for decades. Mention of the programme is already being used to give credence to many serious centenary projects and books in order to boost visitors or sales regardless of whether it has any relevance or validity.  In my opinion it has set the serious research of nursing in the Great War back to a point where there may be no hope of ever resurrecting it - why bother in the future when it can be wiped out at a stroke and with such ease?

Some Hospital Visiting for the New Year

I've recently been looking through some photos of military hospital wards during the Great War and am amazed at what a variety there were. I can't imagine what a sick or wounded man would be expecting as he was loaded on, and then off, the ambulance, but here are just a few examples of what was waiting for him after admission to a base hospital in France.  All these images are courtesy of the Imperial War Museum and are free for non-commercial use - references are given individually.

No.2 General Hospital, Le Havre, IWM Q10557. This hospital was built above the station on the Quai d'Escale and you can see the doors for 1st and 2nd Class passengers and also the Customs office

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No.2 General Hospital, Le Havre, IWM Q10561: Another section of the same hospital in the Casino Lechin, still in all its pre-war grandeur

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No.10 Stationary Hospital, St. Omer, IWM Q28925: This beautiful building is Chapel Ward, part of the seminary which housed the hospital

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No.13 Stationary Hospital, Boulogne, IWM Q29155:  This is 'A' Ward - a bit less glamorous but maybe more functional than those above

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No.32 Stationary Hospital, Wimereux, IWM Q8002: A more relaxed and informal scene, perhaps because it was taken in the early spring of 1919

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No.13 General Hospital, Boulogne, IWM Q29162: A bit more glamour to finish


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Sick Sisters' Hospital, Alexandria

In view of my previous post about 'The Daughters of Mars,' I thought I'd add an item here about one of the many Sick Sisters' Hospitals overseas, showing the level of care and comfort afforded to nurses on active service.

THE HOSPITAL FOR SICK SISTERS, ALEXANDRIA
The Nursing Times, 29 July 1916

     A nightmare haunts the footsteps of Army nurses working abroad, the nightmare of being taken seriously ill. They see personal friends invalided home suffering from the effects of enteric, dysentery, nephritis, and other diseases which attack one with fiercer intensity when the system is already lowered by the effects of strenuous war nursing in a trying climate.  It may interest Army nurses to know that there is a very comfortable and well-equipped hospital in Alexandria for nursing sisters and military probationers. Visitors are at once struck by the air of coolness, restfulness, and daintiness which is characteristic of this hospital. Before the war it was a nursing home for paying patients; and the distempered walls, the marble floors, the many windows, and general structure of the building show how the comfort of the patients has been thought of in every detail. The wards give an impression of cool whiteness. The beds and lockers are white. The only note of colour is the deep saxe-blue linen covering the white screens. Flowers are arranged in highly polished brass jars and pots. The enterick, dysentery, and general wards, each containing seven beds, are on the ground floor.  There is also a small ward with three beds for observation cases. On the next floor there is a large ward with twenty beds, and one small ward with five beds. There is also on this floor a charmingly restful sitting-room, which can be turned into a ward should the need arise. The large, cool corridor on the ground floor is also used as a sitting-room. Patients are often wheeled there as a little change from the monotony of the ward, or they are carried into the garden when advisable. The hospital is provided with light, comfortable beds, which can be wheeled or carried outside, so that patients who are still very ill or very weak can have the benefit of the outside air with the minimum of discomfort in being moved.

     The sister-in-charge has a Red Cross fund, which pays for drives ordered for patients after exhausting illnesses. The hospital ship sisters have found this arrangement a great boon, as they are debarred from the allowances granted to the more fortunate sisters working in Egypt. From November 1915 to April 1916, 113 sick sisters have been admitted suffering from enteric, dysentery, paratyphoid, nephritis and jaundice. Only one death occurred, although the majority of the cases were serious.

     The hospital owes a great deal to the untiring efforts of Miss Dorothy Bates, who was sister-in-charge for some months. Miss Bates was trained at the Sussex County Hospital, and before going to Egypt did war work in the Sheffield and Woolwich military hospitals. Her staff at Alexandria consisted of two staff nurses and three probationers for day duty and one staff nurse and one probationer for night work. The kitchens, in a detached building, were in charge of an Arab chef. One house-boy and one Greek maid comprised the domestic staff. When the top floor was full another maid was allowed. It needs good management to nurse patients efficiently and keep a hospital in immaculate condition, but everything was done punctually, and the building was kept spotless. A recent patient writes that she never had to wait for the answering of the electric bell provided for each bed, and apparently small matter which affects a patient's peace of mind enormously.

     The sick nurses were very much attached to Miss Orr, late matron of the Orwa el Waska Medical Hospital, and also matron of the sick sisters' hospital which adjoined. Although matron of nearly, if not quite, a thousand beds she always found time for a daily visit to the sick sisters. Many times her comforting handclasp and sympathetic 'Poor child, I am sorry,' has cheered miserable sisters and probationers fighting for their lives in a strange land and far away from their dearly-loved 'ain folk.'

Dorothea's War

Dorothea Crewdson was one of more than 100,000 women who served as VADs during the Great War, but in so many ways she stands above the heads of others.  She was one of only a small number of women to receive the Military Medal for her actions during an enemy air raid in 1918* and she is one of the few nurses to be commemorated by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, dying during her period of active service in France.  More importantly she is one of that rare breed of nurses who left behind a diary that has survived through the decades.  There are a number of published personal accounts of VAD life during the Great War, most vague about names and places, frequently a mix of fact and fiction making it difficult to judge where truth ends and over-egging the pudding starts. Diaries can provide so much more, usually written with no other motive than to keep an accurate and honest record of a period of life and work which may prove useful at a future time.  As a private account there is no worry about naming friends and colleagues, and no fear of falling foul of the censor by mentioning individual hospitals and locations.

This diary, sympathetically edited by the author’s nephew Richard Crewdson, and accompanied throughout by Dorothea’s own original drawings, covers the entire period of her wartime service as a VAD in France between June 1915 and March 1919. It charts her time at three separate military hospitals and describes VAD life in great detail introducing many friend, relatives, patients and colleagues, some who were with her throughout the period. Very little is written elsewhere about the basic facts of a nurse’s life in France, and in this diary there’s a lot to be learnt about living arrangements, conditions of service, pay, ward work and above all about loyalty and friendship. Although sickness and death have a part in the book, they are not the main players.

The introduction to the book makes no secret of the fact that Dorothea Crewdson’s life was cut short, with her sudden death in France in March 1919.  That knowledge had a great impact on me. As the reader I was aware that I knew that which she did not – that her life was not going to be a long one; that this time next year ...  this time next month ... this time next week ...  I could hardly bear to turn the last few pages and enter her final days, the days that I knew about, but she did not.  The book ends with a letter written to Dorothea’s mother by her Matron, Melina McCord. It’s a heart-breaking tribute, guaranteed to bring tears to the eyes of all but the most dispassionate reader.

This diary informs and instructs, but more than that it shows that where loss, death and hardship exist, whether they be personal or professional, ways can always be found to deal with them. It makes essential reading for anyone with an interest in nursing, VADs and hospital life during the Great War.  But be warned – have a handkerchief ready for the finale.

* London Gazette, 30 July 1918: For gallantry and devotion to duty during an enemy air raid. Although herself wounded, this lady remained at duty and assisted in dressing the wounds of patients.  DIED 12 March 1919

For a preview of the book, and a glimpse of some of the Dorothea's wonderful drawings, this will whet your appetite:

Dorothea's War - YouTube

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Dorothea's War, Dorothea Crewdson: edited by Richard Crewdson; published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 13th June 2013:  ISBN 978 0 297 86918 4
[Hardback and on Kindle]

Dead Man's Land - Robert Ryan

I'm a great reader of crime fiction, often to the exclusion of doing other, more important things.  On the whole I stick to British authors, like complex plots, skip over too much gratuitous violence, and prefer to arrive at the end actually understanding what's gone on in the middle. So about eighteen months ago I was intrigued and rather flattered to be asked by Robert Ryan if we could meet up to discuss a new book he was working on (these days a bit of flattery is so very welcome).  He intended to include 'some plucky VADs' and wanted to make sure that they would be appearing all present and correct.

Over the next months I was kept up to date with the progress of the book and then asked to check the first draft to see how the VADs were doing.  Anyone who has read this blog on a regular basis will know that of all the bees that float around my bonnet, the indiscriminate placement of VADs in Casualty Clearing Stations on the Western Front is the one that stings hardest, and in this book their inclusion in very forward areas was going to be essential to the plot. If I have learned one lesson from the exercise, it’s this.  If you’re a writer of fiction and make fundamental errors because of inadequate research and blissful ignorance, the wrath of pedants will be unleashed upon you.  On the other hand, if you include factual inaccuracies and weave them in an intelligent way, in full knowledge of your sins, you will always be forgiven (fingers crossed).

Dead Man’s Land was published at the beginning of this month with the full approval of the Conan Doyle estate. It follows Dr. John Watson’s travels around the Western Front during the Great War, and where Dr. Watson goes, death and intrigue are right on his heels. By most estimations he must be getting on a bit in age, but his physical limitations are highlighted, not glossed over, and his place as an elderly medical practitioner in wartime never seems extraordinary. The military setting is sound, and the depiction of hospitals and casualty clearing stations in wartime is thorough. The VADs are skilfully introduced into a place where they would never actually have been, with the difficulties and regulations surrounding their employment made clear. Even I was heard to clap. The story is unusual and absorbing, it has complexity, but with enough clarity to prevent it becoming confusing, especially for those who don’t usually dabble in ‘war,’ and it should appeal to everyone who enjoys crime fiction of any era, but perhaps especially to devotees of Sherlock Holmes.  Yes, of course he’s there as well.

And my thanks to Rob for his kind words in the acknowledgements where he accepts all errors as his own.  May I take this opportunity to clear my conscience and admit that there might just be one that’s mine!

If you think you're cold ...

... Just spare a thought for nurses in France during the winter of 1915.  Olive Dent worked as a VAD at No.9 General Hospital, on the race-course at Rouen, and her descriptions life 'on active service' are vivid, with lots of insights into living and working conditions that can't be found elsewhere. The book, no longer in copyright, if freely available for download from the web. Illustrations by R.M. Savage 'and others.'

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ACTIVE SERVICE IN THE SNOW

SNOW has fallen persistently for a fortnight. Its coming was presaged by leaden skies and dull grey shadow clouds, which delighted the Australian and New Zealand nurses who were unaccustomed to half-lights, and some of whom had never seen snow. Then one morning we awoke to find the camp mantled in whiteness, the tents roofed and the tent ropes powdered with fairy-poised flakes, while a flaming, early sun shot red shafts of light through a silhouetted fringe of tall poplars, whose high branches dangled clumps of mistletoe like so many deserted rooks' nests.  The New Zealanders especially were charmed, but, nous autres, we all shivered into our warmest woollies, packed them tight on us like the leaves of a head of lettuce.

" Positively I shall have to peel myself tonight," vowed one girl. And, indeed, it takes a good many woollen garments to replace the furs and fur coats to which we have accustomed ourselves within the past few years. Finally, one gets into one's clothes, laces up one's service boots how long they are ! with clumsy chilblained
fingers, or thrusts and stamps one's feet into gumboots, having first donned two pairs of stockings, one pair of woolly "slip-ons," or a pair of fleecy soles, and probably padded cotton, or cyanide, wool round the toes. Then with a jersey, a mackintosh, and a sou'wester over one's uniform, out into the snow to the mess-room, with no path yet made. It is one of the few times one pauses to remember that one is "on active service."
Of course, almost everyone has a cold, almost everyone has a cough, and everyone has chilblains. Some unfortunate creatures have all three. Our chilblains, true to their inconvenient and inconsiderate kind, have
cracked, and the disinfectants among which we dabble in the wards, while keeping them aseptic, give them never a chance to heal.

So each day, like Henry V's veterans, we count our wounds and scars and say well, we say many things. Cures ? We dutifully rub on, and in, liniments while lacking faith in their efficacy. One brave soul the other night, driven to drastic measure by continuous irritation, walked boldly out into the snow in her bare feet. Some critics deplored her foolhardiness, some deplored her grandmotherly superstition and quackery, while we others stood round the door and applauded the courage of her action, though shivering at the sight of its stoic execution. Unfortunately for the complete success of the cure, she trod on a sharp stone.

Round the tent door stand the up-patients, eager to seize any chance surreptitiously to snowball orderlies and the French newspaper boy, and then to take mean advantage by an instantaneous retreat into the " dug-out."
We hurry on with the morning work and its attendant duties and dressings, and as the afternoon and evening come, so, too, does the snow, faster than it can be raked from the tent roof and path. The stoves are filled with coal and coke, the tents are laced closely, blankets are hung purdah-wise over the lacings, the gramophone is kept busy, cards, draughts, and puzzles are brought out, and everything is " tres bon, sister," as the boys say, "quite merry and bright." Only occasionally the minor tone is introduced :
"There's a few boys in the trenches would like to be here to-night.'

The snow has ceased to fall when we leave at eight o'clock to go to the quarters, and the whiteness of the snow gives considerable light. We meet the night nurses coming on duty dressed cap-a-pie in wool and mackintosh, and looking like so many Lucy Grays coming with their lanterns through the snow. Lacking the decorum of Lucy, they shy some painfully well-placed snowballs at us, so we dip for a handful of snow. " Oh! hit me, but don't hit my hurricane '!" sounds like a mean advantage, so we, stony-heartedly, cry, " Put your 'hurricane' at the leeward side of you Fore!”

Going to bed is a prodigious rite and ceremony. After a bath in a camp bath, which against the feeble force of chilblained fingers has a maximum resistance, immovability and inertia, and yet seems to possess a centre of gravity more elusive than mercury, one dons pyjamas, cholera belt, pneumonia jacket, bed socks, and bed stockings as long and woolly as a Father Christmas's, and then piles on the bed travelling rug, dressing gown, and fur coat. Even in bed the trials of active service do not end on occasion. We found one girl lying in bed the other night with her umbrella up. The snow had melted and was trickling through the tent, and she was too tired to trouble about having matters righted, " I'm imagining it is a garden parasol, and I'm in a hammock, and it's June." Gorgeous imagination !

Voluntary Hospitals Database

At present I'm bent over a 1928 edition of the General Nursing Council Register of nurses, doing what can loosely be described as 'messing about' with lists and databases.  As it runs to more than 2,000 pages, that's likely to be a lot of messing about. It lists all trained nurses who were registered with the GNC at that time as fit to practice, with details of their training hospitals and dates. Included are nurses who trained as early as the 1880s and also those who had just completed their training at the end of 1927, so there must have been many changes in hospitals during that period. Some of the hospitals are still household names today - places like Guy's, St. Thomas' and St. Bartholomew's Hospitals, London; Manchester Royal Infirmary, and Addenbrooke's Hospital, Cambridge.  But as hospitals in general were much smaller at that time, it struck me that some of the many hundreds of hospitals mentioned in my register must have been very tiny indeed. Those that had just a couple of wards and a small medical and nursing staff probably accepted just one or two girls each year as new probationers, and the figures began to intrigue me.

While browsing the web for inspiration I came across the Voluntary Hospitals Database, which is a real treasure trove, beautifully and intricately researched and presented, which answers many of the questions about hospitals and their staff at various periods during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. It gives the number of beds, average bed occupancy, details of how many doctors, trained nurses and untrained probationers there were, and information about various aspects of expenditure. For some hospitals it's possible to track the increase in both patients and staff over many decades. I do realise that you probably need to be the sort of person who wears six anoraks at a time to appreciate its beauty, but well worth a look even for those who are just in T-shirt and shorts.

Voluntary Hospitals Database

If you just start to zoom on the interactive map and drag it to the area you need, a list appears in the left-hand margin giving details for each hospital in the current view - it's very clever and a great way to waste some time.

For VADs proceeding on active service

During the middle of 1915, as more and more hospitals were needed to cope with an increasing number of casualties, VADs first started working overseas in hospitals under the control of the War Office to augment the numbers of trained nurses. Before they embarked they were given an inspirational message written for them by their Commandant-in-Chief, Katharine Furse, on the back of which was a prayer by Rachel Crowdy, Principal Commandant in France. I was in Oxford over the weekend at the AGM of the Western Front Association and while I was there someone asked me if this prayer was on my website (which it wasn't) so I've added both message and prayer and repeated them here. Copies of the original are held both at the Imperial War Museum and the British Red Cross Archives.

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A MESSAGE FROM KATHARINE FURSE, COMMANDANT-IN-CHIEF, BRITISH RED CROSS SOCIETY WOMEN'S VOLUNTARY AID DETACHMENTS, TO VADs PROCEEDING ON ACTIVE SERVICE

This paper is to be considered by each V.A.D. member as confidential and to be kept in her Pocket Book.

You are being sent to work for the Red Cross. You have to perform a task which will need your courage, your energy, your patience, your humility, your determination to overcome all difficulties. Remember that the honour of the V.A.D. organisation depends on your individual conduct. It will be your duty not only to set an example of discipline and perfect steadiness of character, but also to maintain the most courteous relations with those whom you are helping in this great struggle.

Be invariable courteous, unselfish and kind. Remember whatever duty you undertake, you must carry it out faithfully, loyally, and to the best of your ability.

Rules and regulations are necessary in whatever formation you join. Comply with them without grumble or criticism and try to believe that there is reason at the back of them, though at the time you may not understand the necessity.

Sacrifices may be asked of you. Give generously and wholeheartedly, grudging nothing, but remembering that you are giving because your Country needs your help. If you see others in better circumstances than yourself, be patient and think of the men who are fighting amid discomfort and who are often in great pain.

Those of you who are paid can give to the Red Cross Society which is your Mother and which needs much more money to carry on its great work to their Mother Society and thus to the Sick and Wounded.

Let our mottos be ‘Willing to do anything’ and ‘The People give gladly.’ If we live up to these, the V.A.D. members will come out of this world war triumphant.

Do your duty loyally

Fear God

Honour the King

And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame.

And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,

But each for the joy of working, and each in his separate star,

Shall draw the thing as he sees it for the God of things as they are.

REVERSE - A PRAYER BY RACHEL CROWDY

Lord, who once bore your own Cross shoulder high to save mankind, help us to bear our Red Cross Banner high, with clean hands unafraid.

To those who tend the wounded and sick give health and courage, that they of their store may give to those who lie awake in pain with strength and courage gone.

Teach us no task can be too great, no work too small, for those who die or suffer pain for us and their Country. Give unto those who rule a gentle justice and a wisely guiding hand, remembering ‘Blessed are the Merciful.’ And when peace comes, grant neither deed nor word of ours has thrown a shadow on the Cross, nor stained the flag of England.

Katharine Furse in the uniform of the Women's Royal Naval Service, 1920

Rachel Crowdy in her office in Boulogne

Military hospitals 1917

I've recently completed a database of all the hospitals that were caring for military personnel in the autumn of 1917, and thought it might be helpful to add some of this information to my Scarletfinders website. The database is quite detailed, so not easy to put all of that on the site - both author and readers would lose the will to live I think - but I've added the names of all 2,500 hospitals with at least the town they were situated in (or more correctly 'in which they were situated'!). Hopefully it will come in useful for someone. The new pages start here:

UK military hospitals 1917

I'm collecting quite a few photos of these hospitals now - some were in very grand buildings - and will add some here soon.

Leamington Spa

At present I'm trying to sort out some facts and figures for a new article, which means going through some data for the five hundred nurses who joined QAIMNS between April 1902 and the Armistice in November 1918.
496 women were trained in 64 different towns and cities, and in several hundred hospitals within these towns. Almost half (224) were trained in one of thirty different hospitals in London, and the next greatest number, twenty-eight, in one of five Liverpool Hospitals. The top ten most 'popular' towns are listed below, and it can be seen that London predominated by a huge margin:

London - 224 women trained in thirty hospitals
Liverpool - 28 women trained in five hospitals
Dublin - 23 women trained in seven hospitals
Edinburgh - 20 women trained in one hospital (Edinburgh Royal Infirmary)
Glasgow - 18 women trained in three hospitals
Cambridge - 14 women trained in one hospital (Addenbrookes)
Manchester - 11 women trained in four hospitals
Leeds - 10 women trained in one hospital (Leeds General Infirmary)
Birmingham - 8 women trained in three hospitals
Leamington Spa - 8 women trained in one hospital (Warneford Hospital)

Leamington Spa? Absolutely. In a list where many large cities barely figure, and struggled to supply even half a dozen nurses for the army, Warneford Hospital, Leamington Spa, seemed to be a relative hot-house for military nurses. Bristol and Belfast, Aberdeen and Oxford, Nottingham and Newcastle-upon-Tyne were all poor runners-up to Leamington Spa. All theories on this little anomaly gratefully received!

Mea Culpa - Godewaersvelde!

I was in Warwick last week at the Heart of England branch of the Western Front Association, and while there was asked about nurses killed during the shelling of casualty clearing stations. By that time my brain had turned to mush, and I expressed some doubt that the one nurse buried at Godewaersvelde had died as a result of enemy action. As it's unlikely in the extreme that a nurse would die at a CCS as a result of anything other than enemy action, I was on to a loser from the start! But to put the record straight, the nurse who died was Elise Kemp, the victim of a German bombing raid. So a mention for Miss Kemp now:

Elise Kemp was born in 1882 in Wellington, New Zealand, the daughter of William Kemp a surgeon, and his wife Charlotte. By 1901 the family were living in London at 38 Alleyn Road, West Dulwich, and Elise trained as a nurse at King's College Hospital, Denmark Hill.
At the time of her death she was on temporary duty at No.37 Casualty Clearing Station, and the unit war diary of the Matron-in-Chief describes the incident:

October 21st, 1917
Went on to Godwaersvelde to 37 C.C.S. where I saw the O.C. and learnt the particulars of the very trying incident of the night before. Fortunately they had only just evacuated and they had only 30 patients in hospital, or the casualties would have been very great. There had been no warning at all beforehand and the bombs landed close to a marquee where the sister, 3 orderlies and 3 patients were killled and others were wounded, two of whom lost their arms. In another marquee the Sister in charge, Miss Devenish Meares, received multiple wounds, fortunately of not a very serious nature. She had an anaesthetic during the night and peices of shell were removed from her thigh, ankle and fore-arm, and arrangements were being made to send her to the Sick Sisters' Hospital, St. Omer. I visited her and found her wonderfully plucky. Arranged for Miss Luard, Q.A.I.M.N.S.R., to join 37 C.C.S. as Sister in charge as soon as possible. Arranged for 4 of the nurses who were very upset to be sent down to the Base.

I'll try harder next time!

Edith Appleton re-visited

Some time ago I wrote about Sister Edith Appleton, who kept a diary throughout her time in France as a member of Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service, and which is now online:

Edith Appleton's diary

Wisely, in the face of such an interesting, compassionate and humorous work, BBC radio have decided to broadcast some extracts from the diary on three days during Remembrance week. The online diary is a family collaboration, and Dick Robinson, collaborator-in-chief, travelled down to Brighton for the recording of the programme, and an account of the day, and details of the programme are on his website here:

Edie makes it on to the radio

Very well done to all concerned - certainly something to look forward to.

The Diary of a Zepp. Night

This account, written by a VAD, is taken from the Gazette of the 3rd London General Hospital (TF) Wandsworth, and published in the June 1916 edition. The Gazette was probably the best of all hospital magazines, due mainly to the foresight of the Commanding Officer, Colonel Bruce Porter, in employing a group of men who were all members of the Chelsea Arts Club and too old, or unfit for normal military service. In addition to their work as orderlies at the hospital, they wrote, illustrated and published a monthly magazine which resulted in one of the finest insights into life in a large military hospital during the Great War.


THE DIARY OF A ZEPP. NIGHT
9.15 - Night Sister blows in rather hurriedly. "All lights out, and just run round to the other wards." Start off on my travels, beginning by badly barking my shins on radiator. Make a frantic dive for the door and land with a resounding crash into a screen. Start once more, and eventually arrive - falling over every possible object en route. Dash upstairs and drop metal matchbox down well of staircase with a noise like several bombs. Await result in palpitating silence. Nothing happens, so "carry on."
9.45 - Suffering from shock and ready for anything. See figure silhouetted against window. Ask what it's doing out of bed, and find it's the statue that adorns the ward. Retire crushed.
10pm - Frenzied search for respirators and solution by matchlight. Wake most of the patients with the striking and singe hair and eyebrows, but success attends my efforts. All is prepared. Do your worst, O Hun!
10.15 - Obtain electric torch, and, shrouding it in kit handkerchiefs, go forth in search of adventure and, incidentally, of Night Sister. Am asked by a gentleman if I can direct him to L ward. Offer him the services of my glow-worm, and put him on the broad road that leadeth to L. The same old tale again, I suppose: cherchez la femme.
10.30 - Fire in side ward insists on blazing. Damp its ardour, but it bursts forth afresh every few minutes. On ordinary occasions to look at it is to put it out. Tonight it needs a pint of water or so every half-hour (more or less) illustrating the cussedness of things as they are.
11pm - Toast feet on radiator and search the heavens for the foe. Nothing doing.
11.30 - Still nothing doing.
12 midnight - Suspense is wearying. Decide to have supper. Cook something - bacon - by the smell thereof - make coffee, and pour three parts down the sink in the endeavour to strain it. Eat and drink in solid darkness; but all is tasteless, dust and ashes as it were. Queer what a difference sight makes to flavour.
12.15 - A tiny light comes down the ward, swaying and dancing through the blackness. Is it a fallen star or a Will o' the Wisp on his nightly travels? 'S neither, but our "Lady of the Lamp" on her midnight round. And the news she brings: "Raid in the ___ district, nothing definite." Cheering. Will they blow usup en masse or a ward at a time? Take a gloomy survey of my past, and speculate on the chances of arriving 'there' whole or in portions.
12.45 - Patrol the ward, pitying the unsuspecting patients slumbering regardless of peril!
1.30 - A not very lucid interval.
3.15 - Another visit from the Lady of the Lamp. No tidings either way. Why, oh why, did I leave my happy home and come on night duty?
4am - Dawn begins to lighten our darkness and the order "Lights out" coincides with the running of the first train to be released. It dashes through with a whoop of triumph and defiance, and I pull myself together and decide that it's not such a bad life after all.