Versailles - The British Hospital, 1914

Following the events of the Boer War where hundreds of wealthy female 'camp followers' invaded British hospitals in attempt to claim some involvement in nursing the sick and wounded, the War Office made every effort to ensure that in any future war strict controls would ensure that only authorised and approved workers were allowed to be employed in British hospitals. I've recently acquired a copy of a book written by Maud Sutton-Pickhard, who seems to have followed in the footsteps of her South African sisters in gaining admittance to places that she should not really have been.  Her sheer nerve and arrogance are a sign that life, particularly for the rich, was rather different a hundred years ago.  Having been refused a job by the American Ambulance in Neuilly on account of her lack of qualifications or experience, she wanders around Paris seeing the sights, and one morning took the train to Versailles 'to see the big English hospital there.' As there are so few accounts of the hospital I guess she should be thanked for writing about her experience.


At Versailles I had an omelette at the little station inn called the " Lion d'Or," and then I went to a tabac  and bought all the French cigarettes I could find as there were no English ones, and some tobacco and cigarette papers. (Horrid cigarettes they are too ! — but the "Tommies" seemed pleased to get them, as smoking is their one solace.)

Walking up the fine avenue called the Boulevard de la Reine, with its noble trees, I came to the magnificent hospital, formerly the Trianon Palace Hotel. It is a truly ideal spot for a hospital, and it is a marvel of English efficiency and organization. I was one living exclamation point of admiration from the moment I entered the gate until I left. The grounds were filled with convalescents in khaki, all looking happy and cheerful. I passed them and went to the front door, where a Red Cross soldier asked me very politely whom I wished to see. I had been asked the same question in the grounds. I said I wished to look over the hospital; so he called the Colonel. The latter was exceedingly courteous, but it was obvious that he was somewhat puzzled at my unexpected arrival. (I seemed to be the only visitor except one old French Sister with a basket of food.) He asked me if I knew any of the officers, if I knew anyone in the hospital. I said I was awfully sorry, but I didn't — that I had just heard about the hospital, and had come up to look it over and take some Kodak pictures.

He said, "You want to take Kodak pictures of the wounded?"
"Of the hospital and grounds — of the whole thing in fact," I replied.
"What do you want to do with the pictures?"
“Oh, send them to my friends to show what a nice place the wounded have over here."

He seemed satisfied, and said, “It is rather unusual, but you don't look like a German spy! "I laughed and got out my passports for him. He examined them, but he still seemed a trifle puzzled. Finally he said he would show me round, and he told me there was going to be a funeral that afternoon, and asked me if I wanted to go to it. We met the old French woman in the hall, and he asked if I knew what she wanted.
I said, "Why, don't you speak French?"
He said, "Not a word."

The interpreter had come forward, but I found out that she just wanted to give the things in her basket to the soldiers in the garden, only she wanted to distribute the stuff herself, and it was against the regulations. The Colonel looked in her basket, and told me to tell her that she could do so to those out of doors but not to those in the wards. Then he shook hands with her, and we wandered through the ground floor ward, while I distributed the cigarettes among the Tommies. The Colonel stopped to give some directions about a wounded man, so I said I would go on upstairs. He told me to knock at any door before I went in, but I preferred to get hold of a Sister, and she took me in to see an officer in the Worcestershire Regiment. I offered my own private cigarettes to the young man, who was evidently pleased to see visitors. The poor boy had been shot in both arms and one leg.  His right arm was paralyzed. But, in spite of this, he was most anxious to get well and return to the Front. I started to go, and he said, " Oh, don't go yet ! " I replied that I feared conversation would tire him, but he said that on the contrary it took his mind off himself. So I sat down on an adjoining bed while he told me the history of his battles and wounds. It was quite thrilling, yet so simply told, with only the barest necessary mention of himself — all about his men, and the Germans and the fighting. He had crossed a branch of the Aisne, by wading, in order to take a farmhouse on the opposite bank ; there he found he was trapped, with the Germans at his back, behind some trees. He had taken sixteen prisoners, but they had surrendered only in order to lead him into a deadlier place in which he was ambuscaded. There was no way out but to hurry back through the fire. He had been the first to cross, so he was the first to discover the trap, and hastily called to his men to get back as quickly as they could. Though wounded in both arms, he managed to get away, but was again hit in the leg at the last moment. He was helped out of danger by some of his men, but it was hours before he could see a doctor. He had to lie on straw and freeze until he could get medical assistance, and finally be moved to a hospital. He told me a lot about the Germans. They are very tricky, but the men only obey orders. One German prisoner told him that he did not know he had been fighting the English!

Fearing to fatigue him by letting him talk too much, I went upstairs and gave the Tommies on the top floor the rest of my cigarettes, helping them to light them, and trying to say some words of comfort. They seemed so pleased to have someone to talk to, and so grateful for the wretched cigarettes. Some had just arrived from the trenches, and they looked most horribly weak and ill. But all of them were so brave and patient and cheerful, although they brought tears to one's eyes when they said how glad they would be to see wife and children again.

I went over the grounds and inspected the tents, which are ideally clean and well arranged. The entire place struck me as the perfection of efficiency and comfort. Before I left I had an opportunity of seeing the funeral. It was a most imposing and solemn sight. When the hearses were drawn up in front of the gates everybody stood, the convalescents, who were sitting on chairs in the sunshine and under the lofty trees, rose and leant against their seats, or else they were helped up and supported by their comrades. There were six men buried, all English soldiers. Hundreds of French people crowded outside the gates, and the great majority of them followed the funeral to the cemetery as a tribute of respect to their brave Allies.

France in Wartime 1914-1915: Maud Sutton-Pickhard: Methuen & Co. Ltd., London, 1915
(and freely available on the web)

Leaving France

Several years ago now I transcribed the official war diary of Maud McCarthy, Matron-in-Chief with the British Expeditionary Force in France and Flanders during the Great War. She arrived in France on the 15th August 1914, and except for a break after suffering a serious illness, she worked continuously and tirelessly until her final return on the 5th August 1919. She spent five years of non-stop work with barely a day off and only the briefest periods of leave, running the military nursing services with precision, inspecting hospitals and casualty clearing stations, and leaving her mark on everything and everybody she came into contact with.  She was not a young woman, fifty-five when the war started, but her energy and charisma were remarkable. I typed my way through Miss McCarthy's war - four thousand pages of it - and began to understand just a little of the difficulties she faced as the war grew and she struggled for staff, and order, and perfection - nothing less was good enough for the sick and injured. When I reached her final day in France I found it almost impossibly emotional. The account, written by her successor, Mildred Bond, paints the most vivid picture how much respect and love she commanded. While going through some photos I found a series of grainy snaps taken by a nurse that day.  They are of poor quality, indistinct, and faded, but along with Miss Bond's words, go some way to describing the feelings on the quayside at Boulogne on the 5th August, 1919.


05.08.19
Departure of Matron-in-Chief, France
On August 5th the Matron-in-Chief, BEF left France, from which date I took over the duties of Principal Matron of France and Flanders. On the evening of the fourth, Dame Maud McCarthy GBE, RRC, dined with the DMS General Gerrard CB, and the officers of his staff, who were giving a farewell dinner in her honour.  The following guest were present:  Colonel Barefoot DDMS, L of C, Colonel Statham the DDMS Boulogne and Etaples, Colonel Gordon the ADMS Calais, and also the A/Principal Matrons of the Areas, Miss L. E. Mackay QAIMNS, Miss Allen QAIMNS and Miss Rowe QAIMNS; also Miss Congleton QAIMNS, Matron 32 Stationary Hospital; Miss G. Wilton Smith and myself.  In the centre of the dinner table was placed a gorgeous basket of choice hot-house flowers which was afterwards presented to Dame Maud, and the DMS made a very appropriate and gratifying speech in which he expressed so much appreciation of her noble work and character and regrets at her leaving France, in which we all concurred so heartily.

On the afternoon of the 5th, Dame Maud left by the afternoon boat for England.  I went with the DMS in his car to see her off, and Miss G. Wilton Smith and Miss Barbier CHR went with her in her own car.  There was a large crowd waiting on the Quay when she arrived.  Among those present were a  Representative from GOC, General Asser being absent from Boulogne; the DMS and his staff; Brigadier General Wilberforce CB CMG the Base Commandant; Colonel Barefoot DDMS L of C; Colonel Statham DDMS Boulogne and Etaples; Colonel Gordon the ADMS Calais; and many other officers; Major Liouville, who represented the French Medical Service and Monsieur M. Rigaud, Secretary to the Sous-Prefecture who represented the French civil population, came in place of Monsieur M. Buloz who was absent from Boulogne.  These two men thanked her on behalf of the Military and Civil Authorities for all the goodness and courtesy they had always received at her hands.  The Matrons and the Nursing Staff from all the near Units who could be spared from duty and who were anxious to show a last mark of respect to their retiring chief were present.
She shook hands with everyone and was wonderful to the last, in the way she carried through a most difficult and trying farewell.  Her cabin was a perfect bower of most beautiful flowers sent from the staff of the different Hospitals.  One of her own staff, Miss Hill VAD, was able to cross with her as she was going home on demobilisation.  As the ship moved off the Matron-in-Chief, Miss Hill and Major Tate RAMC of the DMS staff, who was proceeding to England on transfer, escorted Dame Maud to the bridge and remained with her.  They all waved from the bridge and we all waved and cheered our loudest and sang “For she’s a jolly good fellow” as the ship sailed out of the harbour.  I think we shall never forget that sight and shall always like to remember the courageous and plucky way in which our chief carried our flag flying to the very last moment into her civilian life, where we wish her all happiness and success and where she will still command the love and respect of us all.

*****

The war diary is held at The National Archives, ref: WO95/3988-3991 and the transcription can be found here: Official War Diary of the Matron-in-Chief with the B.E.F. in France and Flanders

A New Year Message to the Boss

At present I'm going through nurses' service files and am finding all sorts of interesting items which escaped the violence of the 'weeding' process at the War Office in the 1930s.  One thing that stands out is the more compassionate tone (if that's the right word) of official correspondence in the Territorial Force Nursing Service files, when compared to similar items in QAIMNS files. The TFNS so often strikes a more personal, friendly note, and the senior members appear to have a closer and more genuine connection with their nursing staff.  And it went both ways as this letter shows, written by Helen Brotherton, while working as Matron of the Hospital Ship 'Newhaven,' to Miss Sidney Browne, Matron-in-Chief, Territorial Force Nursing Service.

*****

Dame Sidney Browne by Austin Spare IWM Art 2768

Hospital Ship Newhaven
Dieppe
January 1st, 1916

To: Miss Sidney Brown, Matron-in-Chief, T.F.N.S.

My dear Miss Sidney Brown

It is just a little over a year since you said goodbye to a party of us at Victoria Station, leaving for France.  I've been going to write to you often since then, I have often thought and spoken of you, and how splendid you are to us and how proud we Territorials are of ‘our Matron.’  I've had such a happy time since I came out and was attached to the Indian Expeditionary Force at the Rawal Pindi Hospital, then when the Matron of my section was moved to a large Camp Hospital, I went with her as Home Sister.  We had a staff of 90 Sisters and V.A.D.s.  I did so enjoy life under canvas and was sorry when the hospital had to disband as we were under water.  Then I had orders to join this Ship as Matron, it was good of Miss McCarthy to give me the post, she too has been awfully good to us.

I hope that you are well and that you will excuse the liberty I've taken in writing to you, but I thought it was so unkind of us to think all the good things about you and never let you know how grateful we are to you, for all the care and thought you've given our service.  I shall always be grateful to you for giving me the opportunity of nursing in France and helping our Boys, when they've done so much.  They are such splendid fellows.  We always go to Dover on the Home side and if ever you were there I should be so pleased to show you round my ship.

This War has few compensations, but one of them is that it’s given me an opportunity of serving my Country and you and Miss McCarthy.  My best wishes for the New Year.

I am, Yours most faithfully,
Helen Brotherton.

[TNA WO399/10029]

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.'

*****

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 !

Canadian VADs

I've been asked several times if I have any details regarding Canadian VADs, as information seems to be hard to come by, and while browsing through some documents which originate at the IWM, I came across this short piece which might be useful (if not earth shattering!).


V.A.D. MEMBERS WITH THE CANADIAN RED CROSS SOCIETY
The first V.A.D. member supplied to the Canadian Red Cross Society was a secretary in 1916 who remained with them until the time of their closing down.
In the spring of 1917, owing to the difficulty in obtaining men drivers, the Assistant Commissioner applied for two V.A.D. drivers to assist in their lorry section; no Canadian women drivers were available at that time but one English and one Australian driver were sent out; they were the first to undertake lorry driving in France and made good.  In the garage, their tact and adaptability overcame any prejudices on the part of the men with whom they had to work; they both put in charge of a 15 cwt. lorry and carried supplies as far as Doullens, Le Treport, and other similar points.
About the same time, the Canadian Red Cross Society requisitioned for V.A.D. members for their Recreation Huts attached to the Canadian Hospitals.  For this work, Canadian members were especially asked for in order that they might have interests in common with the patients who they were to entertain in the huts.  During the year members were supplied to five hospitals (two being attached to each) and in every instance they improved the usefulness of the Recreation Huts (which had previously been under the supervision of an N.C.O.) tremendously, organising concerts and games of all sorts, helping with church services on Sundays, and generally keeping the men happy.
Canadian V.A.D. members have also been attached to Canadian Red Cross Headquarters for the purpose of keeping in touch with Canadian patients in Imperial hospitals, distributing comforts from Canada, ‘home newspapers’, and sending cables and writing letters for them.  In the Canadian Red Cross Stores, both at headquarters and in Paris, members have worked in various capacities as clerks and book-keepers, and at one Canadian Hospital, a member ran the stores entirely, checking all goods in, issuing the hospital requirements and keeping the books.

From the papers

The British Journal of Nursing was a weekly paper for the professional nurse, giving all types of information and clinical advice and providing a meeting place for nurses who were often isolated due to the fact that many of them worked solely in private houses. It often took a rather biased view towards subjects that the editor, Ethel Bedford Fenwick, felt strongly about, and she appeared to take great pleasure in stirring up strong views on every side.  At present I'm browsing the pages to follow the debate surrounding increasing problems with the award of the Royal Red Cross, and have picked out a few news items that have caught my eye along the way.

*****

BRITISH JOURNAL OF NURSING
21 July 1917
At Nottingham recently, Alice Cave, posing as a Red Cross nurse-who took shelter during a heavy rainstorm in the house of Mr. John A. Nugent, and abused his hospitality by stealing a gold watch-was sentenced to three months’ imprisonment.  In sentencing her the chairman of the bench, Mr. Snook, said the magistrates regarded her action in obtaining advantages by wearing the Red Cross Badge as the most serious part of the offence. Her crime against the Decalogue would apparently have been less heinous had she been wearing the uniform of the thoroughly trained and certificated nurse-that of the Nottingham General Hospital, for instance.
‘Thou shalt not wear the Badge of the Red Cross unlawfully’ appears to take precedence of the Commandment ‘Thou shalt not steal’ in the opinion of Nottingham magistrates.

25 August 1917
  ‘A Trained Nurse of 1901’ replying in The Times to a V.A.D. who asserts that many of the keenest V.A.D. nurses are leaving their detachments because they feel there is no urgent need for their services: also that they are extremely dissatisfied with their prospects after the war, when they will have no recognised status, even though they have nursed regularly for three years or more, writes :-
‘‘ May I remind her that members of Voluntary Aid Detachments were enrolled to assist in hospitals, &c., working in a patriotic spirit, to give help where help was required, and not with the object of gaining a status for themselves ? As regards length of experience among the sick, those who how most of the subject will agree that this does not constitute a ‘training,’ nor give knowledge of the many and varied conditions under which the trained nurse is called upon to act.   If V.A.D. and those others who are dissatisfied with her will enter a recognised training school, take their share also in looking after the women and children of the Empire, and go through the necessary courses and examinations essential to a training, they need have no anxiety.

22 September 1917
CHEAP TICKETS FOR WAR NURSES.
The Railway Executive Committee announces that war nurses going on holiday are to be allowed a third-class return ticket on payment of the present-day third-class single fare. The Committee state that the concession will be available for all ‘women nurses, probationers, and masseuses, whose whole time is employed at hospitals, convalescent homes, &c., recognised by the military authorities, but yet not under military Control.’  The nurses must travel in uniform, and must obtain their vouchers from the matron or medical officer in charge of the institution where they are working. Such a voucher can only be issued to each nurse once in every six months. The Railway Executive Committee guard their position by
the proviso that these facilities may be withdrawn at any time.

*****

The British Journal of Nursing can be searched and browsed online