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The Staff of the Military Hospital, Endell St. W. C.

AUGUST 1916.

(Photo, Panora Ltd.) Frontispiece

WOMEN AS ARMY
SURGEONS

BEING THE HISTORY OF THE WOMEN’S
HOSPITAL CORPS IN PARIS, WIMEREUX
AND ENDELL STREET
SEPTEMBER 1914-OCTOBER 1919

BY
FLORA MURRAY
C.B.E., M.D., D.P.H.

HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LIMITED LONDON

TO
LOUISA GARRETT ANDERSON
‘Bold, cautious, true and my loving comrade’

TO THE WOMEN’S HOSPITAL CORPS

Dear Fellow Members—This little book has been written for you and for your pleasure.

Your work was too good to be left unrecorded; and though in these pages I have said little in praise, yet if you will read between the lines you will find there a very genuine affection for each one of you, and admiration and pride for your courage and endurance. I ask you to accept Women as Army Surgeons in memory of ‘Endell Street.’

FLORA MURRAY.

PREFACE

This record of the work of the Women’s Hospital Corps in France, and especially at the Military Hospital, Endell Street, is a valuable contribution to the literature of the Woman Movement. Dr. Flora Murray and Dr. Garrett Anderson made history at Endell Street. Through their initiative, endeavour, and efficiency they opened the doors to further fields of opportunity for women physicians and surgeons, and not only for medical women, but for all women who are setting out, or have already set out to conquer fresh territory. We owe them a debt of gratitude, the recognition of which will become even more accentuated as the years go on.

It would be difficult to put into words the pride with which the members of the Women’s Hospital Corps served their country in the Great War under the only woman Lieutenant-Colonel in the British Army. For this was the rank of Dr. Flora Murray when acting as Doctor-in-Charge at the Military Hospital, Endell Street. The War Office withheld from her both the title and the outward and visible signs of authority. But the position, with its responsibilities, pains, and penalties, was hers, and it is well known how she and the Chief Surgeon, Dr. Louisa Garrett Anderson, rose to the demands of the occasion.

It is only on reading these pages that many of us who worked with them at Endell Street will realise even partially the difficulties and anxieties through which they passed during the four years and more that the Hospital remained open. They had a double responsibility all through: firstly, for the lives and welfare of the soldiers entrusted to their care, and secondly, for the demonstration of women’s efficiency and vindication of the confidence placed in their professional and administrative abilities. If they had failed to satisfy the Authorities even in the slightest detail, there is not much doubt but that the charge of the Hospital would have been handed over to a man, and that more than one military official would have had the joy and triumph of saying: ‘There—I told you so. The women have failed medically and administratively, and have been unable to maintain discipline.’

But the opportunity did not occur. The weeks, the months, the years went on. Thousands of soldiers poured in and out of that Hospital. A year after Armistice found it still open. The women had succeeded—not failed, and had set a living example of what trained and disciplined women could do in the service of their country.

Perhaps our C.O. will forgive me for being personal enough to refer to one of her characteristics which was greatly appreciated by all—the trust she reposed in those working under her. You were given your task, your opportunity, your department, and you went ahead with it. It was yours—your own. If you could not do it, you went. If you could, you stayed. She interfered with no details, and harassed you with no unnecessary restrictions. She took it for granted that you were carrying on in the right way and in the right spirit—and judged by results whether it were desirable that you should continue to carry on. In this way you became and remained a living part of the administration. Work and personality alike were benefited, and the young received a baptism of responsibility, destined to influence them favourably for the rest of their lives.

This is surely a great characteristic—and rare.

It is not to be wondered at that the success of this Military Hospital, officered, staffed, and run entirely by women, became a source of immense satisfaction and pride to all women, but more especially to those who had taken an active part in the struggle for the Suffrage, and had shared, with Dr. Flora Murray and Dr. Garrett Anderson, the ups and downs, the hopes and fears, the disappointments, disillusions, and encouragements, and all the stress and strain of a long-drawn-out political campaign. To these, Endell Street represented work for the country and work for the woman movement combined, and to the members of the Women’s Hospital Corps itself it meant, in addition, a double chance of service, a double devotion, a double inspiration, a double reason for carrying on with undiminished enthusiasm and faithfulness to the end.

BEATRICE HARRADEN.

4th August 1920.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

PART I THE WOMEN’S HOSPITAL CORPS IN PARIS AND WIMEREUX

CHAPTER I
ORGANISATION OF THE WOMEN’S HOSPITAL CORPS

In August 1914 it was a popular idea that war was man’s business and that everything and every one else should stand aside and let men act. But there were many persons who failed to endorse this view and who held that, though men may have been responsible for the war, the business of it concerned men and women equally. Far from standing aside and leaving men to act alone, every woman in the land accepted her duty and her responsibility, and recognised at once that if the war was to be won it must be won by the whole nation, and by the common effort of all her children.

The long years of struggle for the Enfranchisement of Women which had preceded the outbreak of war had done much to educate women in citizenship and in public duty. The militant movement had taught them discipline and organisation; it had shown them new possibilities in themselves, and had inspired them with confidence in each other. In face of the greater militancy of men, the Suffragists called a truce, and set their adherents free for service in government departments, in factories and in hospitals. Workrooms were opened, day-nurseries established and surgical supply depots commenced their useful labours.

Women who had been trained in medicine and in surgery knew instinctively that the time had come when great and novel demands would be made upon them, and that a hitherto unlooked-for occasion for service was at their feet. It was inconceivable that in a war of such magnitude women doctors should not join in the care of the sick and wounded, but it was obvious that prejudice would stand in their way. Their training and their sympathies fitted them for such work; they knew and could trust their own capacity; but they had yet to make their opportunity.

Amongst others, Dr. Louisa Garrett Anderson and Dr. Flora Murray were determined that medical women desiring to give their services to the nation should not be excluded from military work and from the great professional opportunities naturally arising from it. An opening, therefore, had to be found for them. As militant suffragists they had had dealings with the Home Office, and had gained an insight into the cherished prejudices and stereotyped outlook of officials. One government department is very like another, and to have approached the War Office at that time would only have meant to court a rebuff. But it was common knowledge that the French Army was inadequately supplied with surgeons and hospitals; and they turned their attention where the need was great.

On the 12th of August these two doctors called at the French Embassy and were received by one of the secretaries in an absolutely airless room. The atmosphere was enhanced by red damask wall hangings and upholstery, and by an aroma of stale cigar smoke. In somewhat rusty French they laid before him an offer to raise and equip a surgical unit for service in France. The secretary may have been rather mystified as to their intentions; for medical women were off his horizon. Very likely he never realised that they themselves intended to go to the aid of the French wounded; but he affirmed again and again the real need of France for medical and surgical aid, for stores of all kinds and for English nurses. He begged ‘Mesdames’ to call upon the President of the French Red Cross in London and discuss the matter with her, and, tendering with the utmost courtesy a card of introduction, he directed them to her house.

Madame Brasier de Thuy was the President of the branch of the French Red Cross known as ‘L’Union des Femmes de France.’ The title of her Society was attractive, and she herself combined great charm of manner with a pleasing personality. Although she was oppressed with anxiety for the safety of France and the welfare of her relations, she was working hard to raise money and necessaries for the French Red Cross.

She had few fellow-workers and no organisation to help her, and both she and Monsieur Brasier de Thuy often wrote and toiled far into the night. She received with great cordiality the offer of a fully equipped surgical unit, comprised of women doctors and trained nurses. Surgeons were a godsend and English nurses an indescribable boon. No difficulties were raised; and the offer was transmitted to the headquarters of her Society in Paris. Within a week, a formal acceptance from Paris reached Dr. Garrett Anderson, accompanied by a request that the unit might be organised at once and be ready, if required, to start on the 1st of September.

There remained exactly twelve days of August in which to raise the funds required, find a staff and purchase the equipment and all the stores which would be needed.

The appeal for money was made privately and met with a prompt and generous response. Mrs. Garrett Anderson, M.D., Mrs. Granger and Sir Alan Anderson led the way with large donations. Miss S. A. Turle, Miss Janie Allan and other women interested in women’s work sent liberal help. Letters of encouragement and further subscriptions poured in, and within a fortnight the sum of £2000 was placed to the credit of the Women’s Hospital Corps, which was the name decided upon for the unit.

This amount was enough to purchase the equipment, defray the preliminary expenses and leave a working balance in hand.

At that time the authorities in Paris had not decided where the Corps was to be located; it was thought that it might be established in a château near Belfort, where it would have to be self-dependent; and this possibility had to be taken into account when making purchases. Comprehensive lists of drugs, stores and hospital equipment were drawn up with a view to all emergencies. Many kinds of serum were included, with cases of invalid foods and chloroform, chests of tea, clothing, blankets, camp bedsteads, enamel ware and a full set of surgical instruments. Altogether, £1000 was spent on the equipment, which afterwards proved to be adequate for the needs of both the hospitals managed by the Corps.

Offers of service were gladly accepted from Dr. Gertrude Gazdar, Dr. Hazel Cuthbert and Dr. Grace Judge. Many applications were considered from nurses and from girls anxious to go out as supernumeraries or orderlies; and the staff was rapidly completed. It was decided to include a few male nurses, and in order to find suitable men recourse was had to the St. John’s Ambulance Association, at St. John’s Gate, Clerkenwell.

In these early days every public office probably presented an air of chaos, and ‘The Gate’ was no exception. In the central hall a swarm of people circulated without ceasing through a maze of chairs and tables; loud crashes of falling furniture, due to the entanglement of umbrellas and draperies, punctuated the incessant conversations. Every one was friendly, anxious to help and willing to work, but the confusion and noise of voices had a bewildering effect.

ORDERLY HODGSON IN THE UNIFORM OF THE WOMEN’S HOSPITAL CORPS

([Page 10])

(Photo, Stuart)

A WARD IN THE HÔTEL CLARIDGE

([Page 11])

In the smaller rooms some kind of departmental order was growing. With real kindness, the authorities gave advice and assistance, and one of the officials put the doctors into touch with two first-class male nurses, who proved most valuable assistants.

The place was full of rumours and of special information brought over by its Commissioners about military matters and German atrocities. All the head officials appeared to have different opinions and to come to different decisions, and one old gentleman, who held a high office, kept saying, ‘Kitchener will never let you cross, you know. Does Kitchener know you are going? He won’t let any one cross.’

‘The Gate’ distrusted the French Red Cross, and was quite sure that if anything was left for it to do it would be muddled; and the French Red Cross could not understand why ‘The Gate’ should offer to arrange about passports and baggage, since it was quite able to do all that itself. As a matter of fact, the arrangements for the transport of baggage were made, and most excellently made, by Monsieur Brasier de Thuy.

The packing was done by Messrs. John Barker & Co., of Kensington, a firm which also supplied a great part of the equipment. When the bales and boxes were complete, they were piled in the street outside their premises and made an imposing array. There were more than a hundred packages—many large Red Cross cases with padlocks, all labelled and painted with ‘Croix Rouge Française’ and ‘Women’s Hospital Corps,’ with lists of their contents noted on them and the address. Piled on the top of them were enormous bales of wool and blankets, pillows and clothing. The display attracted crowds of interested spectators as it lay under the awnings, and members of the Corps who saw it thrilled with anticipation and eagerness.

The uniform of the Corps had been chosen carefully. It consisted of a short skirt with a loose, well-buttoned-up tunic, and was made of covert coating of a greenish-grey colour. The material was light and durable, and stood wear and weather well. The medical officers had red shoulder straps with the Corps initials, ‘W.H.C.,’ worked on them in white, and the orderlies had white collars and shoulder straps with red letters. The white was not serviceable, and at a later date blue was substituted for it. Small cloth hats with veils and overcoats to match made a very comfortable and useful outfit.

That uniform was a passport which admitted the women who wore it to offices, bureaus, stations, canteens, wherever their work took them. It was equally correct in hospitals, in ambulances, in the streets of Paris and among troops. In some magic way it opened doors and hearts and pockets.

The Parisians murmured, ‘C’est chic, ça!’

The senior British officer asked, ‘Who designed your uniform?’

And the subaltern said, ‘Where did you get that jolly kit?’

Feminine, graceful, business-like, it was invaluable as an introduction to the character of the Corps.

Before leaving England, it was necessary to appoint a representative in London to receive gifts and to send over these and any extra things which might be wanted. Dr. Louisa Woodcock undertook this work, and found that it was no sinecure. For as soon as the work of the hospital in Paris became known at home, her correspondence increased by leaps and bounds and her house was crowded with sacks and parcels coming from all parts of the country.

Her interest in the formation of the unit was only equalled by that of Mrs. Garrett Anderson, the pioneer woman doctor, who, though eighty years of age, came up to London in order that she might hear all the details at first hand.

‘If you go,’ she said, ‘and if you succeed, you will put your cause forward a hundred years.’

CHAPTER II
ARRIVAL IN PARIS

The authorities in Paris did not require the unit to travel until later than the date originally suggested. It was September before they decided that it should be located in Paris and should open a hospital in the Hôtel Claridge, which had been placed at the disposal of the French Red Cross.

On Tuesday the 14th of September 1914 the Women’s Hospital Corps left Victoria for Paris. The heavy baggage had gone the day before, and was to be forwarded on the boat by which the party would travel. Empty trucks were to await it on the other side, and these were to be attached to the Paris train.

A personal friend among the traffic managers reserved a saloon for the travellers and procured them the great privilege of having friends on the platform to see them off. This was immensely appreciated, and many well-wishers gathered round them, offering greetings and tokens of affection in the form of flowers and fruits. Madame Brasier de Thuy and her husband, accompanied by several French ladies, were there. Mrs. Granger came with her arms full of grapes. Many women doctors, well-known suffragists, journalists and photographers joined the little crowd. Relatives brought roses and chocolates, and ladies with sons in France asked that letters and parcels might be conveyed to them.

A little apart, Mrs. Garrett Anderson, a dignified figure, old and rather bent, stood quietly observing the bustle and handshaking. One wondered of what she was thinking as she contemplated this development of the work she had begun. Her eyes were tender and wistful as she watched her daughter in uniform directing the party and calling the roll of the Corps. A friend beside her said:

‘Are you not proud, Mrs. Anderson?’

The light of battle—of old battles fought long ago—came into her face as she raised her head and surveyed the scene.

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Twenty years younger, I would have taken them myself.’

* * * * *

Late that afternoon the boat steamed into Dieppe, past the long low lines of the Quay, outlined by silent, watching people. As the women in uniform followed one by one down the gangway, the groups of sailors and porters gazed at them with grave attention. The English Consul had come to meet them, and wished that they were staying in Dieppe; for the hospitals were crowded with wounded and there were not enough helpers. The agent, M. Guérin, was there too, with his complement of empty trucks for the baggage, which, it now transpired, had not been put on the boat. The perjured purser, who had given assurances that all was well, stood ashamed; but M. Guérin, claiming him as a great friend of his son, demanded that he should use his best endeavours to expedite the missing luggage. Leaving them to arrange the matter between them, the women followed the Consul to the Douane.

A picturesque old French lady in a chenille cap asked no questions but made marks with a stubby bit of chalk on the hand-baggage; an excitable British Red Cross lady explained that nothing was any good here. ‘The red tape was awful—all the arrangements had broken down. The sepsis was appalling. The town was full of Germans whose legs and arms had been cut off and who were being sent to Havre next day like that!!’

And so talking the party came to the station, and travelling like soldiers, ‘sans billets,’ on account of their uniform, they were hustled into the train, which jolted slowly away.

The last part of the journey was very slow, and Paris was not reached till ten o’clock at night. From Pontoise onwards the train was held up at every little station, and gentlemen in blue blouses came to the carriage windows asking with immense interest who the travellers were and where they were going, or volunteering amazing information on military matters, and as it grew dark indicating lights which they called patrolling aeroplanes or signals or searchlights.

The Gare du Nord was dimly lit and there were no porters on the platform, but a representative of the French Red Cross met the train with the information that rooms were reserved in the Station Hotel. He watched with silent astonishment while Orderly Campbell and Orderly Hodgson commandeered a large luggage trolley and, having loaded it with all the bags and wraps, proceeded to trundle it out of the station. Then drawing a deep breath, he led the way through the darkness to the hotel. The station entrance to it was locked; the lifts were not working; the cuisinier was mobilised. There could be no supper. Impossible even to make a chocolat. But there were bedrooms on the third floor, and the ladies might go up and take their choice. So, shouldering the bags, they mounted the half-lit staircase, found a whole corridor of rooms at their disposal, and settled down cheerfully to picnic out of the still well-stocked luncheon baskets.

The following morning the President of the French Red Cross, Madame Pérouse, called at the Hôtel to discuss matters with Dr. Louisa Garrett Anderson and Dr. Flora Murray. She was a charming old lady, gentle and unaccustomed to office work. She was confused by the multiple claims made upon her, and oppressed by the burden of work, which was far beyond her strength and her powers.

Speaking no language but her own, without a stenographer or typewriter, and supported by officials who were all advanced in years, her difficulties must have been very great, and no one could blame her if she was not entirely successful. There was friction to contend with between the three branches of the Red Cross, which caused overlapping instead of co-ordination of effort; and each and every section had obstruction to meet from the Army Medical Department, the military authorities and the Military Governor of Paris. Thus, if the Society seemed slow in its decisions and uncertain in its action, there were extenuating circumstances; and the number of old people at the head of affairs could not fail to be a drawback. For has it not been written: ‘Men of age object too much, consult too long, adventure too little, repent too soon, and seldom drive business home to the full period’?

Madame Pérouse was accompanied by an English doctor, who was attached to another voluntary hospital. He gave a lurid account of the French Army, its hospitals and the state of its wounded as he saw them, including in his remarks advice against trusting the French Red Cross or anything else that was French. While he talked to Dr. Garrett Anderson, Dr. Murray came to an understanding with Madame Pérouse. Realising that the old lady really did not know what she wanted them to do and had no instructions to give, she proposed that they should go with her to the Hôtel Claridge and inform themselves as to the possibilities of that building.

The Hôtel Claridge was a large modern caravanserai on the Champs Élysées. As the builders had only just completed their work, the walls were hardly dry, and the floors were covered with débris. The whitening had not been cleaned off the windows, and men were still working at the electric light and in the boiler house. On the ground floor a series of large salons and dining-rooms opened out of one another. They had been designed so that no ray of sunlight ever entered them! But they were structurally capable of making good wards for a hundred patients. Luxurious and comfortably furnished bedrooms on the first floor offered accommodation for the staff, and large stores of new beds and expensive blankets were available. The building was intersected by long gloomy corridors, each one laid with an elaborate tesselated pavement and decorated with enormous mirrors. The chauffage had not yet been persuaded to act, and the atmosphere was cold and damp; but there were many conveniences in the shape of gas ovens and sinks as well as service-rooms—a fact which made the Hôtel a suitable place for a hospital.

The French Red Cross had already accepted the services of a Red Cross commandant and a small party of English nurses, and had quartered them in the Hôtel. Madame Pérouse proposed to attach them to the staff of the Women’s Hospital Corps and to let them work under the direction of the doctors. In the kitchen a chef had been installed, with some Belgian women to assist him, and the rest of the establishment included M. Perrin, the engineer, and M. André, the concierge, with his wife and family.

It was obvious that the Unit ought to move in at once and begin to get the wards into order. Meanwhile, there were certain formalities to be observed. The members of the staff had to be registered with the police; cards of identity had to be issued for each one of them; photographs were needed to complete these; and arm brassards with cryptic figures must be procured from the offices of the French Red Cross in the rue de Thann.

The Red Cross offices were the scene of great activity. In one large room numbers of ladies were engaged in writing examination papers which would qualify them as nurses after an intensive fifteen days’ course of study. They were ‘très bien mises,’ and the first lecture of the course gave careful instructions for the care of the hands and complexion, and included recipes for the preparation of pommades and other cosmetics! In an adjacent room ladies in white robes were winding bandages; and an office upstairs was tenanted by two gentlemen who occupied the position of directeurs.

The senior of these two was M. le Docteur M——, a man of a highly irritable nature which made him a terror to the Red Cross ladies. ‘Pour rien du tout,’ they whispered, his long grey hair would stand on end, his pendulous cheeks quiver and his corpulent person be convulsed; then, with threatening finger and bitter gibes, he would drive them from his presence. His method of conducting affairs was unintelligible to British people; and seeing how obstructive and perverse he was, it was a marvel that his staff accomplished anything. Dr. Garrett Anderson and Dr. Flora Murray, having stated their requirements to a secretary, were asked to sit down while he made out some papers for them, and from two chairs against the wall they had leisure to make their observations. With deep interest they heard a senior clerk try to obtain a decision from M. le Docteur and his white-haired, sleepy colleague as to the situation of ‘L’Hôpital Base des Alliés.’ Both directors were deaf, and he had to read the letter in question in a loud voice. The letter was ten days old, and the clerk urged this as a reason for deciding that afternoon.

‘Il y a déjà dix jours,’ he pleaded.

‘Et s’il y avait vingt jours!’ roared M. le Docteur; and suddenly subsided as he became aware of the interested spectators against the wall.

The clerk tried another line, produced a map and made further suggestions; but the older gentleman was tired of the matter. He turned his back on his colleague—still growling over the map—and concentrated his attention upon ‘ces dames anglaises.’

The papers being ready, the secretary directed them to another office where brassards might be obtained. Here a lady, with great volubility and in most rapid French, explained her intricate reasons for not giving them any! And as they did not much mind whether they had them or not, they bade her a friendly farewell and left the premises. Just outside they met M. Falcouz and laid the foundation of a pleasant little friendship. With his white hair ‘en brosse’ and his little tufted beard, he presented a sufficiently un-English and interesting appearance. It was his habit always to dress in black and to wear a black satin tie and gloves two sizes too large for him. He was the Red Cross Treasurer, and as beseemed his office, he beamed on the doctors and fell to discussing money matters.

‘Have you money? How have you raised it?’ he asked.

On hearing how the money had been found, he exclaimed:

‘Épatant.’

And then added:

‘In France it would not be possible, mesdames. Nobody would be trusted with such a sum!’

CHAPTER III
THE HOSPITAL IN THE HÔTEL CLARIDGE IS OPENED

The second morning in Paris found the Corps busily engaged at the Hôtel Claridge. There was a great deal of cleaning to do and many arrangements to make before the place would be habitable. In the centre of the building was a handsome paved hall with a many-coloured marble table and enormous glass chandeliers. Out of this four good-sized salons opened, and it was in these that wards were first arranged.

The salons were only divided from one another by plate glass; and some degree of privacy is necessary for a ward. Doctors and nurses alike put on aprons and rolled up their sleeves, and while some cleaned the whitening off the glass, the others pasted the lower part over with white paper. With help from the Belgian refugees, who were lodged on the seventh story, the floors were cleaned and polished, beds were put up and order began to be evolved.

The ladies’ cloakroom, with its pavement, its hot-water supply and basins, was converted into the operating theatre. A gas steriliser and a powerful electric light were fixed in it. Though small, it proved serviceable and well equipped.

The cleaning was sufficiently advanced to allow of the Corps moving into its quarters on the first floor next day, and they spent the morning carrying bedding and furniture down to the wards. These at once began to have a professional look, and by concentrating on two wards they were successful in getting fifty beds prepared for patients by the evening.

The work of preparation was at its height when a doctor from the American hospital walked in. Upon the outbreak of the war, the American colony in Paris had organised their fine hospital in the Lycée at Neuilly and had established a fleet of ambulances. Their ambulances enabled them to carry hundreds of men from the fighting line in to Paris. Both French and British wounded were in terrible straits; for there was no organised motor transport service, and the Armies depended on the railways for the removal of the sick and injured. The long delays and the conditions under which the men lay whilst waiting for removal were fatal, and the American service was the means of saving numbers of lives.

When trains were available the wounded were packed into them and despatched to distant places in the interior. As they passed Paris, those who were so severely wounded that they were unlikely to survive a long journey were left at the stations on the Circle Railway round the city. There they would lie on straw or sacks, waiting for friendly ambulances to come out and bring them in.

In those first weeks there was no system of communication between the hospitals and the stations; the French ambulances were small and bad, and the British had none available for Paris. The matter depended largely upon individual effort, and the ambulances of the American and other voluntary hospitals played a devoted and humanitarian part.

The doctor from Neuilly was in charge of the ambulance service. The American hospital was already very full of French and British, but, in response to a message which he had received, he was sending out his cars that day, and he hoped that there might be beds ready for some of the cases at ‘Claridge’s.’

‘How many can you take?’ he asked.

‘We can take twenty-four this afternoon and another twenty-six to-night,’ replied Dr. Murray, well knowing that the baggage was still at the station, and conscious of the expression on the faces of those who heard her.

‘Good! Will you take officers?’ he said.

‘Yes. We have a ward for officers,’ she answered, remembering for the first time that officers get wounded as well as men, and that no special pyjamas or cambric handkerchiefs had been included in the equipment!

‘Well, I shall bring officers,’ he said; ‘British ladies are the right people to look after British officers.’ And remarking that he only brought in severe cases, and that they would all need immediate operations, he left the stall to face the inadequacy of their preparations from the officer’s point of view.

‘At any rate, they’ll have lovely beds, if nothing else,’ Orderly Campbell remarked, with a reassuring laugh.

Fortunately, a notice had come from the Railway Company that morning to say that the baggage was at the station, and Orderly Hodgson had started early to retrieve it. She spent hours dealing with the intricate formalities required by the Company and finding transport for the baggage; but she stuck to it resolutely, and drove in triumph to the door with it a few minutes before the first ambulance full of wounded arrived. The stretchers and the packing cases were carried into the hall side by side, and while the nurses and surgeons cared for the patients, the orderlies unpacked the equipment.

As those first stretchers with their weary burdens were carried in, a thrill of pity and dismay ran through the women who saw them. The mud-stained khaki and the unshaven faces spoke to them no less than the wounded limbs and shattered nerves. Here, for the first time, they touched the wastage and the desolation of war. In every wounded man they saw some other woman’s husband or son, and the thought of those other women made a double claim on their energy and sympathy. The battered, inarticulate, suffering men who lay there needed service, and they braced themselves for the work before them.

Organisation developed automatically: nurses for night duty were sent to rest; the theatre sister began to sterilise; chloroform, instruments, drugs and dressings were produced and distributed.

Late in the afternoon a message from the Chief Surgeon was brought from the wards:

‘Dr. Anderson wishes to know if the theatre is ready and if she can operate to-night.’

‘It is ready now,’ was the answer.

And the surgeons operated till a late hour that night.

The hospital was a smooth-running concern by the end of the week. Nurses and patients had settled down in the wards; work in the operating theatre was going well; and though it was far from perfect in all its details, the comfort of the officers and men was assured, and their contentment and satisfaction with their surroundings were very pleasant to see.

CHAPTER IV
FIRST DAYS IN PARIS

The streets of Paris were strangely altered and unfamiliar, with closed shops and whole blocks of houses empty and shuttered. The Government was at Bordeaux, and the Louvre and all places of amusement were shut. Only the churches were crowded, and from their dark interiors the side altars shone out, brilliantly lighted and surrounded by women and children on their knees. Day by day they trooped past the altars, lighting the candles and offering their prayers; and day by day the casualty lists grew longer and the number of crêpe veils in the streets increased.

Life was not easy for the women of Paris, but they bore themselves with great dignity and courage. Their attitude was calm and reticent; they took over men’s posts in the shops and work-rooms, or on the trams and railways, as a matter of course, and carried out their duties with quiet efficiency.

The uniform of the Women’s Hospital Corps soon became known, and secured a cordial reception for its members in the bureaux and offices which they had to visit, as well as on the boulevards. Strangers would offer them gifts of socks and mittens. Old ladies, with tears running down their cheeks, would lift their outer skirts and rummage in the poche intérieur to bestow a few francs with a blessing upon them. An Englishman, choking with emotion, put two sovereigns into a doctor’s hand as she passed him on the stairs of the Hôtel. Shopkeepers asked about ‘les blessés’ and sent presents of sweets and biscuits. The greengrocer added an extra cauliflower to the purchase! Flower-women ran after them and pressed bunches of roses into their hands.

At the entrance of the Hôtel when ambulances were unloading, elderly men in silk hats and black kid gloves would crowd round and offer to carry the stretchers, or would follow the bearers inside, with the kit—often a very dirty kit—in their arms. The sight of the suffering moved them so that they turned aside and wept. They brought violets and roses and cigarettes for the men. They stood outside the doors to listen to them singing, and they wrung the hands of the doctors silently and went out. The people were deeply moved, but not cast down. They had settled down to war, and even then they were confident of victory, since the English were with them.

The cordiality of the people, the general sympathy and the inspiration of a common cause, combined with the beauty of Paris and the charm of the autumn weather to make these days a wonderful memory.

* * * * *

The organisation of the hospital proceeded rapidly, and the amount of heavy surgery and acute sepsis which came in taxed the energy and resources of the surgical staff. Dr. Garrett Anderson acted as chief surgeon and Dr. Gazdar took charge of the officers’ ward. Other workers fell into their places and a sort of routine was gradually evolved. The duties of administrator, or Médecin-en-Chef, fell to Dr. Flora Murray, and when she was not issuing stores or counting linen, she would be receiving the countless visitors who came to see the wards.

The French Red Cross wished the hospital to have a directeur, and for this purpose they attached to it M. Aubry, a French gentleman who was at leisure during the closure of the stock exchange. He spoke French only, and his duties as director were purely nominal. He was considerate and genial, and the staff became very fond of him. He had a son in the Dragoons of whom he was immensely proud; and the arrival of a grandson, or petit dragon, was a great social event in which every one shared. He seemed to spend several hours a day chatting with any one who had time to listen to him, and occasionally he joined the mess for tea. He helped the work of the hospital greatly by bringing in one of his clerks, M. Gohin, to take charge of the registers and returns.

The French Army required an immense number of returns to be made. These had to be rendered in the form of a nominal roll, on the fifth day, the tenth day, and the twenty-fifth day of each man’s stay in hospital. As the men did not all come in on the same day, the return of the yellow or blue or white cards—as the case might be—was never-ending. The British made it simpler, for one nominal roll went every week to the War Office and a copy of it to the R.A.M.C. authorities in Paris.

M. Gohin was unfit for military service, but he certainly made good by the skill with which he managed a very complicated and tiresome piece of clerical work.

Sundry other youthful clerks also came from M. Aubry’s office to assist in the wards, and his concierge, M. Roget, took the hospital under his wing. M. Roget had been with M. Aubry for a great many years, and he loved and admired him dearly. His affection frequently prompted him to discuss the appearance and ways of his master when he was ‘en colère.’ At such times he was said to resemble a wild beast, and no one could calm him except Roget. Every morning, in a white pinafore, with a little watering-pot in his hand, M. Roget would perambulate the central hall, covering the pavement with moist curls and twists. Then he would throw a little sawdust about and leave it for some one else to sweep. He was a great man for rumours, and when he was not giving details of his anatomy and his pathological condition, he would have mysterious tales of a hundred trains that had gone from Paris to the Front to bring in German prisoners; of spies and plots within the walls of Paris; or of great military events which were to end the war in six weeks.

* * * * *

The management of the Hôtel itself was in the hands of M. Casanova, who acted as directeur under the Company which had built and owned it. He was short and stout, with a flowing black beard, and soft, well-manicured little hands, very courteous and agreeable, prolific of promises, which for some reason never seemed to be fulfilled. He was moved to the very depths of his self-indulgent soul by the war and the proximity of suffering and wounded men. He would descend at night in his pyjamas if he heard a convoy coming in, and penetrate to the wards to see what was going on, and to offer help. Though not in the best of health, he would fetch hot water or lift weights. He would reach out a trembling hand to hold things, while he wiped his eyes with the other. His sympathy and distress, combined with a desire to kiss the busy hands of the doctors, made him a touching figure.

In his train were always strange ladies, wrapped in blankets, who followed him and peeped round the doors. His rooms were luxurious. His menu was spécial. But he roused himself to serve and to help with all sincerity. Unfortunately, his relations with M. Aubry became somewhat strained at a later stage, for he had a passionate temperament. There were wont to be terrible domestic uproars below stairs. M. Casanova’s method of administering justice was to declare that some one was coupable of breaking into the wine-cellars, eating too much butter or causing the cheese to disappear. He accused everybody, and everybody asserted his innocence; so he said they must draw lots as to which of them must be chassés. The lot fell on four Belgian girls who hung about the place and did services; at this the rest of the staff was up in arms, and M. Perrin, the engineer, said, if they were chassés, he also would be chassé; and in a perfect storm of rage and recrimination it was decided that every one was to be chassés. M. Perrin disappeared. The apparatus for the supply of hot water and heating ran down in his absence, and the Belgian girls wailed that they were being cast upon the streets.

The Médecin-en-Chef waited upon M. Casanova in the interest of the girls. He presented her with twelve cakes of soap and some scent:

‘As a testimony of my admiration for your courage and nobility,’ he said.

And, kissing her hand, he added:

‘The members of l’équipe under your distinguished direction, madame, are models of virtue and devotion; but there are others of whom one can say nothing but evil.’

His mood, however, softened, and in the morning it was understood that no one was to leave, and, to the relief of all concerned, M. Perrin returned and resumed his duties.

The officials of the French Red Cross were delighted with the rapid way in which the hospital had got to work, and took a great interest in all that was being done there. Not infrequently Madame Pérouse, accompanied by M. Falcouz, would arrive to pay a visit at eight o’clock in the morning. The first greetings over, she would suggest going to greet the officers—‘prendre de leurs nouvelles,’ so she put it. At that hour the ward work was in full swing, and any one who has had experience of nurses knows how the Sister feels when visitors arrive before she is ready. British officers, too, prefer to have time to breakfast and shave before being inspected. But the dear old people were oblivious of their embarrassment and entered the ward with genial ‘Bonjours.’ They asked the major how he was and he replied, with grave courtesy, ‘Merci, madame; merci, monsieur.’ They asked the others one by one if they spoke French, and they replied severally, ‘Pas beaucoup,’ or ‘Un petit peu.’ And so, bowing and gracious, they passed on their tour of inspection.

In those days very few officers seemed able to speak French, and intercourse with their French brothers-at-arms in neighbouring beds was inconveniently restricted. Referring to the language, one of them said, ‘The insuperable difficulty of this campaign is the language—it’s unspeakable!’ And some of the doctors echoed his opinion heartily.

Left alone on duty one night, a surgeon wished to talk to a wounded French officer and was obliged to ask for the assistance as interpreter of a nurse who had a reputation as a linguist.

‘Ask him,’ said the surgeon, ‘if he has a pain in his stomach.’

The nurse bent over the bed and put the question:

‘Monsieur, avez-vous du pain dans l’estomac?’

The poor man had been shot through the body and was on a water diet. He indignantly repudiated the suggestion, assuring her that he had only taken what the surgeon had ordered for him and that under no circumstances would he do otherwise.

Both French and British officers were acutely shocked by the horrors through which they had passed, and most of them suffered from a painful reaction when the strain was relaxed. At first they could not rest in hospital, and their nights were haunted by terrible memories and anxious thoughts. One of them never told what he had seen, but night after night he covered his face with his uninjured hand and moaned:

‘The children. Oh! the children!’

He had left children of his own at home; and the sufferings of the little Belgians gave him no rest.

Older men were harassed and worn by anxiety, and distressed by the difficulty and precarious position of the allied Armies. The younger ones spoke of how ‘the British were hanging on with their eyelids’; or how the French were supposed to be ‘making a flank attack and were lost.’ Some in their depression feared defeat; others broke down with exhaustion and reaction.

To all of them, officers and men alike, hospital was a haven of peace and security. It was heavenly to lie in clean beds, to be cared for by Englishwomen, to be rid of regimental discipline and for the moment of responsibility too. The severity of their wounds, the operations, the pain were minor matters; for the time being they had found comfort and rest. Probably none of them had been in contact with women doctors before; but that did not make any difference. They trusted the women as they would have trusted men—passing the bullets which had been extracted from their persons from bed to bed and pronouncing the surgeon to be ‘wonderfully clever!’ The more convalescent patients visited the men who had undergone serious operations in the wards and cheered them with reminders that they were not ‘in the hands of the R.A.M.C.’ Their enthusiasm for the hospital was delightful and encouraging. When they got well and went away, it was like seeing boys go back to school.

The condition of the men was, if possible, worse than that of the officers. They had lain in queer wayside stations, waiting for trains, or on straw in stables and churches, hoping for transport. At Villeneuve, on the Paris railway circle, there was a goods shed with straw on the ground, in which officers lay at one end and men at the other. An R.A.M.C. doctor and a few men did what they could for them, and when the ambulances came out from Paris, the worst were picked out; but, for the rest, the weary waiting for a train continued. At Creil, forty miles from Paris, the accommodation was an open shed filled with straw. French and British lay huddled in groups, some covered by blankets, others by dirty sacks. A doctor of the French Army, very dapper in his red and blue plush cap, sorted them into trains, when any trains came. Several French soldiers stirred a mess of potage with a dirty stick. But of dressings or nursing there was no sign. Patiently and uncomplainingly these sufferers waited, often fifteen, twenty-four or more hours, while the rain poured down on the roof of their shed, and the wind swept drearily through the station.

At last, septic and wasted by fever, they were jolted by the ambulances over the ill-paved roads to Paris and hospital. Lieut. Lowe, whose only chance lay in getting into hospital without further delay, was brought down from Compiègne on a stretcher laid across an ordinary motor-car and held in position by an American doctor and a man with one hand. His thigh was badly fractured and very imperfectly supported; but with the help of morphia he endured the journey. From the first there was little hope of his recovery, but he lingered for some weeks, during which his sister was able to be with him, lavishing care and tenderness upon him to their mutual comfort.

The men were dirty and half-fed; many had not had a change of clothes or socks since they left England; but they were absolutely uncomplaining and began at once to appreciate their hospital surroundings. Women doctors were a novelty which served to enhance the importance and the grandeur of the gilded and marble halls in which they found themselves. ‘The doctors is ladies,’ they wrote in their letters home; and to the visitor who asked: ‘Is it really true that you have no men doctors here?’ the reply was: ‘And what will we be wanting men doctors for, sir?’

They found comfort in the presence of women and repose in the care lavished upon them, and with the philosophy of the soldier they let it rest there.

CHAPTER V
A VISIT TO BRAISNE, AND AN INSPECTION

Good supplies of clothing and hospital comforts found their way to ‘Claridge’s’ from the many work-parties which had been started in England. Socks and gloves came in sacks from Oban, Edinburgh and Aberdeen; pillow-cases and shirts from Annan; belts and bandages from Stoke; parcels were sent from Cardiff and Bristol; and hot-water bottles, bed socks and many other welcome gifts arrived from other places. The Corps had plenty of socks and shirts to send to the outlying stations through which troops passed, or to the places where collections of wounded were known to be lying. French soldiers, too, learned that there were socks to be had, and many of them came to the Hôtel to ask for a pair. They emphasised their need by drawing rubbed and bruised feet, bound in rags, from their army boots, lamenting that the smallness of their pay would not run to socks. With a nice pair, knitted by some one in Scotland, and a little box of ointment they went out beaming.

Two Paris friends, Mlle Block and Miss Grey, gave the hospital very real assistance by providing two ambulances and placing them at the disposal of the medical staff. They were both of them splendid drivers, and they did many a hard day’s work, and thought no pains too great, no journey too long, that gave some wounded man a chance of recovery.

When the R.A.M.C. officer at Braisne telephoned to ask for ‘shirts and anything else you can send,’ a car with all sorts of necessary articles was got ready. A bundle of shirts, a sack of socks, a case of invalid foods and a large bag of dressings were piled in. All the English papers which could be collected and a supply of Woodbines and some books were added, for distribution to the British troops who were always found on the roads or resting in the villages; and the whole was despatched in the care of the Chief Surgeon early one morning in September.

The country was beautiful in the autumn sunlight. It looked peaceful too, as her car followed the long straight roads. But there were shallow trenches by the roadside and barricades, with sentries at intervals, which spoke of war. English soldiers were met, who cheerfully relieved her of the papers and books, and appreciated the Woodbines and the matches; or asked for news from home, and gave her letters to post in Paris. At every village the permis and the contents of the car were examined, and when Paris was left behind, troops were seen moving in large numbers. Wherever the car stopped, villagers crowded round it, eager to tell ‘l’Anglaise’ how the ‘Uhlans’ had come so far: how they had fired the houses and emptied the cellars, and how they had been driven out, and how terrible war was. The smoke of the German guns firing on Soissons was visible as the driver turned off towards Braisne.

The little town, which looked destitute and untidy, lay in a hollow with bare hills all round it, and Dr. Garrett Anderson, as she drove down the main street, could tell by the stench in which buildings the wounded lay. She was met by the R.A.M.C. officer, who asked her to come to headquarters, and took her to a dilapidated little house in which the officers had their mess. She followed her guide through the house into a small backyard where three officers were sitting round a wooden table eating bread and cheese. The colonel said he had not much time, but he would like her to sit down and talk to him while he ate. And a wooden stool was found for her. The air of the place was close and fetid, the flies buzzed over the food, and the men looked careworn and lined. The squalor and discomfort were oppressive, and she was glad when the meal was finished and she could go out into the street with the R.A.M.C. officer, who stayed closely by her. The car was unloaded, and when he saw what she had brought his voice shook as he thanked her. He was young, and the strain of his present life and the contact with so much suffering which he had little power to allay was becoming almost more than he could bear. It was obvious that he felt it a great relief to turn to the doctor from Claridge’s for sympathy and comfort.

‘Come and see the men,’ he said.

They walked together to the church. The west door was open. The smell of sepsis and foul wounds met them as they entered the graveyard. Near the door some R.A.M.C. orderlies were tending a cooker, and on a bench a cheese stood among some long loaves and a few tins of Maconochie’s ration. Packets of lint and cotton-wool were scattered on the ground, and some mugs and ration tins were piled in the porch. The floor of the church was covered with wounded men in ragged khaki. They lay upon straw close together. Some of them were moaning quietly; others muttered in their delirium. Some were dying as the doctors stood near, and more than one had entered into rest. The smell, the dirt and the misery of it all was overwhelming. It was heartrending, too, to think of the women to whom these men belonged. In the midst of such squalor and wretchedness, an Army Sister, radiant in scarlet and white, presented a strange contrast.

When ambulances could be spared, they came down in the evening and carried as many wounded as they could to a station—where the men waited sometimes for days for a train. In this way they were transported long distances, even to St. Nazaire on their way to England. Such suffering! Such loss of life! And yet within sixty miles lay Paris with thirty thousand empty beds, but with no organised transport.

Dr. Garrett Anderson had two places in her car, and she offered to take back with her two wounded men who could sit up. Out of the medley the orderlies produced two. They sat them on a bench and washed their faces with a piece of lint wrung out of the copper. They put their caps on their heads, gave them a drink of tea and intimated that they were ready. Dr. Anderson looked at them, and it seemed to her that one of them was too ill for the long drive in an open car; but when he saw that she was hesitating, the tears came into his eyes, and he caught her arm, pleading:

‘Do take me, lady. Don’t leave me behind.’

So he had to be taken. She fortified them both with a dose of morphia and some brandy diluted with water from the copper; then they were helped into the car and driven away.

The memory of the men she had left in that putrid atmosphere and under such comfortless conditions was never to be forgotten.

* * * * *

No doubt some report of circumstances like these reached the authorities in England. Towards the end of September, the War Office sent over a representative to examine into existing conditions, and to inspect and report on the auxiliary hospitals, of which Claridge’s Hôtel was one. The ‘Milord’ selected for this mission made a handsome, martial figure as he strode through the streets of Paris. He was resplendent in khaki and brass hat, and a beautiful order hung round his neck. Rumour said he was the Duke of Connaught or Lord French or Sir Frederick Treves or Mr. Bottomley! But whoever he was, his appearance commanded great respect. He was saluted on all sides, and men stepped from the pavement to let him take his noble way.

The first hospital which he visited was Claridge’s. He was an imposing figure as he entered the central hall. His spurs rang on the pavement and his steps re-echoed in its vastness. He fixed a suspicious blue eye on the senior medical officers who went to meet him, and interrogated them sternly:

‘Who is in charge of this place?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘What have you got behind there?’ pointing at the glass partition rendered opaque by white paper.

‘A French hospital! How can it be a French hospital? You’re British.’

‘All women! No proper surgeons?’

‘Have you British soldiers here? Any officers?’

‘What are you doing with them?’

‘Where do they go when they leave you?’

‘Versailles! Who told you to send them to Versailles?’

‘Colonel Smith! How do you know about Colonel Smith?’

Curt, sharp questions that met with curt, sharp answers.

At this moment Madame Pérouse, who had been notified of his visit, arrived. He greeted her with the most delightful courtesy, and withdrawing with her to a little distance, asked if these women were really practical surgeons and if it were possible that the soldiers tolerated such an arrangement.

The poor old lady was rather flustered, but she declared that this was her ‘meilleure installation’ and that the organisation was ‘parfaite.’ He was only half-convinced by the assurances which she gave him, but his manner became more ordinary, and turning to Dr. Flora Murray and Dr. Garrett Anderson, he announced his intention of going through the wards. He was accompanied by a doctor, a civilian, whom he introduced as being ‘unconverted to women doctors.’ These pleasing preliminaries being concluded, he was conducted into the hospital.

It was the rest hour, when many of the patients were asleep, and an air of peace and comfort was over everything. Sisters moved softly whilst tending the more seriously ill, and those who were awake lay quietly reading and smoking. The handsome wards with their flowers and coloured blankets looked charming: for they were in perfect order, and there were no visitors so early in the day. The men when questioned spoke of their ‘good home’ with grateful appreciation. The officers expressed their satisfaction in cordial terms; and as ‘Milord’ went from ward to ward, he became silent and thoughtful. He finished his inspection without relaxing the severity of his aspect and took a graceful farewell of Madame Pérouse, leaving her much mystified as to the reason of his visit and his apparent displeasure.

‘Qu’est-ce qu’il avait?’ she inquired. ‘Il me semblait mécontent.’

Two days later the ‘unconverted doctor’ called again, bland and eager for conversation. He explained that he and his companion had been sent over by the War Office, and he talked of the intentions of ‘K’ with regard to the hospitals. He said they wanted to know whether the Women’s Hospital Corps could increase its beds, and whether it could move its hospital forward if needed. The astonished organisers were given to understand that if any auxiliary hospitals were moved forward, Claridge’s would be the first to be invited to move, and that the British Army would not hesitate to make use of it, supposing that the matter could be arranged with the French Red Cross. The ‘unconverted one’ still seemed, however, to be tormented with uncertainty as to the attitude of men when called upon to accept treatment from women doctors. In order to reassure him, he was pressed to visit the officers’ ward by himself. He went, and, to the amusement of all concerned, returned an agreeable and equable convert.

* * * * *

Early in October ‘Milord’ was in Paris and came to Claridge’s again, bringing with him Professor Alexis Thomson, of surgical fame and of Edinburgh University. He greeted the staff in the friendliest manner, and introducing the Professor to them, he explained that he had brought him because he believed that he would be as much impressed as he himself had been. He turned to the Professor and said:

‘It’s a curious thing, Thomson. They are all lady doctors here. Have you ever come across any?’

‘Yes, we begin with them at Edinburgh,’ the Professor replied. By which it was understood that, as a junior member of the Infirmary staff, it had been his duty to teach the women students.

In the wards he was shown two trephined patients who were doing well, and several compound fractures of thigh. He was interested to see that Dr. Anderson was using Steinman’s pins, and discussed that method of treatment with her. But what pleased him most, perhaps, was the reply of a Scotsman to his inquiries:

‘Aw, A’m fine. A tak’ ma meat an’ A get ma parritch in the morning. A’m fine.’

On many future occasions ‘Milord’ visited the hospitals of the Women’s Hospital Corps, always as a welcome and honoured guest, distinguished by his courtesy and his kindness.

* * * * *

The medical staff of Claridge’s had taken a good deal of trouble to find out the correct way of evacuating convalescent officers and men. There was no organisation in Paris at that time dealing with the transport to hospital or the discharge of British wounded, and it was only by chance that the Corps got into touch with the officer-in-charge of the Military Hospital, Versailles, and arranged to evacuate its patients through him. No proper instructions had been sent round to the auxiliary hospitals; and in many cases patients had been discharged from hospital and allowed to proceed direct to England. The War Office termed this ‘leakage,’ and took ‘the gravest view’ of such an irregular proceeding. Subsequently, an R.A.M.C. colonel was established in a neighbouring hotel to act as a central authority. The R.A.M.C. authorities always treated the Hôtel Claridge as though it were a British auxiliary; whereas, in reality, it was affiliated to the French Military Hospital St. Martin. Troops of both nations used the hospital as long as it was open, and there was no difficulty in serving both masters. Inspection by highly placed officials of both Armies was constant; and these visits were often a source of amusement to the medical staff.

Senior officers of the British Army seldom came to Paris without including the Women’s Hospital in their round of inspection. Especial care was taken to receive these gentlemen with ceremony. The Médecin-en-Chef always took them round herself, and whenever possible the Chief Surgeon assisted too. Under such an escort they could not fail to see everything that it was desired they should see; and often they saw it rose-coloured through the spectacles of the doctors themselves! By the end of the tour they were full of admiration for ‘a model hospital,’ as they used to phrase it, and almost always asked:

‘But why are you a French hospital? You ought to be working with us.’

‘The War Office would never look at women doctors,’ was the reply.

‘Oh, but that’s absurd!’ they exclaimed. ‘Look at the work you are doing. We must tell them about it.’

The hostesses passed the conversational ball from one to the other with skilful tact, intent on educating the officer in question in the work of medical women. They told him stories of the men and of their contentment, of surgical results, of the approval of high officials and of the work which other women doctors were doing during the war, until lifelong opinions began to give way.

‘There are men who are extraordinarily prejudiced about women,’ he would say. ‘You may not have met them. But for myself I think it is a pity the R.A.M.C. should be so pig-headed.’

* * * * *

‘Has Sloggett been to see you?’ asked one Brass-hat, referring to the Director of Medical Services for the British Armies in France.

‘No, he has not been here.’

‘I wonder at that. Great man with the ladies, Sloggett.’

‘I expect we are not his kind of ladies,’ rejoined the doctor drily, to the great appreciation of her hearer.

* * * * *

‘That’s a silly sort of badge you are wearing,’ observed one lieutenant-colonel; for both the senior doctors were suffragists and wore the purple, white and green badge of their union. As their motto was ‘Deeds not Words,’ they never attempted propaganda even with their colleagues, and it was rare indeed for an officer to raise the subject with them.

‘Oh! are you not in favour of Woman’s Suffrage?’ she asked.

‘No, I am not,’ he replied stoutly: ‘Horrid women!’

‘Somehow, I thought you would be.’

‘What made you think I would be?’ he asked, falling into the trap.

‘Well, you are not a stupid man, and you have been about the world a lot. You seemed to me to be unusually open-minded.’

‘Well, I won’t go so far as to say I am against it, you know,’ he conceded.

And then the argument started, amplified by facts and reasons which would have opened any mind, and which finally sent him off ‘almost persuaded.’

* * * * *

An R.A.M.C. general in a responsible position called one day when the senior medical officers were out. He was received by another member of the medical staff, and assuming the semi-jocular, semi-familiar attitude which professional women dislike so much in their colleagues, permitted himself to say:

‘I don’t know anything about lady doctors. Do you bite?’

It was almost the only time that this sort of thing was encountered. As a rule, there was no want of courtesy; and the doctors met with the kindest consideration on all sides.

A more trying type of visitor was a celebrated neurologist who, as he went round the wards, looked over the patients as though they were goods on a counter, and said in front of them:

‘I want to see some good head cases. Have you got anything shot through the brain? Any paralysis? No fractures of skull! Nothing good. You don’t seem to have much in. Deaf and dumb! Hm—yes, that’s not bad. But I only want to see head cases.’

To women who kept the human side very much to the front this attitude was unsympathetic. They much preferred the stout old chief from the Hôpital St. Martin, who hated to see the French soldiers without their képis on, even when in bed, and who puffed himself out and frowned and said that the hospital was ‘curieux,’ but sent cases in all the same.

Each day seemed to bring fresh visitors. Amongst them were the American Ambassador and his predecessor, French députés, English Members of Parliament, Miss Jane Harrison, Mrs. Pankhurst, Lord Robert Cecil, Lord Lytton, French ladies and gentlemen, English and American people resident in or passing through Paris and representatives of the Press of all the allied nations.

The minds of the French journalists were severely exercised on the subject of operations; for they could not believe that women were equal to such work. It was one thing to ‘soigner les blessés’ and another to operate. It was conceivable that women might succeed as nurses; but as surgeons! never! These gentlemen would go admiringly over the hospital, listening to what the doctors told them and talking to the French patients, and then, before leaving, they would beg for permission to ask one more question. It was always the same question:

‘Who is it really who operates?’

One editor, to whom the surgeons were indicated in person, contemplated with serious attention Dr. Cuthbert, who was young and pleasing, and then said to her:

‘Et vous, mademoiselle, vouz coupez aussi?’

‘Oui, je coupe,’ she replied slowly; for her facility with the knife was greater than with the French tongue.

‘Incroyable!’ he gasped.

For the most part, ‘épatant’ was the word they used, and the older journalists would listen silently and shake their heads incredulously.

The editor and assistant editor of Le Matin were so difficult to convince, that the Médecin-en-Chef offered to let them see the interior of the operating theatre, where work was going on. The assistant editor eagerly accepted the offer, and gazed spellbound through the screen which divided the anæsthetist’s room from the theatre. He became so absorbed that it was difficult to get him to come away before the surgeon discovered and resented his presence. Once outside, he flung his arms round his chief and in an ecstasy of delight cried:

‘Je l’ai vue—je l’ai vue—le couteau à la main!’

The reporters from the English papers wrote charming articles and paragraphs about the hospital, which were fruitful in rousing interest at home, and which brought subscriptions and many parcels to further the work.

CHAPTER VI
THE HOSPITAL AND ITS VISITORS

A large sign was stretched across the portico of the Hôtel:

Hôpital Anglo-Belge,
173 Auxiliaire.

On Sunday afternoon, when all the world walked in the Champs Élysées, it attracted a great deal of notice. And M. Aubry, smoking his cigarette on the doorstep, was gratified by many inquiries about ‘les blessés’ and the hospital.

With characteristic affability he bowed and made every one welcome, and sent a stream of unknown and curious people to see the wards. The visitors made him so many compliments upon his ‘installation si parfaite’ that the following Sunday found him again on the doorstep. Before long he was surrounded by a large and friendly crowd; for all who had seen the hospital the previous week had returned, bringing with them their families and friends to enjoy the ‘épatant’ spectacle! Even M. Aubry perceived that it was impracticable to admit a seething mass of two hundred or more people; and the staff promptly came to his support and closed the grille in the face of a protesting, gesticulating throng. After this incident, M. Aubry was persuaded to smoke elsewhere on Sundays.

The wards were visited regularly by many kind friends, who took infinite trouble to get to know the men personally and entertained them with talk or reading. The Rev. Mr. Blunt, of the British Embassy Church, came often, and his curate, Mr. W. Bennett, was a daily visitor. The latter visited the sick and talked football round the brazzeros whilst he roasted chestnuts and made toast. On Sundays he held a service, with the help of the Baroness Geysa de Braunecker and Mrs. Henley, who made music for the hospital every evening. Their sing-songs in the big central hall were delightful: English songs, Scotch songs, French songs, one after the other. ‘Tipperary’ was the favourite then, but ‘Thora’ had a great vogue, and a heavy bass would thrill the company with:

‘Speak! speak! speak to me, Thora!’

Most popular, too, was ‘The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond.’ And the ‘Marseillaise’ united everybody in one great roar.

A natural comedian among the patients, called Ginger by his comrades on account of the colour of his hair, mounted the platform readily to give his song: ‘With my little wiggle waggle in my hand.’ He received so many encores that he felt encouraged to make a speech. He began by saying how much he enjoyed the appreciation of the audience because he knew how well he deserved it; and then he wandered off into praise of his feats with the Army, ending up with kindly comments on the comfort of the hospital.

From the neighbouring church of S. Philippe du Roule came l’Abbé Charles Ablin to care for the Roman Catholics. M. l’Abbé was as tenderhearted and sympathetic as St. Francis himself. His spiritual face radiated gentleness and piety. His heart ached for the wounded and the dying. To go round a screen with him and see him raise his hands and murmur, ‘Ah! nos braves, nos braves!’ called up a vision of suffering, bleeding France. In every delirious or dying infantryman he saw his country, and he poured out his love and pity on each one. He lamented that he could not speak to the English, but he visited them all the same: ‘At least I can bless them,’ he said.

And day by day he passed among them, raising his hand and murmuring gentle words: so that they learned to love him, and missed him if he did not come. He had his own anxieties too: for a niece who lived with him had gone to a Belgian convent for a holiday in August, and he had had no news of her since the war broke out. In January he heard that she had reached England, and in a tremor of joy and relief he set out for London to bring her home.

Mr. Chester Fentress, the well-known tenor, was at that time living in Paris. When the work on which he was engaged at the American Embassy came to an end, he found that the American hospital had more workers than it needed, and fortunately he was able to attach himself to ‘Claridge’s.’ He came every day, ready to do anything, until he was regarded as an orderly of the Corps, and helping in the wards he suffered some things at the hands of the Sisters and patients.

‘There is a lamp there,’ one Sister was heard to say to him. ‘I cannot get it to burn. Would you have the sense now to put it right?’

Nor was his genius always recognised! An irritable patient, hearing him sing as he performed some menial task, exclaimed:

‘God help him, if he had to earn his living by his voice!’

Mr. Fentress’s knowledge of Paris and of the shops was of great use. He was an expert shopper and guide, and very kind about undertaking commissions. Later in the autumn he brought his friend, Mr. Hubert Henry Davies, the playwright, to the hospital, and made him so interested that when work pressed and helpers were few he also would don a white coat and enter the wards. It appealed to his sense of fun to fetch and carry for the Sisters, and the men were a constant interest and pleasure to him. He was dearly loved by everybody for his sensitive nature, his refinement, his humour and the way in which he threw himself into the hospital life.

Amongst the nurses was one elderly lady who had once nursed for Mrs. Garrett Anderson and who never failed to impress the fact on any doctor who ventured to comment on disorder or want of management in her ward. If reminded that the men should breakfast at 8 A.M. and not 9 A.M., she would reply:

‘Well, I have nursed for Mrs. Garrett Anderson, and she always said it was a mistake for patients to breakfast early.’

If it were pointed out that dinner was over in other wards and had not yet begun in hers, the answer was:

‘When I nursed for Mrs. Garrett Anderson, she always said that patients should not be pressed to eat till they were hungry.’

If asked to put an extra jacket on the man whose bed was near the passage way, the doctor was informed:

‘Mrs. Garrett Anderson did not approve of muffling up patients, and I nursed for her long enough to know.’

Or she would remark crushingly:

‘Well, doctors are not what they were when I nursed for Mrs. Garrett Anderson.’

The medical staff bore itself humbly, for it was already conscious of its inferiority to the great Pioneer; and try as they might, they never succeeded in learning when and where the nurse had had this great experience. Her quaint habits of mind and plainness of speech made her a joy to Mr. Davies. Meeting him one day on the Boulevards, she attacked him for not having emptied her dressing-bin that morning, and drew such a pathetic picture of her plight in consequence of his negligence that she moved herself to tears. Both he and Mr. Fentress were horrified to find themselves and the weeping nurse objects of public interest. They hastily pushed her into the nearest shop, hoping to propitiate her with coffee. But the shop turned out to be a bookshop, and she never read books. It took some time before a suitable offering could be found and friendly relations be re-established.

Nearly every afternoon saw Lady Robert Cecil in the wards. She was always a most welcome visitor. No one knew better than she did how to make the time pass pleasantly. Mrs. Kemp came too, with generous supplies of English bread, which the men regarded as a great treat after the French loaves. And at Christmas time Mrs. Pankhurst was in Paris, and her first visit made an equal sensation among French and British. They would gather round her while she talked to them of their homes and the education of their children, or encouraged them to consider how the heavy daily toil of their wives might be lightened.

‘I would rather have seen that lady than that Queen who came the other day,’ said one, referring to the visit of Queen Amelie of Portugal. And the roughest diamond, a bricklayer, not unaccustomed to beer drinking, delivered himself:

‘I do declare to you, lady, that this war has shown me that the “spear” of woman is something different to what I thought it had been.’

But very often there were more visitors than was desirable; men suffered from too much attention and grew weary of the repeated inquiries as to wounds and progress. The sick would gladly accept the suggestion to have screens put round them, and even then they were not always safe from intrusion. A lady in ‘a shepherd’s plaid frock’ upset a Cameron Highlander by commenting on his lemonade and grapes and calling him ‘one of the pampered ones.’

‘I would have ye know, mem,’ he retorted, ‘I’m a Brrritish soldier man and not a toy dog. What should I want to be pampered for more nor other men—and me a Cameron?’

And to his nurse afterwards he confided:

‘She fair maks me seeck.’

Two days later the same tactless lady again gave him cause for complaint.

‘She offered me a cake an’ I took it, for she was vera polite. An’ then she starts her sauce. “There’s naething the matter wi’ ye,” she says. An’ I says, “Ye’re right, there’s naething wrang wi’ me an’ so I’m no’ needing ony mair visitors.” An’ I never touched her cake; I’ll never touch her cake again—wi’ her shepherd’s tartan frock an’ a’,’ he growled wrathfully.

At a later stage the Cameron was met in a corridor, with his uninjured arm fondling a Belgian girl. The doctor who met him remarked upon his affectionate manner.

‘Och, Doctor, she’s got the toothache an’ I canna speak French.’ And in complete understanding they wandered undisturbed down the corridor.

It was difficult to make kindly-intentioned people understand that the wards must close at certain hours or that the men were really ill and must have quiet. Concert parties and people with views on recitation would arrive unexpectedly at a late hour, and fail to see any reason why performances could not be given during supper or with the sleeping draughts. A lady brought a French poet to recite his works to a ward which held principally Englishmen, at the time when general washing and blanket bathing was in full swing. The sight alone of the poet caused catastrophes among the basins; for his appearance was as advanced as his verse, and his long hair and bow tie and very full-skirted coat were more than startling to British eyes.

Other hospital units, waiting in Paris for a location, called to see round Claridge’s, and amongst such visitors were the Duchess of Westminster, Lady Sarah Wilson and Lady Dudley. The surgeons belonging to these units were restive at being kept waiting so long and inclined to be envious of the Women’s Hospital Corps, which had been running for some weeks; but their hospitals had a large personnel, for which quarters were not so easy to find as they had been for the women’s smaller unit.

In December a cordial welcome was extended to Dr. Elsie Inglis and Dr. Frances Ivens, who, with a Scottish Women’s Hospital, were on their way to L’Abbaye Royaumont, to open the hospital which became so famous. At an earlier date Dr. Elsie Inglis had written to Dr. Garrett Anderson to ask if there were a vacancy for a surgeon in the Women’s Hospital Corps; but the Unit had its full complement of surgeons; and her suggestion to join it was regretfully declined. In view of what she afterwards initiated and accomplished, this was not the matter of regret which it seemed at the time. It was splendid to have another women’s hospital established under the French Red Cross, and to hear also of the other Scottish units which were going farther afield.

* * * * *

The presence of their English colleagues was stimulating to the French medical women, and they did not fail to contrast their own position unfavourably with that accorded to their foreign sisters. Whereas English women were established in control of hospitals under the French Red Cross, the French women were serving in military hospitals as dressers, or as night orderly officers. They had no responsible work, and no professional position. One afternoon, Madame Paul Boyer brought a number of them to ‘Claridge’s,’ when a free discussion took place over the coffee cups.

Although the Paris University had opened its degree to women many years before the Universities of the United Kingdom, the number of women on the register fell far below the number in England. Educational facilities were equal in Paris for men and women, but after qualification the resident posts and staff appointments were still given to men, and women could only secure very subordinate work. They were not combined in any society, as the British women are. They had no association or council to promote their interests, and they had no hospitals of their own, staffed and supported by women, through which they might obtain responsible surgical work and experience.

When war broke out, their Government scorned their offer of service, and it was only as the result of the shortage of doctors that a few had obtained any footing at all in military hospitals. Dr. N.-K., a Russian lady of great ability and many years’ experience, was working as a dresser under a lieutenant of twenty-two years in the officers’ section at ‘St. Louis.’ Her work seemed to be largely that which a nurse would do in England. She took temperatures, dressed wounds, kept notes, directed the male orderlies, but was denied all responsibility in professional matters. Mme. Boyer was permitted to sleep in the ‘Val de Grace’ and attend to night calls. She lamented the absence of women, whether as nurses or doctors, in the French hospitals, and described in graphic terms the confusion and discomfort to be found there. Another, who spoke Polish, had been told that she might join a hospital on the eastern frontier if she were disguised as an infirmière, but that she must promise not to disclose to the Médecin-en-Chef that she was a doctor.

Most of these women doctors were married and very much domesticated, but they complained unanimously of having no opportunities, and were even a little bitter about the unfairness of their position. Dr. Garrett Anderson and Dr. Flora Murray pointed out that women must make their own opportunities, and told them of the societies, schools and hospitals for women in England. At last, stirred to emulate, they declared that they also must ‘faire un mouvement.’ Then one said that her husband did not like her to concern herself with ‘mouvements,’ and another that, if a ‘mouvement’ meant attending meetings at night, she could not come, because her husband could not bear to be left alone. And the enthusiasm began to dwindle. Pressed to consider the possibility of a hospital staffed by women, they admitted that it would be an advantage, and that such a scheme might be feasible, till Mme. Boyer said that they had had no chance of surgical experience and asked dramatically what they should do ‘if the first patient came with an énorme fibrome.’

But there were at least two silent onlookers, young women, one of whom had not yet finished her medical course but knew English, had been in England and had some knowledge of the women’s movement there. She and her comrade were not married, and they obviously had personal ambition. They had been touched by the modern spirit. Through them and through their contemporaries progress might come. They sat listening to their seniors with decorum and in silence. But their eyes were critical and in their hearts they judged them and found them wanting.

The English doctors realised that the new element was present, and that the advance had sounded for professional women in France.

THE MORTUARY IN THE HÔTEL CLARIDGE

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THE MATRON OF THE MILITARY HOSPITAL, ENDELL STREET.

MISS G. R. HALE, R.R.C.

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(Photo, Reginald Haines)

CHAPTER VII
LES DÉFENSEURS DE NOTRE PATRIE

The rate of mortality was lamentably high, for the men coming into the hospital were not only badly wounded, but also in bad condition; and tetanus and gas gangrene, shock and sepsis claimed their victims. The recovery of the French soldiers was hindered by the painful impression made on them by the invasion of their country. In delirium or under the anæsthetic they raved of their patrie, of her beauty and of their love for her; and horror and fear of the German dominated their minds. The men who owned and loved the soil spoke on their deathbeds always and only of France. They were tormented with anxiety for her safety and welfare; and the mental agony which they endured lessened their vitality and power of resistance.

The mortuary was arranged in the hall which had been designed for a grill-room. It had a separate entrance from the street, and was lit by a beautiful ‘plafond lumière.’ Departed heroes, surrounded by flowers, lay before the temporary altar: the laurel wreath was not wanting; nor was reverent care from their countrywomen lacking.

Funerals were arranged to leave the hospital at 8 A.M. For some of them the chaplain came to the hospital to read the first part of the Service in the Chapel; for others this was read in the Church of S. Philippe du Roule. In the sunshine of the autumn mornings an attentive, sympathetic little crowd used to gather round the entrance of the Hôtel. The coffin would be placed on an open hearse, and covered by the national flag of the soldier who lay there. A picket of soldiers and a detachment of police accompanied the hearse, and the undertaker in evening dress, with cocked hat and blue and red scarf of office, led the way. The police laid palms on the coffin, tied with a broad ribbon, on which was inscribed: ‘Pour les Défenseurs de notre Patrie’; and another wreath was sent by the military authorities. It was made of bead flowers with a plate, on which was written: ‘Souvenir français’ for the British soldiers, and ‘À notre Brave qui est mort pour la patrie’ for the French. Members of the staff accompanied the hearse. Sometimes M. Aubry went too, or the hairdresser from across the way, for he learnt to know the men by coming regularly and gratuitously to shave them. Constantly a little old lady attended, English by birth and French by habit. She was aged and poor; and the only war service within her power was that of following British soldiers to the grave. No one knew how she heard that a death had occurred; but she constantly arrived with a rose blessed by the Pope to lay in the coffin, and a request to be told the hour next morning. The orderlies used to say that she looked disappointed if they told her that men who were seriously ill were better. Be that as it may, she was faithful in the service she had laid down for herself; and her pathetic little figure, in straw bonnet and much worn sealskin jacket, was seldom absent when the sad procession started from the Hôtel.

In the autumn of 1914 eight o’clock was Paris’s most beautiful hour: the newly watered Champs Élysées shone blue with the reflection of the sky, and the leaves on the lime trees shone gold in the sunlight. As the hearse made its way to the church, women ran to lay flowers on the coffin, men stood in silent salute, and the pious crossed themselves and said a prayer.

On the steps of the church the beadle stood waiting, a wonderful presence, six foot high and corpulent, impressive in his laced coat and three-cornered hat, and bearing a staff of ebony topped by a large silver knob. He marched up the church in front of the procession, rattling his staff on the stones at every third step, and continued during the service to act as director and usher. The services were held in the Lady Chapel, and at intervals his staff would rattle on the aisle, and with a bow to either side he would give directions ‘s’asseoir, messieurs et mesdames.’

After the service the hospital staff waited in the side aisle whilst the coffin was carried out, and at these times kindly old people came to ask about the dead soldier. Was he English or French? wounded or sick? Had he a wife and children? How many blessés lay in the hospital?

And benedictions, gratitude and five-franc pieces were bestowed upon ‘les dames anglaises.’

In the cemetery of St. Pantin, outside Paris, the rows of graves and wooden crosses increased in number, and French and British side by side lay at rest.

CHAPTER VIII
THE UNIT EXPANDS

The number of patients coming into a war hospital must inevitably fluctuate, and ‘Claridge’s’ had its easy as well as its heavy periods. During September and the first half of October the wards were occupied principally by British wounded; but as the weeks went on, the War Office completed its arrangements, and hospital trains were sent down to transport the men to England, and fewer came into Paris. Meanwhile, affiliation with a French military hospital had taken place, and a greater number of French sick and wounded were sent in, as well as some Belgians. November brought a lull, and the wards became comparatively empty. An R.A.M.C. general called and asked that a hundred and fifty beds might be made ready, as it was intended to send large numbers of light cases to Paris, but the expected trains did not arrive till December, when once more every available bed was filled by the British.

Investigation revealed that the reduction of French admissions was caused by difficulties which had arisen between the Red Cross offices in the rue de Thann and the Governor of Paris. The Red Cross directeur, M. le Dr. M——, was of a choleric disposition; and when he insulted the military authorities, they retaliated by cutting all the rue de Thann hospitals off the station list. Hospitals which were not on this list did not receive any wounded, even though they sent their ambulances with a permis signed by M. le Dr. M——. New regulations, too, were constantly made; so that the papers which had been in order on Monday might be obsolete on Wednesday. After one of these inimical passages it was decreed that ambulances must carry a permission from the Service de Santé in addition to the Red Cross mandate. The rue de Thann was not successful in obtaining the necessary document from headquarters, and consequently M. Falcouz suggested that Dr. Flora Murray should go in person to see the Governor and ask for an authority from him.

It transpired that appointments were not made with M. le Général F——. The usual procedure was to be on the steps of his cabinet at eight o’clock in the morning. He held a Réunion at seven o’clock every morning; and those who wished for interviews waited to catch him when the Réunion dispersed.