The hospital was designed to accommodate five hundred and twenty cases, but it had not been open long before orders were received to put up as many extra beds as possible; and from 1916 onwards the number of beds was five hundred and seventy-three. Several auxiliary V.A.D. hospitals were attached to it at a later date, supplying another hundred and fifty beds. At times of pressure, when billeting of convalescent men was allowed, the numbers on the register approximated to eight hundred. Once the extra beds went up, they were not taken down again, and it was not until the summer of 1919 that any reduction was made.

There were seventeen wards, of which the three smaller ones in the south block were reserved for severe cases. They all had ample window space, and though the beds were closer than is usual or desirable in civilian hospitals, there was plenty of fresh air and light. The chilly whitewashed walls and gloomy brown blankets of Army hospitals seen in France were not forgotten, and great trouble was taken to make the Endell Street Hospital look gay and comfortable. Every ward had its flowers and its red and blue or scarlet blankets to give it colour, and its table and screen covers to give it an air of comfort. The electric lighting, as carried out by the R.E. in spite of demonstration and remonstrance, was hopeless; with only three or four single drop lights in the centre of a ward for thirty or forty men, no one in bed could see to read or play cards. An application for standard lights produced, after long correspondence and delay, only the scheduled number of thirty; and the lighting was not arranged satisfactorily until the St. Leonard’s School stepped in and sent one hundred and eighty standards for ward use. This generous gift made every one comfortable, and the necessity for drafting report after report, to support applications for more than the scheduled number of lamps, ceased.

The lifts were large enough to carry beds, and in fine weather it was usual to find rows of beds and wheel chairs in the square, which had been cleared of all the impedimenta and railings belonging to its workhouse past, and which made a pleasant general meeting ground. A large recreation room was available for wet days. At one end there was a small green-room and stage, which the Corps out of its own funds supplied with electric batons and curtains. The drop curtain was of saxe blue, with monogram ‘W.H.C.’ in black and orange, and the motto of the Corps, ‘Deeds not Words,’ was proudly mounted above the proscenium. This room also housed the library and billiard table.

The patients’ dining room was a somewhat gloomy place on the ground floor in the neighbourhood of the kitchen; but only the very convalescent descended to it at midday and spent there the few minutes which a soldier man requires for consuming a hearty meal. The more experienced Sisters had an ineradicable objection to not knowing what and how ‘their men’ ate, and persistently discountenanced the dining-hall.

On the ground floor of the south block the large windows of the pathological laboratory and the dispensary afforded those who worked inside a fine view of the square and prevented them from feeling cut off or isolated from the general life of the place. On the top were found two operating rooms and the X-ray room with its appurtenances, as well as accommodation for the dental surgeon. The ophthalmic surgeon worked up there too, in default of better quarters, adapting a passage and a corner of the dark room for the needs of her patients. In a building where there was not a corner to spare, and where people were constantly asking for ‘a room of my own,’ her uncomplaining consideration was much appreciated.

In every spare corner of the basements and ground floors, offices and store-rooms were crowded in. Above the quartermaster’s office and steward’s stores, three floors of cubicles were arranged as sleeping quarters for women orderlies; and for some unknown reason this part of the building was called the ‘Barracks.’ The Children’s Home housed the nursing sisters, and the Barracks and Guardians’ Offices were full to overflowing with girls. The old Receiving House near the gate was occupied by the R.A.M.C. The Master’s house, which had been built so as to command a good view of the square, provided offices and doctors’ room on the first floor and living rooms above for the resident doctors, the orderly officer, the matron and several other people. Every corner was occupied, and as the work or the needs of the hospital expanded, it was a puzzle to find room. As the years went on, it became necessary for additional quarters to be found outside for the nursing staff, and two houses in the neighbourhood were eventually rented and adapted for the use of the hospital. It is noteworthy that although the first report and request for further accommodation described this need as ‘very pressing,’ it took an entire year to get the first of these houses passed by the military authorities and the necessary business completed for opening it.

In naming the wards, it was convenient to follow the alphabetical order, and in the desire to call them after women the names of saints, with a few others, were chosen. Thus Ward ‘A’ was known as ‘St. Anne.’ ‘St. Barbara’ and ‘St. Catherine’ followed; and, with one or two omissions, the sequence continued down to ‘St. Veronica.’ ‘St. Ursula,’ the patron saint of young women, was included, and in order to cover the letter ‘O,’ ‘St. Onorio’ was invoked. She was afterwards found to be, not very appropriately, the patron saint of wet-nurses! But she served her ward well, for it was one of the happiest in the hospital. ‘St. Mary’ was unfortunate, and the ward never had very good luck until her name was changed to ‘St. Margaret.’ Rachel, in those tragic days of war, could not be omitted. Hildegarde, the famous medicine woman of the third century, and the martyred St. Felicitas were grouped with St. Geneviève of Paris and St. Isabella of Spain. The idea was picturesque, and the nomenclature pleased the staff, if it did not appeal much to the men. A bare little room in the basement was entitled the ‘Johnny Walker Ward,’ and was used as a place of recovery by his patrons and slaves.

Early in May the first return of available beds was made; for two blocks were ready for occupation and the third was nearly so. The delivery of certain things, such as dinner tins, wagons and knives and forks, was delayed, and promised to be delayed for months. With activity increasing in France, the opening of the hospital could not be postponed for such trifles, and the resourceful quartermaster arranged to hire what was needful for a month. The staff was called up and settled down in its quarters; the rows of beds were got ready; the stock bottles and cupboards were filled; the instruments and apparatus were issued on charge to the Sisters; the kitchen plant was in order. Though not yet completely equipped, it was possible to inform Headquarters that Endell Street was ready to open.

The Army way of opening a hospital is to transfer to it convalescent cases from other hospitals. When asked at a later date why this custom prevailed, since it did not make things easier for the receiving hospital, a senior officer said that there was nothing to recommend the custom, but that that was the way they did it. In every hospital there were cases which, for some reason or another, the staff was more or less glad to pass on; and an order to transfer twenty-five or fifty walking cases meant that the troublesome, the idle, the grousing, or those who were unsatisfactory for some reason, were collected and moved on. On the 12th of May 1915 Endell Street received a hundred convalescent cases from various hospitals in the London District. That night, the convoys from France began to arrive, and a letter written on the 14th to hasten the supply of knives and forks states that on that date there were two hundred and forty-six men in the hospital. It was open just as a spell of heavy fighting began, and within a week all its beds were available and all were full.

The first month was a difficult one. The work poured into the hospital, making new and heavy demands upon every one. Equipment was short, and the women had everything to learn and no one to advise or help them. They had to find things out for themselves, and some months later much time was spent in correcting, by the light of experience, entries in registers and returns which had been incorrectly made in those early days. Gradually order was evolved. The women adapted themselves to the conditions, and the wheels of the establishment went round more easily each week. The strain of those first days was severe; the staff was weary in mind and body; but the general eagerness to make things go right triumphed, and the organisation developed and established itself.

It soon became evident that Endell Street was a favourably situated hospital, and that it would not lack for work. It was near to the railway stations, and through all the years that followed its beds were kept very full and the proportion of cot cases—as against sitting cases—coming into its wards was a high one. It had a busy casualty room, too, where men from neighbouring stations reported sick in the mornings, and into which men on leave, or men absent without leave, would wander for more or less severe ailments. Men suffering from accidents or fits or drunkenness were liable to arrive in ambulances at all hours of the day and night, and more serious cases, from billets, from hotels or from the St. Albans military district were constantly received there. In 1917 to 1919 numbers of pensioners came for treatment, and hundreds of men were examined and certified before demobilisation, or else attended after demobilisation to have the Army form relating to disabilities and assessments made up. The average number of attendances in the casualty room totalled not less than five thousand each year.

Twice, perhaps, a lull occurred in the convoys coming from overseas, and the return of empty beds rose to two hundred or so. The nursing staff would begin to complain of being slack, but such periods of quiet were followed by rushes of work, when two or three or four convoys would arrive in twenty-four hours, and every effort had to be made to discharge or transfer convalescents and make room for new-comers. As a rule, at busy times every bed emptied during the day was filled at night. On one such night, when four beds were returned, four fractured spines were sent in a few hours later.

A big bell hung in the square, and the arrival of a convoy was notified to the staff by two blows on it. This brought out those whose duty it was to assist in taking in. Doctors, women stretcher-bearers and R.A.M.C. assembled without delay; for it was necessary to hasten and let the ambulances get back to the station for a second journey. The staff of men orderlies being small, the women were all trained as bearers. The men would unload the stretcher and hold it, while women stepped between the handles and carried it to the lift and so to the bedside. Stretcher bearing was a popular occupation, and if the bell rang during the day, volunteers would run out of the stores and offices and laboratories and fall in with the R.A.M.C. The man on the stretcher was often speechless with astonishment when he realised that two ‘flappers’ were carrying him; but they were very steady, gentle bearers, and earned high praise for the way in which they performed their duties.

Out of twenty-six thousand patients who passed through the wards, the greater number were British, with a fair proportion of Dominion and Colonial troops. Two thousand two hundred and seven Canadians and more than two thousand Australian and New Zealand men and about two hundred U.S.A. troops made up this proportion. They had the same cheerful spirit as the men in Paris and Wimereux. They settled down to enjoy the amenities of the hospital with apparently little thought for the past or the future, entering into the hospital life with zest and pleasure; and their contentment and gaiety were pleasant to see. Within an hour of coming in, new-comers learnt that it was ‘a good home’ and that the doctors were women. They showed no surprise, but were wont to develop amazing confidence in the ward doctors and to discuss the merits of the various surgeons in the square. Each man thought his ward the best ward in the hospital, and his doctor the best doctor on the staff; and many boasted to visitors and at tea-parties that the worst cases in the hospital were in their ward and under their doctor. The dental surgeon, whose skill in extraction was considered marvellous, never failed to thrill the men, and she was eagerly pointed out to friends or visitors. The ophthalmic surgeon excited interest too, for she was the victim of a false report, which supposed her to have broken more windows than any other suffragist!

Only once did a man ask to be transferred on the ground that he did not wish to be under a woman surgeon, but he repented of his decision and sent his mother to ask that he might remain. More than once, a transfer was offered in certain cases, in order that the patient might be treated by a man; but this was invariably refused, the patient feeling perfectly satisfied where he was. Their confidence in the Chief Surgeon was unbounded. She never operated without telling the patient what she was going to do, and she never omitted to see him afterwards and talk over the operation. Between the hours of 5 and 7 P.M. was a quiet and very useful time in the wards, when she would visit all the more severe cases and give them time to talk about themselves. She would explain clearly the surgical situation and what she advised and why. She never hurried a man in his decision, unless it were urgent; but waited, gentle and reassuring, until he would say, ‘I leave it to you, Doctor; if you think it’s best, I’ll have it done.’

The men were reticent and inarticulate, but they trusted her. They wrote to her afterwards for advice; and pensioners were known to travel from Scotland and other distant places to get her opinion. In the same way, they believed in and trusted the ward surgeons and the Sisters, and realised that every one in the building desired their welfare and happiness. There was a homeliness in the wards and in the men’s relations with the nursing staff which was soothing and welcome to them after their experiences.

Racial characteristics were very evident. The English were slow and phlegmatic, satisfied with theatres, billiards and the football news. The Scots were friends with the librarian and always pushing to get well enough to see London. The Irish brought grace and charm into the ward, but each one was the Irish question intact. Their grievances were as unexpected as they were incomprehensible. As a rule, they were anxious to be transferred to Irish hospitals, and the necessary steps having been taken, Pte. Doolan would receive instructions to draw his kit and prepare himself. Then he would go grumbling up and down the ward.

‘But I thought you wanted to go to Ireland,’ said an astonished orderly.

‘So I do,’ he replied. ‘But I think this is very hard.’ And in response to further probing, ‘Well, I did ask to go, but I wasn’t expecting to go—not this week.’

Or one would present himself in the C.O.’s office.

‘I wish to mak’ a complaint. There’s a lot of men in the ward gone to the theatre and the Sister kep’ me back.’

Under discussion, it transpired that he was not so well, and being kept in bed, he had risen and dressed to come down and make his complaint.

‘It’s true the doctor said I was not to leave my bed, me being with a temperature again.’

When asked whether he would have wished the other men to stay in, since he could not go out, he replied with dignity that he was not ‘an onreasonable man’; and on being advised to return to his bed and take care of himself, he said:

‘Would ye say a wurrrd to the Sister?’

Then with a ‘Thank ye kindly, lady,’ he retired to bed again all smiles!

With all their difficulties, they were the most grateful of people. It was the Irish who stood up in the ward and made speeches to the nurses before the Irish convoy left; and it took an Irishman to say that if he had been all the time in this hospital, he never would have had the heart to leave it, and then to confound the doctor by a bitter complaint at a fancied delay in procuring his transfer.

Australians and New Zealanders began to arrive from Gallipoli in August 1915. They were gaunt and grey after their terrible experiences. The wounded had suffered much during the voyage home, and all of them were wasted with disease. They were big, fine men, reduced by three or more stone below their usual weight, and so weakened by long illness that they lay silent and apathetic in their beds, thankful to be at rest at last. The sick were collected in special wards, and it was not long before they began to put on weight and lift up their heads. The pathologist concentrated on them, and the laboratory had a fine exhibit of lamblia and tetramites and kindred organisms, which excited the interest of the staff. Whenever special diseases were admitted, every one was invited to see the specimens and listen to brief lectures, even the cooks and the librarian’s charlady availing themselves of such opportunities!

These men were better educated than the British soldiers. Mentally they were more formed, and were accustomed to independence of thought. Their attitude towards the women, among whom they had been thrown so unexpectedly, was friendly and chivalrous. They enjoyed the hospital and they appreciated the work which was being done there; but they could not understand why the vote was withheld from women, and in face of their eager questioning the medical staff was unable to adhere completely to its rule of avoiding propaganda talk on the subject of women’s suffrage. They were almost the only men who wished to discuss this subject and other political subjects with the doctors and sisters. As they got better, they were able to go about, and they were greatly interested in London. A party which went to the House of Commons included Pte. King, a keen politician. At the House, various members were introduced to the Australian soldiers, and Mr. Ramsay MacDonald asked the politician what hospital he came from. Hearing that it was Endell Street, he could not resist saying what a great suffragist he was, and how much he had helped the women’s cause.

‘That may be, sir,’ replied Pte. King cautiously, ‘but these ladies have records of every M.P.’s career, and they know exactly what each one has done and how he has voted.’

Relating the interview in his ward that night, the politician inquired what this M.P. had done to help; for, he said, ‘he seemed properly put about.’

During these weeks, when about two hundred beds were occupied by Australian troops, officers from their headquarters used to call, full of anxiety as to the conduct of their men. The reason of this anxiety was not understood till afterwards, when reports were circulated that there had been difficulty and outbreaks in other hospitals and that Australians were considered ‘very wild.’ Many Australians were admitted to Endell Street Hospital, but they never gave any trouble. On the contrary, they showed a consideration and courtesy towards the staff which was only equalled by the attitude of the New Zealanders.

Eventually, the hospital became one of those to which New Zealand soldiers were sent, and the wards—especially the medical wards—had many serious cases among them. In the spring of 1917, and again in 1918, a great many cases of pneumonia occurred among New Zealanders, and some of them made marvellous recoveries. These troops were very much liked in the hospital; for they had gentle, refined manners and a wide outlook, especially where women were concerned. The organisation of the New Zealand Headquarters was one of the most efficient. It gave no unnecessary trouble to the hospital, and took a great deal of care of its men. In marked contrast was the Canadian organisation, which duplicated and triplicated the work of the offices, and sent innumerable letters of inquiry, instead of filing and referring to hospital returns. With a few exceptions, their men were brusque and somewhat rough, and the medical staff learnt to dislike the manners of Canadian staff officers thoroughly. Among their ranks were men of all nationalities—Russians, Greeks and Japanese, with whom communication was difficult, as they did not know English, and many Frenchmen, who spoke a patois only. These latter would have been very friendless, if Monsieur and Madame de Bry had not been available close at hand in their chocolate shop, and a message to them was never sent in vain. On visiting days the French soldiers were sure of seeing either Madame de Bry or one of the charming young ladies who sold so many sweets to the orderlies at Endell Street.

In 1919, when men were evacuated from Russia by Archangel and England, a party of French infantrymen arrived in an ambulance, with a large dog on a very stout rope. He was very gentle with people, but as he had lived in the forest camps and been trained to kill bears, he was not to be trusted with other dogs, and there was a hectic moment in Tottenham Court Road when he met a bull terrier, and two men and the rope were required to hold him. A party of Greeks and another of Serbians also came from Russia, the latter rejoicing in the sights and shops of London.

In that year, too, numbers of cases came from the East and from India, and it was not unusual to meet a monkey or a parrot or a strange reptile harbouring in the wards for a few days.

In August 1917 sixty beds were set aside for women, and were available for Q.M.A.A.C. and other women’s units until January 1919. Ladies who had been working abroad with the Y.M.C.A. or canteens found hospitality at Endell Street, and the wives of officers and N.C.O.’s, with children and little babies and their governesses and their nurses, returning from the East, spent a few days there. In all, two thousand women passed through those wards.

Comparatively few Americans were admitted as patients, but in the summer of 1919 orders were sent to accommodate a hundred and fifty U.S.A. troops, not sick, on their way home from Russia. These men, to judge by their names, were mostly of Russian origin. The U.S.A. Headquarters telephoned to the hospital to keep the men in for inspection, but consented to letting them go out the second day. The men were inclined to paint the town red, and straggled back, drunk and sorry, up till 1 A.M. The Headquarters said they must stay in next day, as they might leave at any moment. But no orders for departure came through, and the men became restless and rebellious and would have broken hospital but for the persuasive feminine tongue, which led them back to their wards. They were granted leave to go out the next day and were started off for U.S.A. on the following morning, less half-a-dozen who did not return in time, and two who were in the hands of the police for firing revolvers in the streets.

The critics and the sceptics prophesied that women would fail in keeping discipline, and certainly the War Office did nothing to strengthen their hands. It denied the women commissions or honorary rank, and refused to let them wear the badges of rank which soldiers recognise as symbols of authority. Thus there was nothing except her bearing to distinguish a senior from a junior officer. It would have been helpful if an experienced warrant officer had been appointed to the hospital, but instead a newly promoted corporal was put in charge of the R.A.M.C. detachment. Having thus made it as difficult as possible, the authorities left the women to sink or swim. But discipline came of itself. Until 1919 no conscious effort was made to maintain it, and in that year it only became necessary to take definite trouble about it owing to the very large numbers of men transferred to the hospital from others which were closing and in which a certain laxity had prevailed.

It was very rare for a man to be reported for a small offence and brought before the C.O., and in the early days the embarrassment was mutual. The sergeant (afterwards the sergeant-major) was often asked to leave the offender alone with her, so that she could speak more freely; and an appeal to the feelings of the sinner generally reduced him to tears. Then he had to be detained in the office with more pleasant conversation, till he regained his composure sufficiently to meet the public eye. After such an interview, one young fellow retired to his bed, and drawing the blankets over his head, refused to answer the inquiries of his much concerned friends. In the evening, when hunger drew him from his lair, they gathered round him with solicitude.

‘I’ve been up before men and up before women,’ he said, ‘and God save us from the women!’

The conduct of the hospital was based upon the Army rules for men in military hospitals; and now and then, when things were not going quite well in a ward, the N.C.O. patients would be paraded in the office and the Doctor-in-Charge would read to them the rule making N.C.O.’s responsible for ward discipline. With a few words about the hospital and the staff who cared so much for its reputation, she would enlist their interest and help. As they themselves expressed it, ‘After that, there was nothing more to be done.’

In 1915 to 1916 the Army rule which did not permit men to go out unconducted was in force, and walks and drives were extensively organised. Many friends came several times a week to take men out, thereby helping to keep them happy and contented. Foremost among these was Mrs. Cobden Hirst, who with the help of a group of hostesses organised hundreds of outings and gave immense pleasure to several thousand patients. This rule was subsequently rescinded, and the order to let men out till 5 P.M., and later till sundown, was welcomed by all concerned.

It was rare for a man to be late in coming in or to stay out all night; for such offences meant that the privilege of going out would be suspended for his whole ward next day, and he would have an uncomfortable time with his fellows. On days of public rejoicing, such as Armistice Day or Peace Day, extended privileges were freely given, but they were not abused. On Peace night every man was in by 10 P.M.; not one was absent. This punctuality was perhaps due to a large tea, with sausages and tomatoes and cake in the afternoon, and to a meal of cocoa and eggs at 10 P.M. These luxuries having been advertised in the wards the day before, the men knew where comfort was to be found. In any case, things went smoothly. The life of the hospital was not dull. Festivities and Bank Holidays were observed. There was an endless succession of outings—drives, teas and theatres; within, the library was an important interest, the needlework a constant pleasure; and the two or three entertainments given every week were eagerly looked forward to. There was always something going on, or something coming on, which kept the men interested and expectant.