The Deputy Director of Medical Services for the London District was the official head of the hospital, and Endell Street knew three officers in succession in that capacity. The first of these was remarkable for his length of limb and the brevity of his tongue. His frigid attitude might have been misunderstood at the preliminary interview, if he had not been accepted as ‘very Scotch’ and ‘obviously East Coast.’ On his rare visits to the hospital he would stride silently through the wards, making his round, without saying more than ‘Uch ha!’ and a curt ‘Good morning’ on leaving. Time led to a slightly better acquaintance, and on one occasion he even made a joke about misappropriation, and the wintry smile that crossed his face was like a gleam of sunshine in February. His efficiency was liked, and his habit of returning applications (although generally marked ‘inadmissible’) was very convenient. His successors were less tall and had more to say, and relations with them were easy and pleasant.

Visitors were nearly as numerous in London as they had been in Paris. The King and Queen honoured the hospital with a visit, and went through the wards giving great pleasure to the patients. More often, Queen Alexandra and Princess Victoria would arrive, either to see the men or to be present at some entertainment. And it was on one of these occasions that an Irishman begged to be allowed to go down to the recreation room.

‘For,’ said he, ‘the only member of the Royal Family that I have seen is Sir Edward Carson, and I would like to see the Queen.’

When Her Majesty heard this, she asked to be taken to his bedside, so that she might speak to him. She was full of kindness and sympathy for the sick, and would give them little books, or smelling-salts from her own reticule, and once she handed her handkerchief to a dying man with which to wipe his face. This handkerchief he gave to his sister, who preserves it as one of the great treasures of Lancashire. After her visits, Queen Alexandra would send gifts for distribution to the men. Among these valued mementos were ash walking-sticks, with silver bands engraved with ‘A.’ One severely wounded man was found awake at night with his ‘Queen’s stick’ in his bed. He had refused the morphia which had been ordered for him, as he was afraid to go to sleep lest some one should take his stick. It was only when safe custody had been promised for the stick that he consented to rest.

The Princess Royal, the Duke of Connaught and Princess Arthur of Connaught also came to the hospital, and Lord French paid a visit one afternoon, and had many things to say to the patients.

More frequent and very welcome visitors were Lieut.-General Sir Francis Lloyd, G.C.V.O., K.C.B., D.S.O., and Lady Lloyd. The men enjoyed seeing them, especially when the General Officer Commanding made speeches, and the staff of the hospital much appreciated his kindness and courtesy. His successor, Major-General Sir Geoffrey Fielding, K.C.B., C.M.G., D.S.O., and Lieut.-General Sir T. H. Goodwin, K.C.B., C.M.G., D.S.O., who succeeded Sir Alfred Keogh as Director General, were also among those who inspected the hospital.

The news that the Chief Magistrate, Sir John Dickinson, had called, and would return next day, was disturbing, for relations between magistrates and suffragists had not always run smoothly. The Doctor-in-Charge questioned the quartermaster: ‘What do you think the Chief Magistrate can be coming about?’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered, ‘unless it is about that kitchen-maid.’ And she told how one of the kitchen staff had been to a dance in her brother’s uniform, and, coming home through the streets, had been warned by a policeman.

With this crime on their consciences Sir John’s visit was awaited uneasily. But he came in friendship, with outstretched hand and kind congratulations upon the womanly work which his former acquaintances had found to do.

With Endell Street before it as a demonstration, the War Office could not fail to perceive that ward duties and the general administrative work of hospitals came easily within the scope of women. Towards the end of 1915 instructions were circulated to officers in charge of hospitals, requiring them to set free men so employed and to replace them with women. Those in command of military and of naval hospitals began to arrive at the women’s hospital, anxious to learn how this might be done. They were given opportunities of seeing women stretcher-bearing, handling bags of sugar and potatoes, or doing fire-drill. Armed with notebooks and pencils, they would make notes of all they saw and sadly discuss what they used to describe as ‘the hopeless difficulty of the situation.’

During 1916 and 1917 one staff officer called periodically to see whether every possible man had been replaced by a woman. His time was spent in inspecting hospitals and trying to persuade those in authority to replace their men; and naturally Endell Street was his example. Again and again he came to say that he was assured that it was impossible to use women for certain services, and to ask how it was done. Amongst other things, he had been told that to use women in the X-ray room was ‘indelicate.’ The Doctor-in-Charge reminded him that skiagrams were made through clothing and in a dark room.

‘I never thought of telling them that,’ he said.

Talking over his experiences elsewhere, he remarked: ‘As soon as I say, “But at Endell Street——” I see a nauseated expression come over their faces.’ And his tales of the obstruction he met with among old-fashioned officers and N.C.O.’s were amusing.

Acting on these general orders, the Doctor-in-Charge applied in September 1916 for authority to replace fourteen men by fourteen women. Referring to the R.A.M.C. personnel, she wrote:

In March 1917 a return showed that three women had replaced four men as dining-hall attendants, one woman had replaced one sergeant as cook, and fourteen women had replaced fourteen men on general duties. Later, the Doctor-in-Charge stated that ‘no additional women can be employed in substitution for men in this hospital.’ The staff of men had been reduced to two N.C.O.’s and six men, and fourteen young women had been attached to the R.A.M.C. detachment to act under the orders of the sergeant-major.

There was no difficulty about the arrangement. The girls were splendid. They emptied the ward bins, managed the incinerator, removed soiled linen and took up the clean, distributed the dinner wagons, swept and hosed the square, carried stretchers, conducted patients to the stations or travelled with them to Brighton and other places, as required. They rose at night when the convoy bell rang or air-raid warnings came through; they manned the fire hose and took their turn of night duty and gate duty, with marked efficiency. The sergeant-major praised them highly; for they were sober, disciplined and industrious. The men and women paraded together, but messed separately; and the mixed company, which had at first been tried as an experiment, was one of the great successes.

Experience in France had shown that though visitors in the wards were a great help and pleasure, the number and the kind of visitor might easily be harmful, and a decision was taken to regulate the visiting, so as to reserve certain days and hours when quietness might prevail in the wards and when the nurses might be able to give extra care and attention to those who needed it. These regulations were found to be fully justified; for the many very sick men constantly distributed through the hospital would have suffered more than was right if unlimited visiting had been allowed. In order that there might be dependable visitors, a lady was appointed as official ward visitor to each ward. She became an honorary member of the corps and devoted herself to the interests and welfare of the men in her ward.

‘I want to ask you a question,’ said a rather dour sort of man to his ward visitor when she came to his bedside.

‘Yes, what is it?’ she asked, sitting down beside him.

‘I want to know what you come for. You come and sit by my bed and talk, and you never talk about religion nor about politics. Now, what do you do it for?’

When she explained that she did it in the hope of giving him a little change and pleasure, he said: ‘Well, I say that it’s wonderful.’

Men confined to bed for long periods looked forward to their visitor’s days, and missed them when they were out of town. And many still write to the ladies who gave so much time to this work and who had such a sympathetic understanding of their needs.

The hospital was overwhelmed by visitors of all sorts and conditions, who came at all hours for any purpose and who were all determined to ‘speak one word of kindness to the poor fellows,’ or, as one lady wrote, ‘to bring one ray of pleasure into the lives of the poor mutilated darlings.’ There were scores of people representing regimental associations and other societies, who were sure that no one except themselves would say ‘a kind word’ or convey ‘a little brightness’ into the wards. All of them expected and demanded nominal rolls of men in hospital from the overworked clerks, and they did not accept it amiably if the ‘one man they wanted to see’ was out. It was difficult to make people realise that wards must close at 5 P.M., since there were nursing and dressing to do.

‘Oh, I am not at all upset by painful sights,’ they would say.

And it was still more difficult to make them understand that the men could not be disturbed late in the evening. Officers, Members of Parliament, countesses, ladies who claimed to have been ‘born and bred in the Army,’ ladies with husbands ‘in the Blues’ or the War Office, colonels’ wives and V.A.D. commandants, were apt to arrive at 8 P.M. or even later, expecting to be admitted. All these people had to be seen and dealt with—reasoned with, cajoled and smoothed down, or otherwise they did not hesitate to write and worry the War Office about their grievances. The staff stood as buffers between the helpless and sick men and those who did not understand; and the buffer gets most of the jar.

Impartial witnesses have marvelled at the patience and self-control of the girls in charge of the gate. Their post was difficult and onerous. They were constantly receiving parcels, answering inquiries, taking telephone calls or running messages, obtaining reports for relatives, bringing walking cases down at odd hours to see odd callers in the square, admitting, directing, checking; they had to convince callers that the man they wanted to see was not in this hospital, or that it was true that another whom they were seeking had been discharged. But most difficult of all tasks was that of tracing men on quite insufficient data.

‘I have come to see my father’s footman,’ said one lady.

‘Yes, what is his name?’ asked the gate-keeper.

‘David.’

‘Is that his surname?’

‘I don’t know. We always called him David.’

‘What is his regiment?’

‘Oh! a Highland regiment.’

‘We have some Black Watch men in. Do you think he is in that?’

‘Yes, I think he is perhaps.’

And somehow they found him for her.

The patients’ friends came on three days a week, and on fine summer afternoons, when many men were out in the square, there was often an orchestra playing, and fruit and ices were on sale at the canteen in the corner. The blue suits and red or blue umbrellas suspended over those in bed gave an air of gaiety to the scene which had an almost continental aspect.

Amusements were regarded as of special importance, and Miss Bessie Hatton was asked to be the Honorary Organiser and Secretary of this department, a post which she held until the hospital closed. The hospital was fortunate in securing her help, for she was in touch with the theatrical world, and her delightful gifts as a writer of charming little plays and as an actress of exceptional power made her advice and her experience invaluable. She formed a committee of experts, which was joined by Dame May Whitty, Miss Lilian Braithwaite, Miss Inez Bensusan, Miss Waldegrave and Mrs. J. T. Grein. The latter wrote plays and pantomimes for the hospital and took infinite pains over rehearsals and over the training of a ‘troupe’ of gifted girls, whose performances as the ‘Endell Street Follies’ were immensely popular. This committee was responsible for the entertainments and music on the stage and in the wards, for Christmas festivities and Bank holiday parties, and for the organisation of the ‘Endell Street Orchestra’ under its conductor, Mrs. Salaman.

On summer evenings crowds assembled in the square to listen to the band playing. The patients were equally appreciative of the beautiful singing of the Temple Church choir, of conjurers, reciters or Miss Italia Conti’s pretty dancing children. And performances held in the open-air had the added advantage that every one in the wards could hear and enjoy the music and singing, and that the whole hospital participated in the pleasure.

St. George’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, St. Andrew’s Day and Hallowe’en were all celebrated with special and appropriate features.

On Bank holidays the patients invited their own friends to come to tea and spend the afternoon, and a variety entertainment was arranged to promote the holiday feeling. At Christmas there were concerts and variety shows, and Mrs. Grein’s pantomime delighted all beholders. Mystery plays and masques, whist-drives, sports and many other kinds of fun were introduced and eagerly taken up.

‘I never knew,’ said one, ‘that it was possible to have such pleasure and enjoy ourselves so much without being drunk!’

A beautiful pageant was arranged in 1915, representing the Patron Saints of the wards. Miss Waldegrave as St. Mary led the procession, and each saint entered preceded by her banner-bearer. St. Barbara, the patron saint of Arms, and St. Felicitas with her seven sons, were followed by the Abbess Hildegarde and St. Joan of Arc. Rachel, surrounded by an international group of children, and St. Ursula with her band of noble maidens completed a very interesting and artistic spectacle.

The recreation room was a moving sight when it was packed to its uttermost by an eager and happy audience. On one side of the gangway were men in beds, and ranks of wheel-chairs with their more convalescent occupants; on the other, a solid mass of men in blue were crowded on chairs, window-sills or tables, wherever a corner could be found; and at the back, a few members of the staff found standing room. The audience listened with rapt attention to the singing of Mr. Courtice Pounds, Miss Jean Sterling MacKinlay and Miss Grainger Kerr; or followed the performances of Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson, Mr. H. B. Irving, Miss Ellis Jeffreys, Mr. Nigel Playfair and Miss Helen Haye with great delight. The laughter and cheers which greeted each item marked their appreciation and pleasure. The programmes were never long, so that patients who were less well could be included in the fun, and many of them tried to get better in time for the entertainments. More than a thousand artistes visited the hospital each year, and between May 1915 and May 1919 five hundred and eleven entertainments were held. During these years the Committee arranged two hundred and sixty concerts; seventy ward concerts; ninety-five orchestras; fifty-two plays; four pantomimes; and thirty sing-songs.

The King and Queen gave a party to wounded soldiers at Buckingham Palace, to which a number of Endell Street patients were invited. There was a sumptuous tea, followed by a wonderful variety entertainment—an all-star show of the very best. When the men returned, having thoroughly enjoyed themselves, one of them admitted:

‘Yes, they did us very well; but of course we had seen all the turns before on our own stage.’

The hospital owed a great deal to the many artistes who so generously came again and again to amuse and interest the patients.

In the wards reserved for serious cases there were always men whose beds could not be moved to the recreation room, and these found pleasure and amusement through the electrophone installed beside their beds. Every evening men who were still suffering greatly forgot their pain for a time as they lay with the receivers fastened over their ears, listening to ‘The Bing Boys’ or other plays. It was delightful to see them laughing, and often they fell asleep and were unaware of the night-nurse when she came round and removed the apparatus from their heads. New-comers were always eager to share in this treat, and a man who had just arrived and was having an operation done in the afternoon made his neighbours in the ward promise to rouse him when the time came for ‘The Bing Boys.’ His surgeon, visiting the ward in the evening, was surprised to find him propped up in bed, with a smile on his face and the receiver on his head.

But daily occupations and interests had to be provided for those who were confined to the hospital for long periods, and to supply this want basket-weaving, knitting, rug-making and needlework were introduced. Lady Anderson and a small committee of ladies organised the needlework and found that the embroidery done by the men was quite unexpectedly good. About seven thousand regimental badges were worked, but those who had any aptitude were not restricted to this kind of sewing only. Miss Rosamond S. Wigram produced designs copied from old pieces of needlework or from pictures, and taught the men how to do needlework pictures. Some who had never sewed before developed great skill, and worked baskets of flowers in excellent shading, or gardens full of colour, and having learnt to make French knots, they produced life-like woolly lambs and rabbits. The workers became happily absorbed in their work, and would take up their sewing frames as soon as it was light and only lay them aside when it grew dark. Each year a sale of the work done for the committee was held, at which some of the pictures fetched a price of five and seven guineas each.

Before the Endell Street Hospital opened in 1915, Miss Beatrice Harraden and Miss Elizabeth Robins were requested to join the staff as Honorary librarians, and the value of the library which they created cannot be over-estimated. The important educative influence which it exercised was due to the personal work of Miss Beatrice Harraden, who spent many hours daily among the men, sacrificing, during the whole period of the hospital’s existence, her own work and her leisure to their needs. Miss Robins was unfortunately unable to continue her help for long, but in the first weeks Miss Harraden and she made a fine collection of books and organised an ambulatory service for the wards. Magazines, newspapers, stationery, stamps, and very often matches, were supplied freely by the librarian, and the demands made upon this department were so heavy that it was necessary to give Miss Harraden two assistants, and in addition she was glad of the help which Miss Evelyn Glover gave in the afternoons.

At all hours of the day the librarians were to be met in the wards, getting orders for books, and giving advice or encouragement. Miss Harraden used to talk to the men till they felt that they wanted to read the books she spoke of. She catered for every taste: the old reader and the new reader were equally stimulated. Beginning with Tit Bits or Blighty, by way of Charles Garvice and W. W. Jacobs, they were led along the path of literature till they found themselves absorbed in Henry VIII. or Bacon’s Essays!

A proportion of the patients were educated men, with literary tastes, to whom a good library made all the difference. Six subscriptions at Mudie’s were taken out and placed at the disposal of such readers; so that books could be changed daily if necessary. The rule of the library was to provide every book asked for, on whatever subject and in whatever language. If these books were not in the library or obtainable at Mudie’s, Miss Harraden knew where to find them, and many valuable books, on seventeenth-century furniture, old silver, zoology and metaphysics, were lent to the hospital. The technical bookcase was well stocked, and those who had trades or hobbies were encouraged to read their own subject. There were many gardeners in the wards, who pored over books on rose-growing, ferns or chrysanthemums, and furious debates would rage as to the relative superiority of their favourite flowers.

Handbooks about motors, aeroplanes and engines were popular, and some men found interest in fossils and archæology. Men who had been in India said that they learnt more about that country from an illustrated book than from living there for seven years, and it was found that there was quite a vogue for the History of Mexico, Dante and Don Quixote. Abridged representations of Shakespeare’s plays in the recreation room would send up the demand for this author. One or two men studied for the London Matriculation examination whilst in hospital, the librarian finding the text-books and directing their course. To most of them, reading proved a great source of interest and a great education. Some, it is true, appraised the value of literature by its price! One man, who had been devoted to reading tales published at twopence and had been persuaded to read one of H. Seton Merriman’s books in the sevenpenny edition, told the librarian that ‘this sevenpenny author is an improvement on the twopenny ones. Perhaps I might try something better now. Have you a shilling author I could have?’

‘Oh! why did they bring me back? Why didn’t they let me die?’ groaned a poor young fellow, restlessly moving his head on his pillow. The presence of the librarian by his bed roused his interest. He was a musician, and he asked her to bring him the life of a musician. She brought The Life of Chopin, and a smile came over his face as she placed it in his hands. That afternoon, still smiling and still holding the book between his hands, he passed peacefully away.

In a neighbouring ward a man described himself as a sociologist, and said that the subject he wished to read was ‘one which you will not know anything about here.’ It was Woman’s Suffrage! With all her years of suffrage work behind her, Miss Harraden said nothing, but produced the books required. A few days later, she asked him: ‘Why did you think that we knew nothing about Woman’s Suffrage here?’ and went on to tell him something of the practical interest which she herself and other members of the hospital staff took in that movement.

‘But none of you ever talk about it,’ the man exclaimed with astonishment. And he listened earnestly while she showed him how the propaganda was going on all the time, though it was a propaganda of deeds and not of words.

The book-cases were not locked, and men could handle the books and choose for themselves, and the staff also had free access at all times and made great use of the privilege. Some books were lost; but the main object of the library was to promote reading, and the losses were accepted quietly. There were generally five thousand books in the library and large surplus stocks were sent away periodically to start libraries in other hospitals and to supplement those in Y.W.C.A. huts and munition factories. The librarian brought real education to the bedside, and aroused intelligence and interest in a wonderful degree.