IN OLD KENTUCKY

Greymouth Evening Star, 14 January 1933, Page 12

IN OLD KENTUCKY

WOMAN DOCTOR’S WORK Dr. Alfreda Withington, who served in France during the Great V ar under the Red Cross and the Rockefeller Foundation, found it difficult on hei return to settle down to , co " v< ;“ tio “ a .! practice, and betook herself Kentucky Mountains. She chose a territory some distance from the railroad lying between “Kingdom Come and “Hell-for-Sartin,” where her sick calls took her across such glamorous trails as “God-Forsook Gap.” Her coworker in this benevolent enterprise was her horse, Billy. j( “Love me, love my horse, Dr. Withington says, recounting her experiences in. the ‘Atlantic Monthly. “He is always willing to leave his oats for an emergency call; sensing the necessity, he speeds on the outward trip, but uses his prerogative of duty* performed to snatch a few oak leaves on his return. In snake season I have to keep my eyes open for rattlers and copperheads as I ride along the narrow defiles.”

vv’ith the exception of an occasional drummer and a man who buys live stock no one from the outside visits Dr. Withington’s territory—except bootleggers. She ministers to mountain people who have been marooned there for 150 years. There is no sanitation. Hookworm and infectious diseases levy considerable toll. The “mountain doctor” is trying to convert them to public programme. She holds mothers’ meetings, gives physical examinations, treats hookworm cases, preaches the need of screens to keep out the myriads of flies, and urges the adoption of sanitation measures.

Funerals are held long after death—years, perhaps—whenever the finances of the family are equal to the occasion. Usually several preachers are secured after crops are gathered and creeks are low, and the funeral is often for several members of the family at once. Dr. Withington attended the funeral of an old man who had been dead eight years. The services lasted for hours. Menfolk wandered off for a smoke or a drink. The first preacher said nobody could get to heaven unless he graduated through his particular church. This disturbed one of the family, v.tfio whispered that Uncle Cal had no’vhurch. He was reassured by a friend, who said that Uncle Enos would preach next, and he was equal to any occasion; ho Would get Uncle Cal into heaven all right—and Uncle Enos did. in a remarkable panegyric of the dead. “But,” he added, “if Uncle Cal had belonged to any of those other churches ho would probably not get through.” At a cabin at the foot of a precipitous descent, which her horse could not negotiate, Dr. Withington found a little girl ill with pneumonia. In a corner stood a big branch of holly which served for a Christmas tree, trimmed with coloured pictures of toys cut from a mail order catalogue.