St. Dunstan’s.

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume VII, Issue 110, 4 May 1917, Page 5

St. Dunstan’s.

HOSTEL FOR BLINDED SAILORS AND SOLDIERS. (By Trooper Clutha X. Mackenzie.) I had not long been in our hospital at Walton-on-Thames before I heard of St. Dunstan’s. I arrived at Walton in those days when New Zealand soldiers were still objects of great interest, and naturally, as a blinded New Zealander, 1 attracted a great deal of attention. My mails were large and deeply sympathetic. Some letters _ were dreadfully lugubrious, and indicated that I might just as well be dead as in my present condition. Others were more cheerful, and told me so much concerning a gentleman named Fawcett, who had lost his sight and later became PostmasterGeneral of Britain, that I was almost inspired to write his life. I heard too, all about their particular friend who had lost his sight, and how simply wonderful he was, etc., etc. Several dear souls kindly offered to guide me in the path of Christian science, or to bring me into communication with the spirits of the next world so that I might not pine for company. I received many gifts of sweets and fruits, so that the rest of the ward rejoiced and grew fat. Dear ladies offered me pets, mostly in the form of Pekinese dogs, to comfort me in my distress.

Visitors came and went in long procession. Some held my hand for long weary minutes and wept mournfully, while I felt a fool and longed to laugh. Others made valiant efforts to raise me from tnat gloom into which they imagined I was cast, while 1 grew steadily more bored and poison-faced with each long-winded repetition of Fawcett’s life, and of the wonderful, simply wonderful deeds performed by the particular blind friend of each. Newspaper interviewers called and described me later as a “pathetic sight,” “a distressing figure,” “haggard and drawn, and with an expression of resigned hopelessness” etc. Press agency people snapped me in characteristic attitudes, and designated the results with sentimental and heroic alliterations. It was all well meant, and, if some of my kindly visitors were a trifle dull, the whole business was highly amusing and, at times, most entertaining. And certainly, many were so interesting and jolly, that I should have sadly missed their visits. But, amongst them all, there was one person whose first visit I enjoyed above all others, and whose future comings were the milestones of my new life. That was Mr. C. Arthur Pearson, who had not then received his baronetcy. It was he, as everyone in England knows, who organised and now controls that splendid place for soldiers who have been wounded so regretably—one cannot put it otherwise. It is some years since he lost his own sight, a calamity which has done much for the blind world, for since then he has devoted the whole of his energies and his power with the press to the development of the full faculties and capabilities of blind people. So now it is that, with already 500 of the Empire’s soldiers blinded in the war, he works night and daj- so that these men maj- feel lightly their disadvantage. lie. vehemently deprecates the point of view that a blind person is suffering from an affliction,” the disadvantages of which can never be overcome, and seeks to make all of us as useful citizens as we would have been had no war intervened in our lives. In the normal course of events, his wounds healed, a blind soldier would be turned out of hospital with a suit of mufti and a scanty pittance from a generous government. In most cases he would go to his home, there to be wept over, lamented with, and to have his future rgarded as an utter blank, and he himself as a useless burden both to himself and his family. Indeed many would become so. He might not be allowed to do anything for | himself, his sympathetic relatives going, perhaps, even to the length of washing, dressing and feeding him. He would become dependent, bored with life through lack of occupation, the first essential of blind life, and would eventually gravitate in the direction of the nearest public house, there to find solace in the usual manner. Educated by his associates to his miserable and useless state', with no prospect of useful occupation, home and happiness, he would sink into despondency. Some pensions might be eked out by the sale of matches, papers, or postcards, or, with the assistance of a large notice “Blinded in the War,” and a hurdy-gurdy. Sir Arthur Pearson has seen to it that such is not to be our fate. All this I learned from Sir Arthur during his visits to me at Walton, where he came every Saturday afternoon during the months I was there. Later, after convalescence, I went to live with Sir Arthur and took ray lessons daily at St. Dunstan’s which is a fine large property in Regents Park. The house stands in many acres of beautiful grounds, and round it clusters almost a small village of workshops, dormitories, smoke-rooms, and the like. There are in residence nowadays about 150 fellows, in hospital about 50, another 50 at the two convalescent homes on the south coast, in all of which preliminary lessons are taught, and the mind occupied with handiwork, game® and reading, not to mention plenty of exercise in the way of walking. At St. Dunstan’s a fellow soon finds he is not the only blind pebble on the beach, and learns that there is not always a sister or a fond mother waiting at his beck and call to guide every step he wishes to take. Now he must move about by himself, and soon he is. shooting round at a rate prejudicial to the safety of any sighted persons should they not keep their eyes open. All paths, passages and stairs are ingeniously' laid out with rail and carpet guides. Keen competition grows amongst the men as to ■who can get about farthest and most quickly. A London fog brings their greatest delight, for then they can put lost Londoners on their way. Consideration is taken of each man’s capabilities, former occupations and future desires in placing him to a trade. First of all, of course, a man is thoroughly grounded in Braille reading and writing and typewriting. At the. same time he is started in whatever trade is likely to be most suitable. Should he aspire to an open life, poultryfarming and market-gardening are open to him, and it is marvellous how astute the fellows become in telling the various breeds of fowls by touch only. There is much .variety of handiwork, boot repairing, basket-making, mat-making, carpentry and netting. Often one of these is learned as a hobby by those who are following mental work. One occupation which has proved most successful, one in which blind men even surpass sighted people, is massage,

and even now, about fifteen of the soldiers are making excellent livings in military and civilian hospitals in England. One of our fellows, Sergt. Woods, Otago Battalion, has been installed for almost a year at Hamner Sanitarium, where he is doing splendid work. Another one. Rifleman Campbell, is now at his course. Secretarial work is another good opening ; and, if a fellow has been thoroughly trained m typing and business methods, good business positions as advertising and insurance agents are open. Law. the Church and journalism are other selections.

Sporting and recreation arc greatly encouraged at St. Dunstan’s. Four hours daily are prescribed for work, though the fellows may, and usually do, work longer hours. At t welve o’clock the entrance is crowded with a chattering bevy of the fair sex, gathered to take the boys for their morning walk, or for a row on the lake near by. Rowing is the most popular foFin of exercise, and some of the crews have already earned reputations. Weird and wonderful sounds float round the buildings from every variety of musical instrument, and times were when, in the quiet room, one might hear half-a-dozen gramaphones and a pianola in wild competition. The boys are rather blase for all the leading artists of London give of their best at the many concerts in the lounge. The most popular institution ns the weekly dance when a pretty crowd whirls enthusiastically round the room. And Cupid has his say at St. Dunstan’s. Many of the boys are getting married, and a fine stamp of jolly, capable wives they are getting too. So life goes merrily in tuis cheery home, and when the time comes, as come it must, and a man, fully equipped for his new life, stands ready to leave, he. is loath to go. Those were jolly days ; but he goes to a pleasant home which has been found* for him in the locality he has selected, and where his poultryfarm, his boot-repairing business or his what-not has oeen prepared. And there he settles down with a comfortable home, usually a happy wife, and with a prosperous business. His future comfort and prosperity are watched over by the After Care Department of St. Dunstan's.

So now, instead of the rather gloomy picture I presented towards the beginning of this article of the probable future of a sightless soldier, there now lies before him a life of utility and happiness, and there is no reason why, under these circumstances, a blind soldier should not make as good a husband as any other. Indeed, just that small amount of assistance which must always be required by a blind man must’ surely make connubial life run more smoothly than usual. Half a dozen New Zealanders have been through the Hostel, and we are all deeply grateful for the good we have derived from our training. and we must express our deepest and sincere gratitude to Sir Arthur Pearson and the generous contributors, both in New Zealand and else where, who have enabled him to carry out his splendid work. Wero all wounded soldiers treated in the same manner as we who have lost our sight, the social and labour problems which must prevail after this war, could not assume the proportions they promise at present.