A WINDOW IN THAMES.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 13781, 20 June 1908, Page 1 (Supplement)

A WINDOW IN THAMES.

;■■■■ BY x. A. WINTER. ".... 'Mas*, people think that in. order to see lif** it is necessary to go into a crowded city. I .tried this just lately, and paid one of my rare visits to Auckland; but I did not like the. kind of life which I saw them I saw a number of (otherwise) -.apparently sane people running for dear lite to eaten a tram. Now, I never saw a man - run «u-, the Thames -'except -in a: football match. Also, I was nearly ridden down by a cyclist, who swore" at sac—presumably tor iiaving escaped him. After seeing a, little more of this kind of '-life I was glad to get home, bringing away, an impression -.hat,. Queen-street, Auckland, about five o'clock, is not so much a place in which to study human nature/as to observe the'habits 01 | the wilder among the lower animals. I i -can see, with .more safety and greater com- j fort, the wavs-of humanity through .ray- ; window, -which looks out upon one of the quietest streets of the Thames. Quiet as it is, the river of human life flows through it deep and strong, carrying with ifc_ joy ■; and sorrow, beauty and ugliness virtue and vice, ambition and despair. Through those panes of glass I think I have seen traces of every human passion and had hints of every "sin. and suffering that tieen is heir to. ■'•■ And yet at first sight the scenes appear perfectly, commonplace— going to their work, each carrying an i enamelled porcelain can of tea, soot-grimed foundrymen > and boys returning home from toil, * some '■' factory girls 'passing by at regular ■times with light, springing step and upright figures, a few young _ school teachers cycling past to their daily grind. In time one gets to know i everv ■ face. One pierces through to the 'individual of each man and wof man, and it is then that they become absorbingly interesting. All these that 1 [have mentioned are, busy workers in the wh<*w of +hinsTs; and they piease mo oy Mio activitylhefdispfe- \ * tß ' u<niH> them, staunch vessels on m, 1 ? «reaia of life" that flows before me ; but,- aia»-; : there are also the "battered ones and ,lie wrecks— a large proportion of- the latter, for at the other side of my street is the Thames Hospital, and there is a steady and endless drift of suffering humanity towards its doors. Curious is the law of. averages, as Emerson remarks. The number of accidents brought in scarcely varies from week to week. Gelignite;' a fall of earth, a prematurely felled kauri tree—now one cause, I and now another—and the poor maimed worker is hurried to the hospital ward. 1 have got to know the proceedings so well— a little group at the gate, the tall form of the surgeon striding along from Ins residence, the equally tall anesthetist hurrying up on his bicycle, the quick and capable nurses passing rapidly along the corridors; then, stillness, and I can see in imagination through the walls where the unconscious patient lies on the operating-table, and the surgeon cut and stitches and bandages and tries to render the wounded industrial -soldier fit to return to the firing-line. Just the other day I saw a more than usually pathetic group. Four .or five aim-"ous-looking men were standing on the footpath by the hospital fence round a little heap of clothing, the poor. possessions of a working miner—blue dungaree trousers, woollen singlet, and heavy boots. I saw a member of 'the group, the brother of the injured man, lifts up one of the boots, winch was riddled and cut to pieces, and hold it up, so that heavy, dark drops fell from it to the ground; and then he said to the others: " Tjhe (unmentionables) reckon we get too much wages." It.was gelignite this time—a premature explosion, and the man was riddled with bits of quartz from head to; foot. It was, a marvel how he .lived, but a fortnight afterwards I saw him walkin"- about with bandaged face, but sound in wind, and limb. When the matron ot 'the hospital, showed the man the amount 'Of wold-bearing' quarts Which the surgeon had" laboriously removed from his face and person, 'she suggested to him (for it; is necessarv to keep the humorous side ot things steadily in view) that the company would be likely to bring him to book ' for abstracting so'much valuable metal. _ . _ ■ Just now every bed in the hospital is occupied, and there are no' malingerers on the nursing- staff. From morning till night those splendid young women toil—true gen- ' tlewomen everv one of them—no posing before the footlights, no studying effects; they take their daily round of duties with cheerfulness and ■ thoroughness of detail. And what duties they are! Sometimes enough to tax the strength of a man and the patience of a saint. Surely, in tile Religion of Humanity, of which Dr. Giles so charmingly tells us, these girls, would rank as the priestesses of the Temple. They are paid, of course, but they are no hirelings. One could hire, no doubt, the mechanical services they render, but can one hire the cheerfulness, the sweetness, the sympathy? No; these are the glorious gifts which these good women bestow on their suffering fellows. Looking through my window the other day, I became aware of a certain mild commotion. People had come to their doors, and even into the street. A brake drawn by four horses and occupied by about 30 wild-looking bushmen, dashed along and pulled up at the hospital gate. The doctor happened to be sitting with me at the time —he sometimes comes to help me burn a , little meditative tobacco— at once he became the alert professional man. He snatched up his hat and hurried out, as nearly running, 1 thought, as is possible for a. Thames resident! It was a bad accident —bush-chopping. The man had been carried on a stretcher by those mates of his for 20 miles before they got to a place where they could obtain a conveyance, and then they'got one big enough to bring them all in to' town, so as to afford their friend their collective moral support. It was a sight to see. 'It was delightful to observe the solicitous kindness of these socalled rough fellows. It must have been a great physical strain, that journey of twenty miles over the rough tracks.of the ranges, the men taking ] their turns in relays to carry their injured comrade. This sort of thing makes one proud to he a New Zealander; and it frequently happens.,;- The other day, Cato, who was working with poor Henderson, killed by the fall of earth in the Kirikiri mine, was carried a dozen miles, frightfully injured as he was. It may be thought that through my window I see only pictures of gloom and tragedy—far .from it. One always feels the better for having paid a visit to the hospital. The sight of £0 much fortitude and so much cheerfulness under suffering is very remarkable. It is a rare exception to find among those who know they are going to die either dismay or despair. The sources of their consolation are various—by no means always religious ones, in the restricted sense of the term. A certain stoicisma quiet acceptance of the situation (fatalistic, perhaps), a deadening of the sensibility and the imagination owing to physical weakness—all these tend to smooth the way to the final exit. Mrs.'.R., with whom I have been talking within the last few hours, is now lying on a bed from which she is perfectly aware that she will never rise. For four and a-half years the hospital has been her home, a creeping paralysis has been gradually effecting "its work. Till quite lately I used to see her wheeled on to the verandah to sit in the sun, and she was an indefatigable worker with her fingers. She got through an immense amount of sewing. In a clear and strong voice she sang a hymn m her ward every evening, and each morning she read to her fellow-patients a tale or a sermon. She now.lies there quite contented and cheerful. She has a very real anticipation of the happiness of another life. Yonder is Mr. J., ' shuffling alongthe quondam skipper of a trading cutter. A touch of paralysis in the leg had "laid him out" for; several weeks, but when able to leave his bed his nautical ingenuity enabled him to walk long before he would otherwise have done. He"tied a cord round his foot., and fitting a handle to the end of it he pulled it,with his hand after the manner of an artificial muscle. The doctor was much impressed with it. He is just now .« hoisting himself up the verandah steps. 1 But I seo my. gas lias just been lit, and I ! must pull down the blind.. The pictures , are shut out.