Christmas Morning in a London Hospital

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume LX, Issue 18279, 23 December 1933, Page 12

Christmas Morning in a London Hospital

MIL Philip Inman, house governor of Charing Cross Hospital, in his book, “The Golden Cup,” has gathered together many of his experiences—miniature life st'ories of heroism and healing. In one chapter he tells of Christinas morning in Charing Cross Hospital. lie writes: — “At last'comes the great day. One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! The distant chimes of Big Bon re-echo through the wards. At last ‘the day’ has dawned. The Night Sister sets out on her early morning rounds. “‘A Merry Christmas, Sister,’ comes the cry from a dozen throats as she enters the ward. ‘A Merry Christmas to you,’ she answers, ‘and a healthier New Year!’ ‘Please God!’ whispers a young fellow, who, in his short span of 25 years, has undergone 11 serious operations. And everywhere she goes in that great temple of healing, ‘The Lady of the Lamp is welcomed by young and old, ill and convalescent, with the same cheery greeting, ‘A Merry Christmas!’ “And for those ‘spirits in prison,’ as Tennyson calls them, everything is done to make it so. Sickness and disease may force them to spend the festive season under a strange roof, but tender loving hands will minister unto them, and the sunshine of happy smiles will dispel the last lingering trace of home-sickness.

“In those wards a wonderful magician has been at work. No lordly juunsion can eclipse the fairyland which has been designed. Here is one ward which is a replica of tho ‘Garden of Allah’; another a fairyland in springtime; a third made to look like Aladdin’s Cave.

‘Every ward is bright and gay With mistletoe green and holl} 1 — In honor of Christmas Day.’

“And with the coming of the breakfast tray there is a parcel for every patient. ‘A present from Santa Claus’ it says on the label. With the excitement of school-children these ailing men and women eagerly examine its contents; a handkerchief, a bottle of lavender water, a box of chocolates for the women; a packet of cigarettes, tobacco, a tin of to lie o for the men. Amt in each parcel is a Christmas card with a cheery message on it written in the Sister’s own handwriting. lii No. 8 Bed “TN No. 8 bed is an, old man with A a patriarchal board, who might have stepped from a picture of the olden days. Tears come into his eyes as he fondles his gift. When at last he linds words, ‘First present I’ve hud this many n year,’ he mutters. There was something strangely pathetic about this old warrior. He was only a poor street hawker —homeless and friendless, and more often than not destitute. When in funds to the extent of one and three pence he slept in a lodging house in Drury Lane. When ‘hard times’ came, and they often did, there was always an empty doorway or a rough bench on tho Embankment. “Three months before a taxi-cab had knocked him down, and he awoko

to And himself in a hospital bed. ‘God bless my soul!’ he murmured. ‘Clean sheets and a comfortable bed —why, this is heaven!” This in spite of severe internal injuries and a nasty gash on his head. He was better now and should have been discharged a few days before, but tho nurses had pleaded that lie might remain over Christmas. And here he was fondling his present while the tears streamed down his wrinkled face. “And now to’the most festive place in this festive building—the Children's Ward. Hero is a cupboard, which in normal times contains towels and pillow-slips. Now it is crammed with paper fans and the trumpets which fat men blow when gay. And hero are giant sunflowers made from yellow and black paper, on long wire stems, all made by the occupants of that ward —nurses and young patients. And what a huge Christmas tree, laden with toys of all sorts and sizes! “To this ward Father Christmas himself is coming arrayed in his scarlet coat, long flowing beard, and carrying a huge sack on his back. Yesterday and to-morrow ho is one of the hospital’s young doctors, but to-day he has discarded the stethoscope for more pleasure-giving implements. And he is perfectly safe in his disguise. Not one of those children doubts for a moment that he is the real and genuine Santa Claus, and, ill though some of them arc, a shout of glee is heard as he enters that ward. ‘Here lie comes, hero he comes!’ By each cot he lingers, and to each child he gives a present.

At the Close of the Day “pHEISTMAS Day in a hospital is a veritable fairyland. Nurses in the guise of fairy princesses waft their magic wands transforming misery into melody, and making even pain seem not such a terrifying and cruel monster.

“And so the day closes. The last visitor has gone; ‘lights out’ has been called. The Sister, exhausted by the day’s activities, is called back by the self-appointed spokesman of the ward. Stumblingly he tries to thnnk her for the kindness and devotion shown to them during the long ahd strenuous day. “ ‘Not at all,’ she answers with ft smile. ‘My reward is in seeing you all so happy.’ “There are some embittered folk who try to explain away the spirit of Christmas. They regard it os a religious superstition, an inane custom, an extravagant fantasy. It is none of these things. It is the greatest, grandest festival of the year.” rVERY one likes to make experiments. You will find this an interesting one. | You need two matches, a pieco of soap cut to the shape and size of a penn 3', a glass tumbler, and a sauccrful of water. Stick the two matches, hpad upward, in the soap and place this in the saucer of water. Light both matches and put the tumbler over them, Yon will then see that tho water is forced up into the tumbler,