Kitabı oku: «Letters from Alice: Part 2 of 3: A tale of hardship and hope. A search for the truth.»

Chapter Nine

This is no case of a ‘chateau en Espagne’ – a castle in the air – there it stands in solid bricks and mortar. It is as real as the poor suffering creature who lies at your feet at the doorstep, as you pass home in the dark … I believe there are in this great town hundreds of well disposed people so struck to the heart by the spectacles which the streets of this great city present that they would gladly do anything to set those things right if only they knew how.

(Charles Dickens’ fundraising speech on behalf of the Royal Free Hospital, 6 May 1863)

In the spring of 1828 a small apothecary in Greville Street, Hatton Garden, opened its doors to the poor. ‘Persons not able to pay for medicines will be furnished with them free’ promised its founder, William Marsden, a young surgeon from Yorkshire. Marsden also declared that the only necessary qualifications for being seen by the three voluntary physicians working there were ‘poverty and disease’.

It was a revolutionary idea. Until the arrival of the apothecary, which was originally known as the London General Institution for the Gratuitous Cure of Malignant Diseases, there had been few appealing options for London’s ailing poor. A few hospitals admitted patients on an emergency basis, but only at the discretion of the doctor on duty.

William Marsden had been moved to take drastic action to improve the dire situation after encountering ‘in the street at a winter’s dawn a desperately ill girl whom,’ reported the Daily Chronicle in 1902, ‘having no influence with governors, he could not get into any existing hospital’.

It was shortly before Christmas in 1827, and despite her being accompanied by a respectable gentleman, the local hospitals refused to admit her, it is thought, because they suspected that she was a prostitute in the grip of venereal disease. Marsden, a newly qualified doctor, carried the girl to his personal lodgings and cared for her himself. When she died, two days later, he vowed to open a hospital that was free for all and discriminatory against none.

Plans were drawn up on a late winter’s day in February 1828, in a little coffee shop in Gray’s Inn Road. Within two months the apothecary was up and running, the poor of London streaming in through its doors. Just under a thousand patients were treated in the apothecary in its first year, with almost four times as many on the receiving end of its charity four years later.

William Marsden perhaps could not ever have imagined that almost two centuries after the small apothecary was established, a quarter of a million outpatients would pass annually through the Royal Free Hospital’s doors.

The outpatients department of the Royal Free was one of the busiest in London in 1922, and it was in full swing when Alice Hudson crossed the atrium the next morning, on Thursday, 5 January.

It was 9 a.m., just over forty-eight hours since the almoner had overseen Charlotte Redbourne’s committal into hospital. The notes on her desk revealed her eagerness to return to Banstead to check on the teenager, but there was little flexibility in her schedule to allow for a time-consuming journey out of town.

The Woods had already made themselves comfortable, a horsehair blanket draped over Ted’s knees. A half-finished knitted shawl was spread over Hetty’s lap, one of many she was making to donate to the abandoned babies on the wards upstairs. ‘I’m not sure there is much I can do for your daughter at the moment, I’m afraid,’ Alice said quietly as she eased herself into the narrow space on the bench beside Hetty.

The stale smell that pervaded the air in the department intensified. Alice stilled for a moment and frowned. There was a pause and then she said: ‘How Mr Simpkins manages his money is only something I can involve myself in if invited, but I suspect –’

‘Oh yes, we know most of his income ends up in the tills of the Red Lion, duck,’ Hetty said, lowering her knitting needles to her lap. ‘No, you don’t want to be involving yourself with him. He’d thrash you soon as look at you. Poor Billy’s been on the wrong side of his fist many a time, I’m sad to say. Isn’t that right, Ted?’

Her husband leaned around her and nodded ruefully, his jaw stiff. ‘Thanks for trying, Miss Alice,’ he said softly. ‘It’s much appreciated.’

Alice pressed her lips together and squeezed Hetty’s hand. ‘I am going to have a word with one of the doctors here, to see if I can arrange a house call to Billy. I will let you know if –’

She stopped abruptly as Hetty winced and clamped a hand to her chest. Alice peered at her. ‘Are you alright, Hetty?’

The woman closed her eyes briefly, her hands closing tight around one of the knitting needles on her lap. ‘Yes, duck, not too bad. I’m just worried about Billy. Is it his chest again?’

‘You must try not to worry,’ Alice said slowly, her eyes still fixed on the elderly woman. ‘I’ll see what I can do to help. In the meantime, I think we should get the doctor to have a little look at you, Hetty.’

‘Oh, there’s nothing wrong with me, duck.’ Hetty made a shooing motion with her hand. The fetid smell in the air turned rancid.

The almoner leaned forward again and looked at Ted, her eyebrows raised. Even almoners without previous nursing experience had a knack for spotting serious problems, their everyday exposure to all sorts of suffering helping them to develop a practised eye. Ted shifted in his seat, looking between the almoner and his wife, and then he seemed to reach a decision. He turned to his wife. ‘She’s right, love, I think you should do what she says. It’s gone on long enough.’ Hetty shot him an angry look. He reached for her hand and patted it, though his eyes were on Alice. ‘She’s been in pain for a while now, Miss, but all she can think about is getting Tilda sorted.’

The woman gave her husband another irritated look. ‘I don’t want any fuss made,’ she told the almoner. ‘I’d rather you spent your time trying to help Tilda get straight.’

Alice reached for her other hand. ‘We can do both, Mrs Woods. Don’t you worry, I will see to it that we do both.’

The nurse in charge of the chest ward and associated clinic, Sister Nell Smith, was a formidable member of the Royal Free Hospital’s staff. A skinny-framed woman with delicate, bird-like features, she was on her feet as soon as the double doors to the department swung open, her sharp eyes trained on Alice as the almoner approached the main reception.

‘Ah, please tell me you’re here to sort this mess out, Miss Hudson. It’s been like Casey’s Court up here.’

Alice frowned. ‘I don’t know anything about any mess. I would like to speak with Dr Harland, please.’

Nell scoffed. ‘Yes, you and me both. I’m afraid the good doctor’s done one of his disappearing acts again. Anyway, someone’s got to sort this charade out.’ She folded her arms across her flat chest. ‘I’m short on beds, long on admissions and running out of patience.’

‘I’m afraid I’m not following, Nell. I’m here to book a patient in for an urgent appointment.’

The nurse dipped her head towards the male ward on the left-hand side of reception. ‘Not before you’ve sorted out old lover boy in there,’ she said. ‘I’ve had just about enough of it. Two of them we’ve had up here since yesterday, all in varying stages of confinement. I’ve never known anything like it. And I’m still waiting on those two convalescence places you promised me last week.’

Alice took her hat off and rested it on the high desk. She scratched her head. ‘Are we talking about Jimmy Rose, by any chance?’

The nurse nodded. ‘One and the same. If he can’t keep his women under control he’ll have to go elsewhere. I’ll not have my department made into a harem for the likes of him.’