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A Private Hospital.

Somewhere in London a hospital run very efficiently by some religious Ladies, Yes they were ladies, Ladies with a belief. I must admit that I envied their belief they did not make a show of their beliefs they practised what they believed in. High days and Holidays were no excuse for not running the hospital efficiently. Many Patients from Royalty and many Arab Princes came to be relieved of whatever it was that was ailing them. All were treated with the same courtesy that was showed to the rich.

No one was turned away the only difference was that the rich in their private rooms paid for their treatment, the poor were treated for their illness or aches and pains without payment. I as an ordinary worker or Hospital Porter met all types of people. Royalty, rich and poor no difference was made between them.

My work was very interesting, I stood at the front door of the front of the hospital that was originally a very large Private House. I escorted Private Patients to their rooms and the poor to the wards that had been built onto the back of the Private house. I was also involved in other work such as carrying large oxygen bottle on my shoulder to which ever ward or private room needed such an oxygen bottle. I also was responsible for making sure that the oxygen tents functioned properly. This work was I am sorry to say in those far off days there was no piped oxygen to each ward even to each bed.

Another of my jobs was to prepare the dead bodies for the Home Office Pathologist. I was asked if I would do this work, I could have refused but someone had to do the work and I not only felt sorry for each and every Family or relative that had lost a loved one in the hospital. When the home office Pathologist had finished his examination, No I will not go into details but when the relatives or loved ones came they did not know what had happened to their loved ones. My preparations included shaving faces, Brushing and combing hair and generally seeing to it that no one was unnecessarily upset at seeing their lifeless loved ones. Other things were seeing to the outpatients. The Hospital was open for accidents twenty-four hours day and night. Some of the weird characters that came in were not quite right in the head. It was one of my duties to call the Doctor on duty for accidents. Many of the Patients were as I have said not quite right in the head. A tiny scratch that I myself would have put a plaster on it to stop dirt or germs infecting the wound they made such a fuss. I had an arrangement with the Doctors if it was one of these idiotic cases I would tell the Doctor over the phone, Doctor please come as soon as possible I have a serious case of Pendulum Plumbi. Latin for swinging the lead. Naturally the Doctor came but the so-called Patient had a good wait of over an hour. Another trick of mine was to escort the Patient in to the surgery and prepare in front of him or her; a tray with instruments. Every move I made was registered. I picked instruments that were large. Most asked what the instruments were for. My answer was simple. “With such a serious case as yours I must prepare everything necessary that the Doctor might need. On hearing this most of them decided to go home without waiting for the Doctor. Mind you anything serious and the Doctors were in the surgery. Many were admitted some were given a light dressing and told to come back if there were any signs of septics. I left this Hospital to come over to Austria with my beloved wife I have never regretted this but sometimes the urge to think about my time in the Hospital comes over me. The scribbler Bern.