Chapter: HILLSBOROUGH HOUSE INEBRIATES' HOME


Under the guidance of Commissioner Cox I inspected a number of the
London Women's Institutions of the Army, first visiting the
Hillsborough House Inebriates' Home. This Home, a beautifully clean
and well-kept place, has accommodation for thirty patients,
twenty-nine beds being occupied on the day of my visit. The lady in
charge informed me that these patients are expected to contribute 10s.
per week towards the cost of their maintenance; but that, as a matter
of fact, they seldom pay so much. Generally the sum recovered varies
from 7s. to 3s. per week, while a good many give nothing at all.

The work the patients do in this Home is sold and produces something
towards the cost of upkeep. The actual expense of the maintenance of
the inmates averages about 12s. 6d. a week per head, which sum
includes an allowance for rent. Most of the cases stay in the Home for
twelve months, although some remain for a shorter period. When the
cure is completed, if they are married, the patients return to their
husbands. The unmarried are sent out to positions as governesses,
nurses, or servants, that is, if the authorities of the Home are able
to give them satisfactory characters.

As the reader who knows anything of such matters will be aware, it is
generally supposed to be rather more easy to pass a camel through the
eye of a needle than to reclaim a confirmed female drunkard. Yet, as I
have already said, the Salvation Army, on a three years' test in each
case, has shown that it deals successfully with about 50 per cent of
those women who come into its hands for treatment as inebriates or
drug-takers. How is this done? Largely, of course, by effecting
through religious means a change of heart and nature, as the Army
often seems to have the power to do, and by the exercise of gentle
personal influences.

But there remains another aid which is physical.

With the shrewdness that distinguishes them, the Officers of the Army
have discovered that the practice of vegetarianism is a wonderful
enemy to the practice of alcoholism. The vegetarian, it seems,
conceives a bodily distaste to spirituous liquors. If they can
persuade a patient to become a vegetarian, then the chances of her
cure are enormously increased. Therefore, in this and in the other
female Inebriate Homes no meat is served. The breakfast, which is
eaten at 7.30, consists of tea, brown and white bread and butter,
porridge and fresh milk, or stewed fruit. A sample dinner at one
o'clock includes macaroni cheese, greens, potatoes, fruit pudding or
plain boiled puddings with stewed figs. On one day a week, however,
baked or boiled fish is served with pease pudding, potatoes, and
boiled currant pudding, and on another, brown gravy is given with
onions in batter. Tea, which is served at six o'clock, consists--to
take a couple of samples--of tea, white and brown bread and butter,
and cheese sandwiches with salad; or of tea, white and brown bread and
butter, savoury rolls, and apples or oranges.

It will be observed that this diet is as simple as it well can be; but
I think it right to add, after personal inspection, that the inmates
appear to thrive on it extremely well. Certainly all whom I saw looked
well nourished and healthy.

A book is kept in the Home in which the details of each case are
carefully entered, together with its record for two years after
discharge. Here are the particulars of three cases taken by me at
hazard from this book which will serve to indicate the class of
patient that is treated at this Home. Of course, I omit the names:--

     _A.B._ Aged thirty-one. Her mother, who was a drunkard and
     gave A.B. drink in her childhood, died some time ago. A.B.
     drove her father, who was in good circumstances, having a
     large business, to madness by her inebriety. Indeed, he
     tried to commit suicide by hanging himself, but, oddly
     enough, it was A.B. who cut him down, and he was sent to an
     asylum. A.B. had fallen very low since her mother's death;
     but I do not give these details. All the members of her
     family drank, except, strange to say, the father, who at the
     date of my visit was in the asylum. A.B. had been in the
     Home some time, and was giving every satisfaction. It was
     hoped that she will be quite cured.

     _C.D._ Aged thirty. C.D.'s father, a farmer, was a moderate
     drinker, her mother was a temperance woman. Her parents
     discovered her craving for drink about ten years ago. She
     was unable to keep any situation on account of this failing.
     Four years ago C.D. was sent to an Inebriate Home for twelve
     months, but no cure was effected. Afterwards she
     disappeared, having been dismissed from her place, and was
     found again for the mother by the Salvation Army. At the
     time of my visit she had been six months in the Home, and
     was doing well.

     _E.F._ Aged forty-eight; was the widow of a professional
     man, whom she married as his second wife, and by whom she
     had two children, one of whom survives. She began to drink
     before her husband's death, and this tendency was increased
     by family troubles that arose over his will. She mismanaged
     his business and lost everything, drank heavily and
     despaired. She tried to keep a boarding house, but her
     furniture was seized and she came absolutely to the end of
     her resources, her own daughter being sent away to her
     relatives. E.F. was nine months in the Hillsborough Home,
     and had gone as cook and housekeeper to a situation, where
     she also was giving every satisfaction.

 While on sick leave, Dr. Rivers visits his brother Charles, a chicken farmer. They attend church together, during which Dr. Rivers fixates on Christ's crucifixion and Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac on the stained glass windows. The psychologist notes that Abraham and his son look smug. He reflects that "the bargain" of civilization is the promise that if sons are totally obedient to their fathers, they will one day inherit their fathers' world. Yet Dr. Rivers is disturbed, knowing that the war is ensuring that very few sons will be left to step into their father's places. Later in the day, Dr. Rivers helps Charles move hens into a new coop. That evening, Charles and his wife leave for dinner while Dr. Rivers stays home alone and looks over their accounts. He struggles to write a letter to Sassoon but abandons the task. Dr. Rivers notices a painting of the Apostles of the Pentecost receiving the gift of tongues. It used to belong his father, a priest and speech therapist. Rivers feels that the apostles look "unchristianly smug". He remembers rejecting his father's approach to treating speech impediments with physical exercises and giving a lecture to his father's speech therapy group denouncing the Bible and promoting evolution. That was the first time Dr. Rivers's father was able to hear the content of his son's speech and not just his stuttering delivery. Despite his youthful rebellion, Dr. Rivers realizes that he is a lot like his father: a therapist who treats men with stutters. After reminiscing, the psychologist finally pushes himself to start the letter to Sassoon. Owen comes to Sassoon with a heavily revised poem, Anthem for Doomed Youth, which Sassoon loves, describing it as "a revelation". Yet the lieutenant has one misgiving: the poem argues there can be no consolation for the damage wrought by the war, but the ending indicates the soldier's pride in having participated in the war. Owen defends the ending, claiming that Sassoon's poems often contain the same contradiction. Back in town, Sarah and her co-worker Madge go to the hospital to visit Madge's wounded fiance, who is in a ward filled with mildly injured and brightly optimistic young soldiers. Sarah leaves Madge alone with her fiance so they can have some privacy and wanders into the back lawn of the hospital. She sees a greenhouse, which she thinks might be a good place to rest. However, Sarah quickly realizes the structure is filled with badly wounded and disfigured men. She exits in a panic and reflects that the sudden presence of a "pretty girl" might serve to remind the men of their condition. She feels angry that these men are hidden from sight. Meanwhile, Prior is in the same hospital to have his asthma assessed. The doctor treats him poorly, insinuating that "nerves" aren't a legitimate reason to leave combat. Prior is given a card and told to return for the results of his tests in three weeks. As Prior exits the hospital, he sees Sarah emerging from behind the building and realizes how fond he is of her. They greet each other happily and Sarah runs to tell Madge that she is leaving with Billy. When she returns, Prior gives her a freshly-purchased bouquet of flowers. Dr. Rivers visits his good friend Henry Head, the man on whom he experimented to chart nerve regeneration. He has an amiable chat with Head's wife before his meeting with his old co-worker. Head tries to convince Dr. Rivers to leave Craiglockhart and accept a more prestigious position studying patients with spinal injuries at the Central Hospital in London. Dr. Rivers initially rejects the offer, insisting that he cannot abandon Bryce. However, Head pushes him to reconsider, arguing that Craiglockhart is isolating him

