The Postcard
A Kromo Series postcard published by D. Ltd. of London E.C. On the back of the card they describe themselves as 'Pictorial Postcard Pioneers'. The card was printed in Saxony.
The card was posted to:
Mrs. F. Funnell,
Home Cottage,
Whitesmith,
Chiddingly,
Sussex.
The stamp has unfortunately been removed, along with the date of posting.
The pencilled message on the divided back of the card was as follows:
"Dear Mother,
Just a p.c. to let you know
that I got back alright.
You can address my
letters to the same address
and they will send them on
to me.
I am writing this in the train
to Southampton so haven't
time for much.
From H."
The pencil that H used was was of the purple type issued to British troops during the Great War. Southampton was a major embarkation port for the transportation of troops and horses across the Channel during the war.
The card features an Aldershot location; Aldershot is known as the Home of the British Army.
These factors make it highly likely that H was on his way to the trenches of the Western Front when he wrote the card.
Cambridge Military Hospital
Cambridge Military Hospital was a hospital in Aldershot Garrison, Hampshire which served the various British Army camps located there.
The hospital was built by Messrs Martin Wells and Co. of Aldershot; the design was based on that of the Royal Herbert Hospital in Woolwich. It was named after Prince George, Duke of Cambridge, and opened on the 18th. July 1879.
By 1893 two new angled pavilion wards had been added at the ends of the main through corridor. Many more additions and alterations were subsequently made, compromising the elegant initial design.
The Hospital During the Great War
In the Great War, the Cambridge Hospital was the first base hospital to receive casualties directly from the Western Front.
The Cambridge Hospital was also the first place where plastic surgery was performed in the British Empire. Captain Gillies (later Sir Harold Gillies), met Hippolyte Morestin, while on leave in Paris in 1915. Morestin was reconstructing faces in the Val-de-Grace Hospital in Paris. Gillies fell in love with the work, and at the end of 1915 was sent back from France to start a Plastic Unit in the Cambridge Hospital.
The Hospital After WWII
After the Second World War, with the decline in importance of Britain's military commitments, civilians were admitted to the hospital. It pioneered the supply of portable operating theatres and supplies for frontline duties. The hospital also contained the Army Chest Unit.
Closure of the Hospital
The hospital closed on the 2nd. February 1996 due to the high cost of running the old building as well as the discovery of asbestos in the walls.
In 2014 permission was granted for the hospital to be converted to provide housing. Subsequently, the 12 acre (4.9 ha) site was acquired by Weston Homes for conversion into residential accommodation. The main building is Grade II listed.
The RAMC Memorial
Nearby at the top of Gun Hill is the RAMC Memorial which commemorates the 314 men of the Royal Army Medical Corps who lost their lives in the Boer War of 1899 to 1902.
'Disabled' by Wilfred Owen
'Disabled' is a Great War poem written by Wilfred Owen in 1917. It expresses the tormented thoughts and recollections of a teenage soldier who has lost his limbs in battle, and is now confined to a wheelchair. Here it is:
'He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light-blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,—
In the old times, before he threw away his knees.
Now he will never feel again how slim
Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,
All of them touch him like some queer disease.
There was an artist silly for his face,
For it was younger than his youth, last year.
Now, he is old; his back will never brace;
He's lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,
And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race
And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a blood-smear down his leg,
After the matches carried shoulder-high.
It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,
He thought he'd better join. He wonders why.
Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts.
That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,
Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,
He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;
Smiling they wrote his lie: aged nineteen years.
Germans he scarcely thought of, all their guilt,
And Austria's, did not move him. And no fears
Of Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hilts
For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.
And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.
Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
Thanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in institutes,
And do what things the rules consider wise,
And take whatever pity they may dole.
Tonight he noticed how the women's eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
How cold and late it is! Why don't they come
And put him into bed? Why don't they come?'