by David Ruffle
After we had both completed our university courses we ended up at opposite ends of the country and although we corresponded fitfully, we did not meet again for just over twenty years later when he became mixed up in a baffling crime in Lyme Regis[19] where he had settled some years before. It was an adventure for myself and Holmes, the like of which we had never known before.
But once more, I get ahead of myself, that is a tale that I will come to later. It was at Barts that I first met Arthur Thurston who would remain a friend for many years. Poor old Thurston, he used to rag us on our sporting abilities while laying claim to some of his own. His only pastime, however, was billiards which we pointed out was a game not a sport. Mind you, he was very skilled as I found out many a time over the years and in the process losing a few shillings to him. Well, maybe it was pounds. I was never one to turn down a wager, even when I could least afford it.
In the early part of 1874 the scorecard from the Ballarat match against Grace’s team was published in the press here. I was immensely proud of my innings and pointed out to everyone I knew, my feats as printed there, ‘Look, that was me.’ Much to my chagrin, no one believed me. I tried in vain to claim my moment of fame, but to no avail. It must have been another Watson they said. It was just a coincidence you were in Ballarat at same time they said.
In truth, I scarcely played cricket after that apart from a few club matches and although I watched WG Grace on many occasions I never had the chance to speak to the man again, not that we were great conversationalists in Australia. Lest you think my life completely revolved around sport at this time, let me assure you I was just as diligent in my studies. I was very much part of a man’s world and I enjoyed the comradeship which made me think of perhaps joining the army as a surgeon. It would continue the comradeship I had come to value plus it would enable me to travel once more to far flung outposts of the Empire. It was not a decision that had to be made immediately, however. I was, at that time, quite guarded with my heart.
My experience with Adeline had left me emotionally bruised and battered and I was in no hurry to dive back into the world of romance. Yet, I did step out with a young lady or two during my university days in spite of being entrenched in that man’s world I described. They were not serious affiliations in any sense of the word, but pleasant enough all the same and no promises were made or sought on either side.
Caught up as I was in my own life I failed to notice the cracks that were beginning to appear in my uncle’s life. The regimens of the household life became less structured. The order to his life which he swore by was becoming random even chaotic. Mrs Chinneck was at her wits end and I was little help. My uncle was not a man that could be approached easily on any topic and truth be told, I had no great desire to approach him. We were not close and whilst I was certainly grateful for all he had done for me, I did not feel any special kinship with him. His detached, aloof manner did not encourage such bonds to form. He, himself, expressed no inclination to speak of what was troubling him.
I asked Mrs Chinneck what she knew of this change in my uncle’s behaviour. She mentioned the words ‘financial irregularities’, and ‘debts and debtors’, whispered them as though the very walls had ears. I surmised that walls and doors had given up this information to her. She could eavesdrop so well and with such ease. Holmes would have been proud of her.
This uncertain state of affairs continued for several more weeks until one day, after a weekend away in Southsea, I came home to an empty house. There were three envelopes propped up on the mantelpiece for me. Two contained notes for me from my uncle and Mrs Chinneck respectively and the other contained a bundle of banknotes with a scribbled note to invest wisely. My uncle and Mrs Chinneck had set sail for India over the course of that weekend having emptied his bank accounts, presumably to leave nothing left in the kitty for debtors. The amount of money left for me, if I kept away from the racetracks, would comfortably see out my final two years at university assuming I could find digs at a reasonable rate. I never did get to the bottom of my uncle’s malpractice if indeed it were malpractice.
By far the most surprising thing about the whole affair was the news that was reinforced in both letters; namely, that my uncle and Mrs Chinneck were to be married! I had no means of congratulating them on this unexpected news for I had no address for them and once I had left the house at Forest Hill they would not have one for me either although a note to Barts would find me if they so wished. They didn’t.
The house had already been sold as I was to find out the following morning when the house agents arrived with the new tenants. I collected as many as my belongings as I could and skulked away. I bunked down a couple of nights at Thurston’s family home in Fulham and once I had deposited my windfall in the bank I set about finding somewhere to live. I was fortunate enough to find two rooms in a narrow lane off Fleet Street which was close enough to Barts to enable me to luxuriate in an extra hour in bed each morning. Even allowing for that luxury, I was still managed to be late on occasion.
My tardiness was already an issue. In later years, I would get it down to a fine art. I was now looked on as a man of means by my fellow students and to keep that up I started to spend way above those perceived means. Somewhere along the line, probably when I had lost a hefty wager I came to my senses and became a tad more frugal. During my third year I finally made that decision which had been brewing for some time; I decided to join the army as a surgeon, if they wanted me of course.
It may surprise some of you that know me through my accounts of Holmes’s adventures that, I, the upstanding John H Watson has in fact a criminal record. I suppose I can look back on it now and laugh, but at the time I was mortified. The incident took place after a match between Blackheath and our bitter rivals, Richmond[20]. It is no idle boast to say that it was my finest match, everything I did that day came off; my kicking and handling of the ball was as precise as it was ever to be. Jacobs, too, was magnificent that day. When the final whistle blew, we were both chaired off the pitch by our grateful teammates.
That kind of adulation, temporary though it may have been, can go to a man’s head. It certainly did to ours. Having arrived back in the city in the middle of the evening, we met up with some fellow students who were only too willing to assist in our celebrations. These celebrations demanded that a fairly large amount of alcohol be consumed. I was not a great drinker then, even less so now and it was not long before I began to lose control over events. I have it on the best authority that the police constable had done nothing to enrage me so it was a surprise to my companions when I charged into him and ran off with his helmet for an imagined try-line. By the time I had touched the helmet down in High Holborn[21]the shrill sound of his police whistle had summoned the aid of two burly constables who tackled me to the ground in no uncertain manner.
The ensuing night in the police cells was certainly chastening. Even more so was my appearance in the police-court in the morning. After being lectured by the magistrate for an unfeasibly long time I was fined ten shillings and bound over to keep the peace for a year. I was then free to leave the court and slink away to my rooms to nurse my headache. Of course, I endured some ribbing when my hangover eased enough for me to attend the medical school the following day. And yet there was yet another lecture on morals by one of the professors who no doubt had seen this kind of thing many times, but he was no less severe on me because of that fact. It was to be my last brush with the law.
15 Sophia Louisa Jex-Blake was an English physician, teacher and feminist. She led the campaign to secure women access to a University education.
16 Surgeons’ Hall in Edinburgh, Scotland, is the headquarters of the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh. It houses the Surgeons’ Hall Museum, and the library and archive of the RCSED.
17 Barts is the oldest hospital in Britain still providing medical services which occupies the site it was originall
y built on, and has an important current role as well as a long history and architecturally important buildings.
18 The institution was founded as “Blackheath Football Club” in 1858 by old boys of Blackheath Proprietary School who played a “carrying” game of football made popular by Rugby School. When the old boys played against the current pupils, supporters would shout for either “Club” or “School” accordingly.
19 Lyme Regis is a coastal town in West Dorset, England, situated 25 miles west of Dorchester and 25 miles east of Exeter. The town lies in Lyme Bay, on the English Channel coast at the Dorset–Devon border. It is nicknamed “The Pearl of Dorset.
20 Formed in 1861, it is one of the oldest football clubs in the world and holds a significant place in the history of Rugby Football, playing in the first ever match under the rules of the Football Association on 19 December 1863, against the Barnes Club, even though it was not a member of the RFA. In 1878 it hosted the first ever floodlit match and in 1909 played in the inaugural match at Twickenham Stadium, the home of English Rugby.
21 A street in the Holborn area of central London.
Cylinder 6
I made some notes yesterday evening to help me with this session, but have managed to misplace them. I am constantly losing things these days. I have found that revisiting my past has unaccountably aided my memory so perhaps I will be able to get by without them. The Royal Victoria Military Hospital at Netley was my next port of call after obtaining my degree of Doctor of Medicine.
The prescribed course for military surgeons was of six months duration, and studies were in military surgery, military medicine, hygiene and pathology. The hospital had been opened in 1863 thanks primarily to the concerted efforts of Florence Nightingale[22] who had witnessed horrors during the Crimean War[23]that made her determined to pioneer better medical treatment for wounded soldiers. That the hospital was to open without adhering to her plans was not her fault of course. I suppose some would say it was better than nothing which it certainly was.
My course began in April of 1879 and at that point my funds were dwindling somewhat. At least my board and lodging at the hospital would be paid for and after that, the army would be my only source of income. The hospital was in a pleasant enough location, set in a large area of land bordered by the River Itchen and River Hamble just to the east of Southampton. It was certainly imposing; the main building was reckoned to be the longest in the world at that time. The building was enormous, grand, and visually attractive, but was neither convenient nor practical. Corridors were on the sea-facing front of the building, leaving the wards facing the inner courtyard with little light and air. Ventilation in general was poor, with unpleasant smells lingering around the vast building.
I cannot say in all honesty that I enjoyed my time there, but it was a means to an end and besides it was only six months that I had to endure there. Early patients arriving from campaigns taking place all over the world during the expansion of the British Empire had an uncomfortable journey to the hospital, either having to be transferred to a shallow-draft boat if landing at the pier or transported from Netley station to the hospital if arriving by rail. More often than not, the men were more disheartened by their arrival at the hospital, but even for them of course, it was a means to an end. It was quite a sight in spite of its flaws. The hospital was, after all, a town in itself, a two hundred-acre metropolis with its own gasworks, reservoir, school, stables, bakery and prison. There was a grand officers’ mess, complete with ballroom, and modest married quarters for other ranks. There was even a salty swimming pool, fed by a windmill pumping water from the sea. It was known to everyone as Spike Island, a local name for that area.
Now, what a good title for a story; Sherlock Holmes and the Mystery of Spike Island. But I digress again. The hours were long and arduous. Rest, proper rest that is, was never easy to come by and the discipline was harsh. After all, for us students it was all about preparing us for life in the army where discipline may be a matter of life and death. I made no real friends there and I missed the ones I had; Thurston remained in London, working in Camberwell and Jacobs had found employment as a general practitioner in Manchester from where he would send me amusing letters of his life in the industrial north.
I did take an interest in one of the nurses, a Miss Emily... damn... what was her surname? Fortescue? Fothergill? Ah, I have it... it was Fotheringay. She was a very dainty girl and I was not the only one to take an interest. I had a rival. Hah! I have always had rivals it seems to me. We took occasional walks along the banks of the Hamble when our periods of free time coincided. When they didn’t marry up, then she took similar walks with Robert... er... well, Robert something anyway. We were actually pals as well as rivals, but blessed if I can remember his name. It is of no import for neither of us got the girl and none of us ever met again. She fell for a doctor who possessed more in way of charm than Robert or me between us. That was quite a blow to my masculinity for I considered my charm was one of my more appealing qualities to the opposite sex, something Sherlock Holmes would allude to on more than one occasion.
Truth be told, at that stage of my life I had not formed a lasting relationship; oh, I may have considered myself to be in love on a few occasions, but even that was open to doubt. My immediate future would be tied up to the fortunes or otherwise of the army which promised not to be conducive to romance. My experience at Netley did prove that discipline could be instilled in me which was obviously a major part of army life.
At this stage, I had no inkling where I would be posted or even with which regiment. I had not given the matter too much thought; it wasn’t as if I were going to have any choice in the matter. It was almost my last week at Netley when I received my orders, namely that I would be attached to the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers[24], that grand old regimentas the assistant surgeon. It meant my first posting was to India, to Bombay in fact, where the regiment was stationed.
Once again, I prepared to leave my home shores for a distant land. I was intrigued as to whether I would come to any knowledge of my uncle and his new wife, not that there would be time for anything but pressing army activities of course, but the notion intrigued me. It was an uncertain time in the east. The consensus from all the political commentators of the day, judging by the newspaper accounts I read was that a war between Britain and Afghanistan was unavoidable. I was almost on the point of departure when the news came that Sher Ali Khan[25], the Emir of Afghanistan had turned away a British mission headed by Lord Lyttelton. This was enough to trigger war.
Gilchrist, that was his name. Robert that is, my love rival. Just popped into my head. These days things are more likely to leave my head.
It was a fine and sunny Saturday morning when I packed my bags and took the train to Portsmouth where I would board a ship to India. How did I feel? Excited? Apprehensive? I knew I was now heading into a war with all the horrors that would entail. I am not ashamed to admit I was having grave doubts about this decision of mine to follow a military career. The notion of adventure had taken me this far, but now I was faced with the reality of what it would mean to serve in the army. I hoped my doctoring skills were up to the standards and I hoped my nerve would hold under the extreme conditions I was likely to find.
We steamed out of Portsmouth on the Tigris. The conditions were basic even for the officers amongst us, but so much better than the poor souls who suffered on the journey out to Australia, so fresh in my memory. The crossing was smooth and uneventful. So much so that very little of it has remained in my memory. The events that followed were a different kettle of fish. And besides I made extensive notes after the events which follow that I have beside me now.
On disembarkation at Bombay I reported to the Army Medical Department who eventually managed to guide me through the forms, often in triplicate, that confirmed my appointment with my regiment. The only fly in the ointment was that the Northumb
erland Fusiliers were already well on their way to Afghanistan therefore with barely a moment to myself I was on my travels again.
Firstly, a steamer to Karachi which was undoubtedly the easy part of the journey, but even so lasted a few days. The onward journey from Karachi was initially by train. Oh, that train! So hot, so stuffy and so overcrowded. Illness was rife especially what may be termed politely as stomach bugs. Once it was known I was a doctor I was deluged by poor souls who were desperate for some alleviation from their suffering. Ordinarily, I would have prescribed fresh water to be their only diet for a few days, but fresh water was a commodity in short supply.
However, I did what I could. On reaching the railhead we found a wagon train being hastily assembled from such supplies that had made it that far. Precious little by way of weaponry which was scarcely reassuring although the medical supplies were pleasingly comprehensive, even down to portable operating tables. God knows, I remember thinking, we would have need of them soon enough.
It was a long march for the majority of the men, who were not as great in number as I had anticipated. Some of the officers rode on horses or camels. Some were reduced to riding on mules. It was a landscape of extremes with weather to match. The long days were stiflingly hot yet when night fell the temperatures would drop quickly and reminded me forcibly of Northumberland winters.
Our destination was Kandahar and when we entered the city it had been over a month since leaving Bombay. Once again, I was foiled in my attempt join my regiment for they had moved on once more; this time to the northern territories where they formed part of the Peshawar Valley Field Force[26]. The adjutant in command of the garrison at Kandahar took it upon himself to attach me to the Royal Berkshires, the 66th. At least I was to be spared another journey for a while. I was not, however, spared any duties.
