squirrel, on 26 September 2011 - 03:12 PM, said:
....and another thing, how did the gas blinded Officer manage to put his hand on the RAMC chap's leg at one attempt, how did he find something sharp to cut his wrists with?
Surely a blind patient would not have been given anything sharp just in case he inadvertantly injured himself with it?
There were simply so many inconsistencies and errors that I don't think there's any working them out. Puzzling that the tiny cottage hospital just down the road from Downton, where Mrs. Crawley helps out, is taking in the 'injured and dying' straight from Arras. And this little hospital would not of course had any RAMC orderlies, though it does seem that Thomas is their sole representative.
Despite being 'officers only' the beds are so close together - in some cases touching - in a way not seen since the first casualty clearing stations in France in 1914. It would not be possible to walk between the beds, or give any care/dress any wounds of the men in those beds. And where does that large oak-pannelled room fit into the cottage hospital? I don't remember it in the first series. However, it does have a very tiny garden fitting in nicely with the tiny hospital - I'll accept the garden is OK.
Mrs. Crawley seems to be in charge. No trained nurse in sight. Mind you, Mrs. C. does only seem to have two VADs to supervise. Worrying that Lady Sybil, rookie VAD, is left to do the medicine rounds - hopefully she knows more about dispensing that she does about boiling water and making cakes. And good to see her asserting herself and bursting in on the (only) doctor - Major something-or-other - to tell him exactly how he ought to be treating the patients. And how thoughtful of sole-orderly Thomas to agree to Mrs. Cs request that he would take Lady Sybil's VAD shift so that she could pop home and have dinner with their visiting 'Sir.'
Considering that (in real life) small auxliary hospitals never took in casualties straight from embarkation or the seriously wounded, what a massive convoy they were admitting. A long crocodile of raggle-taggle officers, shirts hanging out, slings and bandages over their service jackets, some in dressing-gowns, some in pyjama bottoms and coats; blood oozing through their dressings. And good old Mrs Crawley and the Major did their bit to ease the chaos helping to move the stretchers and sliding patients in to one of the sardine-tin beds. Oh, and Matthew popped in to give them a hand.
Can't wait for next week ...