A fascinating story from Housewife magazine, 1947, and a glimpse of post-war social history in London during the rebuilding not just of bricks and mortar, but of society.
Housewife 1947: Invalid Kitchens
A valuable service which enables many people who would otherwise be unfit for work to live a normal life
By Barbara Banks
WHEN I discovered that the Invalid Kitchens had been in existence for over forty years I decided to investigate what sounded an interesting and unusual service. I telephoned the secretary of the nearest Kitchen to inquire if I might go along and see it. She said she had eighty invalid dinners to help prepare and all the shopping to do, so would I come tomorrow. Eighty dinners, and all the shopping! I assured the cheerful voice at the other end of the line that tomorrow would suit me equally well. The Kitchen had a light, pleasant dining-room with a serving-hatch to the kitchen.
‘What kind of people come here?’ I asked the secretary. ‘
‘Anyone needing a special diet. They must bring a doctor’s certificate or one from the hospital. We get T.B. cases, people suffering from all types of gastric trouble, diabetes, duodenal ulcers and many others. Naturally we work in co-operation with the local medical authorities.’
‘However do you know what to give all these different cases?’
Miss Ames smiled. ‘It certainly isn’t merely a question of a little steamed fish. We have an organising dietician at our headquarters .so all the meals are scientifically and correctly balanced. Some folk seem to have the idea that we are just a glorified soup-kitchen. But, of course, that isn’t our purpose at all. We do feel the work is important and when we see how wonderfully different patients respond to correct diet it makes all our efforts worthwhile. We had one man suffering badly from gastric trouble. His wife was very debilitated after her confinement but struggling to feed the baby. She was unable to go out shopping and he was too weak. Our van took them their dinners. In a very short time she was stronger and in consequence the baby was better, and he was able to return to work. He finds that by coming here for his dinner and continuing to have proper dieting he keeps quite fit.’
‘What do you mean by the van? I thought everyone came to the Kitchen.’
‘Oh, no. Each Kitchen has its delivery service and meals are taken to invalids who are too ill to come and old people who are bed-ridden. Come out to the kitchen and see the dinners put up.’
Piles of deep metal plates were on the table. After the hot food was put in them they were stacked tightly on top of each other, placed inside a thick, round metal cylinder, the lid firmly fixed, and away went the driver on the first round.
‘Five of those go to a factory,’ explained Miss Amen ‘We used to send to a number of factories, but now their own canteens are doing more themselves. Our dietician is always pleased to advise factory canteens about special diets.’
I volunteered to do some potatoes while I waited for the dining-room to open.
‘All the meat has to be minced,’ explained Miss Ames. ‘Vegetables are either minced or thoroughly mashed. When we serve fruit it must be sieved. I could not give patients whole prunes; they are made into a purée.’
Housewife 1947: Invalid Kitchens
A valuable service which enables many people who would otherwise be unfit for work to live a normal life
By Barbara Banks
WHEN I discovered that the Invalid Kitchens had been in existence for over forty years I decided to investigate what sounded an interesting and unusual service. I telephoned the secretary of the nearest Kitchen to inquire if I might go along and see it. She said she had eighty invalid dinners to help prepare and all the shopping to do, so would I come tomorrow. Eighty dinners, and all the shopping! I assured the cheerful voice at the other end of the line that tomorrow would suit me equally well. The Kitchen had a light, pleasant dining-room with a serving-hatch to the kitchen.
‘What kind of people come here?’ I asked the secretary. ‘
‘Anyone needing a special diet. They must bring a doctor’s certificate or one from the hospital. We get T.B. cases, people suffering from all types of gastric trouble, diabetes, duodenal ulcers and many others. Naturally we work in co-operation with the local medical authorities.’
‘However do you know what to give all these different cases?’
Miss Ames smiled. ‘It certainly isn’t merely a question of a little steamed fish. We have an organising dietician at our headquarters .so all the meals are scientifically and correctly balanced. Some folk seem to have the idea that we are just a glorified soup-kitchen. But, of course, that isn’t our purpose at all. We do feel the work is important and when we see how wonderfully different patients respond to correct diet it makes all our efforts worthwhile. We had one man suffering badly from gastric trouble. His wife was very debilitated after her confinement but struggling to feed the baby. She was unable to go out shopping and he was too weak. Our van took them their dinners. In a very short time she was stronger and in consequence the baby was better, and he was able to return to work. He finds that by coming here for his dinner and continuing to have proper dieting he keeps quite fit.’
‘What do you mean by the van? I thought everyone came to the Kitchen.’
‘Oh, no. Each Kitchen has its delivery service and meals are taken to invalids who are too ill to come and old people who are bed-ridden. Come out to the kitchen and see the dinners put up.’
Piles of deep metal plates were on the table. After the hot food was put in them they were stacked tightly on top of each other, placed inside a thick, round metal cylinder, the lid firmly fixed, and away went the driver on the first round.
‘Five of those go to a factory,’ explained Miss Amen ‘We used to send to a number of factories, but now their own canteens are doing more themselves. Our dietician is always pleased to advise factory canteens about special diets.’
I volunteered to do some potatoes while I waited for the dining-room to open.
‘All the meat has to be minced,’ explained Miss Ames. ‘Vegetables are either minced or thoroughly mashed. When we serve fruit it must be sieved. I could not give patients whole prunes; they are made into a purée.’
By the time the driver and his helper had taken away the twenty-seven dinners for delivery it was 12 o’clock and the first people were arriving in the dining-room. I left my potato-peeling and followed Miss Ames to her desk near the entrance. The maximum charge is 1s. 6d., but many pay less than that. Old Age Pensioners pay 8d. each and some pay as little as 6d. I noticed a large bowl of Bemax stood by the hatch so that anyone who liked could take some with their pudding.
‘How do you manage to pay your way?’ I inquired.
‘We are supported by voluntary contributions,’ replied Miss Ames. ‘And we certainly do want a lot more financial help. Apart from the existing Kitchens (we have eight in different parts of London) there is such a need for them in other districts. More money would enable us to extend the service.’
‘How do you manage to pay your way?’ I inquired.
‘We are supported by voluntary contributions,’ replied Miss Ames. ‘And we certainly do want a lot more financial help. Apart from the existing Kitchens (we have eight in different parts of London) there is such a need for them in other districts. More money would enable us to extend the service.’
‘Tell me about some of the people. What is the matter with that man who has just come in?”
‘He was a very bad gastric case. He has been coming for six or seven weeks and has gained a stone in weight. The little woman over there is a diabetic; she has her own dinner here and then takes one home to her invalid husband. We have several young ex-service men with a war legacy of gastric trouble. By proper dieting they are able to carry on with their work. But without this help many of them would be unfit for normal duties.’
The whole place had an air of quiet friendliness. When I remarked on it Miss Ames said, ‘Well, I take a personal interest in each patient. The diets are important, but their beneficial effects can be increased when they are eaten in happy congenial surroundings.’ She looked regretfully round the room. ‘And I do like to have flowers on the tables, but they are far too expensive just now.’
As we ate our own dinners I wanted to know more about the delivery service... ‘It is, of course, a very important part of our work,’ said Miss Ames. ‘Although from a financial point of view it is expensive. But this is an instance where the end really does justify the uneconomic means! For some of the bed-ridden old people the visit of the van is the high light of their long, lonely day. One old woman is ninety-five, but she thoroughly enjoys her hot dinner and a word with the helper who takes it.’
‘Do you need helpers?’
‘People who are really reliable and good drivers for the vans are always welcome. Otherwise we have to pay someone to do it. And as you know our funds are really inadequate to meet the demands on them.’
As I went home I reflected on the very valuable service these hard-working people were rendering the community. Surely if others knew of the need, more financial and practical help would gladly be given. After years of destruction and laying waste we now face the task of building up again. The invalid Kitchens of London are doing a very vital part in that building-up process.
‘He was a very bad gastric case. He has been coming for six or seven weeks and has gained a stone in weight. The little woman over there is a diabetic; she has her own dinner here and then takes one home to her invalid husband. We have several young ex-service men with a war legacy of gastric trouble. By proper dieting they are able to carry on with their work. But without this help many of them would be unfit for normal duties.’
The whole place had an air of quiet friendliness. When I remarked on it Miss Ames said, ‘Well, I take a personal interest in each patient. The diets are important, but their beneficial effects can be increased when they are eaten in happy congenial surroundings.’ She looked regretfully round the room. ‘And I do like to have flowers on the tables, but they are far too expensive just now.’
As we ate our own dinners I wanted to know more about the delivery service... ‘It is, of course, a very important part of our work,’ said Miss Ames. ‘Although from a financial point of view it is expensive. But this is an instance where the end really does justify the uneconomic means! For some of the bed-ridden old people the visit of the van is the high light of their long, lonely day. One old woman is ninety-five, but she thoroughly enjoys her hot dinner and a word with the helper who takes it.’
‘Do you need helpers?’
‘People who are really reliable and good drivers for the vans are always welcome. Otherwise we have to pay someone to do it. And as you know our funds are really inadequate to meet the demands on them.’
As I went home I reflected on the very valuable service these hard-working people were rendering the community. Surely if others knew of the need, more financial and practical help would gladly be given. After years of destruction and laying waste we now face the task of building up again. The invalid Kitchens of London are doing a very vital part in that building-up process.
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