Eliza Maud "Elsie" Inglis,
16th August, 1864
Eliza Maud "Elsie" Inglis was born on August 16, 1864, in the quaint town of Nainital, nestled in the Himalayan foothills. A colonial British outpost in India might seem an unlikely cradle for one of Scotland's most formidable women, but perhaps it was this very juxtaposition—East meeting West, tradition clashing with modernity—that forged Elsie’s indomitable spirit.
Her father, John Forbes David Inglis, was a chaplain in the Indian Civil Service. John was no ordinary Victorian patriarch; he believed in education and social reform. While most girls of her time were handed samplers and hoop skirts, Elsie was given books and encouraged to engage in discussions about philosophy, politics, and social justice. Her mother, Harriet, was a gentle soul, yet beneath that genteel exterior lay a woman of strong principles and quiet determination—qualities Elsie would inherit and amplify.
At the age of 14, the Inglis family returned to Scotland. Elsie, with her sharp wit and sharper sense of justice, soon found herself questioning the limited roles available to women. Medicine, a field dominated by men, drew her like a magnet. The idea that women should be treated by their own sex in times of illness struck her as not just sensible but revolutionary.
Getting into medical school as a woman in the late 19th century was like trying to squeeze a square peg into a round hole, but Elsie was not one to be deterred by mere societal expectations. She studied at the Edinburgh School of Medicine for Women, which had been established by Dr. Sophia Jex-Blake, one of the first women to practice medicine in Britain.
In a twist of fate that could only be described as poetic justice, Elsie’s mentor, Dr. Jex-Blake, who was known for her militant and somewhat abrasive style, clashed with Elsie’s gentler but equally determined nature. Elsie, ever the diplomat, transferred to the Glasgow Royal Infirmary, where she completed her education under the more congenial Dr. William MacEwen, a leading surgeon of the day.
In 1892, Elsie qualified as a doctor. But let’s be clear—she wasn’t just handed her diploma with a pat on the back. She had to fight for every ounce of knowledge and respect in a field that saw her as a curiosity at best and an abomination at worst. Women doctors were rare, and those who chose surgery, even rarer. But Elsie was no ordinary woman. She was sharp with a scalpel and sharper still with her mind.
Elsie began her career in Edinburgh, setting up a small practice with a fellow female doctor. Her reputation grew, not just as a skilled surgeon but as a compassionate physician who understood the unique needs of women. She quickly realized that medical care for women, particularly the poor, was woefully inadequate. Childbirth, which should have been a joyous occasion, was often marred by preventable complications. The problem wasn’t just medical—it was societal. Women were being failed by a system that didn’t consider their needs.
So, Elsie did what any self-respecting revolutionary would do: she took matters into her own hands. In 1894, she founded a maternity hospital in Edinburgh, offering not just care, but dignity, to women who had nowhere else to turn. The hospital also served as a training ground for female medical students, who, like Elsie, were often turned away from other institutions.
But Elsie’s ambitions didn’t stop at the hospital doors. She was a suffragist, and her work in medicine was inseparable from her activism. The women’s suffrage movement in the UK was gaining momentum, and Elsie was at the forefront, fighting not just for the right to vote, but for the right to be seen and heard in all areas of life. She joined the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies (NUWSS) and became the secretary of the Edinburgh branch. Her speeches, though delivered in a soft-spoken manner, were filled with conviction. She didn’t just want to change the law; she wanted to change society.
When World War I erupted in 1914, Elsie was 50 years old—an age when most women of her time might have been thinking about retirement, or at the very least, slowing down. Not Elsie. The war, which brought death and destruction on a scale the world had never seen, also brought an opportunity for women to step into roles that had long been denied them.
The British government, however, was not keen on letting women serve on the front lines, at least not officially. But when has bureaucracy ever stopped a determined woman? The NUWSS proposed setting up field hospitals staffed entirely by women, but the War Office turned them down, with an air of patronizing disdain.
Undeterred, Elsie and her comrades took their proposal to the French and Serbian governments, who, to their credit, recognized a good idea when they saw one. Thus, the Scottish Women’s Hospitals (SWH) were born.
Elsie, who had already faced down a patriarchal medical establishment and a hostile government, now found herself coordinating medical teams, raising funds, and dealing with the logistical nightmares of running hospitals in war zones. Her first unit was dispatched to Royaumont Abbey in France, where they set up a fully functioning hospital under the most trying conditions. And when I say trying, I mean shellfire, disease, and a general lack of resources that would have sent lesser mortals packing.
But not Elsie. She thrived in the chaos, her calm demeanor and sharp mind making her an exceptional leader. The SWH units weren’t just patching up soldiers; they were proving that women could handle the horrors of war just as well—if not better—than their male counterparts. The soldiers called them “angels,” but these women were more like Valkyries, descending on the battlefield with their medical bags and indomitable will.
In 1915, Elsie herself went to Serbia, a country devastated by war and disease. The situation was dire—typhus, cholera, and dysentery were rampant, and the medical infrastructure had all but collapsed. Elsie and her team set up hospitals, treated thousands of patients, and trained local women in basic nursing skills.
Her work in Serbia was nothing short of heroic. She was awarded the Order of the White Eagle by the Serbian government, a rare honor for a foreigner, let alone a woman. But Elsie didn’t care much for medals; she cared about the people she was helping. She formed a deep connection with the Serbian people, and they, in turn, saw her as a savior.
But the toll on her health was immense. Years of tireless work, coupled with the harsh conditions in Serbia, began to take their toll. By 1917, Elsie was seriously ill, yet she refused to leave her post. Only when it became clear that she could no longer continue did she agree to return to Britain.
Elsie Inglis died on November 26, 1917, just a day after she returned to Scotland. She was 53 years old. Her death was a profound loss, not just to her family and friends, but to the countless lives she had touched. She was buried in Edinburgh, but her legacy was felt far beyond the city’s boundaries.
The Scottish Women’s Hospitals continued to operate until the end of the war, and their work laid the groundwork for future generations of women in medicine. Elsie’s life was a testament to what could be achieved when one refuses to accept the limitations imposed by society. She didn’t just break the mold; she shattered it, paving the way for women to follow in her footsteps.
Today, Elsie Inglis is remembered as one of Scotland’s greatest heroines. Schools, hospitals, and even streets bear her name, a small but fitting tribute to a woman who gave so much of herself to others. Her story is not just one of medical innovation or feminist triumph; it is a story of resilience, compassion, and the unyielding belief that everyone, regardless of gender, deserves a place at the table.
Elsie once famously said, “My work is my monument.” And indeed, it is. Every woman who steps into a medical school, every patient who receives compassionate care, and every voice that speaks up against injustice is part of the legacy she left behind.
In a world that often feels chaotic and unjust, Elsie’s life serves as a reminder that change is possible, that one person can make a difference. She was a woman ahead of her time, but perhaps that’s exactly what the world needed—a woman who wasn’t content to wait for the future to come to her, but who grabbed it by the hand and dragged it into the present.
And for that, we can all be grateful.