I seemed to awake from a long sleep, only to discover that instead of
being in a trench or a billet I was in a hospital; one of the kind made of
canvas. There were two great marquee tents, with nurses flitting about
quietly--like angels they seemed to me, for the moment.
The pain that racked my body was awful. I lay there trying to determine in
what part of me the pain was located but it seemed to be all over me. I
noticed that either a nurse or an orderly was constantly in attendance at
my cot.
As my comprehension of things about me became clearer, I realized that my
neighbour was a German. His moaning, coupled with his muttering of "_Ach,
mein Gott in Himmel!_" got on my nerves, but I decided to say nothing, as
I had not yet learned whether it was an enemy hospital or one of our own.
I decided that if it was the former, the quietest way to die was the
best, if die I must. During one of the moaning spells of my neighbour, I
seemed to lose consciousness. When I "came back," a soft voice whispered
in my ear: "It's all right; keep still; we are only taking a plate of your
leg."
An _English_ voice!--and with such kindness in it! Our own hospital! Not a
prisoner! I just wanted to cry out, from sheer happiness.
When next I found myself in my cot, that awful pain was unnerving me, but
the doctor, Captain Allen, assured me that I would be all right after a
few weeks' rest in Blighty. I immediately asked when I was to go. His
reply was: "When your temperature goes down. It has been 104 for about a
week."
I said I would like to write home, and my soft-voiced nurse thereupon
brought me paper and envelope. I moved to extend my right hand for the
paper, and with dismay found it in splints and bandages, with a strong
resemblance to a huge boxing glove. Quickly I glanced at the left hand, to
find with relief that it, at least, was whole.
I had of course never learned to use my left hand for writing. Observing
my need of assistance, the nurse sat on the edge of my bed and took pen
and paper to write for me. I had not even to ask her to do this service.
The tears came into my eyes at her willing, quiet helpfulness.
After she had finished writing my letter, I asked her about my condition.
She seemed reluctant to tell me, but as I urged her to do so she finally
said:
"Your leg will probably have to be amputated, as it has been completely
turned round and the knee badly shattered. Some splinters of shell still
remain in it."
She left me--but not for long. She had gone for the plate with the
impression of my knee. This she held up to what light could get through
the roof of the yellow canvas, and the picture I saw quite startled me. I
counted four little black specks around the joint, and to one piece in
particular she called my attention. It was about the size of a one-carat
diamond pointed at both ends and was embedded in the knee cap. This tiny
object was giving me nearly all of my pain.
The medical officer on his rounds approached us and greeted me with "You
certainly had a miraculous escape."
Later, one of my mates in the hospital, who was with my regiment, told me
how I got mine. He had witnessed it. A Jack Johnson striking about fifteen
yards in front of the trench I was in, exploded, caving the trench in for
a length of about thirty yards. I, with Sergeant Johnstone, who had come
up the previous day with reinforcements, was buried completely. Then the
Germans charged over the trench at our fellows, who retired to their
reserve trenches. However, the enemy was repulsed and had to retire to
their own lines again. This fight started about 2 P.M., and it was not
until about nine o'clock that night that our company came up and began to
re-open the trench. It seems that one fellow was about to use his pick
when another close by with a shovel noticed something in the form of a
head. He stayed the hand with the pick just in time. It was a head--and
mine at that. They completely unearthed me, and, as I looked to be dead,
placed me to one side with a waterproof sheet over me, to be buried later.
Luckily enough, a medical officer examined me and found there was still a
little life left. He used artificial respiration, put my legs in splints
made up of empty ration boxes, bandaged my damaged right hand, and sent me
to the Rouen Hospital, unconscious, but with a spark of life still in me.
Even after two weeks' stay in the hospital my condition was still very
critical, but I had the courage and optimism peculiar to the Scot and my
hopes for recovery endured stubbornly. The moans of my German neighbour,
mixed with cries for "_Das Ei_," didn't allay my fever at all. No one knew
what he wanted. Latterly one of our wounded fellows called the nurse over
and suggested very earnestly that perhaps he had a glass eye and it needed
some attention. The nurse at once examined his eyes, but found them all
right.
However, the next medical officer on duty understood German and acquainted
the nurse with the fact that the patient had been calling for an egg. He
marked on his chart that he should be given two fresh eggs every morning.
This German was accorded first attention, while our own boys had to be
content with being next in line. We could not kick, however, as the
doctors and nurses stretched their ability to do for others to the utmost.
After our prisoner had had his hunger appeased with the "Ei," he seemed
content to die, for that is just what he did. From what I could learn, his
injury had been a bad one, a large piece of shell having pierced his
chest.
I felt sure, when I saw him carried out, that my turn was next. Then I
discovered that the number of my cot was _13_, so--recalling the many
escapes from death I had had and how this number had been concerned in
them, my hopes for recovery went soaring high.
Now I was recovering enough to take an interest in other cases in the
ward, and one in particular, a Royal Irish Fusilier, in the cot opposite
me. He had forty-eight bullet wounds in his body. He had already been in
this ward six weeks, so I knew then I wasn't the worst case there. My
temperature had now dropped to 100, and I was informed that an orderly
would bring my clothes and get me ready for a journey. This meant
Blighty!
A couple of the Royal Army Medical Corps men came into the tent and very
gently laid me in a stretcher, then carried me out along narrow pathways
bordered by neatly whitewashed stones and rows of double-linked marquee
tents with similar neat arrangements of stones at the entrances. There
seemed to be a city of tents on the Rouen _Champ de Course_ (race course),
and outside of it too, as far as my eyes could see.
At the end farthest from the cook-house huts, I noticed a large boiler
arrangement with a funnel sticking up at one end and on the door some
large print, but I could not read the lettering. I asked one of the men
what the object was. I was informed that it was used for disinfecting
Tommy's clothes and exterminating the cooties that they sheltered. Tommy
gets a change to hospital clothing as soon as he enters the base hospital.
On taking a second look at the sign, I made out "Germ-Hun Exterminator."
So when Tommy gets his clothes out of "dock" (hospital), and grumbles at
the R. A. M. C. orderlies when he finds his collection of souvenirs
depleted, they promptly put the blame on the "Germ-Hun."
As soon as I was placed in an ambulance, a tag was fastened to my lapel
and I was ready for the road along with other lucky chaps. It seemed as if
we were hardly settled when we arrived at the railway station. An
ambulance train was waiting here for us, and before many minutes had
elapsed we found ourselves en route for Le Havre. We arrived here the same
night and were placed aboard the S.S. _Asturias_.
When we were about mid-channel, a torpedo from a German submarine just
cleared the bow of our ship by a few feet. Even a hospital ship is a
target for the missiles of the enemy.
We arrived next morning at Southampton without further occurrences of
moment.
Each patient was asked where he wished to be sent. It was natural that
each should give his home district. We were placed in rows in the large
shed on the wharf, and our destination marked on our tickets. We were now
ready for our next part of the journey.
Suddenly my attention was attracted by vigorous exclamations. From the
patient in the stretcher next to me I heard vociferous "bly'me-ing" in a
very strong cockney accent. I asked the disturber what he was making all
the row about.
"Bli' me," he said, "they've gawn an' gyve me a ticket to th' bloomink end
o' Scotland!"
"Is it a mistake?" I asked.
"Mistyke!" said he. "Is it a mistyke? Hit's a mistyke that tykes in th'
whole bloomink ge-hography of Britain."
He communed with himself a moment in eloquent but inelegant language. Then
he asked:
"Where've they ticketed you to, myte?"
I hadn't thought of looking at my ticket, but now I noted that I was
destined for "Chelsea, London, S. W." So he outlined a scheme to which I
readily agreed. We exchanged tickets.
I adopted his name "Bill Mortimer" of the Rifle Brigade and soon I was
making for "th' bloomink end o' Scotland," while he was en route for
Chelsea under his assumed name.
When I arrived in an Aberdeen Hospital, they were a good few days trying
to account for me, as my papers had naturally gone to Chelsea. Ultimately
they came to the conclusion that there must have been an error at
Southampton; and sure enough, my record was finally located at the London
hospital.
It was one of the best errors that could have happened, for very soon I
found myself in the "Craigleith Military Hospital" within commuting
distance of my relatives and friends. I never heard any more of my friend
"Bill Mortimer," but I have no doubt the "error" proved a good one to him
also.
Two medical officers looked me over very carefully the first day. The next
day they came back accompanied by the chief medical officer, Colonel
Cottrill. After the latter examined me carefully he said that "an
immediate amputation would be the wisest plan." He asked me whether other
examining physicians had told me the same thing.
I said: "Yes; but I think it will be all right. See, I can wiggle my
toes." And I pointed out that this was a sure sign of hope for a recovery
without amputation.
Then commenced a daily routine of bandaging which stretched into months;
every conceivable treatment for my betterment was given me; a
plaster-of-Paris cast was put on my knee, and after it was on a week or
two, the effect was simply wonderful.
By this time, my hand could be used a little, but I found myself minus a
finger and with two others broken. They, however, healed to normal.
Every week, during our long stay in the hospital, entertainments were
given for us by professional actors and actresses. Visitors were permitted
to call Wednesdays and Sundays from 1 to 4 P.M.; on other days from 1 to 3
P.M. I cannot describe the generosity and kindness of the people of
Edinburgh.
Every day came armfuls of flowers--the most soothing offering a
convalescent Tommy can receive, outside of the occasional kiss some dear
wee lass would imprint on his cheek. Both are wonderful in their ability
to cheer a lonesome Tommy, who, perhaps, finds himself far from his home
folk! Every day the ladies and young girls of the town came to sit by our
cots and read to us or write our letters. It was an enormous hospital,
having often as many as 1100 patients and every man in it, even those who
were strangers in Scotland, had daily visitors in plenty. English and
Welsh soldiers, too far from home to receive the attention of their own
people, were given even more favours than the Scots. Every day, a flock of
big motor cars drew up and carried away those who were far enough toward
recovery for a ride. We had many delightful hours rolling swiftly through
the picturesque city of Edinburgh, along the banks of the Forth and up
through the beautiful Pentland Hills.
Our lockers were well filled, and we never wanted for such dainties as
chocolates and fancy biscuits, and we had magazines, and--above
all--cigarettes.
A party of our lady visitors brought us wool and volunteered to teach us
the art of knitting to while away our idle time. Most of the boys took
kindly enough to it, but I wanted to learn embroidery. It caused no end of
merriment that a man should want to sew. However, I persuaded them to try
me, and one of them offered to do so.
In India I had done quite a little at sketching, and my teacher found me
an apt pupil in this allied art. Very soon I had mastered the art of
making long and short stitches, French knots, border and buttonhole
stitches, etc. I was so highly commended that I received many requests
from these ladies for cushion covers, doilies, etc. They brought the
materials and I plied the needle. It was such enticing work that very soon
two other fellows "joined in."
We had many other ways of passing the time. Visitors would ask us to write
or sketch something in their autograph books, which we did with much
pleasure, and I can tell you that some very, very funny local sketches and
poetry--composed on the spur of the moment, with fellow mates, nurses, and
doctors as the subjects--were carried away from that hospital. They were
highly prized by the recipients. We had also a monthly _Gazette_ recording
the events of the daily life of the hospital in a breezy and interesting
way.
I saw many a bad case brought in, get well, and sent home, but still I
remained, and so Corporal Charles Palmer, who had been there the longest,
promoted himself to be "Commander-in-Chief" and took me as second in
command, I being next to him in length of time there. One of his legs had
been blown off six inches above the knee and the pain he suffered at times
was excruciating. Another lad, a German, sixteen years of age, had had
both legs blown off below the knees by one of the Germans' own shells just
as he was about to give himself up to the British. He spoke very good
English and was surprisingly cheery. The fair sex found him very
attractive and he always got an ample share of the dainties they brought.
I was still in the hospital when the awful "Gretna Green" disaster
happened. Perhaps you remember it. A regiment of the Royal Scots was on
its way to the front. Their train collided with another at Gretna Green
near the Carlisle Junction, resulting in the loss of more than one hundred
lives. Some of those that required medical attention were sent to
Craigleith, and among the few that found themselves in our ward was a
very broad-spoken Scot. He was on seven days' leave, but being "full of
happiness," somehow or another got mixed in at Edinburgh station with the
lads of the wreck. He spied an empty cot which he immediately made for and
fell asleep upon it. Soon afterward, Colonel Sir Joseph Farrer, Commandant
of the hospital, came along to see the Gretna lads. When he came to this
cot he slowly uncovered the face of the presumed patient and asked: "How
are you?" The Scot, so rudely aroused, sat up, exclaiming: "Fine, mon;
hoo's yersel'?" The colonel was nonplussed for the moment, but hastily
recovered himself however, and shook the extended hand of the erstwhile
patient, much to the amusement of the rest of us.
Among the "padres" to visit the hospital was a Major Chaplain of the
Church of England. He seemed particularly interested in our ward (G ward)
and made as many as three visits a week.
Thursdays, after tea, was prayer meeting for us, as well as for a few of
the other wards. Of course, it was impossible for all the wards to have
the meeting on the same evening, owing to the large number of them and the
scarcity of clergymen, so many of whom were with the boys in France. On
one Thursday evening in particular, the Church of England chaplain I have
just mentioned was about to commence the service when the absence of the
organ (which was a little portable one, such as is used by the Salvation
Army) was discovered.
A couple of men who could walk volunteered to go in search of the organ,
but they couldn't find it. Then Sister Brian, a most accommodating nurse,
whose Cockney accent was an unmistakable mark of her early upbringing,
went out to locate the missing organ. After a few minutes she returned and
startled the ward by announcing, from the doorway: "You men 'ad hall
better go to 'Hell' (meaning _L_ ward). Th' horgan's in 'Hell,' an' th'
services habout to begin."
There was a general roar of laughter and the reverend gentleman
strenuously refused the invitation.
When the patients were well on the road to recovery, they would be sent to
one of the many mansions opened by the owners as homes for convalescents.
Here they would remain for a few weeks, perhaps a month, before being sent
to their homes. This stay will be among the pleasantest memories of those
who experienced it. The beautifully-laid-out and spacious grounds and the
auto rides! How it all helped to hasten recovery!
I cannot conclude without trying to express the praise which most
certainly belongs to the medical officers of "Craigleith." At the outbreak
of the war, Colonel Cottrill had been retired ten years, but he was found
ready when the first note of the nation's rally sounded, and there he
remained when I left, serving his king and country in relieving, by his
expert skill, the sufferings of those who come under his care. He was over
seventy years of age, but he most truly was seventy years young.
Of the nurses and sisters I could not say enough. Sister Lauder, for
instance; I have seen her do thirty-six hours' duty at one stretch,
without the slightest rest, at a time when streams of wounded were pouring
in day and night. Once she collapsed in the middle of the ward. Such
devotion, such wonderful spirit these women exhibited!
I was discharged on August 5th, 1915, being "no longer physically fit for
war service." (Para. 392, XVI, K.R.)