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FANNY GOES TO WAR
BY PAT BEAUCHAMP
(FIRST AID NURSING YEOMANRY)
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
MAJOR-GENERAL H.N. THOMPSON,
K.C.M.G, C.B., D.S.O
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1919
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
To T.H.
INTRODUCTION
I eagerly avail myself of the Author's invitation to write a foreword to
her book, as it gives me an opportunity of expressing something of the
admiration, of the wonder, of the intense brotherly sympathy and
affection--almost adoration--which has from time to time overwhelmed me
when witnessing the work of our women during the Great War.
They have been in situations where, five short years ago, no one would
ever have thought of finding them. They have witnessed and taken active
part in scenes nerve-racking and heart-rending beyond the power of
description. Often it has been my duty to watch car-load after car-load
of severely wounded being dumped into the reception marquees of a
Casualty Clearing Station. There they would be placed in long rows
awaiting their turn, and there, amid the groans of the wounded and the
loud gaspings of the gassed, at the mere approach of a sister there
would be a perceptible change and every conscious eye would brighten as
with a ray of fresh hope. In the resuscitation and moribund marquees,
nothing was more pathetic than to see "Sister," with her notebook,
stooping over some dying lad, catching his last messages to his loved
ones.
Women worked amid such scenes for long hours day after day, amid scenes
as no mere man could long endure, and yet their nerves held out; it may
be because they were inspired by the nature of their work. I have seen
them, too, continue that work under intermittent shelling and bombing,
repeated day after day and night after night, and it was the rarest
thing to find one whose nerves gave way. I have seen others rescue
wounded from falling houses, and drive their cars boldly into streets
with bricks and debris flying.
I have also, alas! seen them grievously wounded; and on one occasion,
killed, and found their comrades continuing their work in the actual
presence of their dead.
The free homes of Britain little realise what our war women have been
through, or what an undischarged debt is owing to them.
How few now realise to what a large extent they were responsible for the
fighting spirit, for the _morale_, for the tenacity which won the war!
The feeling, the knowledge that their women were at hand to succour and
to tend them when they fell raised the fighting spirit of the men and
made them brave and confident.
The above qualities are well exemplified by the conduct and bearing of
our Authoress herself, who, when grievously injured, never lost her head
or her consciousness, but through half an hour sat quietly on the
road-side beside the wreck of her car and the mangled remains of her
late companion. Rumour has it that she asked for and smoked a
cigarette.
Such heroism in a young girl strongly appealed to the imagination of our
French and Belgian Allies, and two rows of medals bedeck her khaki
jacket.
Other natural qualities of our race, which largely helped to win the
war, are brought out very vividly, although unconsciously, in this book,
_e.g._ the spirit of cheerfulness; the power to forget danger and
hardship; the faculty of seeing the humorous side of things; of making
the best of things; the spirit of comradeship which sweetened life.
These qualities were nowhere more evident than among the F.A.N.Y. Their
_esprit-de-corps_, their gaiety, their discipline, their smartness and
devotion when duty called were infectious, almost an inspiration to
those who witnessed them.
Throughout the war the "Fannys" were renowned for their resourcefulness.
They were always ready to take on any and every job, from starting up a
frozen car to nursing a bad typhoid case, and they rose to the occasion
every time.
H.N. THOMPSON, K.C.M.G., C.B., D.S.O.,
_Major-General_.
_Director of Medical Services, British Army of the Rhine._
_Assistant Director Medical Services, 2nd Division, 1914;
ditto 48th Division, 1915; Deputy-Director Medical Services,
VI Corps, May 1915 to July 1917; Director Medical Services,
First Army, July 1917 to April 1919._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. IN CAMP BEFORE THE WAR 1
II. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 11
III. THE JOURNEY UP TO THE FRONT 19
IV. BEHIND THE TRENCHES 27
V. IN THE TRENCHES 35
VI. THE TYPHOID WARDS 41
VII. THE ZEPPELIN RAID 49
VIII. CONCERNING BATHS, "JOLIE-ANNETTE," "MARIE-MARGOT" AND ST.
INGLEVERT 59
IX. TYPHOIDS AGAIN, AND PARIS IN 1915. 70
X. CONCERNING A CONCERT, CANTEEN WORK, HOUSEKEEPING, THE ENGLISH
CONVOY, AND GOOD-BYE, LAMARCK. 88
XI. THE ENGLISH CONVOY 111
XII. THE PASSING OF THE LITTLE LORRY, "OLD BILL" AND "'ERB" AT
AUDRICQ 129
XIII. CONVOY LIFE 152
XIV. CHRISTMAS, 1916 176
XV. CONVOY PETS, COMMANDEERING, AND THE "FANTASTIKS" 197
XVI. THE LAST RIDE 216
XVII. HOSPITALS: FRANCE AND ENGLAND 240
XVIII. ROEHAMPTON: "BOB" THE GREY, AND THE ARMISTICE 267
XIX. AFTER TWO YEARS 283
FANNY GOES TO WAR
CHAPTER I
IN CAMP BEFORE THE WAR
The First Aid Nursing Yeomanry was founded in 1910 and now numbers
roughly about four hundred voluntary members.
It was originally intended to supplement the R.A.M.C. in field work,
stretcher bearing, ambulance driving, etc.--its duties being more or
less embodied in the title.
An essential point was that each member should be able to ride bareback
or otherwise, as much difficulty had been found in transporting nurses
from one place to another on the veldt in the South African War. Men had
often died through lack of attention, as the country was too rough to
permit of anything but a saddle horse to pass.
The First Aid Nursing Yeomanry was on active service soon after War was
declared and, though it is not universally known, they were the pioneers
of all the women's corps subsequently working in France.
Before they had been out very long they were affectionately known as
the F.A.N.Y.'s, to all and sundry, and in an incredibly short space of
time had units working with the British, French, and Belgian Armies in
the field.
It was in the Autumn of 1913 that, picking up the _Mirror_ one day, I
saw a snapshot of a girl astride on horseback leaping a fence in a khaki
uniform and topee. Underneath was merely the line "Women Yeomanry in
Camp," and nothing more. "That," said I, pointing out the photo to a
friend, "is the sort of show I'd like to belong to: I'm sick of ambling
round the Row on a Park hack. It would be a rag to go into camp with a
lot of other girls. I'm going to write to the _Mirror_ for particulars
straight away."
I did so; but got no satisfaction at all, as the note accompanying the
photo had been mislaid. However, they did inform me there was such a
Corps in existence, but beyond that they could give me no particulars.
I spent weeks making enquiries on all sides. "Oh, yes, certainly there
was a Girls' Yeomanry Corps." "Where can I join it?" I would ask
breathlessly. "Ah, that I can't say," would be the invariable reply.
The more obstacles I met with only made me the more determined to
persevere. I went out of my way to ask all sorts of possible and
impossible people on the off-chance that they might know; but it was a
long time before I could run it to earth. "Deeds not words" seemed to be
their motto.
One night at a small dance my partner told me he had just joined the
Surrey Yeomanry; that brought the subject up once more and I confided
all my troubles to him. Joy of joys! He had actually _seen_ some of the
Corps riding in Hounslow Barracks. It was plain sailing from that
moment, and I hastened to write to the Adjutant of the said Barracks to
obtain full particulars.
Within a few days I received a reply and a week later met the C.O. of
the F.A.N.Y.'s, for an interview.
To my delight I heard the Corps was shortly going into camp, and I was
invited to go down for a week-end to see how I liked it before I
officially became a member. When the day arrived my excitement, as I
stepped into the train at Waterloo, knew no bounds. Here I was at last
_en route_ for the elusive Yeomanry Camp!
Arrived at Brookwood, I chartered an ancient fly and in about twenty
minutes or so espied the camp in a field some distance from the road
along which we were driving. "'Ard up for a job _I_ should say!" said my
cabby, nodding jocosely towards the khaki figures working busily in the
distance. I ignored this sally as I dismissed him and set off across the
fields with my suit case.
There was a large mess tent, a store tent, some half dozen or more bell
tents, a smoky, but serviceable-looking, field kitchen, and at the end
of the field were tethered the horses! As I drew nearer, I felt horribly
shy and was glad I had selected my very plainest suit and hat, as
several pairs of eyes looked up from polishing bits and bridles to scan
me from top to toe.
I was shown into the mess tent, where I was told to wait for the C.O.,
and in the meantime made friends with "Castor," the Corps' bull-dog and
mascot, who was lying in a clothes-basket with a bandaged paw as the
result of an argument with a regimental pal at Bisley.
A sudden diversion was caused by a severe thunderstorm which literally
broke right over the camp. I heard the order ring out "To the
horse-lines!" and watched (through a convenient hole in the canvas)
several "troopers" flying helter-skelter down the field.
To everyone's disappointment, however, those old skins never turned a
hair; there was not even the suggestion of a stampede. I cautiously
pushed my suit-case under the mess table in the hope of keeping it dry,
for the rain was coming down in torrents, and in places poured through
the canvas roof in small rivulets. (Even in peace-time comfort in the
F.A.N.Y. Camp was at a minimum!)
They all trooped in presently, very wet and jolly, and Lieutenant Ashley
Smith (McDougal) introduced me as a probable recruit. When the storm was
over she kindly lent me an old uniform, and I was made to feel quite at
home by being handed about thirty knives and asked to rub them in the
earth to get them clean. The cooks loved new recruits!
Feeling just then was running very high over the Irish question. I
learnt a contingent had been offered and accepted, in case of
hostilities, and that the C.O. had even been over to Belfast to arrange
about stables and housing!
One enthusiast asked me breathlessly (it was Cole-Hamilton) "Which side
are you on?" I'm afraid I knew nothing much about either and shamelessly
countered it by asking, "Which are you?" "Ulster, of course," she
replied. "I'm with you," said I, "it's all the same to me so long as I'm
there for the show."
I thoroughly enjoyed that week-end and, of course, joined the Corps. In
July of that year we had great fun in the long summer camp at Pirbright.
Work was varied, sometimes we rode out with the regiments stationed at
Bisley on their field days and looked after any casualties. (We had a
horse ambulance in those days which followed on these occasions and was
regarded as rather a dud job.) Other days some were detailed for work at
the camp hospital near by to help the R.A.M.C. men, others to exercise
the horses, clean the officers' boots and belts, etc., and, added to
these duties, was all the everyday work of the camp, the grooming and
watering of the horses, etc. Each one groomed her own mount, but in some
cases one was shared between two girls. "Grooming time is the only time
when I appreciate having half a horse," one of these remarked cheerily
to me. That hissing noise so beloved of grooms is extraordinarily hard
to acquire--personally, I needed all the breath I had to cope at all!
The afternoons were spent doing stretcher drill: having lectures on
First Aid and Nursing from a R.A.M.C. Sergeant-Major, and, when it was
very hot, enjoying a splash in the tarpaulin-lined swimming bath the
soldiers had kindly made for us. Rides usually took place in the
evenings, and when bedtime came the weary troopers were only too ready
to turn in! Our beds were on the floor and of the "biscuit" variety,
being three square _paillasse_ arrangements looking like giant
reproductions of the now too well known army "tooth breakers." We had
brown army blankets, and it was no uncommon thing to find black earth
beetles and earwigs crawling among them! After months of active service
these details appear small, but in the summer of 1914 they were real
terrors. Before leaving the tents in the morning each "biscuit" had to
be neatly piled on the other and all the blankets folded, and then we
had to sally forth to learn the orders of the day, who was to be orderly
to our two officers, who was to water the horses, etc., etc., and by the
time it was eight a.m. we had already done a hard day's work.
One particular day stands out in my memory as being a specially
strenuous one. The morning's work was over, and the afternoon was set
aside for practising for the yearly sports. The rescue race was by far
the most thrilling, its object being to save anyone from the enemy who
had been left on the field without means of transport. There was a good
deal of discussion as to who were to be the rescued and who the
rescuers. Sergeant Wicks explained to all and sundry that her horse
objected strongly to anyone sitting on its tail and that it always
bucked on these occasions. No one seemed particularly anxious to be
saved on that steed, and my heart sank as her eye alighted on me. Being
a new member I felt it was probably a test, and when the inevitable
question was asked I murmured faintly I'd be delighted. I made my way to
the far end of the field with the others fervently hoping I shouldn't
land on my head.
At a given command the rescuers galloped up, wheeled round, and,
slipping the near foot from the stirrup, left it for the rescued to jump
up by. I was soon up and sitting directly behind the saddle with one
foot in the stirrup and a hand in Sergeant Wicks' belt. (Those of you
who know how slight she is can imagine my feeling of security!) Off we
set with every hope of reaching the post first, and I was just settling
down to enjoy myself when going over a little dip in the field two
terrific bucks landed us high in the air! Luckily I fell "soft," but as
I picked myself up I couldn't help wondering whether in some cases
falling into the enemy's hand might not be the lesser evil! I spent the
next ten minutes catching the "Bronco!" After that, we retired to our
mess for tea, on the old Union Jack, very ready for it after our
efforts.
We had just turned in that night and drawn up the army blankets,
excessively scratchy they were too, when the bugle sounded for everyone
to turn out. (This was rather a favourite stunt of the C.O.'s.) Luckily
it was a bright moonlight night, and we learnt we were to make for a
certain hill, beyond Bisley, carrying with us stretchers and a tent for
an advanced dressing station. Subdued groans greeted this piece of news,
but we were soon lined up in groups of four--two in front, two behind,
and with two stretchers between the four. These were carried on our
shoulders for a certain distance, and at the command "Change
stretchers!" they were slipped down by our sides. This stunt had to be
executed very neatly and with precision, and woe betide anyone who
bungled it. It was ten o'clock when we reached Bisley Camp, and I
remember to this day the surprised look on the sentry's face, in the
moonlight, as we marched through. It was always a continual source of
wonderment to them that girls should do anything so much like hard work
for so-called amusement. That march seemed interminable--but singing and
whistling as we went along helped us tremendously. Little did we think
how this training would stand us in good stead during the long days on
active service that followed. At last a halt was called, and luckily at
this point there was a nice dry ditch into which we quickly flopped with
our backs to the hedge and our feet on the road. It made an ideal
armchair!
We resumed the march, and striking off the road came to a rough clearing
where the tent was already being erected by an advance party. We were
lined up and divided into groups, some as stretcher bearers, some as
"wounded," some as nurses to help the "doctor," etc. The wounded were
given slips of paper, on which their particular "wound" was described,
and told to go off and make themselves scarce, till they were found and
carried in (a coveted job). When they had selected nice soft dry spots
they lay down and had a quiet well-earned nap until the stretcher
bearers discovered them. Occasionally they were hard to find, and a
panting bearer would call out "I say, wounded, _give_ a groan!" and they
were located. First Aid bandages were applied to the "wound" and, if
necessary, impromptu splints made from the trees near by. The patient
was then placed on the stretcher and taken back to the "dressing
station." "I'm slipping off the stretcher at this angle," she would
occasionally complain. "Shut up," the panting stretcher bearers would
reply, "you're unconscious!"
When all were brought in, places were changed, and the stretcher bearers
became the wounded and vice versa. We got rather tired of this pastime
about 12.30 but there was still another wounded to be brought in. She
had chosen the bottom of a heathery slope and took some finding. It was
the C.O. She feigned delirium and threw her arms about in a wild manner.
The poor bearers were feeling too exhausted to appreciate this piece of
acting, and heather is extremely slippery stuff. When we had struggled
back with her the soi-disant doctor asked for the diagnosis. "Drunk and
disorderly," replied one of them, stepping smartly forward and saluting!
This somewhat broke up the proceedings, and _lèse majesté_ was excused
on the grounds that it was too dark to recognise it was the C.O. The
tent pegs were pulled up and the tent pulled down and we all thankfully
tramped back to camp to sleep the sleep of the just till the reveille
sounded to herald another day.