I wish I had some of Maggie's crullers and squash pie, but the French
don't know anything about squash pies.
Our poor man with a broken back has been moved to a hospital near his
home so his family can see him. We sent him on a mattress, fixed up with
pillows and cushions so that he did not suffer at all on the journey.
When I have any one who is so ill as he was I bless the good people at
home counting infirmiers and men that work about the hospital--they are
soldiers who have been in the trenches for nearly two years, or been
disabled through wounds or sickness, or exchanged prisoners from Germany
unfit for military service. They call the hospital "le petit Paradis des
blesses" and are so glad to be sent here. A man was brought in here the
other day who was wounded for the second time, but he did not mind in
the least about his wounds, he was so glad to get back. He is delighted
because he will not be well enough to leave before Christmas.
We sent to England for some pop-corn, and to-day the men have been like
a lot of happy children stringing the corn for the tree. They had never
seen it before and were much interested. We made quite a successful
popper out of a fly screen and a piece of wire netting.
The other night we were talking over the various experiences we have
had since the beginning of the war--the terrible things we have
seen--the sad stories we have heard, and the strange but very true
friendships we have formed--and we all agree that we could never have
carried on our work in such a satisfactory way if it had not been for
the gifts which have come from time to time from our home friends. The
extra food that we have been able to give to the very sick men has made
all the difference in the world to their recovery, and then the warm
clothing when they go out, and the bit of money to help them over the
hard place. You cannot imagine how much it means to them.
I remember so well one poor little man who had reached the limit of
endurance, and when I found the sleepless nights were due to worry and
not to pain, the whole pitiful little story came out. His wife was ill,
his sister-in-law dead and there were six children to be looked
after--the eldest a boy of eleven--and no money. As long as his wife had
been able to run the farm they had been able to get along, but she had
given out. The French soldier only gets five cents a day, so he had
nothing to send them. He cried like a baby when I told him I could help
him. We sent off a money order for one hundred francs the next day, and
I wish you could have seen the change in that man. That little sum of
money put things straight six months ago and now everything is going
well. But he will never forget, and both he and his wife have a very
warm feeling in their hearts for the good people across the sea who came
to their rescue in a time of need. When I begin to talk of my beloved
French it is hard to stop.
[Illustration: My Salle--Christmas, 1916.]
January 1, 1917.
The men had a wonderful Christmas day. They were like a happy lot of
children. We decorated the wards with flags, holly, mistletoe, and paper
flowers that the men made, and a tree in each ward. You cannot imagine
how pretty they were. Each patient began the day with a sock that was
hung to the foot of his bed by the night nurses. In each was an orange,
a small bag of sweets, nuts and raisins, a handkerchief, pencil, tooth
brush, pocket comb and a small toy that pleased them almost more than
anything else, and which they at once passed on to their children. They
had a fine dinner--jam, stewed rabbit, peas, plum pudding, fruit, nuts,
raisins and sweets. The plum puddings were sent by the sister of one of
the nurses.
In the afternoon the trees were lighted and we had the official visit of
the medicine chef and all the staff. After the festivities were over we
began preparing for the tree for the refugee children. We had thought
that we would have enough left over to manage for fifty children, but
the list grew to one hundred and twenty-five. The mayor of the village
let us have a large room in his house, as the first place we had chosen
was too small. We had the tree on Sunday afternoon and three hundred and
thirty-one children arrived. Fortunately we had some extra things so
there was enough of something to go around. They had a lovely time, each
one got a small toy, a biscuit, and most of them a small bag of sweets
and an orange. The oranges and sweets gave out, but there was enough
biscuits and toys, but there was nothing left.
We are all dead tired, for we worked like nailers for the past two
weeks; but it was worth while, for we were able to make a great many
people happy, and now we are sending off packages to the
trenches--things that came too late for Christmas.
[Illustration: So many readers of this book expressed regret that it
did not contain a photo of the one who penned these letters, as she is
in home life, that we applied to the family, and after earnest
solicitation they granted this--the one in use on her passports in
France, which we are sure will complete this passport to the hearts of
her readers.]
We expect to move this month. It will be an awful business breaking up
here, for all the barracks have to be taken to pieces and moved with us.
We have begun to take an inventory, and to pack up, but I do not know
just where we will move to, the papers are not in order yet. It is hard
to believe that another year of war has begun.