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Diary of a Nursing Sister on the Western Front
1914-1915
"Naught broken save this body, lost but breath.
Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there,
But only agony, and that has ending;
And the worst friend and enemy is but Death."
William Blackwood and Sons
Edinburgh and London
1915
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. WAITING FOR ORDERS, AUGUST 18, 1914, TO
SEPTEMBER 14, 1914 1
The voyage out--Havre--Leaving Havre--R.M.S.P.
"Asturias"--St Nazaire--Orders at
last.
II. LE MANS--WOUNDED FROM THE AISNE--SEPTEMBER
15, 1914, TO OCTOBER 11, 1914 33
Station duty--On train duty--Orders again--Waiting
to go--Still at Le Mans--No.-- Stationary
Hospital--Off at last--The Swindon of
France.
III. ON NO.-- AMBULANCE TRAIN (1)--FIRST
EXPERIENCES--OCTOBER 13, 1914, TO
OCTOBER 19, 1914 65
Ambulance Train--Under fire--Tales of the
Retreat--Life on the Train.
IV. ON NO.-- AMBULANCE TRAIN (2)--FIRST
BATTLE OF YPRES--OCTOBER 20, 1914, TO
NOVEMBER 17, 1914 81
Rouen--First Battle of Ypres--At Ypres--A
rest--A General Hospital.
V. ON NO.-- AMBULANCE TRAIN (3)--BRITISH
AND INDIANS--NOVEMBER 18, 1914, TO
DECEMBER 17, 1914. 111
The Boulogne siding--St Omer--Indian
soldiers--His Majesty King George--Lancashire
men on the War--Hazebrouck--Bailleul--French
engine-drivers--Sheepskin coats--A
village in N.E. France--Headquarters.
VI. ON NO.-- AMBULANCE TRAIN (4)--CHRISTMAS
AND NEW YEAR ON THE TRAIN--DECEMBER
18, 1914, TO JANUARY 3, 1915 143
The Army and the King--Mufflers--Christmas
Eve--Christmas on the train--Princess
Mary's present--The trenches in winter--"A
typical example"--New Year's Eve at Rouen--The
young officers.
VII. ON NO.-- AMBULANCE TRAIN (5)--WINTER
ON THE TRAIN AND IN THE TRENCHES--JANUARY
7, 1915, TO FEBRUARY 6, 1915 165
The Petit Vitesse siding--Uncomplainingness
of Tommy--Painting the train--A painful convoy--The
"Yewlan's" watch--"Officer dressed in
bandages"--Sotteville--Versailles--The Palais
Trianon--A walk at Rouen--The German view,
and the English view--'Punch'--"When you
return Conqueror"--K.'s new Army.
VIII. ON NO.-- AMBULANCE TRAIN (6)--ROUEN--NEUVE
CHAPELLE--ST ELOI--FEBRUARY 7,
1915, TO MARCH 31, 1915 199
The Indians--St Omer--The Victoria League--Poperinghe--A
bad load--Left behind--Rouen again--An "off" spell--_En
route_ to Êtretat--Sotteville--Neuve Chapelle--St Eloi--The
Indians--Spring in N.W. France--The Convalescent
Home--Kitchener's boys.
IX. WITH NO.-- FIELD AMBULANCE (1)--BILLETS:
LIFE AT THE BACK OF THE FRONT--APRIL 2,
1915, TO APRIL 29, 1915 237
Good Friday and Easter, 1915--The Maire's
Château--A walk to Beuvry--The new billet--The
guns--A Taube--The Back of the Front--A
soldier's funeral--German machine-guns--Gas
fumes--The Second Battle of Ypres.
X. WITH NO.-- FIELD AMBULANCE (2)--FESTUBERT,
MAY 9 AND 16--MAY 6, 1915, TO MAY
26, 1915 273
The noise of war--Preparation--Sunday,
May 9--The barge--The officers' dressing-station--Charge
of the Black Watch, May 9--Festubert, May 16--The French
Hospital--A bad night--Shelled out--Back at a Clearing
Hospital--"For duty at a Base Hospital."
I.
Waiting for Orders
_August 18, 1914, to September 14, 1914_
"Troops to our England true
Faring to Flanders,
God be with all of you
And your commanders."
--G.W. BRODRIBB.
I.
Waiting for Orders.
_August 18, 1914, to September 14, 1914._
The voyage out--Havre--Leaving Havre--R.M.S.P. "Asturias"--St
Nazaire--Orders at last.
S.S. CITY OF BENARES (_Troopship_).
_Tuesday, 8 P.M., August 18th._--Orders just gone round that there are
to be no lights after dark, so I am hasting to write this.
We had a great send-off in Sackville Street in our motor-bus, and went
on board about 2 P.M. From then till 7 we watched the embarkation going
on, on our own ship and another. We have a lot of R.E. and R.F.A. and
A.S.C., and a great many horses and pontoons and ambulance waggons: the
horses were very difficult to embark, poor dears. It was an exciting
scene all the time. I don't remember anything quite so thrilling as our
start off from Ireland. All the 600 khaki men on board, and every one on
every other ship, and all the crowds on the quay, and in boats and on
lighthouses, waved and yelled. Then we and the officers and the men,
severally, had the King's proclamation read out to us about doing our
duty for our country, and God blessing us, and how the King is following
our every movement.
We are now going to snatch up a very scratch supper and turn in, only
rugs and blankets.
_Wednesday, August 19th._--We are having a lovely calm and sunny
voyage--slowed down in the night for a fog. I had a berth by an open
port-hole, and though rather cold with one blanket and a rug
(dressing-gown in my trunk), enjoyed it very much--cold sea bath in the
morning. We live on oatmeal biscuits and potted meat, with chocolate and
tea and soup squares, some bread and butter sometimes, and cocoa at
bed-time.
There is a routine by bugle-call on troopships, with a guard, police,
and fatigues. The Tommies sleep on bales of forage in the after
well-deck and all over the place. We have one end of the 1st class cabin
forrard, and the officers have the 2nd class aft for sleeping and meals,
but there is a sociable blend on deck all day. Two medical officers here
were both in South Africa at No. 7 when I was (Captains in those days),
and we have had great cracks on old times and all the people we knew.
One is commanding a Field Ambulance and goes with the fighting line.
There are 200 men for Field Ambulances on board. They don't carry
Sisters, worse luck, only Padres.
We had an impromptu service on deck this afternoon; I played the
hymns,--never been on a voyage yet without being let in for that. It was
run by the three C. of E. Padres and the Wesleyan hand in hand: the
latter has been in the Nile Expedition of '98 and all through South
Africa. We had Mission Hymns roared by the Tommies, and then a C. of E.
Padre gave a short address--quite good. The Wesleyan did an extempore
prayer, rather well, and a very nice huge C. of E. man gave the
Blessing. Now they are having a Tommies' concert--a talented boy at the
piano.
At midday we passed a French cruiser, going the opposite way. They waved
and yelled, and we waved and yelled. We are out of sight of English or
French coast now. I believe we are to be in early to-morrow morning, and
will have a long train journey probably, but nobody knows anything for
certain except where we land--Havre.
It seems so long since we heard anything about the war, but it is only
since yesterday morning. (The concert is rather distracting, and the
wind is getting up--one of the Tommies has an angelic black puppy on
his lap, with a red cross on its collar, and there is a black cat
about.)
_Thursday, August 20th_, 5 P.M., _Havre._--We got in about 9 o'clock
this morning. Havre is a very picturesque town, with very high houses,
and a great many docks and quays, and an enormous amount of shipping.
The wharves were as usual lined with waving yelling crowds, and a great
exchange of Vive l'Angleterre from them, and Vive la France from us went
on, and a lusty roar of the Marseillaise from us. During the morning the
horses and pontoons and waggons were disembarked, and the R.E. and Field
Ambulances went off to enormous sheds on the wharf. We went off in a
taxi in batches of five to the Convent de St Jeanne d'Arc, an enormous
empty school, totally devoid of any furniture except crucifixes! Luckily
the school washhouse has quite good basins and taps, and we are all
camping out, three in a room, to sleep on the floor, as our camp kit
isn't available. No one knows if we shall be here one night, or a week,
or for ever! It is a glorious place, with huge high rooms, and huge open
casements, and broad staircases and halls, windows looking over the town
to the sea. We are high up on a hill. There's no food here, so we sit on
the floor and make our own breakfast and tea, and go to a very swanky
hotel for lunch and dinner. We are billeted here for quarters, and at
the hotel for meals.
A room full of mattresses has just been discovered to our joy, and we
have all hauled one up to our rooms, so we shall be in luxury.
Just got a French paper and seen the Pope is dead, and a very
enthusiastic account of the British troops at Dunkerque, their
marvellous organisation, their cheerfulness, and their behaviour.
Just seen on the Official War News placarded in the town that the
Germans have crossed the Meuse between Liège and Namur, and the Belgians
are retiring on to Antwerp. The Allies must buck up.
The whole town is flying flags since the troops began to come in; all
the biggest shops and buildings fly all four of the Allies.
_Friday, August 21st._--Intercession Day at home. There is a beautiful
chapel in the Convent.
There is almost as much censoring about the movement of the French
troops in the French papers as there is about ours in the English, and
not a great deal about the movements of the Germans.
There are 43 Sisters belonging to No.-- General Hospital on the floor
below us camping out in the same way--86 altogether in the building,
one wing of which is the Sick Officers' Hospital of No.-- G.H.
The No.-- people are moving up the line to-night. It will take a few
days to get No.-- together, and then we shall move on at night. The
Colonel knows where to, but he has not told Matron; she thinks it will
be farther up than Amiens or Rheims, where two more have already gone,
but it is all guess-work. I expect No.-- from C---- is in Belgium. (It
was at Amiens and had to leave in a hurry.)
The whole system of Field Medical Service has altered since South
Africa. The wounded are picked up on the field by the _regimental
stretcher-bearers_, who are generally the band, trained in First Aid and
Stretcher Drill. They take them to the Bearer Section of the _Field
Ambulance_ (which used to be called Field Hospital), who take them to
the Tent Section of the same Field Ambulance, who have been getting the
_Dressing Station_ ready with sterilisers, &c., while the Bearer Section
are fetching them from the regimental stretcher-bearers. They are all
drilled to get this ready in twenty minutes in tents, but it takes
longer in farmhouses. The Field Ambulance then takes them in ambulance
waggons (with lying down and sitting accommodation) to the _Clearing
Hospital_, with beds, and returns empty to the Dressing Station. From
the Clearing Hospital they go on to the _Stationary Hospital_--200
beds--which is on a railway, and finally in hospital trains to the
_General Hospital_, their last stopping-place before they get shipped
off to _Netley_ and all the English hospitals. The General Hospitals are
the only ones at present to carry Sisters; 500 beds is the minimum, and
they are capable of expanding indefinitely.
There is a large staff of harassed-looking landing officers here, with
A.M.L.O. on a white armband for the medical people; a great many
troopships are coming from Southampton; you hear them booing their
signals in the harbour all night and day.
I've had my first letter from England, from a patient at ----. The Field
Service post-card is quite good as a means of communication, but
frightfully tantalising from our point of view.
We had a very good night on our mattresses, but it was rather cold
towards morning with only one rug.
They have a Carter-Paterson motor-van for the Military mail-cart at the
M.P.O., and two Tommies sit by a packing-case with a slit in the lid for
the letter-box.
_Saturday, August 22nd._--The worst has happened. No.-- is to stop at
Havre; in camp three miles out. So No.-- and No.-- are both staying
here.
Meanwhile to-day Nos.--, --, and -- have all arrived; 130 more Sisters
besides the 86 already here are packed into this Convent, camping out in
dining-halls and schoolrooms and passages. The big Chapel below and the
wee Chapel on this floor seem to be the only unoccupied places now.
Havre is a big base for the France part of our Expeditionary Force.
Troopships are arriving every day, and every fighting man is being
hurried up to the Front, and they cannot block the lines and trains with
all these big hospitals yet.
The news from the Front looks bad to-day--Namur under heavy fire, and
the Germans pressing on Antwerp, and the French chased out of Lorraine.
Everybody is hoping it doesn't mean staying here permanently, but you
never know your luck. It all depends what happens farther up, and of
course one might have the luck to be added to a hospital farther up to
fill up casualties among Sisters or if more were wanted.
The base hospitals, of course, are always filling up from up country
with men who may be able to return to duty, and acute or hopeless cases
who have to be got well enough for a hospital ship for home.
There is to be a Requiem Mass to-morrow at Notre Dame for those who have
been killed in the war, and the whole nave and choir is reserved for
officials and Red Cross people. It is a most beautiful church, now hung
all over with the four flags of the Allies. An old woman in the church
this morning asked us if we were going to the Blessés, and clasped our
hands and blessed us and wept. She must have had some sons in the army.
We are simply longing to get to work, whether here or anywhere else; it
is 100 per cent better in this interesting old town doing for ourselves
in the Convent than waiting in the stuffy hotel at Dublin. There is any
amount to see--miles of our Transport going through the town with burly
old shaggy English farm-horses, taken straight from the harvest, pulling
the carts; French Artillery Reservists being taught to work the guns;
French soldiers passing through; and our R.E. Motor-cyclists scudding
about. And one can practise talking, understanding, and reading French.
It is surprising how few of the 216 Sisters here seem to know a word of
French. I am looked upon as an expert, and you know what my French is
like! A sick officer sitting out in the court below has got a small
French boy by him who is teaching him French with a map, a 'Matin,' and
a dictionary. A great deal of nodding and shaking of heads is going on.
_Sunday, August 23rd._--The same dazzling blue sky, boiling sun, and
sharp shadows that one seldom sees in England for long together; we've
had it for days.
We've had yesterday's London papers to read to-day; they quote in a
rather literal translation from their Paris Correspondent word for word
what we read in the Paris papers yesterday. I wonder what the English
hospital people in Brussels are doing in the German occupation,--pretty
hard times for them, I expect. Two that I know are there doing civilian
work, and Lord Rothschild has got a lot of English nurses there.
This morning I went to the great Requiem Mass at Notre Dame. It was
packed to bursting with people standing, but we were immediately shown
to good places. The Abbé preached a very fine war sermon, quite easy to
understand. There was a great deal of weeping on all sides. When the
service was finished the big organ suddenly struck up "God Save the
King"; it gave one such a thrill. And then a long procession of officers
filed out, our generals with three rows of ribbons leading, and the
French following.
This is said to be our biggest base, and that we shall get some very
good work. Of course, once we get the wounded in it doesn't make any
difference where you are.
_Monday, August 24th._--The news looks bad to-day; people say it is très
sérieux, ce moment-ci; but there is a cheering article in Saturday's
'Times' about it all. The news is posted up at the Préfeture (dense
crowd always) several times a day, and we get many editions of the
papers as we go through the day.
_Tuesday, August 25th._--We bide here. No.-- G.H., which is also here,
has been chopped in half, and divided between us and No.-- General, the
permanent Base Hospital already established here. So we shall be two
base hospitals, each with 750 beds.
The place is full of rumours of all sorts of horrors,--that the Germans
have landed in Scotland, that they are driving the Allies back on all
sides, and that the casualties are in thousands. So far there are 200
sick, minor cases, at No.--, but no wounded except two Germans. We have
no beds open yet; the hospital is still being got on with; our site is
said to be on a swamp between a Remount Camp and a Veterinary Camp, so
we shall do well in horse-flies.
It is a fortnight to-morrow since we mobilised, and we have had no work
yet except our own fatigue duty in the Convent; it was our turn this
morning, and I scrubbed the lavatories out with creosol.
I've had an interesting day to-day, motoring round with the C.O. of
No.-- and the No.-- Matron. We visited each of their three palatial
buildings in turn, huge wards of 60 beds each, in ball-rooms, and a
central camp of 500 on a hill outside. They have their work cut out
having it so divided up, but they are running it magnificently.
_Wednesday, August 26th._--Very ominous leading articles in the French
papers to-day bidding every one to remember that there is no need to
give up hope of complete success in the end! There is a great deal about
the French and English heavy losses, but where are the wounded being
sent? It is absolutely maddening sitting here still with no work yet,
when there must be so much to be done; but I suppose it will come to us
in time, as it is easier to move the men to the hospitals than the
hospitals to the men, or they wouldn't have put 1500 beds here.
The street children here have a charming way of running up to every
strolling Tommy, Officer, or Sister, seizing their hand, and saying,
"Goodnight," and saluting; one reached up to pat my shoulder.
No.-- G.H., which left here yesterday for Abbeville, between Rouen and
the mouth of the Somme, came back again to-day. They were met by a
telegram at Rouen at midnight, telling them to return to Havre, as it
was not safe to go on. They are of course frightfully sick.
French wounded have been coming in all day. And we are not yet in camp.
Our site is said to be a fearful swamp, so to-day, which has been
soaking wet, will be a good test for it.
It is so wet to-night that we are going to have cocoa and
bread-and-butter on the floor, instead of trailing down to the hotel for
dinner. Miss ----, who is the third in our room, regales us with really
thrilling stories of her adventures in S.A. She was mentioned in
despatches, and reported dead.
_Thursday, August 27th._--Bright sun to-day, so I hope the Army is
drying itself. All sorts of rumours as usual--that our wounded are still
on the field, being shot by the Germans, that 700 are coming to Havre
to-day, that 700 have been taken in at Rouen, where we have three
G.H.'s--that last is the truest story. We went this afternoon to see
over the Hospital Ship here, waiting for wounded to take back to
Netley. It is beautifully fitted, and even has hot-water bottles ready
in the beds, but no wounded. It is much smaller than the H.S. _Dunera_ I
came home in from South Africa. Still no sign of No.-- being ready,
which is not surprising, as the hay had to be cut and the place drained
more or less. The French and English officers here all sit at different
tables, and don't hobnob much. Six officers of the Royal Flying Corps
are here, double-breasted tunics and two spread-eagle wings on left
breast. Troops are still arriving at the docks, which are the biggest I
have ever seen. The men on the trams give us back our sous, as we are
"Militaires."
_Friday, August 28th._--Hot and brilliant. Eleven fugitive Sisters of
No.-- have come back to-day from Amiens, and the others are either hung
up somewhere or on the way. The story is that Uhlans were arriving in
the town, and that it wasn't safe for women; I don't know if the
hospital were receiving wounded or not. Yes, they were. Another rumour
to-day says that No.-- Field Ambulance has been wiped out by a bomb from
an aeroplane. Another rumour says that one regiment has five men left,
and another one man--but most of these stories turn out myths in time.
Wounded are being taken in at No.--, and are being shipped home from
there the same day.
This morning Matron took two of us out to our Hospital camp, three miles
along the Harfleur road. The tram threaded its way through thousands of
our troops, who arrived this morning, and through a regiment of French
Sappers. There were Seaforths (with khaki petticoats over the kilt), R.
Irish Rifles, R.B. Gloucesters, Connaughts, and some D.G.'s and Lancers.
They were all heavily loaded up with kit and rifles (sometimes a proud
little French boy would carry these for them), marching well, but
perspiring in rivers. It was a good sight, and the contrast between the
khaki and the red trousers and caps and blue coats of the French was
very striking. We went nearly to Harfleur (where Henry V. landed before
Agincourt), and then walked back towards No.-- Camp, along a beautiful
straight avenue with poplars meeting over the top. About 20 motors full
of Belgian officers passed us.
The camp is getting on well. All the Hospital tents are pitched, and all
the quarters except the Sisters and the big store tents for the
Administration block are ready. The operating theatre tent is to have a
concrete floor and is not ready.
The ground is the worst part. It is a very boggy hay-field, and in wet
weather like Wednesday and Tuesday they say it is a swamp. We are all
to have our skirts and aprons very short and to be well provided with
gum-boots. We shall be two in a bell-tent, or dozens in a big store
tent, uncertain yet which, and we are to have a bath tent. I am to be
surgical.
While waiting for the tram on the way back, on a hot, white road, we
made friends with a French soldier, who stopped a little motor-lorry,
already crammed with men and some sort of casks, and made them take us
on. I sat on the floor, with my feet on the step, and we whizzed back
into Havre in great style. There is no speed limit, and it was a lovely
joy-ride!
We are seeing the 'Times' a few days late and fairly regularly. Have not
seen any list of the Charleroi casualties yet. It all seems to be coming
much nearer now. The line is very much taken up with ammunition trains.
To show that there is a good deal going on, though we've as yet had no
work, I'm only half through my 7d. book, and we left home a fortnight
and two days ago. If you do have a chance to read anything but
newspapers, you can't keep your mind on it.
We are getting quite used to a life shorn of most of its trappings,
except for the two hotel meals a day.
My mattress, on the floor along the very low large window, with two rugs
and cushions, and a holdall for a bolster, is as comfortable as any
bed, and you don't miss sheets after a day or two. There is one bathroom
for 120 or more people, but I get a cold bath every morning early.
S---- gets our early morning tea, and M. sweeps our room, and I wash up
and roll up the beds. We are still away from our boxes, and have a
change of some clothes and not others. I have to wash my vest overnight
when I want a clean one and put it on in the morning. We have slung a
clothes-line across our room. The view is absolutely glorious.
_Saturday, August 29th._--A grilling day. It is very difficult, this
waiting. No.-- had 450 wounded in yesterday, and they were whisked off
on the hospital ship in the evening. It doesn't look as if there would
be anything for us to do for weeks.
_Sunday, August 30th._--Orders to-day for the whole Base at Havre to
pack itself up and embark at a moment's notice. So No.--, No.--, No.--,
and No.-- G.H., who are all here, and a Royal Flying Corps unit, the
Post Office, and the Staff, and every blessed British unit, are all
packing up for dear life. We may be going home, and we may be going to
Brittany, to Cherbourg, or to Brest, or to Berlin.
_Monday, August 31st._--We all got up at 5.30 to be ready, but I daresay
we shan't move to-day. Yesterday we had two starved, exhausted, fugitive
(from Amiens) No.-- Sisters in to tea on our floor, and heard their
stories. The last seventeen of them fled with the wounded. A train of
cattle-trucks came in at Rouen with all the wounded as they were picked
up without a spot of dressing on any of their wounds, which were septic
and full of straw and dirt. The matron, M.O., and some of them got hold
of some dressings and went round doing what they could in the time, and
others fed them. Then the No.-- got their Amiens wounded into
cattle-trucks on mattresses, with Convent pillows, and had a twenty
hours' journey with them in frightful smells and dirt. Our visitor had
five badly-wounded officers, one shot through the lungs and hip, and all
full of bullets and spunk. They were magnificent, and asked riddles and
whistled, and the men were the same. They'd been travelling already for
two days. An orderly fell out of the train and was badly injured, and
died next morning.
It is very interesting to read on Monday the 'Times' Military
Correspondent's forecast of Friday. He seems to know so exactly the
different lines of defence of the Allies, and exactly where the Germans
will try and break through. But he has never found out that Havre has
been a base for over a fortnight. He speaks of Havre or Cherbourg as a
possible base to fall back upon, if fortified against long-distance
artillery firing, which we are not. And now we are abandoning Havre!
_Tuesday, September 1st._--No orders yet, so we are still waiting,
packed up.
Went with one of the regulars to-day to see the big hospital ship
_Asturias_ with 3000 beds, and also to see Sister ---- at the
No.-- Maritime Hospital. They've been very busy there dressing the
wounded for the ship. Colonel ---- brought us back in his motor, and met
the Consul-General on the way, who told us K. came through to-day off a
cruiser, and was taken on to Paris in a motor. Smiles of relief from
every one. One of the Sisters had heard from her mother in Scotland that
she had five Russian officers billeted! They are said to be on their way
through from Archangel.
Troopships full of French and English troops are leaving Havre every
day, for Belgium.
Wouldn't you like to be under the table when K. and J. and F. are poring
over their maps to-night?
_Wednesday, September 2nd._--We are leaving to-morrow, on a hospital
ship, possibly for Nantes K. has given orders for every one to be
cleared out of Havre by to-morrow.
We found some men invalided from the Front lying outside the station
last night waiting for an ambulance, mostly reservists called up; they'd
had a hot time, but were full of grit.
The men from Mons told us "it wasn't fighting--it was murder." They said
the burning hot sun was one of the worst parts. They said "the officers
was grand"; many regiments seem to have hardly any officers left. They
all say that the S.A. War was a picnic compared to this German artillery
onslaught and their packed masses continually filling up.
There is a darling little chapel on this floor, beautifully kept, just
as the nuns left it, where one can say one's prayers. And there is also
a lovely church, where they have Mass at 8 every morning.
You can imagine how hard it has been to keep off grumbling at not
getting any work all this time; it is one of the worst of fortunes of
war. It seems as if most of the "dangerously" and many of the
"seriously" wounded must have died pretty soon, or have not been picked
up. The cases that do come down are most of them slight. Some of the
worst must be in hospital at Rouen.
_Friday, September 4th. R.M.S.P._ Asturias, _Havre._--At last we are
uprooted from that convent up the hot hill and are on an enormous
hospital ship, who in times of peace goes to New York and Brazil and the
Argentine. There are 240 Sisters on her, one or two M.O.'s, and all the
No.-- equipment. She is like a great white town; you can walk for miles
on her decks; she is the biggest I have ever been on; we are in the
cabins, and the wards and operating-theatres are all equipped for
patients, but at the moment she is being used as a transport for us. We
are supposed to be going to St Nazaire, the port for Nantes. They can't
possibly be going to dump No.--, No.--, No.--, No.--, and No.-- all down
at the new base, so I suppose one or two of the hospitals will be sent
up the new lines of communication.
Poor Havre is very desolate. All the flags came down when the British
left, and the people looked very sad. Paris refugees are crowding in,
and sleeping on the floors of the hotels, and camping out in their motor
cars, and many crossing to England. There is a Proclamation up all over
the town telling the people to pull themselves together whatever
happens, and to forget everything that is not La Patrie. Also another
about the military necessity for the Government to leave Paris, and
that they mustn't be afraid of anything that may happen, because we
shall win in the end, &c., &c.
We don't start till to-morrow, I believe; meanwhile, cleanliness and
privacy and sheets, and cool, quick meals and sea breeze, are cheering
after the grime and the pigging and the squash and the awful heat of the
last fortnight. I have picked up a bad cold from the foul dust-heaps and
drainless condition of the smelly Havre streets, but it will soon
disappear now.
I wish I could tell you the extraordinary beauty of yesterday evening
from the ship. There was a flaming sunset below a pale-green sky, and
then the thousand lights of the ships and the town came out reflected in
the water, and then a brilliant moon. A big American cruiser was
alongside of us.
We shall get no more letters till we land. I have a "State-room" all to
myself on the top deck; the waiters and stewards are English, very
polite to us, and the crew are mostly West African negroes, who talk
good English. The ship is very becoming to the white, grey, and red of
our uniforms, or else our uniforms are becoming to the ship, and her
many decks; but why, oh why, are we not all in hospital somewhere?
_Saturday, September 5th._--Had a perfect voyage--getting in to Nantes
to-night--after that no one knows. Shouldn't be surprised if we are sent
home.
LA BAULE, NEAR NANTES.
_Monday, September 7th._--The latest wave of this erratic sea has tossed
us up on to two little French seaside places north of St Nazaire, the
port of Nantes. There are over _500_ Sisters at the two places in
hotels. No.-- and No.-- and part of -- are at La Baule in one enormous
new hotel, which has been taken over for the French wounded on the
bottom floor; the rest was empty till we came. We are in palatial rooms
with balconies overlooking the sea, and have large bathrooms opening out
of our rooms; it is rather like the Riffel in the middle of a forest of
pines, and the sea immediately in front. The expense of it all must be
colossal! Every one is too sick at the state of affairs to enjoy it at
all; some bathe, and you can sit about in the pines or on the sands. We
have had no letters since we left Havre last Thursday, and no news of
the war. We took till Sunday morning to reach St Nazaire, and at midday
were stuffed into a little dirty train for this place. I'm thankful we
didn't have to get out at Pornichet, the station before this, where are
Nos.--, --, --, --, and --.
The Sisters of No.-- who had to leave their hospital at ---- handed
their sick officers and men over to the French hospital, much to their
disgust. The officers especially have a horror of the elegant ways of
the French nurses, who make one water do for washing them all round!
_Tuesday, September 8th._--Orders came last night to each Matron to
provide three or five Sisters who can talk French for duty up country
with a Stationary Hospital, so M. and I are put down with two Regulars
and another Reserve. It is probably too much luck and won't come off.
The duties will be "very strenuous," both for night and day duty, and we
are to carry very little kit. The wire may come at any time. So this
morning M. and I and Miss J----, our Senior Regular, and very nice
indeed, got into the train for St Nazaire to see about our baggage, and
had an adventurous morning. The place was swarming with troops of all
sorts. The 6th Division was being sent up to the Front to-day, and no
medical units could get hold of any transport for storing all their
thousands of tons of stuff. One of the minor errors has been sending the
600 Sisters out with 600 trunks, 600 holdalls, and 600 kit-bags!! The
Sisters' baggage is a byword now, and we could have done with only one
of the three things or 1-1/2. We have been out nearly a month now and
have not been near our boxes; some other hospitals have lost all
theirs, or had them smashed up. We at last traced our No.-- people and
found them encamped on the wharf among the stuff,[1] trying to get it
stored with only one motor transport lent them by the Flying Corps. They
were very nice to us, offered us lunch on packing-cases, and Major
---- cleaned my skirt with petrol for me!
[Footnote 1: Each hospital contains 78 tons of tents, furniture, stores,
&c.]
They sorted out the five kit-bags and boxes for us from the rest, as we
have to go in to-morrow and repack for duty,--only sleeping kit and
uniform to be taken, and a change of underclothing. They said we'd have
to make our own transport arrangements, as the 6th Division had taken up
everything. So in the town we saw an empty dray outside a public-house,
and after investigating inside two pubs we unearthed a fat man, who took
us to a wine merchant's yard, and he produced a huge dray, which he
handed over to us! We lent it to the Matron of No.--, and we have
commandeered the brewer for No.--'s to-morrow. Then we met a large
French motor ambulance without a French owner, with "Havre" on it, which
we knew, and sent Miss ---- in it to the _Asturias_ to try and collar it
for us to-morrow. She did.
There were a lot of Cavalry already mounted just starting, and Welsh
Fusiliers, and Argyll and Sutherlands, and swarms more. We had another
invitation to a packing-case lunch from three other M.O.'s at another
wharf, but couldn't stop.
We saw three German officers led through the crowd at the wharf. The
French crowd booed and groaned and yelled "Les Assassins" at them. The
Tommies were quite quiet. They looked white and bored. We also saw 86
men (German prisoners) in a shed on the wharf. Some one who'd been
talking to the German officers told us they were quite cheerful and
absolutely certain Germany is going to win!
_Wednesday, September 9th._--It is a month to-day since I left home, and
seems like six, and no work yet. Isn't it absolutely rotten? A big storm
last night, and the Bay of Biscay tumbling about like fun to-day: bright
and sunny again now. The French infants, boys and girls up to any age,
are all dressed in navy knickers and jerseys and look so jolly. Matron
has gone into St Nazaire to-day to get all the whole boiling of our
baggage out here to repack. P'raps she'll bring some news or some
letters, or, best of all, some orders.
This is a lovely spot. I'm writing on our balcony at the Riffelalp,
above the tops of the pines, and straight over the sea. Three Padres
are stranded at Pornichet--two were troopers in the S.A. War, and they
do duty for us. The window of the glass lounge where we have services
blew in with a crash this morning, right on the top of them, and it took
some time to sort things out, but eventually they went on, in the middle
of the sentence they stopped at.
A French rag this morning had some cheering telegrams about the
Allies--that left, centre, and right were all more than holding their
own, even if the enemy is rather near Paris. What about the Russians who
came through England? We've heard of trains passing through Oxford with
all the blinds down.
_Thursday, September 10th._--Dazzling day. War news, "L'ennemie se
replie devant l'armée anglaise," and that "Nos alliés anglais
poursuivent leur offensive dans la direction de la Marne."--All good so
far. No letters yet.
_Friday, September 11th._--It is said to-day that No.-- is to open at
Nantes immediately. That will mean, at the earliest, in a fortnight,
possibly much longer. We five French speakers are again told to stand by
for special orders, but I know it won't come off.
At early service yesterday among the Intercessions was one for patience
in this time of trial waiting for our proper work. Never was there a
more needful Intercession.
Some of us explored the salt-marshes behind this belt of pines
yesterday, up to the farms and to a little old church on the other side;
it was open, and had a little ship hanging over the chancel. The
salt-marshes are intersected by sea walls--with sea pinks and sea
lavender--that you walk along, and there are masses of blackberries
round the farms.
There are rumours that all the hospitals will be getting to work soon,
but I don't believe it. No.-- has lost all its tent-poles, and a lot of
its equipment in the move from Havre. I believe the missing stuff is
supposed to be on its way to Jersey in the _Welshman_ with the German
prisoners.
_Saturday, September 12th._--Rien à dire. Tous les jours même chose--on
attend des ordres, ce qui ne viennent jamais.
_Sunday, September 13th._--The hospitals seem to be showing faint signs
of moving. No.-- has gone to Versailles, and No.-- to Nantes. No.--
would have gone to Versailles if they hadn't had the bad luck to lose
their tent-poles in the _Welshman_, and their pay-sheets and a few other
important items.
Had to play the hymns at three services to-day without a hymn-book!
Luckily I scratched up 370, 197, 193, 176, and 285, and God Save the
King, out of my head, but "We are but little children weak" is the only
other I can do, except "Peace, Perfect Peace"! A fine sermon by an
exceptionally good Padre, mainly on Patience and Preparation!
_Sunday Evening, September 13th, La Baule, Nantes._--Orders at last. M.
and I, an Army Sister, and two Army Staff Nurses are to go to Le Mans;
what for, remains to be seen; anyway, it will be work. It seems too good
to be by any possibility true. We may be for Railway Station duty,
feeding and dressings in trains or for a Stationary Hospital, or
anything, or to join No. 5 General at Le Mans.
_Monday, September 14th, Angers_, 8 P.M.--_in the train._--We five got
into the train at La Baule with kit-bags and holdalls, with the
farewells of Matron and our friends, at 9.30 this morning. We are still
in the same train, and shall not reach Le Mans till 11 P.M. Then what?
Perhaps Station Duty, perhaps Hospital. There is said to be any amount
of work at Le Mans. We have an R.H.A. Battery on this train with guns,
horses, five officers, and trucks full of shouting and yelling men all
very fit, straight from home. One big officer said savagely, "The first
man not carrying out orders will be sent down to the base," to one of
his juniors, as the worst threat. The spirits of the men are
irrepressible. The French people rush up wherever we stop (which is
extremely often and long) and give them grapes and pears and cigarettes.
We have had cider, coffee, fruit, chocolate, and biscuits-and-cheese at
intervals. It is difficult to get anything, because no one, French or
English, ever seems to know when the train is going on.
We have been reading in 'The Times' of September 3, 4, 5, and 7, all
day, and re-reading last night's mail from home.
What a marvellous spirit has been growing in all ranks of the Army (and
Navy) these last dozen years, to show as it is doing now. And the
technical perfection of all one saw at the Military Tournament this year
must have meant a good deal--for this War.
(We are still shunting madly in and out of Angers.)
II.
Le Mans
WOUNDED FROM THE AISNE
_September 15, 1914, to October 11, 1914_
"No easy hopes or lies
Shall bring us to our goal,
But iron sacrifice
Of body, will, and soul.
There is but one task for all--
For each one life to give,
Who stands if freedom fall?
Who dies if England live?"
--RUDYARD KIPLING.
II.
Le Mans.
WOUNDED FROM THE AISNE.
_September 15, 1914, to October 11, 1914._
Station duty--On train duty--Orders again--Waiting to go--Still at Le
Mans--No.-- Stationary Hospital--Off at last--The Swindon of France.
_Tuesday, September 15th._--The train managed to reach Le Mans at 1 A.M.
this morning, and kindly shunted into a siding in the station till 6.30
A.M., so we got out our blankets and had a bit of a sleep. At 7 a motor
ambulance took us up to No.-- Stationary Hospital, which is a rather
grimy Bishop's Palace, pretty full and busy. The Sisters there gave us
tea and biscuits, and we were then sorted out by the Senior Matron, and
billeted singly. I'm in a nice little house with a garden with an old
French lady who hasn't a word of English, and fell on my neck when she
found I could understand her, and patter glibly and atrociously back.
My little room has a big window over the garden, and will, I suppose, be
my headquarters for the present in between train and station duty, which
I believe is to be our lot. We go to a rather dim café for meals, and
shall then learn what the duty is to be. It is yet a long time coming.
We haven't had a meal since the day before yesterday, so I shall be glad
when 12 o'clock comes. Now for a wash.
_Wednesday, September 16th._--Still here: only four of the twenty-five
(five sets of five) who formed our unit have been found jobs so far: two
are taking a train of sick down to St Nazaire, and two have joined No.--
Stationary Hospital in the town. We still await orders! This is a
first-class War for awaiting orders for some of us.
Yesterday it poured all day. We explored the Cathedral, which is
absolutely beautiful, perched high up over an open space--now crowded
with transport and motor ambulances. We made tea in my quarters, and
then explored the town; narrow streets thronged with Tommies as usual.
We have lunch at eleven and dinner at seven, at a dingy little inn
through a smelly back yard; there is not much to eat, and you fill up
with rather nasty bread and unripe pears, and drink a sort of flat
cider, as the water is not good.
To-day it is sunny again. I have just been to High Mass (Choral), and
taken photos of the Cathedral and the Market below, where I got four
ripe peaches for 1-1/2d.
Writing in the garden of Mme. Bontevin, my landlady.
There is any amount of work here at the Bishop's Palace; more than they
can get through on night duty with bad cases, and another Jesuit College
has been opened as No.-- Stationary. Went up to No.-- S. this afternoon
where F---- has been sent, to see her; she asked me to go out and buy
cakes for six wounded officers. They seemed highly pleased with them;
they are on beds, the men on stretchers; all in holland sheets and brown
blankets; only bare necessaries, as the Stationary Hospitals have to be
very mobile: stretchers make very decent beds, but they are difficult
for nursing.
They have had a good many deaths, surgical and medical, at L'Evêché;
they have pneumonias, and paralysis, and septic wounds, and an officer
shot through the head, with a temperature of 106 and paralysis; there is
a civil surgeon with a leg for amputation at No.-- Stationary.
_Friday, September 18th._--Même chose. We go up to the Hospital and ask
for orders, and to-night we were both told to get into ward uniform in
the morning, and wait there in case a job turns up. I've just come
to-night from No.-- Station where F---- is, to take her some things she
asked me to get for her officers.
They have been busy at the station to-day doing dressings on the trains.
A lot have come down from this fighting on the Marne.
Yesterday I think one touched the bottom of this waiting business. The
food at the dingy inn has dérangé my inside, and I lay down all day
yesterday. The Sergeant at the Dispensary prescribed lead and opium
pills for me when I asked for chlorodyne, as he said he'd just cured a
General with the same complaint--from the sour bread, he said. Fanny,
the fat cook here, and Isabel the maid, were overcome with anxiety over
my troubles, and fell over each other with hot bottles, and drinks, and
advice. They are perfect angels. Madame Bontevin pays me a state call
once a day; she has to have all the windows shut, and we sit close and
converse with animation. Flowery French compliments simply fly between
us. We often have to help the Tommies out with their shopping; their
attempts to buy Beecham's Pills are the funniest.
This afternoon I found 'The Times' of September 15th (Tuesday of this
week) in a shop and had a happy time with it. It referred, in a
Frenchman's letter, to a sunset at Havre on an evening that he would
never forget--nor shall I--with an American cruiser and a troopship
going out. (See page 24 of this effusion.)
_Saturday, September 19th._--It seems that we five No.--s who came up
last Monday are being kept to staff another Stationary Hospital farther
up, when it is ready; at least that is what it looks like from sundry
rumours--if so--good enough.
We have been all day in caps and aprons at L'Evêché, marking linen and
waiting for orders on the big staircase. I've also been over both
hospitals. The bad cases all seem to be dropped here off the trains;
there are some awful mouth, jaw, head, leg, and spine cases, who can't
recover, or will only be crippled wrecks. You can't realise that it has
all been done on purpose, and that none of them are accidents or
surgical diseases. And they seem all to take it as a matter of course;
the bad ones who are conscious don't speak, and the better ones are all
jolly and smiling, and ready "to have another smack." One little room
had two wounded German prisoners, with an armed guard. One who was shot
through the spine died while I was there--his orderly and the Sister
were with him. The other is a spy--nearly well--who has to be very
carefully watched.
They are all a long time between the field and the Hospital. One told me
he was wounded on Tuesday--was one day in a hospital, and then
travelling till to-day, Saturday. No wonder their wounds are full of
straw and grass. (Haven't heard of any more tetanus.) Most haven't had
their clothes off, or washed, for three weeks, except face and hands.
No war news to-day, except that the Germans are well fortified and
entrenched in their positions N. of Rheims.
_Sunday, September 20th._--Began with early service at the Jesuit School
Hospital at 6.30, and the rest of the day one will never forget. The
fighting for these concrete entrenched positions of the Germans behind
Rheims has been so terrific since last Sunday that the number of
casualties has been enormous. Three trains full of wounded, numbering
altogether 1175 cases, have been dressed at the station to-day; we were
sent down at 11 this morning. The train I was put to had 510 cases. You
boarded a cattle-truck, armed with a tray of dressings and a pail; the
men were lying on straw; had been in trains for several days; most had
only been dressed once, and many were gangrenous. If you found one
urgently needed amputation or operation, or was likely to die, you
called an M.O. to have him taken off the train for Hospital. No one
grumbled or made any fuss. Then you joined the throng in the
dressing-station, and for hours doctors of all ranks, Sisters and
orderlies, grappled with the stream of stretchers, and limping,
staggering, bearded, dirty, fagged men, and ticketed them off for the
motor ambulances to the Hospitals, or back to the train, after dressing
them. The platform was soon packed with stretchers with all the bad
cases waiting patiently to be taken to Hospital. We cut off the silk
vest of a dirty, brigandish-looking officer, nearly finished with a
wound through his lung. The Black Watch and Camerons were almost
unrecognisable in their rags. The staple dressing is tincture of iodine;
you don't attempt anything but swabbing with lysol, and then gauze
dipped in iodine. They were nearly all shrapnel shell wounds--more
ghastly than anything I have ever seen or smelt; the Mauser wounds of
the Boer War were pin-pricks compared with them. There was also a huge
train of French wounded being dressed on the other side of the station,
including lots of weird, gaily-bedecked Zouaves.
There was no real confusion about the whole day, owing to the good
organising of the No.-- Clearing Hospital people who run it. Every man
was fed, and dressed and sorted. They'll have a heavy time at the two
hospitals to-night with the cases sent up from the trains.