going to the wards which were in charge of nursing orderlies between the
courses. Soup, turkey, peas, mince pie, plum pudding, chocolate,
champagne, absinthe, and coffee. Absinthe is delicious, like squills. We
had many toasts in French and English. The King, the President, Absent
Friends, Soldiers and Sailors, and I had the _Blessés_ and the
_Malades_. We got up and clinked glasses with the French Staff at every
toast, and finally the little chef came in and sang to us in a very
sweet musical tenor. Our great anxiety is to get as many orderlies and
N.C.O.'s as possible through the day without being run in for drunk, but
it is an uphill job; I don't know where they get it.
We are wondering what the chances are of getting to bed to-night.
4 A.M.--Very late getting in to B.; not unloading till morning. Just
going to turn in now till breakfast time. End of Xmas Day.
_Saturday, December 26th._--Saw my lambs off the train before
breakfast. One man in the Warwicks had twelve years' service, a wife and
two children, but "when Kitchener wanted more men" he re-joined. This
week he got an explosive bullet through his arm, smashing it up to rags
above the elbow. He told me he got a man "to tie the torn muscles up,"
and then started to crawl out, dragging his arm behind him. After some
hours he came upon one of his own officers wounded, who said, "Good God,
sonny, you'll be bleeding to death if we don't get you out of this;
catch hold of me and the Chaplain." "So 'e cuddled me, and I cuddled the
Chaplain, and we got as far as the doctor."
At the Clearing H. his arm was taken off through the shoulder-joint, but
I'm afraid it is too late. He is now a pallid wreck, dying of gangrene.
But he would discuss the War, and when it would end, and ask when he'd
be strong enough to sit up and write to that officer, and apologised for
wanting drinks so often. He is one of the most top-class gallant
gentlemen it's ever been my jolly good luck to meet. And there are
hundreds of them.
We had Princess Mary's nice brass box this morning. The V.A.D. here
brought a present to every man on the train this morning, and to the
orderlies. They had 25,000 to distribute, cigarette-cases,
writing-cases, books, pouches, &c. The men were frightfully pleased, it
was so unexpected. The processions of hobbling, doubled-up, silent,
muddy, sitting-up cases who pour out of the trains want something to
cheer them up, as well as the lying-downs. It is hard to believe they
are the fighting men, now they've handed their rifles and bandoliers in.
(It is snowing fast.) We have to go and drink the men's health at their
spread at 1 o'clock. Then I hope a spell of sleep.
We have chauffage on to-day to thaw the froidage; the pipes are frozen.
6 P.M.--We all processed to the Orderlies' Mess truck and the O.C. made
a speech, and the Q.M.S. dished out drinks for us to toast with, and we
had the King and all of ourselves with great enthusiasm. Mr T. had to
propose "The Sisters," and after a few trembling, solemn words about "we
all know the good work they do," he suddenly giggled hopelessly, and it
ended in a healthy splodge all round. Orders just come to be at St Omer
by 10 P.M. If that means loading-up further on about 1 A.M. I think we
shall all die! Too noisy here to sleep this afternoon. And the men are
just now so merry with Tipperary, and dressing up, that they will surely
drop the patients off the stretchers, but we'll hope for the best.
_Sunday, December 27th._--Had a grand night last night. Woke up at
Béthune. Went out after breakfast and saw over No.-- Cl. H., which has
only been there 48 hours, in a huge Girls' College, partly smashed by
big shell holes, an awful mess, but the whole parts are being turned
into a splendid hospital. Several houses shelled, and big guns shaking
the train this morning.
The M.O.'s went to the Orderlies' Concert last night, when we went to
bed. It was excellent, and nobody was drunk! We are taking on a full
load of lying-downs straight from three Field Ambulances, so we shall be
very busy; not arrived yet.
6 P.M.--Nearing Boulogne.
I have one little badly wounded Gurkha (who keeps ejaculating
"Gerrman"), and all the rest British, some very badly frost-bitten. The
trenches are in a frightful state. One man said, "There's almost as many
men drowned as killed: when they're wounded they fall into the water."
Of three officers (one of whom is on the train and tells the story) in a
deep-water trench for two days, one was drowned, the other had to have
his clothes cut off him (stuck fast to the mud) and be pulled out naked,
and the other is invalided with rheumatism.
Two men were telling me how they caught a sniper established in a tree,
with a thousand rounds of ammunition and provisions. He asked for mercy,
but he didn't get it, they said. He had just shot two stretcher-bearers.
_Monday, December 28th._--This trip to Rouen will give us a longer
journey up, and therefore some more time. And we shall get another bath.
The following story is a typical example of what the infantry often have
to endure. It was told to me by the Sergeant. Three men of the S.W.
Borderers and five of the Welsh Regt. on advancing to occupy a trench
found themselves cut off, with a 2nd Lieut. He advanced alone to
reconnoitre and was probably shot, they said--they never saw him again.
So the Sergt. of the W.R. (aged 22!) took command and led them for
safety, still under fire, to a ditch with one foot of water in it. This
was on the _Monday night before Xmas_. They stayed in it all Tuesday and
Tuesday night, when it was snowing. Before daylight he "skirmished" them
to a trench he knew of two hundred yards in advance, where he had seen
one of his regiment the day before. This was in water above their knees.
He showed me the mud-line on his trousers.
This turned out to be one of the German communication trenches. They
stayed in that all Wednesday, Wednesday night, and Thursday, living on
some biscuit one man had, some bits of chocolate, and drinking the dirty
trench water, in which was a dead German dressed as a Gurkha. "We was
prayin' all the time," said one of them. Then one ventured out to get
water and was shot. On Xmas Eve night it froze hard, and they were so
weak and starved and numb that the Sergt. decided that they couldn't
stick it any longer, so they cast their equipment and made a dash for a
camp fire they could see.
One of them is an old grey-haired Reservist with seven children. By good
luck they struck a road which led them to some Coldstreams' billet, a
house. There they were fed with tea, bread, bacon, and jam, and stayed
an hour, but didn't get dried.
Then these C.G.'s had to go into action, and the Sergt. took them on to
some Grenadier Guards' billet. By this time he and one other had to be
carried by the others. There they stayed the night (Xmas Day) and saw
the M.O.'s of a Field Ambulance, who sent them all into hospital at
Béthune, whence we took them on this train to Rouen, all severely
frost-bitten, weak, and rheumatic.
An infant boy of nineteen was telling me how he killed a German of 6 ft.
3 in. "Bill," I says, "there's one o' them big devils (only I called
him worse than that," he said politely to me), "and we all three
emptied our rifles into him, and he never moved again."
9 P.M.--At Sotteville, off Rouen. We got unloaded at 1 P.M. and then
made a dash for the best baths in France.
_Tuesday, December 29th._--We've had a quite useful day off to-day.
Still at Sotteville; had a walk this morning, also got through arrears
of mending and letter-writing. They played another football match this
afternoon, and did much better than last time, but still got beaten.
_Wednesday, December 30th._--Still at Sotteville. One of our coaches is
off being repaired here, and goodness knows how long we shall be stuck.
Had a walk this morning along the line. The train puffed past me on its
way to Rouen for water. I tried to make the engine-driver stop by
spreading myself out in front of the engine, but he "shooed" me out of
the way, and after some deliberation I seized a brass rail and leapt on
to the footboard about half-way down the train; it wasn't at all
difficult after all. We had Seymour Hicks' lot tacked on behind us; they
are doing performances for the Hospitals and Rest-camps in Rouen to-day,
but unfortunately we are too far out to go in.
_Thursday, December 31st, New Year's Eve._--Still at Sotteville, and
clemmed with cold. There was no paraffin on the train this morning, so
we couldn't even have the passage lamps lit.
This afternoon I went with Major ---- and the French Major and the
little fat French Caporal (who is the same class as the French Major--or
better) into Rouen, and they trotted us round sight-seeing. The little
Caporal showed us all the points of the cathedrals, and the
twelfth-century stone pictures on the north porch and on the towers, and
also the church of St Maclou with the wonderful "Ossuare" cloisters, now
a college for Jeunes Filles. We had tea in the town and trammed back.
This evening, New Year's Eve, the French Staff had decorated the
Restaurant with Chinese lanterns, and we had a festive New Year's Eve
dinner, with chicken, and Xmas pudding on fire, and Sauterne and
Champagne and crackers. The putting on of caps amused every one
_infiniment_, and we had more speeches and toasts. I forgot to tell you
that the French Major's home is broken up by Les Allemands, and he
doesn't know where his wife and three children are. On Xmas night,
during toasts, he suddenly got up and said in a broken voice, "À mes
petits enfants et ma femme."
The coach is mended and back from _l'atelier_, and we may go off at any
moment. I hope we shall wake up on the way to Boulogne and mails.
_New Year's Day, 1915, Rouen._--A Happy New Year to us all! We are not
off yet, and several other trains are doing nothing here. We came into
Rouen this afternoon, and heard that we are to clear the hospitals here
to-morrow, and take them down to Havre.
Thank goodness we are to move at last. Went for a walk in the town after
tea, and after dinner the O.C. and Sister B. and one of the Civil
Surgeons and the French Major and I went to the cinema. It was
excellent, or we thought it so, after the months of train and nothing
else.
_Saturday, January 2nd, 12 noon._--Just loading up for Havre with many
of the same men we brought down from Béthune on Sunday; it seems as if
we might just as well have taken them straight down to Havre. They look
clean now, and have lost the trench look.
Have been asked to say how extra-excellent the Xmas cake was; we
finished it yesterday, ditto the Tiptree jam.
It is a week on Monday since we had any mails.
There is a Major of ours on the train, getting a lift to Havre, who is
specialist in pathology, and he has been investigating the bacillus of
malignant oedema and of spreading gangrene. They are hunting anærobes
(Sir Almroth Wright at Boulogne and a big French Professor in Paris) for
a vaccine against this, which has been persistently fatal. This man knew
of two cases who were, as he puts it, "good cases for dying," and
therefore good cases for trying his theory on. Both got well, began to
recover within eight hours. And one of them was my re-enlisted
Warwickshire man with the arm amputated, who was got out by the wounded
officer and the Padre.
_January 3rd._--A sergeant we took down to Havre yesterday told me of
his battalion's very heavy losses. He said out of the 1400 of all ranks
he came out with, there are now only 5 sergeants, 1 officer, and 72 men
left. He said the young officers won't take cover--"they get too excited
and won't listen to people who've 'ad a little experience." One would
keep putting his head out of the trench because he hadn't seen a German.
"I kept tellin' of him," said the sergeant, "but of course he got 'it!"
VII.
On No.-- Ambulance Train (5)
WINTER ON THE TRAIN AND IN THE TRENCHES
_January 7, 1915, to February 6, 1915_
"The winter and the dark last long:
Grief grows and dawn delays:
Make we our sword-arm doubly strong,
And lift on high our gaze;
And stanch we deep the hearts that weep,
And touch our lips with praise."
--_Anon._
VII.
On No.-- Ambulance Train (5).
WINTER ON THE TRAIN AND IN THE TRENCHES.
_January 7, 1915, to February 6, 1915._
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.
_Thursday, January 7th._--We moved out of Boulogne about 4 A.M., and
reached Merville (with many long waits) at 2 P.M. Loaded up there, and
filled up at Hazebrouck on way back. Many cases of influenza with high
temperatures, also rheumatisms and bad feet, very few wounded. When they
got the khaki hankies they said, "Khaki? that's extra!"
9.30 P.M.--We have 318 on board this time, including four enterics,
four diphtherias, and eighteen convalescent scarlets (who caught it from
their billet). A quiet-looking little man has a very fine new German
officer's helmet and sword. "He gave it to me," he said. "I had shot him
through the lung. I did the wound up as best I could and tried to save
him, but he died. He was coming for me with his sword." Seems funny to
first shoot a man and then try to mop it up. The Germans don't; they
finish you off.
An officer on the train told me how another officer and twenty-five men
were told off to go and take a new trench which had been dug in the
night. Instead of the few they expected they found it packed with
Germans, all asleep. "It's not a pretty story," he said, "but you can't
go first and tell them you're coming when you are outnumbered three to
one." They had to bayonet every one of those sleeping Germans, and
killed every one without losing a man.
All my half of the train had khaki hankies and sweets; they simply loved
them. They are all, except the infectious cases, just out of the
trenches, and such things make them absurdly happy; you would hardly
believe it. I am keeping the writing-cases and bull's-eyes for the next
lot. There were just enough mufflers to muffle the chilly necks of those
who hadn't already got them.
The wet has outwetted itself all day--it must be a record flood
everywhere. We shall not unload to-night, so I had better think about
turning in, as I have the third watch at 4 A.M.
I found some lovely eau-de-Cologne and shampoo powders from R. among the
mufflers, and a pet aluminium candlestick from G. Such things give a
Sister on an A.T. absurd pleasure; you'd hardly believe it.
_Friday, January 8th._--Still pouring. We unloaded by 9 A.M., got our
mail in. My wardmaster was so drunk to-night that the Q.M.S. had to send
for the O.C. And he had just got his corporal's stripe. He was a
particular ally of mine and was in South Africa.
We are in that foulest of all homes for lost trains to-day, the Petit
Vitesse siding out of B. station, with the filth of all the ages around,
about, and below us. You have to shut your window to keep out the smell
of burning garbage and other horrors.
It is nearly three months since I sat in a chair, except at meals, and
that is only a flap-down seat, or saw a fire, except the pails of coke
the Tommies have on the lines.
I expect we shall be off again to-night somewhere.
_Saturday, January 9th._--Did you see the H.A.C.'s story of the frozen
Tommy who asked them to warm his hands, and then seeing they were on
their way to his trench hastily explained that he was all right--only a
bit numb. One thing one notices about them is that they have an enormous
tolerance for each other and never seem to want to quarrel. They take
infinite pains in the night not to wake each other in moving over the
heaps of legs and arms sprawled everywhere, and will keep in cramped
positions for hours rather than risk touching some one else's painful
feet or hand. If you want to improve matters they say, "I shall be all
right, Sister, it might jog his foot." They never let you miss any one
out in giving things round, and always call your attention to any one
they think needs it, but not to themselves. It is very funny how they
won't fuss about themselves, and in consequence you often find things
out too late. Last journey a man with asthma and bronchitis was,
unfortunately as it turned out, given a top bunk, as he was considered
too bad to be a sitting-up case. At 6 A.M. I found him looking very
tired and miserable sitting on the edge; "I can't lie down," he said,
"with this cough." When I put him in a sitting-up corner below, he said,
"I could a'slep' all night like this!" It had never occurred to him to
ask to be changed. They get so used to discomfort that they "stay put"
and never utter. We had missed his distress (in the 318 we had on
board), and they were sleeping on the floors of the corridors, so the
middle bunks were very difficult to get at. Any of them would have
changed with him. This happens several times on every journey, but you
can't get them to fuss. The Germans and the Sikhs begin to clamour for
something directly they are on the train, and keep it up till they go
off.
Another typical instance (though not a pretty one) of Tommy's reluctance
to complain occurred on the last journey. I came on one compartment
full, busily engaged in collecting J.J.'s off one man in the middle,
with a candle to see by. His blanket, I found, was swarming, and it was
ours, not his, one of a lot taken on at Rouen as "disinfected"! (For one
ghastly moment I thought it might be the compartment where I'd spent a
good half-hour doing up their feet, but it wasn't.) I had the blanket
hurled out of the window, and they then slept. But they weren't going to
complain about it.
There was one jovial old boy of 60 with rows of ribbons. He had three
sons in the Army, and when they went "he wasn't going to be left
behind," so he re-enlisted.
_Sunday, January 10th._--Woke up at Bailleul, sun shining for once, and
everything--floods and all--looking lovely all the way down. Loaded up
early and got down to B. by 4 P.M. to hear that we are to go on to
Rouen--another all-night touch. We have put off the fourteen worst cases
at B., and are now on our way to R. This is the first time we have
shipped Canadians, P.P.C.L.I., the only regiment as yet in the fighting
line. They are oldish men who have nearly all seen service before, many
in South Africa.
Lots more wounded this time. Some S.L.I. got badly caught in a wood;
they've just come from India.
When I took the Devonshire toffee round, a little doubtful whether the
H.A.C.'s would not be too grand for it, one of them started up, "Oh, by
George, not really!"
We have a boy on board with no wound and no disease, but quite mad, poor
boy; he has to have a special orderly on him.
_Monday morning, January 11th, Rouen._--The approach to Rouen at six
o'clock on a pitch-dark, wet, and starlight morning, with the lights
twinkling on the hills and on the river, and in the old wet streets, is
a beautiful sight.
My mad boy has been very quiet all night.
_Tuesday, January 12th._--At S. all day. By some mistake it hasn't
rained all day, so we took the opportunity to get on with painting the
train. We worked all the morning and afternoon and got a lot done, and
it looks very smart: huge red crosses on white squares in the middle of
each coach, and the number of the ward in figures a foot long at each
end: this on both sides of the coaches. We have done not quite half the
coaches, and are praying that it won't rain before it dries; if it does,
the result is pitiable. The orderlies have been shining up the brass
rails and paraffining the outside of the train, and have also played and
won a football match against No. 1 A.T.
_Wednesday, January 13th._--Woke at Abbeville; now on the way to
Boulogne, where I hope we shall have time to get mails.
5 P.M.--We went through Boulogne without stopping, and got no mails in
consequence; nor could we pick up P., who has been on ninety-six hours'
leave. We have been on the move practically without stopping since 11
P.M. last night, and are just getting to Béthune, the place we went to
two days after Christmas, where we were quite near the guns, and went
over the Cl. H. which had been shelled. Expect to take wounded up here.
The country is wetter than ever--it looks one vast swamp. Of course the
rain has spoilt our lovely paint!
_Thursday, January 14th._--We picked up a load in the dark and wet, with
some very badly wounded, who kept us busy from 6 P.M. to 4 A.M. without
stopping. Some were caked with mud exactly to their necks! One told me
he got hit trying to dig out three of his section who were half buried
by an exploded coal-box. When he got hit, they were left, and eventually
got finished by our own guns. Another lot of eleven were buried
likewise, and are there still, but were all killed instantaneously. One
man with part of his stomach blown away and his right thigh smashed was
trying to get a corporal of his regiment in, but the corporal died when
he got there, and he got it as well. He was smiling and thanking all
night, and saying how comfortable he was. Another we had to put off at
St Omer, on the off chance of saving his life. He was made happy by two
tangerine oranges.
Many of the sitting-ups have no voice, and they cough all night. We
unloaded this morning, got a sleep this afternoon, and are now, 5 P.M.,
on our way up again. The Clearing Hospitals are overflowing as of old,
and like the Field Ambulances have more than they can cope with. We have
to re-dress the septic things with H_{2}O_{2}, which keeps them going
till they can be specially treated at the base. Some of the enterics are
very bad: train journeys are not ideal treatment for enteric
hæmorrhage, but it has to be done. Two of my orderlies are very good
with them, and take great care of their mouths, and know how to feed
them. It is a great anxiety when a great hulking G.D.O. (General Duty
Orderly, not a Nursing Orderly) has to take his turn on night duty with
the badly wounded.
It is time the sun shone somewhere--but it will surely, later on.
_Friday, January 15th._--We got to Bailleul too late last night for
loading, and went thankfully to bed instead. Now, 3.30 P.M., nearly back
at B., but expect to be sent on to Rouen: most sick this time, and bad
feet, not exactly frost-bite, but swollen and discoloured from the wet.
One of my enterics is a Field Ambulance boy, with a temp. of 105, and he
only "went sick" yesterday. How awful he must have felt on duty. He says
his body feels "four sizes too big for him."
It is a mild day, sunny in parts, and not wet.
_Still Friday, January 15th._--We unloaded at 6 P.M. at B., and are to
start off again at 4.15 A.M.; business is brisk just now; this last lot
only had mostly minor ailments, besides the enterics and the woundeds.
The French Major has had a letter from his wife at last, they are with
the Germans, but quite well. We drank their health to-night in special
port and champagne! and had Christmas pudding with sauce d'Enfer, as the
lighted brandy was called! But we are all going to bed, not _ivrés_ I'm
glad to tell you. This going up by night and down by day is much the
least tiring way, as we can undress and have a real night in bed.
_Later._--Hazebrouck. We have been out, but couldn't get as far as No.--
Cl. H. (where I find T. is), as the R.T.O. said we might be going on at
11.30.
We came across an anti-aircraft gun pointing to the sky, on a little
hill. The gunner officer in charge of it seemed very pleased to see us,
as he is alone all day. (He walks up and down the road a certain
distance, dropping stones out of his pocket at each turning, and clears
out the surrounding drain-pipes to drain his bit of swamp, as his
amusements.)
He showed us his two kinds of 12 lb. shells, high explosives and
shrapnel. The high explosive frightens the enemy aeroplane away by its
terrific bang, he says: our own airmen say they don't mind the shrapnel.
He says you can't distinguish between one kind of French aeroplane and
the Germans until they are close enough over you to see the colours
underneath, and then it may be too late to fire. "I'm terrified of
bringing down a French aeroplane," he said. He was a most cheerful,
ruddy, fit-looking boy.