minor cases came down just before us from the same place, where we've
been three days running. The two Clearing Hospitals up there are working
at awful high pressure--filling in from Field Ambulances, and emptying
into the trains. All cases now have to go through the Clearing Hospitals
for classification and diagnosis and dressings, but it is of a sketchy
character, as you may imagine. They are all swarming with J.J.'s, even
the officers. One of the officers is wounded in the head, shoulder,
stomach, both arms, and both feet. A boy in my wards, with a baby face,
showed me a beautiful silver, enamelled and engraved watch he got off a
"Yewlan"; he was treasuring it in his belt "to take home to Mother." I
asked him if the Yewlan was dead. "Oh yes," he said, his face lighting
up with glee; "we shot him. He was like a pepper-pot when we got to
him." Isn't it horrible? And like the boy in 'Punch,' he'd never killed
anybody before he went to France. I wonder what "Mother" will say to his
cheerful little story.
I have been busy bursting a bad quinsy with inhalers and fomentations.
After a few hours he could sing Tipperary and drink a bottle of stout!
There are two Volunteer shop-boys from a London Territorial Regiment,
who call me "Madam" from force of habit.
_Sunday, January 17th._--We didn't unload at Boulogne last night, and
are still (11 A.M.) taking them on to Êtretat, a lovely place on the
coast, about ten miles north of Havre. The hospital there is my old
No.-- General Hospital, that I mobilised with, so it will be very jolly
to see them all again.
We are going through most lovely country on a clear sunny morning, and
none of the patients are causing any anxiety, so it is an extremely
pleasant journey, and we shall have a good rest on the way back.
3 P.M.--Just as I was beginning to forget there were such things as
trenches and shrapnel and snipers, they told me a horrible story of two
Camerons who got stuck in the mud and sucked down to their shoulders.
They took an hour and a half getting one out, and just as they said to
the other, "All right, Jock, we'll have you out in a minute," he threw
back his head and laughed, and in doing so got sucked right under, and
is there still. They said there was no sort of possibility of getting
him out; it was like a quicksand.
One told me--not as such a very sensational fact--that he went for
eleven weeks without taking off his clothes, _or a wash_, and then he
had a hot bath and a change of everything. He remarked that he had to
scrape himself with a knife.
We have been travelling all day, and shan't get to Êtretat till about 7
P.M. It is a mercy we got our bad cases off at Boulogne--pneumonias,
enterics, two s.f.'s, and some badly wounded, including the officer
dressed in bandages all over. He was such a nice boy. When he was put
into clean pyjamas, and had a clean hanky with eau-de-Cologne, he said,
"By Jove, it's worth getting hit for this, after the smells of dead
horses, dead men, and dead everything." He said no one could get into
Messines, where there is only one house left standing, because of the
unburied dead lying about. He couldn't move his arms, but he loved being
fed with pigs of tangerine orange, and, like so many, he was chiefly
concerned with "giving so much trouble." He looked awfully ill, but
seldom stopped smiling. Of such are the Kingdom of Heaven.
_Later. On way to Havre._--These are all bound for home and have been
in hospital some time. They are clean, shaved, clothed, fed, and
convalescent. Most of the lying-downs are recovering from severe wounds
of weeks back. It is quite new even to see them at that stage, instead
of the condition we usually get them in. Some are the same ones we
brought down from Béthune three weeks ago.
One man was in a dug-out going about twenty feet back from the trench,
with sixteen others, taking cover from our howitzers and also from the
enemy's. The cultivated ground is so soft with the wet that it easily
gives, and the bursting of one of our shells close by drove the roof in
and buried these seventeen--four were killed and eleven injured by it,
but only two were got out alive, and they were abandoned as dead.
However, a rescue party of six faced the enemy shells above ground and
tried to get them out. In doing this two were killed and two wounded.
The other two went on with it. My man and another man were pinned down
by beams--the other had his face clear, but mine hadn't, though he could
hear the picks above him. He gave up all hopes of getting out, but the
other man when rescued said he thought this one was still alive, and
then got him out unconscious. When he came to he was in hospital in a
chapel, and it took him a long time to realise he was alive. "They
generally take you into chapel before they bury you," he said, "but I
told 'em they done it the wrong way round with me. That was the worst
mess ever I got into in this War," he finished up.
_Wednesday, January 20th, Sotteville._--The others have all been out,
but I've been a bit lazy and stayed in, washed my hair and mended my
clothes. This place is looking awfully pretty to-day, because all the
fields are flooded between us and the long line of high hills about a
mile away, and it looks like a huge lake with the trees reflected in it.
No orders to move, as usual. Ambulance trains travel as "specials" in a
"marche," which means a gap in the timetable. There are only about two
marches in twenty-four hours, and the R.T.O.'s have to fit the A.T.'s in
to one or other of these marches when orders come that No.-- A.T. is
wanted. We do not get final orders of where our destination is till we
get to Hazebrouck or St Omer. We have been six days without a mail now,
and have taken loads to Êtretat and to Havre.
_Thursday, January 21st._--We were not a whole day at Sotteville for
once: moved out early this morning and are still travelling, 9 P.M.,
between Abbeville and Boulogne. It has been a specially slow journey,
and, alas! we didn't go by Amiens: the only time we might have, by
daylight. Beauvais has a fine Cathedral from the outside. I believe we
are to go straight on from Boulogne, so we may not get our six days'
mail, alas!
_Friday, January 22nd._--We didn't get in to B. till midnight, too late
to get mails, and left early this morning. At Calais it was discovered
that the kitchen had been left behind, in shunting a store waggon, so we
have been hung up all day waiting for it at St Omer. Went for a walk. It
is a most interesting place to walk about in, swarming with every kind
of war material, and the grey towers of the two Cathedrals looked lovely
in a blue sky. Such a dazzling day: we were able to get on with painting
the train, which is breaking out into the most marvellous labelling, the
orderlies competing with each other. But when at 6 P.M. it seemed the
day would never end, No.-- A.T. steamed up with our kitchen tacked on,
and in the kitchen was the mail-bag--joy of joys!
We have just got to Bailleul, 10.30 P.M.: a few guns banging. We are
wondering if we shall clear the Cl. hospitals to-night or wait till
morning: depends if they are expecting convoys in to-night and are
full.
11 P.M.--P. and I, fully rigged for night duty, have just been gloomily
exploring the perfectly silent and empty station and street, wondering
when the motor ambulances would begin to roll up, when B---- hailed us
from the train with "8 o'clock to-morrow morning, you two sillies, and
the Major's in bed!" so now we can turn in, and load up happily by
daylight, and it's my turn for the lying down, thank goodness, or rather
the Liers, as they are called.
_Saturday, January 23rd._--Another blue, sunny, frosty morning. Loading
up this morning was hard to attend to, as a thrilling Taube chase was
going on overhead, the sky peppered with bursting shells, and aeroplanes
buzzing around: didn't bring it down though.
The train is full of very painful feet: like a form of large burning
chilblain all over the foot, and you can't do anything for them, poor
lambs.
_Still Saturday, January 23rd._--This is our first journey to
Versailles. My only acquaintance with it was on the way up from Le Mans
to Villeneuve to join this train. Two kind sisters, living in a sort of
little ticket office in the middle of the line, washed and fed me at 6
A.M. in between two trains, but I saw nothing of the glories of
Versailles--hope to to-morrow.
I don't think the men will get much sleep, their feet are too bad, but
we are going to give them a good chance with drugs, the last thing. We
shall do the night in three watches.
_Sunday, January 24th_, 5 A.M., _Versailles._--They've had a pretty good
night most of them. If you see any compartment, say six sitters and two
top-liers showing signs of being near the end of their tether, with bad
feet and long hours of the train, you have only to say cheerfully, "How
are you getting on in this dug-out?" for every man to brighten visibly,
and there is a chorus of "If our dug-outs was like this I reckon we
shouldn't want no relievin'!" and a burst of wit and merriment follows.
You can try it all down the train; it never fails.
They are all in 1st class coaches, not 3rds or 2nds.
9.30 A.M.--They have only four M.A.'s, and the hospital is 1-1/2 miles
off, so all our 366 limping, muddy scarecrows are not off yet. There is
a mist and a piercing north wind, and lots of mud. The A.T.'s do so much
bringing the British Army from the field that I hope some other trains
are busy bringing the British Army to the field, or there can't be many
left in the field.
They told me another story of a man in the Royal Scots who was sunk in
mud up to his shoulders, and the officer offered a canteen of rum and a
sovereign to the first man who could get him out. For five hours
thirteen men were digging for him, but it filled up always as they dug,
and when they got him out he died.
6 P.M.--Just getting to Rouen, probably to load for Havre. They do keep
us moving. We just had time to go and see the Palais Trianon with the
French Sergeant (who is nearly a gentleman, and an artist). Is there
anything else quite like it anywhere else? It was _défense d'entrer_, so
we only wandered round the grounds and looked in at the windows, down
the avenues and round the ponds and hundreds of statues, and went up the
great escalier. Louis Quatorze certainly did himself proud.
It was a long way to go, and we were walking for hours till we got
dog-tired after the long load from Bailleul, and after lunch retired
firmly on to our beds. I don't think we shall take patients on to-night.
_Monday, January 25th._--We have been at Sotteville all day; had time to
read last week's 'Times'--an exceptionally interesting lot.
Have just had orders to load up at Rouen for Havre to-morrow; then I
hope we shall go back to Boulogne. We have not stayed more than an hour
or two in Boulogne since January 9th--that is, for seventeen days; but
we've managed to just pick up our mails every few days while unloading
the bad cases. We ought to get back there for a mail on Thursday.
We have taken down a good many Northamptons lately. They seem an
exceptionally seasoned and intelligent lot, and have been through the
thick of everything since Mons.
Did I tell you that in one place (I don't suppose it is the same all
along the line) they are doing forty-eight hours in the trenches,
followed by forty-eight hours back in the billets (barns, &c.) for six
times, and then twelve days' rest, when they get themselves and their
rifles cleaned; they have armourers' shops for this.
They nearly all say that only the men who are quite certain they never
will get back, say they want to. If any others say it, "well, they're
liars." But for all that, you do find one here and there who means it.
One Canadian asked how long he'd be sick with his feet. "I want to get
back to the regiment," he said. They seem rather out of it with the
Tommies, some of them.
Just had a grand hot bath from a passing engine in exchange for
chocolate.
We shall have a quiet night to-night. Sotteville is the quietest place
we ever sleep in; there is no squealing of whistles and shouting of
French railwaymen as in all the big stations. Last night they were
shunting and jigging us about all night between Rouen and Sotteville.
Slow bumping over hundreds of points is much worse to sleep in than fast
travelling. In either case you wake whenever you pull up or start off.
But we shall miss the train when we get into a dull hotel bedroom or a
billet, or perhaps a tent. My month at Le Mans in Madame's beautiful
French bed was the one luxury I've struck so far.
_Tuesday, 26th January._--A dazzling blue spring day. As we were not
going in to load at Rouen till 3 P.M., we went for the most glorious
walk in this country. We crossed the ferry over the Seine to the foot of
the steep high line of hills which eventually overlooks Rouen, and
climbed up to the top by a lovely winding woody path in the sun. (The
boatman congratulated us on the sinking of the _Blücher_, as a naval
man, I suppose.) "Who said War?" said P. while we were waiting on the
shingle for the boat; it did seem very remote. At the top we got to the
Church of Le Bon Secours, which is in a very fine position with a
marvellous view. We had some lovely cider in a very clean pub with a
garden, and then took the tram down a very steep track into Rouen. I
was standing in the front of the tram for the view over Rouen, which was
dazzling, with the spires and the river and the bridges, when we turned
a sharp corner and smashed bang into a market-cart coming up our track.
For the moment one thought the man and woman and the horse must be done
for; the horse disappeared under the tram, and there arose such a
screaming that the three Tommies and I fell over each other trying to
get out to the rescue. When we did we found the man and woman had been
luckily shot out clear of the tram, except that the man's hand was torn,
and the old woman was frantically screaming, "Mon cheval, mon cheval,
mon cheval," at least a hundred times without stopping. The others were
out by this time and the two tram people, and the French clack went on
at its top speed, while P. and the Tommies and a very clever old woman
out of the tram tried to cut the horse clear of the broken cart, and I
did up the man's hand with our hankies; the only one concerned least was
the horse, who kept quiet with its legs mixed up in the tram. At last
the tram succeeded in moving clear of the horse without hurting it, and
it was got up smiling after all. The outside old woman went on picking
up the fish and the harness, &c., the man was taken off to have his
hand bathed, and the poor old woman of the cart stopped screaming "Mon
cheval, mon cheval," and went off to have a drink, and we walked on and
found a train at Rouen. That sort of thing is always happening in
France.
I hope the overworked people at the heads of the various departments of
the British Army realise how the men appreciate what they try and do for
them in the trenches. If you ask what the billets are like, they say,
"Barns and suchlike; they do the best they can for us." If you ask if
the trench conditions are as bad for the Germans, they say, "They're
worse off; they ain't looked after like what we are."
9.30 P.M.--On way to Havre. I was just going to say that from the Seine
to Le Havre there is nothing to report, when I came across a young
educated German in my wards with his left leg off from the hip, and his
right from below the knee, and a bad shell wound in his arm, all healed
now, done at Ypres on 24th October. And I had an hour's most thrilling
and heated conversation with him in German. He was very down on the
English Sisters in hospital, because he says they hated him and didn't
treat him like the rest. I said that was because they couldn't forget
what his regiment (Bavarians) had done to the Belgian women and
children and old men, and the French. And he said _he_ couldn't forget
how the Belgian women had put out the eyes of the German wounded at
Liège and thrown boiling water on them. I said they were driven to
it.[2] I asked him a lot of straight questions about Germany and the
War, and he answered equally straight. He said they had food in Germany
for ten years, and that they had ten million men, and that all the
present students would be in the Army later on, and that practically the
supply could never stop. And I said that however long they could go on,
in the end there would be no more Germany because she was up against
five nations. He said no man has any fear of a Russian soldier, and that
though they were slow over it they would get Paris, but not London
except by Zeppelins; he admitted that it would be _sehr schwer_ to land
troops in England, and that our Navy was the best, but we had so few
soldiers, they hardly counted! He got very excited over the Zeppelins. I
asked why the Germans hated the English, and he said, "In Berlin we do
not speak of the English at all(!!!); it is the French and the Russians
we hate." He said the Turks were no good _zu helfen_, and Austria not
much better. He was very down on Belgium for resisting in the first
place! and said the _Schuld_ was with France and Russia. They were very
much astonished when England didn't remain neutral! He had the cheek to
say that three German soldiers were as good as twenty English, so I
assured him that five English could do for fifty Germans, and went on
explaining carefully to him how there could be no more Germany in the
end because the right must win! and he said, "So you say in England, but
we know otherwise in Deutschland, and I am a German." So as I am an
English we had to agree to differ. His faith in his _Vaterland_ nearly
made him cry and must have given him a temperature. I felt quite used up
afterwards. He is fast asleep now. There is also an old soldier of
sixty-three who says General French and General Smith-Dorrien
photographed him as the oldest soldier in the British Army. He has four
sons in it, one killed, two wounded. He was with General Low in the
Chitral Expedition, and is called Donald Macdonald, of the K.O.S.B.'s.
"Unfortunately I was reduced to the ranks for being drunk the other
day," he said gaily. "But the Captain he said, 'Don't lose 'eart,
Macdonald, you'll get it all back.'"
[Footnote 2: I have since found that no sort of evidence was brought
forward by the Germans to support this charge, and it is emphatically
denied by the Belgian authorities.]
_Wednesday, January 27th._--They have found a way of warming our
quarters when we have not an engine on. I don't know what we should
have done without it to-day; it is icy cold. Mails to-morrow, hurrah!
Going to turn in early.
_Thursday, January 28th._--Got to Boulogne this morning. Have been
getting stores in and repairs done; expect to be sent up any time. Sharp
frost and cold wind.
_Friday, January 29th._--One of those difficult-to-bear days; hung up
all day at a place beyond St Omer, listening to guns, and doing nothing
when there's so much to be done. The line is probably too busy to let us
up. It happens to be a dazzling blue day, which must be wiping off 50
per cent of the horrors of the Front. The other 50 per cent is what they
are out for, and see the meaning of.
We are to go on in an hour's time, "destination unknown."
_Saturday, January 30th._--We got up to Merville at one o'clock last
night, and loaded up only forty-five, and are now just going to load up
again at a place on the way back. We have been completely done out of
the La Bassée business; haven't been near it. No.-- Cl. H. that we saw
on December 27th, where S.C. and two more of my No.-- G.H. friends
were, had to be evacuated in a hurry, as several orderlies were killed
in the shelling.
One of my badly woundeds says "the Major" (whose servant he has been for
four years) asked him to make up the fire in his dug-out, while he went
to the other end of the trench. While he was doing the fire a shell
burst over the dug-out and a bit went through his left leg and touched
his right. If the Major had been sitting in his chair where he was a
minute before, his head would have been blown off. He said, "When the
Major came back and found me, he drove everybody else away and stayed
with me all day, and made me cocoa, and at night carried my stretcher
himself and took me right to Headquarters." His eyes shine when he talks
of "the Major," and he seems so proud he got it instead.
I asked a boy in the sitting-ups what was the matter with him. "Too
small," he said. Another said "Too young"; he was aged fifteen, in the
Black Watch.
A young monkey, badly wounded in hand and throat (lighting a
cigarette--the shatter to his hand saved worse destruction to his
throat, though bad enough as it is), after we'd settled him in, fixed
his eye on me and said, "Are you going to be in here along of us all the
way?" "Yes," I said. "That's a good job," and he is taking good care to
get his money's worth, I can tell you.
Some of them are roaring at the man in 'Punch' who made a gallant
attempt to do justice to all his Xmas presents at once. There is a
sergeant-major of the Royal Scots very indignant at having been made to
go sick with bad feet. Any attempt to fuss over him is met with "I need
no attention whatever, thank you, Sister. I feel more like apologising
for being in here. Only five weeks of active service," he growled.
The latest Franco-British idea is to Arras the Boches till they Argonne!
_Sunday, January 31st._--We did go on to Rouen. B. is full to the brim.
We have only unloaded at B. three times since Christmas.
I'm beginning to think we waste a lot of sympathy on the poor wounded
rocking in a train all night after being on it all day. One of mine with
a bullet still in his chest, and some pneumonia, who seemed very ill
when he was put on at Merville, said this morning he felt a lot better
and had had the best night for five days! And my fidgety boy with the
wound in his throat made a terrible fuss at being put off at Boulogne
when he found he was the only one in his compartment to go and that I
wasn't going with him.
I had the easy watch last night because of my cold, and went to bed at
1 A.M.; got a hot bath this morning, and lay low all day till a stroll
between the Seine and the floods after tea (Sotteville). There are four
trains waiting here, and the C.S.'s have been skating on the floods. We
move on at 1 o'clock to-night. No.-- A.T. had a bomb dropped each side
of their train at Bailleul, but they didn't explode.
The French instruction books have come, and I am going to start the
French class for the men on the train; they are very keen to learn,
chiefly, I think, to make a little more running with the French girls at
the various stopping places.
Two officers last night were awfully sick at not being taken off at B.,
but I think they'll get home from Rouen. One said he must get home, if
only for ten minutes, to feel he was out of France.
_Wednesday, February 3rd._--Moved on last night, and woke up at
Bailleul. Some badly wounded on the train, but not on my half.
On the other beat, beyond Rouen, the honeysuckle is in leaf, the catkins
are out, and the woods are full of buds. What a difference it will make
when spring comes. On this side it is all canals, bogs, and pollards,
and the eternal mud.
We found pinned on a sock from a London school child, "Whosoever
receives this, when you return conqueror, drop me a line," and then her
name and address!
_Thursday, February 4th._--For once we unloaded at B. and went to bed
instead of taking them on all night to Rouen.
Moved out of B. at 5 A.M., breakfast at St O., where we nearly got left
behind strolling on the line during a wait. We are going to Merville in
the mining district where L. is.
3 P.M.--We have just taken on about seventy Indians, mostly sick, some
badly wounded. They are much cleaner than they used to be, in clothes,
but not, alas! in habits. Aeroplanes are chasing a Taube overhead, but
it is not being shelled. Guns are making a good noise all round. We are
waiting for a convoy of British now.
It is a lovely afternoon.
The guns were shaking the train just now; one big bang made us all pop
our heads out of the window to look for the bomb, but it wasn't a bomb.
A rosy-faced white-haired Colonel here just came up to me and said,
"You've brought us more firing this afternoon than we've heard for a
long time."
We are filling up with British wounded now on the other half of the
train. It is getting late, and we shan't unload to-night.
_Later._--We were hours loading up because all the motor drivers are
down with flu, and there were only two available. The rest are all busy
bringing wounded in to the Clearing Hospital.
The spell of having the train full of slight medical cases and bad feet
seems to be over, and wounded are coming on again.