HONORED BY THE KING
There would be little gratitude in me if I did not set down in this
story of my experiences the delightful kindnesses and unremitting
attentions which came to me after, on the score of a fighting man, I
had become useless to my country. For the country certainly wasn’t
ungrateful. Famous surgeons were giving attention constantly to
the thorough healing and saving of my arm, there followed constant
treatments to destroy the paralysis which afflicted it, treatments
which promise in time I shall have the use of it restored.
And quite as remarkable was the repair of my broken jaw, the
extraordinary skill of dentistry by which the broken teeth were
re-made, the jaw itself braced and placed firm by golden bands. When
the work was completed I was overjoyed to find that I could articulate
without the slightest impediment and masticate as thoroughly and
easily as ever I could. For a long time, however, I was restricted to
mere liquid food, feeding out of a tube as if David Fallon were thirty
weeks instead of thirty years old.
From the hospital where the operation on my arm had been performed I
was taken in company with scores of other injured in a battalion of
motor cars to a train at Albert whence we traveled to Rouen, where
I remained for several weeks at No. 8 General Hospital and where my
attending physician was Capt. Page, and my nurse, Miss Templey, a
cousin of Maj. Templey, all of whom I had known in India.
I was quickly recovering my strength and was finally sent aboard the
_Caledonia_ for the trip to Southampton. They had spotless, clean bunks
for us and scores of charming young women--young college women, who had
left their studies to serve in the Volunteer Aid Detachment. Imagine
the peace and pleasure for men who were just returning from hell to
have such companionship, to listen to songs beautiful and soft, where
they had been listening to the scream of shells, to hear voices sweet
and gentle where they had been for months hearing only the sharp moans
of the wounded or the raucous voices of authority raised in deadly
emergencies! Talk of Nirvana at its best! This was something better!
Arrangements for our reception at Southampton were as smoothly
efficient and kindly as had been our transportation and treatment in
France. Individually, good fortune was attending every little distance
in my journey. Taken to London I found myself billeted in the home
of Lady Carnarvon in Bryanston Square. She had turned her beautiful
residence into a hospital and there I was quartered in a spacious
apartment with Lieutenant McDonald of a Lancashire regiment who had a
smashed leg and Capt. Fred Monk, M. C., who had also a smashed leg and
lost an arm.
But he was very cheerful regarding the situation and so was McDonald.
On the train for the wounded and also aboard the _Caledonia_ you
hardly heard any talk of war. Everybody was sick of it. They wanted to
talk about anything but war. But here at Lady Carnarvon’s in the days
that followed, naturally our memories came crowding back. And we went
over our hardships, the thrills we had experienced and then inevitably
the panorama would sweep our vision of the sections of No Man’s Land
we had seen with its piled and distorted dead and one of us without
feeling the necessity of telling the others of what he was thinking
would as inevitably say:
“Well, we are very lucky beggars after all.”
These would usually be the thoughts in the twilight hour and then in
would walk our smiling rosy-cheeked Irish tease of a nurse, Miss Anne
O’Laughlin--all the nurses at Lady Carnarvon’s were Irish and therefore
for me the more charming--preceding an orderly with tea things. She’d
sit and smile and jest and make an hour or more dash by so pleasantly
that--well, we very well knew at those times that we were very lucky
beggars indeed.
Then when I was on my feet, I was sent to Lady Furness’ hospital
at Harrowgate and there I spent a delightful convalescence and there
it was that I received the despatch from the Lord Chamberlain of His
Majesty to appear at Buckingham Palace for decoration.
Col. Holland, D. S. O., of the Indian Army, commandant at Lady Furness’
hospital, personally brought me the despatch and seemed as proud of it
as I was, for I had been one of his youngsters in the ranks in India.
[Illustration: To appear before the King]
The despatch read:
Your attendance is required at Buckingham Palace on Wednesday the
twenty-fifth inst. at ten-thirty o’clock a.m. Service dress Regret
that no one except those to be invested can be admitted to the
Palace Please telegraph acknowledgment
THE LORD CHAMBERLAIN, London
I went to London as the guest of some old friends named Morris, and
accompanied by Miss Dora Morris, daughter of the family, and Miss Norah
Dixon of Australia, motored to Buckingham Palace, arriving under the
arch at one of the entrances and then not being certain as to which of
the roadways of approach to Buckingham I should take.
I had the problem solved for me by a “bobby” who, with an agonized
expression, ran toward our car, frantically waving his white gloves.
“Out of the way quickly, sir!” he shouted.
I was pardonably nettled.
“But I have been commanded here to receive the Military Cross.”
He saluted, but shouted to the chauffeur:
“To the left--to the left. Good Lor’, the King’s behind you!”
Of course, the chauffeur responded with alacrity and as his Majesty
went by, flanked by an Admiral and a General of his command, I saluted
and the salute was returned by all three.
Then the “bobby,” still flustered, directed my car along the right
road and a few minutes later the young ladies left me at the entrance
to Buckingham. No arrangements for spectators are made for these
ceremonies, none invited.
I was relieved of my hat and stick by an august-looking footman,
who whispered to me to retain my gloves, and I passed into a large
reception-room where there were already some two hundred soldiers,
officers and men of the ranks, summoned for a like purpose as myself
and within the next minute nearly one hundred more. The furnishings of
the salon were Victorian, the upholstering well-worn. Big paintings
were on the walls, illustrating most of the picturesque events in the
life of Queen Victoria.
Among those assembled were six men who had achieved the rare
distinction of the Victoria Cross, more than a hundred who had earned
the Distinguished Service Order and the remainder M. C.’s. The majority
of us showed on our bodies the marks of the experiences we had been
through. There were more than a score who had been blinded, more than
half a hundred who had to use crutches. Nearly every face was scarred.
The V. C.’s and D. S. O.’s were directed to the right side of the room
and we to the left and then the Lord Chamberlain called:
“Order, gentlemen!”
When we had come to attention he said:
“This is the order of procedure you will observe. Names will be called
with regard to seniority and alphabetically. You will walk in file as
your names are called and you will then proceed under the escort of
chamberlains until you come to the door of the room where his Majesty
is presenting the honors. You will keep the left hand gloved and bare
the right. As you enter his Majesty’s presence you will turn to the
left and be facing the King. As your turn comes, I will read out from
the Gazette the reason for which honor is to be conferred on you. Then
you will advance two steps and bow. When your medal has been placed
upon you by his Majesty who will, of course, shake hands and speak to
you, you will step two paces to the rear, bow, turn to the right and
leave by the right exit.”
As the names were being called attendants passed among us, affixing to
the left on the breast of our tunics golden pins on which later his
Majesty would hang the medals.
When my turn came and I had observed the instructions and stood before
the King it was to face a small, slightly stooped gentleman of quiet,
kindly-eyed, friendly demeanor and most unassuming despite the rather
gorgeous general’s uniform he wore. An admiral stood at his left; a
general at his right. Each had in his possession the medals to be
awarded the men of his particular branch of the Imperial service.
My right arm was still perforce in a sling. The King, quickly noting
it, extended his left hand to me and with my left hand I clasped it.
“You are to regain the use of your arm, I hope,” he said.
“The doctors are not sure, your Majesty,” I answered, “but I am
optimistic.”
“I am sure you will,” he said, and glancing at the scar on my left
cheek, asked me if my eyes had been affected. His voice was genuinely
sympathetic; he appeared really interested.
I told him in this regard I had been most fortunate--my sight was not
in any serious degree affected.
“I am happy to hear it. And how have you been treated in your illness?
Are there any complaints that should be made in regard to arrangements
for the wounded and their treatment?”
“I have only the greatest praise from beginning to end, your Majesty,”
I answered.
“Good,” he said, and then as my Military Cross was handed him, he
affixed it to my tunic and said:
“Lieutenant Fallon, we deeply thank you for your services and I hope
you live many years to wear the decoration I have placed upon you.”
With that I stepped back the directed two paces, bowed and left by
the right door, returned to the salon, received my hat and stick and
stepped out to the entrance where the motor car, that had been parked
on the grounds, was summoned and I started back to the home of my
friends. My young lady companions had graciously awaited me in the car.
Yet I rode back not altogether happily. I had come through with my
life, I was maimed but by no means crippled for future usefulness,
my nerves and mind were unimpaired, I had the King’s decoration on my
coat, but for all that I felt an actual keen pang of lonesomeness. I
was out of it--out of the big fight.