RUSSIA
1917
‘Even so in our mortal journey,
The bitter north winds blow,
And thus upon life’s red river,
Our hearts as oarsmen row.
And when the Angel of Shadow
Rests his feet on wave and shore,
And our eyes grow dim with watching,
And our hearts faint at the oar,
Happy is he who heareth
The signal of his release
In the bells of the holy city
The chimes of eternal peace.’
Dr. Inglis’ return to England was the signal for renewed efforts
on the part of the Committees managing the S.W.H. This memoir has
necessarily to follow the personality of the leader, but it must never
be forgotten that her strength and all her sinews of war lay in the
work of those who carried on at home, week by week. Strong committees
of women, ably organised and thoroughly staffed, took over the burden
of finance--a matter Dr. Inglis once amusingly said, ‘did not interest
her.’ They found and selected the _personnel_ on which success so much
depended, they contracted for and supervised the sending out of immense
consignments of equipment and motor transport. They dealt with the
Government department, and in loyal devotion smoothed every possible
obstacle out of the path of those flying squadrons, the units of the
S.W.H.
It was inevitable the quick brain and tenacious energy of Dr. Inglis,
far away from the base of her operations, should at times have found
it hard to understand why the wheels occasionally seemed to drag, and
the new effort she desired to make did not move at the pace which to
her eager spirit seemed possible. Two enterprises filled her mind on
her return in 1916. One, by the help of the London Committee, she put
through. This was the celebration of Kossovo Day in Great Britain.
The flag-day of the Serbian Patriot King was under her chairmanship
prepared for in six weeks. Hundreds of lectures on the history of
Serbia were arranged for and delivered throughout the country, and no
one failed to do her work, however remote they might think the prospect
of making the British people interested in a country and patriot so far
from the ken of their island isolation.
Kossovo Day was a success, and through the rush of the work Dr. Inglis
was planning the last and most arduous of all the undertakings of the
S.W.H., that of the unit which was to serve with the Serbian Volunteers
on the Rumanian Russian front. Dr. Inglis knew from private sources the
lack of hospital arrangements in Mesopotamia, and she, with the backing
of the Committees, had approached the authorities for leave to take a
fully equipped unit to Basra. When the story of the Scottish Women’s
Hospital is written, the correspondence between the War Office, the
Foreign Office, and S.W.H. will throw a tragic light on this lamentable
episode, and, read with the report of the Committees, it will prove how
quick and foreseeing of trouble was her outlook. As soon as Dr. Inglis
brought her units back from Serbia, she again urged the War Office to
send her out. Of her treatment by the War Office, Mrs. Fawcett writes:
‘She was not only refused, but refused with contumely and insult.’
True to her instinct never to pause over a set-back, she lost no time
in pressing on her last enterprise for the Serbians. M. Curcin, in _The
Englishwoman_, says:--
‘She was already acquainted with one side of the Serbian
problem--Serbia; she was told that in Russia there was the best
opportunity to learn about the second half--the Serbs of Austria, the
Jugoslavs. In six weeks Dr. Inglis succeeded in raising a hospital
unit and transport section staffed by eighty women heroes of the
Scottish Women’s Hospitals to start with her on a most adventurous
undertaking, _via_ Archangel, through Russia to Odessa and the
Dobrudja. Dr. Inglis succeeded also--most difficult of all--in
getting permission from the British authorities for the journey.
Eye-witnesses--officers and soldiers--tell everybody to-day how those
women descended, practically straight from the railway carriages,
after forty days’ travelling, beside the stretchers with wounded,
and helped to dress the wounds of those who had had to defend the
centre and also a wing of the retreating army. For fifteen months she
remained with those men, whose _rôle_ is not yet fully realised, but
is certain to become one of the most wonderful and characteristic
facts of the conflagration of nations.’
The Edinburgh Committee had already so many undertakings on behalf of
the S.W.H. that they gladly allowed the Committee formed by the London
Branch of the N.U.W.S.S. to undertake the whole work of organising this
last adventure for the Serbian Army. It was as their Commissioner that
Dr. Inglis and her unit sailed the wintry main, and to them she sent
the voluminous and brilliant reports of her work. When the Russian
revolution imperilled the safety of the Serbian Army on the Rumanian
front, she sent home members of her unit, charged with important
verbal messages to her Government. Through the last anxious month,
when communications were cut off, short messages, unmistakably her
own, came back to the London Committee, that they might order her to
return. She would come with the Serbian Army and not without them. We
at home had to rest on the assurances of the Foreign Office, always
alive to the care and encouragement of the S.W.H., that Dr. Inglis and
her unit were safe, and that their return would be expedited at the
safest hour. In those assurances we learnt to rest, and the British
Government did not fail that allied force--the Serbian Army and the
Scottish women serving them. The following letters were those written
to her family with notes from her graphic report to her Committees. The
clear style and beautiful handwriting never changed even in those last
days, when those who were with her knew that nothing but the spirit
kept the wasted body at its work. ‘The Serbian Division is superb; we
are proud to be attached to it.’ These were the last words in her last
letter from Odessa in June 1917. That pride of service runs through
all the correspondence. The spirit she inspired is noteworthy in a
book which covers the greater part of these fifteen months, _With the
Scottish Nurses in Rumania_, by Yvonne Fitzroy. In a daily diary a
searchlight is allowed to fall on some of the experiences borne with
such high-hearted nonchalance by the leader and her gallant disciples.
Mrs. Haverfield, who saw her work, writes:
‘It was perfectly incredible that one human being could do the work
she accomplished. Her record piece of work perhaps was at Galatz,
Rumania, at the end of the retreat. There were masses and masses of
wounded, and she and her doctors and nurses performed operations and
dressings for fifty-eight hours out of sixty-three. Dr. Scott, of the
armoured cars, noted the time, and when he told her how long she had
been working, she simply said, “Well, it was all due to Mrs. Milne,
the cook, who kept us supplied with hot soup.” She had been very
tired for a long time; undoubtedly the lack of food, the necessity of
sleeping on the floor, and nursing her patients all the time told on
her health. In Russia she was getting gradually more tired until she
became ill. When she was the least bit better she was up again, and
all the time she attended to the business of the unit.
‘Just before getting home she had a relapse, and the last two or
three days on board ship, we know now, she was dying. She made all the
arrangements for the unit which she brought with her, however, and
interviewed every member of it. To Miss Onslow, her transport officer,
she said, when she arrived at Newcastle, “I shall be up in London in a
few days’ time, and we will talk the matter of a new unit over.” Miss
Onslow turned away with tears in her eyes.’
‘H.M. TRANSPORT ----,
‘_Sep. 6, 1916_.
‘DEAREST AMY,--Here we are more than half way through our voyage. We
got off eventually on Wednesday night, and lay all Thursday in the
river. You never in your life saw such a filthy boat as this was when
we came on board. The captain had been taken off an American liner the
day before. The only officer who had been on this boat before was the
engineer officer. All the rest were new. The crew were drunk to a man,
and, as the Transport officer said, “The only way to get this ship
right, is to get her _out_.” So we got out. I must say we got into
shape very quickly. We cleaned up, and now we are painting. They won’t
know her when she gets back. She is an Austrian Lloyd captured at the
beginning of the war, and she has been trooping in the Mediterranean
since. She was up at Glasgow for this new start, but she struck the
Glasgow Fair, and could therefore get nothing done, so she was brought
down to the port we started from--as she was. We are a wonderful
people! The captain seems to be an awfully good man. He is Scotch,
and was on the Anchor Line to Bombay. This is quite a tiny little
boat. She has all our equipment, fourteen of our cars. For passengers,
there are ourselves, seventy-five people, and three Serbian officers,
and the mother and sister of one of them, and thirty-two Serbian
non-commissioned officers. They are going to our Division.
‘The cabins are most comfortable. On the saloon deck there are
twenty-two very small, single cabins. And on this deck larger cabins
with either three or four berths. I am on this deck in the most
luxurious quarters. It is called _The Commanding Officer’s Cabin_
(ahem). There is a huge cabin with one berth; off it on one side
another cabin with a writing-table and sofa, and off it on the other
side a bathroom and dressing-room! Of course, if we had had rough
weather, and the ports had had to be closed, it would not have been so
nice, especially as the glass in all the portholes is blackened, but
we have had perfectly glorious weather. At night every porthole and
window is closed to shut in the light, but the whole ship is very well
ventilated. A good many of them sleep up in the boats, or in one of
the lorries.
‘We sighted one submarine, but it took no notice of us, so we took
no notice of it. We had all our boats allotted to us the very first
day. We divided the unit among them, putting one responsible person
in charge of each, and had boat drill several times. Then one day the
captain sounded the alarm for practice, and everybody was at their
station in three minutes in greatcoat and life-belt. The amusing
thing was that some of them thought it was a real alarm, and were
most annoyed and disappointed to find there was not a submarine
really there! The unit as a whole seems very nice and capable, though
there are one or two queer characters! But most of them are healthy,
wholesome bricks of girls. I hope we shall get on all right. Of course
a field hospital is quite a new bit of work.
‘We reach our port of disembarkation this afternoon. The voyage
has been a most pleasant one in every way. As soon as sea-sickness
was over the unit developed a tremendous amount of energy, and we
have had games on deck, and concerts, and sports, and a fancy dress
competition! All this in addition to drill every morning, which was
compulsory.
‘We began the day at 8.30--breakfast, the cabins were tidied.
9.30--roll call and cabin inspection immediately after; then
drill--ordinary drill, stretcher drill, and Swedish drill in sections.
Lunch was at 12.30, and then there were lessons in Russian, Serbian,
and French, to which they could go if they liked, and most of them
took one, or even two, and lectures on motor construction, etc. Tea at
4, and dinner 6.30. You would have thought there was not much time for
anything else, but the superfluous energy of a British unit manages
to put a good deal more in. (The head of a British unit in Serbia
once said to me that the chief duty of the head of a British unit was
to use up the superfluous energy of the unit in harmless ways. He
said that the only time there was no superfluous energy was when the
unit was overworking. That was the time I found that particular unit
playing rounders!) The sports were most amusing. I was standing next
to a Serb officer during the obstacle race, and he suddenly turned to
me and said, “C’est tout-à-fait nouveau pour nous, Madame.” I thought
it must be, for at that moment they were getting under a sail which
had been tied down to the deck--two of them hurled themselves on the
sail and dived under it, you saw four legs kicking wildly, and then
the sail heaved and fell, and two dishevelled creatures emerged at the
other side, and tore at two life-belts which they went through, and so
on. I should think it was indeed _tout-à-fait nouveau_. Some of the
dresses at the fancy dress competition were most clever. There was
Napoleon--the last phase, in the captain’s long coat and somebody’s
epaulettes, and one of our grey hats, side to the front, excellent;
and Tweedledum and Tweedledee, in saucepans and life-belts. One of
them got herself up as a “greaser,” and went down to the engine-room
to get properly dirty, with such successful result that, when she was
coming up to the saloon, with her little oiling can in her hand, one
of the officers stopped her with, “Now, where are you going to, my
lad?”
‘We ended up with all the allied National Anthems, the Serbs leading
their own.
‘I do love to see them enjoying themselves, and to hear them
chattering and laughing along the passages, for they’ll have plenty
of hard work later. We had service on Sunday, which I took, as
the captain could not come down. Could you get us some copies of
the Archbishop of Canterbury’s war prayers? We have just had our
photograph taken. The captain declares he was snap-shotted six times
one morning. I don’t know if the Russian Government will let us take
all these cameras with us. We are flying the Union Jack for the first
time to-day since we came out. It is good to know you are all thinking
of us.--Ever your loving sister,
ELSIE MAUD INGLIS.’
‘ON THE TRAIN TO MOSCOW,
‘_Sep. 14, 1916_.
‘DEAREST AMY,--Here we are well on our way to Moscow, having got
through Archangel in 2½ days--a feat, for we were told at home that it
might be six weeks. They did not know that there is a party of our
naval men there helping the Russians, and Archangel is magnificently
organised now.
‘When one realises that the population was 5000 before the war,
and is now 20,000, it is quite clear there was bound to be some
disorganisation at first.
‘I never met a kinder set of people than are collected at Archangel
just now. They simply did everything for us, and sent us off in a
train with a berth for each person, and gave us a wonderful send off.
The Russian Admiral gave us a letter which acts as a kind of magic
ring whenever it is produced. The first time it was really quite
startling. We were longing for Nyamdonia where we were to get dinner.
We were told we should be there at four o’clock, then at five, and
at six o’clock we pulled up at a place unknown, and rumours began
to spread that our engine was off, and sure enough it was, and was
shunting trucks. Miss Little, one of our Russian-speaking people,
and I got out. We tried our united eloquence, she in fluent Russian,
and I saying, _Shechaz_, which means “immediately” at intervals, and
still they looked helpless and said, “Two hours and a half.” Then I
produced my letter, and you never saw such a change. They said, “Five
minutes,” and we were off in three. We tried it all along the line
after that; my own belief is that we should still be at the unknown
place, without that letter, shunting trucks. At one station, Miss
Little heard the station-master saying, “There is a great row going
on here, and there will be trouble to-morrow if this train isn’t got
through.” Eventually, we reached Nyamdonia at 11.30, and found a
delightful Russian officer, and an excellent dinner paid for by the
Russian Government, waiting for us. We all thought the food very good,
and I thought the sauce of hunger helped. The next day, profiting
over our Nyamdonia experience, I said meals were to be had at regular
times from our stores in the train, and we should take the restaurants
as we found them, with the result that we arrived at Vorega, where
_déjeuner_ had been ordered just as we finished a solid lunch of ham
and eggs. I said they had better go out and have two more courses,
which they did with great content, and found it quite as nice as the
night before.
‘This is a special train for us and the Serbian officers and
non-coms. We broke a coupling after we left Nyamdonia, and they sent
out another carriage from there, but it had not top berths, so they
had another sleeper ready when we reached Vologda. They gave us
another and stronger engine at Nyamdonia, because we asked for it, and
have repaired cisterns, and given us chickens and eggs; and when we
thank them, they say, “It is for our friends.” The crowd stand round
three deep while we eat, and watch us all the time, quite silently in
the stations. In Archangel one old man asked, “Who, on God’s earth,
are you?”
‘They gave us such a send-off from Archangel! Russian soldiers were
drawn up between the ship and the train, and cheered us the whole way,
with a regular British cheer; our own crew turned out with a drum
and a fife and various other instruments, and marched about singing.
Then they made speeches, and cheered everybody, and then suddenly the
Russian soldiers seized the Serbian officers and tossed them up and
down, up and down, till they were stopped by a whistle. But they had
got into the mood by then, and they rushed at me. You can imagine, I
fled, and seized hold of the British Consul. I did think the British
Empire would stand by me, but he would do nothing but laugh. And I
found myself up in the air above the crowd, up and down, quite safe,
hands under one and round one. They were so happy that I waved my hand
to them, and they shouted and cheered. The unit is only annoyed that
they had not their cameras, and that anyhow it was dark. Then they
tossed Captain Bevan, who is in command there, because he was English,
and the Consul for the same reason, and the captain of the transport
because he had brought us out. We sang all the national anthems, and
then they danced for us. It was a weird sight in the moonlight. Some
of the dances were like Indian ones, and some reminded me of our
Highland flings. We went on till one in the morning--all the British
colony, there. I confess, I was tired--though I did enjoy it. Captain
Bevan’s good-bye was the nicest and so unexpected--simply “God bless
you.” Mrs. Young, the Consul’s wife, Mrs. Kerr, both Russians, simply
gave up their whole time to us, took the girls about, and Mrs. Kerr
had _the whole unit_ to tea. I had lunch one day at the British Mess,
and another day at the Russian Admiral’s. They all came out to dinner
with us.
‘Of course a new face means a lot in an out-of-the-way place, and
seventy-five new faces was a God-send. Well, as I said before, they
are the kindest set of people I ever came across. They brought us our
bread, and changed our money, and arranged with the bank, and got us
this train with berths, and thought of every single thing for us.
‘NEARING ODESSA,
‘_Sep. 21, 1916_.
‘DARLING EVE,--We are nearing the second stage of our journey, and
_they say_ we shall be in Odessa to-night. We have all come to the
conclusion that a Russian minute is about ten times as long as ours.
If we get in to-night we shall have taken nine days from Archangel;
with all the lines blocked with military trains, that is not bad.
All the same we have had some struggles, but it has been a very
comfortable journey and very pleasant. The Russian officials all along
the line have been most helpful and kind. A Serbian officer on board,
or rather a Montenegrin, looked after us like a father.
‘What we should have done without M. and Mme. Malinina at Moscow, I
don’t know. They gave the whole afternoon up to us: took us to the
Kremlin--he, the whole unit on special tramcars, and she, three of
us in her motor. They are both very busy people. She has a beautiful
hospital, a clearing one at the station, and he is a member of the
Duma, and Commandant of all the Red Cross work in Moscow. We only had
a glimpse of the Kremlin, yet enough to make one want to see more. I
carried away one beautiful picture to remember--the view of Moscow in
the sunset light, simply gorgeous.
‘The unit are very very well, and exceedingly cheerful. I am not
sorry to have had these three weeks since we left to get the unit in
hand. They are in splendid order now. When M. Malinina said it was
time to leave the Kremlin, and the order was given to “Fall in,” I was
quite proud of them, they did it so quickly. It is wonderful even now
what they manage to do. Miss H. says they are like eels in a basket.
They were told not to eat fruit without peeling it, so one of them
peeled an apple with her teeth. They were told not to drink unboiled
water, so they handed their water-bottles out at dead of night to
Russian soldiers, to whom they could not explain, to fill for them,
as of course they understood they were not to fill them from water on
the train. I must say they are an awfully nice lot on the whole. We
certainly shall not fail for want of energy. The Russian crowds are
tremendously interested in them.--Ever your loving aunt,
‘ELSIE.’
‘RENI, _Sep. 29, 1916_.
‘DEAREST AMY,--We have left Odessa and are really off to our
Division. We are going to the 1st Division. General Haditch is in
command there. We were told this is the important point in the war
just now--“A Second Verdun.” The great General Mackensen is in command
against us. He was in command at Krushinjevatz when we were taken
prisoners. Every one says how anxiously they are looking out for us,
and, indeed, we shall have our work cut out for us. We are two little
field hospitals for a whole Division. Think if that was the provision
for our own men. They are such a magnificent body of men. We saw the
2nd Division preparing in Odessa. Only from the point of view of the
war, they ought to be looked after, but when one remembers that they
are men, every one of them with somebody who cares for them, it is
dreadful. I wish we were each six women instead of one. I have wired
home for another Base Hospital to take the place of the British Red
Cross units when they move on with the 2nd Division. The Russians are
splendid in taking the Serbs into their Base Hospitals, but you can
imagine what the pressure is from their own huge armies. We had such
a reception at Odessa. All the Russian officials, at the station, and
our Consul, and a line drawn up of twenty Serbian officers. They had
a motor car and forty droskies and a squad of Serbian soldiers to
carry up our personal luggage, and most delightful quarters for us on
the outskirts of the town in a sanatorium. We were the guests of the
city while we were there. Our Consul was so good and helpful. Odessa
is immensely interested in us. We were told that the form of greeting
while we were there was, “Have you seen _them_?” The two best things
were the evening at the Serbian Mess, and the gala performance at the
opera. The cheering of the Serbian mess when we went in was something
to remember, but I can tell you I felt quite choking when the whole
house last night turned round and cheered us after we tried to sing
our National Anthem to them with the orchestra.
‘RENI, _Oct. 28, 1916_.
‘DEAREST AMY,--Just a line to say I am all right. Four weeks to-morrow
since we reached Medgidia, and began our hospital. We evacuated it in
three weeks, and here we are all back on the frontier. Such a time it
has been, Amy dear. You cannot imagine what war is just behind the
lines, and in a retreat!--our second retreat, and almost to the same
day. We evacuated Kragujevatz on the 25th of October last year. We
evacuated Medgidia on the 22nd this year. On the 25th this year, we
were working in a Russian dressing-station at Harshova, and were moved
on in the evening. We arrived at Braila to find 11,000 wounded, and
seven doctors--only one of them a surgeon.
‘Boat came. Must stop. Am going back to Braila to do surgery. Have
sent every trained person there.--Your loving sister,
ELSIE.
‘_P.S._--We have had lots of exciting things too, and amusing things,
and _good_ things.’
‘ON THE DANUBE AT TULCEA,
‘_Nov. 11/16_.
‘DEAREST AMY,--I am writing this on the boat between Tulcea and
Ismail, where I am going to see our second hospital and the transport.
Admiral Vesolskin has given me a special boat, and we motored over
from Braila. The Étappen command had been expecting us all afternoon,
and the boat was ready. They were very amused to find that “the
doctor” they had been expecting was a _woman_!
‘Our main hospital was at Medgidia, and our field hospital at
Bulbulmic, only about seven miles from the front. They gave us a
very nice building, a barrack, at Medgidia for the hospital, and the
_personnel_ were in tents on the opposite hill. We arrived on the
day of the offensive, and were ready for patients within forty-eight
hours. We were there less than three weeks, and during that time we
unpacked the equipment and repacked it. We made really a rather nice
hospital at Medgidia, and the field hospital. We pitched and struck
the camp--we were nursing and operating the whole time, and evacuating
rapidly too, and our cars were on the road practically always.
‘The first notice we got of the retreat was our field hospital being
brought back five versts. Then the transport. Then we were told to
send the equipment to Galatz, but to keep essential things and the
_personnel_. Then came orders to go ourselves. I never saw such a
retreat. Serbia was nothing to it. The whole country was covered with
groups of soldiers who had lost their regiments. Russians, Serbs, and
Rumanians. The Rumanian guns were simply being rushed back, through
the crowds of refugees. The whole country was moving: in some places
the panic was awful. One part of our scattered unit came in for it.
You would have thought the Bulgars were at the heels of the people.
One man threw away a baby right in front of the cars. They were
throwing everything off the carts to lighten them, and our people,
being of a calmer disposition, picked up what they wanted in the way
of vegetables, etc. Men, with their rifles and bayonets, climbed on
to the Red Cross cars to save a few minutes. We simply went head
over heels out of the country. I want to collect all the different
stories of our groups. My special lot slept the first night on straw
in Caromacat; the next night on the roadside round a lovely fire; the
next (much reduced in numbers, for I had cleared the majority off in
barges for Galatz), we slept in an empty room at Hershova, and spent
the next day dressing at the wharf. And by the next night we were in
Braila, involved in the avalanche of wounded that descended on that
place, and there we have been ever since.
‘We found some of our transport, and, while we were having tea, an
officer came in and asked us to go round and help in a hospital.
There, we were told, there were 11,000 wounded (I believe the official
figures are 7000). They had been working thirty-six hours without
stopping when we arrived.
‘The wounded had overflowed into empty houses, and were lying about in
their uniforms, and their wounds not dressed for four or five days.
You can imagine the conditions.
‘So we just turned up our sleeves and went in. I got back all the
trained Sisters from Galatz, and now the pressure is over. One thing
I am going up to Ismail for, is to get into touch with the Serbian H.
2, and find out what they want us to do next. The Serb wounded were
evacuated straight to Odessa.
‘The unit as a whole has behaved splendidly, plucky and cheery through
everything, and game for any amount of work.
‘And we are prouder of our Serbs than ever. I do hope the papers at
home have realised what the 1st Division did, and how they suffered in
the fight in the middle of September. General Genlikoffsky said to me,
“_C’était magnifique, magnifique! Ils sont les héros_”;--and another
Russian: “We did not quite believe in these Austrian Serbs, but no one
will ever doubt them again.”
‘Personally, I have been awfully well, and prouder than ever of
British women. I wish you could have seen trained Sisters scrubbing
floors at Medgidia, and those strapping transport girls lifting the
stretchers out of the ambulances so steadily and gently. I have told
in the Report how Miss Borrowman and Miss Brown brought the equipments
through to Galatz. We lost only one Ludgate boiler and one box of
radiators. We lost two cars, but that was really the fault of a rather
stupid Serbian officer. It is a comfort to feel you are all thinking
of us.--Your loving sister,
‘E. I.’
‘IN AN AMBULANCE TRAIN BETWEEN
‘RENI AND ODESSA, _Jan. 24, 1917_.
‘DARLING EVE,--Now we have got a hospital at Reni again, for badly
wounded, working in connection with the evacuation station. We have
got the dearest little house to live in ourselves, but, as we are
getting far more people out from Odessa, we shall have to overflow
into the Expedition houses. Reni itself is quite a small village. I
remember thinking Reni a most uninteresting place--crowds of shipping
and the wharf all crammed with sacks. It was just a big junction like
Crewe!
‘The hospital at Reni is a real building, but it is not finished. One
unfinished bit is the windows, which have one layer of glass each,
though they have double sashes. When this was pointed out, I thought
it was a mere continental foible. When the cold came I realised
that there is some sense in this foible after all! We _cannot_ get
the wards warm, notwithstanding extra stoves and roaring fires. The
poor Russians do mind cold so much. But they don’t want to leave the
hospital. One man whom I told he must have an operation later on in
another hospital, said he would rather wait for it in ours. The first
time we had to evacuate, we simply could not get the men to go. Nice,
isn’t it?
‘We have got a Russian Secretary now, because we are using Russian
Red Cross money, and he told us he had been told in Petrograd that
the S.W.H. were beautifully organised, and the only drawback was
the language. Quite true. I wish we were polyglots. We have got a
certain number of Austrian prisoners as orderlies, and most of them
curiously can speak Russian, so we get on better. Did you know I could
speak German? I did not until I had to! This is a most comfortable
way of travelling, and the quickest. We have 500 wounded on board,
twenty-three of them ours. I am going to Odessa to find out why we
cannot get Serb patients. There are still thousands of them in Odessa,
and yet Dr. Chesney gets nothing but Russians. The Serbs we meet seem
to think it is somehow our fault! I tell them I have written and
telegraphed, and planned and made two journeys to Ismail, to try and
get a real Serbian Hospital going, and yet it doesn’t go.
‘What did happen over the change of Government? I do hope we have got
the right lot now, to put things straight at home, and carry through
things abroad. Remember it all depends on you people at home. _The
whole thing depends on us._ I know we lose the perspective in this
gloomy corner, but there is one thing quite clear, and that is that
they are all trusting to our _sticking_ powers. They know we’ll hold
on--of course--I only wish we would realise that it would be as well
to use our intellects too, and have them clear of alcohol.’
‘IN AN AMBULANCE TRAIN,
‘NEAR ODESSA, _Jan. 25, 1917_.
‘You don’t know what a comfort it is on this tumultuous front, to
know that all you people at home have just settled down to it, and
that you’ll put things right in the long run. It is curious to feel
how everybody is trusting to that. The day we left Braila, a Rumanian
said to me in the hall, “It is England we are trusting to. She has
got hold now like a strong dog!” But it is a bigger job than any of
you imagine, _I_ think. But there is not the slightest doubt we shall
pull it off. I am glad to think the country has discovered that it is
possible to have an alternative Government. If it does not do, we must
find yet another.
_To her little Niece, Amy M‘Laren_
‘ON AN AMBULANCE TRAIN,
‘NEAR ODESSA, _Jan. 25, 1917_.
‘DARLING AMY,--How are you all? We have been very busy since we came
out here: first a hospital for the Serbs at Medgidia, then in a
Rumanian hospital at Braila, and then for the Russians at Galatz and
Reni. In the very middle, by some funny mistake, we were sent flying
right on to the front line. However we nipped out again just in time,
and the station was burnt to the ground just half an hour after we
left. I’ll tell you the name of the place when the war is over, and
show it to you on the map. We saw the petrol tanks on fire as we came
away, and the ricks of grain too.
‘Our hospital at Galatz was in a school. I don’t think the children
in these parts are doing many lessons during the war, and that will
be a great handicap for their countries afterwards. Perhaps, however,
they are learning other lessons. When we left the Dobrudja we saw the
crowds of refugees on their carts, with the things they had been able
to save, and all the little children packed in among the furniture and
pots and pans and pigs.
‘In one cart I saw two fascinating babies about three years old,
sitting in a kind of little nest made of pillows and rugs. They were
little girls, one fair and one dark, and they sat there, as good as
gold, watching everything with such interest. There were streams of
carts along the roads, and all the villages deserted. That is what
the war means out here. It is not quite so bad in our safe Scotland,
is it?--thanks to the fleet. And that is why it seems to me we have
got to help these people, because they are having the worst of it.
I wonder if you can knit socks yet, for I can use any number, and
bandages. Do you know how to roll bandages? Blessings on you, precious
little girl.--Your loving aunt,
ELSIE.’
‘I have had my meals with the Staff. Unfortunately, most of them
speak only Russian, but one man speaks French, and another German.
One of the Sisters speaks English. The man who speaks German is
having English lessons from her. His despair over the pronunciation
is comic. He picked up _Punch_ and showed _me_ YOU. So, I said “you.”
He repeated it quite nicely, and then found another OU. “Though,”
and when I said “though,” he flung up his hands, and said, “Why a
practical nation like the English should do things like this!”’
‘S.W.H.,
RENI, _March 5, 1917_.
‘DARLING MARY,--We have been having such icy weather here, such
snowstorms sweeping across the plain. You should see the snowdrifts.
One day I really thought the house would be cut off from the hospital.
The unit going over to Roll was quite a sight, with the indiarubber
boots, and peaked Russian caps, with the ends twisted round their
throats. We should have thoroughly enjoyed it if it had not been for
the shortage of fuel. However, we were never absolutely without wood,
and now have plenty, as a Cossack regiment sent a squad of men across
the Danube to cut for us, and we brought it back in our carts. The
Danube is frozen right across--such a curious sight. The first time in
seven years, they say--so nice of it to do it just when we are here! I
would not have missed it for anything. The hospital has only had about
forty patients for some time, as there has been no fighting, and it
was just as well when we were so short of wood. We collected them all
into one ward, and let the other fires out.
‘The chief of the medical department held an inspection. That was an
inspection! The old gentleman poked into every corner. Took off the
men’s shirts and looked for lice, turned up the sheets, and beat the
mattresses to look for dust, tasted the men’s food, and in the end
stated we were _ochin chesté_ (very clean), and that the patients
were well cared for medically and well nursed. All of which was
very satisfactory, but he added that the condition of the orderlies
was disgraceful, and so it was. I hadn’t realised they were my job.
However, I told him next time he came he should not find one single
louse. He was very amused and pleased.
‘Dr. Laird and I have a nice snug little room together. That is one
blessing here, we have plenty of sun. Very soon it will begin to get
quite hot. I woke up on the 1st of March and thought of getting home
last year that day, and two days after waking up in Eve’s dear little
room, with the roses on the roof. Bless all you dear people.--Ever
your loving aunt,
‘ELSIE.’
‘_March 23, 1917._
‘We have been awfully excited and interested in the news from
Petrograd. We heard of it, probably long after you people at home
knew all about it! It is most interesting to see how everybody is on
the side of the change, from Russian officers, who come to tea and
beam at us, and say, “Heresho” (good) to the men in the wards. In any
case they say we shall find the difference all over the war area. One
Russian officer, who was here before the news came, was talking about
the Revolution in England two hundred years ago, and said it was the
most interesting period of European history. “They say all these ideas
began with the French Revolution, but they didn’t--they began long
before in England,” he thought. He spoke English beautifully, and had
had an English nurse. He had read Milton’s political pamphlets, and
we wondered all the time whether he was thinking of changes in Russia
after the war, but now I wonder if he knew the changes were coming
sooner.
‘Do you know we have all been given the St. George Medal? Prince
Dolgourokoff, who is in command on this front, arrived quite
unexpectedly, just after roll call. The telegram saying he was coming
arrived a quarter of an hour after he left! General Kropensky, the
head of the Red Cross, rushed up, and the Prince arrived about two
minutes after him. He went all over the hospital, and a member of
his gilded staff told matron he was very pleased with everything.
He decorated two men in the wards with St. George’s Medal, and then
said he wanted to see us together, and shook hands with everybody and
said, “Thank you,” and gave each of us a medal too; Dr. Laird’s was
for service, as she had not been under fire. St. George’s Medal is a
silver one with “For Bravery” on its back. Our patients were awfully
pleased, and inpressed on us that it carried with it a pension of a
rouble a month for life. We gave them all cigarettes to commemorate
the occasion.
‘It was rather satisfactory to see how the hospital looked in its
ordinary, and even I was _fairly_ satisfied. I tell the unit that
they must remember that they have an old maid as commandant, and must
live up to it! I cannot stand dirt, and crooked charts and crumpled
sheets. One Sister, I hear, put it delightfully in a letter home: “Our
C.M.O. is an idealist!” I thought that was rather sweet; I believe she
added, “but she does appreciate good work.” Certainly, I appreciate
hers. She is in charge of the room for dressings, and it is one of the
thoroughly satisfactory points in the hospital.
‘The Greek priest came yesterday to bless the hospital. We put up
“Icons” in each of the four wards. The Russians are a very religious
people, and it seems to appeal to some mystic sense in them. The
priest just put on a stole, green and gold, and came in his long grey
cloak. The two wards open out of one another, so he held the service
in one, the men all saying the responses and crossing themselves. The
four icons lay on the table before him, with three lighted candles at
the inner comers, and he blessed water and sprinkled them, and then he
sprinkled everybody in the room. The icons were fixed up in the corner
of the wards, and I bought little lamps to burn in front of them, as
they always have them. We are going to have the evening hymn sung
every evening at six o’clock. I heard that first in Serbia from those
poor Russian prisoners, who sang it regularly every evening.
‘The mud has been literally awful. The night nurses come up from the
village literally wet through, having dragged one another out of mud
holes all the way. Now, a cart goes down to fetch them each evening.
We have twenty horses and nine carts belonging to us. I have made Vera
Holme master of the horse.
‘I have heard two delightful stories from the Sisters who have
returned from Odessa. There is a great rivalry between the Armoured
Car men and the British Red Cross men, about the capabilities of
their Sisters. (We, it appears, are the Armoured Car Sisters!) A
B.R.C. man said their Sisters were so smart they got a man on to the
operating-table five minutes after the other one went off. Said an
Armoured Car man: “But that’s nothing. The Scottish Sisters get the
second one on before the first one is off.” The other story runs that
there was some idea of the men waiting all night on a quay, and the
men said, “But you don’t think we are Scottish Sisters, sir, do you?”
I have no doubt that refers to Galatz, where we made them work all
night.’
‘RENI, _Easter Day, 1917_.
‘We, all the patients, sick and wounded, belonging to the Army and
Navy, and coming from different parts of the great, free Russia, who
are at present in your hospital, are filled with feelings of the
truest respect for you. We think it our duty as citizens on this
beautiful day of Holy Easter to express to you, highly respected and
much beloved Doctor, as well as to your whole Unit, our best thanks
for all the care and attention you have bestowed upon us. We bow low
and very respectfully before the constant and useful work which we
have seen daily, and which we know to be for the well-being of our
allied countries.
‘We are quite sure that, thanks to the complete unity of action of
all the allied countries, the hour of gladness and the triumph of the
Allied arms in the cause of humanity and the honour of nations is near.
‘_Vive l’Angleterre!_
‘Russian Soldiers, Citizens, and the Russian Sister,
’VERA V. DE KOLESNIKOFF.’
‘RENI, _March 2, 1917_.
‘DARLING EVE,--Very many thanks for the war prayers. They are a
great help on Sundays. The Archbishop’s prayers that I wanted are the
original ones at the beginning of the war. Just at present we are
very lucky as regards the singing, as there are three or four capital
voices in the unit. We have the service at 1.30 on Sunday. That lets
all the morning work be finished. I do wonder what has become of Miss
Henderson and the new orderlies! And the equipment! We want them all
so badly, not to speak of my cool uniform. That will be needed very
soon I think. It is so delicious to feel warm again. We are having
glorious weather, so sunny and warm. All the snow has gone, and the
mud is appalling. I thought I knew the worst mud could do in Serbia,
but it was nothing to this. We have made little tiled paths all about
our domain, and keep comparatively clean there. I wish we could take
over the lot of buildings. The other day I thought I had made a great
score, and bought two thousand poud of wood at a very small price. It
was thirty-five versts out. We got the Cossacks to lend us transport.
But the transport stuck in the mud, and came back the next day, having
had to haul the empty carts out of mud holes by harnessing four horses
first to one cart and then to another. It was no wonder I got the wood
so cheap. One of our great difficulties has been fuel.
‘_April 18, 1918._
‘I am writing this sitting out in my little tent, with a glorious
view over the Danube. We have pitched some of the tents to relieve
the crowding in the house. They are no longer beautiful and white, as
they were at Medgidia. We have had to stain them a dirty grey colour,
so as to hide them from aeroplanes. Yesterday, we had an awful gale,
and a downpour of rain, and the tents stood splendidly, and not a
drop of water came through. Miss Pleister and the Austrian orderly
who helped her to pitch them are triumphant. Do get our spy-incident,
from the office. My dear, they thought we were spies. We had an awful
two days, but it is quite a joke to look back on. The unit were most
thoroughly and Britishly angry. Quite rightly. But I very soon saw
the other side, and managed to get them in hand once more. General
Kropensky, our chief, was a perfect brick. The armoured car section
sent a special despatch rider over to Galatz to fetch him, and he came
off at once. He talks perfect English, and he has since written me a
charming letter saying our _sang-froid_ and our _savoir-faire_ saved
the situation. I am afraid there was not much _sang-froid_ among us,
but some of us managed to keep hold of our common sense. As I told
the girls, in common fairness they must look at the other side--spy
fever raging, a foreign hospital right on the front, and a Revolution
in progress. I told them, even if they did not care about Russia, I
supposed they cared about the war and England, and I wondered what
effect it would have on all these Russian soldiers if we went away
with the thing not cleared up, and still under suspicion. After all,
the ordinary Russian soldier knows nothing about England, except in
the very concrete form of _us_. We should have played right into the
devil’s hands if we had gone away. Of course, they saw it at once,
and we stuck to our guns for England’s sake. The 6th Army, I think,
understands that England, as represented by this small unit, is keen
on the war, and does not spy! We have had a telegram from the General
in command, apologising, and our patients have been perfectly angelic.
And the men from all regiments round come up to the out-patients’
department, and are most grateful and punctiliously polite. So all is
well that ends well.
‘We had a very interesting Easter. You know the Russian greeting
on Easter morning, “Christ is risen,” and the answer, “He is risen
indeed.” We learnt them both, and made our greetings in Russian
fashion. On Easter Eve we went to the church in the village. The
service is at midnight. The church was crowded with soldiers--very
few women there. They were most reverent and absorbed outside in the
courtyards. It was a very curious scene; little groups of people with
lighted candles waiting to get in. Here, we had a very nice Easter
service. My “choir” had three lovely Easter hymns, and we even sang
the Magnificat. One of the armoured car men, on his way from Galatz
to Belgrade, stayed for the service, and it was nice to have a man’s
voice in the singing. We gave our patients Easter eggs and cigarettes.
Except that we are very idle, we are very happy here. Our patients are
delightful, the hospital in good order. The Steppe is a fascinating
place to wander over, the little valleys, and the villages hidden
away in them, and the flowers! We have been riding our transport
horses--rather rough, but quite nice and gentle. We all ride astride
of course.
‘_On Active Service._
‘To Mrs. FLINDERS PETRIE,
Hon. Sec., Scottish Women’s Hospitals.
‘RENI, _May 8, 1917_.
‘DEAR MRS. PETRIE,--How perfectly splendid about the Egyptologists.
Miss Henderson brought me your message, saying how splendidly they are
subscribing. That is of course all due to you, you wonderful woman.
It was such a tantalising thing to hear that you had actually thought
of coming out as an Administrator, and that you found you could not.
I cannot tell you how splendid it would have been if you could have
come.... I want “a woman of the world” ... and I want an adaptable
person, who will talk to the innumerable officers who swarm about this
place, and ride with the girls, and manage the officials!
‘I do wish you could see our hospital now. It really is quite nice.
Such a nice story:--Matron was in Reni the other day, seeing the
Commandant of the town about some things for the hospital, and when
she came out she found a crowd of Russian soldiers standing round her
house. They asked her if she had got what she wanted, and she said the
Commandant was going to see about it. Whereupon the men said, “The
Commandant must be told that the Scottish Hospital (_Schottlandsche
bolnitza_) is the best hospital on this front, and must have whatever
it wants. That is the opinion of the Russian Soldier.” Do you
recognise the echo of the big reverberation that has shaken Russia.
We get on awfully well with the Russian soldier. Two of our patients
were overheard talking the other day, and they said, “The Russian
Sisters are pretty but not good, and the English Sisters are good
and not pretty.” The story was brought up to the mess-room by quite
a nice-looking girl who had overheard it. But we thought we’d let
the judgment stand and be like Kingsley’s “maid”--though we _don’t_
undertake to endorse the Russian part of it!
‘We have got some of the _personnel_ tents pitched now, and it is
delightful. It was rather close quarters in the little house. I am
writing in my tent now, looking out over the Danube. Such a lovely
place, Reni is--and the Steppe is fascinating with its wide plains and
little unexpected valleys full of flowers. We have some glorious rides
over it. The other night our camp was the centre of a fight. Only a
sham one! They are drilling recruits here, and suddenly the other
night we found ourselves being defended by one party while another
attacked from the Steppe. The battle raged all night, and the camp was
finally carried at four o’clock in the morning amid shouts and cheers
and barking of dogs. It was even too much for me, and I have slept
through bombardments.
‘It has been so nice hearing about you all from Miss Henderson. How
splendidly the money is coming in. Only _one_ thing, dear Mrs. Petrie,
_do_ make them send the reliefs more quickly. I know all about boats,
but, as you knew the orderlies had to leave on the 15th of January,
the reliefs ought to have been off by the 1st.
‘I wish you could hear the men singing their evening hymn in hospital.
They have just sung it. I am so glad we thought of putting up the
icons for them.
‘Good-bye for the present, dear Mrs. Petrie. My kindest regards to
Professor Flinders Petrie.--Ever yours affectionately,
ELSIE MAUD INGLIS.’
‘_May 11, 1917._
‘It was delightful seeing Miss Henderson, and getting news of all you
dear people. She took two months over the journey. But she did arrive
with all her equipment. The equipment I wired for in October, and
which was sent out by itself, arrived in Petrograd, got through to
Jassy, and has there stuck. We have not got a single thing, and the
Consuls have done their best.
‘Mr. French, one of the chaplains in Petrograd, came here. He said
he would have some services here. We pitched a tent, and we had the
Communion. It was a joy. I have sent down a notice to the armoured car
yacht, and I hope some of the men will come up. We and they are the
only English people here.
‘The Serbs have sent me a message saying we may have to rejoin our
Division soon. I don’t put too much weight on this, because I know
my dearly beloved Serbs, and their habit of saying the thing they
think you would like, but still we are preparing. I shall be very
sorry to leave our dear little hospital here, and the Russians. They
are a fascinating people, especially the common soldier. I hope that
as we have done this work for the Russians and therefore have some
little claim on them, it will help us to get things more easily for
the Serbs. We have one little laddie in, about ten years old, the
most amusing brat. He was wounded by an aeroplane bomb in a village
seven versts out, and was sent into Reni to a hospital. But, when he
got there he found the hospital was for sick only (a very inferior
place!), so he proceeded on to us. He wanders about with a Russian
soldier’s cap on his head and wrapped round with a blanket, and we
hear his pretty little voice singing to himself all over the place.
‘Nicolai, the man who came in when the hospital was first opened,
and has been so very ill, is really getting better. He had his
dressing left for two days for the first time the other day, and his
excitement and joy were quite pathetic. “_Ochin heroshe doktorutza,
ochin herosho_” (Very good, dear doctor, very good), he kept saying,
and then he added, “Now, I know I am not going to die!” Poor boy,
he has nearly died several times, and would have died if he had not
had English Sisters to nurse him. He has been awfully naughty--the
wretch. He bit one of the Sisters one day when she tried to give him
his medicine. Now, he kisses my hand to make up. The other day I
ordered massage for his leg, and he made the most awful row, howled
and whined, and declared it would hurt (really, he has had enough pain
to destroy anybody’s nerve), and then suddenly pointed to a Sister who
had come in, and said what she had done for him was the right thing.
I asked what she had done for him; “Massaged his leg,” she said. I
got that promptly translated into Russian, and the whole room roared
with laughter. Poor Nicolai--after a minute, he joined in. His home
is in Serbia, “a very nice home with a beautiful garden.” His mother
is evidently the important person there. His father is a smith, and
he had meant to be a smith too, but now he has got the St. George’s
Cross, which carries with it a pension of six roubles a month, and he
does not think he will do any work at all. He is the eldest of the
family, twenty-four years old, and has three sisters, and a little
brother of five. Can’t you imagine how he was spoilt! and how proud
they are of him now, only twenty-four, and a _sous-officier_, and
been awarded the St. George’s Cross which is better than the medal;
and been wounded, four months in hospital, and had three operations!
He has been so ill I am afraid the spoiling continued in the Scottish
Women’s Hospital. Dr. Laird says she would not be his future wife for
anything.
‘We admitted such a nice-looking boy to-day, with thick, curly, yellow
hair, which I had ruthlessly cropped, against his strong opposition. I
doubt if I should have had the heart, if I had known how ill he was.
He will need a very serious operation. I found him this evening with
tears running silently over his cheeks, a Cossack, a great big man.
His nerve is quite gone. He may have to go on to Odessa, as a severe
operation and bombs and a nervous breakdown don’t go together. We will
see how he settles down.
‘We have made friends with lots of the officers; there is one, also
a Cossack, who spends a great part of his time here. His regiment is
at the front, and he has been left for some special work, and he seems
rather lonely. He is a nice boy, and brings nice horses for us to
ride. We have been having quite a lot of riding, on our own transport
horses too. It is heavenly riding here across the great plain. We all
ride astride, and at first we found the Cossacks’ saddles most awfully
uncomfortable, but now we are quite used to them. Our days fly past
here, and in a sense are monotonous, but I don’t think we are any of
us the worse for a little monotony as an interlude! Alas! quite fairly
often there is a party at one of the regiments here! The girls enjoy
them, and matron and I chaperone them alternately and reluctantly. It
was quite a rest during Lent when there were no parties.
‘The spy incident has quite ended, and we have won. Matron was in Reni
the other day asking the Commandant about something, and when she came
out she found a little crowd of Russian soldiers round her house. They
asked her if she had got what she wanted, and she said the Commandant
had said he would see about it. They answered, “The Commandant must
be told that the S.W.H. is the best hospital on this front, and that
it must have everything it wants.” That is the opinion of the Russian
soldier! If you were here you would recognise the new tone of the
Russian soldier in these days,--but I am glad he approves of our
hospital.’
‘ODESSA, _June 24, 1917_.
‘I wish you could realise how the little nations, Serbs and Rumanians
and Poles, count on us. What a comfort it is to them to think we are
“the most tenacious” nation in Europe. In their eyes it all hangs on
us. It is all terrible and awful. I don’t believe we can disentangle
it all in our minds just now. The only thing is just to go on doing
one’s bit. Because, one thing is quite clear, Europe won’t be a
habitable place if Germany wins--for anybody.
‘I think there are going to be a lot of changes here.’
‘_July 15, 1917._
‘I have had German measles! The Consul asked me what I meant by that
at my time of life! The majority of people say how unpatriotic and
Hunnish of you! Well, a few days off did not do me any harm. I had
a very luxurious time lying in my tent. The last lot of orderlies
brought it out.’
‘ODESSA, _Aug. 15, 1917_.
‘The work at Reni is coming to an end, and we are to go to the front
with the Serbian Division. I cannot write about it owing to censors
and people. But I am going to risk this: the Serbs ought to be most
awfully proud. The Russian General on the front is going to insist on
having them “to stiffen up his Russian troops.” I think you people at
home ought to know what magnificent fighting men these Serbs are, and
so splendidly disciplined, simply worth their weight in gold. There
are only two divisions of them after all. We have about thirty-five of
them in hospital just now as sanitaries, and they are such a comfort;
their quickness and their devotion is wonderful. The hospital was full
and overflowing when I left--still Russians. Most of the cases were
slight; a great many left hands, if you know what that _means_. I
don’t think the British Army does know!
‘We had a Red Cross inspecting officer down from Petrograd. He was
very pleased with everything, and kissed my hand on departing, and
said we were doing great things for the Alliance. I wanted to say many
things, but thought I had better leave it alone.
‘We are operating at 5 A.M. now, because the afternoons are so hot.
The other day we began at 5, and had to go till 4 P.M. after all.
‘Matron and I had a delightful ride the other evening. Just as we
had turned for home, an aeroplane appeared, and the first shot from
the anti-aircraft guns close beside us was too much for our horses,
who promptly bolted. However, there was nothing but the clear Steppe
before us, so we just sat tight and went. After a little they
recovered themselves, and really behaved very well.’
‘_Aug. 28._
‘You dear, dear people, how sweet of you to send me a telegram for
my birthday. You don’t know how nice it was to get it and to feel you
were thinking of me. It made me happy for days. Miss G. brought it
me with a very puzzled face, and said, “I cannot quite make out this
telegram.” It was written in Russian characters. She evidently was not
used to people doing such mad things as telegraphing the “Many happy
returns of the day” half across the world. I understood it at once,
and it nearly made me cry. It was good to get it, though I think the
Food Controller or somebody ought to come down on you for wasting
money in the middle of a war.
‘I am finishing this letter in Reni. We closed the hospital yesterday,
and joined our Division somewhere on Friday. The rush that had begun
before I got to Odessa got much worse. They had an awfully busy time,
a faint reminiscence of Galatz, though, as they were operating twelve
hours on end, I don’t know it was so very faint. We had no more left
hands, but all the bad cases. Everybody worked magnificently, but they
always do in a push. The time a British unit goes to pieces is when
there is nothing to do!
‘So this bit of work ends, eight months. I am quite sorry to leave it,
but quite quite glad to get back to our Division.
‘Well, Amy dearest, good-bye for the present. I wonder what will
happen next! Love to all you dear people.’
‘S.W.H.,
‘HADJI ABDUL, _Oct. 17, 1917_.
‘I wonder if this is my last letter from Russia! We hope to be off
in a very few days now. We have had a very pleasant time in this
place with its Turkish name. It shows how far north Turkey once came.
We are with the Division, and were given this perfectly beautiful
camping-ground, with trees, and a slope towards the east. The question
was whether we were going to Rumania or elsewhere. It is nice being
back with these nice people. They have been most kind and friendly,
and we have picnics and rides and _dances_, and dinners, and till this
turmoil of the move began we had an afternoon reception every day
under the walnut trees! Now, we are packed up and ready to go, and I
mean to walk in on you one morning. It does not stand thinking of!
‘We shall have about two months to refit, but one of those is my due
as a holiday, _which I am going to take_. I’ll see you all soon.--Your
loving aunt,
‘ELSIE.’
_To Mrs. Simson_
‘ARCHANGEL, _Nov. 18, 1917_.
‘On our way home. Have not been very well; nothing to worry about.
Shall report in London, then come straight to you. Longing to see you
all.
‘INGLIS.’