WOUNDED
Lance-Corporal Allan was killed on Tuesday the 6th of June. For the
rest of that day I was all “on edge.” I wondered sometimes how I could
go on: even in billets I dreamed of rifle-grenades; and though I had
only returned from leave a fortnight ago, I felt as tired out in body
and mind as I did before I went. And this last horror did not add to
my peace of mind. I very nearly quarrelled with Captain Wetherell, the
battalion Lewis-gun officer, over the position of a Lewis gun. There
had been a change of company front, and some readjustments had to be
made. I believe I told him he had not got the remotest idea of our
defence scheme, or something of the sort! My nerves were all jangled,
and my brain would not rest a second. We were nearly all like that at
times.
I decided therefore to go out again to-night with our wires. I had
been out last night, and Owen was going to-night, but I wanted to be
doing something to occupy my thoughts. I knew I should not sleep. At
a quarter to ten I sent word to Corporal Dyson, the wiring-corporal,
to take his men up at eleven instead of ten, as the moon had not quite
set. At eleven o’clock Owen and I were out in No Man’s Land putting out
concertina wire between 80A and 81A bombing posts, which had recently
been connected up by a deep narrow trench. There was what might be
called a concertina craze on: innumerable coils of barbed wire were
converted into concertinas by the simple process of winding them round
and round seven upright stakes in the ground; every new lap of wire
was fastened to the one below it at every other stake by a twist of
plain wire; the result, when you came to the end of a coil and lifted
the whole up off the stakes was a heavy ring of barbed wire that
concertina’d out into ten-yard lengths. They were easily made up in the
trench, quickly put up, and when put out in two parallel rows, about a
yard apart, and joined together with plenty of barbed wire tangled in
loosely, were as good an obstacle as could be made. We had some thirty
of these to put out to-night.
When you are out wiring you forget all about being in No Man’s Land,
unless the Germans are sniping across. The work is one that absorbs
all your interest, and your one concern is to get the job done quickly
and well. I really cannot remember whether the enemy had been sniping
or not (I use the word “sniping” to denote firing occasional shots
across with fixed rifles sited by day). I remember that I forgot all
about Captain Wetherell and his Lewis-gun positions, as soon as I was
outside the bombing post at 80A. There were about fifteen yards between
this post and the crater-edge, where I had a couple of “A” Company
bombers out as a covering party. But in this fifteen yards were several
huge shell-holes, and we were concealing the wire in these as much
as possible. It was fascinating work, and I felt we could not get on
fast enough with it. After a time I went along to Owen, whose party
was working on my left. Here Corporal Dyson and four men were doing
well also. All this strip of land between the trench and the crater
edge was an extraordinary tangle of shell-holes, old beams and planks,
and scraps of old wire. Every square yard of it had been churned and
pounded to bits at different times by canisters and “sausages” and
such-like. Months ago there had been a trench along the crater edges;
but new mines had altered these, and until we had dug the deep, narrow
trench between 80A and 81A about a fortnight ago, there had been no
trench there for at least five months. The result was a chaotic jumble,
and this jumble we were converting into an obstacle by judiciously
placed concertina wiring.
I repeat that I cannot remember if there had been much sniping across.
I had just looked at my luminous watch, which reported ten past one,
when I noticed that the sky in the east began to show up a little
paler than the German parapet across the crater. “Dawn,” I thought,
“already. There is no night at all, really. We must knock off in a
quarter of an hour. The light will not be behind us, but half-past one
will be time to stop.” I was lying out by the bombers, gazing into the
black of the crater. It was a warm night, and jolly lying out like
this, though a bit damp and muddy round the shell-holes. Then I got up,
told Corporal Evans to come in after fixing the coil he was putting up,
and was walking towards 80A post, when “Bang” I heard from across the
crater, and I felt a big sting in my left elbow, and a jar that numbed
my whole arm.
“Ow,” I cried out involuntarily, and doubled the remaining few yards,
and scrambled down into the trench.
Corporal Dyson was there.
“Are you hit, sir?”
“Yes. Nothing much--here in the arm. Get the wirers in. It’ll be light
soon.”
Then somehow I found my equipment and tunic off; there seemed a lot
of men round me; and I tried to realise that I was really hit. My arm
hung numb and stiff, with the after-taste of a sting in it. I felt this
could not be a proper wound, as there was no real throbbing pain such
as I expected. I was surprised when I saw a lot of blood in the half
light. Corporal Dyson asked me if I had a field-dressing, and I said
he would find one in the bottom right-hand corner of my tunic. To my
annoyance he did not seem to hear, and used one of the men’s. Then Owen
appeared, with a serious peering face.
“Are all the wirers in?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered. “How are you feeling?”
His serious tone amused me. I wanted to say, “Good heavens, man, I’m as
fit as anything. I shall be back to-morrow, I expect.” But I felt very
tired and rather out of breath as I answered “Oh! all right.”
By this time my arm was bandaged and I started walking back to Maple
Redoubt, leaning on Corporal Dyson. I wanted to joke, but felt too
tired. It seemed an interminable way down, especially along Watling
Street.
I had only once looked into the dressing-station, although I must have
passed it several hundred times. I was surprised at its size: there
were two compartments. As I stepped down inside, I wondered if it were
shell-proof. In the inner chamber I could hear the doctor’s quick low
voice, telling a man to move the lamp: and it seemed to flash across
me for the first time that there ought to be some kind of guarantee
against dressing-stations being blown in like any ordinary dug-out. And
yet I knew there was no possibility of any such guarantee.
“Hullo, Bill, old man,” said the little doctor, coming out quickly.
“Where’s this thing of yours? In the arm, isn’t it? Let’s have a look.
Oh yes, I see. (He examined the bandage, and the arm above it.) Well,
I won’t be long. You won’t mind waiting a few minutes, will you? I’ve
got a bad case in here. Hall, get him to sit down, and give him some
Bovril.”
And he was gone. No man could move or make men move quicker than the
doctor.
I felt apologetic: I had chosen a bad time to come, just when the
doctor was busy with this other man. I asked who the fellow was, and
learned he was a private from “D” Company. I was very grateful for the
Bovril. A good idea, this, I thought, having Bovril ready for you.
I waited about ten minutes, sitting on a chair. I listened to the
movements and low voices inside. “Turn him over. Here. No, those longer
ones. Good heavens, didn’t I tell you to get this changed yesterday?
Now. That’ll do,” and so on. I turned my head round in silence,
observing acutely every detail in this antechamber, as one does in
a dentist’s waiting-room. All the time in my arm I felt this numb
wasp-sting; I wondered when the real pain would start; there was no
motion in this still smart.
“Now then, Bill,” said the doctor. “So sorry to keep you. Let’s have a
look at it. Oh, that’s nothing very bad.”
It smarted as he undid the bandage. I don’t know what he did. I never
looked at it.
“What sort of a one is it?” I asked.
“I could just do with one like this myself,” said the doctor.
“Is it a Blighty one?”
“I’d give you a fiver for it any minute,” answered the doctor. “I’m
not certain whether the bone’s broken or not, but I rather think it is
touched. I can’t say, though. A bullet, did you say? Are you sure?”
“Very sure,” I laughed.
“Well, it must be one of these explosive bullets, an ordinary bullet
doesn’t make a wound like yours. That’s it. That’ll do.”
“I can’t make out why there’s not more pain,” said I.
“Oh, that’ll come later. You see the shock paralyses you at first.
Here, take one of these.” And he gave me a morphia tabloid.
“Cheero, Bill,” he said, and I went out of the dug-out leaning on a
stretcher-bearer. Round my neck hung a label, the first of a long
series. “Gun-shot wound in left forearm” it contained. I found later “?
fracture. 1.15 a.m., 7.6.16.”
Outside Lewis was waiting with my trench kit. He had appeared a quarter
of an hour back at the door of the dressing-station, and had been told
by the doctor so rapidly and forcibly that he ought to know that he
would go with me to the clearing station, and that he had five minutes
in which to get my kit together, that he had fairly sprinted away.
Poor fellow! How should he know, seeing that he had been my servant
over six months, and I had never got wounded before? But the doctor
always made men double.
As I passed our dug-out, Edwards, Owen, Paul, and Nicholson were all
standing outside.
“Cheero,” I shouted. “Good luck. The doctor says it’s nothing much.
I’ll be back soon.”
“What about that Lewis-gun position?” asked Edwards.
“Oh,” I said, “I want to keep that position on the left.” Then I felt
my decision waver. “Still, if Wetherell wants the other ... I don’t
know.”
“All right. I’ll fix up with Wetherell. Good luck. Hope you get to
Blighty.”
I wanted to say such a lot. I wanted to say that I was sure to be back
in a week or so. I wanted to think hard, and decide about that Lewis
gun. I wanted to send a message to Wetherell apologising for what I
had said.... I wanted to talk to Sergeant Andrews, who was standing
there too. But the stretcher-bearer was walking on, and I must go as he
pleased.
“Good-bye, Sergeant Andrews,” I shouted.
Last of all I saw Davies, standing solemn and dumb.
“Good-bye, Davies. Off to Blighty.”
I could not see if he answered. The relentless stretcher-bearer led me
on. Was I O.C. stretcher-bearers or was I not? Why didn’t I stop him?
I had not decided about that Lewis gun. At the corner of Old Kent Road,
I was told I might as well sit on the ration trolley and go down on
that. And in the full light of dawn, about half-past two, I was rolled
serenely down the hill to the Citadel.
“Don’t let go,” I said to the stretcher-bearer, who was holding the
trolley back. I still thought of sending up a message about that
Lewis-gun position. Why could not I make up my mind? I looked back and
saw Maple Redoubt receding further and further in the distance.
“By Jove,” I thought, “I may not see it again for weeks.” And suddenly
I realised that whether I made up my mind about the Lewis-gun position
or not, would not make the slightest difference!
“Where do I go to now?” said I.
“There’s an ambulance at the Citadel,” said the stretcher-bearer.
“You’re quite right. You’ll be in Heilly in a little over an hour.”
Heilly? Why, this would be interesting, I thought. And I should just
go, and have nothing to decide. I should be passive. I was going right
out of the arena!
And the events of yesterday seemed a dream already.
WEDNESDAY
I lay in bed, at the clearing station at Heilly. It was just after nine
o’clock the same morning, and the orderlies were out of sight, but not
out of hearing, washing up the breakfast things. Half the dark blue
blinds were drawn, as the June sun was blazing outside. I could see the
glare of it on the cobbles in the courtyard, as the door opened and a
cool, tall nurse entered. I closed my eyes, and pretended to be asleep.
I felt she might come and talk, and one thing I did not want to do, I
did not want to talk.
My body was most extraordinarily comfortable. I moved my feet toes-up
for the sheer joy of feeling the smooth sheets fall cool on my feet
when I turned them sideways again. The pillow was comfortable; the
whole bed was comfortable; even my arm, that was throbbing violently
now, and felt boiling hot, was very comfortably rested on another
pillow. I just wanted to lie, and lie: only my mind was working so fast
and hard that it seemed to make the skin tight over my forehead. And
all the time there was that buzz, buzzing. If I left off thinking, the
buzzing took complete mastery of my brain. That was intolerable: so I
had to keep on thinking.
At the Citadel an R.A.M.C. doctor had given me tea and a second label.
He had also given me an injection against tetanus. This he did in the
chest. Why didn’t he do it in my right arm, I had thought: I would have
rather had it there. Again, I had had to wait quite a quarter of an
hour, while he attended to the “D” Company private. I had learned from
an orderly that this poor fellow was bound to lose a leg, and again I
had felt that I was in the way here, that I was a bother. I had then
watched the poor fellow carried out on a stretcher, and the stretcher
slid into the ambulance. There was a seat inside, into which I was
helped. Lewis had gone in front, very red-faced and awkward. And an
R.A.M.C. orderly had got in behind with me. Sitting, I had felt that he
must think I was shamming! Then I remembered the first ambulance I had
seen, when I first walked from Chocques to Béthune in early October!
Was there really any connection between me then and me now?
Then there had been a rather pleasant journey through unknown country,
it seemed. After a few miles, we halted and changed into another
ambulance. As I had stood in the sunshine a moment, I had tried to make
out where we were. But I could not recognise anything, and felt very
tired. There was a white chalk road, a grass bank, and a house close
by: that is all I could remember. And then there was another long ride,
in which my one paramount idea was to rest my arm (which was in a white
sling) and prevent it shaking and jarring.
Then at last we had reached a village and pulled up in a big sunlit
courtyard. Again as I walked into a big room I felt that people must
think I was shamming. A matron had come in, and a doctor. Did I mind
sitting and waiting a minute or so? Would I like some tea? I had
refused tea. Then the doctor and an orderly came in, and the doctor
asked some questions and took off my label. The orderly was taking
off my boots, and the doctor had started helping! I had apologised
profusely, for they were trench boots thick with mud. And then the
doctor had asked me whether I could wait until about eleven before they
looked at my arm: meanwhile it would be better, as I should be more
rested after a few hours in bed. Bed! I had never thought of going to
bed for an arm at all! What a delicious idea! I felt so tired, too.
I had not been to bed all night. Then I had been helped into this
delightful bed, and after scrawling a letter home to go away by the
eight o’clock post (I was glad I had remembered that), I had been left
in peace at about half-past four. And here I was! I had had a cup of
tea for breakfast, but did not want to eat anything.
I wished I could go to sleep. Yet it was not much good now, if they
were going to look at my arm at eleven. I opened my eyes whenever I
was sure there was no one near me. Then I thought I might as well keep
them open, otherwise they would think I had slept, and not know how
tired out I felt. There was a man in the next bed with his head all
bandaged; and round the bed in the corner was a screen. Opposite was an
R.A.M.C. doctor, as far as I could gather; he was talking to the nurse,
and looked perfectly well. I thought perhaps he might be the sort who
would talk late when I wanted to sleep--he looked so well and lively;
suppose he had a gramophone and wanted to play it this afternoon. I
should really have to complain, if he did. Yet perhaps they would
understand, and make him give it up because of us who were not so well.
On my right, up at the other end of the room (was it a “ward”? yes, I
suppose it was) were several voices, but I could not turn over and look
at their owners, with my arm like this. How it throbbed and pulsed! Or
was it aching? Supposing I got pins and needles in it....
A khaki-clad padre came in. He just came over and asked me if I wanted
anything, and did not worry me with talking. He had a very quiet voice
and bald head. I liked both. I felt I ought to have wanted something:
had I been discourteous?
The door opened, and the doctor entered, with another nurse and another
doctor. Somehow this last person electrified everyone and everything.
Who was he? His very walk was somehow different from the ordinary. My
attention was riveted on him; somehow I felt that he knew I was there,
and yet he did not look at me. They wheeled a little table up from the
other end of the room, laden with glasses and bottles and glittering
little silver forks and things. I could not see clearly. An orderly
was reprimanded by the nurse for something, in a subdued voice. There
was a hush and a tenseness in this man’s presence. Yet he was calmly
looking at a newspaper, and sitting on an empty bed as he did so!
Apparently Kitchener was reported drowned in the North Sea: he spoke
in a rich, almost drawling voice. He was immensely casual! And yet one
did not mind. He walked over and washed his hands, and put on some
yellowy-brown india-rubber gloves that scrooped and squelched in the
basins. And then he turned round, and the other doctor (whom I had seen
at four o’clock and who already seemed a sort of confidential friend
of mine in the presence of this master-man) asked him, which case he
wanted to see first. And as he jerked his hand casually to one of the
beds, I was filled with a strange elation. This was a surgeon, I felt;
and one in whom I had immense confidence. He would do the best for my
arm: he would make no mistakes. I almost laughed for sheer joy!
He came at last to my bed and glanced at me. He never smiled. He asked
me one or two questions. I said I was “? fracture,” that my arm was
throbbing but felt numb more than anything.
“I suppose we may presume there is a fracture,” said he; “at any rate
there is no point in looking at it here. I’ll look at it under an
anæsthetic,” he said to me, not unkindly, but still without a smile.
And a little later, as he went out, he half looked back at my bed.
“Eleven o’clock,” he said to the nurse as he went out.
The tension relaxed. An orderly spoke in a bold ordinary voice. The
spell was gone out with the man.
“Who is that?” I asked the nurse.
“Oh! that’s Mr. Bevan; he’s a very good surgeon indeed.”
“I know,” said I, “I can feel that.”
About an hour later, two orderlies whom I had not seen before came in
with a stretcher, and laid it on the floor by the bed. The tall nurse
asked me if I had any false teeth, and said I had better put socks on,
as my feet might get cold. The orderly did this, and then they helped
me on to the stretcher. My head went back, and I felt a strain on my
neck. The next second my head was lifted and a pillow put under it.
And they had moved me without altering the position of my arm. I was
surprised and pleased at that. Then a blanket was put over me, and one
of the orderlies said “Ready?”
“Yes,” I said, but suddenly realised he was talking to the other
orderly. I was lifted up, and carried across the room out into the
courtyard. What a blazing sun! I closed my eyes.
“Dump, dump, dump.” The stretcher seemed to bob along, with a regular
rhythmic swaying. Then they turned a corner, and I felt a slight
nausea. I opened my eyes. The stretcher was put on a table. I felt very
high up.
The matron-person appeared. She was older than the nurses, and had a
chain with scissors dangling on the end of it. She smiled, and asked
what kind of a wound it was. Then the orderlies looked at each other,
at some signal that I could not see, and lifted me up and into the next
room. They held the stretcher up level with the operating table, and
helped me on to it. I did some good right elbow-work and got on easily.
As I did so, I saw Mr. Bevan sitting on a chair in his white overall,
his gloved hands quietly folded in his lap. He said and did nothing.
Again I felt immensely impressed by his competence, reserving every
ounce of energy, waiting, until these less masterful beings had got
everything ready.
They took off the blanket, and moved things behind. Then they put the
rubber cup over my mouth and nose.
“Just breathe quite naturally,” said the doctor. I shut my eyes.
“Just ordinary breaths. That is very good,” said the voice, quietly and
reassuringly.
I felt a sort of sweet shudder all down my body. I wanted to laugh.
Then I let my body go a little. It was no good bracing myself.... I
opened my right hand and shut it, just to show them I was not “off” yet
...
* * * * *
The process of “coming to” was unpleasant and uninteresting. I do not
think I distinguished myself by any originality, so will not attempt
to describe it. That was a long interminable day, and my arm hurt a
good deal. In the afternoon I was told that I should be pleased to hear
that there was no bone broken. I was anything but pleased. I wanted the
bone to be broken, as I wanted to go to “Blighty.” This worried me all
day. I wondered if I should get to England or not. Then in the evening
the sister (I found that the nurses should be called sisters) dressed
the wound. That was distinctly unpleasant. It took hours and hours and
hours before it began to get even twilight. I have never known so long
a day. And then I could not sleep. They injected morphia at last, but
I awoke after three or four hours feeling more tired than ever.
THURSDAY
I can hardly disentangle these days; night and day ran into one
another. I can remember little about Thursday. I could not sleep
however much I wanted to; and all the time my brain was working so
hard, thinking. I worried about the company: they must be in the
line now. Would Edwards remember this, and that? Had I left him the
map, or was it among those maps in my valise which Lewis had gone to
Morlancourt to fetch?
And all the time there were rifle-grenades about; I daren’t let the
buzzing come, because it was all rifle-grenades really; and always I
kept seeing Lance-Corporal Allan lying there. Why could I not get rid
of the picture of him? Yet I was afraid I might forget; and it was
important that I should remember....
I remember the waiting to have my arm dressed. It was like waiting
before the dentist takes up the drill again. I watched the man next to
me out of the corner of my eye, and felt it intensely if he seemed to
wince, or drew in his breath. And I remember in the morning Mr. Bevan
dressed my wound. I looked the other way. For a week I thought the
wound was above instead of just below the elbow. “This will hurt,” he
said once.
Some time in the day the man behind the screen died. I had heard him
groaning all day; and there was the rhythmic sound of pumping--oxygen,
I suppose.... I heard a lot of moving behind the screen, and at last
it was taken away and I saw the corner for the first time and in it an
empty bed with clean sheets.
The man next to me, with the bandaged head, kept talking deliriously to
the orderly about his being on a submarine. Once the orderly smiled at
me as he answered the absurd questions.
There was one good incident I remember. After the surgeon had dressed
my arm, I said, “Is there any chance of this getting me to Blighty?”
And I thought he did not hear; he was looking the other way. But
suddenly I heard that calm deliberate voice:
“Yes, that is a Blighty one. There is enough damage to those muscles
to keep you in Blighty several months.” And this made all the rest
bearable somehow.
FRIDAY
Again the only sleep I could get was by morphia. In the morning they
told me I should go by a hospital train leaving at three o’clock. I
scrawled a note or two and gave them to Lewis, and instructed him about
my kit. I believe they made an inventory of it. I gave him some maps
for Edwards. And then he said good-bye. And I thought of him going
back, and I going to England. And I felt ashamed of myself again. I
wondered if the Colonel was annoyed with me.
They gave me gas in the morning. It seemed such a bother going through
all that again: it was not worth trying to get better. Still I was
glad, it was one dressing less! Then in the afternoon I was carried on
a stretcher to the train. I hardly saw anyone to say good-bye to. I
thought of writing later.
It seemed an interminable journey. By some mistake I had been put in
with the Tommies. There was no difference in the structure or comfort
of the officers’ or Tommies’ quarters; but I knew they were taking me
wrong. However, I was entirely passive, and did not mind what they
did. The carriage had a corridor all the way down the centre, and on
each side was a succession of berths in three tiers. On the top tier
you must have felt very high and close up to the roof; on the centre
one you got a good view out of the windows; on the third and lowest
tier (which was my lot) you felt that if there were an accident, you
would not have far to roll; on the other hand, you were out of view of
orderlies passing along the corridor.
A great thirst consumed me as I lay waiting. I could see two orderlies
in the space by the door cutting up large pieces of bread and butter.
This made my mouth still drier. Then they brought in cans of hot tea,
and gave it out in white enamel bowls. I longed for the sting of the
tea on my dry palate, but the orderly was startled when I said, “I
suppose this is all right; I am an officer.” He said he would tell
them, and gave the bowl to the next man. The bowls were taken away
and washed up, before a cup of tea was at last brought me. A corporal
brought it; he poured it out of a little teapot; but I could not drink
it out of a cup. My left arm lay like a log beside me, and I could not
hold my right arm steady _and_ raise my head. So the corporal went off
for a feeding cup. I felt rather nervy and like a man with a grievance!
And when I got the tea it was nearly cold.
I say it seemed an interminable journey, and my arm was so frightfully
uncomfortable. I had it across my body, and felt I could not breathe
for the weight of it. At last I felt I _must_ get its position altered.
I called “orderly” every time an orderly went past: sometimes they
paused and looked round; but they could not see me, and went on.
Sometimes they did not hear anything. I felt as self-conscious and
irritated as a man who calls “waiter” and the waiter does not hear. At
last one heard, and a sister came and fixed me up with a small pillow
under the elbow. I immediately felt apologetic, and I wondered if she
thought me fussy.
The train made a long, slow grind over the rails; and it kept stopping
with a griding sound and a jolt. Why did it go so slowly? At ten
o’clock I begged and obtained another morphia dose, and got four hours’
sleep from it again.
SATURDAY
I suppose it was about 7.0 a.m. when we arrived at Étretat. I was taken
and laid in the middle of rows and rows of Tommies in a big sunny
courtyard. I thought how well the bearers carried the stretchers: I did
not at all feel that I was likely to be dropped or tilted off on to my
arm. There were a lot of men in blue hospital dress on the steps of a
big house. I wondered where I was: in Havre probably. It was a queer
sensation lying on my back gazing up at the sun; we were tightly packed
in together, like cards laid in order, face upwards. How high everyone
looked standing up. Then they discovered one or two officers, and I
said that I too was an officer. I felt that they rather dared me to
repeat this statement. Then a man looked at my label, and said: “Yes,
he is an officer.” And I was taken up and carried off.
I found myself put to bed in a spacious room in which were only two
beds. The house had only recently been finished, and was in use as a
hospital. As soon as I was in bed, I felt a great relief again. No
more motion for a time, I thought. There was a man in the other bed,
threatened with consumption. We were talking, when a pretty V.A.D.
nurse came in and asked what we wanted for breakfast. I felt quite
hungry, and enjoyed tea and fish. I began to think that life was going
to be good. I saw Cecil Todd, who had been slightly wounded a fortnight
ago. I condoled with him on not getting to England. He asked me if I
wanted to read. No, I did not feel like reading. I wrote a letter. Then
two V.A.D. nurses came and dressed my wound. They seemed surprised to
find so big a one, and sent for the doctor to see it. They dressed it
very well, and gave me no unnecessary pain.
In the afternoon, I was again moved to a motor ambulance, which took me
to Havre. It jolted and shook horribly. “This man does not know what it
is like up here,” I thought. All the time I was straining my body to
keep the left arm from touching the jolting stretcher. (The stretchers
slide in the ambulance.) I was a top-berth passenger; I could touch the
white roof with my right hand; and there was a stuffy smell of white
paint.
At last it stopped, and after a wait I was carried amid a sea of heads,
along a quay. I could smell sea and the stale oily smell of a steamer.
Then I was taken over the gangway with that firm, steady, nodding
motion with which I was getting so familiar, along the deck, through
doorways, and into a big room, all green and white. All round the edge
were beds, into one of which I was helped. In the centre of the room
were beds that somehow reminded me of cots. I dare say there was a low
railing round the beds that gave me this impression. A Scotch nurse
looked after me. These nurses were all in grey and red; the others had
been in blue. I wondered what was the difference. I asked the name of
the ship and they said it was the _Asturias_.
Later on a steward brought a menu, and I chose my own dinner.
Apparently I could eat what I liked. The doctor looked at my wound, and
said it could wait until morning before being dressed; he pleased me. I
was more comfortable than I had been yet. The boat was not due out till
about 1.0 a.m. At eleven o’clock I again asked for morphia, and so got
sleep for another four hours or so.
SUNDAY
“I represent Messrs. Cox and Co. Is there anything I can do for any of
you gentlemen this morning?”
A short, squarely built man, with a black suit, a bowler hat, and a
small brown bag, stepped briskly into the room. He gave me intense
pleasure: as he talked to a Scotch officer who wanted some ready cash,
I felt that I was indeed back in England. It was a hot sunny day; and
a bowler hat on such a day made me feel sure that this was _really_
Southampton, and not all a dream. Sir, whoever you are, I thank you for
your most appropriate appearance.
The hospital ship had been alongside nearly an hour, I believe. It
was three o’clock in the afternoon. Breakfast, the dressing of my
wound again, lunch; all had followed in an uneventful succession. The
throbbing of the engines as the boat steamed quietly along had been
hardly noticeable at all. At last there was a bustle, and we were
carried out of the room, out into the sunshine again, and along the
quay to the train. Here I was given a berth in the middle tier this
time, for which I was very thankful. I felt so utterly tired; and the
weight of my arm across my body was intolerable.
That seemed a long, long journey too; but I got tea without delay this
time, and it was hot. At Farnborough the train stopped and a few men
were taken out. The rest came on to London.
“Is there any special hospital in London you want to go to?” said a
brisk R.A.M.C. official, when we reached Waterloo.
“No,” I answered.
He wrote on a label, and put that round my neck also.
“Lady Carnarvon’s,” he said.
I lay for some time on the platform of Waterloo station, gazing up at
the vault in the roof. Porters and stretcher-bearers stood about, and
gazed down at one in silence. Then I was moved into a motor ambulance,
and a Red Cross lady took her seat in the back. My head was in the
front, so that I could see nothing. Just before the car went off, a
policeman put his head in.
“Any milk or anything?”
“Would you like any milk or beef tea?” the lady said.
“Milk, please.”
“He says he would like a little milk,” said the lady.
And then we drove off.
MONDAY
It was somewhere about ten o’clock Monday morning. The sister had just
finished dressing my arm; the doctor had poked it about; now it lay
cool and quiet along by my side. I had not slept that night again,
except with morphia. I still felt extraordinarily tired, but was very
comfortable. I watched the tall sister in blue with the white headdress
that reminded me of a nun’s cap. She was so strong and quiet, and
seemed to know that my hand always wanted support at the wrist when
she lifted my arm. I did not want to talk, just to lie.
Suddenly I realised that my head was no longer buzzing. I knew that I
should sleep to-night--at last! My body relaxed: the tension suddenly
melted away.
“Hurrah!” I thought, “I have not got to move, or think, or decide--and
I can just lie for hours, for days.”
At last I was out of the grip of war.