A nurse at the war; nursing adventures in Belgium and France

Part II France

I. HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS . 8l

II. THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS . IOI

III. CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS. II7

IV. LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST. 1 26 V. A DAY OF ODD JOES . . -136

VI. A NIGHT IN NIEUPORT . . 1 53

VII. AN ENGLISH BILLET . . . l6l

VIII. THE SENTRY AND PARIS IN WAR- TIME ...... I72

VI Table Of Contents

CHAP.

IX.

X.

LIFE AT RUCHARD ODDMENTS AND THE END.

182 193

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

TO FACE PAGE

EARLY DAYS WHEN WOMEN COULD GET TO THE FRONT . . Front*

DURING THE FIRST WINTER, I914

MASS IN THE TRENCHES

RUINS OF A CHURCH .

WHERE A BOMB FELL

LIFE IN THE FRONT LINE

DIVISION BEING REVIEWED ON ITS RE TURN FROM THE TRENCHES

SHELL IN CANAL

THE MORNING WASH .

A TRENCH IN THE SAND

GUNS HIDDEN IN BRANCHES

WHERE THE HUN HAS PASSED

WAYSIDE GRAVES

RESTING BY THE WAYSIDE .

THE FIRST SOLDIERS' CANTEEN IN THE BELGIAN ARMY. RUCHARD, I915

16 16

3 2 48

PART I FLANDERS

Chapter I

The F.A.N.Y. Corps is not well known, because since the 14th September, 1914, they have been too busy over in Flanders and France to talk of their work. But the F.A.N.Y. Corps that started on active service in the person of one woman is increasing steadily, and at present over 50 members are working in the zone of the armies, and a few more are busy in the centre of France in a big convalescent camp. Their work is varied : motor ambulance work in the actual firing line has now given way to motor ambulance work at the base ; the first-aid work behind the trenches has changed to first a clearing hospital and now a base hospital, and the excursions to the front with what were then much-needed comforts have given place to running a big canteen for 700 convalescents. Now the F.A.N. Y.'s have fought their way to recognition, a few of the experiences one of them underwent may be of interest.

Those were strange days when I was alone in little Belgium. Antwerp was fiercely fought for, and for weeks we worked from morning till night caring for the men who were brought in, broken and torn and shattered. Ah ! it made my heart ache and my eyes wet, but I did my best. They were heroes, these men : they did not cry nor grumble nor complain ; they smiled, they called me " Petite sceur," and nothing I did failed to please them — though in much I was clumsy and unskilful. There were so many of them — in all the hospital about 200 ; but on the floor I worked on 64, and some would die and be carried out on a stretcher with a sheet over them, and some would rise and dress and walk out ; but what hurt one most were the evacuations.

An evacuation means to empty the hospital, and it was done when news came that the Germans were coming very near. Then men's faces would turn white with horror and with fear, women would tremble and turn faint ; and we, who had to work, would spend every ounce of our strength in dressing those poor fellows — pulling shirts over their shattered bodies, wrapping dressing gowns or coats or what we could round them in their weakness and suffering. We carried them down long stairs on stretchers, even on camp beds if there were not enough stretchers ; we ran down stairs with mattresses and lifted them off the stretchers on to the mattress, for we had to take the stretchers to bring down others ; and to some of these men each movement meant agony. This used to happen once a week at least ! And then very often, after having been taken to the station on a tramcar, the men would all be brought back and have to be carried upstairs again and put back to bed.

Then one afternoon I went out with a motor ambulance to just behind where fighting was. We met a cyclist who said he wanted help at a lonely trench to take men away and so we went. There was a little brick hut or stables, and there the car stopped, and before I got out from inside, the chauffeur and the cyclist and the owner, who was with us, were running hard along the road. It was fiat country, and the road was alongside a deep ditch ; and a few little thin trees were along the roadside. Far away I could see cottages here and there, and there was a lot of noise all round. I was running after the men, when suddenly something made my heart stop and then thump hard. I slowed down and looked all round, and the sun glittered on a silver medal on my breast and held my eye. I put the medal into my pocket, and a feeling of awful loneliness came over me. I was alone, quite alone — there was nobody English near me. At that moment I longed for an Englishman. Then I looked behind — the ambulance looked safe and stolid, somehow ; then I looked ahead. The men who had come with me were jumping down into a trench. I had never seen a trench, but I felt it was one, and into my heart and brain came something I had never felt before, I looked up at the little clouds of smoke breaking in the sky ; I looked ahead and saw great clouds of smoke bursting from the ground ; and I suddenly felt a great exultation, and I ran — ran my hardest — and stood on the edge of the trench and looked in. There were three or four figures there, very still, in

big blue coats, but I hardly noticed them.

Two men were lifting a man out and putting

him across a third man's back, and a man

wearing a heavy uniform coat, with a ragged,

untidy moustache, and a white face was

trying to climb out of the trench. One of his

legs was all torn, — clothing and blood and

bandage, and I leapt down beside him. Then,

with his hand in mine and his arm drawn

round my neck, I pulled and pushed and

struggled, and we got out and slowly reached

the road. In front of me two men were

struggling along, each with an unconscious

man hanging over his shoulders, and a group

of soldiers who looked tired and were limping.

Then suddenly came a terrific noise, so loud

it dazed me, and all my sense of thought

seemed gone. I stood quite still, and on my

left a cloud of dark smoke rose, and a horrid

smell. I looked all round — I was alone.

My poor man with the shattered leg ! — where

was he ? I wheeled slowly round, blinking

my eyes, and there in the ditch was my

sufferer, and all the other men. Then, in a

flash, I knew ! It was a shell that had burst close beside us. I dashed to the ditch and sat down. The men were looking at me with stolid unconcern, they were rising — going on. I went too. Along that bare road we ran at a sort of loping trot. Then through the cloud of deafness that still held me I seemed to hear a wailing scream, and the three soldiers nearest stopped and held on to a little thin tree. I stopped too, facing them, looking in their faces to question them. To me it was all new. I did not understand ; / had had none of the horrors they had passed through. All / saw was three white scared faces, with fixed eyes, — in them a sort of dumb appeal. They were gasping, their lips were black, their clothes dirty and stained. A demon of mischief woke in me. I thought of a cinematograph, of what we must look like — four hefty people hanging on in fear to a little thin tree ! I laughed ; and their white faces and troubled eyes glared at me, but they ran on. I followed at their heels, and so we reached the ambulance and found the chauffeur already there. Two men lay on the ground — one very white and still unconscious, the other, with wide eyes, moaning. I had some brandy with mc and gave him some. We lifted him up, put him on the car — it was a beautifully-fitted car ; the side came down and outwards, and the first stretcher was fitted in its place : then we turned a handle, and the stretcher was raised without any jolting and the other stretcher placed on the board on rails that slid inwards, and so, with no jolting, each sufferer was safely fixed. Inside were two or three folding chairs, and on these we put all the men with wounds that permitted them to sit down. There were three or four, and then there were places for two outside, and still there was one man left. The owner of the ambulance looked at me, but I shook my head and looked at the man who remained ; then the owner leapt aside, told the chauffeur to go on, and waited with me. There were lots of men here, ragged and unwashed heroes, but all cheery and brave and smiling. To them I was a strange being ; to me they were a new revelation. They took me inside and showed me the holes in the roof — in the walls, in the floors ; the bar, where broken glass and china lay scattered still ; the yard behind, where a dead pig raised a stench of protest to the sky. One lad went to where the shell had burst and brought me a piece of it, a long, thin, jagged bit of iron with cruel edges. He gave it me with a smile, and his fellows watched me and wondered.

" You are not afraid ? " one man asked, and seemed to wonder when I laughed.

" You are brave," said another ; but I laughed and shook my head vigorously.

" But you were really not frightened ? " a sergeant had to ask, and when I looked up at him and said, " Yes, I was really frightened, terribly frightened, for a little time," he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

Then the car came back, and we got the blesse inside ; I sat outside with the driver, and the owner sat beside us. We left the wounded in a hospital in Antwerp. After this we drove to the English headquarters, and there we found cars and cars, dozens of them, and soldiers and a few sailors. A staff officer looked surprised to meet me, but we got the directions we wanted and went on.

This time it was another lonely poste, empty houses by the roadside, and crowds of soldiers ; plenty of wounded, too, but most of them already bandaged. We filled the car and sent them in, and I waited for its return. This time the owner could not wait ; he had to go, and so I was left alone. The men were curious, but very courteous ; they all wanted to talk — to know if I was an officer, to ask if I had helped many wounded, to know why I left England and my home to come and help the Belgians.

One man picked me a bunch of flowers ; another took me to see the inside of a little cottage : the room was empty, tables and chairs thrown on the floor, a few little china ornaments, cheap and tawdry, still stood in a cupboard in a corner of the room, and there was a hole in the wall high up — a great gaping hole ....

Outside on the road men galloped past, or motor cars whizzed by, and heavy wagons trundled along. Artillery rolled past, the men all turning to salute the Englishwoman in khaki in their midst. The sun was setting, and far away the loud roar of guns cut the evening stillness. This was war ! Up the road slowly came two men on horseback — they stopped to ask the way ; they had a message for the British lines : behind them where a hedge jutted on to the road came a man in khaki afoot. My eyes brightened — one of our own men. I felt suddenly proud. The men round me pointed him out. I nodded ; they said to the two men on horseback, " Why not ask him ? " The two men replied in Flemish and rode off. He came slowly, very slowly. My pride at seeing him began to wane. He started every few steps, and looked fearfully behind him — he dragged along. I went to meet him ; my heart was burning. The men round me were watching him, and something within me resented it. He wore khaki — he was a British soldier.

I stopped and waited ; he had seen me. Every Belgian soldier saluted and smiled every time I met them. This man — in khaki like myself — did not salute ; he shambled up to me — hardly even stopped.

" Are you hurt ? " I asked.

" Where are you going ? "

" To " (naming the nearest English

trenches three kilometres away).

THE ROAD TO LIERRE n

" Are you tired ; wouldn't you rather ride or go in a car ? I'll ask a lift for you if you like ! "

" No ; I'm safer walking. I've been in with a message, and I'm going back."

" Do you know the way ? "

" Oh, I'll find it ! "

He refused a ride in a car. Two or three of. the men I had been talking to spoke to him, but he just stared at them and did not answer.

He was in no hurry to go on. He told me suddenly that he never wanted to ride in a car again. He had seen a Belgian officer driving a car, with a priest beside him, just a short time before ; then a shell burst, and the officer's head went into the road, and the car and the priest went on a few yards before the car swerved and came to a violent halt. He looked for sympathy. I returned his look coldly, for I was too new at the game to realise what nerve-strain those gallant fellows had to undergo. Many a time since have I regretted my hardness, my stupid lack of understanding, for the poor lad had been through hell !

" It was an awful sight," he muttered, still staring over his shoulder.

" It was ; I saw it," I said quietly.

He went on down the road, walking beside a Belgian on horseback — a good-natured fellow, who promised me he would show him the way. I wished the car would come ; I felt suddenly depressed. The cheery crowd of Belgian soldiers were too cheery. I resented it. I knew what they had gone through — weeks of weary warfare in the trenches, their country in danger, their homes ruined, their women and children murdered and tortured. And they smiled and talked and spoke with wonder of the courage, of the devotion, of the English ! And I saw that shambling figure in khaki, starting at every shadow, looking fearfully over its shoulder.

Chapter II Malines, Bucherout, And Vieux Dieu

One day I was out as usual. The car came for me at 9.30, and we went out to the collecting stations, loaded up, sent the men in, and I waited, doing dressings, for the car to return. One day we went to an old church in the centre of Malines ; the beautiful cathedral was desolate and shattered, the windows knocked out, parts of the wall fallen in. All round were houses and cottages battered and rent, empty rooms and broken furniture ; it was a sad sight. And out there in the convent church were sadder sights ! The sacristy was filled with packets of cottonwool and bandages, bottles of iodine, and a precious — very precious — bottle of chloroform. In here I went to find two men who had just been carried in : one we took off the stretcher and laid face downwards on a table ; he was shot through the buttocks, i 4 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE

and lay without murmuring. The other — poor fellow ! — was a big, strong man about five and thirty ; he was tenderly laid on a table, his feet and legs propped up with chairs, his shirt cut ofi as gently as possible. One arm huns? by a thread of flesh from the shoulder, and bled — always bled — though the tourniquet was as tight as possible ; the dark blood oozed through steadily and fell with a constant drip, drip. He was shot through the diaphragm, too, and, although I was not well acquainted with death then, even I could tell his days were numbered. His face, livid and twisted with pain, looked towards ns ; he cried in a strange voice and a strange tongue, for in those days I knew no Flemish. A surgeon was there, a tall, clever Englishman, and he injected saline. His quick, deft movements fascinated me — I longed to help. Once he looked me full in the eyes, and it seemed to me he wondered what I felt, and I think the pity in my eyes must have answered him. A nurse was there, an English nurse. She was crying as she held the man down, for he was struggling — and to me that, too, was strange ; and suddenly she ran away sobbing, so I slipped up

MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DJEU rs

and took her place. The surgeon glanced at me keenly and was apparently satisfied, and so, as the poor fellow struggled and twisted, we held him. I had one arm and side ; a priest held the other, and two Belgian women, in while overalls and caps with big red cr< on them, stroked his lace and bent over him, speaking to him soothingly in his mother tongue. He shouted and writhed, and at last his head fell back : then, with a mighty effort, he raised himself and opened his mouth to speak ; but only a stream of blood rushed forth, and a brave soul had gone to its God !

The chapel was empty as I knelt to whisper a prayer for the dead, and passed on into the Outer chapel, where, to my horror, I saw three English women in weird and wonderful costumes having tea, laughing and talking ; it was like a tourist party attending a funeral. Something of what I felt was, perhaps, shared by an English doctor. He looked at the women inside ; he took a long breath of fresh air and gasped out :

" My God, there's too much joy-riding about this to please me ! "

At that moment a stray shell landed in the courtyard, far away from us, but very near a sturdy little English chauffeur who had just entered ! However, it did no harm beyond churning a hole in the yard.

From there I went to a little barricade at a small village, Hofstade ; and here were Belgians who had that very morning at 3 a.m. driven the Germans out of the ruins they now held. (That night the Germans took it again — to hold it for good.) From a steep embankment one could see the woods where the Germans were in hiding, and see the country burning all round, for both Belgians and Germans were trying to burn all woods and any sort of " cover." It was a desolate scene. Here was a fine young priest with a brassard on his arm, and a haversack with " First Aid Dressings " on his shoulders ; he had been busy all that night and all that early morning succouring his brothers-in-arms spiritually and physically. He was a powerfully-built man, and I said to him, did he find it a very hard life ?

" Not hard enough," he replied, " if only I could kill too 1 "

He spoke with simple regret ; for he, too, had looked upon war and its horrors. He was the minister of the Lord Christ, and he burned to revenge the devilish deeds that had been perpetrated.

I wandered behind one cottage, and saw a strange heap ; the chauffeur looked at me and held his nose.

" It is not healthy to be here," he said ; but I did not answer, and he came to see why I looked with an awful horror in my face. The smell was enough to knock one down in ordinary times, but in those days, mentally and physically, I could endure tremendous strain. . . .

A gendarme followed and joined us, and we all stood with our eyes fixed on the charred and blackened body that lay there. I had never known a human skeleton would look so small when the flesh was gone round it. Then involuntarily we looked at the tiny cottage, of which the walls still stood ; and little tawdry gilt figures were on the shelves inside ; even a child's cradle lay there — broken, it is true.

The chauffeur showed me brass candlesticks he had looted. I looked at him in wonder ;

I could not think of such things then, with this little village of ruined cottages under my eyes. With him I made a tour of the other houses : everywhere hurried preparation for flight — beds with the blankets still thrown down ; china and glass scattered everywhere. One little cheap figure of a child I slipped into my pocket, wondering sadly if it had been some child's treasure. Then in one house the chauffeur hesitated — said I had better not come in ; his face was white and his lips shook. I looked past him ; and the colour left my cheeks too, and tears came to my eyes. A baby lav there. — a tiny waxen form with a cruel bayonet-thrust through its tender flesh. T looked all round. There was only a rough blanket, so I laid that over the little martyr, and into my heart swept a fury of black passion. I thought of the Germans I had known who had children, huge families of children, and had professed to love children ; and on that day I cursed Germany and all its people, and I cried to Heaven to avenge the blood of the innocent and defenceless. Cruel it had been to stand by whilst a strong man went out in agony, but crueller was it

MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 19 to think of this tender babe foully murdered,

to picture the mother perhaps ; but no ... . I rushed out in a panic ; I must have air — must get away from this accursed spot.

Round Antwerp were miles of barbed wire cunningly twisted into an impassable barrier ; moats filled with, deep water; earthworks, barricades ; it was a wonderful sight ; and little did we dream then how futile all these would prove.

One day, after forty-eight hours 1 rain, we dashed past a stretch of country close to the waterworks : the stench was terrible, thick and heavy, and too horrible for words ; the soft earth was wet and heavy, and disturbed. Others said they saw human limbs sticking upwards, protruding from the earth as if in appeal to Heaven. I did not look closely — J could not. I knew only that 300 corpses had been hastily covered with earth after a fight a week or two before.

One day we were at a line of trenches in an entirely opposite direction — towards Lierre ; there had been many wounded, and the little car had made many journeys. Loaded up inside and with one man between me and the chauffeur, we started homewards as the sun was setting. I was tired ; as usual, I had given my sandwiches to the men who needed them more than I, and suddenly I felt very hungry and feeble inside. Then to my amazement I saw sailors — English sailors — drawn up in a big group, and an English doctor in naval uniform barred our way. He was about as surprised as I was ! He held my hand and asked if we could load up one more Belgian who was complaining of bad pain in the side, and his hand lay on mine as he spoke. His face was tired, and his eyes had dark shadows under them ; and he was so pleased to see an English girl ! We made the Belgian sit where I had been, and I stood on the footboard, holding on with one hand to the roof of the car. On we sped, and the sky was flaming red, and suddenly our road lay clear and straight through long lines of English bluejackets and marines — miles of them — all marching forth with steady tramp and resolute, kindly faces. How my heart went out to them ; and how their ringing friendly cheers brought the blood to my face and a great joy to my heart ! No more hunger — only pride — as these lines of men — my men — went out gaily to fight for me and all the women of the Empire.

In the town that night I had to go to six hospitals before getting my load out of the car. That made me think as I went to sleep that night.

Next morning we started off again. This time we got to Bucherout, a small village ; and here were English naval doctors working against time, and an Irishwoman and her little four-seater just arrived to interpret for them. Orders for retreat were out, and all the wounded were being packed off as quickly as cars or carts passed within hail. I had only jumped out, when I had to dress a man with a bullet in his arm — I could feel the bullet. The wounded were lying everywhere — on the pavement, propped against the walls. My little car was quickly loaded and sent off : then came a naval ambulance from the front with a man shot to pieces on one stretcher ; a shattered thigh on the stretcher underneath ; a broken arm and a shrapnel in the head opposite. The doctor, the same whom I had met the night before, looked very weary ; he could only give morphia to the top man, and from there we went to an A.S.C. cart just arrived with six more. We had to unload them, as the cart had to go on for ammunition and go back. One man was very bad ; a dear old Scotchman carried another on his back to the doorway and set him down. I was raiding the empty houses for blankets, pillows, mattresses. Then the Irishwoman went off full speed with her car and chauffeur to get St. John's men and a motor 'bus. She shoved some sandwiches into my hand.

" Make the doctors eat something," she said, and I cornered one — asked him if he could spare two minutes inside the doorway. He looked at me with tired surprise — imagining, probably I was feeling faint ! — and acceded. He followed me inside and 1 slipped round and barred the doorway by standing against it.

" Eat that," I said firmly—" quick ! "—and, laughing, he did so when I assured him there were more for the other doctors. He had been working all night, and he couldn't remember having had anything to eat ; he thought he'd had a cup of coffee " somewhere about 6 o'clock " ! !

The motor 'bus arrived at length with twenty St. John's men — fine workers and skilful. We helped all those who could go upstairs, and many who were not fit to go on top ; one, a St. John's man and I carried up between us — no easy job on a 'bus stairs ! There was one very badly wounded man on the pavement. I begged the doctor to let him be, but he shook his head. " He may live some time," he said, " and we must get him out of the way." Shells were not far off and shrapnel everywhere near, so I suppose he was right, and I helped to arrange the poor fellow on the floor of the 'bus. I had a presentiment he was going, and I knelt by him till the 'bus was ready to start. He was struggling. A nice St. John's man who had been helping me was to accompany that load.

" I think he is beginning to die," I said ; " couldn't we put him out and let him go in peace ? "

The man bent over him.

" It looks like it," said he, " but we'd better take him."

Later on that same bearer came to me to tell me the man had died ten minutes after i he 'bus started. It seems a dreadful nightmare, the memory of these men tortured and suffering, British and Belgian ; but all that day there was so much to do I could not grasp the horror of it. One load came in with a Belgian boy, quite young, with a broken leg J he was shrieking with pain. The doctor put it in splints ; he wanted to give him morphia. I begged the boy to have morphia, but he refused violently, and so with piercing screams and racking sobs of agony we had to load him on to a motor 'bus and let him go ; his terror of morphia was greater than the agony he endured.