Diary of a Nursing Sister on the Western Front Part 4

6 A.M.--At Sable at 4 A.M. we were turned out for two hours; a wee open station. Mr ---- and our Civil Surgeon were most awfully decent to us: turned a sleepy official out of a room for us, and at 5 came and dug us out to have coffee and _brioches_ with them. Then we went for a sunrise walk round the village, and were finally dragged into their carriage, as they thought it was more comfortable than ours. Just pa.s.sed a big French ambulance train full from Compiegne.

At Le Mans the train broke up again, and everybody got out. We motor-ambulanced up to the Hospital with the three night Sisters coming off station duty. Matron wanted us to go to bed for the day; but we asked to come on after lunch, as they were busy and we weren't overtired. I'm realising to-night that I have been on the train four nights out of six, and bed is bliss at this moment.

I was sent to No.-- Stationary at the Jesuits' College to take over the officers at one o'clock.

One was an angelic gunner boy with a septic leg and an undaunted smile, except when I dressed his leg and he said "Oh, d.a.m.n!" The other bad one was wounded in the shoulder. They kept me busy till Sister ---- came back, and then I went to my beloved Cathedral (and vergered some Highland Tommies round it, they had fits of awe and joy over it, and grieved over "Reems"). It is awfully hard to make these sick officers comfortable, with no sheets or pillow-cases, no air ring-cushions, p.r.i.c.ky shirts, thick cups without saucers, &c. One longs for the medical comforts of ----

I hear to-night that Miss ----, the Princ.i.p.al Matron on the Lines of Communication (on the War Establishment Staff) is here again, and may have a new destination for some of us details.

The heading in 'Le Matin' to-night is:--

UNE LUTTE ACHARNeE DE LA SOMME A LA MEUSE LA BATAILLE REDOUBLE DE VIOLENCE

If it redoubles _de violence_ much longer who will be left?

_Sunday, September 27th._--My luck is in this time. Miss ---- has just sent for me to tell me I am for permanent duty on No.-- Ambulance Train (equipped) which goes up to the Front, to the nearest point on the rail to the fighting line. Did you ever know such luck? There are four of us, one Army Sister and me and two juniors; we live altogether on the train.

The train will always be pushed up as near the Field Hospitals as the line gets to, whether we drive the Germans back to Berlin or they drive us into the sea. It is now going to Braisne, a little east of Soissons, just S. of the Aisne, N.E. of Rheims. It is on its way up now, and we are to join it with our baggage when it stops here on the way to St Nazaire. We shall have two days and two nights with wounded, and two days and two nights to rest on the return empty. The work itself will be of the grimmest possible, as we shall have all the worst cases, being an equipped Hospital in a train. It was worth waiting five weeks to get this; every man or woman stuck at the Base has dreams of getting to the Front, but only one in a hundred gets the dream fulfilled.

There is no doubt that "the horrors of War" have outdone themselves by this modern perfection of machinery killing, and the numbers involved, as they have never done before, and as it was known they would. The details are often unprintable. They have eight cases of teta.n.u.s at No.-- Stationary, and five have died.

All the patients at No.-- have been inoculated against teta.n.u.s to-day.

They have it in the French Hospitals too.

Went to the Voluntary Evening Service for the troops at the theatre at 5. The Padres and a Union Jack and the Allies' Flags; and a piano on the stage; officers and sisters in the stalls; and the rest packed tight with men: they were very reverent, and nearly took the roof off in the Hymns, Creed, and Lord's Prayer. Excellent sermon. We had the War Intercessions and a good prayer I didn't know, ending with "Strengthen us in life, and comfort us in death." The men looked what they were, British to the bone; no one could take them for any other nation a mile off. Clean, straight, thin, sunburnt, clear-eyed, all at their Active Service best, no pallid rolls of fat on their faces like the French. The man who preached must have liked talking to them in that pin-dropped silence and attention; he evidently knows his opportunities.

_Monday, September 28th._--There are hundreds of people in deep new black in this town; what must it be in Berlin? The cemetery here is getting full of French and British soldiers' graves. Those 1200 sailors from the three cruisers had fine clean quick deaths compared to what happens here.

We have got our baggage (kit-bags and holdalls) down to the station at the Red Cross Anglaise, and are sitting in our quarters waiting for the word to come that No.-- train is in. Met Miss ---- in her car in the town, and she said that it was just possible that the train might go down to Havre this journey, she wasn't dead sure it was doing this route! If so we shall be nicely and completely sold, as I don't know how we should ever join it. But I'm not going to believe in such bad luck as that would be till it happens.

_Tuesday, September 29th._--We _were_ sold last night after all. Trailed down to the station to await the train according to orders, and were then told by the A.D.M.S. that it had gone to Havre this journey, and couldn't be on this line till next week, and we could go to bed. So after all the embraces of Mme. and f.a.n.n.y and Isabel, I turned up at 10.30 to ask for a bed. "Ma pauvre demoiselle," said fat F., hastening to let me in.

This morning Miss ---- came down with us to the A.D.M.S.'s Office to find out how we could join the train, and he said: "Wait till it comes in next week, and meanwhile go on duty at the Hospital." I don't mind anything as long as we do eventually get on to the train, and we are to do that, so one must possess one's soul in patience. I am back with the sick officers at No.-- Stationary.

There are rumours to-night of bad news from the front, and that the German Navy is emerging from Kiel.

_Wednesday, September 30th._--Have been doing the sick officers all day (or rather wounded). They are quite nice, but the lack of equipment makes twice the work. We are still having bright sunny days, but it is getting cold, and I shall be glad of warmer clothes. The food at the still filthy Inn in a dark outhouse through the back yard has improved a little! My Madame (in my billet) gives me coffee and bread and b.u.t.ter (of the best) at 7, and there is a ration tin of jam, and I have acquired a pot of honey.

_On duty at_ 7.30 A.M.--At 12 or 1 we go to the Inn for _dejener_: meat of some sort, one vegetable, bread, b.u.t.ter, and cheese, and pears. Tea we provide ourselves when we can.

At 7 or 8 we go to the Inn and have _potage_ (which is warm water with a few stray onions or carrots in it), and tough cold meat, and sometimes a piece of pastry (for pudding), bread, b.u.t.ter, and cheese, and a very small cup of coffee, and little, rather hard pears. I am very well on it now since they changed the bread, though pretty tired.

_Thursday, October 1st._--The sky in Mid France on October 1st is of a blue that outblues the bluest that June or any other month can do in l'Angleterre. It is cold in the early mornings and evenings, dazzling all day, and shining moon by night.

The H.A.C. are all over the town: they do orderly duty at Headquarters and all the Offices; they seem to be gentlemen in Tommy's kit; fine big lot they are. Taking it all round, the Regular British Army on Active Service--from h.o.a.ry, beribboned Generals, decorated Staff Officers of all ranks, other officers, and N.C.O.'s down to the humblest Tommy--is the politest and best-mannered thing I have ever met, with few exceptions. Wherever you are, or go, or have to wait, they come and ask if they can do anything for you, generally with an engaging smile seize your hand-baggage, offer you chairs and see you through generally. And the men and N.C.O.'s are just the same, and always awfully grateful if you can help them out with the language in any way.

This was a conversation I heard in my ward to-day. Brother of Captain ---- (wounded) visits the amputation man, and, by way of cheering him up, sits down, gazes at his ugly bandaged stump on a pillow, and says--

"That must be the devil."

"Yes, it is," says the leg man.

"h.e.l.l," says the other, and then they both seemed to feel better and began to talk of something else.

We had a funeral of an Orderly and a German from No.-- Sta. (both teta.n.u.s). On grey transport waggons with big black horses, wreaths from the Orderlies, carried by a big R.A.M.C. escort (which, of course, escorted the German too), with Officers and Padre and two Sisters.

_Friday, October 2nd._--They continue to die every day and night at both Hospitals, though we are taking few new cases in now.

I am frightfully attached to Le Mans as a place. The town is old and curly, and full of lovely corners and "Places," and views and Avenues and Gardens. The Cathedral grows more and more upon one; I have several special spots where you get the most exquisite poems of colour and stone, where I go and browse; it is very quiet and beautifully kept.

No.-- Sta. is also set in a jewel of a spot. A Jesuits' College, full of cloisters covered with vines, and lawns with silver statues, shady avenues and sunny gardens, long corridors and big halls which are the wards; the cook-house is a camp under a splendid row of big chestnut trees, and there is of course a chapel.

Our occupation of it is rather incongruous; there is practically no furniture except the boys' beds, some chairs, many crucifixes and statues, terribly primitive sanitary arrangements and water supply. We have to boil our instruments and make their tea in the same one saucepan in the Officers' Ward; you do without dusters, dishcloths, soap-dishes, pillow-cases, and many other necessities in peace time.

My little Train-Junior has been taken off that job and is to rejoin her unit, so I settled down to a prospect of the same fate (No.-- G.H. is at Havre again! and has still not yet done any work! so you see what I've been rescued from). I met Miss ---- to-night and asked her, and she says I _am_ going on the train when it comes in, so I breathe again.

_Tuesday, October 6th._--I am now dividing my time between the top floor of Tommies and five Germans and the Officers' Ward, where I relieve S.

---- for meals and off duty. There are some bad dressings in the top ward. The five Germans are quiet, fat, and amenable, glad to exchange a few remarks in their own language. I haven't had time to try and talk to them, but will if I can; two of them are very badly wounded. Some of the medical Tommies make the most of very small ailments, but the surgicals are wonderful boys.

_Wednesday, October 7th._--I have been down to the station this evening; heard that St Nazaire is being given up as a base, which means that no more ambulance trains will come through.

The five Germans in my ward told me this morning that only the Reichstag and the Kaiser wanted the War; that Russia began it, so Deutschland _mussen_; that Deutschland couldn't win against Russia, France, England, Belgium, and j.a.pan; and that there were no more men in Germany to replace the killed. They smiled peacefully at the prospect and said it was _ganz gut_ to be going to England. They have fat, pink, ruminating, innocent, fair faces, and are very obedient. I made one of them scrub the floor, as the Orderly had a bad arm from inoculation, and he seemed to enjoy it. Only one is married.

_Thursday, October 8th._--There was a very picturesque and rather touching scene at No.-- this afternoon. They had a concert in the open quadrangle, with vined cloisters on all four sides, and holy statues and crucifixes about. In the middle were the audience--rows of stretchers with contented Tommies smoking and enjoying it (some up in their grey-blue pyjamas), and many Orderlies, some Sisters and M.O.'s and French priests; the piano on a platform at one end.

_Friday, October 9th._--My compound fractured femur man told me how he stopped his bullet. Some wounded Germans held up the white flag and he went to them to help them. When he was within seven yards, the man he was going to help shot him in the thigh. A Coldstream Guardsman with him then split the German's head open with the b.u.t.t-end of his rifle.

The wounded Tommy was eventually taken to the chateau of the "lidy what killed the Editor somewhere in this country."

_Sat.u.r.day, October 10th._--"Orders by Lt.-Col. ----, R.A.M.C., A.D.M.S., Advanced Base Headquarters, October 10th, 1914. Sister ---- will proceed to Villeneuve Triage to-day, and on arrival will report to Major ----, R.A.M.C, for duty on Ambulance Trains."

So it's come at last, and I have handed over my officers, and am now installed by the R.T.O. in a 1st cla.s.s carriage to myself with all my kit, and my lovely coat and m.u.f.fler, and rug and cushion, after a pleasant dinner of tea, cheese, and ration biscuits in the Red Cross Dressing Room, with a kind Army Sister.

The R.T.O. this time has given me (instead of 12 A.S.C. men) a highly important envelope marked Very Urgent, to give to the Director of Supplies, Villeneuve, whoever he is.

Change at Versailles in about six hours, so I may as well try and get some sleep.

I was really sorry to say good-bye to my kind old Madame Bontevin, 22 Rue de la Motte, and fat f.a.n.n.y, and charming Isabel, and my nice little room--(a heavenly bed!)--and ducky little gay garden, where I've lived for the last month; and my beloved Cathedral, and lots of the Sisters I have got to know.