Part 3 (1/2)
Nursing in the typhoids was relieved by turns up to the trenches behind Dixmude, which we looked forward to tremendously, but as they were practically--with slight variations in the matter of sh.e.l.ling and bombardments--a repet.i.tion of my first experience, there is no object in recounting them here.
The typhoid doctor--”Scrubby,” by name; so called because of the inability of his chin to make up its mind if it would have a beard or not--was very amusing, without of course meaning to be. He liked to write the reports of the patients in the Sister's book himself, and was very proud of his English, and this is what occasionally appeared:
Patient No. 12. ”If the man sleep, let him sleep.”
Patient No. 13. ”To have red win (wine) in the spoonful.”
Patient No. 14. ”If the man have a temper (i.e. temperature) reduce him with the sponges.” And he was once heard to remark with reference to a flat tyre: ”That tube is contrary to the swelling state!”
So far, I have made no mention of the men orderlies, who I must say were absolute bricks. There was Pierre, an alert little Bruxellois, who was in a bank before the war and kept his widowed mother. He was in constant fear as to her safety, for she had been left in their little house and had no time to escape. He was well-educated and most interesting, and oh, so gentle with the men. Then there was Louis, Ziske, and Charlke, a big hefty Walloon who had been the butcher on a White Star liner before the war, all excellent workers.
About this time I went on night duty and liked it very much. One was much freer for one thing, and the sisters immediately became more human (especially when they relied on the pros. to cook the midnight supper!), and further there were no remarks or reflections about the defects of the ”untrained unit” who ”imagined they knew everything after four months of war.” (With reference to cooking, I might here mention that since the fish episode Mrs. Betton and I were on more than speaking terms!)[3]
There were several very bad cases in Salle II. One especially Sister feared would not pull through. I prayed he might live, but it was not to be. She was right--one night about 2 a.m. he became rapidly worse and perforation set in. The dreadful part was that he was so horribly conscious all the time. ”Miske,” he asked, ”think you that I shall see my wife and five children again?” Before I could reply, he continued, ”They were there _la bas_ in the little house so happy when I left them in 1914--My G.o.d,” and he became agitated. ”If it were not permitted that I return? Do you think I am going to die, Miske?” ”You must try and keep the patient from getting excited,” said the calm voice of the Sister, who did not speak French. He died about an hour later. It was terrible.
”Why must they go through so much suffering?” I wondered miserably. If they _are_ to die, why can't it happen at once?”
This was the first typhoid death I had actually witnessed. In the morning the sinister coffin cart flapped into the yard and bore him off to his last resting place. What, I wondered, happened to his wife and five children?
When I became more experienced I could tell if patients were going to recover or not; and how often in the latter case I prayed that it might be over quickly; but no, the fell disease had to take its course; and even the sisters said they had never seen such awful cases.
CHAPTER VII
THE ZEPPELIN RAID
Once while on night duty I got up to go to a concert in the town at the theatre in aid of the _Orphelins de la Guerre_. I must say when the Frenchman makes up his mind to have a charity concern he does it properly, and with any luck it begins at 2.30 and goes on till about 9 or possibly 10 p.m.
This was the first we had attended and they subsequently became quite a feature of the place. It was held on a Sunday, and the entire population turned out _colimente_ and _endimanche_ to a degree. The French and Belgian uniforms were extraordinarily smart, and the Belgian guides in their ta.s.selled caps, cheery breeches, and hunting-green tunics added colour to the scene.
The Mayor of the town opened the performance with a long speech, the purport of which I forget, but it lasted one hour and ten minutes, and then the performance began. There were several intervals during which the entire audience left the salle and perambulated along the wide corridors round the building to greet their friends, and drink champagne out of large flat gla.s.ses, served at fabulous prices by fair ladies of the town clad in smart muslin dresses. The French Governor-General, covered with stars and orders, was there in state with his aides-de-camp, and the Belgian General ditto, and everyone shook hands and talked at once. Heasy and I stood and watched the scene fascinated.
Tea seemed to be an unheard of beverage. Presently we espied an Englishman, very large and very tall, talking to a group of French people. I remark on the fact because in those days there were no English anywhere near us, and to see a staff car pa.s.sing through the town was quite an event. We were glad, as he was the only Englishman there, that our people had chosen the largest and tallest representative they could find. Presently he turned, and looked as surprised to see two khaki-clad English girls in solar topees (the pre-war F.A.N.Y. headgear), as I think we were to see him.
The intervals lasted for half an hour, and I came to the conclusion they were as much, if not more, part of the entertainment as the concert itself.
It was still going strong when we left at 7 p.m. to go on duty, and the faithful ”Flossie” (our Ford) bore us swiftly back to hospital and typhoids.
On the night of March 18th, 1915, we had our second Zeppelin raid, when the Hospital had a narrow escape. (The first one occurred on 23rd February, wiping out an entire family near the ”Shop-window.”) I was still on night duty and, crossing over to Typhoids with some dressings, noticed how velvety the sky looked, with not a star to be seen.
We always had two orderlies on at night, and at 12 o'clock one of them was supposed to go over to the kitchen and have his supper, and when he came back at 12.30 the other went. On this particular occasion they had both gone together. Sister had also gone over at 12 to supper, so I was left absolutely alone with the fifty patients.[4]
None of the men at that time were particularly bad, except No. 23, who was delirious and showed a marked inclination to try and get out of bed.
I had just tucked him in safely for the twentieth time when at 12.30 I heard the throb of an engine. Aeroplanes were always flying about all day, so I did not think much of it. I half fancied it might be Sidney Pickles, the airman, who had been to the Hospital several times and was keen on stunt flying. This throbbing sounded much louder though than any aeroplane, and hastily lowering what lights we had, with a final tuck to No. 23, I ran to the door to ascertain if there was cause for alarm. The noise was terrific and sounded like no engine I had ever heard in my life. I gazed into the purple darkness and felt sure that I must see the thing, it seemed actually over my head. The expanse of sky to be seen from the yard was not very great, but suddenly in the s.p.a.ce between the surgical side and the Cathedral I could just discern an inky shadow, whale-like in shape, with one small twinkling light like a wicked eye.
The machine was travelling pretty fast and fairly low down, and by its bulk I knew it to be a Zeppelin. I tore back into the ward where most of the men were awake, and found myself saying, ”_Ce n'est rien, ce n'est qu'un Zeppelin_” (”It's nothing--only a Zeppelin”), which on second thoughts I came to the conclusion was not as rea.s.suring as I meant it to be. By this time the others were on their way back across the yard, and I turned to give 23 another tuck up.
Such a long time elapsed before any firing occurred; it seemed to me when I first looked out into the yard I must be the only person who had heard the Zepp. What were the sentinels doing, I wondered? The explanation I heard later from a French gunnery lieutenant. The man who had the key to the ammunitions for the anti-aircraft guns was not at his post, and was subsequently discovered in a drunken sleep--probably the work of German spies--at all events he was shot at dawn the following day. In such manner does France deal with her sons who fail her. As soon as the Zepp. had pa.s.sed over, the firing burst forth in full vigour to die away presently. So far, apparently, no bombs had been dropped. I suggested to Pierre we should relight one or two lamps, as it was awkward stumbling about in complete darkness. ”_Non, non, Miske_, he will return,” he said with conviction. Apparently, though, all seemed quiet; and Sister suggested that after all the excitement, I should make my way across the yard to get some supper. Pierre came with me, and at that moment a dull explosion occurred. It was a bomb. The Zeppelin was still there. The guns again blazed away, the row was terrific. Star sh.e.l.ls were thrown up to try and locate the Zepp., and the sky was full of showering lights, blue, green, and pink. Four searchlights were playing, shrapnel was bursting, and a motor machine gun let off volleys from sheer excitement, the sharp tut-tut-tut adding to the general confusion. In the pauses the elusive Zepp. could be heard buzzing like some gigantic angry bee. I wouldn't have missed it for anything. It looked like a fireworks display, and the row was increasing each minute.
Every Frenchman in the neighbourhood let off his rifle with gusto.