Part 11 (2/2)

seemed positively to take a human interest in the impromptu race, all the more so as it was forbidden. The return journey was by a different route from that taken by the laden ambulances so that there was no danger of a collision.

We usually had about three journeys with wounded; twelve stretcher cases in all, so that, say the train came in at nine and giving an hour to each journey there and back, it meant (not counting loading and unloading) roughly 1 o'clock a.m. or later before we had finished. Then there were usually the sitting cases to be taken off and the stretcher bearers to be driven back to their camp. Half of one head light only was allowed to be shown; and the impression I always had when I came in was that my eyes had popped right out of my head and were on bits of elastic. A most extraordinary sensation, due to the terrible strain of trying to see in the darkness just a little further than one really could. It was the irony of fate to learn, when we did come in, that an early evacuation had been telephoned through for 5 a.m. I often spent the whole night dreaming I was driving wounded and had given them the most awful b.u.mp. The horror of it woke me up, only to find that my bed had slipped off one of the petrol boxes and was see-sawing in mid-air!

THE RED CROSS CARS

”They are bringing them back who went forth so bravely.

Grey, ghostlike cars down the long white road Come gliding, each with its cross of scarlet On canvas hood, and its heavy load Of human sheaves from the crimson harvest That greed and falsehood and hatred sowed.

”Maimed and blinded and torn and shattered, Yet with hardly a groan or a cry From lips as white as the linen bandage; Though a stifled prayer 'G.o.d let me die,'

Is wrung, maybe, from a soul in torment As the car with the blood-red cross goes by.

”Oh, Red Cross car! What a world of anguish On noiseless wheels you bear night and day.

Each one that comes from the field of slaughter Is a moving Calvary, painted grey.

And over the water, at home in England 'Let's play at soldiers,' the children say.”

Anon.

CHAPTER XIII

CONVOY LIFE

The Prince of Wales was with the Grenadiers at Beau Marais when they came in to rest for a time. One day, while having tea at the Sauvage, Mademoiselle Leonie, sister of the proprietor, came up to me in a perfect flutter of excitement to say that that very evening the Prince had ordered the large room to be prepared for a dinner he was giving to his brother officers.

I was rather a favourite of hers, and she a.s.sured me if I wished to watch him arriving it would give her great pleasure to hide me in her paying-desk place where I could see everything clearly. She was quite hurt when I refused the invitation.

He was tremendously popular with the French people; and the next time I saw her she rushed up to me and said: ”How your Prince is beautiful, Mees; what spirit, what fire! Believe me, they broke every gla.s.s they used at that dinner, and then the Prince demanded of me the bill and paid for everything.” (Some lad!) ”He also wrote his name in my autograph book,” she added proudly. ”Oh he is _chic_, that one there, I tell you!”

One warm summer day Gutsie and I were sitting on a gra.s.sy knoll, just beyond our camp overlooking the sea (well within earshot of the summoning whistle), watching a specially large merchant s.h.i.+p come in.

Except for the distant booming of the guns (that had now become such a background to existence we never noticed it till it stopped), an atmosphere of peace and drowsiness reigned over everything. The s.h.i.+p was just nearing the jetty preparatory to entering the harbour when a dull reverberating roar broke the summer stillness, the banks we were on fairly shook, and there before our eyes, out of the sea, rose a dense black cloud of smoke 50 feet high that totally obscured the s.h.i.+p from sight for a moment. When the black fumes sank down, there, where a whole vessel had been a moment before, was only half a s.h.i.+p! We rubbed our eyes incredulously. It had all happened so suddenly it might have taken place on a Cinema. She had, of course, struck a German mine, and quick as lightning two long, lithe, grey bodies (French destroyers) shot out from the port and took off what survivors were left. Contrary to expectation she did not sink, but settled down, and remained afloat till she was towed in later in the day.

A ”Y.M.C.A.” article on ”Women's work in France,” that appeared in a Magazine at home, was sent out to one of the girls. The paragraph relating to us ran:--

”Then there are the 'F.A.N.N.I.E.S.,' the dear mud-besplas.h.i.+ng F.A.N.Y.s. (to judge from the language of the sometime bespattered, the adjective was not always 'dear'), with them cheeriness is almost a cult; at 6 a.m. in the morning you may always be sure of a smile, even when their sleep for the week has only averaged five hours per night.”

There were not many parties at Filbert during that summer. Off-time was such an uncertain quant.i.ty. We managed to put in several though, likewise some gallops on the glorious sands stretching for miles along the coast. (It was hardly safe to call at the Convoy on your favourite charger. When you came out from tea it was more than probable you found him in a most unaccountable lather!) Bathing during the daytime was also a rare event, so we went down in an ambulance after dark, macks covering our bathing dresses, and scampered over the sands in the moonlight to the warm waves s.h.i.+ning and glistening with phosphorus.

Zeppelin raids seemed to go out of fas.h.i.+on, but Gothas replaced them with pretty considerable success. As we had a French Archie battery near us it was no uncommon thing, when a raid was in progress, for our souvenirs and plates, etc., to rattle off the walls and bomb us (more or less gently) awake!

There was a stretch of asphalt just at the bottom of our camp that had been begun by an enterprising burgher as a tennis club before the war, though others _did_ say it was really intended as a secret German gun emplacement. It did not matter much to us for which purpose it had been made, for, as it was near, we could play tennis and still be within call. There was just room for two courts, and many a good game we enjoyed there, especially after an early evacuation, in the long empty pause till ”brekker” at eight o'clock.

”Wuzzy,” or to give him his proper name, ”Gerald,” came into existence about this time. He arrived from Peuplinghe a fat fluffy puppy covered with silky grey curls. He was of nondescript breed, with a distinct leaning towards an old English sheep dog. He had enormous fawn-coloured silky paws, and was so soft and floppy he seemed as if he had hardly a bone in his body. We used to pick him up and drop him gently in the gra.s.s to watch him go out flat like a tortoise. He belonged to Lean, and grew up a rather irresponsible creature with long legs and a lovable disposition. He adored coming down to the ambulance trains or sitting importantly on a car, jeering and barking at his low French friends in the road, on the ”I'm the king of the castle” principle. Another of his favourite tricks was to rush after a car (usually selecting Lean's), and keep with it the whole time, never swerving to another, which was rather clever considering they were so much alike. On the way back to Camp he had a special game he played on the French children playing in the _Pet.i.t Courgain_. He would rush up as if he were going to fly at them.

They would scream and fall over in terror while he positively laughed at them over his shoulder as he cantered off to try it on somewhere else.

The camp was divided in its opinion of Wuzzy, or rather I should say quartered--viz.--one quarter saw his points and the other three-quarters decidedly did not!

A priceless article appeared in one of the leading dailies ent.i.tled, ”Women Motor Drivers.--Is it a suitable occupation?” and was cut out by anxious parents and forwarded with speed to the Convoy.

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