Part 18 (2/2)

A friend had a periscope made for me, a most ingenious affair, through which I was able to see people walking on the sands, and above all horses being taken out for exercise in the mornings.

The first W.A.A.C.s came out to France about this time, and I watched them with interest through my periscope. I heard that a sand-bagged dug-out had also been made for us in camp, and tin hats handed out; a wise precaution in view of the bricks and shrapnel that rattled about when we went out during air raids. I never saw the dug-out of course. We had a mild air-raid one night, but no damage was done.

My faithful friends kept me well posted with all the news, and I often wonder on looking back if it had not been for them how ever I could have borne life. The leg still jumped when I least expected it, and of course I was never out of actual pain for a minute.

One day, it was June then, the dressings were done at least an hour earlier than usual, and the Colonel came in full of importance and ordered the other two beds to be taken out of the ward. The Sister could get nothing out of him for a long time. All he would say was that the French Governor-General was going to give me the freedom of the city! She knew he was only ragging and got slightly exasperated. At last, as a great secret, he whispered to me that I was going to be decorated with the French _Croix de Guerre_ and silver star. I was dumbfounded for some minutes, and then concluded it was another joke and paid no more attention. But the room was being rapidly cleared and I was more and more puzzled. He arranged the vases of flowers where he thought they showed to the best advantage, and seemed altogether in extremely good form.

At last he became serious and a.s.sured us that what he had said was perfectly true. The mere thought of such an event happening made me feel quite sick and faint, it was so overwhelming.

The Colonel offered to bet me a box of chocolates the General would embrace me, as is the custom in France on these occasions, and the suggestion only added to my fright!

About 11 o'clock as he had said, General Ditte, the governor of the town, was announced, and in he marched, followed by his two aides-de-camp in full regalia, the English Base Commandant and Staff Captain, the Colonel of the hospital, the Belgian General and his two aides-de-camp, as well as some French naval officers and attaches. Boss, Eva, and the Sister were the only women present. The little room seemed full to overflowing, and I wondered if at the supreme moment I would faint or weep or be sick, or do something similarly foolish. The General himself was so moved, however, while he read the ”citation,” and so were all the rest, that that fact alone seemed to lend me courage. He turned half way through to one of the aides-de-camp, who fumbled about (like the best man at a wedding for the ring!) and finally, from his last pocket, produced the little green case containing the _Croix de Guerre_.

The supreme moment had arrived. The General's fingers trembled as he lifted the medal from its case and walked forward to pin it on me.

Instead of wearing the usual ”helpless” s.h.i.+rt, I had been put into some of the afore-mentioned Paris frillies for the great occasion, and suddenly I saw two long skewer-like p.r.o.ngs, like foreign medals always have, bearing slowly down upon me! ”Heavens,” I thought, ”I shall be harpooned for a certainty!” Obviously the rest of the room thought so too, and they all waited expectantly. It was a tense moment--something had to be done and done quickly. An inspiration came to me. Just in the nick of time I seized an unembroidered bit firmly between the finger and thumb of both hands and held it a safe distance from me for the medal to be fixed; the situation was saved. A sigh of relief (or was it disappointment?) went up as the General returned to finish the citation, and contrary to expectation he had not kissed me! He confided to someone later I looked so white he was afraid I might faint. (It was a pity about that box of chocolates, I felt!)

Two large tears rolled down his cheeks as he finished, and then came forward to shake hands; after that they all followed suit and I held on to the bed with the other, for in the fullness of their hearts they gave a jolly good shake!

I was tremendously proud of my medal--a plain cross of bronze, with crossed swords behind, made from captured enemy guns, with the silver star glittering on the green and red ribbon above. It all seemed like a dream, I could not imagine it really belonged to me.

I was at the Casino nearly two months before I was sent to England in a hospital s.h.i.+p. It was a very sad day for me when I had to say goodbye to my many friends. Johnson and Marshall, the two mechanics, came up the day before to bid goodbye, the former bringing a wonderful paper knife that he had been engaged in making for weeks past. A F.A.N.Y b.u.t.ton was at the end of the handle, and the blade and rivets were composed of English, French, and Boche sh.e.l.ls, and last, but by no means least, he had ”sweated” on a ring from one of Susan's plugs! That pleased me more than anything else could have done, and I treasure that paper knife among my choicest souvenirs. Nearly all the F.A.N.Y.s came down the night before I left, and I felt I'd have given all I possessed to stay with them, in spite of the hard work and discomfort, so aptly described in a parody of one of Rudyard Kipling's poems:

THE F.A.N.Y.

I wish my mother could see me now with a grease-gun under my car, Filling my differential, ere I start for the camp afar, Atop of a sheet of frozen iron, in cold that'd make you cry.

”Why do we do it?” you ask. ”Why? We're the F.A.N.Y.”

I used to be in Society--once; Danced, hunted, and flirted--once; Had white hands and complexion--once: Now I'm an F.A.N.Y.

That is what we are known as, that is what you must call, If you want ”Officers' Luggage,” ”Sisters,” ”Patients” an' all, ”Details for Burial Duty,” ”Hospital Stores” or ”Supply,”

Ring up the ambulance convoy, ”Turn out the F.A.N.Y.”

They used to say we were idling--once; Joy-riding round the battle-field--once; Wasting petrol and carbide--once: Now we're the F.A.N.Y.

That is what we are known as; we are the children to blame, For begging the loan of a spare wheel, and fitting a car to the same; We don't even look at a workshop, but the Sergeant comes up with a sigh: ”It's no use denyin' 'em _nothin_'!

Give it the F.A.N.Y.”

We used to fancy an air raid--once; Called it a bit of excitement--once; Prided ourselves on our tin-hats once: Now we're the F.A.N.Y.

That is what we are known as; we are the girls who have been Over three years at the business; felt it, smelt it and seen.

Remarkably quick to the dug-out now, when the Archies rake the sky; Till they want to collect the wounded, then it's ”Out with the F.A.N.Y.”

”Crank! crank! you Fannies; Stand to your 'buses again; s.n.a.t.c.h up the stretchers and blankets, Down to the barge through the rain.”

Up go the 'planes in the dawning; 'Phone up the cars to ”Stand by.”

There's many a job with the wounded: ”Forward, the F.A.N.Y.”

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