Evie's War (29 page)

Back into the swing. I had quite forgotten the pace. I am in Fractures. Have written to Deans Park and Edmund.

Matron, Miss Willets, breezed through the mess. She appears a very competent individual.

Sister approved my efforts and I am permitted to work unsupervised on changing simple dressings. The man on whose dressing I was being tested winked at me after!

Fields of ripening wheat surround us; below runs the Somme River, from which the slopes gently rise in smooth-shouldered ridges. It is pretty countryside: copses dotted between the fields, church spires rising here and there above the low hills. It is astonishing how walking to the edge of the camp and breathing in the warmth and scents of summer can lift one's spirits from the suffering at one's back.

A great victory at Le Hamel; Australian and American troops supported by tanks. Cautious optimism that the tide may be on the turn.

One of the orderlies offered instruction regarding a patient who has two broken arms as well as wounds to the chest
and head: he says I must ensure the man has at least one cigarette an hour, which I must light and place in a holder between his teeth, then later remove it, as he can do none of it for himself. As well I must watch that the ash does not fall and burn a hole in the sheets!

Our great victory has brought a rush of admissions and my first American casualties; they are politeness itself.

Word has gone round that 1,000 men were killed or wounded at Hamel, and all in the hour and a half that the victory cost.

One of my young men is from the Tank Corps, and must constantly suffer the praise of the men around him. He does not appear to mind but says little in reply, being in considerable discomfort.

No. 2 is well settled, having been here for some time. All seems to run smoothly, and when it does not:
‘C'est la Guerre.'
Nurse Ashby (in Heads, which she does not care for) and I shared a few hours off and set out along the road towards town (receiving a number of toots from passing ambulances) until we located a track leading down to the river, and there a pretty avenue of trees that cast cool shade over the grassy banks. And with a sigh took off our boots and wriggled our toes in the sun!

Note from Edmund, dated a week ago: he is ‘somewhat south of his old stamping ground' and ‘currently keeping in one piece', though he says of his old Company there is scarcely a sign, all the faces being new.

Aeroplanes overhead; too high to see whether they were ours or theirs.

Being a Stationary Hospital rather than a CCS, our patients are with us a little longer before they are moved on (back to the Front or to a Convalescent Hospital, as required) so that the work is more like 1st Eastern than Lijssenthoek. Though of course the men reach us far more quickly, which is all to the good.

Three German prisoners brought in, all with serious fractures. They are co-operative but seldom smile. One has a little English and is invariably polite. Sister asked whether I felt comfortable nursing them, to which I replied that I could see no reason why we would not treat them as any other suffering man.

Woke to the sound of bombs, horribly near. The CO raced through our tents calling for us to get up and run for the shelters. Bleary-eyed and in various states of undress we complied, and sat in the dugout shivering as the Gothas
roared overhead. The raid lasted two hours. We did not get back to our beds until 2.30 and must be up and on duty at six. One or two have the wind up; it was very close.

The Railway Station has taken some damage, and bombs were dropped between No. 3 and the Chinese Labour Camp.

Matron gathered us together for a pep talk. One or two are considering packing it in.

Big guns at all hours: the Boche once again on the move — no doubt the rationale behind the air raids.

Busy few days, clearing where possible. What I wouldn't give for a full night's sleep! But the Gothas ensure there is little hope of that.

No. 38 CCS hit last night; the raid we heard going over in the small hours.

Three of us hitched a ride in an ambulance over to No. 38 to see the damage. It is very sobering. Got back before we were missed, though Sister later gave me a sideways look, which means she may have heard.

The Allies have launched a counter-attack along the Marne. Though it can only mean more dead and wounded, I am glad the Boche are not having it all their own way. Surely there is a better way of resolving our disputes?

I am labelled a ‘Hun sympathiser' for defending the right of wounded German prisoners to care equal that we give our own boys. Sister overheard and delivered a dressingdown to my accuser.

One of my Australian boys died; not clear why as he had seemed to be making headway. He was only nineteen and had been in the War two years. Sister has given me permission to attend his funeral tomorrow.

A fat packet of letters! I had almost given up hope. Two from Deans Park — Mother and Millie — one from Mr Lindsay (who I must call Arthur), and one from Winifred. All are well and worried: lest I should be blown up (Mother), lonely (Millie), too much in the thick of it (AL), or worn down (Winifred). None has received more than the postcards I sent on arrival in France, despite my having written any number of letters.

Having a half day, several of us caught a lift into town, some for the shops, Mary-Lee and I to see the sights. We
began with Saint-Vulfran's Cathedral — very impressive though a little frayed by shell damage — and met the local Priest who insisted, in a pastiche of French and English, that we must return tomorrow for Communion. As we wandered back up the main street, eyes fixed on the pretty (and occasionally battered) old buildings, I heard my name called and turned to find Sister Duncan hurrying out of a café! She had seen me walk past. She is in Abbeville for eight weeks completing a course in anaesthetics. As she was midway through lunch we joined her and ordered omelettes and coffee and wine, and Mary-Lee offered me a cigarette, which I took, feeling very French. However, I did not care for the taste, so that is the end of that. Sister D has moved twice since Flanders, CCSs both times, and had a week at Marseilles during the winter, which she reports as atrociously cold. She seems quite nervy, though perhaps that is just the way we all are. I had forgotten her lovely dry sense of humour. We have arranged to meet again. She is based at No. 5 BRC Annexe, of which she says it is a great pleasure to be out of tents.

Unable to take up the Good Priest's invitation as we are once again inundated.

On fracture dressings: the men invariably stoic, even when I am ham-fisted with fatigue.

Feet rather swollen. How I long for Winifred's shoes, which were a size too big — very useful!

Overflow from Heads has spilled into our ward, including one young man who is considered nothing short of miraculous: minimal facial disfigurement despite a bullet having passed straight through his jaw, fracturing but not displacing the bone on entry and exit.

Soissons has changed hands for the fourth time. One wonders what could possibly be left. Our Armies are like lumbering and decrepit old dogs fighting over a bone, gnawing until all the meat is gone and even the bone itself damaged beyond recognition or repair.

Leave to go into town to attend a Service at the Cathedral. Understood less than every third word but rather lovely nonetheless. The townspeople heartfelt in their devotions. Several old women approached me after and pressed my hands between their own.

I called on Kate Duncan after the Service. She had only an hour but took me to their mess and gave me cocoa, after which I had to run to get my ride back to the camp, and missed it anyway, but the next ambulance passing picked me up.

Thunderstorm after a long period of dry; inevitable leaks. Spent the morning rushing about with buckets and mop then, at end of my shift, found a similar problem in our tent. All bedding now strung over the fence and keeping a watchful eye as the sky still looks rather ominous.

Letter from Edmund dated 2nd August. He writes of marching along a tree-lined road in dappled sunshine; also of creeping through woods in the pitch dark searching for German outposts, which ‘one hopes to locate without giving away one's presence' — he describes the patrols as being like our childhood games of Hunt and Catch ‘but with higher stakes'. I asked one of my Australians whether he knew the current location of the New Zealanders but he only shook his head. Another answered that they have been fighting beside Canadians and Tommies over the last few weeks but that he'd have the New Zealanders any day.

We have an Airman newly in, badly busted up; his aeroplane ‘shot to bits' while he was on reconnaissance over German lines. He managed to get back to our side before ‘putting her down rather hard', from which he counts himself lucky to have survived, and also grateful to have avoided incineration, having seen several fellow pilots go that way.

Cleared out a trainload for Boulogne and on to England. They were pleased to be going, though the journey must prove a challenge. Most will be out of it for months, if not permanently.

British Fourth Army (including Australian Divisions) has broken the German line near Amiens. Fighting very heavy.

A German aircraft was brought down in flames very near No. 34. The pilot did not survive. According to one of the drivers, little of the wreck remains to be scavenged.

Went to Vespers with Kate and two others. Beautiful Service, sung in Latin. The Priest has a splendid rich baritone, the tired and worn old congregation lifting their voices in answering chorus. Kate says Amiens Cathedral is the most beautiful she has seen, vast but perfectly proportioned with elaborate carvings in wood and stone, currently sandbagged to the roof. She says it has so far been spared by the expedient of parading captured German Officers in and out whenever the Taubes fly overhead, so that the message gets back that German Officers are imprisoned within. With the battle so near, the city will no doubt be pounded by the German guns, which allow no such precision. I share her concern that so much beauty may be lost, though must wonder whether bricks and mortar can ever be of greater value than the lives of the men given to defend them.

More raids, during which walls shake, equipment falls from shelves, the wounded cry out, and the whine and whumph of falling bombs drowns all. We do our best not to let our nerves show in front of the men, but cowering in one's bed at night it is an altogether different story!

Paid a visit to No. 34 (next door to 38). Nurses' accommodation rather better than ours — bell tents rather than
our Armstrongs, well dug in and sandbagged, with short ladders down at the entrance. I would still rather be in a dugout in the event of a raid.

Asked whether I would like to join the Ladies' Hockey Team, which invitation I declined, having been quite hopeless at School.

One VAD has been killed and three more and a Sister wounded in Boulogne. There is simply no excuse for bombing Hospitals.

Lovely long letter from AL, who writes of the gentle prettiness of the English summer, and the mismatched amalgam of his fellows. His handwriting is still rather challenging but his wit no less sharp.

Concert party in town, put on by No.
5
. Much
‘C'est la Guerre'
and hilarity; I should say it a tonic well overdue. Went for a meal with Kate afterwards. She has been out more than four years and back to England only once, which explains why she is nervy — not in a frivolous way, as with some; more as if she is pared back to the absolute basics. She has another month on the course then a further month's trial ‘to confirm her aptitude'. As she has been administering anaesthetics for over a year that should present no difficulties — but of course means she
will have a certificate. She agreed with my view that it is a special pleasure to nurse our own New Zealand boys, but said I probably have more to do with them than she does, working in Theatre. Also that she dreads seeing her brother brought in ‘unless it is not too bad, in which case it would at least get him out of the fighting for a bit'. One of her brothers has been here a year and another is on his way over, having ignored her advice not to come: ‘They all think it a grand adventure then, when they get here and learn what it is really like, it is too late.'

Chaplain gave a brief but uplifting Service in the ward for those men unable to move, which is most of ours.

It really is the most glorious summer; almost too hot. Sides of the tents rolled up to give the men some relief. My lot were much entertained to see several nurses coming back from a dip; I wonder whether they were aware of the show they put on!

Work is quite routine compared to Flanders; I suspect because we are further from the Front line. Not that it stops Fritz from flying over to deliver reminders of his beastliness.

Wards reorganised to accommodate increase in medicals. Sister says it is mainly influenza, and rather worse than the strain which went around earlier in the year.

The Allies are again on the offensive. Sister read excerpts from the newspaper, thinking to revive the men's spirits, to little response. They are worn through.