The War Nurse

by Tracey Enerson Wood

  “First, we must go to the bakery and coffee shop,” I said. “If my favorite shopkeepers find out I came and didn’t drop by, they’ll be upset.”

  After having a treat and buying some to take back for the nurses, we wandered the narrow streets, which were paved with gray cobblestones mixed with red stone and brick. The nail heads on the soles of our boots made a distinctive tapping sound on the cobblestones, which frequently turned heads. We then got strange looks from the French, as they no doubt expected to see soldiers. Between the various hospitals and a supply depot, the city had had a large military population for several years now. I’m sure Dorothy and I presented another puzzle for them, as we towered over the petite mesdames. But they all smiled and nodded at us before huddling off, chattering and sniggering.

  Dorothy, always a good sport, offered a group of children a closer look at her boots. How I wished I had a camera to capture the moment!

  We found the supply store and ordered the stoves we needed. The buildings in that area were made mostly of limestone blocks. Many had ornate carvings around the windows. There were also many, seemingly the oldest ones, that were of the half-timbered style. Dormer windows popped out of the mansard roofs. Coal smoke puffed out of the brick chimneys, although it was a fairly mild day.

  One stop we had to make was the cathedral. I had seen it from the road, but this was my first chance to go inside. I had no head covering with me, aside from my rain hat, and I hoped it would not offend. Upon entering, the soaring Gothic arches immediately lifted the spirits. The panels of stained glass were so detailed, it was apparent that each was telling a story, although we did not have time to figure them out. There were only a few silent worshippers, kneeling in the pews or lighting candles in front of the main altar or along the smaller side altars. They were all women, ghostly figures dressed in black, with dark veils on their heads.

  In one of the naves, there was a choir of about a dozen men and women rehearsing. Their voices melded in beautiful harmony, as candles they held cast a warm glow on their faces.

  As Dorothy wandered about, mostly admiring the marble statuary, I went to a pew and said a prayer.

  Dear Lord, even in the midst of this terrible human tragedy, I feel your presence. I don’t know why mankind continues to fight, or if we will ever learn to live in peace. Please grant me the courage, wisdom, and strength to continue this mission, on which I believe You have sent me. Amen.

  After the cathedral, it was nearly time to start heading back to the quay, where Benjamin would be waiting for us. But I had one more stop I needed to make. One of my favorite streets, rue de Gros-Horloge, had a carved stone Renaissance archway going over and across it, with a slate-roofed building on top of the arch. The face of the building had a one-story-tall astrological clock. It featured a brilliant sun on its face against a blue background with stars, and a golden hand pointed to the golden Roman numeral hour. At the bottom of the face, rotating scenes represented each day of the week. Above the numbers was a sphere, representing the moon, that spun in coordination with its phases. I had never seen anything like it.

  It seemed to be some kind of miracle that the beautiful city had not been bombed when so many had. It made me feel the loss, not just of so much human life but of history and culture. I was happy that so far, Paris had also been preserved.

  As Dorothy and I stood, both staring at the wondrous clock, it seemed that her thoughts were similar to mine.

  “Do you think it will survive the war?” She set down her packages. We were taking turns carrying the heavy sewing machine.

  “It has survived since the fourteenth century, so we can be hopeful.”

  Fat rain drops began to fall, and as if orchestrated, black umbrellas popped up all around us. Knowing we would have too much to carry, neither Dorothy nor I had brought one. We ducked under the archway for cover and were treated to deeply carved scenes of shepherds and their flocks on its ceiling.

  The rain only grew harder, and we prepared ourselves for a wet rush back to the quai. It was a fitting end to our little journey, a lesson to enjoy the beauty before it is suddenly taken away.

  * * *

  Upon our return, I was still peeling off my wet outerwear when Fred appeared in my office door. There were also several nurses waiting in the hall to see Miss Taylor, whose office was next to mine.

  “Shall I take a number?” Fred asked.

  “Queueing is never necessary for you. Do come in.” I led him to my small table. “Coffee?”

  “That would be most welcome. But it’s not just your fine brew for which I come.”

  I scooped the dark brown grounds into the percolator. The aroma alone could get me out of bed even on frigid mornings. “Why do I have the pleasure so late on a weekday? Has the war come to a glorious end, or at least paused for intermission?”

  “It’s good news and bad news. Good for you, I suppose, but bad for me.” He produced his own coffee cup.

  “Good news first, then.” I took his cup and wiped off some drips.

  “Your unceasing requests to be sent afield have been approved. Our unit’s rotation to the CCS occurs in two weeks. The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, to be precise.”

  “That is good news.” My mood brightened as I warmed myself by the coal stove. I hadn’t noticed how chilled I had become during my journey. Manning the CCS was difficult, somber duty, but I needed to do it, not only for myself but as an example to my nurses. In addition, the firsthand look would give me much information. We had come far, but further streamlining of the process could only be a benefit to our soldiers. And they likely would be some of “our” soldiers, as Americans were increasingly in the fight. “And the bad news?”

  “We are to have an extra surgeon, plus a nurse or two from the Australian unit meeting us there. It’s to be sort of a demonstration of best practices to be used internationally. That’s why you’ve been given the assignment, approved by God and Country.”

  “And Colonel Fife? That’s hardly bad news.” I opened a tin of biscuits, then adjusted the flame under the percolator. I could tell by the smell that the coffee was almost ready.

  He rocked back in his chair as he accepted a biscuit. His mouth stretched into an evil grin. “Guess which surgeon has been assigned with you. Not his choice, I assure you.”

  The medical staff each popped into mind. I thought I had a good relationship with all of them, and none would hesitate to go. Except perhaps Dr. Valentine. But I didn’t want to call him out. “Colonel Fife? He’s so critical here…”

  “No, he’s not the unlucky one.”

  I poured two cups of coffee. “Unlucky to pull difficult and dangerous duty or to have to go with me?”

  His grin told me it was the former; his phrasing was just a tease. “It’s me. Colonel Fife said you could teach me a few things.”

  “And why is that bad news? Careful. I have boiling hot liquid at the ready.”

  “It’s not ideal for us both to be gone at the same time. And because our little village would like nothing better than to have fodder for gossip, the two of us traveling together and working in close quarters. They’re probably out there chatting about us right now. Not that I care, but you might.” He glanced at the closed door. “As if such duty could ever be anything but hard work and emotional pain.”

  “And as if there were anything unseemly between the two of us.” I didn’t add how much I wished there were.

  “There’s another piece of news that may change things for you and me.”

  “Oh?”

  “You know it’s been a bit awkward for me, being the commander in reality while Colonel Fife is technically in charge.”

  I tried to remember indications of this. If there had been, I had been obtuse about it. “Actually, no. I’m afraid I had my head in the sand on that one.”

  “Well, that’s good actually. It means we’ve managed
to keep our infighting contained to the medical ranks. In any case, the army has seen fit to move Colonel Fife to another command, and soon, I will be commander of the hospital, both in name and practice. He will still be in our chain of command, so you’ll see him from time to time.”

  “Congratulations. I’m truly happy for you.”

  “Thank you. It’s a title is all. Nothing will change.” He rose. “Thanks for the coffee. So 6:00 a.m. on Wednesday okay with you?”

  I wanted to ask so many things. Had he actually heard gossip about us going around? Would more than just his title change? Was he apprehensive about going on this assignment with me for these reasons? Or did he request the assignment himself and was creating some sort of cover? It was all too confusing, and I simply needed to do my job and not be drawn into a sideshow. “Six o’clock it is.”

  * * *

  I had thought it an impossible task to recruit sixty-four American nurses to go to an unspeakably awful war. Then, upon arrival, we inherited not the five-hundred-bed hospital we were prepared for but a hospital outfitted for thirteen hundred patients. Thankfully, our daily census averaged below that, but it was clear we needed more staff.

  Early on, a few extra nurses had appeared, but I requested at least another forty nurses to be sent from the States, plus staff such as X-ray assistants and orderlies, or those who were willing to be trained for these tasks.

  My first group of thirty-one new nurses and other staff arrived on November 13. Ned, the clerk who had helped me screen the nurses, had driven to the train station to pick them up, along with some supplies.

  While the new nurses were getting settled after their long journey, I was most delighted when Ned came to my office to present me with a small package.

  “It’s from Washington,” he said.

  Ever the nosy one, he loitered a bit while I opened it and pulled out some pretty red silk.

  “Ooh. Now, that doesn’t seem regulation,” he teased.

  I unfolded the silk to reveal that it was a short cape, just as I had requested at the chief nurses’ meeting. There was also a gray apron, and a rather slouchy white cotton cap, which I liked but suspected would not pass muster with the nurses. I searched for a note explaining if more were on their way, but nothing else was in the package.

  * * *

  We only had a few hours’ notice of the new nurses’ arrival, so we had quite the scramble to feed and house them. They would be replacing some of the British assistants who had been left behind but were now leaving, so some huts would open up, but others were assigned to hastily erected tents.

  We had learned so much in our six months. My nurses grew and changed in ways they could never have expected. I wanted to share these things with the wide-eyed new nurses. They were full of energy and eager to work, having been through months of training and weeks of travel to get here. I wanted to help them find a way to keep that enthusiasm while adapting to an environment that was foreign in many ways and could be heartbreaking enough to crush a delicate soul.

  So I gathered them in our meeting room, cozy with oil stove heat, and brought in some warm soup for their bellies. My original nurses filtered in and out as their duties allowed. As we broke bread, I introduced Fred and other staff.

  Then I spoke of not the rules and regulations, as they were posted for all to read, but about our experiences. I watched the faces of my original nurses as I recounted the difficulties we had faced. I saw tears come to the eyes of Margaret when I told of how hard it was to deal with the cheeriness of our soldiers, with their battered and broken bodies. Charlotte nodded when I told them of the soldier who was so badly burned, we could only touch the back of his neck. I looked carefully into the eyes of the new nurses as I told them we had three nurses away in the Contagious Hospital with diphtheria. My worry was replaced with a warm glow when I saw them neither flinch nor look away.

  “The most important thing, when you wake up each morning, is to remember the big picture of why we are here. I want you to remember how you felt at the cathedral in London, when the congregation was praying for you and thanking God for you. I want you to remember the parades on the streets of St. Louis and New York. That you are called to a purpose higher than yourself, to ease the suffering so that peace can reign once again on this continent.

  “We who came here five months ago have surprised ourselves. Sure, we came here out of a sense of duty or patriotism, or maybe for the adventure. We came, willing to give up our bigger salaries, our comforts, the predictability of life for a few months, perhaps a year. But now, as we see no clear end in sight, we realize we are committed, that we don’t want to leave until the job is done. Our future plans don’t count. A certain peace has come over us, because we will stay as long as we are physically able. Our hopes, dreams, families, our whole lives deferred, for however long it takes.”

  The room was silent, except for the ticking of the oil stove. My words seemed inadequate for the transformation I knew I had felt and witnessed in the others. “I’ll give you some examples. When we first arrived, I was asked many times a day, how long would our assignment last? After a few weeks, those questions ceased. When we were approaching six months, I requested discharge for two nurses, one to get married and the other to return to her husband, whom she had married just as we left St. Louis. The discharges were denied, and I tried to break it to them gently.

  “But there was no need for that, you see, because they both took it like champions. They acted like it was entirely their idea to stay. So you see, my dears, this will be the hardest thing you have ever done in your life. At the same time, it is the most rewarding. It is a great honor for me to be here, and I shall forever hold each of you in my heart.”

  My old nurses wiped their eyes or nodded solemnly. The new nurses stared at me with open mouths or studied their feet. It was not possible to explain all this, I realized. It must be lived.

  Then it was Fred’s turn to address the nurses, and I seated myself in the back of the room. Once again, I admired his skill at keeping their attention, as every pair of eyes focused on him. His message was simple and heartfelt. I hardly listened as I took in his physical strength, his soulful eyes that every so often sought me out. When he said, “You have one of the finest nurses I have ever had the pleasure of working with as your leader,” I demurred, shaking my head.

  The nurses all turned toward me and clapped politely, furthering my embarrassment. Maybe there were knowing nods and smiles; maybe I imagined them. But I feared that the feelings Fred and I had for each other were becoming stronger and more noticeable by the day. I was also certain that if my superiors at Red Cross headquarters caught wind of it, I would be swiftly transferred to another base hospital or perhaps even sent home.

  Somewhere in the four-inch-thick rules manual, there was a paragraph addressing just such a situation. However, I had a serious lack of curiosity to look it up. Instead, my answer was to push my feelings for him aside and throw myself even more deeply into my work.

  One evening, after a full day of hundreds of admissions, I was in my office well after midnight, writing letters to the families of our seriously ill patients.

  Miss Taylor, dressed in a nightgown and carrying a kerosene lantern, appeared in my office doorway. “Where will we all be when you collapse from exhaustion?” she scolded. “I don’t care what you are doing, it can be done in the morning.”

  “You’re right. Thank you, Miss Taylor.” I packed up my pen and paper and bid her good night. Then I resumed the work in my own room.

  CHAPTER 11

  November 1917

  My plan for the CCSs had been put into place by late summer, and by November, it was proving to be a tremendous success. Although the British had had first aid provided by medics at the front all along, the CCSs, which were a short distance away, had been growing in number to the point where they were sparsely manned. As the front moved, so did the CCS
s, although in the early years of the war, the front moved slowly, back and forth over the same areas. They were staffed with whatever medics could be spared and some brave nurses. In some cases, a single nurse was forced to make life-or-death decisions and perform care normally done by a surgeon.

  They were always in danger of being overrun by the enemy, but they usually had enough warning to pull back in time. It was an ever-changing balance of having shelter, equipment, staff, and mobility.

  Our goal was to organize the CCSs by geographic area and have teams from the stationary hospitals on a continuous rotation. The teams would consist of one or two surgeons, one to three nurses, and an orderly. Base Hospital 21 shared the duty with several other medical units in the Rouen area, so the loss of hospital staff was kept to a minimum. Due to the screening and treatment so close to the front, the most urgent cases were transported more quickly to the most suitable facility, while ambulatory patients requiring only first aid were returned to their units instead of taking a long, unnecessary trip to a hospital.

  This did have the result of our unit receiving the most severe casualties, but our team of surgeons, nurses, and lab technicians and our advanced X-ray capabilities could process hundreds in a day. We didn’t have the capacity to treat them to full recovery, so we established a system of sending them on to other hospitals as soon as they were stable enough.

  When my nurses returned from duty at the CCSs, I grilled them to learn as much as I could about the process in order to keep improving it. One of the first to go was Dorothy. This fearless nurse pretty much demanded the duty, and I sent her with my own demand of a full report afterward. As requested, she reported to my office, where I offered her tea.