Nothing that he said made sense. The doctor sternly nodded at the medic to proceed. As the medic was about to inject the morphine, Zieger’s bloody hand grabbed his wrist in a viselike hold. With his other hand he grabbed the doctor’s white coat by the lapel and pulled him close to his pale face with remarkable strength.
“Massive troop buildup, tens of thousands, all sectors...artillery... hundreds of big guns... pass information on to command....”
Both the doctor and the medic were stunned by Zieger’s strength and impressed by his sense of duty in insisting the information be passed on even before they tried to save him. The doctor looked up at Gunther and orderd him to get the information to command immediately.
Gunther tagged the motorcycle driver, and the two sped off to the communications officer shed. As they left, Zieger loosened his grip on both the doctor and the medic and passed into unconsciousness.
German command acted swiftly on the information and began preparing for what would become one of the major offensives of the war.
Aid station on the Yser Canal
The Sunbeam ambulance that carried Dan Mckee to The 5th Canadian Stationary Hospital.
The brave men of the 36th Ulster
Ziegers’ Albatros CV
After the crash
The carnage of trench warfare
The infamous Minnie trench mortar
HMS Olympic in dazzle paint
Piper and comrades on the Somme
The divisonal badge of the 36th Ulster
Soldier sleeping in the trenches
Stretcher bearers under horrific conditions
Badge of the 1st newfoundland
Typical building of the 5th Canadian Stationary Hospital
PART SIX
IN PREPARATION
5th Canadian Hospital, Amiens
The buildup of troops in the Somme Valley was now common knowledge among the staff at the 5th Canadian Stationary Hospital. After all, it made sense to alert your Hospital units of the potential for a large influx of wounded. Preparations were made to deal with the high volume that was anticipated. Enormous amounts of supplies were being requisitioned at an extraordinary rate. Sheila was having a casual conversation with a fellow nurse as they both surveyed the long line of supply wagons and lorries unloading their cargo. They had both been around long enough to know that preemptive supply distributions always came before an offensive, but this one was by far the biggest they had seen.
“I wonder how big a push this really is going to be?” Sheila’s friend asked.
“I heard that Field Marshall Haige wants to push the Germans right back to Berlin. And judging by the number of supply wagons, this is the biggest yet,” Sheila said.
“Maybe that will be enough to put a stop to this thing and we can all go home again,” her friend said. “It would be a grand thing if that were to happen.”
Sheila nodded, but didn’t want to pin her hopes up on the chance of that happening.
It was a lovely warm day and many convalescing injured men were outside enjoying the weather and smoking in the newly designated courtyard not far from where the ladies were talking.
There was a strict rule against smoking inside the hospital due to the widespread use of oxygen and ether, both of which were highly combustible. The problem was that most of the men smoked. This actually provided an incentive for a patient to recuperate enough to walk, wheel, or be wheeled out to the smoking area.
There was also the added benefit of social interaction with fellow injured patients. It seemed to help with the men’s attitudes and Sheila correctly believed that a major portion of the healing process came from the mind. She had fought hard for the formation of an official smoking area, against the ardent objections of her nemesis, Kathleen Blighton.
Sister Kathleen believed that smoking was a sin against God’s temple, but curiously overlooked the sin of destruction of God’s temple by means of shrapnel or bullets.
The smoking area was a bone of contention between Sheila and the Sister until the issue was brought before the chief surgeon, Dr. Robert Churchill only two days before. Dr. Churchill was a pipe smoker himself, but he did not let that influence his input on the matter. He was a wise and observant man by nature and could clearly see that the psychological benefits derived by this social interaction outweighed the health risk of the habit.
Churchill called a meeting of the nursing staff to listen to input from both sides before he announced his decision on the subject. Now, it should be noted that Dr. Churchill had a very dry and warped sense of humor, and it should also be noted that he appreciated the dedication and service of both of these nurses. However, he disliked Sister Kathleen’s officious demeanor and, therefore, had a predisposition toward Sheila’s argument.
There seemed to be a naughty schoolboy side to the doctor that had remained from childhood. He would often make a point using sarcasm presented with a remarkable degree of feigned innocence. With his reading glasses perched halfway down his nose and a clipboard in his lap he called the meeting to order.
“It has been brought to my attention that an area for our convalescing patients to congregate and smoke outside the confines of the ward may be beneficial. It has also been brought to my attention that this idea could have negative health implications. We are here to examine the issue and to come to a decision.”
The doctor looked down at his clipboard and then back a both Sheila and Sister Kathleen. “The fact is that smoking is a habit that is common among the men that existed prior to their visit to the 5th. While I personally believe that smoking is an objectionable habit that carries with it potential long term negative health implications–”
Sister Kathleen smiled and sat up straighter in her seat in anticipation of Dr. Churchill nixing the idea.
“It is not, however, the objective or obligation of the hospital or its staff to cure smoking,” he continued. “Rather it is our goal to cure the patient, smoke or not. There are arguably positive benefits to the idea which must also be considered.”
Sister Kathleen deflated momentarily, then rose to the defense. “Doctor, allowing the patients to damage themselves further with a filthy habit is contrary to the objectives of–”
Churchill glared over his glasses pointing his pen at the Sister. “Stop!” he ordered. “You have amply presented your case to me in the past. This is a verbalization of my thoughts and will be followed by my decision. There will be no further interruptions.”
Sister Kathleen’s mouth went taut and her lips pressed together so tightly they seemed to disappear.
Dr. Churchill raised one eyebrow, and an almost undetectable devilish smile came to his mouth while he looked down to hide any sign of it. The warped and naughty side was beginning to surface. He looked up and continued in a serious tone, “As I was saying, there are some positive benefits that must be considered. For example, I believe that an area for smoking may improve the incidence of healthy intercourse between patients which can only improve their mental states and, therefore, enhancing their eventual recovery.”
All the nurses in the room looked at each other regarding the doctor’s curious choice of words. Sister Kathleen shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This was just the beginning of Churchill’s innuendos.
“It is not my suggestion that a large erection is necessary to promote such social behavior, on the contrary, a simple open air court will do,” he said.
Several nurses were well aware of Churchill’s antics and blurted out in coughing spasms in an effort to stifle laughing. Sheila tried desperately to force down a smile and stared down at the floor trying to keep her amusement hidden.
Churchill continued in a mock serious manner, ignoring the guffaws of the crowd. “I believe that this type of intercourse will be a welcome stimulation for the patients and, of course, as the patient becomes more stimulated, they eventually come...” Churchill paused and drank some water “closer to achieving a recovery.”
Sister Kathleen’s mouth
was fully opened, aghast in shock and disbelief. Many nurses were holding their mouths with both hands trying not to laugh out loud. Churchill looked off in the distance keeping his deadpan expression.
“It is hard...very hard to predict the total value of this idea, but I know that with the help of a cooperative yet firm staff, this type of intercourse in this newly designated area will be easily achievable.”
Sister Kathleen’s dumbstruck expression had now changed to a red faced scowl of total disapproval. She had heard enough. She jumped to her feet. “Doctor, I would have a word with you, alone!” she commended.
“Of course,” Dr. Churchill said with a look of surprise. They walked out of the room into an adjoining area.
When they were alone Sister Kathleen spun around and pointed an accusing finger. “Doctor, I have every intention of reporting you to your superiors regarding that disgusting speech you just delivered.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Churchill said.
“You know very well what I’m talking about,” the sister snapped.
Churchill’s face went uncustomarily hard and his voice became low and stern. “As chief of medicine here, I don’t take well to being reprimanded or threatened by a nurse, especially one with a filthy mind.”
She gasped. “I have nothing of the kind.”
“Quiet!” he barked. ”You will report to my office at 0800 hours tomorrow at which time I will have your transfer papers ready.”
Sister Kathleen was momentarily stunned by the doctor’s harsh response. Her tone completely changed. “Doctor, surely, you can’t mean what you are saying. I am the head nurse, we are short staffed, and we are about to be swamped with a massive number of casualties.”
Churchill’s steely stare was unchanged. “Rest assured,” he said evenly, “this decision has been a long time in coming and is final.”
With that, Churchill turned and walked away leaving the dumbfounded nurse standing alone in the room.
In the adjoining room the nursing staff sat as quietly as they could, all straining to eavesdrop on the confrontation. They were all equally stunned at this remarkable turn of events. Sheila was awash with mixed emotions. Part of her was almost giddy at the prospect of Sister Kathleen’s departure, and another part felt sorry for her, not wanting to wish ill on anyone. She somberly left the room leaving the nattering staff behind.
Two days later, standing with her friend, Sheila quietly excused herself and walked down the hallway alone. There was still plenty of time before her scheduled rounds, so she went to tend to her project, Bully, the comatose patient. He continued persistently in his semi-vegetative state and, although, his weight and overall health was good, his stubborn condition caused Sheila to begin to doubt whether he would ever recover.
She changed the linen on his bed, gave him a sponge bath and then began his physical therapy, which consisted of her moving his arms, legs, and neck in a full range of motion. She spoke to him softly as she tried to counter the tightening of his tendons.
“Your favorite fan has left the hospital–that’s right Sister Kathleen. I know you’re disappointed. It’s brave of you to hold back your feelings, but you can feel free to let it out, it’s just the two of us here.”
As she moved his shoulders from side to side he let out with an uncustomary groan. She stopped and looked at his face for a sign. Nothing.
“Well, I had mixed feelings too,” she continued. This was really therapy for both of them. Sheila would speak to Bully of things that she would share with no one else, he would silently listen, no judgments or objections. There was a strange one-sided bond that was forming. Perhaps it was her maternal instinct. After all, he was helpless and without her attention, he would not survive. He needed her and she needed him. Doctor Churchill had seen this strange relationship develop before and had gently warned her to be cautious of the possibility of personal involvement, but she dismissed the notion. She now reflected on his advice and realized he may have been right.
This emotional turmoil was dampening her normally upbeat demeanor so she decided it was time to give Bully some fresh air and time for her to play her pipes. She wheeled his bed out into the courtyard and retrieved her pipes. Entertaining the men always lifted her spirits and, of course, the men loved it. She tuned her pipes in less than a minute as the men began to gather around always eager for entertainment. A beautiful Scottish lullaby was her first choice followed by a snappy rendition of “The Black Bear.”
The men cheered her on as she slid into a spirited jig and then a measured strathspey. Sheila knew that to perform the bagpipes for an audience was like serving a rich dessert after a meal. Smaller portions are easier to digest and are more satisfying. So, she concluded her musical session with the old Queen’s University fight song and then snapped her pipes under her arm the way her old instructor Victor Matthews had taught her.
As she walked away from the clapping men toward Bully’s bed and the cheering subsided she heard the faint singing of the Queen’s fight song.
“Ka Ya, Ka Ya, Ka Ya” was softly being sung over and over. She looked around to see who knew the Queens song, but no one was near. Her heart suddenly pounded as she realized that the soft singing was coming from Bully. Sheila almost dropped her pipes as she raced the remaining steps to his side. Could it be possible? Could he be singing? Could he be conscious? As she leaned in close and watched his mouth, his eyes remained closed, but his mouth was moving and he was singing “The Oil Thigh,” the nickname of Queen’s fight song. A flood of emotion came over her as her eyes welled up and she began to happily sob at the realization that she had finally reached him.
OUR HOME ON THE SOMME, THE 36TH ULSTER
[Transcribed from Ian MacDonald’s recording]
Our billets for the 36th Ulster were spread throughout a small village just five miles from the Front. The artillery assault was, we were told, started three days earlier and had been continuing night and day. The noise was constant but after a while we all became used to it. The division occupied every available house, hotel, barn and church for its lodging. I must say that the people were remarkably hospitable about our intrusion. I doubt I would have been as gracious.
Sean, Bill and I stayed with five other young Irishmen in a small, well-built brick barn on the east side of the village. The barn was relatively comfortable and was one of the cleanest barns I had ever seen. The smell of animals was faint, far less than one would expect. It was, however, enough to bring back some warm memories of my family’s farm on Wolfe Island.
I marveled at the old man and his wife–Dobsavage was their last name–who ran this small farm. Here they were so close to the Front and the bombing, being intruded upon by a foreign army, and they stubbornly remained on their farm carrying out their chores as if nothing were out of the ordinary. The small weathered looking farmer who had several teeth missing and his even smaller craggy wife, who had an abundance of facial hair, were so kind as to feed us eggs, toast and the best coffee we had ever tasted every morning. I do believe that we were eating far better than our officers who were put up at the towns Hotel. In turn, for their kindness, we all would help the old couple moving heavy rocks, rebuilding fences and mending weak portions of their small farmhouse roof.
The couple was especially interested in the bagpipes when Sean, Bill, and I would practice. The first time we played, they stopped their routine chores and shuffled over, curious as to the unusual noise. They both sat down on the nearest available object and lit up cigarettes giving us their full attention.
The farmer would lean over and pat his wife’s knee, point to one of us and chatter in French. She would nod and smile. It seemed as if they were enjoying our concert because they always put down their cigarettes and clapped enthusiastically at the end of a set. When we practiced, thereafter, we would tune inside their house because of the interference of the constant artillery noise outside. The drones are quieter than the chanter and it was almost impossible to tune with
the racket blasting outdoors.
“We’re five miles from the front and it’s hard to hear. Can you imagine how loud it is at the Front?” Sean asked.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Bill said.
Two cows, one old horse, five or six Muscovy ducks and several chickens were the other occupants of our billet. The ducks and chickens were constantly under foot, in fact, several of the ducks seemed peculiarly fond of our boots. These birds also had a bad habit of laying their eggs in the most random places, so a careful check of our straw beds before lying down was prudent.
Bill learned this the hard way one evening when, exhausted from a hard day of helping on the farm, he dropped onto his bed, then jumped back up when he heard the cracks and felt the wetness of several broken eggs. We all had a good laugh over the event–all except Bill that is. He erupted into an uncustomary volley of profanity that sent us into fits of coughing laughter. Because of the freestyle egg laying habits of these birds, our first chore of the day was an egg hunt. We used straw baskets just like an Easter egg hunt to collect these treasures. The upside of this daily chore was that Madame Dobsavage, our hostess, would make us omelets along with Bully Beef that tasted surprisingly good. I marveled at how only the French could take something as plain as canned beef and transform it into something delicious, a proverbial silk purse from a sow’s ear.
Lieutenant Owen McDonnell joined us one morning and was so impressed with breakfast that he became a regular morning visitor. Sean asked the Lieutenant if we could expect to have the rest of the officers joining us for breakfast tomorrow.
“Not on your life!” McDonnell said smiling. “We’ll just keep this our little secret.”
The Last Lady from Hell Page 17
