by Julie Lawson
He starts it Dear Folks and Kirsty.
As soon as she heard her name, Kirsty perked up her ears and listened. Smart dog!
Luke says the battle at Passchendaele was a “hellish nightmare” from start to finish. The attack began at dawn on October 26, and for three days the Never Fails and other battalions inched their way forward, fighting in cold mist and rain, plastered with mud, praying they wouldn’t be “sucked into the swamps and left to die,” but near dead anyway from exhaustion.
They reached higher and drier ground on the 28th, and that’s when Luke was “caught in a barrage of artillery fire.”
The stretcher-bearers managed to carry him out of No Man’s Land, and a horse-drawn ambulance took him to an aid station for serious casualties. On November 1st he was evacuated to England.
A shell fractured his left thigh bone so his leg’s in a cast, and the doctors weren’t able to remove all the shrapnel. As if that weren’t enough misery, he came down with “a touch of bronchitis.”
On the good side, he hopes to be walking on crutches before long and won’t be leaving the hospital until late December. And he’s being cared for by “the best nursing sisters in the world.”
At least he survived, and we thank God for that.
At the end of the letter, Luke asks us to keep him in our prayers, and of course we will — now more than ever. Because as Mum says, Luke has a way of putting a good face on everything, and his condition may be worse than he lets on.
Later in the evening, Charlie came to call. Mum let him read Luke’s letter, and Charlie promised to visit Luke in hospital as soon as he gets to England.
“Is it only three days until you leave Halifax?” asks Ruth the Heartless, knowing full well the answer.
That got Edith and Mum crying all over again.
Wednesday, December 5
Well the house was ablaze with excitement this morning, because last night Charlie gave Edith an engagement ring. It’s fit for a princess, with two little pearls and a sparkly blue stone. They’re not getting married until after the war, and Mum and Dad say that’s right sensible.
I walked with Edith on her way to work and listened to her wedding plans. Gosh, she must have been awake all night with the planning — the dress, the flowers, the way St. Mark’s will be decorated and so on. She wants a June wedding, the first June after the war ends, and she wants Ruth and I to be her bridesmaids.
After the wedding she and Charlie are going to live in Winnipeg, and she said that Duncan and I could take the train and go for a visit. Now I have all the more reason to pray for the war to be over soon.
When she wasn’t talking, Edith was weeping, one minute for joy and the next minute for sorrow, since Charlie’s shipping out on Friday. I promised I’d pray for him as well as for Luke, and that made her happy. At least Charlie will be working in a hospital and not fighting on the front line.
I’ll have lots to tell Haggarty tomorrow, what with Luke being wounded and Edith being engaged!
And I must remember to show him my diary, with Luke’s cheerful letter on the first page. I’ll write myself a note and put it beside my boots right now so I won’t forget.
One more thing. Duncan reminded me that tomorrow’s the day Ruth is planning to start working at the telephone company. We thought about telling Mum and Dad but decided to wait and see what happens. They’re sure to find out anyway.
And one more thing. Late last night someone broke a window in Mr. Heine’s store.
Thursday, December 6
Well it’s seven in the morning and here I am, snuggled up in the comforter with the bedroom all to myself and no need to rush. I love winter hours.
The curtains are pulled back and the day is taking shape. There’s a light frost on the ground, a haze of grey smoke drifting out of the chimneys and a mist rising off the harbour.
Dad’s left for the dry dock. He was whistling as he went and I sang along in my head. “What’s the use of worrying, It never was worthwhile, So pack up your troubles in your old kit bag, And smile, smile, smile …”
Edith’s playing the Chopin waltz. Ruth’s in the kitchen talking to Mum, and Duncan’s outside getting more wood for the stove. He comes in, slams the door and drops the wood, so now Mum’s scolding and Kirsty’s barking at the fuss.
“Kirsty, how did you sneak in?” says Mum. “Duncan, put her outside!” More scolding.
“It’s cold, Mum! Let her stay in!”
Nope. Poor Kirsty. Out she goes.
Now Edith and Ruth are saying goodbye. Mum the Detective asks Ruth why she’s in such a hurry to get to school. Ruth says she has an essay to finish and wants to do it in the classroom where it’s quiet.
I can picture her expression, Ruth acting the Diligent Student. Ha ha. Good thing I’m not downstairs. I’d probably start laughing and give away her secret.
Well, now things are quiet. Not a sound from Duncan — he must be eating his breakfast. I better get my porridge before he takes all the cream. Then it’s time for the milk run and smile, smile, smile!
I’m in a hospital, in a corridor, sitting on the floor.
What happened? How did I get here?
The corridor is jammed with people. Some covered with blood and black grime. Some with faces that don’t look like faces. Others rushing around, too busy to answer questions.
Someone is screaming but most of the people are quiet.
There’s blood all over the floor. The smell …
How did I get here? I was outside with Haggarty. But what happened after that? Did I walk here? Did someone carry me? Who?
I remember seeing bodies. Bodies everywhere … and parts of bodies. Crushed and burned and mangled. And the sounds of shrieking and sobbing and moaning …
All I can remember thinking is, the Germans must have come. This must be No Man’s Land.
People keep going past down the corridor. They’re crying, calling out names, looking for friends or relatives.
Where’s Dad? Why doesn’t he come for me?
Some people are lying on stretchers, not moving. Soldiers are sorting through them, and saying, “This one’s for Chebucto.” What do they mean?
I have to keep writing to stay awake, or else they’ll think I’m dead and take me away. Then no one will find me.
I must have fallen asleep, because it seems later in the day somehow.
I remember I was outside on Citadel Hill. How did I get there? And how long was I there? The town clock showed 9:05, but the hands never moved.
Oh, now I remember how I got here. A soldier brought me in a motor car — yes, that’s it. He wrapped me in his greatcoat and I found my diary in one of the pockets. How did it get there? I found a pencil, too. It’s sticky with blood.
I keep watching for Dad or Edith or Ruth. Where are they?
I don’t want to remember any more.
I fell asleep again, and dreamed that we were all safe at home. But then I woke up.
I’m still in the nightmare of No Man’s Land.
I’m in a ward now, and there are patients everywhere. They’re lying in beds, on mattresses, on the floor between the beds. There are three little girls in the bed next to mine, but so far I’m the only one in my bed.
There’s no glass in the windows, only blankets strung up to keep out the cold. Is it night?
The only light is from candles and oil lamps. The flames flicker and make nightmare shadows.
I’m cold and scared and I can’t stop shaking. I wish Dad would come.
A nurse just came and cut off my hair. It was matted with blood and bits of glass. She cut off my clothing and washed me and gave me a nightgown.
She says I’m in Camp Hill Hospital. It’s Thursday night, five after ten, thirteen hours since the burning ship exploded. Then she rushed off to another patient.
The burning ship … Yes, I remember, and then the explosion … Was it only this morning? How can it still be the same day?
The nurse said I’m a brave young
lady but that I have to try and sleep.
I don’t feel brave. I’m afraid of falling asleep and having the dream again. Because when I wake up … it’s too hard.
I tried to tell the nurse that, but I can’t seem to talk.
I have to keep writing. I promised Luke. He has to know what happened here.
But I can’t write about the explosion. Not yet.
I hurt all over.
A doctor has put stitches in my foot and in my cheek, but I didn’t scream.
Then another nurse came to bandage my other cuts — not the nurse who cut my hair, but a younger one. She told me her name was Helen and asked if I recognized her.
I didn’t at first, not until she mentioned her piano lessons, and how they came after mine on Friday afternoons. Then I remembered. She used to bring treats for Kirsty. It seems like a hundred years ago.
A little girl is sharing my bed now. Her name is Violet. She’s four. One of her eyes was removed. It was full of splinters.
Helen said that lots of people have been blinded. They were looking out their windows and when the explosion happened, showers of glass flew into their faces. She said I’m lucky that my eyes are all right.
I saw a headless body. Someone else with a face split in two. A boy with a rivet through his eye. A person on fire, still alive, hanging from a telephone wire.
Am I lucky to see such horror? I’d rather not see at all.
Violet is whimpering in her sleep. I’m afraid to go to sleep. I’m afraid to stay awake.
I think it’s the middle of the night now. The wind is howling.
People keep coming in, quietly saying names, looking at faces. They have to look closely because so many faces are scarred, burned, covered with bandages.
Friday, December 7
It’s early morning.
They say there’s a heavy snowstorm. I can still hear the wind howling.
More of the wounded are brought in, and more people come looking. They bring the cold in with them and leave puddles of melting snow on the floor.
Will Dad come for me today? Will he recognize me? What if I’m sleeping when he comes, and I don’t hear him calling my name? What if he doesn’t notice me?
I have to keep writing.
I found out that Helen’s a student at the university, not a nurse. She wants to become a doctor. That’s why she stopped taking piano lessons. She was too busy studying. I didn’t know a girl could be a doctor.
After the explosion, she set off to Victoria General Hospital to help out. But when she saw all the stretchers coming into this hospital she decided to stay here.
The nurses, the doctors, the volunteers — they never stop to rest, not even at night. There are too many wounded, hundreds and hundreds, and more coming in all the time.
Later
Helen stopped by for a second to give me back my diary. She took it away after breakfast and told me I had to get some sleep. I slept for three hours.
Helen said, “I’m sorry I took your diary. I know it gives you comfort,” and kissed my cheek.
I wanted to cry but I couldn’t.
The hurt is too big for tears.
Afternoon
Now there’s a blizzard. Someone said it’s the worst blizzard in years. I can’t see outside because the windows are now covered with boards, but I can hear the wind and pelting snow. How will the rescuers find people now? And yesterday, in the snowstorm, what happened to the people still trapped inside buildings?
I’ve still got the soldier’s greatcoat. It’s keeping me warm, like an extra blanket.
A reporter is in the ward, asking everyone their names. He said that reporters are doing this in all the hospitals and shelters so that the newspapers can print the names of the survivors.
I managed to tell him my name, but when I said Charlotte Blackburn, it sounded as if it belonged to somebody else.
Saturday, December 8
Dad and Edith
Sunday, December 9
I don’t want to write any more. But I have to try. My diary is the only anchor I have now. It might be all I have left of home.
Muriel’s mother came yesterday and told me about Dad and Edith. She’d gone to the morgue at Chebucto like hundreds of others, looking for her husband and relatives, and when she saw my dad she identified him. She saw Edith, too, but her body had already been identified by someone. Mrs. Chisholm said that almost all the workers at the dry dock were killed. Like my dad and Muriel’s dad.
Almost everyone who worked on the waterfront or close to the waterfront, like Edith did, was killed, either by the blast or by the tidal wave that came after.
The explosion sucked back the sea, and when the water rushed back in
Mrs. Chisholm asked about the rest of my family, but I couldn’t speak. I don’t know what happened to Ruth. But Mum and Duncan
I couldn’t —
I can hardly bear to write their names.
Afternoon
I tried to eat a bit of soup, but couldn’t. All I could do was sleep. When I woke up, Violet was gone — I don’t know where. I’m afraid to ask.
Someone said it was bitter cold yesterday, with the blizzard and over a foot of snow, and anyone who was hurt but not found will have frozen to death.
Today there is rain, slush and flooding.
Three ladies from a relief committee have just been to see me. They’re visiting all the children in the hospital. They gave me warm clothes, winter boots and a pair of slippers. They asked questions about my family, but all I could do was shake my head.
Later on a doctor looked at my stitches and said I can leave the hospital in a few days.
Then Mrs. Chisholm came again. She knows about Mum, now. She saw her name in the newspaper, in the list of “known dead.” She brought me a newspaper, and we read through the list of “known survivors,” hoping to find Ruth, but she wasn’t there. Mrs. C. said she could still be alive, but missing, and that I mustn’t give up hope.
We looked for Duncan’s name, too, even though I knew it wouldn’t be there, but praying that a miracle …
Mrs. Chisholm said I can stay at her house when I leave the hospital, that it would be good for Muriel to have a friend at home. Muriel wasn’t badly hurt, but she’s grieving something terrible for her dad.
Tomorrow there’s a burial service for the Chisholms. Muriel’s dad, two uncles, an aunt and six cousins, including Todd, who shot himself in the foot for nothing. All those relatives gone, and Mrs. Chisholm still has time to think of me.
Later
Sunday night and I haven’t said one prayer. I don’t think God is listening. Not to those of us who lived in Richmond.
Later, still Sunday
I said a prayer after all, for Luke. I may be the only one left who can.
Monday, December 10
Charlie came this morning. At first I was afraid he’d ask about Edith, and I’d have to be the one to tell him, but it turns out he’s known from the start. It was one of his soldier friends who found her body and identified her. He had met Edith before and knew about her and Charlie’s engagement.
Two days ago, after Charlie had seen the lists in the newspaper and knew for certain that I had survived but Mum and Dad hadn’t, he sent a telegram to Luke, directly to the hospital where he’s recovering. “Some of the telegraph lines were already up and running,” he said. “It’s the one thing I could do. Edith meant the world to me, and your family …” He tried to say more, but his voice kept breaking.
Charlie was supposed to leave Halifax on the 7th, but the medical corps stayed to help with the wounded. They’re leaving tomorrow in a convoy of thirty-three ships, with Highflyer as escort.
Charlie promised again that he’ll visit Luke in the hospital, once he arrives in England. He’ll tell Luke that we don’t know for certain about Duncan or Ruth. I didn’t let on what I know about Duncan.
After Charlie left, I read the list of survivors more closely and found Haggarty. His first name is E
thelbert. No wonder he kept it a secret.
And then I saw Eva’s name. Her parents and Werner are survivors, too.
I tried to read the names of the dead, but I only got as far as Jane Best and had to stop.
Poor Luke. I hope he doesn’t find out about Jane, because how much hurt can he bear, especially in the middle of a war?
Jane’s name came after Mr. Barker’s.
No more compositions or red-pencil comments. Too Wordy, he used to say. It made me so mad. As if little things like that could matter.
What matters now is that I write about what happened on that horrible day, what I did, and what I know. I can’t talk about it, but I have to write it down for Luke.
I’ll assign myself a composition. I’ll make myself remember, and I’ll record every detail, from beginning to end.
So Luke, this composition is for you.
Charlotte’s Composition:
Thursday, December 6, 1917
It was a beautiful morning. I laced up my boots and put on my coat, and Mum
I can’t do it.
I’ll try again tomorrow.
Later
I put on the dressing gown the relief ladies gave me, and one of the slippers. The other one doesn’t fit because of the bandage on my foot.
Helen helped me limp to the bathroom. My legs felt weak and shaky.
My foot still hurts, but this kind of pain is easier to bear than the other kind. There’s not a minute goes by that I don’t think of Duncan, and Mum and Dad and Edith, even Ruth, but it’s too hard to write …
I can’t believe they’re gone.
Tuesday, December 11
No matter how much it hurts to remember, I’m determined to write my account of the Explosion. Here it is.
