Last Man Standing

by Richard van Emden

  The nurse was very professional. She came in with her cape on and her voice was always very firm. She tended to order the lower ranks about, the VADs, who socially were probably higher than she was. I never saw any quarrelling, and I can only say the regular nurse knew what she wanted and saw that she got it.

  Paris Plage in July 1917. Looking at the photographs, it is difficult to believe that there was a war on.

  It was the VADs who did the entertaining: they used to have fancy dress competitions and things like that, but these displays for our well-being never included the nurse. She got on with her job, but the VAD was allowed a little time to fraternise with the patient, which may have even have been looked upon as part of her duties.

  At Paris Plage you felt then that you were living again, you were back in a civilized world: in fact I found that part of the French coast very sophisticated. They had French holidaymakers there and we used to walk and sit on the sands and you would hardly realise there was a war on. We had come from something unbelievable, a different world, and the nurses’ kindness helped you to get back. I think it helped me avoid any real trauma. These VADs, if you can call them counsellors, played a great part towards the resuscitation of the wounded soldier by their kindness.

  After a few weeks I was taken to England and carried on board the hospital ship on a stretcher, and I remember the Sergeant who was calling out the records as I went on board saying, ‘left leg amputated’, and I said ‘Not at all. There’s nothing wrong with it.’ In those days I believe wrong things were cut off in hospital, and I was very anxious to make it clear that my left leg was not amputated and had no intention of being amputated.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rest and Recuperation

  Editor: From August until the following June, Norman was either in hospital or convalescing at a private home. Many of the nation’s wealthier home owners willingly (or grudgingly) apportioned parts of their estates to the care of wounded officers and men whose immediate medical requirements had been met by the army but who simply needed more time for the body to heal itself properly. For a great many there were mental scars too, and for these men the contemplation of yet another return to France and the trenches was hard to accept, if not anathema. As Norman says, ‘Most soldiers, once they got back to England, did not wish to go back. Some pretended to be still ill, ‘swinging the lead’, we called it. I know it went on, although no one would tell you that they were doing it. I may have done it myself unconsciously. However, we were kept under very close scrutiny by our brother officers, and I cannot think that I found any method to convince the doctors, in my case, that I deserved to be kept any longer than was necessary. This said, a long time after everything had healed up, I was sent convalescent. The doctors probably felt sorry for me and thought I was only a young boy, so they did not push me.’ It was often the care and attention of nurses and particularly VADs that acted as the best therapy for long-term patients, especially as news continued to filter through that friends, who had remained at the front, had become casualties. For soldiers in hospital, as well as families at home, it was nigh impossible to resist reading down the casualty lists that filled the papers, when 2,000 men a day were killed or wounded at the front on a daily basis; and Norman was no exception.

  Ward C1, Hyde Park Hospital

  Plymouth

  Aug 3rd 1917

  Dear all

  You will have received my telegram I expect. I arrived here at 5am after crossing on the same boat as I did last time. Curious wasn’t it? I was a stretcher case.

  The hospitals are crowded with wounded. 800 officers landed at Dover yesterday alone. The Seaforths had heavy casualties. I know all the killed and wounded of the 6th Batt, but have not heard about the 4th yet. I was going over with them but missed it as I was hit.

  We were practising the show since June. For two months before the show we had a bad time as Fritz was putting over 10 shells to our one.

  We did not want to give our own positions away. In one day at Arras we had 200 casualties from shellfire alone.

  Our aeroplanes were never to be seen either as we were saving them for the big show.

  All the first objectives have been gained. The Guards were next to the 51st Division.

  All my kit has come across with me this time.

  Will write later.

  Best love, Norman.

  August 25th 17

  Dear Bolton

  …I had a Medical Board yesterday [to assess Norman’s wounds] and am now awaiting a transfer into a convalescent hospital where I will stay for about a month. I will not be fit for active service for some time yet. The trench fever and wound etc have taken it out of me a bit.

  Will you send me the film of the VADs and nurses of the Duchess of Westminster’s hospital? I promised to send them out so that they could get some printed.

  When I am fit for light duty I will get 3 weeks’ leave.

  There isn’t much news.

  The weather is rotten.

  Much love to all. YLB, Norman

  Ward C3

  Dear mother

  …It is nearly 2 months since I came into hospital.

  I am still at Plymouth but expect to go to a convalescent hospital in Cornwall any day. It has been raining for about a week.

  I am getting quite an old soldier now and am not coming out of hospital until I am kicked out. It is the best place when there is a war on.

  On July the 1st [1916] we had 50,000 casualties. I expect the Bosche had twice that. The only peace we want is unconditional surrender. We’ll do it if it takes 20 years. I can’t understand civilians who are not having a bad time at all, wanting to stop the war.

  I don’t expect to go out again this year. When I come out of the convalescent hospital I get 3 weeks leave and then 2 months light duty at Ripon.

  Best love to all, Norman xxxx

  Editor: A couple of weeks later Norman was sent to a Devonshire village called Buckfastleigh and to a private house called Bigadon. The owner had offered her home for the care of officers and had then become the matron herself, presiding over the home’s ‘efficient’ running. Unwilling to submit himself to rules and regulations he deemed superfluous, Norman inevitably brought himself into conflict with the kindly matriarch who, in the end, lost patience with the young subaltern.

  The officers’ Convalescent Hospital at Bigadon in Devon.

  Ward 3, ‘Bigadon’

  Officers’ Auxiliary Hospital

  Buckfastleigh, Devon

  12/9/17

  Dear all

  I arrived here today. I just got about 2 hours notice to move. It is a private house and holds about 50 patients. We are 2 miles from a small village and have to be in at 6pm at night. Here I hope to develop into a country joskin. I believe there is some fishing here.

  Will let you know when I know all about it.

  ….fondest love, Norman xxxx

  Oct 1917

  Dear Bolton and all

  …You would see the report of Robson’s death. Do you know his photo? It is the big man in khaki trousers taken with some snow in the background.

  Three other officers were killed and four wounded on the same day. My servant [Simpson] also went west last week. He was just 19 and had been out two years, being wounded at Beaumont Hamel. If you ever want to get news of the 4th Seaforths get the ‘Ross-shire Journal’; it gives reports of the Ripon Battalion as well.

  I haven’t been out today. Am getting fed up with hospital. As soon as I am fit I am applying for the Indian Army. I’ve had enough of France.

  There isn’t much news. I expect to get a Board in a week or so and will probably have another month in hospital.

  Bye Bye

  Yours Norman

  PS Robson enlisted the same week as I.

  October 29th 1917

  Dear old thing!

  I have been laid up off and on with pains and a cold.

  I often go out with the ferrets. Altogether I have got about 40 rabbits
and three pheasants. Once I went to Plymouth and stayed there two days on ‘French leave’ [Ed. leave without permission]. No one spotted it.

  Robson and Norman’s servant Simpson. Simpson was killed after serving at the front for two years.

  Last night a raiding party left our trenches (via Billiard room window) at 11pm and entered on enemy orchard returning with numerous prisoners in the shape of best ‘Devonshires’.

  I am quite all right, just going to have a game of billiards. 32 in my last break. I often make twenty.

  Cheerio, Norman.

  Sunday 11 November 1917

  Dear Bolton and all

  Most of my time is spent shooting. I got 28 rabbits and two brace of pheasants in three days. Eleven bunnies in eleven consecutive shots! Every day I have tea at a farm. We have about half-a-pound of cream each! Apples are as common as blackberries here.

  I don’t see why farmers at home object to having rabbits shot off. As a rule they are only too glad to get anyone to do it.

  I am very fed up with this hospital. I’ve been threatened six times by the matron to be sent to Plymouth for ‘bad conduct’.

  Sh!

  YLB Norman

  Norman

  We were well on the road to recovery and the nurses there used to come and show the officers their photograph albums and fraternise, perhaps asking if we wanted a book read to us. There was some romance there but that was kept as far as possible from the eyes of the matron. She was a bit of a tartar and she frowned on that sort of thing, although it went on just the same.

  She didn’t have many staff. The nurses used to know enough to get out for an evening, nipping out and finding their way into the bushes. There was lots of romance, I mean lots of young officers with nothing to live for; they didn’t know if they were going to be back in France within weeks and be dead the next month.

  The pony and trap used to ferry officers and nurses to the nearby farm for dinner.

  I used to organise dinner parties in a nearby farmer’s house where the farmer’s wife would put on a wonderful dinner, often a big joint of pork. We always used to drink far too much home-grown cider and then we used to go back in the pony trap, singing quite heartily, which brought me into disfavour with the matron. I knew she would be listening and saying, ‘Is that that Collins again?’ And, if we knew she was within earshot, we would be singing at the top of our voices some rude verses about her. If she had had any sense of humour – she may have had for all I knew – she would have appreciated them because they were never vicious, just leg pulling.

  I was fond of one of the nurses in particular and occasionally, in the evening, I made a point of taking her out to the farmhouse for dinner, with nobody’s knowledge except the farmer’s wife. We used to have a nice bit of roast lamb and a glass of cider. It didn’t lead to any permanent romance because at that age you haven’t got a career and you can’t think of marriage. Things were kept quiet, I mean, people didn’t walk about in broad daylight, but equally I don’t think we cared about any repercussions. We didn’t worry about trivial things. Inevitably, I suppose, I was sent away to Devonport, a very austere hospital altogether. I quickly realised my error and, after an interview with the senior medical officer, I was sent to Plymouth, much to my relief.

  WNC Block A

  Royal Military Hospital

  Devonport

  21.11.17

  Dear all

  I left Buckfastleigh on Monday morning. I couldn’t get on very well with the matron and so I was sent here ‘for further treatment’.

  I will soon have completed five months in hospital. In about a month’s time I ought to be fit enough for light duty. I discovered when I was leaving the hospital on Monday that a gun [Ed. sent earlier by Bolton] had arrived about six weeks ago but the Matron had hidden it! She is very childish in that way. I have got it here.

  Fraternisation.

  In this hospital we are only allowed out from 2pm to 6pm. There isn’t even a billiard table or a gramophone in the place.

  Bye Bye,

  best love Norman

  The billiard room at Bigadon hospital.

  Durnford Mill Hospital

  Stonehouse

  Plymouth

  Dear Bolton, Mum and Dad

  …You will see I am in another hospital. The fifth since I was wounded! It is a great improvement on the last one. I have a little room with only two beds in. There is a billiard table here. I am quite A1 and will probably be out of the clutches of the RAMC by February or earlier.

  Dec 18 1917

  Dear Mum and Dad

  Three days leave is being granted for Xmas but it isn’t worth coming home for just a day. Besides it would cost me about £5 and I am broke.

  I am awfully sorry to hear of Tom Weatherhead’s death [Ed. a friend from Hartlepool]. He couldn’t have been long in the army. What regiment was he in?

  …You needn’t send a cake. You will need all the food you can get I suppose. If you can raise a subscription for about 10/- it would be much more to the point as I spent £10 on a gramophone and records and in consequence am in a state of extreme poverty until the 1st of Jan. It is a rotten war when one is broke. I will have to mortgage my estates or sell the family jewels.

  I am in perfect health and went about thirty miles into the country yesterday to shoot rabbits. I didn’t miss a shot (killed six in an hour) and all were running.

  I could let you have half a dozen Seaforth buttons from my old tunic. I will be sending some stuff home soon when I have the energy to sort my valise. I have a tin hat here that’s no use. You could wear it for church or during air-raids!

  YLS Norman

  Jan [1918]

  Dear Mother and all.

  …my sergeant at the front got a commission and on arriving in England fell out of a window and broke his neck! He has been out for three and a half years and thro’ every show from Neuve Chapelle without a scratch!

  Bye Bye, Norman

  Thursday

  Dear B

  …I tried to get weekend leave this week (last week was an unofficial one) but was refused. It is very difficult to get leave now. My total leave in a year is 48 hours and the one I took last week. …I’m fed up with doing parades. It is getting too strict. I wish I was farther north or back in dear old Devon, with ‘little Willie’ the ferret and the gun …I could get a few days leave in H’pool if anyone was ill and I was wired for. That would be the only way.

  Cheerio, Norman

  Norman with his faithful ferret ‘Little Willie’.

  Officers relaxing at Bigadon, playing tennis, rugby, quoits and tug-of-war.

  Command Depot Eastbourne (Grand Hotel)

  Tuesday, February 1918

  Dear Mum and Dad

  …This is quite a decent place except that the food is awful.

  I have dinner every night at this Hotel. It is a magnificent place; about six times the size of the West H’pool Grand and is one of the largest in England. To see the dining room at night one would hardly think there was a war on. It is crowded with people in evening dress like pre-war times. I expect to be there three months. I haven’t had my Feb 1st board yet and do not expect it this month.

  We have plenty of freedom here and we are allowed out as late as we like although officially it is 11pm. I am quite well, we do very little work here. A short walk at a snail’s pace and a few games of quoits. It is rather funny to parade for games and get the order ‘fall out the quoits party’ or the ‘rounders party’!

  Every fortnight we are examined by the M.O. and placed in a higher category if we are better. The work gradually gets harder. There are six categories. I am in No4. A fortnight today I will probably be in No3. When we have had about a fortnight or month in No1 we are discharged G[eneral]S[ervice] or Home Service.

  Yours with dearest love, Norman.

  February 1918

  Officer Command Depot Eastbourne

  Dear B

  I arrived in Eastbourne about 9am last Monda
y. Up to the present (Wed) I have appeared on parade to answer my name and then ‘sloped’. The Midland Hotel and St Pancras Station were hit by bombs on the night of Sunday-Monday about midnight. I arrived at St Pancras 5 hours afterwards.

  This afternoon I am to be examined by the MO and if he thinks I am getting better will be moved up one into Group 3. We usually have a fortnight in each group. At present I am in No4. If I get home service for a few months at my next board, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to apply for a job with the Ministry of Munitions. I could do with about six months in England. Since I have been commissioned I have spent all my time in France or in hospital.

  Yours to a cinder, Norman.

  Norman

  I was convalescent in Eastbourne and on my 21st birthday [16 April] I went out for a lonely meal at the Grand Hotel. The head waiter, who had put a little patriotic flag on my table as a celebration, subsequently went and told a distinguished soldier who was also having a meal that it was my 21st birthday. The officer in question came over and briefly sat with me, and his name was General Robertson, the Quarter Master General who himself had enlisted as a private and reached the rank of Field Marshal, the only man ever to do so. Sir William was a great character and I was proud to meet him.

  In the convalescent home in Eastbourne, I again met Lieutenant Pollock, the Cameron Highlander who had won the Victoria Cross. He had been wounded and now only had one eye. Occasionally we used to go down to the Grand Hotel and listen in the Palm Court there to the orchestra while on another occasion I remember going up to London with him. I remember this occasion distinctly for one incident. We were walking past Horse Guards’ Parade and got quite a shock when the sentry called out ‘Guard turn out’; the whole guard turned out and presented arms for Pollock because he had the VC.