Evie's War

by Mackenzie, Anna

  19 September

  Meant to write that on arrival yesterday, to my great surprise, I received a cordial greeting from none other than Miss Duncan from the Remuera — which journey feels a lifetime ago. Taking pity on my bedraggled state she sat me down and gave me hot cocoa, after which I reported to Matron to explain Winifred’s predicament and that I was her replacement. She asked where I had previously been stationed, and for how long — which at least I was able to answer truthfully and with some pride — to which she said that the paperwork would no doubt arrive in due course and we would leave it at that for now. I feel slightly better, though I know I have not been entirely frank in allowing her to make the assumption that my replacement of Winifred was sanctioned rather than spontaneous.

  Our accommodation is a bell tent in which we each have a curtained-off cubicle with a bed and shelf. Previous occupants have turned crates into little cupboards; I shall make do with Winifred’s trunk. It is odd to have her things instead of my own; I am tonight feeling rather tired and a little weepy, and am grateful that I at least have my diary and those of my own things I had packed for my excursion to Folkestone. Charles hovers very close. I only hope he does not disapprove of my hasty decision.

  20 September

  Woken at 5.40 a.m. by a massive bombardment. Structures of all kinds rattle and groan, any manner of things fly from shelves, and there is the constant deafening roar of the guns. Sometimes the earth itself seems to shrug and tremble. We were turned out of our beds at 6 a.m. with twenty minutes to dress and run to the mess for a hasty breakfast before reporting at our cars. Mine started without a hitch and we headed off with a load of sitting-up cases who were to go further back, making room for the expected influx. Did three or four runs of that nature, with constant horrific noise and flashes, and yellow and grey smears across the eastern horizon; then the first train of wounded arrived and there was no time to look at anything save the road and stretchers — and best not to look too closely at them — and no time for food or breaks. Rain last night and all the traffic has turned the road to slush; quite treacherous. Had a problem with my engine about 3 p.m. and one of the girls (Fraser) gave me a hand. I was jolly lucky it was she who chanced upon me. We are not entirely ‘a merry band’: Gallagher is quite the prickliest person I have ever met, and yesterday sounded off about Fraser’s tendency towards messiness. Really, she is in no position to set herself up over the rest, but she does like to wag an admonitory finger.

  21 September

  Eighteen-hour shift and perhaps four hours sleep with the guns firing all the time. Mist quite thick and road worse than yesterday. Not yet having my bearings, I twice went to the wrong CCS and had to turn around and go back. Once we are loaded up at the Station the Sergeant barks off a number — 10, 13, 17, etc; there are Australian and Canadian Hospitals as well as British — and we head there, then back and back again for another load and another. They fill each CCS to the brim then it has a break, during which it endeavours to clear the backlog, while we fill up another. Those specialising in particular injuries must take them as they come, non-stop. Horribly tired and eyes aching from driving at night. British and Australian troops have won the Menin Road. The wounded are pouring in.

  23 September

  Five hours sleep, broken by guns and the formidable roar of aeroplanes overhead — several bombs have landed far too close for comfort; you would think they would respect the Red Crosses emblazoned on our roofs, especially as we have German wounded as well as our own. When it became clear further sleep was impossible I abandoned all attempts and went to find one of the mechanics for further instruction in the vagaries of my vehicle. After which, breakfast — and time to chew my food instead of bolt it! No sign of any let-up yet. Sisters and nurses look haggard. Miss — or rather Sister — Duncan asked how I was. She looked quite terrible, not having slept more than three hours in as many days; she is in one of the Operating Theatres, which work twenty-four hours a day.

  24 September

  Wounded still coming in but some now going out as well. Crossed paths with Matron, who commented (as if she did not have enough to concern her!) that she has yet to receive my paperwork. I shall have to speak to her when things settle down; I do not feel at all comfortable with the deceit. Sent a postcard to Deans Park to say I have signed on with the Red Cross, which Winifred may by now have told them. Of my whereabouts, said only that I was working in a ‘perfectly nice Hospital’, for of course the censors would not let me say more!

  25 September

  Forgot to fill my lamps with water yesterday, so when it came to it they would not light and I had to drive in the dark. No moon to help me and the roads pot-holed, so of course I must slide into a ditch. Luckily only sitting-up cases in the back, several of whom clambered down and helped push me back onto the road. I think they were quite cheered to find a ‘slip of a girl’ at the wheel, though one said he hardly thought it proper so close to the Front.

  26 September

  Rain so heavy it is like driving in darkness. The goggles keep the rain out of one’s eyes but do nothing to improve visibility. Another barrage this morning, signalling the rush to come. Only now does the purpose of the duckboards become apparent.

  27 September

  Large numbers of Australians over the last two days. It is quite terrible to see the state they are in. I cannot help but wonder where Edmund might be. Dashed off a note letting him know where I am; I shall write to Father and Mother when there is time.

  28 September

  Hauled up before Matron. I assumed the game was up and I was to be shipped off Home as the imposter I am, but no: I had been reported for fraternising with the men! After discussion it became clear the problem lay with someone who felt I was unnecessarily spending time with the mechanics. I was thoroughly outraged and did not care if it showed! Perhaps that is what saved me; Matron accepted my explanation as reasonable but advised that I should ensure I was not in the same ‘compromised’ position hereafter. Her parting comment was that ‘tensions run high when we are under pressure’. Such an accusation reflects not tension but meanness of spirit — and I can guess who made it! Found myself longing for Charles’s good sense and wisdom; I confess, tears were shed.

  29 September

  EC agrees with my speculation and let slip a comment in the mess re my visit to Matron. Suspicions were confirmed, thus we now know where the ‘enemy within’ lies (or in this case, sleeps, which is in the cubicle opposite mine).

  30 September

  Guns still blazing away — apparently it is only twelve miles to the Front, so little wonder we can hear them. Men pouring in. There seems no end, with far more coming in than going out. Two of the girls, Dennis and Clothier, fell asleep in the mess, Dennis with her hair in her soup! We are all at the brink of exhaustion. I cannot imagine how it must be for the men. At least the rain has stopped and weak sunshine battles to dry us all out.

  1 October

  Had one poor man today who must be loaded on his own with limbs tied to the stretcher racks on either side to save them from moving. It is generally a case of driving as fast as one can to the Station then back rather more circumspectly, though not slowly, as many cases need urgent attention. But I drove as slow as I might, trying to avoid the worst of the pot-holes. Two of the girls were obliged to match my speed as there was nowhere I might pull over. Gallagher was in full swing giving me a dressing-down as soon as we pulled in to unload, but had to hold her vitriol when my poor man was revealed. He made not a sound throughout, so that I wondered whether he might have died, but he seemed still to be breathing on delivery. Burns according to Brooker, who is one of the MOs.

  2 October

  Message to report to Matron when I came off shift at 10 a.m. Staggered to her office, bleary-eyed and hungry and smelling not at all fresh, and was asked whether there was anything I might wish to tell her. Having no stomach for further dissembling, and hoping I had done enough to prove my worth, I gave her the truth. That earned m
e a lecture on irresponsibility and Military Authority and the possibility of Dishonourable Discharge (which of course does not apply given I am not officially signed up, though it seemed wisest to say nothing on the point). She was in mid-flow when, quite unintentionally, I interrupted by yawning. Matron sat back and studied me and finally invited me to sit, which was a relief as I was on the verge of falling down. She then asked about my driving experience. When I explained I had done very little before arriving in Belgium, and no, I had not completed a Red Cross — or any — course, she looked somewhat horrified. It transpired she has known for several days that I am not officially sanctioned, but had been waiting for a reference before taking steps to have me approved ‘given my showing to date’ (which is just as Winifred supposed). But the letter she has now received in response to her enquiry has ‘left her perplexed’, being a reply from Matron at 1st Eastern. To her question as to what possessed me to presume I could step into a role as driver, given I had no experience, I did not have an answer, other than that I had acted on the spur of the moment, and on Winifred’s despair at letting the side down. As to the despair which might have been caused had I, ‘by my inexperience been killed or caused the deaths of others’, I simply agreed that we had not thought it through.

  ‘It cannot continue,’ Matron decreed. I confess a tear or two may have escaped, which I put down to exhaustion. Her initial reaction, she said, had been to send me packing immediately, but the letter from 1st Eastern, being ‘very much in my favour’, had placed her ‘on the horns of a dilemma’. Regardless, I am to pack my bags.

  3 October

  Matron has decided on a reprieve, wherein I might prove myself. Several Sisters having been injured during a bombing raid at one of the Casualty Clearing Stations, reinforcements are being gleaned from wherever possible. As a consequence, I am to move to No. 17 CCS, Admissions ward, effective immediately. Matron has supplied a uniform, which I will need to supplement. As Matron ‘sees no benefit in encouraging gossip’ it is to be put out that my transfer is due to my nursing experience and a temporary shortage of staff. When Emma announced it in the mess, one face showed disappointment; no doubt she would prefer to see me sent home in disgrace. EC says she will miss me, which sentiment I share.

  Later, No. 17 CCS

  My new accommodation is a Nissen hut, cubicles much the same size, with a small stove at one end and window and door at the other (my cubicle, inevitably, being furthest from the stove). The windowpanes are of waxed canvas. Brief bursts of sun today shine through in an almost cheery manner. Those of my fellow nurses I have so far seen are either (a) asleep or (b) asleep on their feet. I go on duty in half an hour, and have my feet up in preparation.

  4 October

  Massive bombardment woke us at 5.20 a.m., going on till well after 6 a.m. Groans arose from all occupied beds, as it means another Push. If it is anything like the last, we shall see the rush begin by midday. I go on duty at ten, so shall soon find out. Impossible to get back to sleep. Instead I shall write to Winifred and Edmund and our parents.

  5 October

  Yesterday saw more heavy shelling around 10 a.m. and the first casualties shortly after eleven, mainly sitting cases, predominantly wounds to the head and upper limbs, with stretcher cases (legs and chests) following. Very busy thereafter. It had begun to rain quite early and all men coming in were soaked and cold; my task to get them warm and dry, give drink and food if they could manage it, and ensure urgent cases were brought to Sister’s attention. There is no time for changing them. Instead we assess them, sending urgent cases for surgery while the rest go to Stationary Hospitals further back, except those too ill to be moved further. Increasing numbers of the latter came in through the evening; they are a frightful sight.

  Later

  The word is that the New Zealanders have taken Gravenstafel Ridge, held by the Boche for two years, with two ANZAC Corps fighting side by side. Perhaps it is a turning point.

  6 October

  On till six, half an hour off then on again till ten. Five hours sleep and back on. My eyes felt gummed together, but the state of the men proved enough to stiffen one’s resolve. Higher proportion of stretcher cases today, all wounded on the first morning. Many New Zealanders amongst them; I look with trepidation to see whether there is a face I know. One ambulance brought in six stretcher bearers, wounded when their relay post was blown up. One died and two are likely to, I should think. Charles much in my thoughts.

  7 October

  Continual rain and cold wind. The men come in so coated with mud it is hard at first to determine their injuries or read the field cards tied to stretchers or jackets. My first task is to clean the mud from their eyes and ears and mouths, for which small attention they are abjectly grateful.

  8 October

  Torrential rain and bitterly cold. The duckboards between No. 17 and our hut are underwater at two points, and it is only the beginning of autumn. Everything is continually damp, even one’s bed, though for the men it is clearly an improvement. Once tucked up in a blanket with a hot-water bottle — and especially if we have managed to get them to take a little stout or brandy — they can become quite voluble, unless badly wounded. They are filled with pride in their comrades and the success of the Mission. All the New Zealanders comment on my accent and are delighted to hear a voice from home.

  I had a story from one of the sitting cases, that a Padre had been killed at a Forward Dressing Station (which had been hastily set up in a captured German bunker) while he was outside burying a German who had died of wounds. Half a dozen others were also killed, all men awaiting treatment, including a second wounded German prisoner.

  9 October

  Our long hours are taking a toll on my poor feet, which are so swollen I have doubts of the wisdom of removing my boots for fear I shall never get them back on. Sister in Charge seems never to sleep; I do wonder how she can manage. At last there has come a break in the rain, though the wind remains bitter. Going between hut and mess and ward it is impossible not to get soaked — from the ground up or the sky down, it makes little difference. At least with the pace of work one does not stay cold for long.

  10 October

  Wounded streaming in — 780 cases in the morning and there will be more this afternoon. Yesterday’s attack at Poelcapelle seems to have been a failure. The wounds are much the same either way, but the men’s spirits are so much lower when it has all come to naught.

  11 October

  Men wounded on the 9th still coming in; they are in a frightful state after lying out in the rain and mud for two days. New wards being opened to cope with the influx.

  12 October

  At 3 a.m. there came a great stream of ambulances. I was due to go off, but simply not possible. Most came from the 49th, West Riding, and had been out for days. Had apparently been impossible to get to them previously, till our New Zealand boys arrived and went out to bring them in. Wounds already turned septic, the smell appalling, some crawling with maggots.

  On my feet for twenty hours with only two short breaks. Sister ordered me off at 5 a.m. Shelling throughout the night; I have grown almost used to it. Just asleep when a barrage woke me, patchier than the last few.

  Later

  Back on at ten and run off our feet all day. Another Push; this time our New Zealand boys. They are badly shot up. Canterburys and Otagos.

  13 October

  Attack a dismal failure. The men come in coated to the armpits, carrying their own bodyweight in mud. Walking wounded so exhausted they have to be carried, they cannot even be led, they are so far past it. Shrapnel and machine-gun wounds in equal numbers; also shell shock. One boy told me it was our own guns that got him but he does not blame the Gunners as the problem is the condition of the ground; they have not got a solid base to fire from. He described the attack as a scene from a nightmare, except there was no waking up. He saw all his friends fall around him, some ‘just disappeared’ in the blast prior to the one that got him. Of his Unit he think
s he is likely the only one left. He is riddled with shrapnel wounds and has a great gash across his head.

  14 October

  An Officer carried in was unable to hold in his distress as I tended him (picric solution and Eusol dressings). He was fairly peppered, requiring stitching for several wounds, but was not amongst the most urgent so must wait for several hours. He told me that in the rain and smoke of the battle he thought he was advancing through a field of pumpkins, then realised the mounds were the packs of his fallen men.

  Later

  So tired I sometimes lose a sense of where I am; it is as if my hands belong to someone else. Sister ordered me off to sleep but each time I close my eyes I see the pitiful creatures who must be tended.