Evie's War

by Mackenzie, Anna

  14 July

  Three German prisoners brought in, all with serious fractures. They are co-operative but seldom smile. One has a little English and is invariably polite. Sister asked whether I felt comfortable nursing them, to which I replied that I could see no reason why we would not treat them as any other suffering man.

  15 July

  Woke to the sound of bombs, horribly near. The CO raced through our tents calling for us to get up and run for the shelters. Bleary-eyed and in various states of undress we complied, and sat in the dugout shivering as the Gothas roared overhead. The raid lasted two hours. We did not get back to our beds until 2.30 and must be up and on duty at six. One or two have the wind up; it was very close.

  Later

  The Railway Station has taken some damage, and bombs were dropped between No. 3 and the Chinese Labour Camp.

  16 July

  Matron gathered us together for a pep talk. One or two are considering packing it in.

  17 July

  Big guns at all hours: the Boche once again on the move — no doubt the rationale behind the air raids.

  19 July

  Busy few days, clearing where possible. What I wouldn’t give for a full night’s sleep! But the Gothas ensure there is little hope of that.

  20 July

  No. 38 CCS hit last night; the raid we heard going over in the small hours.

  21 July

  Three of us hitched a ride in an ambulance over to No. 38 to see the damage. It is very sobering. Got back before we were missed, though Sister later gave me a sideways look, which means she may have heard.

  22 July

  The Allies have launched a counter-attack along the Marne. Though it can only mean more dead and wounded, I am glad the Boche are not having it all their own way. Surely there is a better way of resolving our disputes?

  24 July

  I am labelled a ‘Hun sympathiser’ for defending the right of wounded German prisoners to care equal that we give our own boys. Sister overheard and delivered a dressingdown to my accuser.

  25 July

  One of my Australian boys died; not clear why as he had seemed to be making headway. He was only nineteen and had been in the War two years. Sister has given me permission to attend his funeral tomorrow.

  26 July

  A fat packet of letters! I had almost given up hope. Two from Deans Park — Mother and Millie — one from Mr Lindsay (who I must call Arthur), and one from Winifred. All are well and worried: lest I should be blown up (Mother), lonely (Millie), too much in the thick of it (AL), or worn down (Winifred). None has received more than the postcards I sent on arrival in France, despite my having written any number of letters.

  27 July

  Having a half day, several of us caught a lift into town, some for the shops, Mary-Lee and I to see the sights. We began with Saint-Vulfran’s Cathedral — very impressive though a little frayed by shell damage — and met the local Priest who insisted, in a pastiche of French and English, that we must return tomorrow for Communion. As we wandered back up the main street, eyes fixed on the pretty (and occasionally battered) old buildings, I heard my name called and turned to find Sister Duncan hurrying out of a café! She had seen me walk past. She is in Abbeville for eight weeks completing a course in anaesthetics. As she was midway through lunch we joined her and ordered omelettes and coffee and wine, and Mary-Lee offered me a cigarette, which I took, feeling very French. However, I did not care for the taste, so that is the end of that. Sister D has moved twice since Flanders, CCSs both times, and had a week at Marseilles during the winter, which she reports as atrociously cold. She seems quite nervy, though perhaps that is just the way we all are. I had forgotten her lovely dry sense of humour. We have arranged to meet again. She is based at No. 5 BRC Annexe, of which she says it is a great pleasure to be out of tents.

  Sunday 28 July

  Unable to take up the Good Priest’s invitation as we are once again inundated.

  30 July

  On fracture dressings: the men invariably stoic, even when I am ham-fisted with fatigue.

  1 August

  Feet rather swollen. How I long for Winifred’s shoes, which were a size too big — very useful!

  2 August

  Overflow from Heads has spilled into our ward, including one young man who is considered nothing short of miraculous: minimal facial disfigurement despite a bullet having passed straight through his jaw, fracturing but not displacing the bone on entry and exit.

  3 August

  Soissons has changed hands for the fourth time. One wonders what could possibly be left. Our Armies are like lumbering and decrepit old dogs fighting over a bone, gnawing until all the meat is gone and even the bone itself damaged beyond recognition or repair.

  Sunday 4 August

  Leave to go into town to attend a Service at the Cathedral. Understood less than every third word but rather lovely nonetheless. The townspeople heartfelt in their devotions. Several old women approached me after and pressed my hands between their own.

  I called on Kate Duncan after the Service. She had only an hour but took me to their mess and gave me cocoa, after which I had to run to get my ride back to the camp, and missed it anyway, but the next ambulance passing picked me up.

  5 August

  Thunderstorm after a long period of dry; inevitable leaks. Spent the morning rushing about with buckets and mop then, at end of my shift, found a similar problem in our tent. All bedding now strung over the fence and keeping a watchful eye as the sky still looks rather ominous.

  6 August

  Letter from Edmund dated 2nd August. He writes of marching along a tree-lined road in dappled sunshine; also of creeping through woods in the pitch dark searching for German outposts, which ‘one hopes to locate without giving away one’s presence’ — he describes the patrols as being like our childhood games of Hunt and Catch ‘but with higher stakes’. I asked one of my Australians whether he knew the current location of the New Zealanders but he only shook his head. Another answered that they have been fighting beside Canadians and Tommies over the last few weeks but that he’d have the New Zealanders any day.

  8 August

  We have an Airman newly in, badly busted up; his aeroplane ‘shot to bits’ while he was on reconnaissance over German lines. He managed to get back to our side before ‘putting her down rather hard’, from which he counts himself lucky to have survived, and also grateful to have avoided incineration, having seen several fellow pilots go that way.

  9 August

  Cleared out a trainload for Boulogne and on to England. They were pleased to be going, though the journey must prove a challenge. Most will be out of it for months, if not permanently.

  10 August

  British Fourth Army (including Australian Divisions) has broken the German line near Amiens. Fighting very heavy.

  11 August

  A German aircraft was brought down in flames very near No. 34. The pilot did not survive. According to one of the drivers, little of the wreck remains to be scavenged.

  Later

  Went to Vespers with Kate and two others. Beautiful Service, sung in Latin. The Priest has a splendid rich baritone, the tired and worn old congregation lifting their voices in answering chorus. Kate says Amiens Cathedral is the most beautiful she has seen, vast but perfectly proportioned with elaborate carvings in wood and stone, currently sandbagged to the roof. She says it has so far been spared by the expedient of parading captured German Officers in and out whenever the Taubes fly overhead, so that the message gets back that German Officers are imprisoned within. With the battle so near, the city will no doubt be pounded by the German guns, which allow no such precision. I share her concern that so much beauty may be lost, though must wonder whether bricks and mortar can ever be of greater value than the lives of the men given to defend them.

  12 August

  More raids, during which walls shake, equipment falls from shelves, the wounded cry out, and the whine and whumph of falling
bombs drowns all. We do our best not to let our nerves show in front of the men, but cowering in one’s bed at night it is an altogether different story!

  13 August

  Paid a visit to No. 34 (next door to 38). Nurses’ accommodation rather better than ours — bell tents rather than our Armstrongs, well dug in and sandbagged, with short ladders down at the entrance. I would still rather be in a dugout in the event of a raid.

  14 August

  Asked whether I would like to join the Ladies’ Hockey Team, which invitation I declined, having been quite hopeless at School.

  15 August

  One VAD has been killed and three more and a Sister wounded in Boulogne. There is simply no excuse for bombing Hospitals.

  16 August

  Lovely long letter from AL, who writes of the gentle prettiness of the English summer, and the mismatched amalgam of his fellows. His handwriting is still rather challenging but his wit no less sharp.

  17 August

  Concert party in town, put on by No. 5. Much ‘C’est la Guerre’ and hilarity; I should say it a tonic well overdue. Went for a meal with Kate afterwards. She has been out more than four years and back to England only once, which explains why she is nervy — not in a frivolous way, as with some; more as if she is pared back to the absolute basics. She has another month on the course then a further month’s trial ‘to confirm her aptitude’. As she has been administering anaesthetics for over a year that should present no difficulties — but of course means she will have a certificate. She agreed with my view that it is a special pleasure to nurse our own New Zealand boys, but said I probably have more to do with them than she does, working in Theatre. Also that she dreads seeing her brother brought in ‘unless it is not too bad, in which case it would at least get him out of the fighting for a bit’. One of her brothers has been here a year and another is on his way over, having ignored her advice not to come: ‘They all think it a grand adventure then, when they get here and learn what it is really like, it is too late.’

  Sunday 18 August

  Chaplain gave a brief but uplifting Service in the ward for those men unable to move, which is most of ours.

  19 August

  It really is the most glorious summer; almost too hot. Sides of the tents rolled up to give the men some relief. My lot were much entertained to see several nurses coming back from a dip; I wonder whether they were aware of the show they put on!

  20 August

  Work is quite routine compared to Flanders; I suspect because we are further from the Front line. Not that it stops Fritz from flying over to deliver reminders of his beastliness.

  21 August

  Wards reorganised to accommodate increase in medicals. Sister says it is mainly influenza, and rather worse than the strain which went around earlier in the year.

  22 August

  The Allies are again on the offensive. Sister read excerpts from the newspaper, thinking to revive the men’s spirits, to little response. They are worn through.

  23 August

  Blood red moon last night. Hope it signifies only good.

  24 August

  Card from Edmund; somewhat fatalistic. I suspect he must be in amongst it again.

  25 August

  Sister says that after New Zealanders she prefers Canadians, who are invariably softly spoken and polite. We have quite a few coming in, and also Australians, who, on hearing my New Zealand accent, greet me as if I was their own sister!

  27 August

  Letters from Deans Park: Mother agitated over rationing; Father and Eugenie content that the summer is proving so much better than last for their agricultural endeavours; Monty home from School and making the most of it.

  28 August

  I am due two days’ leave but have asked whether I might save it until I have word of Edmund; I should hate to miss the chance of seeing him were he to get leave.

  30 August

  Heard there were a great many New Zealanders arrived at No. 3 Australian General so went in search. Found one face I knew (Ada’s youngest brother, Walter, in with influenza), and then a friend of Edmund’s from home, Robert Cornthwaite, in with trench fever and an infected cut on his left hand. He told me that he and Edmund are in the same Unit but that he has not seen my brother in a fortnight. I was then startled to recognise one of the Sisters; I could not recall her name (it is Ingham) but remembered her from the Hospital in Romford when I was a patient. What a time ago it seems! She told me that she and another Sister had signed up but that her friend had not lasted and had transferred to a Home Establishment. She was surprised to hear that I had been nursing for more than three years, then after some thought added that she perceived at the time (1914) that I ‘had a certain sang-froid’!

  1 September

  After all that sunshine we have had quite a downpour. Towering grey clouds suggest more to come.

  2 September

  Half a dozen New Zealanders have just been brought in, Wellingtons and Aucklands, with fractures of femurs and similar. I asked if any of them knew Edmund but none did. They have come from Bapaume.

  3 September

  One of my boys, three limbs up on pulleys, complains constantly of itches ‘everywhere he cannot reach’. I do my best. He is twenty-two and has been out here almost a year. When I told him we were the same age he refused to believe it: he did not make clear whether because I look younger or older; or perhaps it was that he did not believe ‘a young lady’ should be here at all. I do not feel young; rather, an almost-widow of many years more than I own.

  5 September

  Half day off. Should have finished reading the novel Kate lent me but instead slept for two hours (and could easily have slept for more) before finding a lift to No.3 to visit Walter. They now have over a thousand cases of influenza; symptoms quite severe — headaches, throats, v. high temperatures. One in five develops bronchial pneumonia or septicaemic blood poisoning; chances of recovery considerably reduced thereafter. Walter is not amongst the worst; I have promised to write to reassure his family (he became tearful speaking of Tom). I am sure it will be a help to them to know he is being well looked after and has someone to visit. Had just enough time to call in on Robert (recovering well, though the hand is proving problematic) before meeting Kate for a meal. She finishes her training in a week, after which it will be back to a CCS.

  6 September

  AL’s birthday. I quite forgot until today; have asked one of the orderlies to post a card when he goes into town, along with a letter to Ada.

  9 September

  Further restructuring — there are now five wards of bronco-pneumonia and eight of influenza. Sister and I remain in Fractures with some Heads. Matron has vetoed Medical due to my recent lung trouble, which she feels may make me vulnerable to infection. Mary-Lee says she would far rather Medical than Heads, but I do not mind them.

  10 September

  Two of my worst fractures, sweet young Canadian boys, have taken a turn for the worse.

  11 September

  Father writes that Uncle Aubrey is ‘increasingly optimistic’, Germans ‘losing their taste for it’, though he thinks the end still a long way off.

  12 September

  A poor man was brought in today with his right scapula shattered; impossible for him to be made comfortable. He has five children, he told me, and has been in from the first.

  13 September

  Kate’s final day, though she has yet to be notified re next posting; she has proposed a meal in town to celebrate.

  14 September

  Matron has approved an overnight in town as long as I am back no later than 10 a.m. tomorrow.

  16 September, Nurses’ Home, Abbeville

  Sister has found me this notebook until such time as I am reunited with my belongings. So much has happened in such a short space. But I shall start at the beginning.

  On completion of my shift on Saturday I cadged a ride to town with one of the drivers, Corporal Stanley. We had gone about four miles, c
hatting amiably, when the road seemed to buck up in front of us; Stanley swerved and we slewed half off the road. I felt as if all the breath had been sucked from my body and I had not the wherewithal to put it back in, plus my cheek was stinging fiercely. Eventually my dazed mind allowed that it must have been an aerial attack. I leaned sideways from the cab and looked up to find the culprit — long gone, of course — before turning to Stanley, only to find him choking in blood; he had been hit in the face by shrapnel. We were by now closer to Abbeville than No. 2 so there seemed nothing for it but to go on. I did my best to patch him up then jumped out and ran around to the driver’s side, at which moment another bomb fell and I found myself cowering in the road with my arms over my head. I had heard neither aeroplane nor falling bomb, being still deafened by the first blast, though I did not realise that at the time. Next was to get the engine started, which was no small difficulty. Stanley, meanwhile, had slumped into a stupor and fallen sideways, so that I had to lift him again. Judging the nearest Hospital to be No. 5, I set off.