Violetta Thurstan - Field Hospital and Flying Column
V >>
Violetta Thurstan >> Field Hospital and Flying Column
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 17587-h.htm or 17587-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/7/5/8/17587/17587-h/17587-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/7/5/8/17587/17587-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/fieldhosflyingcolumn00thuruoft
FIELD HOSPITAL AND FLYING COLUMN
Being the Journal of an English Nursing Sister in Belgium & Russia
by
VIOLETTA THURSTAN
London and New York
G. P. Putnam's Sons
1915
First Impression April 1915
M. R.
_Allons! After the great Companions, and to belong to them.
They too are on the road.
They are the swift and majestic men, they are the greatest women.
They know the universe itself as a road, as many roads,
As roads for travelling souls.
Camerados, I will give you my hand,
I give you my love more precious than money.
Will you give me yourselves, will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?_
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE BEGINNING OF IT ALL 1
II. CHARLEROI AND ROUND ABOUT 16
III. OUR HOSPITAL AND PATIENTS 37
IV. THE RETURN TO BRUSSELS 53
V. A MEMORABLE JOURNEY 76
VI. A PEACEFUL INTERLUDE 92
VII. OUR WORK IN WARSAW 113
VIII. THE BOMBARDMENT OF LODZ 128
IX. MORE DOINGS OF THE FLYING COLUMN 144
X. BY THE TRENCHES AT RADZIVILOW 161
INDEX 179
I
THE BEGINNING OF IT ALL
War, war, war. For me the beginning of the war was a torchlight tattoo
on Salisbury Plain. It was held on one of those breathless evenings in
July when the peace of Europe was trembling in the balance, and when
most of us had a heartache in case--_in case_ England, at this time of
internal crisis, did not rise to the supreme sacrifice.
It was just the night for a tattoo--dark and warm and still. Away across
the plain a sea of mist was rolling, cutting us off from the outside
world, and only a few pale stars lighted our stage from above.
The field was hung round with Chinese lanterns throwing weird lights and
shadows over the mysterious forms of men and beasts that moved therein.
It was fascinating to watch the stately entrance into the field,
Lancers, Irish Rifles, Welsh Fusiliers, Grenadiers and many another
gallant regiment, each marching into the field in turn to the swing of
their own particular regimental tune until they were all drawn up in
order.
There followed a very fine exhibition of riding and the usual torchlight
tricks, and then the supreme moment came. The massed bands had thundered
out the first verse of the Evening Hymn, the refrain was taken up by a
single silver trumpet far away--a sweet thin almost unearthly note more
to be felt than heard--and then the bands gathered up the whole melody
and everybody sang the last verse together.
The Last Post followed, and then I think somehow we all knew.
* * * * *
A week later I had a telegram from the Red Cross summoning me to London.
London was a hive of ceaseless activity. Territorials were returning
from their unfinished training, every South Coast train was crowded with
Naval Reserve men who had been called up, every one was buying kits,
getting medical comforts, and living at the Army and Navy Stores. Nurses
trained and untrained were besieging the War Office demanding to be
sent to the front, Voluntary Aid Detachment members were feverishly
practising their bandaging, working parties and ambulance classes were
being organized, crowds without beginning and without end were surging
up and down the pavements between Westminster and Charing Cross, wearing
little flags, buying every half-hour edition of the papers and watching
the stream of recruits at St. Martin's. All was excitement--no one knew
what was going to happen. Then the bad news began to come through from
Belgium, and every one steadied down and settled themselves to their
task of waiting or working, whichever it might happen to be.
I was helping at the Red Cross Centre in Vincent Square, and all day
long there came an endless procession of women wanting to help, some
trained nurses, many--far too many--half-trained women; and a great many
raw recruits, some anxious for adventure and clamouring "to go to the
front at once," others willing and anxious to do the humblest service
that would be of use in this time of crisis.
Surely after this lesson the Bill for the State Registration of Trained
Nurses cannot be ignored or held up much longer. Even now in this
twentieth century, girls of twenty-one, nurses so-called with six
months' hospital training, somehow manage to get out to the front,
blithely undertaking to do work that taxes to its very utmost the skill,
endurance, and resource of the most highly trained women who have given
up the best years of their life to learning the principles that underlie
this most exacting of professions. For it is not only medical and
surgical nursing that is learnt in a hospital ward, it is discipline,
endurance, making the best of adverse circumstances, and above all the
knowledge of mankind. These are the qualities that are needed at the
front, and they cannot be imparted in a few bandaging classes or
instructions in First Aid.
This is not a diatribe against members of Voluntary Aid Detachments.
They do not, as a rule, pretend to be what they are not, and I have
found them splendid workers in their own department. They are not
half-trained nurses but fully trained ambulance workers, ready to do
probationer's work under the fully trained sisters, or if necessary to
be wardmaid, laundress, charwoman, or cook, as the case may be. The
difficulty does not lie with them, but with the women who have a few
weeks' or months' training, who blossom out into full uniform and call
themselves Sister Rose, or Sister Mabel, and are taken at their own
valuation by a large section of the public, and manage through influence
or bluff to get posts that should only be held by trained nurses, and
generally end by bringing shame and disrepute upon the profession.
* * * * *
The work in the office was diversified by a trip to Faversham with some
very keen and capable Voluntary Aid Detachment members, to help
improvise a temporary hospital for some Territorials who had gone sick.
And then my turn came for more active service. I was invited by the St.
John Ambulance to take out a party of nurses to Belgium for service
under the Belgian Red Cross Society.
Very little notice was possible, everything was arranged on Saturday
afternoon of all impossible afternoons to arrange anything in London,
and we were to start for Brussels at eight o'clock on Tuesday morning.
On Monday afternoon I was interviewing my nurses, saying good-bye
to friends--shopping in between--wildly trying to get everything
I wanted at the eleventh hour, when suddenly a message came
to say that the start would not be to-morrow after all. Great
excitement--telephones--wires--interviews. It seemed that there
was some hitch in the arrangements at Brussels, but at last it
was decided by the St. John's Committee that I should go over
alone the next day to see the Belgian Red Cross authorities before
the rest of the party were sent off. The nurses were to follow the
day after if it could be arranged, as having been all collected in
London, it was very inconvenient for them to be kept waiting long.
Early Tuesday morning saw me at Charing Cross Station. There were not
many people crossing--two well-known surgeons on their way to Belgium,
Major Richardson with his war-dogs, and a few others. A nurse going to
Antwerp, with myself, formed the only female contingent on board. It was
asserted that a submarine preceded us all the way to Ostend, but as I
never get further than my berth on these occasions, I cannot vouch for
the truth of this.
Ostend in the middle of August generally means a gay crowd of bathers,
Cook's tourists tripping to Switzerland and so on; but our little party
landed in silence, and anxious faces and ominous whispers met us on our
arrival on Belgian soil. It was even said that the Germans were marching
on Brussels, but this was contradicted afterwards as a sensational
canard. The Red Cross on my luggage got me through the _douane_
formalities without any trouble. I entered the almost empty train and we
went to Brussels without stopping.
At first sight Brussels seemed to be _en fete_, flags were waving from
every window, Boy Scouts were everywhere looking very important, and the
whole population seemed to be in the streets. Nearly every one wore
little coloured flags or ribbons--a favourite badge was the Belgian
colours with the English and French intertwined. It did not seem
possible that war could be so near, and yet if one looked closer one saw
that many of the flags giving such a gay appearance were Red Cross
flags denoting that there an ambulance had been prepared for the
wounded, and the Garde Civile in their picturesque uniform were
constantly breaking up the huge crowds into smaller groups to avoid a
demonstration.
The first thing to arrange was about the coming of my nurses, whether
they were really needed and if so where they were to go. I heard from
the authorities that it was highly probable that Brussels _would_ be
occupied by the Germans, and that it would be best to put off their
coming, for a time at any rate. Private telegrams had long been stopped,
but an official thought he might be able to get mine through, so I sent
a long one asking that the nurses might not be sent till further notice.
As a matter of fact it never arrived, and the next afternoon I heard
that twenty-six nurses--instead of sixteen as was originally
arranged--were already on their way. There were 15,000 beds in Brussels
prepared for the reception of the wounded, and though there were not
many wounded in the city just then, the nurses would certainly all be
wanted soon if any of the rumours were true that we heard on all sides,
of heavy fighting in the neighbourhood, and severe losses inflicted on
the gallant little Belgian Army.
It was impossible to arrange for the nurses to go straight to their work
on arrival, so it was decided that they should go to a hotel for one
night and be drafted to their various posts the next day. Anyhow, they
could not arrive till the evening, so in the afternoon I went out to the
barriers to see what resistance had been made against the possible
German occupation of Brussels. It did not look very formidable--some
barbed-wire entanglements, a great many stones lying about, and the
Gardes Civiles in their quaint old-fashioned costume guarding various
points. That was all.
In due time my large family arrived and were installed at the hotel.
Then we heard, officially, that the Germans were quite near the city,
and that probably the train the nurses had come by would be the last to
get through, and this proved to be the case. _Affiches_ were pasted
everywhere on the walls with the Burgomaster's message to his people:
A SAD HOUR! THE GERMANS ARE AT OUR GATES!
PROCLAMATION OF THE BURGOMASTER OF BRUSSELS
CITIZENS,--In spite of the heroic resistance of our
troops, seconded by the Allied Armies, it is to be feared that the
enemy may invade Brussels.
If this eventuality should take place, I hope that I may be able to
count on the calmness and steadiness of the population.
Let every one keep himself free from terror--free from panic.
The Communal Authorities will not desert their posts. They will
continue to exercise their functions with that firmness of purpose
that you have the right to demand from them under such grave
circumstances.
I need hardly remind my fellow-citizens of their duty to their
country. The laws of war forbid the enemy to force the population
to give information as to the National Army and its method of
defence. The inhabitants of Brussels must know that they are within
their rights in refusing to give any information on this point to
the invader. This refusal is their duty in the interests of their
country.
Let none of you act as a guide to the enemy.
Let every one take precautions against spies and foreign agents,
who will try to gather information or provoke manifestations.
The enemy cannot legitimately harm the family honour nor the life
of the citizens, nor their private property, nor their philosophic
or religious convictions, nor interfere with their religious
services.
Any abuse committed by the invader must be immediately reported to
me.
As long as I have life and liberty, I shall protect with all my
might the dignity and rights of my fellow-citizens. I beg the
inhabitants to facilitate my task by abstaining from all acts of
hostility, all employment of arms, and by refraining from
intervention in battles or encounters.
Citizens, whatever happens, listen to the voice of your Burgomaster
and maintain your confidence in him; he will not betray it.
Long live Belgium free and independent!
Long live Brussels!
ADOLPHE MAX.
All that night refugees from Louvain and Termonde poured in a steady
stream into Brussels, seeking safety. I have never seen a more pitiful
sight. Little groups of terror-stricken peasants fleeing from their
homes, some on foot, some more fortunate ones with their bits of
furniture in a rough cart drawn by a skeleton horse or a large dog. All
had babies, aged parents, or invalids with them. I realized then for the
first time what war meant. We do not know in England. God grant we never
may. It was not merely rival armies fighting battles, it was
civilians--men, women, and children--losing their homes, their
possessions, their country, even their lives. This invasion of
unfortunates seemed to wake Brussels up to the fact that the German army
was indeed at her gate. Hordes of people rushed to the Gare du Nord in
the early dawn to find it entirely closed, no trains either entering or
leaving it. It was said that as much rolling-stock as was possible had
been sent to France to prevent it being taken by the Germans. There was
then a stampede to the Gare du Midi, from whence a few trains were still
leaving the city crammed to their utmost capacity.
In the middle of the morning I got a telephone message from the Belgian
Red Cross that the Germans were at the barriers, and would probably
occupy Brussels in half an hour, and that all my nurses must be in their
respective posts before that time.
Oh dear, what a stampede it was. I told the nurses they must leave their
luggage for the present and be ready in five minutes, and in less than
that time we left the hotel, looking more like a set of rag-and-bone men
than respectable British nursing sisters. One had seized a large
portmanteau, another a bundle of clean aprons, another soap and toilet
articles; yet another provident soul had a tea-basket. I am glad that
the funny side of it did not strike me then, but in the middle of the
next night I had helpless hysterics at the thought of the spectacle we
must have presented. Mercifully no one took much notice of us--the
streets were crowded and we had difficulty in getting on in some
places--just at one corner there was a little cheer and a cry of "Vive
les Anglais!"
It took a long time before my flock was entirely disposed of. It had
been arranged that several of them should work at one of the large
hospitals in Brussels where 150 beds had been set apart for the wounded,
five in another hospital at the end of the city, two in an ambulance
station in the centre of Brussels, nine were taken over to a large
fire-station that was converted into a temporary hospital with 130 beds,
and two had been promised for a private hospital outside the barriers.
It was a work of time to get the last two to their destinations; the
Germans had begun to come in by that time, and we had to wait two hours
to cross a certain street that led to the hospital, as all traffic had
been stopped while the enemy entered Brussels.
It was an imposing sight to watch the German troops ride in. The
citizens of Brussels behaved magnificently, but what a bitter
humiliation for them to undergo. How should we have borne it, I wonder,
if it had been London? The streets were crowded, but there was hardly a
sound to be heard, and the Germans took possession of Brussels in
silence. First the Uhlans rode in, then other cavalry, then the
artillery and infantry. The latter were dog-weary, dusty and
travel-stained--they had evidently done some forced marching. When the
order was given to halt for a few minutes, many of them lay down in the
street just as they were, resting against their packs, some too
exhausted to eat, others eating sausages out of little paper bags
(which, curiously enough, bore the name of a Dutch shop printed on the
outside) washed down with draughts of beer which many of the inhabitants
of Brussels, out of pity for their weary state, brought them from the
little drinking-houses that line the Chaussee du Nord.
The rear was brought up by Red Cross wagons and forage carts,
commissariat wagons, and all the miscellaneous kit of an army on the
march. It took thirty-six hours altogether for the army to march in and
take possession. They installed themselves in the Palais de Justice and
the Hotel de Ville, having requisitioned beds, food and everything that
they wanted from the various hotels. Poor Madame of the Hotel X. wept
and wrung her hands over the loss of her beautiful beds. Alas, poor
Madame! The next day her husband was shot as a spy, and she cared no
longer about the beds.
In the meantime, just as it got dark, I installed my last two nurses in
the little ambulance out beyond the barriers.
II
CHARLEROI AND ROUND ABOUT
The Germans had asked for three days to pass through the city of
Brussels; a week had passed and they showed no signs of going. The first
few days more and more German soldiers poured in--dirty, footsore, and
for the most part utterly worn out. At first the people of Brussels
treated them with almost unnecessary kindness--buying them cake and
chocolate, treating them to beer, and inviting them into their houses to
rest--but by the end of the week these civilities ceased.
Tales of the German atrocities began to creep in--stories of Liege and
Louvain were circulated from mouth to mouth, and doubtless lost nothing
by being repeated.
[Illustration: MAP OF BELGIUM]
There was no _real_ news at all. Think how cut off we were--certainly it
was nothing in comparison with what it was afterwards--but we could
not know that then--and anyway we learnt to accommodate ourselves to the
lack of news by degrees. Imagine a Continental capital suddenly without
newspapers, without trains, telephones, telegraphs; all that we had
considered up to now essentials of civilized life. Personally, I heard a
good deal of Belgian news, one way and another, as I visited all my
flock each day in their various hospitals and ambulances stationed in
every part of the city.
The hospital that we had to improvise at the fire-station was one of the
most interesting pieces of work we had to do in Brussels. There were 130
beds altogether in six large wards, and the Sisters had to sleep at
first in one, later in two large dormitories belonging to firemen absent
on active service. The firemen who were left did all the cooking
necessary for the nursing staff and patients, and were the most charming
of men, leaving nothing undone that could augment the Sisters' comfort.
It is a great strain on temper and endurance for women to work and sleep
and eat together in such close quarters, and on the whole they stood
the test well. In a very few days the fire-station was transformed into
a hospital, and one could tell the Sisters with truth that the wards
looked _almost_ like English ones. Alas and alas! At the end of the week
the Germans put in eighty soldiers with sore feet, who had over-marched,
and the glorious vision of nursing Tommy Atkins at the front faded into
the prosaic reality of putting hundreds of cold compresses on German
feet, that they might be ready all the sooner to go out and kill our
men. War is a queer thing!!
* * * * *
On the following Tuesday afternoon the Burgomaster of Charleroi came
into Brussels in an automobile asking for nurses and bringing with him a
permit for this purpose from the German authorities. Charleroi, which
was now also in German hands, was in a terrible state, and most of the
city burnt down to the ground. It was crammed with wounded--both French
and German--every warehouse and cottage almost were full of them, and
they were very short of trained people.
The Central Red Cross Bureau sent a message, asking if three of us
would go back with him. _Would we!_ Was it not the chance we had been
longing for. In ten minutes Sister Elsie, Sister Grace and I were in
that automobile speeding to Charleroi. I had packed quickly into a
portmanteau all I thought I was likely to want in the way of uniform and
other clothing, with a few medical comforts for the men, and a little
tea and cocoa for ourselves. The two Sisters had done likewise--so we
were rather horrified when we got to Hal, where we had to change
automobiles, the Burgomaster said he could not possibly take any of our
luggage, as we must get into quite a small car--the big one having to
return to Brussels. He assured us that our things would be sent on in a
few days--so back to Brussels went my portmanteau with all my clean
aprons and caps and everything else, and I did not see it again for
nearly a week. But such is war!
We waited nearly an hour at Hal while our German permits were examined,
and then went off in the small car. It was heart-breaking to see the
scenes of desolation as we passed along the road. Jumet--the
working-class suburb of Charleroi--was entirely burnt down, there did
not seem to be one house left intact. It is indeed terrible when
historic and consecrated buildings such as those at Louvain and Rheims
are burnt down, but in a way it is more pathetic to see these poor
little cottages destroyed, that must have meant so much to their owners,
and it makes one's heart ache to see among the crumbling ruins the
remains of a baby's perambulator, or the half-burnt wires of an old
four-post bed. Probably the inhabitants of Jumet had all fled, as there
was no one to be seen as we went through the deserted village, except
some German sentries pacing up and down.
Parts of Charleroi were still burning as we got to it, and a terrible
acrid smoke pervaded everything. Here the poorer streets were spared,
and it was chiefly the rich shops and banks and private houses that had
been destroyed. Charleroi was the great Birmingham of Belgium--coal-pits
all round, with many great iron and steel works, now of course all idle,
and most of the owners entirely ruined. The town was absolutely crammed
with German troops as we passed through; it had now been occupied for
two or three days and was being used as a great military depot.
But Charleroi was not to be our final destination--we went on a few more
kilometres along the Beaumont road, and drew up at a fairly large
building right out in the country. It was a hospital that had been three
parts built ten years ago, then abandoned for some reason and never
finished. Now it was being hastily fitted up as a Red Cross hospital,
and stretcher after stretcher of wounded--both French and German--were
being brought in as we arrived.
The confusion that reigned within was indescribable. There were some
girls there who had attended first-aid lectures, and they were doing
their best; but there were no trained nurses and no one particularly in
command. The German doctor had already gone, one of the Belgian doctors
was still working there, but he was absolutely worn out and went off
before long, as he had still cases to attend to in the town before he
went to his well-earned bed. He carried off the two Sisters with him,
till the morning, and I was left alone with two or three Red Cross
damsels to face the night. It is a dreadful nightmare to look back at.
Blood-stained uniforms hastily cut off the soldiers were lying on the
floor--half-open packets of dressings were on every locker; basins of
dirty water or disinfectant had not been emptied; men were moaning with
pain, calling for water, begging that their dressings might be done
again; and several new cases just brought in were requiring urgent
attention. And the cannon never ceased booming. I was not accustomed to
it then, and each crash meant to me rows of men mown down--maimed or
killed. I soon learnt that comparatively few shells do any damage,
otherwise there would soon be no men left at all. In time, too, one gets
so accustomed to cannon that one hardly hears it, but I had not arrived
at that stage then: this was my baptism of fire.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8