Part 12

I have just realized that it is about three weeks since I last wrote. I don’t know how it happened to be so long, except that I guess there has not been very much of special interest to say. I have not done all my thanking for Christmas presents yet and I have been getting along with those little by little and so had not noticed that I had not written a regular for so long. The past two weeks have been very mild, in great contrast to the month before. The warmish, damp weather has not been any too good for the general health of the group, for we have continued to have a good deal of the “flue,” as the British call the influenza. But the chilblains are all better.

The hospital has continued to have about the same number of patients right along. We vary between eight and ten hundred, sending out some every day and getting in convoys nearly every night. We get such a lot of medical cases now and such a lot of trench feet, which are such dreadful things. They are the result of wet and cold and are often very serious. They are very painful and sometimes result in gangrene. To-day one poor lad had to be told that he would have to lose both feet because of this trouble, and he is simply crushed. To-morrow he will buck up, but to-night it seems too much to be borne. We have some terribly sick men, but not so large a proportion of them as awhile ago. I am sending as many nurses away for their leave as I possibly can while the work is not so dreadfully heavy. I have had about thirty away for their fifteen days already. Ruth Cobb is in Paris now with Miss Watkins. Most of the nurses go to Paris. Three have been down to Cannes, but they were sent through the British authorities. In a few days my splendid assistant is going to Paris with three of her pals. I shall miss her very much as she is a wonderful right-hand man, and one I depend on a lot. After she gets back, which will be Feb. 8th, I expect to go for my leave. I am planning to go to London, for I want to see Elizabeth M. and I want to get away from nurses. I could not do that in Paris, nor at Cannes, nor at Mentone; besides which I don’t want to go to any of those places alone, and I can’t go very well with any nurses from here. So it’s London for me. I don’t mind the Channel trip, nor possibilities of air raids, nor bad weather.

I find I am right tired though it is not from hard, physical work of any kind, for I certainly am not doing that. I guess it is from responsibility, and more or less of a long-continued strain. Anyway a change will do me good. We all get fifteen days every six months if we can manage it. You see we are all overdue here, and there are so many of us I can’t possibly get around before the second fifteen days will be due. I will cable from London some time while I am there just to let you know I am there safely.

More strange gifts still come along.... I am not properly grateful for cast-off clothes, I’m afraid, especially when they are flung at one without a word. However, I ought to be ashamed to growl. But so many, many people have been so wonderfully good to us and have sent us such superlative things with dear notes saying that the best was none too good for us, I am afraid we are plain spoiled.

You can’t imagine what fun we have talking about what we will do first when we get home. It is a favorite game. Some want theaters, some want real concerts, like symphonies, some want warm, marble bath-rooms, some great big soft beds, some lovely fluffy evening clothes, some automobile rides in parks, some ice-cream. A whole lot want some kind of bread stuffs, muffins, biscuits, popovers, waffles, pancakes. That is what I want among other things, but most of all I want to see my family and my friends. The days go by rapidly, but it seems years since we left, and it is going to be a long, long time before we get home. We play games at the table about the food, pretending that it is something else. We have awfully good food considering, but of course it gets monotonous and tiresome, and one needs to be good and hungry all the time to enjoy it. But most of us are very hungry at meal-times and have good appetites; it is when you are a bit off your feed you think how nice it would be to have some good milk toast with real butter, real milk, and real bread. To-day, for instance, I’ll tell you what our food was. Breakfast: good oatmeal with boiled milk and sugar, coffee, war bread, which one of the group toasted before the fire for our table, “bacon” the eternal, which is fried ham, and not very good. Lunch: a kind of meat loaf, rice, with cheese (which we have about every other day), bread and butter, cocoa, and stewed figs, stewed without sugar. With the meat and rice was creamed yellow turnip. Dinner: brown meat and gravy, boiled potatoes and beets, coffee and a kind of chocolate bread-pudding, which somebody said was bread soaked in left-over cocoa. This really was not a very good day for food, but you see it was all nourishing, and it was cooked well, but it is not fancy. After lunches and dinners like that, if we have some candy or fruit cake in our rooms, we go and have some of that for dessert. Mother’s box from Charles with all the fancy things for a tea-party came yesterday. It had been opened and not very well repacked, so that the crackers and cookies were a bit the worse for the journey, but I think I can freshen them up. It is queer that any one should have found it necessary to open a box of crackers to see what it contained.

The music E. sent and the songs that Mother sent all came safely and I am so glad to have it all. Sunday night I had a beautiful time with one of the nurses, playing through the new book of duets. The new songs are being used constantly. Mrs. McB.’s box of books arrived this week after its long wanderings. It was most welcome. The books are already giving the greatest pleasure. I have already read three of them myself. Even the doctors come to me for books every now and then, so it is fine to have some good ones on hand to lend to them as well as the nurses.

I see Phil every once in a while. He was down last night at a little dance in our mess which I did not attend. I have learned both the onestep and the foxtrot over here in my old age! I was down to dinner twice the week before with him. It is very pleasant to walk down with him late in the afternoon, wander around a little, get a good dinner, then walk back again, talking over all the latest news from letters or camp gossip. He seems to be enjoying his work at No. 25 Stationary Hospital very much, though he does not find the work at all arduous.

This is a very dull letter, but it is meant to tell you that we are all “carrying on” as usual, are all “in the pink” and feeling “champion.” A few of our number have been a bit “seedy,” but are “going on fine.” We are all wondering “where do we go from here,” but rumor says that we won’t be moved before Summer, which we hope is true. We have very few among us who are “grousers,” but even they would not like to leave this place.

Tell Elsie, please, that I use her brown jacket every night and it is the nicest thing. I don’t need anything for my sitting-room now that it is so comfortable and attractive. It has a little coal stove in it now, which makes it awfully nice for evenings. I am not there much in the daytimes except for French lessons. I am always having some flowers there, people are so nice. I have some white lilacs (!) there now--lovely forced things that are really sweet.

It is getting late and I must beat it to bed. I’ll try to write sooner this next time.

With loads and loads of love,

Jule.

Dad’s letter dated Dec. 25th is the latest I have heard from you, I think. A nice letter from Isabelle dated Dec. 13th arrived a few days ago.

Feb. 6, 1918.

A draft of men is marching by singing and whistling and shouting, which shows us that they are off to the front, for that is the way the troops leave to go to the trenches. I am very tired and spunkless to-night, and I haven’t any lofty thoughts and inspirations, for the needs of the flesh are seeming to predominate, and what I want more than anything else is a wonderful hot bath in a beautiful warm bathroom, and then such a long sleep in a beautiful big bed, where I cannot hear any bugle-calls, any breakfast bells, any coughing nurses, or anything except perhaps soothing, joyriding automobiles. You can see my state of mind. Miss Taylor has been away on her leave for almost a fortnight, which has meant that things have been a good deal harder for me, even though I have had a very capable nurse to assist me in the office. But I am edgy and irritable and need to get away myself.

We have had a lot of perplexities to deal with, and I have needed to use continuous alertness of mind to keep up with the details. For instance, it requires five separate papers for each nurse who goes on leave, and I have had fifteen gone at a time for over two months, the group changing every day or so, and I must see that every paper is correct or something will go wrong; the Ford won’t be there to take them to the train, they won’t have the papers which enable them to get the military fare on the train, or they won’t have the proper form of request for a new serge uniform which they can order and get fitted in Paris, or they will arrive back at the station with a heavy suitcase and no way of getting home except with much difficulty; or some one won’t be scheduled to take their work in the wards, or they won’t have received their salary before they left, or they have not told at which hotel they were planning to stay, etc. etc.

Ah well, I will be a much nicer person when I get back from my leave. I am due to go on the 11th to London to be with Elizabeth M.

The present group that are on leave, at least most of them, had the experience of being in a bombed city. Ruth was there and thought it all most interesting. Their hotel was near enough to the bombed district to make the experience unforgettable, although they were not in any way alarmed or hurt.

Will Elsie please thank little Alice for her fine letter? I didn’t know that she could write so well and use such big words. I hope she will write me again soon. I am crazy about my little service flag. It is quite a curiosity here. The cold you have had over there has been far worse than ours. So far we have had only about a month of really cold weather. Some of my Jewish nurses--I have three or four--were much interested in the “Chosen People.” I am so glad that there is a chance of Dad’s getting the song-books for us. We had a great sing a week ago Sunday evening, only such hymns! regular revival ones.

It is late and I must get to bed. I do feel your love and I need it so much.

Loads and loads of love.

Feb. 10, 1918.

It is a glorious, sunny, mild, Springy day here. The patients who can walk are crawling out into the sun. Many beds have been carried out so that some of the sickest may have the benefit of the warm rays of the run. The nurses walk around with a kind of sauntering air that shows that they are able to appreciate the lovely day and the precious lack of rush. This afternoon there will be many walks. Last Sunday afternoon I had a perfect walk. We were gone from two to six-thirty, and walked miles through lovely country roads and lanes. Pussy-willows are out and bushes show budding leaves, and it feels as though Spring were really here. But we are likely to have more cold weather yet, we are told. I am _on_ until about four-thirty. Miss Taylor is back and I am due to go to-morrow. Phil is coming down soon to play basket-ball with our officers against some Canadian officers. There is a good place to play right in front of the grand stand on the track, which is all turf. I am looking forward most eagerly to my leave. I need to see new faces for a while. Phil and I had dinner together down town a few days ago. I had many errands at the Base Cashier’s, banks, etc., and met him at our favorite rendezvous--the Cathedral; then we wandered around together, did little errands, had a nice dinner, and were back here by eight-thirty.

That evening we had a lecture in the Mess by one of our young officers--a very brilliant young fellow--on the war. He has been giving a series of talks to us. The first was on the Western front and its changes, and the second was on the Balkan States. The nurses were much interested. We are too near to be able to get any kind of a good view of the whole situation, and we have not time to hunt for it in periodicals.

We have no further word about the Vassar proposition. It would be a fearfully hard thing to leave this Unit.

I shall have such a nice time with Elizabeth in London. Food is scarce there; the paper says they in London can have only one meat meal a week! But what do I care? I’m bringing E. a present of sugar! I’ll write you from there. Loads and loads of love.

Jule.

London W. Friday, February 15, 1918.

I want to tell all the details about going on leave to England, for it is something of an experience. On Monday morning the eleventh, when I left, I had to report at the office of the D. D. M. S. in Rouen to get my travel warrant. Although I had asked for leave to England with permission to go on my own expense, because we are not asking leave permission from the British, I was told that that was not going to be possible, but that I would be sent through just as the English Sisters are. The Havre train left about half past ten and reached Havre about twelve-thirty. I was held up at the station when I wanted to leave and had to show my identification papers, but was soon let through. I learned afterwards that if I had been with some English Sisters that were going to England too, I’d have been met and conducted as the others were. As I did not know that and was not with the others I went off by myself and was rather glad I did as I had a very interesting time. I went to a near-by hotel, that I had heard was the best, and had a very good lunch. Strangely enough, in the dining-room I ran into Mrs. Christy, the Chief Nurse of the N. Y. Presbyterian Unit, who was on her way to Cannes. I had only two words with her, as she was just leaving, but when I told her I was going to England, she said she wasn’t allowed to. It is most strange how different rules and regulations get through to the different Units.

As I had the whole afternoon before me to spend in Havre I went to the nice women at the office and asked their advice as to the best promenade. They spoke no English, but we were able to understand each other beautifully. They directed me by means of two trams and a funicular railway to a very high part of the town, with a lovely view over the city and harbor. It was a glorious, sunny day so I had a beautiful time wandering about by myself. After walking quite a long way I found myself near a cemetery as a pitiful little French procession was entering. I followed just to see how this sort of thing was done in the French way. The funeral was for two tiny babies which were borne in tiny boxes on small litters carried by two men each. Two priests walked ahead and behind followed the relatives and friends. This was not really a cheerful way to spend part of one’s holiday, especially as I could see at a little distance the interment of an Australian soldier, but it was interesting. I wandered around and talked to little children and watched people and gazed at aëroplanes sailing over the town for over three hours, then I went back to the hotel and had tea and then read until dinner time.

At dinner a Frenchman engaged me in conversation, much to my interest, as he spoke not a word of English and was just going over to England. He was as nervous and excited as could be and seemed so glad to talk. He had been wounded and was now permanently out of the army. At dinner we had had, among other vegetables, something called “soissons,” which I had discovered to be a kind of bean. In the cab which the Frenchman and I took together to go to the quay he told me that he had been wounded at “Soissons” and that was why he always took “soissons” when they were on the menu. He showed me the watch charm he had had made from the piece of shell that had been taken out of his chest. They are so cunning, some of these French people. I lost him on the boat and didn’t see him again except in the distance the next morning.

On the boat I found that by paying a reasonable sum I could have a stateroom by myself instead of having to share with six English Sisters the ladies’ saloon, which has had berths put into it which are perfectly comfortable, but which afford no privacy. I had a splendid night and slept like a top almost the whole night through. I woke once to find that the boat was tossing a little, but I was too tired and sleepy to care and promptly went to sleep again. I had not undressed very much, but even the discomfort of day clothes could not keep me awake. I was quite surprised when the stewardess called me at six-thirty, and we were approaching the docks of Southampton. I don’t know what time the boat left Havre. We went on board at eight-thirty and I was asleep before we left. After a breakfast of sorts on the boat we landed about seven-thirty. As the train to “town” didn’t leave till nine-thirty there was plenty of time to send telegrams back to Rouen and on to Elizabeth in London. I came on to London with the English Sisters, who told me they had been met and taken care of and put on the boat and fed with a spoon almost every minute since they got off the train at Havre. I was awfully glad I was not with them, but was also glad to know that that was the way nurses traveling to England are looked after ordinarily, if they are not as exclusive and standoffish as these English ladies thought I was. I took pains to show them that I had not meant to be, but I simply had not expected to be looked after.

London is just as fascinating as ever. There has been no sunshine since I have been here, but the weather has not been at all bad. It is just dark and smoky. It is wonderful to be here with Elizabeth in a home. Jim is so awfully busy with his hospital work we scarcely see him at all. He often does not get in for meals, and so far he has had to be out every evening. Elizabeth is doing some very hard work on the American Committee at the Embassy. This is regular social service work for Americans in difficulties and is a part of the continuation of that big committee that did such splendid work at the beginning of the war. The committee that E. is on takes care of the women and married men with children and it still has plenty to do.

I have just been reveling in the civilization and comfort of this home. E.’s china and silver and linen are a perfect joy which I never appreciated in any home so much before. The food question is getting pretty serious, but at present there is enough to eat, though Jim says he doesn’t know how long there will be. It is very difficult to get things, as only small quantities can be sold at a time. There is no milk to be had except for invalids and children, there is scarcely any butter, sugar is sold by cards, and in a few days almost everything is going to be rationed. The sugar card that was issued to me before I left France allows my hostess to buy for me sugar not to exceed one and one seventh ounces a day for the exact time I am to be here. I brought E. a present of some domino lump sugar which you would have thought was a box of diamonds. When one is to lunch out anywhere one produces one’s own sugar from one’s pocket; otherwise the meal would be sugarless.

I have been sleeping and sleeping ever since I arrived. I have my breakfast in bed almost every morning and lie abed afterwards in lazy sloth. The roar of the city is utterly soothing to me. Am I not an urbanite? Sometimes it is too dreadfully quiet at our camp at Rouen. My room is very high up in this narrow, tall English house, so that the noise of the streets is somewhat less than it would sound down lower. I have not wanted to be energetic yet, but I have been having such a good time, mostly doing nothing. E. and I have made pleasant pilgrimages out of the need of doing several small errands, and we have been to the theater twice already. I just ache for the theater and am leading E. a quite willing martyr right up to as many shows as I can get in. We have seen Charles Hawtrey in “The Saving Grace,” which was very entertaining, and not too much about the war, and this afternoon we went to the Colosseum to a variety show which included Mrs. Lillie Langtry and Vesta Tilley. To-morrow we are going to see Mrs. Patrick Campbell in “The Thirteenth Chair”--all of which you see is the greatest dissipation.

I have not seen a single American nurse so far as I know, and I have not visited a single hospital and don’t mean to. This morning I went to pay my respects to the British Matron-in-Chief. She was less formidable than the last time I saw her and was really quite cordial. She took me to see General Goodwin, who is to be Director General of the medical forces and who has recently returned from the States. He was most charming and I had a delightful talk with him. I was glad of a chance to tell these British officials how fortunate we think we are to have been sent to work with the British, and to tell them how we have appreciated all the innumerable courtesies they have shown us and the way they have helped us.

E. and I have had lunch down town one day and we have had her mother-in-law and brother-in-law here to dinner. I have had a splendid real shampoo for the first time since we left London last June. We have several pleasant little things planned to do next week, but I like best just sitting around here on real, soft-cushioned sofas. E.’s two little boys are darlings. I don’t see them much as most of the time they are off with “nurse.” Jim is four and a half now and John just two.

You see I am having a wonderful rest. Good night, and loads of love.

Jule.

Rouen, March 14, 1918.

Here I am back with my children, very happy that I am not to return to the States, and perfectly content to stay here where I know I am needed and can be of use. The future is on the lap of the gods. If I get orders to go to Paris, or anywhere else, I will go, leaving these dear people with the greatest regret. But I have nothing to worry about and can go about my work with the greatest peace.

We are having a great number of the most pitiful cases these last few nights; gassed men in terrible condition. Nearly three hundred the last two nights, and a hundred and fifty due to-night. Major Murphy said that last night’s convoy was the worst he has seen since we have been here. Ambulance load after ambulance load of stretcher cases with bandaged eyes and burning lungs. The men tell awful stories of whole companies affected so that not a man, an officer, or a doctor is able to do a thing for anybody else. It seems to be a new kind of gas. At any rate the effects seem to be different from those we have observed before. The masks have not seemed to protect the men. We have had so many put on the Seriously Ill and Dangerously Ill lists to-day, Miss Taylor has been writing letters to families all day.

March 18, 1918.

Dearest Mother:--