Part 6

My, but you all seem far away in another world. But it is fun to think about you. We feel now as though we had been here forever. If you have not read Lord Northcliffe’s new book, “At the War” do get hold of it, for it describes just what we are in the midst of, and everything about us and our surroundings etc., not really us--of course, but hospital people out here in general. One of our men lent me his copy. We are going to be very short of reading matter here very soon. We had a small library from our steamer books, but in Rouen, it seems, there are not many English books. (I’m reading some French, of course.) We have subscribed for a good many magazines, but none have come yet, nor papers. If you should mail a good novel once in so often, I believe it would reach us easily and it certainly would be appreciated. Another thing we would love to have is some music. Popular new dance music, or songs, and a hymn-book. We have rented a piano, but no one brought any music. We have some good singers, and we need some good popular airs. I believe I told you about the 12-franc violin some of my girls bought me. You’d be surprised what sweet tunes it can play! The three or four old torn pieces that were hanging around are almost worn out and I can see that if we enjoy playing and singing now, we will much more when the little sitting-room end of our mess hall is the only warm place to go to on a rainy, cold, winter night. So there are two things you can do for me. The Parcel Post is bringing things over from the States already, and I guess that is the best way to send things.

Everybody over here talks about the cold of the winter, and we shall have no heat except in occasional small oil stoves, or a coal stove, for each hut. Our tented Hospital is not to be hutted this year, as we have been told. But if the English could stand it last year, I am sure we can. Mrs. Whitelaw Reid has written to ask if we want sleeping bags, and I have replied “Yes.” We have rubber boots, rubber hats, and rubber coats, which we shall have to wear constantly. Washington is trying to work out some suitable uniform for us. It will take considerable imagination to design a costume that will be warm enough, short enough, washable, and suitable for use in tents where you must dress very infected wounds. Our white caps are absurd for popping in and out of low-entranced tents.

Elsie asks how the responsibility of taking care of all my people is burdening me. For a while it was a pretty big burden, but now it does not weigh nearly as much as it did. I have such splendid people here with me. Just a few have been a little troublesome, but nothing to mention. And the rest are loyal, affectionate, and entirely to be depended upon. The ten that came from Kansas City have been bricks. The two from Hannibal have turned out to be good nurses and fine women, and the rest, almost all of them, developed fine qualities that I really did not know they had in them. We have had so little trouble I cannot help wondering what it is, when I hear of difficulties the other Units are having. “Oh yes,” Matron X. said, “I have forbidden my nurses to go out with officers, but they are doing it.” We allow ours to go out with doctors, but have made the only restriction that they go in groups of at least three. They have been fine about it and go off half a dozen at a time, and have splendid walks, etc. “Yes, I’ve forbidden mine to smoke or drink wine in public, but they do it in private, and I don’t think it’s any of my business to meddle with their private lives,” said she. Our nurses talked the matter over at a meeting after I had presented the whole thing to them, and voted to go on the water-wagon and not to smoke while they were over here, and they are doing it too! I don’t ask, or pry, but tell them how proud I am of them when I can tell other people of the stand my people took by themselves. Miss E. of the American Ambulance, who was down here, was so much impressed by the attitude of my nurses on these matters, she went back to Paris and told her nurses there about it, and said it made a big impression on them. It is hard not to drink wine where so much wine abounds, but we are not out in public places much, and one can always get water or their horrid cider. And the point is, my people are proud of themselves, and are proud to tell the English officers, who offer wine at parties, that we American nurses don’t drink wine. The officers say: “Aren’t you allowed to? your Matron won’t know.” Then they answer with pride, “It isn’t our Matron that won’t let us, we decided not to ourselves.” By that time the officers quit fooling, and say “Well, it’s a mighty good resolution, too.”

You can’t begin to guess how welcome your letters are. Some seem to come through so very quickly now. One of Mother’s dated July 12 reached me July 28th and Elsie’s of the 13th came just as fast. I wish Elsie’s kiddies could make jigsaw puzzles for our men. They are just crazy about them, and we arrange tables so they can get at them, and they spend hours working on them. It is so much easier for the one-armed ones than reading. Couldn’t Billy make and send me one, or some knitted things. I’d give it myself to one of our boys and have the boy write Billy a letter. I wish I could send you pictures, but we can’t send a single thing. All the kodaks were taken, and we each had to sign a paper that we had none in our possession. I wish I could draw, there are so many wonderfully interesting and picturesque things about here, and right in our camp.

August 8, 1917.

We have just finished our weekly inspection by the “D. D. M. S.,” which means the Deputy Divisional Medical Supervisor, who is a very pleasant Colonel. Every Wednesday at 3.30 we all line up at the entrance to our camp and wait to meet him after he gets through inspecting No. 10 General Hospital. By “we” I mean our “C. O.” Major Fife, our “M. O.” Major Murphy, our Liaison Officer, a British Colonel, the Quartermaster, and the “Matron,” me. It really is a very pleasant occasion. We sit out there in the sun, if there is any, on a park bench and gossip until we see the D. D. M. S. aide appear from out of the last tent of No. 10, then we stand up and walk over a bit to greet him. He always shakes hands with me first and asks me how I am getting along, then salutes the others and has a word or two with them, then turns to me and asks what I want him to see. I usually turn to Major Murphy and ask him if he has anything special to show the Colonel, and Major Murphy says: “Let’s show the Colonel line so and so.” I have accidentally mentioned before what lines I would like to have visited. It is usually tea time when he comes, and, unless we tell the nurses to hold off with the tea until after the inspection is over, the tents are in a mussy state. So every Wednesday I usually warn two or three different lines that I may have them inspected. To-day as a matter of fact we went to three different lines that had not been warned, as Major Murphy wanted to show the Colonel some special cases. After inspection is over, the officers take him and his aide to tea in the Officers’ Mess, or I take him up to the Sisters’ Mess. While we were making rounds to-day, it began to pour, but one of my nice aides brought me an umbrella and Captain Schwab lent me his rain coat to save my clean white dress. When I went down to the point to wait for his Elegance, the sun was shining beautifully, but it was about the second peep of the sun we have had in over a week. And now it is pouring.--I had to stop then and put on my rain hat and coat and go up to the Sisters’ Quarters with a Lieutenant from the Royal Engineers, who came to inspect the leaks in the roofs of the nurses’ huts. He saw them all right and will have them fixed.

We are wondering so much whether you are getting our letters. Letters coming to us have told of a long stretch of time without word from us; in fact no letters had been received from any of us since we landed in France. Major Murphy cabled Miss Hudson a week ago that we were quite all right, so I hope none of you are worrying. We heard to-day that some postcards I sent on June 24th had been received, so it seems that cards go through safely anyway. I hope that by this time you are getting our letters. Wasn’t that account of my interview with the London reporter absurd? Of course I did not say all that bosh, but I did say that I could not make any comparisons between the American and the English hospitals. That is what she wanted me to do. I saw copies of that interview from San Francisco, Detroit, Philadelphia, and St. Louis papers, which shows how far a little bit of “swank” can go.

It is ten days since I have written at all to any one. We have been very busy, and have all had long hours of work and I have not felt much like writing when I have had the time to do so. The pressure has now let up a bit, but I think it will be only a temporary let-up. Our hospital is very full and we have many very bad cases. My nurses are beginning to show the effect of the emotional strain. Their nerves are a bit on edge, and I find that when they lose for a few days time-off-duty, as they all have been doing, they are not standing the strain and loss as well as they did the last time we were so busy. I have had about a dozen of them weeping, so I am hunting about for more forms of diversion. The continuous rainy, damp weather, the accumulating emotional strain, and the real hard work are having an effect upon them all that is bothering me. There is a convalescent hospital for Sisters at E., to which I can send one or two at a time for a short rest as soon as I can spare them. But I do not want to have to begin to do that yet. So we are having a little dance in our Mess to-morrow night and perhaps I can get up some bridge parties or some other games. Our sitting-room space is so small we are very much handicapped but if it will only clear up, we could play some outdoor games. You see my real problems are beginning. I would have given a good deal myself to have had some one like Mother to weep on, last Sunday. You can imagine how I miss my older women friends. Naturally I cannot do any weeping here, since I have to be wept on; but there are times when it would be such a comfort to be braced myself.

There was nothing really wrong on Sunday, but that day we had so many sick men to look after, and things got a bit complicated and several nurses got hysterical and I felt things were just too much. Any one would have thought so if they had seen our poor gassed men who are so terribly burnt. One of my most stolid nurses came to me that day and said “I just don’t know how I am going to stand it, taking care of so and so.” I said “Why not?” and she replied, “When he was brought in to us he was so badly burned we could hardly see any part of him that we could touch except the back of his neck; but that isn’t the worst part, instead of cursing or moaning he was singing, and I just can’t stand that.” It isn’t only women that are affected by these things, the men don’t weep often, but they come near it. And they get just as edgey and worn to a frazzle. They lose more sleep than the nurses do, for they have to get up in the night all the time, to operate, or attend to patients, or look after convoys, in or out.

I want to tell you about the most unique day I ever had in my life. It was last Monday when I and five other nurses went out for our gas training. All soldiers receive gas training, as you know, and are fitted with gas helmets, which they take with them to the front. Recently all doctors and nurses who go up to the Casualty Clearing Stations have been given gas training too. Only about ten nurses so far have had this training. We have already sent one surgical team to the front, including one nurse, and I have been quite determined that I shall go as soon as possible. Major M. hasn’t been altogether willing that I should, thinking that I ought to stay here with my children, but I have pointed out to him that Miss T. and the Supervisors could take care of them perfectly well, and he has consented to let me go. I want some real manual work with the patients and I can’t get it here, for I have to do so much office work. I have been going down to the operating room as much as I could to help a little and get my hand in, but I cannot get there often. Major M. says I can’t go with him, for I must not be gone while he is away, so I am to wait and go with Major C. Now about gas training. There is a regular school here where thousands of soldiers are given their training daily. It takes the greater part of the day. I cannot describe it. You will have to wait till I get home. But we had our masks tested first in a room filled with lachrymating gas; we were drilled in putting them on any number of times, for speed is a very important element, so each motion is counted and timed. We were lectured for an hour, the most interesting and barbarous lecture I ever heard in my life. It is at one and the same time the refinement of science and civilization, and of hideous barbarism. We had lunch in a dugout with the officers of the school, for the school is in the middle of a huge plain, and then we were taken into a trench filled with lachrymating gas so that we would know what it is like. This without helmets. Then with three officers, one before, one in the middle, and one behind our string of six nurses, and a medical officer standing outside, we were taken into a closed, tunnel-like affair into which chlorine gas was being poured in clouds from special pipes. We of course had our masks on and were all carefully inspected before we went in. This gas would not hurt us, they say, but we get the smell and get used to wearing the masks and are ready afterwards to get our certificate.

August 20, 1917.

The last letter I wrote was August 8th and here it is the 20th. The time goes so very rapidly I forget when I last wrote and am surprised to find that it is over a week. We have not been so very busy these past two weeks, I mean not as we were before then. It has not been raining as much these past few days, to our great relief, and we are beginning to get dried out a bit. When mattresses begin to get moldy inside of huts, it has been pretty damp. The spirits of my people are improving under the let-up of strain, but they are showing a few physical signs of the over-fatigue. We have been having a number of infected fingers and other little things and have really broken our good health record. I have one nurse, Miss S., away at E. for a ten days’ change at a lovely Convalescent Home for Sisters, and another is to go soon,--Miss M. who had a bad attack of bronchitis. Miss S. had a lot of little infections which showed she was below par. Then yesterday we had our most serious trouble, for we had to send Miss S. to the Hospital for Sick Sisters here in Rouen to have an operation due to an old injury. The British officials could not have been more courteous to us. They made it possible for our men to perform the operation and let one of my nurses go and stay with Miss S. The operation was a very long, serious one. Major M. and Major C. operated and Miss S. assisted while I held the arm. The operation was performed in the Operating Room of No. 8 General Hospital, which is five minutes’ ride from the “Sick Sisters” where there is no Operating Room. She was taken back in an ambulance before she was out of ether. The “Sick Sisters” is a lovely place on the other side of Rouen, about 8 miles from here. We go and come in a little Ford Ambulance. Major M. and I have been over to-day, and everything is getting along beautifully. We took our second patient over with us to-day,--Miss P., with a bad infected thumb. We are not supposed to keep a sick sister in Quarters more than 24 hours. We have been very lucky up to now in not having to send any one away. But this hospital is ideal. It is taken care of by British doctors and Sisters and is in a lovely location, higher than the spire of Rouen Cathedral. It is worrying to have my children sick, but it is good to know what excellent care they will get when they are sick enough to be sent away from us.

We have been having some lovely walks these past few days, since the rains have let up. There are loads of beautiful places to go to all around. One can take a little excursion boat from Rouen, down the river a bit, then get off and walk back here through the woods. Several times I have gone with some good walker into town, late in the afternoon, had supper in a most interesting little French café, and walked out here afterwards, making a nice walk of about 7 or 8 miles. The evenings are light and the sunsets wonderful and the crowds going home across the big bridges and out in our direction are most interesting. Ruth has walked one way with me but not the two. She is on day duty now, but I do not get a chance to go out with her very much as I cannot plan my free times much beforehand.

Yesterday we had two very interesting callers: Miss Draper and Miss Hoyt from New York. They looked very smart in neat gray and blue uniform suits with A. R. C. on the shoulder straps. They said they were sent to make inquiries about hospital needs for the American Red Cross. They were very charming and pleasant and I liked very much talking with them. They came just as we were starting to leave to attend to our operation, so we asked them to come back to supper, which they did. They had driven down from Paris in Major (Dr.) Alex. Lambert’s car, a humble Ford, they called it. It looked pretty beautiful to us.

On the 13th I got a telegram from Philip saying he had landed at Liverpool on the 11th. I wonder where he is and hope I shall be able to communicate with him soon. I had to stop there to take a patient’s mother down to see him. The boy is very badly hurt in several places, two legs and one arm. A nice Y. M. C. A. person just turned her over to me. It is a wonderful system that brings a relative out here, almost personally conducted the whole way. This Y. M. C. A. person also brought the brother of another of our patients, but he got here too late and I had to tell him that his brother died last evening. He can be here for the funeral to-morrow anyway, and he can talk to the nurses who looked after the boy in his last hours. The Y. M. C. A. lady took him away for the night, but will bring him back to-morrow.

There is not very much of special interest to chronicle just at present. I am very well myself and trust I am going to stay so. Our food is quite good and sufficient. We all have huge appetites from being out of doors so much.

We are longing for letters very badly. It must be about three weeks now since I have had a line from the States. I get some letters every day, but they are mostly from England about patients or from people in the locality, on business. There goes the third aëroplane that has flown over us in the past half hour. They are such pretty things. I should like to have a ride in one.

With loads of love to you all. This is a stupid letter, I know, but they can’t all be thrilling, for naturally there have to be many unthrilling days.

Julia.

August 28, 1917.

For almost 24 hours we have been having one of the severest wind storms I have ever seen. It has been beautiful. It has been pouring for two days, then last evening it began to blow, and such a whistling and shrieking and rattling as there was. Up in our grove our little huts were pretty well protected, but the trees lashed themselves with fury, and branches broke, and doors and windows slammed and smashed. Several small tents were blown down, but no serious damage was done. All day it has been blowing great guns and it has been gray and cold, like a late Fall day. I have been in the office all day doing accounts and other tiresome things, with one or two trips to the lines for various purposes. Miss Taylor had been off all the afternoon. I had tea in the Officers’ Mess, which made a diversion of a few minutes. One of my Colonel friends sent over some sweet peas and dahlias, and I took some down for the officers’ tables, and got invited to tea, so stayed a few minutes. Their mess is a bare, barracky kind of room under the grand stand.

Yesterday I had a little different kind of day. All the morning I was in and out of the office, down on the lines, and all over in the pour. Then at 12:30 the Major and I went over in the ambulance to the Sick Sisters’ Hospital to see our invalids and take out the final stitches. Our lady with the serious operation has been doing wonderfully well from the very beginning. She has been up and about for several days, though she was operated upon only nine days ago. She will be back on duty before very long, if everything continues as it has been going. We shall probably send her to the Sisters’ Convalescent Home for ten days after she is well enough to go. It is such a blessing to have such splendid places to have our sick nurses taken care of. I have one nurse now, at E., recovering from bronchitis, and just this operation case, and the nurse with the badly infected finger, so I feel we are doing mighty well. Well, after our visit to the hospital, we rode back to town in the pour, and had lunch at Rouen’s best hotel, the Hotel de la Poste. It is a regulation Continental hotel, full of staff officers, and has excellent food. We in uniform were the only Americans there, but we saw a number of our English friends. Afterwards we separated to do various errands. I had a long séance at the Base Cashier’s, where I received 18,000 francs from the British Government for my nurse mess, laundry, and field allowance for July, and had to sign my name 138 times. Then I went to the bank and deposited the money and straightened out some difficulties there. That bank is so stupid, and makes so many mistakes; one has to watch them very carefully. Then I paid a rations bill of £91, was picked up by the ambulance, went to buy a sewing machine for the nurses, and drove back to the hospital.

It poured all the time, but I enjoyed being out in the rain, for I was properly dressed. I had on my heavy army boots, leather gaiters, blue serge uniform under my nice belted tan raincoat, and my blue uniform hat. My feet were not exactly dainty and ladylike, but they were so comfortable and dry. All of us who have large enough feet are getting our shoes from the quartermaster, and those with small feet are bewailing their fate. Our paths are all mud and sharp stones, and the ordinary sole of a woman’s regular shoe lasts about two weeks, and even when new does not prevent the stones from hurting one’s feet. The shoe question is going to be a problem this winter. I started the fashion of wearing these very heavy army shoes, then many clamored for them; since I wore leather gaiters yesterday, Major Murphy says he thinks I had better have all the nurses get them.