Chapter 24

WARD 43, RESERVE LAZARETTE 5, HANOVER

OCCUPANTS OF THE WARD. CHIVALRY OF THE AIR

Before the war Reserve Lazarette 5 at Hanover was a military school. It is now used for wounded military prisoners, and for German soldiers suffering from venereal disease.

The same operating-room is used for all patients; the wounded prisoners receiving treatment in the morning, and the Germans in the afternoon.

There is a fair-sized garden, not unattractive, and the wounded are permitted to take the fresh air, and to walk about freely, if they are able to do so. So are the German patients, and so are their visitors, on Tuesdays and Saturdays, from 2 till 4 in the afternoon. There is no separation of the two classes of patients, and honour must share the company of disgrace in her captivity.

Ward 43 was a billiard-room in the old days, and the small-sized billiard-table is pushed against the wall and used as a table. There were nine beds in the ward; and four British and four French officers lay side by side in captivity.

The friendship of the two great nations was reflected in the maimed and pain-ridden bodies of these soldiers lying side by side, helpless, uncomplaining, but still champions of Anglo-French unity. Their cause is the same; their pain is the same; and side by side they lay, as side by side they had fallen.

Of the French officers I got to know but little, for they could speak no English, and the English could speak no French.

On my left was an officer of the Royal Flying Corps, Lieutenant Donelly. He had been brought to earth after a fight thirteen thousand feet in the air, against five German planes. With his left arm disabled and three fingers shot off his right hand, and his engine out of action, he nose-dived to the ground. A German aeroplane nose-dived after him, all the while firing as it dropped.

With only a finger and thumb to manipulate his machine, he managed to effect a landing. The moment earth was struck the firing ceased, and the Germans landing from their machines approached him and treated him courteously.

There is a spirit of chivalry among those who fight in the air, as both sides can testify. The air alone is their arena, and neither side will continue a combat on terra firma.

On my right was Lieutenant Rogan of the Royal Irish Regiment, a sturdy fellow, who had been in the Guards.

He was attacking some Germans, who were putting up a stout resistance during the fight for Guinchy; and as he was rushing forward, a German threw a hand-grenade, which exploded in his face. His right eye was removed at St. Quentin, and he was slowly recovering the sight of the left.

In the bed next to his was another young officer of the Royal Flying Corps, a boy about eighteen, very small, and only weighing about eight stone. Mabbitt was his name, Second Lieutenant Mabbitt; and he, too, had fought many thousand feet in the air against desperate odds, fracturing his leg in the fall.

German airmen seem to make a practice of waiting until a single English aeroplane appears in sight; then they ascend in a flight of five to attack, and woe betide the English airman who happens to be soaring above in a slow machine.

Deeds of pluck are common on land and sea; but the heroic combats in the air are a new sensation, with unknown terrors realised in a single gasp; and the youth of our country defy it. Yet, who is there to tell their deeds if they fall?

Shortly after I arrived two British officers were brought in, Lieutenant Wishart of the Canadians, who had a bullet wound through his leg; and Second Lieutenant Parker, who had a hole in his leg as big as an apple, and who spent most of the day in declaring that he was as fit as a fiddle.

But the occupant of the remaining bed was one who endeared himself to the hearts of all. He was SANIEZ (pronounced Sanyea), our orderly. But Saniez must have a chapter to himself.