Glass _ 
 
 Book j4lL 
 
A NURSE AT THE WAR 
 
EARLY DAYS WHEN WOMEN COULD GET 
 TO THE FRONT. 
 
jryt. kj 
 
 A NURSE AT THE WAR 
 
 NURSING ADVENTURES IN 
 BELGIUM AND FRANCE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 ROBERT M. McBRIDE & CO. 
 
 MCMXVII 
 
3M0 
 
 Primed in Great Britain 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 I. 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 PART I 
 
 FLANDERS 
 
 THE ROAD TO LIERRE 
 lLINES 
 DIEU ..... 
 
 ANTWERP THE BOMBARDMENT 
 
 AND FLIGHT .... 
 
 GHENT ARRIVAL I HOSPITALS AND 
 
 HOSPITALITY : FLIGHT, RETURN, 
 AND THE " BOCHES " 
 
 13 
 43 
 
 56 
 
 PART II 
 
 FRANCE 
 
 I. HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS . 8l 
 
 II. THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS . IOI 
 
 III. CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS. II7 
 
 IV. LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST. 1 26 
 V. A DAY OF ODD JOES . . -136 
 
 VI. A NIGHT IN NIEUPORT . . 1 53 
 
 VII. AN ENGLISH BILLET . . . l6l 
 
 VIII. THE SENTRY AND PARIS IN WAR- 
 TIME ...... I72 
 
VI 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 LIFE AT RUCHARD 
 ODDMENTS AND THE END. 
 
 182 
 193 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 TO FACE 
 PAGE 
 
 EARLY DAYS WHEN WOMEN COULD GET 
 TO THE FRONT . . Front* 
 
 DURING THE FIRST WINTER, I914 
 
 MASS IN THE TRENCHES 
 
 RUINS OF A CHURCH . 
 
 WHERE A BOMB FELL 
 
 LIFE IN THE FRONT LINE 
 
 DIVISION BEING REVIEWED ON ITS RE 
 TURN FROM THE TRENCHES 
 
 SHELL IN CANAL 
 
 THE MORNING WASH . 
 
 A TRENCH IN THE SAND 
 
 GUNS HIDDEN IN BRANCHES 
 
 WHERE THE HUN HAS PASSED 
 
 WAYSIDE GRAVES 
 
 RESTING BY THE WAYSIDE . 
 
 THE FIRST SOLDIERS' CANTEEN IN THE 
 BELGIAN ARMY. RUCHARD, I915 
 
 16 
 16 
 
 32 
 
 3 2 
 48 
 
 48 
 
 64 
 
 64 
 
 96 
 
 96 
 
 144 
 
 144 
 
 184 
 
 184 
 
PART I 
 FLANDERS 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 THE ROAD TO LIERRE 
 
 The F.A.N.Y. Corps is not well known, 
 because since the 14th September, 1914, they 
 have been too busy over in Flanders and 
 France to talk of their work. But the F.A.N.Y. 
 Corps that started on active service in the 
 person of one woman is increasing steadily, 
 and at present over 50 members are working 
 in the zone of the armies, and a few more 
 are busy in the centre of France in a big 
 convalescent camp. Their work is varied : 
 motor ambulance work in the actual firing 
 line has now given way to motor ambulance 
 work at the base ; the first-aid work behind 
 the trenches has changed to first a clearing 
 hospital and now a base hospital, and the 
 excursions to the front with what were then 
 much-needed comforts have given place to 
 running a big canteen for 700 convalescents. 
 Now the F.A.N. Y.'s have fought their way 
 
2 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 to recognition, a few of the experiences one 
 of them underwent may be of interest. 
 
 Those were strange days when I was alone 
 in little Belgium. Antwerp was fiercely 
 fought for, and for weeks we worked from 
 morning till night caring for the men who 
 were brought in, broken and torn and shat- 
 tered. Ah ! it made my heart ache and my 
 eyes wet, but I did my best. They were 
 heroes, these men : they did not cry nor 
 grumble nor complain ; they smiled, they 
 called me " Petite sceur," and nothing I did 
 failed to please them — though in much I was 
 clumsy and unskilful. There were so many 
 of them — in all the hospital about 200 ; but 
 on the floor I worked on 64, and some would 
 die and be carried out on a stretcher with a 
 sheet over them, and some would rise and 
 dress and walk out ; but what hurt one most 
 were the evacuations. 
 
 An evacuation means to empty the hospital, 
 and it was done when news came that the 
 Germans were coming very near. Then men's 
 faces would turn white with horror and with 
 fear, women would tremble and turn faint ; 
 and we, who had to work, would spend every 
 
THE ROAD TO LIERRE 3 
 
 ounce of our strength in dressing those poor 
 fellows — pulling shirts over their shattered 
 bodies, wrapping dressing gowns or coats or 
 what we could round them in their weakness 
 and suffering. We carried them down long 
 stairs on stretchers, even on camp beds if 
 there were not enough stretchers ; we ran 
 down stairs with mattresses and lifted them 
 off the stretchers on to the mattress, for we had 
 to take the stretchers to bring down others ; 
 and to some of these men each movement 
 meant agony. This used to happen once a 
 week at least ! And then very often, after 
 having been taken to the station on a tramcar, 
 the men would all be brought back and have 
 to be carried upstairs again and put back to 
 bed. 
 
 Then one afternoon I went out with a 
 motor ambulance to just behind where fight- 
 ing was. We met a cyclist who said he wanted 
 help at a lonely trench to take men away 
 and so we went. There was a little brick hut 
 or stables, and there the car stopped, and 
 before I got out from inside, the chauffeur 
 and the cyclist and the owner, who was with 
 us, were running hard along the road. It 
 
4 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 was fiat country, and the road was alongside 
 a deep ditch ; and a few little thin trees were 
 along the roadside. Far away I could see 
 cottages here and there, and there was a lot 
 of noise all round. I was running after the 
 men, when suddenly something made my 
 heart stop and then thump hard. I slowed 
 down and looked all round, and the sun glit- 
 tered on a silver medal on my breast and 
 held my eye. I put the medal into my 
 pocket, and a feeling of awful loneliness came 
 over me. I was alone, quite alone — there was 
 nobody English near me. At that moment I 
 longed for an Englishman. Then I looked 
 behind — the ambulance looked safe and stolid, 
 somehow ; then I looked ahead. The men 
 who had come with me were jumping down 
 into a trench. I had never seen a trench, 
 but I felt it was one, and into my heart and 
 brain came something I had never felt before, 
 I looked up at the little clouds of smoke 
 breaking in the sky ; I looked ahead and 
 saw great clouds of smoke bursting from the 
 ground ; and I suddenly felt a great exultation, 
 and I ran — ran my hardest — and stood on 
 the edge of the trench and looked in. There 
 
THE ROAD TO LIERRE 5 
 
 were three or four figures there, very still, in 
 
 big blue coats, but I hardly noticed them. 
 
 Two men were lifting a man out and putting 
 
 him across a third man's back, and a man 
 
 wearing a heavy uniform coat, with a ragged, 
 
 untidy moustache, and a white face was 
 
 trying to climb out of the trench. One of his 
 
 legs was all torn, — clothing and blood and 
 
 bandage, and I leapt down beside him. Then, 
 
 with his hand in mine and his arm drawn 
 
 round my neck, I pulled and pushed and 
 
 struggled, and we got out and slowly reached 
 
 the road. In front of me two men were 
 
 struggling along, each with an unconscious 
 
 man hanging over his shoulders, and a group 
 
 of soldiers who looked tired and were limping. 
 
 Then suddenly came a terrific noise, so loud 
 
 it dazed me, and all my sense of thought 
 
 seemed gone. I stood quite still, and on my 
 
 left a cloud of dark smoke rose, and a horrid 
 
 smell. I looked all round — I was alone. 
 
 My poor man with the shattered leg ! — where 
 
 was he ? I wheeled slowly round, blinking 
 
 my eyes, and there in the ditch was my 
 
 sufferer, and all the other men. Then, in a 
 
 flash, I knew ! It was a shell that had burst 
 
6 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 close beside us. I dashed to the ditch and sat 
 down. The men were looking at me with 
 stolid unconcern, they were rising — going on. 
 I went too. Along that bare road we ran at a 
 sort of loping trot. Then through the cloud 
 of deafness that still held me I seemed to 
 hear a wailing scream, and the three soldiers 
 nearest stopped and held on to a little thin 
 tree. I stopped too, facing them, looking in 
 their faces to question them. To me it was all 
 new. I did not understand ; / had had none 
 of the horrors they had passed through. All 
 / saw was three white scared faces, with 
 fixed eyes, — in them a sort of dumb appeal. 
 They were gasping, their lips were black, 
 their clothes dirty and stained. A demon 
 of mischief woke in me. I thought of a 
 cinematograph, of what we must look like 
 — four hefty people hanging on in fear to a 
 little thin tree ! I laughed ; and their 
 white faces and troubled eyes glared at me, 
 but they ran on. I followed at their heels, 
 and so we reached the ambulance and found 
 the chauffeur already there. Two men lay 
 on the ground — one very white and still 
 unconscious, the other, with wide eyes, moan- 
 
THE ROAD TO LIERRE 7 
 
 ing. I had some brandy with mc and gave 
 him some. We lifted him up, put him on the 
 car — it was a beautifully-fitted car ; the side 
 came down and outwards, and the first 
 stretcher was fitted in its place : then we 
 turned a handle, and the stretcher was 
 raised without any jolting and the other 
 stretcher placed on the board on rails that 
 slid inwards, and so, with no jolting, each 
 sufferer was safely fixed. Inside were two 
 or three folding chairs, and on these we put 
 all the men with wounds that permitted them 
 to sit down. There were three or four, and 
 then there were places for two outside, and 
 still there was one man left. The owner of 
 the ambulance looked at me, but I shook my 
 head and looked at the man who remained ; 
 then the owner leapt aside, told the chauffeur 
 to go on, and waited with me. There were 
 lots of men here, ragged and unwashed heroes, 
 but all cheery and brave and smiling. To 
 them I was a strange being ; to me they were 
 a new revelation. They took me inside and 
 showed me the holes in the roof — in the walls, 
 in the floors ; the bar, where broken glass and 
 china lay scattered still ; the yard behind, 
 
8 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 where a dead pig raised a stench of protest 
 to the sky. One lad went to where the shell 
 had burst and brought me a piece of it, a 
 long, thin, jagged bit of iron with cruel edges. 
 He gave it me with a smile, and his fellows 
 watched me and wondered. 
 
 " You are not afraid ? " one man asked, 
 and seemed to wonder when I laughed. 
 
 " You are brave," said another ; but I 
 laughed and shook my head vigorously. 
 
 " But you were really not frightened ? " 
 a sergeant had to ask, and when I looked up 
 at him and said, " Yes, I was really frightened, 
 terribly frightened, for a little time," he 
 shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 Then the car came back, and we got the 
 blesse inside ; I sat outside with the driver, 
 and the owner sat beside us. We left the 
 wounded in a hospital in Antwerp. After 
 this we drove to the English headquarters, 
 and there we found cars and cars, dozens of 
 them, and soldiers and a few sailors. A staff 
 officer looked surprised to meet me, but we 
 got the directions we wanted and went on. 
 
 This time it was another lonely poste, 
 empty houses by the roadside, and crowds of 
 
THE ROAD TO LIERRE 9 
 
 soldiers ; plenty of wounded, too, but most 
 of them already bandaged. We filled the car 
 and sent them in, and I waited for its return. 
 This time the owner could not wait ; he had 
 to go, and so I was left alone. The men were 
 curious, but very courteous ; they all wanted 
 to talk — to know if I was an officer, to ask if 
 I had helped many wounded, to know why 
 I left England and my home to come and 
 help the Belgians. 
 
 One man picked me a bunch of flowers ; 
 another took me to see the inside of a little 
 cottage : the room was empty, tables and 
 chairs thrown on the floor, a few little china 
 ornaments, cheap and tawdry, still stood in a 
 cupboard in a corner of the room, and there 
 was a hole in the wall high up — a great gaping 
 hole .... 
 
 Outside on the road men galloped past, or 
 motor cars whizzed by, and heavy wagons 
 trundled along. Artillery rolled past, the 
 men all turning to salute the Englishwoman 
 in khaki in their midst. The sun was setting, 
 and far away the loud roar of guns cut the 
 evening stillness. This was war ! Up the 
 road slowly came two men on horseback — 
 
io A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 they stopped to ask the way ; they had a 
 message for the British lines : behind them 
 where a hedge jutted on to the road came a 
 man in khaki afoot. My eyes brightened — 
 one of our own men. I felt suddenly proud. 
 The men round me pointed him out. I 
 nodded ; they said to the two men on horse- 
 back, " Why not ask him ? " The two men 
 replied in Flemish and rode off. He came 
 slowly, very slowly. My pride at seeing him 
 began to wane. He started every few steps, 
 and looked fearfully behind him — he dragged 
 along. I went to meet him ; my heart was 
 burning. The men round me were watching 
 him, and something within me resented it. 
 He wore khaki — he was a British soldier. 
 
 I stopped and waited ; he had seen me. 
 Every Belgian soldier saluted and smiled 
 every time I met them. This man — in khaki 
 like myself — did not salute ; he shambled 
 up to me — hardly even stopped. 
 
 " Are you hurt ? " I asked. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " To " (naming the nearest English 
 
 trenches three kilometres away). 
 
THE ROAD TO LIERRE n 
 
 " Are you tired ; wouldn't you rather ride 
 or go in a car ? I'll ask a lift for you if you 
 like ! " 
 
 " No ; I'm safer walking. I've been in with 
 a message, and I'm going back." 
 
 " Do you know the way ? " 
 
 " Oh, I'll find it ! " 
 
 He refused a ride in a car. Two or three 
 of. the men I had been talking to spoke to 
 him, but he just stared at them and did not 
 answer. 
 
 He was in no hurry to go on. He told me 
 suddenly that he never wanted to ride in a 
 car again. He had seen a Belgian officer 
 driving a car, with a priest beside him, just a 
 short time before ; then a shell burst, and the 
 officer's head went into the road, and the car 
 and the priest went on a few yards before the 
 car swerved and came to a violent halt. He 
 looked for sympathy. I returned his look 
 coldly, for I was too new at the game to 
 realise what nerve-strain those gallant fellows 
 had to undergo. Many a time since have I 
 regretted my hardness, my stupid lack of 
 understanding, for the poor lad had been 
 through hell ! 
 
12 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 " It was an awful sight," he muttered, 
 still staring over his shoulder. 
 
 " It was ; I saw it," I said quietly. 
 
 He went on down the road, walking beside 
 a Belgian on horseback — a good-natured 
 fellow, who promised me he would show him 
 the way. I wished the car would come ; I 
 felt suddenly depressed. The cheery crowd of 
 Belgian soldiers were too cheery. I resented 
 it. I knew what they had gone through — 
 weeks of weary warfare in the trenches, 
 their country in danger, their homes ruined, 
 their women and children murdered and tor- 
 tured. And they smiled and talked and 
 spoke with wonder of the courage, of the 
 devotion, of the English ! And I saw that 
 shambling figure in khaki, starting at every 
 shadow, looking fearfully over its shoulder. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 MALINES, BUCHEROUT, AND VIEUX DIEU 
 
 One day I was out as usual. The car came 
 for me at 9.30, and we went out to the collect- 
 ing stations, loaded up, sent the men in, and 
 I waited, doing dressings, for the car to 
 return. One day we went to an old church 
 in the centre of Malines ; the beautiful 
 cathedral was desolate and shattered, the 
 windows knocked out, parts of the wall fallen 
 in. All round were houses and cottages 
 battered and rent, empty rooms and broken 
 furniture ; it was a sad sight. And out there 
 in the convent church were sadder sights ! 
 The sacristy was filled with packets of cotton- 
 wool and bandages, bottles of iodine, and a 
 precious — very precious — bottle of chloro- 
 form. In here I went to find two men who 
 had just been carried in : one we took off 
 the stretcher and laid face downwards on a 
 table ; he was shot through the buttocks, 
 
i 4 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 and lay without murmuring. The other — 
 poor fellow ! — was a big, strong man about 
 five and thirty ; he was tenderly laid on a 
 table, his feet and legs propped up with chairs, 
 his shirt cut ofi as gently as possible. One 
 arm huns? by a thread of flesh from the 
 shoulder, and bled — always bled — though the 
 tourniquet was as tight as possible ; the dark 
 blood oozed through steadily and fell with a 
 constant drip, drip. He was shot through the 
 diaphragm, too, and, although I was not well 
 acquainted with death then, even I could tell 
 his days were numbered. His face, livid and 
 twisted with pain, looked towards ns ; he 
 cried in a strange voice and a strange tongue, 
 for in those days I knew no Flemish. A sur- 
 geon was there, a tall, clever Englishman, and 
 he injected saline. His quick, deft movements 
 fascinated me — I longed to help. Once he 
 looked me full in the eyes, and it seemed to me 
 he wondered what I felt, and I think the pity 
 in my eyes must have answered him. A nurse 
 was there, an English nurse. She was crying 
 as she held the man down, for he was strug- 
 gling — and to me that, too, was strange ; and 
 suddenly she ran away sobbing, so I slipped up 
 
MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DJEU rs 
 
 and took her place. The surgeon glanced at 
 me keenly and was apparently satisfied, and 
 so, as the poor fellow struggled and twisted, 
 we held him. I had one arm and side ; a 
 priest held the other, and two Belgian women, 
 in while overalls and caps with big red cr< 
 on them, stroked his lace and bent over him, 
 speaking to him soothingly in his mother 
 tongue. He shouted and writhed, and at last 
 his head fell back : then, with a mighty effort, 
 he raised himself and opened his mouth to 
 speak ; but only a stream of blood rushed 
 forth, and a brave soul had gone to its God ! 
 
 The chapel was empty as I knelt to whisper 
 a prayer for the dead, and passed on into the 
 Outer chapel, where, to my horror, I saw 
 three English women in weird and wonderful 
 costumes having tea, laughing and talking ; 
 it was like a tourist party attending a funeral. 
 Something of what I felt was, perhaps, shared 
 by an English doctor. He looked at the 
 women inside ; he took a long breath of fresh 
 air and gasped out : 
 
 " My God, there's too much joy-riding 
 about this to please me ! " 
 
 At that moment a stray shell landed in 
 
16 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 the courtyard, far away from us, but very 
 near a sturdy little English chauffeur who 
 had just entered ! However, it did no 
 harm beyond churning a hole in the yard. 
 
 From there I went to a little barricade at 
 a small village, Hofstade ; and here were 
 Belgians who had that very morning at 3 a.m. 
 driven the Germans out of the ruins they now 
 held. (That night the Germans took it again 
 — to hold it for good.) From a steep embank- 
 ment one could see the woods where the 
 Germans were in hiding, and see the country 
 burning all round, for both Belgians and 
 Germans were trying to burn all woods and 
 any sort of " cover." It was a desolate scene. 
 Here was a fine young priest with a brassard 
 on his arm, and a haversack with " First Aid 
 Dressings " on his shoulders ; he had been 
 busy all that night and all that early morning 
 succouring his brothers-in-arms spiritually and 
 physically. He was a powerfully-built man, 
 and I said to him, did he find it a very hard 
 life ? 
 
 " Not hard enough," he replied, " if only 
 I could kill too 1 " 
 
 He spoke with simple regret ; for he, too, 
 
MALINES,BUCHEROUT,VIEUXDIEU 17 
 
 had looked upon war and its horrors. He 
 was the minister of the Lord Christ, and he 
 burned to revenge the devilish deeds that had 
 been perpetrated. 
 
 I wandered behind one cottage, and saw a 
 strange heap ; the chauffeur looked at me and 
 held his nose. 
 
 " It is not healthy to be here," he said ; 
 but I did not answer, and he came to see why 
 I looked with an awful horror in my face. 
 The smell was enough to knock one down in 
 ordinary times, but in those days, mentally 
 and physically, I could endure tremendous 
 strain. . . . 
 
 A gendarme followed and joined us, and we 
 all stood with our eyes fixed on the charred 
 and blackened body that lay there. I had 
 never known a human skeleton would look 
 so small when the flesh was gone round it. 
 Then involuntarily we looked at the tiny 
 cottage, of which the walls still stood ; and 
 little tawdry gilt figures were on the shelves 
 inside ; even a child's cradle lay there — 
 broken, it is true. 
 
 The chauffeur showed me brass candlesticks 
 he had looted. I looked at him in wonder ; 
 
1 8 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 I could not think of such things then, with 
 this little village of ruined cottages under my 
 eyes. With him I made a tour of the other 
 houses : everywhere hurried preparation for 
 flight — beds with the blankets still thrown 
 down ; china and glass scattered everywhere. 
 One little cheap figure of a child I slipped into 
 my pocket, wondering sadly if it had been some 
 child's treasure. Then in one house the 
 chauffeur hesitated — said I had better not 
 come in ; his face was white and his lips shook. 
 I looked past him ; and the colour left my 
 cheeks too, and tears came to my eyes. A 
 baby lav there. — a tiny waxen form with a 
 cruel bayonet-thrust through its tender flesh. 
 T looked all round. There was only a rough 
 blanket, so I laid that over the little martyr, 
 and into my heart swept a fury of black 
 passion. I thought of the Germans I had 
 known who had children, huge families of 
 children, and had professed to love children ; 
 and on that day I cursed Germany and all 
 its people, and I cried to Heaven to avenge 
 the blood of the innocent and defenceless. 
 Cruel it had been to stand by whilst a strong 
 man went out in agony, but crueller was it 
 
MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 19 
 to think of this tender babe foully murdered, 
 
 to picture the mother perhaps ; but no ... . 
 I rushed out in a panic ; I must have air — must 
 get away from this accursed spot. 
 
 Round Antwerp were miles of barbed wire 
 cunningly twisted into an impassable barrier ; 
 moats filled with, deep water; earthworks, 
 barricades ; it was a wonderful sight ; and 
 little did we dream then how futile all these 
 would prove. 
 
 One day, after forty-eight hours 1 rain, we 
 dashed past a stretch of country close to the 
 waterworks : the stench was terrible, thick 
 and heavy, and too horrible for words ; the 
 soft earth was wet and heavy, and disturbed. 
 Others said they saw human limbs sticking 
 upwards, protruding from the earth as if in 
 appeal to Heaven. I did not look closely — 
 J could not. I knew only that 300 corpses 
 had been hastily covered with earth after a 
 fight a week or two before. 
 
 One day we were at a line of trenches in an 
 entirely opposite direction — towards Lierre ; 
 there had been many wounded, and the little 
 car had made many journeys. Loaded up 
 inside and with one man between me and the 
 
20 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 chauffeur, we started homewards as the sun 
 was setting. I was tired ; as usual, I had 
 given my sandwiches to the men who needed 
 them more than I, and suddenly I felt very 
 hungry and feeble inside. Then to my amaze- 
 ment I saw sailors — English sailors — drawn 
 up in a big group, and an English doctor in 
 naval uniform barred our way. He was about 
 as surprised as I was ! He held my hand and 
 asked if we could load up one more Belgian 
 who was complaining of bad pain in the side, 
 and his hand lay on mine as he spoke. His 
 face was tired, and his eyes had dark shadows 
 under them ; and he was so pleased to see an 
 English girl ! We made the Belgian sit where 
 I had been, and I stood on the footboard, 
 holding on with one hand to the roof of the 
 car. On we sped, and the sky was flaming 
 red, and suddenly our road lay clear and 
 straight through long lines of English blue- 
 jackets and marines — miles of them — all 
 marching forth with steady tramp and reso- 
 lute, kindly faces. How my heart went out 
 to them ; and how their ringing friendly 
 cheers brought the blood to my face and a 
 great joy to my heart ! No more hunger — 
 
MALINES, BUCHEROUT,VIEUXDIEU 21 
 
 only pride — as these lines of men — my men — 
 went out gaily to fight for me and all the 
 women of the Empire. 
 
 In the town that night I had to go to six 
 hospitals before getting my load out of the 
 car. That made me think as I went to sleep 
 that night. 
 
 Next morning we started off again. This 
 time we got to Bucherout, a small village ; 
 and here were English naval doctors working 
 against time, and an Irishwoman and her 
 little four-seater just arrived to interpret for 
 them. Orders for retreat were out, and all the 
 wounded were being packed off as quickly as 
 cars or carts passed within hail. I had only 
 jumped out, when I had to dress a man with a 
 bullet in his arm — I could feel the bullet. 
 The wounded were lying everywhere — on the 
 pavement, propped against the walls. My 
 little car was quickly loaded and sent off : 
 then came a naval ambulance from the front 
 with a man shot to pieces on one stretcher ; 
 a shattered thigh on the stretcher underneath ; 
 a broken arm and a shrapnel in the head 
 opposite. The doctor, the same whom I had 
 met the night before, looked very weary ; he 
 
22 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 could only give morphia to the top man, and 
 from there we went to an A.S.C. cart just 
 arrived with six more. We had to unload them, 
 as the cart had to go on for ammunition and 
 go back. One man was very bad ; a dear old 
 Scotchman carried another on his back to the 
 doorway and set him down. I was raiding the 
 empty houses for blankets, pillows, mattresses. 
 Then the Irishwoman went off full speed with 
 her car and chauffeur to get St. John's men 
 and a motor 'bus. She shoved some sand- 
 wiches into my hand. 
 
 " Make the doctors eat something," she said, 
 and I cornered one — asked him if he could 
 spare two minutes inside the doorway. He 
 looked at me with tired surprise — imagining, 
 probably I was feeling faint ! — and acceded. 
 He followed me inside and 1 slipped round and 
 barred the doorway by standing against it. 
 
 " Eat that," I said firmly—" quick ! "—and, 
 laughing, he did so when I assured him there 
 were more for the other doctors. He had been 
 working all night, and he couldn't remember 
 having had anything to eat ; he thought he'd 
 had a cup of coffee " somewhere about 
 6 o'clock " ! ! 
 
MAL1NES,BUCHER0UT,VIEUXDIEU 23 
 
 The motor 'bus arrived at length with 
 twenty St. John's men — fine workers and 
 skilful. We helped all those who could go 
 upstairs, and many who were not fit to go on 
 top ; one, a St. John's man and I carried up 
 between us — no easy job on a 'bus stairs ! 
 There was one very badly wounded man on the 
 pavement. I begged the doctor to let him be, 
 but he shook his head. " He may live some 
 time," he said, " and we must get him out of 
 the way." Shells were not far off and shrapnel 
 everywhere near, so I suppose he was right, 
 and I helped to arrange the poor fellow on 
 the floor of the 'bus. I had a presentiment 
 he was going, and I knelt by him till the 'bus 
 was ready to start. He was struggling. 
 A nice St. John's man who had been helping 
 me was to accompany that load. 
 
 " I think he is beginning to die," I said ; 
 " couldn't we put him out and let him go in 
 peace ? " 
 
 The man bent over him. 
 
 " It looks like it," said he, " but we'd better 
 take him." 
 
 Later on that same bearer came to me to 
 tell me the man had died ten minutes after 
 
24 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 i he 'bus started. It seems a dreadful 
 nightmare, the memory of these men tor- 
 tured and suffering, British and Belgian ; but 
 all that day there was so much to do I 
 could not grasp the horror of it. One load 
 came in with a Belgian boy, quite young, 
 with a broken leg J he was shrieking with 
 pain. The doctor put it in splints ; he wanted 
 to give him morphia. I begged the boy to 
 have morphia, but he refused violently, and 
 so with piercing screams and racking sobs 
 of agony we had to load him on to a motor 
 'bus and let him go ; his terror of morphia 
 was greater than the agony he endured. 
 
 A gallant English marine was brought in 
 with his jaw shot away and one arm pierced ; 
 lie was quite conscious and must have suffered 
 horribly, but he lay quiet, with never a 
 murmur. The) were all heroes ; they would 
 find time in the midst of their pain to say 
 u Thank you, Sister," when I gave them some- 
 thing to drink or slipped cushions under 
 them. Main' a journey my little car made 
 that day — filled each time. A big bread 
 wagon came along and I commandeered it ; 
 the sergeant at first demurred, but he quickly 
 
M ALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 25 
 
 entered into the spirit of it. We spread a 
 big blanket in a gateway and turned out all 
 the bread. I elimbed into the cart and passed 
 the huge loaves out ! Then I dragged the 
 sergeant to an empty house, and we got 
 mattresses and blankets and cushions, and 
 made the bottom of that cart comfortable. 
 
 The doctor came along and was delighted. 
 " That's splendid," he said; and soon we 
 loaded in wounded and the cart went off. 
 
 All this time we were watching the signal to 
 emit. If the artillery went down a certain 
 road, we had to go, Troops were passing in all 
 directions. Winston Churchill— then First 
 Lord of the Admiralty— rushed past in a car 
 many times with Colonel Seely, going back- 
 wards and forwards from Vieux Dieu to the 
 trenches. For an hour and a half there came 
 a lull, and lots of St. John's men and a few 
 soldiers in khaki joined us. Suddenly a call 
 came for a car to go to an outpost to bring in 
 three wounded, it was a matter of four kilo- 
 metres, and the road was being shelled all 
 the way. Luckily my little ambulance was 
 waiting, and off we went. There were one or 
 two other cars on the road, and we passed an 
 
26 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 open car with a stretcher slung across the 
 back seats. We got to the outpost, a lonely 
 building, and there was an Englishman with 
 a little Belgian cap on his head ! He was 
 attached to the Belgian service : a brave man 
 he was ; I met him again and again, and 
 always where there was danger, but he had 
 no fear. We ran the car alongside, and then 
 we all bolted for our lives round the corner of 
 the house, and with an ear-splitting skirl a 
 shell came on the roadway and ploughed a 
 huge hole and brought a tree down. It stopped 
 short of the car by less than a dozen yards. 
 We waited quite a long time before the priest 
 and the soldier who had gone to carry back 
 the wounded appeared, and the Englishman 
 showed me an enormous shrapnel case he was 
 going to take away as a trophy. 
 
 When we drove back to the dressing station 
 at Bucherout the St. John's men cheered, 
 and one came up to me and gave me a pear. 
 I wanted him to keep it, but he looked so 
 hurt I took it and thanked him ; then another 
 man gave me an apple, which I put in my 
 pocket. A soldier in khaki came up to me 
 shyly with a little bunch of mignonette ; 
 
MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 27 
 
 it almost brought tears to my eyes, for it 
 suddenly made me think of a quiet garden 
 with one corner overrun with mignonette, 
 and my mother in a shady garden hat lean- 
 ing on her stick, for it was her favourite 
 plant. 
 
 In the evening our work grew lighter, and 
 at last I myself stood on the footboard to 
 accompany the last load in. The Belgian 
 Military Pharmacy had arrived before I left — 
 a big caravan drawn by two horses, and 
 stocked with every possible medicament, also 
 bandages and thousands of first field dress- 
 ings. I had been busy interpreting too, for 
 none of the doctors spoke French. Before I 
 left I was commissioned by the Senior Medical 
 Officer to get a complete list of all the British 
 wounded in Antwerp, for no records had been 
 kept ; they were put in all and any passing 
 vehicles, and by them dropped at any hospitals 
 in the town. It is true cars were given the 
 names of the hospitals to go to, but these were 
 often full, and the cars had to go on to others 
 turn by turn till they could leave the men. 
 My Belgian friend, the owner of the ambulance, 
 undertook to get the returns for me ; and sure 
 
28 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 enough next morning he had it all ready for 
 me, and sorry I am I did not keep it ! 
 
 We ran out early towards Bucherout, but 
 what was my amazement to find Vieux Dieu 
 deserted, the English headquarters empty, 
 and shells bursting in the streets ! 
 
 A big car with British staff officers came 
 towards us and stopped, and I ran round and 
 asked them whether Bucherout was still the 
 collecting station, and where the wounded 
 were. The man I spoke to first was very 
 worried. He said he did not know where the 
 wounded were ; he added : " Go back at 
 once ; this is no place for an ambulance. 
 The firing line is 200 yards from here." 
 
 The man opposite him, a clean-shaven, 
 strong-faced officer, did not seem so agitated, 
 so I appealed to him, but he knew nothing 
 either. So we drove on to some Belgian 
 soldiers we saw in the distance, and they said 
 there must be wounded, but they didn't 
 know where ; anyway, the road wasn't too 
 dangerous if mademoiselle stayed behind ! 
 
 Mademoiselle laughed and went on ; and 
 there was Bucherout, so busy yesterday, 
 deserted ! — not a sign of life, nothing but two 
 
MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 29 
 
 black dogs who came to me for sympathy. 
 There, too, we met a little group of marines 
 wheeling a wounded Belgian in a barrow ; 
 they had stopped to replace the bandage on 
 his leg, which had got swamped with blood. 
 I jumped out, and one sailor said to the man 
 who was bandaging, " Let Sister do it." 
 
 They were a very forlorn little band — had 
 no idea where they were going nor where 
 Antwerp lay, and knew no French. They had 
 saved six stretchers, which I slung upon the 
 roof of the car. I told them the way (straight 
 forwards) and one boy — he was perhaps 
 seventeen — said to me, with a quiver in his 
 voice, " We couldn't help it, Sister ; we had 
 to go. We were shot down and couldn't 
 help ourselves ; we had no guns." 
 
 It was the first time I heard that pathetic 
 cry — " We had no guns." The next day and 
 the next, and for many a week afterwards, I 
 was to hear it — the unspoken lament, the 
 mute reproach ; and many a time when 
 wounded men have turned to me for strength, 
 and dying men have held my hand in an 
 anguished farewell to life, and women have 
 clung to me sobbing, and I myself have felt 
 
3 o A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 courage and hope and faith break within me 
 over the cold faces of the best-beloved and 
 the nearest of kin, these words have leapt to 
 life again and struck me across the eyes — 
 " We had no guns." 
 
 What happened to the Belgian in the 
 barrow ? He was helped inside the ambulance, 
 and we ran further on to look for wounded. 
 We met a few Belgian soldiers — fourteen, I 
 think — and they were all excited, and some had 
 held to their rifles and some had thrown them 
 away, and one, a non-commissioned officer, 
 told us a long tale. He spoke of the English 
 who had come to save Antwerp ; he spoke of 
 these men in their trenches and the great 
 German guns that swept them like a scourge. 
 He spoke of the Marine Light Infantry, and 
 the handful of them that started to charge 
 the German guns across three miles of country, 
 and he even muttered something of the harvest 
 these guns reaped — because the English had 
 no guns. Then he ended up with the tale of 
 the English throwing down their cartridges 
 and rifles. . . . Retreat is an ugly tale to 
 hear — an uglier thing to come to grips with. 
 My chauffeur tried to check the narrator, and 
 
MALINES,BUCHEROUT,VIEUXDIEU 31 
 
 tried to show his sympathy with me. He had 
 seen me come tearless and dry-eyed from 
 many a pitiful sight — he had been with me 
 when death seemed certain — so now he turned 
 away from the suffering in my eyes and the 
 mist that would blot everything else out. 
 
 Then came the wounded — four of them — 
 and a man who spoke of Englishmen in a 
 trench with no one to help them, and he 
 wanted to go to English headquarters to tell 
 them where to send help ; so back we sped, 
 and stopped to take up one marine to look 
 after their stretchers. 
 
 Later on we ran out another road to the 
 Chateau de Troyenhem, and near here we 
 found an English doctor with everything ready. 
 He was calm and confident, and quite amazed 
 to think outside help was offered him ! His 
 preparations were complete — his " dug-out " 
 shelters shell-proof ; he was very confident. 
 Yet next day he was gone, and only his shell- 
 proof shelters remained for the Germans ! 
 So back we went to Vieux Dieu, and there 
 found English soldiers and sailors making 
 trenches and building a big barricade across 
 the road to Bucherout. The chauffeur looked 
 
32 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 ahead and asked if mademoiselle were afraid 
 to go. Mademoiselle said there was no ques- 
 tion of fear, but of wounded ; it' there were 
 wounded the car must go. And so it went, 
 and inside 1 cast a Frantic look back at the 
 
 khaki and bluejackets — there 1 felt lay safety. 
 
 Then overhead the singing Tilled the air — 
 
 \Y hi. '.'/.-'/ '/.-'///. . . . boom. . . . WhizZ-ZZ . . . 
 boom . . . ei-ei-ei-ei-vah J and I felt SO lonely. 
 
 1 crouched down in a corner, and then 1 wrote 
 
 a note on a slip o\ paper with my mother's 
 address on it and slipped it into my tunic 
 pocket ; and then 1 knelt down and prayed, 
 and with the prayer my imagination lost its 
 force, and I could look calmly out on the bare 
 road, and not feel desolate, because there was 
 
 no other living thing there. The dead horses 
 
 were sad, and at Bucherout the houses 
 
 battered and fallen, were sad ; and I called 
 and whistled and searched for the two black 
 
 dogs, but got no reply. 
 
 We drew Up for a few minutes. The intense 
 stillness was rather terrifying, and 1 think 
 otir nerves were strung up, for a whiz of 
 shrapnel that came very close made tis jump 
 violently, and my companions bolted like 
 
riNS <'l'' A 
 
 A ^ 
 
 \r * 
 
 u- 
 
 kl* 
 
 W II I RE A BOMB FELL. 
 
MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 33 
 
 rabbits and crawled under the back of the car ! 
 I followed them blindly, but there was no 
 room for me ; I could only crouch down, 
 wondering what was going to happen. Then 
 the crash of falling masonry at very close 
 quarters relieved the tension, and up we got, 
 and I think the chauffeur broke all speed 
 records on that return trip ! It was a wonder- 
 ful thing to get back inside that barrier, to 
 run in with only a quarter-inch to spare 
 between sandbags piled high, and the moment 
 we were through to see that gap rilled up. I 
 reported to the medical officer there, and he 
 took me to his " hospital " in the fort — great 
 stone cellars they looked like, all these rooms 
 so carefully guarded with the earth all round 
 them. 
 
 The doctor had no dressings (someone had 
 forgotten to supply them !),and so I sent my 
 car in to Antwerp with a chit to get more 
 dressings from the Belgian Red Cross. Also 
 I gave the chauffeur all the money I had with 
 me, and told him to bring white bread and 
 butter and cheese ; then I was offered some 
 sandbags for a seat, and watched the men 
 building. That was interesting and amusing. 
 
34 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 There were Belgian soldiers who stood round 
 watching the British building and strength- 
 ening the barrier ; then a Belgian sergeant 
 came and ordered them to take bags and 
 build too. Some of them smiled ; some 
 of them winked at each other. One man 
 winked at me, as much as to say, " Our brave 
 sergeant ; he's showing off ! " The sergeant 
 seized bags himself and swung them into 
 place. Outside the ever-growing barrier a 
 marine officer was directing his men. He was 
 swinging the heavy bags into place himself — 
 pointing out weaker places ; he was a good 
 officer. Once he paused to wipe the perspira- 
 tion off his brow, and leaned against the wall 
 of sandbags, and, so leaning, discovered me 
 watching him. His eyes opened wide. Doubt- 
 less in his heart he said " What the devil is 
 a woman doing here ? " but he merely smiled 
 and saluted. 
 
 1, too, swung a sandbag into place — laid 
 one tiny bit of the wall that was to keep the 
 Germans out — but did not. Along to the left 
 the marines and the Naval Brigade were toil- 
 ing, making beautiful roofs to their trenches 
 — dragging heavy wooden beams into place, 
 
MALINES,BUCHEROUT,VIEiJXDIEU 35 
 
 and on them supporting hundreds of sandbags 
 and big sods of earth. Soon the trench became 
 like a long hut — comfortably screened from 
 rain and wind, and shell-resisting. For hours 
 they worked, these big, strong men of ours, 
 all looking good-tempered and jolly. Close 
 to and behind one end of the trench were two 
 stone houses, high and narrow, and towering 
 over the barriers. I asked one of the officers 
 if they were going to blow them up, remarking 
 that if a shell hit them they would collapse in 
 the trench and kill the men there. 
 
 He absolutely exploded : 
 
 " We have been asking all day to have that 
 house taken down — and we can't." 
 
 " Why not ? " I asked, astonished. " Can't 
 you do it ? " (He wore three stars.) 
 
 " No, it's all red tape ; a fussy old staff 
 officer came along and said they were not to 
 be touched." 
 
 Instance of red tape that made me gasp at 
 such a time. Never had I realised what 
 victims it claims ; and that evening, when I 
 left these particular forts, I was witness of 
 another distressing example of it. The same 
 old " fusser " came along and ordered all the 
 
36 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 splendid roof to be taken off the trench ; 
 the protection these men had worked hour 
 after hour to build was condemned because 
 the supports were solid tree trunks (all the 
 material available) wedged in with sandbags 
 and earth ; and the text-book said iron 
 supports should be used, as wood might 
 catch fire ! My heart ached for them ; it was 
 already dusk, and instead of warm covered 
 trenches they would have to pull down their 
 sheltering roof and live in the open trench, 
 for there was no iron to be got. The men were 
 disheartened and furious, and many a curse 
 fell on that staff officer's head, and personally 
 I think he deserved them. 
 
 However, to return to the earlier hours of 
 the afternoon. 
 
 My chauffeur returned armed with loaves 
 and two huge cheeses and butter, and a big 
 scaled drum of sterilised dressings. The 
 doctor loaded up some men with the food, and 
 I carried a big cheese, and we made a quaint 
 procession following the winding footway that 
 led through wire entanglements to a narrow 
 plank bridge and so into the fort itself. 
 
 When I got back one of the young naval 
 
MALINES,BUCHEROUT,VIEUXDIEU 37 
 
 division stretcher-bearers came to me. It was 
 the same boy whom I had met near Bucherout 
 — with the little party who had lost their way 
 and had the Belgian in the barrow. He 
 explained on behalf of the little band that 
 
 they had no rations, as they belonged to 
 
 Company, which they could not find, and were 
 
 now with Company (one being " Colling- 
 
 wood " and one " Drake "), and so, as only 
 strict rations were issued, they had no food. 
 He was a nice lad ; I hope he got safely 
 through what followed. 
 
 Whilst all this work was going on the blue 
 sky above was very peaceful, and up there 
 floated placidly a large captive balloon, fur- 
 nished with a wireless telegraphy apparatus. 
 The Germans were calmly surveying all the 
 English preparations, and sending down to 
 their artillery the new range of distance ! 
 I demanded to know why we couldn't shoot 
 the balloon or send an aeroplane to attack 
 it and drop bombs on the German guns, 
 but was told all the Allies' aeroplanes had left 
 for Ghent two or three days ago, to avoid 
 possibility of capture ! 
 
 Suddenly about 5 o'clock a new noise made 
 
38 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 itself heard — a deep boom-boom ; this was 
 the one and only Long Tom, which had 
 been out of action since 5 o'clock in the 
 morning owing to the cement having given 
 way. 
 
 Shortly after this I left with a young Naval 
 Brigade officer carrying despatches for the 
 Commodore. Running through Vieux Dieu, 
 we were stopped by a mob of people — weep- 
 ing women and gesticulating men. Two poor 
 women were alone in their house, and a man 
 had started looting it, a rough civilian of the 
 working class. Heedless of the two women 
 he carried chairs and clocks and wine from 
 the house to a little cart. A few yards farther 
 on some soldiers and some civilians were 
 drinking coffee and beer outside a little 
 restaurant. We stopped whilst the owner of 
 the ambulance scolded the thief, comforted 
 the women, fetched two soldiers from their 
 coffee to guard the house, and handed the 
 man over to their charge. About two miles 
 beyond we met a Belgian regiment bivouack- 
 ing for the night, fetched the commandant, 
 drove him back with two military policemen ; 
 he arrested the looter, ordered him to be shot. 
 
MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 39 
 
 and returned with us to his regiment. At 
 last we arrived at the Commodore's head- 
 quarters. The gallant despatch-bearer had 
 told me a moving tale of his long day without 
 food, and I had proudly presented him with a 
 pear which a St. John's man had given me 
 the day before and which I had kept for 
 emergency ; also I found a last scrap of 
 chocolate. I forgot to tell him I had had one 
 slice of plain bread and a chunk of cheese 
 since 8 o'clock that morning, nor did he ask. 
 True he was a little reluctant to take the 
 pear, and ate the chocolate slowly without 
 undue display of hunger. 
 
 When, therefore, he had disappeared up 
 the long dark avenue with his despatches, I 
 stamped about the road to keep warm, and 
 then saw a light in what seemed a cottage in 
 the grounds. I hesitated, then went boldly 
 in, and knocked on the door to ask for a cup 
 of hot coffee for the poor lad when he came 
 out. To my astonishment, a big bluejacket 
 appeared, and was as delighted to see me as 
 I was surprised to see him. He overwhelmed 
 me with offers of chicken broth, but I begged 
 for a cupful for my despatch bearer ; however, 
 
40 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 I was induced to accept coffee and biscuits, 
 and thankful I was to have them. I was 
 taken into a parlour with what had once 
 been beautiful furniture, and whilst I was 
 having my coffee a sturdy, sailorly-looking 
 man came in, and we chatted. He was full of 
 an expected division that must have taken 
 the wrong roads, and looked worried to a 
 degree. Then he retired, and I curled up on a 
 sofa in a corner, feeling terribly sleepy and 
 tired ; in fact I was just dropping off to sleep 
 when an aide-de-camp entered. We had a 
 long talk, and amongst other things I told 
 him of the despatch-bearer's long day without 
 food, and to my surprise (also relief) I learnt 
 that the starving officer had already been for 
 lunch at headquarters at noon ! He entered 
 himself after long delay, and felt rather 
 shamefaced, I think, about his little desire 
 to appear a romantic figure suffering pangs 
 of hunger. He was very young, and I chuckled 
 over his discomfiture many a time. 
 
 Meantime the aide-de-camp had entrusted 
 me with his sword (for repairs), and armed 
 with it I clanked back to the ambulance, 
 where the chauffeur was much impressed by 
 
MALINES,BUCHEROUT,VIEUX D1EU 41 
 
 my appearance with the wonderful sword at 
 my side. 
 
 (He returned to his confreres later with a 
 great tale of his English miss, who had been 
 presented with a sword for her gallantry ! ! !) 
 
 After reconducting our naval officer to his 
 fort, we returned to Antwerp, and I swung into 
 the hospital with great swank — sword clank- 
 ing ! To my dismay, appeared the head doctor. 
 
 " Oh, Miss So-and-So ; take off that sword ; 
 we mustn't have weapons in a hospital ! " 
 
 I gasped, and quickly explained I was only 
 in charge of the sword. 
 
 However, to return. After supper I was 
 filling some big jugs of water for the night 
 nurses from the well (the waterworks having 
 been shattered a few days earlier when Walhem 
 was taken), and a young officer of the Garde 
 Civique was helping me. To him I men- 
 tioned that the people whose hospitality I had 
 enjoyed all the time I was in Antwerp had 
 left, and I had nowhere to go for the night. 
 He promptly fetched his mother, who lived 
 two doors away, and with whom another 
 nurse was billeted, and she begged me to 
 sleep in their cellar, which was furnished as a 
 
42 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 bedroom. I accepted gratefully, and retired 
 there about 10 o'clock, very weary. After 
 the usual " indaba " with my hostess and her 
 family, I washed in the kitchen sink, and got 
 into bed and wrote up my diary. That took 
 some time, and as midnight was striking I 
 closed it, turned off the electric light (which 
 was actually in the cellar), and was snuggling 
 down in my pillows, when, zvkizz-zz-zz . . . 
 boom, came the first shrapnel over Antwerp. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 ANTWERP THE BOMBARDMENT AND FLIGHT 
 
 That was a terrible night. For two and a 
 half hours we worked carrying men down- 
 stairs — the top floor first, with its 69 beds to 
 clear (for that night there were extra beds 
 in the corridor), then the second floor, and 
 lastly the fracture wards on the first floor, 
 though to me that seemed a mistake. It was 
 down slowly with a heavy stretcher, and up 
 rapidly with an empty one. I made slings for 
 myself with a bandage, but even then my 
 wrists and legs ached after the first ten men. 
 
 One dresser I helped time after time — I 
 think we two carried down 30 cases alone. 
 Into one ward on the second floor I went to 
 see if I could help, but found the London 
 surgeon (who did all the worst operations there) 
 with another doctor and two dressers in con- 
 sultation over a very bad case. I turned to go 
 out, when the great man saw me and called 
 
44 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 cheerily : " Ah here's Miss So-and-so ; now 
 we'll be all right ! " 
 
 I swallowed a lump in my throat ; at that 
 time when I was alone a friendly greeting 
 meant very much to me. 
 
 Down below, the scene was a terrible one. 
 The kitchen was in the basement, also many 
 offices (scullcr\% wash-place, passages), and 
 these were now a mass of helpless men — some 
 on mattresses, some on rugs — all exhausted 
 with suffering and want of rest, racked by the 
 pain of their wounds, but brave as the gods of 
 old. 
 
 No murmurs, no complaints — although 
 many a broken cry for water made one's heart 
 ache. One poor sailor lay on the landing of the 
 staircase to the basement ; he had had an eye 
 shot out and was half delirious, and his cry 
 for water was very pitiful. Another man, 
 very badly wounded in the side, caught my 
 eye : he was lying on the stone floor with no 
 mattress ; I got him some cushions. One 
 man with broken legs yelled with pain as we 
 lifted him on and off the stretcher. Some of 
 the men tried to cheer the others up. Gradu- 
 ally the lights were lowered and the stretcher- 
 
ANTWERP— THE BOMBARDMENT. 45 
 
 bearer's work finished, and I slipped upstairs 
 and brought a mattress down for the man with 
 the bad wound in the side. 
 
 Upstairs coffee and bread and treacle were 
 going ; and most comforting it was. Then the 
 hospital showed a strange sight. Down in 
 the entrance hall lay silent figures. On a 
 bench behind the door sat a doctor and the 
 sister-in-charge : the steps were crowded with 
 doctors, dressers, and nurses, all huddled 
 together, with a few patients in between. 
 Outside there was a clear moon and pure air, 
 and outside I went with my burberry on, 
 dragged a wooden bench to the middle of the 
 courtyard, and lay down. Whizz-z-z . . . 
 boom. At steady intervals came the shrapnel 
 through the air, cutting the silence like a 
 knife — once or twice coming so near I leapt 
 up and ran to the wall, crouching down with 
 bitten lips. Then back to the bench. Dr. 
 Hoyle came out with blankets ; but the horror 
 of dirt was more to me than the cold of the 
 night, bitter though it was, and, finding me 
 set on this point, he kindly fetched newspapers 
 and spread them over me. As he was talking 
 the night sister joined us ; she sent me out 
 
46 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 her own big coat to cover me. It was very 
 good of her. Once she came out with a utensil 
 in her hand, and called a greeting to me, 
 when the whizz-z-z came between us, and she 
 dropped her china and we met under the 
 shadow of the wall, both breathing rather 
 hard. 
 
 " Why don't you come in ? " she pleaded ; 
 " it's awful being alone out here." 
 
 But I shook my head obstinately. If I were 
 to die, I would rather it were outside, with 
 God's moon to bear me company. 
 
 I closed my eyes resolutely and tried to 
 sleep — tried, at least, to control myself and 
 not run to cover. One shrapnel — two, three, 
 eight, nine, ten. I began to feel proud of 
 myself when eleven came ; the loud hissing 
 of it seemed to go through my brain. In 
 wild, unreasoning terror I bolted to the wall 
 and crouched there, holding my breath, pray- 
 ing madly ; and the great boom was followed 
 by an appalling crash — part of the house next 
 door had gone. Several people came to look 
 out — Dr. Hoyle to see if I was safe, Nurse 
 Mitchell and Sir Bartle Frere to discuss the 
 damage ; and with the last two I went upstairs 
 
ANTWERP— THE BOMBARDMENT. 47 
 
 to the very top floor, and there, by climbing 
 a long ladder, we could see out of a skylight, 
 one at a time. It was a weird sight. Dawn was 
 coming — very slowly — and here and there 
 broken laps of flame told that some shells had 
 found a mark. Housetops everywhere, and 
 a few heaps of broken masonry (not many), 
 and the great, quiet sky, and the whizz-z-z . . . 
 boom as a shrapnel sped overhead on its 
 deadly errand. 
 
 I was not sorry to climb down and return 
 to my bench in the yard. About 4 I went in 
 and lay on a sack of potatoes behind the front 
 door, — the night sister's coat over me, Dr. 
 Hoyle, big and kind and protecting, sitting 
 on the bench ; but sleep was not for that day ! 
 Soon the sounds of hurrying footsteps drew 
 us to the door. Men and women were passing 
 carrying odd bits of furniture and little bags of 
 clothing. Two men passed, carrying a little 
 girl in a chair. Three women passed, sobbing, 
 a bundle tied up in a tablecloth in their hands. 
 The day was come — this strange day of terror ! 
 
 Very early an Irishwoman attached to the 
 
 hospital and a Miss prepared to go ; 
 
 they had motor cars. They offered to take two 
 
48 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 nurses ; only one said she would go, and she 
 was suffering from a long strain. They took 
 two English officers who were wounded, and 
 insisted on one of them leaving his revolver 
 behind — the other had none — professing to be 
 afraid the Germans would catch them and 
 shoot them all if they had firearms on board ! 
 
 I got an early message from the house next 
 door to remove my sword ; the people indeed 
 offered to bury it in a rubbish heap with the 
 Garde Civique uniform belonging to the son 
 of the house ! He was very much perturbed 
 about his future. I urged him to enlist ; I 
 urged his duty to his count ry — vengeance on 
 the Germans. Mis parents urged his duty to 
 them (they had four sons) and would give 
 none of them to fight for their country. 
 
 Events followed fast. Mrs. St. Clair Stobart 
 and her secretary came down to ask for help 
 in getting away : the}' had 40 patients in a 
 convalescent home at the top of the boulevard. 
 Lots of wounded came in — one man a horrid 
 sight of burns and blood, his face practically 
 gone ! The man who brought him in said 
 there were crowds of wounded and no one to 
 bring them in. It was already long past the 
 
I II I I I'd' .1 I.I \ I.. 
 
 DIVISION BEING I'lVIIWin ON II RF.TUR1 FROM 
 
 I III l l'l 'III ,. 
 
ANTWERP— THE BOMBARDMENT. 49 
 
 hour for my ambulance to come for m< 
 I walked down to the Place de Meir to the 
 Belgian Red Cross headquarters. The streets 
 were empty. Once I passed some weeping 
 women beside their house, of which two 
 storeys had fallen in, and I had to whistle 
 to myself and hum snatches of a song as I 
 walked to keep my courage up, and every 
 shrapnel that whizzed over my head made me 
 wonder if anyone would find me if I got 
 knocked out then. It was a weird walk, and 
 one I have no longing to repeat, although I 
 wish sometimes I had been more observant 
 of the damage wrought around. 
 
 At last I reached my goal, but found hardly 
 a soul there — only an ambulancier I had 
 already met, who wrung my hand, muttering 
 " Bonne chance, mam'selle," and dashed out. 
 Nobody knew of the car, the owner or the 
 chauffeur, and as the committee-room door 
 was open and the president and two other 
 members were there, I asked them. As I went 
 out, with a message to take back to the hos- 
 pital, the London surgeon and the hospital 
 head walked in, and as I stopped to scribble 
 a message on a sheet of paper, a terrific crash 
 
5 o A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 outside smashed all the windows. I hurried 
 to look out ; a shell had killed two people. 
 At that instant the three members of the 
 Belgian Red Cross walked out and vanished, 
 and the two English doctors called to me to 
 jump into their car to return. 
 
 With them I went to the English head- 
 quarters, and later to the hospital, entrusted 
 with the fact that three motor 'buses were to 
 come for the wounded and three of the 
 nurses and a doctor. I took it on myself, 
 therefore, to slip up to the top floor and pack 
 boxes full of dressings and bandages, scissors, 
 and other necessaries. 
 
 The first detachment was leaving in charge 
 of an American doctor, and to him I entrusted 
 my suit-case, as everyone expected a " Sauve 
 qui petit " later. I took my precious charge 
 the sword out also, but to my amazement a 
 general outcry was raised, and the doctors and 
 nurses would not hear of a sword going. How- 
 ever, I felt I should lose it if I kept it, so I 
 wrapped it inside the Union Jack and so carried 
 it out to one of the 'bus drivers, a sailor, giving 
 him a few shillings to see it through ! 
 
 It got to England long before I did, but my 
 
ANTWERP— THE BOMBARDMENT. 51 
 
 suit-case got lost, with many valued posses- 
 sions. 
 
 Later on four other motor 'buses came, 
 
 thanks to the efforts of Dr. B , and into 
 
 these the poor sufferers were crammed ; and 
 on the tops a few patients and all the doctors 
 and nurses had seats. The chauffeur of a 
 gallant Englishwoman who had done a lot of 
 splendid rescue work round Antwerp helped 
 me to break into the store cupboard and pack 
 boxes of provisions — simply because it seemed 
 nobody's business to see to it ! 
 
 Off we started, and stopped outside Mrs. 
 Stobart's hospital to offer help, but it was 
 empty — not a soul was left ; and then, dodg- 
 ing the broken electric wires of the tramway 
 which were hanging across the road in places, 
 we went slowly through the deserted streets. 
 Every window was shut and barred ; here and 
 there a stolid woman would watch us pass, 
 a child raise its hand in greeting. 
 
 Down by the quai the crowd was appalling 
 — men and women and children ; 'buses, 
 carts, barrows, limousines, taxicabs marked 
 " Service Militaire " or protected by Red Cross 
 flags : everywhere people pushing and shoving 
 
52 \ F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 or waiting Btolidly ; women sobbing and 
 women calm and Bmiling ; babies, dozens of 
 them, piled on to carts and barrows the 
 parents doubtless somewhere in that dense 
 throng of humanity. The guns were booming 
 in the distance -shrapnel falling on the town. 
 Thank God ! they had not yet gbt the range of 
 the juai -a shell falling in the midst of that 
 crowd did not bear thinking of. Then at last, 
 after an hour or an hour and a half of weary 
 waiting, whilst officers restrained and con- 
 trolled the people and kept their own irritation 
 in check— and it must have been intense! — 
 the order came to move, and slowly the four 
 'buses, packed with sufferers, rolled over the 
 pontoon bridge, and all around the yellow sky 
 and the setting sun seemed to cast a halo 
 on the forsaken town. It was then that Sir 
 Bartle Frere, who shared the back seat of the 
 
 *buS with me, rose. 
 
 lk I can't leave Antwerp like this," he said, 
 
 and went down the steps slowly. 
 
 - Good luck ! " 1 called ; ami 
 
 kV Good-bye ! " he responded. 
 
 Miles and miles of long roads, and hunted. 
 Weary people staggering along ; bundles of 
 
ANTWERP— THE BOMBARDMENT. 53 
 
 goods, carta with chairs and tables ! .ill their 
 
 humble and valued possessions ; Hi tie ( hildren 
 trying to keep up, their eyes big with Eear, 
 their little legs weal with walking -how om 's 
 li« ;ni ached for them! And suddenly behind 
 us a greal sh< e1 of Same lii up 1 lie dusk the 
 p< 1 vol tanks were ablaze. 
 
 Gradually 1 lie nighl darkened and the cold 
 became bitter i<> a degree. It: was early in 
 October, and I bad hastened to Antwi i"|> from 
 a hot. country with very little clothing. I 
 
 ached with cold and will) sitting ( r< •< t on tli.it 
 
 little narrow seat. A Scotch boy-dr< 
 had taken Sir Bartle Frere's place; we had 
 ;i blankel apiei e, so we sal on one and held 1 he 
 
 Other over U8 round our ne< ks ; I) nt 1 lie blankets 
 were thin, and it gol (older and colder. 
 
 ()n<- nurse broke into helpless sobbing; she 
 
 had gone down earlier to help the nurse inside 
 with the wounded. She was a brave and 
 splendid woman, and this was our B< < ond night 
 
 without sleep >.and the days had been filled with 
 
 hard work. Every now and then the 'bus 
 would Stick in the mud ; often we had all to 
 get down and shove to get it out of the ruts, 
 and the jolting and jarring were terrible. 
 
54 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 One patient in the 'bus in front, a young 
 Flemish boy, screamed with agony, moaning 
 and yelling ; that in itself was nerve-racking. 
 A man was propped up against the windows 
 of the 'bus, his head rolling from shoulder to 
 shoulder with the rough motion ; he had been 
 trepanned two days before. 
 
 Once we stopped, and I helped an American 
 nurse and two others to get hot water and make 
 soup by throwing dozens of tabloids into 
 huge cans of hot water ; and a Frenchwoman, 
 whose husband was a Belgian, made tea. 
 Every man had a drink. It was St. Nicholas. 
 One man was dead, but for some reason the 
 doctor in charge of that 'bus refused to let 
 his body be handed over to the Belgian regi- 
 ment in the town. The nurse refused to travel 
 with a corpse, and so another nurse was put 
 in beside the body, being left to discover the 
 ghastly truth after the start. To me that 
 always stands out as a needless piece of 
 cruelty. 
 
 So the long night went on, endless and ter- 
 rible : the cold was bad enough, but the jolting 
 and jarring seemed worse, and sleep was 
 impossible. I turned to the boy beside me, 
 
ANTWERP— THE BOMBARDMENT. 55 
 
 whom I scarcely knew, and said I must put 
 my head on his shoulder. I was too tired to 
 feel almost ; and I was strong, very strong. 
 What that night of hell meant to some of the 
 nurses and to the wounded God alone could 
 witness. Better to let the veils of silence 
 drop. . . . To me in the past War had meant 
 romance and heroic deeds, not the awful hell 
 of agony it is. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 GHENT — ARRIVAL : HOSPITALS AN'J HOSPI- 
 TALITY : FLIGHT, RETURN, AND THE 
 " BOCHES " 
 
 The grey light of dawn had scarcely broken 
 when the heavy 'buses rolled into Ghent, and 
 so along endless streets of tall, narrow houses 
 with shuttered windows to the Hotel Flandria, 
 an auxiliary hospital opposite the big station 
 of St. Pierre. Here the doctors arranged for 
 twelve of the wounded to be taken out, the 
 wounded officer particularly, as there were 
 English doctors and nurses attached to this 
 hospital with ambulance cars. Whilst they 
 were unloading, a London hospital nurse and 
 myself found the kitchen and a big pan of 
 hot milk, and, securing a few cups, we made 
 the round of the 'buses. In No. I 'bus was a 
 terrible scene — every man was livid, with a 
 drawn face, and lines of agony were stamped 
 
IN GHENT. 57 
 
 on every mouth. Yet when we held out the 
 first cup of hot milk and I offered it to a young 
 English boy of eighteen, who had been one of 
 the cheeriest and pluckiest in the whole hospital, 
 he twisted his mouth into a smile and said : 
 " Give it that chap up there, Sister, he needs 
 it more." 
 
 And each man passed it on to his neighbour 
 in misery. That boy's smile broke through my 
 calm, and I was crying bitterly whilst we 
 finished our round. My companion was the 
 same ; it was one of the saddest moments in 
 life. 
 
 Then the 'buses moved on to a big convent, 
 and here 32 were unloaded ; six or eight of 
 them were English, and the good nuns were 
 at the door to welcome them, and us, with 
 hot coffee and English tea ! 
 
 It was indeed a comfort to be fed with hot, 
 strong coffee by those gentle, kindly nuns, 
 and when the mother superior asked for an 
 English nurse to stay and help them, as they 
 spoke no English and had no nurse amongst 
 them, I held my breath in fear lest a trained 
 nurse would offer to stay ; but none did, and 
 I rushed to the reverend mother and begged 
 
58 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 permission to remain. It was at once granted, 
 and with a great joy in my heart I remounted 
 the 'bus to go and find the doctor who had 
 charge of my suit-case. 
 
 The next halt was at the Hospital Civile, 
 a big forbidding-looking place, and here the 
 remainder of the loads were deposited. Then 
 the 'buses went to a cafe — a rendezvous ; 
 but here a sort of rush commenced, and at 
 length, finding it hopeless to get any infor- 
 mation, I took a cab and drove to the house 
 of a Belgian doctor whose address had been 
 given me. 
 
 To my relief Dr. Hoyle was expected there 
 for breakfast, and the doctor's wife, who spoke 
 English well, made me come in and wash, and 
 was very kind to me. Dr. Hoyle appeared later, 
 but not my suit-case, which had been sent 
 in error to Bruges and then to Ostend. How- 
 ever, it was a pleasure to see the good doctor 
 himself, and he tried hard to persuade me to 
 go on with them. At last he left, and Madame 
 
 and her daughter offered to take me back 
 
 to the convent. They did so, calling at the 
 English Consul's en route to tell him where I 
 was and that there were English wounded 
 
IN GHENT. 59 
 
 there. His daughter was much interested, 
 and promised to come and see us. I was more 
 than half asleep when I reached the convent 
 door ; it had been a long walk, and after two 
 days and two nights of excitement and no 
 sleep I felt very near the end of my tether. 
 Above all things I longed for a hot bath, 
 but though that was impossible, it was a 
 luxury to get off my clothes and tumble into 
 bed. I slept at once, and an hour later a nun 
 came hurrying to waken me. 
 
 The motor 'buses were at the door taking 
 away the English patients ! 
 
 I dressed hurriedly, but I was too tired to 
 be very quick, and stumbled downstairs to 
 find the 'buses had gone, taking all the 
 English but three I 
 
 I was at once called upon by the doctor, 
 who had just arrived, to get the dressing- 
 wagon ready and go round with him. It took 
 two hours to do the men. There were about 
 50, and some of the wounds of the new 
 arrivals were in an awful state. The men 
 themselves were worn out with the suffering 
 of their night in the 'bus and the sleepless 
 night of the bombardment. The doctor was 
 
60 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 very capable, and extremely clean in his 
 methods. There was a bevy of fair lady 
 helpers to accompany us, and they all had 
 special duties allotted them. One very pretty 
 girl had to hold the patients' hands and head 
 and fondle them to take his mind off the 
 pain of his dressings. One held the bowl of 
 swabs, one the pail for dirty dressings, etc., 
 etc., and not one of them was allowed to 
 touch the dressings and bandages prepared for 
 use. This was my work, and I had to undo 
 all the dressings and syringe the wounds that 
 required it, etc. 
 
 I had lunch with a little Belgian girl, whose 
 relatives were all killed at Louvain, and she 
 had been in Antwerp some weeks at the 
 hospital there. She was a good little worker, 
 and was very helpful. After lunch I had to 
 take temperatures, etc., at the doctors' special 
 request, as he was returning at 3 o'clock. 
 However, it was 5 when he came, and many of 
 the dressings had to be done again. At 6.30 
 
 I got permission to go to Madame to see 
 
 if my bag had arrived. There were lots of 
 English soldiers at the Gare St. Pierre, and in 
 the streets people ran to offer them chocolates 
 
IN GHENT. 61 
 
 and cigarettes and fruit. ... It was told me 
 as a fact that when the English marched in to 
 Ghent the poorer people gave the soldiers all 
 they could to eat and drink, and spent all 
 their ready money for the purpose. 
 
 I had supper at 7.30, and fell into bed more 
 dead than alive, but even then burnt my candle 
 low jotting the events of the day in my diary 
 in case of forgetting what occurred ; and so, 
 very wearily, I went to sleep. The tiny 
 cubicle amongst a dozen others was a haven of 
 peace, and I had slept perhaps an hour and 
 a half or two hours when cries awoke me. I 
 leapt out of bed, slipped on my coat, and 
 blindly groped my way to the place from 
 whence the noise came. My head was con- 
 fused — my brain a mass of chaotic thoughts ; 
 in another cubicle I found a big figure in white 
 groaning and stamping and yelling. To me 
 came the thought it was strange to have a 
 wounded soldier amongst the nun's cubicles, 
 and then that this was a thief ... or a 
 German. ... I seized the figure and pushed 
 it on to the bed, and wondered vaguely if I 
 could overcome it or if I would be killed ; 
 and suddenly the mists of sleep cleared away 
 
62 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 and I realised it was a woman and she had 
 cramp ill her leg. I knelt beside her and 
 rubbed, rubbed with a sort of hopeless energy, 
 wondering a little bitterly if I would eve; 
 a night's sleep again, for that night, an hour 
 earlier, a messenger on horseback from the 
 medical officer of the English division had 
 brought a note for me, and heard with sur 
 I was in bod ; but the nun brought up the 
 note, and that was about 10, and I was 
 awakened then to read it. The outcry had 
 at length awakened the rest of the sleepers, 
 and the good woman's maid appeared, and I 
 left her to rub and slipped back to bed, falling 
 asleep to the sound of voices crying : 
 
 " Qu'eswe que e'est done ! " 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! qui arrive . . . '' 
 
 M >rnir e, and 1 was duly called at a 
 
 quarter to 6 ! The morning was a busv one — 
 the dressings took a long time. Every 
 quarter of an hour one of the English sailors 
 
 for me to ask " if his girl would lo, 
 him now he'd lost an eye." Poor soul ! it 
 was he who sat on the staircase at Antwerp 
 all that night of bombardment, suffering from 
 thirst as well as physical agonv. 
 
IN GHENT. 63 
 
 That afternoon I had an hour off and went to 
 the kk Government House," the headquarters of 
 the English division. There I left a note and 
 there I saw lots of our men — big and strong 
 and confident ; it is wonderful the moral effect 
 conveyed by a big Englishman in khaki. . . . 
 1 returned to the convent feeling less lonely, 
 and no longer a waif in a foreign town. 
 
 When I returned I found that the erysipelas 
 case was to be moved at 8 o'clock, and as no 
 one but myself was allowed to touch him, I 
 got him read}' and waited. . . . Nine o'clock 
 came and 10 o'clock, and still he was not 
 fetched. At 10.30 we got a man who knew 
 something of first aid (or said he did) to go 
 out and make inquiries. At 11 o'clock a van 
 with one horse came. The driver refused to 
 touch the stretcher or help in any way — he 
 was afraid of infection ; and so, with the first- 
 aid man to help me, I had to get the poor fellow 
 on to the stretcher and carry one end myself 
 and lift the stretcher into the van. The nun 
 on night duty came to help, but her long 
 sleeves and cloak made it difficult for her to 
 come near. The poor fellow had 105 degrees 
 of fever, and it was a very cold night, but 
 
64 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 orders had to be obeyed I (He was returned 
 a few hours later, as the fever hospital would 
 not take him in ! ) Then I had to swab all 
 the bed and the floor with disinfectant and 
 put the sheets, etc., into solution. It was 
 I o'clock when I got to bed. 
 
 Next morning was Sunday, and I rose at 
 5.30 to go to mass. It was a moving sight. 
 I knelt in the background in my khaki with 
 the nuns and the wounded who were able to 
 get up. . . . 
 
 Unfortunately for my chance of breakfast, 
 the doctor had gone to mass also, and I was 
 at once requisitioned to start work. He was 
 quite annoyed because the temperatures were 
 not taken ! And then we started at once 
 on the dressings. Then one of my Englishmen 
 had to be prepared for an operation, and was 
 taken away in a horse van, and it was 1 1 o'clock 
 before the doctor took his departure and I 
 could go and get some breakfast. Later on 
 in the afternoon the consul's daughter called, 
 and when she heard how difficult it was to 
 get anyone for night duty she offered to come 
 on, if her people would consent, and let me go 
 to bed. 
 
'%■■ 
 
 fi£ 
 
 ^Rf 
 
 K 
 
 < 
 
 O 
 
 I ° 
 
 I E 
 
 I H 
 
IN GHENT 65 
 
 So I got permission from the reverend 
 mother to go out with her. She took me to 
 the Flandria Hotel first to see the English 
 wounded there, and she made inquiries for the 
 officer we had brought from Antwerp. It 
 was then a little lady with St. John's Associa- 
 tion badges met us, and she told us gently 
 she was then in charge for the afternoon of the 
 officer in question, and he was far from well. 
 We had an interesting chat ; she was a 
 novelist whose name is well-known, and she 
 made a note of my name and promised to 
 come to the convent and see my wounded. 
 (She came sooner than either of us dreamt !) 
 Then when we reached the consulate, and Miss 
 Lethbridge explained the situation and that 
 she would gladly come for the night, their 
 telephone bell rang. It was an order from 
 Ostend that the consul was to leave at once. 
 
 I returned to my convent and told the 
 reverend mother what had happened, for 
 many wild rumours had been abroad all day. 
 Later on that evening the little lady from the 
 Flandria appeared. ... It was late and very 
 dark, and the streets were lonely, but she had 
 come herself to tell me her party were leaving 
 
66 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 before dawn and would take me and my 
 English wounded at her request. It was very 
 good of her to think of a stranger, and I 
 explained to the reverend mother. Already 
 we had had orders for all the Belgians to go at 
 8 o'clock in the morning ! 
 
 So then I helped one of the nuns to make 
 little bundles of all the available clothes, and 
 I warned the stronger of the two Englishmen 
 to be ready ; the other man was bad and had 
 to get medicine every hour, so the other 
 Englishman lent me his watch to keep me 
 right. I was sitting there in the dim light 
 with all that ward of suffering men — some 
 of them groaning, some snoring, some twist- 
 ing and turning. Then of a sudden one poor 
 fellow took a bad attack of pain, and I was 
 attending to him when outside came the 
 heavy tramp, tramp of hundreds of feet. . . . 
 The man near me fell to the floor in a dead 
 faint. I lifted him up and put him on his bed 
 and hurried out to call the nun. We had 
 rather a job getting him settled, and ever 
 outside went that tramp, tramp, tramp. 
 
 As soon as I could in decency I rushed to 
 the next room (the surgery), threw open the 
 
IN GHENT 67 
 
 window, and leant out into the night. Dimly 
 could I discern the moving mass, the seemingly 
 endless throng, and the heavy tramp, tramp, 
 tramp drowned my cry of " Good luck, 
 boys," for all my soul seemed drawn from 
 me. So the English army marched from 
 Ghent. . . . The tramp died away in the 
 distance — I still stood there ; but of a sudden 
 I felt desolate and very much alone, and 
 because such thoughts are not good I shut 
 the windows and returned to the ward. 
 
 It was an hour or two later when Miss 
 Sinclair came with her car. The nuns were 
 very sad ; and I, too, felt my heart heavy, 
 for they had been the kindest of friends, 
 and I loved them. One of my men was dressed 
 in white flannel trousers, a khaki tunic, and 
 a khaki cap, and he moved us to laughter 
 even then by his solemn anxiety. . . . 
 
 " I came here a sailor and I'm going away 
 a soldier," he remarked gruffly. " Funny, 
 ain't it ? " 
 
 Outside the Flandria other cars were loading, 
 and at last we started. There were four or 
 five other women in the car and two men, 
 and I tried to keep awake, but to no purpose. 
 
68 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 The narrow seat, the hard bar where I rested my 
 head, the intense cold, were barriers to sleep, 
 but Miss Sinclair put a blanket round me and 
 drew my head to her shoulder, and then I knew 
 no more. Discomfort and cold and fatigue 
 vanished, for I had the gift of the gods — sleep. 
 I was wakened to descend on a road white 
 with frost, and everyone went up to a house 
 where a big fire burned in a comfortable 
 English-looking room. Beds were offered to 
 the ladies ; but they were a democratic crowd, 
 and chauffeurs, doctors, a parson, and the 
 women all sat round together. Someone 
 made room for me close to the fire ; I felt 
 dazed with sleep and cold. Miss Sinclair 
 seemed to be in great distress ; she was half- 
 crying. A handsome woman was fiercely 
 arguing some point with her. It appeared 
 that they had left an English officer in Ghent, 
 at the Flandria, as he was too ill to move. 
 I went outside and was joined by Miss Sinclair 
 and the parson, and to them I explained I was 
 going back to Ghent to try and find the officer, 
 who was dying, and to stay with him till the 
 end. They tried to dissuade me, as I would 
 have to go alone. 
 
IN GHENT 69 
 
 Miss Sinclair and- the young clergyman 
 walked beside me until we came to a station, 
 and there I learnt a train for Ghent was due. 
 The two of them saw me off. Poor Miss 
 Sinclair was terribly upset, and was very 
 sorry she was not a trained nurse, as if that 
 had been the case she would have returned 
 also. The frost was intense and the country 
 white. I walked up and down the dirty 
 match-strewn compartment to keep my tem- 
 perature and courage up. The guard came, 
 and laughed when I owned I had no ticket ; 
 he wanted to warn me Ghent was already full 
 of Germans. 
 
 " Go back, mademoiselle," he said. " The 
 6 Boches ' are brutes ; it is not for an English 
 lady to go there now." 
 
 But when I told him there was an English- 
 man there badly wounded, tears came to his 
 eyes, and he pressed my hand. Two old 
 Flemish men came to offer me a big pear for 
 " the devotion of the Red Cross." 
 
 At the station people were dashing about in 
 wild confusion : many rushed up to me to 
 ask if the English were coming back ! Men 
 and women and children were staggering 
 
7 o A F.A.N.Y. IX FRANCE 
 
 about carrying and dragging heavy trunk? — 
 the hated M Boches " were coming. 
 
 At the Flandria was wild i ople 
 
 packing rapidly. 1 g ctor to take 
 
 lish lad. He looked very 
 white and tired, and < to know wl 
 
 y " had all gone. He could not under- 
 stand why nobody had washed him, nor why 
 he was alone. It was hard work finding 
 . and og to boil it on, and 
 
 -. The other bed in the r 
 had to be made : all th< 
 in di : . dirty. Once a Belg 
 
 looked in. 
 " Oh," she said, " you v. with him ! 
 
 : ray :' 
 \." She tore of? eap and overall and gave 
 me them. 
 
 A kinder-hearted, m 
 I have never eome across : lie was a hero, this 
 slip of a boy, wasted with SU 
 
 .vent 
 to tell the nuns 1 was there. I 
 
 iked him h m 1 could send a 
 messe.^e. 
 " I am not the porter." h. gruffly. 
 
TN GHENT 71 
 
 Shortly afterwards the same man entered 
 the room. 
 
 " Oh." I said, kk are you the doctor ? I can 
 find no charts nor treatment book. What 
 ■ he get ? " 
 
 " I am not the doctor," he replied shortly, 
 and went away. 
 
 Then a Belgian lady came, and after asking 
 her a question five times, I found she was 
 deaf. She was very kind. As soon as I spoke 
 through her trumpet she went to make 
 arrangements. Then we carried the poor 
 boy to a Belgian nursing home on a stretcher. 
 It was a weary task, for the stretcher-bearers 
 were not trained and wanted many rests. 
 At last I took the front handles myself. 
 
 We went to the operating-room, and by 
 this time I had broken down hopelessly, 
 and when I found myself at a table with a cup 
 of hot coffee I sobbed for sheer relief ; and 
 to crown all the wonderful comfort came 
 another Scotch girl, a nurse in the home ! In 
 a haze of warm gratitude I saw a clean room, 
 tnfortable bed ; and I slept for four hours 
 just as I was — tunic and belt and b 
 I was wakened by a loud explosion, v 
 
72 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 was said to be the Belgians blowing up a 
 bridge. 
 
 Then a German regiment marched past — 
 little men, all of them ; and I watched them 
 in a fury of despair from the window. That 
 night Germans were quartered on the home : 
 they were quite civil, indeed two of them, 
 common soldiers, went about on tip toe in 
 the corridors when they heard there were 
 " malades " there (they were not told there 
 were wounded). The first two nights were 
 rather nerve-racking, as I sat by my patient 
 wondering if the Germans would come in 
 and kill him. However, morning came and 
 the next night passed. Then Death came 
 bringing freedom in her hands, and after that 
 a sad little ceremony on a wet, dismal day, and 
 a gallant British officer was laid to rest 
 unmolested by the enemy to the end. There 
 was no Union Jack and no " Last Post," and 
 only three nurses to lay him to rest and I 
 to read the Burial Service, but his was a hero's 
 death — gallant and patient to the end. 
 
 The Germans were rather astonished at my 
 khaki uniform ; indeed, as I followed the 
 coffin out we met a party of 18 Germans 
 
IN GHENT 73 
 
 coming in who were newly billeted on the 
 home. One of them ran to inform his officer 
 of my coming, and for a moment I feared a 
 scene ; but the officer saluted gravely, and 
 I got into the carriage with the two nurses. 
 We drove through lines of soldiers, and passed 
 many regiments — well-fed, sturdy men, with 
 brown stubby beards and little eyes. 
 
 Later that afternoon I drove to the German 
 headquarters, having vainly appealed to the 
 American consul and to the Spanish consul 
 for assistance. The sentries at the gates eyed 
 me with amazement, and the corporal of the 
 guard came to ask my business and conducted 
 me to the general. As he threw open the big 
 glass doors into a sort of anteroom filled 
 with officers, there was a dead silence for a 
 moment. Every head turned towards me ; 
 for a moment I think they took me for a man. 
 One or two saluted, and I saluted gravely and 
 looked round for a likely interpreter. I had just 
 caught the eye of a jolly-faced old general or 
 colonel, with twinkly eyes, when a very dapper 
 A.D.C. asked my business. I stated it quietly : 
 " I am English. The officer I have been 
 nursing is dead ; I want to return to England.'' 
 
74 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 A little crowd gathered round me ; they 
 all spoke perfect English. They would not 
 permit me to go, I must indeed go to 
 Brussels, and from thence I would be sent to 
 Germany, and perhaps from there to England ! 
 
 I pressed the point : I was a nurse. I would 
 not nurse Germans : I must go to Eng] 
 They were polite and very sorry, but inflexible. 
 I was ordered to present myself at q o'clock 
 the following morning, and my papers for 
 Brussels would be ready. One young puppy 
 even warned me it would be a long walk to 
 Brussels. I told them if they wished me to go 
 to Brussels they would have to send me ; 
 for myself, I was going to England. So with 
 many salutes we parted, and I swanked out 
 through that courtyard rilled with Germans 
 as if khaki had never before been rlttinglv 
 worn ! 
 
 At 9 o'clock next day I breakfasted in b 
 and at the same hour the day after I started 
 for Holland, and England. 
 
 The Germans were friendly on the whole. 
 
 A picket was drawn up by int to salute 
 
 me. Sometimes the men made friendly 
 
 irks about the " worthy English Frail- 
 
IN GHENT 75 
 
 lieutenant." Once a man made rude remarks 
 about the " English swine," and I told him 
 off sharply and in execrable German threatened 
 to report him ! He took it meekly, and the 
 Belgians round nearly embraced me. Once 
 in a shop a German officer was buying a 
 pencil and I a writing-block. The woman 
 brought me one " made in Germany." I told 
 her to take it away and see if she had English 
 or Belgian paper, and then, as if by accident, 
 knocked the offensive article on the floor. 
 The officer went away without buying his 
 pencil, and the good woman in the shop 
 beamed with delight ! 
 
 In other shops they would bring out their 
 best for me, and ask if I were not afraid. 
 Once I ran down the stairs of the home and 
 came suddenly on a German sentry : his 
 eyes bulged ; he jumped violently and grabbed 
 his rifle. I laughed aloud with great delight, 
 and he got very red. He thought I was a 
 man at first. 
 
 One night a big banquet was arranged for 
 150 German officers, but was cancelled owing 
 to the death of General von Besslaer, who was 
 shot through the right lung on the road to 
 
76 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 Bruges when some of our infantry were hidden 
 in a wood to stop the German advance. 
 
 What a blessed relief it was to leave the last 
 German sentry behind and be greeted by the 
 friendly Dutch sentries with smiles of welcome, 
 and to unfurl the Belgian flag on our car ! 
 Ternhuisen was full of refugees from all parts, 
 and many an interesting yarn went round the 
 big table where everybody dined en famille. 
 The little boat was well loaded, and there were 
 two Englishwomen on board who were work- 
 ing amongst refugees in Holland. A Dutch 
 officer asked permission to take my photo- 
 graph, and he, too, had strange tales to tell. 
 Since the war began the strangeness of truth 
 over fiction has been demonstrated over and 
 over again. 
 
 The crowds outside the steamer offices 
 at Flushing were enormous. I managed to 
 get there amongst the first six, and was given 
 a ticket for England for next day's boat and 
 a chit for a berth on board a refuge boat ! 
 I found I was expected to share a cabin with 
 a fairly big boy and his mother ; so I explored 
 the boat, noted the number of a tiny cabin 
 with one bunk in it, and went back to the 
 
IN GHENT 77 
 
 office, where they at once made the exchange 
 for me. When the steward came on in the 
 evening I got clean sheets from him — for, 
 indeed, the sheets in use looked as if many 
 a strange being had inhabited them ! 
 
 I had supper at the only hotel — a poor 
 meal for an exorbitant charge ; and there 
 again were crowds of homeless wanderers. 
 One poor woman with a baby in arms had 
 come from Hamburg. Her husband, a sea 
 captain, was a prisoner, and she and her babe 
 had been ordered on to the prison boat, 
 where 70 men and 20 women were imprisoned. 
 However, the American consul intervened on 
 account of the child and got her away. 
 
 A St. John's nurse came to ask me some- 
 thing : she was there with wounded, and they 
 had all slept in a hayloft for a week. 
 
 The morning came at last and the boat 
 started ; but never shall I forget the inter- 
 minable weariness of that crossing. I suppose 
 it was the reaction after the constant work, 
 but as the hours went by I felt almost sick with 
 the endless monotony of it all. People all 
 talked to each other : many thought I was 
 there, in case the boat might be submarined, to 
 
78 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 render aid to the passengers. We caught sight 
 of a torpedo and other boats, and once we 
 had to stand-to whilst someone on a little 
 minesweeper harangued the bridge through a 
 megaphone. Then came Folkestone, and the 
 dragging past of the hours until we got to 
 Victoria. By this time I was in a fever of 
 impatience, although none of my people were 
 in England, only friends, to whose flat I 
 hastened, and as I ran out of Earl's Court 
 Station I wondered wildly if I would find 
 them out ; but that blow was spared me. 
 As for them, they greeted me almost as 
 one returned from the dead . . . and very 
 pleasant it was ! 
 
 And that was the first chapter of the war 
 for me ; and the second is, perhaps, stranger 
 still, for Providence led my comrades and 
 myself into as strange places as ever women 
 went before. This at least the Great War has 
 done — it has proved to men that women can 
 share men's dangers and privations and 
 hardships and yet remain women. 
 
PART II 
 FRANCE 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 
 
 Out of the grey mists of the past rise 
 shadowy forms that come and go — some have 
 deeper tints and stronger outlines than others ; 
 all are shrouded in silence. These are the 
 women who formed what we called in jest 
 " The Band of Hope." For it was no light 
 task to take from safety to a troubled land 
 those who had not already been there. I 
 myself came back purged temporarily by the 
 pain I had witnessed — all selfish considerations 
 swept away for the time by the sight of suffer- 
 ing; and I had a brief glimpse into the real glory 
 of life — a life where money was not thought 
 of, where the future lay in stronger Hands, 
 and only the need of the moment could be 
 considered. So it was that money and 
 friends and love itself proved no bar, and 
 away I went light-hearted, taking on me will- 
 ingly the responsibility of eleven other beings, 
 
82 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 mostly older, some younger, than I. Wise 
 counsels of parents, the cautious teachings 
 of friends, were listened to and lightly dis- 
 regarded. 
 
 " Came the whisper, came the vision, came the power 
 with the need, 
 And the soul that is not man's soul was sent us to 
 lead." 
 
 Exactly seven days sufficed to order a 
 Unic motor ambulance, watch it building, 
 sell stock to pay for it, get the necessary 
 permits, and leave England. With twelve 
 pounds in the bank then, and no promises 
 of work, no definite destination, we sailed 
 from England merrily. It was even difficult 
 to depart ; obstacles blocked every step of the 
 wav — officialism, red tape, active enmity, all 
 these had to be pushed aside ; and infinite 
 patience, much bluff and more blarney had 
 to back up the steadfast purpose of our 
 going. 
 
 What was the next scene ! Calais the 
 cruel, the pitiless ; Calais swept by storms 
 of rain and wind, cold and wet, and cheerless ; 
 the Calais along whose quais one never-to-be- 
 forgotten night rows of wounded lay — in the 
 
HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 83 
 
 darkness, and the cold, and the rain. The 
 wind was shrill and the heavens screamed 
 their protest, but the great hotels remained 
 closed ; hospitals, with rows of beds and 
 hot-water bottles, stood empty, the people 
 slept in their warm beds and digested their 
 heavy meals. 
 
 Yes, fathers of sons who were fighting, 
 mothers of men who were wounded ! they 
 listened from their warm houses, and, perhaps, 
 shivered at the howling of the wind ; and 
 along the quat, with sometimes a blanket to 
 cover them, lay the heroes who had saved 
 France. Hundreds of them came to Calais the 
 cruel — men whose own country was lost to 
 them ; men whose mothers' and wives and 
 children had been murdered and outraged ; 
 Belgians who had been taken by surprise by a 
 well-prepared foe and given their life and 
 strength to keep that foe from seizing France. 
 So the wind and the rain mourned over them, 
 and with the dawn came English ships and 
 doctors, and the 40 who had not the courage 
 to deny to the wind and the rain the lives 
 they had refused to the Germans were borne 
 aside. As for the others — well, a few got 
 
84 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 better. After all, this is only a little part of 
 what war means. 
 
 There was a side-light on war, too. Shall 
 I raise that veil also ? I remember two French 
 piou-pious coming to tell me there were sick 
 children down by the docks. I remember a 
 little hut — a species of rough tram-shelter — 
 where 30 women and children were striving 
 to keep warm and dry round a little stove, 
 and on the bare boards three tiny children 
 lay flushed and fever-stricken. The eldest 
 was possibly six : Belgian children are small 
 for their age by English children. Her little 
 eyes were very brilliant ; her cheeks burnt 
 my hand ; her throat was horrible to examine. 
 Her temperature was 104. The other two were 
 not quite so bad — their temperatures were 
 102 and 102*2 ; and in a broken perambulator 
 in the corner a babe of sixteen months had the 
 same symptoms. It took us five minutes to 
 clear that hut, open the windows, and get some 
 air in to purify the place; and then Nurse 
 Jordan absolutely devoted herself to the chil- 
 dren. Till 10 o'clock that night she swabbed 
 their throats and tended them. My task was 
 to get them taken to a hospital ; and I failed. 
 
HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 85 
 
 It is a memory that will never cease to 
 rankle — it is a regret, a remorse, that will 
 never cease to trouble my heart. It is true 
 there were difficulties — would you believe 
 them, I wonder ? Listen 
 
 The people at the nearest hotel could not 
 give any help : they knew of no civil doctors 
 no fever hospital, no institution to help. . . . 
 There was an English nurse passed across 
 the quai, a woman with ambulance cars and 
 orderlies to meet her. I told her of the 
 children — the little children. She said she 
 was here for wounded, and she passed by. . . . 
 There were English officers — medical officers. 
 I told them of the children — the little children. 
 They asked with great superiority if I were 
 there for the refugees. . . . My reply made them 
 say they would see to it. Yes, they would see 
 to it ; and little children were lying on hard 
 boards, with no milk and no pillows. We could 
 only get so little milk. . . . There were others 
 who sent me a message " to leave the children 
 alone or I would get quarantined " ; and we 
 were there for the wounded. . . . Then came 
 a Belgian general and a French officer, and to 
 them at first the matter seemed of no import- 
 
86 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 ance ; but by this time I was desperate, 
 and they came to see for themselves. By this 
 time also two of the others of our little band 
 had spent two hours trudging through the 
 streets and found a doctor. And all these 
 good men promised to see what they could 
 do ! Then came two other men— one a reporter 
 to an English paper ; and they, too, undertook 
 to kk do something " to help. And meantime 
 there were orders to go and transport wounded, 
 and this we did, and after many journeys 
 in the darkness and rain, our motor ambulance 
 barged into a man with a hand cart, and 
 broke our radiator and his cart. He himself 
 escaped with a cut, and so it was very late 
 re we had found a garage, — and returned 
 on foot to the quai. It was 10 o'clock when we 
 collected a cab and all our hand luggage, 
 and Nurse Jordan and Nurse Dunn, both 
 worn out by the long day and their efforts 
 to help the children with scarlet fever. It 
 was a struggle to go and leave these children 
 alone with their mothers ; but we were very 
 tired, and none of us had eaten since 12 o'clock 
 midday, and so we went, the two nurses in 
 the cab and the rest of us on foot tramping 
 
HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 87 
 
 through the wet endless streets to find our 
 different billets. It was like a funeral. . . . 
 The first billet was filled, but a kindly old man 
 offered to put up one of us ; my brother was 
 decided on. The next billet took two, the 
 third took three, and the fourth drew blank, 
 which left two out of a shelter — it was an 
 empty house ! Then we got four into a billet 
 for two, and three into another billet, and 
 there still remained the three men of our party 
 and myself. My billet was a single one, and I 
 had left it to the end purposely, and arrived 
 to find it filled by two men refugees. The old 
 woman put her head out of the window and 
 volubly explained the position, and in the end, 
 relenting, offered to let me share her bed, 
 which was a converted sofa in the back parlour 
 of a tiny tobacco shop. 
 
 Weary as we were, we could still enjoy the 
 situation, although it was now 11 o'clock. 
 Then the old gentleman who had come to my 
 brother's rescue said he would also find room 
 for me. He was indeed a good Samaritan, for he 
 piloted us all that evening. So we bade farewell 
 to Elizabeth Smith (for such was the homely 
 name of the French tobacconist) and trudged 
 
88 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 along to deposit the two medical dressers. 
 We rang the bell of their billet — no response ; 
 we rang, and rang ; and gradually the truth 
 came to us — it was another empty house I 
 And again our good Samaritan rose to the 
 heights and said he would somehow manage to 
 put us all up. 
 
 So behold us arriving at his dear little home, 
 with an anxious housekeeper suddenly con- 
 fronted with four English strangers who were 
 homeless. She too behaved kk like a Briton," 
 and 1 helped her to cut bread and butter and 
 make coffee, and on that, and an apple each, we 
 feasted royally. Bed was very welcome that 
 night, and my passing regret for turning the 
 good Samaritan out of his room was soon lost 
 in the thoughts — tearful thoughts, I admit — 
 of the little children who lay on bare boards, 
 and even that passed swiftly into sleep. 
 
 We were early afoot next day, and early 
 at the docks, but the hut was empty. The 
 fever-stricken children had gone, with Ooo 
 fellow-creatures, aboard the refugee ship that 
 had sailed for England. 
 
 Calais recalls another memory — another 
 glimpse of the way we treat each other in 
 
HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 89 
 
 war time. We were still in our shelter of a 
 glass roof and stone floor — the part of a 
 disused corridor in the station waiting-rooms. 
 We were making tea with a little spirit lamp, 
 and in walked two men carrying a stretcher 
 with a boy scout on it, and a woman walking 
 with them who wore a Red Cross armlet and 
 a white cap with a red cross on it. They laid 
 the lad down and departed, merely stating 
 he was ill and needed rest, that he had come 
 on a boat from England. The boy seemed to 
 be in a stupor — we could not diagnose it ; and 
 there was no doctor to be got. We finished 
 our tea (which was also supper) and asked the 
 hotel people to take the boy in. Impossible I 
 — there was no place, but he must be moved. 
 I examined his papers. He was a Belgian 
 hero, decorated for taking prisoners, single- 
 handed, three Uhlans. He was sixteen. His 
 photograph adorned the front cover of the 
 Daily Mirror. Two of us went to a Belgian 
 boat, and there found the Red Cross armlet 
 lady having a meal with the skipper. I told 
 them we were bringing the boy on board for 
 the night. Impossible ! Why ? There was no 
 room. I looked round the empty boat. There 
 
90 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 was no room for sick people. Not even tor 
 their own countryman — a boy, alone in a 
 foreign country ? No, not even for him. 
 Then I do not know if my temper or my French 
 was worse. Anyway, there could be no doubt 
 left in either of their minds as to my opinion, 
 and I asked that woman how she dared wear 
 a red cross, and I ended by telling them they 
 had refused shelter to a hero, honoured by 
 their King for his bravery ; and so I swung 
 down their gangway mad with rage. 
 
 A Belgian officer had joined the group as I 
 left. Then we went to the English ship and 
 explained to the doctor, and he at once told 
 us to bring him, and we carried him on board 
 and left him ; and as we passed the Belgian 
 boat with the empty stretcher the officer and 
 the woman called out : " We will take him ; 
 you can bring him now ; M and with huge 
 pleasure I hurled back at them : k% Yon 
 won't get him ; the English will take care of 
 him." 
 
 Then came our hospital of ioo beds, and the 
 cleaning and the scrubbing, and the dying ; 
 and hardly were things in order w'.ien the 
 typhoid scourge developed. From the first 
 
HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 91 
 
 we had two patients, and they grew to eight 
 and to 20 and to 50, and Sister Wicks and her 
 little staff were busy day and night fighting 
 the worst fight of all — grappling with death 
 at very close quarters, fighting against heavy 
 odds ; for milk and eggs were hard to get, 
 and our Belgian adjutant had his work cut 
 out to get supplies, and some days these 
 supplies gave out. And there were other 
 things to overcome — insanitary conditions and 
 foreign prejudices. And in the other building 
 a steady tight went on with wounds — ghastly 
 injuries ; and shortage of dressings and lack 
 of instruments and a hundred and one odd 
 things had to be thought of and appealed for 
 and found. For ten days we had to cut 
 sheets in half to have sheets for each bed ; 
 we had to wash shirts and socks and use them 
 next day ; we had to go on with the work 
 when some were ill and the staff at a minimum, 
 and all these first months we kept a dressing 
 station going at Oostkirke, a mile behind the 
 trenches. 
 
 Up there, little Walton, with her constant 
 smile and little fragile face, stayed with 
 another girl for a fortnight — sleeping on straw 
 
92 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 by night, shelled out of the " Poste de Secours " 
 by day, up to the knees in mud, going to and 
 from the trenches, shrapnel bursting every- 
 where. Walton, Sayer, and Bond, they 
 all went through it, and a Belgian girl was with 
 us for a time. Some days we had no butter 
 and plenty of bread ; and we sent to Calais 
 for butter : it came, tins of it, and we had 
 no bread ! Potatoes and black coffee were the 
 staple items of diet, and " pldtre" a sort of 
 bully beef in tins that we stewed and fried and 
 boiled and made into potato mash. And once 
 from the troop kitchen we got five packets of 
 " Little Mary Custard Powder," and as milk 
 was an unheard-of luxury, we made custard 
 with water, and it tasted better than the best 
 custard ever made at home ! 
 
 It was a strange world — the world of men, 
 where no women ever crossed our path, and 
 where conventions had ceased to exist. Con- 
 ventions indeed were unnecessary. Chivalry 
 was the outstanding characteristic of the men, 
 and up there alone in the midst of the Belgian 
 army we were as safe as in a London drawing- 
 room. One night there were only two " rooms " 
 available, so on one side on straw we slept, and 
 
HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 93 
 
 on the other the doctors and their orderlies, 
 and in the other room 40 soldiers spent the 
 night. Up in the trenches it was amusing 
 to see the utter unconcern of the men — their 
 quiet drollery, their games of cards, their 
 delight at getting newspapers, and there were 
 several who used to fry potatoes in little 
 pots. 
 
 Once it was most thrilling. Commandant 
 
 T , an officer who was promoted and got 
 
 the Legion of Honour for an exceptionally 
 brave deed, took us along his trenches. It 
 was a lovely November morning, bright and 
 clear, and more like a picnic than anything, 
 and suddenly a hare crossed the ploughed 
 field behind, and two soldiers jumped out and 
 chased it with sticks and others threw stones, 
 and everyone watched with laughter, and 
 then the Germans recalled us to reality. 
 Whizz-z-z . . . boom came the cloudballs of 
 shrapnel, and the men were chased back to 
 the trenches by the officers. 
 
 How well I remember it all, even now : the 
 fields with the trenches thrown up, and the 
 happy faces looking over — for the Belgian 
 soldier is as gay as he is brave ; and here and 
 
A F ANY. IN FRANCE 
 
 there- 
 
 - 
 
 s 
 
 - that 
 e all pi i to 
 
HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 95 
 
 of Allies and enemies, and ordered all things 
 as it thought best. 
 
 There is another picture of the trenches a 
 
 Week later. It was raining- hard, steady 
 rain and we had a long tramp ; the railway 
 
 line was broken Up with shell-holes and the 
 fields were swampy. We serambled along 
 
 communication trenches and zigzag trenches. 
 
 Mv field boots Were lest in the mud, my 
 
 skirt tucked up to my knees, and mv bnekskin 
 breeches Were soaked through at the knees 
 with slimy, grease mnd. The trenches were 
 elosed up with straw and grass-sod roots, 
 
 and a wet and dreary officer welcomed us. 
 
 He clapped his hands, and the grass-sod 
 roots were eantionsly shitted a few inches, 
 and out popped dozens of heads like rats in 
 a hole. The cigarettes and shirts and seeks 
 brought shouts of delight, and grimy, happy 
 faces peered at us curiously from the earthen 
 burrows. From there we trudged along to a 
 battery of artillery. They were so cold, poor 
 fellows! standing about, soaked; to the S 
 with only mud to sit down on ; they had 
 branches and bushes stuek on their guns to 
 look like a line of trees from afar. 
 
96 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 The day before a passing observation car 
 had halted by our poste, and a red-headed 
 kindly sailorman (with an Aberdeen accent 
 that rivalled my own) had shared our simple 
 meal of soup and potatoes. He had been so 
 touched by hearing of our little bundles of 
 comforts for the men he had torn off his 
 own mittens and thrust them into my hands, 
 saying : " They may keep some poor devil 
 warm ; I can get others." The point of this 
 digression is that one gunner had hands 
 purple with cold, and to him I gave the warm- 
 hearted sailor's mittens. Tears came to his 
 eyes ; the brave fellow looked at the mittens, 
 then at me, then at his gun. 
 
 " The English are always good," he said 
 simply ; " I shall fire my gun better now." 
 
 On our way back with empty pockets we 
 found some French soldiers in stables and a 
 Senegale acting as cook, so we hunted in 
 our coats for one or two odd cigarettes. The 
 Senegale was so touched that he fumbled 
 round his neck, beneath his tunic, and offered 
 me, as a little souvenir — a German ear ! It 
 was said that the Senegales cut off the ears of 
 dead Germans and made necklaces of them. 
 
A TRENCH IN THE SAND. 
 
 .* 
 
 GUNS HIDDEN IN BRANCHES. 
 
HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 97 
 
 The French soldiers seemed to relish that tale 
 — so did my companions ! 
 
 One day we wandered into a lonely Flemish 
 farmyard. Dead cows with their legs in the 
 air made one long for eau de cologne ; beside 
 one ungainly corpse a little party of soldiers 
 were cheerily cooking their midday meal. . . . 
 Inside the farmhouse an old bent man was 
 crouching over the stove ; opposite him sat 
 an aged woman ; and three soldiers and a 
 wounded officer on a mattress completed the 
 party. The window had never been open all 
 the years the farm had been built. Over the 
 stove, on a narrow shelf, were ten priceless 
 willow-pattern plates in excellent condition. 
 From the window we could see the little garden 
 enclosed in a field, and then a plank, and beyond 
 that the trenches and the blue line of the Yser. 
 In the field we had crossed to reach that farm- 
 house were 300 shell-holes. . . . All through 
 the preceding week the battle of Dixmude 
 had raged round this humblehome. Thousands 
 of killed and wounded had covered the ground 
 with their blood and agony, and all through 
 that scene of slaughter and horror the old 
 bent man had sat by his fireside, and the aged 
 
98 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 woman had walked to Fumes, about 16 miles 
 away, and on this very morning she had 
 returned. Poor old Darby and Joan ! — the 
 war had burst in fury round them, but they 
 only looked on with a sort of childish wonder. 
 I longed to get one of these plates, but I 
 could not bear to ask for it ; I knew that at 
 any moment one of the shells splitting the 
 air outside might for ever end the plates, 
 but to ask seemed sacrilege. So we shifted 
 the wounded down to the roadway, and at 
 length to the poste and into the ambulance. 
 It was dark by the time the car started — it was 
 safer to work in darkness — and so, piloted 
 by a French officer in his car, we ran back to 
 Furnes without lights. Furnes itself was in 
 darkness, and it was hard to drive and find 
 the hospital in streets where never a lamp 
 was lit, because it was within reach of those 
 dreaded German guns. 
 
 Next day we were shelled out of our poste. 
 Walton was cooking the breakfast, when a 
 shell burst outside and smashed all our win- 
 dows. We went out to examine the hole it 
 made, when another came. They were shell- 
 ing the road and the railway near. In a big 
 
HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 99 
 
 field hundreds of men were drawn up for roll- 
 call, and each shriek made us close our eyes, 
 expecting to see a great gap in their midst. 
 But the officers proceeded calmly, and then 
 the men fell in, company after company, 
 and marched away, falling into single file as 
 they went. The " system " of shelling was 
 explained to us. The enemy always shelled 
 first one spot, then farther on, and farther 
 on again ; so it is really safer to stay where 
 the first shells come than to run backwards. 
 
 All this time — which was not long as days 
 count — the car kept in constant touch with 
 Calais. Some days I went back there to see that 
 all was well ; some days I stayed where I was. 
 At Calais the work went on quietly, steadily 
 — day after day of steady rain and raw cold 
 and bad smells. We were all ill in turn. The 
 water was bad, the work was hard ; our food 
 was at first rather a makeshift. One after 
 another suffered from severe dysentery, and 
 there was little comfort for the sick. The 
 hospital, our base, was little more luxurious 
 than the trenches. But now I will try and 
 describe it more fully. Comfort was a mere 
 detail, — a forgotten trifle belonging to a 
 
ioo A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 previous existence ; and never a grumble 
 betrayed that any of us noticed its absence. 
 War was work, and we looked for nothing 
 better. We still lived on the few pounds I had 
 brought for emergency, and we had not time 
 to write and tell those at home of our needs. 
 All we could spare went to our blesses, and 
 overtime was never thought of. Someone 
 was ill — that meant a night on duty to follow 
 a day's hard work, but that was nothing. 
 To us all war spelled work, and work spelled 
 war ; and we never looked beyond. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 
 
 What was our hospital to look at ? Well, 
 it had not an impressive appearance. That 
 never-to-be-forgotten day when I marched 
 a squad up the yard to " take over " we all 
 noted with interest the air of the place. 
 
 A large gateway led into a dirty courtyard 
 where two long ungainly buildings lay parallel 
 with each other. Opposite the doorways 
 were rows of latrines, and the odour from these 
 made one shrink back in disgust. Inside the 
 old schoolrooms looked dirty and untidy, and 
 men lay on straw palliasses ; one or two had 
 beds — three wooden planks supported on iron 
 legs : these were chalets. In one room next the 
 door two doctors and six nurses were cooking 
 or boiling water on a little stove — an old- 
 fashioned iron thing like a drain pipe. There 
 was one table and a wooden bench in the 
 
102 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 room. Opposite this was a ward. An ugly 
 wooden staircase with a sharp narrow turn 
 led to another ward w T here were 16 men, some 
 of whom seemed very bad ; then there was a 
 dirty room, with one or two wooden benches in 
 it, and that led into a third ward. Above 
 that we were told not to go. 
 
 A second staircase led downstairs into the 
 private rooms of the headmistress, who also 
 owned rooms above. 
 
 Outside one had to go round the courtyard 
 to get to the second building, but it, we were 
 told, was empty. It took very little time 
 to give everyone a job. Our packing-cases 
 arrived ; the three men carried them in, and 
 emptied four and made a cupboard. The 
 nurses attended at once to the patients, many 
 of whom had very bad wounds ; two were very 
 ill with septic pneumonia, and their wounds 
 had been left without fresh dressings for two 
 days because there was not much hope for 
 them ! Three of us scrubbed the upstairs 
 room and two the kitchen, and the Belgian 
 orderlies watched us, at first resentfully, 
 then curiously, and at length one of them 
 came and took my bucket and scrubbing 
 
THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 103 
 
 cloth from me and himself washed the floor 
 and stairs. 
 
 The others followed suit ; they were con- 
 vinced the " English mees " could work, so 
 they worked too. 
 
 We scrubbed desks out, to have places at 
 once for bandages and dressings ; we invented 
 all sorts of shelves ; and that evening at 
 6 o'clock, when the two former doctors called 
 to offer their help, they exclaimed with sur- 
 prise at the changes wrought. 
 
 We were exceedingly fortunate, too, in our 
 Belgian quartermaster : he was a kindly, 
 simple soul who made his staff work. All that 
 afternoon he kept them busy filling mattresses 
 with straw — arranging dozens of chalets he 
 had managed to secure. To him I went in 
 despair over the question of cooking. " Made- 
 moiselle," he said, " tout est possible." 
 
 Two days later the kitchen had a good 
 range, a cauldron for hot water, tables, chairs, 
 cups, and plates. This first day he watched 
 us, and we, when we had time, watched him. 
 But by night everything was clean. The 
 " theatre," as we dubbed the empty upstairs 
 room, was stocked with desks ; each desk 
 
io + A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 labelled, and containing bandages, dressings, 
 bottles of iodine, chloroform, peroxide, etc. 
 Walton got us a nice little supper from our 
 stock of tinned meats, etc., which was now 
 carefully arranged in a cupboard made from 
 empty packing-cases. Linen and shirts and 
 socks were also packed neatly in the shelves, 
 and when Sister Wicks appeared, having gone 
 to rest at once like a good nurse, she was 
 immensely surprised. It was 9 o'clock when 
 they left to walk to their billets. I stayed to 
 help Wicks, as there were a lot of bad eases. 
 We had a busy night : a little lay brother was 
 aownstairs in the kitchen, and one of the 
 men dressers slept on a stretcher in the 
 theatre. 
 
 There was lots of work. We had to boil all 
 our water on a little stove with a small kettle. 
 The night wore slowly on, and I was sitting 
 in the upstairs ward when the lay brother 
 came to beg us to do something for the 
 " infecter The who ? The kk suspecti? who 
 was alone. He had been alone all day. . . . 
 Could nothing be done for him ? . . . By 
 degrees we learnt that a typhoid case had 
 been left by the out-going doctors in the 
 
THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 105 
 
 opposite building — alone. They had told me 
 they had had a typhoid case, but had moved 
 him. Perhaps they had meant to, and for- 
 gotten. Let us hope so ! 
 
 Wicks went over to him at once, and I 
 remained in the upstairs ward, where six 
 men had pneumonia, two septic . . . Twice I 
 had to force the clothes off a man who was 
 delirious and kept dressing himself when I 
 was busy elsewhere ; and then one big man 
 suddenly got out of bed and stood shouting, 
 
 " Let me go ; open that door ! " 
 
 I went to him to put him back to bed, 
 and he raised his great fist and threatened 
 me. I tried to coax him, but he glared at 
 me furiously. I tried to order him like a 
 soldier, but I did not know the words of com- 
 mand. Still he wavered, and then, again 
 rearing himself up, hit out at me. 
 
 " Open the door. Why is the door shut ? " 
 And I backed to the door, watching him, 
 opened it, and darted through to the theatre. 
 
 " Wake up — quick, there's a man raving," 
 I said to the dresser, who was very sound 
 asleep, and rushed back to the ward and 
 again tried to put the man back to bed. 
 
io6 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 The dresser came, and, telling him to be 
 ready, I darted downstairs, called to the frere, 
 and he came up too. But the man's violence 
 increased. He wanted to hit us ; he was mad, 
 and wc were all a little nervous, I think. 
 Then Wicks came back, and she marched 
 boldly up to him to take his arm, but he 
 struck out wildly and held us at bay. Then 
 I slipped away, wakened a sergeant down- 
 stairs with a hand-wound, and asked him to 
 come up and give the man sharp orders. He 
 did, and the soldier instinct won ; the madman 
 obeyed the sharp voice of authority, and sat 
 down on the bed. Next moment he was under 
 the blankets and the dresser was sitting on 
 the bed ready to hold him down. 
 
 One of the men with septic pneumonia was 
 very bad — so bad I sent for a priest and a 
 doctor. The priest came first, hurrying up the 
 stairs, serious and quiet. He bent over the 
 poor fellow, whispering in his ear, and even as 
 I turned back the blankets for the priest to 
 make the sign of the cross on his feet his spirit 
 went. The doctor came next, but merely 
 agreed that the man was dead and departed. 
 
 It was all Wicks and I could do to carry 
 
THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 107 
 
 the body to an empty landing where we could 
 lay him out. Then I went down and made 
 cocoa, and we had bread and jam, and up again 
 to the ward ; this time to the other septic 
 pneumonia, a fine boy, who said to me gently : 
 " I am going to die, mademoiselle, and I feel 
 a little frightened ; do not leave me." 
 
 So I stayed by him as much as possible, 
 and told him he must get well, and bathed his 
 head with cold water ; but he smiled and 
 repeated always : " Thank you, mademoiselle, 
 but I am going to die." Then he would lie 
 quiet, smiling, and once he said : " I cannot 
 sleep, but I shall soon never waken." 
 
 Then dawn came, and washings and dress- 
 ings and breakfast, and after breakfast I 
 went back to Antoine. Of course it was 
 absurd and sentimental, and I ought to have 
 gone quickly back to a billet and slept, but 
 Antoine was lonely and begged me to stay. 
 " Do not leave me, mademoiselle ; I am a 
 little lonely." He got so bad about 10.30, 
 the priest was sent for and gave him extreme 
 unct'on. He was very simple and brave, 
 and kissed my little ivory and silver crucifix 
 and held it in his hand. He told me of his 
 
108 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 mother and his little brother Jose ; he did 
 not know where they were — he thought they 
 would be in England. He spoke English well 
 himself. Aladdin came to his other side, and 
 we moistened his lips with wine and held him 
 while he coughed, for his cough came in spasms 
 and tortured him. I went down to lunch, 
 but the Belgians looked at my red eyes and 
 white face, and I couldn't eat. 
 
 The afternoon wore past. Aladdin and I 
 knelt beside him, and he was very splendid. 
 " Do not cry for me, mademoiselle," he said 
 once. " I am a soldier, and I am glad to die 
 like one. I am not afraid to die. God is 
 good. 
 
 " Tell my mother, if ever you can see her, 
 that I was happy when I died and thought of 
 her. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, what devotion for you 
 English ladies to come and nurse us ! My only 
 regret in dying is that I cannot live to show 
 you how grateful a Belgian can be. 
 
 " Do not weep, mademoiselle ; I am better 
 dying here with you to care for me than many 
 of my comrades who died away from every- 
 body.'' 
 
THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 109 
 
 He was very beautiful. His face was as 
 noble and fearless as his words ; and he was 
 such a boy to die, such a child for all his strong 
 limbs — he was only nineteen. His coughing 
 fits were piteous, but he always smiled gently 
 when they were past and said, " I am not 
 afraid to die." 
 
 Walton brought me tea to the door, and I 
 gulped it down. Later they came and begged 
 me to go for supper, but food is impossible 
 to think of sometimes. At last I could bear the 
 fatigue no longer. My knees were cramped, 
 my back aching, and so, lest I should faint, 
 and so distress the poor lad, I kissed his 
 forehead and bade him farewell, and so 
 stumbled from the room. Aladdin and Frank- 
 lin stayed by him till release came at dawn. 
 The pity of it ! — these brave young lives lost 
 to us. The worlds beyond this must be very 
 full of heroes now. 
 
 There were many sufferers to think of and 
 care for in those days. One day a stretcher 
 case was carried in unconscious, a gaping 
 head wound healing badly — the body thin and 
 wasted — the legs mere skin and bone. I could 
 span the ankle with my finger and thumb — 
 
no A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 yet the lad must have been about twenty- 
 four, and formerly of splendid physique. 
 His mouth was full of solid food — gone wron^ ; 
 — his back already broken in a gangrenous 
 K . : .-sore. The doctors examined him, shrugged 
 their shoulders, and walked out. Later an 
 officer came with two men to remove him to 
 a " head M hospital — in spite of his absolute 
 exhaustion, aggravated by his removal from 
 another hospital — because he was Belgian, 
 so must be in a Belgian hospital. Here we 
 
 'it red-tape and won — and for many 
 weeks the poor lad was kept alive by the 
 whole-hearted devotion of Nurse Jordan. She 
 slaved for him ; he needed more constant 
 (and unpleasant) work than any other . 
 in the hospital, but her care told. Gradually, 
 to the amazement of all, kk Harry " came 
 back from the Land of Shadows. His eyes 
 opened : in them interest and intelligence 
 began to flicker. Lady Baird brought a water 
 
 from England for him ; the bedsore, 
 as it was, grew cleaner. u Harry M ate 
 oranges, smoked one cigarette 
 sit up at length, and month followed month 
 until one dav he was carried on board the 
 
THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS in 
 
 hospital-ship for England. That was a trans- 
 formation, a solid proo of what care and 
 devotion could do. The doctors never treated 
 him, never examined him even ; vet from 
 the half-dead, lifeless thing they brought in 
 evolved the bright-eyed, rosy-tinted face, 
 and a stronger, though still pitifully weak, 
 frame that was sent to England. There, 
 I regret to say, we lost sight of him ; a 
 solemn promise to let us know where he was 
 sent was broken by someone, and the work 
 rolled on. " Harry " became a memorv — 
 a name. 
 
 Then the typhoid scourge grew. We had 
 one case the day we took over ; a week later 
 we had ten. A whole building -was given up 
 to them, and all da}' long the typhoid staff 
 worked. At first the coffin-cart rolled in and 
 out of the yard with daily regularity, then 
 its visits became less frequent, and gradually 
 ceased altogether. And those who nursed 
 the typhoids were not nurses whose long 
 training and life-work was spent in nursing. 
 They were gently-bred, high-spirited girls, 
 who heard the call of misery and answered 
 it. Under the supervision of ,; Sister-Sergeant 
 
ii2 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 Wicks," they went about their monotonous, 
 dull, unpleasant duty, and to it pave their 
 hearts and their high courage and their pat:, 
 and unselfishness. The weeks passed — the 
 worst and most disagreeable part of the winter — 
 but their courage and their enthusiasm never 
 faltered. 
 
 The scarcity of milk, eggs, and brandy was 
 a problem that had to be tackled many times, 
 and our Belgian quartermaster showed a 
 wonderful energy in getting larger 
 than the other hospitals could obtain. B 
 too, were one of our unfulfilled ambitions. 
 The men were more fortunate in many 
 
 other hospitals in not having to lie on mat- 
 tresses on the rloor, but the 
 planks on iron trestles that made their beds 
 left much to be i ; but here, again, the 
 
 1 were kind. 
 
 One v. i our E came 
 
 to Calais, and on Suae ling a few of us 
 
 dined with him at the hotel on the ; and 
 
 good fortune (to call by the lowest name the 
 force that guides all) sent hither also the 
 S.M.O. of Calais — .1 gallant and kind-hearted 
 officer, who never threw us a crumb of praise 
 
THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 113 
 
 when inspecting out hospital, but who made 
 ample amends for that in his official reports 
 to England. It sent, also. General Sir Arthur 
 Slogget, kindliest and cheeriest of Directors- 
 General, and Mr. Stanley, the most broad- 
 minded and generous of men. Despite the 
 importance of the conference that brought 
 them to Calais, they had time to remember 
 out little efforts to help, and three days later 
 their interest was materially shown in the 
 arrival of a splendid supply of spring beds, 
 bedding, blankets, sheets, etc., etc. I did 
 wish that the kindly donors had witnessed the 
 delight of the patients ! 
 
 All this time the staff had main- hardships 
 to go through, the chief being the necessity 
 of changing their billets every few days, and 
 of going to different houses at night after a 
 hard day's work. We sent the ambulance 
 with them when possible, but it added to the 
 administrative work greatly, for it meant 
 going to the mairu to get new billets, then 
 going round the billets to inspect them, and 
 very often returning to the mairie to report 
 empty houses, or inhabitants who flatly 
 refused a room, or workmen's houses which 
 
ii4 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 were quite unsuitable. Taciturn and almost 
 insolent clerks had to be propitiated, and 
 personal feelings had to go to the wall when 
 one was confronted with the possibility of 
 seventeen or eighteen English girls being left 
 homeless — without beds to sleep in ! 
 
 Many an afternoon has run into evening, 
 and supper been relegated to a late hour, in 
 this disheartening, thankless job. How I 
 hated it ! — the endless explanations, the neces- 
 sity of keeping one's temper under insulting 
 remarks, the visits to strange houses, the 
 rudeness of many of the proprietors, the 
 constant red tape that sent me backwards 
 and forwards from one official to the other. 
 Unluckily it was a job I had always to do 
 myself, as the other officer of our little band 
 did not speak French. It was the same with 
 the arrival of stores — all the fuss and worry 
 attendant on getting them off the quai fell 
 to me, as it meant more arguments and more 
 French officials to cope with. Then I tried 
 to get a house given us for sleeping accommo- 
 dation, and, after endless refusals met with 
 persistent new applications, after endless 
 arguments and explanations and pleading, 
 
THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 115 
 
 and stormy scenes, I was sent to see the owner 
 of an abandoned shop that had been offered 
 as an overflow hospital. Bare rooms and 
 dirty walls, one table, five chairs, and 20 beds 
 composed the furniture, but it was rent 
 free, and it was available at once. A little 
 flattery and coaxing soon brought good- 
 humoured assent from the owner, and the 
 F.A.N.Y. had a " flat." 
 
 What a relief it was to have a home to go to 
 at night ! We painted the walls where the 
 paper was hanging in shreds ; we cut out 
 pictures and put them up round the room ; 
 we got a few cushions — there was no more 
 endless worry about billets. Four of us slept 
 at the hospital in camp-beds — a trained nurse, 
 the housekeeper, a chauffeur, and myself. We 
 had a lumber-room behind us and slept in 
 half our living-room. At night, if cases came, 
 we were on the spot to decide if they could be 
 kept or sent elsewhere. We had our meals 
 in the kitchen, and picnic teas to which the 
 English officers in Calais came occasionally. 
 There was eternal hub-bub and noise, but we 
 enjoyed it. For a few weeks an airwoman 
 cooked our suppers and baked cakes and jam 
 
u6 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 tarts. There was constant commotion. At 
 night we fell into bed with a sigh of relief. 
 The wounded loved us. When evacuation 
 orders came these men would burst into tears, 
 refuse their food, beg to be allowed to stay. 
 We sent them off with heavy hearts. We were 
 spokes on a tremendous wheel — orders must 
 be obeyed. And so the days wore to Christ- 
 mas, and that is a tale by itself. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS 
 
 It was ten days before Christmas, and the 
 Surgeon-General looked worried. His kindly 
 smile was vague, his eyes wandered. 
 
 " What is the matter, my General ? " I 
 ventured to inquire ; and he looked at the 
 Colonel, then at me. 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle," he said, u we can find 
 no place for our typhoid patients who are 
 past the worst, and we must make room for 
 many others who arrive." 
 
 " My General," I said half in jest, " I will 
 find you a place." 
 
 He and Colonel F. laughed. 
 
 " Thank you, mademoiselle. Can you, then, 
 succeed where we fail ? " 
 
 " You shall have your convalescent home 
 as a New Year's gift to the Belgians from the 
 F.A.N.Y.s," I retorted. 
 
 All that afternoon I was very silent. It 
 
n8 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 was true I had spoken on the spur of the 
 moment ; but the need was very great, and 
 when the need is great there is always a 
 way if one can but find it. That evening a 
 sad story was brought to me. Four of our 
 poor typhoids had been so far on the road to 
 recovery they were taken from us to make 
 room for worse cases. They were sent to 
 another hospital, where they slept on straw 
 and got little food and less milk. The die 
 was cast. 
 
 Next day, with Billy and Bond and the old 
 Unic, I went along the coast. We tackled a 
 hotel at Sangatte, but the proprietor was in 
 Paris, and we could get no authoritative 
 answer to our demand that we should take it 
 over as a convalescent home. So then Billy 
 and Bond remembered a chateau on the road 
 to Boulogne, where Belgian soldiers had been 
 billeted. It was very cold, but we raced along 
 and came to the chateau. Leaving the car at 
 the gates, we walked in, and were received 
 in the hall (which was evidently in use as an 
 orderly-room) by a major. 
 
 " Monsieur," I said blandly, " we are 
 English nurses in the service of the Belgian 
 
CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS 119 
 
 Army. We have a hospital at Calais of 100 
 beds. We want this chateau to send out 
 convalescents to. How soon can you find 
 your men other accommodation ? " 
 
 To say that the poor man was surprised 
 would be hardly adequate. His mouth opened, 
 his eyes bulged, and at last he gasped : 
 
 " But, mademoiselle, we are using this 
 chateau ; it is ours. And it is not suitable for 
 sick men ; it is cold and damp, and there are 
 only three rooms left open." 
 
 So we amicably visited the kitchen and the 
 other rooms. I had to admit it was not all 
 one could desire for convalescents. But I 
 would not give up hope. 
 
 " If we find nothing better we shall return. 
 Monsieur would not let the sick suffer for want 
 of the chateau^ I am sure." 
 
 As we stood at the gate we saw an elderly 
 priest climbing the hill towards us. With a 
 sudden instinct, Bond and I tackled him. 
 
 " Good evening ! Monsieur is perhaps the 
 cure of the village ? " 
 
 Monsieur not only was curi but replied in 
 fluent English. He not only was a French 
 priest, but had an Irish mother. He loved us 
 
120 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 on the spot. He had an empty hall that he 
 kept for church entertainments ; it would 
 hold 25 convalescents. He mounted the car. 
 We escorted him home ; we inspected and 
 accepted the hall ; we talked of drainage, 
 and accommodation, and everything possible. 
 Next morning, with triumph in my heart, 
 I told the General, in a casual voice, that the 
 convalescent home was found and would be 
 ready on Christmas Eve. Thereafter followed 
 the question of beds and blankets. A hurried 
 visit to England four days before Christmas 
 included a rush to the British Red Cross, and 
 the generous grant of 25 more beds for our 
 typhoids from Mr. Stanley. So the old 
 wooden beds were disinfected and went out 
 in an ambulance to St. Ingilvert ; the blankets 
 and mattresses followed, and then the patients 
 and two girls to look after them, cook and cater, 
 and keep them in order. And then the 
 authorities woke up to the fact of what had 
 happened, and even spoke of withdrawing 
 passes for the cars to St. Ingilvert, and 
 vaguely protested that they had not con- 
 sented to convalescents going there. But 
 possession generally ensures victory, and the 
 
CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS 121 
 
 convalescents remained until they were 
 cured. 
 
 The enterprise was unique. The staff 
 consisted of only two girls — a mistake, per- 
 haps, viewed in the light of later experiences ; 
 but they worked nobly, and not till long 
 afterwards did I realise that they had been 
 doing the work of four. Anyhow, the patients 
 grew fat and rosy-cheeked. 
 
 They used to rise at 6, have roll-call, and 
 breakfast ; then they made their beds and 
 tidied up, under supervision of one girl, 
 whilst the other got the dinner ready ; then 
 after a good meal they were taken en masse 
 for a walk, had coffee and biscuits on entering, 
 played games, read, and smoked till supper 
 time ; then after washing up they went to 
 bed. The two F.A.N.Y.'s slept in an adjoin- 
 ing farmhouse ; the cure would willingly have 
 provided them with a room, but the laws of 
 his Church made it impossible unless they had 
 both been over forty, whereas their joint 
 ages did not reach fifty ! 
 
 The cure has been a staunch friend ever 
 since, and he and his old housekeeper nearly 
 wept when after three months the Belgians 
 
122 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 secured Camp du Ruchard for their con- 
 valescents, and St. Ingilvert knew us no 
 more. 
 
 Christmas came at Calais, and we got trees 
 with great difficulty, and candles and orna- 
 ments, and spent a busy Christmas Eve pre- 
 paring all things. At midnight we went softly 
 round each ward and placed a complete outfit 
 of new clothes (t.*., shirt, vest, pants, socks, 
 scarf, mittens, and handkerchief) by each 
 man's bed. Every bed was full, and we had 
 two extra. 
 
 The General came, and received a little 
 lucky pig cfT the tree. Tears came to the dear 
 old man's eyes, and for a moment he was 
 choked with emotion. The Belgian heart 
 is very easily touched, and shows the generosity 
 of the Belgian character. 
 
 Everyone got a present from the trees. 
 Wards 2 and 3 had a tree in the operating 
 theatre, and all came round it. Ward 1, 
 where all were helpless cases, had a tree to 
 themselves, and wards 4, 5, and 6 had a large 
 tree where all could see it. 
 
 What a spread we had too — cakes and 
 shortbread and sweets 1 And all the orderlies 
 
CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS 123 
 
 and patients, and many officers and doctors 
 besides our own, and an English naval officer, 
 were the guests. We dragged the piano to 
 the head of the stairs ; and how the men loved 
 the songs and the choruses ! The pianist-in- 
 chief was an orderly who had been a professor 
 of music at Louvain. A week before Christmas 
 he had a nervous breakdown, and on Christinas 
 morning his temperature was 10 1 ; but his 
 sole obsession was to play the piano for the 
 " Miss," and so he worked himself into such 
 a frenzy the doctors said it would be safer 
 for him to get up and play than to be kept in 
 bed by force. How happy he was, too ! His 
 cheeks were flushed ; his long, thin nostrils 
 quivering ; his eyes dilated. He played on 
 and on. Poor lad ! he has been in bed ever 
 since. For weeks after his case puzzled the 
 doctors, and then he was sent south with 
 tubercular disease. 
 
 After the tea was over (it lasted till 7 o'clock) 
 an English Tommy came and sang to the men 
 in the different wards. Then we had dinner 
 in the kitchen, with plum-pudding and turkey, 
 and at last, very weary, we dragged ourselves 
 to bed about 11 o'clock. As most of us had 
 
124 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 been to early church at 6 that morning we 
 were thankful to turn in. 
 
 A week later came the Belgians' turn. They 
 asked us to come into the kitchen at midnight 
 on New Year's Eve. We were greeted by the 
 whole staff, who made long speeches about 
 " the English misses and their devotion, and 
 how we had left our homes to care for their 
 homeless wounded." And they all wept, so 
 much did their speeches touch their hearts ; 
 and I tried to reply suitably, and assure them 
 that we were honoured in helping the heroes 
 who had saved Europe from the hordes 
 of the Hun. Then the adjutant kissed the 
 cook (an old soldier, I had better explain), 
 and the cook embraced the sergeant, and in 
 fact the Belgian staff all wept and embraced 
 each other. Then the cook and the chef de 
 service insisted on executing a weird and 
 wonderful dance, and sang all the time a 
 Flemish ditty that we did not understand. 
 Then we all joined hands and sang " Auld 
 Lang Syne " which they did not understand, 
 and then we bade them farewell and went off 
 in the Unic to " first-foot " the British Senior 
 Medical Officer and the Naval Transport 
 
CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS 125 
 
 Officer. Alas ! the former fiery Irishman was 
 in bed, and did not understand Scotch customs, 
 and the porter whom we sent to waken him 
 returned hastily, swearing that nothing would 
 induce him to go near the Colonel's door again. 
 
 So we wound up at a far-off hospital where 
 there were British doctors and nurses ; but 
 alas ! the four Scotch doctors were tee- 
 totallers, and looked sleepy and bored, and 
 so we returned to our own quarters to snatch 
 a few hours' sleep before morning. 
 
 So passed our first Christmas at Calais, and 
 had anyone told us then that we should spend 
 our next Christmas in France we should have 
 treated them with scorn. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST 
 
 When the battalion doctors chose an 
 abandoned cottage on the roadside they only 
 asked for shelter from the rain and cold and 
 mud — comforts were there none. Picture, 
 then, our little poste. The door opened into 
 
 all square room, with two chairs and a 
 table ; oil this were a tiny room (which held 
 
 all round table about the size of a card- 
 table and two chairs) and the kitchen, in one 
 
 I r of which was the well which supplied 
 the house with drinking water : overl 
 
 a long, lew loft, where 40 to ;o soldiers 
 slept on bare k ards. Here, then, we estab- 
 
 d ourselves. 
 The outer room was used by all and sundry. 
 Every morning from S to q large numbers of 
 men came from the trenches half a mile away 
 to report sick, or get slight wounds dressed. 
 They stood in a mass in the doorway and 
 entered two bv two. Dr. Hannsens and little 
 
LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST 127 
 
 Dr. L examined them, and we stood by 
 
 ready to put on a fresh dressing or administer 
 a dose of medicine. To each one we put the 
 same question : u Have you a good shirt and 
 good socks ? M And the necessary articles were 
 ready. Must of the men did Dot stand on 
 ceremony, Their eager iv Merci beaucoup, 
 mam'selle," was followed by a dirty raj 
 shin being thrown on the floor and the new 
 one hastily donned, Socks, too ! . . . Owe 
 lad told me he had worn his socks two and a 
 half months, and truly they looked like it I 
 Their simple gratitude was very touching. 
 
 Then the men went out and fresh ones 
 entered, When the morning "out-patients" 
 was over, Sayer and 1 usually accompanied 
 the doctor to some part of the trenches. Once 
 the way lay along the railway, where large 
 slull holes made the going difficult. Shrapnel 
 ltd over us, and we stood to watch the 
 
 result. In a field at the corner sonic troop 
 
 horses were tied up. 
 
 Poor beasts ! When we returned 15 of 
 them lay with their heels in the air. The 
 doctors considered the railway too unhealthy, 
 
 so we struck off across a held. It was heavy 
 
1*8 A F.A.X.Y. IX FRANCE 
 
 ig, and we were clinging to the usual 
 bundles of shirts and socks and cigarettes. 
 To add to the difficulty, rain c down 
 
 in torrents. We reached a c unmunics 
 
 trench, and Dr. L and I fell into this 
 
 and stumbled along. My field-boots were 
 up to the knees in mud. my skirt was turned 
 up round my waist, my overcoat thick with 
 slush. It v. ring journey, and we were 
 
 glad to climb out and cross a held under cover 
 of a stragglv hedge. We came on a d 
 but cheery officer. He greeted us joyously, 
 and a & for himself some handkerchiefs, 
 
 then guided us to what looked like a badly- 
 turfed bank. He clapped his hands, and the 
 bank heaved ; large pieces of turf were 
 cautiouslv pulled aside, and rows of jolly faces 
 appeared. 
 
 " What will you have, monsieur : M 
 
 " Ah, but a clean shirt, mam'selle, but a 
 thousand thanks ! The English are always 
 kind." 
 
 Then another cheery face would peer out 
 like a rabbit from its hole : 
 
 " If mademoiselle had a pair of socks ! 
 . . . Oh, but the English are good ! " 
 
LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST 120 
 
 And so on till we wore left with empty arms 
 and apologies for the stoek giving out and 
 assurances that more would come. 
 
 No casualties had occurred — the weather 
 was so bad the Bodies weie keeping under 
 shelter. So we went back, dirty and muddy, 
 to our hut, where Walton had a hot and 
 steaming lunch to welcome us. Rations 
 included tins of " platrc," a sort of corned beef, 
 and this chopped up and mashed with potatoes 
 formed our usual meal. Then we had bread 
 and coffee — very black and very strong — and 
 washed up for the afternoon. This afternoon 
 we were invited to coffee at 4 p.m. with the 
 doctors of another battalion. 
 
 They were celebrating the fact that Dr. 
 
 \ an de \Y had received the Cross of the 
 
 on of Honour. He had carried two 
 wounded scunners to safety, and then returned 
 to a trench just as the Germans reached it to 
 care for a wounded officer. Later on he 
 >ed from the Bodies and came back to 
 his work. He was a smart little man, with a 
 keen, alert face, and his comrades had drawn 
 with coal on the walls imaginary and wonderful 
 incidents of his career, closing in reality, and 
 
i ;o A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 showing the rescue of the gunners and his 
 intre . urn to the trench as the Gerr 
 
 .- had made him a wi 
 !, which they clapped on V 
 
 5. That morning an orderly had 
 • Les on his bicycle to fetch cham- 
 d ! We wei 
 — six it ^:o\-<. a commanc 
 
 shman w] 
 in fr rm of wind : . the 
 
 biscuit 
 and. S . the 
 
 u was strange indeed. W< c 
 The little, loi 
 
 He was 
 
 back : to him it was an unh< 
 tui 
 
 merriment I 
 I kn >n the door, and next 
 
 ■ • . nd a ■'•;• 
 
 rhite of . rifle 
 
 and, av in its 
 
 sleeve tied up 
 After him came a man carrviuc a 
 stre:: and the second stretcher-be. 
 
LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST 131 
 
 k went our chairs and coffee cups, and in 
 
 a moment the hero of the feast was ripping 
 the trouser leg of the moaning figure and we 
 were bandaging the shoulder and hand of the 
 other man. The leg was an ugh' sight, and 
 before it was dressed another stretcher was 
 carried in, and a lad with half his head shot off 
 lay at our feet. Outside a lull came in the 
 storm, and as the rain ceased the clouds cleared 
 and a dull red sunset flamed across the sky. 
 
 As the ambulance rolled off with its burden 
 of pain Sayei and I stood for a moment to 
 watch the skv. Up came an armoured train — 
 quite near us over the rails we had walked 
 along that morning. It rolled up, cumbersome, 
 quaint and wicked-looking, and came to a 
 standstill a few hundred yards away. Fasci- 
 nated, we stood watching. From the s 
 a mass of figures seemed to clamber and rush 
 round, and then boom, boom, and a cloud of 
 smoke melted into the twilight. Bro . . . 
 00m — broo . . . 00m, boom — boom, growled 
 the angry £ims at Dixmude, where the 
 Bodies had received the shot. 
 
 Bom-bom, spat the train, and boom — 
 boom, came the answer. It was an unfor- 
 
*3 2 
 
 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 gettable thing. Up here alone, far from 
 civilisation, very far from the homes where 
 perhaps our people thought of us, but cer- 
 tainly did not imagine our surroundings — 
 here we were, girls of the twentieth century in 
 this atmosphere of storm and war living what 
 suivlv few women ever dreamt in their wildest 
 fancies until this war began. This was life ! 
 My ears tingled ; I breathed in long, deep 
 .:hs. Had I spoken, a sort of wild war song 
 woidd have come from my lips. The Highland 
 blood in me bubbled and frothed ; I wanted 
 to run for miles — r to climb — action at 
 
 all costs. And then . . . well, along the 
 came wear)', stumbling figures, and most 
 of them carried stretchers or long strange 
 bundles. There was no r or triumph 
 
 here, no wild war cry and exaltation — just 
 these men, dirt)' and muddy and footsore, 
 bringing in their comrades, broken and 
 maimed and moaning ... or very quiet. . . . 
 The sunset and the tight between the 
 armoured train and the German guns at 
 Dixmude lost their glamour. War was no 
 romantic heroic this dreary reality 
 
 of gaping wounds and quivering tlesh. These 
 
LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST 13] 
 
 men were Ear from their homes. They had 
 left their wives and children, all they loved — 
 
 their lives of comfort and good food and 
 
 warm hresiJ.es ; and their rewards were not 
 laurels and the plaudits of a rejoicing and 
 grateful crowd, No, their rewards were 
 shrapnel and torn limbs, hours of pain and 
 ry, mud and eold and wet, and much 
 tossing from plaee to place ; bar they smiled 
 and said "Thank you ! " when a painful 
 dressing was finished. These were the men of 
 the Yser — shorn of romance and poetry, 
 pitiful and human and noble beyond all words ; 
 heroes indeed, and heroes of the world. 
 
 It was late that night when we passed into 
 the darkness to grope onr way back to our 
 
 own post — SO dark, that when I slipped and 
 my foot came to rest on the body of the man 
 who did not live to go on in the ambulance 
 the others did not see why I was silent, nor 
 why my voice was shaky for a few minutes, 
 nor that my thoughts rested with the poor 
 corpse who lay there alone under a thick 
 blanket. 
 
 A diversion occurred that caused much 
 amusement. In our absence my brother had 
 
134 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 arrived from Calais with the Unic, and we 
 found him, black with mud, mending a tyre 
 in the roadway. His task completed, he came 
 through to wash in the kitchen, and I left 
 him getting off layers of mud into a bucket 
 of warm water. Later he joined us. 
 
 " Have you emptied your bucket ? " I 
 asked, as I had not heard the heavy outer 
 door open. 
 
 " Oh, yes," he replied ; " I emptied it 
 down the sink in the kitchen." 
 
 A horrid thought came to me. 
 
 " There is no sink," I exclaimed, " only the 
 well of drinking water in the corner." 
 
 Sure enough it was there the dirty water 
 had gone, and someone even murmured that 
 the coffee that night had a flavour all its own. 
 
 We had a hot meal of coffee and bread and 
 syrup, and then we girls drew our straw from 
 the pile thrown in by the orderlies, and 
 covered the floor of the tiny room and folded 
 our tunics to make a cushion for our heads, 
 and got our blankets out, one for each. In 
 the big room the doctors slept on straw also, 
 and in the little kitchen twelve soldiers were 
 snoring and grunting. The guns boomed ; 
 
LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST 135 
 
 the smells from the backyard were overpower- 
 ing ; the cold was horrid ; our damp stockings 
 did not keep the straw from pricking our 
 feet ; my poisoned finger was throbbing. 
 This was war ! And the wounded ! Yes, 
 there were wounded — where ? Somewhere . . . 
 and this was sleep. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 A DAY OF ODD JOBS 
 
 One day in the spring of 191 5 Chris and I 
 started off for the front with " Flossie," the 
 little Ford ambulance. It was a perfect 
 day, a cold wind blowing but a blue sky over- 
 head. The road between Calais and Dunkirk 
 flew past ; the walls of Gravelines and the 
 narrow winding streets were left behind. 
 Dunkirk itself was gay with zouaves in their 
 baggy red trousers. Along by the canal we 
 raced — past ponderous convoys toiling up 
 with their loads. Many a staff car and 
 " ravitaillement " wagon met us and sped 
 on their ways. And so to Furnes, no longer 
 the busy centre of activity it had been earlier, 
 but a desolate town with one or two large 
 shell holes in the square. No shops, no cafes, 
 except in the side streets — all was quiet and 
 deserted. So we left Furnes, too, behind. 
 Along the straight bare road we whizzed, and 
 
A DAY OF ODD JOBS 137 
 
 now not far off we heard the old familiar 
 booming. We passed the picket at Pervyse, 
 and there drew up to make inquiries. As we 
 halted we caught sight of two Englishmen 
 pacing slowly along a side path, looking at 
 the rows of damaged houses — the streets 
 of ruin — and on recognising one as Major 
 
 G , a familiar figure in Belgian lines, we 
 
 hailed him. He introduced his companion, 
 Lord Curzon, and on learning our errand they 
 made further inquiry, and let us know that 
 the fighting was in the neighbourhood of 
 Oostvleteren. We ran on past the field with 
 its 300 shell holes that had formed our first 
 landmark in November. Our old " poste " 
 at the cross-roads was occupied by strangers, 
 who hailed us with delight, and with them we 
 left a few hundred cigarettes and some socks 
 
 for the Division. A shell, mistaking 
 
 its direction, came crashing to earth on the 
 roadway near by, so we hastened our farewells 
 and shot off past the little church that had 
 been bombarded steadily for months. It was 
 still standing, but the troops once quartered 
 in the cottages round about had been with- 
 drawn. The canal bridge, where the morning 
 
138 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 washing parade was held regularly in Decem- 
 ber, was deserted. No life seemed to exist 
 in that once busy spot ; and the shrapnel 
 whizzing over us in the sky, directed against 
 the railway to our right, was a sign of the 
 times. We slowed up at Lampernisse, and 
 sadness seized us. The church was down. 
 I recalled its friendly tower — the throng of 
 soldiers that had surrounded it, the gay faces 
 of the little blue Belgians that had met one 
 cheerily on every side. To-day there was 
 quiet and stillness, and the outer walls of the 
 church were represented by heaps of loose 
 stones. Inside the pillars stood — broken 
 wall, broken altar ; fragments of glass and 
 melted lead from the windows that had been. 
 As we watched, the cure appeared, sad of 
 face. He came to us simply, and at our few 
 faltering words tears came to his eyes. 
 
 " There were 40 wounded inside," he said 
 gently ; " we saved all we could." A grave 
 at my feet was churned up — broken bits of 
 wood stuck upright in the earth ; a heavy 
 stone monument had turned sideways and 
 lurched forward like a drunken man ; and 
 something else lay near, thrown out of the 
 
A DAY OF ODD JOBS 139 
 
 earth to which in happier days the priest had 
 committed it. I shuddered involuntarily. 
 The cure asked if we could take one of his 
 remaining parishioners to safety : she was 
 old and bedridden ; her cottage was there in 
 the shadow of the church. Shells came daily 
 and at any time one might strike the roof that 
 sheltered her. We took a stretcher up the 
 tiny path, and in at the little door. There on 
 the floor on a mattress lay an old withered 
 woman. We carried her out gently, the 
 
 cure helping. General J passed — a brave 
 
 and kindly man, adored by the soldiers. He 
 remembered us, and approved our action. 
 Then he asked us to lunch with him on our 
 return journey. 
 
 We started off slowly and evenly and 
 reached Alveringhem, where the cure had told 
 us a convent of nuns took in such old and 
 helpless peasants. Alas ! the mother superior 
 refused. Nothing would shake her decision ; 
 she would have no more — her hands were 
 full. I looked round the large waiting-room, 
 and begged her to let the poor old thing he 
 there. But it could not be. So we went on 
 several miles farther, and were directed to a 
 
1 40 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 home kept by an Englishwoman for refugees. 
 We sent messengers on every side to find her 
 — unsuccessfully — so we left the old woman in 
 the house in charge of the other refugees, as 
 we could find no one with authority. We left 
 full particulars and departed. We were late, 
 as the difficulty in finding shelter for our 
 charge had been greater than we anticipated. 
 
 We lunched off sandwiches en route, and 
 explained our non-appearance for lunch at 
 
 Divisional Headquarters. General J was 
 
 very charming, and gave us tea and invited 
 us to lunch for another day. 
 
 We had arranged to dine at an artillery mess 
 at Ramscappelle, and so hurried on there. 
 Things were fairly lively, and after a wonderful 
 dinner we had some music, and then in the 
 darkness went up to the trenches. The rockets 
 and flares were fascinating. Viewed from afar 
 thc\- are strangely remote, but very friendly 
 here, when one crouched down amongst all 
 these gallant men — soldiers and heroes whose 
 country had been torn from them, whose 
 wrongs cry out for vengeance, whose simple 
 response to honour saved the whole of Europe 
 from being overrun by the barbarous Boches. 
 
A DAY OF ODD JOBS 141 
 
 We made sure the doctors had no cases to 
 dispose of, and returned to the brickyard, 
 where " Flossie " waited patiently. The 
 flares and a pocket flashlight were all the 
 light we had, and we got of! across bumpy 
 roads — in and out of shell holes. Once we 
 nearly had a nasty smash, but that was near 
 Furnes. A convoy of great heavy wagons 
 had been left on the wrong side of the road, 
 and as lights were not permitted and the 
 night very dark Chris was driving slowly 
 and warily — peering into the shadows. She 
 brought " Flossie " to a violent halt, our 
 bonnet touching the first of these unwieldy 
 monsters ! 
 
 Three days later General J sent his 
 
 motor cyclist to bring us out to lunch. The 
 courtesy was indeed great, as the lad had 
 50 miles to come, if not more. Unluckily 
 he had a smash, and rode back on the step of 
 our car. He was a type of the modern Belgian 
 youth. Well-bred, clever, with frank, humorous 
 eyes, and the adorable smile of a " Parisian 
 gamin," he kept us amused all the way. His 
 comments were racy, and always gallant. 
 
 "I am no longer a simple soldier ; I am 
 
i|2 A F.A.X.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 corporal. The General has clone that — because 
 of you others, there is no doubt." 
 
 And his merry eyes challenged us to dis- 
 ve that a simple soldier would not be 
 cort. 
 
 "■ Yes, we ." lie would say : " yes, 
 
 but it is sad too. I a: \ and I have no 
 
 her — no, not from the day the war 
 ut, I have written, yes, but she 
 not . . It is gay the war, 
 
 mad.: - ; 
 
 And a little later, with his chil - KTOt: 
 k * I have had a letter from my mother. She is 
 in Brussels: she . : es not find ear gay. 
 
 She cann< I 
 
 His shrill whistle, prolonged on a certain 
 note, took as p [barricades, 
 
 "You see, the Beige* caL There, 
 
 hear me whistle like a birc . Passei 1 
 
 ax ! ' " 
 
 The wind was keen and the re. asy, 
 
 but Chr - a rock, her g 
 
 grey eye s D the future, her mobile 
 
 face calm and tranquil. Jean was piqued, 
 
 *' 1. .un'selle, Chris is absorbed. She 
 
 drives, yes ; but she will not listen to our 
 
A DAY OF ODD JOBS 145 
 
 charter. She has no rime to smile then. Oh, 
 these ladies who drive ears ! M 
 
 Chris (who had danced and shared in peace- 
 ful days with rite little cyclist) turned her r 
 smile in his 1 1 a, and he forgave. 
 
 We arrived at length, at the farmhouse where 
 Divisional Headquarters were. The General 
 was busy, but greeted us warmly. He sent 
 for liqueurs, ar the appearance of which Chris 
 s d diplomatically nearer the coal-scuttle. 
 The G< a< •• d produced his mascot, a woolly 
 dog sent by a lady from England. He showed 
 us also his grand chain and Order of Leopold 
 Premier given him for his gallantry ar Dix- 
 mude. Then we had lunch — and such a 
 luncheon as any London restaurant would have 
 been proud to serve. Suddenly the telephone 
 rang. Taubes were bombarding a village 
 near ar hand. Even as the adjutant rang off 
 and reported to the General we heard the 
 engine throbbing overhead. We all ran out 
 to the yard to watch the graceful death-deal- 
 ing machine circling in the clear sky. Then it 
 flew on and glided out of sight. The General 
 showed me his two horses lying down in a 
 little shed near. 
 
i 4 4 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 I forgot to mention that before lunch he 
 took us up to his bedroom to wash, and dis- 
 played with simple pride the bed he shared 
 with his major and the other bed which two 
 captains occupied. Accommodation was 
 limited 1 He also produced a bottle of scent 
 for our use ! 
 
 Then he sent for his car, and with Major 
 
 we set off for the nearest battery. 
 
 The chauffeur cared not for speed limits, 
 and a wild rush landed us in a very short 
 time at the corner of a field. We walked 
 across this to inspect a battery of small 
 guns. Then we went on, carefully avoiding 
 the wire of a field telephone to an advanced 
 gun position. As we neared what looked like 
 a ridge of trees we saw that these also were 
 cunningly contrived to conceal the guns. 
 This was a new battery of which the officer 
 in charge was very proud. He told us what 
 good work they had done within the last 
 ten days. They had only been sent up then. 
 In another hour he suggested we might judge 
 
 for ourselves ; but General J did not deem 
 
 it prudent, so we thanked the officer and the 
 cheery gunners for all the trouble they had 
 
WHERE THE HUN HAS PASSED. 
 
 WAYSIDE GRAVES. 
 
A DAY OF ODD JOBS 145 
 
 taken. Here, too, the dug-outs were beauti- 
 fully finished off — even little panes of glass 
 were let in as windows. 
 
 The General then took us to a bridge on the 
 canal where fishing was occasionally indulged 
 in. The doctor who had lunched with us 
 appeared, and with great glee produced a 
 hand grenade which he flung in the water. 
 The explosion was followed by a geyser-like 
 rising of the water, and then hundreds of dead 
 fishes floated to the surface and were caught 
 in a net and safely landed ! 
 
 Just then an officer joined us to ask if we 
 could take away from the nearest village four 
 little children and their mother, who was 
 shortly expecting another baby. The village 
 was being bombarded, and the little family 
 were in terror. We gladly acquiesced, and the 
 General took us back in his car ; we got 
 11 Le Petit Camerade " (our second Ford 
 ambulance) into action and departed, Jean, the 
 motor cyclist, being sent by the General to see 
 us on our way. We collected the poor little 
 mother and her four sturdy little boys, wrapped 
 them well up in scarves and balaclavas, and 
 took them to the English lady's refugees' 
 
146 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 home. Again, unluckily, we failed to find 
 her. Jean ran round himself to look for her, 
 and at last, after waiting for an hour, we left 
 the little family there and departed. 
 
 The relief of the good woman was touching. 
 She was not like the other woman with nine 
 children, a husband, and a pig, whom we 
 tried in vain to rescue. The doctors of a 
 certain division were perturbed by the danger 
 run by the nine children (whose ages were from 
 two to eleven), who had to lie in a damp trench 
 for four hours every day whilst their village 
 was bombarded. After much argument, the 
 woman consented to leave, and we arranged 
 with the Refugee Committee in Calais to take 
 them over, and we sent a big car out to fetch 
 them. However, when it came to the point, 
 the mother refused to leave the pig ; all 
 persuasion was useless, and the car took the 
 father and the nine to Calais. Two days later 
 he got permission to take his nine children 
 for a walk ; and they never returned. News 
 was heard of them walking back the 50 miles 
 to rejoin their mother and the pig ! 
 
 Having left the four little fellows waving 
 to us from the doorstep, we retraced the road 
 
A DAY OF ODD JOBS 147 
 
 and arrived at Pervyse. Here we said good- 
 bye to Jean and took the road to Ramscappelle. 
 The sentries at first refused to let us pass, as 
 the road was being shelled, but we were in a 
 hurry, so they yielded. We left the car at one 
 point and took shelter in the ruins of a 
 cottage, but a shell also landed there, knock- 
 ing one of the shattered walls to pieces, and 
 so we deemed it more prudent to rejoin the 
 " Petit Camerade " and race for our lives. A 
 burst of derisive laughter followed us. Un- 
 knowingly we had been on the edge of a 
 Belgian trench ! 
 
 As we neared Ramscappelle a soldier leapt 
 towards us with a warning cry. We heard the 
 cold shriek above our heads that denoted 
 trouble coming ; and Chris set her mouth a 
 trifle sternly, rammed her foot on the accele- 
 rator, and we were past just as the house 
 staggered towards us and fell, blocking the 
 road behind us. We glanced round ; the 
 soldier who had shouted waved reassuringly, 
 and we turned into the old brickyard. A few 
 fresh shells had fallen, and beside the path 
 were two little graves marked with wooden 
 crosses that had not been there last time we 
 
148 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 passed. We found a suitable place to leave 
 the " Petit Camerade " against a wall of bricks 
 piled high. The ground was rough and greasy. 
 We hurried to the cottage where the artillery 
 mess was, and the whizzing and whistling 
 overhead denoted " activity on the front." 
 In fact we ran at top speed up that garden 
 path and hammered on the door. Friendly 
 faces greeted us, and we were soon inside 
 and the table was being laid. 
 
 Our hosts got us a jug of cold water and a 
 basin, and we proceeded to wash on a chair in 
 the corner of the room, the commandant and 
 three other officers being interested spectators. 
 Then we sat down to dinner and had soup and 
 fish and meat ; and then, ye gods ! asparagus 
 and cheese and fruit — a right noble repast. 
 The windows were barred and shuttered, 
 but all around we heard the heavy boom of 
 big guns, the angry screaming of shells. As 
 the meal drew to an end the two telephones 
 in the room got busy. There were, I think, 
 fifteen officers and ourselves, and two of the 
 subalterns were at the receivers : 
 
 " Yes, my wife is in England. She is so 
 happy there ; she loves the English, and there 
 
A DAY OF ODD JOBS 149 
 
 is no sign of war." The commandant was 
 interrupted in his peaceful picture by the 
 sharp voices of the telephonists. 
 
 " 'Alio, 'alio, 'alio ! Find the trench major. 
 'Alio ! What ? No, the major, find the 
 major ; I would speak with the major. No — 
 the major ..." 
 
 The wild glare of the exasperated man who 
 wanted the major met the equally ferocious 
 stare of the man who held the other wire, 
 and whose voice had all this time been cutting 
 through his. 
 
 " 'Alio, 'alio ! Yes, this is the Artillery ; 
 yes, he is here. 'Alio ! What ? When ? 
 At what hour ? What ? Speak up ! Cre 
 nom de Dieu, speak clearly ! Pardon, mon 
 Colonel. To-night towards eleven hours. 
 Yes, mon Colonel. It is understood." 
 
 By this time the table talk had risen — some- 
 thing was under discussion . . . Our voices 
 rose ; the two telephonists voices rose also. 
 My eyes met Chris's ; we could not help laugh- 
 ing — this was like a scene from a pantomime. 
 
 " Sapristi ! " The man who still wanted 
 the major could not forbear longer. 
 
 "Silence — I beg of you. Silence. Be 
 
ISO A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 quiet, you with that telephone. 'Alio, 'alio ! 
 Find the trench major." 
 
 From the other side of the room the other 
 man spoke : 
 
 " Be quiet with your own telephone. 'Alio, 
 'alio ! Yes — yes. Gentlemen — ladies — I pray 
 you be silent. 'Alio 1 Yes — mon Colonel. 
 Oh, what is then — Lieutenant who ? " 
 
 And so on ! We were asked to write our 
 names in the pocket-books of all our hosts. 
 Then someone said " Music," and in a 
 moment we were all round the piano that had 
 been brought from a shelled farmhouse in our 
 honour. The telephones were still busy, and one 
 young lieutenant got orders to go to the top 
 of a very tall chimney that remained standing 
 " to observe, as there was a certain movement 
 along the front." His comrades mocked him, 
 crisping their fingers, as if climbing hand over 
 hand up the long iron ladders. 
 
 " You make a good target, George," one 
 wit said soothingly. 
 
 George bade us good-night, looking annoyed. 
 We heard him in the passage directing his 
 sergeant to go up the chimney and waken 
 him if necessary ! 
 
A DAY OF ODD JOBS 151 
 
 Chris played and sang song after song ; 
 every chorus caught up and re-echoed. Then 
 in a lull we heard steps outside and a heavy 
 banging on the shutter, and as we listened a pure 
 tenor voice lilted : 
 
 " Good-bye, Piccadilly, 
 
 Good-bye, Leicester Square; 
 It's a long, long way to Tipperary, 
 But my heart's right there." 
 
 " De de ! " everyone shouted, and 
 
 Captain de entered, smiling. 
 
 " Where have you come from ? " we asked, 
 for we had last seen him at Calais. 
 
 " My battery is seven miles from here, and 
 they telephoned to me vou ladies were here, so 
 behold me ! " 
 
 We had more songs, and then the Belgian 
 National Anthem. It was a fine and inspiring 
 thing to hear — sung from their hearts by these 
 big, strong men who were offering their lives 
 daily for their king and country, and sung as 
 it was to the tune played by Chris, with her 
 lovely girlish face, and the deep booming of 
 the guns to render it still more effective. I 
 shall never forget it. 
 
 Then out in the darkness we groped our 
 
1 52 A F.A.N. Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 way to our car, thinking the day's adventures 
 were ended. Along the sky the rockets and 
 star shells blazed and spluttered, lighting 
 us for the moment, and then leaving the 
 darkness still more oppressive around us. It 
 took much pushing and shoving to get the 
 " Petit Camerade " on to the roadway, and 
 our hosts bade us good-bye heartily, though 
 in whispers, as we were very near the " move- 
 ment along the front." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 A NIGHT IN NIEUPORT 
 
 It was very dark that night on leaving 
 Ramscappelle as we halted at the "Infirmerie" 
 at the cross-road to ask if they had anyone 
 to send in. The doctor was out — in the 
 trenches probably — but the orderly reported 
 there were wounded in Nieuport. After a 
 few minutes' discussion we left the car beside 
 the Infirmerie door, and, laden with the big 
 field haversack, started off on foot. The road 
 was lonely, and we groped our way, crossed 
 the bridge, and held on to the right. We spoke 
 little, for we were tired, and so came along the 
 side of a wood to where another road branched 
 off. We were brought to a quick stop by a 
 high-pitched voice shouting, and discerned 
 a sentinel, his rifle pointed in our direction, 
 his voice agitated. I yelled " Officiers," 
 Chris yelled " Croix Rouge," and together 
 we shouted at him " Liege," or whatsoever the 
 
154 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 word was that night. If the wood had been 
 full of Germans they would have heard us ; 
 as it was, our good sentinel repeated his 
 challenge, and we hurled the word at his head 
 with all the breath in our bodies, for we liked 
 not that rifle pointed full at us. He hesitated 
 and at last had a brain-wave. 
 
 " Advance one and give the word," he said, 
 and hand in hand we tiptoed towards him and 
 whispered in his ear the word we had hurled 
 at him from afar. The effect was magical ! 
 
 " Pass, mesdemoiselles — pass ; it is cold, 
 is it not ? Ah, these roads ! I like them not." 
 
 " Horrid work for you," we ventured 
 sympathetically, and got the information 
 that he was a volunteer, and did not join 
 the army with the thought of lonely nights 
 at windy cross-roads. It was nervous work ; 
 but what would one have, after all ? It has 
 to be done ; and some day, why some day, 
 the war will end and the German swine be 
 driven from poor little Belgium. A packet 
 of cigarettes won warm gratitude, and we 
 walked on and were soon lost in the darkness. 
 
 All this time the sound of big guns and the 
 rush of rockets and flares skyward marked 
 
A NIGHT IN NIEUPORT 155 
 
 the Line — that wonderful heroic Line ! Then 
 we were in a street with a trench all along the 
 canal bank on one side and a row of silent 
 cottages on the other. Here and there a 
 cottage had fallen from its place in the ranks, 
 and its walls and roof lay across the roadway 
 or pushed into a heap roughly. We reached 
 the end and hesitated, for a road went to the 
 right towards the rocket flares ; a road went 
 to the left round a corner. We turned left- 
 wards — for we sought the town — and swung 
 round the corner in the darkness into lines of 
 men and rifles. We walked on, wondering a 
 little, but not daring to talk, and suddenly 
 a big figure barred our way and we were 
 challenged. We explained our errand, and an 
 officer appeared. These were the French lines, 
 and he directed us to the English sailors' 
 dressing-station, where, he said, there were 
 wounded. A little sergeant came with us to 
 the corner and put us on our way, and so we 
 walked up the hill one behind the other, for a 
 long line of soldiers was coming towards us 
 single file. They eyed us as we passed, but 
 the darkness veiled us from each other, 
 though I heard one wondering voice say : 
 
156 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 " Mother of God ! are there women here ? " 
 
 And one little man twisted his head round 
 and sent after us a soft 
 
 "Good-night, mademoiselle, God keep you ! " 
 
 Gradually a wider street lay before us, and 
 we were stopped by a patrol of French marines, 
 who explained our whereabouts and continued 
 on their way. 
 
 Houses with gaping wounds in their walls 
 were everywhere — houses with no upper floor. 
 Heaps of loose stones and masonry had to be 
 crossed ; in places the streets were almost 
 impassable. The stars had come out now, 
 and there was a pale moon, and we could 
 note our surroundings better. 
 
 One street corner I remember well. A large 
 corner house was much broken up. The big 
 lower rooms lay open ; the floor above 
 was a mass of stones and furniture — chairs 
 and tables were mixed with remnants of 
 ceiling that had crashed through, and waved 
 protesting legs upwards. We had to pick our 
 way across the roadway, for it was one huge 
 mass of debris. Bits of curtains and carpets 
 were discernible. 
 
 Once Chris saved me from walking straight 
 
A NIGHT IN NIEUPORT 157 
 
 into a cellar : the covering was off, and it 
 must have been a veritable death trap ! Once 
 in another cellar we caught a glimpse of a 
 soldier cooking his supper on a small lamp. 
 In one street, where the upper storeys no 
 longer stood and the lower were barred, we 
 heard songs and merriment ; and on we 
 walked, till suddenly a great pile stood 
 against the sky. The cathedral, I suppose. 
 Its towers were damaged, and here and there 
 shells had struck it, and we longed to see it 
 by daylight. We walked on and on, but no 
 sign of the dressing-station caught our eye. 
 At last we stopped. It was about 1 a.m., 
 and an eerie feeling of unreality seemed to 
 encircle us. We had left all buildings behind 
 us for the moment — the last a sort of square 
 or crescent, where every house was empty 
 and deserted. Louder than ever echoed the 
 sounds of battle, and the light of the flares 
 lasted five full minutes. We could see each 
 other's face, and we could hear more and 
 more distinctly the snip of rifles — even, it 
 seemed to us, we could hear the click of 
 the triggers. The pale strange light that 
 was on everything was weird, and we decided 
 
158 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 to go back and see if we had passed our 
 destination. 
 
 I think it was an unspoken relief to us to 
 return towards the houses and the presence of 
 others. It has been an everlasting regret, 
 all the same, that we did not explore just a 
 little farther ! 
 
 We struck a house with a light showing 
 through the shutters and hammered on the 
 wall, but could get no reply. And at last in a 
 side street we saw a dull red lamp burning 
 over a door and hurried towards it. The door 
 bore a large red cross, so we knocked, but 
 getting no reply, walked in. The first room was 
 empty save for a table and chair ; the second 
 had three beds in it, but empty also ; then 
 a small room to the right had mattresses 
 on the floor and a broken chair. That was 
 all. A scrap of paper on the wall caught 
 our eyes, and with an electric torch we read 
 enough to know it was a Belgian dressing- 
 station. 
 
 We walked on, and at. last a French sailor 
 guided us to the corner of a street and pointed 
 to a door. We found there a large inscription 
 that English wounded were to be brought 
 
A NIGHT IN NIEUPORT 159 
 
 here, and fetched from here when opportunity- 
 occurred. We walked in, calling out in 
 English, but never a sound greeted us. We 
 found mattresses and chairs and heaps of 
 straw, and one or two bandages, and a chair 
 much the worse for wear ; but that was all, 
 and no wounded nor sign of wounded. So we 
 thoughtfully left a card with our names on 
 the table, wondering who would find it, and 
 if an Englishman found it if he would believe 
 that his countrywomen had really penetrated 
 to such a God-forsaken place at 1 a.m. in the 
 morning. 
 
 Our errand had developed into a wild-goose 
 chase, so we retired sadly. Going out of the 
 town we suddenly saw two great black figures 
 emerge so swiftly from the roadway at our 
 sides that we jumped, startled, and hurried 
 on breathing rather hard. Strange to say, 
 a week later one of them was brought to 
 Calais wounded, and recognised Chris as she 
 helped to put him in her ambulance. 
 
 " Oh, mademoiselle," he cried joyously. 
 " I saw you in Nieuport not long ago ! " 
 
 But to us that early morning this figure of 
 a zouave black with African suns was a 
 
160 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 sinister one, and for very little we would have 
 taken to our heels and run ! 
 
 We negotiated the sentinel easily on our 
 return journey, picked up the " Petit Came- 
 rade," and got in. I lay inside on the wooden 
 floor with my head on a biscuit tin, and knew 
 nothing more until Chris pulled me out in the 
 hospital yard at Calais — 4.30 a.m. 
 
 " You've slept peacefully all the way," she 
 said cheerily. " Oh, but it's cold " ; ana net 
 a sign of fatigue nor strain did she display. 
 
 So ended our night in Nieuport — a city of 
 death and desolation, one of the many that 
 cry to God for vengeance on the Boches. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 AN ENGLISH BILLET 
 
 Boulogne Quai was busy. Englishmen, 
 Frenchmen, Belgians were running round, each 
 in their own way typical of their nation. Nell 
 drew " Unity " to a halt between a French 
 and an English car, and proceeded to change 
 a tyre. The French driver protested it was 
 a hard job for a woman — the English were 
 courageous — an Englishwoman, to change a 
 heavy tyre like that ! The English driver 
 strolled languidly round the car, stood for an 
 instant watching, sauntered slowly back to 
 his own 'bus, strolled back to ours, levers in 
 hand, and still in unbroken silence took tyre 
 and nuts and operations generally out of Nell's 
 capable hands. Only when the new tyre was 
 on did he speak. 
 
 "That'll do, I'm thinkin'," he remarked 
 wisely, and strolled off again. 
 
 Down at the quaiside a cheery, slightly 
 
1 62 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 rotund personage, clean-shaven and in mufti, 
 turned to me. 
 
 " Is that your car over there — Unic Ambu- 
 lance ? " 
 
 I replied truthfully. 
 
 " Who are you attached to ? " he asked — 
 " English Red Cross ? " 
 
 " Why do you ask ? " I replied, " because 
 I hail from the Scottish hills." 
 
 " YouVe got no number on the car," he 
 returned ; " you must have a number now." 
 
 " Really," I said superciliously. " In , 
 
 where we are stationed, we don't use numbers ; 
 haven't done since October." 
 
 His eyes twinkled, and he solemnly assured 
 me that we were then exempt from having 
 numbers. Someone told me later he was the 
 chief detective, or something of the sort, and 
 a power in Boulogne. However, we always 
 grin when we meet. 
 
 The leave-boat arrived meanwhile, and the 
 brother with it. So we sailed off merrily 
 towards that Mecca of the British Expe- 
 ditionary Force — G.H.Q. It would be an 
 indiscretion to name it as a town, because 
 everyone knows, even the people in England. 
 
AN ENGLISH BILLET 163 
 
 The Germans knew before the B.E.F. ; they 
 always do. A Canadian told me the other 
 day how he and his comrades left England 
 in severe ignorance of their destination. Even 
 when they started to march from railhead to 
 their little spot in the trenches they were in 
 blissful ignorance, and as they " took over " 
 and were busy settling in mud and dug-outs, 
 still not knowing where they were, a cheery 
 Teuton from the trench opposite shouted 
 across in the darkness : 
 
 " Shut up, you Canadians ; we know you're 
 there ! " 
 
 However, that is by the way. 
 
 Nell and a gallant Scots Grey were in front, 
 my brother and I sat behind, our legs dangling 
 on the tailboard. We had lots to talk of — 
 for in war-time one does not see much of one's 
 relatives. The long hills, the wide stretches 
 of country, the fascination of the vast views, 
 held us too ; and then the darkness came, 
 slowly at first with a mellow golden sunset, 
 and then — rain. Oh, that rain ! — but we did 
 not heed it much. It was an unknown road 
 to Nell ; once we overshot it and had to 
 return, but at last we came to G.H.Q. and 
 
164 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 drew up before trie hotel in the big square. 
 The brother was proud of us, but I think his 
 Scots Grey friend was bashful. They tried 
 to get a sitting-room, but that was impossible, 
 and they had to face the roomful of khaki- 
 clad men with us, who, women-like, were 
 hugely enjoying their embarrassment and 
 pretending to be unconscious of it. For 
 ladies, even ladies who are military, are not 
 supposed to penetrate to G.H.Q. We had a 
 much-needed meal and started off again. This 
 time the way was hard to find, and the rain 
 and darkness increased. But we swung 
 on past convoys, through sleeping villages, 
 enjoying the astonishment of sentries at the 
 vision of women soldiers as we swept off into 
 the night. At last we struck Hazebrouck, 
 and the brother wanted to send us back from 
 there, but we wouldn't go. 
 
 We left the Scots Grey and his bags, and 
 the brother and I got in front with Nell, and 
 off we went again. We stumbled on an A.S.C. 
 depot and took some petrol on board. The 
 two sentries were Scots, and vastly overcome 
 at hearing their own tongue spoken by a 
 woman in the heart of that Kttle French 
 
AN ENGLISH BILLET 165 
 
 village. On again through a still and quiet 
 town, devoted to Staff — a town where, I have 
 heard men say, no Englishwomen have been 
 since the war (but Nell and I knew better). At 
 last we reached the village, where the billets 
 were, and the brother ushered us in proudly. It 
 was a little cottage — on one side a sitting-room, 
 on the other a kitchen. Three mattresses 
 were on the floor, with sleeping bags and 
 pyjamas spread out ; a door led into another 
 room, the adjutant's, who had the privilege 
 of a room to himself. Books, papers, chocolate 
 boxes (empty, I regret to say) were strewn 
 about ; pipes, cigarettes, and a gorgeous Eng- 
 lish home-made cake. The orderly appeared 
 and got us some cocoa, and we wandered 
 out to see the brother's horses. They were 
 stabled at the back, and very " comfy " 
 they looked. The man who was on guard was 
 grateful for the boxes of " Gold Flake " we 
 showered on him, and we left lots for further 
 distribution. 
 
 Then we had cocoa, and the brother was 
 very worried about us going back in the 
 darkness and rain, but we wanted to catch 
 a boat at Calais next day. However, he sent 
 
166 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 his man with two horses to wait for him at a 
 certain spot, and he was to come with us so 
 far to show us the way. We ran up the road, 
 past the little church, past an open window 
 where floods of light streamed through (all 
 the village was in darkness), and at a table 
 with lamps — and, ye gods ! a yellow silk 
 lamp shade — we saw the brother's Colonel, who 
 had arrived by the same boat, having a merry 
 meal with three French officers. The brother 
 stopped us farther along outside a cottage 
 and crept up the garden path followed closely 
 by me. 
 
 He tapped on a shuttered window and called 
 softly : " Hallo, Harry, are you asleep ? " 
 And I, seized with the demon of mischief, 
 laughed : " Hallo, Harry, are you asleep ? " 
 
 A gasp of astonishment followed my voice, 
 and " Harry " flung back the shutters and 
 appeared blinking, still in wonderful pyjamas. 
 He was delighted to see the brother and 
 more delighted to see me — utter stranger as 
 I was — and hastily appeared in a British 
 warm, etc., to be formally introduced. His 
 delight knew no bounds. It was months 
 since he had spoken to Englishwomen, and 
 
AN ENGLISH BILLET 167 
 
 he offered to go and sleep with the brother 
 if we would stay till morning and have his 
 room. But we were firm, and out in the road 
 were chatting gaily. " Unity " was ready to 
 start ; a baby canal was on one side of the 
 road. The brother and Harry were in the 
 roadway, Nell on the box, and I frivolling 
 with the headlights. Suddenly the brother 
 shouted, seized a flashlight, and sprang to 
 the rear of the car waving it. Then I saw him 
 leap backwards, throw up his hands, and 
 disappear into the baby canal. 
 
 Harry's shout of " Jump for your lives ! " 
 Nell's sudden rush — a crash — and the sudden 
 swerve of the Unic towards me were all 
 simultaneous, and I leapt backward — down, 
 down into slimy, cold, horrible water. I 
 fumbled wildly in the air ; one thought alone 
 dominated me — " I had new boots on." Why 
 in that moment they gripped my whole mind 
 I cannot tell. I thought for a moment I would 
 drown. Harry's strong hands seized mine 
 and pulled me up to firm ground, and all 
 my gratitude said was " My new boots will 
 be ruined." Then my senses steadied down. 
 " Where is ? " I shouted, for I remem- 
 
1 68 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 bered vividly his shout and the glimpse of that 
 great car crashing into us ; but my brother 
 was beside me, so was Nell ; and Harry, too, 
 appeared. 
 
 Then a tall man in khaki hastened towards 
 us from the other car. 
 
 " Much damage, you fellows ? " he called, 
 and I replied there seemed to be a good deal. 
 I felt rather than saw the start of surprise, 
 and then his eyes peered into my face as he 
 saluted. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, I did not expect to 
 find a lady ! " 
 
 Still suffering from the shock, he walked 
 backwards a step looking at the car, and my 
 warning cry came too late ; he disappeared 
 over the same kilometre stone as I had and 
 sat down in the water, his arms and legs waving 
 in the air for one ludicrous moment. 
 
 " It is all right ; no, I am not wet," he 
 declared, like the sportsman he was, and we 
 pushed old " Unity " along to a corner, and 
 they set to work to repair her. The chauffeur 
 of the other car was annoyed with life, and he 
 promptly tried to drive his car on a bit ; but 
 the steering gear was smashed, and amid our 
 
AN ENGLISH BILLET 169 
 
 howls of laughter he toppled over into a 
 ditch, and there his car hung on one wheel 
 — a pathetically droll object. 
 
 It was clear we could not push on over 
 unknown country with a damaged car, so the 
 brother set off on foot to recall his horses. 
 The three officers (French interpreters) who 
 had run us down were already hammering 
 and struggling with our engine in their shirt 
 sleeves, despite the rain. They were very 
 gallant gentlemen, and at last we were 
 persuaded to leave them to their task and go 
 with Harry to his billet. Stretchers from the 
 car made beds for Harry and the brother on 
 the kitchen floor, whilst Nell and I were to 
 have his room. I got off my wet boots and 
 dried my feet at the stove, and we found some 
 coffee and began to grind it. Then Harry's 
 " landlady " appeared — a dear old soul, who 
 proceeded to boil water and get us coffee 
 and rolls and butter, though it was now 
 2.30 a.m. She stoutly refused to go to bed. 
 It appears she had been an interested spec- 
 tator of the smash and subsequent events, 
 and I rather fancy she thought we ought to be 
 chaperoned ! 
 
170 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 We had a merry meal, and a strange 
 experience it was, for I suppose few, if any, 
 Englishwomen have passed that way since 
 war started and spent a night billeted in the 
 English lines. We went to bed soon after 
 3, and slept peacefully till 6, when we found 
 more coffee and rolls and eggs all ready for 
 us. The French interpreter had returned to 
 see the car start, and as he and Harry gathered 
 a few flowers for us and the brother's orderly 
 cleaned our boots we could hear the heavy 
 booming of the guns in the distance. The 
 sun was shining and spring was in the air : a 
 passing regiment of English Tommies cheered 
 us lustily ; they broke their lines, terribly 
 craning their necks to see their country- 
 women. Dear lads ! I suppose they had not 
 seen one for months. We got aboard, and 
 the interpreter turned the handle. Harry 
 shook our hands and bade us " au revoir " 
 reluctantly. We promised to return that day 
 week and stay a day. (We did, but only to 
 find empty billets and the regiment gone to 
 Ypres !) As for the brother, he stood there 
 in the sunlight, big and strong and happy ; 
 and my heart was heavy despite the prospect 
 
AN ENGLISH BILLET 171 
 
 of seeing him in a week. Was he, too, troubled 
 with foreboding ? I know not. For a moment 
 he took my hands in his as we said farewell. 
 There were gay and cheery greetings. The 
 spring of life and hope and love seemed very 
 full that morning, and my eyes kept turning 
 to the big brother in the sunlight, straight and 
 tall and fit. Was it a warning, that weight at 
 my heart ? — a knowledge that never again 
 would I see him standing so, the sun's rays on 
 his dark eyes and cheery smile. 
 
 Ah me ! It was only a month later, within 
 30 miles of that sunny spot, that I knelt in 
 silent agony by his side as he too passed into 
 the Great Beyond ! 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE SENTRY AND PARIS IN WARTIME 
 
 The night was dark and chilly. All that 
 long, rainy Sunday we had laboured over 
 tyres by the roadside, a tiny estaminet pro- 
 viding us at length with hot coffee. Then on 
 again into the little country town, where no 
 amount of inquiries could produce a garage. 
 True, there were signboards relating to auto- 
 mobiles on two doorways, there was a hotel 
 that announced " Essence " and " Garage " ; 
 but everywhere, it was told us sadly, the war 
 had taken the men and the cars ; tyres were 
 no longer in stock — not even a boy to repair. 
 For another three hours we struggled with an 
 inner tube of which the valve leaked, and all 
 round us were inner tubes in various stages of 
 senile decay, and in my heart I cursed my 
 folly in having started with fewer than a 
 dozen spares ! But then, could one have 
 foreseen three bursts and a wretched punc- 
 
THE SENTRY 173 
 
 ture ? I decided it was unwise to indulge in 
 Sunday travelling. However, at last a kindly 
 old Frenchman and his daughter came to 
 our aid — took me with them to see their 
 tyres and supplied us with an inner tube that 
 did not leak, supplied me with a cup of English 
 tea, bread, butter and jam. I felt so greedy 
 when I returned to poor Nell, who had been 
 struggling on with her punctures. At last we 
 were off ; the large and rather unpleasant 
 crowd were pushed back sufficiently to let us 
 through, and we left the village behind 
 cheerfully. " Unity " ran like a bird, respond- 
 ing generously to Nell's light, sure touch. The 
 sun set in a grey haze and the darkness 
 descended. We ran on : kilometres flew past 
 gaily ; adventure and the song of the road was 
 in our souls. Then we came to a barrier. A 
 waving lantern warned us to stop ; two little 
 blue figures shambled alongside, and I handed 
 over the magic pink paper that was " Open 
 Sesame " to towns in the war zone that one 
 refers to with a delicious thrill as " Somewhere 
 in France." But what was this ? The 
 signature and seal we held in reverence 
 were not known to the little " piou-piou." 
 
174 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 The one who held the laisssz-p asset became 
 voluble. 
 
 " Pas fran<;ais — des femmes — tres louches," 
 were remarks that fell on our astonished 
 ears. Indignantly — for was not the standing 
 of my country involved ? — I announced " that 
 an English military pass was good every- 
 where." 
 
 " Non, non," screamed our little ally ; 
 " this is France — this is not a French pass." 
 
 I turned " dour " and my remarks impressed 
 the second sentry, who urged his comrade to 
 let us pass. The comrade was annoyed, 
 hesitated, and walked round our car. Then 
 came a howl of derisive delight : 
 
 " Where is your number ? You have no 
 number ! Fetch the corporal of the guard — 
 you who would let pass these strange women." 
 
 " We do not use numbers in " said I 
 
 firmly ; " we have many cars and we have no 
 number — no, not one, except that we keep 
 inside the bonnet. Regardez." 
 
 He found the number on the engine and 
 nearly dropped a match inside. 
 
 " You stay here," he shouted excitedly. 
 " Your papers are not in order ; you have no 
 
THE SENTRY 175 
 
 number ; it is night, and you are women ; 
 we shall see ... . Go, Jacques, fetch the 
 corporal — at once, I tell you. Ah ! there are 
 spies in France." 
 
 These last remarks were hurled at us loudly, 
 to impress the little crowd that had gathered 
 from nowhere. Sentry 2 hurried off to fetch 
 his corporal. Nell and I pulled out our large 
 khaki handkerchiefs and pretended to dry 
 imaginary tears, and laughed. Alas ! our 
 little " piou-piou's " fury increased. He 
 pulled a cartridge with a malignant gesture 
 from his pouch; he ostentatiously inserted 
 it in his rifle, and he glared at us malevolently. 
 
 " If you advance one step, if you retire one 
 step," he shouted, sweeping his free arm 
 towards heaven with a great and dramatic 
 movement, " / will shoot ! " 
 
 His sweeping hand came down heavily 
 on the bonnet of the car, and alas ! the 
 radiator was boiling. A yell of pain ended 
 his patriotic speech, and he almost over- 
 balanced with the shock. The loud laughter 
 of the crowd did not appease him. 
 
 " You tell me what wrong. You come for 
 supper now. I speak English. He keep you 
 
176 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 here all night. He silly little man," said a 
 cheery and sympathetic voice. 
 
 A woman broke through the crowd. 
 
 " I speak all English — dressmaker in London, 
 me. I like English people." 
 
 She proudly carried on a conversation with 
 us, and triumphantly translated to the crowd. 
 
 " This man is a fool," I told her ; " he has 
 been drinking, and we have an English 
 military pass, signed by a great English 
 general. Oh, but the silly man will be 
 punished ! " 
 
 The crowd began to advise him to let the 
 car pass ; then the corporal arrived. He 
 accepted my explanation about the number, 
 but not, alas ! the English seal we had with 
 much pains procured and with great pride 
 possessed ! 
 
 However, having for long formed the habit 
 of carrying multitudinous papers about with 
 me, I managed to find a very ancient pass 
 issued by a certain embassy begging everyone 
 to treat me and my car with kindness ! This 
 paper, long despised and rejected near the 
 front, was seized on with delight by the 
 corporal, who, alas ! noted the discrepancy 
 
THE SENTRY 177 
 
 in the name on it and on the pink pass. Feebly 
 I faltered that between the issue of one and 
 the other I had changed my name — in fact, 
 I faltered, I had married. To me the naked 
 truth sounded a lame explanation of a sus- 
 picious fact, but to my infinite relief the 
 corporal chortled with joy. 
 
 " Pass, mesdemoiselles " {had he believed 
 the explanation ?) ; " let these ladies pass, 
 
 you , " and reluctantly, fiercely, the 
 
 little sentry removed himself from between 
 our headlights. Muttering, growling, he stood 
 to one side to let us through the little town. 
 The crowd sent a joyous " Bon voyage " 
 after us, and our cheery little friend, the dress- 
 maker from London, could be heard far behind 
 us relating to the corporal her conversation 
 with the English miss — those strange English, 
 whose women tour 300 miles of France in 
 war time alone and unafraid. I have often 
 wondered if the little sentry remembered to 
 extract his cartridge before it did any harm. 
 
 We pressed on in the darkness along the 
 great white roads ; a moon was rising slowly, 
 and soon the whole way lay bathed in silver 
 light. It was cold, intensely cold, but 
 
i 7 8 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 " Unity's " engine was running well, and the 
 night air was soothing. Our mission had been 
 satisfactorily accomplished, and we were at 
 peace with all the world. 
 
 The hours and the kilometres passed rapidly. 
 Long, straight roads and stretches of fields 
 gave place to towns, and a glimpse of the 
 silver river and steep banks and woods around 
 it. We arrived at Etampes late, indeed after 
 midnight, and a friendly porter at the station 
 suggested a hotel. We rang up the good 
 woman, left " Unity " in the garage, and got 
 to bed, tired, indeed, but happy. Next 
 morning we were up betimes, and our bill was 
 the smallest I have ever settled, owing to the 
 dear lady of the hotel classing us as chauffeurs 
 and showing her appreciation of our work by 
 sparing our pockets. So on we ran this time 
 with a blue sky and a life-giving sun overhead, 
 winding along the river bank, loitering to 
 admire the views, and at length through the 
 great woods, beautiful in their solitude. What 
 a lovely road that is from Tours to Paris ; and 
 what a happy life must be the life of a motor 
 tramp ! The approach to Paris on this early 
 spring day seems now to memory's eye a 
 
PARIS IN WAR TIME 179 
 
 vista of blossom — orchards on every side, trie 
 shimmer of snow across them, and the fresh 
 greens of spring. The painful process of 
 navigating miles of rough pave was atoned for 
 by the glimpse of woods and moors and river, 
 and at length Paris herself — Paris in war 
 time ! 
 
 At first there seemed little to indicate the 
 War. To our eyes, so long accustomed to 
 uniforms and small shops and tents and huts, 
 this world of wonderful shop windows and 
 daintily-dressed women and busy scenes of 
 traffic was novel and thrilling. But very soon 
 we picked out the black frocks, the crepe 
 veils, the limping soldiers, the hospitals, the 
 subdued sorrow that seemed to hover over the 
 city. 
 
 The crowd seemed to find us of as much 
 interest as we found them. We found the 
 offices we had to report at, and then ran out 
 to Neuilly to the American Hospital. What 
 a wonderfully organised place it is ! Rows 
 of immaculate motor cars in the courtyard, 
 with lamps that glistened in the sunlight, 
 burnished brass and smoothly painted bodies. 
 Poor " Unity " jibbed self-consciously as 
 
180 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 she was drawn up to her place in the ranks ; 
 but " Unity's " dull coat and unpolished 
 brass hid a stout heart that never failed in 
 difficulty or danger — I, at least, was proud of 
 her. 
 
 Inside were luxurious wards, white-clad, 
 clever-looking doctors, beautiful women in 
 white garments that made our weather- 
 beaten khaki look dull and dirty. They 
 received us most kindly and gave us a kindly 
 send-off. Having an hour and a half to spare, 
 we could not resist memories of Rumpel- 
 meyers, and, despite our khaki uniforms, we 
 were soon rejoicing over chocolate and chest- 
 nut cakes. Near us at a small table two ladies 
 in beautifully-cut clothes talked of us and 
 smiled in our direction, and at length one came 
 over and said to us cordially : 
 
 " I must tell you how we admire you and 
 your work. If I were twenty years younger 
 I would come with you myself." 
 
 Dear, kindly Paris, roused from light- 
 hearted frivolity ; what a cheery break our 
 little visit made ! 
 
 We left Paris late in the afternoon, and were 
 hung up with tyre trouble again and again, 
 
PARIS IN WAR TIME 181 
 
 until, indeed, we reached our next break at 
 2 a.m. and found the chief hotels full and 
 closed up. However, we managed to get 
 shelter, and next morning took a pitiful tale 
 to the friendly great ones near by, and borrowed 
 money to pay our bill and speed us on our way 
 — for my last forty francs had gone to buy a 
 new inner tube at I that morning in a tiny 
 town. And so once more to Calais, where we 
 were greeted with new orders that our cars 
 must be numbered henceforth. 
 
 To show our independence, I promptly 
 submitted a list of numbers which began with 
 F.A.N.Y. I and ended (then) with F.A.N.Y. 7. 
 To my exceeding joy the numbers and letter- 
 ing were accepted, and from that day the 
 French sentries dubbed us the FANYS, as on 
 the approach of a car they at once caught 
 sight of the number and with their ready 
 smiles exclaimed " Pass, Fany." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 LIFE AT RUCHARD 
 
 Ruchard ! Does the name bring to your 
 mind anything at all ? Have you, perchance, 
 in time of peace drifted through Tours and 
 Azay, Angy and Amboise ? Do the old his- 
 torical chateaux of France spring up before 
 your mind's eye, with their stately terraces 
 and fertile gardens — their charm and grace 
 of a long-vanished race of courtiers ? In 
 summer there are few valleys so smiling and 
 so prosperous ; in winter few places so bleak 
 and damp and bare. And in the centre, 
 tucked away, lies Ruchard — a vast plain, now, 
 of huts and tents ; but when first I saw it the 
 huts were few and the tents many, and mud 
 was everywhere. 
 
 Here, then, is the home of thousands of 
 soldiers. I cannot, for obvious reasons, 
 deal in figures ; but we are concerned with 
 only 700, and these are convalescents. To 
 
LIFE AT RUCHARD 183 
 
 them the F.A.N. Y.'s have brought comfort 
 and comradeship and an atmosphere of home 
 for which the lonely little Belgian soldiers 
 are intensely grateful. In April, then, of 
 191 5 I paid my first visit to the camp, and 
 returned from it sad of heart for the want of 
 comfort and the monotony of life for these 
 brave fellows. Many things intervened, and 
 it was August before I returned. Chris drove 
 us down in " Le Petit Camerade " — the good 
 little Ford that has done so much good work. 
 And with us went Cole Hamilton — ready for 
 the pioneer job in front of her. 
 
 The journey was not without its amuse- 
 ments — and its trials. " Le Petit Camerade " 
 started by bursting a tyre before we reached 
 Boulogne. That was soon remedied. 
 
 The day was intensely hot, the road was 
 long and gritty, and one tyre after another 
 burst joyously, and soon even the two spares 
 had gone the way of the others. Chris smiled 
 through it all — imperturbable. I chafed and 
 fumed, and was intensely disagreeable. And 
 so, instead of having afternoon tea at Rouen, 
 we were yet 12 kilometres from that stately 
 town at something to 11 at night. And not 
 
1 84 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 all the coaxing in the world would make those 
 tyres and tubes behave. (It was more than 
 tiresome.) Our supper was coffee and eggs 
 in a wayside estaminet, and the good woman 
 tried her best to make us partake of tinned 
 tripe. And at length, with the sacking that 
 contained our brand-new tent tied round the 
 wheel with the ropes cut from that same 
 brand new tent, we rumbled and bumped into 
 Rouen towards midnight. All garages were 
 closed save one, for so the French help to make 
 munitions, and a grand thing it is that every 
 garage becomes by night a factory of muni- 
 tions. Into the one garage we gained admit- 
 tance, to find the concierge screaming like one 
 possessed, and an officer — whose nationality 
 shall remain a secret — trying to light his 
 lamps with unsteady gait and a cheery 
 confidence in his powers of speech. The 
 concierge and the officer were quarrelling 
 (over national customs perhaps), and the 
 officer demanding paraffin wildly, got it (only 
 it was petrol), and on applying his match up 
 went his two headlights in a blaze. 
 
 At this juncture three Red Cross men 
 offered me a seat in their car as far as the 
 
RESTING BY THE WAYSIDE. 
 
 THE FIRST SOLDIERS CANTEEN IN THE BELGIAN ARMY. 
 RUCHARD, I9I5. 
 
LIFE AT RUCHARD 185 
 
 Supplies Depot, On the way they sighted 
 a baby Peugeot racing along. 
 
 " That's the man you want," they said, and 
 gave chase. 
 
 At the barrier a temporary check brought 
 us level. I was hoisted unceremoniously 
 beside the pilot of the Peugeot, and the Red 
 Cross car sped into the darkness and vanished. 
 
 When I had recovered my breath I looked 
 at my companion. He was young, immacu- 
 lately clad in the usual khaki and sam-browne, 
 and his face was quite expressionless. In 
 fact he had the air of a man to whom such a 
 trivial incident as the sudden shooting of a 
 lone damsel into his car in the streets of Rouen 
 at dead of night was quite unremarkable. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you ? " he asked, 
 without the shadow of a smile, but in a polite, 
 friendly way. 
 
 " Yes," I answered frankly. " I want two 
 Ford tyres and two inner tubes, and I want 
 them to-night." 
 
 He slowed down his car, turned neatly on 
 one wheel, and talked of general matters. 
 So small is the world that he knew intimately 
 friends whom I had visited in New Zealand ! 
 
1 86 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 " Here's our place ! " He hooted at two 
 great gates, but no reply was vouchsafed. 
 Then he hammered on the doors, and then to 
 my horror he scrambled up those great gates 
 and vanished over the top. I sat in the car 
 waiting for a shot to break the stillness, and 
 for myself to be arrested as a spy. But the 
 great gates creaked back. My pilot took the 
 wheel once more, and we went into a great 
 yard, where all was darkness and silence and 
 long covered buildings. We drew up noisily, 
 and a figure appeared half-way down the 
 yard. 
 
 " Halt ! Who goes there ? " came a voice 
 faltering with surprise. 
 
 And then . . . Well, the sentry hadn't 
 much show, and I learnt the correct way to 
 call the guard over the coals if you break into 
 their precincts like a thief at dead of night. 
 A sleepy corporal wandered through stacks 
 • and stacks of tyres of all sizes and makes, 
 and at length produced what was wanted. 
 Oh, joyous moment ! The British Army is 
 never to be found lacking in time of need. 
 
 But alas ! Sleepy as was the corporal, and 
 sympathetic for my plight, he had orders to 
 
LIFE AT RUCHARD 187 
 
 accept only one signature for those tyres. My 
 pilot proved himself a true comrade. He put 
 me back in the car, took the wheel, and was 
 off like a flash past barriers and pickets, and 
 drew up in front of a great gloomy chateau on a 
 lonely country road. This was true adventure. 
 I chuckled to myself at the faces of the dear 
 people at home could they see me now ! Of a 
 sudden lights flashed at all the windows ; 
 pyjama-clad figures were silhouetted ; anxious 
 voices asked what the something, something 
 all the row was. An awful silence followed. 
 The figures withdrew hastily ; the announce- 
 ment that there was a lady in the car quite 
 overwhelmed them. In ten minutes the one 
 possible signature was in our possession, and 
 in half an hour the tyres and inner tubes were 
 also in our possession and we were on our way 
 to the garage. 
 
 A weary Chris and a weary subaltern who 
 had stayed to offer his services were tinkering 
 with the car. Cole Hamilton slumbered at 
 odd moments in the seat of the landaulette. 
 My pilot tackled the job, and after much 
 trouble got a tube on and pinched it. What a 
 time ! He got on a new tube and a stiff new 
 
1 88 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 tyre at last. Cole Hamilton saved our lives 
 and sobered the concierge by making Bovril on 
 a Tommy's cooker. The final triumph was 
 achieved when our kindly pilot took a long 
 iron pole from the floor to hammer the new 
 tyre in its place, tools being hard to obtain 
 as the concierge was drunk. It was nearly 
 4 a.m. as we passed from the garage into the 
 cold night air and made for Vendome. 
 
 We reached Ruchard at mid-day — 200 
 kilometres — having stopped for an hour and 
 a half for breakfast and an hour's sleep. 
 We reported at camp duly and fixed our 
 appointment with the General. 
 
 Ruchard in summer, with the sun streaming 
 over everything, is alluring. The formalities 
 at camp settled, we were taken by the Colonel 
 
 to General P at Tours. He was courtly 
 
 and kindly to a degree ; his words of gratitude 
 were eloquent, and he did not stop at words. 
 The expenses of building a hut had weighed 
 heavily on our minds. He gave us generously 
 the use of two large stone huts, and ordered 
 the dividing wall to be knocked down. And 
 so we got our barrack. 
 
 The weeks that followed saw the barrack 
 
LIFE AT RUCHARD 189 
 
 transformed. Tables and chairs, a large 
 counter, a small dining-room for the staff, 
 a kitchen with a range and a big boiler of hot 
 water, a store-room — all these were built by 
 the soldiers under Cole Hamilton's super- 
 vision. Then the interned men, or " compagnie 
 speciale" painted the whitewashed walls with 
 the arms of Belgium and the Allies, and over 
 the door painted largely the badge of the 
 F.A.N. Y. Corps. Posters of shipping com- 
 panies, advertisements that were artistic, 
 went up as pictures ; casement curtains 
 finished off the windows ; and now the stage 
 erected by the men themselves has trans- 
 formed the bare barrack into a home. The 
 piano we pay for — 12 francs a month ; and 
 what a big 12 francs' worth of happiness is 
 ensured ! The men get up concerts and 
 acts, and draw their own programmes and 
 posters. 
 
 Chris taught them English ; one of her 
 classes held five professors, now soldiers 1 
 How they love it all, these men 1 And it warms 
 one's heart to stand at the counter pouring 
 out tea and coffee, giving them cake and 
 chocolate, hearing their stories, listening to 
 
i 9 o A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 the experiences they have undergone, admiring 
 the pictures of their wives and babies. Then 
 they love games — bagatelle, draughts, cards, 
 chess, dominoes ; and how they love to have a 
 game with an " English miss " — a " Fany." 
 And after midday dinner is over in camp they 
 go out and play rounders or hockey and 
 forget their sorrows and their exile. 
 
 All afternoon the room is crowded ; then it 
 is cleared for an hour and crowded again in the 
 evening. Twice a week the mad and epileptic 
 come, and how they enjoy themselves ! They 
 play at cards, and one man stakes " one 
 million francs," " two million," " ten million "; 
 and they palm cards and hide them under 
 the table and cheat frankly and gaily and 
 happily. They sing, too — poor madmen whose 
 voices once drew thousands to listen. One 
 poor lad broke into violence, and was sent 
 " to be cured " to a neighbouring asylum. 
 We heard after his return that he was tied with 
 his hands above his head for four hours under 
 a cold douche. And that was the cure ! 
 
 There are huts close by for consumptives, 
 who may not use the canteen, but they are 
 visited by Nurse Lovell, who cares for them 
 
LIFE AT RUCHARD 191 
 
 with the utmost devotion, which they repay 
 tenfold ! Such is Ruchard. 
 
 The work is hard and the comforts few, 
 but the workers give their services cheerily, 
 and do not think of themselves. Miss 
 Crockett must miss her Australian sunshine 
 in the long dreary days of winter, but she stays 
 on undaunted. Miss Cole Hamilton directed 
 it all — led it through the difficulties of the 
 start ; Chris cheered them all and taught 
 them and sang to them, and all the staff 
 have done their share ; and it is no small 
 thing to bring sunshine into the lives of 
 hundreds of gallant soldiers — not only sun- 
 shine, but strength ; and that is proved by 
 the utter lack of crime, drunkenness, etc., 
 since the F.A.N.Y. Canteen opened. 
 
 In closing, I may say that, whatever 
 experiences people may have, the F.A.N. Y.'s 
 have always met with respect and gratitude 
 from all soldiers, Belgian and British and 
 French. Their first year's work was chiefly 
 amongst Belgians. They had Belgians as 
 patients in hospital at Lamark, as orderlies, 
 as comrades at the front, and as friends at 
 Ruchard, and everywhere they have found 
 
192 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 intense gratitude from the men themselves — 
 an appreciation of their services that has 
 encouraged them to continue in giving them, 
 a childlike confidence in their power to help, 
 and a warm admiration for the trifling sacri- 
 fices of home-life and comforts that such work 
 has entailed. 
 
 Perhaps the future generations of Belgian 
 girls will receive broader and finer training 
 in consequence. Certainly the chivalry of 
 all our soldiers has been tested and proved 
 over and over again. In that lonely world 
 of men, where few women were found in the 
 beginning, the F.A.N.Y.'s were as safe as 
 in their own homes. Courtesy and considera- 
 tion were the chief characteristics of the 
 Belgian soldiers — brave and gay as they are, 
 simple in their tastes, and simple in their 
 pleasures. They saw with wonder how women 
 could work, and they surrounded women 
 henceforth with respectful devotion. 
 
 May little Belgium soon come into her own, 
 and her people be reunited and restored to 
 their hearths and homes where that is possible. 
 They are plucky and uncomplaining, and 
 deserve a great reward. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 ODDMENTS AND THE END 
 
 The F.A.N. Y.'s have always prided them- 
 selves on their versatility. Among ambulance 
 work, canteens and hospital, they still had 
 time and place for a motor kitchen and a 
 motor bath. 
 
 The motor kitchen first, as it came to Calais 
 in February, 191 5, and with its auburn- 
 haired owner and pilot. It did work at the 
 station, it went to distant troops with coffee 
 and soup, and then one day its great adventure 
 came. That was quite an ordinary day in 
 May when a Belgian officer and a member 
 of the British Intelligence Staff called to ask 
 for the loan of the motor kitchen. It was 
 3 o'clock when they stated the case — that a 
 certain Belgian battery attached to an English 
 division would be grateful to have the kitchen 
 with them to cook for the men. At 6 o'clock 
 the kitchen was filled with provender, a tent 
 
194 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 on the roof ; petrol and paraffin inside ; 
 Betty and Tommy on the box, with a sergeant 
 sent by the battery to guide them. I saw 
 them off with envy in my heart — and triumph ; 
 for here at last prejudices had been swept 
 aside — the battery was on its way to the firing 
 line. 
 
 It is not for me to tell fully that tale of 
 gallantry, but at least the bare facts have been 
 told me. The first three or four days were 
 spent in tiny villages, and billets were found 
 for Betty and Tommy. (This is not improper 
 or even romantic — Tommy is a F.A.N.Y., 
 therefore a girl.) Then — height of desire — 
 the battery came along the rough shell- 
 shattered road to Ypres, and through Ypres 
 and beyond Ypres. Here was congestion of 
 convoys and troops ; but the driver never 
 failed, nor did the gallant little Ford. Along 
 a road rough and almost impassable the 
 kitchen advanced, and when the battery 
 settled for the night the two F.A.N.Y.'s, 
 after mess, turned into rest in an ancient 
 barn. The booming of the guns all round 
 lulled them to sleep — their last thoughts 
 were of the struggle going on three miles from 
 
ODDMENTS AND THE END 195 
 
 them. ... At 3 in the morning they woke 
 to a strange, sickly smell, and wondered if 
 the barn was on fire ; then they were called, 
 and an orderly brought them their gas masks, 
 which were being issued to the whole battery. 
 This, then, explained the smell, and the sick 
 feeling that came over them. They got out 
 into the air — no longer fresh, alas ! From the 
 direction of the trenches men were coming — 
 weary, staggering figures — first one or two, 
 and then a little group of five, of which the 
 two outside figures lurched against and 
 seemingly supported the other three ; and 
 suddenly two of them rolled over and lay 
 on the road, gasping, spluttering, sick unto 
 death, with grey-green faces, and eyes which 
 mirrored the horrors of hell. Then Betty 
 and Tommy started to work. Man after man 
 was helped into the barn — pulled to his feet, 
 steadied down the road — and hot strong coffee 
 was forced down their throats. Two Canadians 
 had lost their masks, and the two girls handed 
 them theirs, and soaked wads of cotton wool 
 in soda, and tied that across their own faces. 
 Came two men helped by comrades, them- 
 selves scarcely able to walk, and these two 
 
196 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 would yield to no treatment. The Canadian 
 medical officer came, shrugged a sorrowful 
 shoulder, and passed on ; but the F.A.N.Y.'s 
 blood was up. They made coffee blacker and 
 hotter than ever coffee was made before, they 
 forced it down the throats of the two whose 
 lives seemed ended, and when the Canadian 
 doctor returned his looks were more eloquent 
 than his curt words of commendation. That 
 day, indeed, the kitchen justified itself, and 
 two lives were saved for England. Then the 
 wounded and the gassed had to be carried to 
 a chateau half a mile down the road ; and that 
 half-mile of roadway was under fire. But 
 Tommy, the F.A.N.Y. lance-corporal, and 
 Betty, the chauffeur, directed the stretcher- 
 bearers as calmly as in the hospital yard at 
 Calais, and the barn was cleared. One fact 
 impressed them, and that was that the men 
 with South African ribbons held to their 
 rifles as long as the power to stand remained 
 in them — a small thing and yet significant. 
 
 And what was the end of this story ? Well 
 — rumours grew round it as rumours will, 
 but it was a plain, bald ending. The British 
 powers that were awoke amazed to the fact 
 
ODDMENTS AND THE END 197 
 
 that two girls were in the ranks. The other 
 fact that they bore themselves as men was of 
 no avail — nor even that in consequence 
 two men still lived whose breath had gone 
 from their bodies ; and so an officer came with 
 courteous but strict injunctions to escort them 
 to G.H.Q., and at G.H.Q. a bland and genial 
 personage interviewed them and blandly and 
 genially suggested that the hospital at Calais 
 was healthier than the trenches near Ypres 
 — and that was all. 
 
 Now for the bath. A certain Scottish and 
 enterprising firm — the same that produced 
 the Unic in seven days as a complete motor 
 ambulance because it was essential — invented 
 a bath-house fitted with large tanks to contain 
 and boil water, and ten collapsible full-length 
 canvas baths, and a disinfecting press to hold 
 clothing. This bath-house they put on a 
 motor chassis, and made taps and fitted piping, 
 and surrounded the whole with awning that 
 could be furled up on the outside of the bath 
 when not in use. This, then, was a motor 
 bath-house destined to supply baths for luck- 
 less soldiers who were not near bathing 
 establishments. This ingenious and intricate 
 
198 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 affair was shown me by the director of the 
 firm, and alas ! it was going to the Director- 
 General of Medical Services. I was promised 
 the refusal of the next one built, and wondered 
 hopefully where the funds would come from. 
 Then two energetic and enterprising sisters 
 blew in at the hospital on their way from Paris 
 to England, joined the F.A.N. Y.'s, and when 
 they returned from England brought the bath 
 with them. Then the bath and red tape 
 made each other's acquaintance ; but after all 
 red tape is like barbed wire entanglements 
 — if you can't cut it, get round it. And the 
 bath got round. In after years, perchance, 
 grandchildren of this generation may hear 
 from the lips of veterans of the Great War how 
 once upon a time were many men in khaki who 
 had to go for long weeks without baths, until 
 one day came two maidens attired in khaki 
 and with them a large unwieldy-looking 
 monster ; and of how ten baths were laid out 
 in neat rows and awnings unfurled and 250 
 men in a day spent fifteen minutes each in a 
 bath . . . ; and how by this means the 
 troops refreshed themselves. And these 
 maidens belonged to a strange corps called 
 
ODDMENTS AND THE END 199 
 
 F.A.N.Y.'s, who seemed to get just where 
 they were most wanted at the right moment. 
 And not only British, but Belgian soldiers 
 can tell this tale. 
 
 There have been other side-tracks also. 
 The sudden arrival of two divisions from the 
 front at a station in Northern France was 
 coped with by the F.A.N.Y.'s, who carried 
 on a day and night canteen and a full hospital 
 with one staff, which required four-hour shifts 
 for the girls. 
 
 Then another not unimportant task has 
 been giving concerts to the men in the various 
 camps, and highly appreciated such concerts 
 are. Then, too, the chaplains have again and 
 again been thankful to have a F.A.N.Y. play 
 for the Sunday services, and perhaps sing a 
 sacred solo at the end ; and one padre told 
 me his congregations were doubled in every 
 camp after this innovation was effected. 
 
 Now, after a year's probation, the F.A.N.Y.'s 
 are within sight of their goal, — pioneers of 
 women's work — and a fitting ending to this 
 volume comes with the tale of the F.A.N.Y. 
 Convoy. As long ago as November, 191 4, 
 a certain distinguished Surgeon-General at 
 
200 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 G.H.Q. courteously dismissed the idea of the 
 F.A.N. Y.'s driving motor ambulances for the 
 British Army. He explained regretfully that 
 we were not yet attached to the R.A.M.C. 
 ... It was impossible. I grinned cheerfully 
 and as a parting shot announced : 
 
 " We'll do it yet ; wait and see." 
 
 And he smilingly replied : 
 
 " I'll back you to win hands down, so it's 
 au revoir." 
 
 In July, 191 5, I wrote to the War Office 
 on behalf of the F.A.N.Y.'s and offered a 
 motor-ambulance convoy for Calais or any 
 base which they might suggest. The answer 
 to this was in the negative. " It was not 
 considered practical." 
 
 Three or four months later my " sister- 
 officer " and I paid a flying visit to G.H.Q. 
 and reminded our friend there of his " au 
 revoir " ; thence we hurried to two other 
 " Somewheres " in France, pressing the possi- 
 bilities of a woman's convoy, and at last, 
 with a helping (and very helpful) shove from 
 a place officially designated I.G.C.H.Q. (which 
 he who runs may read), the F.A.N.Y. Corps 
 was accepted for service with the British 
 
ODDMENTS AND THE END 201 
 
 Army. On New Year's Day, 191 6, a convoy of 
 motor ambulance and motor lorries, drivers, 
 orderlies, and cooks — all women — started work 
 in France. 
 
 Their work is strenuous and of real service. 
 Each girl driver keeps her car in running 
 order ; she turns out in the morning and cleans 
 and oils her car. When the barges come down 
 the motor ambulances are there drawn up in a 
 straight line, each girl standing to attention 
 beside each car. The wounded are loaded in : 
 the driver starts off slowly and carefully 
 through the streets, and delivers her load at 
 the hospital indicated. Then, as need may be, 
 she may return for other loads, or be sent on an 
 " isolation " job — that is to say, she drives 
 to a camp some miles out to fetch in a case of 
 fracture or other casualty. Then she may 
 have to stand to and drive loads of wounded 
 from the hospital to the hospital-boats ; 
 and two or three times a week she has to take 
 " loads " of convalescents to a neighbouring 
 base some 20 miles away. This is the first 
 convoy of women, but already it is not the last. 
 Here is scope for hundreds of women, for this 
 work can quite well be given to women to 
 
202 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 
 
 do. There is no danger and no untoward 
 physical strain. If every convoy in base 
 towns was " manned " by women, then all the 
 men at present so employed could be given 
 the rougher work further afield that women 
 perhaps cannot undertake. Already, within 
 ten months of the start, the F.A.N.Y. convoy 
 has given such satisfaction it has been greatly 
 increased ; and I am confident it will yet 
 increase. 
 
 Women have proved what they can do since 
 the War broke out ; and is this a mean record — 
 for a corps that had no influence, no money, 
 and no recognition to start with, that now, 
 after two years' active service, it has more 
 than doubled its membership and has five 
 units working in France ? 
 
 A few names have been mentioned more 
 than others, but the roll-call of the F.A.N.Y.'s 
 will one day be published and give the names 
 and services of all who have worked with the 
 corps. For every individual member has 
 rendered splendid service to the world, and 
 when the history of the corps is written full 
 justice will be done to all. 
 
ODDMENTS AND THE END 203 
 
 This is more or less a record of personal 
 happenings taken from my diary, circulated 
 privately and published now at the request 
 of those friends whose interest was aroused. 
 I have omitted the exciting story of Sister 
 White and other two F.A.N. Y.'s who received 
 the Order of Leopold from King Albert for 
 bravery under fire. I have not dwelt upon 
 the steady and wonderful work done by our 
 band of trained nurses, nor the quiet devotion 
 displayed by probationers and ward orderlies. 
 I have not pictured our Belgian doctors or 
 adjutant or orderlies — not even the irresis- 
 tible humour of Louis, the orderly whose 
 vocation calls him to the priesthood, who in 
 his proud knowledge of the English language 
 tells visitors blandly " he is learning to be a 
 father." 
 
 All these things and many more will be 
 related after the war is over in the History of 
 the F.A.N.Y. Corps. 
 
 THE WHITEFRIARS PRESS, LTD., LONDON AND TONBRIDGE. 
 
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