Etext of Letters from Two Hospitals
By an American V.A.D. aka Katherine Foote
The Atlantic Monthly Press
Boston
1919

I DEDICATE THESE LETTERS 
TO MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, 
TO WHOM THEY WERE WRITTEN

"And of these, many are gone, to join a radiant band, whose hope
is in us."

Saunderstown. R. I.

July 1. 1923.

Dear Arthur Foote:

Thank you and Mrs. Foote for the 'Letters from Two Hospitals'. I
have read them with the greatest pleasure, and the first portion, the
French ones, with the added sense of much association. In England
I don't know Chester in the way that I know Tours; and yet those
pages recall the whole of England and give me a sense of personal
familiarity too. What admirable letters they are, and what a noble
and devoted work they record! They must have made the writer's
parents happy. And the two last paragraphs---Lieut. Raffy and
Sergeant Elliott! Do you know, the book brings a sadness with it,
as some perfumes do, that have associations. All through it are
reminders of a spirit which is gone: a spirit of zeal,
self-effacement, high dedication, faith, which shone over us then
and made those dreadful years endurable. These present times are
less endurable because nothing shines on them--- that I can see. It
will not always be so; but how long is it going on like this? Many
many thanks to you, and a good summer.

Yours Sincerely

Owen Wister

AU COUVENT DE L'ADORATION PERPETUELLE

February 3.

Such an early breakfast as we had yesterday morning, for all our
patients went to Descartes for their treatments de trŠs bonne heure,
so that they might be back in time to go to Soeur Marie de la
Croix's funeral. Mlle. Melanie and I had the beds made by nine; I
persuaded her then to leave me all the dusting so she should not be
late for the service. To my surprise, I got to the Chapel in time to
give a helping hand to our two orderlies and two of the nuns who
were carrying in the coffin. The bearers had never shown up, so
these four, after waiting a while, had carried Soeur Marie the long
distance from her room; down steep steps, across the big
courtyard, in and out of doors and passages, and across the smaller
court. The service was impressive and our aumonier militaire said
mass beautifully, but there is nothing so comforting as our
Anglican service. The Communaut‚, our patients, and a few
people from outside, made up the congregation. Mlle. M‚lanie and
I thought Salle 1 looked especially well! Four of our patients wear
the Croix de Guerre, and one the Legion d'Honneur besides. The
service was long, and I had to leave before the end to set the table
for le d‚jeuner de messieurs les officiers.

In the afternoon, a charming friend of Helen's came to see her,
Madame de la Rive, who has a beautiful place near St. Avertin.
Before the war, she had a sort of school where English boys came
to learn French; so many, many of her former pupils have been
killed!

February 10.

This morning came a fine postcard from Dang‚s. He has been
promoted, and is now mar‚chal de logis. I have had a nice letter
from Madame Dang‚s too; she is working at Lyons as devotedly as
ever. Before going to La Torterue this afternoon I sent off a
hundred francs of Edith's money to a French hospital in Haute
Garonne, which is run by a British Unit organized by Mrs.
Leith-Ross, Admiral Grinnell's niece. Miss Aked, with whom I
crossed from Southampton, is in charge of another hospital in this
same group. She has tubercular wounded and ill; few recover, and
there is terrible suffering before the end. Her hospital is in great
need of everything, and I gave her one of Francie's hypodermic
outfits; she wrote last week that she uses it with such gratitude. We
have had a busy afternoon at La Torterue. It was clean clothes day,
and before beginning that drill there was a good bit to do in the
operating-room, for the last operation had not begun until one, and
things were behindhand in consequence. Madame Pierracini gave
me the clean clothes for the Boches to-day; they are in a room by
themselves, and have a French sergeant to guard them, though they
show no desire to escape. Three of them were huddled around the
fire when I went in, while the fourth was staring out of the window
with such a forlorn expression. I expect they know the truth now,
and it can't be pleasant. It was strange to hear again such words as
Guten Abend, gn„diges Fr„ulein, adieu, Fr„ulein under these
circumstances. After finishing there, I went up with Helen to a
gloomy attic, barely lighted by three small windows, and smoky
from a stove which does n't heat. The attic is called le village noir,
because seven Moroccans exist there, and only one poilu. To-day
two of the former were in bed, one with a high temperature, pains
in his chest, and a racking cough. We got him a drink and gave
him some of our aspirin. The other was recovering from an op. and
wanted something badly. He spoke no French, but one of his pals
told us he longed for tea, which we eventually got him. Meanwhile
the others sat stolidly about, smoking and playing cards, while the
poilu busied himself weaving a big mat. When all the clean clothes
were given out, Helen and I settled ourselves downstairs in the
room with the piano. The rest of the afternoon passed in pulling
threads in gauze, preparatory to cutting out dressings, while Helen
and the other ladies worked on the flannel shirts. At odd times
various poilus wandered in to try over their songs and the choruses
for the concert Wednesday, while all the time Pierre and Ren‚
talked quietly, Secch bounced in and out, and Doy‚ moped on the
sofa.

The cold continues. Lyons is knee-deep in snow, and all
communications are upset. In Paris the other day two women
threw themselves in front of a coal truck, and while the driver's
attention was distracted by them, others emptied the truck of its
coal. We are fortunate in the Convent, because we have plenty of
wood to carry us through the winter.

Captain Bonnet, our ranking officer, left yesterday to finish his
convalescence. He has practically recovered from his last wound, a
severe abdominal one. First wounded in September, 1914, in the
throat, he spent eight days in the hospital, and twenty
convalescing, and then insisted on rejoining his regiment at the
front. He wears both the Croix de Guerre and the L‚gion
d'Honneur, and is a fine fellow in every way. We shall miss him.
It's so sickening, patching up people to go back to the horror of the
front.

February 12.

Helen and I had tea yesterday with Captain Billion-Bourbon and
his wife, who has come on from Poitiers for a few days. Lt.
Hardouin, who shares Captain Billion-Bourbon's room was there
too, --- a nice fellow; his four brothers are fighting, and his two
sisters nursing. It was a wonderful party. Helen contributed a
delicious American fruit cake, and there was an English plum
cake, and pƒtisseries, which can still be bought two days in the
week. We drank our toast to the Allies in Vin fin de Xeres!
Captain Billion-Bourbon quoted Washington, of whom he is a
great admirer, and talked so interestingly. He has a splendid mind;
what a sacrifice and loss such a man is to his country.

We had a long afternoon at La Torterue Saturday; in the course of
our varied labors we came across some tin boxes marked comit‚
de Boston, and found that for a long time the comit‚ has supplied
La Torterue with all its best dressings and gauze; they also sent
some sheets, which are still called les Am‚ricains. Even the empty
boxes are treasured, and made to serve in all sorts of ways. The
discovery gave one a pleasant feeling. Doy‚ was terribly blue.
"Trois mois et un jour, et ne vois pas mieux. Pas bon, pas bon."
Poor child; he cried most of the afternoon. One of the Anamites,
who has a terrible eye, tried to entertain Doy‚ by making a mouse
out of his handkerchief and having if run up and down his arm and
jump all over the room, but even this failed to cheer him. Secch is
so different, full of larks, thinking about his Croix de Guerre,
which he has earned but not yet received, and being altogether
cold comfort to poor Doy‚.

This morning Lt. Bourseul, who is getting his papers in order, as
he expects to leave us shortly, showed us the radiographs and
history of his wound. Some story! The wound which has kept him
here so long was a bad compound fracture of the femur. It has
been a hard pull and taken two operations to get the leg into shape
at all, and it's shorter now than the other one. He could apply for a
soft job; instead, he has asked for duty in aviation, since he is no
longer fit for infantry. As he was originally in the Mounted
Chasseurs, and was transferred to infantry at his own request when
the losses grew so heavy, his present choice is not surprising. He is
such a charming person, --- we shall miss him so much.

February 16.

To-day has been heavenly, very clear, and good flying weather.
Ever so many oiseaux de France were out, and it was wonderful to
see them flash and gleam in the golden air, as they circled and did
stunts high up over our old wonder city. Helen and I walked to Les
Tilleuls for tea, and saw there three of Mlle. Edith's shell-shock
pupils, whom she is teaching to talk again. Mme. Sourdillon took
us over the hospital and we saw much that was interesting. Her
cook is a refugee, whose husband and two sons are at the front.
She read us a letter which had just gotten through from her village,
where her father and mother are; a terrible letter, just a bald
summary of death and desolation. The boys of fifteen and sixteen
are hiding in the woods like ravenous hunted wild beasts, to escape
fighting or working for the Boche. Tears of anguish poured down
the poor soul's face as she talked. Little as she earns, she still
manages to help others by sending food parcels to prisoners of
war. I stayed behind a minute, and gave her a little money, out of
Mrs. Merrill's contribution; I was so glad that I had brought some.
Mons. Sourdillon appeared for tea, a delightful man, of great
cultivation. Mlle. Edith and Mons. Andr‚, who was home on short
leave, were there too, and the talk was immensely interesting. . . .
It was lovely coming home; dusk just setting in over our enchanted
valley, and little friendly lights beginning to twinkle as we walked
along by the river, --- an unforgettable hour of peace and beauty,
when horror and sorrow seemed remote. Yet every hour brings
new horror and fresh sorrows. We have had our share of the latter
lately here. Our gallant young Chasseur has just lost his only
brother, and it is a terrible grief to him, his first. The brother took
cold after a long march; Lt. Poirier went to Brest in response to the
telegram which told him of his brother's illness, but he got there
too late. The other men are so wonderful about helping him bear
his great sorrow.

Helen has heard from Mr. Simonds that he is sailing for home
soon. We gather he has had a satisfactory and encouraging trip.
This is one of the days when I feel profoundly discouraged. Not
about the outcome of the war, for there is no doubt about that ---
but about the endless problems and their appalling bigness; the
war has created so many, and they increase every day it lasts. One
often feels as though one should never have another thought of
anything except to try and make some of these shattered lives
happier and better. Helen is accomplishing so much with her
enterprise and resources, and I am continually grateful for the
money which I hold in trust, for all the dear people who gave to
me. It means so much here, more than they can possibly imagine.

February 21.

Last night while Helen and I were at supper, Soeur Geraldine
mysteriously handed us an envelope, whispering, "C'‚tait d'un
militaire!" This was the enclosure: "Le m‚decin-chef du Service
Centrale d'Ophthalmologie de la 9iŠme R‚gion pr‚sente ses
respectueux hommages … Miss H‚lŠne et Miss Catherine et les prie
de vouloir bien lui faire le plaisir de venir … la petite r‚ception
toute intime qui suivra la remise de sa d‚coration, demain,
mercredi vers 3res 1/2 de l'aprŠs-midi … l'h“pital." So this
afternoon saw us at the Remise de D‚coration. The sun came out
for an hour or two, and as we walked down the Boulevard
B‚ranger, the world seemed one huge spring; children were
playing, couples were loitering, and old people were sunning
themselves. It was the day of the Flower Market, and Helen and I
bought some violets and white stocks from a nice old Lady, whose
splendid dog was named Ami. Just as we got to the Place de la
Gare, the General and his staff marched on. The Place is flanked
on one end by the station, and at the other by the lovely garden of
the Pr‚fecture. On the station end cuirassiers and dragoons were
drawn up, and on the two sides companies of the 66th Infantry and
another regiment (class of 1917), while towards the Pr‚fecture
stood the men to be decorated. They were in two rows, facing the
station, and behind them a third row; these were civilians in deep
mourning, parents and relatives who were to receive the
decorations of the fallen ones. Dr. T‚rrien was the third man
decorated, and made a fine military appearance. Fran‡ois, from La
Torterue (the miner) was also decorated; he received the Croix de
Guerre and the M‚daille Militaire. It was all very impressive, ---
General Poline's readings of the citations in his big round voice,
the precision of his movements as he decorated the men, and the
feeling of the whole thing. Then came the inspection of the troops,
while the Cuirassiers' trumpeters played the fanfare for inspection,
and one felt the lump in one's throat coming. But when the
ceremony was over, and the troops marched by to the music of the
Cuirassiers' marching tune, and the flag passed, and the poor little
child-like soldiers of the class of 1917 moved so bravely by, the
lump was there, and the tears, too.

The reception toute intime was delightful. Generals and staff were
there, and Dr. T‚rrien and the other doctors, and the wives, and
there was a delicious tea, and Vouvray Mousseux! As we were
leaving to go back to work, we met Ren‚, who had taken Pierre to
the Remise de Decoration. They had Fran‡ois with them; he and
Pierre had been at some pains to arroser leur decorations, and felt
very happy. It's both pitiful and wonderful to think that they can
still find life here exciting in spite of their disabilities, and it's
amusing to think of little Ren‚'s steering these two blind ones
through the devious ways of Tours and her buvettes! We
celebrated Mardi Gras for La Torterue by giving every one
chocolate, --- some hit!

February 24.

This afternoon we have been doing errands on the rue Nationale,
and such life as there was! Cavalry recruits were coming in from
the country in charge of a snappy young officer, merry shaggy
ponies and adorable infinitesimal donkeys passed drawing
picturesque carts, and sometimes dogs, in pairs or singly, helping
to do the same. And soldiers, soldiers everywhere, --- sick and
well, ---some bent over double from their wounds, just beginning
to live again, some coming back for a short permission, others
marching to the station in little groups, laden with well-filled
musettes, tin helmets, and entrenching tools; they rather remind
one of the Knight in "Alice in Wonderland," and all "his own
inventions." The big, gray official limousine, with the
headquarters' insignia on the door, passed and re-passed, and
ambulances and two-wheeled supply carts from the Cuirassiers'
Depot, added to the excitement. We walked to the Cher before we
came home; the sweet country and quiet river and soft air were
very spring-like. A troop of dragoons passed us on the bridge; good
horses and good riders.

February 27.

Sunday was lovely, and began happily, for it was my turn to go to
la messe des aveugles. It's a joy singing with the men; they love it
so, and we sing some beautiful cantiques de guerre. I have copied
one for you. One of the singers is Fernand Deloison, a sweet,
gentle lad, who comes from Cambrai. His sight was injured by a
premature explosion, but it's improving, and he will soon return to
aviation. He has asked me to make him a bag for ses petits effets.
"Un pauvre poilu a bien de la peine de rien garder pour lui,
Mademoiselle." He wants me to make one for his chum, too,
Clovis Godin, a melancholy Cuirassier, who comes from Roubaix.
This town is in the hands of the Germans, so he has heard nothing
from his father and mother and three pretty sisters since the war
began. He has four brothers fighting, besides, so it's small wonder
he's oppressed. Was n't it nice of Fernand to ask for Clovis as well
as himself ? They both want me to be their Marraine; my family is
growing!

Thursday afternoon we met a big gang of Boche prisoners,
employed on railroad work here. It was the first time we had seen
so many together, and the different types were striking. They
looked well-fed, and many seemed happy, though some looked
profoundly sad. Most of them were young. It was curious to hear
the familiar-tongue as they joked among themselves. The day was
beautiful, soft and balmy, ---a day which spoke of hope and joy,
seeming to triumph over the sorrowful sights, the crowd of poor
brave souls, some with remade faces, some legless, some armless,
others blind, --- the huge army of living martyrs to the cause
which, thank God, we have made our own at last. What were their
thoughts as prisoners and convalescents passed each other?

We've just said good-bye to Lt. Raffy. His application for duty in
Salonica was accepted, and he leaves to-night on furlough before
sailing. George Hollister is still out. there, but he wrote me that he
expected to come back in April. I have given Lt. Raffy a letter to
him, just in case they happen to be near each other. George wrote
such a splendid letter!

Our two G‚nie lieutenants are receiving formidable looking
documents relating to their future movements. Everyone is being
rounded up, and I expect there'll be lots doing soon.

March 3.

La MŠre got back this afternoon from a two days' absence at the
Mother House in Paris. It was raining, and all the nuns pattered
across the court in their sabots to welcome her, holding huge
umbrellas with great care over their caps. They were so full of joy
at having their beloved MŠre among them again, and she was so
happy to be with them once more; it was a sweet picture. The caps
look alike in front, but La MŠre's is very different in the back,
rising to a point, while all the others are just round!

How about the German blockade of U.S.A.? The general opinion
here seems to be that the Boche is bluffing. Otherwise, why does
n't he sink some American ships? Everyone is very excited by the
British progress, and one hears on all sides, "Les Anglais marchent
bien." It's such a great, terrible, sweet, sad world to live in, but
always wonderful, and I would not be doing anything else but this,
though se d‚vouer pour la France takes many forms, from singing
to cleaning knives!

Monday, March 5.

Helen and les demoiselles Providence and I had an outing
yesterday afternoon. We took the tram at Pont de Pierre, and ran
past St. Cyr and Les Maisons Blanches, passing enchanting little
houses and mysterious avenues; later, open fields, where old men
and women and boys and girls were working, and always on our
left the river gleamed. We left the tram at Mareuil, and walked up
to Luynes, an adorable village nestling at the foot of the castle.
Passing a wonderful old house, called La maison espagnole, we
presently found ourselves at the bottom of a long, long flight of
beautiful steps. When we had climbed to the top, we were on the
castle terrace, and turned to such a perfect view of the smiling
valley, the tender green of the fields, shimmering in veiled beauty
through the soft spring haze. Then we made a tour of the courtyard
and the gardens. One does n't visit the house inside, but we went
up on the fortifications and saw to the north our towers and Tours,
gleaming like an enchanted city, while aeroplanes circled like
birds over it. Then we walked to the ruins of the Gallo-Roman
Aqueduct; it was strange to stand under those arches and hear
overhead the whirr of an Avion de Chasse! Walking back to the
tram, we met a dear old peasant, driving home her three goats,
with her dog, FidŠle; she told us she had also a pony named Bijou.
We had a look at one of the strange cliff-dwellings by the river,
and then came home. Such a happy, peaceful afternoon; yet one's
heart is sore, looking over the lovely country, and thinking of all
those who will never, never see it again.

This afternoon we have been busy at La Torterue. There were three
ops., big ones, and lots of cleaning up in the operating-room, and
needles to thread and tiny wicks to make in preparation for next
operating day. Karl, one of the Boches, has been having trouble
from abdominal adhesions, so this morning a surgeon came over
from Descartes, and operated for that, while Dr. T‚rrien operated
on Karl's eye. His three Kamerade were allowed to see him in the
recovery room late this afternoon, and enjoyed it, even if he did
n't! We also had a visit from an old civil, who came over from
Chenonceaux to have a terribly infected eye treated. Dr. Cerise
cleaned it up and did what he could to alleviate the pain. The poor
old papa has been in agony for some days, but he bears the
frightful pain bravely, as befits a veteran of 1870. I had just
invested some of Miss Underhill's money in fruit for La Torterue,
so our brave patient was rewarded for his good behavior with une
citronade! The Chƒteau of Chenonceaux is now owned by the
Chocolat Menier people, and they have turned La Grande Galerie
into a hospital of sixty beds, with chauffage centrale, plumbing,
electric lights, and all hospital conveniences; I believe they finance
it entirely. Our old veteran went there first, but eyes are n't taken
care of anywhere else in the 9iŠme R‚gion except at La Torterue.

March 8.

When I was opening the cumbersome blinds this morning, I'abb‚
Pinault was just going to his duties at La Torterue. " Mais
Mademoiselle, vous ˆtes trŠs matinale, il me semble." "Au
contraire, c'est vous, Monsieur l'Abb‚, qui l'ˆtes, puisque vous ˆtes
d‚j… sorti et je suis toujours chez moi "! He looked so well in his
bleu horizon. The big army wagon, drawn by its pair of
magnificent grays, passed just then on one of its innumerable
journeys, so salutes were exchanged all around. Soon the sun was
shining in the wards, and the postman brought a big American
mail, the first for a long time, so Mademoiselle Irma insisted I
should read your letters, anyway, and I was so glad of all your
good news. It's splendid to read how the U.S. is taking the fence at
last, but oh, it's so late!

Afterwards, Helen and I assisted at an ‚nucl‚ation at La Torterue,
making ourselves generally useful in the operating-room. The
patient has been at La Bretˆche (a big hospital just across the river,
also in a Convent) for trepanning and a bad hand; a bursting shell
caused all this and left splinters in the eye. He is a little Parisien,
and fortunately has a wife and child to comfort him. He had only
primary ether, and came out very quickly, announcing loudly, "Tu
sais, mon vieux, je n'ai qu'un oeil; ils m'ont enlev‚ l'autre! " Dr.
T‚rrien operated, and Mons. l'Abb‚ etherized; it was beautifully
done, but it's a painful operation to watch, for somehow it hurts
one especially to see that member of the body's family taken away.
Dr. T‚rrien gets himself up very daintily, as does Monsieur I'Abb‚,
who is a wonderful combination of strength, sweetness and
efficiency. He had a parish in Amboise, but that is now in charge
of an older man; mobilization brought our Abb‚ here, and what a
treasure he is. The men simply adore him, and no wonder, for their
well-being is his only thought.

March 15.

What a week it's been! The good news from the front is thrilling. . .
. Helen and I have been sending colis to the fighting brothers and
cousins and nephews of the nuns (many of whom are prisoners).
We meet in the Economat and with Soeur Catherine and Soeur
Maxime to help us, we make up wonderful parcels of eatables
permitted by the Boche, and socks and other things; Soeur
Marie-Eudoxie gives us the names from a long list the nuns send
to regularly. I am using almost the last of my funds for these colis,
but more will come. Yesterday, Ren‚ came to say good-bye; he is
going en permission agricole for a month. Also Clovis and Fernand
came to have their pictures taken, and Soeur Donatienne and I had
out all the lovely old chairs from the officers' dining-room, and
stood them in the cloister while we waxed and polished them. She
is such a dear to work with. This week, too, Salle 1 has been
having its spring cleaning from ceiling to floor; les demoiselles
Providence and I have had a busy time, but it looks so nice and
fresh, now it's all done.

Monday night as we were going off to bed, we met Soeur Aline
crossing the court with a militaire r‚form‚. He was homeward
bound for le Midi, and had just come from le Mans, where the
nuns have a house. The poor soul is voiceless from shell-shock,
and well used up generally, but how he enjoyed the good supper
Soeur Aline had us take to him; soup and eggs and potatoes, with
apple sauce and cheese for dessert. "Comment, vous lui donnez
gras un jour maigre?" said Soeur H‚g‚sippe. "Mais vous savez bien
que les militaires ne doivent pas faire maigre!" answered Soeur
Celestine. She is pretty, makes divine omelettes, and is the sister
of Soeur Albanie, who takes such good care of Captain Billion-
Bourbon.

Thursday evening Miss Guerber (a delightful American woman,
who was caught by the war in Tours, and is the third American in
the city) got La MŠre's permission to have a little evening of
music. La MŠre came herself and stayed through, and Miss
Guerber asked all the dames r‚fugi‚es and some of our military
family. What a concert it was! First of all, "Tipperary," by request;
and then "Swanee River" and other American folk-songs, also by
request. Then many French songs, songs in English, and of course
at the end the hymns of the Allies, including "The Star-Spangled
Banner." "Puisque nous sommes d‚j… alli‚s par le coeur, Miss!" It
was picturesque to hear the click of Lt. Santucchi's spurs on the
stone floor as every one stood up for the Allies' hymns. He and his
wife are charming people; she comes to our table. Everyone
seemed to have such a good time, and at the end there was dear
Soeur Albanie, waiting to guide us down the dark little steps and
across the court with her faithful lantern.

The next day I got word that the Olmsteds' puzzles were at the
station, so I sallied down in the afternoon to claim them, and
signed innumerable papers guaranteeing their harmlessness. They
will mean so much pleasure to the men, and it was good of the
Olmsteds to send them.

These are cheerful days at La Torterue. Pierre is soon to be fitted
to his artificial hands, and Doy‚ is to be operated on shortly. He
has been happier since the arrival of a Lieutenant of Tirailleurs
d'Afrique, who takes a great interest in Doy‚, and is able to speak
his dialect. The lieutenant took Doy‚ out for a walk one day; I met
them as I was going to the hospital, and Doy‚ was actually
laughing! One has to know the abysmal depths of his melancholy
to appreciate the change. Karl. is doing very well, and making
great progress with French and English; now, he says, "
Good-night, Miss," when I leave. One of the poilus has taught him
this. Karl has no desire to go back to Germany, but looks forward
to England or America, though I do my best to discourage that
idea. The last time we were there we were saying to a poilu, how
strange it was not to feel more personal enmity between the poilus
and the Boche prisoners. "Eh bien, voyez vous, Miss, la souffrance
est individuelle mais la rancune nationale."

I have been to the Mus‚e this afternoon. There is a good collection
of pictures, and many interesting things. For example, the bed that
Napoleon slept in when he was in Tours. But the garden was best
of all, with its long noble terrace and alleys of clipped trees.
Below, children were playing, and their mothers were sitting near,
talking and knitting in the warm spring rain. It was a wonderful
feeling to steep one's self in the peace and beauty of it all. I walked
home by the Tour de Guise and along the river-bank, where I
passed a magnificent young Sheik, be-medalled and superb in his
spotless white robes and head-dress.

March 18.

Is n't the news wonderful! You can't imagine the thrill of living in a
country where such an advance is taking place. Some of our
refugee ladies come from Noyons, and the emotions of the last
days have been almost too much for them. If we can only take St.
Quentin. I can never forget Sunday morning and the first rumors of
la prise de Bapaume. It was a glorious morning, and everyone was
touched with joy and excitement and gratitude.

Being the fourth Sunday in Lent, it was permissible to have singing
at mass, so I sang the Franck "Panis Angelicus" and the
Bach-Gounod "Ave Maria" at la messe de la Communaut‚. Soeur
Marie-Vincent, who is a splendid musician, accompanied me
wonderfully, and I loved doing it; there was a special happiness
about singing on such a day of thanksgiving. At one came the
papers, and we all gathered round Lt. Bouryot, who had hobbled
out into the court to read us the details. In the afternoon, Madame
Sourdillon had her fˆte in the Salle Brunet, and when I sang "God
Save the King," the audience could n't wait for the end to applaud
and cheer and call, "Vive les Anglais!" The whole fˆte was a great
success, but that was the crowning moment. Our day wasn't over
even then, for in the evening Helen took Miss Guerber and me to a
performance at the Th‚ƒtre Fran‡ais for the benefit of the Fund for
les Prisonniers de Guerre du D‚partement. It was a wonderful
evening. The theatre was packed, and nine hundred francs taken in
the quˆte alone. General Lacotte and his staff were there, and lots
of troops from the garrison, all en tenue de ville, and Dr. T‚rrien,
who came and spoke to us. The programme was varied and
interesting, --- songs, recitations, and violin-playing. It ended with
an enchanting comedy by Meilhac, "L'‚t‚ de la St. Martin," done
by people down from Paris. We got home very late, and crept in by
the Chapel door. Dear Soeur Thomassine let us in. She had waited
for us after finishing her Adoration.

March 23.

The last days have come, and they are hard. These have been
happy months with Helen, and everyone in this dear old Convent,
and though I am anxious for my bit in England, still it's not easy
leaving here. Tuesday La MŠre gave me permission to invite all of
my patients to hear me sing, and they in their turn had prepared a
surprise for Helen and me. In their dining-room was spread a
delicious little repast, pƒtisseries and Vouvray Mousseux, and my
godson, the Chasseur, made me, for them all, a most charming
little speech, which none but a child of France could have
imagined or made. It was a real surprise, and I was so overcome
that I don't know what I said, for I was too moved to be able to
appear otherwise. It was a pity some little bird had not whispered
to us of the surprise, for Helen had arranged to take me out of town
that afternoon, and we had to cut short the delightful party; it will
always be a regret for me that it had to be so. . . . We went out by
tram to St. Avertin, where we were met by a boy from La
Branchoire, where Helen's attractive friend, Mlle. d'Ornano, lives.
The boy was leading a huge black dog, very old, who was
returning, we learned, from un s‚jour chez le v‚terinaire. We all
started off together, and after a walk of about two kilometres we
came to the dense woods which surround La Branchoire. Presently
we turned in at the gate, and we were there. Our dog friend was
released and promptly retired to his kennel to forget his troubles in
slumber. The chƒteau is simple, a long fa‡ade, with a terrace from
which one looks down a wide grass avenue toward the village of
Chambray. Mlle. Vannina and her aunt, Mlle. de Reyneval, and
four fox terriers were waiting to greet us. We spent two delightful
hours with them in a lovely Louis XIV drawing-room, full of
interesting and lovely things, each one with its story. Mlle. de
Reyneval told us that an ancestor, Claude de Reyneval, was an
ambassador to the United States, and she showed us an engraving
of his portrait by Peale, which hangs in Independence Hall. We
also saw a little war book, full of snapshots taken by Captain
d'Ornano, and letters to him from his men, and copies of his
citations. He must be a fine sort, a born soldier and leader. They
are a military family, for a d'Ornano was one of Napoleon's
marshals. It was a wonderful afternoon, spent with two rare
people. After a little music and tea, Helen and I walked back to the
tram through a torrent of rain which had long been threatening.
The country was lovely, even in the rain, but there is a feeling of
profound sadness over everything; how can it be otherwise?

Fernand and Clovis came to-day to ask me whether they might not
come and get my luggage in a little handcart from La Torterue. I
can't let them do that, but they are to come to the station to see me
off. La MŠre has just given me some little treasures; a penholder
from Lourdes, and a carved wooden box made by one of the nuns.
How dear they've all been to me, and how little I've done for them,
compared with what I should like to have done. It's not three
months since I came, and yet how much a part of my life it has all
become. Goodnight, now. I'm going to say good-bye to my dear
demoiselle Providence and to Soeur Donatienne. I shall write from
Paris. Things may be a little troublesome about my getting
through, but I hope not to be delayed long. I shall get Madame
Lebon's box off this time, and I hope to see Madame Laporte. Here
is a copy of the speech:

Permettez-moi, au nom de "votre petite famille" comme vous vous
plaisiez … l'appeler, de vous remercier pour l'audition que vous
venez de nous offrir et pendant laquelle nous avons pu appr‚cier
tout votre talent que nous go–tƒmes d‚j… dimanche dernier. Qu'il
me soit surtout permis de vous dire toute notre affection et notre
reconnaissance pour les soins que vous nous avez prodigu‚s avec
tant de d‚vouement et de joie. Vous retournez l…-bas en Am‚rique,
bien loin de nous, dans votre patrie qui est cependant bien prŠs de
la n“tre par le coeur et la pens‚e. Nous esperons que vous
n'emporterez point un mauvais souvenir de l'h“pital o— vous f–tes
la bienvenue. Quant … nous, Miss, soyez assur‚e que toujours et de
tous, vous conserverez l'affection et la gratitude.

England, April 12, 1917

WITH THE 76TH DETACHMENT, CHESHIRE COUNTY
DIVISION, BRITISH RED CROSS SOCIETY VERNON
INSTITUTE HOSPITAL, GREAT SAUGHALL, NEAR
CHESTER
April 12.

THERE'S much to tell you since I wrote Easter afternoon. I spoke
to you then about the three lovely days I spent with the Frosts; I
can never forget the warmth and kindness of their hospitality; from
the moment Mrs. Frost welcomed me Thursday, I felt as though I
had a real home. We have had such a good time of all sorts, from
lots of music to driving Mona, most adorable pony of all, bar one!
Now I am at work again, and feel well settled in the new life
which began on Monday at nine. There is much that is bewildering
in the new routine, but everyone has been so good in "putting me
wise," especially Staff-Nurse Wigg, our ranking V.A.D. and Sister
Johnston's right hand. The hospital is not quite full, so we have
extra time which Matron uses to get extras done, such as
paint-washing and cupboards cleaned up. Matron is very nice and
capable, and has splendid ideas in every way. Vernon Institute in
peace times was the recreation centre of the village, with a large
gymnasium, billiard-rooms, bathrooms, and a kitchen, so that it is
admirably adapted to hospital use. Staff-Nurse, Sister, another
V.A.D. and I sleep in a dear little cottage across the road from the
hospital; in this same cottage the men have a billiard-room, with
comfy chairs, a fireplace, and lots of books. Their dining-room is
here, too, for though we get their other meals in the hospital
kitchen, their dinner is cooked for them here by Mrs. Rowlands,
who also cooks for us, and whose milk-puddings I adore. We take
care of the men's table and ours, and serve them at dinner. My
room is up under the eaves, and I'm very comfy there, and it's a joy
to have a bathroom again, even though there are several of us to
share it. The men are a fine lot; we get on splendidly, and already
it all seems as natural as the life in France. One of the men in
Vernon (formerly two billiard-rooms, and now the ward in which I
am) has lost part of one foot from frost-bite. He suffers agonies
when it is dressed, but he is so plucky that it helps one's own
courage. His name is Heywood; he's a slight young chap, but he
has seen lots of service in France and Gallipoli. In the next bed to
him is a Welshman, with a delicious accent, who keeps the men
laughing with an endless fund of stories. In the other ward is a
young Canadian named Holland, with the strongest Yankee accent
I've ever heard; he brought me your first letters since I've been
here. The men who are up and able to, help a lot with some of the
work. Otherwise, we shouldn't get on so well, as except for Mrs.
Jones, who scrubs the kitchen tiles and blacks the stove, five
V.A.D.'s on days and two on nights do all the work in this hospital
of forty-six beds.

Tuesday afternoon we had a concert in Vernon Ward. Mrs. Frost
brought over Linda, and an R.N.A.S. man, who has a splendid
voice. One of our V.A.D.'s has a beautiful voice, and we four sang
all sorts of things, Mrs. Frost and I dividing the playing. The
R.N.A.S. man delighted the men with "Rolling down to Rio,"
Linda and I did "Some Sort of Somebody" from "Very Good
Eddie," and "Poor Butterfly" was introduced to Saughall. Of course
we ended with the Allies' hymns, and how proud I was to have
"The Star-Spangled Banner" among them at last. It was the first
time it had been heard in this part of the country, and the men
cheered it to the echo. Altogether, it was a great party, though it
meant a good bit of extra work before and after.

Saughall is a sweet village, neat yet picturesque. There are dear
brick and plaster cottages, with spotlessly curtained windows,
framing glowing plants, and outside trim little gardens. Already I
am beginning to know what an English spring is; the trees are
bursting with blossoms, birds sing all day long, grass and hedges
grow greener every day, and banks are studded with adorable
primroses, daffodils and violets, and oh, such delicious soft air. It's
every bit as wonderful as one has imagined it, as all really
wonderful things are.

April 17.

Yesterday I had to go down to Birkenhead and register at the
County Police and leave my finger-print! It was raining, but not so
hard that I did n't enjoy the walk across country from here to
Mollington, where I "entrained." This was my morning on
dressings; Sister is a splendid surgical nurse, and Staff-Nurse a
wonder, and I'm learning so much from them. I am just off duty
after preparing for eight stretcher cases which are due this evening.
Everyone is excited, as this is the first convoy in weeks, and the
men are keen to get the latest news of Fritz. I have been filling
hot-water bottles, laying out dressing-gowns, night-shirts, helpless
shirts for possible arm cases, seeing that mugs, soap, and towels
are in every locker, besides doing the usual last job of tidying the
wards, empting ash trays and leaving fires and kitchen right for the
night staff. Mrs. Frost has just come down to receive the convoy,
and to get details of next of kin and so on from the men. She is in
her commandant's uniform of scarlet, and looks stunning. I must
get to bed, to be ready to cope with the new world to-morrow.

April 18.

No more paint-cleaning! We got eight stretcher cases in about ten
last night, and sixteen more came during the night. They are
mostly from the Vimy Ridge fighting; one man "got his" at St.
Eloi, and is terribly wounded and used up, but is as cheerful as can
be. "We're winning," is everyone's tale. I was "on dinners" to-day,
and twenty-nine men in bed meant carrying over seven trays twice,
and it is quite a distance from the hospital to the cottage; also Dr.
Lees came just at dinner-time, which delayed things, and we did
not get our dinner until after two. But one did n't mind anything;
the men were so happy and grateful. It was all just one big day of
sunshine and joy. It has been a wonderful day for me in more ways
than one....

April 21.

Thursday was my afternoon off, and Mrs. Frost took me down to
Tarporley with Linda and Mr. Wardell-Yerborough (the R.N.A.S.
man). We gave a concert at Portal, Mrs. Marshall Brooks's house,
which she has turned into a hospital. It's a beautiful old place, full
of lovely things, standing high, with a glorious outlook. We had
about thirty-five Tommies for our audience, and they seemed
pleased at our show, which was much like the programme here,
only we had n't Nurse Yeoward's lovely voice. Once again "The
Star-Spangled Banner" had an ovation! Tarporley is in the hunting
part of Cheshire; I saw some good horses about, and loved feeling
the horse atmosphere again. Beeston Castle is near the village, a
picturesque ruin, dating from the thirteenth century, and destroyed
in Cromwell's time. It towers over the surrounding country; there
is a dug well on the hill, said to be one of the deepest in England.

We had a tremendous day yesterday; even the afternoon was
exciting, for ever so many of the men had had presents of eggs,
and these were to be cooked at tea-time; this made our own tea
late, and then came the usual routine of bed-making, washes,
starting supper, and fourteen fomentations for me to do in Vernon
alone! I was off at seven for good, and glad to lie in the hammock
with my unread afternoon letters and a poetry book, and forget all
but lovely thoughts. To-day was again my afternoon off, and I went
to Chester, which was very brilliant. The streets were thronged
with soldiers, and convalescents in picturesque blue hospital suits;
the uniforms of different Scotch regiments, and an occasional
French or Belgian soldier made the gray old walls bright with
color. I opened an account at the bank, had tea at Bolland's (the
confectioner), did the hospital errands, and came home. I should
like to have been there yesterday; it was "America's day," and
while our flag flew from the same pole as the Union Jack on the
Victoria Tower of the Houses of Parliament, London, Chester, too,
broke out the Stars and Stripes from every building, and the people
wore tiny ones in their buttonholes. Linda sent me down a little
silk one to celebrate the day, and I arranged it with the other Allied
flags in Vernon, but Feeley, an R.F.A. driver, who enlisted from
America, "pinched" it and stuck it over his bed! The men are
getting ready for an exhibition and sale on St. George's Day of the
work they have been doing during the winter; they work in beads,
raffia and embroidery. It's a great interest and helps pass the long
hours for the men who are in bed. The Anglo-American meeting in
London must have been thrilling. You can have no idea the
profound joy and gratitude there is everywhere in England. I shall
never forget that glorious morning in London when I sat at
breakfast reading Wilson's memorable speech.

April 27.

Yesterday was my afternoon off, and Mrs. Frost took Linda and me
down to Parkgate Military Hospital. It has a wonderful situation,
right on the Esplanade, bordering the Dee estuary. We had tea with
Mrs. Henry Gladstone, who is particularly interested in this
hospital, and the Matron. Then we went over the building, which
has a fine open-air ward and an operating-room, both added since
the war. We had our music in the big recreation room, overlooking
the bowling-green. One of the men played really well; two others
sang; and eight together gave an amusing sketch with topical
verses on the hospital. Mrs. Gladstone asked for the "Irish Folk
Song" from me, and Linda sang lots of nice things, and we all sang
"Love's Old Sweet Song"; what a volume of sound the men made!
Miss Mary Carmichael, who came with Mrs. Gladstone, played her
splendid "Triumphal March" and we finished with "La
Marseillaise," "The Star-Spangled Banner" and "God Save the
King." Then the men gave three cheers for us, and one Tommy
stood up and made a nice short speech about the United States;
already, when I had been introduced as representing "our latest
Ally," the applause had rocked the house, and the speech brought
another round. It was great fun altogether. We had a good run
back: the country was so lovely and full of peace. One is always
baffled when one looks at this country, and thinks of the
devastated part of France. We passed what was left of a big stack
of oats; an incendiary fire had destroyed almost all. One suspects a
Hun origin of such fires; this was the second in the week. It is so
dreadful to think of such waste just now. Romney's Lady Hamilton
came from near Parkgate.

I have had such a splendid V.A.D. in the ward this week: Nurse
Clayton, who lives near here; I am learning every day! Next week I
am moving to a dear little cottage, called Wakefield. Mrs. Frost
knew the lady who has the house, and that there was a room free;
it will be quieter there when I am on night-duty. It's just a little
way up the Blacon Road, and the walk to and from duty will be
pleasant.

April 28.

Many thanks for your good letters and the maple sugar, which
came this morning. I was so interested in the recruiting notices,
and loved the picture of Ensign Blake. The American number of
the Illustrated London News had a picture of the "Lynx," and her
commander at the wheel; everyone was delighted that the one
picture of an American naval officer should turn out to be
someone I knew. The maple sugar is delicious, and makes me
think of days and places very different from these. There are three
Canadians wounded at Vimy Ridge in Vernon, who came in last
week's convoy; they, especially, loved the maple sugar, though
there was a taste for every man in the ward. Work is hard this
week. We have had an amputation to-day, and there are lots of big
dressings. It's a good steady programme, but working conditions
are good, and the system is admirable, and all goes well.

Since it is not comfortable for you to have me on the water just
now, I shall not plan to come home at present. Conditions will
improve with time, and meanwhile it is a joy for me to stay on
here, for they need me more than ever; we have lost another
V.A.D. from the staff, and the summer promises to be very busy. I
wonder whether this is not the beginning of the distant end? Even
with your big hearts and sympathy and imagination, you can hardly
realize how terrible the strain is, nor how one longs for the end.
England carries her sorrows differently from France; besides, she
has been spared the unspeakable horrors of invasion, but she feels
the war none the less deeply for France as well as herself. What
she has done for France, besides fighting next her, will make a
sublime story when it is told. Though one misses the thrill of being
on the very soil where the struggle is going on, still it is wonderful
to be living in England now. There is the same complete and
sympathetic understanding of our problems here as there was in
France. You must not think that life here makes me forget the
troubles and cares and uneasiness at home; only there's nothing for
us all to do now but sit tight and work and fight until we win, even
if it takes all our lives; so uneasiness can have no lasting place in
one's mind.

May 3.

This is my first week of night-duty, and thanks to the kind V.A.D.,
Miss Podmore, who is on with me, I am getting on well. The
nights are beautiful, warm and fragrant, and I spend my off-duty
time sitting out back of the kitchen; it's a joy to be awake, and so
soon comes the first faint light, then a bird's shy note, and little by
little the incomparable pageant of a May dawn. The nights go very
fast: we iron bandages and slings from nine till midnight, when it's
time to cook dinner for Sister and ourselves; after that comes
washing-up, stoking three fires, ward duty, and mending "hospital
blues" until off-duty time. Sometimes the patients are restless, but
tonight everything is very quiet. We shall have our tea at four, then
cut mountains of bread for the men's breakfast, set the table, and at
six wake the troops and give them morning tea, which helps in the
waking. After that, marvels are accomplished; --- bed-patients
given washes, and rubbed; beds made; and the ward is swept and
polished. Fortunately, in each ward a certain number of
convalescents take hold and help out, so all goes smoothly, and
with a great flow of good-humor and jokes. By seven, work is well
under way; brass and nickel being polished, floors shining like
mirrors, cups and saucers appear at the bed-patients' tables, while
the kitchen presents a scene of great activity. Toast is being made
with a toasting-fork (slow work), bacon is cooking, water boiling
for tea, and special diets are under way. About 7:30, it looks like a
losing game, but somehow the bell rings at eight, bed-patients are
already eating a good Blighty breakfast, and our hungry and
industrious family are sitting down at two tables and make short
work of everything. After that comes washing-up (again the men
help), and leaving the kitchen swept and tidy for the day's start.
Then comes our own breakfast, the letters, and a little walk before
bath and turning in. I keep so well awake all night, I sometimes
sleep till seven when I get to bed. Sister has me in the big ward
this week, which is harder, but I have a splendid bed-maker in
Barclay, a Gordon Highlander, and we get done very nicely after
all. I heard a cuckoo as I was walking before duty last night; I have
not heard one since we were in M�nster am Stein!

2 A.M., May 6.

1 got up at 3.30 yesterday afternoon, and went to sing for the
patients at Hoole House, a hospital of seventy beds, the other side
of Chester. Mrs. Frost and Linda took me over, and Lady Hall, who
is Commandant, and the Matron received us. Lady Hall has a
daughter driving an ambulance in France, and a son in the R.F.C.,
whom I have met. Linda and I and a pretty girl named Hartridge
sang; also a youngster named Richmond, who has just gone into a
Cadet Corps. Also there was a man who told funny stories. I did all
the playing; the men seemed very keen about the show, and we all
joined in "When Irish Eyes are Smiling." There was great applause
when Lady Hall made a little speech about my representing "our
latest Ally"; it's always rather tremendous, that applause for U.S.,
and one remembers with what patience and restraint they waited
for us to come in. Lady Hall took us home to supper; we had such
a jolly time. This is the last of our sings, as Linda is going to work
in London; I shall miss her. I must take up my nocturnal activities
now.

May 8.

We are having beautiful bright days, and the country is glorious;
the fields glow like emeralds, and the fruit trees are a mass of
bloom. Almost every cottage garden has wall-flowers, and the air
is filled with their delicious fragrance. Everyone thought yesterday
was too hot, but it felt nice to me, --- not really hot like our days. I
was in Chester for my off-duty time, to send some of Charlotte's
money to France. Afterwards I walked around the walls, and went
into the Cathedral for a few minutes; it's such peace just to be
there. Linda met me, and drove me home in the pony cart; it was a
nice afternoon.

Everyone is getting on well; many men get out into the garden of
the cottage and spend the whole day there, and the groups of
"hospital blues" sitting or lying on the grass are a pretty picture.
That's the proudest suit one can wear now! A splendid youngster
from the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders came to us straight
from the field dressing-station last Saturday. He has a bad
compound fracture of the tibia, but it's doing well; he got here
frightfully exhausted, and for days took no notice of anything. No
wonder, for he has been through terrible fighting. I said to him
yesterday that his regiment must have lost-very heavily. He looked
at me grimly, and said: "Nurse, the battalion was repulsed; do ye
ken what repulsed means?" His name is Gray; his officer has
recommended him for gallantry in action, and Gray treasures under
his pillow such a nice letter the officer wrote Gray's mother.

I have much news from Tours. Lieut. Bourseul(1) is already flying
at Avord; Fernand writes me that he has been en permission
agricole, working sixteen hours a day in the Pas de Calais: the
cannonading is fearful, and crowds of British wounded pour
through his village daily. He says there is an American flag
hanging over the entrance of 88 bis. More than that, he has seen
some fusiliers marins am‚ricains on the Rue Nationale! ... I was
coming back to duty from a little walk the other night and, passing
the hospital, I heard three songs being played: three songs by an
American composer I know very well! It was strange and sweet to
hear them so, and they brought back many memories. I have lent
all my serious music to an R.A.M.C. orderly, Armitage. Though he
is a patient, he does so much to help us V.A.D.'s; music is his great
talent and pleasure, so when he has a chance he likes to read
through everything I have. We had an informal sing-song the other
night. Nurse Yeoward sang "Mother Machree," and I sang a little,
and we got all the men singing; Armitage played the rags the men
love especially: "Mysterious Rag ... .. Alexander's Ragtime Band ...
.. Ragtime Violin," and other old friends, including the "Quaker
Girl Waltz," which is always sung with a will. It was 8.30 all too
soon, and Matron came along to say, "Now, boys, time to be off to
bed "; so we all sang "Auld Lang Syne," and everything was over.

Thanks so much for the letters, which came this morning, and the
many cuttings. The package from Melvin and Badger has finally
gotten through, but we won't try another.

May 10.

We are having a soft spring rain to-day, so, I am spending my off
-duty time by the fire in our cottage. It has been a gay week; we
had a concert party from Chester one evening, and as they were
one short, I filled in with American songs and "Annie Laurie," and
played for Feeley. The next evening Mr. Morris came down from
Shotwick Park, and sang "The Galloping Major"; sometime I'll tell
you more about it. Gray almost fell out of bed laughing; he has not
had many entertainments lately, being otherwise engaged! He is
coming on well. He joined up under age, and I asked him if his
people did n't mind. " They had to let me go, Nurse," he said; I
expect he's a regular fire-eater, though he's gentle enough to take
care of, and so plucky about his dressing, which is very painful just
now. Our other Jock, in the Gordons, has gone on furlough, and
will soon be in France again. Pennock, an insurance clerk, with
whom I discuss during work many things, including Gregg
shorthand, is going to Fazakerly this week for examination and
probably operation by Robert Jones, the great orthopedic man.
There are always changes. As you see, I am back on days, and in
Vernon Ward again. Company Quartermaster Sergeant Crabtree
has been moved up to the gallery from Thornycroft, and helps me
mornings and evenings with the spreads. He is a Canadian, getting
over trench fever; a slow business, there are so many ups and
downs to it. The new cases, quite apart from their wounds, have a
sort of reaction; little upsets, chills, and mysterious temperatures.
One never knows how one will find them; and how they sleep,
almost all day in the beginning.

May 13.

It's a beautiful clear evening; we have been having warm days, but
heavy thunder showers last night cooled the air, and our green
world is lovelier than ever to-night. I came off duty at seven, and
had an enchanting little walk along the lane which skirts our
garden walls, and leads to the beautiful woods which are part of
the Shotwick estate. We are allowed to wander through them all
we like, and it's wonderful to have them so near. The Welsh hills
were very clear to-night, and all was so peaceful and indescribably
lovely; the fresh tender green of larches, willows and nut trees, and
always the great glory of the fruit trees. But in the valley was the
grim reminder of what is forever going on; the countless tall
chimneys of the munition works, belching forth smoke and fumes,
day and night.

The village street is full of life to-night; villagers and their Sunday
visitors are wandering up and down, and a big official car has just
rushed through. Matron is having overcoat inspection, for
to-morrow we go to Chester to see the King. He is making a short
tour in this part of the country, and comes to Chester for an
Investiture, and to inspect certain industries in the neighborhood.
This hospital will be represented by all the patients who are able to
go, Mrs. Frost as Commandant, the original members of the
V.A.D. detachment, Matron, and both Sisters. As Mrs. Frost will
not need her ticket to the enclosure, Mr. Frost is taking me; is n't it
wonderful! Matron has been so kind, and arranged for someone to
take my place during the three hours I must be gone....

Evening work is hard now, as we have many cases of trench-feet,
which means lots of rubs. Sergeant Jennings, a nice man of
twenty-four, is one of my patients; he seems so much older than
his age, like everyone who has been out. Crabtree and Drummond
came and sat on the edge of the next bed while I was rubbing
Sergeant's feet last night; the three talked so interestingly of the
war, experiences of every sort, tactics, mistakes, comedy and
tragedy, great moments and very small ones. It's wonderful stuff to
listen to.

May 14

The great day is over, with nothing to mar it, but the troops are
very tired to-night, and no wonder, for they began with breakfast at
six. The Night-Staff worked heroically; all dressings were done
before nine, and the ambulance took in the men who were going
by ten. It was a heavenly morning, clear and fresh, with only a hint
of cloud to disturb one. Ruffett and O'Neil, for whom there was no
room in the ambulance, went in the train with me. O'Neil is a
fresh-faced lad from County Mayo, who got hit with shrapnel in
the arm at Vimy Ridge. He is now attached to the Middlesex
Regiment, but really belongs to the Fifth Lancers, an Irish
regiment, and had his horse shot under him in the Dublin
disorders. We got through Chester nicely, though crowds were
forming fast, and just as we neared the Castle, we had the pleasure
of seeing our detachment march past, Mrs. Frost at the head; they
looked splendidly. Ambulances filled with sitting wounded,
private motors with more of the same, batches of convalescent
officers from Eaton Hall and Hawarden, other V.A.D. detachments
--all these poured by in a seemingly endless stream. Presently Mr.
Frost arrived, and we walked in the Castle gate together. The
Square was already lined; our detachment on the left, then
wounded; back of the big statue of Queen Victoria, the home
battalion of the Cheshires and their band; next them, convalescent
officers, and on the other side, Hoole House, and other
detachments, and army nurses of the Territorial Nursing Force. In
the centre of the Square stood a platform, and facing that, the
officers and men to be decorated and various Staff personages. Mr.
Frost and I were taken to a small enclosure to the right of the gate,
he receiving many salutes on the way. We waited a little, but the
time passed quickly, as there were constant arrivals to interest one
---the Duke of Westminster--- and others. The band, which had
been playing, suddenly stopped; up over the Castle tower went the
Royal standard. We heard a roar of voices from the bridge, and
turning, saw the Royal car slowly approaching. It rolled in through
the gate, and I had such a good view of the King and Queen; they
looked just like their pictures, and I seemed to have seen them
often before. It was a: choky moment, for so much surged up in
one's mind and heart. Mr. Gladstone,(2) who is Lord Lieutenant of
Flintshire, whence they came, was with them.(3) The motor
stopped by the platform, and they got out; I heard people saying
how much more worn the King looked than the last time he was
here. He was in uniform, of course, and the Queen was charming
in a soft gray coat and skirt, to which her flower hat and
cherry-colored sunshade gave color. When the King mounted the
platform, the band played "God Save the King," and then there was
a noise! Then silence; their Majesties took their places, A.D.C.'s
and lady-in-waiting grouped themselves behind them, and the
ceremony began. The Duke of Westminster was decorated first, a
D.S.O.; then several other officers, and then some Tommies. As
General Pitcairn-Campbell read the citations, my thoughts went
back to Tours, and the remise de d‚coration. Here, too, the same
beautiful precision of movement; each man went up the little
steps, was decorated, had a few words and a hand-shake from the
King, saluted, stepped back one pace, right turned, saluted the
Queen, and went down other little steps. When all the men had
been up, the King stepped down to decorate a Tommy from Hoole
House with twelve wounds, who lay weak and helpless in his
wheel-chair. His matron had been standing behind him, but she
stepped back to leave him alone with his King and his Queen. He
fainted from emotion and weakness, I suppose, and the matron had
to wheel him off. It was immensely touching, and broke one up
entirely. After that, their Majesties, the General and Staff passed
the whole assemblage in review from right to left. The King
stopped to speak to a few Tommies, usually ones in wheel-chairs,
and when he got to our men, he spoke to Heywood, the plucky
chap of whom I have written you; I was so pleased. I thought our
Commandant made an especially nice courtesy when the Queen
spoke to her. It was a brilliant picture; the khaki, the blue of the
hospital suits, the varied uniforms of the nurses, and the scarlet of
the commandants; the warm May sun brought out every detail
against the old stone building. All of a sudden, everything was
over. The big motor drew up, their Majesties got in, accompanied
this time by the Duke, who is Lord Lieutenant of Cheshire, and
they were off. I could hardly realize it had all happened. Presently
the great mass of personages, convalescents, and nurses poured
out; the streets were packed with ambulances, official motors, and
people on foot, and getting back looked difficult. But Mrs. Frost
took me home to luncheon with her, and I was on duty again
before two. What an excitement there was in the hospital; the men
were all gathered about Heywood, calling him Sir Harold, and
Jock, whose bed had been carried out into the courtyard, was
saying to anyone who had time to listen, that King George was
"nae king of mine; I fought for my country, but nae English king.
The English killed all our kings." We had hard work to bring him
to terms. Such an afternoon of work it has been, but a great day
altogether. I must turn in now, for Dr. Lees comes to-morrow for a
general inspection, and it's my morning on dressings.

May 19.

It's a warm, beautiful afternoon, and I'm just off duty, sitting in a
cool. corner, looking out over this dear garden, which is lovelier
than ever after two days' rain. The lilies of the valley are in full
bloom, and the long borders are gay with yellow sweet alyssum,
wallflowers, tulips, and forget-me-nots. Staff-Nurse and Earle are
playing mild tennis, while Sister Jock and two patients look on
from the summerhouse. Earle is a Yorkshireman, a shellshock
patient, and getting on well. He's awfully keen on flowers, and
keeps the hospital and cottage full of them all the time. The week
has been a whirl. Wednesday came the men's party; Colwell, who
was a clerk in a shipping office, and is making a slow recovery
from trench feet, was the moving spirit in organizing the party, but
every man in the hospital backed him up, financially and
otherwise. Here is the invitation:

The Patients of the Vernon Institute Hospital

request the pleasure of your company

at the opening of the Tennis Court

and to tea on

Wednesday, May 16, at 3 P.M.

Miss Vernon has kindly consented to perform

the opening ceremony.

Kindly reply by Saturday, May 12, to

O. J. E. Colwell, on behalf of the patients.

By Tuesday the committee was at fever heat, and anxiety about the
weather oppressed everyone. Every able bodied patient was busy,
cutting the grass, rolling and marking out the tennis court, laying
out clock golf and croquet. In the afternoon, the committee and
Sister Jock betook themselves to Chester, whence they returned at
tea-time in a taxi (!), tired but triumphant, bearing treasures in the
shape of real butter, a special mixture of tea, cream, fruits for a
salad, and watercress and cucumbers for sandwiches. One of the
committee, Drummond, had even sent to his native Glasgow for
cakes, which arrived by that afternoon post, creating more
excitement. Wednesday dawned damp and overcast, but by three,
when Miss Vernon sent the first ball over the net, the weather had
cleared, and we couldn't have had a more perfect afternoon. Gray
and two men were having a bad day, could n't be moved, but
everyone else was carried out, --- in several cases beds and all, ---
and lined up facing the tennis court, while the others who were n't
able to move about, settled themselves on chairs and on cushions
about the beds. Miss Vernon, charming in white and her pretty hat,
stood by the entrance arch of the tennis court, and as she declared
the season of tennis opened, untied the ribbons which stretched
across; flanking the arch were the Union Jack and Tricolor,
surmounted by the Stars and Stripes. Staff-Nurse and Drummond
(who has played for Scotland) and Nurse Davey and Crabtree
played a short convalescent set, and then came tea. Matron had
lent her own silver for the tea-table, which was resplendent besides
with a huge bowl of white lilacs. Mrs. Frost, Mrs. Nicholson (our
Quartermaster), Miss Vernon, Miss Broadbent, Dr. Parry, Matron,
the Sisters, and all of us sat at small tables, while the men served
us. It was a delicious tea, and how wonderfully we were waited on.
After tea, Thompson, whose foot came off last week, made a very
nice speech of thanks on behalf of the patients to their guests, and
"Sir Harold" presented Miss Vernon with a glorious bunch of
roses. Then sports were resumed, and a fortune-teller was
discovered in the summerhouse, who told amazing fortunes. This
was Private Ford, who has lost five brothers in the war. Half-past
six came all too soon; the Staff gave three cheers for the patients,
the patients did the same for the Staff, the fortune-teller closed his
tent, and we adjourned to the big ward for a splendid sing-song.
The patients gave a deliciously funny glee party, full of local hits.
Here's a conundrum they asked. "Why is a leave-train like the
American flag?"

Because it's full of stars and stripes. " (Stars being rank insignia for
officers up to major, stripes being privates' insignia.) Then there
were topical verses sung to " Tennessee," "Swanee River ... ..
Kentucky jubilee," and "There's a Girl in Havana." Even this
wonderful party had to end, however, and soon after nine supper
was over, we had "God Save the King," and before long our tired
but happy family were asleep. Colwell said this morning, "We
could have done much more, but not so nicely." But we can't
imagine what more there was to wish for.

Thursday, part of the Staff and ten patients went to the Cathedral
to the Red Cross service. Nurse Yeoward motored Staff-Nurse and
me in, and we joined the others at the Town Hall, where
Katharine, Duchess of Westminster, who is President of the
Cheshire Branch of B.R.C.S., gave us all tea. She is a handsome
woman, with a lovely gracious manner. After tea, we formed and
marched by twos into the Cathedral, which was crowded. About
two hundred V.A.D.'s and St. John's Ambulance workers sat in the
choir stalls and in the stalls beyond, while in the congregation sat
groups of convalescents from all the different hospitals, and Red
Cross and St. John's men workers. The service was simple,
beautiful, and very impressive. The Dean preached a short sermon
on the work of the Red Cross and St. John's Ambulance, giving
thanks for all that had been done, and praying that strength would
be given them to go on. It was glorious to hear "God Save the
King" ring out at the end of the service, both the volume of sound
and the fervor were thrilling to hear and feel.

We have had a very strenuous morning to-day for six stretcher
cases came in from Dover during the night. They are all bad
fractures and one poor boy has terrible wounds at the top of his
spine. He is in agony; I have turned him and tried to make him
comfortable so many times this morning, and every time I went to
him the slow tears were rolling down his cheeks. He's a little more
at ease since his wounds were dressed, but the dressing was
hideous.

Nurse Lloyd has gone home to convalesce after her measles. Mrs.
Williamson has calcimined both our rooms and gone over the
whole house with disinfectant, and everything is as sweet as can
be. I am glad to be back at Wakefield, and am feeling as splendidly
well and fit as ever. Mrs. Williamson spoils me dreadfully, but I
love it

Their garden grows lovelier every day; Mr. Williamson was
station-master at Capenhurst for a long time; the station was
famous for its flowers, and he has carried his garden ideas into his
retirement. This is the day I should be sailing for home. . . .

May 29.

Last week brought still another excitement, for on Wednesday
Miss Vernon gave us a garden party! Again the weather was kind,
and blue skies and warm air made the day a delight. Except for the
bed-patients, all the men who were hosts last week went up, and
we V.A.D.'s took turns in going. Again there was mild tennis,
croquet, and clock golf, and there was added fun, for we all had an
exciting hunt through the rose-garden for mysteriously hidden
presents, one for every member of the gathering. Shotwick was
looking its loveliest; it's a big, friendly house, overlooking a broad
expanse of lawn, meadow and woods. Sir William(4) joined us at
tea-time, and seemed to enjoy moving around among the men in
his wheel-chair. Miss Vernon had thought of everything for our
pleasure, and the afternoon was perfect, except for one thing,
Colonel Vernon had to be away. This was a great disappointment,
and I heard so many of the men speak of missing him. He is a
splendid man; besides doing an enormous amount for the hospital
and the men, he takes a keen and practical interest in agricultural
matters, and has accomplished a great deal in that as in everything
that he has ever undertaken. He has an enviable record in the
South African war, and raised and trained a line battalion of the
King's Liverpool in this war, and is now in the Territorial Reserve.

I spent Sunday's leave with Mrs. Frost, biking over late Saturday
night after duty. We went to afternoon service in the Cathedral,
and it was as ever a joy.... In the chancel hangs the battle-scarred
flag of the Cruiser "Chester," a mute, glorious reminder of Jack
Cornwell, the heroic sixteen-year-old gunner who served his gun
alone after all the rest of the gun crew was killed, until he, too, was
shot to pieces.... Mollington was heavenly --- it's a most beautiful
place; of course I'm fond of it, for it's like home to me.

June 2.

Think of our flag hanging in St. Paul's! I can hardly realize that
these great and glorious days of the new birth of our nation have
come. It's summer to-day, in such a lovely world; thank Heaven
there is still beauty to be found not too far from the front, for it
helps so much.

Last night we had an entertainment for our Smokes Fund; we help
it by selling all our waste paper, even torn envelopes and circulars,
but it gets low easily. Some of the patients and staff gave an
amusing sketch, and a Mrs. Griffiths came out from Chester and
sang most awfully well. We have been busy to-day; Mrs.
Nicholson and Matron had a great morning in the store-room
working in men's kits, and in the midst of getting tea this afternoon
we had a flying visit from Dr. Lees, and many telephones all day.
This is the life! It's almost ten o'clock, and a perfect evening. The
laburnum tree outside my window is a mass of golden blossoms,
and delicately fragrant. Everyone is working in gardens these long
evenings, for it's not dark at eleven. I think people at home will
like daylight-saving when it comes --- it's surely wonderful at this
time of year. I am hoping for good news of you this week. Life is
endlessly busy here; one is deeply occupied, heart and soul, mind
and body, but I'm thinking of you always.

June 8.

It is 2.30 on a lovely moonlight night, and I'm sitting in the
surgery, taking my time as a watch over Sheehan, who was
operated on this morning. He came in the last convoy, minus one
leg above the knee. Amputations are done as soon as possible after
the wound is received, as in Sheehan's case, but a subsequent
operation is often necessary. He has had a bad day, though the last
hours have been more comfortable. Oh, the appalling, futile horror
of it all! It has to be, but the longer one is in it, the more one is
oppressed by the terrible waste of everything, from life downward,
and to think of it constantly would drive one mad. We live in a
beautiful world here, yet "every butterfly floating down English
lanes is a thought of those who lie on the scarred soil of France,"
and brings home more poignantly the shadow of those who have
given their all for us.

Glad as I am that we are in at last, I am sickened at what lies
before our Expeditionary Force. All those poor souls, so far from
home and their ties, must contend with so many things. Everyone
agrees that the fighting is one thing, but the monotony of trench
life, and the filth --- that's another story. Well, one must not dwell
on this, only one is especially grateful for the Red Cross, and all
such good works.

I've just had to go in to Sheehan; the effect of his hypodermic is
wearing off, and he is suffering terribly. He tries hard not to
complain. "Oh, Sister," he said, "this suffering is the will of God,
but I wish he would take me." I told him he mustn't help to overtax
poor St. Peter, and I reminded him what a time the officer in the
West Ridings had who carried him the eight hundred yards to
safety. "Aye, he should have had the V.C., he should," said poor
Sheehan; --- but I daresay my talk is poor listening to when one is
in such pain. What a doleful letter; I must tell you of some of my
joys. The beautiful country is an endless one; just now the may is
in bloom, and pink and white hawthorns and masses of the single
white clematis. In the gardens are great mists of forget-me-nots,
and columbines in all sorts of lovely colorings, and everywhere
roses, roses, just ready to bloom. What shall I do for joy when they
all come out? It will be too wonderful.

Yesterday came your nice letter of May 18, and many cuttings and
Mamma's paper; you are both so good to send me so much. It was
interesting to see that Mr. Gardner had started his military career;
he will do a fine job and be happy in it. I am so sorry for your loss,
and the world's, in Bela Pratt's death. But what a glorious
immortality he has left behind. Your letter gives such a good idea
of conditions at home; if only we could have been preparing
during these past years. However, it can't be helped now. The
sending, provisioning, and ammunitioning of a large expeditionary
force and fleet, the handling of immense numbers of wounded and
sick --- these are questions which perhaps even now are hardly
grasped at home, but I hope the right men will be in the right
places when we get going.

Helen has just written from Tours. She has been very ill with acute
articular rheumatism, and must have suffered greatly, though she
makes little of it. She is better now, but all her plans for working
this summer are spoiled; I'm so disappointed for her.... All the
things that were sent me and reached Tours after I left have been
distributed. John and May's gift of dressings, cotton, adhesive
plaster, gutta-percha tissue, and the ether from Genevieve Bennett,
have been given to Descartes; they receive very little, and their
need is so great.

Dr. Conant's contributions were divided among 88 bis, Quimper,
and Quimperl‚. Helen has made lists of each person to be thanked,
so I hope they'll all get the letters.

Now I must trot down the ward again and see that Sheehan is O.K.
Brown will be wanting a drink of milk and soda, and most likely
he'll ask for "the medicine they gave me in France" (morphia). He
had to have it there, but we have managed to keep him fairly
comfortable without it. Also I must wake a man who is having a
nightmare, and turn a snorer! Then a look at the Daily Telegraph,
and the column, "America at War," which is proud reading
nowadays, and after that it will be time for morning work.
Night-duty in summer is very nice; one only copes with "feeding
the troops" once, there is a great charm about the quiet, and the
early dawn is so wonderful; and then the contrast of the happy
bustle and hard work from six onwards. The period of dark is very
short this week: we have done all our ironing without lighting up,
and sometimes we have taken a little table just outside the kitchen
door, so between bandages one could sniff the cool, fragrant air,
and be refreshed.

5.30 P.M., June 20.

Having spent a quiet and profitable afternoon cleaning lockers in
the Vernon Ward, and giving two "blanket baths," I am off for two
hours of this lovely day. It seems strange to be back on day-duty,
but nice on the whole, though I miss seeing dawn every morning.
Heywood has "gone convalescent," and we miss him; Scott and
others of the Vimy Ridge convoy have gone, too. Everyone is
going on well except Brown, who is not gaining much; my last
morning of night-duty I changed his whole bed. It was some
achievement, even with help, to move a suffering, helpless patient,
who is on a water bed, so I am rather proud of myself.

We had a great day yesterday; the Claytons gave the troops and
Staff a wonderful garden party. Unfortunately, it rained, which
spoiled bowling and the other sports. However, Mrs. Clayton had
thought of that possibility, and as by magic a whist drive was
started, with splendid prizes. Then there was music and a
scrumptious tea, with strawberries and cream!! It was a most
awfully jolly party --- all the Claytons are such dears. (Mrs.
Clayton's sister nurses at the hospital, too.) And it's a joy to be in
their wonderful old house, of which I shall tell you more some day.
From the front door one has an enchanting view of the Cathedral
towers. You ask about some of the patients. Cariou, the French
Canadian, who borrowed my French books and French poetry, has
gone; he was a nice child. Little Paget in Vernon walks quite well
now, and I think will soon be off. He's a merry little soul, and has a
devoted mother, who makes the long trip from Gloucester to see
him as often as she can; she brings him many goodies, which he
always shares generously with every one. Brown continues to
worry us with a very high "temp." every night. Captain Buchanan
came up from Fazakerly the other night, to consult with Dr. Lees
about him. He was encouraging, thinks that the terrible cough and
pain in the chest indicate fluid, and that relief will follow drawing
it off. The wounds are horrible, and badly placed in his neck and at
the top of his back, but they are clean. Poor little soul, --- he's a
pathetic bit of human misery, of which there are such hundreds of
thousands. I suppose one must feel grateful that he has escaped the
shambles alive, yet the long, hard pull back is discouraging.
Captain Buchanan's visit was most impressive. We weren't allowed
to take off the spreads in the ward he was to be in, until he left,
though it was almost nine when he came!

We have all been tremendously stirred by Haig's great success, and
enthusiasm in France is immense. It's such a blessing to have the
Salient wiped out, for it has cost so many thousands of lives. Men
have told me stories of attacks under enfilading fire which
sickened me with horror. This advance has been wonderfully
prepared and carried out; it's just one more crown for the dauntless
British arms. The last air-raid makes one feel that the time for
reprisals has come. The Hun is beaten, and he knows it, but he
means to give us some very bad moments in his final struggle,
which I fear will be a matter of two years. The victory must be
complete, even if it takes everything we all have and hope for;
nothing else is possible.

IN THE GARDEN, July 6.

I've been as busy as can be this week, for one of the Staff had to go
home, and we are full up. Jock has his splint off, and gets carried
out into this dear garden on a stretcher, and we wheel Sheehan
over in a bath-chair. Last night Nurse Lloyd and I wheeled him up
to the bowling-green (another of the Vernons' good deeds for the
village). We watched the bowling and Sheehan discoursed to us of
life at the front in a most interesting, though at times, horrible,
way. Little Brown has made great strides, and is now able to sit up
and wash himself.

Wednesday, Fourth of July, our flag hung for the second time with
the Union Jack all over London, and one of the lions at Portsmouth
Town Hall wore the Stars and Stripes. There was a great fˆte at a
local cricket club here for the benefit of the Jack Cornwell Fund
for Disabled Soldiers and Sailors. It was a glorious day;
twenty-five men went, and all the Staff who were off duty. We got
to the grounds just as the fˆte opened, and the band of the Royal
Welsh Fusiliers struck up "The Star-Spangled Banner"; there was
tremendous applause, and you can't think what a feeling it gave
me. We had a very good afternoon, and, as I heard someone say,
"There's a fine showing of wounded." There was, indeed; even lots
of wounded sailors came up from Liverpool. All of Chester was
there, General Pitcairn-Campbell, and an Admiral gave the prizes;
there were all sorts of stalls, no end of sports, sack races, plant-pot
races, egg-and-spoon races, --- from all of which V.I.H. brought
back two seconds and a third. Our musical R.A.M.C. and I entered
the driving race. "Lady driving blindfolded wounded soldier or
sailor around obstacles." We were running well, but the reins
broke; however, tea was consoling! Anyway, there was lots of
excitement, and it was delightful to see them able to enjoy so
much, for some of the brave souls were sadly broken. It was a
pretty sight; the beautiful green field, skirted on one side by the
Canal, and framed in lovely trees, dotted over with summer frocks,
khaki, and hospital blues, and white-capped nurses' uniforms.
What a different Fourth from any I have ever spent or imagined.
We have had many nice ones together, have n't we?

July 8.

Yesterday Miss Vernon asked Nurse Lloyd and me to come up for
some tennis in our off-duty time, and to bring some men for
croquet and tea. It was hot, but nice just the same. The hay crop is
well in hand, --- a big one; our strongest convalescents have been
helping with it. We have been lucky in weather, and I hope you
will be, too. Thank you for your splendid letter and cuttings,
which, as usual, have been read and enjoyed by many.

It's good news to hear that George Hollister(5) is back safe and
sound. His mother must be very happy to have him with her for a
little while until he enlists; from what he has said to me, I think
he'll choose infantry.

I have finally been able to send Madame Laporte the licorice-bark
powder she wanted so much; you know it is the great refreshing
drink in French military hospitals, and is at present very difficult to
obtain in France. Cheers and Hopley, our Hospital chemists in
Chester, got twenty pounds for me, and shipped it to Paris, so there
is a little more of Fred's money gone. It has been very hot in
France, so I am very happy to have started the licorice off.
Good-bye for now; the most strenuous hours of the day are
coming; washes, rubs, beds made, supper, and special diets. Then
our supper, and afterwards special rubs and treatments.

England, July 27, 1917

WITH THE 76TH DETACHMENT, CHESHIRE COUNTY
DIVISION, BRITISH RED CROSS SOCIETY VERNON
INSTITUTE HOSPITAL, GREAT SAUGHALL, NEAR
CHESTER OXFORD,

(6) July 27.

I had such an interesting afternoon Wednesday. Knowing that the
bad cases at the Third Southern General Base Hospital (University
College, in peace times) depend largely on volunteers to get out in
their spinal carriages and bath-chairs, I went around there about
2.30, and found a Mr. Wright (an older college dignitary, who
gives his spare time to hospital work). He brought me out, as he
said, "a very old man," a boy of not quite seventeen, who got very
badly smashed up with the Buffs, the East Kent Regiment, in the
last days of the Ypres Salient. Baker was a bright, determined little
chap, an orphan; the sort that likes to talk war and fighting; so as I
wheeled him up University Park, we had a spirited conversation,
and I now know all about the best way of getting a bayonet away
from a Hun if mine gets broken! I knew something of the history
of the fighting, and said to him, "You lost most of your officers
early in the game, did n't you?" "Oh, yes," he said, "we all went
over the top, each one for himself, that was the worst of it." Oxford
ladies serve tea every afternoon in the gardens of Mansfield
College, for all the wounded who are out, so we turned up there
about 4.30. After seeing that Baker had his tea, Mr. Wright asked
me to come and stay with a man whom he had brought, who was
out for the first time. He lay in a spinal carriage, a beautiful type of
face, finely featured, and very serene, yet he has had to endure
everything; there are wounds in his back; he has had gas gangrene,
and lost both feet above the ankles. He was with a machine gun
company; the same whizz-bang which wounded him killed three
and wounded three of the gun's crew, and he is now the only
survivor. I talked with him quietly, for a man remains very weak
long after such an experience; presently he told me that he was a
Nova Scotian. He spoke of Annapolis Valley and Boston, and
when I mentioned Boston, U.S.A., it transpired he had often fished
from old T Wharf, and had cousins in Brighton and Cambridge. He
is absolutely alone in England, and has had no news from home
since June, so he enjoyed the talk. In spite of all, he is not
down-hearted, ---only he thinks he can't fish again (his former
occupation), but must go into his father's business of boat-building.
He is twenty-four, by name Nickerson, and he is as fine as
anything I have seen here or in France. Afterwards I wheeled
Baker through Mesopotamia (a lovely walk along the Cher) and
back to the Hospital at 6.30; he was a happy child. Yesterday I
took out two more bath-chairs, both Londoners; one a talker, the
other a silent soul. The talker had volunteered for a trench-mortar
battery, and his talk was very interesting. His contribution to the
cause was a leg. This morning I have been wandering a little,
watching drilling, sitting in lovely Trinity garden, and buying some
old prints, oranges, and a bottle of ink, and wanting to buy much
more. In the streets everything is so busy. I passed two companies
of cadets on their way to field exercises, carrying their entrenching
tools and other equipment, R.F.C. girls on motorbikes, with
side-cars in which they take officers from one duty to another,
others driving huge R.F.C. lorries, and girls in long coats, breeches
and high boots, going to their work on the land. The Corn Market
has never seen more traffic than now, and how different from other
days! Mrs. Bevan, my dear landlady, and I have long talks in the
evenings: many a boy sleeps forever in France who slept in the
room where I am sleeping now. She speaks with especial affection
of a young Irishman named Anderson who won his Blue in
featherweight boxing. Poor lad! He has won his eternal Blue now.
Thursday, I went up the river as far as Wallingford, where I found
the Stars and Stripes floating over the boathouse.... It was all
lovely beyond description. Coming back to Oxford was a dream. It
was like a heavenly vision --- those spires and towers, "aspiring
sweetly from the green...."

WAKEFIELD, August 14

Our week of nights finished successfully, barring usual stoking
troubles. Nurse Lloyd is fine to work with, and Night-Sister turned
out well. Here I am on days again, and such a day as we have had
to-day. Nine stretcher and five sitting cases came in just after
midnight, so I found great changes in the ward this morning. There
are some very bad wounds, and two or three medical cases. (One is
a splendid big chap in the Coldstream Guards.) But general
happiness pervades them all, because of being not only back in
Blighty, but in a Red Cross Hospital. "Why, Sister, I think I could
do with this for the duration," said one to me while I was cutting
up his dinner. "To think of my luck to get in such a place," said
another. I've heard a lot about the fighting now going on; a man
who has been through the whole war thinks he has never seen such
artillery fire as in the present campaign. "And we've had such rain,
Sister; it's terrible work trying to move artillery!" There has been
too much rain here for the good of the crops --- the water fell in
torrents all last night, and this morning we had a tremendous
thunderstorm as well. Then the sun came out, and it grew hotter
and hotter; visitors came, the boiler went back on us, there were an
unusually large number of collars and ties to be washed for the
week, and Dr. Elliott, our consulting medical man, took this
morning to come and see poor St. Lo, who is in very bad shape.
Altogether, a stiff morning. St. Lo is able to retain nothing now,
liquid or solid, and his bed is a great care. I expect he'll be moved
into the War Hospital; he will be more in place in a medical ward,
for he needs constant attention, and our Staff is not large enough to
give him as much time as he should have. Gray was walking with a
cane this morning; Brown is really "chirpy"; but Willans, a very
bad medical case, makes no progress.

It's raining again, and our black cat, Mickey, has come in, all wet,
through the French window. The thrushes have stopped singing
and gone to bed, but the garden is lovely, even in the rain. I must
stop now, for it's time for the troop's supper. It's such fun feeding
the new ones, for they're so happy and thrilled at being clean and
back in Blighty, away from that indescribable din. One can have
no idea how intense their appreciation is unless one has seen and
heard them.

August 18.

To-day is a regular mountain day, bright sun and cool winds, after
three showery days and heavy rain last night. We are full up, and
very busy, as we are one short for this week. The new cases are
coming on well. A man named Lecomber is one of the worst;
wounded at Ypres by shrapnel, which rent his whole left side from
ear to toe, but he is as plucky as they always are. Gunner Harris, in
the Vernon Ward, told me this morning that he was with the
Cunard Line for years, knew the "Etruria," and has crossed to
Boston on the "Ivernia." It was odd to be talking with him about
Revere Beach, which he remembered very well! Matron comes
home from her holiday to-day; we have missed her, though Mrs.
Manley, our temporary matron has done splendidly and we've all
liked her. She is matron of a boys' school, and coming here to
work is her vacation, as part of her war work. She has lost her son
in the war.

We had a splendid afternoon Thursday. Mr. Jackson, our
Quartermaster's brother, came up from Birkenhead with some
convalescent Tommies, and gave us a concert. He has a splendid
voice himself, and plays delightfully, and does a lot of it for
hospitals everywhere, besides being B.R.C.S. Transport Officer in
Birkenhead. He sang such a pretty second part to "When I Wore a
Tulip." One of the men sang a rather grim parody on "If You Were
the Only Girl," which began,

"If you were the only Boche in a trench,And I had the only
bomb,--- you can imagine what it was like!

The post is just in, bringing me many letters from you both, and
cuttings. Thank you for everything, and for news of so many
people.... My eyes filled as I read the Herald editorial about the
parade. So many men who marched through Boston that day will
never come back! The world is going to be rudely changed for us
at home, as it has been for so many people here, already.

August 19.

The heavy rains continue, and the lowlands below the ridge on
which our village lies, are flooded. Crops are suffering, for strong
winds are doing damage besides. The glass has been lower this
week than in any August for thirty-eight years. The country is very
beautiful, having still the look of early summer except for the
crops and the late summer flowers, which are coming into their
own. I saw our own goldenrod against masses of purple clematis in
one garden to-day. It's a lovely combination, but I love the roses
best, and they bloom as richly as ever. We're having delicious
plums and nectarines now, and the apple trees are heavy with fruit;
it's a luscious month. Mrs. Williamson continues to spoil me, and
only rarely do I have a chance to spoil her. Last night I was off at
seven, so I had a chance to sing for her and Mr. Williamson. They
both love music.

1 A.M., August 24

Many thanks for The Nation, and Simonds's article, which was
very interesting. He surely has a keen grasp of the situation, and
the power of bringing it home to others. Your letter of August 2 is
a joy; it's good to think of you all at Rest Harrow. My love to the
friends at the Peak, and the more distant neighbors.... Here we are
always busy; Mary and I have been both washing and ironing
to-night, as the Day-Staff are so rushed they do not get around to
washing the bandages and slings. She's just starting porridge for
breakfast, so I can write to you. Nights seem longer now; we find
the gas lighted when we come on duty, and we can't do without it
until after six. One hates to think the end of this lovely season is
near. . . . Brown is doing so well now, --- the two months have
done wonders for him, though he still coughs and cannot straighten
his neck. I see we are to begin Casualty Lists at home next week,
so I expect there is a sizeable body of troops over already. I
wonder where General Glenn is? He will have a division, of
course.(7)

Yesterday was kipper morning, and a horrid washing up job it
makes. Perhaps to compensate, the talk was unusually interesting
among the "Kitchen Staff." Our R.F.C. corporal, Crack, talked a lot
about flying, --- always a fascinating subject. He said the average
flying life for R.F.C. officers is eighty hours. After hearing that,
one no longer wonders at the endless number of R.F.C. cadets.

Mrs. Frost has asked us to dine there Saturday before duty; Sunday
will be my last night on with Mary. We have had such a nice week
together.... And it's been heavenly living in her wonderful old
house. The light's too bad to write any more, and it's working time,
anyway.

September 12.

There's an autumnal wind to-day, and dark scurrying clouds. I've
just been walking in our beloved Shotwick woods, thinking of the
delight of those long sweet summer evenings, when after the day's
work was done, one used to be able to go walking in the evening
between nine and ten, and watch the rabbits playing. I am back on
days again; it seems a strange noisy world, after three weeks of
night-duty. Monday was my change day, and I had such a beautiful
holiday.... I wish you had been here last night to hear Corporal
Sheehan and me sing "Convent Bells"; it's an old-fashioned duet,
but it makes a hit! Sheehan has a splendid tenor, and adores
singing. He's getting about on crutches wonderfully now. A V.C.
captain came to see the hospital the other day; he had lost an arm,
and had a long talk with Sheehan, deciding which of the two was
better off. They concluded that things were best as they were, for
Sheehan felt he needed two arms more than he needed two legs,
while the captain felt he'd rather spare the arm.

Staff-Nurse is on her holiday; Miss Godwin, who has come from
Staffordshire to take her place, is not only a splendid V.A.D. and
awfully nice, but an excellent musician as well, which means so
much. Miss Aked is home on leave with a bad arm, and has asked
me to spend a week-end with her at Hellifield; I am sorry I can't
manage it, for I should like to see her again. This morning came a
splendid letter from Gladys Winterbottom, with her picture. She
looks very well in her uniform.

September 20.

Yesterday afternoon I sent off some money to Pierre and Fran‡ois;
the latter has never fully recovered his sight. I used Aunt Hepsie's
fund; Susie's, Charlotte Cummin's, and Cousin Eliza's money I am
keeping for Christmas.

The new ward is in use; we can take care of fifty-four patients
now. It's a sunny, quiet place, fragrant with the scent of the
heliotrope, which borders the veranda. Sister Jock has been on her
holiday. We had Sister Pritchard in her place. She was especially
keen on medical cases, and taught me so much. Evans, who is now
almost the oldest resident of V.I.H. in my time, presented me with
a mince-tart this morning! He is having a discouraging time; his
wound did not seem serious, yet we can't get it well. He is a great
thinker, and always so evenly good-humored. We have had many
talks during these months.

I had the joy of a letter from Marraine this morning, and just now
comes one from Winifred; an American mail must be in....

11.30 P.M., September 26.

Mary and I are sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the ambulances,
for we are getting twenty cases to-night. It's a perfect moonlight
night; how glad all these poor children will be to see the moon
shining in Blighty again. This last advance is magnificent, and
casualties are light, but even so, there are enough. Changing from
day to night, I had Monday free; I walked into Chester in the
morning, and round the walls, and sat for a while reading in
Grosvenor Park. Do you remember those lovely gardens? High
above the Dee they lie, full of beautiful old trees and splendid
holly; the paths wind just right and lead one to sandstone steps and
welcoming benches, where one might sit and dream whole days
like these away. It was lovely, so different from the horror which is
now the background of our lives. Here they are; no more now.

4.30, September 27.

All the new men are in bed, many asleep; all washed and fed (tea,
bread and "maggie"[8]). Their clothing has been sorted and tagged,
field dressing-station cards and medical sheets are in order,
bandages and slings have been put to soak, cups and saucers and
plates are washed up, fires are stoked, and our own meals eaten;
now Mary and I have half an hour before starting morning work.
They got in at 12.45; first came two open motors (belonging to
people who thus do national service); from them sixteen strangers
in khaki filtered into the kitchen. Little by little the sixteen were
divested of their greatcoats, trifles like metal body-shields were
put aside, tea was drunk, while conversation waxed constant and
interesting, though quiet. At one end of the table sat two Canadian
Indians; I heard one explaining in careful English to a Cockney
neighbor that he was not an Indian from India, and that his name
was Black Face. Then the ambulance came, and the stretcher cases
were brought in. Drummond and Brown and two other men got up
to give us a hand with them, and Brown stayed up to help the tub
bathers. They are a nice lot of men, and as usual, full of
appreciation, and anxious to give a helping hand even if they only
have one. Most of the walking cases had not been in hospital long,
and were a muddy lot; some unshorn faces, too, though Brown
confided to me that they were a very clean lot under their clothes,
which means that they can't have been in trenches long. Two of the
stretcher cases are bad; one, an Irish boy in a Scotch regiment, has
terrible wounds of thigh and leg and heel; another man has a
hideous wound across his whole middle back. It looks serious,
though he makes nothing of it. Of course the gas gave out at a
critical moment, and candles, lamps and lanterns became the order
of the night. We can scarcely realize that we shall serve breakfast
to forty-two instead of twenty-two this morning. Dear, brave,
patient souls, I am glad they are out of that inferno for a time, at
least. It was never more worthy of the name than now. Outside the
cocks are crowing; another lovely day has begun, and our work
must begin, too.

October 4.

Thanks so much for the copy of the Harvard Bulletin, with the list
of Harvard men in the war. Thank J----, too, for some illustrated
papers which came in the same post; I enjoyed them greatly, and
they are going the rounds of the wards now. I am still on nights; in
Thornycroft, this week. It's even harder than before, waking the
troops, for since we have been rationed on tea, no more morning
tea! Coffee for breakfast and cocoa for supper make more of a hit
than we dared hope. We heard when we came on duty to-night that
there had been an inspection this afternoon; lots of men were
marked out for convalescence. Corporal Willans is to go to the
medical ward of the War Hospital; I am sorry he is going, for his
wife and child are so comfortably settled in the village, and he is
happy here. But there is hardly any hope for him, and he would be
quieter there for the end. The weather has gone bad these last days;
it has been chilly and rainy, but it is turning back again to-night. I
took a walk when I woke up this afternoon, and coming home by
the Parkgate road, I passed a garden with sweet peas in bloom, and
there are still lots of roses. The troops are very wakeful to-night, so
you will forgive a scrappy letter. It is constantly interrupted by
ward duties, --glasses of hot milk, barley water, coal on the fires,
and other things. One of the new men, Corporal Jones, has a temp.
of 104° and a pain which seems like pleurisy; he is very
uncomfortable. So is McLenahan, who came in the same convoy;
he has twenty-two stitches in his side, and a horrid wound on his
ankle. He's a merry soul from County Down; of course he is called
Paddy. He thinks Sydney, Mary and I are extra because we've got
some Irish blood! Corporal Wells lies very near him; he has a
gun-shot wound in his side, which was taken care of in Camiers by
an American doctor! Wells is awake now, and Freeman, too; he is
a young Cambridgeshire farmer, who has a hideous shell wound of
the arm and hand. We hope to save the hand and all the fingers,
but his dressing is torture. The Indians are making good progress,
but "Tanks" (so our Tank driver is called) is having a bad time
with his hand, and I expect a finger will have to come off.
Lecomber's wound, after many fomentations and a fresh incision,
has yielded up a piece of shrapnel about half an inch thick and a
little less in length; he'll get well now.

October 7.

A wild wind is howling around the hospital to-night, and I am
sitting by the fire in Thornycroft, watching Willans, who has had a
bad turn with his heart. The ward is quiet, no snoring, but
occasional groans; up in the gallery, Brown is fighting battles
again. "Yes, sir," he says, very briskly and distinctly. Then various
remarks about his gun (he was in a gun company).. A ward at night
is a strange, remote world, and one is inclined to think it is the
only one. I hear Nurse Piggin struggling with the fires; she is a bit
cast down, having all the responsibility of the fires and porridge,
but Sister wants me here. My helper this week is a very good one,
--- a man in the Inniskilling Fusiliers, who was valet to an A.D.C.
at the Durbar. He likes to talk about the trip, and said it was grand,
only he did n't get on well with the King's valet! V.I.H. feels very
classy just now, as we have five corporals in this ward and two
corporals besides a lance-corporal in Vernon! Our Indians are
getting more pally, and walk together and sit next each other at
meals. They are a striking pair, and give one much to think about.
When we came on duty to-night, we heard all about the operation
to-day from a Tommy who had his operation in France. He was
pitying to-day's patient because he was given no breakfast. "I was
n't nothing like him, Nurse," said Private Bloomer, "I took a good
breakfast and a fag; then I gets on a table and counts up to
twenty-three and nappoo." Fancy results for the existing staff when
he came out of ether! You ask about Hyland. He has been gone
some time, and is doing well at a convalescent hospital. He is still
on crutches, but that he recovered at all is miraculous, for he was
very ill, and his wound in bad shape. " I expected to leave a leg
behind me here," he told me grimly, the day he left. Fourteen men
have gone this week, Bedford among others; he was such a great
little helper, and so sane and interesting in his thought and talk of
the war. Walbank has gone, too, --- a splendid chap; twice
exempted as a munition worker, he insisted on joining up
eventually. Jock has gone; though he was hard to manage at times,
"with all his faults, we love him still," and we miss him. Our
Coldstream Guardsman, convalescing from pneumonia, has a
splendid record, out with B.E.F. since August 13, 1914, three times
wounded, and now almost the only man left of his original
battalion. I got up early to-night to play for a sing-song; it was a
good one, for we have lately had an acquisition in Driver Reed,
R.F.A., who has a lovely tenor. Of course we had "Keep the Home
Fires Burning" and "Pack Up Your Troubles."

October 8.

Five o'clock, and the loveliest hour of a glorious day. We have just
finished tea, and I'm off until seven; the garden is beautiful
to-night; it's been a joy to us all so often. The troops have had a
happy day; three of the new men have been lifted, beds and all,
into the court yard, Corporal Willans has been out in the bath-chair
with his wife and children walking beside him, and Smart to wheel
him. Corporal Wilsher has been unsteadily but happily walking
about for the first time, and Lecomber is getting about a little with
a cane. In the wards there have been long naps, varied by war talk
and the gramophone; in Vernon, Gardner has been keeping
everyone amused by foolish talk, for he is a confirmed joker, in
spite of three years of fighting, two Blighty wounds, and his
present bad arm. And when they are all tired of laughing, Corporal
Gill is listened to with interest, for he's the only man from the
Tanks we've had all summer. The Indians are doing well, but they
live in a world of their own, and hold little converse with each
other or anyone else. There is a legend that Black Face smiled
once when a paper accidentally dropped in his face while I was
dusting a window ledge over his bed. We had a concert party out
from Chester last night; you would have laughed to see me
shepherding my somewhat unsteady flock into Thornycroft. They
were all as bright-eyed as children at a surprise party. I was off at
seven, and as the day had been hard, I did n't stay for the show, but
I heard from them all that they had a splendid time. St. Lo is dead;
poor soul, I'm glad for his sake. He was surely true blue to enlist
from Canada at forty-six. Webb was in Chester yesterday, and told
me that he saw an American sailor; he seemed very thrilled. Webb
came in from Vimy Ridge, but he still gets no use from his arm.
He comes from Hampshire, and likes to hear about New
Hampshire. From all I hear, our men have made a great
impression, both here and in France, in both services, as a body
and personally. Time's up, and I must carry over the cheese for the
troops' supper.

October 11 .

This morning came two letters from Mamma; she is good to write
so often. Thank J---- for his fine letter, which I greatly enjoyed.
The weather continues changeable, but the early mornings are
lovely and the nights beautiful. just after dark the anti-aircraft
stations' searchlights begin to play over the sky; they are very
powerful, and it's quite a sight. We are very well protected here,
for it is necessary. It is rather sad walking home to Wakefield in
the dark, and realizing that the warm, scented summer nights are
over; how delicious they were, and what a lovely memory this
spring and summer will always be. We are having an agitated
week at the hospital; a great many men are going convalescent,
which means many beds to carbolize, blankets, mattresses and
pillows to beat, and lockers to scrub. Corporal Willans was moved
to the War Hospital Tuesday. It was a horrid blustery afternoon,
and we were all so depressed. Sister Jock stood by and was cheero
until he was comfortably settled in the ambulance; then she
retreated into the surgery and burst into tears --- I had not thought
she would feel it so much. He died this morning; since the end
came so soon, I wish he might have been left here. We can't realize
he has taken the big trip. It's so hard for his wife, for they were a
rarely devoted couple.

I was talking with one of our new men, Purdy, at teatimes, about
Poelcappelle, where his arm was all shot to pieces. "You know,
Nurse, I was awfully glad to get this, for it saved me. I've been
over the top twice before, but this was the worst. He knew we were
coming, and he had his barrage going twenty minutes before we
came, and his machine-gun fire was something awful." (We all
speak of the Huns as "he"). We have a big gunner in now, who was
gassed and is almost voiceless. Last night he was very
uncomfortable, but he had been sent some sweets, and as I passed
his bed, I heard a hoarse whisper of, "Sister," and turned to find
him holding out his box of chocolates for me to take some. The
men are always so pleased when they have something to offer one.
"Tanks's" finger is coming off to-morrow; we have tried hard to
save it, but it's no use.

Living conditions are getting worse every week. Butter is 2/10 a
pound, eggs threepence half-penny each, and both of these, like
milk, very scarce. Even the supply of "maggie" is low, and we get
only three-quarters of a pound for seven loaves of bread. Bacon is
scarce and dear, so we almost never have it now. Last week
matches and candles both gave out in Eastham, so everyone went
to bed with the chickens. The fruit harvest is huge, however; one
can buy twelve pounds of damsons for ninepence, and they are so
good.

We are all very happy at V.I.H., for Matron is to have the Royal
Red Cross, and she deserves it. Sister Jock has been "mentioned in
dispatches," so honors are crowding thickly upon us. Matron will
go up to London, and the King will pin the decoration on her. It
will be some day for her. I am so glad that this has come to her, for
she's such a true patriot about rations and such things.

October 13.

We had a rush to-day; men leaving and men coming. Also a
transfer to Chester War Hospital which I was detailed to
accompany in the ambulance. We went in at 4.30; the air was
delicious and the run in was a pleasure. The War Hospital stands
in an unattractive part of Chester, but the buildings are excellent
and there is a big garden. It was formerly the Workhouse, but has
been remodeled and can take care of seven hundred and fifty
patients. While we were waiting with our patients in the office for
necessary formalities to be accomplished, a man in Uncle Sam's
uniform came in. When he had finished talking with Butcher, our
patient, Butcher said, "Beg pardon, sir, but Nurse here comes from
America, too." I think the young M.D. was very surprised. He
asked me how long I had been over, and said he was one of three
men from the University of Chicago who came over a month ago.
They are filling the places of three men who have gone to France.
He seemed a nice chap, looked well in his lieutenant's uniform,
and his name was Larkin. " Well, good-bye, glad to have met you;
I guess you're as glad to be over working as I am," he said as he
went out. Chester was enchanting, as we ran through on our way
home. We picked up Webb and Gardner, who had been in on pass.
The streets were crowded and busy, as it was market day, and
everyone was out, and as happy as one can be nowadays. Lights
twinkled, Staff Officers swanked about, and Kilties gave a touch
of color, appearing a moment to vanish again in the gloom of the
Rows. Chester is a dear place, and I've grown very fond of it. ...
Red Cross Week has been a great success; the contribution from
U.S. is much appreciated. It seems a lot of money, but it is small
compared to the need. Everything is going on well. Matron says
she must get a bill through forbidding me to leave "for the
duration," for we keep so busy, and V.A.D.'s are scarce.

October 17.

Eight stretcher and four sitting cases came in Thursday evening; I
was off duty before they came, but it was quite a rush getting ready
for them. Four convalescents were moved into the new ward,
others shifted to the gallery, and the usual preparations for a
convoy, besides the evening routine made my last hour very busy.
The new cases are bad; an amputation, and a man with a terrible
leg, and a horrible case of mustard gas and liquid fire burns. I was
on dinners their first day, and blessed the "Tank," a wonderful
white contrivance on wheels with a Red Cross on the front, which
takes twelve dinners at a time; as there were twenty-three men in
bed, you can imagine what a help the "Tank" is, especially in bad
weather. It's another of Colonel Vernon's gifts to the hospital. The
men are coming on well; just being in England seems to help so
much.

Sydney has gone home for two weeks' holiday. I saw her off
yesterday, and shall miss her. We saw two American sailors from
the "Dixie" in the station; I tried to speak to them, but they were
off before I had a chance. Afterwards I walked out to Mrs. Frost's;
she was having a concert for the Red Cross, with tea and a
half-crown collection. The walk out was lovely; the country is still
very green --- there are hardly any leaves off, and the air is so soft:
The concert was a great success; there were about a hundred
people, and beautiful music, --- Mrs. Morice, who plays the piano
awfully well, and a young violinist, besides Mr. Jackson, of whom
I have written you, and a lady from Birkenhead, with a glorious
voice. I sang two Irish songs; it's a wonderful room to sing in. Mrs.
Frost looked beautifully.

Clovis complains of horrid weather in Lyons, where his squadron
now is. I hope he will see Madame Dang‚s. Linda is working hard
at a canteen in Paris. Things are going well at the front, though the
end is still far off. Everyone on the Staff has a cold; Mrs.
Williamson has one, too, and I've tried to take care of her, but she
works so hard that she's a difficult patient. They are all so plucky
about carrying on.

October 25.

1 have had a long afternoon off, and a glorious one. First, a walk
around Shotwick, and the lovely old church; then back by the
Parkgate road to Mrs. Nicholson's. She was sorting potatoes with
her "woman on the land"; I joined her, and we had great fun
working until tea-time. She has two delightful Scotch terriers, who
helped in their fashion.... Coming home, I stopped at the post
office for letters; a Tommy was talking with a friend. "Is there
many American chaps now in France? " asked the friend. "Oh, aye,
there's lots of them, and fine, big, smart chaps they be, too," said
Tommy. As he didn't know me, his remarks were a special
pleasure. I found many letters; a splendid one from Leslie, and one
from Leila, too. ... It's strange to think of life at home; so much
drops away from one here.

October 27.

We have had an eventful day, for Duchess Katharine came to open
the new ward and operating-room this morning. We were
instructed to have on clean aprons and cuffs by eleven; otherwise
to carry on as usual. So I was washing tea towels when the big car
bearing the B.R.C.S. insignia rolled into the courtyard. Mrs. Frost,
Mrs. Nicholson, Miss Vernon, and Matron, with Colonel Vernon
and Dr. Lees, received the Duchess, and they all disappeared into
the hospital. Presently Staff-Nurse came out to tell us that she had
just been presented, and that the Duchess, hearing there was an
American V.A.D. on the Staff, had asked to have her presented.
The party passed through the kitchen in a little while, followed by
all the men who were up and able to walk, and the Staff, which I
joined. While everyone was filing into the new ward, the
presentation came off. Mrs. Frost said, "Your Grace, may I present
our American V.A.D., Nurse -----." The Duchess shook hands, and
I curtsied; she spoke very graciously, and said a good deal about
the American doctors now in England, --- what splendid ideas they
had, and how adaptable they were. She said that Robert Jones had
said to her just lately that there was nothing for him to teach them.
I think she must be as good as she is beautiful. After this, we went
into the new ward, and Colonel Vernon made a short speech,
offering the building to the B.R.C.S. "for the duration." Then the
Duchess accepted the gift for B.R.C.S., at the same time
congratulating Matron and Sister on their honors, and finding other
pleasant things to say; she has a lovely voice and a perfect manner,
and it's always a pleasure to look at her. Finally, Mrs. Frost moved
a vote of thanks to the Duchess for coming, the men gave lots of
cheers for the Duchess, and Colonel Vernon, and everyone! Then
the Duchess left, and work resumed its normal course. The ward is
to be called the Katharine Ward; Westminster wouldn't necessarily
imply Duchess Katharine, and besides, V.I.H. says, " It will be a
reminder of the American V.A.D."

We had such a nice service Sunday. Mr. Wandsborough was the
clergyman, and the hymns went especially well. We sing, "O God,
our help in ages past" almost every Sunday; what a big hymn it is.
One of the men did n't come to attention quite as smartly as he
might have for "God Save the King"; he was standing near
Bedworth (our amputation case), who was enraged, and called out
afterwards, "Young man, if you can't come to attention proper for
'God Save the King,' go and stand where I can't see you!" The
"young man" is at least fifteen years older than Bedworth, but as he
is in a labor battalion, he is n't quite so soldierly as he might be;
he's a very nice soul, though, and won't offend again, I'm sure!
Thursday we had a visit from a captain of the Grenadier Guards.
He had met our corporal from that regiment in Chester, and came
out to see him, to Corporal Roberts's great joy. The captain is on a
detail of lecturing to convalescent officers at Eton and Hawarden.
Mrs. Frost happened to be at the hospital, so took him around
everywhere. He came in a Hupmobile; one sees quite a few about,
for British manufacturers are not making pleasure cars. Petrol
economy is becoming greater daily; private individuals can't use it
at all, and many taxis and delivery motors are running by coal gas.
It's an odd sight to meet a Ford topped by a huge balloon-shaped
contrivance full of gas. I must leave you now, as it's time for the
troops' supper. It has been such a lovely day, not a breath of wind,
and soft in spite of the snow we saw this morning on the highest
hills.

Sheehan and Brown have gone, and the latter writes that he is
coming to make us a call on his furlough.

November 15.

Sydney and I have just come on duty; we had a wild walk of wind
and rain, but the stars are coming out now. We were very busy last
night at ironing and mending, but to-night we are comparatively
peaceful. The new boiler is in; it's a comfort, though fires still take
lots of time, as we are having an unusually bad run of coal. It's
always nice being on with Sydney; she is so good at everything,
and remains undaunted by the most untoward events. We get on
well at Wakefield, too, which is lucky. She loves music, and I wish
there were more time for it. She has lost one brother in the war; he
must have been an extraordinarily fine chap. He was only
thirty-two when he was killed, and already a brigade major. Two
other brothers are serving, and the youngest training.

Everyone is going on well. Burns, our Scotch R.A.M.C. orderly,
who came to us in such frightful condition from mustard gas, is up,
but Clark, a Canadian gunner, also terribly burned, is still in bad
shape, though his voice is beginning to come back. Black Face left
this morning before breakfast for Epsom, the Canadian
convalescent camp, and flashed us all a bright parting smile.
Corporal Wilsher is now our ranking N.C.O., firm but pleasant in
the exercise of his authority; he's a nice chap, a Kentish farmer,
twenty-three. We are getting in four stretcher cases to-night, but all
is quiet so far, so I'll go on. Last night was the anniversary of the
opening of the hospital in 1914; Miss Vernon and the Colonel gave
a whist drive in Thornycroft for patients, Staff, ambulance drivers
and other helpers. There were such jolly prizes, cigarette cases,
canes, and electric torches; afterwards came tea, coffee,
sandwiches, and war-cake. Colonel Vernon and Mrs. Frost spoke,
and Gunner Harris spoke on behalf of the men; he has a real social
gift. Colonel Vernon presented all the new V.A.D.'s with the
hospital pin, such as the rest of the Staff wear already for service
during '14, '15, and '16. They are very good looking; I shall always
be proud of mine, for it stands for a great deal. It was a splendid
evening, and "God Save the King" brought the end all too soon; by
twelve, all was serene, and we at work. We gave the troops half an
hour extra this morning, and they repaid us nobly, for breakfast
was on time, just the same. Here's the ambulance; more later.

2.20, November 16.

All four have had tea, and had blanket baths, and before I start
morning porridge, I'll finish. There's one trench-fever case, one
gassed man, one bad wound of the side, and a fractured clavicle.
Two are Australians, one is a Canadian, and one a Welshman.
They are all asleep now, and hardly anyone in the ward woke up
while we were busy with them; great luck! Lecomber goes
convalescent to-morrow, and we are getting three more cases in
the morning. The gas is dimmer and dimmer, and it is stopping
time, anyway. It's turned out a lovely night, but I miss the summer
dawns.

November 18.

Though we are on night-duty, we got up this afternoon for the
anniversary service at the church, and how glad we are that we did.
Mr. Blackbourne, who preached, is an Army Chaplain, and if there
are many like him, the Church must have meant a great deal to the
fighting man. He was so simple, so sincere, and he spoke of such
big things. The whole service was very impressive; all the men
who were able to walk were there, most of the detachment; Mrs.
Frost and Mrs. Nicholson sat in front of us, and the Vernons in
their pew. It was wonderful how quiet the men kept, no fidgeting
or coughing. " I could listen to such a one forever," one man said
to me, walking home. Mr. Blackbourne is now Assistant Chaplain
of the Western Command, but he has seen plenty of field service.
Jones, who takes care of our fires night and morning and removes
the ashes, is Verger at the Church, and was in his glory to-day,
fluttering about in his dignified robe.

November 24.

We are having a busy week; I'm back on days, and there are lots of
big dressings. Bedworth's stump is in bad shape, and a little chap
named Whiting has a dreadful head, all shot to pieces. His dressing
takes nearly an hour, and is terrible agony for him, though he bears
it heroically. The gassed patients are coming on, but it's a frightful
business. Wednesday we had two ops.; Dr. Lees removed more of
King's two middle finger stumps, so as to give him a more
practicable hand. (King is the half-breed Indian.) Then Reilly's arm
was opened up again; it has never gone on well. Nurse Taylor and I
were on dressings. Some push, as we had to be all cleaned up after
them and ready for Dr. Lees at 12.15. Dr. Sutton etherized; King
took it like a lamb, came out quietly, was quite himself five
minutes after he was back in bed, and asking me what time it was.
We had a bad time with Reilly, though; he was hard to get under,
and very slow to come out. I was alone with him when he began to
come out, and what a time I had trying to keep him on the table.
Before the end, Sydney, three men and I were all struggling with
him. I can imagine now what Scotchmen are like when they are
fighting, for Reilly went through a battle for us. It was
tremendously stirring to feel the mighty passion of fighting surge
through him. He talked of fixing his bayonet, advanced in a
charge, calling, " Black Watch forever! Mons! Mons! The Black
Watch, the pride of the British Army! I want to kill more
Germans!" He fought us like a demon, and we all got some
knocks. I expect he heard of his doings from the men, for the next
morning when I was dusting his bed, he shyly produced a German
penny. "Take it, please, Nurse, I got it off a dead German in
Belgium. I'm thinking I was over-rough with you yesterday, and
I'm sorry." Amende honorable! That surely was a day; Staff-Nurse
and I were nearly all in, but the good news from Cambrai, and the
afternoon post, besides a present of real butter and eggs from
Nurse Taylor, did much to revive our fainting spirits.

Gunner Harris and the rest of the Katharine Ward went quite mad
after tea this afternoon. They had unearthed somewhere an old
lantern, which Harris fastened to a pole; he carried this at the head
of a procession, which marched in and out of the wards and the
kitchen and the courtyard, stopping under Matron's window for a
special sing of the carols with which we had all been regaled! It
was rather absurd, yet the Christmas carols sounded very sweet,
and I think tears were not far from mingling with some of the
men's laughter.

November 28.

A beautiful clear moonlight night, and a warm west wind, bringing
sulphurous fumes from the valley. Alas, that such moonlight only
suggests to us air-raids on London! Nurse Minshull and I are just
settling down after getting in four stretcher cases from a train of
six hundred. Carmichael, a famous V.C., was on the train; Sister
Jock will be disappointed not to have her countryman here. The
gas went out just as the ambulance got in, so we have been
working with candles and a lantern again, --- rather a nuisance.
The men got here about ten, and as the ward was not all asleep,
there was much chaffing and curiosity. I took care of a young
sergeant named Elliott, who was terribly burned and temporarily
blinded at Passchendaele. He was a mass of blisters, but cheerful
just the same, and full of talk about Fritz's eight-inch shells and the
fighting he had been through. When we were ready to leave the
ward, Bedworth started his good-nights. " Good-night, Australia.
Same to you, Canada. Bon soir, Tobey. See you in the morning,
Paddy. Good-night everyone up there" (this to the gallery). As this
always provokes rejoinders, it's a long business. . . . I got up in
time to take a walk before sunset; it was lovely, --- sweet air, roses
blooming everywhere, and wallflowers, too. The sunset was
heavenly, --- a brilliant rose-color, and great white clouds banked
over the hills, glowing to rose and gold, and in the east, the moon
rising triumphantly. It's such a beautiful world that is being
spoiled. I shall go out and post this now; it's still dark, and
mysterious shapes on well-lighted bicycles will pass me with a
"Good morning, Nurse" as they go on their way to work in the
munition factories.

December 3.

We've just had our monthly fire drill, which is amusing, but
satisfactory, and now the rest of this lovely balmy afternoon is
mine. It has been a tiresome day; many small vexations, and a long
visit from Dr. Lees, in a charming but distracted mood. Also, we
have an X-Ray party on to-night, which means a late evening. But
now I am looking down a long garden path, listening to the
thrushes and robins, and thinking how well this garden has
companioned me these many months, so nearly over.... General
Pitcairn-Campbell was here for inspection Saturday, and I hear he
was very pleased. Colonel Vernon is delighted with something he
heard in Chester the other day. Two medical "brass hats," in
talking about the hospitals in this command, said that V.I.H. really
couldn't be beaten for cleanliness and general upkeep. It is rather
nice to have Matron's ideals and efforts appreciated.

The men are getting on well, though the gassed patients make slow
progress. Elliott has had a visit from his mother, who is herself a
part-time V.A.D. Bedworth is better, but Whiting's head still takes
three-quarters of an hour to dress. Evans's pretty wife has been to
see him again from Shrewsbury. Even with that, though, he finds
seventeen weeks in bed a long pull. "Oh, Nurse, I'm fed up," he
said this morning, while I was doing his dressing. " What with?
Your leg?" said 1. "No, but the war, and everything, " he said. I
told him I was, too, and that we'd make a bargain, --- that if he
would stop feeling fed up, I would.

December 11.

Another bright, mild day. I am back at work again after five
perfect days at Harewood. You will have heard from me there;
how delightful it was, and how dear the Godwins were to me. I
enjoyed being with them immensely, and it was a joy to know the
country; it's so big and free and beautiful, --such a country to ride
over.... Everything at V.I.H. is as usual, and the men are doing
well. Harris has heard definitely that his brother is killed; it will be
very hard on the father. He is doing his bit by giving concerts in
camps and hospitals, and all his boys are serving. How soon will it
be so in our families? It can't be too soon; we need so many, many
men, --- nothing else can end it. What a terrible calamity that is at
Halifax. It is dreadful that such a catastrophe should have come
upon a world already sorely tried. It's awful to think of all those
poor suffering creatures.

Yesterday I had a letter marked "Secret" from the steamship
people. The die is cast. I've taken passage in the boat that brought
me over. I shall cable you the date later. I am so glad, and yet so
sad to-night....

December 16.

Such days of perfect soft weather after a frost. Roses are coming
strong for Christmas, and there is a second blooming of primroses.
The birds still sing with all their hearts, and even darkest mornings
their brave little songs encourage one to get up, though sometimes
it's almost a question of

"In winter I get up at night 

And dress by yellow candle-light."

Leslie's precious Red Cross box has finally arrived, is unpacked,
and everything marked with the V.I.H. stamp, which I sewed on in
dozens. There were two dozen each of helpless shirts, flannel
pajamas, flannel convalescent robes, and flannel night-shirts,
besides helmets, wristers, sweaters, little pillows, and remnants of
cotton flannel and calico --- most valuable here, where every scrap
of everything counts. The box was beautifully packed, and all the
garments so well made and finished; they are greatly admired, and
are especially welcome, for B.R.C.S. has to fill so many demands,
and our supply of warm pajamas and night-shirts was very low.
Miss Vernon, who is Acting Commandant in Mrs. Frost's absence,
has written to Leslie and to the American Red Cross; I hope the
letters will get there all right. We are losing many men, and shall
soon have a new family in. Capewell, who has lately been our right
hand in the kitchen, left this evening. He looked stunning in his
khaki; we shall miss him, for he is as nice a boy as ever was. This
last offensive has been costly, and these are not cheerful days.
Yesterday there were memorial services in London and all over
England for the First Seven Divisions. There was a service in the
Cathedral here especially to commemorate the fallen of the
Cheshire Regiment. I should have liked to go, yet it would have
been hard to bear. I was in town to send off Christmas money from
the rest of my fund to all my children in France, and found Chester
very crowded, but very sad. I walked out to Mrs. Hutchinson's for
tea. She is a delightful person I met at the Claytons.... This was my
first good-bye; I can't realize the end is so near.

December 19.

This morning I woke to lovely clear blue skies, and little golden
pink clouds told me the sun was on his way. Summer is over,
autumn, too, and the last rose has been picked; but our brave robin
sang as though his heart would burst for joy; there were friendly
sounds of barking dogs, and cackling geese and hens, and it
seemed as though the nightmare War could n't be true. Yet it has
never been truer than now; V.I.H. is in the midst of its biggest
push, and we could fill as many beds again, if we had them. One of
the new men has been in Blighty twice before; once with dysentery
from Mesopotamia, once badly wounded from France, and now
he's back with trench-fever. He says cheerfully that forty-eight
hours in a shell-hole with water up to his neck, did it. However, he
stuck to his Lewis gun as long as he could, and only turned over
his responsibility for part of Fritz's line when he had to. Fuller, a
silent soul from the West Ridings, is back wounded for the fourth
time; he got badly smashed in Bourlon Wood, but is coming
strong. Whiting is up with marvellously bandaged head. He's a
good sort, and trots around with tea and cocoa at meal times with
great glee. The Canadians and Australians have lately been voting.
We have three of the former and two of the latter; for each group
there came to the hospital an officer and orderly bearing the
necessary papers, and the voting was accomplished. Think of the
enormous amount of detail involved, since every Colonial in field
or hospital must vote.

The papers here give one a splendid idea of what America is
doing, --- her efforts and accomplishment. I hope everyone at
home realizes what we are up against. Perhaps, if the darkest hour
comes before the dawn, the end is very near, for the hour is surely
dark. I hear there are more Americans than ever in Tours, and a
large number in France, but not enough. We need to put in every
bit of ourselves, or the end will be wrong.

Thank you so much for sending me Dr. Joslin's article on Sugar.
It's splendid, is n't it ? I'm lending it to a lot of people here. My
passport extension expired December 15, so a second renewal was
necessary. I had to have an affidavit from the head of the hospital
as to the value and necessity of my services, to secure it! Mrs.
Frost is still away, so Miss Vernon wrote to the Consulate for me
---such a nice letter. I must leave you now, and carry over the big
tureen of soup for the troops' supper; if you could look in on the
scene, how strange it would seem to you, and yet to me it has
become so natural.

CHRISTMAS EVE.

All the frost has gone, and a soft spring-like rain is falling, but we
are promised clear and colder weather tomorrow. We have been
unusually busy to-day: this morning Olive Frost and I carbolized
fourteen beds, beat twenty-eight mattresses, two for each bed, and
bolsters, pillows and blankets to match. Besides, there were
fourteen lockers to be scrubbed and made ready for the new men,
and of course "business as usual." The men were in a great state of
excitement, putting up holly and greens, and every sort of
Christmas decoration; Vernon Ward boasts a magnificent Father
Christmas enthroned over the clock, and Thornycroft is
resplendent with a huge panel of turkey red, bearing the legend "
Merry Christmas to the Staff " in white letters, and beneath, all the
flags of the Allies, the Union Jack at the top, and the Stars and
Stripes in the middle. Over the big door into the hall again hangs
the Stars and Stripes in my honor. You can imagine that it is hard
to tarry on routine with all this "doing." I can't think it is Christmas
without you; the work and bustle are welcome, since they keep one
from thinking. I shall be here almost until I sail. Out of the hospital
into the ship, as it were; I simply can't grasp it now the time has
come. I want to go, but it's dreadful to leave England. I hope you
are not too lonely to-night.... Poor old world, ---the fourth
Christmas of the war! I had a Christmas letter from Courtenay
Thorpe this afternoon; he sends you his love. He has n't sent any
cards, for it has been hard to keep things going while air-raids
complicate life.

December 26.

When I came down to breakfast yesterday, I found mysterious
packages at my place, for Sydney and Mrs. Williamson had played
Santa Claus! Mary met me with hers as I walked into the hospital
courtyard, and had your cable in her other hand. It was such a joy
to begin the day with you; above all, the little word "Well" was so
precious to me. It was a lovely day, frosty and bright, though it
could not seem a real Christmas to me without you. The troops had
tearing fun all day. A few were sad; Mason, a big Australian, who
lost his brother just a year ago, and the Canadians were homesick.
But we all threw ourselves into the fun, heart and soul, knowing
that would be the best solution of our day, and Matron said it was
the best of the war Christmases. Fortunately, it was a good day for
all the bed-patients, except Bedworth, whose stump is behaving
badly. He suffered all day, but made light of it, so as not to spoil
the fun. The Night-Staff had had such a time filling the men's
stockings; they would hardly go to sleep all night, waiting to see
the stockings hung on the beds. Of course eventually they dropped
off, and when morning came, there was all the fun of the surprise.
The men had a wonderful dinner; turkey, a marvellous
plum-pudding of a pre-war nature, given by the Vernons, and
oranges from Mary and her aunt. The men in the wards, who could
not get across to the dining-room, arranged their dinners on the
bedtables with the bed-patients, and there was keen rivalry with
the decorations. We all thought Evans's table was the prize-winner.
The Night-Staff got up and joined us for dinner at two; we also had
turkey, but only war plum-pudding! For tea, three long tables were
spread down Thornycroft (half the beds were moved into Vernon),
and patients and Staff had tea together. It was great fun; there were
crackers to pull, mottoes to read, absurd paper caps to put on,
musical toys of all sorts, and endless merriment. Altogether, an
unforgettable, delightful and picturesque moment. The troops
loved it all, but no more than we did. After that, evening routine
was gone through, all preparations made for supper, and then came
the concert, which ended with a whistling contest, too funny for
words. Sydney and I and seven men entered; each of us tried to
whistle "Home, Sweet Home" without breaking down. Harris won;
I did n't get very far, for I was between Lightbody and McLenahan,
neither of whom could keep his face straight at any moment of the
contest. Colonel Fairrie was judge; he suggested another round,
with "Rule Britannia." I was allowed to try "The Star-Spangled
Banner," and was getting on well, but the constant giggling on
either side of me broke me up before the end. The rest of the
concert was very nice; I did the playing for everyone; Mason sang
"A Perfect Day," Olive and I undertook a charming duet from
"Arlette," and we all sang "Annie Laurie." After the concert, part
of the Staff and some patients did an amusing sketch, and we
danced. Then supper, and so the day ended. We got the troops
settled for the night by ten; they were tired but happy, for most of
them had not spent Christmas in England since 1913.

December 28.

We had the Christmas tree yesterday; it was a beauty, and loaded
with presents for every patient and nurse. It was all fun, but the
presentation to Colonel Vernon(9) was the great moment of the
afternoon. The men had got together and bought him a silver
match-box, for which they had evolved such a delightful
inscription. He was greatly touched, and made a beautiful speech
in acknowledgment. He does so much for the men; it is pleasant to
know how thoroughly they appreciate it. We still have a party
ahead, for Dr. Lees is giving a whist drive to-night. Truly,
Christmas Week has been giddy.

January 2, 1918.

Many, many thanks for both your letters, which came this
morning. I'm sorry to hear of the intense cold you are having; it
must greatly complicate life. Here the days are lovely, bright and
sunny, only a little frosty, but it has been very cold at the front and
as far south as Bordeaux.... I had such a good time Saturday;
Matron took me to see "Aladdin," a Christmas pantomime, and we
had tea together afterwards. That seems a long time ago, for we are
in the midst of a very busy week. Fourteen cases came in at 3 A.M.
Monday, --- eight stretcher and six sitting. Three of them are bad
medical cases, --- acute nephritis and gastritis, --- so special diets
are on again. Among the wounded there is a young Australian
named Beckett, who comes from No. 13 General, Alice Lake's
hospital; she is Night Supervisor now, and he remembers her. The
new men look so smart, dressed in the splendid warm shirts and
pajamas that Leslie's wonderful Red Cross box yielded; bless her!
We have been one short on the Staff, but Olive is taking hold well
and is a great help. Staff-Nurse and I had a fierce day Sunday!
Sister was off for the day. Whiting's head was bad again, and had
to be dressed twice, and there was service to play for; no off duty
all day for us. However, next day more than made up for it, for
Mary came to fetch me with a donkey-cart, and we went home to
Crabwall for tea, and had a lovely afternoon. I came back to find a
wonderful post.... And there was a beautiful moon, so I was very
happy. Miss Vernon is coming down for a sing-song this week,
which will be jolly. This is a scribble, but I want it to get off in
case a boat leaves before me. It's going to be perfect to be with you
again, yet it's hard to leave. If only I had Aladdin's lamp, I'd wish
you both over here.

Besides the following letters, the V.A.D. has a silver bowl and
ink-stand, beautifully inscribed, from the Commandant, Assistant
Commandant and Quartermaster, and the Staff, respectively, to go
with her down the years, visible tokens of happy months of work
and comradeship.

Extract from letter from Lieut. Raffy, March 15, 1918

"Vous nous avez donn‚ enfin, en plus de votre d‚vouement sans
borne, la mesure de tout ce qu'avait de g‚n‚reux et noble, le beau
geste de l'Am‚rique en faveur de la France. Vous avez fait partie
de cette splendide avant-garde qui, ne se lassant jamais de tenir au
courant la grande soeur am‚ricaine des efforts d‚sesp‚r‚s que
faisait la France pour ne pas ‚tre germanis‚e, a d‚termin‚ votre
gouvernement … d‚clarer la guerre aux Boches."

February 2, 1918.

I am writing you these few lines on behalf of the patients of the
Vernon Institute Hospital who all still think of you and talk of you
daily. We are very sorry that you had to leave us because I am sure
you were loved by everyone, also you were a great help to every
one and always greeted everyone with a smiling face, which is a
great thing for one when in pain. I am sure we were all pleased
when we read your cablegram saying you had landed safely on the
other side, as there are so many dangers on the water at the present
time. Of course many of the patients whom you knew have left us,
but when they went away they all wished to be remembered to you
when we wrote. We are pleased to inform you that Private King of
the Canadian Black Watch got his discharge from the Army, so he
will be finished with the horrors of war. We only hope it will not
be long before we are all finished with it. Well, I will now close,
wishing you the very best of luck from all the boys.

Yours very sincerely,

T. G. ELLIOTT, Sergeant.

Footnotes

1. This gallant officer was killed in 1918. back to text

2. Henry Neville Gladstone, third son of the late Right Honorable
William Ewart Gladstone. back to text

3. It is customary for the Lord Lieutenant of the county in which
the King is to escort him to the next county. back to text

4. Sir William Vernon, Bart., Lord of the Manor of Shotwick and
Great Saughall, died June 24, 1919. His long life was full of good
works. back to text

5. George Merrick Hollister, Harvard, 1918, served with the
American Ambulance Field Service in France and Serbia from
February, 1916, until April, 917. Awarded the Croix de Guerre in
September, 1916, for bravery and devotion to duty during the
fighting at Verdun from June 23 to July 21, 1916. Returning to
America in 1917, he took a course of intensive training at Harvard,
followed by the regular course at the Officers' Training School at
Fort Leavenworth, was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the
Regular Army, assigned to the 61st Infantry, and sent to France in
April, 1918. He was killed in action at Bois de For t, near Cunel,
October 12, 1918, at the age of twenty-two. back to text

6. On a short holiday. back to text

7. Maj. Gen. E. F. Glenn went to France in 1918 in command of
the 83rd Division. back to text

8. Colloquial name for oleomargarine. back to text

9. Colonel Vernon died on January 24, 1919, after a short illness,
deeply mourned and greatly regretted by all who knew him; an
irreparable loss to his county and his country. back to text