Diary of a Nursing Sister on the Western Front, 1914-1915 | Page 4

the Convent than waiting in the stuffy hotel at Dublin. There is any
amount to see--miles of our Transport going through the town with
burly old shaggy English farm-horses, taken straight from the harvest,
pulling the carts; French Artillery Reservists being taught to work the
guns; French soldiers passing through; and our R.E. Motor-cyclists

scudding about. And one can practise talking, understanding, and
reading French. It is surprising how few of the 216 Sisters here seem to
know a word of French. I am looked upon as an expert, and you know
what my French is like! A sick officer sitting out in the court below has
got a small French boy by him who is teaching him French with a map,
a 'Matin,' and a dictionary. A great deal of nodding and shaking of
heads is going on.
Sunday, August 23rd.--The same dazzling blue sky, boiling sun, and
sharp shadows that one seldom sees in England for long together; we've
had it for days.
We've had yesterday's London papers to read to-day; they quote in a
rather literal translation from their Paris Correspondent word for word
what we read in the Paris papers yesterday. I wonder what the English
hospital people in Brussels are doing in the German occupation,--pretty
hard times for them, I expect. Two that I know are there doing civilian
work, and Lord Rothschild has got a lot of English nurses there.
This morning I went to the great Requiem Mass at Notre Dame. It was
packed to bursting with people standing, but we were immediately
shown to good places. The Abbé preached a very fine war sermon,
quite easy to understand. There was a great deal of weeping on all sides.
When the service was finished the big organ suddenly struck up "God
Save the King"; it gave one such a thrill. And then a long procession of
officers filed out, our generals with three rows of ribbons leading, and
the French following.
This is said to be our biggest base, and that we shall get some very
good work. Of course, once we get the wounded in it doesn't make any
difference where you are.
Monday, August 24th.--The news looks bad to-day; people say it is très
sérieux, ce moment-ci; but there is a cheering article in Saturday's
'Times' about it all. The news is posted up at the Préfeture (dense crowd
always) several times a day, and we get many editions of the papers as
we go through the day.

Tuesday, August 25th.--We bide here. No.-- G.H., which is also here,
has been chopped in half, and divided between us and No.-- General,
the permanent Base Hospital already established here. So we shall be
two base hospitals, each with 750 beds.
The place is full of rumours of all sorts of horrors,--that the Germans
have landed in Scotland, that they are driving the Allies back on all
sides, and that the casualties are in thousands. So far there are 200 sick,
minor cases, at No.--, but no wounded except two Germans. We have
no beds open yet; the hospital is still being got on with; our site is said
to be on a swamp between a Remount Camp and a Veterinary Camp, so
we shall do well in horse-flies.
It is a fortnight to-morrow since we mobilised, and we have had no
work yet except our own fatigue duty in the Convent; it was our turn
this morning, and I scrubbed the lavatories out with creosol.
I've had an interesting day to-day, motoring round with the C.O. of
No.-- and the No.-- Matron. We visited each of their three palatial
buildings in turn, huge wards of 60 beds each, in ball-rooms, and a
central camp of 500 on a hill outside. They have their work cut out
having it so divided up, but they are running it magnificently.
Wednesday, August 26th.--Very ominous leading articles in the French
papers to-day bidding every one to remember that there is no need to
give up hope of complete success in the end! There is a great deal about
the French and English heavy losses, but where are the wounded being
sent? It is absolutely maddening sitting here still with no work yet,
when there must be so much to be done; but I suppose it will come to
us in time, as it is easier to move the men to the hospitals than the
hospitals to the men, or they wouldn't have put 1500 beds here.
The street children here have a charming way of running up to every
strolling Tommy, Officer, or Sister, seizing their hand, and saying,
"Goodnight," and saluting; one reached up to pat my shoulder.
No.-- G.H., which left here yesterday for Abbeville, between Rouen
and the mouth of the Somme, came back again