Fanny Goes to War | Page 6

a _blessé_ ward. I had originally gone out with
the idea of being one of the chauffeurs; but we were so short of nurses
that I willingly went into the wards instead, where we worked under
trained sisters. The men were so jolly and patient and full of gratitude
to the English "Miskes" (which was an affectionate diminutive of
"Miss"). It was a sad day when we had to clear the beds to make ready
for fresh cases. I remember going down to the Gare Maritime one day
before the Hospital ship left for Cherbourg, where they were all taken.
Never shall I forget the sight. In those days passenger ships had been
hastily converted into Hospital ships and the accommodation was very
different from that of to-day. All the cases from my ward were
"stretchers" and indeed hardly fit to be moved. I went down the
companion way, and what a scene met my eyes. The floor of the saloon
was packed with stretchers all as close together as possible. It seemed
terrible to believe that every one[1] of those men was seriously
wounded. The stretchers were so close together it was impossible to try

and move among them, so I stayed on the bottom rung of the ladder
and threw the cigarettes to the different men who were well enough to
smoke them. The discomfort they endured must have been terrible, for
from a letter I subsequently received I learnt they were three days on
the journey. In those days when the Germans were marching on Calais,
it was up to the medical authorities to pass the wounded through as
quickly as possible.
Often the men could only speak Flemish, but I did not find much
difficulty in understanding it. If you speak German with a broad
Cumberland accent I assure you you can make yourself understood
quite easily! It was worth while trying anyway, and it did one's heart
good to see how their faces lighted up.
There were some famous characters in the Hospital, one of them being
Jefké, the orderly in Ward I, who at times could be tender as a woman,
at others a veritable clown keeping the men in fits of laughter, then as
suddenly lapsing into a profound melancholy and reading a horrible
little greasy prayer book assuring us most solemnly that his one idea in
life was to enter the Church. Though he stole jam right and left his
heart was in the right place, for the object of his depredations was
always some extra tasty dish for a specially bad _blessé_. He had the
longest of eyelashes, and his expression when caught would be so
comical it was impossible to be angry with him.
Another famous "impayable" was the coffin-cart man who came on
occasions to drive the men to their last resting place. The Coffin cart
was a melancholy looking vehicle resembling in appearance a
dilapidated old crow, as much as anything, or a large bird of prey with
its torn black canvas sides that flapped mournfully like huge wings in
the wind as Pierre drove it along the streets. I could never repress a
shiver when I saw it flapping along. The driver was far from being a
sorry individual with his crisp black moustaches _bien frisés_ and his
merry eye. He explained to me in a burst of confidence that his
_métier_ in peace times was that of a trick cyclist on the Halls. What a
contrast from his present job. He promised to borrow a bicycle on the
morrow and give an exhibition for our benefit in the yard. He did so,

and was certainly no mean performer. The only day I ever saw him
really downcast was when he came to bid good-bye. "What, Pierre,"
said I, "you don't mean to say you are leaving us?" "Yes, Miske, for
punishment--I will explain how it arrived. Look you, to give pleasure to
my young lady I took her for a joy-ride, a very little one, on the coffin
cart, and on returning behold we were caught, _voilà_, and now I go to
the trenches!" I could not help laughing, he looked so downcast, and
the idea of his best girl enjoying a ride in that lugubrious car struck me
as being the funniest thing I had heard for some time.
We were a never-failing source of wonderment to the French
inhabitants of the town. Our manly Yeomanry uniform filled them with
awe and admiration. I overheard a chemist saying to one of his clients
as we were passing out of his shop, "Truly, until one hears their voices,
one would say they were men."
"There's a compliment for us," said I, to Struttie. "I didn't know we had
manly faces until this moment."
After some time when work