My War Experiences in Two Continents | Page 4

have not got the communal spirit, and the fact of being a unit of women
is not the side of it that I find most interesting. The communal food is
my despair. I can not eat it. All the same this is a fine experience, and I
hope we'll come well out of it. There is boundless opportunity, and we
are in luck to have a chance of doing our darndest.
28 September.--Last night I and two orderlies slept over at the hospital
as more wounded were expected. At 11 p.m. word came that "les
blessés" were at the gate. Men were on duty with stretchers, and we
went out to the tram-way cars in which the wounded are brought from
the station, twelve patients in each. The transit is as little painful as
possible, and the stretchers are placed in iron brackets, and are simply
unhooked when the men arrive. Each stretcher was brought in and laid
on a bed in the ward, and the nurses and doctors undressed the men.
We orderlies took their names, their "matricule" or regimental number,
and the number of their bed. Then we gathered up their clothes and put
corresponding numbers on labels attached to them--first turning out the
pockets, which are filled with all manner of things, from tins of
sardines to loaded revolvers. They are all very pockety, but have to be
turned out before the clothes are sent to be baked.
We arranged everything, and then got Oxo for the men, many of whom
had had nothing to eat for two days. They are a nice-looking lot of men

and boys, with rather handsome faces and clear eyes. Their absolute
exhaustion is the most pathetic thing about them. They fall asleep even
when their wounds are being dressed. When all was made straight and
comfortable for them, the nurses turned the lights low again, and
stepped softly about the ward with their little torches.
A hundred beds all filled with men in pain give one plenty to think
about, and it is during sleep that their attitudes of suffering strike one
most. Some of them bury their heads in their pillows as shot partridges
seek to bury theirs amongst autumn leaves. Others lie very stiff and
straight, and all look very thin and haggard. I was struck by the contrast
between the pillared concert-hall where they lie, with its platform of
white paint and decorations, and the tragedy of suffering which now
fills it.
At 2 a.m. more soldiers were brought in from the battlefield, all caked
with dirt, and we began to work again. These last blinked oddly at the
concert-hall and nurses and doctors, but I think they do not question
anything much. They only want to go to sleep.
[Page Heading: A VISIT FROM SOME DESERTERS]
I suppose that women would always be tender-hearted towards
deserters. Three of them arrived at the hospital to-day with some absurd
story about having been told to report themselves. We got them supper
and a hot bath and put them to bed. One can't regret it. I never saw men
sleep as they did. All through the noise of the wounded being brought
in, all through the turned-up lights and bustle they never even stirred,
but a sergeant discovered them, and at 3 a.m. they were marched away
again. We got them breakfast and hot tea, and at least they had had a
few hours between clean sheets. These men seem to carry so much, and
the roads are heavy.
At 5 o'clock I went to bed and slept till 8. Mrs. Stobart never rests. I
think she must be made of some substance that the rest of us have not
discovered. At 5 a.m. I discovered her curled up on a bench in her
office, the doors wide open and the dawn breaking.

2 October.--Here is a short account of one whole day. Firing went on
all night, sometimes it came so near that the vibration of it was rather
startling. In the early morning we heard that the forts had been heavily
fired on. One of them remained silent for a long time, and then the
garrison lighted cart-loads of straw in order to deceive the Germans,
who fell into the trap, thinking the fort was disabled and on fire, and
rushed in to take it. They were met with a furious cannonade. But one
of the other forts has fallen.
At 7 a.m. the men's bread had not arrived for their 6 o'clock breakfast,
so I went into the town to get it. The difficulty was to convey home
twenty-eight large loaves, so I went to the barracks and begged a
motor-car from the Belgian officer and came back triumphant. The
military cars simply rip through the streets, blowing their