October 3, 1915.
My fund is like the widow’s cruse,—it never gives out. Somebody is always sending me something. I do hope they all realize how grateful I am and how much good I have been able to do. I have been very careful how I spent it.
A boy of twenty went off to-day. He had absolutely nothing warm to put on him, so I got him an outfit at Dunkirk—he was almost blown to pieces, poor boy, and he said that one sock was all that was left of his clothes. They provide them with necessary things at the hospital, but sometimes the supply gets a bit low and now it is so cold they need extra underclothing. When he was brought in they put him in a ward by himself because they thought he would not live through the night, he was so terribly wounded. His right arm was gone, he had a bullet in his liver—it is still there—and multiple wounds of head and body. But he made a wonderful recovery and went away very white and weak, but cheerful and confident that he will get something to do that will not require two hands. He has the Medaille Militaire and the Croix de Guerre, and his Lieutenant, Captain and General have all been to see him several times—they say he was a wonderful soldier.
Thought to be A Hopeless Case
But Everyone must have their chance, three Doctors operated at once amputating Leg, an Arm and Trepanning. Now as happy as the day is long.
Three of us went to Dunkirk by motor to get various supplies. We saw many interesting things on the way, and in Dunkirk saw the destruction caused by the bombardment. The whole side was out of the church and several houses were simply crushed like a pack of cards. Some of the nurses were in Dunkirk when it was bombarded, and they said the noise was the most terrifying part of it all.
The day we went to Dunkirk we saw a lot of armoured cars. Such curious looking things they are—some are painted with blotches of yellow and green and gray and red and brown so they cannot be distinguished from the landscape. We saw lots of English troops. I looked in vain for Canadians, but they are not far off.
It has been awfully cold so far and rains most of the time. We have decided that we shall just keep putting on clothes like the Italians do in winter and never take anything off.
We get wounded every day, sometimes not more than half a dozen, but as they are almost all seriously wounded we are kept busy.
There have been so many troops moving on lately, that we thought we would be left without anything to do. We have orders not to do anything that is not absolutely necessary as we may have to move also.
I believe the hospital at Divonne has been taken over by the nuns. I miss the lovely flowers that I had there. I share a small room with two other nurses and there is not much room to spare. We have boxes put up on end for tables and wash-stands, and there is only one chair. Some of the nurses have tents, two in each.
We have had a terrible busy week. All the new ones that came into my ward lived only thirty-six or forty-eight hours—they were too far gone to save. Five went away cured, and they really were cases to be proud of.
I think it was the sweetest thing of little Mary Murray to send me her birthday money for my soldiers. I have been getting them fruit and cigarettes for Sunday. That is the thing that overwhelms me at times—the awful suffering every way one turns. Dorothy Thompson sent me £5, much to my joy.
Last night I could not sleep for the noise of the guns; they must have been bombarding some place near at hand, for the whole earth seemed to shake.
The boys who drive the American ambulance and bring our patients in say this place is a sort of heaven to them, they are always glad to get here. Mrs. T—— does everything she can for them. They are a nice lot of boys and are doing good work.
Some of the poor men who have lost large pieces of their intestines find the hospital diet a little hard.