I have just received a cheque from the Rothesay Red Cross. Since I began, my fund has never entirely given out, and I have been able to give such a lot of pleasure and comfort to the men.
If any one wants to know what to send me you might suggest Washington coffee like Lady T—— sent. It was a great success.
I am too cold to write any more, so good-night.
I wish I had some of Maggie’s crullers and squash pie, but the French don’t know anything about squash pies.
Our poor man with a broken back has been moved to a hospital near his home so his family can see him. We sent him on a mattress, fixed up with pillows and cushions so that he did not suffer at all on the journey.
When I have any one who is so ill as he was I bless the good people at home counting infirmiers and men that work about the hospital—they are soldiers who have been in the trenches for nearly two years, or been disabled through wounds or sickness, or exchanged prisoners from Germany unfit for military service. They call the hospital “le petit Paradis des blesses” and are so glad to be sent here. A man was brought in here the other day who was wounded for the second time, but he did not mind in the least about his wounds, he was so glad to get back. He is delighted because he will not be well enough to leave before Christmas.
We sent to England for some pop-corn, and to-day the men have been like a lot of happy children stringing the corn for the tree. They had never seen it before and were much interested. We made quite a successful popper out of a fly screen and a piece of wire netting.
The other night we were talking over the various experiences we have had since the beginning of the war—the terrible things we have seen—the sad stories we have heard, and the strange but very true friendships we have formed—and we all agree that we could never have carried on our work in such a satisfactory way if it had not been for the gifts which have come from time to time from our home friends. The extra food that we have been able to give to the very sick men has made all the difference in the world to their recovery, and then the warm clothing when they go out, and the bit of money to help them over the hard place. You cannot imagine how much it means to them.
I remember so well one poor little man who had reached the limit of endurance, and when I found the sleepless nights were due to worry and not to pain, the whole pitiful little story came out. His wife was ill, his sister-in-law dead and there were six children to be looked after—the eldest a boy of eleven—and no money. As long as his wife had been able to run the farm they had been able to get along, but she had given out. The French soldier only gets five cents a day, so he had nothing to send them. He cried like a baby when I told him I could help him. We sent off a money order for one hundred francs the next day, and I wish you could have seen the change in that man. That little sum of money put things straight six months ago and now everything is going well. But he will never forget, and both he and his wife have a very warm feeling in their hearts for the good people across the sea who came to their rescue in a time of need. When I begin to talk of my beloved French it is hard to stop.