They told me afterward the fight for my life was a hard one—on one or two occasions desperate. I know myself there were times when I thought the fight was going to finish against me.
But something happened that would brace any man. The nurse with the lovely chuckle brought a paper to me and read it, pausing to make every word clear, distinct, impressive. I could feel new blood racing into my veins at every word.
For she read to me the order of recommendation for the decoration of Lieut. David Fallon with the Military Cross as sent out from my Battalion Headquarters, forwarded to Field Marshal Haig at Grand Headquarters, approved by the great British leader, and thence forwarded for posting in all British commands.
And it read:
“Lieut. David Fallon, Oxfordshire and Buckshire Light Infantry. Though dangerously wounded he carried out a most daring reconnaisance and gained much valuable information. He set a splendid example throughout.”
I don’t think science would have failed me. But if it were going to, here was the magic cure.
CHAPTER XX
Honored by the King
There would be little gratitude in me if I did not set down in this story of my experiences the delightful kindnesses and unremitting attentions which came to me after, on the score of a fighting man, I had become useless to my country. For the country certainly wasn’t ungrateful. Famous surgeons were giving attention constantly to the thorough healing and saving of my arm, there followed constant treatments to destroy the paralysis which afflicted it, treatments which promise in time I shall have the use of it restored.