"You are feeling better this morning?" I remarked, as casually as if he had had a cold in his head.
"Oh, yes, I'm very well in myself, sir," he replied with a contented smile, "but I have a little headache—I'm thinkin' the bandages are a bit tight."
I loosened them and gave him a warning not to get up again. He seemed disappointed, but promised not to transgress a second time.
It is surprising and pleasing to know that a large percentage of men shot through the brain recover. Seven out of nine who entered the hospital one day, some months later, made a good recovery, and when they left were apparently mentally sound.
A young lieutenant who arrived with one train load of wounded, walked unassisted up the steps, and smilingly addressed the Registrar:
"About a week ago, a sly bullet popped over the trench and caught me in the temple. Fortunately it passed out through the opposite side. They took me down to the Field Ambulance, and, as the surgeon wasn't very busy that morning, he said he'd like to take a look inside and see the works." He laughed aloud at this gruesome witticism and continued: "So he gave me a whiff of ether, opened the skull and, just as I expected, found 'nobody home.' He closed the door, and here I am, as fit as a fiddle. What a lucky devil I am to have no brains!"
A number of wounded officers had arrived with the men, and many of our private rooms were filled. We had retained the brass beds, a few practical chairs and small rugs for these rooms, and with a good fire in the grate they looked particularly cosy and attractive.
The nurses, too, took special pride in supplementing the meals of the patients, both officers and men, with delicacies of their own. To the hot roast chicken was added creamed asparagus or French peas, followed by appetising salads of fresh green vegetables—which may be had in France the year round. A bottle of ale or wine and hot-house grapes or Spanish canteloupe helped to make life pleasant and hastened them along the road to health. Oh, you may well believe that nothing was omitted which made for their comfort or well-being. We felt, and justly so, that for the men who "held the line" there was nothing in this wide world half good enough. As the inspecting general remarked to the colonel a few days later:
"Give the boys the best the land affords—if they want Malaga grapes, get them. If they want beer or wine, let them have it. Spare no expense that will make them happy and well—they deserve it all!"
As I entered the room of a young English captain, I found him propped up in bed with a few magazines and books beside him. He was looking very bright and happy.