Funerals were arranged to leave the hospital at 8 A.M. For some of them the chaplain came to the hospital to read the first part of the Service in the Chapel; for others this was read in the Church of S. Philippe du Roule. In the sunshine of the autumn mornings an attentive, sympathetic little crowd used to gather round the entrance of the Hôtel. The coffin would be placed on an open hearse, and covered by the national flag of the soldier who lay there. A picket of soldiers and a detachment of police accompanied the hearse, and the undertaker in evening dress, with cocked hat and blue and red scarf of office, led the way. The police laid palms on the coffin, tied with a broad ribbon, on which was inscribed: ‘Pour les Défenseurs de notre Patrie’; and another wreath was sent by the military authorities. It was made of bead flowers with a plate, on which was written: ‘Souvenir français’ for the British soldiers, and ‘À notre Brave qui est mort pour la patrie’ for the French. Members of the staff accompanied the hearse. Sometimes M. Aubry went too, or the hairdresser from across the way, for he learnt to know the men by coming regularly and gratuitously to shave them. Constantly a little old lady attended, English by birth and French by habit. She was aged and poor; and the only war service within her power was that of following British soldiers to the grave. No one knew how she heard that a death had occurred; but she constantly arrived with a rose blessed by the Pope to lay in the coffin, and a request to be told the hour next morning. The orderlies used to say that she looked disappointed if they told her that men who were seriously ill were better. Be that as it may, she was faithful in the service she had laid down for herself; and her pathetic little figure, in straw bonnet and much worn sealskin jacket, was seldom absent when the sad procession started from the Hôtel.
In the autumn of 1914 eight o’clock was Paris’s most beautiful hour: the newly watered Champs Élysées shone blue with the reflection of the sky, and the leaves on the lime trees shone gold in the sunlight. As the hearse made its way to the church, women ran to lay flowers on the coffin, men stood in silent salute, and the pious crossed themselves and said a prayer.
On the steps of the church the beadle stood waiting, a wonderful presence, six foot high and corpulent, impressive in his laced coat and three-cornered hat, and bearing a staff of ebony topped by a large silver knob. He marched up the church in front of the procession, rattling his staff on the stones at every third step, and continued during the service to act as director and usher. The services were held in the Lady Chapel, and at intervals his staff would rattle on the aisle, and with a bow to either side he would give directions ‘s’asseoir, messieurs et mesdames.’
After the service the hospital staff waited in the side aisle whilst the coffin was carried out, and at these times kindly old people came to ask about the dead soldier. Was he English or French? wounded or sick? Had he a wife and children? How many blessés lay in the hospital?
And benedictions, gratitude and five-franc pieces were bestowed upon ‘les dames anglaises.’
In the cemetery of St. Pantin, outside Paris, the rows of graves and wooden crosses increased in number, and French and British side by side lay at rest.
CHAPTER VIII
THE UNIT EXPANDS
The number of patients coming into a war hospital must inevitably fluctuate, and ‘Claridge’s’ had its easy as well as its heavy periods. During September and the first half of October the wards were occupied principally by British wounded; but as the weeks went on, the War Office completed its arrangements, and hospital trains were sent down to transport the men to England, and fewer came into Paris. Meanwhile, affiliation with a French military hospital had taken place, and a greater number of French sick and wounded were sent in, as well as some Belgians. November brought a lull, and the wards became comparatively empty. An R.A.M.C. general called and asked that a hundred and fifty beds might be made ready, as it was intended to send large numbers of light cases to Paris, but the expected trains did not arrive till December, when once more every available bed was filled by the British.
Investigation revealed that the reduction of French admissions was caused by difficulties which had arisen between the Red Cross offices in the rue de Thann and the Governor of Paris. The Red Cross directeur, M. le Dr. M——, was of a choleric disposition; and when he insulted the military authorities, they retaliated by cutting all the rue de Thann hospitals off the station list. Hospitals which were not on this list did not receive any wounded, even though they sent their ambulances with a permis signed by M. le Dr. M——. New regulations, too, were constantly made; so that the papers which had been in order on Monday might be obsolete on Wednesday. After one of these inimical passages it was decreed that ambulances must carry a permission from the Service de Santé in addition to the Red Cross mandate. The rue de Thann was not successful in obtaining the necessary document from headquarters, and consequently M. Falcouz suggested that Dr. Flora Murray should go in person to see the Governor and ask for an authority from him.
It transpired that appointments were not made with M. le Général F——. The usual procedure was to be on the steps of his cabinet at eight o’clock in the morning. He held a Réunion at seven o’clock every morning; and those who wished for interviews waited to catch him when the Réunion dispersed.