The British Adriatic Mission were feeding the Serbian Army, and were doing wonders, though owing to the constant arrival of fresh troops and the scarcity of ovens for baking their bread (although they were building fresh ones as fast as ever they could) the men were still on half rations of bread, and some days had to have biscuits instead; but, of course, the men could have eaten a lot more after their months of starvation. Among other things they had had some coffee given to them, but it was not much use, as they had no sugar, and the kindly inhabitants of Durazzo had made a corner in sugar and put the price up to Frs. 16 a kilo; so it was impossible to buy it for them, and I racked my brains as to how I could get some at least for my own company. I asked the head of the B.A.M., but he, of course, could not make an exception of one particular company, even if it had an English corporal (I had been made corporal on New Year’s Day, and promoted sergeant three months later), but he said he would see what could be done and turned the matter over to his Adjutant. He, being a young man of resource, went to a Red Cross organisation and demanded a year’s rations of sugar for an English nurse. I do not know what the daily ration of sugar for an English nurse may be, but, anyhow, one year’s worked out at a good-sized case, which I brought back in triumph (having borrowed a pack-horse in Durazzo for that purpose) and divided up amongst my company, and perfect peace reigned in the camp, the men all spending a very happy afternoon sitting round their little camp fires, making endless little cups of sweet black Turkish coffee. I hope the American Red Cross will forgive me for sharing my year’s rations with belligerents if they should ever chance to read this.
I got myself into sad disgrace one day, however, by going away from the camp without leave. An officer from another battalion was going to lunch at another camp some miles away, and he invited me to ride over with him. We started very early in the morning, and, as I could not find the Commander of my company to ask leave, I just went. We stayed there, not only for lunch, but for supper and all the evening as well, and I would not like to say what time it was when we got back. The next morning my company Commander pointed out to me one of the soldiers up on the hillside doing four hours’ punishment drill, standing up there with his rifle, accoutrements and heavy pack in the hot sun, and I was told that on this occasion I should be let off with a reprimand (although I had been three months in the Army and ought to know better by this time), but if I did not see the error of my ways I should find myself doing something similar to that next time, or five days’ C.B. I got my revenge, however, a few days later, when he fell sick, and I returned to my original vocation of nurse. He was a very docile patient for a week, though after that he suddenly thought it was time to reassert his authority, so got up one day when my back was turned, and ate everything I had not allowed him to eat while in bed.
SERBIAN SOLDIERS IN THEIR OWN SERBIAN UNIFORMS, BEFORE GETTING ENGLISH KHAKI
I had a telegram one day from Durazzo from my friend Miss Simmonds, telling me to come and meet her in Durazzo at once. She and I had worked together in the Serbian hospitals ever since the beginning of the war, and as soon as she got my letter saying I was starting back for Serbia she had left New York to join me again, but, of course, could not find me, as by the time she got to Salonica I had disappeared into Albania. She had been doing most wonderful work ever since, organising relief for Serbian refugees and personally conducting shiploads of them from Salonica to Corsica, Marseilles and goodness knows where. Among other little odd jobs she discovered a whole colony of them in Brindisi who had been without food for two days; so without any further red tape proceeded to hire carriages, drive round the town and buy up everything in the eatable line which was to be had wherewith to feed them.
I at once borrowed a horse and rode out to Durazzo to meet her. I did not know in the least where to find her there, but most of the people in the town seemed to have heard of her, and I finally located her at the Serbian Crown Prince’s house, where she had gone to be presented. He was not going to see any more people that day, but when he heard that I had arrived he very kindly said that he would see me too. I was not exactly dressed to be presented to Royalty, as I was still wearing the clothes (the only ones I had) in which I had come through Albania, besides having just had a hot and dusty 10 mile ride, but that doesn’t matter in wartime. He was most charming, and decorated us both with the Sveti Sava medal.
After that we went on board her ship, in which she was sailing that night with 1,500 refugees which she was taking to Corsica. We had a busy evening, and had our work cut out for us feeding 1,500 refugees on bully beef and biscuits. The ship, which was a small Greek one, was simply packed, and it was no easy task on the pitch dark decks and down in the holds.
I slept in town that night. One of the English officers was waiting on the quay for me when I got back at midnight, and he had found me room in an hotel. The hotels in Durazzo are the limit, but this one did at a pinch. He asked the boy in the hotel if he could make us some tea. He said he could as far as the boiling water went, but he had neither tea nor sugar. A Serbian officer, a stranger to us both, who happened to be passing on his way to bed, overheard this, and immediately said he had both tea and sugar, which he would give us; and not only did he do this, but came back afterwards and apologised for not having any cognac to put into it. As my friend remarked, “Really the Serbians do give us points in the way of manners; here is a man who, not satisfied with seeing to the comfort of two people who are total strangers to him, and providing them with his own tea and sugar, comes back and actually apologises because he has not cognac as well!”
The next morning I went round to the British Adriatic Mission, and while I was having breakfast there there was a most terrific crash, followed by others in quick succession. I left my breakfast and went out into the street to see what was to be seen. Five Austrian aeroplanes were circling round and round overhead, apparently dropping bombs as fast as they could. The streets of Durazzo are very, very narrow, and the town is very small and very crowded. People were running as hard as they could to get out of the way—at least, the Italians were running, the Serbians always thought it beneath their dignity to do so. I was standing with a Serbian artillery officer who knew all about it and could almost always guess pretty well where they were going to fall. Looking up into the clear blue sky you could see the bombs quite well as they left the aeroplanes: first of all they looked like a silvery streak of light, and then like a thin streak of mist falling through the sky, till they hit some building with a crash, smothering everyone in the neighbourhood with a powdery white dust. Two of them fell in almost identically the same spot at the end of the street about a hundred yards from us, and several more round about. Another officer joined us presently who was very much annoyed because he was in the middle of being shaved when the first bomb fell, and the Italian barber had, without more ado, instantly dropped his razor and fled, so that he had to come out with only half his face shaved. He was rather glad afterwards, however, when he found out that had the barber remained he would have had no face left to shave, as when we walked back to the shop we found that a bomb had gone clean through the roof and the barber was standing outside anathematising aeroplanes for ruining his business. Altogether they dropped twenty-five bombs in about a quarter of an hour within a radius of a little over a quarter of a mile and killed a good many people.