March 10th. In spite of the fact that a great battle is raging at Neuve Chapelle, where the British have made a great push, the "all star" concert party, sent over by the Y.M.C.A. in London, gave a performance in the large gaming room of the Casino (once the haunt of so much frivolity). The worst cases lay in beds in the centre, whilst the blue-jacketed lesser cases clustered behind, and the sisters flitted to and fro in their grey dresses and red capes attending to the more serious.
"Messieurs, faites vos jeux, le jeu est fait!" Over and over again the suave voice of the croupier seemed to ring in my ears—as it had so often rung in this very room in peace time. "Faites vos jeux." What an awful thing this new game of War is, only those who have seen can grasp.
"Le jeu est fait!"—and here in this gilded hall, that once witnessed such a different game, we see the results.
Stretchers were brought in all through the performance. As I glanced up during the cheerful chorus of "Here we are—here we are—here we are again!" a man was borne in with his eyes blown out. He lay very still, as if the unaccustomedness of it was yet upon him. The tears blinded me. Then he too began to sing.
The spirits of the men are wonderful. "It's worth losing a limb to live through a victory!" they say.
When our work was over we left the close, smoke-choked room (and it is wonderful how soldiers who have had a sufficiency of open-air life seem to revel in closed doors and windows!) for a short stroll. It was a still, foreboding night. The barriers were well guarded, darkness reigned over the town, and as we strolled along the rough road our path was lighted only by the passing ambulances, whilst across the lowering heavy heavens played the searchlights.
Ambulance after ambulance passed, a few going fast, most, alas! at the slow, cautious speed that betokens the worst.
What untold misery these crushed bits of humanity mean, borne swiftly to the silent city of suffering! How gladly we would suffer for them! Yet not a moan, not a groan, in those great wards whilst mind and will have power to cope with the agonies of the flesh.
March 12th. We heard interesting anecdotes of our fighters at Christmas-time from an important man on the court martial. One private, under cover of festivities, slipped down to the base, where for some months he has lived in style on French bounty as an officer of the Guards! Another man, an N.C.O. employed in office work, was told off to write out notices forbidding the men overburdened with Christmas gifts to return things home, as they have been doing. He handed in the documents, and with them a big parcel to be censored, which when opened was found to contain a quantity of socks, bearing the legend: "These may come in useful."