April 24th, Sick Ward 21. What a very beautiful place hospital can be, viewed from the standpoint of a patient! What matter that legs are too weak to walk or heads to think? What matter that one's old vulcanite pen feels like cast iron and runs on by itself?
Here are ministering angels who were once mere nurses. Here are friends armed with many good things, with irises and kingcups from the fields and carnations from the south—and newspapers. Yet, alas! the news is not good. In spite of the Allied landing in Gallipoli that raises our expectation of a speedy termination of things, the situation on the Western front is bad. We are now falling back, and the Germans have started an effective offensive at Ypres. It is dreadful to be able to do nothing but listen all night long to the tramp of the newly arrived troops, the sickening sound of the creeping "stretcher cases," to listen and to pray that all will be well.
April 29th, Hardelot. If one were asked to award the palm for good work during the war, one would not hesitate to say that it was due to those whose energies are devoted to the sick nurses.
There is none of the glory, none of the kudos, none of the laurel-wreath interest that rewards those working amongst the men.
Just the steady, dullish daily duties of caring for and tending an ever-changing stream of weary women! Yet what work can have more far-reaching influence on the wounded and sick than the fact that the nursing sisters are strong and fit to cope with their strenuous work?
Here, in the far-away forest of Hardelot, in the beautiful yet simple house lent by the Duke of Argyll, that, with its distempered white walls, old oak furniture and bright chintzes, seems a veritable bit of England, the Red Cross have opened a home where worn-out nurses may rest and recuperate.
It is like an oasis in this arid land. Lying in the woods on a bank of luscious pine-needles and green moss, while the birds sing, it seems to unaccustomed ears almost perfect; and the calm pines lift their stately heads to the clear blue sky, swaying rhythmically, contentedly, in the breeze. It is intoxicating.