Fanny goes to war

by Pat Beauchamp Washington

I was tremendously proud of my medal—a plain cross of bronze, with crossed swords behind, made from captured enemy guns, with the silver star glittering on the green and red ribbon above. It all seemed like a dream, I could not imagine it really belonged to me.

I was at the Casino nearly two months before I was sent to England in a hospital ship. It was a very sad day for me when I had to say goodbye to my many friends. Johnson and Marshall, the two mechanics, came up the day before to bid goodbye, the former bringing a wonderful paper knife that he had been engaged in making for weeks past. A F.A.N.Y button was at the end of the handle, and the blade and rivets were composed of English, French, and Boche shells, and last, but by no means least, he had "sweated" on a ring from one of Susan's plugs! That pleased me more than anything else could have done, and I treasure that paper knife among my choicest souvenirs. Nearly all the F.A.N.Y.s came down the night before I left, and I felt I'd have given all I possessed to stay with them, in spite of the hard work and discomfort, so aptly described in a parody of one of Rudyard Kipling's poems:

THE F.A.N.Y.

I wish my mother could see me now with a grease-gun under my car,

Filling my differential, ere I start for the camp afar,

Atop of a sheet of frozen iron, in cold that'd make you cry.

"Why do we do it?" you ask. "Why? We're the F.A.N.Y."

I used to be in Society—once;

Danced, hunted, and flirted—once;

Had white hands and complexion—once:

Now I'm an F.A.N.Y.

That is what we are known as, that is what you must call,

If you want "Officers' Luggage," "Sisters," "Patients" an' all,

"Details for Burial Duty," "Hospital Stores" or "Supply,"

Ring up the ambulance convoy,

"Turn out the F.A.N.Y."

They used to say we were idling—once;

Joy-riding round the battle-field—once;

Wasting petrol and carbide—once:

Now we're the F.A.N.Y.

That is what we are known as; we are the children to blame,

For begging the loan of a spare wheel, and fitting a car to the same;

We don't even look at a workshop, but the Sergeant comes up with a sigh:

"It's no use denyin' 'em nothin'!

Give it the F.A.N.Y."

We used to fancy an air raid—once;

Called it a bit of excitement—once;

Prided ourselves on our tin-hats once:

Now we're the F.A.N.Y.

That is what we are known as; we are the girls who have been

Over three years at the business; felt it, smelt it and seen.

Remarkably quick to the dug-out now, when the Archies rake the sky;

Till they want to collect the wounded, then it's

"Out with the F.A.N.Y."

"Crank! crank! you Fannies;

Stand to your 'buses again;

Snatch up the stretchers and blankets,

Down to the barge through the rain."

Up go the 'planes in the dawning;

'Phone up the cars to "Stand by."

There's many a job with the wounded:

"Forward, the F.A.N.Y."

I dreaded the journey over, and, though the sea for some time past had been as smooth as glass, quite a storm got up that evening. All the orderlies who had waited on me came in early next morning to bid goodbye, and Captain C. carried me out of my room and downstairs to the hall. I insisted on wearing my F.A.N.Y. cap and tunic to look as if nothing was the matter, and once more I was on a stretcher. A bouquet of red roses arrived from the French doctor just before I was carried out of the hall, so that I left in style! It was an early start, for I was to be on board at 7 a.m., before the ship was loaded up from the train. Eva drove me down in her ambulance and absolutely crawled along, so anxious was she to avoid all bumps. One of the sisters came with me and was to cross to Dover as well (since the Boche had not even respected hospital ships, sisters only went over with special cases).

It struck me as odd that all the trees were out; they were only in bud when I last saw them.

Many of the French people we passed waved adieu, and I saw them explaining to their friends in pantomime just what had happened. On the way to the ship I lost my leg at least four times over!

The French Battery had been told I was leaving, and was out in full force, and I stopped to say goodbye and thank them for all they had done and once again wave farewell—so different from the last time! They were deeply moved, and followed with the doctor to the quay where they stood in a row wiping their eyes. I almost felt as if I was at my own funeral!

The old stretcher-bearers were so anxious not to bump me that they were clumsier in their nervousness than I had ever seen them! As I was pulled out I saw that many of my friends, English, French, and Belgian, had come down to give me a send off. They stood in absolute silence, and again I felt as if I was at my own funeral. As I was borne down the gangway into the ship I could bear it no longer, and pulled off my cap and waved it in farewell. It seemed to break the spell, and they all called out "Goodbye, good luck!" as I was borne round the corner out of sight to the little cabin allotted me.