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HOW IT FEELS TO BE A CASUALTY

EXPERIENCES OF A WOUNDED NEW ZEALANDER FROM THE FIGHTING LINES TO -LONDON u. Continuing his narrative, Corporal A. N. Field, late of Tim Dominion literary staff, and now "a casualty" in England, recovering from his wound received lust June, gives further interesting personal experiences to show how our wounded aro removed from tho fighting lilies to the comfortable hospitals provided for their treatment. "Before 1 broke off to tell you about these gas cases, 1 think 1 had got myself from tho casualty clearing station to tho hospital tram. Tho train, white and .palatial, seemingly half a mile long, was drawn up at the ..platform, and around it was a great bustle of bearers, woiiudcd men on stretchers, medical orderlies, and doctors. As my two bearers wero trotting me along with occasional halts to wipe the perspiration from their brows, for it was a warm morning, who should I run into but good old Dr. Kendall, of Wellington. Second in command in the train, with its 500 or (il'O pat-utiu, 'li K<mdall now spends his time travelling with this outfit up aud down between the base hospital towns and all parts of the British front.

"This particular train was No. 24.—1 was told there wore a large number of British hospital trains in France, each a complete entity with a permanent crew of doctors, nurses, orderlies, and cooks of its own. The carriages aro spacious and airy, and arc fitted with tbrea tiers of comfortable bunks. Foot! is served at frequent intervals, and all on board do their utmost to make the wounded men as comfortable us possible. Tho hospital trains do not travel at express speed, and our rate of progress may bo judged from the fact that it took us from noon to i) p.m. to cover the distance between Bailleul' and Boulogne," "Of picturesque Boulogne I had no more tnan a fleeting glimpse in tho dusk through the tail end. of an ambulance; and the prono position in a motor .ambulance, as anyone who has tried it will hear witness, is not adapted to the purposes of sight-seeing. As wo emerged from the station, a burly army doctor sorted us out as fast as we. came for the innumerable hospitals, of which the whole of this great seaside resort seems to have been transformed into one vast congene. 1 had a glimpse of an open square surrounded by hi£e and beautiful buildings, crowds of people about the 6treets, and a bunch of cross-channel steamers. It was noticeable that although it was rapidly becoming dark not a light showed anywhero in the town, anil the only sign of life insido these endless rows of grey houses was the occasional thin chink around the edge of a blind. On aad on wo went until presently houses were left behind, and wo seemti to bo out again in. the middle of the Suez Canal desert. We were off to Wimereux, fourmiles away, and finally landed un outside a building over which I could make out in the moonlight the legend 'Grand Hotel' in large' letters. In the hall, matron and, orderlies camo around and filled up more forms with particulars of each of us. Then ■at last off wo went, tho doors opened, and I found myself being carriecl down a ward dfmly lit with warm shaded lights,' real beds all around, and two or three nurses flitting about. One of my blankets was spread over my bed, I did tho Gaby glide from the stretcher on to it, an orderly camo along and washed .mo from head to foot, put mo into a clean suit or pyjamas, and presently I found myself snugly tucked up between the sheets. I was fairly tired with tho moving about, and that bed with its smooth white sheets seemed the most inexpressibly comfortable thing I had ever struck in my life.

"tho hospital in which I was fortunate enough to* find myself was a splendid example of the work so many Englishwomen are doing iii connection with tho It was tho Lady Hadfield Anglo-American Hospital,,and although run under the Red Cross Society as their No. 5 Hospital in Boulogne tho whole of the expenses of the establishment with its hundred beds is defrayed by Lady Hadfield. Food and comforts are supplied on a liberal scale, and the man who' has fault to find with his treatment there must be a captious person indeed.

"After lying, a day or two in the spacious and airy ward, dotted about with palms and bright with flowers, I was told one morning that I was to go into the operating room that afternoon to have the piece of shell taken out of niy wound. But although all preparations were made, even to giving mo a dose of morphia to start me off, I never reached the operating table. In tho meantimo word.had arrived that every patient who could travel in Boulogne was to be evacuated and shipped to England. Wo all pricked up our ears at tlits, for it obviously meant that something was doing on the front, or would very soon bo doing—perhaps tho big offensivo at last.

"Next morning wo departed—and in our ward of thirty odd patients only sovon wero left behind. The actual travelling time of the journey .was: Wimcreux to Boulogne, 20 minutes; Boulogne to Dover, li hours; Dover to London, 3i hours; total, say, 5J hours. Yet it was 11.30 a.m. when wo were put on stretchers and taken from our ward, and nearly 1 o'clock tho next morning before I. found myself in my now homo in St. Thomas's Hospital, fourteen hours in all, of which 9J- hours were spent in wearisome intervals of waiting at every separate stage of the journey, while tho stretcher cases were being moved from train to steamer and from 6teamcr to train.

"Tho train in which wo travelled from Dover was even better than that on the Continent. There wore only two tiers of bunks instead of three, and ■ consequently mora head room and more opportunities of looking out of tho windows, and the bwiks seomed wider and more comfortable, not that those on the other train could be called uncomfortable by any means. '\Yc drew out of Dover a little before dusk, and in tho summer twilight I had my first sight of Old England. It felt good to bo here, oven if one did come in like a sack of potatoes on the broad of one's back. The wide sweep of tho country, rolling away into the distance and broken up witli woods and copses, a country house here and a village there, and everywhere the intense urcon of the fields—all this in the still and quiet of evening was wonderfully beautiful to look upon. All along tho line, while tho light lasted, tho countryfolk cauio to their doors and windows and waved to us as wo passed—a royal woleomo to the land of one's fathers. Even in this brief glimpso of England one scented an indefinable difference from France. There was a something about the landscape, a touch of uncompromising austerity, that seemed especiallv embodied in tho squat rectangular solidity of tlm substantial stono cottages. In France, narticularly Southern France, the unforgettable fleeting views from the train were alive with the spirit of a race dehonnair.. and gallant, and one understood why, lo a Frenchman, his native land was ever 'La Belle France.' In England one's, thoughts turned rnthcr to John Bull, his roast beef and , plum duff. It was a. beautiful country,

but different. Nevertheless it is with somo diffidence I give- .yon my first impression, for it was as a hale man I first saw France, and as a sick one that I. landed in England.

"At Charing Cross we camo to a full stojx.at last, the carriage doors were flung open, and in came what J. took, ;by their uniforms, to be a regiment of admirals at the least. 'J'hey were the stretcher-bearers of the St. John Ambulance Association, and with twentyeight other wounded they presently claimed me for St. Thomas's Hospital. We went to the ambulances this time, not at the bearers' jog-trot, but on a handy little rubber-tired carrier slipped under the stretcher-—moro broth and hot milk and n very pretty girl in uniform riding with us; also, ovon at 12.30 a.m., more people in the streets waving to ns.

"The London streets were not absolutely lightness, like those of Boulogne, hut the street lamps wero dobbed with black, and everything in a state of half-mourning, so to speak. Even Big Ben is unlighted and silent both by day and night. ;

"In St. Thomas's Hospital, my present, quarters, I am having a royal time. The nurses are kindness itself, and the grub is rattling good, fish and chicken on the menu practically every day, and milk galore. The hospital runs its civil side as usual, except'that two or three wards have been given up for soldiers, and in addition, five large asbestos 'huts'—in reality most comfortable wards —have been built in tho courtyards between the blocks of the hospital, each with beds for from 60 to 30 soldiers, while a sixth is fitted up as a recreation room with a. billiard table, writing tables, etc. A number of West End doctors have donned the khaki and are hero looking after us, while down below in the basement' is one of the best X-ray plants in London.

"The Army nurses aro assisted in their work by tho members of tho V.A.D. —Voluntary Aid Division—and in our ward we have working away for twelve hours a day, the daughter of a general, the wife of a well-known London publisher,' and a peer's -daughter. It is no here-to-day-and-gono-to-morrow-bnsiness with them, for they have all been at it for months without a break, and like so many people here never seem to be able-to "do enough in connection with tho war to satisfy themselves.

"There _ are not many New Zealanders in this hospital, but a member of the New Zvjand Association, Mrs. Harry Wilson, of Auckland, comes and looks us up regularly, and another constant visitor is Mr. John Donnistoun, one of the directors of the Union Bank." (Concluded.)

Permanent link to this item
Hononga pūmau ki tēnei tūemi

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/DOM19160824.2.38

Bibliographic details
Ngā taipitopito pukapuka

Dominion, Volume 9, Issue 2858, 24 August 1916, Page 6

Word count
Tapeke kupu
1,716

HOW IT FEELS TO BE A CASUALTY Dominion, Volume 9, Issue 2858, 24 August 1916, Page 6

HOW IT FEELS TO BE A CASUALTY Dominion, Volume 9, Issue 2858, 24 August 1916, Page 6

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