THE WAR DOCTORS.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 6, Issue 239, 5 January 1917, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE WAR DOCTORS.

SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE Among the first forces mobilised by the Germans at the end of July, 1914, were the kinematographers and the artists . The German Empire has therefore a complete pictorial record of the war from its earliest days We have lately begun to use the kinematograph. But we have not yet begun to enshrine by colour and canvas the lives of our men, and when we do send out a dozen of our best painters the War Doctor must be among the first to be made known and perpetuated. We are so accustomed to consider doctors as part of our daily lives, or as workers in speckless and palatial hospitals, that we have hardly yet visualised tflfe man who shares the hell of the front trench with the fighters, armed'-only with two panniers of urgent drugs, instruments, and field dressings, his acetylene lamp and electric torch. Most of us think of his war work as being accomplished at one of the great healing places at the Base. If there be degrees of chivalry, the highest award should be accordI ed to the medical profession, who at once forsook their lucrative practices in Lcndon, or Melbourne, or Montreal, in a great rally of self-sacri-fice. The figures of the casualties among them bring home to those who have only the big hospital idea of the war doctor, sad facts that should dead to due understanding of this not sufficiently known veritable body of Knights Templar in the Great Crusade. For the last three months, in the Royal Army Medical Corps alone, I account them according to the figures published in "The Times" from day to day: Officers killed 53 Officers wounded 208 Officers missing 4 N.C.O.'s and Men (R.A.M.C. only). Killed •• 260 Wounded 1212 Missing 3 I propose to set down the order . in which our medical service arrangI 63 its chain of responsibility, premising my account by the statement that the medical army of to-day exceeds numerically the whole British military forces over-seas before the outbreak of war. It is a little difficult and complex to explain. I find that there is some confusion in the public mind as To the regimental work, that of the Royal Army Medical Corps, and their hand-maidens the British Red Cross Society and Order of St. John. But there is no confusion or overlapping in the zone of hostilities. In the preparations for the great Battle of the Somme Sir Douglas Haig, thorough ia this as in every other detail, himself co-operated with the medical services in arranging his regimental aid posts, his casualty clearing stations, and the rest of them as systematcally as his batteries, his ammunition "'dumps," af* his reserves. First in the order of danger is the Regimental Aid Post, where the regimental doctor, with his stretch-er-bearers, awaits alongside the men who are to clamber "over the top" the blo'ody fruits of battle. In the early days of the war, before we had discovered the secret, or had the means, to blast our road into Germany by ceaseless shells, the Regimental Aid Post was, as a rule, In some deserted farmhouse as near to the front trench as possible. Today, as we advance, our guns leave nothing standing, so that what was once a chateau is now only a stretch of rubble. There is therefore but little available cover for the doctors or the others before "consolidation." The intensity of the French and German artillery at Verdun in March seemed to me then the limit of human capacity to produce noise and destruction. But the Somme bombardment actually furrows or flattens all before it. Verdun itself could not last a week if exposed to the present French and British cannonade. Its intensity of sound is so great that at times the very earth shakes beneath one's feet. The doctor has to-day probably only the shelter of one of our own trenches or any little part that may remain oi a captured German trench. There is no other covering for him and his brave stretcher-bearers, who are at once his nurses and his orderlies. Happily not so many of these are fired upon by the enemy as heretofore , for, as the Prussians have realised that our artillery is the most deadly thing in the history of war, they have become a good deal more reasonable and human. N' „ that their own wounded greatly outnumber ours on almost every occasion, their doctors and stretch-er-bearers often advance with a sheet or towel held high on a rifle as a flag of truce in order that they may collect their wounded and we ours. In the early days of the war similar suggestions on our part were haughtily and contemptuously refused. And so the advanced medical forces on both sides are at last sparing the wounded a good deal of the drawn-out horrors of "No Man's Land." # • * The fine young men with the English, Scotch, Trish. Canadian and Australian accents who stand unarmed in these Regimental Aid Posts work with an intensity and celerity which eclipse even that of the surgeons in London's operating theatres. The stretcher-bearers stagger in with their load. There is a lightning diagnosis, an antiseptic application, bandaging, a hastily written la bel tied to the man's breast, and the wounded one is borne off and away in the open to the next stage, the Advanced Dressing Station,

THEIR LIFE UNDER FIRE.

BY LORD NORTHCLIFFE

which Is as often as not also pushed right up into the fire zone. The regimental stretcher-bearers therefore begin again another dangerous pilgrimage rearwards. As there is much ignorance in the public mind on the subject of casualties, it should be well realised that by far the greater proportion of our wounded are slightly hit, and are "walking cases," so little hurt that in innumerable instances where the stretcher-bearers themselves have- fallen they have been carried ' by the slightly wounded soldiers. I know no more moving experience than an afternoon in an Advanced Dressing Station. Let me describe that* of West Peronne. Its location is changed now, so I am giving the enemy no information. We reached it on a heavy and sultry Sunday afternoon by hiding ourselves* behind anything possible. Dust and smoke gave the atmosphere of a coming thunderstorm, the thudding of the guns on both sides was incessant. Now and then was heard the brisk note of a machine gun, which sounds for all the world like a boy rasping a stick along palings or the rattle which policemen carried in MidVictorian days. There was no sign of anything in the nature of a hospital, tent, or of anything above ground. I was getting somewhat weary of being" told to lie down flat every few seconds to avoid bursting shells, when I saw a couple of stretcher-bearers coming through the haze as from nowhere and then disappear underground "It is underneath there," I was told by my guide, whose daily , duty it was to inspect these medical outposts. As quickly as possible we got I down into a trench and followed the 1 stretcher-bearers. There in darkness, lit by a few candles, we j gradually made out a very grim scene. Talking was difficult, for one I of our batteries had just come into action a few yards away. i Owing to the heavy eaeniy shell fire what I soon found to be an underground maze —a plan of which I print herewith —had become completely blocked with wounded men I lying in the dark on their stretchers, the passage ways dug out of the clayish earth being just the width of a stretcher handle and no more. We trod gently from stretcher handle to stretcher handle over the silent men, some of them asleep | with the blessed morphia in their brains, others cheerffy smiling, othj ers staring as wounded men do. AH who could move a hand had a cig- ' arette—now admitted to be the first need of all but the very dangerously wounded. Passing on, dnd using our electric torch as little as possible, so as not to disturb the sleepers, we came to the main dressing room. Remember it was all underground, all dark, and that the oncoming wail of approaching shells, with immediate subsequent explosions, was continuous. In this main dressing room the doctors, all young men, some of them subalterns of the R.A.J'.C. wer> washing and bandaging with the care and speed that can be seen in the Somme film. I counted twentyfour patients in that small chamber. We crept onward and came to another room where there were nine cases, and again to a smaller one where lay the more dangerously wounded. These dressing rooms were protected by some four or five feet of earth above them. There was a small officers' mess and a medical storeroom, which were merely shielded by corrugated iron from shrapnel splinters, a kitchen, an office, and that was about all. An operation for tracheotomy was taking place in one of the dressing rooms. In all my experiences abroad 1 have never seen a more touching sight than this little underground gathering of seventy men, devoted doctors and assistants, waiting amid the incessant shelling until the overcrowded maze could be evacuated. Let those who take their ease on a Sunday afternoon, or any other afternoon, realise that this same scene never ceases. Let those who consider they are amply doing their "bit" by keeping things going at, home be grateful that their "bit" is not as these young men's. We cannot all of us share the danger, but we can every one of us admit the harsh inequalities of our respective war work. One or two of the patients were sheli-shock victims, and it was piteous to note) their tremor a"t the approaching shell wails and subsequent thuds just outside our little catacomb. The plan above gives a suggestion of the ingenuity with which the R.A.M.C. officers have converted a bit of an old German trench work to the purposes of an underground hospital and home for the doctors and their assistants. The shelling increased in intensity. It became obvious that we had to remain ironceEv'-edj till storm had stopped. In the interval we discussed things about wounded men. We learned that quite a considerable proportion of them had dressed their own wounds with the little first field dressing that is sewn into the tunic of every soldier. Others had got along well enough with the medical help of regimental stretcher-bearers. The rest had been tended at the Regimental Aid Posts to which I referred. * * * Presently the Germans diverted the attention of their g-nners to another part of the line, and we were able to emerge into daylight once more and join a company of lightly wounded and stretcher-bearers on

their way to a Walking Wounded Collecting Station. I name all these iSstinct stages in the progress of the wounded man in order to show how carefully the system has been thought out and organised. It is a tribute to the foresight of our medical authorities that all this vast scheme had been arranged before the war.

On our way rearwards to the Walking Wounded Collecting Station we were passed by some horse-ambulanc-es which, summoned by telephone, were proceeding to the underground hospital we had just left. . On our way we escaped the only enemy aeroplane attack that came to my notice during this visit to the front. An officer and a few men were wounded. It speaks eloquently for the celerity with which our casualties are cleared when T tell you that on that s.ime evening, many miles away in the uar, I saw this particular wounded officer sitting in bed nonchalantly onjoying his dinner. By the next day, 1 was told, he would probably be in England.

The Walking Wounded Collecting Station consisted of marquees in which a considerable number of Tommies of all dialects were partaking of a hearty meal. As each arrived his name and regimental number were entered, with particulars of his case. Where necessary his dressings were rearranged, and in every case a cigarette was offered. Prodigious quantities of tea, cocoa, soup, bread, butter, and jam were disappearing. Despite the bandaged heads and arms of some and the limping of others they were a merry, if tired party. Eagerly and in vigorous and unprintable Anglo-Saxon one of them said: "I want to have another smack at the Allemans." In a tent was a wounded officer, famous in the world of big game (scarred as the result of a miraculous escape from an African elephant), who, though covered with blood, had only one anxiety, and that was to have his wound drersed. get a bath, and-return to his men in time for the next "stunt" —to use an abominable Americanism which has grown .weed-like into our war language. Two days before this Walking Wounded Collecting Station had been shelled by the enemy. By a strange stroke of fortune the only victims were a large number of German prisoners. Life is held gaily and cheaply in these advanced hospitals. There was a small underground chamber here fitted with bunks as on shipboard, in which the officers could sleep if they chose, but they did not seom to be particular whether they r.ised it or not.

We shared the soldiers' meals, listened to their stories —each one of them a full adventure, in peace time —and continued Basewards, accompanied by motor ambulance* in which sitting cases were carried, to-a great Corps Collecting Station, a veritable Clapham Junction of the evacuating system. To prevent mistakes, each man's label is checked at every point he arrives at with as mucn care as & registered letter on its way through the post. There is no red tape, and nothing is left to chance. There Ifl no lost time. It is never forgotten that pain is ever present and that saving time may mean saving life. But even though we have not yet f-cme to that link in the chain—the hospital which is kept clean and burnished by the hand of woman —all is well arranged and spotlessly clean. .Many dressigs were being re-examin-ed and many wounds again attended to.

Here I saw the field operating theatre nearest to the battle. It was in a spotless tent with a table, a powerful acetylene lamp, chloroform, and instruments —all ready. Operations in the field are a rare exception in the British Army. The matter of their necessity has been discussed and re-discussed. There are arguments for and against. But Sir Arthur Sloggett, General Macpherson, and the famous surgeons we have at the front, with Sir Alfred Kcogh at home, may be relied upon to know their business to the tips of their fingers. In other armies, notably the Italian, urgent operations take, place in what answer to our Advanced Dressing Stations. An Italian officer said to me: "We should not ao It unless we had to. Many of our cases would not stand transport from our Alpine heights." * * * Resuming our journey with the ambulances, we came, after an hour's halting journey through the dust and the A.S.C. convoys to a Casualty Clearing Station—the first hospital of a kind visualised by the general public.

I have (I'fcovered from their conversation that very few people realise the intricate nature of the net cpread by the R.A.M.C. over th? field of war. The meshes are many -but not too many. An important nnrt or the net are t>iose very perfect clearing establishments. The descriiniori if two w he sufficient. One c f these Clearing Stations w?s a large old water-mill which had 1 een transformed into a most beautiful hospital. I reached'it in time to 'Witness the arrival of the Out of them came all manno! 1 of wounded, British and German. Friend and foe wore treated alike. Tbev were just wounded men —that wis all. Such as could walk by themselves, or with the help of orderlies, came out dazed into the sunlight from the ambulances. The Germans, who had for day been trench bound by our barrage, /vere, as a rule, horribly dirty and impossible to approach for physical reasons. Later, at another hospital, I saw gently born V.A.D. nurses washing great unbathed wounded Prussians and Bavarians. I felt positively guilty when I thought of the chaff with which the V.A.D. movement, with its uniform* and saluting*, was receive rl ten years ago. J in the bad old days when we ought . to have been preparing for war. Here, in this mill Casualty Clear- . ing Station, the broken soldiers came for the first time under the influence j and gentle touch and consoling smile of women iwrses. Many of the men had been in and about the firing line for weeks, several of the Germans

for longer than that. I talked with some of the enemy who had arrived a day or two before in what must have seemed a fairy palace. Some spoke of the care, kindness, good food, flowers, and music (the gramophone never stops) which were provided. As a rule they are grateful —at any rate at first. Some are very grateful. One officer used the word •'lovingly" (liebvoll), and "lovingly" it must seem, for nothing is more marked in inspecting German hospitals, even such an establishment as the Rudolf Virchow Hospital in Berlin, than the roughness of the surgery, the callousness shown in making remarks before? patients, and the inferiority of the under-trained nurses. Some are not grateful and, like the pampered civilians at the Alexandra Palace, think it necessary to place on record complaints based on mere hostility. This Casualty Clearing Station, placid with its river, with its sunny gardens —Into which many beds had been carried so that the wounded might enjoy the birds, the flowers, and trees —seems like an oasis after the grim desolation of the wilderness of the Somme heights.

It is impossible to convey in words the amazing, untiring activity or the nurses and doctors. I did not know that human beings could work so many hours without sleep at the most anxious kind of work the world provides No wonder that the women sometimes break down and require hostels and rest homes. Yet during a number of war visits I have met with not one complaint from any member of the medical staff in the field or elsewhere. There is, on the other hand, the same continuous enthusiasm throughout the medical service as one sees in the great boot factory at Calais, or the vast motor repair shop in Paris, or our transport from Havre to the Front. The stimulus of war seems to double the energy of every human being as soon as he lands in France.

At this great Casualty Clearing Station by the railway the hospital trains were collecting. When we had been shown through the cool tents and had talked with men we happened to know, we went on to the newly made railway platform where the stretchers were being assembled. It was a scene almost of gaiety. The gramophone was playing the Inevitable "If you were the only girl in the world." Jokes, cigarettes, and newspapers were passed about. The men looked the acme of content in their beautiful white train. They were willing and anxious to chat. They were interested in all that was going on, and grateful. Many might be going to "Blighty" (Britain), the paradise of the wounded man's imagination. I do not know whether anyone has written an account of these trains, the doctors and nurses who live in them year in and year out, travelling thousands of miles in the course of a twelve-month, but someone should do so. My own information is so scanty as to be little worth reading. Of the wonderful hospital barges, too, which whenever possible are used on the wide French rivers and canals to carry cases that cannot stand any shaking, not enough has been said. It was interesting at the Clearing Station to see evidence of the Red Cress Society in the existence of the comfortable English beds of many of the sufferers. In the world of wounded all sorts of little things have an importance not understood by the generality of ms. A man likes to lie in bed rather than on a stretcher not merely for the /sake of custom and comfort. Such is human nature that one man feels proud of having a bed when another man has not.

The train took away all in a fit condition for travel, leaving behind such cases as those of serious chest, abdominal, and head wounds in the care of soldiers.

On a later day I saw the arrival of one such train at one of those hospitals which look out on the sea and are situated on the Northern French coast, which long before the war was recognised as a great healing place. The medical journals tell their readers in their own language of these wonderful hospitals—converted casinos and hotels and miles of perfectly equipped huts. Our hospitals in France are world of their own. I do not know how many women and men they employ, but I should say more than one hundred thousand. In the Etaples district alone .there are thirty-five thouamd beds. Canada. Australia, New Zealand. Newfoundland, India, and the whole of the Empire have given with both hands. Those of the wounded who can be made well quickly enough—and they are, of course, the immense majority —go back to their war duties at the front, some eagerly, all without murmuring. As they lie there in these wonderful huts, in which every provision for speedy convalescence, for happiness, and reasonable, amusement is afforded, tended as they are by the best surgeons and physicians of the English-speaking world and by ladies simply and gently born, they all tefl you the same story—tfcey would like to get a glimpse of "Blighty" before going back again to fight. I went on board one of the white hospital ships, marked against sub- , marines on each side with a huge red cross, to see them going home Arriving on the qnay in the British Red Cress and St. John ambulances, and gently carried, with the peculiar, slightly swaying walk of the trained ftrrtcher-bearer, they pass on to the ship and descend in lifts to the particular deck on which is the'r cot or bed. There can be nothing of the kind in the world better than these speedv, perfectly lit and ventilated vorsels.

Once on board, and yet another stage nearer "Blighty" and the beloved ones, all are contentment itself. Fonie of the less injured men were on deck singing merrily. Others of the wounded on deck were discussing a newspaper article outlining a project for the settling of soldiers on land in the Domiinons after the war. "Many will go to Canada; some to Australia, I dare say," said one

man; "but I am one of those who mean to have a little bit of 'Blighty' for myself. We see enough in France to know that a man and his family can manage a bit of land for themselves and live well on it." I remember a similar cconversation a year ago close to Ypres, when a young sergeant, who had been a gamekeeper at home and a working man Conservative, observed: "The men in the dug-outs talk of a good many subjects, but there is one on which they are all agreed. That is the land question. They are not going back as labourers or as ten ants, but as owners. Lots of them have used their eyes and learned much about small farming here." As I watched the swift ship and saw her speeding away to England at well over twenty knots, I wondered if people and politicians at home are beginning to understand that the bravery and camaraderie of the officers and men iu the field have broken down all'class feeling; that our millions of men abroad are changed communities of whose thoughts and aims we know but little.

Just as Grant's soldiers, the Grand Army of the Republic, dominated the elections in the United States for a quarter of a century, so will the men I have seen in the trenches and the ambulances come home and demand by their votes the reward of a very changed England—an England they will fashion and share, an England that is lkely to be as much a surprise to the present owners of Capital and leaders of Labour as it may be to the owners of the Land.