"Crumps", The Plain Story Of A Canadian Who Went Part 11

Dusk came, then night, and finally the Ford ambulance cars which were to take us out of h.e.l.l. It was a beautiful night. Belgium looked lovely. The merciful night had thrown a veil over the war scars on the land and a moon was s.h.i.+ning. I was told to sit up in the seat with the driver. We traveled along one road, then the sh.e.l.ling became so bad that the drivers decided to go back and take another road which was running nearly parallel. Back over the line the planes of the Royal Flying Corps were bombing the Forest of Houltholst, and the bursting of the shrapnel from the German anti-aircraft guns pierced the velvet of the sky like stars as we went out of Belgium into France.

Several times sh.e.l.ls burst on the road, and from the inside of the car came the stifled groans of the men as the Ford hit limbs of trees and sh.e.l.l-holes.

Our first stop was a ruined windmill, the walls of which were nearly six feet thick. Here the dangerous cases were taken off and attended to. The last I saw of the corporal was after they had cut off his coat at the seams and the doctors were taking a piece of wire out of his chest. While I was waiting a chaplain asked me if I would like a cup of coffee or some whiskey, realising that it would take some time to get the coffee made I had some more whiskey.

I was given two more tags, which this time were tied on b.u.t.tons at the top of my jacket. I stayed here about two hours, then I was sent to a clearing hospital. It was here that I met the first nurses. They were two fine, splendid women who were wearing the scarlet hoods of the British Regular Army nurse. They were both strong and quite capable of handling a man, even if he became delirious. One of them quickly got me into bed. I apologized for my terribly dirty state, but I was told that it made no difference; they were used to it. To be between clean sheets again was wonderful. I felt I wanted to go to sleep forever. Suddenly a roar, and a terrible explosion. The hospital was being bombed; a bomb had dropped within a hundred yards of my tent. This was the German reprisal for our bombing Houltholst. They deliberately bombed a hospital. The doctor at this hospital next day looked at my hand and said in a nonchalant way, "Looks as though you will lose it." At that time it didn't strike me as a great loss to lose a hand, even if it was my "painting hand."

The hospital train of the next day was crowded and the nurse in charge of my coach was named Keene. We tried in the little spare time she had to see if we couldn't work out our genealogy and find out if we were even remotely connected, but before we did we came to the station of etaples and then went to the d.u.c.h.ess of Westminster Hospital at Latouquet. Here I was operated on. A piece of Krupp's steel was taken out of my hand and a rubber drainage tube inserted instead. The d.u.c.h.ess used to come round a great deal and won everybody's affection. She used to sit on my bed and talk to me about pleasant things. So unlike many people who visit hospitals and ask the patients silly war questions, such as: "How does it feel to be wounded?" or "Which hurts more, a bayonet or a sh.e.l.l wound?"

One exasperated Tommy, when asked if the sh.e.l.l hit him, said: "Naw, it crept up behind and bit me."

FINIS