The Bamberg herald. (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, July 18, 1918, Page 3, Image 3
OVER THE TOP.
(Continued from page 2, column 4.)
nay forehead with cold water, then
she left and the ward orderly placed a
screen around my bed, and gave me a
much-needed bath and clean pajamas.
Then the screen was moved and a
bowl of steaming soup was given me.
It tasted delicious.
Before finishing my soup the nurse
came back to ask me my name and
number. She put this information
down in a little book and then asked:
mutiiam rtr\ ttati nnma TPntnf 3 HD"
' TT"~? ? ? I
twered:
"From the big town behind the
Statue of Liberty;" upon hearing this
Ishe started jumping up and down,
clapping her hands, and calling out to
i three nurses across the ward:
r "Come here, girls?at last we have
got a real live Yankee with us."
They came over and besieged me
with questions, until the doctor ari
rived. Upon learning that I was an
'American he almost crushed my hand
| In his grip of welcome. They also
| were Americans, and were glad to see
|me.
The doctor very tenderly removed
?my bandages and told me, after vlew[ing
my wounds, that he would have to
Ttake me to the operating theater imfmediately.
Personally I didn't care
[what was done with me.
! In a few minntes, four orderlies who
looked like undertakers dressed in
white, brought a stretcher to my bed
and placing me on it carried me out of
the ward, across a courtyard to the
operating room or "pictures," as Tommy
calls it
i I don't remember having the anesthestic
applied.
When I came to I was again lying in
t a bed in Munsey ward. One of the
j nurses had draped a large American
iflag over the head of the bed, and
j clasped in my hand was a smaller flag,
jand it made me feel good all over to
: again see the "Stars and Stripes."
At that time I wondered when the
| boys in the trenches would see the
emblem of the "land of the free and
r the home of the brave" beside them,
doing its bit in this great war of civilization.
My wounds were very painful, *nvf
several times at night I would dream
that myriads of khaki-clothed figures
would pass my bed and each would
: stop, bend over me, and whisper, "The
;best of luck, mate."
Soaked with perspiration I would
awake with a cry, and the night nurse
would come over and hold my hand.
This awakening got to be a habit with
me fcntil that particular nurse was
transferred to another ward.
In ;hree weeks' time, owing to the
careful treatment received, I was able
to sit up and get my bearings. Our
ward contained seventy-five patients,
90 per cent of which were surgical
cases. At the head of each bed hung
a temperature chart and diagnosis
sheet Across this sheet would be
written "G. S. W." or "S. W.," the former
meaning gun shot wound and the'
latter shell wound. The "S. W." predominated,
especially among the Royal
Field artillery and Royal engineers.
About forty different 1 .giments were
represented, and many arguments ensued
as to the respective fighting ability
of each regiment The rivalry was
wonderful. A Jock arguing with an
Irishman, then a strong Cockney accent
would butt in in favor of a London
regiment. Before long a Welshman,
followed by a member of a Yorkshire
regiment, and, perhaps, a Canadian
intrude themselves and the argument
waxes loud and furious. The
patients in the beds start howling for
them to settle their dispute outside
fcnd the ward is in an uproar. The
head sister comes along and with a
Wave of-the hand completely routs the
doughty warriors and again silence
reigns supreme.
Wednesday and Sunday of eaen ween
were visiting days and were looked
forward to by the men, because they
meant parcels containing fruit, sweets
or fags. When a patient had a regular
visitor, he was generally kept well
supplied with these delicacies. Great
Jealousy is shown among the men as
to their visitors and many word wars
ensue after the visitors leave.
When a man is sent to a convalescent
home, he generally turns over his
Steady visitor to the man in the next
bed.
Most visitors have autograph albums
and bore Tommy to death by asking
him to write thev particulars of his
wounding in same. Several Tommies
try to duck this unpleasant job by telling
the visitors that they cannot write,
but this never phases the owner of the
album; he or she, generally she, offers |
to write it for them and Tommy is
1 stung into telling his experiences.
The questions asked Tommy by visitors
would make a clever joke book
;to a military man.
; Some kindly looking old lady will
atop at your bed and in a sympathetic
voice, address y^u: "Yon poor boy,
wounded by those terrible Germans.
Ton must be suffering frightful pain.
A bullet did you say? Well, tell me,
I have always wanted to know, did it
:hurt worse going in or coming out?"
Tommy generally replies that he did
not stop to figure it out when he was
ihit
One very nice-looking, overenthusi:astic
young thing, stopped at my bed
jand asked, "What wounded you in the
face?"
In a polite but bored tone I answered,
"A rifle bullet."
; With a look of disdain she passed
;to the next bed, first ejaculating, "Oh!
;Only a bullet? I thought it was a
[shell." Why she should think a shell
wound was more of a distinction beats
| me. I (Jon't see a whole lot of differ ence
myself. !
The American Women's War hospital
was a heaven for wounded men.
'They were allowed every privilege dosI
v
siDie conducive with the rules and rcaj-1
tary discipline. The only fault was
that the men's Dasses were restricted, j
xo get a pass required an act of parliament.
Tommy tried many tricks to
get out but the commandant, an old i
Boer war officer, was wise to them all, i
and it took a new and clever ruse to!
make him affix his signature to the |
coveted slip of paper.
As soon as it would get dark many a
patient climbed over the wall and went j
"on his own," regardless of many signs !
faring him in the face, "Out of bounds j
for patients." Generally the nurses
were looking the other way when one
of these night raids started. I hope j
this information will get none of them !
into trouble, but I cannot resist the
temptation to let the commandant
know that occasionally we put it over
on him.
One afternoon I received a note,
through our underground channel, from
my female visitor, asking me to attend
a party at her house that night. I
answered that she could expect me and
to meet me at a certain place on the
road well known by all patients, and
some visitors, as "over the wall." I
told her I would be on hand at seventhirty.
About seven-fifteen I sneaked my
overcoat and cap out of the ward and
hid it in the bushes. Then I told the
nurse, a particular friend of mine, that
I was going for a walk in the rose garden.
She winked and I knew that everything
was all right on her end.
Going out of the ward, I slipped into
the bushes and made for the wall. It
was dark as pitch and I was groping
through the underbrush, when suddenly
I stepped into space and felt myself
rushing downward, a horrible bump,
and blackness. When I came to my
wounded shoulder was hurting horribly.
I was lying against a circular
wall of bricks, dripping with moisture,
and far away I could hear the trickling
of water. I had in the darkness fallen
into an old disused well. But why
wasn't I wet? According to all rules
I should have been frowned. Perhaps
I was and didn't know it.
As the shock of my sudden stop
gradually wore off it came to me that
I was lying on a ledge and that the
least "movement on my part would precipitate
me to the bottom of the well.
I struck a match. In its faint glare
I saw that I was lying in a circular
hole about twelve feet deep?the well
had been filled in! The dripping I had
, heard came fromfe water pipe over on
my right.
With my wounded shoulder it was
impossible to shinny up the pipe. I
could not yell for help, because the
rescuer would want to know how the
accident happened, and I would be
haled before the commandant on
charges. I just had to grin and bear
it, with the forlorn hope that one of
the returning night raiders would pass
and I could give him our usual signal
of "siss-s-s-s," which would bring him
to the rescue.
Every half-hour .1 could hear the
clock in the village strike, each stroke
bringing forth a muffled volley of
curses on the man who had dug the
well.
After two hours I heard two men
talking in low voices. I recognized
Corporal Cook, an ardent "night raider."
He heard my "siss-s-s-s" and
came to the edge of the hole. I explained
my predicament and amid a lot
of impertinent remarks, which at the
time I did not reseht, I was soon iisnea
out
Taking off onr boots, we sneaked into
the ward. I was sitting on my bed in
the dark, ju9t starting to undress,
when the man next to me, "Ginger"
Phillips, whispered, " 'Op it, Yank, 'ere
comes the matron."
I immediately got under the covers
and feigned sleep. The matron stood
talking in low tones to the night nurse
and I fell asleep.
When I awoke in th? morning the
night sister, an American, was bending
over me. An awful sight met my eyes.
The coverlet on the bed and the sheets
were a mass of mud and green slime.
She was a good sport all right, and
hustled to get clean clothes and sheets
so that no one would get wise, but "on
her own" she gave me a good tongue
lashing but did not report me. One of
the Canadians in the ward described
her as being "a Jake of a good fellow."
Next visiting day I had an awful
time explaining to my visitor why I
had not met her at the appointed time
and place.
And for a week every time I passed
a patient he would call, "Well, well,
here's the Yank. Hope you are feeling
well, old top."
The surgeon in our ward was an
American, a Harvard unit man, named
Frost. We nicknamed him "Jack
Frost." He was loved by all. If a
Tommy was to be cut up he had no objection
to undergoing the operation if
"Jack Frost" was to wield the knife.
Their confidence in him was pathetic.
He was the best sport I have ever met
One Saturday morning the commandant
and some "high up" officers were
j inspecting the ward, when one of the
patients who had been wounded in the
. head by a bit of shrapnel, fell on the
floor in a fit. They brought him round,
! and then looked for the ward orderly
to carry the patient back to his bed
1 at the other end of the ward. The or1
derly was nowhere to be found?like
j our policemen, they never are when
needed. The officers were at a loss
how to get Palmer into his bed. Doctor
Frost was fidgeting around in a
j nervous manner, when suddenly with
a muffled "d n" and a few other
! qualifying adjectives, he stooped down
1 and took the man in his arms like a
baby?he was no feather, either?and
i staggered down the ward with him, put
him in bed and undressed him. A low
; murmur of approval came from the patients.
Doctor Frost eot very red. and
! us suuii us ue una nmsneu unuressing
| Palmer, hurriedly left the ward.
The wound in my face had almost
i healed and I was a horrible-looking
| sight?the left cheek twisted into a
j knot, the eye pulled down, and my
mouth pointing in a north by northwest
direction. I was very downheartj
ed and could imagine myself during
! the rest of my life being shunned by
all on account of the repulsive scar.
Doctor Frost arranged for me to go
to the Cambridge Military hospital at
Aldershot for a special operation to
try and make the scar presentable.
I arrived at the hospital and got aft
awful shock. The food was poor and
the discipline abnormally strict. No
patient was allowed to sit on his bed,
and smoking was permitted only at
certain designated hours. The face
specialist did nothing for me except
to look at the wound. I made appli
J-t * i. r U ? ?1_ 4. D.lnnt.Ai,
CUlluu iur a. uuiisitu uuua. iu raiguiuu,
offering to pay my transportation.
This offer was accepted, and after two
weeks' absence, once again I arrived
in Mu%sey ward, all hope gone.
The next day after my return Doctor
Frost stopped at my bed and said:
"Well, Empey, if you want me to try
and see what I can do with that scar
X'll do it, but you are taking an awful
chance."
I answered: "Well, doctor, Steve
Brodie took a chance; he hails from
New York and so do L"
Two days after the undertaker
squad carried me to the operating
room or "pictures," as we called them
because of the funny films we see under
ether, and the operation was performed.
It was a wonderful piece of
The Author Just Before Leaving for
Home.
surgery *and a marvelous success.
From now on that doctor can have my
shirt
More than once some poor soldier
has been brought into the ward in a
dying condition, resulting from loss of
blood and exhaustion caused by bis
long journey Jlrom the trenches. After
an examination the doctor announces
that the only thing that will save him
Is a transfusion of blood. Where Is
the blood to come from? He does not
have to wait long for an answer?several
Tommies immediately volunteer
their blood for their mate. Three or
four are accepted; a blood test is
made, and next day the transfusion
tafces place a$ d there is .another pale
face in the ward.
Whenever bone is needed for some
special operation, there are always
? i - -? - i itj
men wining ro give some?a leg u.
necessary to save some mangled mate
from being crippled for life. More
than one man will go through life with
another man's blood running through
his veins, or a piece of his rib or his
shinbone in his own anatomy. Sometimes
he never even knows the name of
his benefactor.
The spirit of sacrifice is wonderful.
For all the suffering caused this war
is a blessing to England?it has made
new men of her sons; has welded all
classes into one glorious whole.
And I can't help saying that the doctors,
sisters, and nurses in the English
hospitals, are angels on earth. I love
them all and can never repay the care
and kindness shown to me. For the
rest of my life the Red Cross will be
to me the symbol of Faith, Hope and
Charity.
After four months in the hospital, I
went before an examining board and
was discharged from the service of his
Britannic majesty as "physically unfit
for further war service."
After my discharge I engaged passage
on the American liner New York,
and after a stormy trip across the Atlantic
one momentous day, in the haze
of early dawn, I saw the statue of lib,
erty looming over the port rail, and I
wondered if ever again I would go
"over the top with the best of luck
and give them hell."
And even then, though it may seem
strange, I was really sorry not to be
back in the trenches with my mates.
War is not a pink tea, but in a worthwhile
cause like ours, mud, rats, cooties,
shells, wounds, or death itself, are
far outweighed by the deep sense of
satisfaction felt by the man who does
his bit.
There is one thing which my experience
taught me that might help the
boy who may have to go. It is this?
anticipation is far worse than realization.
In civil life a man stands in aw?
%
oi me man aoove mm, wonders now ne
could ever fill his job. When the time
comes he rises to the occasion, is up
and at it, and is surprised to find how
much more easily than he anticipated
he fills his responsibilities. It Is really
so "out there."
He has nerve for the hardships; th??
Interest of the work grips him; he finds
relief in the fun and comradeship of
the trenches and wins that best sort of
happiness that comes with duty
IHE END.
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