June 8th, 1916
On this day I have begun to record my experiences here in France (I’m not entirely sure what part of France I am in, I believe that I am going to leave soon). I had an hour of free time today, as the number of injured patients was low, thank goodness. Another nurse from Britain, by the name of Julia, said that writing down what she saw helped her stay in a healthy state of mind. I hope that writing this will do the same for me. The war has begun to take its toll on me, and being a relatively untrained VAD (Voluntary Aid Detachment) medical assistant in a hospital in a foreign country is beginning to weigh heavily on my mind. I will begin this journal by briefly recounting my years and my family. My close family is made up of four members, although it used to contain five. My father died of diptheria when I was very young, soon after my younger sister was born. It took a very great deal from my mother, she loved him very much. But she manages the house and the education of her three children with grace and frugality. We live in a lovely area of North Yorkshire, England. Being here in France, which I am quite sure is lovely in other parts, has made me realize how much I miss the apple trees and the pond and the green of 37 Wickham Lane, otherwise known as my home. My family is well-to-do, but not rich. We get by, partly because of my father’s will. My brother Frederick, my sister Beatrice and I all went to public school, and we all did well (Though Frederick has the largest number of friends out of the three of us. He is charming, charismatic, smart, kind and athletic. It probably doesn’t hurt that he is rather handsome, as well). Beatrice is shy and loving, but she does exceedingly well in school. I thoroughly enjoy the company of my friends, although I do wish that they were more adamant about the women’s suffrage movement. I think it ridiculous that women cannot vote, we make up half the bloody population! That is half the population unable to have a say in who leads their country. Completely mad. My mother, brother and sister all support the suffrage movement as well, else I should not be able to stand them. Edwin, lovely, wonderful, charming, beautiful Edwin, also believes that women should have the vote. He is my sweetheart, which makes me a very lucky youn woman. He is here somewhere, at the Front. I do not know any specific location, he cannot tell me that in letters. I hope he is near, and that I do not see him until this bloody mess is over. If I were to see him, it would be for one reason: He would be in mortal peril, hurt by a machine gun perhaps, full of holes and shell shock from being around such horror and noise. I dare not even imagine such a scene.
I enlisted into the nursing services only a few months ago, in November of 1915. Frederick and Edwin were both joining the British army, and I had already been considering joining as a volunteer nurse before they left. I have been working in a few different field hospitals since arriving, but now I am stationed in France. There is a rather constant flow of soldiers coming into the hospital, but there are enough nurses so that we can manage to sleep and have an hour or two to do what we like. That is how I manage to write this journal now. I am on break, but not far away. I can see the tents from here in the recreation area. I could go to the nearby city if I should like to, but I prefer to stay nearer the hospital in case the other nurses are in need of assistance. I believe there is only one nurse that I have met that I do not like, and she is not as highly trained as she may like to think, though she is quite good at what she does. She is of a rather quarrelsome disposition, and her name is Claire. She seems to think that the VADs are not, perhaps, worthy of serving with the highly trained medics. However, I do believe that there is some good in her somewhere, as there is in almost everyone.
I believe that the British army is planning a large and important strike, but I have no idea what the details are. The British are very secretive, and I am glad for it, as I am sure it has saved a few lives. Anyhow, I believe my hour is almost up, as Claire is continuously sending ornery glances in my direction. She is tying a tourniquet around a particularly fidgety soldier, who appears to be losing quite a lot of blood. I shall assist her momentarily. I may write again at bed time, whenever that may be.
On this day I have begun to record my experiences here in France (I’m not entirely sure what part of France I am in, I believe that I am going to leave soon). I had an hour of free time today, as the number of injured patients was low, thank goodness. Another nurse from Britain, by the name of Julia, said that writing down what she saw helped her stay in a healthy state of mind. I hope that writing this will do the same for me. The war has begun to take its toll on me, and being a relatively untrained VAD (Voluntary Aid Detachment) medical assistant in a hospital in a foreign country is beginning to weigh heavily on my mind. I will begin this journal by briefly recounting my years and my family. My close family is made up of four members, although it used to contain five. My father died of diptheria when I was very young, soon after my younger sister was born. It took a very great deal from my mother, she loved him very much. But she manages the house and the education of her three children with grace and frugality. We live in a lovely area of North Yorkshire, England. Being here in France, which I am quite sure is lovely in other parts, has made me realize how much I miss the apple trees and the pond and the green of 37 Wickham Lane, otherwise known as my home. My family is well-to-do, but not rich. We get by, partly because of my father’s will. My brother Frederick, my sister Beatrice and I all went to public school, and we all did well (Though Frederick has the largest number of friends out of the three of us. He is charming, charismatic, smart, kind and athletic. It probably doesn’t hurt that he is rather handsome, as well). Beatrice is shy and loving, but she does exceedingly well in school. I thoroughly enjoy the company of my friends, although I do wish that they were more adamant about the women’s suffrage movement. I think it ridiculous that women cannot vote, we make up half the bloody population! That is half the population unable to have a say in who leads their country. Completely mad. My mother, brother and sister all support the suffrage movement as well, else I should not be able to stand them. Edwin, lovely, wonderful, charming, beautiful Edwin, also believes that women should have the vote. He is my sweetheart, which makes me a very lucky youn woman. He is here somewhere, at the Front. I do not know any specific location, he cannot tell me that in letters. I hope he is near, and that I do not see him until this bloody mess is over. If I were to see him, it would be for one reason: He would be in mortal peril, hurt by a machine gun perhaps, full of holes and shell shock from being around such horror and noise. I dare not even imagine such a scene.
I enlisted into the nursing services only a few months ago, in November of 1915. Frederick and Edwin were both joining the British army, and I had already been considering joining as a volunteer nurse before they left. I have been working in a few different field hospitals since arriving, but now I am stationed in France. There is a rather constant flow of soldiers coming into the hospital, but there are enough nurses so that we can manage to sleep and have an hour or two to do what we like. That is how I manage to write this journal now. I am on break, but not far away. I can see the tents from here in the recreation area. I could go to the nearby city if I should like to, but I prefer to stay nearer the hospital in case the other nurses are in need of assistance. I believe there is only one nurse that I have met that I do not like, and she is not as highly trained as she may like to think, though she is quite good at what she does. She is of a rather quarrelsome disposition, and her name is Claire. She seems to think that the VADs are not, perhaps, worthy of serving with the highly trained medics. However, I do believe that there is some good in her somewhere, as there is in almost everyone.
I believe that the British army is planning a large and important strike, but I have no idea what the details are. The British are very secretive, and I am glad for it, as I am sure it has saved a few lives. Anyhow, I believe my hour is almost up, as Claire is continuously sending ornery glances in my direction. She is tying a tourniquet around a particularly fidgety soldier, who appears to be losing quite a lot of blood. I shall assist her momentarily. I may write again at bed time, whenever that may be.
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