Notes From a Field Hospital V

June 22nd, 1916

Apparently the newer nurses (they have come from all over) must take retraining course to make sure that we do everything exactly in the way that we are expected to, and that we know exactly how to conduct ourselves and work the (extremely large) sluice room. This means that I shall not be able to recount my days as often as I would like. A letter from Mother today, but still no word from Edwin. I am scared for him. 

June 28th, 1916

A letter! Thank heavens! A letter from Edwin! My pain is eased, it is dated from a few days ago, and he says that he is fine. The war has not been cruel to him, he says, but I believe this is a lie to make me feel better. The war has been cruel to everyone, even civilians. I am glad that he is well enough to lie. He apologized profusely for not writing to me for weeks. My sweet lilac knows me well, and knows that I would worry! Even in the midst of the suffering and pain I laugh and blush like a little schoolgirl. Sophie asked what the matter was. I told her that I received a letter, and then she smiled slyly and asked me who this gentleman was that had so caught my fancy. I had not told her it was from a gentleman. She is intuitive, and now I think that maybe she is baby’s breath, but with thorns too. She is a great friend. 

I have seen a second hemorrhage, and a third, and a fourth. There is so much blood  that the laundry can hardly keep up! However, we are women. We know how to get blood out of clothes.  

Something is definitely coming, and  I do not know what. I think that we shall be busy in the hospital soon. 

Even now that the training is finished, I do not have as much time as I used to to write, so I fear that I will not be able to keep up. I will find a way. 

July 2nd, 1916

There are no words to describe this. I have not seen anything that can surpass this in horror, or anything that can surpass this in blood. I have never witnessed so many deaths. I doubt the other nurses have either. 

    It began yesterday, and all the nurses were needed all day, all night, and then all day again. I have been given a few hours rest, but the adrenaline refuses to leave me, and so I write instead of sleep. Luckily the candle I have is large, and will last a long time. I cannot keep this all in my head, I must write it down. I am sorry that I must fill the pages of this book with such terrible sights. 

    First of all, the soldiers. They were everywhere. Once the beds were filled, which was quickly, they were piled on tables, and then on the floors, slumping and groaning and bleeding. Lines of them stood, stretching out the doors, with dirty clothes and faces and mud caked in the infected wounds. Shouts and groans and nurse’s orders filled the air, and so did the smell. The scent of carnage is overpowering. Mixed with men who have not bathed or taken off their shoes for weeks on end, the smell is thick. Almost tangible. There is no space to walk, nor run, which is what we must always do. We must run to save these innocent lives, and we must do it quickly. There are hundreds upon hundreds of them, and many never made it to the hospital. Many fell to the ground outside the door, supported by their friends, or complete strangers. Near one wing of the hospital, there is a line, growing every minute, of soldiers with red armbands. These are the men in danger of hemorrhage. Many of them have suffered from a hemorrhage while under our care, and died within minutes. 

The nurses can no longer recognize each other, especially those from the hemorrhage wing. We are so covered in other’s blood and fluids. Some of us are covered in tears, both our own and those of the soldiers. You cannot step for fear of trodding on someone, and you cannot run without tripping. It is too crowded, and the sights and the sounds are too much to bear. Yet the nurses have done it, we have stayed in that hospital for hours, never off our feet. For every life we manage to save there is another telegram not delivered to a family who will not suffer yet. Of course there is no promise that any of the lives that we have saved will actually survive, but it is nice to know that they have lived a little longer. But then again, perhaps it is not, for most who come to the hospital are so injured that for many of them death would be a mercy, one that we cannot grant them. 

Much of the British army is here at the Somme, and so each time I see a tall, blonde haired soldier step into the hospital leaning on someone else’s shoulder, my breath catches in my throat and my heart skips a beat. Each time I see an auburn soldier come into the hospital on someone else’s shoulder I immediately fear for my poor, dear Edwin and my breath and heart catch again. I cannot live this way for long. 

I have heard about the British military’s strategy, this being the second day, and I cannot say that I think much of it. Even with their new weaponry that they unveiled specifically for this fight, their strategy cannot be worth much if it brings us men in such numbers. I have heard several reports from soldiers that the British are simply charging the lines of German fire. The Germans have trenches, and barbed wire, and have been building these trenches for months. They continue to send these men into the line of fire. They are gunned down by the hundreds, dropping like flies, I have heard. I cannot fathom how the Front must look now, though we can hear the noise of machine gun fire even from here. 

These weapons that the British have brought, they are unlike anything that the world has ever seen. They are enormous, and armored. They have guns, and wheels (Are they wheels?) that are long, and revolve around a metal bar instead of turning. Several people can ride on one at once, and they are built to roll over the trenches that lie in their way. I have seen one or two passing by, or seen their shadows in the distance, and they are huge. Blundering, dull beasts that tread over bodies and soil and anything that comes between them and the Germans. They will be an effective weapon, if there are enough soldiers left after this horrible battle operate the things. I know that there are thousands more in the British army, but it is hard to imagine that there is anyone left after all these men have died. The nurses are overwhelmed. 

We have now seen gas burns like no others. The skin of the affected soldier is red and shiny, swollen and lumpy. It must hurt the soldiers terribly! I cannot imagine. The soldiers have been using gas masks, and horrifying as they look, they appear to be working. I believe that once this war is finished the gas masks will present themselves once more in my dreams. They transform a man into some strange unrecognizable creature, but I am glad that they have been working so far. But even with the masks, the gas settles into the clothing of the soldiers, and they are burnt everywhere but their face. Horrible blisters cover the bodies of the soldiers, and we must try to heal them, but I am not sure how. I know that with the combined brain power of all the nurses together we will most definitely find a way. 

I have told all that I can bear to retell about the last two days, so now I will move to a pleasanter subject: Sophie. She is becoming a greater friend than I could even have imagined. We have many of the same interests, and a similar upbringing. We can  easily speak, as I mentioned before, in several languages, and we have read many of the same books. I think that Sophie may be the best friend I have ever had. We laugh, and are serious, and then laugh again, about all sorts of things. 

This is not working. I cannot distract myself from the war and all that I have seen. What if Frederick or Edwin come into the hospital, or another lad from my village? What am I to do? The fear of this is consuming my thoughts, even when I distract myself with pleasant thoughts of Sophie. I am besides myself my grief and anger and confusion and horror and fear. I cannot sleep this way. 

I know that my injuries are not comparable to those of the soldiers, but I am physically injured as well as mentally. My ankles are swollen from standing for so long, and my head throbs as soon as I sit down. And there is the adrenaline. The only reason that I still write in this journal instead of sleep is because I fear that I will not be able to sleep. My mind will tell me to move and be alert, but my body tells me to rest. I am lying in my bed, but I still cannot sleep.

Three days ago I received another letter from Edwin, and another from Frederick as well. And, a letter from Beatrice! Usually her schedule is filled, and she cannot write. But she found an opening and told me of all that had happened to her since I left. It was wonderful to hear. Frederick is well. Hungry, he says, but he is always hungry so this does not surprise me. I do suppose that they have given him less food now that he is in the army, however. His stomach must be constantly grumbling. Edwin says he is well, and that the commander of his regiment is kind to him. This pleases me, for I would almost immediately dislike anyone who was cruel to such a person as Edwin. Another attempt to distract myself has failed. How can this war go on? How can we live this way? How can the soldiers die this way? How are Frederick and Edwin really doing at the Front? Both their letters are dated from before July 1st, so I have no way of knowing how they are now. They will not have time to write me, they will be too busy trying to survive! What if they do not? What if they appear to me, burned and punctured and wounded and bleeding, slumping to the floor and gasping? Oh God! I cannot bear this imagining any longer! I must sleep.
 

PeachesMalone

VT

18 years old

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