EVACUATION FROM FRANCE JUNE 1940: PERSONAL ACCOUNTS BY NURSING SISTERS
CROWN COPYRIGHT: THE NATIONAL ARCHIVES WO222/2143
***
... The letters may be left to speak for themselves. They have no pretension to literary excellence, but are offered as a simple record of work in progress and as a glimpse of the War from a particular angle, which may add a few details to the general view. I am confident that the public will find some interest in the part played by the Nursing Service alongside the brother and sister services; also that it will feel some pride in the work and in the picture of the nursing profession carrying on the traditions of one of the noblest and most devoted callings to which women can belong.
***
Annie Mary Trethewey was born in Cornwall at the turn of the century. She trained as a nurse at the Royal Cornwall Infirmary, Truro, completing her training in 1925. She is mentioned again in the second account written by Elizabeth Huffam. The first two letters describe the events at the same Casualty Clearing Station over the same period; the first a straightforward account of day-to-day happenings, and the second a wonderful description of both the pleasure and pain of life in France during difficult days.
***
No.4 CASUALTY CLEARING STATION
Miss A. M. Trethewey, Territorial Army Nursing Service
Sisters’ Quarters,
Military Hospital,
Holywood,
Co. Down.
20th January, 1941.
To: Miss G. C. Ball,
Principal Matron, Q.A.I.M.N.S.
The War Office,
London.
Dear Miss Ball,
Your letter of the 11th instant just to hand and I am pleased to accede to Miss Jones’ request and give you an account of my very interesting, if not always useful experiences with the B.E.F. after the invasion of the Low Countries.
How well I remember the news at midnight on the 9th May of the invasion. I was on night duty at the time and our Colonel brought me the news, after listening to the announcement, with the remark as he retired for the night “I shall probably see you again before morning”.
May 10th – 5 a.m.
Our first “alert” since the previous October. Our C.C.S. was in a Chateau with a basement for the evacuation of walking patients, but our stretcher patients had to remain in their beds which we pulled into the middle of the wards away from windows, and during the remainder of our stay there I marvelled at the calm with which the men, mostly Air Force, behaved during “alerts”.
May 11th
The “Dawn Patrol” becoming a daily habit and our C.C.S. becoming very busy with air casualties.
May 12th
We evacuated 115 patients at 1.30 a.m.
May 13th
Much confusion in the town of Epernay with constant alerts and continual streams of refugees, such pathetic sights, while convoys of French Troops were going through the town and up the line.
May 14th
The Hospital getting busier every hour – such fine men to nurse – I have remarked in my diary “Makes one proud to be British”.
May 15th
Rumours of our evacuating the Hospital, so I get my packing done before going to bed. By this time I had given up hoping for much sleep but I usually managed to stay in my bed and rest unless there was too much activity overhead. When I arrived on duty at 8 p.m. all patients were on stretchers ready for the evacuation and we were supposed to be “closed” to admissions, notwithstanding we admitted patients all night and the Theatre was busy the whole time. There was a very anxious night ahead of us; the Red X train, which was due at 1 a.m., got delayed owing to enemy action further along the line; at 5 a.m. the Colonel decided to let the patients travel all the way to the Base by ambulance so arrangements were made accordingly and by 8 a.m. the Convoy was ready for a start when the news that a train would soon be through to take them arrived, cancelling the road transport (many of the patients were too ill for a long journey by road).
May 16th
Eventually the train arrived at midday and the Sisters and half of the R.A.M.C. Personnel also went on the train for a journey of about 20 miles to the town of Chateau Thierry where we said “Goodbye” to our patients while they went on to the Base and safety, we hoped.
Here we found a curious reception, the French were rather afraid to let us stay in the town as up to then they had not had any raids, so our Officer who was in charge decided with the aid of the Interpreter to find us billets in the village of Chiery, two miles away, and how we welcomed the peace after our recent experiences; but alas, it was not for long and on...
May 17th
… the Enemy reached that spot.
May 18th
After 36 hours of fairly heavy raiding and wondering where the other half of our Unit was, it was a great relief when the Colonel arrived to take us to our new home and so we hoped Hospital. We had a long and checkered journey through convoys of refugees going in the same direction as ourselves, with convoys of French troops coming in the opposite direction, but fortunately it was peaceful from the air. We reached our destination – Ville Neurve [Villeneuve] – to find we were going to live in a cottage attached to the Chateau which was to be our Hospital and delightfully situated in the woods. Alas our Hospital did not materialize and although we all appreciated the quiet and rest at first, we soon began to wonder what was happening to our wounded and feeling rather useless. For some days we stayed there and I am afraid found it very difficult to believe “They also serve who only stand and wait”. We were finding it most trying not to be up and doing, knowing that so many of our own men must be wanting attention.
June 2nd
Various signs that we were on the move again.
June 3rd
Up at 5 a.m., breakfast and packing done, ready for a start at 7 a.m. It was a lovely day and the M.A.C. had provided most comfortable transport for our 150 miles drive; our destination was once more a chateau with a view to making it into a hospital, in a small village near Bauge, but not only was the chateau inadequate, the grounds were unsuitable for tented extension.
June 5th
We move again, this time by ambulance and reach our new home, which is to be tented in some very nice grounds near Chateau du Loir. For a week we lived in tents at this delightful spot and our wards were being got ready for occupation, but, alas, on …
June 13th
… we packed once more and left on …
June 14th
… travelling in convoy by ambulance to Nantes, and spending the night in our ambulance, too near a munition dump for our popularity with the French Authorities.
June 15th
We were up early, waiting for orders which we received from an unexpected quarter; the French Authorities having given the order for us to move out of the field. As our Colonel is away on business, there is no alternative for the Second-in-Command but to have the convoy draw out on to the roadside and await the return of the Commanding Officer. At 1 p.m. the order came through for the Sisters from Nantes to go to La Baule to join the Staff there. It was with great regret we left our Unit and travelled the remainder of the journey in one ambulance. We were received by the Matron of No.4 General Hospital and given accommodation for the night.
June 16th
A long day of waiting and at 4 p.m. left La Baule on the hospital train for embarkation at St. Nazaire; a raid was in progress during the journey and for some hours while the Hospital Ship “Somersetshire” was being loaded at the port, but we got safely away at 4.30 a.m. on …
June 17th
During the homeward journey we once more had a visit from the enemy and two bombs were dropped close enough to shake the ship from end to end, but we reached Southampton safely on the evening of June 18th.
Although during the whole of our journeying we had quite a fair amount of aerial activity to contend with, we travelled very comfortably and I realize only too acutely that after the invasion of the Low Countries, when we had hoped to be useful to our Unit, it was quite the reverse and we were an additional responsibility.
********************
Elizabeth
Clara Marjorie Huffam was born on 2nd July 1891 in Perth, Scotland.
She trained as a nurse at Leeds General Infirmary between 1914 and
1917. Her account of the last days at No.4 Casualty Clearing Station
is one of the most descriptive and vibrant in the collection, despite
her comment below about being 'no writer.' Elizabeth Huffam did not
survive the war, dying in Yorkshire on March 3rd, 1944.
58 General Hospital
Ormskirk
Lancs
Feb. 12th 1941
Dear Miss Russell,
Please forgive the delay in getting the enclosed written for you. Chepstow became very busy my last two weeks there, as many measles came and some seriously ill, then of course on arriving here – the assembling of Camp Kit and Tropical has taken up much time – so many things becoming more scarce as time goes on.
I do hope this is the type of thing Miss Jones wishes – I’m no ‘writer’ as you will realize. Anyhow I wouldn’t have missed France and all its varied experiences for worlds – and now am delighted to be going away again, where our training and years of experience may help in any form “over there” probably in various fevers peculiar to the locality. The unit is made up of exceedingly nice people and I know we’ll all pull well together – Miss Taylor and Miss Ellis are so understanding.
You people at the Head of Things must have to work very hard – indeed I just can’t think how you do it and manage so many thousands, so thoroughly well. We think of you much more that you might realize! Please give my very kind regards to Miss Jones, and I wish you all a safe and happy future.
Sincerely,
Elizabeth Huffam
No.4 CASUALTY CLEARING STATION
Miss E. C. M. Huffam, Q.A.I.M.N.S. Reserve
EVACUATION OF THE 4TH C.C.S., B.E.F. 1940
April, a glorious hot month, the woods full of wild flowers, many we did not recognise – whole carpets of wild anemones and the roadsides just a blaze of yellow with large honey scented cowslips.
One Friday afternoon towards the end of the month, the C.O. of the Motor Ambulance Corps sent his car to take as many Sisters as were off duty for a real car run. We decided to visit Chateau Thierry and see the lovely American 1916-18 War Memorial. High over the hill, looking down on the town, a wide, and very impressive memorial, so friendly and clean in the sunshine. Three of us had gone that day and were walking quietly through the main street looking really for shoe shops – hoping to buy summer slippers, when a very charming, gay young French lady came just behind and said, “Sisters – English Sisters, Oh where have you come from and are you come to stay? And do please come and have tea with me”. Well, we felt slightly shocked, as we, Hush – Hush – never told strangers who or what we were. She smiled so joyfully and laughingly said, “No, don’t tell me. My sister is a Q.A. and is in Dieppe*, only do come and have tea”. We went gladly and made friends. She was so full of life and aged 25, had married a real Frenchman while studying at the Lycée in Paris. He was an officer with his Regiment near the Maginot Line. She was teaching English in a large school and had a delightful flat in the American Memorial Creche building. We thoroughly enjoyed that day and promised to come again – Alas, we did not see her again, but were able to send her books and she did the same.
Very shortly after that wonderful day, the ‘Balloon’ in soldier slang went up. Up, in real earnest. The first we knew of it in our own area was a phone message at 2 a.m. when the Theatre Sister on call came to each of us and said, “There’s an air-raid warning”. We jumped up and dressed, seized tin hats, respirators, camp-chair and rug and went down to the cellar. The town’s “Waillie Winnie” went off as we were chatting, so we came up from below to find two Gendarmes in a clear square and no-one going to the “Cave”. The pink May trees were in full bloom, and the white. Many people came to the balconies and looked out, otherwise we were the only people dressed and on the alert. Within an hour the “All clear” went, so we made tea and decided the dawn had been worth seeing – when again the telephone rang and at the same time the guns began firing and five German planes came low over the Mess. We heard heavy bombs drop somewhere up the road and as soon as a lull came from overhead, we went to the hospital to find all was well, and to be thoroughly scolded by the Commanding Officer for not remaining under cover. We scurried back and had breakfast at 6 a.m. and waited for the second “Allclear” which came at 7.40 a.m.
So we sailed forth to face the day feeling we were in for dear Lord knows what.
Still we paid our Club subscription to the local Tennis Club – brick-dust courts – thinking it only an incident as we’d had planes over before. But daily at 4.45 a.m. the German Patrol came over. They came in groups of eleven, thirteen, seventeen and did all the damage they could. Then naturally the casualties came pouring in, shrapnel wounds, mostly Air Force – many severely burnt. A large convoy of the 51st Division from the Maginot area came, then work was all that mattered – no-one even thought of off duty. The orderlies were magnificent – the M.Os. worked ceaselessly, and the Sisters, bless them, were there at every turn. Electricity went off – gas cut off – they got hot drinks, big dressings done by Primus Stoves, the theatre going regardless of Jerry’s night or day raids. He took a fancy to call every two hours when we tried to get the ambulance train loaded with very serious cases for the base, however often he came. When it looked impossible, the M.A.C. brought the patients back to the hospital while the train drew off to a siding.
This game of put and take went on for 36 hours, but we got all patients off and on the train without incident – beat Jerry to it, and beat him well. He came that day as usual at 4.45 a.m. and we had, while the ambulances were being loaded for the third time in 12 hours, refilled with very badly wounded officers and men. Jerry came again and flew low over all. The ambulances were lined up, drivers, orderlies, medical officers, none had been off duty at all for full 24 hours – the chronic grumblers never thought up one single moan, all were kindly and helpful. Britishers at bay, to do their utmost against wretched odds.
One miserable half hour, when all were keyed up, one Irish orderly looking up to the sky, murmured quietly, “Cobber Kain we need you” (he had been a patient – measles). Like Jessie’s dream at Lucknow, came the drone of our very own Squadron. An officer called “Hold on there for a minute” and at the end of those very 60 seconds, the entire sky was ours, and the Ambulance Train was filled up with the normal peace time amount of comfort and smooth running. The Sisters were told to pack and be on the train – the same train – by noon prompt. So when the worst cases had been given the helpful Hypdermic’s of Morphia and the operating theatre cleared and Emergency Panniers packed, the Sisters raced to their Mess, 10 mins. down the avenue, packed – ate their stew from the tin plates prepared by two good orderlies, packed their personal kit, help pack the Mess kit and got to the train. Got in with two American lady refugees – Lady Beattie and Mrs Benson from Rheims, where they had just opened a wonderful officers’ club, and had been told to go quickly and join the Sisters of the 4th C.C.S. We met in the train and were just making friends when “Wailing Winnie” wailed to some purpose, and overhead Jerry was sending down some boomps – boomps. Back came our own and chased them, just as we had feared they had us well into focus, and away puffed No.5 Ambulance Train.
The Sisters in the train were the first we had seen during our months in France so we felt very drawn to them and found they looked so fresh and young. This Ambulance Train got us to Chateau Thierry about evening but the French people would have none of us. They daren’t and were trembling when they saw our men in uniform, as they were convinced Les Boche would follow Les Anglais immediately. They did. And the town had its first air-raid that very night – a severe one. The official interpreter got us billets 2 kilos away – two per tiny cottage, sharing double beds. We retired very early, all abed by 9 p.m. as we were very tired, and once more 3 a.m. Les Boche with heavy bombs, one just near – the next field to our surrounds.
It was there we actually became soldiers, and threw ourselves flat in ditches and under hedges whenever Jerry came overhead. There too we realized the value of tin hats. The orderlies and a few officers were camped in a barn, and while wandering almost from door to door trying to purchase eggs for a picnic lunch, one orderly said, “Gee Sister a whole franc each, I can show you where to get them for nothing”. The officers found having Sisters rather a strain – the bombing was often so very close, and one said he would never face home if a Sister became a corpse while under his care.
June 1st saw us on the road among the thousands of refugees, arrived at Villeneuve sur Seine and stayed at the Bois Robeire. The officers had the small Chateau, the Sisters – the groom's flat over the stables, a small dark funny little flat, with attic ceiling – no water laid on, but easily carried from the farmyard well. No German planes had been there at all and it was utter peace, in wonderful weather. We had a wireless set and listened to the fall of Belgium, and the heroic work of Dunkirk. It was here, three Sisters feeling rested and grateful for peaceful nights realized some of the officers had lost all their kit and had worn their underwear in the heat long enough, so offered to become laundry maids.** The offer was most gratefully accepted and their clothes dried in the hot sunshine while they waited. The old-fashioned flat irons proved most useful, as did the Beatrice oil stoves. All our food was cooked on those. Twice Lady Benson helped mend and darn for the men folks. We stayed in this glorious spot for a week, gathering wild strawberries by the basketful, and swimming daily in the Seine.
On the Sunday morning of the 3rd June we were up at 5 a.m. and away on the road joining a large British Air Force convoy, some 10 kilos away, and this well organised convoy got safely through Blois-sur-Loire and on to Bauge. No billets were available but a small chateau put ready and waiting for evacuee children from Paris allowed us to sleep on the floors, and the men folk in the grounds. This place hardly knew there was a war on at all, and was like a quiet English town in summer. Two nights we halted – going to a village tavern for one main meal. The stoves again were used to feed the company, and proved so worthwhile. Two days later in early evening Sisters closed into an ambulance and we moved again to Chateau du Loire, and through 4 kilos from Chateau du Loire we camped in a large wood on the banks of the Lois, a smaller swiftly flowing stream. Though close to the main road the tents were so deep in the wood no-one noticed them, but the German planes were over and dropped many bombs here all around the camp day and night. Trenches were dug and everyone realized that any light would show and the entire convoy suffer. The Lois was clean and wonderful again for swimming. The Sisters had four tents at a secluded corner near the farm, and had all meals out of doors, once more getting socks to wash etc. A healthy enjoyable week was spent though an anxious one as no letters were getting through and the rumours were that England was suffering (Fifth Columnist work evidently).
While there we visited Vendome Le Mans and called on No.9 General, the first Q.A.I.M.N.S. Mess we had known in France. On June 13th we again packed and the tents were struck, moved off early afternoon. The roads round Angers were impassable with refugees. The last of our group to get through saw havoc done from the air among civilians where panic was rife. Arriving outside Nantes late, there was again no billets, so the C.O. took a field – the Maire of the village had only one. We slept in ambulances that night, 5 in one, four in the other, and at dawn Jerry came over. A night watchman from the factory 50 yds over the hedge screamed at us to go away and we found it was a munition factory which might be hit in trying to hit the British, so we had to gather up and dress and get off quickly. June 14th we drew up by the roadside and watched convoys of French armoured cars, civilians trekking again in terror. The Boche were just behind, we ate Ration biscuits and bully beef and wondered. At 4 p.m. 15th June a dispatch rider came with a letter – Sisters into one ambulance and drive like the wind to La Baule.
We all packed in and arrived at La Baule about 5 p.m., where we were made welcome, given tea with No.4 General – allowed to have baths, and given beds for the night. Just getting sleepy when the alert went – off down to the shelter, later back to bed. Next day we were advised to purchase rations for three days. In the tea hour 4 o’clock, we were hurried to the station – train in – wounded were being embarked, all settled in – train moved off when Boomph, Boomph, bombs and machine guns – hectic time. Waited at St. Nazaire, train all ready alongside for the boat.
Got on board, sent down below and told to hide ourselves – terrific barrage. Sometime later the Dorsetshire moved off, many ambulances coming by road with serious cases were severely bombed but got through. On board we were given real meals in a dining saloon – very delicious food and served by native stewards. Many went on night duty, many put down for day duty next a.m. Five of our C.C.S. did duty all the way over. The first night was calm, restful, very comfortable steady going. The second night 11.30 p.m. Jerry came over and dropped three horrible bangs. Order was given to dress and be ready for the boats – we did. All was silence, kindly, helpful, noble women. 100 in one room and not a murmur. Then 15 minutes later orders came “All’s well, return to bed.” Chatter and Bug!! Everyone kept the fat friendly life-belt on. We were enormously grateful to the Navy. There was the Hospital ship seemingly alone as far as the eye could see on the water, but exactly 7 minutes after the first bomb dropped the British Navy was alongside us – it was thrilling. Nothing but peaceful calm sailing next day and into Southampton safely at 10 o’clock, where buses met the ship to take us to comfortable hotels. We were given railway warrants to our homes and could draw money – wonderful organisation. Someone had certainly thought of everything.
Hats off to the British Army.
* A note in the margin says ‘Sister of a Miss Jones from Wales. This Miss Jones was Home for some weeks on sick leave in Feb-March'.
** Note in the margin says ‘Laundry-maids, Miss Hardwick, Trethewey and Huffam'.
********************Ormskirk
Lancs
Feb. 12th 1941
Dear Miss Russell,
Please forgive the delay in getting the enclosed written for you. Chepstow became very busy my last two weeks there, as many measles came and some seriously ill, then of course on arriving here – the assembling of Camp Kit and Tropical has taken up much time – so many things becoming more scarce as time goes on.
I do hope this is the type of thing Miss Jones wishes – I’m no ‘writer’ as you will realize. Anyhow I wouldn’t have missed France and all its varied experiences for worlds – and now am delighted to be going away again, where our training and years of experience may help in any form “over there” probably in various fevers peculiar to the locality. The unit is made up of exceedingly nice people and I know we’ll all pull well together – Miss Taylor and Miss Ellis are so understanding.
You people at the Head of Things must have to work very hard – indeed I just can’t think how you do it and manage so many thousands, so thoroughly well. We think of you much more that you might realize! Please give my very kind regards to Miss Jones, and I wish you all a safe and happy future.
Sincerely,
Elizabeth Huffam
No.4 CASUALTY CLEARING STATION
Miss E. C. M. Huffam, Q.A.I.M.N.S. Reserve
EVACUATION OF THE 4TH C.C.S., B.E.F. 1940
April, a glorious hot month, the woods full of wild flowers, many we did not recognise – whole carpets of wild anemones and the roadsides just a blaze of yellow with large honey scented cowslips.
One Friday afternoon towards the end of the month, the C.O. of the Motor Ambulance Corps sent his car to take as many Sisters as were off duty for a real car run. We decided to visit Chateau Thierry and see the lovely American 1916-18 War Memorial. High over the hill, looking down on the town, a wide, and very impressive memorial, so friendly and clean in the sunshine. Three of us had gone that day and were walking quietly through the main street looking really for shoe shops – hoping to buy summer slippers, when a very charming, gay young French lady came just behind and said, “Sisters – English Sisters, Oh where have you come from and are you come to stay? And do please come and have tea with me”. Well, we felt slightly shocked, as we, Hush – Hush – never told strangers who or what we were. She smiled so joyfully and laughingly said, “No, don’t tell me. My sister is a Q.A. and is in Dieppe*, only do come and have tea”. We went gladly and made friends. She was so full of life and aged 25, had married a real Frenchman while studying at the Lycée in Paris. He was an officer with his Regiment near the Maginot Line. She was teaching English in a large school and had a delightful flat in the American Memorial Creche building. We thoroughly enjoyed that day and promised to come again – Alas, we did not see her again, but were able to send her books and she did the same.
Very shortly after that wonderful day, the ‘Balloon’ in soldier slang went up. Up, in real earnest. The first we knew of it in our own area was a phone message at 2 a.m. when the Theatre Sister on call came to each of us and said, “There’s an air-raid warning”. We jumped up and dressed, seized tin hats, respirators, camp-chair and rug and went down to the cellar. The town’s “Waillie Winnie” went off as we were chatting, so we came up from below to find two Gendarmes in a clear square and no-one going to the “Cave”. The pink May trees were in full bloom, and the white. Many people came to the balconies and looked out, otherwise we were the only people dressed and on the alert. Within an hour the “All clear” went, so we made tea and decided the dawn had been worth seeing – when again the telephone rang and at the same time the guns began firing and five German planes came low over the Mess. We heard heavy bombs drop somewhere up the road and as soon as a lull came from overhead, we went to the hospital to find all was well, and to be thoroughly scolded by the Commanding Officer for not remaining under cover. We scurried back and had breakfast at 6 a.m. and waited for the second “Allclear” which came at 7.40 a.m.
So we sailed forth to face the day feeling we were in for dear Lord knows what.
Still we paid our Club subscription to the local Tennis Club – brick-dust courts – thinking it only an incident as we’d had planes over before. But daily at 4.45 a.m. the German Patrol came over. They came in groups of eleven, thirteen, seventeen and did all the damage they could. Then naturally the casualties came pouring in, shrapnel wounds, mostly Air Force – many severely burnt. A large convoy of the 51st Division from the Maginot area came, then work was all that mattered – no-one even thought of off duty. The orderlies were magnificent – the M.Os. worked ceaselessly, and the Sisters, bless them, were there at every turn. Electricity went off – gas cut off – they got hot drinks, big dressings done by Primus Stoves, the theatre going regardless of Jerry’s night or day raids. He took a fancy to call every two hours when we tried to get the ambulance train loaded with very serious cases for the base, however often he came. When it looked impossible, the M.A.C. brought the patients back to the hospital while the train drew off to a siding.
This game of put and take went on for 36 hours, but we got all patients off and on the train without incident – beat Jerry to it, and beat him well. He came that day as usual at 4.45 a.m. and we had, while the ambulances were being loaded for the third time in 12 hours, refilled with very badly wounded officers and men. Jerry came again and flew low over all. The ambulances were lined up, drivers, orderlies, medical officers, none had been off duty at all for full 24 hours – the chronic grumblers never thought up one single moan, all were kindly and helpful. Britishers at bay, to do their utmost against wretched odds.
One miserable half hour, when all were keyed up, one Irish orderly looking up to the sky, murmured quietly, “Cobber Kain we need you” (he had been a patient – measles). Like Jessie’s dream at Lucknow, came the drone of our very own Squadron. An officer called “Hold on there for a minute” and at the end of those very 60 seconds, the entire sky was ours, and the Ambulance Train was filled up with the normal peace time amount of comfort and smooth running. The Sisters were told to pack and be on the train – the same train – by noon prompt. So when the worst cases had been given the helpful Hypdermic’s of Morphia and the operating theatre cleared and Emergency Panniers packed, the Sisters raced to their Mess, 10 mins. down the avenue, packed – ate their stew from the tin plates prepared by two good orderlies, packed their personal kit, help pack the Mess kit and got to the train. Got in with two American lady refugees – Lady Beattie and Mrs Benson from Rheims, where they had just opened a wonderful officers’ club, and had been told to go quickly and join the Sisters of the 4th C.C.S. We met in the train and were just making friends when “Wailing Winnie” wailed to some purpose, and overhead Jerry was sending down some boomps – boomps. Back came our own and chased them, just as we had feared they had us well into focus, and away puffed No.5 Ambulance Train.
The Sisters in the train were the first we had seen during our months in France so we felt very drawn to them and found they looked so fresh and young. This Ambulance Train got us to Chateau Thierry about evening but the French people would have none of us. They daren’t and were trembling when they saw our men in uniform, as they were convinced Les Boche would follow Les Anglais immediately. They did. And the town had its first air-raid that very night – a severe one. The official interpreter got us billets 2 kilos away – two per tiny cottage, sharing double beds. We retired very early, all abed by 9 p.m. as we were very tired, and once more 3 a.m. Les Boche with heavy bombs, one just near – the next field to our surrounds.
It was there we actually became soldiers, and threw ourselves flat in ditches and under hedges whenever Jerry came overhead. There too we realized the value of tin hats. The orderlies and a few officers were camped in a barn, and while wandering almost from door to door trying to purchase eggs for a picnic lunch, one orderly said, “Gee Sister a whole franc each, I can show you where to get them for nothing”. The officers found having Sisters rather a strain – the bombing was often so very close, and one said he would never face home if a Sister became a corpse while under his care.
June 1st saw us on the road among the thousands of refugees, arrived at Villeneuve sur Seine and stayed at the Bois Robeire. The officers had the small Chateau, the Sisters – the groom's flat over the stables, a small dark funny little flat, with attic ceiling – no water laid on, but easily carried from the farmyard well. No German planes had been there at all and it was utter peace, in wonderful weather. We had a wireless set and listened to the fall of Belgium, and the heroic work of Dunkirk. It was here, three Sisters feeling rested and grateful for peaceful nights realized some of the officers had lost all their kit and had worn their underwear in the heat long enough, so offered to become laundry maids.** The offer was most gratefully accepted and their clothes dried in the hot sunshine while they waited. The old-fashioned flat irons proved most useful, as did the Beatrice oil stoves. All our food was cooked on those. Twice Lady Benson helped mend and darn for the men folks. We stayed in this glorious spot for a week, gathering wild strawberries by the basketful, and swimming daily in the Seine.
On the Sunday morning of the 3rd June we were up at 5 a.m. and away on the road joining a large British Air Force convoy, some 10 kilos away, and this well organised convoy got safely through Blois-sur-Loire and on to Bauge. No billets were available but a small chateau put ready and waiting for evacuee children from Paris allowed us to sleep on the floors, and the men folk in the grounds. This place hardly knew there was a war on at all, and was like a quiet English town in summer. Two nights we halted – going to a village tavern for one main meal. The stoves again were used to feed the company, and proved so worthwhile. Two days later in early evening Sisters closed into an ambulance and we moved again to Chateau du Loire, and through 4 kilos from Chateau du Loire we camped in a large wood on the banks of the Lois, a smaller swiftly flowing stream. Though close to the main road the tents were so deep in the wood no-one noticed them, but the German planes were over and dropped many bombs here all around the camp day and night. Trenches were dug and everyone realized that any light would show and the entire convoy suffer. The Lois was clean and wonderful again for swimming. The Sisters had four tents at a secluded corner near the farm, and had all meals out of doors, once more getting socks to wash etc. A healthy enjoyable week was spent though an anxious one as no letters were getting through and the rumours were that England was suffering (Fifth Columnist work evidently).
While there we visited Vendome Le Mans and called on No.9 General, the first Q.A.I.M.N.S. Mess we had known in France. On June 13th we again packed and the tents were struck, moved off early afternoon. The roads round Angers were impassable with refugees. The last of our group to get through saw havoc done from the air among civilians where panic was rife. Arriving outside Nantes late, there was again no billets, so the C.O. took a field – the Maire of the village had only one. We slept in ambulances that night, 5 in one, four in the other, and at dawn Jerry came over. A night watchman from the factory 50 yds over the hedge screamed at us to go away and we found it was a munition factory which might be hit in trying to hit the British, so we had to gather up and dress and get off quickly. June 14th we drew up by the roadside and watched convoys of French armoured cars, civilians trekking again in terror. The Boche were just behind, we ate Ration biscuits and bully beef and wondered. At 4 p.m. 15th June a dispatch rider came with a letter – Sisters into one ambulance and drive like the wind to La Baule.
We all packed in and arrived at La Baule about 5 p.m., where we were made welcome, given tea with No.4 General – allowed to have baths, and given beds for the night. Just getting sleepy when the alert went – off down to the shelter, later back to bed. Next day we were advised to purchase rations for three days. In the tea hour 4 o’clock, we were hurried to the station – train in – wounded were being embarked, all settled in – train moved off when Boomph, Boomph, bombs and machine guns – hectic time. Waited at St. Nazaire, train all ready alongside for the boat.
Got on board, sent down below and told to hide ourselves – terrific barrage. Sometime later the Dorsetshire moved off, many ambulances coming by road with serious cases were severely bombed but got through. On board we were given real meals in a dining saloon – very delicious food and served by native stewards. Many went on night duty, many put down for day duty next a.m. Five of our C.C.S. did duty all the way over. The first night was calm, restful, very comfortable steady going. The second night 11.30 p.m. Jerry came over and dropped three horrible bangs. Order was given to dress and be ready for the boats – we did. All was silence, kindly, helpful, noble women. 100 in one room and not a murmur. Then 15 minutes later orders came “All’s well, return to bed.” Chatter and Bug!! Everyone kept the fat friendly life-belt on. We were enormously grateful to the Navy. There was the Hospital ship seemingly alone as far as the eye could see on the water, but exactly 7 minutes after the first bomb dropped the British Navy was alongside us – it was thrilling. Nothing but peaceful calm sailing next day and into Southampton safely at 10 o’clock, where buses met the ship to take us to comfortable hotels. We were given railway warrants to our homes and could draw money – wonderful organisation. Someone had certainly thought of everything.
Hats off to the British Army.
* A note in the margin says ‘Sister of a Miss Jones from Wales. This Miss Jones was Home for some weeks on sick leave in Feb-March'.
** Note in the margin says ‘Laundry-maids, Miss Hardwick, Trethewey and Huffam'.
Julien Olive Manning was born in the summer of 1906, her birth registered in Middlesborough. She trained as a nurse at Leeds General Infirmary between 1928 and 1931.
No.10 CASUALTY CLEARING STATION, LILLE
Miss J. O. Manning, Q.A.I.M.N.S. Reserve
Military Hospital,
Moston Hall,
CHESTER.
17th January 1941
To: Miss Russell,
Matron, Q.A.I.M.N.S.,
The War Office (A.M.D.4.),
CHELTENHAM.
Dear Madam,
I respectfully beg to acknowledge receipt of your letter dated January 11th, 1941, requesting an account of my experiences following the invasion of the Low Countries.
I received my movement orders from Miss Thompson, the Matron of No.5 General Hospital, at 1300 hours on Saturday, May the 11th, 1940. My orders were to proceed to No.10 Casualty Clearing Station. From that date until I came to England on May 30th 1940 each day was packed with incident, so I think it will be advisable to tabulate my account of various happenings.
Some of the dates may not be precisely accurate, but I will set down same as well as my memory will allow. We were not permitted to keep diaries after joining the B.E.F.
SATURDAY MAY 11th 1940 – Travelled by ambulance via Abbeville, Amiens and ARRAS to ST. ANDRE near LILLE. Very little incident except in towns where people were evacuating their homes and adding to an evergrowing stream of refugees. Arrived at destination at 23.45 hours.
SUNDAY MAY 12th 1940 – Some air activity by the enemy and bombs dropped in Lille a mile from the C.C.S.
TUESDAY MAY 14th 1940 – First field casualties admitted. Resuscitation Ward opened where I assisted Capt. Kanaar, R.A.M.C. In the evening the Duke of Norfolk and the Duke of Gloucester were admitted – the latter having been slightly injured during an air attack on ARMENTIERES. There was a heavy local raid at night and a spinney four hundred yards from the C.C.S. was machine-gunned. For the next few days we admitted many casualties, including some civilians. Many seriously ill patients were admitted to Resuscitation Ward prior to going to the Wards, and we gave an average of twenty blood transfusions a day from Thursday May 15th to Monday the 20th. Patients who were shocked were put on to stretchers fixed on high trestles, and as no radiant heat baths were available, we used small Valor Oil Stoves under the stretchers, which we draped with blankets to keep in the heat. This was a very successful method.
MONDAY MAY 20th 1940 – All patients evacuated, we awaited movement orders.
TUESDAY MAY 21st 1940 – Orders to re-open C.C.S. and departments, wards and the theatre were hastily prepared to receive a convoy of wounded. Approximately fifty patients were admitted, but were sent to a Hospital Train the same night.
WEDNESDAY MAY 22nd 1940 – Orders to evacuate the C.C.S. completely. Sisters travelled with the light section, by ambulance to STAVELE in Belgium via ARMENTIERES, YPRES and POPERINGHE. Progress was severely impeded because of the numbers of refugees on the roads. That night the Sisters slept in two rooms in a small convent. We had no water and no means of cooking except on small spirit stoves. Our money was French and the Belgians would not accept it for milk, eggs or bread. We had one small table, but the Nuns came and removed that, also some forms, and their plants from the schoolroom.
THURSDAY MAY 23rd 1940 – Equipment commenced to arrive at STAVELE by road and we prepared to admit patients, however, N.C.Os. were left in charge and we were transported by Ambulance to a village called KROMBERE. There we had at our disposal a school and a church and the same night admitted casualties. In the church there were stretcher cases – in the school a theatre and one ward for pre-operative cases, also a resuscitation ward.
SATURDAY MAY 25th 1940 – The village was bombed – one company cookhouse received a direct hit, and the house being used for an Officers’ Mess completely wrecked. There were several fatal casualties amongst R.A.M.C. personnel and R.A.S.C. attached to us. That night an overflow of 200 patients slept in a field. Altogether we had 850 patients.
SUNDAY MAY 26th 1940 – 200 patients were evacuated to the United Kingdom via DUNKIRK.
MONDAY MAY 27th 1940 – Noise of artillery five to seven miles away and large convoys of Belgians and French Units passing through the village to the front. Convoy sent to coast at 22.00 hours returned – roads impassable. All Orderly Room papers destroyed by order of C.O. Sheets painted with Red Cross attached to Church spire and schoolroom chimneys. Ammunition dump and petrol dump two fields away bombed and set on fire. 400 patients despatched to coast – returned – roads still blocked.
TUESDAY MAY 28th 1940 – Road to DUNKIRK still unfit for traffic; patients then admitted to a Café and nearby barn. Many casualties. Sisters warned by C.O. not to traverse village street unescorted after dark. We were all in separate billets. I personally had been billeted at the village cobblers, but only went there three nights out of seven.
WEDNESDAY MAY 29th 1940 – Another attempt to evacuate wounded, of whom there were about 400, proved unsuccessful. Belgian units on way to front halted in village. Their King had capitulated and they had no orders. We were told not to go to our billets or undress, but to remain in a small cottage adjoining the schoolroom. That night was particularly quiet, and we slept in turn.
After the cookhouse was blown up there was only one Sawyers Stove and as we had so many patients and personnel (altogether about 750) to feed I volunteered to cook for the 13 Sisters and two batmen. I had no previous experience of housekeeping, but could try. Our supplies of blood from the base were cut off and resuscitation ward was no longer taking up all my time. Sometimes there was little available to cook – but one day I found a potato patch and dug up potatoes as well as I could without proper implements There was no bread, and these were very acceptable, after numerous repasts of bully beef and biscuits.
THURSDAY MAY 30th 1940 – I found two packets of Quaker Oats at 06.00 hours that morning, and made porridge for breakfast. This was greatly appreciated and during consumption of same the Lt. Quartermaster brought one large round flat loaf into the Mess – the first bread we had eaten for four days – the loaf was still hot from the oven when we cut it.
Before 09.00 hours that morning four of my patients had died – three refugees and one British soldier, and I could not do very much for my remaining patients but make them as comfortable as circumstances permitted, so decided to see what I could do for a midday meal. I procured forty fresh eggs from a local farmer and some flour for the small sum of ten Belgian francs – two tins sausages from our Quartermaster, and some tins of fruit. The sausages were in the Oven and the pancakes mixed – but what happened to that feast I do not know, for at 11.30 hours the C.O. came to the cottage and asked me to call all Sisters from their duties as there was an ambulance available to take us to the coast. I met the Sister in charge in the village and together we collected the remaining Sisters. The enemy was advancing and we must go quickly. At 12.45 hours we left the village with some of our kit, and arrived at LA PANNE BAINS north of DUNKIRK at 13.50 hours. The roads all the way were lined with abandoned vehicles of all descriptions.
On arrival at LA PANNE we were ordered to leave our kit on the beach and to wade out to the nearest ship. This proved to be a wooden paddle steamer converted to mine sweeper, and the captain put his cabin at our disposal. It was 14.10 hours when we were all safely embarked and at 14.25 hours the first German planes approached and dropped bombs sixteen feet from the port side. The following six and a half hours we had air raids every ten or fifteen minutes. The sister ship to ours was set on fire and subsequently sank – two merchant ships had to be abandoned. A destroyer was hit by incendiary bombs but the crew quickly dealt with the fire. There were not enough life belts on the ship and the captain told us that the crew were frightfully superstitious. With thirteen women on board they were quite convinced we would never reach England. We left the coast at 9 p.m. after picking up more troops under cover of darkness. At 02.00 hours the following morning we had to cast anchor somewhere in the North Sea, and the engines were silenced for nearly an hour as there were German planes overhead. This fact gave some anxiety to a young subaltern in the cabin as he had put some men in charge of guns on deck. They were very enthusiastic as they brought two enemy planes down in the afternoon. However, they refrained from shooting and our position was not given away.
FRIDAY MAY 31st 1940 – Disembarked at Harwich at 1350 hrs, 650 O.Rs., 2 Subalterns, one Belgian Major and thirteen Sisters, all tired, very dirty, but with thankful hearts.
There are two people I would particularly like to mention – one the Rev. Capt. J. M. PLATT and Private CRAWFORD, R.A.M.C. both prisoners of war. The padre helped everybody, having no thought for his personal safety. Private CRAWFORD did orderlies duties in resuscitation ward and his courage, fortitude and treatment of patients at all times were admirable. He worked very hard and seldom left the Ward day or night except for meals.
You asked me to be brief, Miss Russell – that is difficult – I have missed out many incidents of air raids etc. – but they were frequent occurrences, and I am sure that the foregoing details of three weeks of my great adventure will make much more interesting reading.
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No.9 CASUALTY CLEARING STATION
Miss I. Buck, Territorial Army Nursing Service
No.9 C.C.S. was stationed at Beuvry, near Béthune, about 15 miles from Arras. When the Germans attacked the Low Countries I was on leave. I was recalled and reached the unit May 15th 1940. I found that air raids were almost continuous, but although many bombs were dropped none fell on Beuvry. The Germans were then very near Arras and the big guns could be heard distinctly. The roads leading to Arras were being machine gunned. On the night of May 18th convoys of wounded began to arrive – chiefly gunshot wounds of lower limbs. On the following day, Sunday May 19th, we evacuated the C.C.S. and left Beuvry about 7 p.m. We all protested at being sent away from our unit but were told we should rejoin them in about two days at St. Omer, but we did not see them again – they came back to England via Dunkirk.
We had considerable difficulty in getting away as the streets were packed with refugees. We travelled by ambulance, it was a beautiful moonlight night, at one place we had to pull up as firing was unpleasantly close. We reached Dieppe about 4.30 a.m. Here we were very kindly received and fixed up with mattresses and blankets for the rest of the night. On that evening – Monday May 20th – we went to bed early, beds having been arranged for us by the Red Cross Society, but at 8 p.m. we were roused and sent to No.2 General Hospital at Offranville, Dieppe having been continuously raided for several days. Offranville was raided that night but as no bombs were dropped near the Hospital, we managed to get a fair amount of rest.
The following morning, Tuesday May 21st, the Nursing Staff of No.2 General Hospital were evacuated. After some difficulty the 9 C.C.S. Sisters managed to secure an ambulance to take us back to Dieppe to the Hotel des Etrangers where we had left our luggage, only to find the place deserted and no luggage – we were then sent to the station by Matron and left Dieppe about 4 p.m. and after 24 hours reached Le Mans Wednesday May 22nd. Here we were told to wait for transport to Rennes, but after some time as no transport was available we were taken by an Officer into the town which was packed with refugees. Guards were stationed at the entrances to Hotels and across main roads – here we had to produce our identification cards which got us past the guards into the Hotel and after a meal we were taken to the La Bourse where we spent the night, armchairs being the only sleeping accommodation.
Thursday night billets were found for us at the Hotel Moderne and the Hotel de Paris – here we spent two nights. We were then taken by ambulance to Evreux to No.9 Detachment which was working as a C.C.S. Here we worked for ten days – convoys of wounded passing through about twice a day, patients with minor injuries, and those too ill to continue the journey were detained. During the ten days very little gun fire was heard.
One day a request was sent to the Colonel, from No.13 General Hospital near Rouen, asking if two Theatre Sisters could be sent up to help in the Theatres, their Sisters having previously been evacuated. I, accompanied by the Surgical Team Sister went there and after working all night, we were sent back to Evreux. Large convoys of wounded were arriving – the operating theatres had been continuously in use for a week. The surgeons looked extremely tired, but managed to get their meals and a few hours sleep at intervals. I was sorry I was not allowed to stay longer but the Colonel considered it unsafe for Sisters as the place had been bombed several times.
On arriving back I found the 9 C.C.S. Sisters preparing to leave. We were sent to Grand Luce – No.9 General Hospital. Here I worked in the Operating Theatre – large convoys of wounded arrived frequently. The rest of the unit were accommodated in a tent. We were here for four days, heavy gun fire could again be heard distinctly – the Germans were then about twenty miles away. The Hospital was then evacuated and we left with the Sisters of No.9 General Hospital for Cherbourg and England, crossing on June 11th.
Throughout all our travelling, our Sister in Charge, Miss Hanson T.A.N.S. was marvellous, we can never be sufficiently grateful to her for her kindness and consideration.
Miss I. Buck, Territorial Army Nursing Service
No.9 C.C.S. was stationed at Beuvry, near Béthune, about 15 miles from Arras. When the Germans attacked the Low Countries I was on leave. I was recalled and reached the unit May 15th 1940. I found that air raids were almost continuous, but although many bombs were dropped none fell on Beuvry. The Germans were then very near Arras and the big guns could be heard distinctly. The roads leading to Arras were being machine gunned. On the night of May 18th convoys of wounded began to arrive – chiefly gunshot wounds of lower limbs. On the following day, Sunday May 19th, we evacuated the C.C.S. and left Beuvry about 7 p.m. We all protested at being sent away from our unit but were told we should rejoin them in about two days at St. Omer, but we did not see them again – they came back to England via Dunkirk.
We had considerable difficulty in getting away as the streets were packed with refugees. We travelled by ambulance, it was a beautiful moonlight night, at one place we had to pull up as firing was unpleasantly close. We reached Dieppe about 4.30 a.m. Here we were very kindly received and fixed up with mattresses and blankets for the rest of the night. On that evening – Monday May 20th – we went to bed early, beds having been arranged for us by the Red Cross Society, but at 8 p.m. we were roused and sent to No.2 General Hospital at Offranville, Dieppe having been continuously raided for several days. Offranville was raided that night but as no bombs were dropped near the Hospital, we managed to get a fair amount of rest.
The following morning, Tuesday May 21st, the Nursing Staff of No.2 General Hospital were evacuated. After some difficulty the 9 C.C.S. Sisters managed to secure an ambulance to take us back to Dieppe to the Hotel des Etrangers where we had left our luggage, only to find the place deserted and no luggage – we were then sent to the station by Matron and left Dieppe about 4 p.m. and after 24 hours reached Le Mans Wednesday May 22nd. Here we were told to wait for transport to Rennes, but after some time as no transport was available we were taken by an Officer into the town which was packed with refugees. Guards were stationed at the entrances to Hotels and across main roads – here we had to produce our identification cards which got us past the guards into the Hotel and after a meal we were taken to the La Bourse where we spent the night, armchairs being the only sleeping accommodation.
Thursday night billets were found for us at the Hotel Moderne and the Hotel de Paris – here we spent two nights. We were then taken by ambulance to Evreux to No.9 Detachment which was working as a C.C.S. Here we worked for ten days – convoys of wounded passing through about twice a day, patients with minor injuries, and those too ill to continue the journey were detained. During the ten days very little gun fire was heard.
One day a request was sent to the Colonel, from No.13 General Hospital near Rouen, asking if two Theatre Sisters could be sent up to help in the Theatres, their Sisters having previously been evacuated. I, accompanied by the Surgical Team Sister went there and after working all night, we were sent back to Evreux. Large convoys of wounded were arriving – the operating theatres had been continuously in use for a week. The surgeons looked extremely tired, but managed to get their meals and a few hours sleep at intervals. I was sorry I was not allowed to stay longer but the Colonel considered it unsafe for Sisters as the place had been bombed several times.
On arriving back I found the 9 C.C.S. Sisters preparing to leave. We were sent to Grand Luce – No.9 General Hospital. Here I worked in the Operating Theatre – large convoys of wounded arrived frequently. The rest of the unit were accommodated in a tent. We were here for four days, heavy gun fire could again be heard distinctly – the Germans were then about twenty miles away. The Hospital was then evacuated and we left with the Sisters of No.9 General Hospital for Cherbourg and England, crossing on June 11th.
Throughout all our travelling, our Sister in Charge, Miss Hanson T.A.N.S. was marvellous, we can never be sufficiently grateful to her for her kindness and consideration.
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No.6 CASUALTY CLEARING STATION
Miss G. Leyland, Q.A.I.M.N.S. Reserve
Gretchen Leyland was born late in 1911, her birth being registered in Preston, Lancashire. She trained at Guy’s Hospital, London between 1930 and 1933,being just nineteen when she started - a sure sign that the age for women to start nurse training was rapidly decreasing.
I find it difficult to make a coherence of the happenings which [took place] over the period between May 9th, when the Germans entered the Low Countries and Sister K. D. H. Roberts and I had our first taste of actual warfare in the dive bombing attack on Calais, and May 27th when we reached England. On May 10th we arrived back at VAUDRICOURT, leave having been cancelled, to find No.6 C.C.S. in a ferment of excitement and prepared to depart for Belgium at a moments notice.
Sunday May 11th
The day was lively with hunts for parachutists in the woods and cornfields. We entrained early in the evening during an aerial bombardment of BETHUNE and the train started on its journey about midnight.
Monday 12th
From daybreak onwards we were greeted by cheering Belgians who brought coffee and brandy to the train. On reaching HAALTERT we found scores of incendiaries had been scattered and the next village set on fire. The petrol and other supply columns were having a bad time along the roads. The Light Section had set up its equipment in a modern school building which seemed to be made chiefly of glass and offered some knotty problems in ‘Black Out’.
Tuesday 13th
During the night and throughout the next day a constant stream of wounded came in. They seemed to be chiefly The Grenadier Guards, The Coldstream Guards and the Ulster Rifles. The ground floor became the Reception and Resuscitation Wards with the Theatre adjacent.
I was given charge of the Post Operative Ward upstairs and a similar arrangement for less serious cases was carried out in a building across the courtyard. There were three Orderlies to assist me but only one, Pte. Sunderland, was a trained Nursing Orderly.
Drinking water, food and the effort to establish a routine were my main preoccupations, but with the help of Pte. Sunderland, who began to appear in the light of a miracle worker, of Mr. King the Quartermaster and R.S.M. Taylor, who knew how to roll his sleeves up, the greatest difficulties were in the way of being fairly solved by evening. I had fixed up a steriliser with my own Valor-Perfection and even written a report.
Wednesday 14th
The ward was in better order and work went on more smoothly during the day and an evacuation was carried out by torchlight in the evening. The evacuation of about 250 patients, many of them having been X-rayed, received Blood Transfusion and Operation, was almost complete by 1 a.m. when I went over to the Mess for some food. We had not even had a drink since midday. Orders came that we were to leave Belgium at once and were then followed by the news that we had a respite of 24 hours and could load up the equipment as well.
Thursday 15th
The next day, the quiet, sunny streets of HAALTERT were full of refugees, black coated citizens in carpet-slippers, children with bundles and old women on the cross bars of bicycles.
The train was loaded by 4 p.m. and two Lewis guns were mounted on it by the Royal Surreys. The Light Section remained at the hospital to receive the few other casualties since the evacuation. We were drinking tea, produced by the cook on a Sawyers Stove, when three German planes swooped and there was a rattle of machine-gun fire. The platform was clear in the twinkling of an eye and we were under the train getting our coats daubed with black oil. The journey to HAZEBROUCK took the better part of two days. The line seemed to be blocked from end to end with equipment, hospital and refugee trains. There were cattle trucks full of Belgian wounded with only one elderly woman in attendance. On one part of the embankment there lay the bodies of two … [word obliterated by punched hole] one of them a woman had beside it the peaked cap of the Salvation Army. We repeated the episode of retiring under the train at times and saw planes come spiralling down out of the blue spring sky. No.9 C.C.S. at St. ANDRE was reached eventually and we spent a day and a night in an empty house in LILLE.
Sunday 18th
In the early hours we entrained once more with the claps and cracks of battle going on overhead. The D.D.M.S. met us at BAILLEUL and said that No.6 had earned the ‘best chit’ by its work in Belgium.
A large Mental Hospital had been chosen by the Light Section. This place had modern buildings, well spaced, in beautiful grounds, but was a perfect target of huge Red Crosses on lawns and roofs. There was an extensive underground abri where 2000 women patients remained in the care of Nuns although the whole town appeared to be empty of inhabitants. I helped to prepare the Theatre in the afternoon and made a cache of my own, of useful things from a cupboard of hospital stores place at my disposal by one of the Nuns. They were all very kind to us and to our patients.
In the evening we had surprising orders to get ready our hand luggage as the Sisters were to be sent to the base. We were very gloomy and annoyed until a convoy of wounded arrived and in the feverish activity that followed, nothing more was heard of our being sent away. The ground floor of the Reception Block filled very quickly with wounded whom we prepared for operation and soon I was told to deal with the minor and walking cases on the second floor. Throughout the night Pte. Sunderland and I dressed shrapnel and bullet wounds and gave hot drinks, biscuits and cigarettes, brought up by Mr. King, to men who had not had food for from four to seven days and who fell asleep almost as soon as they came in. Many of them were twitching and shaking with nervous shock.
Monday 19th – Wednesday 21st
Food problems had to be faced again. It was impossible to evacuate as the railway lines were broken and the roads were blocked. Casualties were mounting beyond our staff and supplies. 1200 patients were in our hands before the first evacuation could take place. The MacConachy’s gave out and I found myself making buckets of Bovril on the stove of a Frenchwoman who had been the former Dispenser.
We had two Theatres functioning, Resuscitation and Moribund Wards in one block, two floors of less serious cases in another and the overflow of every kind of casualty distributed throughout other buildings including a chapel and a large cinema. Here the entrance hall and the corridors were not ‘blacked out’ and we attended to delirious men with gas-gangrenous wounds and tried to arrest haemorrhage and give morphia with no light other than that of a shaded torch. Many of the men had not been through a Field Ambulance even. There were dreadful sights, screaming, and a horrible stench from some of the wounds.
I think that it was on May 21st that a large scale evacuation was arranged at last. About 2.30 a.m., when I had been on my camp-bed for about half an hour, sudden orders came for us to return to Belgium. MESSINES was reached after a journey in which 14 of us slept against each other in one ambulance. Some Sisters from a bombed hospital train had joined us now. At 11 a.m. the Colonel arrived to say that the expedition had come about through a mistake in coding.
At BAILLEUL again we were sent to get some sleep in order to be on duty at 6 p.m. At 5 p.m. I was awakened in the attic at the top of the reception block by a noise like the tearing of a million strips of calico at once. The raiders had arrived in earnest. After the raid Sister E. M. Symon and I set the fractures of two patients who had been deposited in the next building and got them down to the cellar with the assistance of Pte. Sunderland and Pte. Riley. The remaining patients and the whole of the unit were being marshalled down to the abri by Major Martin Edwardes. I gave morphia to the most badly wounded of the patients in the cinema, once again in the dark and finally everyone, including the dead were got underground.
The abri was a kind of corridor with wet walls and filthy gutters but it had a roof of concrete, 11 feet thick in places. The raiders returned again and again and with every whistle and crump we wondered what else had gone. During one evacuation, whilst I was attending a Frenchman in the large chapel where he had been brought from the abri, we were taken by surprise by a bomb falling just beyond the apse. I was putting the Frenchman’s tin-hat over his face in a stunned sort of way, when two orderlies rushed me to the wall where we crouched with heads down while two more bombs fell close by, the building rocking and glass and plaster flying. Building after building was demolished and one set on fire. The abri received a direct hit at one end which broke the water pipes and killed two old women. A shell landed in the middle of the Red Cross on the lawn, blowing up stores and bales of bandages. The steriliser was wrecked and our train, on which there was still some of our equipment was in splinters at the station.
Major Blackburn decided that salvaging expeditions would be good for us. Organised parties collected all that was fit to use from among the debris whenever it was possible to get above ground. We only rushed for the abri when planes were seen to be actually swooping. We could see them dipping upon the roads where the refugees and transport columns were trying to get along. I dressed the shrapnel wounds of a baby and a small boy, for refugees drifted down to our shelter at times.
Sunday 26th
A pump had been started for water and a dynamo to supply electric light in a wider part of the abri, where a Theatre for minor cases had been improvised. We had one or two dressing stations set up and were in a position to function as a C.C.S. in a small way. I was sent to attend to twenty German prisoners who were in the former strong rooms. Pte. Sunderland gathered some equipment and came with me. In spite of the language difficulty we set two of the unwounded ones to the task of tidying and cleaning the dishes with paper and we set about dressing the wounds of the others and prepared two for operation. After a time Pte. Sunderland went off in search of food and water and I found it rather eerie to be alone with the German prisoners, except for the sentry outside, in a silence which was only broken by the sound of artillery coming nearer and nearer beyond the ridge behind the hospital.
The news came that the Sisters were to be evacuated along with the German prisoners and the last of the wounded. In the morning one of the Nuns asked me if the rumour was true that the British would not be able to hold back the Germans. This idea had not occurred to me and I had told her that of course they would be held back. Even now we assumed that we were being sent to work in a base hospital simply because a C.C.S. could not function very well in these conditions. We left a unit that seemed to be downhearted at our going and made our last journey by ambulance through a desolation which included a field full of dead horses.
As we came into DUNKERQUE we saw a heavy roll of black smoke pouring across the sky. It was the end of burning oil dumps. We realised that we were en-route for England but not that the whole of the B.E.F. was being evacuated, in spite of a continuous marching up of small companies of men beside the long queue of ambulances. The hospital ship was crammed with twice the number it was meant to take and I renewed dressings which had not been touched since the field ambulance until 3.30 a.m., when I went up on deck and my last memory, like my first of this period of the war, is of CALAIS, for I watched it now a high blaze climbing into the air and shining far on the dark water.
Miss G. Leyland, Q.A.I.M.N.S. Reserve
Gretchen Leyland was born late in 1911, her birth being registered in Preston, Lancashire. She trained at Guy’s Hospital, London between 1930 and 1933,being just nineteen when she started - a sure sign that the age for women to start nurse training was rapidly decreasing.
I find it difficult to make a coherence of the happenings which [took place] over the period between May 9th, when the Germans entered the Low Countries and Sister K. D. H. Roberts and I had our first taste of actual warfare in the dive bombing attack on Calais, and May 27th when we reached England. On May 10th we arrived back at VAUDRICOURT, leave having been cancelled, to find No.6 C.C.S. in a ferment of excitement and prepared to depart for Belgium at a moments notice.
Sunday May 11th
The day was lively with hunts for parachutists in the woods and cornfields. We entrained early in the evening during an aerial bombardment of BETHUNE and the train started on its journey about midnight.
Monday 12th
From daybreak onwards we were greeted by cheering Belgians who brought coffee and brandy to the train. On reaching HAALTERT we found scores of incendiaries had been scattered and the next village set on fire. The petrol and other supply columns were having a bad time along the roads. The Light Section had set up its equipment in a modern school building which seemed to be made chiefly of glass and offered some knotty problems in ‘Black Out’.
Tuesday 13th
During the night and throughout the next day a constant stream of wounded came in. They seemed to be chiefly The Grenadier Guards, The Coldstream Guards and the Ulster Rifles. The ground floor became the Reception and Resuscitation Wards with the Theatre adjacent.
I was given charge of the Post Operative Ward upstairs and a similar arrangement for less serious cases was carried out in a building across the courtyard. There were three Orderlies to assist me but only one, Pte. Sunderland, was a trained Nursing Orderly.
Drinking water, food and the effort to establish a routine were my main preoccupations, but with the help of Pte. Sunderland, who began to appear in the light of a miracle worker, of Mr. King the Quartermaster and R.S.M. Taylor, who knew how to roll his sleeves up, the greatest difficulties were in the way of being fairly solved by evening. I had fixed up a steriliser with my own Valor-Perfection and even written a report.
Wednesday 14th
The ward was in better order and work went on more smoothly during the day and an evacuation was carried out by torchlight in the evening. The evacuation of about 250 patients, many of them having been X-rayed, received Blood Transfusion and Operation, was almost complete by 1 a.m. when I went over to the Mess for some food. We had not even had a drink since midday. Orders came that we were to leave Belgium at once and were then followed by the news that we had a respite of 24 hours and could load up the equipment as well.
Thursday 15th
The next day, the quiet, sunny streets of HAALTERT were full of refugees, black coated citizens in carpet-slippers, children with bundles and old women on the cross bars of bicycles.
The train was loaded by 4 p.m. and two Lewis guns were mounted on it by the Royal Surreys. The Light Section remained at the hospital to receive the few other casualties since the evacuation. We were drinking tea, produced by the cook on a Sawyers Stove, when three German planes swooped and there was a rattle of machine-gun fire. The platform was clear in the twinkling of an eye and we were under the train getting our coats daubed with black oil. The journey to HAZEBROUCK took the better part of two days. The line seemed to be blocked from end to end with equipment, hospital and refugee trains. There were cattle trucks full of Belgian wounded with only one elderly woman in attendance. On one part of the embankment there lay the bodies of two … [word obliterated by punched hole] one of them a woman had beside it the peaked cap of the Salvation Army. We repeated the episode of retiring under the train at times and saw planes come spiralling down out of the blue spring sky. No.9 C.C.S. at St. ANDRE was reached eventually and we spent a day and a night in an empty house in LILLE.
Sunday 18th
In the early hours we entrained once more with the claps and cracks of battle going on overhead. The D.D.M.S. met us at BAILLEUL and said that No.6 had earned the ‘best chit’ by its work in Belgium.
A large Mental Hospital had been chosen by the Light Section. This place had modern buildings, well spaced, in beautiful grounds, but was a perfect target of huge Red Crosses on lawns and roofs. There was an extensive underground abri where 2000 women patients remained in the care of Nuns although the whole town appeared to be empty of inhabitants. I helped to prepare the Theatre in the afternoon and made a cache of my own, of useful things from a cupboard of hospital stores place at my disposal by one of the Nuns. They were all very kind to us and to our patients.
In the evening we had surprising orders to get ready our hand luggage as the Sisters were to be sent to the base. We were very gloomy and annoyed until a convoy of wounded arrived and in the feverish activity that followed, nothing more was heard of our being sent away. The ground floor of the Reception Block filled very quickly with wounded whom we prepared for operation and soon I was told to deal with the minor and walking cases on the second floor. Throughout the night Pte. Sunderland and I dressed shrapnel and bullet wounds and gave hot drinks, biscuits and cigarettes, brought up by Mr. King, to men who had not had food for from four to seven days and who fell asleep almost as soon as they came in. Many of them were twitching and shaking with nervous shock.
Monday 19th – Wednesday 21st
Food problems had to be faced again. It was impossible to evacuate as the railway lines were broken and the roads were blocked. Casualties were mounting beyond our staff and supplies. 1200 patients were in our hands before the first evacuation could take place. The MacConachy’s gave out and I found myself making buckets of Bovril on the stove of a Frenchwoman who had been the former Dispenser.
We had two Theatres functioning, Resuscitation and Moribund Wards in one block, two floors of less serious cases in another and the overflow of every kind of casualty distributed throughout other buildings including a chapel and a large cinema. Here the entrance hall and the corridors were not ‘blacked out’ and we attended to delirious men with gas-gangrenous wounds and tried to arrest haemorrhage and give morphia with no light other than that of a shaded torch. Many of the men had not been through a Field Ambulance even. There were dreadful sights, screaming, and a horrible stench from some of the wounds.
I think that it was on May 21st that a large scale evacuation was arranged at last. About 2.30 a.m., when I had been on my camp-bed for about half an hour, sudden orders came for us to return to Belgium. MESSINES was reached after a journey in which 14 of us slept against each other in one ambulance. Some Sisters from a bombed hospital train had joined us now. At 11 a.m. the Colonel arrived to say that the expedition had come about through a mistake in coding.
At BAILLEUL again we were sent to get some sleep in order to be on duty at 6 p.m. At 5 p.m. I was awakened in the attic at the top of the reception block by a noise like the tearing of a million strips of calico at once. The raiders had arrived in earnest. After the raid Sister E. M. Symon and I set the fractures of two patients who had been deposited in the next building and got them down to the cellar with the assistance of Pte. Sunderland and Pte. Riley. The remaining patients and the whole of the unit were being marshalled down to the abri by Major Martin Edwardes. I gave morphia to the most badly wounded of the patients in the cinema, once again in the dark and finally everyone, including the dead were got underground.
The abri was a kind of corridor with wet walls and filthy gutters but it had a roof of concrete, 11 feet thick in places. The raiders returned again and again and with every whistle and crump we wondered what else had gone. During one evacuation, whilst I was attending a Frenchman in the large chapel where he had been brought from the abri, we were taken by surprise by a bomb falling just beyond the apse. I was putting the Frenchman’s tin-hat over his face in a stunned sort of way, when two orderlies rushed me to the wall where we crouched with heads down while two more bombs fell close by, the building rocking and glass and plaster flying. Building after building was demolished and one set on fire. The abri received a direct hit at one end which broke the water pipes and killed two old women. A shell landed in the middle of the Red Cross on the lawn, blowing up stores and bales of bandages. The steriliser was wrecked and our train, on which there was still some of our equipment was in splinters at the station.
Major Blackburn decided that salvaging expeditions would be good for us. Organised parties collected all that was fit to use from among the debris whenever it was possible to get above ground. We only rushed for the abri when planes were seen to be actually swooping. We could see them dipping upon the roads where the refugees and transport columns were trying to get along. I dressed the shrapnel wounds of a baby and a small boy, for refugees drifted down to our shelter at times.
Sunday 26th
A pump had been started for water and a dynamo to supply electric light in a wider part of the abri, where a Theatre for minor cases had been improvised. We had one or two dressing stations set up and were in a position to function as a C.C.S. in a small way. I was sent to attend to twenty German prisoners who were in the former strong rooms. Pte. Sunderland gathered some equipment and came with me. In spite of the language difficulty we set two of the unwounded ones to the task of tidying and cleaning the dishes with paper and we set about dressing the wounds of the others and prepared two for operation. After a time Pte. Sunderland went off in search of food and water and I found it rather eerie to be alone with the German prisoners, except for the sentry outside, in a silence which was only broken by the sound of artillery coming nearer and nearer beyond the ridge behind the hospital.
The news came that the Sisters were to be evacuated along with the German prisoners and the last of the wounded. In the morning one of the Nuns asked me if the rumour was true that the British would not be able to hold back the Germans. This idea had not occurred to me and I had told her that of course they would be held back. Even now we assumed that we were being sent to work in a base hospital simply because a C.C.S. could not function very well in these conditions. We left a unit that seemed to be downhearted at our going and made our last journey by ambulance through a desolation which included a field full of dead horses.
As we came into DUNKERQUE we saw a heavy roll of black smoke pouring across the sky. It was the end of burning oil dumps. We realised that we were en-route for England but not that the whole of the B.E.F. was being evacuated, in spite of a continuous marching up of small companies of men beside the long queue of ambulances. The hospital ship was crammed with twice the number it was meant to take and I renewed dressings which had not been touched since the field ambulance until 3.30 a.m., when I went up on deck and my last memory, like my first of this period of the war, is of CALAIS, for I watched it now a high blaze climbing into the air and shining far on the dark water.
********************
NO. 1 CASUALTY CLEARING STATION
Miss M. J. Diss, Q.A.I.M.N.S. Reserve
Mary Joyce Diss was born in Colchester in the summer of 1912, and trained at King's College Hospital, London, from 1933-36.
May 10th – 25th 1940
When Germany invaded the low countries on May 10th, No 1 Casualty Clearing Station was billeted in a little village called Bois Bernard, which lay between Arras and Douai. We received orders to pack, and hold ourselves in readiness to move off at a moments notice. The light section went on ahead by road to find suitable buildings etc for the C.C.S. and the rest of us entrained at 9.30 p.m. on Saturday May 11th. The train moved off at 1 a.m. and we ran into air raids most of the way, but fortunately we did not have to put into effect the orders we had received, as to what we must do if the train were hit.
We arrived at our destination at 10.30 a.m. on Sunday May 12th. This was Ninova, a small town about 20 kilometres S.W. of Brussels, and we eventually managed to find billets, and established a mess. First thing Monday morning, we went to the Hospital. The main building was an evacuated school, which we found would take 100 stretcher cases. The reception station was about 100 yards away behind the school, off a narrow winding cobbled street. This was a factory, consisting of 2 large buildings (full of machinery), and various offices and outhouses. Here were established the reception rooms, resuscitation ward, operation, dispensary, stores, offices, kitchens etc, X-ray dept, post and pre-operative “wards”. We knew our duties and set about getting the place ready as quickly as possible – everywhere was very dirty, and the school was packed with things left by the children. The theatre was set up, X-ray apparatus established, stretchers made up, instruments sterilised, and water boiled. For the last two items we had to rely on primus and oil stoves, and in the whole school, there seemed to be only one very small tap. A few casualties cases came in that day, but no battle casualties.
The next day, Tuesday May 14th, casualties started to come in, and with them refugees poured in the town, blocking the roads, and making it very difficult for the ambulances to get along. Air raids started in earnest. From then until May 16th, casualties simply poured in, air raids were intensified, and there was no longer any respite between “All Clears” and “Alerts”. “Dog fights” took place over our heads, and the bombs seemed to be coming unpleasantly nearer. Those casualties which were serious, were kept at the reception station, operated on and evacuated as soon as possible. Those whose injuries did not need immediate operation, were sent to the school – and evacuated from there. The theatre worked night and day, and I should like to say here how splendid the theatre orderlies were – they worked continually, were never heard to grumble, and were always extremely polite and helpful to all the sisters. Unfortunately I do not know their names, as I had been with the unit only a short while. A mobile theatre unit was sent up to help us, but we had no time or place in which to set it up. Refugees started coming to us for help – women with their feet bleeding and raw, and little children almost dropping with fatigue. We did the best we could for them, but in the end we had to turn them away, as we had more than enough to cope with, with the wounded. Dressings began to get low, so when we came off duty at night we cut up as much stock as possible.
At 1 a.m. Friday May 17th, the sisters were told to leave at once, taking only hand luggage. An ambulance took us to the station, through streets simply packed with people, and we just managed to catch No 4 Ambulance train, which was taking our patients down to the base. The Medical Officers and men stayed behind to salvage as much as possible. Bombs seemed to precede us all the way down, and we had numerous waits whilst the line was repaired. Many of the towns we passed through were in flames, but we eventually arrived at Dieppe, and by 10.30 a.m. Saturday, we were in the Hotel L’Etrangere. That night and the next Dieppe was heaving bombed, so all the hospitals were evacuated, and on Monday evening, the sisters were sent out to Offranville, where we spent a quiet night under canvas.
On Tuesday morning we went back to Dieppe, collected what belongings we could, and boarded a train at 10.30 a.m. This moved off at 3.30 p.m. and we arrived at Le Mans at 5 p.m. on Wednesday May 22nd. We had to wait here until Friday May 24th, when we were taken by Hospital train to Cherbourg arriving 1 p.m. on Saturday May 25th. From Cherbourg a Hospital carrier took us across to Southampton, where disembarked at 8 p.m.
Miss M. J. Diss, Q.A.I.M.N.S. Reserve
Mary Joyce Diss was born in Colchester in the summer of 1912, and trained at King's College Hospital, London, from 1933-36.
May 10th – 25th 1940
When Germany invaded the low countries on May 10th, No 1 Casualty Clearing Station was billeted in a little village called Bois Bernard, which lay between Arras and Douai. We received orders to pack, and hold ourselves in readiness to move off at a moments notice. The light section went on ahead by road to find suitable buildings etc for the C.C.S. and the rest of us entrained at 9.30 p.m. on Saturday May 11th. The train moved off at 1 a.m. and we ran into air raids most of the way, but fortunately we did not have to put into effect the orders we had received, as to what we must do if the train were hit.
We arrived at our destination at 10.30 a.m. on Sunday May 12th. This was Ninova, a small town about 20 kilometres S.W. of Brussels, and we eventually managed to find billets, and established a mess. First thing Monday morning, we went to the Hospital. The main building was an evacuated school, which we found would take 100 stretcher cases. The reception station was about 100 yards away behind the school, off a narrow winding cobbled street. This was a factory, consisting of 2 large buildings (full of machinery), and various offices and outhouses. Here were established the reception rooms, resuscitation ward, operation, dispensary, stores, offices, kitchens etc, X-ray dept, post and pre-operative “wards”. We knew our duties and set about getting the place ready as quickly as possible – everywhere was very dirty, and the school was packed with things left by the children. The theatre was set up, X-ray apparatus established, stretchers made up, instruments sterilised, and water boiled. For the last two items we had to rely on primus and oil stoves, and in the whole school, there seemed to be only one very small tap. A few casualties cases came in that day, but no battle casualties.
The next day, Tuesday May 14th, casualties started to come in, and with them refugees poured in the town, blocking the roads, and making it very difficult for the ambulances to get along. Air raids started in earnest. From then until May 16th, casualties simply poured in, air raids were intensified, and there was no longer any respite between “All Clears” and “Alerts”. “Dog fights” took place over our heads, and the bombs seemed to be coming unpleasantly nearer. Those casualties which were serious, were kept at the reception station, operated on and evacuated as soon as possible. Those whose injuries did not need immediate operation, were sent to the school – and evacuated from there. The theatre worked night and day, and I should like to say here how splendid the theatre orderlies were – they worked continually, were never heard to grumble, and were always extremely polite and helpful to all the sisters. Unfortunately I do not know their names, as I had been with the unit only a short while. A mobile theatre unit was sent up to help us, but we had no time or place in which to set it up. Refugees started coming to us for help – women with their feet bleeding and raw, and little children almost dropping with fatigue. We did the best we could for them, but in the end we had to turn them away, as we had more than enough to cope with, with the wounded. Dressings began to get low, so when we came off duty at night we cut up as much stock as possible.
At 1 a.m. Friday May 17th, the sisters were told to leave at once, taking only hand luggage. An ambulance took us to the station, through streets simply packed with people, and we just managed to catch No 4 Ambulance train, which was taking our patients down to the base. The Medical Officers and men stayed behind to salvage as much as possible. Bombs seemed to precede us all the way down, and we had numerous waits whilst the line was repaired. Many of the towns we passed through were in flames, but we eventually arrived at Dieppe, and by 10.30 a.m. Saturday, we were in the Hotel L’Etrangere. That night and the next Dieppe was heaving bombed, so all the hospitals were evacuated, and on Monday evening, the sisters were sent out to Offranville, where we spent a quiet night under canvas.
On Tuesday morning we went back to Dieppe, collected what belongings we could, and boarded a train at 10.30 a.m. This moved off at 3.30 p.m. and we arrived at Le Mans at 5 p.m. on Wednesday May 22nd. We had to wait here until Friday May 24th, when we were taken by Hospital train to Cherbourg arriving 1 p.m. on Saturday May 25th. From Cherbourg a Hospital carrier took us across to Southampton, where disembarked at 8 p.m.