Dearest Family,
I began this letter last evening but was interrupted by having an orderly bring me a huge bunch of sweet peas, mignonette, etc. from a nice colonel commanding a neighboring base. Of course, I had to stop and put them in such vases as we have. I brought some down to the officers’ mess, where they were just finishing dinner and where I had to stay and chat a bit.
We feel now as though we have been here forever. If you have not read Lord Northcliffe’s new book At the War, do get hold of it, for it describes just what we are in the midst of. If you should mail a good novel once in so often, I believe it would reach us easily, and it certainly would be appreciated. Another thing we would love to have is some music. Popular new dance music or songs and a hymnbook. We have some good singers, and we need some good popular airs. I believe I told you about the twelve-franc violin some of my girls bought me. You’d be surprised what sweet tunes it can play!
I told them about preparations for the deep cold of winter we were warned about by the British and the small coal and oil stoves and sleeping bags that sustained us. I even told them how the hospital tents would remain tents and not hutted like we had hoped. I didn’t tell them of the men who had lost feet not to anything the enemy had thrown at them but by simply not having proper boots and dry socks. I told them we had a good supply of rubber boots, hats, and coats. I didn’t tell them that the unrelenting dark days and steady downpours led me to designate a room for nurses to cry in.
The single thing I was completely open and honest about was my unending love and admiration of my nurses.
I have such splendid people here with me. They are loyal, affectionate, and entirely to be depended upon. Other hospitals have had difficulty forcing the nurses to forgo drinking and smoking, at least in public, lest they present the wrong image to our host nation. I told my nurses I would leave the decision up to them. They have decided themselves not to partake while they are over here. Their fine reputations have spread all the way to England, and I couldn’t be prouder.
* * *
Despite my own insistence on not planning a future, I found myself daydreaming of a time after the war, where Fred and I could return to St. Louis and Washington University. Oh, how lovely it would be. We could take our lunch walk through Forest Park. In one daydream, I was even pushing a pram.
Then, a distressing realization. We would have the same restrictions even then. The chief of surgery and the chief of nursing could not be together. The stink of nepotism would destroy any credibility we could muster, especially for me. Once again, I would have to choose between my heart and my career.
Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe our relationship, or even we ourselves, wouldn’t survive the war. It felt like steel bands were wrapping themselves around me, caging in my emotions. I thought of Phil. I should ask him to help me sort this out. He understood me like no other. But I knew what he would say without even asking. Follow your heart, Jules.
* * *
Our wondrous smallpox lull ended abruptly when the Boche resumed gas attacks with a vengeance. There was an attack in a town only one hundred kilometers from us, and an American nurse at a CCS was injured. She wasn’t one of mine, but still the threat was growing ever nearer.
With the warmer weather, our influenza patients improved, and the numbers of new cases dwindled down to one or two a week. Phil continued with the planning for a new infectious disease hospital, but it was to exist only on paper until and unless the threat reappeared.
I decided we needed to supply the nurses with gas masks and train them in how to use them. As the doctors had all received some combat training due to the possibility to be called to bear arms, I went to Dr. Valentine, who was now second in command, to request the same for the nurses.
I made an appointment to see him instead of just dropping by. I wanted to underscore how serious I thought the matter was.
He was sitting at his gray metal desk, glasses perched on the tip of his nose, in a pristine white coat with his name embroidered in blue thread over the chest pocket.
“Ah, Miss Stimson.” He took off his glasses and stared at my empty hands. “I assumed you were bringing me the completed nurse procedure manual.”
“No, this is another matter.”
“Are you not taking that assignment seriously? Do I need to remind you of the thin ice you are treading upon?”
“Exactly why Major Murphy and I are taking our time and carefully vetting each and every policy and procedure for nurses. I’m sure you expect nothing less.”
“Hmph. Well, what is it then?”
“I want my nurses to be fitted for and trained to use gas masks. Recently, a nurse in a CCS was—”
“I’m fully aware of that.”
“Then you wouldn’t disagree with the need for training.”
“Of course not. In fact, somewhere around here…” He made a show of sorting through the various piles of papers and books on his desk.
But he didn’t fool me. It seemed he was fine with the training, as long as it appeared to be his idea.
“Splendid,” I said. “I’ll work with the training officer right away. Why don’t I add it to the new nurses’ manual, which you will need to sign off on anyway?”
“Yes, yes, fine. No need to create more paperwork.”
So I had easily gotten what I wanted and now had the key to getting more of it. I kept the smile of self-satisfaction to myself. “Thank you, Dr. Valentine.”
* * *
On the scheduled day, I went with the first set of six nurses to be trained for gas attacks. They drove us in a large, open truck out to a wide hayfield, where small wooden huts leaned in the sunshine. There was one longer hut with no windows, but it was the only one with actual doors. It was apparent from its more modern structure that it was not part of the original farm.
“What is that one for?” I asked the sergeant who accompanied us in the back of the truck.
“That’s the final testing center. If you survive that, you get your certification.”
His tone was half-serious, half-playful. I was about to ask him if they had had any casualties during training, but the truck came to a halt with a jolt, and the door was opened for us.
We were led to an area where a group of about thirty soldiers were already gathered. Some were on chairs—officers, it seemed—and the rest were sprawled about the grass as if on a picnic. There was a set of six empty chairs reserved for us.
A stocky sergeant marched to the front of the group and yelled, “Attention!” Hands on hips and with no notes or any assistance whatsoever, he proceeded to speak for an hour about the preparation for, detection of, and action during a gas attack. Of course, we nurses had seen the effects of it firsthand and simply nodded as he outlined the horrific damage it did to a body. Some of the soldiers, however, seemed to turn green; indeed, a few walked a short distance away and retched.
“It was the most interesting and barbarous lecture I ever heard in my life,” I wrote to my parents. “It is at one and the same time the refinement of science and civilization and of hideous barbarism.”
After the talk, we were taken to one of the larger huts. It must have been used to store hay, as there were still several bales inside. It had been transitioned to a sealed room, as treated canvas sails lined the walls. We were each measured for masks, and then one was chosen for us. The sergeant demonstrated how to quickly put on the mask. He then barked the order, “Masks on!” and we all fumbled with the straps and rubber and nosepieces. Over and over again, we put them on and took them off as the sergeant timed us with a stopwatch.
“Too long,” he barked as Margaret, who was sitting next to me, struggled.
I reached over to help her; the strap had been caught up in the bun in her hair.
“No! She must do it herself.” He knocked my hand away.
When he was finally happy tha
t everyone in the group could put on the mask in the required time, we moved on to the next step.
“We will now fill the room with a lachrymatory gas. It is not dangerous but will be quite uncomfortable for you, as you will feel your eyes burn and tear uncontrollably, and your nose will run and possibly bleed. However, if you have applied your mask properly, you should feel no effects.”
After we had passed this test, we were taken to a trench where we had to put on the masks on a signal before we were sprayed with the same gas.
The final test was in the long hut I had seen previously. This test was to be with chlorine gas. Not the exact same as the weaponized chlorine gas but strong enough to enable us to learn its smell and learn to deal with wearing the mask in a more threatening situation. We formed separate lines, the six of us nurses in our own line. Then, three officers joined us.
At the signal, we put on the masks. By now, I was accustomed to the strange sound of my own breath echoing through the chambers, the pressure of the tight straps around my face and head, and the acrid, rubbery smell. Seeing my fellow nurses in the strange things no longer seemed as alien. The officers checked each of us for a proper seal, pulling hair away when necessary, as it would interfere with a tight fit. For this reason, soldiers were required to shave their faces closely each day, even while living in trenches.
There was a hiss as the chlorine was fed through tubes into the long hut. Two groups of soldiers went through before us nurses.
When they came out the other end, they tore off their masks and took deep breaths. Some were laughing and joking. It seemed the stress was more mental than physical.
Once the officers were satisfied that our masks were secure, it was our turn. One officer went to the head of our line, another in the middle, and the third at the end. No nurse was any more than two people away from a trained set of eyes.
The door squeaked open. The room looked like the inside of an icebox, lined with perhaps zinc. There were benches along either side of the room. The most disturbing thing was the large levers that bolted the doors in place. Undoubtedly to keep someone from accidentally opening them from the outside, they still made me shudder with the feeling of imprisonment.
There was a cooling feeling as the tubes above our heads began to hiss. Then the odor hit. It was fairly strong, but not more than the vats of diaper-cleaning solution we had used back in Harlem.
There were some muffled oohs and some coughing, but my nurses handled it well. We had to stay put while the gas was cleared through vents, but then the door was opened, and out we rushed into the fresh air.
* * *
When I got back to my office, the ink on my gas mask training certificate not even dry, Fred was there to greet me. Excited, I practically knocked him over with a hug.
“Whoa there, Two Bits.”
I pulled back and could see in his drawn face that something was wrong. “What’s up? Another bad trainload on its way?” I was already mentally preparing myself for another long shift, even after training for the better part of the day.
“No, it’s quiet at the moment. Which is why, I imagine, Colonel Fife decided this was a fine time to present this.” He tapped a large binder on my desk. It was the procedure manual we had completed and turned in a week or so previously.
“I take it he was not 100 percent on board?” I opened the binder, which had large sections crossed out and notes written in every margin. “Sheesh. Why doesn’t he just write it himself?” Colonel Fife had been promoted to headquarters, but he still remained in close contact with Base Hospital 21.
“Because that’s not his job.” Fred plopped down in my guest chair. “It’s not all that bad. He has some good suggestions, and some of that scrawl is actually compliments.”
Numbers started running through my head. Numbers of hours it would take to redo this project that I had thought done. In fact, we had already been implementing the policies and had refined some of them. “Well, I was hoping to finally have a smidgen of spare time to catch up on correspondence, but there are some updates I can add. And the other chief nurses and the American Red Cross are most interested in seeing this as well.”
“It won’t be time wasted.” He produced a dark bottle of wine. “In fact, I thought we’d celebrate your successful training today, then get some of this work done.”
* * *
The revisions didn’t take as long as I had feared. After a week of meeting with Fred for an hour or two after dinner, we had gone through all of it. As we checked over our work one last time, I actually began to feel a little disappointed that our sessions would end. I had enjoyed bouncing ideas around with him. He was quite clever at solutions and gifted with describing procedures step-by-step. He was always a perfect gentleman, and if I got distracted during the work, it was only due to sometimes wishing he wasn’t.
We met in my office, always with the door open, and during the week, I think every one of my nurses, not to mention orderlies, doctors, and walking patients, had some need to drop by. They usually came to the door, apologized for interrupting, then went off whence they came. Except for that one time, when someone could have gotten a wrong idea in their head.
We were nearly at the end of our last review of the manual and feeling mighty relieved to have it close to done. Fred had brought a nice bottle of champagne in anticipation of the moment.
“Don’t you want to wait until it is completely done?” I asked as he unwound the metal wire restraining the cork.
“This is the best moment to celebrate. When we can see the end of the drudgery but can still enjoy our special time together. I’m going to miss it.”
“Miss it? My office is ten steps away from yours.”
“You know what I mean. I’ve been thinking of that time when we spent the night in the barn.”
“I think about that too. I don’t think I would have made it through that night without you.” I kept my voice hushed. Someone could be just outside the door. Maybe I should go check, I thought.
He pulled his chair a little closer. “I was so worried. Even back then, I knew you were special, irreplaceable.” He lowered his voice as his eyes followed mine to the door. “But enough about that.” He gently tapped my knee. “How are your legs holding up? Anything I can get for you?”
Relieved to have a change in subject, I cheerily announced, “Oh, I have the best stuff. But you must keep it a secret.” My legs had vastly improved thanks to Benjamin’s help.
“What? Why? Have you found a witch’s potion?”
“Something like that.” I pointed to the puttees that were visible between my boots and uniform hem. “You’ll never guess what I have under these.”
“I wouldn’t hazard a guess.” He laughed.
I was about to explain that I had a set of thoroughly scrubbed and disinfected pig bladders wrapped around my legs when I heard a cough coming from the hall outside my door. Darn it, my instincts were right; someone was listening. No doubt our conversation would be misinterpreted. “Well, another time,” I said.
* * *
I was summoned to the telephone on the first evening that Fred and I were no longer meeting. I was expecting a call from Miss Dunlop. But it was not her.
There was quite a bit of static, then a familiar voice. “Marie Curie here. From Paris.”
“Yes, Madame, what can I do for you?”
She seemed to have a four-month rotation of the major hospital encampments. I counted months on my fingers; she was not quite due to return.
“I’m heading up to Le Havre. Thought I could spend the night in Rouen along the way if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
Buzz. I missed her next sentence.
“I’m afraid we don’t have the best connection. Of course you are welcome here. When should we expect you?”
The line went dead before I got an answer, but two days later, late in t
he afternoon, Benjamin appeared at my office door.
“Matron, they’re all running around like chickens at the Pointe. You have an important guest.”
The Pointe was our receiving area, in front of the grandstand. Over the months we had been there, it had grown more and more organized so that there was always a receiving team at the ready.
“Who would that be?” Although I was pretty sure it was either my cousin Henry, the former secretary of war and now a colonel in the artillery, or Marie Curie. But Henry would presumably have given me notice.
“It’s Madame Curie.” Benjamin was a mess of nerves. His uniform, always two sizes too large, was twisted at the waist as if he had tried to shore up the excess.
“Wonderful. You may bring her to my private room.” I quickly stashed away my work and hurried to my room.
Darn, she was quick. I had barely the time to tidy up a bit before she led poor Benjamin over to me. He trailed behind, carrying something quite heavy. I could only hope it wasn’t radioactive.
We double kissed in the French fashion, although of course she was Polish. “France is my adopted country, and I must adopt its customs,” she had told me. It was rather late when she arrived, and I settled her in the empty room of two of my nurses away on leave. But bright and early the next morning, she was at my door.
There was a boom of distant artillery. Although we didn’t fear we were in danger in Rouen, the front had become uncomfortably close. But the sound didn’t seem to concern Marie, who took her customary seat in my sitting room. Although there was absolutely no physical resemblance, something about her reminded me of Emily Warren Roebling. Somehow, I had merited a lick of attention from two of the bravest and most remarkable women of my lifetime. It felt like Emily was conspiring with Marie from heaven to make sure I was fulfilling my promise.
The War Nurse Page 23