Agnes Warner and the Nursing Sisters of the Great War

by Shawna M. Quinn

  One poor man in my ward was so ill that I was afraid he would die, so I moved his bed to the end of the ward and put screens around it so that he would not be disturbed, and that the others would not be disheartened by seeing him. He was so much better Christmas night that we had great hopes of saving him, but today he died. He was wounded in seven places and one hip was gone. The general came at four o’clock and decorated him. He roused up and saluted and seemed so pleased. In the evening the doctor came to do his dressing and he seemed much better. After the doctor had gone he turned to me and said, “that major knows what he is about, he is a corker.”

  Ben Ali, my prize Arab, had a wonderful day. He ate too much and had to stay in bed today, but he has been wrapping and unwrapping his presents and having a fine time. He is just like a child, he is so pleased. He has taken a great fancy to me and asked me to visit him after the war is over.

  We had midnight mass on Christmas eve for the infirmiers and personnel of the hospital. One of the empty wards was fitted up as a chapel and a Franciscan monk from Montreal officiated. He is on duty here in the lingerie and is a splendid man. He is delicate, has some serious heart trouble, so that he need not stay, but he came over to do what he could for his country and his services are invaluable here. His mother was in the north of the country taken by the Germans and he has not been able to get any news of her for more than a year.

  We have had orders from headquarters to close all the shutters as soon as the lights are lit, so we feel as if we were shut up in packing cases.

  There were a great many aeroplanes flying about today, so I suppose they are expecting an attack of some kind. It is blowing a gale tonight and I feel as if our little shanty would blow over.

  January 1, 1916

  It is hard to believe that we are beginning another year. If only it will bring a lasting peace! The boxes have not turned up yet, but they doubtless will one of these days, and we will be all the more glad to see them because we have used up everything else.

  I expected to go on night duty immediately after Christmas, but we had such sick people in my ward they did not want to make a change just then.

  It is blowing a gale again tonight, and raining in torrents; it seems as if it would never stop raining. The roof of one of the wards was loosened the other night the wind was so strong, so the patients had to be all moved out while it was being mended. Our barracks had to be propped up also, all one side was loose and the rain came in sheets. I frequently go to bed with an umbrella.

  January 16, 1916

  We have had orders to evacuate all the men who are able to travel, so we got rid of a great many — eighteen went on Tuesday, twenty on Friday, and nineteen more are to go next Tuesday.

  The roof nearly blew off my ward last night, so my patients had to be moved into the next ward till it is mended. I am going to take advantage of it and have a thorough house cleaning.

  Le Roux, the boy who has been here so long and who has been so terribly ill, died on Tuesday. I had great hopes of him up till the last day. Half an hour after he died the general came to decorate him. I hope they will send the medals to his people; it seems hard that they should have been just too late to give them to him. The next day I went to his funeral — the first soldier’s funeral I have seen. I was impressed with the dignity and simplicity of it. The plain deal coffin was covered with a black pall, which had a white cross at the head, the French flag covered the foot and a bunch of purple violets, tied with red, white, and blue ribbon, lay between. It was carried in one of the covered military carts. At three o’clock the little procession started for the cemetery. First came the priest in soldier’s uniform, carrying a small wooden cross, on which was written Le Roux’s name and the name of his regiment. One of this kind is always put at the head of each grave. Then came three soldiers with guns on their shoulders, then the car bearing the coffin, and on each side three soldiers with arms reversed; directly behind were two infirmiers and three soldiers with guns on their shoulders, we two nurses in our uniforms, then two officers and some more soldiers. As we went down the road to the little church in R___[Rousbrugge?] we passed long lines of soldiers going somewhere, and everyone saluted. A few stray people followed us into the church and afterwards to the graveyard, where we left Le Roux with his comrades who had gone before. I had not been there since All Saints Day and it was sad to see how many more graves had been added to the line. The ward seems very empty without Le Roux, but I am glad that the poor boy is at rest for he has suffered so long. I am beginning to think that death is the only good thing that can come to many of us.

  January 25, 1916

  We have been awfully busy, wounded arriving every night, sometimes nine and sometimes ten, etc. Tonight we have had only six so far, but will probably have some more before eight a.m., they have all been very bad cases. There has been a terrific bombardment every night we have been on duty.

  My little tent nearly blew away in the big wind storm, so I had to sleep in the barracks — or rather try to sleep. I did not succeed very well, so today I moved back to the tent. From my bed in the tent I can see the troops passing on the road and aeroplanes in the sky. Today we saw so many we knew it would mean trouble tonight. The trenches were bombarded, and some of the poor men who were wounded had to lie in the mud and cold for over twelve hours before they could be moved, consequently they arrived here in a pretty bad shape. One of the men had on a pair of Mrs. D___’s socks. I had sent them to Colonel Noble and he gave them to the men in the trenches. It has been clear and frosty for two nights, such a relief after all the rain. The hospital is full of very sick men. I am glad to be on night duty for a change.

  January 30, 1916

  It has been so cold and damp today that I could not get warm, even in bed. I like sleeping out in the little tent and as a rule sleep very well — have a cup of hot tea when they wake us at six o’clock. I wear two pair of socks, besides the rooms are not so frightfully damp since we got up the little stoves; they get dried out once a day, which is a great advantage.

  I am sending you some snap shots of my little kitty. We call her “Antoinette” after the aeroplane, for she makes a noise like the aeroplane when she sings.

  When I have a chance I shall go back to Divonne for a rest — it is too far to go home — but there does not seem any chance of it at present. The English nurses who have been here six months will have to go first, and we are more than busy. There are two new nurses coming next week — Canadians, I think. It is very difficult to get nurses up here, there is so much red tape to go through.

  You must not worry about me, for I am really very well. The cold and simple life is very healthy, even if it is not always comfortable. I seem to be as strong as an ox and the more I have to do the better I feel.

  It is joyful to hear that I am to have some more money. Saint John people certainly have been good. A box came today from Trinity, it had been opened. There is the ambulance, I must run.

  February 6, 1916

  We are so busy here that we scarcely know where to turn. It is just a procession of wounded coming and going all the time, for we have to send them off as quickly as possible in order to make room for the new arrivals. Thirty-eight went off last Tuesday and fifteen on Friday, but the beds are filled up again. The last ones we have been getting are so badly wounded that I wonder who can be moved on Tuesday. We have had wild wind and rain for the last week, but today is cold and clear, and for the first time in weeks it is quiet — the cannonading has been incessant.

  Two English aviators were brought in yesterday whose machine fell quite near here; fortunately they are not very badly hurt.

  The box from the high school girls came today, and it was like having Christmas all over again — such a nice lot of things there were. I shall have a fine time distributing them.

  Here comes the ambulance. One poor man died in the receiving ward and the other two went to the operating room at once. They both have symptoms of gas gangrene, and I am afraid one wi
ll lose an arm and the other a leg.

  In spite of the cold and wet we keep extraordinarily well.

  Four new nurses have come, much to our relief, for the work was getting rather beyond us. Two of them are Canadians from Toronto. They know ever so many people I know. They sailed from Saint John at Christmas time and saw so many Saint John friends of mine — they said everyone was so good to them.

  We do not get a minute during the night and some days have been up to lunch time.

  February 22, 1916

  There have been two big attacks and we have had our hands full. Since Sunday the cannonading has gone on without ceasing. It seems to be all round us. At night we can see the flashes of the guns quite distinctly, in fact the sky is lit up most of the time. It is like the reflection of a great fire — it would be very beautiful if one could get away from the horror of what it all means.

  The aeroplanes were almost as thick as the motors — one came down in a field near the hospital yesterday — the wings were riddled with bullets, but fortunately the aviator was not hurt. We often see Taubes [German aircraft], and Zeppelins have gone over us several times, though I could not recognize them, but the noise was unmistakable. The wounded are nearly all brought in at night so we have our hearts and hands full. The other night twenty-three came in at once so we had to call up the day people to help us; seventeen were operated upon and all are getting well but one.

  From July 23, 1915, until January 1, 1916, seven hundred and fifty patients have been cared for here and sixty-six have died. I have had over one hundred wounded come in at night this last month, and as they all come directly from the trenches you can imagine what it means.

  Such a fine box came from Mrs. S___ and F___ containing bandages, socks, etc., all most welcome.

  The ground is white with snow today but it will not stay long.

  It is very difficult to get nurses here as a command of the French language is an essential.

  The guns are still at it, so there will be much to do tonight.

  March 6, 1916

  We have had snow several times this week and it is snowing again today. It is very pretty for a little while but soon melts, and the mud is worse than ever.

  I feel that I can never be grateful enough to the people who have enabled me to do so much for these poor men. I am going to order some more pillows, they are things that we need very much. All the lung cases have to sit up in bed and need a great many pillows to make them comfortable. Strange to say we have not lost a lung case and we have had some pretty bad ones. There is one in now who was shot through the lung, and yesterday they took out a long sibber bullet [?] from under his rib; he will be able to go home next week. When he came in he was in very bad condition and he could not speak for a week. The treatment is to sit them up in bed and give them morphine every day to keep them perfectly quiet, the hemorrhage gradually stops, and they get well very quickly. We have had a number of deaths from that awful gas gangrene; there is not much hope when that attacks them.

  The bombardments have been so terrible lately that those who are wounded in the morning cannot be taken out of the trenches until night, and then they are in a sad condition.

  One day last week, just as I was getting ready to go to bed, some people came out from the village to ask if we could help a poor girl who had been burned. Mrs. Turner and I went at once with all sorts of dressings and found her in a terrible state — her whole body burned — so of course there was no hope. She only lived three days. I went in the mornings to do her dressing and another nurse in the afternoon. She was burned by lighting a fire with oil.

  Things are too heavy now for me to get my holiday.

  March 12, 1916

  Only ten admissions. All the efforts are being directed against Verdun.6 The defence has been magnificent, and if only the ammunition holds out there will be no danger of the Germans getting through; but what a terrible waste of good material on both sides.

  Mrs. Turner has been obliged to go to Paris and has left me in charge of the hospital. I hope nothing terrible will happen while she is away.

  The snow is all gone and we are having rain again.

  My kitty is getting very bad and spends all her nights out. She has grown to be just a common ordinary cat now, but she caught a rat the other day, so has become useful instead of ornamental.

  March 20, 1916

  I am left in charge of the ambulance for a time and am a bit nervous, having French, English, American, Canadian, and Australian nurses under me.

  We had quite an exciting time yesterday watching a German being chased by four French machines. They all disappeared in the clouds so we do not know what happened. Today I counted eleven aeroplanes in the air at once as well as three observation balloons. One aeroplane came so close over the barracks that we could wave to the pilot.

  We had a lot of patients out of doors today, some on stretchers, others on chairs, and others had their beds carried out — they enjoyed it so much. We take advantage of all the good weather.

  It is pouring again tonight and the guns are booming in an ominous manner.

  One day last week I went to Poperinghe with Mrs. C___. We heard there [were] some Canadian troops there and I was hoping to find some friends, but the Canadians had been moved; however, we talked with some Tommies, gave them cigarettes and chocolate, and had a very interesting time.

  March 29, 1916

  Just a week ago a French general was brought in wounded in the leg while he was inspecting the Belgian trenches. We were rather overwhelmed at first, but I arranged a corner of one of the wards and he spent one day and night there while we fixed up an empty ward for him. The next day his wife arrived and she is camping quite contentedly in another corner of the ward. She, poor woman, has suffered much from the war but is very brave. Her eldest son was killed, her second son is ill at Amiens, and this is the second time the general has been wounded. The first time he was in a hospital for three months. Her nephew, who is like a second son, has also been killed, and his wife, a young woman of twenty-two, taken prisoner by the Germans, and they have had no news of her since September, 1914. The general’s home was in the Aisne district and is, of course, in the hands of the Germans. There is nothing left of the house but the four walls; everything has been packed off to Germany, all the wood work and metal has been taken for the trenches. The day the general was brought in, the King of the Belgians came to decorate him, and we were all so disappointed because we did not know about it and only one or two of us saw him. He came in a motor, accompanied only by one officer, and we did not know anything about it until he had gone.

  We had another awful storm last night — wind and rain. Windows blew off and doors blew in, and one poor little night nurse was blown off the sidewalk and nearly lost in the mud.

  One day last week I was surprised by a visit from two Canadian boys. They were doing some engineering work in this section and when they heard there were Canadians here they came over to see us. One was from Toronto, the other from Fort William. I gave them one of the Christmas cakes and some cigarettes. They went away very happy. I was hoping to get news of some of our boys, but they did not know any of them personally but expected to see some of the men from the 26th Battalion in a few days. I told them to tell any who could to come and see us. I have been hoping ever since their visit to see Bayard or S___ or D___ walk in some day. It is awful to know that they are so near and not be able to see them.

  April 8, 1916

  A cheque came today from the De Monts Chapter, I.O.D.E., which gave me great joy. It touches me to tears to think of the way the Saint John people have helped me. I wish they could have a look in here and see how much more I have been able to do on account of the help they have sent me.

  There is a soldier who helps here by the name of Baquet; his wife has just taken three orphan children, the oldest six years old, to look after, in addition to her own four, her mother, and her mother-in-law. There are no men left to do the work on the farm and poor Ba
quet did not know how they could get along. I gave him one hundred francs and told him it was from my friends in Canada. He did not want to take it at first, saying it was sent for the wounded, but I explained to him that it was sent to me to help the soldiers and the soldiers’ families. He said it would mean so much to his wife, she works from four in the morning till dark. They are the sort of people who deserve help and it is such a joy to be able to lighten their burdens a little.

  We have only about eighty patients at present, but they keep us busy. The two men who came in last have been so terribly wounded. We have had a number of cases of gas gangrene. They are trying to cure them with a new sort of serum. Two of the men really seem to be getting better. Four cases were brought in yesterday. One poor man died at noon and I was glad he did not live any longer; another they had to operate on in the afternoon and take his leg off. He was in very bad shape last night but this morning he surprised every one by asking for pen and paper to write to his mother, and says he feels fine.

  Our wounded general left today. He could not say enough nice things about the hospital. He said he was so glad he had been brought here, not only on his own account, but he was so glad to see how wonderfully his men were taken care of.

  The guns have been going incessantly for the past two days and we hear that the English have taken four trenches. I have also heard that some Canadians have come over lately and our Bayard may be only four or five miles from me. I asked the general if it would be possible for me to find out; he said he would inquire and if Bayard is anywhere in reach he would get me a pass to go and see him. I feel as if I would start out and walk to try and find him; but alas! one cannot get by the sentries without proper papers.

  I hope my fur lined cape has not gone to the bottom. I think I shall still need it in June, for after two wonderful sunshiny days we are again freezing. Sunday and Monday were like days in June and we moved the beds of the patients out in the grass and others were on stretchers. We had the phonograph going, served lemonade, biscuits, sweets, and cigarettes. They had a wonderful time and all slept like tops the next night.