Chapter 3

On No.-- Ambulance Train (1)

FIRST EXPERIENCES

October 13, 1914, to October 19, 1914

"In lonely watches, night by night Great visions burst upon my sight, For down the stretches of the sky The hosts of dead go marching by.

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Dear Christ, who reignst above the flood Of human tears and human blood, A weary road these men have trod: O house them in the home of God."

Ambulance Train--Under fire--Tales of the Retreat--Life on the Train.

Tuesday, October 13th.--At last I am on the train, and have just unpacked. There is an Army Sister and two Reserve, a Major ----, O.C., and two junior officers.

Don't know yet what messing arrangements are. We each have a bunk to ourselves, with a proper mattress, pillow, and blankets: a table and seat at one end, lots of racks and hooks, and a lovely little washing-house leading out of the bunk, shared by the two Sisters on each side of it: each has a door into it. No one knows where we are going; we start this afternoon.

6 P.M.--Not off yet. We had lunch in a small dining-car, we four Sisters at one table, Major ---- and his two Civil Surgeons at another, and some French officials of the train at another. Meal cooked and served by the French--quite nice, no cloth, only one knife and fork. They are all very friendly and jolly.

In between the actual dealing with the wounded, which is only too real, it all feels like a play or a dream: why should the whole of France, at any rate along the railways and places on them, be upside down, swarming with British soldiers, and all, French and English, working for and talking of the one thing? everything, and every house and every hotel, school, and college, being used for something different from what it was meant for; the billeting is universal. You hear a funny alternation of educated and uneducated English on all sides of you, and loud French gabbling of all sorts. By day you see aeroplanes and troop trains and artillery trains; and by night you see searchlights and hear the incessant wailing and squawking of the train whistles. On every platform and at every public doors or gates are the red and blue French soldiers with their long spikey bayonets, or our Tommies with the short broad bayonets that don't look half so deadly though I expect they are much worse. You either have to have a written passport up here, or you must know the "mot" if challenged by the French sentries. All this from Havre and St Nazaire up to the Front.

The train is one-third mile long, so three walks along its side gives you exercise for a mile. The ward beds are lovely: broad and soft, with lovely pillow-cases and soft thick blankets; any amount of dressings and surgical equipment, and a big kitchen, steward's store, and three orderlies to each waggon. Shouldn't be surprised if we get "there" in the dark, and won't see the war country.