Over the Front in an Aeroplane, and Scenes Inside the French and Flemish TrenchesPulitzer, Ralph
History
Over the Front in an Aeroplane, and Scenes Inside the French and Flemish Trenches
Pulitzer, Ralph
World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives
Luncheon over, we bade the splendid young General and his staff
good-bye, and motored quite a distance to visit one of the French
field hospitals. The wounded, after having first aid applied in the
trenches, were brought here in ambulances, where their wounds were
thoroughly dressed or operations performed. When there was a great rush
of wounded those capable of standing the journey were shipped on to
base hospitals as quickly as possible to make room for the new cases.
During the last few months, however, there had been so little hard
fighting on the section of the front which this hospital served, that
many of the wounded had been kept there for weeks and some for months.
The big rooms on the ground floor of the large country house in which
the hospital had been located, had been converted into wards for the
wounded privates, while the bedrooms on the upper floor were reserved
principally for officers.
It was curious to hear the deprecatory tone in which the Chief Surgeon
regretted that he had no freshly wounded to bandage or operate on
for our benefit. In fact from the front hospitals to the great base
hospitals of Paris the surgeons are all alike. They cannot keep a
professional note of regret out of their voices when explaining that
very few wounded have come in of late, nor a professional note of
encouragement when they understand an important action is soon to be
fought which will again fill their cots with "cases." It would be an
outrage to hold this attitude against these splendid men. If they had
not become impregnated by their professional point of view toward the
horrors of their work, they would all long ago have been in madhouses.
Our whole progress through the hospital was a strange conglomeration of
pathos and farce. For the Surgeon in Command, on our being introduced
to him, stated that he was the proud possessor of an orderly who
spoke the English tongue "à merveille." Our staff-officers politely
indicated to him that our own French, though not perhaps up to
Comédie Française standards, was no mean thing, and would render his
explanations entirely comprehensible to us. But these hints were of
no avail. The accomplishments of his linguistic prodigy must not be
wasted. So the orderly was produced and turned out to be master of the
most grotesquely unintelligible English that I have ever listened to.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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