Kitabı oku: «Dr. Elsie Inglis», sayfa 11
‘We had a very interesting Easter. You know the Russian greeting on Easter morning, “Christ is risen,” and the answer, “He is risen indeed.” We learnt them both, and made our greetings in Russian fashion. On Easter Eve we went to the church in the village. The service is at midnight. The church was crowded with soldiers – very few women there. They were most reverent and absorbed outside in the courtyards. It was a very curious scene; little groups of people with lighted candles waiting to get in. Here, we had a very nice Easter service. My “choir” had three lovely Easter hymns, and we even sang the Magnificat. One of the armoured car men, on his way from Galatz to Belgrade, stayed for the service, and it was nice to have a man’s voice in the singing. We gave our patients Easter eggs and cigarettes. Except that we are very idle, we are very happy here. Our patients are delightful, the hospital in good order. The Steppe is a fascinating place to wander over, the little valleys, and the villages hidden away in them, and the flowers! We have been riding our transport horses – rather rough, but quite nice and gentle. We all ride astride of course.
‘On Active Service
‘To Mrs. Flinders Petrie,
Hon. Sec., Scottish Women’s Hospitals.
‘Reni, May 8, 1917.
‘Dear Mrs. Petrie, – How perfectly splendid about the Egyptologists. Miss Henderson brought me your message, saying how splendidly they are subscribing. That is of course all due to you, you wonderful woman. It was such a tantalising thing to hear that you had actually thought of coming out as an Administrator, and that you found you could not. I cannot tell you how splendid it would have been if you could have come… I want “a woman of the world” … and I want an adaptable person, who will talk to the innumerable officers who swarm about this place, and ride with the girls, and manage the officials!
‘I do wish you could see our hospital now. It really is quite nice. Such a nice story: – Matron was in Reni the other day, seeing the Commandant of the town about some things for the hospital, and when she came out she found a crowd of Russian soldiers standing round her house. They asked her if she had got what she wanted, and she said the Commandant was going to see about it. Whereupon the men said, “The Commandant must be told that the Scottish Hospital (Schottlandsche bolnitza) is the best hospital on this front, and must have whatever it wants. That is the opinion of the Russian Soldier.” Do you recognise the echo of the big reverberation that has shaken Russia. We get on awfully well with the Russian soldier. Two of our patients were overheard talking the other day, and they said, “The Russian Sisters are pretty but not good, and the English Sisters are good and not pretty.” The story was brought up to the mess-room by quite a nice-looking girl who had overheard it. But we thought we’d let the judgment stand and be like Kingsley’s “maid” – though we don’t undertake to endorse the Russian part of it!
‘We have got some of the personnel tents pitched now, and it is delightful. It was rather close quarters in the little house. I am writing in my tent now, looking out over the Danube. Such a lovely place, Reni is – and the Steppe is fascinating with its wide plains and little unexpected valleys full of flowers. We have some glorious rides over it. The other night our camp was the centre of a fight. Only a sham one! They are drilling recruits here, and suddenly the other night we found ourselves being defended by one party while another attacked from the Steppe. The battle raged all night, and the camp was finally carried at four o’clock in the morning amid shouts and cheers and barking of dogs. It was even too much for me, and I have slept through bombardments.
‘It has been so nice hearing about you all from Miss Henderson. How splendidly the money is coming in. Only one thing, dear Mrs. Petrie, do make them send the reliefs more quickly. I know all about boats, but, as you knew the orderlies had to leave on the 15th of January, the reliefs ought to have been off by the 1st.
‘I wish you could hear the men singing their evening hymn in hospital. They have just sung it. I am so glad we thought of putting up the icons for them.
‘Good-bye for the present, dear Mrs. Petrie. My kindest regards to Professor Flinders Petrie. – Ever yours affectionately,
Elsie Maud Inglis.’‘May 11, 1917.
‘It was delightful seeing Miss Henderson, and getting news of all you dear people. She took two months over the journey. But she did arrive with all her equipment. The equipment I wired for in October, and which was sent out by itself, arrived in Petrograd, got through to Jassy, and has there stuck. We have not got a single thing, and the Consuls have done their best.
‘Mr. French, one of the chaplains in Petrograd, came here. He said he would have some services here. We pitched a tent, and we had the Communion. It was a joy. I have sent down a notice to the armoured car yacht, and I hope some of the men will come up. We and they are the only English people here.
‘The Serbs have sent me a message saying we may have to rejoin our Division soon. I don’t put too much weight on this, because I know my dearly beloved Serbs, and their habit of saying the thing they think you would like, but still we are preparing. I shall be very sorry to leave our dear little hospital here, and the Russians. They are a fascinating people, especially the common soldier. I hope that as we have done this work for the Russians and therefore have some little claim on them, it will help us to get things more easily for the Serbs. We have one little laddie in, about ten years old, the most amusing brat. He was wounded by an aeroplane bomb in a village seven versts out, and was sent into Reni to a hospital. But, when he got there he found the hospital was for sick only (a very inferior place!), so he proceeded on to us. He wanders about with a Russian soldier’s cap on his head and wrapped round with a blanket, and we hear his pretty little voice singing to himself all over the place.
‘Nicolai, the man who came in when the hospital was first opened, and has been so very ill, is really getting better. He had his dressing left for two days for the first time the other day, and his excitement and joy were quite pathetic. “Ochin heroshe doktorutza, ochin herosho” (Very good, dear doctor, very good), he kept saying, and then he added, “Now, I know I am not going to die!” Poor boy, he has nearly died several times, and would have died if he had not had English Sisters to nurse him. He has been awfully naughty – the wretch. He bit one of the Sisters one day when she tried to give him his medicine. Now, he kisses my hand to make up. The other day I ordered massage for his leg, and he made the most awful row, howled and whined, and declared it would hurt (really, he has had enough pain to destroy anybody’s nerve), and then suddenly pointed to a Sister who had come in, and said what she had done for him was the right thing. I asked what she had done for him; “Massaged his leg,” she said. I got that promptly translated into Russian, and the whole room roared with laughter. Poor Nicolai – after a minute, he joined in. His home is in Serbia, “a very nice home with a beautiful garden.” His mother is evidently the important person there. His father is a smith, and he had meant to be a smith too, but now he has got the St. George’s Cross, which carries with it a pension of six roubles a month, and he does not think he will do any work at all. He is the eldest of the family, twenty-four years old, and has three sisters, and a little brother of five. Can’t you imagine how he was spoilt! and how proud they are of him now, only twenty-four, and a sous-officier, and been awarded the St. George’s Cross which is better than the medal; and been wounded, four months in hospital, and had three operations! He has been so ill I am afraid the spoiling continued in the Scottish Women’s Hospital. Dr. Laird says she would not be his future wife for anything.
‘We admitted such a nice-looking boy to-day, with thick, curly, yellow hair, which I had ruthlessly cropped, against his strong opposition. I doubt if I should have had the heart, if I had known how ill he was. He will need a very serious operation. I found him this evening with tears running silently over his cheeks, a Cossack, a great big man. His nerve is quite gone. He may have to go on to Odessa, as a severe operation and bombs and a nervous breakdown don’t go together. We will see how he settles down.
‘We have made friends with lots of the officers; there is one, also a Cossack, who spends a great part of his time here. His regiment is at the front, and he has been left for some special work, and he seems rather lonely. He is a nice boy, and brings nice horses for us to ride. We have been having quite a lot of riding, on our own transport horses too. It is heavenly riding here across the great plain. We all ride astride, and at first we found the Cossacks’ saddles most awfully uncomfortable, but now we are quite used to them. Our days fly past here, and in a sense are monotonous, but I don’t think we are any of us the worse for a little monotony as an interlude! Alas! quite fairly often there is a party at one of the regiments here! The girls enjoy them, and matron and I chaperone them alternately and reluctantly. It was quite a rest during Lent when there were no parties.
‘The spy incident has quite ended, and we have won. Matron was in Reni the other day asking the Commandant about something, and when she came out she found a little crowd of Russian soldiers round her house. They asked her if she had got what she wanted, and she said the Commandant had said he would see about it. They answered, “The Commandant must be told that the S.W.H. is the best hospital on this front, and that it must have everything it wants.” That is the opinion of the Russian soldier! If you were here you would recognise the new tone of the Russian soldier in these days, – but I am glad he approves of our hospital.’
‘Odessa, June 24, 1917.
‘I wish you could realise how the little nations, Serbs and Rumanians and Poles, count on us. What a comfort it is to them to think we are “the most tenacious” nation in Europe. In their eyes it all hangs on us. It is all terrible and awful. I don’t believe we can disentangle it all in our minds just now. The only thing is just to go on doing one’s bit. Because, one thing is quite clear, Europe won’t be a habitable place if Germany wins – for anybody.
‘I think there are going to be a lot of changes here.’
‘July 15, 1917.
‘I have had German measles! The Consul asked me what I meant by that at my time of life! The majority of people say how unpatriotic and Hunnish of you! Well, a few days off did not do me any harm. I had a very luxurious time lying in my tent. The last lot of orderlies brought it out.’
‘Odessa, Aug. 15, 1917.
‘The work at Reni is coming to an end, and we are to go to the front with the Serbian Division. I cannot write about it owing to censors and people. But I am going to risk this: the Serbs ought to be most awfully proud. The Russian General on the front is going to insist on having them “to stiffen up his Russian troops.” I think you people at home ought to know what magnificent fighting men these Serbs are, and so splendidly disciplined, simply worth their weight in gold. There are only two divisions of them after all. We have about thirty-five of them in hospital just now as sanitaries, and they are such a comfort; their quickness and their devotion is wonderful. The hospital was full and overflowing when I left – still Russians. Most of the cases were slight; a great many left hands, if you know what that means. I don’t think the British Army does know!
‘We had a Red Cross inspecting officer down from Petrograd. He was very pleased with everything, and kissed my hand on departing, and said we were doing great things for the Alliance. I wanted to say many things, but thought I had better leave it alone.
‘We are operating at 5 A.M. now, because the afternoons are so hot. The other day we began at 5, and had to go till 4 P.M. after all.
‘Matron and I had a delightful ride the other evening. Just as we had turned for home, an aeroplane appeared, and the first shot from the anti-aircraft guns close beside us was too much for our horses, who promptly bolted. However, there was nothing but the clear Steppe before us, so we just sat tight and went. After a little they recovered themselves, and really behaved very well.’
‘Aug. 28.
‘You dear, dear people, how sweet of you to send me a telegram for my birthday. You don’t know how nice it was to get it and to feel you were thinking of me. It made me happy for days. Miss G. brought it me with a very puzzled face, and said, “I cannot quite make out this telegram.” It was written in Russian characters. She evidently was not used to people doing such mad things as telegraphing the “Many happy returns of the day” half across the world. I understood it at once, and it nearly made me cry. It was good to get it, though I think the Food Controller or somebody ought to come down on you for wasting money in the middle of a war.
‘I am finishing this letter in Reni. We closed the hospital yesterday, and joined our Division somewhere on Friday. The rush that had begun before I got to Odessa got much worse. They had an awfully busy time, a faint reminiscence of Galatz, though, as they were operating twelve hours on end, I don’t know it was so very faint. We had no more left hands, but all the bad cases. Everybody worked magnificently, but they always do in a push. The time a British unit goes to pieces is when there is nothing to do!
‘So this bit of work ends, eight months. I am quite sorry to leave it, but quite quite glad to get back to our Division.
‘Well, Amy dearest, good-bye for the present. I wonder what will happen next! Love to all you dear people.’
‘S.W.H.,‘Hadji Abdul, Oct. 17, 1917.
‘I wonder if this is my last letter from Russia! We hope to be off in a very few days now. We have had a very pleasant time in this place with its Turkish name. It shows how far north Turkey once came. We are with the Division, and were given this perfectly beautiful camping-ground, with trees, and a slope towards the east. The question was whether we were going to Rumania or elsewhere. It is nice being back with these nice people. They have been most kind and friendly, and we have picnics and rides and dances, and dinners, and till this turmoil of the move began we had an afternoon reception every day under the walnut trees! Now, we are packed up and ready to go, and I mean to walk in on you one morning. It does not stand thinking of!
‘We shall have about two months to refit, but one of those is my due as a holiday, which I am going to take. I’ll see you all soon. – Your loving aunt,
‘Elsie.’
To Mrs. Simson
‘Archangel, Nov. 18, 1917.
‘On our way home. Have not been very well; nothing to worry about. Shall report in London, then come straight to you. Longing to see you all.
‘Inglis.’
CHAPTER XI
THE MOORINGS CUT
‘Not I, but my Unit.’
‘My dear Unit, good-bye.’ – Nov. 26, 1917.
E. M. I.
‘Into the wide deep seas which we call God
You plunged.
This is not death,
You seemed to say, but fuller life.’
The reports of Dr. Inglis as chief medical officer to the London Committee were as detailed and foreseeing in the very last one that she wrote as in the first from on board the transport that took her and her unit out. She writes: – ‘In view of the fact that we are in the middle of big happenings I should like Dr. Laird to bring ½ ton cotton wool, six bales moss dressings, 100 lb. chloroform, 50 lb. ether, 20 gallons rectified spirits. I wonder what news of the river boat for Mesopotamia?’ After they had landed and were at work: – ‘I have wired asking for another hospital for the base. I know you have your hands full, but I also know that if the people at home realise what their help would mean out here just now, we would not have to ask twice. And again: – ’Keep the home fires burning and let us feel their warmth.’ She soon encountered the usual obstacles: – ‘I saw that there was no good in the world talking about regular field hospitals to them until they had tried our mettle. The ordinary male disbelief in our capacity cannot be argued away. It can only be worked away.’ So she acted. Russia created disbelief, but the men at arms of all nations saw and believed. In November she wrote back incredulously: – ‘Rumours of falling back. Things look serious. Anxious about the equipment.’ In bombardments, in retreat, and evacuations the equipment was her one thought. ‘Stand by the equipment’ became a joke in her unit. On one occasion one of the orderlies had a heavy fall from a lorry on which she was in charge of the precious stuff. Dusty and shaken, she was gathering herself up, when the voice of the chief rang out imperatively urgent, ‘Stand by the equipment.’ On the rail certain trucks, bearing all the equipment, got on a wrong line, and were carried away: – ‘The blue ribbon belongs to Miss Borrowman and Miss Brown. They saw our wagons disappearing with a refugee train, whereupon these two ran after it and jumped on, and finally brought the equipment safely to Galatz. They invented a General Popovitch who would be very angry if it did not get through. Without those two girls and their ingenuity, the equipment would not have got through.’
She details all the difficulties of packing up and evacuating after the despatch rider came with the order that the hospitals were to fall back to Galatz. The only method their own, all else chaotic and helpless, working night and day, the unit accomplished everything. At the station, packed with a country and army in flight, Dr. Inglis had a talk with a Rumanian officer. He told her that he had been in Glasgow, and had there been invited out to dinner, and had seen ‘English customs.’ ‘It was good to feel those English customs were still going on quietly, whatever was happening here, breakfast coming regularly and hot water for baths, and everything as it should be. It was probably absurd, but it came like a great wave of comfort to feel that England was there quiet and strong and invincible behind everything and everybody.’
As we read these natural vivid diary reports, we too can feel it was good of England that Dr. Inglis was to the last on that front —
‘Ambassador from Britain’s Crown,
And type of all her race.’
Dr. Inglis never lost sight of the Army she went out to serve. She refused to return unless they were brought away from the Russian front with her.
‘I wonder if a proper account of what happened then went home to the English papers? The Serbian Division went into the fight 15,000 strong. They were in the centre – the Rumanians on their left, and the Russians on their right. The Rumanians broke, and they fought for twenty-four hours on two fronts. They came out of the fight, having lost 11,000 men. It is almost incredible, and that is when we ought to have been out, and could have been out if we had not taken so long to get under way.’
In the last Report, dated October 29, 1917, she tells her Committee she has been ‘tied by the leg to bed.’ There are notes on coming events: —
‘There really seems a prospect of getting away soon. The Foreign Office knows us only too well. Only 6000 of the Division go in this lot, the rest (15,000) to follow.’
There is a characteristic last touch.
‘I have asked Miss Onslow to get English paper-back novels for the unit on their journey. At a certain shop, they can be got for a rouble each, and good ones.’
To members of that unit, doctors, sisters, orderlies, we are indebted for many personal details, and for the story of the voyage west, when for her the sun was setting. Her work was accomplished when on the transport with her and her unit were the representatives of that Serbian Army with whom she served, faithful unto death.
Miss Arbuthnot, the granddaughter of Sir William Muir, the friend of John Inglis, was one of those who helped to nurse Dr. Inglis: —
‘I sometimes looked after her when the Sister attending her was off duty. Her consideration and kindness were quite extraordinary, while her will and courage were quite indomitable. To die as she did in harness, having completed her great work in getting the Serbs away from Russia, is what she would have chosen.
‘I first met Dr. Inglis at Hadji Abdul, a small mud village about ten miles from Galatz. She was looking very ill, but was always busy. For some time she had been ill with dysentery, but she never even stayed in bed for breakfast till it was impossible for her to move from bed.
‘During our time at Hadji we had about forty Serbian patients, a few wounded, but mostly sick. Dr. Inglis did a few minor operations, but her last major one was a gastro-enterotomy performed on one of our own chauffeurs, a Serb, Joe, by name. The operation took three hours and was entirely satisfactory, although Dr. Inglis did not consider him strong enough to travel back to England. She was particularly fond of this man, and took no end of trouble with him. Even after she became so very ill she used constantly to visit him.
‘The Serbs entertained us to several picnics, which we duly returned. Dr. Inglis was always an excellent hostess, so charming and genial to every one, and so eager that both entertainers and entertained should equally enjoy themselves. Provided her permission was asked first, and duty hours or regular meals not neglected, she was always keen every one should enjoy themselves riding, walking, or going for picnics. If any one was ill, she never insisted on their getting up in spite of everything, as most doctors, and certainly all matrons, wish us to do. She was strict during duty hours, and always required implicit obedience to her orders – whatever they were. She was always so well groomed – never a hair out of place. In appearance she was a splendid head. One felt so proud of her among the dirty and generally unsuitably dressed women in other hospitals. She was very independent, and would never allow any of us to wait on her. The cooks were not allowed to make her any special dishes that the whole unit could not share. As long as she could, she messed with the unit, and there was no possibility of avoiding her quick eye; anything which was reserved for her special comfort was rejected. Once, a portion of chicken was kept as a surprise for her. She asked whether there had been enough for all, and when the cooks reluctantly confessed there was only the one portion she sent it away.
‘During one of the evacuations, an order had been given that there were only two blankets allowed in each valise. Some one, mindful of her weakness, stuffed an extra one into Dr. Inglis’ bag, because in her emaciated condition she suffered much from the cold. It stirred her to impetuous anger, and with something of the spirit of David, as he poured out the water brought him at the peril of the lives of his followers, she flung the blanket out of the railway carriage, as a lesson to those of her unit who had disobeyed an order.
‘Every Sunday Dr. Inglis read the Church service with great dignity and simplicity. On the weekday evenings, before she became so ill, she would join us in a game of bridge, and played nearly every night. During the retreats when nothing more could be done, and she felt anxious, she would sit down and play a game of patience. During the weeks of uncertainty, when the future of the Serbs was doubtful, and she was unable to take any active part, she fretted very much.
‘After endless conflicting rumours and days of waiting, the news arrived that they were to go to England. Her delight was extraordinary, for she had lain in her bed day after day planning how she could help them, and sending endless wires to those in authority in England, but feeling herself very impotent. Once the good news arrived, her marvellous courage and tenacity helped her to recover sufficiently, and prepare all the details for the journey with the Serbs. We left on the 29th October, with the H.G. Staff and two thousand Serbian soldiers, in a special train going to Archangel.
‘Dr. Inglis spent fifteen days on the train, in a second-class compartment, with no proper bed. Her strength varied, but she was compelled to lie down a great deal, although she insisted on dressing every morning. On two occasions she walked for five minutes on the station platform; each time it absolutely exhausted her. Though she suffered much pain and discomfort, she never complained. She could only have benger, chicken broth and condensed milk, and she often found it impossible to take even these. If one happened to bring her tea, or her food, she thanked one so charmingly.
‘At Archangel there was no means of carrying her on to the boat, so with help (one orderly in front, and one lifting her behind), she climbed a ladder twenty feet high, from the platform to the deck of the transport. She was a good sailor, and had a comfortable cabin on the ship. She improved on board slightly, and used to sit in the small cabin allotted to us on the upper deck. She played patience, and was interested in our sea-sick symptoms. There was a young naval officer very seriously ill on the boat. Our people were nursing him, and she constantly went to prescribe; she feared he would not live, and he died before we reached our port.
‘After some improvement, Dr. Inglis had a relapse; violent pain set in, and she had to return to bed. Even then, a few days before we reached England, she insisted on going through all the accounts, and prepared fresh plans to take the unit on to join the Serbs at Salonika. In six weeks she expected to be ready to start. She sent for each of us in turn, and asked if we would go with her. Needless to say, only those who could not again leave home, refused, and then with the deepest regret. The night before we reached Newcastle, Dr. Inglis had a violent attack of pain, and had no sleep all night. Next morning she insisted on getting up to say good-bye to the Serbian staff.
‘It was a wonderful example of her courage and fortitude, to see her standing unsupported – a splendid figure of quiet dignity. Her face ashen and drawn like a mask, dressed in her worn uniform coat, with the faded ribbons that had seen such good service. As the officers kissed her hand, and thanked her for all she had done for them, she said to each of them a few words accompanied with her wonderful smile.’
As they looked on her, they also must have understood, ‘sorrowing most of all, that they should see her face no more.’
‘After that parting was over, Dr. Inglis collapsed from great weakness. She left the boat Sunday afternoon, 25th November, and arrived quite exhausted at the hotel. I was allowed to see her for a minute before the unit left for London that night. She could only whisper, but was as sweet and patient as she ever was. She said we should meet soon in London.’
After her death, many who had watched her through these strenuous years, regretted that she did not take more care of herself. Symptoms of the disease appeared so soon, she must have known what overwork and war rations meant in her state. This may be said of every follower of the One who saved others, but could not save Himself. The life story of Saint and Pioneer is always the same. To continue to ill-treat ‘brother body’ meant death to St. Francis; to remain in the fever swamps of Africa meant death to Livingstone. The poor, and the freedom of the slave, were the common cause for which both these laid down their lives. Of the same spirit was this daughter of our race. Had she remained at home on her return from Serbia she might have been with us to-day, but we should not have the woman we now know, and for whom we give thanks on every remembrance of her.
The long voyage ended at last. Miss Arbuthnot makes no allusion to its dangers. Everything written by the ‘unit’ is instinct with the high courage of their leader. We know now how great were the perils surrounding the transports on the North seas. Old, and unseaworthy, the menace below, the storm above, through the night of the Arctic Circle, she was safely brought to the haven where all would be. More than once death in open boats was a possibility to be faced; there were seven feet of water in the engine-room, and only the stout hearts of her captain and crew knew all the dangers of their long watch and ward. As the transport entered the Tyne a blizzard swept over the country. We who waited for news on shore wondered where on the cold grey seas laboured the ship bringing home ‘Dr. Elsie and her unit.’
In her last hours she told her own people of the closing days on board: —
‘When we left Orkney we had a dreadful passage, and even after we got into the river it was very rough. We were moored lower down, and, owing to the high wind and storm, a big liner suddenly bore down upon us, and came within a foot of cutting us in two, when our moorings broke, we swung round, and were saved. I said to the one who told me – “Who cut our moorings?” She answered, “No one cut them, they broke.”’
There was a pause, and then to her own she broke the knowledge that she had heard the call and was about to obey the summons.
‘The same hand who cut our moorings then is cutting mine now, and I am going forth.’
Her niece Evelyn Simson notes how they heard of the arrival: —
‘A wire came on Friday from Aunt Elsie, saying they had arrived in Newcastle. We tried all Saturday to get news by wire and ’phone, but got none. We think now this was because the first news came by wireless, and they did not land till Sunday.
‘Aunt Elsie answered our prepaid wire, simply saying, “I am in bed, do not telephone for a few days.” I was free to start off by the night train, and arrived about 2 A.M. at Newcastle. I found the S.W.H. were at the Station Hotel, and I saw Aunt Elsie’s name in the book. I did not like to disturb her at that hour, and went to my room till 7.30. I found her alone; the night nurse was next door. She was surprised to see me, as she thought it would be noon before any one could arrive. She looked terribly wasted, but she gave me such a strong embrace that I never thought the illness was more than what might easily be cured on land, with suitable diet.
