AWM41 1068 - [Official History, 1914-18 War: Records of Arthur G Butler:] Nursing - Personal Narratives - Extracts from letters of Staff Nurse C E Strom - 21 June 1917 - 30 September 1918 - Part 3

16.

course I wish that they were going to be Australians, just 

as they will probably be wishing that we were going to be 

Imperials, if indeed they know that we are not. Perhaps 

it has been mercifully withheld from them that they are

coming to be nursed by Australian women! Part of the 

morning I spent next door, giving the sister there a hand 

with her treatment; her twenty nine lads are the cheerfullest

crowd in the world, but they are not as yet 

especially communicative in our direction; mostly they 

appear to be taking observations! I have a shrewd

suspicion that they expect our conversation to be liberally

besprinkled with the wild Australian oaths one hears so 

much about outside Australia; perhaps they are waiting 

for us to wave our fists about and wallop each other and 

them, at the breach of harmony or discipline. Methinks

there is some entertainment in store for this child: their

very tongues are fascinating, though I can't understand 

half they say! The accents, and burrs, and brogues, and

all the various dialects, in all the various keys - why, 

it will take me years to get the hang of them all.........

I started off hours ago, to tell you of the arrangements

of the day. Well we always start off the day about five

o'clock, the men are called at four, or some such unearthly

hour, and the bugle calls happen at intervals from then

on. The lights are very lovely in the early morning, when

we stroll across to the bathrooms for our morning splash: 

parenthetically I may remark that the said splash is 

sadly curtailed of necessity if we over sleep ever so 

little, and arrive at the bathhouse later than 5.30, so

great is the crowd there at that hour. Parenthetically

I may remark that, in the event of the very worst happening 

there are always our washers, kept nicely wet from the

bath of the night before! Breakfast is at 6.30, we get

there at 6.20 to avoid the crush: duty begins at seven;

we get there at 10 minutes to. As a "tidy time" is not 

included in the morning activities, we make our beds before

we go on duty, also tidy up the tent sufficiently well for 

it to pass muster when the daily inspection takes place at 

eleven o'clock. Half of us are off from 1.5 until 5; as

lunch is from 1.15 until 1.45, and afternoon tea is at

4.30, there is not such a wide interval of rest as appears

on first sight. That half goes on again before 5, and

stays on till 7.30, when arrive the people of the night. 

The other half goes off at 5, or as near to it as possible, 

has afternoon tea when it gets over to the mess tent, and

attends first dinner at 7 o'clock, the official mess, when

dine all the heads, the night staff, and "those others",

and at which one wears ones red cape and a clean collar, 

and dare not be as much as a second late. As we are

required to put ourselves to bed by 9 o'clock, when

lights out is blown, you will see, with the aid of a bit

of calculations, that there isn't very much. spare time in 

the day, which ever duty we happen to be on. When the 

settling process is completed we hope to have a half day

off every week, and a whole day once in a month; which

will be very excellent..........

The vegetable man has lately arrived: he brings us tomatoes, 

cucumbers, and pears, and other cheerful additions to our

frugal diet. He is a picturesque young Greek, with a 

roving eye and a well panniered donkey..............s.....

is off to Salonika this afternoon and we are giving her so

many commissions each: mostly for eatables and books for

the boys, who are desperately hard up for reading matter. 

17.
Anon we shall be able to get things at the canteen, but at
present it is not in full working order, and everything is
fearfully dear. It is very apparent that our army pay
won't go far here.............We're waiting most anxiously
for home letters "will they never come?" What a scatter
there will be when they arrive! Your letters won't be
censored, anyway, that's one comfort. The censor is a
real wet blanket...........it annoys me to think that he is
looking over my shoulder, as it were, whilst I write this.
Later on we'll be so used to the presence of those peering
eyes that they will cease to trouble us; just at present
the very existence of the gentleman at our elbow seems like
an interference with our personal liberty!.................................
Somewhere in August.
The seventh, I think.
1917.
We have just had word that there departeth shortly,
from these shores, a mail for Egypt, as that is a stage
nearer home the crowd sits on its bed and scribbles furiously
in the hope of catching it. whether outgoing or
incoming, mails are of stupendous importance these days.
A mere suggestion that there is a possibility of a mail
departing in the a.m., and there is immediate seizing of
pens and paper, and the camp - or at least the Australian
end of it - settles down to write home.............
Gradually we are getting settled. I made that passive
voice on purpose. Every day there are more rules and
regulations out; every day we are led nearer to the
pinnacle of perfection - just what will happen when we
eventually arrive there, we don't know. The war will be
over by then, at the rate we are travelling. Is the war
nearly over by the way? We don't get much news here,
although the local newspaper does its very best for us all.
It is (we are told) the only paper record which is printed
and published solely for the interest and edification of
the members of His Majesty's Army, and rejoices in the
name of "The Balkan News". Whether the news is a day or
a week or three weeks old we have never been able to
determine. It may come by wireless, or by mail. My
orderly, who is a shrewd youth, will have it that the 
"London, Wed." notice, which appears very properly on
Thursday or Friday morning is the identical piece of news
which made its first appearance in the English papers of
three weeks ago, which he (the shrewd one) has only just
received, by the courtesy of his devoted relatives and the
facilities of the Army post. There it is "London, Wed."
sure enough, which Wednesday please, Mr. Balkan News?
At any rate, it doesn't matter much; all honour to the
enterprising editor who can manage to run a paper at all
with so little material. The witty bits are our special
joy. I regret to say that I always look for them first - 
the search for knowledge is a secondary affair. The journal
itself consists of two sheets, the price of it being one
lepton - a Greek penny. It is brought round the camp by
a more or less picturesque looking, very Greeky, wise
young many, with the most astonishing clothes and a
stentorian voice. His yells of "The Balkan-hoose",
accompanied by the announcement of any little item which
he thinks might interest the troops, is the signal for
instant activity on the part of the multitude. Everyone
looks for lepta, or borrows, or beseeches some one else to
get a paper for him.

18.
They are always saying, about half an hour after the
news arrives, "Oh, there's nothing in it, I'll not get it
again". But tomorrow comes and there they are, asking
Jones or the orderly to hop out and get them one, if they
are not well enough to hop out themselves. Anything in the
way of important news is considered by our friend to be
"good" news: no doubt from his point of view so it is.
Thus is comes about that we are startled by hearing all
sorts of national disasters, falsely labelled, by our
cheerful and business like friend, "Verygoodhnoosthmornin",
the headlines following in the next breath,
"Britisfleetsunkinthnorsee." Or something to that effect!
The boys say that they will undertake to teach him better
English and discretion - I wonder!.....................We are
becoming quite attached to this locality, which no doubt
is as well, seeing that we shall probably be here for the
next few years, or so..............
Evening 7.30 p.m. 
It is after dinner, and we are feeling particularly free
from our everlasting and distressing hunger. We had
stewed beef (water buffalo is the correct name, we
understand, for this special brand of beef), and wee baby
potatoes, boiled in their jackets; this was followed by
boiled rice and one plum. The rice was burnt, and the
plum "terrible" sour (may I be forgiven for this shameless
dragging of the intimate details of our domestic life into
the limelight of publicity) but I could have devoured
thrice my allowance...............One thing I am sure, and that
is, that, if we ever eat bread and jam of our own free
will, once we get out of this army, it will mean that
either we are powerful hungry, or that it is something
extra specially wonderful in the way of jam. Here it is
part of the staple diet: we eat it at practically every
meal, for the simple reason that we must eat something!
Don't imagine that the army is starving us: the poor thing
does its best, but so do our appetites. It's a trying
situation, but we'll live through it yet........................
15/8/17.
6 a.m.
.........Days off started a week or so back. Young S
and I had one together last week. We had hoped to be able 
to visit the noble city, but unfortunately, the very
night before all leave was stopped, pending settled
arrangements being made with regard to the cars, concerning
which there had been consideration fussation. As far
as we can gather, permission had been given to the sisters
to use the hospital cars, on the understanding that only
so many were to go, and at only such and such a time;
apparently there had been too much sister, and too often.
Hence the embargo. So S. and I had perforce to spend our
day off in the immediate vicinity of the camp................... 
We set off to explore the little hill behind the camp.........
From the summit one sees the harbour away on the one side,
the two lakes which lie not far from us, away on the
other, and round all the hills everywhere are scattered
collections of tents, with the fascinating red crosses on
the ground. The red crosses are huge, carefully
constructed creations, made of red earth and white gravel,
in a circle of white stones; each hospital shows at
least one, for the instruction of hostile aircraft.
We are not permitted to wander out of sight unescorted,
or very far away in sight, but the little hill is

19.

entirely within bounds as yet..............The bugle calls came
clearly up to us: a letter call went, and in a few
seconds the boys sprang up like magic from the various
quarters of the hospital, and dashed off in the direction
of the letter sorter's stand. The letter call has a lilt
all its own; apart from the message it calls to the world
there is something very charming about it. Expurgated a
trifle for your behalf, the words of it are: "Letters from
lovely Lizzie - letters from lovely Lou!". The boys
swarmed round like a crowd of ;picturesque ants, they go
about here attired in blue nether garments, which shirts,
and red ties, which they abominate, a man who can twist a
red tie into the required knot, without its becoming a mere
crumpled rag in the process, is a rarity, and a joy to his
fellows into the bargain...................
Coming back, we called in at the camp canteen; there are
two sorts of canteens, wet and dry - ours is dry! It is
open to sisters from 5 to 7 every evening, but so far
they had not settled down seriously to cope with our

demands. The night before we had visited it, with a view
to obtaining sustenance for our day off! On that occasion
we returned to camp laden with an assortment of delacacies,
we got sticks of chocalate, marshmallow bannas - and very
nice too, curried fowl in tins, and other queer mixtures;
things were very dear, and the supply restricted.........................
The food here is adequate, but extremely plain and homely,
as befits the occasion. Periodically we run out of bread
and fall back, with profound sighs, on biscuits. Ask any
soldier what visions are conjured up the words "bully
a biscuit" and you'll appreciate our sighs. We don't
have daily bouts of bully-beef, nor daily struggles with
the unresisting biscuit, but we meet with both sufficiently
often to know their faces well. There are three distinct
varieties of army biscuit, three, that is, that we have
met, who know what may befall us tomorrow. First there's
the dainty little chap, or long, about one inch by three
quarters, I should think; and as hard as the ladies' hearts.
It has no particular flavour, pretends to be nothing more
than mere flour & water, neatly moulded. Number two is an
elder brother, it's about two inches by three or maybe a 
bit less "I can't just remember" as the boys say -
anyway it's just like number one as to consistency and
flavour, but it bears a large B in the middle of its stolid
face, to reassure us, we suppose, that they really are
biscuits, and not ancient geolical specimens peculiar to
these parts. Number three, with which we met today for the 
first time - the introduction having taken place gradually,
and in the above order, is the Army Biscuit, the dinkum
variety, of which we have heard vaguely and without due
appreciation, which still far away from the scene of
adventures with such commodities. They are I suppose again
not having either tape measure or infallible eye - about
three and a half to four inches by three inches - or maybe
larger - more porous than either of the foregoing,
slightly sweet, and a trifle oatmeally, but as hard as
ever.......................As for the bully beef, it is nothing more
or less than tinned corned beef, as probably you know.........
Here we eat bread and marmalade until the supply runs out;
butter we never see. Tea is plentiful and most welcome of
at all hours, in this thirsty land. The milk is - alas -
generally Nestles and sweet, the supply of unsweetened
condensed milk is scanty...........The mess is gradually
getting into smooth working order; anon we hope to have
all sorts of astonishing things,

20.
we all pay five shillings a week towards the mess funds -
so you see we have foundations for our hopes. Things are
dear, and things are scarce, as I know I said before, so
the mess job isn't an easy one.
The laundry came back all serene. That's such an
important matter that I feel I must refer to it. The other
day we saw a wee and weary donkey, much laden and thumped,
being persuaded to enter our barbed wired enclosure.
He was stopped at the door of the mess tent. We found
that the much ladeness was our laundry, all bundled into
one great sack affair. The oily Greek who bore the burden
into the mess tent and dumped it into a corner.........................
regretted with an expressive shrug, that the clothes were
"all mixed", but "the writing"...............he "could not read". He
departed with a "ver" sorry, and a few scornful glances
round our establishment, whilst we did our best to collect
our mixed apparel, to carry them off gingerly to our tents,
and hand them out to air! The caps were limp, the dresses
practically rough dried, the belts were entirely unstarched;
we wash our own things now. The caps dry quite stiff
and straight if pinned tightly from one tent rope to the
other; the collars we stick on to the panes of the

bathroom windows, whilst they are wet, and they dry quite
smooth; the larger articles we put under our mattresses
if it is necessary to iron them, and wear them rough dry,
If it isn't. As we wear gray aprons, and not quite white ones,
the home laundering is not such a formidable job as it
might be, but it's bad enough.
The sun is very hot out here, we are getting browner daily.
Umbrellas are "worn" to and fro between the quarters and
the wards; those girls who brought no umbrellas - and we
certainly got little encouragement to bring them - wear
panama hats over their caps..................It is about five minutes
walk to the nearest of the wards; some of the girls have
to cross the entire camp, I am one of the lucky ones and
work near this end. It will be charming in winter when
the dust is mud.
Our carpet arrived yesterday. Helen and I were quite
excited about it, and, although we had declared ourselves
weary with much doing, we straightway got to work and
helped to put it down, afterwards fixing our beds and
belongings so that things looked a little ship shape............
Did I tell you that the Red Cross sent us each out a 
bundle of comforts to distribute amongst the boys. They
arrived with us. At first we did not know what they
contained, and some wild stories got about when we saw

them for the first time, which was when the boat was
unloading at Salonika, although there had been rumours
before. As each bundle had the name of a sister on it, in
large letters, we are all able to do the fairy godmother
stunt. They are delightful bundles, and contain everything
under the sun for the comfort of the troops. Parenthetically
I may say here that some of the things came in very
handy for us, and will come in more handily still when the
winter comes - though doubtless they will have all been
given away before then. We hope the Red Cross won't mind:
If they knew how we appreciated them they wouldn't. The
boys were just delighted with the idea! We dole out the
socks and things most carefully, with an eye to making
them spin out as long as possible.......................It is
delightful to be able to wander about in the tent shoeless
without fear of encountering thistle or dust. The carpet
is green canvas, the rugs are by way of being a contrast,
especially wine, which is very gay.

21.
On Saturday afternoon we had a half day, and went up to
the village, about a mile and a half away, on the side
of the hill facing the camp. We were escorted by two
of the medial officers.......................
On Sunday the only noticeable change in prevailing
conditions was that we had cake for afternoon tea, tinned
cake, for which we subscribe. It is very excellent. We
were all on duty in the evening, so none of us could
attend church - the church tent is quite near our wards,
and every Tommy seems to join in the hymns. Another 
extraordinary point about the Sabbath is that we
invariably get the melancholics..................Fortunately the
Monday morning finds us back to our old shade again, our
blues are not fast colours..............
19/8/17.
You should have seen us last Friday. Our
first mail arrived..........It was just great, just how great
I cannot tell you. We sat outside in the "back yard"
amongst the thistle, on our cushions and read our
messages from home over and over again..................
There is an astonishing crop of rumours about. We heard
today that (a) we go from here in about two weeks: (b)
that we don't go for some months: (c) that we don't go
at all!!.................Small wonder that we are all doubting
Thomases. They are entertaining at any rate, and furnish

us with something to talk about: which is something. But
a bit of reliable information now and again would be more
entertaining still!
Work goes on steadily. My ward is full of best assorted
Tommy. They are very good patients, cheerful, helpful,
amicable. And the things they don't know about Australia
would fill a book. What they expected Australian women to
look like we don't know, but it is quite evident that we
surprised many of them. One lad said to me the other day
"You're an Australian, aren't you Sister"? I gravely
admitted it. "But", he said, "You speak English very well".
I nearly collapsed..................
Many of them have never seen Australian soldiers at all,
but believe all the more about them for that reason.
Those who have fought alongside of them on the Peninsula
and in Egypt praise them warmly, both as fighters and as
men.............It hurts to think that they don't all appreciate
or admire our boys - and probably never will appreciate
them. They are profoundly interested in the conscription
question, opinions are divided. Some of them think we
shall be very sorry if we get it: others are of the
opinion that we should jolly well have had it long ago!
As for us, we are hoping to hear, any time now, that
conscription has been passed well and thoroughly.
Anything to get the war over more quickly, and to give
our lads out there a hand while there are still some left
to give a hand to.................
Sunday afternoon.
28/8/17.
Yesterday was delightful. Three of us set out
(with an M.O. as escort, guide, philosopher and friend)
to explore the heights of the hills above us. We had only
a half day, so could not start until 1 p.m.....................
About half a mile below the summit we came upon the
sweetest little spring.............Two French soldiers were seated

22.
by the side of the spring: they are evidently waiting 
for their cask to fill...........................A little further up we
came upon a French camp, consisting of a small cluster
of tents, we thought perhaps the soldiers had come from
there - why the camp was there, goodness knows. Perhaps
it's an important secret - in which case the censor will
snip it out. The washing was on the line, a few gay
quilts blew in the breeze. Polite French soldiers came
out and looked at us - polite, not because they came out

to look, but because they saluted our Lieutenant when
they did it.......................
Night duty,
7/9/17,
..........It's ten nights since we came on night duty, and
I don't think I've written to you once. It is pretty
strenuous, and we sleep most of the day, so the days slip
past and nothing gets done............We are kept busy on this
shift. I have five wards, each one containing twenty nine
patients: and only one orderly as a rule to assist.
Just at present I have an extra orderly, who was put on
to special a sick case. I do hope he will be left here
afterwards, for there is a great deal to be done. Orderly
and I spend the early part of the night getting all the
wards quiet, and the boys off to sleep, and the early
mornings waking them all up again. They are all malarias.
Only a proportion of them are bed cases, many able to get
up and make their beds, but there are an awful crowd who
can't. We are hard put to it to have the five wards all
shipshape by seven in the mornings, when the daystaff come
on. The mosquito nets in themselves are responsible for a
large slice of the time; each must be drooped just so,
and tucked in under the mattress in the exact and correct
manner. To appreciate the net problem fully, it is
necessary to remember that each particular ward has its
own particular sister on day duty; that each particular
sister has her own particular ideas about the way in which
the twenty-nine nets in her ward look most charming: and
that the night staff has to get each one of those hundred
and fortyfive nets (or that number minus the empty beds:
which are scarce at present) fixed up accordingly. One
sister has hers rolled up like a barber's pole, and tied
up elegantly.......with army tape; one has a taste for the
severely plain, we tie her nets back with army tape in
two places............the third effects the cradle style, with
one tie, the fourth the same, but with two ties, number
five - bless her heart - leaves it to us. With all these
fashions to keep up with frequently we forget that
particular ward we are working in,. we are attending
to cradles or the barber's poles; but the boys always know.
I always ask them when in doubt, it is nothing short of
a national disaster to tie up the old things in the wrong
style. Personally I have no ideas left about them now,
except that they are a perfect abomination to fix up every
morning! When I was on duty I worked through the various
systems methodically, trying each one and reckoning up all
the relative imperfections; but now I am so sick and tired
of the very sight of the draperies that I'd as lief
unhook them every morning and stick them out of sight
under the beds as "mess around with them" - as orderly
would say - inventing new fashions, or disapproving the old
ones...........
We love night duty. I've always like it better than day,

23.
for the satisfying reason that one escapes all the
fussation of daylight hours: moreover the work is more
arrangeable. One knows precisely what has to be done,
and who has to do it, as it is either oneself, or
"orderly" the division of labour isn't much a brainwrecking
business. We have long hours, from 7.15 p.m.
to 7.15 a.m., approximately, but they are cool - very
cold these nights - and most of the time there are a
few spare half hours between midnight and three o'clock.
The nights are very lovely. The moon is just over the
full now, rising tonight two thirds of a golden ball, but
the moonlight nights were a glory. The mountains stand
out mistily apparent, their quiet old heads silhouetted
against the clear sky: the lights of the little village
twinkle for a while, and then one by one fade out: the
camp around us, on the hill slopes, blow their last
bugle calls and settle themselves down for the night,
the French camp away past us sends its last goodnight
message out - their last post is a beautiful, spirited
call; it is sounded later than ours - and then their
is quiet. There is something wonderfully peaceful
about the moonlit, sleeping camp, with its long lines
of marquees. The very tents seem asleep. I often stand
and look at them - and wonder. Somehow over all of them,
on these moonlit nights, there seems to hang an atmosphere
of serene hopefulness, and quiet peace; it is an atmosphere
of perpetual benediction. Alas! that the daylight
blinds the eye!
Now that the moon has faded a little, there are lights
twinkling all over the camp, like so many glow-worms,
as the sisters and orderlies do their rounds through their
respective line of wards. My fifth ward is in a position
to overlook the entire hospital - from its door one sees
the lanterns of the whole community threading their
flickering way along the various thoroughfares. You should
see me doing my round. We go round alternatively, the
orderly and I, every little while: the intervals
depending on the number of sick "chaps" we have in the
wards. I always go armed with my trusty friend the
hurricane lamp - they are lanterns here - which get uncommonly
smoky before the night is out, and not infrequently
expires altogether if a sudden gust of wind should
spring up. It isn't the easiest thing to tread through
the wards with a stealthy step when the floors are
covered with saggy tarpaulin;.................
The five wards are in a row, side on to each other, one
above the other on the slope of the hill..............
Making observations in the wards, when the boys all sleep
under mosquito nets is some job. It is necessary to go
a right up to the net to ascertain the degree of welfare
of the recumbent form within. Some times there am I,
gazine through the net, the lantern smothered up as much as
possible, and a quiet chuckle will come from the unsleeping
one inside, as he watches my anxious, peering, countenance
on the outside! Sometimes a jocular soul will suddenly
say "Boo"! when I peep through - whereupon he gets
severely reprimanded, and general some Sergeant-Major
cocoa (i.e. the best - which we always make, orderly and I)
into the bargain. The S.M. cocoa we hand round all night
to those cases which we consider deserving. Briefly
they are
(a) The sick chaps.
(b) Those who complain with reason.
(c) Those who might complain with reason, but don't. &

24.
(d) Those who can see a joke even at three a.m.
Where we get the wherewithal to concoct the cocoa is a 
secret. My orderly is a gem. He has friends in the high
places - i.e. the cook-house and other important
establishments - a way with him, and several tins, which
we hide carefully from the day staff, to keep the spoils
in. As the materials we acquire - I say we, because I
am the stimulant whenever supplies get low! are used
exclusively for the lads, we having our own rations, of
course, we feel quite justified about it all.......................
Nell is further down the lines, two letters away - each
ward has a letter and a number. We have cocoa together
at 10 p.m. and tea at 3 a.m. - when we are not too busy,
and the primus behaves.........The other night we had a 
young cyclone here dust ad lib. We flew round and shut
up the several wards as well as we could. Things were
blown all over the place. Medicine bottles were smashed,
and the precious pantries presented a sorry spectacle when
daylight came ................Two lads in each ward rise heriocally 
at half past four every morning, receive my blessing and
a bowl of cocoa - or whatever else the commisarriat may

permit - and get to work to assist us with the making of
beds and washing of patients, to which, at that hour,
there seems no end. They are great kids - such boys, most
of them. I am very glad to have had the chance of nursing
them, that I might be in a position to disprove some of the
things we hear, from time to time, and from various sources
of the British Tommy as a patient. There are all sorts of
course, but in the mass they are the cheeriest, most
uncomplaining crowd one could ever wish to see. The
Scotchies (universally called the Jocks) are great chaps.
...........
The night staff are not provided with afternoon tea,
either in their tents or in the vicinity, thereof ..............
we take it in turns to get up and go over to the mess for
it. The mess doesn't lend its crockery (did I tell you
that they exchanged our early friends the blue basins
of sympathetic capacity for white cups, pretty and blue-rimmed,
but oh! so relatively unsatisfactory!) for the
most excellent reasons in the world. It's a dishonest
world, the mess think - and we suppose it knows! So we
set off with our two enamel mugs (issue) an an enamel
plate (also issue) and plod over in the dust, appearing
like a gray moth amongst the cheerful wideawake butterflies
of the day: and return with as much tea as the mugs
permit, all the bread and marmalade we can purloin without
comment, and any scandal, gossip or rumour which may have
been travelling round during the day..........................
Night duty,
19/9/17.
1 a.m.
I have intended for nights and nights and nights -
that's a week - to sit down and write a decent letter
to you, butalas! for good resolutions! We are
increasingly busy. The only spare time I have nowa-nights
in the interval between one and three a.m., and
then the spare bits are matters of minutes. The wards
are all full - have been for some time now; and we have a
number of sick lads who keep us, the two orderlies andme,
constantly on the alert. Sometimes when there are any
mentally abe rated - malaria has wide spread complications -
I stay in the wards; otherwise I sit in the bell tent.

25.
When I have need to linger in the wards I always think of
the old M.H. on night duty. The heavy breathing all round,
the shaded k. light - here an old kerosene lantern
glimmers away through a smoky glass - the lights through
the windows; the noises of the very early mornings in the
quiet street.............................
Did I tell you about the supper business? Two sisters
take it in turn to get it - our turn comes round about
every eighth night. We repair mess tentwards about nine
o'clock; the home sister generally leaves out supplies
for us over there. Tins of bully beef, a loaf or two,
a tin of the famous silver shred (a species of marmalade),
a tin of milk, tea and sugar - and implements wherewith to
carve. All these things we cart over to the supper room,
where it happens to be. We have moved our supper room,
thrice, for various reasons, first we had the tent of the
Divisional officer, next we made merry in another tent, a
little further up the hill, now we sup in the church tent,
...............The tea is made in a dixi - one of the orderlies takes
it to the central cookhouse for us, and collects it just
before the hour. For the rest, we cut up numerous bully
beef sandwiches, and piles of bread and silver shred -
or else dish the beef our with the ubiquitous piccalilli.......
Sometimes we are gladdened by the presence of tinned fish,
"in lieu", sometimes tinned sausages appears, but mostly
it is bully. The other night we had honey. I regret to
say that it was procurred by stealth, but wasn't it good!
...............When the supper is over - such a merry, chattering
assembly gathers round the festive boards (the tables are
made of a few boards put together unenthusiastically) -
the waitresses remove the traces of the feast, wash up
the dishes, and go home, sending the orderly round in
the early morning before the world is up, to sweep the
tent and remove the dixies.........
The first Sunday after we began to have supper in the
church tent, we were the recipients of a polite note from
the padre, intimating that our early morning clean up was
maybe a little too early, in other words it wasn't just in
a fit and proper state for service. We were all greatly
worried, of course, but when the next Saturday night came,
and Nell and I found it was our turn, horror set in with a 
vengeance. However, we decided to bear up and do our best:
accordingly we took great pains with the tidying up,
leaving the dixies, with the debris in them, for the
orderly to remove as usual, and the floor to be swept.
I despatched one of my orderlies in the early a.m. to
finish off the job, intending to go over myself before
8.30 to have a final inspection before the padre arrived
for early service. At 6.15 (horrible dictu) appeared a
patient, a would-be communionist, broom hunting at the
padre's request (My wards are the nearest to the church
tent). You can imagine how I felt when he told me that
the church had been neither swept nor cleaned up of
dixies. Orderly when interviewed was little impressed:

he said he had done the job by lantern light, and hadn't
seen the dixies. As I had sent the less dependable man,
instead of my faithful old Primus King, I suppose I really
"asked for it", as the boys say.
Nell, when I visited her lines to acquaint her with the
tragedy, although thoroughly alive to the possibilities
of the situation, thought that the worst had not happened
yet - and probably wouldn't happen if we could get in
first and apologise personally to the padre before the
matter were reported to the heads. Once a matter is