The Last Lady from Hell (36 page)

“What can I do for you, my friend?” Dan said reassuringly.

“Well, you see, my friend – Leslie Greenhow – was the man who died in your arms.”

“I shall never forget,” Dan said solemnly.

“I have a small box of his belongings that I collected from our tent. A bible, some letters, several photographs, you see – and I have written a letter to his parents as well – and I would be most appreciative if you could see that his things and the letter are delivered when you get to the Hospital.” He seemed worried about his intrusion. “The letter and box are properly addressed and have adequate postage...”

“It would be my honor, the man was a selfless hero,” Dan said, interrupting the man’s long sentence, as a lump formed in his throat.

Eyes cast down, the man said, “Thank you. Thank you very much. He was a fine gentleman.” He turned and began to walk away, but stopped as if he’d forgotten something and returned to the door.

“One more favor if you would,” he said. “You see, Leslie was from a very religious family and they would never understand, you see… He smoked a pipe and I saw no reason to let them know about his habit. I kept the pipe, but I have no use for it, so perhaps you would like it. It’s quite beautiful.” The man produced a magnificent white carved bone pipe.

“Holy smoke! That is a real work of art,” Dan said, accepting the gift. “I will cherish it always and repeat the story of your friend’s heroism often when people admire this beautiful piece of art.” Dan choked on his words and began to lose his composure.

“Thank you so very much,” the man said. His eyes were welling up and he turned away, not wanting Dan to see his emotions. He took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh, then walked slowly away, not looking back.

Dan sat on the hard wooden bench looking at his beautiful gift. A driver cranked the engine of the ambulance to life and slid behind the wheel. He released the emergency brake handle and with a minimum of grinding, put the transmission into first gear. With a jerk, they were off.

Dan’s dour mood was quickly jolted out of him by the rough ride of the truck on the unimproved road. The truck’s tires were almost solid rubber, and that, along with the buckboard spring suspension and no shock absorption made for a bone-jarring ride. The motor ambulance was a new Rover Sunbeam Autocar, which looked very much like a Model T Ford truck, except an ambulance box had been placed on its back. It had an open driver’s compartment, no windscreen or doors. There was an opening between the driver and the box to allow him access to the back. The box was set up to carry up to four stretchers, and as many as eight walking wounded along with one attendant.

Every bump caused a shot of searing pain to run up Dan’s already throbbing leg. He shifted position trying to favor it. He knew that the morphine was wearing off.

He studied his new pipe, it was carved intricately around the bowl and stem, not like scrimshaw, but deeper, more distinct cuts forming a pastoral scene of jumping deer and woodland animals.

The stem was about five inches long with a slight curve, and the bowl was about the size of an egg, which provided adequate area for tobacco. The stem had yellowed slightly from use, which gave it even more character, and Leslie Greenhow’s name was carved on it in small letters. The ambulance hopped over a rut and Dan let out a holler from the ever-increasing pain and pushed his arms down to take the pressure off of his leg.

“Sorry ’bout that mate” the driver glanced over his shoulder at Dan. “Believe it or not, just two months ago you would have been clomping along in one of the old Mark 3 horse-drawn ambulances. Rough ride they are – wooden wheels and all. Slow too, never much faster than three to four miles per hour. This here is the real deal. Nothin’ too good for our wounded boys.”

The driver caught sight of Dan’s new pipe. “Hello, now what ’ave we ’ere?” he asked. “That’s some fine stoker you ’ave there mate.”

“A present from someone I knew. You a pipe smoker?” Dan asked.

“Indeed I am,” the driver said flashing a sparsely toothed smile.

“I’m not really a smoker,” Dan said, “but since I’ve inherited this beauty, perhaps I should give it a try.”

“Listen, mate,” the driver said, “I’ve got a treat for you. Reach into the left breast pocket of me tunic and you’ll find a pouch of tobacco and a box of blue tips.” He leaned over so Dan could reach his tunic. “I’d join you, but I can’t drive wif two hands and smoke a pipe at the same time.”

Dan reached into his pocket and found the leather pouch and the small cardboard box of blue tip matches.

“Now what?” Dan asked.

“Take out a pinch of tobacco and fill the bowl, then tap ’er down wif your thumb, not too tightly now.”

Dan opened the pouch releasing the aromatic sweetness of the moist tobacco and did as instructed. “Smells like candy – good enough to eat,” Dan commented.

“Me own blend. I soak the tobacco in cherry juice and rum for a week, then dry ’er out for smoking. Me Grandpop taught me that back in Queensland.”

“Aussie, eh?” Dan asked as he tamped the tobacco into the bowl.

“Right on, Canuck, eh?” the driver responded, with a extra emphasis on the “eh.” They both laughed.

“Well, I think we’re ready to give her a test run,” Dan announced.

“Well then, give er a toke or two and be on wif it. Do the old boy a favor, will ya mate, and be good enough to blow some smoke my way,” the driver asked.

“It’ll be the least I can do.” Dan struck a blue tip along the wooden posts that make up the box frame of the ambulance. The flame from the match was drawn into the bowl and then belched back out as Dan puffed the pipe to life. The result was an ever-increasing cloud of the sweetest aromatic smoke that Dan had ever smelled.

He blew a large plume of smoke across the face of the driver who in turn drew the smoke deeply into his lungs. The beautiful aroma emanating from Dan’s new pipe replaced the ever-present smell of spent artillery shells and death.

“That’s a smell I could get used to,” Dan said.

“The smoke transports me away from all this,” the driver said, looking off into the distance. Both men became momentarily lost in the brief distraction from reality. The moment was too pleasant to interrupt with casual conversation. For a spell, they were afforded an escape from the madness and they both wanted to keep it pure.

Several minutes had passed in silence when the steering wheel of the ambulance was abruptly jerked out of the hands of the driver sending it veering sharply to the left, almost up on two wheels. The driver
grabbed the wheel and yanked it to the right correcting the swerve and putting it back on the correct side of the road.

“Sweet friggin’, bloody, bugger all!” he shouted while he fought to regain control of the vehicle. “Pardon me foul language mate,” he said, as Dan hung onto the frame of the ambulance box, grimacing in pain from being tossed about. “Me wife says I have a short fuse and a foul mouth.”

“This is a war pal,” Dan said through clenched teeth. “You’re allowed to use bad language – besides your wife isn’t here.”

“Ha! Right you are mate!” The driver saw that Dan was in pain. He knew the morphine’s effectiveness, which usually lasted about two hours, was beginning to wear off on Dan and the rest of the passengers in the back.

“About one more hour to the hospital, mate, and the road improves from ’ere on in.” Dan nodded a grateful thanks and remained quiet on the bench trying to stifle the pain.

The road did improve as the driver had promised, and the ambulance was able to pick up speed, increasing from ten to almost twenty miles per hour. Forty-five minutes later, they had joined a long line of ambulances – both motorized and horse drawn – that were awaiting their turn into the triage area of the 5th Canadian Stationary Hospital.

FINDING LAZARUS

T
he sorting area of the 5th Canadian Stationary Hospital was normally abuzz with activity, but nowhere near as much of a madhouse as it would soon become. Doctors, nurses, and orderlies performed triage, methodically attending to each patient in order to determine the severity of the wounds and separating those who required immediate care.

This was another link in the chain of retrieval set up by the Royal Army Medical Corp. The system was actually very well thought out and organized. Like a family tree, the outer branches were regimental aid posts, a forward position that would be attended by field medical officers, orderlies and several stretcher-bearers. The aid posts were located in the advanced trenches. They were often dugouts covered by corrugated steel and sandbags to protect its inhabitants from debris.

Regularly four aid posts were attached to one advanced dressing station and they would bring the wounded there to replace field dressings and better attend to their wounds. Because the trenches were narrow, the stretcher-bearers often employed a wheeled stretcher. It was simply a rigid stretcher with two large wheels located in the middle. The wheels had pneumatic tires that aided in transport over muddy terrain.

The advanced dressing station was located at a more comfortable distance from No Man’s Land, but was still in the outer edges of the trench system. That meant it had to be a deep, well-built dugout – sometimes as deep as thirty feet – or even the basement of an abandoned farmhouse. They were also located close to a supply trench or road to allow the wounded to be taken rapidly away by ambulance.

The ambulances leaving the advanced dressing stations reported to the main dressing station, where the wounded would be cleaned, warmed, and fed. Those needing further medical attention would either be treated or sent to the next link in the chain, the stationary or railhead hospital. These hospitals were called stationary, but could be quickly packed up and moved to another location so as to better serve the requirements of the front. These hospitals were the first link in a new chain referred to as the evacuation zone and could send great numbers of wounded by ambulance train to connect to hospital barges, and then to hospital ships and back to Britain.

This was the path of the wounded and those lucky enough to have earned their blighty. And this is how Dan McKee found himself climbing out of the back end of the Sunbeam into the activity of the 5th Canadian Stationary Hospital casualty clearing area.

Two orderlies had taken Kelton away on a wheeled stretcher and another had come over with a wheelchair that Dan refused to use. He was very stiff from the rough ride and thought it might help to try and stretch a little before he let the system take him hostage. He hobbled around the ambulance several times leaning against it with his arm and keeping as much weight off of his wounded leg as possible.