So it goes. We have no time for sore vaccinated arms, but fortunately I have heard of only one that is sore so far. People are such bricks under pressure like this. It is perfectly marvelous. I cannot say how glad I am that we managed to give every nurse a whole day off a week or so ago; they certainly needed any reserve strength they could store up. Two nurses just got back from leave in Paris this evening. For the past three days they have been bombed and raided. Most of the past three nights they have spent incellars. But they have had a wonderful vacation and are so glad to get back. We need them here all right. All leaves for all ranks are now stopped until further notice. I don’t see Phil at all these days, for he too is très occupé. He was here a minute to-day and left mother’s letter of Feb. 28, but I did not see him as I had dashed down town in the Ford (with special duty pass) to do some necessary banking and to get some Carrel tubing from the British Red Cross stores. Our supply is exhausted and new lots have not come through and we are using it by the mile. I got some, and other necessary things too.
You ought to see the way we are using up supplies. But so far we seem to have enough of the necessities. We have long since ceased to attempt to change sheets between patients. A good many patients have been in beds without sheets at all, but that is a minor matter. Major Fischel just gave me a guess on the number of patients we have taken in or sent out to-day. I said five hundred, and he replied, “nearly double that.” We have taken in and sent out all day long, and to show the spirit of the men, Major F. repeated the remark of the head Sergeant of the records, who said he wished we could get in a few more before midnight so that he could say it had been over a thousand. It is a stupendous piece of work and it all goes so smoothly. Now I mustgo to bed for I am weary, but first I must see about the nurses for the morning.
It is the next evening now and we are waiting for the Night Supervisors to come to get the evening report and to be told the arrangements for the night. Things have been keeping up the same way ever since last evening. Only, two of our men have died and we were so glad to have them die. The sister of the man with the double amputation has arrived from England after such a rough, cold trip. We have had a case of diphtheria develop to-day among the nurses and she has been sent off to the contagious hospital, where Phil will probably have charge of her. She had a throat yesterday and we isolated her until a report from her throat-culture could be obtained. Of course we are taking cultures from the “contacts,” but hope there will be no more positives. Still no bad arms from the vaccinations!
The men tell such dreadful stories and are so glad to get into bed and to be made clean. Often we cannot get them bathed even the least little bit before they have to be taken to the operating room, but we try to wash them up as soon as possible. Just think of the problem of hot water to bathe five or six hundred patients in a camp where all the hot water has to be heated on camp stoves after being drawn from about a single pipe. The “walking wounded” are so pathetic.They go limping off to the tents to which they have been assigned, leaning on each other and helping each other all they can. A nurse told me a few minutes ago that one of her incoming patients who walked in was a young boy who had had his right arm amputated four days ago! Another one said he had had nothing to eat but cigarettes and tea for four days! Another with an amputated arm was so troubled to have a sister bathe and shave and shampoo him. She is a crackerjack at shaving, and all the orderlies are carrying stretchers. But oh, she was so glad to make him clean and comfortable. Our dietitian, Miss Watkins, is doing regular nursing work and doing it so well. One of the nurses told me that before Miss W. gave her first bath she said, “Now, I’ll just pretend that this is my brother.” She takes temperatures and pulses and bathes and feeds but does not do dressings yet. She is so fine, but says she does not ever want to go back to cooking. Here are the night people, and I must stop. I have been down to the camp since I started to write.
Much, much love,
J.
April 6, 1918.
I last wrote on March 25th, and now it is nearly two weeks later. Our rush has kept steadily upuntil day before yesterday. Yesterday was the very first day in two weeks that any nurse had any time off duty. Yesterday, because of reënforcements that arrived, we were able to send every nurse off to rest for three hours. It was the most extraordinary Easter anybody ever spent. For two nights before we had over two hundred patients sleeping on the benches on the grand stands. These were “walking wounded,” but wounded, you will notice. On one of those days we had over fifteen hundred patients. We never kept any “walkers”; they were sent right on to the Convalescent Camps, where they were able to expand more. We dressed every case here, though, before they were sent on. We certainly found out not only what we can do in an emergency, but what the British Army system can do. We are constantly marveling at the efficiency, speed, and lack of waste with which the English manage their business.
We all physically were so hard pushed Major Murphy wired for help, and just a day before this lull we received a mobile Unit from the A. E. F., fifteen nurses and thirty-odd enlisted men. You may be sure we were glad to get them, though fifteen nurses were just lost in the shuffle and did not seem to make the slightest difference. They all were very young, inexperienced, little things from Kentucky, who had only recentlylanded and had not seen a patient since they had been over. Some of them are only twenty-one (the age limit has been lowered; it was twenty-five when we left) and have only been out of a training-school a very short time, and had only been in very small Kentucky hospitals. So it seemed a heart-breaking thing to thrust them into this unbelievable hell of a hospital.
Such a baptism of fire as they got that first afternoon! I tried to prepare them all I could, but no words could convey anything like the reality to their inexperienced minds. It was pouring when they came at 12:30A.M.(and me to meet them here, and feed them, and find them a place to sleep with a half-hour’s notice of their coming!) and it was pouring rain the next afternoon when the Supervisor started off with the little rubber-coated-and-hatted group to drop one here and another there according to assignments we had made here in the office. A little later I had occasion to go down in the lines, and I looked in one of the huts just to see what the little new thing looked like. Just before I got to the hut a little procession had come out of the door. First two of our men carrying a stretcher covered with a Union Jack, then a second stretcher also covered by a flag, then our Supervisor walking behind accompanying them to the mortuary.People along the line stood rigidly at attention as they passed, and saluted. Then I went into the hut. The odor that hit me as I entered was terrific, for most of the cases in this hut have penetrating chest wounds which drain. The little nurse was standing by the stove stirring something in a cup on it with a spoon. She was green-white and looked utterly nauseated. I did not dare speak to her, for fear she would lose any control she had left, so I told the weary head nurse to be as gentle with the little thing as she could and try to realize what she was going through.
That evening I spoke to their group for about ten minutes and told them that it was not going to be like this always, and about the mitigations and the happy part of it all. Then I asked them if, after all, this was not what they had come for, and weren’t they glad they were here. A most sincere response made me feel that they would be all right soon. Like all young things, they are adjusting wonderfully and are already making themselves felt, and are going about as chipper and happy as monkeys. But oh, the poor little dears, they will never forget that first day.
The night after these fifteen arrived another contingent appeared at 1:15A.M.in the pouring rain! This time I had known it about three hours,but at that time of night there was very little I could do to make preparation, for I simply insisted that my poor tired nurses should not be disturbed. I lay on my bed part of the evening, but as a nurse was sick and I had to get Major Fischel for her, it was not for long. When they arrived, weary and miserable, I fed them hot soup, made from bouillon cubes that some kind person had sent us, and gave them bread and cheese and jam, and then put them to bed in the night nurses’ beds in their separate huts. They could not even have a wash, but they said they did not care, all they wanted was sleep.
These poor souls had been ordered to leave their Unit that morning with a couple of hours’ notice only and were sent off in several different directions, fifteen to us here and fifteen to the Cleveland hospital up the road and somewhere else. Naturally they are the homesickest, bluest group of nurses you ever saw. You can just imagine how we would feel if we were suddenly ordered to scatter. The reason for their scattering is pretty obvious to us here, but I cannot write about it. These nurses are a real help, for they have been in a busy British hospital as long as we have and they are all experienced, well-trained nurses. But how they are all hating us at present. For my ways are not their Matron’s ways and everything about this hospital is far inferiorto theirs. I have seen their hospital and they are right in lots of ways. Their former quarters were far superior to ours, and of course all these last comers are having only make-shift quarters. We have erected three marquees for them, but they are pretty dreary. They have no lights but lanterns as yet, and their luggage has just come and some of it has been lost, and it rains, and you can see the picture. They will settle down pretty soon, and my people are being as kind as they can be to them and are trying not to mind their grumbling. I tell them they would grumble worse if the positions were reversed, or I don’t know anything about them.
Well, so much for the war, except that to-day we have had no convoys in and are catching our breaths. I cannot tell you the details of the days that have passed since I last wrote. There were so many deaths and so many awful cases and such pitiful things going on all the time it was hard to keep steady, especially as every one was much over-worked. Miss Taylor and I had to stick pretty tight to the office work or it would have swamped us; so we tried to keep up with ourselves each day, and never left at night until we had every S. I. and D. I. letter written. Of course the end of the month came along just then, and all the regular monthly things had to be tucked in also. And of course there was no possibilityof having a clever man-stenographer for two days to do my complicated British payroll, as I have had before, for every available man was working night and day, hence I had to squeeze that in also. So a job that takes about two solid days of an uninterrupted clerk’s time had to be put into the midst of an office where people were running in and out every minute; but it got done, and I was a bit proud when I finished the thing at ten o’clock that night when the first reënforcement arrived.
We have certainly learned what we can do. I don’t mind for myself, but it breaks my heart to see my children get hollow-eyed and white, and see them one by one succumb, at least temporarily, and have to be sent to bed. They have done wonders. To-day, for instance, with 130 nurses here, after all they have been through, I have just three in hospital; one with diphtheria, one with a kind of trench fever due to exhaustion, and the third, my dear, brave soul who came down from the evacuated C. C. S. She has just “exhaustion” for a diagnosis. She was sent down without baggage or the rest of the team, 48 hours after arriving. The last ten hours of her trip were standing in a freight car packed with refugees. She arrived here at five one morning dead to the world. She had slept on the floor the two nights before as much as shecould and been operating sixteen hours straight before that. We were so thankful to get her back safely. The men arrived safely later. Her C. C. S. was captured. She went on duty 36 hours after she arrived here apparently as good as new, but she could not stand the strain and could not eat, so we sent her to the Sick Sisters’ Hospital for a rest. In quarters I have one nurse recovering from gastro-enteritis and another with a bothersome knee, and all the rest are working! Isn’t that doing pretty well for women? After my two nights up until after two and going each morning as usual for very, very busy mornings, making arrangements about new nurses and seeing to their records, I had a bit of an upset myself and felt pretty miserable. So one afternoon I went to bed at four and stayed there until the next morning and have been much better since. It has all been something of a strain.
Then the morning after the second night up (April 4) Major Murphy brought me in my order to go to Paris to be Chief Nurse of the American Red Cross. It was almost too much, but I was too busy to think about it, so I put it in my pocket and tried to forget it. To-night I am going to tell my original group. I am appointed by the Chief Surgeon and am still in the Army. It is an order, and there is no disputing it. When I get away, I shall be glad of the opportunity it presents,but just at present I cannot seem to bear it. These were just the American orders, and I must wait for the British ones, which will probably come through in a few days. I am “relieved from further duty at No. 12 General Hospital B. E. F. and will proceed to Paris, France, reporting on arrival to the Chief Surgeon, Am. Red Cross in France, for duty as Chief Nurse with the American Red Cross.”
I saw Phil yesterday a moment and told him of my order, and strangely enough he had just received an order to go to Paris for duty with Dr. Blake’s hospital. Curious, isn’t it? But won’t it be nice for us both to be there? Paris is not such a sweet little health resort just at present as it has been. But bombs and long-distance guns are nothing to me.
I guess you don’t need to be told how I feel about leaving my children here after all we have been through together. It is quite beyond words. I am just trying to steel myself to it, and to get it over as fast as possible. Now it is time to go and break it to them. How can I make them glad to have me go? For I must do that.
It’s the next day now—a quiet, sunny Sunday. Everything went all right last night, and my nurses are bricks. They weep, but they are glad to have me go. I am trying to get ready to leave in a few days. I am so sorry for all your uncertainty about me. It was a grand mix-up. Miss Taylor is to be Chief Nurse here.
Loads and loads of love,
Jule.
It was getting dark as I went down between the A and B lines of tents. Ducking under the entrance of A. 3 tent, I stopped just a moment inside the door, to get used to the darkness in the tent. The fourteen beds in the tent were all full and I thought at first that no nurse was there. Then I saw her. She was kneeling beside the low cot of a lad whose whole head was bandaged. The tight starch bandage covered his ears and his eyes, and came down under his chin. A glance at his face showed that he was not far from the end. “Robert, lad, what are you trying to say?” she was asking, bending over him with her arm across his shoulder and her face close to his lips. “Say it again, boy, so that I can hear you. Did you want me to do something for you?” Slowly pulling his arms out he reached up and drew her head down to his and kissed her on the cheek. “I think,” he said, “you must be like my sister.” Just then she saw me. “Oh, excuse me, Matron,” she said as she rose, “I didn’t hear you come in.” We walked through to the connecting tent while the other thirteen men stirred and pretended to wake up.
A nurse stopped at the office to leave the notices of two new “Dangerously Ill” cases. As she handed me the slip she said, “Of the sixty-four new stretcher cases we got in last night, all have bandaged eyes. They are the worst gassed men I have ever seen. I’ve done nothing but irrigate eyes all the morning. One man discovered that he could see a little when I got his lids opened and his eyes washed out, and he burst out ‘Oh, sister, I can see, and I am not going to be blind after all, am I?’ Then I realized what an agony of fear there must be in the minds of those sixty-four motionless men, not one of whom had even whimpered—so since then I’ve been saying to each one that he was sure to see after a while, for you know if they live they nearly all do get back their sight, and probably not more than those two D. I.’s will die. But think what they have been suffering!”
Another nurse was giving a bath to a man who had just been brought in on a stretcher, “Oh, but you are the dirtiest man I ever saw,” she laughed at him, “absolutely the very dirtiest.” “Oh, sister, don’t say that,” he said. “How could I help it? I haven’t had a bath nor a change of underclothes for twenty-two days.”—Quick came the answer, “If that’s the case, I call you clean.”
The orderly came up to the sister and said, “May I have a piece of gauze and a bandage?” “Surely,” she said, as she handed it to him, “and what do you want it for?” “For the Hun there at the door who has cut his finger.” Looking down the hut to the door, she could see standing just outside a Boche prisoner and his British guard. The orderly took the dressings outside and bandaged up the finger. When he came back, some of the patients who had been watching said, “I wish his finger were off, and why didn’t you cut off his head? etc.” Then a man in a near-by bed, whose leg was stretched out in a weighted extension, said, “Oh, boys, don’t talk like that; we are fighting the Huns up the line, but we are not fighting them down here.”
When he came up with the rest of the blue, hospital-clothed men for final inspection before being signed out for Convalescent camp, the Major noticed that he had a D. S. M. ribbon on his coat. “How did you get this, Jock?” the Major asked, pointing to the ribbon. “Oh that, sir,” he said, “there were a few occurrences, sir,” and he went on his way.
His right leg had been amputated, his right hand was badly wounded, and his left foot had a hole right through it, but he was always smiling and cheerful, and had a come-back for every foolish thing that was said to him. One day the Padre asked him how he could keep so cheerful all the time when he must have so much pain.“Oh,” he laughed, “it’s in the book, Boy Scouts Manual, page 8, paragraph 3, ‘Smile and keep whistling.’”
Here’s the copy of a telegram I got Major M. to send last week. “Director General of Voluntary Offerings, Scotland House, London: Number Twelve General Hospital urgently needs three thousand each, two, three, and four inch roller bandages, thousand each abdominal, chest, shoulder, hip, elbow, head triangular and T bandages. Two hundred each, elbow, arm, and leg splints, two hundred sand-bags, three dozen pairs crutches, five hundred limb pillows, thousand pneumonia jackets, five hundred arm slings, five cases each absorbent wool (in America, ‘cotton’) and absorbent gauze, also unlimited gauze dressings.” The next day we got the message: “Bulk of all articles named being shipped immediately.” Pretty good business? We have received notice of twenty bales sent from London already.
Paris, April 12, 1918.
If I don’t hurry and write I shall not be able to remember a single one of the really memorable things that have happened to me since I last wrote. I am getting new impressions so fast I can hardly straighten out one from another. I last wrote April 6 just after I got my orders to move. On Sunday the 7th the British orderscame, and I decided that I would be ready to leave Wednesday the 10th.—Just then Philip was announced and I went down to see him. He had just arrived in Paris. It was a curious coincidence his being ordered here, too, just as I was.
Sunday evening we had one of the finest sings up in our mess that ever anybody had. Every Major, including the two English ones, was there, and all the young officers too, and the mess was full, and there was much amusement, as they all tried to ask for their favorite tunes at the same time. We used the new Y. M. C. A. service hymn-books that Aunt M. sent and they proved most acceptable, and everybody seemed to find his or her favorite hymn in it. I played my violin and a fine player played the piano, and I can tell you we made the welkin ring. It was a bit hard for me, especially when some idiot asked for “God be with you till we meet again.” But nobody could know how badly I was feeling.
Monday was very busy all day. That evening was our usual little family dance, which I attended. The next day I finished turning things over to Miss Taylor, went up to Sick Sisters’ Hospital to say good-by to the nurses up there, and the afternoon, packed. The D. D. M. S. came to say good-by and the Acting Principal Matron, which was nice of such busy people at such a busy time.The nurses were full of mysteries all those last days and that afternoon I found in my room a wonderful fitted dressing-bag, the kind my soul has always longed for. It is like a small suitcase, is black, and has a cloth cover and is a perfect beauty. That was from my whole family. Then the original 64 gave me a lovely little gold mesh-purse to go on my watch chain with my other dangles. That too was another thing I had been hoping to have some time.
I forgot to say that on Saturday evening I had talked to the 64 and told them about my going. They were all splendid about it and are glad that I am going to have this position which they think needs me. They told me individually and collectively how badly they felt about my going, but they all think it is the right thing and there has not been one murmur or horrid feeling about it. They are giving me to the bigger cause freely and gladly, though with truly sincere sorrow, I know. So that has made things easy for me, in a way.
That last evening they all had a big reception for Miss Taylor, Miss Claiborne, the new assistant, and me. The officers sent wonderful bunches of roses to all three of us. The party was a wonder. After everybody was there, three Majors came for us three over in my sitting-room and escorted us over to the mess, where we were lined up, and everybody came up and shook hands and saidnice things. After some general talk we all sang songs out of the back of Aunt M.’s books, “Old Oaken Bucket,” “Swanee River,” “Auld Lang Syne,” “Juanita,” and the like; then Miss Taylor and I ran away and it was all over. My four dear Majors gave me the most beautiful charm to wear on my watch chain. It is a round, flat unpolished crystal, about as big as a quarter, with a red cross in the center, made of large garnets. It is a perfect beauty. Major Clopton got it at Tiffany’s in Paris for me, and the four of them all signed the dearest note that went with it. They have been such wonderful friends to me and I am so horribly lonesome without them. No woman leaving a job ever had such things said to her as I have had, this past week.
But, oh, I need to remember them now, for if ever there was a desolate soul, it is I. My predecessor left before I arrived. Her assistant has been sick and away from the office ever since I have been here, and I have been simply floundering. Miss Morgan is a great help, but, I wish it was a month from now and I knew something of my job, which is huge. One can only sit tight and not let oneself be discouraged. It’s got to come out right. Our job is, I am sure, to do our job and wait patiently.
Lovingly,
Jule.
Paris, May 17, ’18.
Now to go back a bit. Last Sunday I was down in Rouen! By Friday the 19th I was so homesick and lonesome for all my children and the hospital that when some of the officers blew into my office and said they were going back Saturday evening at five, after their meetings were over, I decided I would go with them. It was very easy to arrange, and oh, I was so glad I went. Our train was late and we did not reach the camp until about nine-thirty, but I got a welcome all right! It did me more good than anything else possibly could have done, and I came back renewed in courage and strength in a most remarkable way, and perfectly sure if so many dear people loved me so much and had such confidence in me, maybe I could manage this awful job after all. Sunday morning I played with Ruth and talked with lots of other people. That noon we had Maj. Murphy up to dinner with us. Before that I went to the office and talked “shop” with the “Little Matron,” as my children, who are now her children, lovingly call her. I stayed with her in my old rooms that night and we talked long into the night, much to the easing of my heart and mind. She has a bed in the sitting-room, used as a couch, which she says is ready for me any time I want to use it. Later I met lots of people, officers and nurses, for teain the mess. Then M. T. (Miss Taylor, the little matron) and I had early supper together in her sitting-room. Then Maj. Murphy said that he had been planning to go up to Paris the next day, and he would go a day ahead, so he came along with me. We left at seven and arrived at ten. Phil met me and we came home to this nice apartment into which Phil had moved all his and my things that day. I am going again to Rouen just as soon as I possibly can, because I need so much to see them all. They don’t need me, for everything is going wonderfully smoothly, but I need to see them. We don’t talk about their shop, for naturally I am not doing a single thing about their local business, but M. T. talks over my shop with me and helps me lots. That is certainly the most wonderful group of men and women it has ever been my privilege to work with. The more I see and hear of other groups, the more I realize how exceptional ours is. And oh, how good they have been to me. Most of them, I feel, will be my friends forever, and a few of them will be some of the most precious possessions that a person could ever have. Sundays are my own, and so I want to go down there often. The anniversary of our leaving [May 17th] will be my next visit, I hope.
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A War Nurse’s Diary
ByM. E. CLARK
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High courage, deep sympathy without sentimentality, and an all-saving sense of humour amid dreadful and depressing conditions are the salient features of this diary of a war nurse. She has been “over the top” in the fullest sense; she has faced bombardments and aërial raids; she has calmly removed her charges under fire; she has tended the wounded and dying amid scenes of carnage and confusion, and she has created order and comfort where but a short time before all was confusion and discomfort. All the while she marvels at the uncomplaining fortitude of others, never counting her own. Many unusual experiences have befallen the “war nurse” and she writes of them all in vivid, gripping fashion.
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“Here are boys,” writes the editor in her Introduction to this collection, “all sorts of boys: French, English, Italian, American; young artists, budding novelists and poets; musicians; drab and spectacled London office clerks just off a stool; an auctioneer from Brixton; elderly married men as old as thirty-five and ‘little nephews’ of sixteen; Catholics, Protestants, Christians, Jews; grave young students in arms; Crusaders of France; Oxford and Cambridge men and French school boys; American college men and American rich men’s sons from New York and California....
“As one reads these letters written home, one finds that he does not think of them as letters at all but as boys: Enzo, Antonio, Robert, Arthur, Gaston, William, Marcel, Harry, Victor. And one is filled with pity that they are boys—‘mere men,’ as more than one of them says, pitted against professional soldiers, experts in the refined arts of modern war. But if one thing more than another is revealed in the letters, it is that the writers do not want to be pitied, rather envied. All express in one way or another that death has no terrors for ‘the good soldier.’”
“In such a collection ... the letters themselves are their own best comment. A mere reviewer has no place with these offerings.... They are such important matters as history leaves out, but hearts remember.”—N. Y. World.
“In such a collection ... the letters themselves are their own best comment. A mere reviewer has no place with these offerings.... They are such important matters as history leaves out, but hearts remember.”—N. Y. World.
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Here we have an account of Mr. Churchill’s experiences in France and England during the latter half of 1917. Many privileges were extended to the distinguished American novelist on his trip abroad, with the result that he has a most interesting story to tell as to conditions in the warring countries in the third year of the great conflict. He writes of famous battlefields which he visited, of distinguished people with whom he conversed and of the spirit and temper of the times.
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“He pleads the cause of the League of Nations idea with all his well-known vigor, daring, forcefulness and unconventionality.... It is as a forceful argument for the establishment of a League of Nations and for seeing to it at once that such a league shall be under democratic control rather than under that of men of the old-style diplomatic school, and as a vigorous setting forth of the alternative, that Mr. Wells’ new book challenges and merits attention.”—N. Y. Times.
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“ ...The abundant thought which Mr. Wells’ genius has clarified and presented to his readers with his usual bold lucidity. The book is replete with vision and modernism, and affords a tremendous amount of solid food for thought.”—Philadelphia Public Ledger.
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MASEFIELD’S AMERICAN LECTURES
The War and the Future
ByJOHN MASEFIELD
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ByJOHN MASEFIELD
“AN ETCHING OF THE BATTLE OF THE SOMME”
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FOOTNOTES:[1]Miss Stimson was then superintendent of nurses and head of the training school for nurses at Barnes Hospital, Washington University, St. Louis.[2]Her younger brother, a doctor.[3]Miss Stimson had organized her nurses, for convenience of direction, into squads of eight for the journey, each with its leader.[4]Director of the Unit.[5]Hospital down on the opposite side of the race course. It was a promenade.
FOOTNOTES:
[1]Miss Stimson was then superintendent of nurses and head of the training school for nurses at Barnes Hospital, Washington University, St. Louis.
[1]Miss Stimson was then superintendent of nurses and head of the training school for nurses at Barnes Hospital, Washington University, St. Louis.
[2]Her younger brother, a doctor.
[2]Her younger brother, a doctor.
[3]Miss Stimson had organized her nurses, for convenience of direction, into squads of eight for the journey, each with its leader.
[3]Miss Stimson had organized her nurses, for convenience of direction, into squads of eight for the journey, each with its leader.
[4]Director of the Unit.
[4]Director of the Unit.
[5]Hospital down on the opposite side of the race course. It was a promenade.
[5]Hospital down on the opposite side of the race course. It was a promenade.