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previous: Chapter 3 This webpage reproduces a chapter of Captured by Bessy Myers published by D. Appleton Century Company, New York and London, 1942 the text of which is in the public domain. This text has been carefully proofread and I believe it to be free of errors. If you find a mistake though, please let me know! next: Chapter 5

 p79  4
The Snake in the Grass

Tuesday, June 25th

Only a little bully beef for breakfast. Am still very hungry. Go with Henri to fetch bread from the bakery and en route call at a garage for petrol. A German there becomes very fresh with me. Henri furious; "If one asks Germans for anything they behave like pigs." The bread is not yet ready, and the bakers invite us to lunch. They have been taken from the hospital and told to get the bakery going for the Germans. They sleep over it, live entirely by themselves, and have a very good time. We have a magnificent lunch of veal, chip potatoes, and Rhum tart. The tart was something only French pâtissiers could make. I told them my copaineº Darby had been dreaming of such a tart for a long time. One baker refused his share, and as we left he pushed a small packet into my hand — "Voilà la tarte pour votre copaine." He said he could easily bake himself another.

Went to sleep after lunch.

The bakers have invited Darby, Henri, the baker, and me to dinner. It is as good as the Pavillon Royal. They've even picked some flowers and put them on the table. On the way back to the hospital Darby says she has decided to stay here; my ideas are too risky. Well, that's that. I shall fout' le camp when the time comes. Spend the evening with Henri.

 p80  We lunch again at the bakery and run out of cigarettes. Henri sends a baker across to the garage with three loaves and a note in German asking for four packet.es of cigarettes in exchange. The cigarettes arrive, and Henri launches into the story of how he was captured. While retreating he lost his regiment, and joined up with another, which also became scattered. For days he wandered about trying to find another regiment; when he found one they were immediately ordered to climb through a wooded hill and take a plateau above it. He climbed half‑way up, but was so tired through lack of sleep and food that he went to sleep. One of his copains woke him and told him they were all retreating. As he got out of the woods a piece of shrapnel hit his cartridge belt; had he not had it on, the shrapnel would have gone through his stomach. Actually it completely winded him and caused an internal injury. He again wandered about for several days, and at last found a hospital. He collapsed on arrival, and was put to bed. When he came to he realized that the hospital had been evacuated and he had been left behind. There was no food or water, but he managed to crawl down to the cellars and opened several bottles of champagne, which made him pretty drunk. Later he crawled to the next village, which he found was in the throes of being evacuated. He joined a crowd at the railway station; they were told there would be a train in a few minutes. The Germans arrived instead, mowed down every one in the streets with their tanks, and captured the station, Henri, and the rest of the soldiers. Henri was sent to Soissons Hospital. Before he arrived there, however, he was kept for some time with the captured French Army. He was in a group of about two thousand and they were marched about for days, and had practically nothing to eat. They were resting in a  p81 field, and Henri, who could speak German fluently, asked an officer if he could take a lorry to a village they had just marched through to fetch some tinned food which he had seen in a half-bombed shop. He went with a guard and the baker, whom he had met for the first time that day. They returned with a considerable amount of tinned food, but as soon as the French officers (majors to lieutenants) realized it they swooped down on the lorry and tried to commandeer the whole lot. I told Henri I did not believe his story, but the baker confirmed it word for word. I could not understand how officers could behave like that. It could never have happened in the British Army; the officer in charge would have seen that any food was absolutely fairly shared out. . . . Henri and the baker have a pretty poor opinion of French officers in general.

The bakers give us seven loaves for the grands blessés, which we distribute, Mere Boy is very ill, with a raging fever; No Face is much better; Sore Eyes is actually sitting up in bed, and his eyes look more or less all right.

Two more men have been put on my side of the ward; a very clean, good-looking one with his right arm bandaged from shoulder to wrist, and a man on a mackintosh sheet whom I look at in astonishment. He has a raging fever, and sweat pours off his body. He is naked except for his stomach, which is entirely bandaged. Jean says a bullet has gone through his bowels; he was brought into the ward from the surgery on the sheet, and he says he can't interfere. I tell Jean he should have a little mackintosh just underneath his bottom; obviously he should not be left like that. But there he is, poor devil, with a raging fever, living and dying on a clammy mackintosh sheet.

Bakery for dinner. Henri says most of the Austrians are  p82 going and Prussians will take their place; we wonder how we shall fare.

We have a most amazing evening, with plenty of heavenly food. Seven or eight Austrians come in with several bottles of wine, branchesº of cherries, and an accordion. They play and sing many old Viennese waltzes, including, of course, The Blue Danube. We dance in the glow of the bakery fire, and Darby and I are fairly waltzed off our feet. What a change to have a cheerful evening. The Austrians, who sing as well as they dance, give us the Horst Wessel Song, which I hear for the first time; it has rather an attractive tune, but the evening has an unfortunate ending when they sing We March against England. We are furious, and I try to butt in with Rule, Britannia. Darby and I tell Henri we are going back to the hospital, and the party breaks up. Henri and I sit in the cellars of the hospital and hear German soldiers marching about overhead.

At breakfast Mademoiselle asks where we eat nowadays. We tell her at the bakery. She looks pretty sick when I say that last night we had poulet à la reine. When we go to lunch at the bakery she follows us with her boy friend, and several French doctors turn up too, which causes an éclat. This evening, grâce à Mademoiselle, a Prussian is to be stationed at the bakers', and after to‑day no one will be allowed there any more.

Spend some of the afternoon with the grands blessés. Mere Boy is very weak and ill; he is as thin as a rake now, and has been crying most of the afternoon. He is quite pitiful, and far too ill to wash. The Man on the Mackintosh Sheet has gone into a coma. The Clean Man seems more or less all right although  p83 his arm hurts him. He is rather sweet, and likes to be washed all over.

Henri tells me of his plans for our escape; it seems fairly simple and should work. He has arranged with the bakers to hide me in the bakery, if necessary, despite the Prussian. He is very busy, as now that the civilians are returning he has extra work to do. He has been given a bureau on the German side of the hospital. The streets don't look nearly so depressing with one or two people about but Henri is very bitter because he has seen several civilians raise their arms for the Heil Hitler business.

Have our last dinner with the bakers. The Prussian is already there, and is a most disagreeable creature who entirely disapproves of my lipstick and powder. In broken French he says that when Germany has reorganized France women will not be allowed make‑up. I reply that to prevent it would be harder than breaking through the Maginot Line. Very sad saying good‑by to the bakers. They are still seething with rage. This morning the Kommandant asked them to cook thirty chickens for him, and gave them each a packet of cigarettes. They handed all their packets to a wounded officer and asked him to distribute them among the grands blessés. Later they discovered that officer had kept every one for himself.

On the way back ask Henri why the Germans are so utterly amazed at our powder and lipstick. He says in Germany women don't use it, as Hitler doesn't approve, and in any case there is not much for them to use.

Saturday, June 29th

I hear Brest and Saint-Malo have been badly bombed by the English. The French doctors seem amazed.

 p84  We are told to make swabs with sterilized scissors; given filthy, rusty biscuit box to put them in. Tell Mademoiselle I will not put the swabs in that filthy box and show it to the doctors, who are not in the slightest interested. Jean gives me an equally dirty box. I give it up and sit in the garden with Henri.

Darby spends the evening with Lucien in a kitchen which he is fixing up in the cellars, and which we call the Thieves' Kitchen. Later I see them outside the cottage where I did the scrounging talking to the owners, who have returned. Lucien is full of enthusiasm for the Thieves' Kitchen, which he hopes to be able to make an unofficial kitchen for the French doctors. He hopes to be allowed to leave the hospital for an hour, to find a stove and piping.

Darby is appalled by the Man on the Mackintosh Sheet. To‑day he apparently came out of his coma. I had left him alone, but one of the wounded told me he wanted his feet washed. Another man with gangrene has been put in the room below us; he is groaning away. . . .

Sunday, June 30th

At last the ward is swept and the grands blessés are given two clean sheets and a pillow-slip each.

A large swastika flag is flying in the courtyard entrance of the hospital: I should love to pull it down. Henri very busy in his bureau, and on the wall, facing the swastika flag, is an advertisement asking people to buy French savings bonds. The words are written across a map showing English and French possessions, and underneath is "We are too strong to be beaten." Tell Henri he should pull down either the flag or the advertisement. He takes down the advertisement. He hopes  p85 to be free within a few days, and, if officially, will get his demobilization papers, so he would rather wait here until then and not fout' le camp. I don't mind waiting, but am afraid Darby and I may be whisked away somewhere without warning. Henri says he is bound to know if we are, as every order has to come from the Kommandantur, and he is there every day.

He has not got a tire yet.

Henri gives an infirmier 662 cigarettes for the blessés. He notices a huge African nigger among them, and says that it infuriated the Germans more than anything else that the French and English used black men to fight against them. I know that particular African well; he used to be unable to move, and was interesting to wash as he was so black that there was no means of telling if he was any cleaner except by the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet, which after a great deal of scrubbing became coral pink. I tell Henri that if the Germans had any colonies they would probably use colored troops; in fact, I should not be surprised if that is not one of the reasons why they are screaming for colonies.

There is a story which Henri says the Germans never tire of repeating: a French ambulance was stopped by German soldiers; two French niggers jumped out; one shot a soldier dead while the other slit a second soldier's throat. . . . Apparently the Germans object to the Moors as much as to the Negroes.

The Clean Man, who is better, tells me they were given only three cigarettes each instead of five. Henri is furious. We have a hectic search and find the missing hundred in one of the infirmiers' bedrooms. We go around giving out the two extra ones. The Clean Man tells me he is an airman. I ask him what happened to the French Air Force. He shrugs his shoulders  p86 and says he doesn't know; he thinks they mostly stayed on the ground. At his airdrome they were never allowed to take off without orders from their officers, who were seldom there. Once when two German planes came over, some Polish airmen took off (there were no officers to give orders); they chased the Germans, shot them down, and returned unharmed to the airdrome. Next day they were court-martialed. Hopeless. . . .

Meet our nice new Médecin Chef on the terrace, chat with him for a few minutes, then go to bed. Darby is already there. Tell her that Man on the Mackintosh Sheet was moved from the ward this afternoon and put into one of the little rooms near‑by between an awfully nice, but very ill, poilu and a Moor who has just had his leg amputated. I think it is quite wrong to wedge his bed in that little room between those two. He is still on his mackintosh sheet, and to‑day asked to be washed all over. I'm afraid he won't live for long.

The poor devil with gangrene groans away.

At breakfast we are told Germany sent an ultimatum to England to capitulate, and that England replied with poison gas. We just don't believe that story.

Darby thinks we sleep so much because all the wine we drink at meals has bromide in it to make the men keep off women. Henri says this hospital wine has no bromide in it, but that in the barracks it generally has. He says they manage quand même. He won't give out any cigarettes to the doctors, and so dislikes them that he makes them pay four francs for a packet of Troupe. He is longing to get to Paris, but still has no tire.

Discuss with Darby what would happen to Henri if he were caught helping me to escape. We think he might get two or  p87 three years' in prison, or even be shot. She says the baker told her Henri is a "rich nobleman." I thought no one outside a penny novelette was described as such. Here it does not matter what one was; it is what one is that counts. Darby and I think it is a pity that some of the people we know aren't here. A short time in an hôpital militaire like this would go far to shake them out of their petty, snobbish little selves.

As usual we sleep like logs.

An appalling day. While washing the grands blessés notice a woman groaning on a stretcher. An infirmier says, "Elle accouche." A few minutes later she is taken away. Not long afterwards Henri dashes into the ward and yells at me to follow him. Apparently the woman was brought to the hospital several hours ago, and he thought it much the best for the Germans to attend to the birth, and ordered a room to be prepared for her in one of the empty wings. He went to see if it was ready and found the infirmiers had left the woman outside on a stretcher; she told him the baby was already arriving. Tell Henri I know as much as a fly about childbirth, but he drags me along. Get the woman on to the bed — she is appallingly heavy.

Tell Henri for the love of Mike to fetch the German doctors. I repeatedly say to the woman, "Soyez calme, madame" — to reassure myself, not her. Never been more relieved in my life when several German doctors rush into the room with masses of instruments, hot‑water bottles, and nurses. Order is made out of chaos; I retire from the scene and smoke in the corridor with Henri. We hear the bleat of a brand‑new baby, and Henri wants to know if it is a boy or girl. I don't care which it is; I never want to attend another childbirth. We are furious with the infirmiers — it is just typical of them. I go to fetch  p88 Mademoiselle. She says she is very busy and will come later, adding that she is a V. A. D.,​a not a maternity nurse.

Darby and I are run off our feet fetching cotton wool, basins, and a thousand and one things for the woman. We are quite exhausted by lunchtime, and I have no time to finish washing my grands blessés. The Médecin Chef seems to think the woman is my pigeon (as I was in at the birth). He tells me the baby must have no food for twenty-four hours, and after lunch I must get the mother milk from the German kitchens.

Wander around looking for a basin to fetch the milk in; have just found one when I am asked to wash the feet of the Man on the Mackintosh Sheet. Say I'm too busy at the moment, but am urged to come at once, as there is very little time left. I find the Man on the Mackintosh Sheet lying with his eyes crossed; there seems nothing to be done. Suddenly he fixes his eyes on me, says quite clearly, "Merci bien, mademoiselle," and dies. The other wounded in the room remain silent, so I leave them and wander off to the German kitchen for the milk. Meet a French doctor who thinks that in time I shall make a good maternity nurse and adds that the baby, which is apparently a girl, ought to be christened Bessy. I don't throw the basin at his head because it is too much bother to find another. The German kitchens are literally three minutes' walk away, the hospital rumbles so, and to make matters worse I get amongst a crowd of German soldiers pouring along the corridor to get into the courtyard, where a German band is giving a concert for their wounded. At this very moment they are playing my favourite Beethoven sonata. We are all wedged like sardines. Something will happen soon — this is the wrong moment for me to hear Beethoven. I shall completely  p89 lose my self-control, in which case the basin will get hurled into a German soldier's face instead of a French doctor's.

I try to yell above the band, "Excusez‑moi, s'il vous plaît," push my way through, and eventually arrive at the kitchen quite exhausted. Bang the basin down; no one there can understand a word of English or French, so say, "Milch, kleinen baby, Mutter." They seem to understand, and ask if I want it hot or cold. I neither know nor care. They fill the basin with tepid milk, and I push my way through the packed corridor once more. See the baker and tell him to tell Henri not to come over in the evening, as I just don't feel like seeing anyone. Give the mother her milk. The baby has been put in a cot.

At dinner the Médecin Chef says I must sleep with the mother to‑night, as she can't be left alone. Also I must give her a colon douche. Tell him I wouldn't know which end to begin. He says I can learn. I reply I possibly might if some one would be good enough to show me. Get an infirmier to bring my bedding down to the mother's room; fortunately there are two beds in it. Am just in the throes of installing myself, when Henri arrives with some wine, and we have a cigarette in the corridor. He says he has 100,000 francs in Paris, and most of his money is abroad. He wants to fout' le camp to America and thinks that I ought to come with him — he believes one could enjoy one's self there. I suppose at this moment there are millions of people in this world having baths and changing for dinner; going to theaters and dances without a care in the world. I suppose white tablecloths and shaded lamps still exist, but at the moment I can hardly believe it. Tell Henri I have had enough for one day — without having  p90 America on top of it. He goes back to the German side; I sleep with the mother — thank God the baby doesn't cry.

Leave the woman at eight o'clock; go over and have some breakfast — filthy acorn tea, bread and honey. The honey is compressed synthetic stuff which the Germans send over to us. We have heard a lot about it in England — it is very nice to eat, and I can't see much difference between this and the real thing.

Have done what I can for the woman; hang around waiting for the French doctor to show me how to give her a douche. Meet Henri outside the ward; he is fairly chuckling with laughter. Apparently the German doctors came over about nine o'clock this morning, found the woman had not had a colon douche (which they said she was to have yesterday), and told Henri to fetch the new Prussian Kommandant of the hospital to see the state of affairs for himself. The Kommandant was livid with rage, and told Henri to bring over to the so‑called Maternity Ward as many French doctors as he could find; he rounded up several, and the Kommandant fairly let out at them. Henri says they looked very sheepish and as an excuse said they were upset because their soldiers did not get a proper military funeral. The Kommandant said naturally all the French soldiers could have a military funeral. Why hadn't have been told about it? In future the French would be buried in the same graveyard as the Germans.

The Man on the Mackintosh Sheet is to be buried to‑morrow. Henri is in a flat spin as he thinks he has lost the key to the morgue.

At last the doctor arrives; after all the fuss the woman does not have a colon douche, but quite a simple one. Mademoiselle  p91 deigns to change the baby's napkin; otherwise it is left alone all day.

No time to wash my grands blessés this morning. Darby did quite a lot of them for me. They seem very animated about the baby. The Clean Man is very worried about his arm; he says it stinks. As there are so many smells in the ward, I don't notice his wound in particular, but the matter has gone right through the bandages. The grands blessés generally have their wounds dressed only every other day; his was done yesterday.

There are eight flies in my glass of wine and two large ones in my soup. Simply can't eat any lunch.

During the afternoon Henri produces two bicycles, and not a word is said by the guard when we bike out of the gates of the German side. It's simply heaven riding a bike again — haven't done so for years. Henri leads the way to a large house standing in a beautifully kept garden where, he tells me, the Kommandant of the hospital and several officers live. Two officers ask us to come inside, and after passing through a well-furnished room, obviously their mess-room, we are shown into an attractive drawing-room. A bottle of excellent champagne is produced, with some biscuits and a packet of cigarettes. What a contrast to the hospital — to be here drinking champagne in these surroundings! Before we return to the hospital we bike for some miles around the town; wish we could bike to Paris, but there are too many Germans about and too many questions would be asked.

Next morning Darby has an attack of the willies. She is completely fed up and can't think what will happen to her during the rest of the war. Tell her when I get to Paris I will go around to Huffer's flat. If he is there he ought to be able to do something via the Red Cross. One never knows in this  p92 life; perhaps I shan't get to Paris. Henri and I might get caught en route; she may in time be freed automatically and arrive home years before I do. We exchange our home addresses. The first one back will give the latest news of the others.

Darby doesn't think anything of Henri's idea of sending a car to her here from Paris. She doesn't think she'd ever get any petrol, and in any case would be stopped before she got anywhere. We have no idea how far the Germans have got in France, and she can not see how one could get out of France. She thinks all the entrances to Paris will be guarded, and doubts if Henri and I will make it.

She has sent a postcard to the finishing school she went to in Paris — usual stuff, prisoner of war, good health — and has asked the headmistress to forward it to England. Cope with the mother for a bit, and wash the grands blessés. The Clean Man looks very ill; he is obviously suffering from a haemorrhage, for his arm is dripping blood. Find the Cherub, who looks at the Clean Man and has him whisked off to the surgery.

A poilu asks me to follow him over to the German side to see Henri, who has la chasse. Henri is in bed and very sorry for himself; he says he would rather be a grand blessé than have diarrhoea!! He has told the German doctor who attended him that one of the French nurses (meaning me) would look after him, so I can stay here all day, and he says he has ordered up a jolly good lunch from the German kitchens. Return to the French side to tell Darby I am 'officially' spending the day over on the German side and find her in the throes of a second attack of the willies. Lucien has just said good‑by to her; he is quite fit now, and has been sent to the German barracks before going to a prison camp. No more Thieves' Kitchen. Poor Darby.

 p93  Henri says he has heard about Lucien's being sent to the barracks; one of the French doctors insisted on it. He heard it was something to do with a doctor being jealous of Lucien. I say that it's utter nonsense, because I know for a fact that Darby loathes all the doctors; they speak to her hardly at all — they haven't from the beginning. Henri says that's the story he has heard, but as soon as he's up he'll get Lucien out. He has masses of chits for the Kommandant to sign every morning; the Kommandant hardly glances at them, and he will slip one in to release Lucien from the barracks. He says he must get up to‑morrow, as he must know what is happening over at the Kommandantur.

We have an incredibly good lunch, steak and kidney pie. Tell Darby about Lucien. She is amazed about Henri's story, which she says is fantastic. I think it incredible too . . . what snakes one can find in the grass! It wouldn't surprise me if one of the doctors was having his own back because Darby would not shake hands at breakfast.

Have dinner in Henri's room; his two Alsatian copains join us. They think German rule over the north of France will make the French wake up. We discuss the story of England and France fighting each other, and if it can be true that England has sunk the Dunkerque and other French ships. We can not believe that England and France can now be fighting each other.

Henri says he will get up to‑morrow. I return to the French side and as usual sleep like a log. First thing in the morning get the Clean Man a packet of cigarettes. His right arm has been amputated; he looks very ill. A most officious Prussian comes in to Henri's bureau and in French starts a tirade against Churchill and Eden. I tell him had he them both here and  p94 shot them dead it would not make the slightest difference to the war. England is solidly against Nazism. The Prussian doesn't believe many people in England can think as I do; he can not credit there being so many fools in the world. He stalks out in a rage. The baker says I shall rue the day I spoke to a Prussian like that. Henri says he wishes I would leave my quarrelling until we get to Paris.

We have lunch, Darby as pleased as pleased that Henri has got Lucien back. Lucien asks us to have some wine in the Thieves' Kitchen. He says he hasn't much time for the English as a race, but since we are allies he would rather shoot himself through the hand than fight against us.

Darby and I sleep in the Maternity Ward, but, horror of horrors, three more mothers and babies have arrived. All the babies scream; it is not surprising, because a German soldier who had been put over here with a German nurse has gone mad and is screaming his head off. The baby in my room is trying to compete with the soldier; its mother sleeps blissfully on. Darby asks if the baby is choking; tell her I don't think so, it's just having a competition screaming match. Darby wants to know if I have "turned it over." The thought never entered my head. She turns it over, and it leaves off yelling; I think this such a brainwave that we go around turning over all the babies; we have a momentary lull till the German soldier starts them all off again. Get up and search for Henri; fortunately he hasn't gone to bed. He says he will get a maternity nurse from the refugee camp which has come into existence since the civilians have returned. We have quite a long chat — give Henri my watch to be mended and money for the tire.

 p95  Sunday, July 7th

It's a month to‑day since we swam the Marne. Meet a woman in the corridor; she tells me she is the sage-femme. Never more glad to see any one in my life. Take her to the Maternity Ward; she wants clean sheets for the mothers, more cotton wool, bedpans, and something to tear up for napkins for the babies. Tell her she is an optimist!!! She tells me this is the second time she has been a refugee within twenty-five years; her husband and brother were killed in the last war, her second brother is missing in this. She has just come from near Tours. The Germans there told her that France and England are at war, and that England is using poison gas. On her way here she saw trainloads of cattle being taken into Germany; she lives only twenty-five kilometers from here, but no one for the moment is allowed to go farther than Soissons. About a thousand refugees are now lodged in a girls' school; they get very little food.

Wash the grands blessés, who tell me the Clean Man died in the night. They all seem to think that the armistice between France and Germany has been signed; they can not understand why they are not freed. Tell them that even if an armistice is signed it will take months before a peace is agreed upon, and I shouldn't think any one would be freed until then. The grands blessés are fed up to the teeth. They say they have had more than enough of being here. They are not even amused at all the babies being girls. They say that in the next war France will have to fight with women.

Mere Boy, No Face, and Sore Eyes all much better. The grands blessés say that two of the semi-blessés who have recovered got hold of some civilian clothes and have escaped. They wish they were well enough to do the same.

 p96  I read Le Matin to‑day for the first time. It is very anti-British. It had a long article on "England, where is your honor?" According to them we have none. Most of the French think it is just German propaganda, and the French are still fighting the Germans in Syria. They think their Government has committed a double crime. First in not seeing the Army was sufficiently well armed; secondly, knowing the lack of arms, to declare war at all. In the evening Henri takes me to a café which has just been opened for the Germans opposite the hospital. He and his German copains have beer; I have a brandy.

On the way back Henri tells me that with any luck he hopes to be free on the 14th of this month. There is a rumor, which he thinks is true, that the Germans and French have come to an arrangement. All the Alsatians and the men from Lorraine are to be freed. The Germans will release the Red Cross personnel. Henri says the Germans have told him without any sarcasm that they can not understand how France could have thought of war against Germany with such a slipshod army. Return to the hospital and discuss with Darby possibilities of throwing a dinner party to‑morrow. Sleep with the sage-femme in the Maternity Ward.

Lucien says he can get and cook some soup, meat, and potatoes. Henri, his Alsatian copain, and the baker say they would all love to come to our party. We tell Lucien dinner for six at eight.

In the middle of lunch a message comes from the Kommandant that all the staff are to line up outside the surgery. We are quite a collection; ten doctors, the dentist, the priest, about eighteen infirmiers, Mademoiselle, Darby, and myself.

The Kommandant strides down the corridor, followed by  p97 an officer in full regalia — cap, cloak, and eyeglass; they are followed by Henri. The Kommandant speaks in German, each sentence being interpreted by the officer, and says, "France, where is your culture? I have heard of it, but I do not see it. This wing of the hospital looks and smells like a cage of monkeys, and I demand that it shall be cleansed. I give you twenty-four hours. I make you all entirely responsible to your Médecin Chef. Should this wing not be thoroughly cleansed by that time all of you will be put on a diet of bread and water, and half of you will be sent to concentration camps. I have not told you to do this work for us, but for your own wounded.

Lucien, Jean, Darby, and I couldn't agree with the Kommandant more. Jean says, "Mais, que voulez‑vous ? . . . Some of us do try to do the work of three people, others do nothing at all." Of course there is no organization at all on the French side. No one here seems capable of leader­ship or responsibility. Our new Médecin Chef is a dear, but he has let the hospital continue as he found it.

All the afternoon the infirmiers are busy sweeping and dusting, emptying and burning bucketfuls of filthy dressings, cleaning out cupboards in the corridors. Lucien says he can't possibly cook our dinner for to‑night, as he has been told to supervise all the cleaning. I am glad, for he has an eye like an eagle and will stand no nonsense from any one. Lucien ought to have been a general. In fact, I don't think the French Army would have gone to pieces at all had there been a few Luciens in command. He has been reduced to the ranks for knocking a fellow-officer unconscious. During the afternoon our wing gets cleaner and cleaner.

Simply don't recognize our wing in the morning. It is, as it  p98 must be, rough and ready, but it is clean — it is clean! There is even flypaper hanging up in the grands blessés' ward and rooms. My personal objection to this is that there are so many flysº on the paper that they make a tremendous noise trying to get off. It's like the continuous hum of a dynamo. All is roses in the garden; in fact, Jean has picked several and brought them into the ward.

Lucien says he can manage the dinner for to‑night.

Henri sends Darby and me three toothbrushes (she wants one for Lucien), toothpaste, soap, cigarettes, and matches from the German stores. We have to pay 52 francs for them, but what treasures we have! None of the wounded have cleaned their teeth for months.

Darby and I spend a hectic day; we entirely transform our bedroom. Scrounging in the isolation ward, which has hardly been touched whence it was evacuated, discover the nuns have left their petticoats behind. They are incredibly voluminous affairs made of thick, heavy crochet. We decide they will make bedspreads and will also go over our washstand. We find a thin lace curtain which will do us proud as a tablecloth. From the Maternity Ward we pinch a white table and six white chairs. From a cupboard we get flower vases, and fill them with rhododendrons and roses.

Darby simply excels herself in brainwaves by suggesting that we should get six glass blocks used under the beds in the Maternity Ward. We wash them, and they make marvellous ash‑trays. The bakers send us masses of freshly baked loaves, Jean gives us all the cutlery and plates we want and four bottles of wine. Still more bottles are promised by Lucien and Henri.

 p99  Mademoiselle is very curious to know why we have been carrying chairs and tables about.

The party is an enormous success; Lucien produces some excellent soup, entrecôte, and pommes frites. We make merry far into the night. . . .

Henri casually announces that the maternity nurse left this evening, as she wasn't paid. The Germans didn't force her to stay, and she said she would not work under such conditions for no money. We now have six mothers and six practically brand‑new babies; they obviously can't be left alone in the ward cut off from every one. Henri carries down some blankets for me; I'll spend the night there, Darby can to‑morrow.

Henri says he was terribly worried yesterday, as he thought we should get separated. The Kommandant was so furious at the filth of the hospital that he threatened to send all the grands blessés to Paris, have the semi's looked after on the German side, and send the entire French staff off to prison camps. However, Henri says that by using all the tact he knew he managed to persuade the Kommandant to give the French a chance to clean up.

In the morning I find an old poilu in charge of the Maternity Ward. There is no one to help him, but he seems quite happy and says he would rather do this job than be sent to the barracks or a prison camp. I give up the struggle, advise the mothers to get out of here as soon as they can, and go and wash the grands blessés.

Am told the Kommandant wants to see Darby and me at once in the surgery; realize he may have made a tour of our wing and that I don't know how many empty wine bottles must be left in our bedroom. Meet Darby en route to surgery  p100 and tell her at all costs to get rid of the bottles while I try to hold the Kommandant meanwhile. Mademoiselle is there; the Kommandant and Henri have a rapid conversation in German; Darby joins us in record time. The Kommandant and Henri leave, Henri too official for words — he just didn't know me. We wonder what it's all about.

In the afternoon Darby and I are told Henri wants to see us in the Médecin Chef's office. He wants to see our passports and papers. I manage to get in half a word with him; he tells me there is something in the wind and thinks we may be freed shortly; hopes to find out more by to‑morrow.

Next day while washing the grands blessés Jean tells us we are again wanted in the Médecin Chef's office. He tells us he has received orders that we are to be ready to leave the hospital in half an hour. He can not tell us why or where we are going. He says he has heard some rumor that we have said unpleasant things about the Germans.

Deep in thought, we return to our bedroom. Can our departure possibly be due to my conversation with the disagreeable Prussian or is it connected with the rumor of the exchange of Red Cross personnel? We collect all our belongings scrounged from villas, barracks, and hospital; Lucien ties them up for us in our ambulance blanket; it becomes heavy and unwieldy like a peasant's bundle. Lucien is very concerned about us; he doesn't think we have a chance of being freed, and presses us to take back the 100 francs we had given him for the food last night. Darby and I flatly refuse. I feel quite rich; despite the money I have given Henri for the tire, I still have 1,000 francs left.

Meet Henri in the corridor; he looks slightly green. He keeps telling me we are to be freed, but seems terribly worried  p101 in case we lose contact with each other. His one hope seems to be that he can check up our movements from the Kommandantur. He wanted to come with us as interpreter, but guards have already been ordered to take us. He suggests my leaving behind something in his bureau so that he can take it over to the Kommandantur and make inquiries about us right away. Leave him my purse with 100 francs.

Darby and I feel more than depressed. As a parting gift, Henri gives me four packets of Troupe cigarettes and two boxes of matches, and the baker a little Father Christmas which he got off a Christmas cake last year. Henri has another brainwave. Suggests I pretend to be ill and he will get one of his copains, a German doctor, to verify it. He still seems to think that in a few days we shall be free, but says I must not leave Soissons. Tell him I'll try to throw a fit over at the Kommandantur.

Darby and I leave the Hôpital Militaire in blazing sunshine to the strain of The Blue Danube, which the soldiers in the sentry house are playing on the gramophone. Our guards, carrying our bundles, accompany us in silence; we wave good‑by to the bakers as we pass the bakery.

I had hoped to see the nice Hoch Kommandant with whom we dined, but no one at the Kommandantur speaks a word of French or English. Darby and I are ushered into a small room where a soldier clicks away on a typewriter. We are told to sit down; there are several guards in the room, and the Kommandant of the hospital. Rapid conversation in German, infinite clicking away on the typewriter — we have simply no idea what it is all about. The Prussian with whom I had discussed Churchill comes into the room, but leaves within a minute. A soldier tells us to follow him; none of them makes  p102 any attempt to pick up our peasant's bundles, so Darby and I drag them along. We are led out into the street to a waiting car. A soldier arranges our things in the back, and an officer who is apparently in charge of us tells us to get in.

I make a last futile effort to get them to understand that I want to see the Hoch Kommandant of Soissons. The officer seems to understand, but shakes his head. Darby thinks the Germans now seem hostile toward us. I tell the officer I have left my money with Henri at the hospital and ask if we can go back. Again he shakes his head.

The car starts. We leave Soissons. Darby and I are speechless.

Laon 15 kilometers, 7 kilometers, 3 kilometers — Laon! We drive up to the Hochkommandantur and are told to get out and follow a soldier to a bare room furnished with only a large table and a couple of chairs. Another soldier brings our baggage, and a most imposing guard, complete with tin helmet, revolver, and rifle with fixed bayonet, is left in the room. He is perfectly divine. He does his little paces up and down the room, then halts stiffly to attention and gazes out of the window with an expressionless face. Then does his little paces up and down the room again. He seems a beautiful automaton; I can hardly take my eyes off him. A sergeant comes in and asks if we have eaten. We fairly yelp for food, and are brought bread and butter and salami sausages, with two bottles of Vichy water.

Smoke innumerable cigarettes. Darby and I are still speechless.

The sergeant tells us we are to wait for the Hoch Kommandant. We wait seven hours. Each hour the guard is changed and hour by hour they become less military; our last guard is  p103 minus his tin helmet, revolver, rifle, and fixed bayonet, and even sits down, smokes a cigarette, and talks to us. He was taken prisoner in England during the last war. Answers "Yes" to our three usual questions.

Darby and I get more weary and more depressed, and we are beyond discussing what is going to happen now.

At last we are told to leave. The guard picks up our bundles, and we follow him down the stairs and meet the Hoch Kommandant of Laon on the landing. Thank heaven he speaks a little French. He tells us he has no idea what is to be done with us, but thinks we may be sent to Paris. Explain that I have left my money with the official interpreter at Soissons and ask if I can write to him for it. He says I can write to‑morrow. We are bundled into another car, and off we go again with another officer in charge.

Dusk is falling; Laon is utterly deserted except for a few soldiers. It looks very desolate; no civilians have yet returned. After a few minutes in the car we stop outside a large building and are told to get out. The building is fairly bristling with soldiers; I think this is also a hospital, as in the distance I see something which looks like a nurse.

With two soldiers carrying our bundles we follow the officer through innumerable courtyards and a dank, dark passage into a very small courtyard. In the failing light we can just see two wooden doors with heavy iron bolts. The officer opens one — a stretcher is all it contains.

Darby says, "Good God, Myers, cells!"

Darby is told to go in, but we insist that we must be together. At last the officer tells one of the soldiers to fetch two mattresses from a shed opposite; together with a blanket they are thrown into one of the cells and cover the entire floor  p104 space. A soldier brings us each a cup of tea and two plates of pork; it is very good. The door is banged to; it has a steel peephole bolted from the outside, and the only possibility of getting light or air is from a small grille with stout little iron bars.

Darby and I think this The End, more so when we realize that the cells have not been used for years and years. The bolts are very rusty, and, despite all the shouting and commotion outside, the soldiers can not bolt them. After a few minutes we hear them hammering us in. It reminds me of the last act of Aida.

There is no accommodation whatever in our cell; only one of those "Hommes" things in the courtyard, which smells abominably. I should imagine at some time or another these were old wine cellars, for the ceiling is low and arched, the walls are of stone and several feet high.º The cemented floor is the only modern touch. If my arms were •two inches longer I could stretch from wall to wall, and if Darby were a few inches taller her head would touch the dome of the roof.

We discuss the past, present, and future. Darby still thinks our being here may be something to do with my altercation with the Prussian about Churchill. I think that may or may not be so, but I also think that amongst the doctors at Soissons there is a snake in the grass who again may have raised his head.

It was a most curious thing that Lucien was so suddenly wafted off to the barracks. It is equally curious that we have been so suddenly wafted here. Snakes are venomous creatures . . . and there is no getting away from it; there is one at Soissons. I should like to know what he has been up to.

Darby and I are faintly pleased that the Hoch Kommandant  p105 of Laon thinks we may be sent to Paris. Surely Paris means freedom. Laon is the last straw, as we know that from here prisoners are sent into Germany. Tell Darby even if we are sent into Germany it isn't the end of life, only the end of several years of it. Darby agrees, but thinks it's a pity it should be the end of the best years of our lives. Well, well, "It's a great life if you don't weaken."

We wonder how long we can possibly be left here and how we can pass the time. Darby has a few books in her knapsack, but it will be too dark to read much here. I can't help realizing that if the Germans want to they can keep us here for the duration of the war; there is nothing to prevent them, and no one would be any the wiser.

We can't be bothered to undo our bundles, so Darby sleeps under my greatcoat and her mackintosh, and I have a blanket. Darby keeps on saying, "Don't scratch, Myers." . . . Believe the blanket full of fleas. After she has repeated "Don't scratch" several times tell her that's all very well, she doesn't seem to have the fleas. The night is disturbed every few hours by a soldier opening our peephole and flashing a torch into our faces. I have heard nothing more harrowing than the clanking of his feet on the flags getting fainter and fainter as he leaves us in the courtyard, which is then as silent as a tomb.

I can see no point in his frequent visits, since we are so securely bolted and padlocked in from the outside, I would defy Houdini to get out of here. I believe even some of the German soldiers are sorry for us.

(End of Diary)

---

Thayer's Note:

a Volunteer Ambulance Driver.

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