Then on the way again—Hooray for
Patton! The 3rd Army had
streamed north through France and had taken Metz! The Allied spirits soared in France. At the 95th our spirits soared too
in that late September of 1944. We were
on the train to Metz to our new home.
I was pleased that en route I would
get to see the area of intense fighting of WWI that I’d grown up hearing about
from friends of my parents. (My father
never went because he was producing food from the farm.) As we neared Verdun, I was eager to feel the
warmth of the welcome of the French residents there as I had so appreciated
upon entering Paris.
At the train station we got off and
climbed into our 95th personnel carriers to carry on—hey—thought we
were going all the way by train. What is
THIS?? Can’t be Verdun—it WAS Verdun!
Not one soul in sight on the sidewalks.
On either side of the streets were
solid concrete walls, like driving through a fortress. Fronts of the attached 2-story homes, windows
shut and shuttered. An occasional half-face
with one eye caught peeping out of us really gave us the willies. And then what was THAT?
Sounded like a cannon roar in the far distance.
Our General hadn’t received word
that Metz had fallen back into the hands of Hitler. After a slight delay, the General received
orders to set up camp and remain a few miles from Verdun in the midst of the
stubble in a wheat field. Off we went
and the threatening rainstorm with us.
A letter I had written
Sept. 23, 1944 to my parents tells of some of my miseries: huge tents full of nurses, dirt for floors,
nothing to do but sit in the dark or lie down on our cots, no candles, no
flashlight batteries, unbelievable latrine—a short way across the wheat field a
trench with slippery mud walkways, partially shielded by khaki army canvas. “Gruesome” was the word I used. Boredom was the emotion I suffered most of
all.
High on the list of miseries was
our yearning for a few good meals. Armed
with a good appetite, at mealtime we soon found we could hardly eat the
food. Almost every bite was mush as the
rain immediately soaked up whatever we served ourselves. The only place we could eat was out in the
pouring monsoon.
It rained much of the week or two
that we were there. Rumor (probably
true) was that the military had lost us for a number of days. (In any case What would you do with an un-needed 700-personnel hospital?) Recognizing the demoralizing situation, the
General opted to get us out of the tents when there were lulls in the
rains—with drilling exercises, mud and all.
Fully dressed against the chill and
with our 4-buckle rubber boots over our army oxfords, we faced the 4 to 6 inch
heavy, sticky bad mud of the Alsace. One
day my right boot just gave up the fight as the mud grabbed it and my foot
pulled right out of my shoe and my boot and my foot in its sock plunked into
the mud. After drilling, we were
exhausted and ready to lie down in the dark for a while.
A few lighter moments I wrote of in
the letter. Our GIs rigged up an outdoor
shower from “a famous river.” That was
sheer heaven, out in the open whether the water was cold or not. (I can’t remember.)
Mary Kate and I decided to wander
down toward Verdun to try to confiscate some furniture confiscated earlier by
the Krauts. We never found any furniture
to sit on but did discover down toward Verdun a small group of 3rd
Army Governor officers setting up local governance. We introduced ourselves and learned that we
might be useful by helping with small clerical tasks. After that we went down a
few times to offer our help.
One day we were ecstatic when they
offered us two small white candles to take back. Mary Kate took one to her tent and I took one
to mine. My cot neighbors cheered when I
lighted my candle. Almost before the
cheers died, the Head Nurse Colonel appeared.
“Give me that candle, Jeannette.”
I gave it to her—we Red Crossers had a pact that we would behave as if
we were under her authority. My precious
light became a tiny flicker across the entire tent beside the army cot of the
Head Nurse Colonel.
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