In Ringwood,
Hampshire, England
Not often did air raid sirens
result in close scares at the 95th.
We were too far from vital locations I suppose. In going to and from quarters, to mess or to
the recreation center, looking skyward toward the northeast we frequently saw
planes alone or in small groups. Once I
saw 2 fighter planes in a fight and then one started plunging toward the
earth. I never could be quite sure when
I saw some of the fighters whether they were ours or the enemies.
By late spring our hospital was
nearly full day after day with many soldiers brought in from the fighting down
in Italy, from forays into Germany and from accidents on posts in England. Patients injured in fighting typically came
to us from a Field Hospital, having proceeded through one or more to Station
Hospitals, to 95th General Hospital.
Some went back to their units healed; some needed care at a different
General Hospital with certain specialties or were sent State side for advanced
care or for discharge.
Our long workdays made us really
appreciate getting out occasionally to other outfits, especially Air Force
parties in Dorchester, further west of us on the coast. Their lifestyle always was a step ahead of
ours. They even had American toilet
paper! After a stretch of working day
and night it was sublime to hear your Social Worker boss say, “You have a
sleep-in tomorrow until you wake up!”
And so it was, one day in June.
Sometime after 8 o’clock that
morning I awoke to a thunderous noise. Startled, I was further frightened that
not another soul was in the barracks. It
seemed so dark outside! What could be
wrong? Rushing to the door I was
dumbfounded to see the sky from east to west and overhead from north to south
covered with layer after layer of bombers in formation, followed by their
fighters in formation. Some layers were
just fighter formations. Other
formations of different fighter groups, different bomber outfits. Every pilot headed the same direction, toward
France. There were so many planes the
sun could barely shine through. The dawn
of D-day and I had missed it, sound asleep!
The 95th would have been
the nearest medical facility to the beach landing in France, I believe. By the time I got to the rec. hall, the
General had told us to take extra Red Cross personal items into the wards—that
we would be receiving patients by evening.
Of course General Hospitals ordinarily didn’t receive patients directly
from the war scene. In any case that
first system didn’t work very well.
So the General changed the plan:
Red Cross workers were to make the first contact with the casualties
from the Normandy beaches. For the next
day or two—I should say night or two—as the ambulances arrived, the stretcher
bearers with their injured, still outside, would form a single line. As each patient came past us we were to place
a bar of soap, a washcloth, toothbrush, toothpaste and a razor on each
stretcher near the head of the injured.
Then the stretcher would be carried into Receiving. Passing out Red Cross items no longer delayed
the medical staff’s handling patients in the wards. Nurses immediately could start working to
clean up the patients so that doctors could work with them.
Imagine how indispensable this made
us feel! But it was tough to go
through. The soldiers were dirty, often
bloody, totally fatigued, silent. And
once in a while, we feared, already dead.
In a short time, possibly 2 days,
patients no longer arrived directly from the battle scenes. Now I can’t remember whether we had just
filled up by that time, or whether the military was able that quickly to outfit
and regroup the Field to Station to General Hospital system in Normandy.
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