No more free roaming in Paris. Our Red Cross team was needed at the large
American hospital in the outskirts of the city.
Off we went, pleased to be needed.
We wondered how we could manage with only our ditty bags, no
uniforms—and limited changes of clothes.
At the hospital we found the
uncomfortable lack of heating so cold that each morning we wore as many
garments as possible. As we worked, for
the week or so we were there, the flannel pajamas we slept in we layered under
our heavy wool pantsuits. The wards were
full of GIs badly injured and were there for specialized care before returning
state side for continuing care.
The hospital was very modern with
lots of light, halls that were shiny, long and clattery as we rushed
along. One afternoon I was startled when
someone touched my right arm from behind.
I turned and immediately looked squarely into the mutilated face of a GI
in a wheelchair. His eyes were bright
but below them, his entire face was missing.
Clearly he had raced his wheelchair to catch up with me and chat. Somehow I managed to look straight only into
his eyes as we had been taught. I
grabbed his hand and held it and I survived that unexpected visit.
Again the 95th was
pulled back together, this time reassembling in the small village of
Revigny. This was a heart of Calvados
country—I think the drink is homemade plum wine, perhaps distilled or otherwise
fortified. It tasted dreadful and was
extremely potent.
Revigny must have been chosen by
the occupying Germans to house a barracks. They probably had commandeered several
community facilities and some apartments in order to set up there. In a vacant store we found mess tables enough
to seat 50 or 60 Krauts. On the tables were half-finished plates of
food—clearly, there had been an unexpected hasty exit. The food remained tasty-looking and inviting.
An unmercifully cold spell for
mid-September took over. It was a boring
time for our stand-by outfit—nothing to read, nothing going on, just
waiting. Memorable for me is the night 5
or 6 of us Red Cross gals and officers braved leaving our warm quarters to chat
in a small apartment abandoned by Hitler’s officers. There was a small built-in fireplace and
nothing else in the room but a beautifully designed, small, hardwood, hand-carved
chest with two drawers.
As we visited and joked, sitting
with our backs against the walls we got colder and colder. Then we began noticing each other glancing at
the chest. (We had learned to deplore
the way in which the Germans in France had confiscated the precious objects
they found in lovely homes from which they had forced owners in order to obtain
quarters for themselves.)
The cold was so penetrating that we
could hardly talk because of our teeth chattering. Someone shyly wondered what would happen to that
chest when we left. Options began to
creep into the conversation. Wasn’t it
absurd, with the future so unpredictable?
Oh no, we’d never do a thing like that. And yet—
We stomped the drawers apart, tore
off the legs. Someone had a match, and
we stayed up probably until 9:30 p.m. in glowing warmth.
With shame but understanding, I
think that I have always remembered what I learned that night. I will never say, “No. I would never do
that.”
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