M.C.A. in
France.
"One of its members came round the ward, speaking cheery
words and offering to write home for us. It sounds a small
work, but it was a boon to those of us too weak for even a
postcard, or those who had lost or injured their right arms.
The nurses are far too busy and cannot do it, and other
patients are in a like condition. I always looked out for
that gentleman of the Y.M. I was not allowed to read or sit
up, and the days dragged horribly. Thursday evening came and
many were sent to Blighty. I worried the doctor as to when I
should go, and always received the non-committal reply,
'When you are fit to travel.' Saturday, however, found me on
board of a hospital ship, and at 9 o'clock that night we
arrived at Southampton. Ant-like, the stretcher-bearers went
to and fro, from ship to train. For some reason or other
they dumped me in a corner with my head nearest the scene of
activities, so that I was unable to interest myself in
watching the entraining of others. I feverishly hoped they
wouldn't forget me and put me in the wrong train. I was not
forgotten by one person, however. He was not an official,
not a R.A.M.C. man--no, just a Y.M.C.A. man, ministering to
our comfort, lighting cigarettes for the helpless, arranging
pillows, handing chocolate to a non-smoker, with a smile and
a cheery word for every one.
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