FRENCHWOMEN'S SACRIFICES

Otautau Standard and Wallace County Chronicle, Volume XI, Issue 554, 4 January 1916, Page 2

FRENCHWOMEN'S SACRIFICES

HUMANITY BEFORE PRIDE

It is to the fair .-women of France, and what they are prepared to do for their beloved country and the men who fight for her, that a British, ambulance driver for the French Red Cross devotes another of those eloquent and highly interesting letters such as have been published) from the same sources before. " -I've been through the thickest of Hell just lately," lie begins ; "indeed, I cannot conceive a more colossal rendering of Hades with full effect than the display given by the French of all arms the past few days. The limit of human endurance would appear to recede as the devilry of mechanics and chemistry is let loose to try the human frame. I've seen a little crowd of school children assisting home the wreck of a fellow pupil whose arm had been blown off by a shell whilst the child was on its way, playing quietly, to school. Natxirally, only a. few of the juveniles could assist, and these so occupied were shocked by the tragic happening to the little girl, obviously their comrade ; but the rest played around as mischievously and as happily as though the hurt was purely a simple fall; The ohild I took along and got attention fox, but it was remarkable the fearless recognition of the extra danger. I chatted with the poor youngsters, and found that they knew all about the risks, but they cheerfully let them go hang m the consolation afforded by the few francs they occasionally gained from the sale of relics aiid curios which the proximity of the battle zone, and the fact of their neighborhood having been once m German occupation, make a fairly remunerative speculation. Early this year the weather m ihe trenches was damnable — a persistent cold rain and a relentless, callous enemy. Not only were , shells dropped on positions military, but they were thrown haphazard to enlighten the lives of some — Miserable French Household — perhaps: as much as eight miles behind the line. Most times the murderous intent was not followed by a successful coup, but. God knows, often enough some non-com-batant paid the price. There was one such case that I actually struck myself. The little cafe was frequented by the odds and ends of fairly wealthy relatives of conscripts "whose presence on duty quite close might enable them to drop back and see friends when a lull or.a relief allowed them short ' leave. On ' this particular occasion a couple of '.women, evidently mother and wife of the young soldier, had' seen him return to his. unit, and themselves were sitting m the cafe talking to Madame, when the stray shell turned up. After the racket the cafe was a wreck, and m the midst-, lay Madame and "her Bolder guest dead. The wife, poor 'girl, had been hit m the thigh, and lay moaning m pain. As she was being attended by a doctor she shivered with the cold of the raw afternoon, her life was quickly ebbing, and it was not possible to move her without an ambulance. On her way home from hospital, clad m an expensive fur coat, a lady paused, as she saw her doctor friend. A short explanation, and before one could count ten the coat was across the injured girl's legs. Not only that, but the woven silk jersey the stranger were beneath was fastened m a trice round the shaking shoulders, and, as she stood there half-clothed, ' Madaine la Samaritaine' tended to her -sister. In. private life the wounded woman was the wife of a God-fearing local trader, and would not have dreamed of speaking, or being under an obligation, to a woman such, as Madame, who was, m point. of fact, one of the bestknown demi-mondaines m Paris. . When one writes the; incident, it does not appear m the way that I saw it, but it is another picture which I shall retain of the war — • the wounded woman clothed m the garment of a plaything of mankind, who, her . womanhood triumphant, stood m corsets and skirt without shame, ministering as a sister to her smitten fellow-creature m the biting north-east wind. Here is another case, and again the central figure is that of a Frenchwoman. It was told to me by the man who had seen it. Up m the west end of the line there were French troops fighting m the snow.. Their feet were frostbitten, and their frames torn with the agonies of "rheumatism. Behind that line of pain little Red Cross ambulances retrieved for repair the men whose bodies had let down — Their Dauntless Souls. — Many such ambulances were driven by women, English, French, and American. The woman of whon^ I write was French, a little Parisienne, who had cursed the cold m normal : times, and flitted to the sunshine of the Riviera. Now she used herself up to take the place of a man, and shivered m the raw air as she drove the big Renault up through the shelldented roads- One day she was carrying back through 10 miles of country three men not too badly wounded, and the fourth, a lad of 18, mortally hurt. Halfway on the journey she was stopped by the danger bell, which is hung m all the ambulances. The boy was going "out fast, and wanted to send a letter to his mother ! Poor lad. The cold wind had paralysed his hands, and made it impossible for him to write. Not quite grasping the lad's desire to write himself, Bebe quickly took a pad and pencil from the car and jotted down the faint messages that were to wound that anxious mother. Twice the boy attempted to hold the pencil, and then Bebe . understood. The last 'few sacred words were to be written by himself; but what of those frozen fingers? The orderlies supported him and chafed the hands, but still no circulation. Shivering, Bebe tore open the thick motor coat she wore, loosened the scarf at her .throat, and, 1 bending over, drew the ice-cold hands of the boy right against her warm flesh. There the hands grew warm, while the chasing blushes reddened- the girl's face. But the last message was written. The youngster, as gallant -a boy as ever strode abroad, kissed the hand of the chauffeure, and, looking into her eyes, murmured his. thanks as he went out, his young life another , sacrifice ■to the evil blood lust. The American whose fortune it was' to be one of the' actors m this poignant,. picture swears /that, he will never forget the scene •of a dying boy 'going; West,' and a. woman ministering to him so generously with the warmth of her. body. ' France is a country on its own. We thought them a bit fast when they treated life frankly : it would be quite good enough ah ideal for me if I thought all our men and women at home could jump the chasm of chaos as have the French, and prepare themselves to give all they: have, including life, for the weal of country. Why, these women of France, sweat nude to the waist m hot factories, they toil m the fields from sunrise to sunset, they bear their children without medical aid, so that the doctors may heal the "wounded, and they tear up and rend into miles of bandages the carefully-collected stores of linen designed to grace the blushing brides. How many hours of toil have been devoted to the preparation of the garments the recording angel only knows, but bandages am wanted, and bandages are made. iSuch is the Frenchwoman of to-day? a woman prepared to spend her life blood to save France."