The Impressions of a French War Correspondent in the N.Z. Stationery Hospital

Kai Tiaki : the journal of the nurses of New Zealand, Volume XI, Issue 3, 1 July 1918, Page 133

The Impressions of a French War Correspondent in the N.Z. Stationery Hospital

MONSIEUR PAUL OLIVER, "LE MATIN,"

BY

PARIS

Translated by

H.J.H.

Dear friends unknown, whose interest and kindliness I can appreciate, although ignorant of your names and rank. Since you have asked me for some matter for your magazine, you do me great honour, believe me, for it is extremely flattering for a French journalist to dream that his prose will be read in even New Zealand ; a great pleasure, for it recalls to mind my journalistic duties, which I had in truth begun to forget, in the charming serenity of this war hospital, where I have enjoyed the benefits of real peace more than ever. In our adventurous and constantly changing existence as story-hunters, and still more as war correspondents, opportunities for rest are rare. Sickness alone can give us this respite. So, not wishing in the least to fall ill, we support such misfortune, when it does befall us with philosophy and resignation in belief that, thanks to the mischances, we can enjoy without regret a well-earned rest. This is precisely my case. For four months now, in company with three colleagues of the Parisian Press, I have devoted my days, and often my nights, to following and noting carefully the continuous pro - gress of the gallant British Armies ; and I can truthfully say that if they have not given the Huns much rest they have not given us witnesses of their success much either, charged as we are fco record their doings from day to day . I had , then , a great yearning for a little quiet repose. A nice broncho-pneumonia procured for me my wished-for holiday, the result of daily wanderings in evil smelling, filthy trench mud, between Beaumont-Hamel and Grand-court ; and it is thus that I have passed three weeks, three weeks of holiday, in a peaceful retreat, that I can without hesitancy define without parallel ; this, the New Zealand Stationary Hospital j n Ward A3, which has been assigned to me as my residence. To be frank, I must confess that the first hours of my sojourn were very sad ; the fever, the oppression, the coughing, and sleepless-

ness^made life very unattractive. Separated from my C1 compagnons d' existence ): I seemed to be an exile, an isolated Frenchman, unable to speak a word of English, surrounded by bed-fellows so distant, as I thought, regarding points of view, language, and thought. My sadness was quickly dispersed, however, courteous and sympathetic smiles, kindhearted interest became the link, as a dumb yet so eloquent language by which my companions in misfortune and myself began to understand each other. Some of them could speak a few words of French , and this was the medium with which our mutual cordiality was further cemented. I, being French, jovial by birth, of a race with a gallant reputation, did not wish to remain in the background with these young, amiable British officers, so rebellious against their hard luck, so averse to being ill, rebelling against it, as against the enemy with all their heart and soul, as would be expected from their resolute and tenacious spirit. So on the wings of our common good humour, trouble and depression flew away. Further, the excellent doctors who looked after us, gave us a perfect example to follow ; particularly one Captain Gray, to whom I shall never be able to express the gratitude which I feel for the happy knack he had of joining good humour with attentive care in nursing us, completing by this, as it were, a sure and decisive cure. I can almost recommend this idea to our French doctors, who are not cheerful enough with their patients, and who always, in my opinion, take themselves and their cases too seriously. A happy smile often is worth as much as a dose of medicine, and I cannot ever remember having ween Captain Gray without his smile. I owe to his good cheer half my cure, and the other half to his attention. I also owe him the prescription of stout, stout, which is now one of my weaknesses, and which I certainly would not have come across elsewhere.

My stay in this atmosphere of New Zealand has also cured me of two dislikes of which I imagined I should never rid myself : fears of fresh air, and abhorrence of gramophones. In France, we have the deplorable habit of keeping our doors closed ; too much in some cases, and not enough in others. I am thinking of the Huns, who, before the war, overran our country as though it was their own. In such cases our doors should be forever closed, we will have paid dearly enough to bang it in their faces. But, on the other hand, we shall have the advantages of living with our doors open, no longer stuffy, but loving the good fresh air and light, which fills up the lungs with strength and health. Here in Ward A3, as all over the hospital, the doors are open night and day, during all weather. At first I objected, now I breathe. I am no longer frightened of air : the breezes circulate around me ; I glory in them, I feel myself free, airy, light as a feather. As for the

gramophone, I beg its pardon ; before this I used to look upon it as a nuisance, a worry, fit only to annoy calm and quiet folks with its rolling nasal twang. Today, I know exactly how much it is the friend of man. T owe to it many agreeable moments of distraction and forgetfulness. It has left in my memory little rippling melodies, which, though mostly English, have become none the less familiar. There only remains to me, in gratitude to my hosts, to praise the fare. Six meals daily in the hospital, meals served on little tables, as in the most luxurious restaurants of London or Paris, and through which I should soon regain my lost strength. In a few days then, I shall be away, to make room for others in this small corner of heaven, where I have enjoyed three splendid weeks of charm, rest, and the most cordial hospitality possible. This stay in New Zealand will live, I may say, for ever amongst the most agreeable memories of my life as a War Correspondent.