Alice M's Report

A few notes on a Sister’s experiences on a Hospital Ship Of my many and varied experiences at a General Hospital, at numerous Casualty Clearing Stations, at a Stationary hospital and on board a hospital ship, the latter was to me the most interesting as it was the most exciting experience of my life. I was posted to the Hospital Ship Anglia in may 1915 and was on board her until 17 November when we struck a mine while crossing the Channel on our way to Dover with a complement of wounded patients, and the ship foundered. Work on a hospital ship varies very much according to what is going on ‘up the line’. During the heavy fighting we often did two journeys a day to and from England. As soon as we were warned that a convoy of patients was expected on board each Sister went into her own ward where the cots were made ready, feeds prepared, hot bottles filled, and everything put in readiness for the reception and comfort of the wounded and helpless patients. We usually kept these patients on board for the day only but, occasionally kept them overnight. Then we found it easier for each Sister to do 3 hours on night duty and thus were all in readiness for the unloading which usually took place the first thing in the morning. As a general rule the patients made very bad sailors. On arrival at Dover, where the Ambulance Train was in waiting, the patients were quickly transferred and, after a fresh supply of stores had been taken in, the ship at once returned to Boulogne, Calais or Dieppe. On the return journey the cleaning of the wards took place; beds were remade and everything put in readiness for the next journey. One never-to-be-forgotten day we were told to prepare for a distinguished patient and, shortly afterwards, the Director General of Medical Services arrived and told our Matron that the King was coming on board having met with an accident up the line. Four orderlies were sent to the station to meet the train and the King was carried below to a small ward which had been previously prepared for him., and beautifully arranged with flowers. We had only a small load that day and soon got away, feeling very important, with destroyers encircling us on either side and blue jackets on board to keep a lookout for mines and submarines. It was very rough but, fortunately, we reached port without any mishap. Our last and very memorable journey was on the 17th November. We had taken about 500 patients on board at Boulogne, and a very happy crowd they were, fractured femurs and head cases who had been in different hospitals in France for some months. In their anticipation of returning home they were anxiously on the lookout through the portholes for the first sight of the white cliffs of England. Alas! Many of them were destined never to reach there alive. About 12 noon, and when some six miles from Dover, we had just given the patients their dinner when there was a tremendous crash and iron girders etc came falling down like match wood. We realised all too quickly that we had either been torpedoed or had struck a mine. My first act was to fix a lifebelt on myself, feeling that I was then in a better position to help others. All Sisters and orderlies did 115 likewise and the patients who were able to do so were ordered to put on theirs (every patient had a lifebelt under his pillow), and walking cases were ordered on deck. We immediately set about removing splints for the obvious reason that if the patient with his legs in splints got into the sea his body would go under while the splint would rise to the surface. We carried as many as possible on deck and those that could threw themselves into the sea; others were let down in the life-boat but, unfortunately, it was only possible to lower one boat as the ship was sinking so rapidly. The patients kept their heads wonderfully. There was no panic whatever and when one realises that, in the majority of cases, they were suffering from fractured limbs, severe wounds and amputations, it speaks volumes for their spirit, their grit and real bravery, for they must have suffered real agonies of pain. After we had satisfied ourselves that there was no possible chance of getting any more patients out, for by that time our bows had quite gone under and only the ship’s stern was above water, with the propellers going at a terrific rate and blinding us with spray, we then got down onto the rudder and jumped into the sea where hundreds of patients were still struggling in the water. It was some time before the destroyers could get out to help us and, when they did, boats were quickly lowered and we were taken into them. Unfortunately, in some cases, the struggling patients hung onto the sides of a boat and capsized it, and once again we were thrown into the sea. Alas! By this time many of the patients had gone under, but it was a never to be forgotten sight to see armless and legless men struggling in the water, very many of whom were eventually saved. I personally was in the water about 40 minutes before being taken on a destroyer, and that would be about the time experienced by most of us. Our relief can be readily understood and never shall we forget the men on the destroyers whose kindness and helpfulness was beyond words. On reaching Dover, imagine our delight on finding many of our patients lying on the admiralty pier whom we had last seen floating in the water, and who had been picked up by other destroyers, and whom we had hardly expected to see again. Many were the handshakes and kindly greetings and expressions of real thankfulness at meeting again on terra firma. And with it all there was a humorous side to it, for we must have looked very weird in the different garments that had been so kindly supplied to us by the officers and men of the destroyers who did everything in their power for our welfare. I would remind you that 40 minutes in the water in November is not the kind of sea-bathing that many would indulge in from choice, and yet largely due to the kindness of the men on the destroyer I do not think that any of us suffered seriously from cold. After a good meal on the ambulance train we were soon on our journey to London. So ended my experience with a Hospital Ship. The sinking of H.S. Anglia is now a matter for War records only but to me it certainly supplied the most exciting moments of my life as a member of QAIMNSR and little as I should again like to go through the experience of being on a sinking ship, still I shall always look back to my time on HMHS Anglia prior to that incident as some of the happiest moments I have ever spent. We were a very happy party on board and our work was always interesting, in addition to which the life was healthy, for we were much of the time at sea, and yet in port we always had opportunities of going 116 ashore for getting exercise in rambles round Boulogne or whatever place we put in at. The actual sinking of the ship itself pointed out to me the value of the life-belt and the advantage of having it always to hand for in my own case, and still more so perhaps in the case of wounded patients, the majority of us could never have kept afloat in a cold sea for forty minutes if we had not had life-belts to sustain us. Also another very valuable means of saving life was the buoyant deck seat, of which we had many on board. As soon as we had attended to the patients below, we got as many as possible on deck to set about unleashing these seats and throwing them overboard. Many a man must have been saved by being picked up by the boats of the destroyers while hanging on to these floating structures. Anyone who has been to sea and spent some time in one ship will realise what we all felt when we saw HMHS Anglia disappear from view. She had been our home for many months and we all felt very sad about it. The King, who had personal experience of the Anglia, and who had graciously expressed his thanks for the attention received on board, made special enquiries on hearing of the loss of one of his Hospital Ships as to the welfare of all who had been on board her at the time. A. Meldrum QAIMNSR August 1919