Ambulance 12/1

Secteur 223

27.12.17

Dear Dr Cabot

Surely you must have prayed and God heard, for a Miracle was wrought for our  Christmas.  Humanly speaking the difficulties were too many to be mastered —-far greater even than I had foreseen —- but from the evening when I saw you and everything looked so impossible, and there was no tobacco and no transport (nothing even packed) and no one apparently alive to the gravity to the situation, it seemed divines spirit began to work all along the line.  The hearts of the Red Cross and the Army and the Railway people at Noisy le See were all changed, everybody did exactly as he promised from the General-en-Chef to the little joyeux who nailed up cases morning noon and night (and never stole a thing, to the utter surprise of everyone but me – I trusted him) everything arrived in the nick of time, when a single delay might have been fatal, and there wasn’t one weak link in all that interminable chain.

That good Mr Patten, you possibly know, gave money for the tobacco which I ordered from the army, and I added biscuits from my own little fund, and from Monday until Sunday I and a few valid blesses and any stray American or English ambulance driver that I could inveigle, made tri-colored packages in a freezing barrack, and as fast as we tied, Gallois packed each chausette with it’s accompanying package.  Breathless work!  Fifteen thousand packages to make and only six days! Once the paper gave out because the train de ravitaillement that was to bring it was delayed: and on we went with compresses — ( May the Peter Bent Bringham Hospital forgive me!  For I think just once it was quite as useful as doing pansements, don’t you?) Just when there were no more compresses the paper arrived, and hands all blue with the cold flew faster than ever, and by eleven o’clock on Sunday while “Fritz” was pelting the moon lit batteries near by, the last bright package was tucked beside its sock, and the fifteen thousand were completed!

Before seven o’clock on Christmas day, fifteen thousand poilus had had their greeting from America plus a quart de oin for good measure.  I went myself in the General’s auto and saw on three different points of the front such scenes as were worth one’s life to have witnessed, and yet I never wanted to live so much as now, in order to have more like them.  If only you could have been there too!  What would I have not given to make you feel the glow of that baraque at G—– that had never been bright before, with it’s tree grown refulgent out of the careful savings from last year at Troyes, and Miss Strawbridge’s generosity last week: to make you see the joy in the faces of the men as they filed forward to take their package, each decked with a tiny American flag while the musiciens du regiment played the “Star. Spangled Banner”!

We left with a feeling of glad sound and warmth and color and safety and light hearts behind us, that quite crowded out the war. On thru the swift-driving snow to the ruined village of C—– just on the lines– There all was dead and silent,white and grey, and the only touch of tenderness was the snow, that clung shieldingly about those ghostly ruins and muffled the steps of helmeted figures that passed soundlessly as shadows thru a dream.  Not a gun-shot nor a bird-note nor a human voice to break the spell. In a covered alcove of a ruined wall, the grave old Commandant with a handful of men received us- The only light came from two sputtering wicks and a dying fire-brand (for the day was nearly done,) but it was enough to show clusters of mistletoe hanging about overhead, two wee flags crossed on the wall, and oh, those unforgettable faces!  They took their little packages, each with such a touching word or look of thanks, and went away into the snow.  Had you been there you would have said the proper things to them.  As for me my voice, already husky with laryngitis almost choked with the intensity of it all; but I managed to murmur something about the meaning of the gift and whence it came,and how we all loved and looked to them.  Then I was taken to the entrance of a boyau, and back to the village again and down to the caves where I pinned little flags on those whose packages had been delayed on account of the snow.  Some of them spoke to me in English, but of all this my pen is too feeble to give you an impression—— We had scarcely left the village when a violent tir de barrage began—-Another miracle, for despite all my supplications my “suite” would have never let me go, had it come a little sooner—–Another festa somewhat like the first two or three kilometres back, then tea with the General of that Division (I had lunched with the General of the Corps d’Amiens) and home again with many pauses on the snowy upgrades to B—–.

There are a thousand anecdotes and pictures that I long to share with you and will some day.  Forgive this bare and untidy skeleton.  But I have rather a bad cough, orders from the   Medecin-Chef to lie still-do nothing, and such an appalling mass of bills and business letters to attend to in two languages.

This is just to let you know how my heart is overflowing with gratitude, and how I pray that all the brightness you have shed may be reflected fifteen thousand-fold upon your coming year.

Faithfully – Norman Derr

(written along the side of the letter – I omitted to say that yesterday I had a beautiful letter from the General du Corps d’ Armee, in which he gives our little fete a military national recognition, which cannot but be gratifying to the Red Cross.

Ambulance 12/1

Section 22

28.11.17

Dear Dr Cabot

My heart is fairly singing tonight with a thankfulness I cannot express; the sun seems shining everywhere, though it is gloomily, icily raining and some irritating local difficulties that loomed pretty big a few moments ago, seem to have vanished like mist since I read your letter.

It is such a blessedly, incredibly beautiful thing —-this enthusiasm of yours over our Christmas that it seems as if a whole army of angels must prepare the way, and make the trenches bright that day.

Indeed every man I see shall hear of the US Major, and the message shall go with the bearer of every package into those far boyaux where I am not allowed.

It is all too wonderful to believe and my heart is too full to speak, but from the very bottom of it I thank you.

Faithfully

Norman Derr

 

Courtesy of Harvard University Archives

 

The next four letters were from Norman to Dr Richard Cabot whom she had written to before in 1916 (see 9 Nov 2013 posting for the background to the correspondence between them).

In 1916 Dr Richard Cabot with Ella his wife toured the United States to rouse Americans to support the Allies in World War I (possibly using Norman’s book ‘Mademoiselle Miss’ for fundraising). Dr Richard Cabot’s younger brother Hugh, also a doctor, enlisted in the British medical service before the United States entered the war.   Dr Richard Cabot himself joined the United States Army Medical Reserve Corps and served in France, 1917-19.  He served as chief of medicine at U.S. Base Hospital No. 6 at Bordeaux.

It appears from Norman’s letters that she was on leave in Paris in November 1917 and met Dr Richard Cabot there.  Her letters convey her enthusiasm for the ambitious task she decided to take upon herself and the support she received from Dr Richard Cabot in achieving it.

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Ambulance 12/1

Sector. 233

21.11.17

 

Dear Dr Cabot

I have a long story to tell you, and the hearty, helping hand you stretched out to me on that unforgettable evening in Paris, makes me feel sure you will lend it your sympathy. What a boon it was– that visit! You can never know, and if there should come a moment of ‘defaillences’ and my heart should sink amidst the difficulties that beset this remote path I have chosen, I will think of it and it will give me courage.

The enthusiastic way in which you spoke of Christmas makes me hope– a most ambitious hope– that  you will want to help me now in a task far vaster than any I have before tackled. It almost takes my breath away, when I think what I have undertaken all by myself; and yet it is such a wonderful opportunity, so much greater than anything that could have come to me by just my trying for it, that it seems it couldn’t fail just because I am a frail instrument.

Does Christmas in the trenches interest you as much as Christmas in a hospital?—–It has always seemed to me that if I could be allowed to carry a ray of loving cheer into that frozen gloom, where men wait almost longing to be wounded, it would be worth everything—–everything, almost more than helping to alleviate them when they are.  Their spirits are too often wounded these days, and that’s worse——-for every reason.  When I went into the American Red Cross the other day and asked Mrs Denny who is head of that Department what could be done for a poor infirmiere, who due to the Regulations of the R.C couldn’t hope to receive any cases from America, she said she wasn’t interested in hospitals, all her Christmas fund being for the fighting man.  Now it has been my dream ever since I came to this front to stimulate my friends to give me so much that after my own hospital was supplied I would have enough to make a few yards of trench happier, off yonder over the hill.  The summer’s furious work that made writing impossible and then my illness and finally these drastic (tho’ doubtless necessary) measure of the R.C had given the death blow to all my hopes.  I told her this, and she replied that if I would undertake to see that a division of the Army got it’s packages she would turn over 15,000 to me!——-I answered that I could undertake nothing until I had seen my General, and went away hardly daring to believe I had heard the truth.

A few days ago I saw my General, who seemed really touched and diverted by the scheme (if you knew him you would understand what a Triumph!) and promised to interview de suite the General of the Division.  The upshot of all these “audiences” is that every facility is to be given me in the shape of carrions, escort etc to carry my treasures to the nearest cantonments to  the trenches, where I shall see several thousand men on their way to or coming from the relives, and whence I can organise the big distribution there (in) the trenches themselves.  The one point where I have been so far unsuccessful is in getting permission to “prendre pied dans la tranche” myself.  To my great chagrin they just wouldn’t cede there, on the ground that it was far too dangerous, that I might walk for a morning and not see a hundred men, while one or two kil. behind I would find thousands who just as much needed encouraging, who were nearly as much as exposed, and where there I could much better direct the distribution.  Force majeur! and nothing to do but accept their conditions, tho they were denying the special blessedness I wanted most—–After all, for the crusty, unimaginative old veterans that they are, they’ve really done a wonderful thing, and I must make the most of it.——–

There must be some charm, some setting–one can’t just deal packages out of an auto.  I want a tree (ssh, it’s just as well to keep that dark from the General until it’s lighted: he’d be sure to think that childish, and afterward he’ll be sure to be delighted) that means accessories; and of course a great deal of money must be spent independent of R.C packages.  But don’t you think it’s worth it? And don’t you think hot, sweet coffee and cakes will be grateful after cold soup and ‘singer’?

I have between three and four thousand francs that I can spend for this but that isn’t much over 15,000.

Then today I had a letter from dear Mrs Denny which is somewhat disappointing. I had hoped the packets were going to be handsome as everything we have done these past years.  But it appears funds failed at the last moment, and they are only to contain a package of cigarettes, a pair of socks and two or three pieces of bon-bons–Not much, is it? when one thinks of the distance they are to travel and the mission they are to fill.——-If this wholesale way of doing things doesn’t altogether terrify you, and you really think you can get us some money, which would be rather do——help improve Mrs Denny’s packages, or buy a supplement of tobacco, or chocolate etc which would be distinct? Perhaps you can see better than I which would be wiser and either would make me equally happy.  With what I have, I think I can manage the tree and cakes & coffee and sugar. I hope to get cheaper thru the Service de Sante.  Somehow, it just must be a success; it’s too blessed an opportunity to be missed and then there’s that point of National pride too, because it’s America’s gift.

O, if you will only help!

Everything must be sent grande vitesse as I am writing Mrs Denny. It should be addressed:

Mlle Norman Derr (Infirmiere Militaire)

H.O.E de Bouleuse

en Gare de Mery Prancy, Marne

 

Forgive this too lengthy letter.  The chatter of my “sisters” gets more hilarious as midnight approaches- I am writing in our baraque where we are all shivering around one rusty impotent stove- and it’s almost impossible to concentrate.

A little American ambulance driver who has been so wretched here with articular rhumatisme and no comrades and no knowledge of French, and who, thanks to my manoeuvres is to be evacuated to the American hospital tomorrow, will mail this in Paris, that you may get it sooner.

How eagerly I await your answer, perhaps you may guess—–

Hopefully and faithfully

Norman Derr

Don’t think I’m abandoning my own ward.  That is arranged for; for the moment it is empty, as for the rest of the hospital there are far fewer blesses than I expected.

 Courtesy of the Harvard University Archives

 

 

 

Norman wrote a letter home appealing to the women of Atlanta to help her once again bring Christmas cheer to French soldiers.  In the previous year of 1916 they had sent hundreds of Christmas presents to Norman for her wounded , which was recounted in the post of 30th November 2013.

‘Current Events from a Womens Point of View’

An Appeal from Norman Derr

 Mrs Albert Thornton, chairman of the educational department of the Atlanta Red Cross chapter, has recently received a letter from Miss Norman Derr, who for three years has given her services as a nurse in the French military hospitals.

Miss Derr made a short visit to her relatives in Atlanta in the summer of 1916, and thrilled Atlanta’s Red Cross workers, led by Mrs Richard Johnston with the stories of her hospital work.

Following her address here at the home of Mrs Albert Thornton and elsewhere, Miss Derr was remembered by the Atlanta women who sent her a Christmas box for her soldiers. Still grateful for that, Miss Derr writes about the coming again of Christmas as follows:

“The Christmas tree, I long to realise this year looms gigantic as an ancient cyclopean* whose branches stretch out to the first line trenches over there behind the hill!

Never did anyone have a more glorious opportunity to spread sunshine for beside being so near the scene of action (the German lines are clearly visible from here) and in this hospital alone there are now 3,500 beds which number will be raised to 5,000.  Won’t you fire Atlanta to do something really big for her adopted child lost in this remote picturesque valley in Champagne?  It would be so wonderful to have an Atlanta Christmas of real importance, and when I remember the swiftness and quality of your last year’s effort it seems perfectly reasonable.  On account of the uncertainty of transport, cases should be sent as soon as possible addressed to me.  There are a great many people impressed to give an entire comfort bag who might send an article.   I want just everything I can get, a greed that is excusable under the circumstances!  I purchased instruments with the generous check you sent to me”.

Anyone wishing to contribute to Miss Derr’s Christmas tree for French soldiers may communicate with Mrs Albert Thornton.

* a type of ancient masonry made with massive irregular blocks.

Constitution,  Atlanta,  GA,  Sunday October 28, 1917 with permission of ProQuest Historical Newspapers Atlanta Constitution (1868 -1945)

 

 

 

 

The next letter from Norman was published in October 1917.  However it is clear from the content that Norman wrote this letter much earlier in the year as she talks about picking bluebells and makes reference to events that occurred in July that year.  This letter was first published in a Philadelphia newspaper (date unknown) and was then reprinted in October in the Atlanta Constitution.

Mademoiselle Miss writes from the French War Front

 October 7. 1917

How she stoops to gather bluebells in order to shut out for a moment from her sight the intensity of an airplane bombardment of a hospital in a chateau just back of the front in France is one dramatic detail in an intensely interesting letter by Miss Norman Derr, resident of East Lake, where her brother, Dr. John S. Derr, now lives, until she went to France as Red Cross nurse the author of ‘Mademoiselle Miss,’ the well known war book which is a compilation of her letters from the scene of her services.

Excerpts from the letter, which are taken from a recent edition of The Philadelphia Public Ledger, are of a simple narration of unconscious heroism, which is scarcely surpassed in impressiveness in the best of the war literature.

 Miss Derr’s Letter

Miss Derr says:

 “It is a bit surprising to arrive within two miles of the station to which you have been ordered and to encounter section after section of motorcars, tearing at full speed, laden with the ‘blesses’ you are on your way to take care of, and to learn that shells are dropping all over the very spot you are headed for.  Of course, you won’t hear of turning back, and you only prod the chauffeur to get there as fast as he can. We did stop at the last hill though, just to calculate our chances on the down grade into the hospital park.  One could not have chosen a scene more tragically splendid.  The distances were vast, laid in great masses of golden light and shade, and all the lovely woods and fields were barred with wavering, plumy lines of smoke that belched red flames here and there.

“Just in front of us lay a town whose name you often read and whose twin ruined towers are theory and the grief of all who love the work of the middle ages.  How terribly beautiful they looked then, with the rosy light glinting on their torn windows, rising calm and regnant out of a furious sea of exploding shells!  For three years they have withstood the shock.  Their flowers and jewels are scattered, but their symmetry is yet unspoiled- symbol of the soul of France.

“Airplanes swooped about nervously, bombarding each other; captive balloons bobbed up against the clouds and another shell dropped in the park of the hospital at our feet.  All the air trembled with explosions.  It seemed more like the composition of a master war artist than anything real, and one seemed to be looking at the biograph of the story of the last three years.  It was too intense, and I instinctively stooped to gather the tender bluebells swaying at my feet.  En route again, and we slid down the hill. Just a minute after we passed a big shell hit the roadside.

 Slept Like Babies

 “When we pulled up at the hospital steps all the medical corps met us.  The chief medical officer gravely advanced and informed me that the last ‘blesse’ had been sent away on account of the bombardment and that he left me free to return to my former situation if I preferred.  Perhaps he would not have made the offer if he had seen the papers I carried in my pocket.  At all events, he made no other effort to gainsay my decision to remain than to point silently to an enormous hole, with rays running out like craters in the moon, a few feet from the steps.  My three companions greeted me charmingly- all sweet, fine women- and after dining on a great table in the basement where the provisions are kept we stretched our mattresses on the same table and slept like babes.  I must explain here, lest you think me too phlegmatic, that I had not been to bed for several nights, the care of the wounded at Epernay rendering it impossible.

“That takes me back to my last post and some interesting news.  I wonder if, on Friday evening the sixth of July, at 10:30, you had a vision of me crossing a moonlit town under such a rain of bombs and shrapnel as made the most gorgeous pyrotechnic display you can imagine?  I had just undressed when the first bomb fell.

“I dressed at once, and had I stopped to parley with my good landlady who barred the doorway, declaring that I would be killed if I went out, I should have been caught in the Rue Donyon for after I passed a bomb fell, destroying four houses.  I admit it gave me a queer feeling — there’s a crash of colliding planets and a gush of gas that isn’t pleasant–but somehow I felt that I was being protected, so I didn’t run nor swerve though one of the Bosches was humming just above my head and all the air was filled with flying balls of fire from our brave little seventy five.  When I reached my service, on the second floor of the hospital I found a lot of men nurses with helmets on their heads, and with stretchers too confused to act, and my poor ‘blesses’ lying very frightened in the dark.

 New “Blesses” Arrive

 “As soon as possible I got all who could be moved down into the basement and by the time I had lined them up as comfortably as possible on their stretchers the new ‘blesses’ began to arrive– soldiers, old men, women and children–several dead when they arrived. By this time some of the surgeons appeared, and there being enough to attend to the dressings downstairs and none above, I went back to my floor with two ‘blesses’ — one, a brigadier with both legs blown off, or, to speak more accurately, hanging by a few shreds of tendon.  I gave him serum in floods, and other things, but the shock was too great: he died toward morning, amid unearthly thunders, begging me to comfort his “pauvre femme et les gosses”.

“And so I passed that terrible night, all alone up there under the roof, with only a wounded man to help me.  When the first thrush sang out among the poplars and the town siren shrieked that there was no more danger,I trotted home for my cold bath before beginning another day.  The Bosches had left 300 visiting cards. Imagine the havoc wrought upon the tiny town of Epernay!

“Now that I have a little spare time and nothing to do but watch the airplanes and listen to the big guns off there behind the trees and muse over the enchanting loveliness of my surroundings, I can send you a sketch of my experience.  Such is the spell of the beauty of the chateau and it’s environment that it seems as if no death or danger could ever enter. I have been wonderfully protected, and here, although we are only six miles from the German lines, I believe there is less danger than at Epernay.  They have bombarded this line only twice and may never do it again, there being no strategic reason”.

The Atlanta Constitution: October 7, 1917 with permission of ProQuest Historical Newspapers Atlanta Constitution (1868 -1945)