Normandy Hospital

Copyright Oggbashan July 2021

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the

author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Some of the dialogue would be in French or German but retold in English.

 

I was following a team of Engineers clearing the streets of Caen when the Allies had taken it a few weeks after D-Day 1944. The wreckage of buildings were everywhere but I was hoping the main hospital had survived. I am Major Ian Menzies, surgeon commander of a team of medics and corpsmen who had been operating a field hospital outside Caen before we were, I assume, accidently bombed by some German bombers. We hadn’t lost any men, but half of our ambulances had been destroyed. I hoped we could acquire some more vehicles but the main Caen hospital, if it was still standing, would be a better place to treat the wounded, many of whom would be French civilians.

It took two hours to reach the hospital. I was pleased to see, apart from a few broken windows, that it seemed unscathed. But once inside it was a scene of chaos. There was no power to the hospital and the staff were working by feeble hurricane lamps, even the surgeons trying to operate. In one of our surviving trucks we had some Tilley Lamps which would give much better illumination. We fetched them and set them up in the two operating theatres. I went to the REME unit which had been following us and pleaded for a truck mounted generator. Their task was to try to restore electricity for Caen and the mains water supply. They didn’t have a spare generator but the Brigadier in charge sent a Lieutenant to plead with an American unit still approaching Caen. I also mentioned our lack of ambulances and shortage of medical supplies, particularly penicillin.

Half an hour later an American Army truck, prominently marked with a Red Ball, halted outside the hospital.

The Lieutenant got out followed by a large black man in GI uniform. The American private saluted me.

The lieutenant said: “This private is on loan from your American allies for as long as you need him, Major.”

“Thank you very much, Lieutenant. I’m sure he will be a great asset.”

The lieutenant saluted and walked away.

“Private Sam Owens, reporting on loan from your Allies, Sir. I have medical supplies on board, and a generator truck should be here within a quarter of an hour, Sir.”

“Thank you very much, Sam,” I said. “But you have been wounded.”

I could see blood on his right sleeve and burn marks on his face.

“Those pesky Germans blew my other truck off the road, Sir. I have been told not to drive too far until I have recovered so I can do collections and deliveries in and around Caen, but not up to the front line yet, Sir.”

“Have your wounds been treated, Private?”

“Only by me, Sir.”

“Then come in and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Yes, Sir.”

One of the medics carefully removed Sam’s jacket and shirt to reveal awkwardly tied bandages. The wounds were not serious but they were dressed properly and his facial burns were treated with burns ointment. In the meantime my men had unloaded Sam’s truck and were marvelling at the range and quantity of medical supplies they had been given. The medical supplies filled an unused office near the hospital’s entrance. Almost as soon as they had finished an American generator truck appeared. With an hour my REME friends had connected it up and the whole hospital had power. Only then did I meet the French hospital director who had been performing surgery by paraffin lights.

“We are at 95% capacity,” He said. “We will expect more civilians when the roads are clear. But we are short of everything, including staff. The Germans took away all our male staff, our supplies and our ambulances.”

“Supplies?” I said. “Look in here.”

I showed him the cluttered office. He was nearly in tears at the sight of so much.

“How many patients are there at present?” I asked.

“We have twenty Americans, fifteen British, five Canadians, forty Germans and sixty civilians.”

“Are any fit enough to evacuate?”

“About a third of the civilians could be discharged to be outpatients. Most of the military could be moved except one or two. But we have no transport to take them away.”

“And I have only three ambulances and one open truck left. And now Sam’s truck. It would take nearly a whole day to take them all to Arromanches but we could.”

“That would be wonderful. I expect dozens, if not hundreds, of civilians. The bombing killed or wounded so many.”

“OK. Can you make sure that those that could be moved are ready tomorrow?”

“Will do. Can you come around with me and see the patients?”

Of course. I’ll bring some of my staff as well. Most of them have only a bare competence in French and only a few words in German. They’ll have to learn, fast.”

As we went around my staff detached themselves by certain patients to treat them with the supplies we now had. They needed the French nurses with the civilians to translate and to explain what was wrong with each patient. The French nurses were impressed with the competence of my corpsmen.

The Director stopped outside a small room.

“We don’t normally put the men and women together but these two are interesting. Beware. The German is very angry and annoyed with himself.”

“Why?”

“He was an officer in the Hitler Youth Brigade. He was severely wounded but wanted to set up as a sniper to kill more Allies. He entered a wrecked building and climbed to the top but the roof had collapsed and a fire had just started. He found a Frenchwoman there trapped by a heavy beam across her legs. Despite his wounds he tried to get the beam off her, using his rifle as a lever. He had just succeeded in freeing her and was treating her leg wounds when some GIs found and captured him.

He was angry because he couldn’t defend himself. He only had his ornamental dagger which he waved at the GIs who laughed at him because he really hadn’t the strength to do anything with it. The woman had been trapped for three days and her wounds had festered. The fire, put out by the GIs, could have burned her alive. The GIs brought both of them here but the woman wouldn’t be separated from her rescuer. While she is with him, he calms down a little, but he is still angry.”

He opened the door and we went in. There were two beds. In one was a Frenchwoman in her forties. The other bed had a fresh-faced boy who scowled at us. A gold decorated sheathed dagger hung at the bed head.

“Marie? This is British Major Menzies who is now in charge of this hospital. He has brought medical supplies which we can now use on your legs. And Hans, your wounds will be treated better now. Both of you should recover fully after a while.”

“Over lieutenant Hans Wolfgang?” I said in German. “The Director has told me about your rescue of Marie. For that?”

I reached in my vest pocket and produced a medal. He flinched as I approached him. I pinned it on the ragged remains of his tunic.

“What is this?” He growled at me.

“That is a Red Cross Gold Medal for saving lives.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means, among other things, that you will be given respect and courtesy by your enemies for risking your life to save another. You will be better treated than most prisoners of war.”

“Which I wouldn’t have been…”

“Except you stopped to save me, Hans.” Marie said.

“I shouldn’t have done. I should have killed Americans…” Hans said.

“But you did, and I am grateful,” Marie said.

My corpsmen injected penicillin into both of them and redressed their wounds. The Director and I left them talking.

“Hans is probably our worst wounded,” The Director said. “He has lost two fingers on his left hand and both hands are damaged. We have removed as much shrapnel as we could see, but now we have power to the X-ray machine we need to look for more. How he got that beam off Marie? He must have been in intense pain.”

As we went back to the hospital entry GI Sam saluted me.

“Sir? Have you got fifty dollars?”

“Yes, Sam. Why?”

“One of the other drivers has found a German clothing depot. He was going to loot it but he would sell it to me for fifty dollars.”

“What is there?”

“Hundreds of German uniforms from privates to officers, badges etc and rolls of field grey cloth.”

“OK, Sam. Thank you.”

I handed over fifty dollars.

“Why?” The Director asked.

“Many of the Germans have damaged uniforms. When they leave us they should look like soldiers. For the Allies I can probably get uniforms from the quartermasters but German ones? Not easy. And the cloth could be used for the civilians.”

“OK. But we have more urgent needs than that like food. We have only enough for the rest of today and there is a severe shortage in the whole town. The office you have put the medical supplies in is too small. But before the Germans arrived we had nearly completed an annexe. It is just empty rooms but could be made secure otherwise some of your stuff might be looted.”

He showed me the rooms that would have been three new wards but there were no services such as electricity or lighting.

“When Sam comes back I’ll send him to the quartermasters. I can issue a chit to the British ones, but Sam might be able to persuade the American ones to supply the American patients. It might be field rations but it would be better than nothing.”

+++

Sam needed help to unload the German clothing. He went off to try to find food while I sorted out the allocation of my staff to help the French ones.

Sam was back in two hours.

“Major? I have food, but no uniforms yet. The supply officers are waiting for deliveries. You want me to go to Arromanches tomorrow?”

“Yes, Sam. We need to evacuate all those who can be moved.”

“OK. I have been told there is a dump near Arromanches where damaged vehicles are put. There are hundreds of vehicles there not being touched because so many new ones are still arriving every day. If you could give me a request to the officer guarding those vehicles I might be able to find some supplies, and if the RASC can lend you a couple of mechanics we might be able to repair an ambulance or truck.”

“Another vehicle would be useful, Sam. I’ll get my clerk to type a request for the dump and send someone to the RASC.”

+++

By mid-afternoon of the following day all the patients who were fit to be moved had been taken to a hospital ship in the Mulberry Harbour at Arromanches. But we had admitted another forty Caen civilians and were very busy. Sam returned, beaming all over his face.

“Major Menzies? That dump is a treasure trove. I found your damaged ambulances, all beyond repair, but I have taken the supplies out of them. The RASC mechanics think they can fix another two ambulances by tomorrow and possibly another truck. But I have come in a refrigerated truck full of meat. The radiator was holed and the dynamo smashed — now replaced, but the load cooling system was still working. Have you got any French liberation francs?”

“Yes, Sam. Why this time?”

“The meat is frozen carcasses which need a proper butcher. I have found a French butcher’s shop who could prepare the meat. He said he would undertake to supply the hospital with all the meat he can, if we pay him one thousand francs so he can reemploy his assistants.”

“And he gets the meat free?”

“Yes. Sir.”

“How much meat?”

“About five tons, sir. If it isn’t dealt with soon it will go off.”

“OK, Sam. It sounds like a good deal. I’ll just write a chit to the clerk and you can have the francs.”

+++

We transferred Hans Wolfgang to the X-ray room. He and Marie insisted that she should come with him but she had to stay out of the room when the X-ray was working. As we feared, Hans still had a half-dozen pieces of shrapnel in his body. We took him straight from the X-ray room to surgery and I removed all the pieces while Hans was under general anaesthetic. One of my orderlies had found a replacement uniform for Hans. I asked Marie if she could sew. She was indignant.

“I was a professional dressmaker, Major,” she exploded.

“Good. Can you transfer Hans’ badges, or replacements, to a new uniform for him? Or perhaps two sets, one as a spare. He needs to look like an officer, not a ragged tramp.”

“Yes, Sir. That is the least I can do for him. I owe him my life even if he regrets stopping to help me.”

Marie was understating the help she was giving to Hans. His hands were bandaged almost like boxers’ gloves and he could do nothing for himself. I heard him protesting sometimes but Marie reminded him that she was old enough to be his mother, and so shut up.

Two weeks later we decided that we could do no more for Hans who needed specialist care for his hands. We arranged for him to be evacuated and taken to the Haslar hospital in Gosport, near Portsmouth, where specialist surgeons could try to patch up his hands. Marie insisted on accompanying him to look after him on the ship and ensure he had appropriate nursing care once in Haslar. It took me a lot of form filling, and some white lies, to get Marie on the ship. She was given a French voluntary Red Cross nurse’s uniform to back up my white lies.

She had allowed Sam, who had been sleeping on a trolley in the hospital, to move into her house to make sure it was protected from looters. He had done more than that. He had found materials and volunteers to repair the house’s roof and even, from I don’t know where, found glass to replace the shattered windows. Even before Marie left with Hans, her house was in good repair, looking as it had done before the war. It was now being used as a base for Sam’s Red Ball colleagues, much better than Army tents they had used before.

+++

Marie wrote to me several times a week, mainly about the operations on Hans’ hands. After three weeks he could use the first finger and thumb on each hand, although he found them very painful. But she was more worried about his attitude. He had surrounded himself with other members of the Hitler Youth Regiments, all of whom were dedicated Nazis and still believed that Hitler could win the war with his wonder V weapons. They didn’t believe the British Media’s accounts of the Russian advances in the East, and when the Germans lost the Battle of the Bulge, they were almost incredulous — it must be a lie.

She felt that Hans didn’t need her anymore, because his Hitler Youth soldiers would do anything for him, and she hated the dedicated and fanatic Nazi he had now revealed himself to be. Could I get her back to Caen, somehow, please, and soon?

One of my previous white lies proved useful. With the help of the French medical director, and the matron, I had said that Marie was a qualified Red Cross nurse who had been working in Caen for nearly two years and was due to take her second-year examination a month before she was injured. The nurses had helped by trying to give her a crash course so that my deception was not discovered and she had backdated forged certificates and records to prove my lie.

Nursing Hans had given her the practical experience she had been lacking, and while at Haslar, she had taken and passed in English, her second-year examination successfully with distinction. The examiner had commented that taking the exam, and doing so well, in a foreign language, was incredible. I was able to claim that she was an essential part of the Caen hospital team and please could we have her back, please?

It took about a month before Marie returned to Arromanches on a hospital ship. I had sent Sam to collect her. She arrived in a British red Cross uniform with two stripes to show that she had passed two examinations, even if only one was genuine.

Sam was pleased to deliver Marie to my office.

Marie laughed as Sam explained.

“She’s been an embarrassment, major. As soon as she saw me, she was all over me, hugging and kissing. I had to hold her off because all the surrounding soldiers were amused and the white Americans incredulous.”

“But I love Sam,” Marie said. “Not only did he welcome me back to France, but he had made my house back into a home again. He has minimised what he has done, but in war-shattered Caen, what he has achieved is incredible. And I love you too Major…”

Sam left hurriedly as Marie demonstrated just how much she loved me.

When she stopped kissing me and let me breathe I asked:

“Why, Marie?”

“You lied like a trooper to get me to England to look after Hans. A two year nurse? I wasn’t.”

She touched the stripes on her cape.

“But I am now — fully qualified. You said I am an essential part of your staff. That’s what I am going to be. Major. I’m not letting you go. I will beside you whenever you are working as your interpreter, not that you need much of that. Your French is good but your German isn’t. I will also be your secretary. I can type in French, English and German and the corpsman you have been using can resume his medical duties. You don’t have to agree. I’m doing it.”

I couldn’t reply. Marie was kissing me.

+++

Over the next few months, as the Allies front line moved further away, the numbers of wounded soldiers reduced but we were still the hospital to accept troops before they were evacuated via Arromanches. It wasn’t until late 1944 when the allies had taken Antwerp and cleared the Scheldt, that the steady number of troops declined to a trickle, only to peak again during and after the Battle of the Bulge.

Marie had done all she had said she would. Not only was she an invaluable assistant at the hospital, she made sure I ate properly, and had adequate sleep, not also easy when there was a rush of wounded, whether civilian or Allied troops. Although she and Hans continued to write to each other, she was becoming extremely exasperated with his still extreme Nazi views. She was grateful to him for saving her life, but annoyed that he still thought he should not have done.

My staff liked Marie but some thought she had claimed me, not just as the hospital director, but as someone she loved. She kept contrasting my attitude to German wounded, and to treating everyone, whether civilian, Allied troops or Germans as equal patients requiring the best care for whatever needed doing with Hans view of the Germans as the master race and everyone else as lesser beings. As I did, so did all my staff whether British or French. We were health professionals first and the nationality of those we were treating was irrelevant.

By March 1945, the hospital had almost resumed its pre-war work pattern, treating the local Caen civilians, not for the wounds of battle but for more normal conditions such as cancer and heart roubles. My workload was lessened but still substantial. Sam’s abilities to find anything we needed was invaluable, even if I had to adjust the hospital’s accounts to cover up bribes that Sam was making. Sam and his Red Ball friends staying in Marie’s house, equipped it with salvaged items, mainly from the Arromanches vehicle dump, but after Antwerp was available to be used as a supply port, only Sam was left to occupy the house with Marie — except when she invited me there for a meal. She was obviously prepared to offer more, if I wanted it, but I was often too tired, and yes, even too stupid, to follow up her hints until the start of April 1945 when it was clear that the Germans were almost defeated.

Marie, Sam and I were sitting in Marie’s dining room finishing a superb pre-war Burgundy that Sam had found – no questions to be asked – when Marie proposed to me. I was startled.

“Major,” Sam said. “It is not my place to advise an officer, but I think you should accept. Marie is a superb cook and she loves you. I’ll leave you two alone.”