Two separate accounts of Zeppelins [or just the fear of] at night:

The Diary of a Zepp. Night

By a Girl Orderly

(Passed by Censor)

9.15. – Night Sister blows in rather hurriedly. “All lights out, and just run round to the other wards.” Start off on my travels, beginning by badly barking my shins on a radiator. Make a frantic dive for the door and land with a resounding crash into a screen. Start once more, and eventually arrive – falling over every possible object en route. Dash upstairs and drop metal matchbox down well of staircase with a noise like several bombs. Await result in palpitating silence. Nothing happens; so “carry on.”

9.45 – Suffering from shock and ready for anything. See figure silhouetted against window. Ask what it’s doing out of bed, and find it’s a statue of ____ that adorns the ward. Retire crushed.

10p.m. – Frenzied search for respirators and solution by matchlight. Wake most of the patients with the striking, and singe hair and eyebrows – but success attends my efforts. All is prepared. Do you worst, O Hun!

10.15 – Obtain electric torch, and, shrouding it in kit handkerchiefs, go forth in search of adventure and, incidentally, of Night Sister. Am asked by a gentleman if I can direct him to L. Offer him the services of my glow-worm, and put him on the broad road that leadeth to L. The same old tale again, I suppose: Cherchez la femme.

10.30 – Fire in side ward insists on blazing. Damp its ardour, but it bursts forth afresh every few minutes. On ordinary occasions to look at it is to put it out. Tonight it needs a pint or so of water every half-hour (more or less) – illustrating the cussedness of things as they are.

11 – Toast feet on radiator and search the heavens for the foe. Nothing doing.

11.30 – Still nothing doing.

12 midnight – Suspense is wearying. Decide to have supper. Cook something – bacon by the smell thereof – make coffee, and pour three parts down the sink in the endeavour to strain it. Eat and drink in solid darkness; but all is tasteless, dust and ashes as it were. Queer what a difference sight makes to flavour.

12.15 – A tiny light comes down the ward, swaying and dancing through the blackness. Is it a fallen star or a Will o’ the Wisp on his nightly travels? ‘Sneither – but our “Lady of the Lamp” on her midnight round. And the news she brings: “Raid in the ___ district; nothing definite.” Cheering. Will they blow us up en masse or a ward at a time? Take a gloomy survey of my past, and speculate on the chances of arriving “there” whole or in portions.

12.45 – Patrol the ward, pitying the unsuspecting patients slumbering regardless of peril!

1 – 3. – A not very lucid interval.

3.15 – Another visit from the Lady of the Lamp. No tidings either way. Why, or why, did I leave my happy home to come on night duty?

4 a.m. – Dawn begins to lighten our darkness, and the order “Lights out” coincides with the running of the first train to be released. It dashes through with a whoop of triumph and defiance, and I pull myself together and decide that it’s not such a bad life after all.

Katherine M. Fish

THE FIRST ZEPPELIN RAID

As seen by some of the Nursing Staff

We had been warned so often that to me it was almost a cry of “Wolf! Wolf!”

I was just going to bed, when I heard a noise which sounded like far-off knocking. I listened, and it was repeated at very short intervals. Then I heard a voice from below say, “There they are!” I thought to myself, “Zeppelins,” so, picking up the pup (as my most valuable possession), I flew downstairs, and joined Cpl. Hunwick on the front step.

It was very dark – a darkness that could be felt. When I got accustomed t it, I saw an oblong object, surrounded by light, travelling very quickly away from us. The guns by this time were very loud, and we could see the firing quite distinctly. After a short time I saw a second Zep., not as distinctly as the first. Then all sorts of rumours began to spread. Victoria Station being destroyed was the principal one, I think.

The Nursing Staff in one house were very disturbed. One Sister, who was in bed, jumped out, crying “They are bombing us!” dressed at lightning speed (even to putting on her cuffs), and was heard to mutter, as she disappeared in the darkness, “Let me die with the men.” Some time later I saw the same lady, quite collected, going back to her rooms, and on enquiring what she was doing in hospital at that time of night was told that if she had to die she would much rather die in her ward with “her men” than escape being hurt if they were in danger.

Another poor thing in the same house was left to turn out all the lights, which was such a lengthy proceeding that the Zeppelins were almost back in their own country when she got outside to see them. Another Sister, after making elaborate preparations in the cellar (and spoiling numerous garments with candle grease in doing so), went to bed and slept soundly. On hearing the news next morning she was furious, and could not think why she had not been wakened to go to the cellar!

Since then we have repeatedly been “warned.” On one occasion we were at a concert. I shall never forget the feeling it gave one to see all the men engrossed in their concert, singing at the top of their voices, and listening afterwards to Mr. Dion Cane recite “The Hell-gate of Soissons,” while a few of us who were “in the know” listened with the other ear and half expected – well, things we do not even dare think of.

EDITH HOLDEN

[Matron]