TRANSCRIBED FROM THE PINE BLUFF DAILY GRAPHIC DECEMBER 16, 1917 PP. 10, 15
November 1917,
My Dear Folks:
I am certainly a stranger in a strange land this night. Picture me away off down here in the south of England not knowing a human soul and moving among people who consider it bourgeois to speak with friendliness to a stranger without a formal introduction. Fortunately the varieties and eccentricities of my fortune since reporting for duty in Washington last September have induced in me a philosophical state of mind and a goodly amount of self-dependence so that I have almost become hardened to the shifty moves of fate.
As I wrote you yesterday from London, my orders assigning me to Aldershot seemed to have been given in an arbitrary fashion so unfortunately, Dr. Travis and I, being alphabetically separated, bide each other farewell this morning, he to go to the north and I to the south. Only one other doctor was ordered here with me, a fellow from Indiana named Aldridge.
He was sent to the Cambridge Surgical hospital and I to the Connaught Medical hospital.
It is a rather long walk to the hospital, but a very interesting one. The road is straight and clean and lined on either side with brick barrack buildings, drilling grounds, and officers’ quarters. And as you walk out the Aldershot road you are greeted by the ringing commands of the drilling masters on all sides, as they send their Sammies scuttling over the green in rapidly changing formations. Overhead is the constant droning of airplanes circling, high in the air. Every road and lane is a pulsating artery of traffic, ambulances, motor vans, trucks, motorcycles, bicycles, moving rapidly along like so many busy corpuscles.
As I returned to my hotel late this afternoon I received two very vivid impressions that I will probably remember after I have forgotten all else. One was the sight of a little group of new recruits, fresh from the train and still dressed in their variously assorted civilian costumes. There were all types of men and they were huddled together outside a jail-like barracks like many homeless sheep with their pitifully small amount of luggage scattered hopelessly around. I feel very thankful for my lot when I see something like that.
And then as I neared the town there came a band of English Tommies all whistling “are you from Dixie” with great gusto. It certainly made me feel funny to hear that old tune in this out-of-way place.
On the first night of my arrival I was invited up to dinner at the R.A.M.C. mess by an American acquaintance. This mess is for members of the Medical Corps of the Royal army, and is one of the oldest and most aristocratic in England. It is in reality an exclusive club. They are domiciled in an old manor house of wonderful architectural beauty. There are light bedrooms which, like most English rooms are as large and cold as Cathedrals. The one fireplace in each roof is so infinitesimally small that you are reminded of a Latern lightening bug on observing the glowing grate in the darkness.
The lounging or clubroom and the banquet hall, however, are remarkable examples of comfort and beauty. Of immense proportions, they are filled with all manner of trophies and curiosities from former British campaigns. The lounging room contains a large fireplace around which the doctors gather in luxurious arm chairs and the atmosphere soon becomes indolent of reminisences and tobacco smoke. They are a good sort, these Englishmen. At first a trifle difficult to get acquainted with, but they thaw out considerably after the first conversation and soon show themselves to be friendly, likable chaps, with quite an unsuspected vein of humor.
I enjoyed meeting the club members immensely and was received most cordially by everyone. At 8 o’clock we all adjourned to the dinning room for dinner.
Every medical officer was required to remove his official Sam Browne belt before sitting down at the table. The ranking officer, a major, was seated first and the others placed themselves in sequence along each side, taking care that no vacant chair be left by the major.
A course dinner was served with Port wine and Madeira. I was instructed to observe two very important customs. The first was to be sure to empty my wine glass completely and the second to keep cigarettes under cover until a signal bell rang at the conclusion of the last report.
After dinner I was presented to the major, who very kindly invited me to take my meals with them, regretting at the same time that he was unable to offer me a room.
Last night, at a small local theater, I was introduced to two English captains from a training camp a few miles north of here. They were kind enough to invite me up there for Sunday with the added inducement of a trip through the camp and an opportunity to get some first-hand information.
This afternoon I met an English surgeon, back from the front on sick leave, and he proved to have such a wonderful fund of pointers and promised to be so useful to me for advise as to my future course that I invited him to tea here.
Papa especially will be surprised at the customs of the English medical men. Here is our routine; We do not report to the hospital until 10 a.m. If a doctor arrives any earlier than that he is not allowed in the wards.
So promptly at 10 o’clock I present myself at the door of my “hut” which is an out-door ward of 20 beds assigned to my care.
Here I am joined by the head nurse or “sister,” and together we start on our official “round” while all the convalescents stand by their beds rigidly at attention.
I visit each man, examine and prescribe for him, and write out his daily diet—a perfect nuisance. At the conclusion of the round I give the order “carry on”—and the men all relax and go about business or pastimes.
When a new case comes in I write up his history and physical examination then wrestle with the diet sheet, which is designed in deference to the food shortage in England. The amount of each article of food must be estimated and tabulated on this sheet.
There are few interesting cases in the huts. They are mostly old chronics or convalescents with an occasional caryza or P.U.O., which means “Pyrexia of Unknown Origin.” Or in other words—the famous trench fever.
All my patients are typical English Tommies and sometimes we experience mutual difficulty in understanding one another. My work in the hut occupies my time from 10 to about 1 o’clock.
I then go up to the hospital to see if my associate, Mr. Hartford, has any work for me in his ward. Between 1 and 2 p.m. the doctors gather in the smoking room for a little conversational recreation, then good-byes are said and we are through for the day. If a doctor feels unusually energetic he can return about 6 p.m. for a last look around but that is considered unnecessary and even superfluous considering the distance of the hospital from Aldershot and the famine of conveyances.
There is a bus system between here and Farmborough, but it is about as unreliable as the English weather. Most officers ride bicycles or horses. I am considering either renting a bicycle or, in the event of not going to the R.A.M.C. mess—of moving to Farmborough, which is only about five minute walk from the hospital.
Don’t think that I am discouraged or dissatisfied with the work here. One of the great things I am here to learn is the so called “Paper Work,” which is fundamental to British medical work.
Of course, I am still very much in the dark over my future work. It is possible that I may be kept in England indefinitely, but it also is very probable that after this preliminary training I shall follow my predecessors into the trenches.
But you must not let the trench idea worry you any more. The British doctor’s is in a dugout entirely safe from fire. Then comes the “Causality” stations, which are miniature base hospitals, very safe, and providing excellent work and experience for the doctors. I also understand that they have practically reduced the mortality among military surgeons to zero. And are taking every effort to conserve the lives of the doctors.
I am in excellent health—never felt better in my life. Am very comfortably clothed and housed with plenty of good food. My work is agreeable and my associates excellent. So don’t worry about me any more. Just be thankful that I have this wonderful opportunity.
I shall certainly keep you advised as to my welfare and whereabout by cable for, as I told you, we are given a special rate of tuppence a word week-ends and a shilling a word immediate delivery.
I may be out of Aldershot by the time you get this. But I really expect to be here at least two months. Read up on the town in the Encyclopedia. It is hard for me to realize that I am actually in this out-of-the-way place so far from all my loved ones.
Later—I am quite reconciled to Aldershot now. Have formed a nice circle of friends and am meeting interesting new people every day.
My service has been increased at the hospital. The expert on malarial fever and tropical diseases—Capt. Harrison, paid me the compliment of asking the medical director for my transfer to his department, so I work with him now and find it very pleasant.
We have about eighteen malarial patients and one ward has been filled up with a shipment of “Convoy” of expeditionaries direct from France. All suffering from trench fever and gassing.
What a wonderful lot of patient, uncomplaining heroes they are—and what a pleasure and honor to be able to minister to them. They are for the most part just young boys—many of them Canadians. I am always glad to see a Canadian come into the ward. They are more like the American and such an admirable lot.
The men from the last Convoy took part in the engagement or “show” at Passamenchale. They suffered severely from the German gas bombs, which now contain the latest Hun chemical product called “Di-Ahlar-Eythl-Sulfide—and is extremely poisonous.
The immediate effects are an overwhelming sensation of suffocation; and acute caryza, gripping, vise-like head pains. Then comes a purulent discharge from the eyes very offensive in character and so abundant that it courses down the cheeks in creamy rivulets. As the gas infiltrated the throat and air-passages, the voice becomes a whisper and terrible tearing coughs wreck the frame. The dazed victim of the invisible fumes, if not entirely overcome, may drag himself to a place of rest and safety only to find that his skin is cracking open in wide shallow ulcerations.
These lesions appear mostly in the practical parts, such as the flexures of the neck, under the arms, in the grain and in the paputeal spaces.
When the Boche uses the Ahlarine gasses, the allies have found the safest antidote is to cover the face with handkerchiefs, and socks saturated in urine. There seems to be some neutralizing action by the Urea present.
Trench fever or “P.U.O.” is an exceeding painful disease and lays the men up for a long and distressing period of time. The pains are always confined to the head and especially the shin bones. A peculiar thing about it is that they grow much worse toward sundown and become so severe during the night that sleep is impossible. One of the men described the sensation to me as comparable to being stretched on a medieval rack—so dear to the dark ages—and feeling as though every wrench of pain would surely pull his bones from their sockets. What wonderful things these poor boys tell of their lives out there. I can hardly wait to get there and do my share.
I am detailed as convoy officer for this week—so may be called out any time of night to meet a trainload of wounded. My duties will be to separate the medical and surgical cases and assign them to their respective hospitals.
FAVRE BALDWEN
NOTES: Josef (Joseph) Favre Baldwin was writing to his aunt, Mrs. F. L. Dilley of Pine Bluff. He was born on August 3, 1892 in Tyler, Texas and died on August 8, 1918, “somewhere in France.” He was first buried in the Frankvillers Cemetery, France, and was later moved to the Oakwood Cemetery in Tyler. His military headstone identifies him as First Lieut. M. C., British Royal Fusiliers serving in the Great War. He volunteered for the medical services in the United States and became attached to the British Medical Department. He was described as being tall and slender with grayish blue eyes and brown hair.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
November 1917,
My Dear Folks:
I am certainly a stranger in a strange land this night. Picture me away off down here in the south of England not knowing a human soul and moving among people who consider it bourgeois to speak with friendliness to a stranger without a formal introduction. Fortunately the varieties and eccentricities of my fortune since reporting for duty in Washington last September have induced in me a philosophical state of mind and a goodly amount of self-dependence so that I have almost become hardened to the shifty moves of fate.
As I wrote you yesterday from London, my orders assigning me to Aldershot seemed to have been given in an arbitrary fashion so unfortunately, Dr. Travis and I, being alphabetically separated, bide each other farewell this morning, he to go to the north and I to the south. Only one other doctor was ordered here with me, a fellow from Indiana named Aldridge.
He was sent to the Cambridge Surgical hospital and I to the Connaught Medical hospital.
It is a rather long walk to the hospital, but a very interesting one. The road is straight and clean and lined on either side with brick barrack buildings, drilling grounds, and officers’ quarters. And as you walk out the Aldershot road you are greeted by the ringing commands of the drilling masters on all sides, as they send their Sammies scuttling over the green in rapidly changing formations. Overhead is the constant droning of airplanes circling, high in the air. Every road and lane is a pulsating artery of traffic, ambulances, motor vans, trucks, motorcycles, bicycles, moving rapidly along like so many busy corpuscles.
As I returned to my hotel late this afternoon I received two very vivid impressions that I will probably remember after I have forgotten all else. One was the sight of a little group of new recruits, fresh from the train and still dressed in their variously assorted civilian costumes. There were all types of men and they were huddled together outside a jail-like barracks like many homeless sheep with their pitifully small amount of luggage scattered hopelessly around. I feel very thankful for my lot when I see something like that.
And then as I neared the town there came a band of English Tommies all whistling “are you from Dixie” with great gusto. It certainly made me feel funny to hear that old tune in this out-of-way place.
On the first night of my arrival I was invited up to dinner at the R.A.M.C. mess by an American acquaintance. This mess is for members of the Medical Corps of the Royal army, and is one of the oldest and most aristocratic in England. It is in reality an exclusive club. They are domiciled in an old manor house of wonderful architectural beauty. There are light bedrooms which, like most English rooms are as large and cold as Cathedrals. The one fireplace in each roof is so infinitesimally small that you are reminded of a Latern lightening bug on observing the glowing grate in the darkness.
The lounging or clubroom and the banquet hall, however, are remarkable examples of comfort and beauty. Of immense proportions, they are filled with all manner of trophies and curiosities from former British campaigns. The lounging room contains a large fireplace around which the doctors gather in luxurious arm chairs and the atmosphere soon becomes indolent of reminisences and tobacco smoke. They are a good sort, these Englishmen. At first a trifle difficult to get acquainted with, but they thaw out considerably after the first conversation and soon show themselves to be friendly, likable chaps, with quite an unsuspected vein of humor.
I enjoyed meeting the club members immensely and was received most cordially by everyone. At 8 o’clock we all adjourned to the dinning room for dinner.
Every medical officer was required to remove his official Sam Browne belt before sitting down at the table. The ranking officer, a major, was seated first and the others placed themselves in sequence along each side, taking care that no vacant chair be left by the major.
A course dinner was served with Port wine and Madeira. I was instructed to observe two very important customs. The first was to be sure to empty my wine glass completely and the second to keep cigarettes under cover until a signal bell rang at the conclusion of the last report.
After dinner I was presented to the major, who very kindly invited me to take my meals with them, regretting at the same time that he was unable to offer me a room.
Last night, at a small local theater, I was introduced to two English captains from a training camp a few miles north of here. They were kind enough to invite me up there for Sunday with the added inducement of a trip through the camp and an opportunity to get some first-hand information.
This afternoon I met an English surgeon, back from the front on sick leave, and he proved to have such a wonderful fund of pointers and promised to be so useful to me for advise as to my future course that I invited him to tea here.
Papa especially will be surprised at the customs of the English medical men. Here is our routine; We do not report to the hospital until 10 a.m. If a doctor arrives any earlier than that he is not allowed in the wards.
So promptly at 10 o’clock I present myself at the door of my “hut” which is an out-door ward of 20 beds assigned to my care.
Here I am joined by the head nurse or “sister,” and together we start on our official “round” while all the convalescents stand by their beds rigidly at attention.
I visit each man, examine and prescribe for him, and write out his daily diet—a perfect nuisance. At the conclusion of the round I give the order “carry on”—and the men all relax and go about business or pastimes.
When a new case comes in I write up his history and physical examination then wrestle with the diet sheet, which is designed in deference to the food shortage in England. The amount of each article of food must be estimated and tabulated on this sheet.
There are few interesting cases in the huts. They are mostly old chronics or convalescents with an occasional caryza or P.U.O., which means “Pyrexia of Unknown Origin.” Or in other words—the famous trench fever.
All my patients are typical English Tommies and sometimes we experience mutual difficulty in understanding one another. My work in the hut occupies my time from 10 to about 1 o’clock.
I then go up to the hospital to see if my associate, Mr. Hartford, has any work for me in his ward. Between 1 and 2 p.m. the doctors gather in the smoking room for a little conversational recreation, then good-byes are said and we are through for the day. If a doctor feels unusually energetic he can return about 6 p.m. for a last look around but that is considered unnecessary and even superfluous considering the distance of the hospital from Aldershot and the famine of conveyances.
There is a bus system between here and Farmborough, but it is about as unreliable as the English weather. Most officers ride bicycles or horses. I am considering either renting a bicycle or, in the event of not going to the R.A.M.C. mess—of moving to Farmborough, which is only about five minute walk from the hospital.
Don’t think that I am discouraged or dissatisfied with the work here. One of the great things I am here to learn is the so called “Paper Work,” which is fundamental to British medical work.
Of course, I am still very much in the dark over my future work. It is possible that I may be kept in England indefinitely, but it also is very probable that after this preliminary training I shall follow my predecessors into the trenches.
But you must not let the trench idea worry you any more. The British doctor’s is in a dugout entirely safe from fire. Then comes the “Causality” stations, which are miniature base hospitals, very safe, and providing excellent work and experience for the doctors. I also understand that they have practically reduced the mortality among military surgeons to zero. And are taking every effort to conserve the lives of the doctors.
I am in excellent health—never felt better in my life. Am very comfortably clothed and housed with plenty of good food. My work is agreeable and my associates excellent. So don’t worry about me any more. Just be thankful that I have this wonderful opportunity.
I shall certainly keep you advised as to my welfare and whereabout by cable for, as I told you, we are given a special rate of tuppence a word week-ends and a shilling a word immediate delivery.
I may be out of Aldershot by the time you get this. But I really expect to be here at least two months. Read up on the town in the Encyclopedia. It is hard for me to realize that I am actually in this out-of-the-way place so far from all my loved ones.
Later—I am quite reconciled to Aldershot now. Have formed a nice circle of friends and am meeting interesting new people every day.
My service has been increased at the hospital. The expert on malarial fever and tropical diseases—Capt. Harrison, paid me the compliment of asking the medical director for my transfer to his department, so I work with him now and find it very pleasant.
We have about eighteen malarial patients and one ward has been filled up with a shipment of “Convoy” of expeditionaries direct from France. All suffering from trench fever and gassing.
What a wonderful lot of patient, uncomplaining heroes they are—and what a pleasure and honor to be able to minister to them. They are for the most part just young boys—many of them Canadians. I am always glad to see a Canadian come into the ward. They are more like the American and such an admirable lot.
The men from the last Convoy took part in the engagement or “show” at Passamenchale. They suffered severely from the German gas bombs, which now contain the latest Hun chemical product called “Di-Ahlar-Eythl-Sulfide—and is extremely poisonous.
The immediate effects are an overwhelming sensation of suffocation; and acute caryza, gripping, vise-like head pains. Then comes a purulent discharge from the eyes very offensive in character and so abundant that it courses down the cheeks in creamy rivulets. As the gas infiltrated the throat and air-passages, the voice becomes a whisper and terrible tearing coughs wreck the frame. The dazed victim of the invisible fumes, if not entirely overcome, may drag himself to a place of rest and safety only to find that his skin is cracking open in wide shallow ulcerations.
These lesions appear mostly in the practical parts, such as the flexures of the neck, under the arms, in the grain and in the paputeal spaces.
When the Boche uses the Ahlarine gasses, the allies have found the safest antidote is to cover the face with handkerchiefs, and socks saturated in urine. There seems to be some neutralizing action by the Urea present.
Trench fever or “P.U.O.” is an exceeding painful disease and lays the men up for a long and distressing period of time. The pains are always confined to the head and especially the shin bones. A peculiar thing about it is that they grow much worse toward sundown and become so severe during the night that sleep is impossible. One of the men described the sensation to me as comparable to being stretched on a medieval rack—so dear to the dark ages—and feeling as though every wrench of pain would surely pull his bones from their sockets. What wonderful things these poor boys tell of their lives out there. I can hardly wait to get there and do my share.
I am detailed as convoy officer for this week—so may be called out any time of night to meet a trainload of wounded. My duties will be to separate the medical and surgical cases and assign them to their respective hospitals.
FAVRE BALDWEN
NOTES: Josef (Joseph) Favre Baldwin was writing to his aunt, Mrs. F. L. Dilley of Pine Bluff. He was born on August 3, 1892 in Tyler, Texas and died on August 8, 1918, “somewhere in France.” He was first buried in the Frankvillers Cemetery, France, and was later moved to the Oakwood Cemetery in Tyler. His military headstone identifies him as First Lieut. M. C., British Royal Fusiliers serving in the Great War. He volunteered for the medical services in the United States and became attached to the British Medical Department. He was described as being tall and slender with grayish blue eyes and brown hair.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT