I dated a lot but my heart still belonged to Sarky whom I wrote every day. In one letter he told me that he was leaving his squadron adjutant post in southern Italy to take parachute training in Rome. Just because we wrote every day did not mean that we received mail daily. Service was erratic, some days would bring 8 letters and then none for a week. I hadn't heard from Sarky for almost two weeks, when one of his letters reported that he was hospitalized with jaundice. I wrote that I would try to obtain leave to see him, that I would leave word at the Red Cross club in Rome.
I then put in for a leave and asked to be relieved of flights until the leave arrived. I waited several days, realized it would probably take a long time, so I went back to flight duty. I took care of a load of patients en route to Newfoundland and, as soon as I arrived, I asked a friend at base operation to arrange the first possible return to the Azores. About six hours later I had a call at the nurses barracks that there was an immediate flight out. I ran down to the airfield and boarded the plane. As we were taxiing down the runway the plane suddenly stopped and returned to the airport. The door opened and a captain appeared and told all medical personnel to get off and follow him. Reluctantly I, an M.D., and a couple of other nurses got off.
We were taken to the local army hospital and told that there had been a plane crash and that we were needed to care for the patients who would arrive shortly. The huge transport plane had crashed earlier in the day into a mountain in a remote part of the island, where rescue teams had immediately been sent. It was now about 4 P.M. so we all donned patient gowns over our uniforms and prepared; put up surgical packs, rolled bandages, checked oxygen and plasma supplies. We put hot water bottles in the beds because we knew that after the long interim patients would be in shock. We ate, drank coffee and got acquainted as we waited.
About 7 P.M. the crash victims began to arrive, all unconscious or in shock. One of the nurses did triage, quickly surveying patient injuries, sending some to surgery and others to the patient ward we had setup. A couple of nurses and a doctor went to surgery, another doctor and three nurses worked in the ward. The doctor in charge of our patient unit quickly assessed each entering patient as he was put to bed, barked out some emergency orders and we went to work. All of the patients were badly burned and had to be debrided (dead tissue cut away) before we could bandage their burns. We cut away the dead burned skin down to where it was raw skin and bleeding and then we covered the area with sterile Vaseline gauze, wrapped the area with sheet wadding and then roll or ace bandages. Intravenous solutions were started on all the patients and oxygen given to those most in need.
The first patient I approached I recognized as a medical tech with whom I had flown a flight or two. His eyes were open; he couldn't close them because his lids were burned off, but he was conscious. "Is there someplace you hurt, Thompson," I asked. "Yes, nurse, but only my right hip. I looked where he indicated and saw that it was the only place where he did not have a third degree burn. I gave him oxygen, the doctor did an IV cutdown. I started the IV fluid and began to care for his burns. By now he was unconscious.
Some 25-28 patients were admitted to the ward and as soon as we finished with one patient we ran to care for another. About 5 A.M. the next morning we began relieving each other for coffee or cigarette breaks. By then five or six patients had died, including Thompson. About 9 A.M. we got a new group of personnel to relieve us, went back to our barracks to sleep with orders to report back in 10 hours. During the next day only 10 patients remained, the others had died. My friend Kay was one of the nurses on duty. She and I found a mutual acquaintance among the patients, a middle-aged civilian who had made out income tax returns for anyone wanting the aid. Kay and I had gone out for dinner with him in the Azores and had spent a pleasant evening chatting with him.
He never gained consciousness but Kay and I spent a lot of time at his bedside caring for him. After he died we wrote his wife. By the end of the third day all but two of the patients had died and they would be transferred to the states as soon as their condition permitted. Nurses were needed to perform special duty, one for each shift, so we drew straws. I was one of those drawing special duty. I was itching to get back to my base to see if my leave had been granted but it also felt good to be useful. About 10 days later the two patients were in good enough condition for stateside travel and I returned to my base. What Joy! My leave had come through but new dates had to be issued for 10 days in Rome. No new letters from Sarky so I had to assume he was still there. I was allowed to use military transport but as I had the lowest priority hitching a ride was up to my own ingenuity. I talked to the Lt. in base operations and he made arrangements to fly me to Casablanca (it wasn't hard because we had frequently dated).
I joined a load of USO performers, one being Leo Durocher, well-known manager of the New York Giants (or was it the Yankee baseball team?) We landed in Casablanca around 6 P.M. and I went into town on a military truck, staying at a hotel taken over by our military, with displaced persons working at the desk. I showed my orders to get a room and the clerk said one would be available around 9-10 P.M. I learned about war shortages when the clerk said he hoped I would not mind having no clean sheets. "Oh, please, couldn't you find me just one clean sheet?” “It's OK, dearie, the last person to stay in the room was an American,” he said.
The next A.M. I was up early and made my way back out to the airfield to see if I could hitch a ride to Naples. After asking many questions and running from office to office I ended up at a major's desk and learned he was in charge base operations. On his desk I b noticed a photo of a pretty woman and two small children. I'd better appeal to his family nature I thought, so I told him of my poor boyfriend whom I had not seen for almost a year and now he was deathly ill in Rome. A few tears rolled down my cheeks, not enough to redden my nose and eyes though. I ended my story by saying, "I'm sure that as a husband you know how I feel about a loved one." The major became very sympathetic and said that if I was willing to take any kind of air transport he could get me out by the next day or evening.
About 8 P.M. he called me at the hotel and said he could get me out at midnight if I didn't mind riding on mailbags. I was there on time, given an army blanket and used mailbags as mattress and pillow. We landed in Morocco for refueling and the crew and I had tea and crumpets at a small airbase canteen. It was my first taste of English tea - all creamed and sugared. About 0700 we landed in Naples, the sun was shining, a good omen I thought as I hurried to the departure desk.
I showed my orders to the desk sgt. and asked if he could get me a flight to Rome." Rome is socked in and no U.S. planes are flying now" he told me. I began to weep. The sgt. became very concerned and asked me what the problem was, so I told him my story. “How long has it been since you've heard from your boy friend?" he asked. I admitted that it was about three weeks and that I didn't know his current status but that I was willing to chance seeing him in Rome if he was still there. He threw these questions at me - "Do you speak Italian? Do you know anyone in Rome? What will you do if you get there and he isn't there?" I told him I didn't speak the language, knew no one in Rome and didn't know what I would do if Sarky was not there.
"Maybe we can work out a deal" he said. "I'm being transferred there in a few days and if your boy friend isn't there maybe you'd let me show you around. I speak the language." "Sure," I said, "if my boy friend isn't there I'd be happy to go out with you.” Well, dry your eyes, Lt., I'll find you a ride somehow. Go down to the cafeteria, have breakfast and I should have some news for you when you return." When I returned he advised me "Polish up your Limey accent: I got you a ride on a British plane. They fly when U.S. boys won't.
I thanked him effusively as he admonished me, "Don't forget our agreement, leave me a message at the Red Cross club if you don't locate your boy friend." I ran down to the airfield and jumped on the English transport plane. It was a short hop to Rome. The fog had lifted but it was still pretty much of a grey day in October, 1944.
I immediately made my way to the Red Cross club and asked if there was a message for me, if not in my name, in Lt. Mercer's name. No message. I told the desk sgt. that my boy friend had finished jump school but was still in the hospital. He said he would call out to the airborne base for me. It took a long time but he finally got through. The message was, yes, they had had a Lt. Mercer but that he had been gone from the base for over a week. No more details.
I couldn't help it, so near and yet so far: I began to cry. The sympathetic clerk asked me what the trouble was and I told him. After hearing my story he murmured "Oh, you poor kid. We usually book nurses with the Red Cross gals but you need the company of some fellows. I'm going to send you to the Hotel Regina." I was still sobbing and couldn't care less what happened to me now. He gave me the directions to the hotel and I started walking up the street, very sad and self-concerned. Many little children ran up to me, asking for chewing gum and money. I'm afraid I really didn't pay much attention to them. I soon reached the hotel and handed my travel orders to the clerk. His eyebrows raised as he said: "I don't know why you are here; this hotel is for males, flying officers stay here on their rest and recreation leaves. "Oh, well, perhaps they ran out of room at the Red Cross club. Your room is 337·"
I could have cared less. I went up to my room and sobbed myself to sleep, waking up about 5 P.M., took a bath in the big old tub - hard to do without a plug but I stuffed a wash cloth in the drain - and went down to the dining room. It was really a nice hotel, or once had been. A little shabby but it still had all the amenities. The dining room did not open until 1900. Musicians were playing and there were white tablecloths on display. I sat out in the lobby until the dining room opened. There were many Americans in uniform milling around but I saw no other female. I heard a couple of fellows across from me say: "I bet she's an American." The other officer said: "No, she' a French." They finally came over and were delighted to learn I was an American. They asked me to join them for a drink but I said I was too weary. About four or five others stopped and asked to join them for a drink but, being low in spirits, I again declined.
Finally, two nice-looking officers came up and introduced themselves, said they had noticed that I looked a bit down and they felt that I needed some cheering up. They suggested we go to the bar and imbibe their famous cheerful drink. They made me smile but I said, no. They stayed on, trying to cheer me up, asking how I got there and all that. In fact, they were so persistent that I told them my story and they finally persuaded me to join them for a drink.
"I'm Bill Taylor," said one, "and this my co-pilot, Andy Davie. Now for the vermouth and goat's milk, Guaranteed to pick up one's spirits. Besides, it's the only drink available." Well, I tried it and it wasn't half-bad - not good but not too bad. They were right; I did feel better afterwards and was able to give a big smile when a roving photographer snapped our picture. We shortly went into the nice dining room and, after a diet of army chow, I found the meal heavenly. Bill and Andy decided that they should show me some Rome night spots. We had such a good time that I almost forgot my problem.
Early the next morning all three went to St. Paul's Church for services. When in Rome do as the Romans do. Then we took a carriage ride and a taxi to see the Coliseum where gladiators used to duel to the death. We toured the town square and viewed the balcony from which Mussolini used to orate, We stood in a long line waiting to see the opera Aida but just as we got to the front we were told all tickets were sold out. "Well," said Bill, "we can always go to the Red Cross club; they have a dance on Sunday afternoons “So we did and this place was packed. I saw a Lt in jump boots and decided to go over to ask him if he knew Sarky, As I introduced myself the paratrooper he said: "You look familiar." "Not me", I said, "I've never been here before. However, I have a boy friend who was at jump school here and I wonder if you might know him - .a Lt. Lyle Mercer." "I sure do," he said quickly, and now I know why your face is familiar: he keeps your picture on his foot locker."
My heart began to pound as I excitedly inquired as to his current whereabouts. "He was sent to a replacement depot in Marseilles just a few days ago." I asked him if he thought I could see him if I could get there. "Don't see why not", was his response.
I hurried back to Bill and told him the latest development in my soap opera. We stayed and danced a while longer and, to my amazement, I met a friend from my flight school days. She was based right outside of Rome and nursed patients flown mostly to Naples and Corsica. I told her that Bill knew several pilots and that he was going to try to get me on a flight to Marseilles in the morning. "If you don't make it", she said, "come out and spend some time with us; maybe we can find you a ride."
When we returned to the hotel, Bill made the arrangements for both of us to fly to Marseilles the next morning after we got up at 1500 hours. After awakening I hurriedly dressed and ran down to the lobby to join Bill. Bad news: a zero ceiling and no lanes flying. I was disappointed but had breakfast with Bill and Andy and told them goodbye. I planned to go out and visit my fellow flight nurse and I didn't know if I'd return before they left the next day. We promised to write each other.
I called Marge and she told me how to get to her place by army bus. After I arrived we had supper and then went to a party with some of her friends. It seemed that there were no flights to Marseilles from this base but there were from Corsica. So Marge asked one of the pilots who was flying a load of patients to Corsica the next morning if I could go along so I could hook a flight to Marseilles; he agreed.
We went home early as we had to be up at 0400 hours. When Marge awoke me I learned that, once again, bad weather made flights impossible. Several of us were sitting around after breakfast in the nurses' dayroom when one of them had a call. It was from a friend stationed in Dijon, France, but in Rome to pick up and return with plane parts. "Say," said my new acquaintance, "could you take a flight nurse back to Dijon with you?" "Sure," the pilot responded, "if she can be down on the air field in ten minutes.” We grabbed a jeep and barreled down to the field. Marge explained that there were Marseilles flights daily from Dijon, that she would go to my hotel, pick up my flight bag and send it on to me in the Azores (I got it back two months later). I thanked her as I jumped aboard and joined the pilot and co-pilot in the cockpit.
They asked why I wanted to go to Dijon and I told them, with a few tears here and there. I was so excited I could hardly enjoy viewing the Swiss Alps and parts of Europe which I had read about but never seen. My story stirred the romantic inclinations of the pilot who then said he would drop me off in Marseilles. I could have kissed him!
It was around 5 P.M. when we landed at the small airfield some 18 miles outside of the seaport city. After taking me to the small base operations building the pilot said goodbye and the transport plane took off again. I introduced myself to the captain in charge. He appeared enchanted with my story, immediately called the replacement depot and asked for Sarky who, he was told, had shipped out to Dijon that morning. When I burst into tears the captain told me not to worry. "Listen, we have flights to Dijon every morning and I'll get you out on one at 0700. Meanwhile, you need a place to sleep tonight. I know a French family a few miles away who will put you up, OK?" I dried my eyes and agreed. Shortly he was off duty and we got into his open jeep. It was cold so he covered me with an army blanket. As we drove along we passed a replacement depot for enlisted men (where new assignments are made). He stopped the jeep, saying that he was going to check for further information. "You should never take the first message you get in the army as correct. We'll try and confirm the first report.
We could see small fires with GIs standing around them, trying to keep warm. He was directed to a slightly larger headquarters tent. We drove up and the captain talked to a sgt. who said he would call the officers' replacement depot. He cranked a call out on the field telephone. The call was a long time getting through. The sgt. turned to me and said: "He's there; someone is going to get him. I couldn't believe my ears as I heard: "This is Pete, Mercer's roommate; who is this?" "Will you tell him it's Bobby." The next thing I heard was: "Bobby, what the hell are you doing here?"
I was so excited that I could hardly talk but I did manage to tell him where I was and that I would meet him at the Red Cross club in town as soon as possible. His camp was some 8 miles from Marseilles and he said he'd be there as soon as possible. The captain was as elated as I was as we jumped back into the jeep and headed for the Red Cross club. Funny thing, it didn't even seem cold to me anymore.
Comments
Post a Comment
Comments