V.A.D. Norah Sullivan (Mrs. H. Flint)V.A.D. Nurses Urgently Need Reinforcements from CanadaToronto StarThursday, July 26, 1917Transcribed by: M. I. Pirie V.A.D. Nurses Urgently Need Reinforcements from Canada Mrs. Harold Flint Tells of the Heroism of the Men and of the Willingness of the Staff to Work Any Length of Time to Make Them Comfortable and Happy. A letter received from Mrs. Harold Flint, formerly Miss Norah Sullivan, daughter of the late Bishop Sullivan and Mrs. Sullivan, who has been doing V.A.D. work in England since the beginning of the war, gives and interesting account of the work of the V.A.D. and shows how badly they are needed in England. She says: On Thursday I left the hospital, expecting a week's leave, but was immediately recalled, as nine new cases had come in, five very bad. When I got there I found Miss M---- and myself were the only available V.A.D.'s. Our hours are from 7:30 a.m. until 9 p.m., as we now have double duty. In the afternoon we have a short time off for tea, etc., but one of us has to be in charge all the time. You cannot imagine what a rush it is with nineteen men to look after in our ward, and two to do it all. Describing the different men in the war, she goes on to say: One poor man who is quite helpless lies on his face and looks ghastly. You can imagine the shock I got when I asked him his name and he said 'Death.' As he is a corporal I will not have to call him by that name. Another who has a ghastly wound under his arm, and a perforated lung, when asked by the doctor how he is feeling says, 'Tip top, sir, tip top.' He has an extraordinary look of Leonardo da Vinci's picture of Christ. S. is a weird creature with a wound in his leg. He is a Rechabite, and is a teetotaler. He spends his time reading an immense bible. We had an inspection in one ward today which was an awful rush. We all fell over each other. The major, who is three times as big as K.W., the matron bigger still, the staff sister fortunately thin, and two perspiring V.A.D.'s all on hand at the same time, to say nothing of the men and two dressing trolleys, and so it goes on each day from better to worse. |
Letters from the Front