Over the Beachhead
On July 11th, our call came, so, clad in our fatigues, plus the famous impregnated clothing, we left English terra firma for the last lap on a British transport. The plaque on the wall (ship's side) gave mute testimony that her day should have been long over - she carried one million men in World War I. Blessed that we only had one night. The nurses went into the hold. It's appalling even in retrospect - poorly ventilated, packed like animals on double decked tiers that lined the sides and covered with filthy thin mattresses. Sleeping crosswise to get some semblance of comfort for everyone, the sight was even more dismal when the effects of the anti-seasick pills was evident. Food was distributed among personnel from 10 in 1 rations.
Fotunately it didn't rain nor was the channel rough and we passed "U-Boat Alley" and "Torpedo Junction" in safety. At noon, next day, the French coast came into view. July 12th was a beautifully clear, sunny day. No one will ever forget the awesome sight of that harbor - ships as far as the eye could carry, the sunken ships used as a breakwater, the ever-changing panorama of Omaha Beach as we came near aboard the LST, the seething activity of trucks and jeeps - it seemed as if the very earth was alive.
It was our good fortune not even to get our feet wet for the steel pier had been completed two days previously. The usual GI comments which we were to hear for so many days to come were enthusiastic and loud. The tight, excited feeling dissolved into a sunken sensation. Facing the beach, on our left, was a huge cemetery, endless with it's white crosses. Like Flander's Field, only here were no poppies, just dust, plowed up beach and a sickening stench.
The nurses were put on trucks to be taken to Transient Area #3 at St. Laurient sur Mer. We marveled at the lack of craters i the roads, the little destruction to the houses and the few French people about. The spot where we jumped off the trucks had, on D-Day, held 3000 dead, and now incongousely, it was empty except for the nurses of another Evacuation Hospital sitting there in Class B uniforms. That was the last straw! The chlorine aroma was the bane of our existance. It was all very un-warlike, except for the steady roar of patrol planes and C-47s carrying wounded, the endless stream of troops marching by. It was here we pitched our pup tents for the first and last time of our ETO life. We had already eaten our own K-rations and bread and jam that was doled out as long as it lasted by the Air Corps.
As night fell our apprehension returned. By then, there was a round of stories from many sources including ones from a passing Graves Registrar. All the firing that we heard was distant but it was real, and very few actually slept.
The next morning, because our equipment hadn't arrived, personnel was divided into four equal groups, each group to go on detached service to the 2nd, 5th, 24th, and 44th Evacuation Hospitals. Everyone went to workon arrival at the respective units. In so far as possible, each nurse went to the section in which she would eventually work. This proved valuable experience. They were head over heals in casualties from the St Lo sector. Those three days gave us our start and taste for the life that was to be ours for the next year. But, it was so good to be really at work at last.
Fotunately it didn't rain nor was the channel rough and we passed "U-Boat Alley" and "Torpedo Junction" in safety. At noon, next day, the French coast came into view. July 12th was a beautifully clear, sunny day. No one will ever forget the awesome sight of that harbor - ships as far as the eye could carry, the sunken ships used as a breakwater, the ever-changing panorama of Omaha Beach as we came near aboard the LST, the seething activity of trucks and jeeps - it seemed as if the very earth was alive.
It was our good fortune not even to get our feet wet for the steel pier had been completed two days previously. The usual GI comments which we were to hear for so many days to come were enthusiastic and loud. The tight, excited feeling dissolved into a sunken sensation. Facing the beach, on our left, was a huge cemetery, endless with it's white crosses. Like Flander's Field, only here were no poppies, just dust, plowed up beach and a sickening stench.
The nurses were put on trucks to be taken to Transient Area #3 at St. Laurient sur Mer. We marveled at the lack of craters i the roads, the little destruction to the houses and the few French people about. The spot where we jumped off the trucks had, on D-Day, held 3000 dead, and now incongousely, it was empty except for the nurses of another Evacuation Hospital sitting there in Class B uniforms. That was the last straw! The chlorine aroma was the bane of our existance. It was all very un-warlike, except for the steady roar of patrol planes and C-47s carrying wounded, the endless stream of troops marching by. It was here we pitched our pup tents for the first and last time of our ETO life. We had already eaten our own K-rations and bread and jam that was doled out as long as it lasted by the Air Corps.
As night fell our apprehension returned. By then, there was a round of stories from many sources including ones from a passing Graves Registrar. All the firing that we heard was distant but it was real, and very few actually slept.
The next morning, because our equipment hadn't arrived, personnel was divided into four equal groups, each group to go on detached service to the 2nd, 5th, 24th, and 44th Evacuation Hospitals. Everyone went to workon arrival at the respective units. In so far as possible, each nurse went to the section in which she would eventually work. This proved valuable experience. They were head over heals in casualties from the St Lo sector. Those three days gave us our start and taste for the life that was to be ours for the next year. But, it was so good to be really at work at last.