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Canadian Army Nursing Sisters

The first time in my life to ever see a Canadian Army Nursing Sister was at age 17, in the old Christie Street Military Hospital, Christie Street, Toronto - during my brief stay there in Winter 1939/40.
I landed in this ancient institution as a result of doing the 鈥榣ying load鈥� rifle drill in the snow, while dressed in the Davidson tartan kilt issued to we lucky members of the 48th Highlanders of Canada, then housed in the Cdn National Exhibition grounds - while being trained prior to joining our 1st Battalion, already in England.
Everyone knows that 鈥榬eal men鈥� do not wear anything under the kilt - on pain of being stripped naked by their playful comrades. But it was not frozen testicles that put me into Christie St, rather something the MO called 鈥榦titis media鈥� - which resulted from a terrible cold and excruciating ear ache.
So, there I was, in a 4 bedded Ear, Nose & Throat ward, with 3 other wise old guys, (in their early 40s) all veterans of WW I. Some of them had long, thin sticks protruding from their nostrils, which I soon learned had to do with plugged up sinus passages.
I think they viewed me with a mix of wonder and pity. Wonderment that anyone so young would willingly volunteer for the hell they had survived just short years before, and pity because of my naivet茅 about what the future held for me in an Infantry unit.
The Army did not issue troops with bedroom slippers, so when I needed to go to the bathroom (down the hall) I would pull on my heavy woolen stockings and not bother with my big hob nailed boots for the short journey. This was fine for daylight excursions, but the first time I needed to go after lights out, one of the old soldiers told me I had better go 鈥榝ully booted鈥�!
I wondered 鈥榳hy鈥�, but pulled on my boots and clumped down the dimly lit hallway to the bathroom, which I found in darkness. When I located the switch and flipped on the lights, I found out 鈥榳hy鈥�. The entire floor of that room was covered with a seething mass of big, black bugs!
Amazingly, they immediately swarmed away somewhere, out of sight but certainly not out of mind. Needless to say, I did not linger longer than necessary in that environment and in future tried to time my bladder and bowels to daylight movements for the rest of my stay. The 鈥榦ld timers鈥� chuckled over my first experience with cockroaches, ensuring me they were the mildest form of vermin I would encounter and then fell to discussing among themselves the body lice and rats prevalent in the trenches I would soon likely occupy
But old Christie Street was not all bad. The best thing about it was those marvelous, healing angels of mercy - the Nursing Sisters. They did not comprise the full time staff of the hospital, but quite a few of them were there for war-time training. They all seemed so kindly - and so clean. Their smart uniforms were always immaculate and they went about their duties in what seemed a quietly efficient manner; with always a pleasant, reassuring smile and never a harsh word. They seemed to take a genuine interest in us and invariably had time for a little chat. They certainly inspired confidence in me, a 17 year old country kid, first time away from home - and first time ever in a hospital. The Old Timers prophesied that the Nursing Sisters would be the best people I would ever encountered in the Canadian Army, and after all these years - I heartily agree!

Although my stay in Christie St was fairly brief I left with a distinct sense of reassurance that if ever hospitalized again, I would receive good care from those kindly Canadian Army Nurses. And indeed that proved to be the truth.
I caught up with my regiment at Aldershot, in the Corunna Barracks, on 23rd May 1940, just 3 days before the beginning of the Dunkirk evacuation. Then, to the astonishment of many, we were sent to France in a desperate attempt to keep that ill-fated country in the war. The 1st Cdn Div was to link up with remnants of the British Army, but before that could be achieved France capitulated. Of all the 1st Div units, the 48th were farthest into the country when this calamity befell us and it was only great good fortune (and some ingenuity) that got us out of this deadly trap. We had landed at Brest on the 14th June and escaped via St Malo a few days later. Those unpopular Aldershot barracks looked rather welcoming after that narrow escape!
I survived the rest of the war, including the Italian campaign and our last battle of the war - for Apeldoorn, Holland (Apr 1945) with only a few brief stays in hospital. But there was one stay that stands out above all others - and I still bear the scars that reminds me of it. I remember it well because it was probably the most embarrassing medical experience of my military life.
The time was August 1942. By then we had experienced the Battle of Britain and as the bombs rained down we had manned the coastal defenses of South East England, ready to repel the expected invaders - who never came - thanks be to God (and to the Navy and the Air Forces!) But now we were 鈥榰nder canvas鈥� in Gray Wood, East Sussex. Never before had we been in such a miserable place - in such miserable weather. We were in bell tents, 10 men to a tent, sleeping on the bare ground, no straw allowed for fear of 鈥榖ugs鈥�! And, since enemy air raids still occurred, the tents were 鈥榙ug in鈥� - that is each tent was in a hole about 2 feet below grade to protect the inhabitants from bursting bombs. When it rained, an all too frequent occurrence, these holes filled with water and everything/everyone got wet and cold.
Perhaps this arrangement was meant to make up for the total absence of bathing facilities, because during our 10 long weeks in that miserable bush, I only recall two visits from the Mobile Bath Unit. In any event, we had been there for about a month (without a bath) when I awakened with a sore and swollen 鈥榩rivate part鈥� - which got me promptly on the sick parade.
The MO鈥檚 brusque command to, 鈥淪kin back and squeeze forward鈥� did not result in any discharge. After I had assured him of my scrupulous adherence to Army instructions about safe sex, he diagnosed a 鈥榯oo tight foreskin鈥� and prescribed circumcision - to be done in the immediate future, at #5 Casualty Clearing Station.
Next day, equipped with 鈥榮mall pack鈥� containing the few personal possessions permitted an Infantry soldier, I reported to the RAP (Regimental Aid Post) and climbed into the back of a 15 cwt truck headed for the designated hospital - which turned out to be in a big old country house in a nearby location, the exact whereabouts now forgotten.
After the routine of admission, conducted by a beautiful Nursing Sister who greeted me with a quizzical little smile, I was instructed to report to 鈥榮urgery鈥� for a pre-op exam next morning and was assigned a bed in an empty upstairs room. Immediately after dropping my pack on the 鈥榬eal鈥� bed, complete with pillow, white sheets and blankets, I quickly found the bathroom and soaked for an hour in a big, old fashioned tub, almost big enough for swimming. What luxury - it was the best 鈥榯ub鈥� I had seen since Christie St, and this one was completely 鈥榖ug free鈥�.
The evening meal was excellent, well prepared hot food, served on real plates, with tea or coffee in real mugs - in a comfortable room equipped with tables and chairs. What a change from those aluminum mess tins and tin cups which dissipated any warmth food may have had before one could find a place to sit down and eat it. Maybe I could get used to this place!?
Next morning, after an early breakfast and garbed in a hospital gown, I reported to 鈥榮urgery鈥� as instructed - and from that moment on, my comfortable holiday came to an abrupt end. The surgeon, appropriately dressed for his job, cheerfully introduced himself: 鈥淚鈥檓 Captain White, Chief of the Waterworks Department around here. And these are my invaluable assistants.鈥� - as he indicated the two Nursing Sisters who were also present.

Then, as he perused my admission documents; 鈥淎h yes, you are the young 20 year old man who has now outgrown his foreskin!鈥�
鈥淗op up on the table and we鈥檒l see what you鈥檝e got鈥� smiled the cheery surgeon. As I complied, I at once found that I was not to share the view, since one of the nurses deftly fixed a screen over my face.
鈥淎h yes,.....yes, well, we will soon remedy this situation.鈥� - and the 鈥榩re-op鈥� examination was complete!
鈥淣ow, Sister you can start with the local anesthetic.鈥� - was what I heard next. Then, excruciating pain as the needle went into that most sensitive part of the male anatomy. Burning, searing, agonizing pain!
The surgeon鈥檚 voice; 鈥淭hat should be OK, now we can get started - shouldn鈥檛 take long.鈥� More sickening pain.
鈥淥h, do you feel that?鈥� - from the surgeon.
鈥淵uh, yuh, yeesss!! - from me.
Surgeon - 鈥淗mm, well - give him another shot鈥�.
I don鈥檛 know how long the ordeal went on; it seemed an eternity but at last the surgeon gave a satisfied grunt and exclaimed, 鈥淭here now, you鈥檒l have a lighter load on the next route march!鈥�
鈥淯se a hem-stitch when you sew him up, Sister - I cut it on a sort of a bias, and if you use a fancy stitch he鈥檚 gonna be in great demand around Picadilly Circus!鈥� 鈥淕ood-bye soldier; the girls will look after you - come down and see me to-morrow morning!鈥�
And the 鈥榞irls鈥� did look after me - with quiet efficiency and genuine concern for my very embarrassing condition. After the stitching had been completed and creative bandaging done, they pried my death grip off the edges of the operating table and eased me into a wheel chair for the journey back to my bed.
Lunch and supper was served in the room, and now fortified with ample pain pills I drifted off into a deep sleep. Then, in the small hours of early morning, I slowly became conscious of increasing pain and once fully awake, the pain became unbearable. What seemed to have happened was a full and raging erection of the 鈥榩rivate part鈥� which was threatening to burst loose all those fancy stitches which had been carefully put in place just a few hours before. I urgently needed relief.
I was the only occupant in my room and there was no bell cord which may have summoned help. Through my open door I could see a dim light in the hall and in desperation I eased myself out of bed and stumbled toward it. Oh, thank God - there, at a desk, sat one of those dear angels of mercy! Florence Nightingale herself could not have been a more welcome sight! But how to explain the cause of this excruciating pain, brought about by my undisciplined private?
No need for explanations. As I staggered toward her desk, holding my gown well away from the painful place, she instantly sized up the situation (no pun intended) and in the kindest, most diplomatic manner, gave me the simple solution to my painful problem.
鈥淛ust run the tap water until it is very cold, wet your face cloth and wrap it around the part until the swelling subsides. I will be up in a few minutes to see how you are and will bring you more medication for the pain!鈥� Her prescription worked perfectly and I slept soundly the rest of the night.
Next morning my condition was much improved and when I went for my scheduled visit to the surgeon he viewed his handiwork with complete satisfaction. A fresh bandage was put in place and he announced that my holiday was almost over.
After a few more days of semi-civilized living I was declared 鈥榝it for light duty鈥� and discharged back to our home in those leaky tents in the bush. Our Regimental MO took mercy and recommended a week鈥檚 convalescent leave. Considering my condition, he gave me a roll of gauze bandage and some adhesive tape, in lieu of the usual issue of condoms. That was a very quiet leave.

Nov 11th, 2001 - I have just finished watching the televised Remembrance Day ceremonies at Ottawa and was delighted to see one of our Canadian Military Nurses, Navy Lieut Carmen Lindsey Elford, standing in a place of honour at the base of the cenotaph, along with the other fine representatives of our Armed Forces. She did not have a rifle resting on her toe, but I am confident she is well armed with ample kindness and compassion, as well as medical skills, those weapons most needed to help our sick and wounded service personnel - however esoteric their ailments may be.

- A.E. (Ted) Brock, Captain - (long ago)
48th Highlander of Canada

Best wishes to: Lieut Nursing Sister Barbara Babcock - #21 Cdn Gen Hosp
Lieut Nursing Sister Grace Simpson - #21 Cdn Gen Hosp
Lieut Nursing Sister Sybil Fairbairne - #24 Cdn Gen Hosp
Lieut Nursing Sister Patricia Sweeney - ??
Lieut Nursing Sister Dorilla Bernier - #5 Cdn Gen Hosp
Lieut Nursing Sister Norah Woods - #21 Cdn Gen Hosp

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