They quickly showed us around before it became too dark. So much had happened, I was desperate to write it down in the form of a letter to my parents before I forgot. I wanted my correspondence to be a record of my life helping in the Great War.

Dearest Mother and Father,

I wish I could tell you where I am, but I can’t. Only to say I am safe, in Greece, far from the front line, so no need to worry. The hospital is on an island, and here, it appears to be spring already. We passed many olive trees on our way and saw local people gathered around one. They beat the tree with long sticks to knock the olives down onto sheets or fine fishing nets. The ground is covered in the first wildflowers, mostly pink and lilac anemones. So pretty!

Our hospital looks like a circus, Mother. Rows of canvas tents, each holding fourteen beds. Also, huts of canvas and paper. Long, single-storey sheds of thin wood and roofed with tarred paper are divided into cubicles for eighteen patients. The nurses’ corner is adequate. Two hundred yards away are scores of tents filled with the wounded. They’ve informed us that every night more are brought, and others taken away.

Every hour, troops pass by, whistling their marching tunes as they go down to the port. There are many hospitals like ours. The French are here. The port road is lined with hundreds of barrels of wine that belong to the French army. Then there are the ANZACs, the Australian and New Zealand troops. They have their own hospitals too.

I promise to write as often as possible.

Your loving daughter,

Gertie X

*

The next morning, after a cold wash and a quick breakfast, we were taken to our ward. The marquee was not ready. Yet the ambulances still came and unloaded their cargo of pain-ridden soldiers onto the duckboards.

Inside, orderlies, expert at laying wooden floors, competed against each other. They threw floors down and beds together as if it were an Olympic sport.

A sharp-faced doctor followed by several nurses, examined and labelled patients. Some simply bore a cross. These were removed and a patient on the floor moved into the vacant bed. By midday, heat in the marquee had built to an unbearable level, flaps were tied back and mosquito nets dropped over the entrances. Yet, flies still intruded, attracted by the rancid blood of open wounds. My first order was to clean and disinfect those wounds and limb stumps.

I was afraid of hurting the young men who had signed up with such bravery and enthusiasm. Close to tears, I found myself dabbing at a stump that was once an arm, promising all kinds of miracles, then Josephine stormed up.