In Flew Enza

         My friend Lily wrote me from Portsmouth that she was working with Dr. Harold Gillies, who was becoming famous for rebuilding horribly damaged faces.  He was developing all kinds of ways of helping men to cover or disguise their wounds, so as to make it easier for them to be out in public, as well as to make it easier for those who had to look at them.  Lily told me they were short of nurses, and begged me to join her.  It seemed so interesting I gave notice.  It did seem there was little we could do to help those in my ward.  Those permanently deafened and those so shell-shocked they might as well be deaf as well just seemed to sit by their beds and stare into space with that “thousand-yard stare” we nurses came to know so well.  The nursing assistants could just as easily make the beds and carry the food trays.

         Lily found a wonderful flat for us to share in Portsmouth. The work was fascinating, and some of the masks Dr, Gillies devised were so lifelike one never knew they were not actual faces, until it became clear the masks were not able to change expression.

         We did find time to go to the cinema a few times, but the one I recall most vividly was the gala evening about Lawrence of Arabia.  The introduction was a lead in by the Welsh Guards playing what seemed to be Arabic music. It set the atmosphere, as well as the incense piped in.    We were told the painted set had been used in the “Moonlight on the Nile” scene from an opera.  Exotic dancers came on and did the dance of the seven veils.  Then Lowell Thomas came on stage and explained he had been with Lawrence and had filmed his exploits.  As the lights dimmed he invited us to “Come with me to lands of history, mystery and romance . . .”  There was no doubt Lawrence was a dashing and exciting figure!

         When we cam out into the evening I suggested we stop for cakes and tea, but Lily had a bad headache.  We had been nursing men who had come down with the Spanish Flu, and most of them had died, in their weakened condition.  I learned later that fifty million people around the world died between 1918 and 1920 of the disease.  The streets of Portsmouth became quiet, as most people took refuge in their homes.  As we walked to the hospital we got used to hearing the little street urchins chanting their grisly song;  “I had a little bird/ It’s name as Enza/ I opened the window/ And in flew Enza”.

         The morning after our outing to the cinema my dear friend was admitted as a patient.  By evening she had died, and I was heartbroken.