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Table of Contents
Chapters
Epilogue
Appendices
When the Korean War broke out, the system, ''the book,'' went to hell overnight! A one hundred-bed hospital had to be converted to accommodate 5,000 patients. They stacked the patients on bunk beds, sometimes three tiers high. The wounded arrived in droves, in the middle of the night, by ship to ship transfer, by trains, helicopter, buses, ambulances and boats. And they just kept coming. On their battlefield the nurses witnessed vivid inhumanity. They looked into the frightened eyes of their patients. They saw unshaven faces streaked with mud, mucus and dried blood mixed with grit and grime. They saw uniforms encrusted with blood and infested with lice. They smelled uniforms stained with stagnant water, urine and diarrhea. They saw bodies encased in mud so dried and hard that they had to chisel and scrub the muck off. They saw feet so frostbitten that the skin was black and rotting away, exposing bone. They saw wounds treated and bandaged in the field, now oozing with pus and crawling with maggots. They saw mangled bones and skulls cracked open by shrapnel. They saw flesh hanging off the bones of soldiers who stepped on landmines. They saw patients lined up stretcher after stretcher after stretcher. They heard the moaning, screaming, crying, cussing, and shrieking of the wounded who were packed into the crowded hospital passageways or put in warehouses until their disposition could be determined. Those suffering from combat fatigue were stashed under stairwells because there was just no room. Hospital corpsmen clened, scrubbed and bathed patients at a furious pace, but there was always another trainload, another busload, another ambulance, another chopper. More patients and no room. If anyone comprehended fully the human devastation and chaos of war, it was the Navy nurses, the corpsmen, and the doctors...
From Chapter 2: Yokosuka, The Hub of Activity Buildings were still being converted into hospital spaces when Chief Nurse Burke wrote: A receiving barracks of Commander Fleet Activities was converted into wards. Navy personnel were transferred from their barracks to nearby Camp McGill, an Army post. We had been informed that we were receiving 250 ambulatory patients. Before night[fall] 850 exhausted, cold and hungry marines had been admitted to Barracks B. This building is located one quarter of a mile from the main hospital. All medications, equipment, supplies and linen had to be supplied via trucks. Many of these patients had only one sheet over the mattress cover, and a blanket. Five Navy nurses, three medical officers and eleven hospital corpsmen took care of themÖthat day. Practically every patient was suffering from frostbite, either solely or in combination with gunshot wounds. Each received penicillin as part of his treatment. One nurse gave these penicillin injections almost continuously throughout the day....
From Chapter 4: ...And Kept on Coming While I was at Yokosuka a great big sailor was in my ward who had encephalitis. He was unconscious and being worked on by a couple of doctors. The docs said he was dead.
Mrs. Green, a Naval nurse, was watching. She refused to give up. She continued to revive the sailor. She did. She brought him back from the dead. Needless to say she was regarded as a hero in our ward. As I recall she was about thirty-five years of age. She had dark hair and an ordinary build. I hope she got an award for her actions.
From Chapter 5: Home Sweet Yokosuka Redheaded Virginia Miriam Jennings (Watson) grew up in Westchester County, New York. The energy and the pulse of urban living lured her to New York City where she worked as a file clerk. Later she joined the Cadet Nurse School Program. After completing the program she decided to join the Navy. Jenningsí father, Allyn, a Navy World War II aviator, was thrilled when his daughter decided to join the Navy. Both my mother and father were Navy veterans. Mom joined the Navy and served as a yeoman (f) during World War I. She was born in Estonia and came to the US when she was sixteen years old. Her proudest moment was when she became a US citizen. My mother was a woman of few words. Although she never said it, I know she was very proud of my decision to join the Navy.
Also from Chapter 5: Majestic Mount Fuji stands 12, 396 feet from base to the top. The ''climbers'' boarded a local train that rumbled through little Japanese villages and got off the train in Yoshida, where Japanese mountain guides offered their services for about $2.50. Ewing and Jennings both made it to the top. The climb starts out at night. The goal is to see the sun rise on top of Mount Fuji. We both opted for an authentic trip that begins at the foot of the mountain where we rented saddled horses for the first part of the ten-mile journey. The Mount Fuji stick is a five-foot wooden pole that is stamped at each of the ten stations along the climb. People who climb Mount Fuji keep their stick to prove that they made the climb. Ewing made it to Station 10, the top of Mount Fuji. We made it to the top. I was hoping to see the sunrise...and see the cities of Tokyo, Yokohama and the surrounding towns. There was nothing but fog, fog, and more fog. We couldn't see a thing. Then it was time to go back down. The guide forgets to tell you how to get down. You do not climb down Mount Fuji. You can't climb down Mount Fuji from the top. The top is volcanic cinder. You must slide down to Station 6 and then continue the rest of the way on horseback.
From Chapter 6: USS Consolation (AH-15) The relaxed atmosphere was short-lived. According to Commander Haireís journal, more patients arrived on 2 November 1950. A large influx of marines this afternoon, most of them from a group that [was] ambushed about six miles from Wonsan this morning. All was chaos; it just isnít possible to get everything done. One kid had a bad abdominal wound. They came in unshaven, dirty, exhausted, looking about forty years old. And most of them are still in their teens. I could just sit down and cry for them, if I had the time. The food situation is a mess. No pun intended. But they think it is wonderful and only complain that it is hard to start eating after having been on C-rations so long. 3 November 1950. This was the worst day yetÖIt is just killing me not to be able to do what one ought for these kids, but there isnít time. Oh, well, guess I will go to the movies and [try to] forget my troubles. 4 November 1950. I live from one crisis to another, and it is 3:30 pm before I know it. I go off duty utterly exhausted both physically and mentally. Both a duty and evacuation party is going out tomorrow and so we must brace ourselves for a fresh onslaught of casualties. 7 November 1950. What a night! I never stopped running, except for fifteen minutes for dinner. We had ten to nineteen admissions on C-4 alone. It seems that some sixty Americans met up with a large group of North Koreans and these were the survivors. Things xouldnít have been any worse. They came in a steady streamÖIn shock or next to it. Bloody, dirty and all the rest...these fellows just don't complain. Although two were critical and two serious, we didn't lose them. 9 November 1950. The doctor told one of my boys [patient], aged twenty, that he would have to lose his right arm. He was running a high temp, so I tried to combine a few words of comfort with an alcohol rub. But if there is a formula that covers such situations, I haven't found it...I feel that I failed miserably. 10 November 1950. Today I hit the jackpot, five letters. Now I can understand why even the fellows I met just casually used to beg for letters. Mail becomes so terribly important. We are running out of supplies and we leave to go back to Yokosuka. We will be in the States by 19 December 1950 and be in Norfolk by 29 December 1950. 18 December 1950. It is below zero on deck...Was out on deck twice to watch the firing which was so loud during the movie that the ship shuddered with it. Star shells, flares, tracers. I am learning a new vocabulary. 23 December 1950. We four nurses on C-3 and C-4 are making Christmas stockings for the boys. It seemed a better idea than giving money. We are making them out of crinoline and stitching them with red yarn....filling them with shorts, skivvy shirts, candy, gum, cookies, cigarettes. 26 December 1950. Morale is very high. We left Pusan at noon. The sun shining brightly and the weather mild. 28 December 1950. Arrived in Yokosuka about 4:00 pm [1600]. After dinner we got into our blues the first time in two months. Went over to the club and were swept into a party that a task force was throwing. 29 December 1950. The experts think that Yokosuka will be bombed and are making plans accordingly.
From Chapter 9: Ambassadors of Goodwill Whether they were anchored in Pusan, Inchon, Hungnam, or anywhere in Korean waters, the big white ships with the bright red crosses became known as sanctuaries. The wounded, the critically injured, the sick, and the battle fatigued knew they could find solace aboard the hospital ships Consolation, Repose and Haven. In addition to caring for US and UN soldiers, frequetnly the shipsí medical crews cared for Korean civilians who had been caught in the crossfire of war. |
Additional memoirs and memories, as well as information about The Korean War.
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