899. We Were Young
Eight days had passed since I had arrived in the Shock Ward.
Slowly but surely my ills were abating and my strength beginning
to return. The efforts of the medical personnel were assisted by my
youthful constitution. Now I finally believed that I would live.
Along with my health a positive disposition also returned.
There was time for reflection, for making sense of everything I had
endured over the months of war. After life in the trenches it was a
pleasure to lie on a real bed, on a soft mattress, and under a sheet
that might not have been snowwhite but was absolutely sterile.
I greeted every morning gladly. I enjoyed the prospect of being
allowed to get up soon, of walking around, breathing fresh air,
returning to my own regiment and to my wartime friends, and
being able to hold a sniper’s rifle once again. The only thing lacking
for complete happiness were letters from my mother and the
beloved girl I had failed to meet along the way in my twenty years
of life. I had no intention of writing home that I was wounded, and
seriously so, and currently lying in hospital – no need for my nice,
kind mother to worry about that.
With a capacity of only four beds, our ward was never empty.
In the space of twentyfour hours one or even two of the beds
might be remade a couple of times, as the occupants changed ...