the orderlies have a very hard life--and no glory.
We are getting quite used to a life shorn of most of its trappings, except for the two hotel meals a day.
It is a fortnight to-morrow since we mobilised, and we have had no work yet except our own fatigue duty in the Convent; it was our turn this morning, and I scrubbed the lavatories out with creoseol.
I am a girl no longer
Short of actually going to bed with them, there was hardly an intimate service that I did not perform for one or another in the course of four years, and I still have reason to be thankful for the knowledge of masculine functioning which the care of them gave me, and for my early release for the sex-inhibitions
Throughout my two decades of life, I have never looked upon the nude body of an adult male; I had never even seen a naked boy-child since the nursery days when, at the age of four or five, I used to share my evening baths with Edward.
It was, of course, typical of the average well-to-do girl of the period to assume that the desire for power, which is as universal among women as among men, could only be fulfilled by the acquisition of a brilliant husband.
almost every girl left school with only two ambitions-to return at the first possible moment to impress her school-fellows with the glory of a grown-up toilette, and to get engaged before everybody else.
Trying to transmit their mental scars, the First World War nurses obsessively return to the site of the physical wound: touch becomes the ground of both testimony and trauma.
If pain reduces men-'fathers and husbands and sons and lovers of men'- to pitiable mewing creatures, without individuality or dignity except the 'monster's' absolute reality, it strips the nurse of her own reality and subjectivity as well: she is rendered insignificant, unsubstantial, a 'ghost'. Pain has usurped the place of the woman.