December 18, 1941

The enemy dropped incendiary bombs close to our hospital.

A few minutes later, the wounded began arriving but, unfortunately, many of them died en route to the operating rooms and wards.

For the last few days, soldiers, officers, and corpsmen had been digging trenches in the hospital yard for ambulatory and litter patients and hospital personnel.

Our commanding officer had seriously considered moving the patients from this hospital, as all the buildings which covered several city blocks were of flimsy frame construction.

When a raid started, the hospital was quickly emptied. Only those in cumbersome Balkan frames were left in the wards.

As the bombings increased, we discontinued the moving of litter patients so as to decrease fresh bleeding as well as agonizing pain.

Today, our ambulatory and litter patients spent more time under their beds than on them.

The last raid caught me at the nurses’ home, where I had my lunch. There was nothing to do but cower under a bed, table, or bench. As I dived under the nearest bed, I heard a British voice which sounded familiar, calling to me from under the other bed.

“Who’s there?”

It certainly sounded like Brinny, an English nurse, whom I hadn’t seen since 1937 in Shanghai under similar circumstances. When there was a lull in the fireworks, I saw emerging from under the bed a middle-aged woman, with matted and fiery red wig framing a pair of flashing brown eyes. It was Brinny all right, and she was snorting with rage. “Those blasted Japs!” she exclaimed venomously.

Then, recognizing me, she added in a milder tone, “What the blazes are you doing here?”

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