My War Experiences in Two Continents

In Short

This book is a collection of private journals documenting a civilian woman’s transition from a sheltered life in London to the chaotic front lines of the First World War. Whether organizing field kitchens in the battered landscape of Belgium or navigating the bureaucratic stagnation and freezing temperatures of the Russian and Persian fronts, the author records the war with unflinching clarity. It has endured as an essential piece of history because it captures the war not through the lens of generals or politicians, but through the eyes of a woman who simply showed up to help.

The Story

The narrative begins in the autumn of 1914, as the author arrives in Antwerp. The initial impressions are defined by the sensory overload of a city under siege: the persistent, shaking roar of heavy artillery, the endless, frantic stream of refugees, and the overwhelming demand for medical aid. She joins a flying ambulance corps, a decision that quickly strips away her illusions about the "heroism" of war. She trades the comfort of home for the desperate, muddy work of a railway station hospital at Furnes, where the struggle is constant—securing food for the wounded, managing the erratic flow of casualties, and coping with the stifling, claustrophobic darkness of the front.

Her focus shifts from direct care to logistics, as she recognizes that many soldiers are dying not just from wounds, but from exhaustion and starvation. She launches a personal campaign to secure and equip mobile kitchens, battling the "red tape" of authorities to ensure that men returning from the trenches receive hot soup and basic comforts. These months in Flanders are characterized by a profound, growing intimacy with suffering, where the author moves between the horror of "shell-shocked" wards and the fleeting, almost surreal beauty of the coast, where British warships loom like "grey ladies" against a sunset sky.

Exhausted and physically broken, she briefly returns to England. However, the respite is short-lived; she feels a compelling need to translate her experiences into action. She embarks on a lecture tour across Britain, speaking to thousands of "horny-handed workmen" in industrial cities, aiming to bridge the gap between the reality of the front and the disconnect felt at home.

The final phase of her life takes her to Russia and the Persian front in late 1915. This part of the journey is marked by a jarring shift in tone. She moves from the urgent, gritty activity of the Belgian stations to a world of profound frustration, where she encounters the "laissez-faire" attitude of the Russian bureaucracy, the freezing isolation of the Caucasus, and the inscrutable politics of the Persian movement. Here, she struggles against her own failing health and the feeling of being sidelined. Despite her efforts to contribute, she finds herself trapped in a cycle of travel, waiting, and hotel life, a stark contrast to the purpose she felt in the mud of Flanders. The account concludes with her death and a reflection on her legacy, noting that while she succumbed to the strain of the war, her dedication to the service of others remained undiminished until the end.

How It Unfolds

The arrival in Belgium The book opens with the immediate shock of the war in Antwerp, where the author is confronted by the sheer scale of the wounded and the collapse of local infrastructure. She quickly abandons her previous notions of war as a heroic endeavor, replacing them with the grim reality of "tired, dusty men" slogging through the mud.

The struggle at the station The narrative moves to the chaotic daily life of a field hospital at Furnes. Here, the challenge is survival: managing dwindling supplies, feeding the soldiers, and learning to work in a landscape where the constant boom of "Long Toms" provides the rhythm of existence.

The mission of the kitchens The focus shifts to the author’s proactive efforts to improve the conditions for wounded soldiers by establishing mobile kitchens. She navigates official obstacles and relies on her own initiative, driven by the belief that the wounded deserve a warm meal above all else.

The campaign at home Upon returning to Britain, she documents her shift from caregiver to orator. She delivers a series of high-energy lectures across industrial England, using her experiences to rally public support and, as she puts it, to "deliver a message" to a nation that had not yet fully realized the war’s cost.

The Russian and Persian experience The final section describes her journey to the East, where the pace slows to a frustrating crawl. She struggles with the cold, the unfamiliar cultural landscape, and the deep, pervasive administrative inertia that prevents her from doing the work she traveled so far to perform.

The People

The author, S. Macnaughtan, serves as the steady, observant anchor of the book. She is motivated by a profound, restless sense of duty and a pragmatic desire to alleviate immediate suffering. She is frequently frustrated by the incompetence of others, yet her own capacity for empathy remains her defining trait.

Her niece, Mrs. Lionel Salmon, acts as both a recipient of her letters and an editor. Through her, we see the author’s domestic side and the anxiety of a family member waiting for news from the front. The soldiers, though often anonymous, are the true subjects of her care. She treats them with a quiet respect, observing their resilience and the strange, "tragic grotesqueness" of their suffering.

Figures like Mr. Burbidge, the man from Harrods, represent the practical side of her work, showing how she bypassed standard channels to get her mobile kitchens running. Conversely, the "American woman of awful vulgarity" and various high-ranking Russian officials represent the barriers she faces—those who either fail to grasp the gravity of the conflict or allow bureaucratic apathy to impede the relief effort.

In Its Own Voice

The guns go all day and all night. They are so close that the earth shakes with them.

The author describes the oppressive, constant sound of the front lines during her time in Antwerp.

God! what is heroism? It baffles me.

Upon observing the exhausted, disheveled soldiers, the author rejects the traditional romanticized view of military service.

I want adjectives! How is one to describe the people who come for one brief visit to the station or hospital with an intense conviction that they and they only feel the suffering or even notice the wants of the men.

The author expresses her irritation with casual observers who visit the front as if it were a performance, missing the reality of the work.

What It's Really About

The book is a meditation on the nature of service and the difficulty of maintaining one's purpose in the face of systemic collapse. It questions the meaning of heroism, arguing that it is found not in grand gestures but in the mundane, often filthy work of washing bandages, distributing soup, and providing a moment of comfort to a dying man. There is a deep, underlying tension between the author’s desire to be useful and the external forces—bureaucracy, illness, and the sheer scale of the war—that constantly threaten to render her efforts invisible. Ultimately, it is a record of how an individual maintains her moral integrity when the world around her seems to have lost its own.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the diaristic style of the Great War era—unvarnished, immediate, and intensely human—will find this book compelling. It offers an antidote to the sanitized histories of the period, as the author does not shy away from the ugly, exhausting, and often petty realities of war work. The writing is precise and carries a distinct, sharp-witted voice that makes the author feel like a contemporary companion.

The book is not without its difficulties for the modern reader. The chronological gaps between entries and the shift in setting from the visceral battlefields of Belgium to the slow, sometimes monotonous corridors of the Russian administration can feel jarring. Furthermore, the author reflects the class-bound, sometimes dismissive, and occasionally rigid attitudes of her time—her characterizations of certain foreigners or groups can be bracingly judgmental. However, these flaws are part of the book’s honesty; they are the views of a real woman, not a polished narrator. What stays with the reader is the image of a woman who, while suffering from her own "festered fingers" and physical exhaustion, insisted on doing the work simply because it was necessary. It is a testament to the persistence of the individual will in the face of overwhelming, impersonal disaster.