On September 10th 1914 Grace arrived in Ostend.
This was something of an achievement considering that only 5 days before, she was aboard the Edinburgh Castle docking at Portsmouth. This one-woman whirlwind was just getting under way, throwing herself into the sort of crowded, hectic itinerary that was to become her hallmark throughout the war. She had somehow found time to visit her mother in Edinburgh, a proud feisty woman whose comparatively humble early life installed a powerful sense of work ethic in her family. Admittedly, she had a struggle at the same time trying to calm the wilder ideas of the three youngest family members, Charlie, Grace and Bill. Her advice to Grace when war broke out, was to slow down and "do something really useful, like working in munitions."
Through one of her many contacts Grace heard of a temporary hospital in Antwerp. By-passing the usual channels, possibly through the auspices of her fellow passenger on the way home to England, Louis Franck, she was officially permitted to join it. It was a Field Hospital set up in a building in the Boulevard Leopold, tending both British and Belgian wounded. There she arrived, immaculate in her FANY officer's uniform, to be summarily confronted by the stark reality of wartime nursing. It was both chaotic and heartbreaking, She later recorded in her journal "The top floor has 60 beds and no lavatory, and only one little water tap and sink which serves all purposes – dishwashing, rinsing of urinals and bedpans, surgical basins and instruments."
Matters were made worse by the two great shortages – staff and time, battling against the growing volume of needs. She wrote: "The next floor down is the same, though there is a little corner screened off round a commode."
There is no doubt that the conditions were terrible, but once the initial shock had worn off, her personal enthusiasm, toughness, and innate organizing skills took over.
The Head of the hospital was a Dr. Beavis, who must have been satisfied that she would be able to cope, even allowing for his desperate shortage of help. Or because of it! In any case, he put Grace in charge of the 2 wards on the 3rd floor, and agreed whole-heartedly to her suggestion that she bring over a whole contingent of FANYs.
This was the opportunity she had been hoping and waiting for. Manna from Heaven! At the same time she was offered a 300 bed hospital to run on behalf of the Belgian Army, in Antwerp. That was how desperate the authorities were at that time. She immediately sat down to compose a telegram to 'Boss' Franklin with the good news. As soon as the telegram arrived, 'Boss' and her team sprang into action. In a matter of hours they were ready to leave. But, as it turned out it was already too late. The Germans, building up overwhelming strength, were poised outside the city. The FANY contingent were waiting at Fenchurch Street Station when the news arrived that Antwerp was about to be evacuated. Bitterly disappointed at this last minute hitch, they returned to HQ, to wait, and hope desperately for the next opportunity.
In the meantime, Grace was able to assert herself at least within the confines of her 3rd floor 'empire', two wards, of 16 and 12 beds respectively. But before she did so, acknowledging that she was totally inexperienced in nursing apart from the First Aid training she had done with the FANY, she spoke to Dr Beavis. She was concerned that she would now be expected to not only dress dreadful wounds herself but for directing other experienced nurses. Admittedly, since her arrival at the Field Hospital she had worked for some days alongside Dr Beavis, dealing with some dreadfully mutilated men, but for once her confidence was waning slightly.
Dr Beavis fixed his gaze on her, and told her she was to carry on as best she could. It was all hands to the pump, and he was counting on her. That was enough. Her diary entry for that day says simply: "At least I had a good idea of what not to do!" And with her usual energy and authority she set about improving cleanliness and sanitation in her two wards.
She watched, horrified, an overworked nurse wipe out a cup for a patient to drink from, using the same cloth she had used minutes earlier to clean a bedpan. At the back of her mind she had known that this practise went on, from working downstairs in the main wards, but now the full realization of the awful truth hit her, and she was in charge.
Grabbing every cloth and rag she could lay her hands on, she washed them in boiling water laced heavily with disinfectant and washing soda. Then she stained some with patches of blue ink, others with red, and some she left unstained, hanging them all up in a line. Above this she placed a notice, written in French, with greasy crayons – 'RED FOR BEDPANS – BLUE FOR FACES AND HANDS – PLAIN FOR CUPS AND PLATES. It certainly had an effect, not quite the one Grace expected, but perhaps inevitable given the circumstances the nurses were working under.
It created a wave of disharmony and acrimony among the existing staff. They were doing their best to cope in dreadful conditions, and took it as direct criticism of their professionalism. And well they might. Here was this upstart foreigner , not even a qualified nurse, only been there a few days , been put in charge of their wards, giving them directions.
Diplomacy had never been Grace's strong point, but here she showed the sort of calming and measured approach that she was able to adopt on occasion. Compared to the independent minded ladies of the FANY, these overworked, tired nurses were won over with ease. Grace sat them all down, and faced them. She admitted that her skills at nursing were non-existent compared to theirs, agreed that she had only been over a few days, but perhaps that was an advantage. She could take a fresh view of things, whereas they had been working under terrible conditions for weeks, short of everything, from medicines and equipment to sleep. They had done a marvellous job.
But they must try to think of their patients. They were men who were willing to give their all for their country, defending these very nurses from les Boches at the gates of their city. They deserved the best. Choosing the right cloth was a small price to pay. How would they feel drinking from a cup wiped clean with a bedpan rag?
She had made her point, no ranting or bluster, no 'I'm in charge" attitude. It worked. The nursing staff accepted it, and her.
As a result of this, she was shortly after given still more responsibility. A larger ward with much more severely wounded men. Again she told Dr Beavis of her doubts, lack of qualifications and experience. "I know you can cope, Miss Ashley- Smith" was all he said. "Now, just get on with it."
She did. It wasn't easy, she didn't expect it would be. She learnt as she went along. She learned not to touch a wound, but gently apply a mix of iodine, or flush it with salt and water. She learned the difference between clean wounds and septic wounds, the different kinds of dressings to be used for each. It was an enforced learning curve which turned out to be a godsend later on, as more and more FANY convoys found their way over to the battlegrounds.
Grace certainly worried about her capabilities, her lack of training and experience. It was evident within a short time that this was an opinion not shared by the doctors and senior medical staff there. They were impressed by her work and her attitude.