An extract from the life of a WWI Doctor

“Next!” called Dr. Barry as he wiped away the blood that was dripping onto the floor. A young soldier, who couldn’t have been older than twenty five, entered the tent cradling his bloodied, blackened, left arm. He was in immense pain and trying not to show it. The doctor examined his arm carefully before reaching his verdict.
“I’m sorry son, I’m going to have to cut it off,” he said, shaking his head sorrowfully. The young soldier turned pale but grinned cheerfully.
“All I can say Doc, is that it’s better than the plague,” he laughed, wincing as his arm moved. He quickly lay down on the operating table. As the doctor prepared the necessary paraphernalia, the soldier painfully made the sign of the cross. His courage and faith brought tears to the doctor’s eyes.
“Don’t worry son, you’ll definitely go to Heaven,” he murmured, “it’s more than enough that you’re fighting for your king and country.”

The soldier was silent and looked strangely serene as he lay surrounded by the gored, useless limbs that had once belonged to his fellow countrymen. As the doctor began to cut through his arm, the brave soldier winced and cried out in pain; the pungent, offensive smell of blood rose into the air. He then mercifully lost consciousness. After the doctor had finished his unpleasant task, he swiftly bandaged the bloody stump which was all that remained of his patient’s arm.

The doctor stepped outside for some fresh air. Thankfully there were no more patients – yet. He heard the soldier stir so he returned to the tent. He gave his patient a glass of water and helped him to sit up.
“Thanks Doc,” he croaked, grinning weakly at the doctor. Dr. Barry smiled in relief. It then occurred to him that he didn’t know the soldier’s name.
“What’s your name, son?” he enquired cheerfully.
“William Lowell Kane, of the Ninth Division, sir” he replied proudly, trying to lift his arm and salute. He looked down and laughed when he realised that it was gone. It was a bitter, humourless laugh. The doctor shuddered. How many more young men would have to lose their limbs before this cursed war ended? How much longer would they be plagued by this senseless fighting?