1935: Heroic War Nurse Was Decorated By The King

By GEO. H. CARVER

Bright lights shone down on white napery: on tables laden with food, on ladies hurrying to and fro, carrying food to the large crowd of hungry men. A large basket of yellow chrysanthemums provided a splash of vivid color against the background of the colors of a faded Union Jack.

The large auditorium was filled with a crowd of happy laughing men. Service medals and decorations hung from the left breasts of their coats. The colored berets of the various divisions of the Canadian Expeditionary Force made a colorful display as their wearers moved their heads. Scarlet tunics of the Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment stood out in contrast against the grey of the walls. A buzz of talk and laughter filled the auditorium. Smoke from innumerable cigarettes curled in the air, as the members of Post 78 Canadian Legion, those of other branches and other service men and friends observed the seventeenth anniversary of the signing of the Armistice.

At the head table, the conventional black and white of the gentlemen formed a background for the gay colors of innumerable decorations. Here, as in the foreground, flashed the divisional berets.

Inconspicuous in this brilliant array of dignitaries and officials sat a woman. Simply dressed in black and white, this lady, the only feminine member of Post 78, sat quietly enjoying her first reunion with the boys to whom she gave so much of her effort and sacrifice, so many years of her life.

Nursing Sister Mary Hubbs, R.R.C., one of those unsung heroines of the last war whose unflinching devotion to duty makes one of the most brilliant pages in Canadian history, was glimpsing and experiencing for the first time since her discharge from active service, that fellowship and camaraderie she knew so well in the dark days and which is seldom seen outside the gatherings of overseas veterans.

Leaning slightly forward, lips parted, eyes glistening, she drank in every word of the toasts to Comrades, Empire and others.

In the silence of that two minutes, which was so solemn, so impressive and so “silent” that one could almost hear cobwebs rattle, Nursing Sister Hubbs stood rigidly at attention with head bowed, as back, back o’er the space of time flew memory. I don’t know of what Sister Hubbs was thinking. I thought I discerned, as I stole a glance in her direction, the glint of a tear on her check. It may have been the light. A glisten caught my eye. There, against the whiteness of her simple dress, proudly lay, in order, the Royal Red Cross, 2nd Class, the

1915 Star and two service medals. I’ll try and tell you her thoughts in that short two minutes as the events of twenty years flooded her mind. Back, back . . . .

It is 1913. In a city hospital in Amsterdam, N.Y., a group of nurses are seated on a platform in the auditorium. Prolonged applause greets them as they are called individually to receive their diplomas and degrees of Registered Nurses. One of them, a girl with a retiring disposition, smiled her thanks and resumed her seat.

A few days later Nurse Hubbs left for her home in Prince Edward County.

A year or so later, when war enveloped the world, when men were being hurried into its ever-hungry maw, when the flower of Canadian manhood and womanhood were rushing to the colors, a quiet figure, as quietly offered her services to the Canadian Army Medical Corps. In January, 1915, Nurse Hubbs, now Nursing Sister Mary Hubbs, C.A.M.C., in the trim blue and white uniform of that organization, stood on the deck of a troop-ship, waving her farewell to her native land

Straight to London she went, where she entered No. 2 Canadian General Hospital. Here she did yeoman service in caring for the wounded which at that time filled the English hospitals to capacity. Suddenly came the call: Nurses were wanted in France. And in the forefront of that little heroic band which volunteered stood N. S. Mary Hubbs.

Hospitals were groaning with their overtaxed capacity of wounded. Supplies at that time were inadequate. Doctors and nurses, orderlies and others labored day and night to alleviate pain and wounds. And straight into this maelstrom of work came N. S Hubbs and her gallant Canadian sisters.

At a clearing hospital at La Treport she labored for two years and three months without a rest. Night and day, taking her “turn” without demur or complaint, she did her duty to her fellowmen, regardless of nationality, color, creed or denomination.

But the human body can stand so much and no more. After the above-mentioned period of labor, N. S. Hubbs was transferred to transport duty, which gave her at least some respite from the round of arduous duty.

Came 1918 and the great German drive in what proved to be their dying gesture. Back they drove the Allies towards the Channel ports. Enormous casualties were suffered by both sides. Every available building behind the Allied lines was used as an emergency hospital.

And to the great hospital base at Etaples, France, came N. S. Hubbs. Hospital buildings, with the large white circle, surmounted with a Red Cross on their roofs, were filled to overflowing. Wounded soldiers poured in. Doctors and nurses were taxed to the limit.

And the relentless advance of the Hun hordes moved closer and closer.

Then one night . . . .

Nursing sisters moved quietly through their wards. Doctors and orderlies went about their duties.

A patient lifted his head. “What’s that noise,” he queried. His fellow patients quietened. A low hum like that of a hundred bees became audible. Louder and louder it grew, until it became a roar.

Crash!

A loud explosion reverberated throughout, the building. Orderlies dashed in and out. “Hun planes,” one gasped. Roaring detonations filled the air. Debris flew high as a Hun bomb fell on a nearby railway bridge. Shell-shocked patients emitted cries of fear.

The roar died away, Nurses, with pulses pounding fiercely, themselves inwardly shaking, moved from bed to bed, quieting and soothing patients.

At eleven forty-five the following evening, the dread hum was heard again. Nursing Sister Hubbs, with other nurses dashed outside. White moonlight shone down from a cloudless sky, etching on the ground in sharp relief, shadows of the hospital building. The hum increased. Pointed fingers picked out the Hun planes. Like silver butterflies they came, in the famous “V” formation. As the nurses and other watched, they swooped in a power dive, the black crosses on their wings being plainly visible. Straight for the hospital they dived, releasing their death-dealing bombs. For twelve days and eleven nights these raids continued, finally gaining their objective, the hospital itself. Nurse Hubbs was severely shocked in the final fearful aerial bombardment.

“We thought the railway bridge was their objective,” said Sister Hubbs, “but the raids continued for eleven consecutive nights. During this period I was transferred to night duty. The second night the Huns came over and this time the hospital proper was their target. A bomb dropped outside my ward. The hospital chef commanded us to lie down. I flung myself down in the pantry. Dishes and debris covered me. It was dreadful as we could do nothing. Nursing sisters and orderlies fell beneath that hail of steel. The next morning a dreadful sight greeted our eyes.

“Three nurses and forty orderlies had given up their lives in an effort to protect their charges. I shall never forget it.”

“The wards had been banked with sandbags, and one particular bomb fell between the operating room and a ward, killing and wounding orderlies and patients.”

All of them severely shocked and some severely wounded, the remaining members of the nursing staff were removed to hospital in England. There they recuperated from their experiences. N. S. Hubbs’ condition was such, however, that medical authorities refused to permit her to return to France, and consequently she was kept in England where she was placed on the staff of a hospital for the remaining few months until the end of the war.

The scene changes . . . .

In an ante-room in Buckingham Palace await army and navy officers and nursing sisters. A court chamberlain announces their names and as they step forward, pins a bar on the left breast of each tunic.

“Lieutenant Nursing Sister Mary Hubbs,” announces a voice. A door opens and N. S. Hubbs stands in the presence of His Majesty King George V. She curtesys three times. His Majesty approaches and on the bar pinned to her tunic hangs the Order of the Royal Red Cross, 2nd Class: “For Devotion to Duty.” The King shakes the hand of N. S. Hubbs, R. R. C., who bows herself out of the room.

The war is over. Down through the years since that memorable Nov, 11 of 1918, N. S. Hubbs has cherished her memories, but not until Monday evening of this week had she fraternized with or attended the re-union of the boys with whom she served and of whom today she is still inordinately proud.

She did not thrust herself into this company. In fact, she demurred slightly when invited to be the guest of Post 78 at the Memorial Day Observances. Yet in her eyes shone the light of 1914-1918. She sat at the festive board, a quiet figure, shaking a little perhaps, at the glorious thrill of once again experiencing the feel and closeness of the “troops”.

She has never fully recovered from the effects of her experience at Etaples. Since receiving her honorable discharge from active service, she has resided at her home in Black Creek, living quietly with members of her family. A more or less grateful government bestowed upon her a pension, which has since been increased due to the efforts of President Walton and officials of Post 78.

The Canadian Legion salutes N. S. Mary Hubbs, one of Prince Edward County’s most illustrious members of that grand branch of the C. E. F., the C. A, M. C.