Trench Foot
We were relieved from Hill 310 by another infantry outfit and pulled back to the relative luxury of pup tents in a field with no shells or mortars. We still had cold wet feet but hot chow, blankets and a chance to relax a little. Gambel and I began to hear stories about others in the company who had frostbitten feet and decided that we had better check ours.
Off with the boots and socks after several days and sure enough our feet looked pretty puckered up and white. We decided to go to the battalion aid station the following day.
When we got to the aid station the medic said that we had frost bite, immersion foot or trench foot, whichever you prefer to call it. The army had faced this problem in World War I.
Apparently they never paid much attention to it because they still didn't seem to know what to do about it. The medic put tags on us and told us that we would be sent to the rear for a few days' rest and treatment, news that sounded like sweet music.
We sat in a line of tagged soldiers in various states of medical distress and waited for transportation.
Company F Morning Report for November 13, 1944
Three pages of casualties including Charlie Green and Granville Jenkins.
The medic later came down the line and told me I was the final evacuee for the day and the line starting with Gambel would have to go back to their outfits for the night and report back for evacuation in the AM. Remembering our pact to stay together I told the medic no thanks, if Gambel doesn't go, I don't go. Gambel gave me a big wink and said that I should go right along while I had the chance and he would catch up with me at the next stop. I protested a little, not too much, but Gambel was insistent and I did go reluctantly.
For the next couple of days I was in a state of utter amazement with the conflicting advice and treatment I received.
At our first stop, a regimental medical unit, the doctors told us to put powder on our feet and walk around as much as we could without too much pain to restore circulation to our feet. At the division medical center the next day they told us to keep off our feet and actually carried us on stretchers.
Then they put some kind of greasy salve on the feet and told us to keep them warm.
By this time my feet had thawed out and gotten pretty inflamed and pink, some of the serious cases with toes turning black.
Mine was fortunately a milder case and I had only one black spot on a toe.
As we traveled each stop had a doctor with his own theory of treatment; more or less one of the two described above. My feet were tender, but not real painful and I was able to walk fairly normally.
One stop was an old 3-story school turned into a medical unit. The stairways were too narrow for stretchers, so after you were carried on a stretcher into the first floor some big weightlifter type soldiers carried you to your destination.
I got on one of these guy's backs and when we got up the first set of stairs to a landing, out of sight of everyone I said: "O.K. buddy you can let me down, I can walk."
He was shocked and said "Oh no no Lt. Jones says you people with frostbite are not supposed to walk." and proceeded to carry me to the third floor.
To my surprise I ended up in Paris at a large general hospital with real nurses, hospital beds, the works! I spent a fine restful night.
November 15, 1944 Letter from Charlie to his mother after the attack on Moyenvic and Hill 310
When I woke up in the a.m. I looked down toward the end of the ward. There, to my great relief and pleasure, was that sly-eyed Gambel, just as he had predicted.
This place was one that didn't want people to walk but I was able to get to talk to Gambel anyway. Instead of going back to F Company when he left the aid station where we were separated several nights back, Gambel had crawled into a culvert under the road near the aid station and spent the night. He was first in line at the aid station the following morning.
That same morning F Company went back on the attack, wound up being surrounded by the Germans and only one medic got away. He had stopped to work on wounded and the rest of the company were killed, wounded or taken prisoner to serve out the remainder of the war in prison camp. Being trapped in that observation post under fire for two cold days and nights froze our feet, but it wasn't such a tragedy after all.
NOTE: The attack Charlie mentions here was towards the town of Guebling, north and east of Moyenvic and Hill 310. Harvey Jefferbaum, a fellow soldier from Company F, told me his story of this attack and the subsequent months he spent as a POW in Germany and Czechoslovakia. You can read that story here.
We stayed in the Paris Hospital for a few days and were informed that we would be sent all the way to England where there were plenty of medical facilities. This was hard to believe but true. One morning we were told we would be flown to England that day.
This was not good news to me. I had never flown in an airplane.
I had, however, seen aircraft being shot down or flying over France with smoke trailing, and I had no desire whatever to fly. I made my objections known, but orders are orders. I wound up in a line of stretchers waiting to be trucked to the airport.
Late in the day a nervous orderly came along, almost in tears, and told the few remaining guys in line that they had somehow miscounted and there were no more spaces for flying and that we instead would be sent England by ship. Hurrah!!!
I don't remember what port or what ship it was but it was, on a fairly crudely equipped hospital ship. We crossed the channel and I wound up in a hospital near Oxford.