THE TRAGEDY OF JOHN AIDEN LIDDELL VC

On 31 July 1915, in the region of Ostend-Brugge-Gent, a British plane was flying against a blue cobalt sky for reconnaissance of the German transport roads and movement. The Germans who were preparing for a British invasion had brought in thousands of German workers, troops and naval warfare material didn't appreciate the presence of the enemy aeroplane and opened with all the anti-aircraft guns they had placed in a battery in miles around. The plane was seen single-handedly turning, twisted and diving from the fierce flame-grey shells that was only protected by Divine provenance. All of a sudden

the aeroplane was masked by an ominous grey shell burst. Tumbling, turning, twisting,

plunging headlong like a stone, it swept down into view below. The German guns stopped firing and all the soldiers watched and waited for the moment of impact. Exultance, however, robbed the German gunners from their customary caution, when the aeroplane snatched of the very jaws of death and the Germans astonished what just had happened opened fire again after a brief moment.

The aeroplane was flown by John Aiden Liddell and his observer. The two men had given the task of frustrating the German invasion of Britain. When both men were halfway on the reconnaissance, they found themselves between Ostend and Bruges - Twenty miles across the lines - one a shrapnel shell burst violently against the side of the aeroplane, badly smashing the control wheel and throttle control and shattering his right thigh. His companion later describes that Liddell at that point had lost consciousness and that the plane pitched down giddily in a headlong dive of 3000 feet. Only the upward rush of air from that desperate plunge served to bring Liddell back to conscious from his death-like faint and then he recovered himself only by an almost superhuman effort. Weak and exhausted by the sudden loss of blood, suffering excruciating agonies from the gaping wound in his side; and fired at incessantly from all side, he stood that terrible strain. He was determined to prevent his observer from being taken prisoner and the valuable information which they had gleaned falling into the enemy's hands. Eventually, he landed his aeroplane will within the British lines, half an hour after he had been wounded, as deftly and as neatly as returning from a normal flight. He was carried immediately to the neighbouring hospital of La Panne. He was put in the care of Mrs Fenwick and his observer Mr Peck accompanied him. On 13 August 1915, Mrs Fenwick states in her diary that Captain Liddell's leg is doing badly and will have to be cut off after all, but we still hope not. Three days later she said that Liddell isn't doing well. On 17 August the decision was made to amputate his leg of the day after. In the afternoon, Prince Alexander of Teck entered the hospital and informed him that he would be awarded the Victoria Cross, which made him so happy. Two days later, Mrs Fenwick wrote in her diary, that Liddell's leg was amputated but that he had blood-poisoning all over his body and that she feared for his life. On 21 August 1915, the British mission wired for his mother and she crossed the channel to be with her son. During these days Major A. A. Gordon had visited his fellow Scotsman Liddell many times and in the final days of his life, he asked he would like something from London because he was heading in a few days. Liddell asked a dozen bottles of Perrier water and Major Gordon sent it as soon as he arrived in London. Captain John A. Liddell, unfortunately, died on 31 August 1915. Only two days later, the package with the water bottles would arrive in the hospital.

John A. Liddell had a quiet undemonstrative youth and was a shy boy who was the last man anyone would ever consider to be so brave and gallantry. He was one of those rare characters which chose to give rather than to ask, and in the giving knew neither fear nor despair. After his death, his mother brought his body back to Britain and buried him at The Holy Ghost Cemetery in Basingstoke, where he still rests today. His sister Dorothy, travelled soon afterwards to La Panne to volunteer in the hospital where her brother died, she worked there till the end of the war.

THE TRAGEDY OF MARIE PICARD

Marie Picard was born in 1872 at Elsene, Belgium, as the daughter of Engineer Emil Picard and Victorine Héger. Marie met Antoine Depage, because of her uncle, who was a medical Tudor in the University of Brussels. The couple later married in 1893 and had three sons.

In 1903 established Marie and her husband the surgical institute at Berkendael. The institute laid the basis to the first Belgian medical school in 1907, which was let by the later martyr Edith Cavell.

During the Balkan war, Picard left with a medical unit and served in the hospital Tach Kicha in Constantinopel. Her oldest son served also with a field ambulance.

At the outbreak of the war, Dr Depage en Marie Picard established a military hospital at the Belgian Royal Palace. Later the couple will establish two more hospitals in Calais, where the Belgian medical units where situated. After the German were halted at the Yser, Queen Elisabeth asked the couple if they would establish a military hospital at the L'ocean hotel in La Panne. Dr Depage and Marie Picard worked close together with Major Gordon to get supplies in London. Marie Picard, later left to America for the funding of the hospital and achieved in getting a substantial amount of money. She returned in May 1915 with the Lusitania to Europa. The ship was later hit by a German torpedo. Marie Picard, together with doctor James Houghton aided the passengers into the lifeboats and nursed wounded sailors and the boxer Matt Freeman. When the water reached the upper deck, she jumped in the water, but got stuck in a net and drowned. Her body was brought back to La Panne where she was buried in dunes until she was reburied in 1920 at the cemetery of Bosvoorde.

THE BAND OF YSÄYE PLAYS FOR THE WOUNDED

The next morning Major Gordon told us to pack for playing at a Hospital. The scene (at the hospital) was looking like a city of death, with the inexhaustive sounds of the canons at Ypres. Just before we wanted to set down for lunch, a terrible explosion occurred and Ysäye exclaimed "Voila, du sonnette du repas !" witch translates "Voila, the bell for the meal". - Lionel Tardis