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| Red Cross Hospital #6-7, Souilly France (Oct. 1918) Library of Congress, Signal Corps |
On the night of January 19, 1919, a sentry on the deck of the SS La Lorraine saw two women calmly walk to the ship’s rail, quickly climb over, and plunge into the icy water. By the time the Captain of the Lorraine could be notified, the ship had traveled five miles beyond the place the Cromwell twin sisters were last seen. Their double suicide provoked widespread public debate concerning the mental effects of war work on women volunteers (see previous post “The Extra”).
Gladys and Dorothea Cromwell had sailed for France to volunteer in the Canteen Service of the Red Cross in January of 1918. For eight months they were stationed at Chalons-sur-Marne, working long shifts in support of the French army, sometimes under enemy fire. Anne Dunn, a former teacher who corresponded with the sisters during the war, writes, “they suffered from the exhaustion that is so acute to those who have never known physical labour; yet no one suspected until the end came that for many months they had believed their work a failure, and their efforts futile.... In September, at their own request, they were transferred to an Evacuation Hospital [because] ... they longed to work with ‘our own boys.’”*
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| Gladys is 2nd from the left; Dorothea is far right Red Cross Evac Hospital #6-7 LOC, SIGNAL CORPS (13 Oct 1918) |
Anne Dunn reveals that the horrors of tending wounded and dying men near the Front at Verdun “broke their already overtaxed endurance. In the diaries they left, signs of mental breakdown begin to show as early as October…. but years of self-control and consideration for others made them conceal the black horror in which they lived—the agony through which they saw a world which they felt contained no refuge for beauty and quiet thought. In such a world they conceived they had no place, and when on their way home, they jumped from the deck of the Lorraine, it was in response to a vision that promised them fulfilment and peace.”*
Gladys Cromwell’s Poems was published posthumously. Here is her first poem in the collection:
The Actor-Soldier
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| American volunteer at Red Cross Evac Hospital #6-7 Souilly, France (14 Oct 1918) Library of Congress, Signal Corps |
My blanket is the sky;
This feeling is called dying.
No one will testify
They saw me suffer this;—
There’s no one passing by.
The wonder of it is,
I’m by myself at last
With plain realities.
No one is here to cast
A part for me to play;
My term of life is past.
No one is here to see
How I can meet and take
This end;—how gallantly—
Though the ice that binds a lake
Must weigh less heavily
Than Death to my soul awake.
I must have thirsted, indeed,
For pity, then love, then praise;
For to win them, in every deed,
I endeavoured all my days.
The Soldier and the Son
Were my seductive parts;
But I could act the clown,—
Draw laughter from dumb hearts.
The Soldier part was my best,—
’Twas my last and my favourite.
Every gift that I possessed
I displayed for their benefit.
Who are They? On my breast
Weighs the infinite.
Ah, yes, I appeared heroic,
Unflinching, true and brave;
I wore the look of a stoic;—
All hurts I forgave.
But now on the grass I turn
To ease a little the pain;
It is not too late to learn.
Last night I lay in the rain
Until my body was numb,
Hearing like a refrain:
“O Masquerader, come!”
And even like a drum
It beat into my brain:
“O Masquerader, come!”
—Gladys Cromwell
Both the men and the women who experienced the suffering of the First World War often felt the need to repress their feelings of grief and horror. Whether acting as the clown, the hero, or the ministering angel, they numbed themselves to their own pain, believing “No one will testify / They saw me suffer this.”
Anna Ryan, another American volunteer in the Smith College Relief Unit, writes,
“The Cromwell sisters were working devotedly at Chalons-sur-Marne for weeks while I was there—a particularly trying post, as the town was then under bombardment from earth or air almost every day; and from there they went directly to another post of duty at Verdun. Although even robust soldiers must be relieved after six weeks at the Front, no one seems to have ordered these girls to take a rest. At the end, they were undoubtedly suffering from what the French call cafard, a condition of abysmal depression resulting from nerve-exhaustion. Unquestionably, they deserve to be honored among those who have died for their country and the cause.”**
Gladys’ and Dorothea’s bodies were recovered several months after their suicide; they were buried in France with military honors. Gladys Cromwell’s posthumously published Poems won the Poetry Society of America prize in 1920.***
I was fortunate enough to find a copy of Cromwell’s Poems; the inside cover is inscribed from “M.R.” to Rosina Sherman Hoyt.**** Below the inscription are penned the words, “White violets gathered at dawn.”
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* Anne Dunn, “Biographical Note” in Poems by Gladys Cromwell, Macmillan, 1919, pp. 116 – 117.
** Harriet Monroe, “A Gold Star for Gladys Cromwell,” Poetry, vol. 13, no. 6, Mar. 1919, p. 328.
*** For further information on the Cromwell sisters, see Jeff Richman’s blog post “A Twin Tragedy,” 23 Jan. 2017.
**** Rosina was a wealthy New York heiress who also wrote poetry and was the great-niece of Civil War general William Tecumseh Sherman.
