Working at the Oakwood Chest Unit was a rewarding period of my nursing career because the staff were a professional team and our patients were great characters despite their illnesses, often resulting from their war service. So, it was a bit of a challenge when our consultant told us that a friend of his would be admitted for investigations – and he was German.
Herman had been in the military and sustained shrapnel injuries to his legs and abdomen. He was given a hard time by many of the other men who ignored him or muttered behind his back that he had ‘killed our boys’. He sat alone at the dinner table and was not invited to join the card games.
The consultant was a wise, older man who had served in the military himself as a doctor, and he was furious when he heard what was happening.
“I want all the staff and every patient in the dining room… now!” he announced. We all trembled and there was a deathly hush in the room. “If you are not satisfied with Herman being treated here,” he began, “I will arrange for you to be transferred elsewhere.” He paused, looking around at the shocked faces before continuing.
“Herman saved my life when we were in the military. I was wounded and left for dead when he came across me. He bandaged my legs, which were bleeding profusely, and dragged me to where my men could find me. We exchanged names and I met up with him ten years later.
“This man, whom you have been treating so abominably, risked his life to save his enemy. So, if you do want a transfer, that’s fine by me.”
One by one the other patients stood up and shook Herman’s hand. I had a lump in my throat, seeing them all welcome him into our community. From then, he had company at mealtimes and some new card games to learn.
I got to know Herman quite well during his treatment. He had advanced cancer and would get frequent terrible flashbacks of the war due to PTSD.
“But I’m not a bad person, nurse,” he said. “I fought for my life and my country.” He showed me a silver medal that he always carried, awarded for bravery as a stretcher bearer helping wounded soldiers, which is how he’d met our consultant.
“But I’ve been in England twenty years now and I had a beautiful English wife,” he went on. “She healed my wounds, but she couldn’t heal my mind.”
One time, when we were alone together, I could see there was something on his mind, so I encouraged him to talk. He hesitated, troubled by memories, and then decided he could trust me.
“A ghost once saved my life,” he began. “I was stationed in Belgium. The British were strong, and we had lost a lot of men. My best friend Jurgen had been shot. He came from the same village as me, there were twenty of us together, all friends. The enemy were overpowering us, and I seriously thought of running away. But soldiers who did that were executed and called cowards – I couldn’t do that to my mother and father, they’d be disgraced in the village.
“So, then I thought I would just get out of the trench and get myself shot. At least my parents would be proud that I died fighting for my country. Then as I looked up, there stood Jurgen, as clear as anything. I blinked but he was still standing there in front of me. I said, ‘You’re dead, Jurgen, I have your tag to give to your mother.’ He replied, ‘Stay where you are, dear friend, do not die like me.’ Then he just vanished.
“Eventually I did crawl out of the trench and was shot in the belly and legs. But something wonderful happened. I felt myself being placed on a stretcher and taken to a military hospital. Yes, I was a prisoner of war, but I was treated well. And I met my beautiful wife Josephine there. She was a nurse, and it was love at first sight”.
“She died of cancer,” he went on after a pause, “but I believe she will come for me when it’s my time. I know there is an afterlife now. One night, as I lay gazing at the ceiling, I felt a hand brush my cheek and there stood my old pal Jurgen. He saluted me, then disappeared. So, I know I’m going to die soon, nurse, and to tell the truth I cannot wait to meet my friend Jurgen, my Mum and Dad and my beautiful wife.”
I felt honoured that Herman had told me his story. And later that evening it was good to see the other men on the ward make room for him at their table, and afterwards play dominoes all together. But it wasn’t long before we realised that the treatment had failed, and he would not be going home.
“I have seen Josephine, nurse,” he told me, his voice weak. He died two days later with his sister at his side.
Herman’s story teaches us a great deal. Yes, he had been ‘the enemy’ but he was still a human being who had suffered like so many others on all sides of war. And his spirit would live on in the afterlife, where we are all accountable for our actions and beliefs.
Most of all, he shows us that we must never make hasty judgements of other people: that annoyingly slow man ahead of us in the supermarket queue, the neighbour who’s sometimes too noisy, the opinionated woman on the bus. We never know what they’ve been through or how they may be suffering. Everyone deserves kindness and compassion.
© Glynis Amy Allen, 2024
Glynis Amy Allen is the author of the bestselling Ghosts of the NHS, describing her spiritual experiences as a hospital nurse. Her new book is Ghosts of War, with more than two hundred true accounts of spirit communication and ghostly encounters with those who have fallen in conflict.
Both titles are published by Local Legend.
Article published in More to Life – Edition 67
