We met our Waterloo

The sun was shining...as ordered...and so when we had managed to drag ourselves up after a late night that ended in Tarot readings, we headed off to Lyme Park. The 33rd Yorkshire Regiment were camped up away from the Battle of Waterloo. Women were baking over an open fire and the surgeon was preparing for an amputation.

"Is anyone here queasy?" asked the surgeon, a bit over the top I thought. But actually it wasn't. He pulled back the curtain of the tent where a wounded soldier had passed through the first triage and managed to get himself from the frontline to the camp. The officers had been treated before him and now it was his turn to see if they could save his leg. The crowd of onlookers took a collective in take of breath as the surgeon prodded his finger deep into the wound and felt the shot, only an amputation could save his life. With no anaesthetic we hoped the lad would faint so he didn't have to endure the horrific pain of the flesh cutting knives and then the sawing of bone. 

With a scream of pain he passed out and within minutes the leg was off, blood vessels were sutured and the stump was bandaged. Weeks of pain are to come....if he survives. 

It was gruesome, but oh my, it was so well done. I loved it, although I wish there had been a lot of blood. 

And then it was all over, LadyG had to return home. It was as lovely as ever to see you, dear friend, I look forward to the next time. xxx