Virtual
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Australia

Daughter of Henry TRESTRAIL and Constancy nee SMITH
Joined QAIMNSR 18 October 1915
Next of kin listed as Mrs. Henry TRESTRAIL
Of Hopkin Street, Boulder City, WA
Member of St. Johns of Jerusalem and British Red Cross
Trained at Wakefield St. General Hospital 1907 - March 1911 (Theatre Nurse)
Private nursing from 1911
In Charge of 19 beds, Enteric Fever, at Wallaroo Hospital SA for 4 months in 1911
Temporary Matron Macley District Hospital Jan 0 May 1913
War Nursing in Belgium & France Sept 1914 - Sept 1915
Dr. Florence Stoney Scottish Women's Hospital Sept 1915
Transferred to France - American Ambulance, Paris France
Resigned 18 October 1916
Resided 'Kelso', Mitchell Street, South Brisbane in December 1920
Married Sidney Percival SWAN
Applied for divorce in Townsville Qld in 1944 on grounds of adultery
​Died 05 November 1960 in Sydney, NSW

A NURSE IN FRANCE. An Adelaide Girl's Story.

A South Australian nurse, Miss Trestrail, at the American Ambulance Hospital at Neuille-sur-Seine, France, in a letter to a friend in Adelaide, thus describes the soldiers under her care;— 'I love the French men; they are the dearest things, but they are like children. Sometimes I wonder how grown men who have seen so much that is awful, who have done fearful things and suffered privation, cold, and pain, can eat and sleep, and laugh away the hours as if there was never, a war at all. I am sending a photograph of nine of my patients, a matron, and myself. The boy on the chair (Albert) is a darling. He is 20 yeans of age, and has been decorated for his bravery. He had a terribly broken leg, and it has been amputated above the knee. The one next to Mademoiselle (who is standing up) is his friend, and gave a pint of his own blood to the kid just before the amputation. The doctor took the blood from the arm of one with a little pump, and pumped it into the arm of the other. The colour came back to one face as it died from the other, and afterwards some of the high French officers came to congratulate the friend (Achilles) on his self-sacrifice. He simply answered, 'It has been my privilege, sirs.' The next patient, had no upper lip, and they did a plastic. They took flesh from either side and made a lip. Since then they have put some of the bottom lip on the edge, and he is a triumph. The three on crutches have had broken legs, and two of the other had bullets in the lungs. Now they are all well, and are going away soon. I shall hate to lose them, but their beds must be given to others. One of my men was rude to me the other morning, so the doctor spoke to him before all the other patients in the ward. When I came on at night he had learned to say, 'I am so sorry' in English: and when he said it in all seriousness, with his big brown eyes on my face, I almost hugged him. I love them all: they are good patients, but I love the Belgians better, because I am so sorry for them. It is terribly sad, and yet I know I shall hate nursing other people when this terrible war is over. Fancy trying to please some trying old lady that only has a nurse because she can afford it! It will be. 'Nurse, put some powder on my nose; 'Nurse, get me a little drop of brandy, one speck of sugar!' 'Nurse, please don' t laugh in my house;' 'I don't care for the colour of your hair,' and all those trivial little things which I hate.
—A French Battleground.--
I have just returned from Meaux, one limit of the German advance into France. We went by train, then we hired a trap and drove about 10 miles into the country, right through the battlefield and down into the Valley of the Marne where the famous victory was won. It seems sad that all the quaint, quiet little place was ever the scene of an awful battle. At pre sent it is covered with preen wheat; but all over the hills and fields are hundreds of little white wooden crosses. Some of them have the name and regiment of the soldier that died on the very spot, but often it is only a number. There are a few black crosses, and they bear the statement that one or six Germans, as the case may be, are buried beneath. Most of the German dead were cremated after the battle, and only a few individuals have received separate interment. We saw a little fruit garden in which 200 Germans had entrenched, but the English got in, and the Germans were killed, every one. God only knows how terrible it all is! We saw the little church and a tiny cemetery in which there is a long row of English graves. One is that of an officer, on which the French children put fresh flowers every Sunday. I cannot write all I thought as I looked out on the country that had been stained with blood.
—A Theatre Party —
'I must not omit to tell you about one day when I took 25 patients to a theatre in Paris. They came down to the hall in their different uniforms— infantry in red pants and blue or grey coats, artillery in blue with red stripes, African regiments in khaki, and Zouaves in baggy trousers, with their officers in pale blue. They were a queer lot, with their slings and bandages and crutches. We had two large motors, and off we set down the boulevards of Paris. They yelled to the people and threw kisses to the girls. When we arrived they all changed places about six times, and then they bought peppermints. Ugh! The play was hot all French plays are— but they enjoyed, to the best of their ability to understand it, all that every actor said I did not, but that did not matter. I wish you could have seen me out with 25 Frenchmen and a policeman. In Paris there are 1,000 hospitals and they are all full of Frenchmen and Belgian men, very few English. One of my patients was a Belgian soldier who is again at the front. His captain called for eight men to hold the line while the rest retreated, and he was one of the eight to face almost certain death, and one of the two who escaped. Both have been decorated with the Order of Chevalier of Leopold II., which is the same as a knighthood in England. The King presented the decoration, and be stowed the order, and my former patient is very proud, and so am I. I hope he lives to the end of the war. I long for peace
again, for the day when we may know that all the poor wretches are in from the trenches, and instead of being killed and maimed by the thousand, are on the way to their homes. I have been in one of the trenches after the soldiers had left it, of course-and know something of the life that must be lived in them.
—Paris in Crape --
'You cannot realize what it is in France. Every man from 18 to 45 is in uniform. All who can go must go, and whether a mother has a dozen sons or only one, all have to fight for France. The last of our patients from Belgium were almost suffo cated by those awful gas bombs. They say that all the men in the first row of trenches died. The French patients are such dear things. Many of them have never been looked after properly in all their lives before, and they love the 'Nurses Anglaise.' Paris is a picture; it is always the best city in the world. In the spring it is Paradise, and with all the 12 avenues that lead to one grand centre, lined with chestnut trees, it is a sight for the gods. If only the people were not in black! Here in France they never print their own list of dead, and if a wife loses her husband she only knows it because he has ceased to write to her. It seems as though all the women are in black and wear crepe. The closer the relative, the longer the veil. For a father or husband it reaches the hem of the skirt; and for a brother halfway down the skirt. It is gloomy, I tell you. They wear the mourn ing for about five years. The Australian nurses here are all trying to get positions at Malta or in Egypt; for although they love their French and Belgian patients, they are dying to have the privilege of nursing back to health some of their dear, big, strong, bronzed, and brave Australians.'

The Register Tuesday 14 September 1915 page 6.

Biography written by Hannah Brown from St Peter's Girl's School, SA attached as a document. Winning entry for 2017 Premier's Anzac Spirit School Prize.