A Surgeon in Belgium — Reading Companion

The German Sausage and the Shells

Souttar's account of the evacuation from Antwerp hinges on a single absurd detail: a retired officer produces an enormous German sausage and a loaf of bread, offering tea while shells fall outside. The contrast between the vulgar, noisy bombardment and the mundane picnic is deliberately comic. Souttar writes that the effect was electrical, breaking the tension with laughter. He mourns that the sausage, an unparalleled trophy of an incomparable moment, was left behind—likely taken by the Germans. This episode reveals how the author uses incongruity to defuse horror, a pattern repeated throughout the memoir.

The drive through the deserted Avenue des Arts reinforces this surreal quality. Souttar describes the Palais de Justice with broken windows and a blown-off roof, three houses blazing from cellar to chimney, and not a single person in sight. He invites the reader to imagine a similar scene in London: Hyde Park Corner to the Bank, with clubs burning and the Law Courts in bits. The shells provide a Futurist accompaniment. The tone is observational, almost detached, yet the cumulative effect is one of profound desolation.

The Hospital as a Character

Souttar devotes a chapter to the hospital itself, describing its physical layout and daily rhythms with a surgeon's eye for detail. He notes the challenges of improvising a surgical unit in a foreign country, from procuring supplies to managing staff. The hospital emerges as a collective protagonist, its fortunes tied to the resourcefulness of individuals like Madame Sindici and Dr. Beavis. Souttar emphasizes that the hospital's success was due to everyone conspiring to make the time happy, a phrase that underscores the camaraderie amid chaos.

The narrative avoids clinical jargon; instead, Souttar focuses on the human element. He recounts specific cases—wounds, operations, recoveries—but always within the context of the larger war. The day's work is presented as a series of practical problems solved by ingenuity and teamwork. This section grounds the memoir in the tangible reality of medical work, providing a counterpoint to the more dramatic episodes of bombardment and flight.

The Bombardment: Night and Day

Souttar separates the siege of Antwerp into two chapters: The Bombardment—Night and The Bombardment—Day. This structural choice emphasizes the different qualities of danger and perception. At night, the flashes and sounds create a disorienting spectacle; by day, the damage is starkly visible. He describes the scream of shells and the crash when they fell near by, but also the strange beauty of the scene. The writing oscillates between precise observation and a kind of grim wonder.

One striking detail is the description of the Pilotage at the north end of the Avenue des Arts, where General Paris had shifted his headquarters. Souttar notes the considerate treatment he received, the six buses procured for evacuation, and the utter emptiness of the street. The juxtaposition of military efficiency and civilian desolation recurs throughout. Souttar does not glorify the violence; instead, he records it with a clarity that makes the reader feel the weight of each moment. The night journey to Furnes and Poperinghe continues this tone, blending exhaustion with relief.

Souttar's memoir resists easy categorization: it is neither a clinical report nor a patriotic tribute. Readers will find a narrative driven by specific incidents—a shared sausage, a deserted avenue, a hospital's daily grind—rather than grand strategy. The author's voice, at once self-deprecating and precise, invites us to see the war through the eyes of a surgeon who never forgets that he is also a witness. Approach this book as a collection of vivid snapshots, each one illuminating a corner of a world that was, as Souttar writes, so different from our lives at home.

Reading about that surgeon’s steady hands in the chaos of Ypres, I remembered my grandfather’s old journal from the Great War—how he wrote about the quiet after a battle, the same exhaustion the doctor captures between his jokes. The Creed of the Old South 1865-1915 — Text and Context gave me that same feeling once: ordinary men holding onto dignity while the world they knew dissolved around them.