By Dr. Susan J. Neuhaus
In January 1915, a 700-year-old medieval abbey nestled in the French countryside underwent a remarkable transformation. The ancient stones of Royaumont Abbey, which had witnessed centuries of history, were about to bear witness to yet another extraordinary chapter—this time as a fully functioning military hospital staffed entirely by women.
The Scottish Women’s Hospital at Royaumont would become the largest voluntary hospital in France to operate continuously throughout the Great War. From its initial 100 beds to its eventual 600, it would treat over 10,860 patients with a remarkably low mortality rate of just 1.82%. Yet beyond these impressive statistics lies a deeper story—one of pioneering women who defied convention, demonstrated extraordinary skill and courage, and in many cases, returned home forever changed by what they had witnessed.
“A Little Chapter of Hell”
Among these remarkable women was a young Australian, Millicent Sylvia Armstrong. Born in Sydney and a graduate of Sydney University with First Class Honours in English, Armstrong volunteered as an orderly at Royaumont and later at its dangerous outpost at Villers-Cotterêts.
Her vivid letters home provide some of the most haunting firsthand accounts of life at these hospitals. In a letter believed to have been written in June 1917, Armstrong described one particularly harrowing night during the evacuation of Villers-Cotterêts:
“It was the most extraordinary night – like a little chapter of Hell. The men who were brought in were not merely wounded, but shot to pieces – some scarcely human. A terrific air raid came off – I was alone in the office, and the explosions raised a horrid little wind up the back of one’s neck! I leaned against the wall in the dark and thought how vile it all was!”
Armstrong’s role, like that of other orderlies, was multifaceted and gruelling. These women—many from privileged backgrounds and unaccustomed to domestic work—undertook cooking, cleaning, laundry, and night porter duties. They sterilized instruments, assisted in operations, helped tend to patients, and organised much-needed recreation to boost morale.
Courage Under Fire
In May 1918, as German forces advanced toward Paris, Armstrong was part of a small group of women at the Villers-Cotterêts outpost who remained behind to evacuate the last of the wounded. Under bombardment, with shells falling around them, they loaded patients into ambulances, salvaged what equipment they could, and fled only minutes before the Germans overran their position.
For her extraordinary bravery during this evacuation, Armstrong was awarded the Croix de Guerre, France’s highest honour for valour. The citation praised her “devotion and courage” in the face of enemy fire.
The Toll of Witness
Yet the horrors Armstrong witnessed left deep psychological wounds. In that same June 1917 letter, she confessed:
“I could never tell you what a hellish thing this fighting is. At present I don’t feel as if life would ever be worth living again after the ghastly suffering we have seen. It seems to me there is only one spark of divinity left on earth, and that is human courage. A dying man, shot to pieces, whom I was holding, apologised for tiring me!”
Perhaps the most powerful statement Armstrong made about her war experience came after her return to Australia. In a remarkable act of protest, she reportedly threw her Croix de Guerre medal from a Manly ferry into Sydney Harbour, unable to reconcile the honour with the futility and horror of what she had witnessed.
Life After War
Despite her disillusionment, Armstrong carried on with remarkable resilience. In 1921, she successfully applied for land under the Returned Soldiers Settlement Act—one of the only women to do so—receiving 1,028 acres near Gunning in New South Wales.
She also pursued her literary talents, writing plays under the pen name “Emily Brown.” Some of these works achieved modest success.
The Legacy of Royaumont
Armstrong’s story parallels that of many women who served at Royaumont and its outpost. They demonstrated beyond doubt that women could perform every medical role required in wartime, from surgery to anaesthesia, pathology to radiology, and administration to evacuation.
Yet upon returning home, these women found their wartime contributions quickly forgotten. In C.E.W. Bean’s official war history, there is scant mention of the Australian women who served in non-nursing military roles. Their service treating Allied, British, and Australian casualties passed largely unnoticed in their own country.
Today, at Royaumont Abbey, only a single plaque and a tree planted by HRH The Princess Royal remain to commemorate the extraordinary hospital that once operated within its walls. The complex relationship these women had with their wartime service—immense pride in their professional achievements alongside profound horror at what they witnessed—remains a crucial yet underexplored aspect of our understanding of war’s impact.
Millicent Armstrong’s final gesture—consigning her medal to the depths of Sydney Harbour—stands as perhaps the most powerful testament to this duality: the heroism and the disillusionment that characterised the experience of many women who served.
In her words, written after a night of treating men “shot to pieces,” we find a truth that resonates beyond her time and place: the strength of human courage and the disillusion of those who bear witness to the ghastly reality and consequences of war.
Dr. Susan J. Neuhaus is the author of “Not For Glory: a century of service by medical women to the Australian army and her allies” and a former Colonel in the Royal Australian Army Medical Corps.
Images: 1) Millicent Armstrong at the Villers-Cotterêts outpost, 1917. 2) Royaumont Abbey Hospital, 1915.