Evie's War Page 9

  24 July, Deans Park

  Lady B has come up with a splendid scheme, being the formation of a local branch of the Girls’ Friendly Society — patroness, one Lady Braybrooke — with Millie and Eugenie amongst the founding members. Aunt Marjorie is quite puffed up. Mother, somewhat less enraptured by Lady B, wonders rather loudly ‘whether we are all to become so swept up in the War that we risk forgetting where our Home and Duty lies’. Aggravating that one should be constantly admonished to Support The War Effort, but that, on doing so, one is accused of Neglecting One’s Duty At Home. Clearly Mother’s first duty is to ensure Father’s comfort and attend to William, while Aunt Marjorie’s lies with her children and household. Those duties attended, surely my time may be freely contributed to the War Effort? At the very least I should think I might be allowed to decide for myself where my Duty is spent.

  Sunday 25 July

  At Millie’s request I attended the founding meeting of the GFS, held in the Church Hall immediately following Morning Service. There are seven girls, aged from eleven to fifteen, and their first project is to produce surgical dressings and bandages, of which I heartily approve. Lady B caught me off guard with a proposal that I should speak about my work. As changing men into pyjamas after washing mud and blood and worse from their limbs is not a topic for girls so young, I simply said that I assisted with each new intake of wounded and attended their needs while they remained in Hospital — for which I received a strapping round of applause and blushed like a beet! Millie looked proud as could be. For good measure I assured them how useful additional medical supplies will be.

  30 July, 1st Eastern

  Another exhausting week, with an endless stream of ambulances unloading their sorry cargoes. I was walking along the Backs this morning as they poured by one after another, after another — they do make a fearful racket. An Auxiliary Hospital is being opened in town to take some of our medical cases, as we simply cannot keep up.

  3 August

  A note from Major D: he is keeping well and often thinks of the care given him at 1st Eastern, without which he says he would have remained in decline.

  4 August

  The War has lasted a year. All agree it cannot go on much longer.

  5 August

  Matron sent for me and bid me sit, which I took to be a bad sign. It was, though not as dreadful as I first feared. A soldier admitted to the Hospital has asked for me by name and Matron wished to check that I knew him. It is my half-brother Harry, from whom I have heard nothing since our meeting of four months ago. When I explained that he was a relative whom I had newly met, she told me his ward and allowed I should visit.

  Harry appeared pleased to see me. He has suffered a compound fracture of the femur and is in considerable pain. I sat with him for half an hour, during which he asked about my work in the Hospital, and I told him quite honestly that I had previously had no notion of undertaking such a job, but at least now felt useful, and that, though it is hard, I would be loath to give it up. He next asked whether I would take up nursing as a career. I could not answer that for I do not know, and said only that I thought it impossible for any who daily deal with the human tragedy of War to think beyond it. Harry replied, rather sadly, ‘You are very young to deal in tragedy.’ Several of my Officers have commented in a similar vein — yet I am no younger than many of the men who pass through these wards, though they often seem older than their years. Perhaps that is a natural consequence of having seen War face to face.

  When I stood to go Harry asked, slightly desperately, whether I might visit again. Of course I shall, though it feels more like sitting with one of my Officers than with a brother. Sister told me he will be transferred to a Physical Therapy Unit once he is stabilised — about ten days, she thought — after which he will have leave. I have sent a telegram to Father. It would be rather splendid were we to invite Harry to recuperate at Deans Park, but unless Father is willing to lay the matter before Mother, it cannot happen.

  6 August, Deans Park

  Father arrived this afternoon — Sister directed him to the garden where I had wheeled Major J and several of my Lieutenants, all of whom greeted him with great politeness. He rather diffidently thanked me for my communiqué and I relayed Sister’s assurances that Harry would likely make an excellent recovery. Father hummed and cleared his throat before managing to say that it was not his intention to in any way embarrass or distress any member of his family. Mother, I deduced, was not to be told of Harry’s plight. On the train down to Littlebury we were both rather tonguetied, so I do not know how Father’s visit went, and my proposal for Harry’s recuperation remains unspoken.

  Sunday 8 August, 1st Eastern

  On tenterhooks all weekend but nothing was said. I went to visit Harry as soon as I reached Cambridge; as a consequence I was past curfew returning to Selwyn and now have a Black Mark against my name.

  9 August

  On receiving my explanation Matron expunged the Black Mark, but warned that in future I should pay my visits during regular hours.

  11 August

  Played two games of draughts with Harry this afternoon, consequently missing tea. Winifred saved me bread and jam and a slice of cake.

  13 August

  Harry proves the owner of a rather ribald sense of humour, and — unlike the rest of my family — is unconstrained by a need to always Say The Right Thing. Generally our chats are about nothing in particular, but today he asked, rather diffidently, what our Father is like. It was only as I described Father as a sheep farmer and businessman that I realised how little I really know of his various commercial interests! I once went with him to the Port, and have several times visited the woolstores in which he holds a part-share, but of his other interests I am largely ignorant. Not considering any of this pertinent to Harry’s question, I shared my memories of a game Father played while dandling us on his knee, and, when I was very small, of his lifting me atop his great Clydesdale stallion, Silver Prince, as it stood in the winners’ enclosure at the Agricultural and Pastoral Show, I think to demonstrate to the crowd how very quiet it was. Mother was horrified, and that was the end of that. But I still recall the weight of the winner’s medal, as big as my small hand, and the smell of warm horse and leather, and the feel of Father lifting me up. In the face of my reminiscing Harry became rather quiet, so perhaps I should have said less, his own childhood likely being less idyllic. However he is not one to be downhearted and the shadow quickly passed. He is being transferred tomorrow; I shall be sorry to see him go.

  14 August, Deans Park

  When I updated Father on Harry’s recovery, he thanked me but requested I not mention ‘the matter’ in front of Mother. Really, I think he overestimates her reaction. Harry, however, is perfectly real, making Father’s obligations as a parent clear.

  16 August, 1st Eastern

  Winifred says I am a naïve romantic, and that she is not in the slightest surprised that Mother should want nothing to do with Father’s B____. I assured her with some asperity that Harry is not a B (the word did not pass my lips, though it did hers). She said that if the marriage was annulled he most certainly is, and that it is better, thus, for Edmund. I declined to discuss it further, but now cannot shake the whole hateful conversation from my head.

  17 August

  Sister told me off — quite reasonably — for clumsiness, which I put down to sleeping rather poorly. I am in no mood to try to raise anyone’s spirits!

  18 August

  Corporal Lindsay writes that he received a slight wound at the end of July, from which he has been recuperating in a ‘swish’ French Hospital. He says the food is jolly good compared to what he is accustomed to in the trenches, and that War is not at all as he expected, the noise being the worst part. I wrote back immediately, though I am not sure whether the letter will reach him while he is not with his Regiment. Ignoring a brief and unworthy temptation to keep his letter to myself, I passed it on to Winifred.

  19 August

 
; A Captain who arrived with us two days ago has described an astonishing development, being the Battle for the Skies. He says both Hot Air Balloons and Bi-planes are employed to spy out the Enemy lines, the Hun endeavouring to shoot the machines down while the fearless pilots also shoot at one another in the air. I am glad Edmund did not hear of it before he signed up or he would doubtless have seen himself engaging in just such thrilling battles. He is safer on the ground.

  20 August

  Winifred just now rushed in to tell me she has at last received a reply from the Red Cross, and it is positive. She plans to discuss it with Lady B tomorrow.

  Also, a card came from Harry, thanking me for troubling to visit. I could not have done otherwise. Scribbled a quick note in reply; I do wish him well.

  21 August, Deans Park

  Uncle Aubrey has been ordered to take a week’s rest; he does not look at all well, being rather grey of complexion. He and Father toured the estate and returned deep in conversation about a new device that will combine the work of threshing and binding. I am sure it did my uncle good to focus on something other than the War. According to the newspapers, the last few weeks have seen a renewed offensive in the Dardanelles, with additional British troops committed, while the NZEF and AEF — jointly called, rather splendidly, ANZACs — continue to fight gallantly. They have their base at a large cove situated at the toe of the Gallipoli Peninsula, from where they endeavour to scale the rugged heights. I wonder how many of the young men on Ada’s list might be amongst them.

  23 August, 1st Eastern

  Lady B has agreed, in light of Winifred ‘already having proven herself’, to back her proposal, which will enable Winifred to supply her own ambulance, expediting her departure. Though I am happy for her, she will be missed. She intends handing her notice to Matron tomorrow.

  24 August

  Edmund is wounded. Maddeningly, he provides no details other than that he is being shipped home. I have sent a note to Uncle Aubrey in case he may be able to discover more.

  25 August

  Rather distracted all day; no further word as yet.

  Matron has agreed to accept Winifred’s resignation, but advises her to wait until all is prepared, as ‘these things can take time to organise’. Not if Winifred (or Lady B!) has anything to do with it, I think.

  26 August

  Mother in great distress, demanding I attend her at once.

  27 August, Deans Park

  As suspected, Mother is in a flap over my brother. If he had only thought to include details of his injury! I told her that if Edmund is able to write, his injury cannot be too bad, which comment she judged both unsisterly and unfeeling.

  28 August

  Edmund is in Portsmouth; by some miracle he managed to telephone to the Post Office and they sent the message up. It is not yet clear whether he will be transferred on.

  Sunday 29 August, Cambridge train

  Mother and Father departed for Portsmouth, I for Cambridge. Suffered a pang at the Station as they boarded their train, though by his own account Edmund is well cared for and recovering and I therefore have no grounds for worry. Even so, I feel rather low. Edmund injured, Harry and Mr Lindsay both injured, Winifred off to Belgium: the War has taken a rather personal turn.

  31 August, 1st Eastern

  Felt very sorry for myself last night, which Just Won’t Do. How I shall cope when I haven’t Winifred to tell me to ‘Buck Up’, I cannot imagine.

  1 September

  Telegram from Father: Edmond recovering well. It is a leg wound.

  Double shifts from today as there is a rush expected; I can hear the ambulances starting to arrive. No escape for W until this one is over.

  Sunday 5 September

  Glorious sleep! Missed the late train to Littlebury, and jolly glad, as it means no one to insist I get up for Church. No doubt God will turn a blind eye.

  7 September

  Two of Monday’s intake died overnight. I know I should not feel responsible but it is difficult not to wonder whether there was not more one could have done.

  9 September

  Sister says it is nothing more than indulgence to blame oneself. I suppose she is right.

  10 September

  Winifred has taken possession of the new car. It is frightfully swish but has yet to be made over, with proper slots in the back for stretchers and so forth (Lady B naturally has it in hand). We are to motor down tomorrow.

  Sunday 12 September, Deans Park

  Monty quite miserable about returning to School. Uncle Aubrey says it will be the making of him, which I well know to be of little comfort when one is suffering from homesickness.

  13 September, 1st Eastern

  Relieved to be back in Cambridge, and a respite from tears. Aunt Marjorie’s behaviour was worse than Monty’s when it came to it. Mother was quite sharp with her. I rather doubt the comparison with Sending One’s Son To War did much to help.

  14 September

  Surprise party for W: decorated the dining hall with streamers and little flags and carried her around the room in a suitably decked-out chair, some of the young ladies making motor ambulance noises! Much laughter and more than a few damp eyes. Winifred has such a knack for jollying things along; we will miss her.

  15 September

  Farewells at first light. Winifred gave me a divine cashmere scarf and looked very pleased with my gift of driving gloves (which cost rather a lot!). I do hope all goes well. At the last I remembered to ask whether she had let Corporal Lindsay know that she was going to the Front. She said she had, and Edmund too. She is a Dark Horse!

  16 September

  Fell into something of a slump after W’s departure. Sister briskly advised that work is the answer. A postcard came from Harry: he has been transferred to an Auxiliary Hospital to recuperate; he says it is wonderful — ‘right out of my league’ — and that his leg is coming along well, ending with the wish that I will ‘remember him kindly’. Of course I shall.

  17 September

  Telegram from Deans Park to say Edmund is home. With luck I shall be able to make the six o’clock train.

  18 September, Deans Park

  My brother’s wounds are not particularly alarming — one bullet clean through the thigh, mercifully missing the bone, and another, quite shallow, across the back of the calf — both healing well; he will soon get about with a single stick. But he has the old, bleak eyes that I see so often. Mother says, with no small measure of relief, that he has ‘done his bit’, which only causes my brother’s hackles to rise, and rise further as she strokes his hair. Does she not realise he is no longer a child? Though perhaps a son is ever a mother’s child.

  Sunday 19 September, Cambridge train

  Mother believes Edmund to be ‘not quite his old self’. I do not say ‘How could he be?’ for she thinks I know little about War and its effects, despite all these months of service. Whatever does she think I do all week?

  21 September, 1st Eastern

  I have been given permission to attend the Doctor’s rounds, with the proviso that I am at all times both silent and invisible, and do not in any way cause Sister to regret her decision (which I shall certainly endeavour not to do!). Rounds begin at ten, with Sister standing at the Doctor’s side as he makes his assessment and delivers instruction on such matters as treatment of wounds, diet, exercise and medication. He speaks to Sister rather than to the patients, and moves swiftly from one to the next. I felt his comments at times lacked tact, for example when he announced that only one of the blinded boys I admitted last week is likely to recover his sight, but such insensitivity may be put down to pressure of work. (I returned to Privates Barker and Frankel as soon as I was able; both were thoroughly dispirited — as if losing limbs is not enough.) Sister gave me a nod of approval as Dr Kittow moved on, at which I let out a silent sigh of relief!

  22 September

  Spent my half day off wandering through narrow alleys and curved cobbled streets — Cambridge is such a pr
etty town, though at present rather bursting at the seams. Bought a stick of rock for Eugenie, miniature book of quotations for Millie and sweets for Monty; also a letter-writing set for Edmund, which he might use when he returns to France. After dithering for some time I bought a second set for Harry.

  24 September, Littlebury train

  Matron sent me off to catch an early train, advising that with Edmund recuperating at home I should spend as much time there as possible. How she contrives, alongside all else, to know the private circumstances of the many young women in her charge I know not! To that end I am allowed a late start on Monday so that I might stay an extra night, and will make up the hours on the following evenings. Oh! The train has jolted out of the Station and my writing is quite blotched! I shall stop.