Evie's War (21 page)

Charles is proving true to his promise regarding letters; I confess I look forward to them. Today he sets out ‘a potential solution to a moral dilemma, being: his fervent desire to marry forthwith, set against his unwillingness to do so at the cost of his intended's peace of mind'. His proposal is that I continue my War work after our marriage, albeit with some consideration regarding my hours and location, and with the proviso that I reside ‘in the Marital home'. I had not given any thought to where we might live!

Rushed into town at lunchtime with some success: having located a seed merchant I made a purchase on Eugenie's behalf (allowance provided by Father), that the Kaiser's policy to starve us into submission may yet be foiled!

Edmund is home for the weekend, though all is not peaceful: he has told our parents that he is shortly to return to the Front. Finding him alone in the library after lunch I asked whether he saw merit in marriage at the current time. His look was very grave. ‘For myself, no, as I should not wish to leave my new bride a widow. But for you and Charles, I should think it equally foolish were you not to proceed.'

Duly chastened, I have resolved to set my doubts aside.

Mother in a fragile state; even Father subdued. My brother departed mid-morning. When I expressed my fears regarding the current threat to shipping in the Channel, Edmund replied: ‘We can but trust to God,' which would have been more of a comfort had he not added, with a disparaging smile, ‘In Whom I no longer believe.' Regardless, I shall pray for him.

Most distressing note from Charles: he has offered to release me from my promise. I do not in the least understand why; he says only that he makes the offer having spoken to Edmund! Sister found me weeping and sent me to Matron. She listened for only a few minutes before saying: ‘It is quite simple. Do you or do you not wish to marry the man?'

I said I thought perhaps I did. She flapped a hand. ‘Then write and tell him so!'

Telegram sent: ‘Prefer to stand by Promise.'

Summoned to Matron's office at the end of my shift; Charles was waiting outside with permission to take me to tea. He was quite stricken. Apparently Edmund had repeated our discussion regarding marriage, causing Charles to convince himself that I had come to regret our engagement. I assured him this was not the case, though acknowledged that the responsibility I felt to my patients had been weighing heavily. Then, of course, it was my turn to express remorse for my failure to respond to his proposed solution, which in point of fact I think more than fair; and that my sole reason for not writing in that vein is that I have been rather cast down by the loss of several men, and rather busy besides. At this he stroked my hand and admonished me against wearing myself out. With far lighter spirit I asked whether that had been a concern when it was he I was tending. He replied that he had then felt I should spend rather more time at my patients' bedsides, as long as it was his own and no one else's! After further discussion we are resolved: we shall set a date in April, subject to Father's approval.

Mother ‘vetoed absolutely' any plan of marrying in April, which she says would give ‘quite the wrong impression'. What impression, and to whom, she did not elect to explain. She does, however, support Charles in his desire to ‘have matters settled' and proposed June. Calendars were consulted and the 23rd settled upon. And thus it is decided. Aunt Marjorie says the garden will be perfect; Mother intends speaking with the Vicar tomorrow. Father quietly approving, Millie ecstatic. I have written to Edmund, care of his Regiment, to give him the news. Of the plan that I continue working after our marriage, I am currently saying nothing!

U-boat attacks more ferocious than ever; many thousands drowned while mere handfuls are saved. Sent up a prayer for Edmund's crossing.

One of my trench foot cases remarked on how radiant I appeared. Another said, with a wink, ‘Romance.' I blushed!

More snow overnight. The ambulances became bogged trying to get back from the Station, and two of the tent wards had to be removed to the cloisters. Very trying.

Telegram from Father to say that Edmund is arrived in France. Relief! Also a letter from Mr Lindsay. It seems Winifred has ended their understanding. He says he does not bear any grudge, and does not believe it in any way to do with his disfigurement (which is certainly true, Winifred not being so callous). His final word on the subject is that he wishes her every happiness. He has applied to return to his studies at Oxford.

Aunt Marjorie, doubtless through some nefarious means, has acquired a length of pale blue silk and proposes engaging her dressmaker in Saffron Walden so that I might look the ‘Perfect Bride'. I believe Millie is more taken than I with all the palaver.

Uncle Aubrey and Charles are up for the day. The latter took me aside and kissed me soundly, and I am reminded of why I have said ‘yes'!

The Horrors of this War grow no less, as evidenced by the sorry cargo of each line of ambulances. Newspaper articles and what we see with each intake simply Do Not Tally.

I saw a patch of crocuses today, tiny cups nudging through the soil and petals of pale purple spreading like little stars.

Protests in Petrograd around the shortage of food, in particular bread; mounted Cossacks called in to control the crowd though the demonstrations are reported as generally peaceful, being comprised largely of women. Father is worried the situation may benefit the Enemy.

Note from Edmund: he says he is ‘enough alive to feel frozen in his marrow'. And adds that he came upon a sentry whose boots had frozen in place during the night and who was too exhausted to break himself free. I can well imagine the state of the feet inside those boots.

Czar Nicholas II has abdicated amidst reports of soldiers
leaving their posts; the term ‘mutiny' is being used. The Romanov family has ruled Russia for 300 years! I wonder whether our own King feels vulnerable?

Charles came up this morning; he is looking tired. He agrees the situation in Russia is grave, with food shortages likely to cause further trouble. It can only work in Germany's favour.

Edmund's birthday, he is twenty-three. More medical cases, all of whom should have been evacuated sooner.

Newspapers full of reports of a German withdrawal; it is the talk of the wards — though seems not to apply to their attacks in the Channel, the tally of ships being sunk now standing at close to ten a day. It simply cannot be sustained.

Note from Winifred; she proposes meeting me at the Station on Friday. I have replied in the affirmative!

Winifred is much improved; while not quite her old self, she is once again looking forward. She has applied to the Red Cross with a view to returning to France. Aunt Marjorie's response was severe: she says Winifred may not depart until after the wedding. It is rather unreal to think that in three months I shall be married.

Sometimes I feel little more than a drudge — then one of the men will ask for me by name or thank me for my help, and it feels worthwhile once again.

Sister told me to report to Matron's Office after my shift, which set me a-flutter in case Charles had made another unexpected visit. It proved otherwise, though he was implicated. It transpires that, further to Charles having raised the matter with her, she has made enquiries on my behalf to the New Zealand Convalescent Hospital at Grey Towers, Hornchurch, which, having opened last year, is currently in the process of expanding. This I heard with kindling hope, alas, soon dashed: the Matron in Charge, while being favourably disposed towards securing the services of New Zealand women, does not believe the situation will suit one newly married, all nursing staff being required to live on the premises. As an alternative she suggests I might offer my services at Beethoven House, being a Canteen and Soldiers' Club established in the grounds at Grey Towers, to which end I should contact a Miss Hilda Williams. Matron believes the work would not be dissimilar to that I carried out in my early months at 1st Eastern. I thanked her and left — and cannot now decide whether I should feel angry with Charles for approaching Matron without my knowledge, or relieved that they both find it quite natural that I should wish to continue nursing after we are married.

I have written to Charles giving a summary of my interview with Matron.

Weather positively atrocious — it begins to feel as if this
winter will never end. Eugenie is despondent over the failure of her brassica crop, the ground being too waterlogged.

Church, though I would rather have slept in, and thereafter subjected to fittings and debates, Aunt M being fixated upon my Trousseau, the gathering of which is No Easy Matter in These Difficult Times.

Winifred is back at 1st Eastern! She says she felt it best to test her wrist under circumstances less trying before returning to the Front, which she is determined to do. She is looking very tired; I hope it does not prove too much.

Charles confirms in his latest letter that shipping losses are even greater than the newspapers report: approximately 500 Merchant and Naval vessels have been sunk since early February. How smug those U-boat Captains must be, hiding safe beneath the waves and firing on passing ships without risk of reprisal.

Winifred does not complain, but it is clear her wrist causes considerable discomfort.

Good Friday, and so it seems: America has entered the War, President Wilson declaring ‘the world must be safe for
democracy'. I wonder that it took him so long to notice it was under threat. And now I must dash or miss my train.

Charles writes that the feeling in the War Office is much improved and we should all justifiably enjoy a lift in spirits. For himself, he says he has only to think of me to achieve it.

Rather lovely Easter Service. Monty delighted to be home.

Favourable reports from Arras: despite poor weather the men, mainly ANZACs and Canadians, have taken the ridge at Vimy, gaining command over the surrounding countryside. The newspapers proclaim that the Tide of War has Turned.

Rushed into town to find a gift for Millie's birthday, settling for a slightly bruised copy of Jack London's
Call of the Wild
, together with a lovely linen bookmark from the craft workshop.

Millie happy with her gift and happier still when I proposed she be a bridesmaid — I am sure Winifred will not begrudge sharing the honour. A card from Edmund, who writes that he is well but offers no clues regarding his location. Father is worried about the weather; he says the ground is so boggy that planting is impossible.

The first casualties from Vimy have reached us. As usual, the story they tell is altogether less positive than the newspapers would have it, the advance (four miles), not coming without cost. The men are suffering frostbite alongside their other injuries. Evacuation procedures are at least becoming more efficient, these casualties having reached us in less than a week. I have volunteered for extra shifts until the rush is passed.

Clearing out as fast as possible. Sitting cases have been moved on, including all but a handful of my medicals. Our ward is taking all comers at present!

Winifred and I put back our heads and fell asleep on the train. Had it not been for the care of the Conductor we should have slept through our stop!

Begged off Church in order that I might sleep. Told Mother that, God seeing all, I had no doubt that He would understand. She was not amused.

One of the new intake, suffering frostbite on fingers and face as well as bullet wounds in both legs, told me the attack was launched from a vast network of underground tunnels, largely dug by the New Zealand Tunnelling Company. On the morning of the first Push they were told
to leave their greatcoats behind as these would hamper their assault, but when they exited the tunnel, which they did via ladders up tunnels dug for that purpose, they found themselves in several feet of snow! For those who fell in the Charge, this meant an added threat of exposure and — as evidenced — frostbite. I cannot believe the Command was unaware of the weather, which, though unseasonable, must surely have been apparent. Or do they make their battle plans and send their orders in such a state of ignorance that the conditions on the ground are completely unknown to them?

Told off by Sister for ‘fraternising' — for which we are apparently too busy!

It was a relief to get down to Deans Park. I have had quite enough of this War. Charles and Uncle Aubrey are expected for lunch, and I am sitting by the window so that I might see them arrive.

I have apologised to my uncle for my outburst yesterday. He is right that it is inappropriate to discuss details of the men's injuries in front of ‘our Women and Children' — I am partly appeased by not being relegated to those categories of ignorance. Though I secretly wonder whether we would not do better to discuss all aspects of the War openly, no matter how distasteful. Charles will not be drawn on the topic, or on my outspokenness, which he says is a matter between my uncle and myself.