Softly Grow the Poppies (12 page)

The committee room of the Woodfall Hospital Corps was dark and crowded. It was above a grocer’s shop, and the woman in the drab outfit of a servant climbed the stairs wearily but when she reached the committee room she straightened her back and lifted her head, trying to look as tall as she could. Several women were sitting round a table on which papers were scattered. One woman seemed to be bored with the whole procedure, while the second appeared to be a secretary and was taking notes. She seemed nervy and filled with some anxiety. The third was Dr Emmeline Woodfall who was smoking a cigarette, lighting one from another so that the room was filled with what seemed to be a fog.

‘Come in, come in, Miss . . .’

‘Mrs Barnes.’

‘Well, Mrs Barnes, what can we do for you or rather what can you do for us?’ the doctor asked cheerfully.

‘What do you want me to do?’ the woman asked.

‘We need ambulance drivers, nurses, stretcher-bearers, in fact anyone prepared to help out in any capacity. We need women who can speak French and they must be as strong as a horse. We want women who are not afraid to get their hands dirty; some of them have come today with their mothers and have never washed so much as a teacup in their lives. And we want married women. Do you know what this war is about, Mrs Barnes?’

‘I do. My husband is missing and I know exactly what the war is about. I want to help.’

‘Are you over twenty–one?’

‘No, but I am married and I know I have every right to serve.’

‘She looks very slight,’ the woman who was bored remarked. ‘And you did say you wanted women who were strong, Emmeline.’

‘I may be slight but I am strong and determined.’ The young woman straightened her already straight back.

‘Good, then—’

‘Hold on, Emmeline.’

‘No, I will not hold on, Anne. I know that you and the committee raise the funds but I am in charge of the hospital and I know the sort of girl I want. This girl’ – pointing a finger at the figure who stood defiantly before them – ‘knows what she is about. She’s not yet twenty-one but as a married woman whose husband is missing she has every right to serve abroad. I am taking her. Now, Mrs Barnes, let me describe the place that will be my hospital. It used to be a nunnery in Le Havre and the only servants are French orderlies. You will be on the front line. We will pay you ten shillings a week and your keep. You will have to sign on for six months so are you still prepared to take the job?’

‘I am.’

‘Good girl. Get yourself some woollen combinations and drawers. We’ll send you your uniform in a week or two and—’

‘Oh, I cannot wait a week or two. I must go at once.’

The doctor and the other two ladies looked astonished.

‘At once. Why?’

‘I cannot explain but if I cannot go at once, today, then I must find someone else to take me.’ She lifted her head a little higher and with a face like stone stared directly at Dr Woodfall.

‘My dear, you do not know what you are asking. There is so much to do, so many preparations. I could do with a month but I have cut it down to a fortnight . . .’

But already the woman who called herself Mrs Barnes had turned on her heel and was heard running down the stairs.

The baby was thriving and on the following Sunday, Rose, Dolly and all the servants stood in the church where his parents had been married just a few short months ago. He was a lovely child with Charlie’s deep brown eyes – so like Harry’s, she thought – his hair beginning to grow into a dark swirl of fine baby curls. He wore the same christening gown that Charlie and Harry had once worn, delicate, old and fragile, a Summers heirloom, edged with the finest lace and with insertions of new blue ribbons. He cried out when the holy water from the font was dribbled on to his head and those present sighed, for it was a good sign. Though it was the twentieth century some of the medieval superstitions still had some currency and the cry drove the devil out.

After the church service they all drove or walked back to Summer Place which, after all, would one day belong to William Summers unless his uncle Harry married and had a son. Afternoon tea was served, all prepared by Nessie and Mrs Philips, even the servants drinking champagne, for this was a special occasion with the poor wee thing having neither father nor mother to cherish him. There were none of the usual presents, silver mugs, silver teething rings and such that would normally be given since the guests were servants and could not afford such things. There were, however, flowers everywhere, grown by Rose’s gardeners, in tribute to the son of the house. There was many a tear shed for the child who had no one, no member of his own family to love him though Miss Rose seemed very attentive. They even took him into one of the wards where the wounded were presentable and he was handed from soldier to soldier – much against Staff Nurse’s wishes – but the men were delighted, some of them perhaps thinking of their own children. Will, as they were to call him, did not seem to mind, looking placidly into each face, ready to smile though Dolly said it was only wind!

Rose looked splendid, the men thought, because they had only seen her in her plain grey cotton dress and enveloping apron, her hair covered with a white servant’s cap. Now she was wearing a warm peach-coloured silk dress with a hat whose broad brim was loaded with roses and baby’s breath and pale green leaves. The wounded, surrounded by nurses, were made up with it all, they told one another and Miss Rose was a corker. They were unaware that Miss Rose was ready to weep every night in her bed, tormented by thoughts of a tall, good-looking man with an ironic twist to his wide strong mouth who was fighting in France and who had not written to her. Who could have disappeared with his brother for all she knew into the foul mud they floundered in. The foul mud under which lay hundreds of decomposing bodies, for most of the wounded who died in no-man’s-land between the English and German trenches were left to rot since they had enough to do seeing to the wounded; the dead would understand. There was a camaraderie between these men – of all ranks – and their brothers-in-arms who had fallen lived on in the hearts of the men who survived.

‘How many of you can drive?’ the staff sergeant barked, glaring along the line of women who stood to attention in the yard of the Red Cross headquarters in the Mall.

Six of the girls, for that was all they were, girls, some just come from school, put up their hands. The other three exchanged glances but looked hopefully at the sergeant.

‘Right,’ he shouted and they all wondered why he had to be so loud. Were there a lot of deaf men in the army? ‘You three can go. We only want women who can drive and know something about what goes on under the bonnet and can repair it.’

The six hands that had gone up wavered and two dropped their hands and shook their heads. One of those who had put up her hand spoke out. ‘I can repair an engine, sir—’

‘You don’t call me sir, young lady. I am sergeant to you and tell me how is it
a lady
can drive and repair an engine?’

‘Well,’ the girl said, ‘my father had a car, a Morris Oxford and I used to drive it round the grounds and the chauffeur – I used to watch him fiddle about with the engine. I’m not very experienced, that’s why I wasn’t sure whether to put up my hand but I”m a quick learner and if you could lend me that ambulance over there’ – nodding her head in the direction of the vehicle standing by the entrance – ‘and if you sat beside me I will show you what I can do.’

‘Oh, can you, miss. We’ll see about that and why his it that there are nine of you when I was promised eight?’

‘I was told to go with the others,’ the girl who had spoken told him.

‘Hand where is your uniform?’ for the girl was dressed in what he called ‘civvies’.

‘I’ll get it shortly, I was told, S’arnt.’

The sergeant was impressed. She even knew how to address a sergeant. He had been given the job of engaging six women to go out with the ambulances the next day and here was one who appeared to be willing to tackle anything. She was, as he said, evidently a lady though she was dressed like a servant and he wondered what her story was. So many of these young women were attracted to the idea of going to France and driving ambulances, or nursing but they had no bloody idea what they were letting themselves in for. What an adventure, he had heard one say to another.

‘Never mind, miss, I’ll believe you where millions wouldn’t. Now, what’s your name?’

‘Mrs Barnes.’

‘Mrs Barnes, his your ’usband hin France, by any chance?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Does it matter?’ she answered, and the sergeant thought, Well, give ’er ’er due, you can’t say she ’asn’t got pluck.

‘No, but don’t think you’ll find ’im, my lass, if that’s what you was ’opin’,’ forgetting for a moment to be strict with these ladies.

‘Thank you, S’arnt,’ giving him a smile so sweet he almost smiled back, ‘but when I have leave I intend to try.’ The other girls stared in astonishment at her.

‘Right then, be ’ere at five termorrow morning. The train leaves Victoria at seven.’

The six of them were the only females on the troopship. They were Barnes, Ewing, Radley, O’Neill – who crossed herself frequently – Mayne and Thorley, for it seemed Christian names were never used. The sergeant who had interviewed them the day before had given them their uniforms which were hideous and was travelling on the same Channel steamer. It was somewhat choppy and the young soldiers who, as they cast off had all been singing and joking, eager to get out there and kill themselves a few of the devils who raped nuns and cut off babies’ hands, were for the most part hanging over the rails vomiting into the rippling waves, but Alice and the other ambulance drivers here proved Alice’s theory that really women were stronger than most men.

She thought about Charlie, taking him out of the small shrine she had made for him in her heart, the shining memory of the moment when she had become his wife and before that when they had loved one another in her father’s summerhouse beside the lake at Weatherly. Memories of when she had been a child, she realised that, but now Charlie and this bloody war had made a woman out of her and when she found him – and she would – she would never leave his side again. If he was blinded, maimed, emasculated, and she knew what that meant now, she would be beside him for the rest of their lives. He had blessed her world. He was the beat of her heart and as the ship dipped up and down on the heaving seas and the young soldiers all around her voided their breakfasts into the Channel, she thought about the child they had made with their love. She had left him behind with Rose, dear Rose, who would keep him safe until she and her husband returned.

They were met at Boulogne by a command leader. Barnes and O’Neill were to go with another detachment of ambulance drivers to Number 4 General Hospital at Camiers, the rest to go on by train to Étaples. Alice hoped to God that O’Neill would not be genuflecting and praying all the live long day for she would find it very hard to live with someone who still believed there was a God who would allow this massacre to grind on as it was doing. She had not even arrived at their designated hospital yet and certainly not been in any sort of close contact with the wounded but just standing here on the dock listening to the sighing, murmuring of suffering humanity who lay on the dock waiting to be shipped back to England, was almost more than she could bear. She wanted to go to each man on his stretcher and try to comfort his pain, his
agony
but she must be dispassionate and listen to the instructions the command leader was mouthing at them. She watched a line of soldiers, their eyes bandaged, shuffle up the gangway of a steamer bound for England, each one with a hand on the shoulder of the man in front of him, a doctor leading them, a nurse at the rear and she was almost destroyed by the horror of what might at this moment be happening to Charlie. If he was blinded she would lead him, ease his pain, care for him but first, she didn’t know how, she must find him. If he were in some hospital she would scour every one until she did. Charlie . . . Charlie, her heart cried as she followed O’Neill and the others to the waiting ambulances that were ready to go up to the front.

T
he men coming from the line, the walking wounded and the mangled and bloody bodies of those carried on stretchers were astonished and delighted by the dainty little lady who was dressed as an ambulance driver and who smiled as she spoke to them, for she was the prettiest thing they had seen since they left home. She was questioning every one of them about a certain Captain Charlie Summers, though they were sorry to see the disappointment on her face when they sadly shook their heads since they would have liked nothing better than to help her.

‘The 19th Battalion, the King’s Liverpool Regiment,’ she repeated time and time again. ‘I cannot find out where he last fought but someone must have served with him and can tell me where that was. In March, it would be. Perhaps Neuve Chapelle or Ypres in early April?’

She walked along beside the wounded men on stretchers, looking from one agony-filled face to another, even holding a hand that reached out to her, for though she worked eighteen out of every twenty-four hours and wore the unflattering hat and long shapeless coat of an ambulance driver she was very pretty and her compassionate smile made them smile through their pain.

Alice Summers had been given her first half-day’s leave since she had been sent to the tented hospital in April and it was now September. The Germans had almost demoralised the men at the front with their hideous new weapon, the ‘flamethrower’ at a place called Hooge. It was called the ‘wonder weapon’ and was meant to burn the British troops out of the trenches. The German soldier wore a pack on his back from which ran a rubber hose ending in long steel nozzles. Out of the nozzles spurted a vicious stream of liquid fire. The men who were caught in its horrendous river of flame were for the most part killed but a few of them survived it. They were dragged out burned, blackened and bleeding and yet still breathing – wishing they weren’t – from the inferno. These were on the stretchers being carried to the hospital at the end of their tortuous journey and would be treated on a special ward. When they had been hastily examined, one of Alice’s colleagues would drive them in her ambulance to the docks and the boats that would take them back to the special burns unit in England. It took all her strength to talk to these tormented soldiers who did their best to help the lovely woman who was looking for her husband. What was such an innocent little thing with eyes like pansies doing in this hell on earth but all they saw was her serene and Madonna-like face, not the steel that lay at the core of her. She was stronger than the strongest of them but they did not recognise that, only the sweetness of her, the almost ethereal frailty of her shimmering in the pale sunshine that broke through the clouds.