Evie's War (16 page)

Newspapers report a Great Battle on the Somme: ‘gallant fighting against strong resistance'. I wonder will Edmund be amongst it? Aunt Marjorie does her best to distract Mother: there is simply no point in worrying more than one must.

The papers are filled every day with details of the fighting. How long can it go on? They say that from London it is possible to hear the guns in France.

Matron says we might expect casualties any day. We are clearing out as fast as possible.

Described as ‘the Mightiest Battle of the British Army' the fighting ‘continues strongly' with our losses reported as slight compared to those of the enemy. Perhaps this Push will end things once and for all; Uncle Aubrey hints as much.

Our first casualties from the Somme have arrived. It has taken ten days for them to reach us.

Wards overflowing. State the men come in is quite pitiful.

Rather a dreary weekend. School has made Monty no less inclined to pester his sisters, and in return Eugenie boasts of the freedom she enjoys while he is ‘locked up'. Father rather worried about the effect on the farms of all the rain we are having.

Wards filled with weary men. I wonder how much darker the Hell in their eyes must look when they are newly wounded and still in dire fear for their lives?

Corporal Lindsay writes that he is obliged for my letters. He says the new place is very comfortable — though I think he should have to say that, with a nurse writing his letter — and that they are managing to ‘sling a little meat on his bones'. He signs his own name, which is promising.

Double shifts. My feet positively ache!

Captain Miller met me at Littlebury Station! My uncle having invited him to stay at Deans Park for the weekend. Heaven knows what Mother will think!

Captain M has charmed all the women of the house excepting Eugenie, who has failed to succumb through the
simple expedient of consistently avoiding him. Father is proving more reserved. It seems Captain M and my uncle work within the same department of the War Office — which tells us little, as I am not sure we properly know precisely what Uncle Aubrey does!

After Church my aunt and mother virtually pushed Captain Miller and I off for a walk, and when Millie proposed joining us there was a sudden surfeit of pressing matters to which she simply must attend. I am not at all sure I like this business of Being Arranged. Captain Miller (who says I should call him Charles but I cannot bring myself to do so) is very amusing, though I fancy that is not, in itself, enough.

On intakes again. Newspapers insist the German casualties are far higher than ours. I cannot imagine it. I had a chap today tell me that of his Company there is no one else left: he is the sole survivor of 190 men.

I have just looked back through my diary. How innocent I seemed, even a year ago. As for two: I cannot believe myself the same person, or the World the same place.

Volunteered for an extra morning shift so didn't reach Littlebury till mid-afternoon. House in an uproar — Monty of course. Quite too exhausted to be bothered.

Relief to get back to the wards, and letters from Winifred and Edmund. W says the artillery bombardments are appalling; Hospital worked off its feet and that there is not a road remaining that is worthy of the name. She also advises not to believe the accounts printed in the newspapers, which ‘frightfully misrepresent the situation: sheer carnage'. Of that Edmund says nothing, but writes that they have been pulled out of the line for a few days, the men ‘much relieved after several hard weeks'; they were in from the start. I somehow knew he must have been, and thank God he is safe. He intends to speak to his CO about a transfer once things have ‘died down a bit. He likes me, so there's a chance'.

Gorgeous weather yesterday. It seemed a shame to be working. In some other life I should have been punting along the Backs, shaded by a parasol and propelled along by a handsome young man with both his legs and two arms and no care beyond the droplets sliding onto his cuff and whether or not I will later let him buy me tea.

Olive says I am maudlin, and insisted I join in with a group attending a theatrical. Her trouble seems to have dispersed; it was to do with her younger brother.

Kept dozing off through the show, which included a series of skits and all the popular songs (which have grown rather worn through dint of being played daily in the wards) and
a parody of a Sergeant-Major, which earned loud laughter from the men. I have ‘taken myself in hand' lest I be accused of becoming cynical, or worse.

Conscription has been introduced in New Zealand.

Edmund back in the line. I shall not pass on the news.

Found myself weeping uncontrollably; hid in the WC until it passed. On return Sister gave me a hard look but said nothing.

Millie rather disappointed that I had not the energy for tennis. All I want to do is sleep.

Feeling very flat. Back in the huts; Respiratories, though no gas. The wards have all been cleared again. I wonder whether the men might not recover better were they not constantly moved about.

Matron says I am to have a week off, at my demur adding that it ‘was not a matter for discussion'. I wonder whether I might convince Mother to let me go down to London?

All is arranged: Lady Braybrooke and I are to visit Corporal Lindsay in Oxford, after which she will deliver me to Uncle Aubrey in London where I shall stay for two nights. We are to set off on Monday.

I have been thoroughly interrogated. I should have suspected there would be motive behind Lady B's proposal. She is concerned that Winifred has ‘become infatuated' and therefore wishes to discover all she can of The Young Man In Question. That we met Corporal Lindsay on our passage she knew already from Mother, who ‘unhappily had scant else to say' (good for Mother!). I gave an excellent report of Mr Lindsay's manners, kindly nature and intelligence — a Rhodes Scholarship being not altogether unimpressive, even to Lady B. Her next sally proved thoroughly embarrassing: not that she was suggesting Any Impropriety, but was she correct in supposing that there had been, at one time, an indication that Mr Lindsay Harboured Some Affection for myself? Or — more coyly — perhaps I for him? I firmly assured her that neither was the case, our friendship being based on a purely platonic regard. Satisfied (I trust) she moved on to her next topic, which was that we know nothing of his people and, Given The Difficulties Imposed By The War, she was not at all sure how she might ‘find out his background'. It seemed to me apparent that all she need do is ask him, but I forbore to suggest it as I doubt Mr Lindsay would welcome such a conversation. I do hope our visit does not prove misguided.

Mr Lindsay is quite as bad as Winifred relayed, but I had
expected no less; she is not one to exaggerate or gloss over. His right eye is gone and the side of his face from temple to jaw still far from healed, but the vision in his left eye is improving daily. The extent of damage to his arm was evidenced by bandaging, but he has a little movement in his fingers, which is an excellent sign. His chest I cannot speak to, though in response to my general enquiries he replied that he was ‘coming together well'. He has something of a twitch, which may pass with time. Regarding an exercise programme to keep his limbs active, he said he has physical therapy twice a week. His spirits seem positive, which is of considerable value to a good recovery. Lady B was perfectly charming (I had been rather dreading the launch of her interrogation) and after half an hour left Mr Lindsay and I to chat for a short while, which we did most amicably.

The afternoon was utilised in a tour of Oxford. Lady B is not one for ‘wandering aimlessly about', as I am, and had engaged a guide who propelled us through any number of halls and cloisters and up and down stairs and around courts and greens. The town is less pretty than Cambridge, though similarly dominated by the resplendent old Colleges. Though my thoughts were largely taken up with Mr Lindsay I could not help but enjoy myself: there is such a lot to be taken in when History has lain so long on a place.

Returned to the Hospital after breakfast. It has a somewhat forbidding aspect, and is rather less than ideally organised to my eye. It was fortunate I had yesterday been able to warn Mr Lindsay of Lady B's intent, as no sooner had we arrived than I was dismissed for half an hour, during which time I located the Sister in Charge and endeavoured to learn all I could of Corporal Lindsay's case. Nothing new was forthcoming, but I was thereby saved from worrying
what he might be suffering in my absence. As it transpired he did not look too harried when I returned. Lady B has been uncharacteristically quiet since. I do hope I am to be taken into her confidence, else Winifred shall not forgive me.

London! What a grubby, grey, bustling city. I craned my neck (‘unladylike, Dear') at each sight that we drove past, and trailed in Lady B's wake as we sailed into our Hotel. It is quite the grandest I have visited, with chandeliers and gilt mirrors, all perfectly arranged to show just how dowdy one looks. Even the porters' uniforms look as if they belong in a Palace, while the staff bow and scrape as though I were the Queen herself. Lady B brings me back to earth with a bump: ‘Don't gawp, Dear. It makes you look rather rural.' Uncle Aubrey arrived — late, for which he was graciously forgiven by Lady B — to escort us to dinner. I feel as if I have stumbled into a fairy tale. And tomorrow I shall wake up!

Uncle Aubrey treated me to an excellent lunch then handed me over to Captain Miller with instructions to escort me back to the Hotel. And so he did — by way of Regent's Park and a tea shop (because I had ‘begun to look faint') where he plied me with cakes (which proved rather stale) and made me laugh so much I could not anyway risk eating them for fear I should spray a mouthful of crumbs across the table. What my parents might think of this outing I refuse to consider. Uncle Aubrey having condoned it, I cannot believe it in any way improper!

Uncle and I caught the train up at three. Lady B is staying on in London for a week. Though I did my best, on the subject of Corporal Lindsay she Would Not Be Drawn.

I have written to Winifred reporting on my visit to Corporal Lindsay. She has been something of a Dark Horse on that front. Perhaps she was worried that I should mind: I have assured her I do not.

There has been great excitement in my absence — the King toured the Hospital, inspecting both facilities and men. Olive's friend Jane was on duty in one of the wards he visited, and says she was so nervous she would get her curtsey wrong that she almost forgot to do it at all! I should have liked to have seen him; by all accounts he is charm itself, though Jane says he looks exhausted.

Matron has me in Respiratories but says she will shift me to one of the Officers' wards next week.

Worked till after midnight last night just to get through admissions. Two new nurses refused, citing exhaustion, and apparently slept with consciences unsullied while the rest of us washed, changed, fed and bandaged several hundred men, all in quite desperate straits.

A letter from Edmund: they have had another stint and are
now engaged in further training. Lice very bad. Edmund's letters home are considerably more circumspect, so that one might assume him on a rather miserable holiday where the weather is bad and the food not up to par.

The Vicar tries very hard but his sermons are repetitive: Sacrifice and Perseverance. What has happened to Peace and Brotherhood, I wonder?

Great relief: stoves are to be installed in the hut wards and the canvas walls replaced in all but four, these being reserved for TB and similar cases where fresh air is paramount. It will mean more work, wheeling men outside in summer, but will be well worth it for the added comfort in winter (for nurses as well as men!).

Winifred writes that she is grateful for my cognisance regarding Lady B's interrogations, and assures me she had no intention of keeping her affections a secret; rather that the strength of her reaction to Corporal Lindsay's injuries has come as something of a surprise. It is no surprise to me, seeming clear from their first meeting. Apparently they are finding the services of his intermediaries — being the nursing staff — somewhat stifling and Winifred has taken to adding postscripts in Latin, which the nurses must spell out for Corporal L to unravel. I do hope he does not endeavour to reply in kind — we poor nurses have quite enough to do without that!

I am back in Heads.

One of my boys asks me to fetch his mother then weeps when she doesn't come. I spoke to Sister who tells me his mother died when he was a lad. And now he is an old man of nineteen.

Since admitting that I seldom find time to read the newspapers in Cambridge, Mother has begun saving them for me. I no longer find myself cheered by news of how well Our Brave Boys are doing, those I see on their return to England doing altogether less well.