Evie's War (8 page)

Aunt Marjorie took me aside after Church to impart that she perceived Mother to be Much Cast Down by Edmund's departure, and she therefore proposed that I give up the Hospital in favour of returning home to effect a lift in Mother's spirits. I trust I was not too abrupt in my reply, which was that I was assured by Matron that my work was of some value, which must weigh more heavily than Mother's natural sadness at my brother's impending embarkation, and that I anyway rather doubted the positive effect my presence would have. The mood was a little dark thereafter and I returned to Cambridge by an earlier train than I had planned.

Received a note from Father saying he had been approached by my aunt, and, while he did not condone rudeness, he supported my decision to continue my work, saying Mother was not in particularly poor spirits, being much occupied with William. He did suggest I might endeavour to appease Aunt Marjorie's feelings, so I have dutifully penned a note expressing regret if my tone was too sharp. As if I have not more important things to occupy me!

Very busy in the ward; I shall need new shoes if this keeps up. My old ones creak terribly.

Winifred and I shared an afternoon off (I detect Matron's hand) and went out for tea. It was glorious just to sit and talk, talk, talk. I had forgotten how much I like her, and how wicked her sense of humour. We had been settled less than ten minutes when two handsome young Officers asked whether they might join us. We declined, of course, not having met them previously and being perfectly content with our own company. Winifred is still considering signing on with the Belgian Red Cross. I have advised her to discuss it with Lady B, who may be more in favour now that Winifred has shown herself both willing and able. We ended our day by attending a very beautiful Service at King's College Chapel, it being Good Friday.

Another large intake overnight. I sent a telegram to Father delaying my arrival till tomorrow, the Hospital being at full stretch.

Arrived in time for lunch — roast goose with all the trimmings: delicious! — and later a lovely evening Service. Scarcely a dry eye in the Church.

Just as I was due to go off duty for lunch I received a summons to Matron's office, where I hastened in all trepidation, but she wished only to inform me that my brother was arrived and that I could take an extra hour to see him before he left to embark. Imagine my surprise when I reached the foyer and found not Edmund but Harry! He has joined
the Lincolnshire Regiment and departs for Belgium on Thursday. As he is a virtual stranger, half-brother or not, it felt more than a little improper to let him take me to tea, but I did not see how I could decline without giving offence, in addition to which my curiosity was aroused. I answered readily his questions about my work at 1st Eastern and our life in New Zealand, but was given pause when he enquired about our purpose in visiting England. Fearing that mention of Grandfather's death might lead us into choppy waters, I instead described the European Tour we had planned. Harry replied that he had never expected to Tour the Continent, and was not sure what he would make of it under current circumstances. On the subject of his own life, he proved rather reticent.

Winifred agrees it odd that Harry should have approached me without recourse to Father, and suggests I write to say that any future communication must be directed via Deans Park. As this would risk upsetting Mother, I cannot agree. Further, our conversation was perfectly reasonable and Harry made clear his hope that he might one day establish a rapport with all the family. I do not see such a proposition as overly impertinent, the difference in our circumstances existing through no fault of Harry's but rather through the choices made by my grandfather. In any case, Harry has asked whether he might write, making me suspect he is lonely. From what little he said I gleaned that he is no longer in contact with his mother's family.

A telegram arrived from Father: Edmund will be home tomorrow prior to embarkation on Sunday night. I shall
endeavour to catch an early train down in case we might meet at the Station.

In the event Edmund's train was delayed and we had all gone to bed by the time he arrived. Given the mood in the house is already tense, I have decided against mentioning our half-brother. Together with our cousins we enjoyed a long walk this afternoon, during which my brother spoke of his intention to do his very best by his men.

Rather flat today. Farewelled Edmund at the Station before catching my train to Cambridge. He had asked Mother not to come despite having an hour or more to wait. I was glad Father was with him; they both looked rather bleak as I left.

Millie's birthday. I have bought her a journal, she having expressed great interest at Christmas when she discovered me writing mine.

I have two new cases under my care; one an amputee, the other a head wound. Heads are the worst, I think. There is no predicting the outcome, and often there seems no way back.

Saw the loveliest sight as I walked off my ennui this evening: the fields bordering the River Cam alight with snowdrops. I am quite sure they have appeared en masse overnight; I do not recall them even a day ago.

My head case has been moved on. Captain Miller, leg, is determined to engage me for a luncheon date. I have told him it is quite impossible but he does persist.

William is grown quite plump. I was thrilled to be the recipient of a broad, toothless grin. Mother is pleased to see me engaged with my young sibling. She dotes, of course.

I have just caught up with the papers — I haven't time or energy in Cambridge. The lists of casualties overwhelm.

My train has been stationary for over an hour. Unlikely to be weather at this time of year so I must suppose it to be troop trains passing through. It is tiresome but of course the troops must have priority. I managed to catch Uncle Aubrey alone in his study early this morning, and asked outright about the casualty rates. He blustered, rather, until I mentioned some of my cases, and then, seeing that I had some understanding, he became forthright. Of course we must do all we can to ensure we win, even should that require the Ultimate Sacrifice from so many, but he agreed it is hard for the families of those who have Given Their All, and for those who are returned with limbs missing and so forth. He applauded my efforts in doing what I could and said it would not be long until New Zealand's Forces were engaged. On that matter he would say no more, except that he had perhaps already said too much. I pledged my discretion and have not said a word even to Winifred, who sits reading beside me.

I wonder where Edmund is now?

Shocking news from Flanders: the Hun has resorted to a hideous and cowardly form of attack, being the use of poison gas. French and Canadian troops have been badly hit, but stood bravely regardless and drove the Hun back. It is difficult to fathom the depths to which the Enemy will stoop.

The papers are filled with reports of the chlorine gas, which kills men where they sleep or stand before ever leaving the trenches. I am secretly glad New Zealand's Forces are not yet engaged and at the mercy of such a despicable attack.

Captain Miller discharged to a Hospital nearer his home — I was quite sorry to see him go! It will be rather dull without his irrepressible humour. He has donated three gramophone records for our collection.

Sister placed a newspaper under my nose when we paused for tea. The New Zealand and Australian Forces have engaged the Enemy in the Dardanelles! Apparently the landing was a great success, the men fighting gallantly to secure a hold on the Peninsula from which they will expand until we control the seaways. British Warships are in attendance and additional troops arriving daily.

Letter from Edmund. It would seem he is in the thick of
things, though he cannot say much. I said a prayer in the Hospital Chapel that he should be kept safe.

Alarming news from the Eastern Front; Russia's Forces in disarray. More than ever it is down to our boys to show how things should be done.

A group of us attended a theatrical show in the recreation room this evening. It was a pantomime, which Winifred thought rather droll, but it was a pleasure to see the men laughing like boys.

Matron has requested volunteers for extra shifts over the coming days, which means we are expecting a big intake.

German U-boats have sunk a passenger liner, the
Lusitania
, causing the deaths of more than 1,200 civilians. Such behaviour is untenable for a Christian Nation.

Too exhausted to write the last few days. Everything hectic. We have seen first hand the effects of gas and it is vile.

Sent a telegram on Friday to say I could not get down for the weekend, only to be accused by Mother of selfishness! Father made a surprise visit this afternoon and insisted on speaking with Matron. The upshot was that he has
been assured of the value of the contribution I make, after which I was discharged for an hour to enjoy a delightful tea (Father no doubt thought I stuffed myself in a very unladylike fashion, but we have scarcely had time to eat the past week). As well I have three full days off beginning Thursday night, with instructions from Matron to reassure my family of my well-being. Father says he will come up to fetch me, even though, as I told him, I am perfectly capable of catching a train!

I feel positively lazy, having done nothing since I arrived but sleep and eat and sleep again. Mother studied me narrowly and announced it apparent that I was overworked and that she would not allow my return to Cambridge until I am properly rested. I replied that I felt thoroughly rested already, which sentiment I immediately spoiled by yawning. Millie, sweet girl, said she thought I looked very fetching in my uniform, to which Aunt M added that the blue of the dress sets off my eyes, but that she thinks the style of cap unflattering — as if such considerations matter one jot! I could tell them that the oversleeves are inadequate to protect one's clothes from all manner of unsavoury fluids — of which blood is by far the least horrifying — but on balance decided it were better to hold my tongue.

Uncle Aubrey being home for two days, my aunt is endeavouring to enlist his support in insisting I resign on grounds of being overworked. He, sensible man, chooses to ignore her. He is looking tired — I do wish my aunt would notice that instead of focusing all her efforts on me!

Winifred did not accompany Lady Braybrooke to Church. Just last week she told me she feels less and less inclined to sit through sermons given by ‘old men who do not in the least understand the suffering that is going on and which is not in the least helped by their sermonising and homilies'. Such baldly expressed sentiments left me rather shocked, but I have decided, on reflection, that I can understand her views. Lady B was very breezy in response to my aunt's enquiries, claiming sleep to be of the utmost importance given the nature of her niece's work. It is certainly the case that, when in short supply, it quickly comes to seem of greater merit than sermons! However, knowing that neither Mother nor Aunt Marjorie would share Lady B's tolerance I dragged myself up to attend the early Service, though I am afraid I listened to the Vicar with a slightly jaundiced ear.

Italy has joined the War. We can only hope it will send the Kaiser a message.

Matron has asked me to take on a case injured during the recent Advance near Neuve Chapelle. Major D suffers a nervous twitch and partial paralysis. Perhaps worse, he seems unable to refrain from revisiting the horrors he has seen, his outpourings proving greatly disturbing to the other men. Matron's proposal is that I sit with him for an hour a day, in the hope his sense of honour will oblige him to control his mind and words. She warns that I may nonetheless hear details that will shock, and suggests I take the evening to think it over. There is nothing to think over, the decision being made.

Major D politely insists that I must have better things to do than sit with him. We talked a little of his home, which he recalls fondly, while claiming to harbour no wish to return, believing he would ‘only besmirch it'. On this he refused to be drawn, but it seems clear he considers himself tainted in some way. Tomorrow I hope he will adjudge me untainted by his company, and from that will be able to draw comfort.

Today Major D asked for my observations of England and seemed much amused by stories of my young cousins. I was embarrassed to discover that I could not answer his query regarding how Monty had settled at school, and determined to write to him as soon as possible.

I have asked Matron whether she might arrange for someone to sit with Major D over the weekend, as he confided today that he looks forward to my visits. Matron believes him slightly cheered, though apparently his nightmares are no better. When the opportunity arises I plan to ask Uncle Aubrey for details of the battle where the Major was wounded so that I might be equipped should he mention it.

My uncle took some time to consider my request, eventually conceding that the accounts carried by our newspapers occasionally leave out some of the more difficult details, as well as any information better kept from enemy hands.

There were two attacks around Neuve Chapelle, on the 9th and 15th. The difficulty of the conditions meant that
neither achieved all objectives, nevertheless ground was taken from the Enemy. Uncle Aubrey acknowledged that there were a good many casualties (though he said the German casualty rate was in all likelihood higher) which perhaps explains Major D's low state of mind. Uncle Aubrey confirmed it likely that the Major had lost a good number of men, and expressed sympathy accordingly. Seeing one's men suffer is the greatest difficulty faced by an Officer, he says, adding that their success is a commensurately large source of pride. Before closing our discussion Uncle Aubrey expressed doubts regarding Matron having allocated me such a challenging undertaking, but was reassured when I explained that I have not been given the task of discussing the battle, but of turning the Major's mind to happier topics. As I told my uncle, this I shall certainly endeavour to do, but now with a better understanding of what lies beneath the Major's enervation.