Somewhere in France: A Novel of the Great War (11 page)

More pressing, at least to Lilly’s mind, was the question of what they would eat, although the hour for dinner had come and gone more than an hour ago. Probably they would have to wait until Saint-Omer for a decent meal. Her stomach rumbled but there was nothing to be done; even Constance, who was normally so organized, hadn’t brought so much as a square of chocolate.

She hugged her arms about her middle and, gazing out the window, turned her attention to the French countryside, so similar to England, but still, somehow, indefinably unique. Perhaps it was the houses, she thought, with their tiled roofs and whitewashed walls.

The weather was fine, and it seemed to Lilly, as she admired the lush fields, dotted here and there with flocks of plump sheep, that the war must belong to another world entirely. How else could she reconcile this sylvan bliss, now slipping so gently by her window, with the fact that guns were blazing, shell fire was raining down, and legions of men were fighting, killing, and dying, somewhere in France, all less than a hundred miles away?

Chapter 19

A
WAAC forewoman was waiting when their train pulled into Saint-Omer late that afternoon.

“I’m taking four of you to the Fifty-First and the other four to the Fifty-Fourth—correct? Good. I can take two up front with me; the rest of you will have to go in the back.”

Ordinarily the journey ought to have taken no more than an hour and a half, at most, to cover; but the lorry they rode in, a decrepit three-ton Dennis, could only manage five miles at a stretch without overheating, so they spent many long minutes by the side of the road, waiting for the radiator to cool so their driver could refill it and safely restart the engine.

As much as Lilly longed to arrive in Merville, she was grateful for the respite provided by the stops, not least because it offered a break from the teeth-jarring, bone-crumbling confines of the lorry’s smelly interior.

By the time they halted for the fourth or fifth time, she threw propriety to the wind and lay down on the road’s grassy verge. It felt like the loftiest of feather beds in comparison to the lorry’s unforgiving wooden benches.

Bridget followed Lilly’s lead and, chuckling a little, flopped down in the grass as well. “Grand idea, this. Wouldn’t mind staying here all day.”

“If only we could,” Lilly agreed. “Anything to avoid getting back in that lorry.”

“You all right, duck?” her friend asked. “You aren’t yourself today, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I’m fine. Just wondering what things will be like for us at our new posting.”

“You ’n me both. I dunno how I’ll tell my Gordon. When I signed up I swore up and down I wouldn’t let them send me anywhere dangerous—and now look at me!”

“Do you think he’ll be upset when he finds out?”

“Ooh, yes. Gets as mad as a wet hen when I cross him! But he’ll come round soon enough. Always does.”

Lilly smiled but made no reply, instead tilting her face to the sun. How long now, she asked herself for the thousandth time that day, until I see him? And what will that moment be like? Will he be angry? Or, despite everything, will he be glad to see me?

The sun was giving her a headache, so she turned her face away and tried to focus on the crisscrossing leaves of grass beneath her outstretched hand. She felt a whispery tickle and saw that a ladybird had clambered onto her forefinger. It sat, folding and refolding its lacquered wings, appearing to enjoy the warmth of its perch.

Behind her, the engine sputtered to life. Lilly placed the little beetle on a dandelion bud, making sure it was well settled, then climbed into the lorry with her friends. With a bit of luck they would be in Merville before dusk.

A
FTER THAT FINAL
stop by the side of the road, the lorry had behaved, and had rumbled meekly along for the remainder of the journey. The women had fallen silent, tired of shouting to make themselves heard, and it was then that Lilly had become aware of an odd noise. At first she thought it must be thunder, but the timbre of the sound was disturbingly low, and its arrhythmic, discordant drumbeat never ceased.

To begin with the sound was so indistinct she could hardly make it out above the irritable hiss of the lorry’s radiator, but with every passing mile it grew louder and stronger, and Lilly began to suppose she could feel the ground rumbling beneath them. She caught Constance’s eye, and in that moment she understood.

It was the guns. Monstrous guns, German and British and French, spewing out shells to pound the fields and villages of this gentle landscape into ruination.

She knew that Edward could hear them, too. Not as a distant roar, but as a deafening curtain of falling, endlessly falling shells that exterminated every living thing in their path. And nothing, no shelter, no armor, could protect her brother, or any other man on the front lines, from the remorseless anger of those guns. Only fate.

It was a mercy she was already sitting, otherwise her knees surely would have buckled. She reached out, blindly, and felt Constance grip her hand, anchoring her to sanity.

“I expect we’ll get used to it,” she heard herself saying.

“Of course we will. Rather like having a train at the bottom of the garden,” Constance offered. Lilly could only nod.

The lorry slowed abruptly, the driver struggling to change down, and Lilly saw they were entering a village. A shout from the front told them they had reached Merville. Peering out the back of the lorry, she could see a church, not especially grand, flanked by modest brick buildings, a forge, the clipped lawn of a common green.

The lorry continued along for another five minutes, then lurched to a halt in what appeared, from Lilly’s perspective, to be nothing more than a fallow field.

“Is this it?” Bridget asked. “Are we here?”

From the front, Annie’s voice could be heard, faintly, above the rumble of the engine. They’d arrived.

Lilly jumped down and immediately saw they were stopped behind a line of ambulances. Just beyond, a village-size group of huts and tents had been erected in the field, their entrances linked by yard after yard of mud-stained duckboard walkways.

There seemed to be no one about, so Lilly helped Constance, Annie, and Bridget lower their lockers to the ground. No sooner had they finished unloading their belongings than the driver shouted a perfunctory good-bye and drove off, much to the surprise of the remaining WAACs in the back of the lorry.

Lilly had begun to worry there must have been some kind of mistake, for there’d been no signs to mark the way, when a woman emerged from a tent at the far end of the compound. She waved to them, hastening over to where they stood. Lilly saw that she wore the uniform of a WAAC official, so did her best to stand a little straighter, despite her fatigue.

“At last you’ve arrived. We’ve been expecting you all day,” the official said. “I am Assistant Administrator Diana Jeffries, and I will be your supervisor here at the Fifty-First. Simply call me Miss Jeffries; ‘assistant administrator’ is a bit of a mouthful. Now, let me show you to your quarters. Leave your lockers; you can come back and collect them once I’ve shown you around.”

She set off at a trot, clearly a woman disinclined to waste time, and led them back to the tent from which she had emerged only moments before. “My quarters, as well as my office. I like to be close to my girls, and I want you to know that if you have any concerns, or difficulties of any kind, you should not hesitate to come to me.”

She smiled at them brightly, then flung back the entrance flap of a larger tent, mere inches away. “This will be your quarters. Just poke your noses in for the moment. You’ll be sharing with our other WAACs here. Cooks, both of them. Ethel Finlayson and Rose Thompson. Lovely girls. Has everyone had a look? Excellent. Now I’ll take you to the mess tent. Supper is over, but I asked them to keep something warm for you.”

The mess tent, capacious and light, with a high ceiling and duckboard floors, had four distinct banks of tables. Miss Jeffries directed them to the nearest, and smallest, table. “This is where you will eat. And of course you are welcome to come here when you are off duty.”

“Where is everyone else, Miss Jeffries?” Constance asked politely.

“I expect most are at work in the wards. It’s been nonstop here for the past few weeks. Our poor doctors and nurses are run off their feet. Enough talk, now. Sit down and I’ll have something sent out to you.”

That had been the extent of their tour. After a supper of tea, toast, margarine, and applesauce, even though it was only half-past seven, Miss Jeffries had whisked them back to their tent, pausing only to show them the latrine, separate from its fellows, that had been set aside for the nurses and WAACs.

“Off to bed, all of you. We get started bright and early here, with breakfast at half-past six.” She began to leave, then turned back, her expression serious. “You are bound to notice that military discipline is rather, ah, relaxed here. One might go so far as to say it is somewhat slack. That, of course, is for Colonel Lewis to determine, and in his opinion it benefits morale here at the hospital if officers and other ranks are not prohibited from socializing with one another.

“That laxity does not, however, extend to the women under my care. I must tell you that I will not tolerate any infraction of our code of conduct. If any of you is so unwise as to engage in inappropriate fraternization with any of the soldiers or officers, you will be sent home immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Miss Jeffries,” they replied.

“Very well, then. I am glad we understand one another. Good night to all of you. Sleep well.”

L
ILLY WOKE WITH
a start, blinking her eyes in the half-light of dawn. It had been a long night. She had slept fitfully, her dreams invaded by harrowing images, only half-remembered now, their dissonant score the rumble of distant guns.

Looking around sleepily, she assessed her surroundings, which she had been too tired to notice the night before. She and her friends were quartered in a canvas tent, not especially large, with rough deal planking on the floor. Two modest openings, now covered with flaps, served as windows. The center of the space was marked by a compact coal-burning stove. Their beds, actually folding cots, were arranged around the tent’s perimeter, with the WAACs’ wooden lockers at the foot of each cot. A single nail, hammered into one of the tent’s support posts, held a kerosene lantern.

Lilly peered at her wristwatch: it was almost six o’clock. A little less than twelve hours, then, since they had arrived at the 51st.

“Constance,” she hissed. “Constance, wake up. It’s just gone six. If we want any breakfast before we start, we have to get up now.”

“Mmph . . . all right. Are Annie and Bridget awake?”

“Not yet. I’ll wake them. We daren’t be late, not on our first day.”

Lilly roused her friends, dressed hurriedly, then began the tiresome task of brushing and braiding her hair. After she’d coiled the plait into a knot at the nape of her neck, and secured it with her diminishing store of hairpins, Lilly made up her cot and waited, rather impatiently, for the others to be ready. The walk from their quarters to the mess tent, no more than twenty yards, seemed to stretch into infinity. Would Robbie be at breakfast, sitting with the other officers at their table?

The tent was busy, its tables crowded, but there was no sign of him. Lilly swallowed her disappointment and turned her attention to breakfast, a nourishing but bland meal of salted porridge, applesauce, and lukewarm tea. No sooner had she begun than Miss Jeffries bustled up, brimming with vim and vigor.

“Good morning, ladies! I trust you slept well?”

“Yes, Miss Jeffries,” they replied.

“Do your best to finish, then I’ll take you over to your ambulances. Eat up, now. You have a long day ahead of you.”

Chapter 20

M
iss Jeffries returned in short order to escort them to the group of ambulances they’d seen last night. Waiting for them was a private, about Lilly’s age, whose neatly clipped mustache lent maturity to his young face. He smiled shyly as the women approached.

“This is Private Gillespie,” Miss Jeffries explained, “one of our ASC drivers. I’ve asked him to answer any questions you may have about your ambulances and the routes you’ll be driving.”

As Miss Jeffries took her leave, silence fell as the WAACs contemplated Private Gillespie and he, blushing furiously, examined his boots. He cleared his throat once, then twice, but seemed at a loss for words.

Constance spoke first. “Could you tell us a bit about our ambulances, Private Gillespie? We’ve been driving lorries for the past few months.”

“What kind of lorries, ma’am?”

The women giggled, and Constance reached out and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “They were Crossleys, in the main. But please don’t call me ma’am. I’m the same rank as you. Just call me Miss Evans. I’m Constance Evans. And these are my friends.” One by one, they introduced themselves, shaking Private Gillespie’s hand, and Lilly was relieved to see the hectic color begin to fade from his face.

“These here ambulances are Fords, straight from America,” he began. “They’re built on a Model T chassis with a wood-and-canvas frame, so they’re nice and light. Easy to push or hoist if you get bogged down. Top speed is forty-five miles an hour, but you’ll never get close to that here.”

He approached the nearest ambulance and pulled up one side of the hinged bonnet so they could see inside. “Engine is four cylinders. Water-cooled, so you’d best keep an eye on that radiator. Oil needs topping up often; do it every morning, or at least check the levels.” He reached across to the engine, pulled out a spark plug, and inspected it closely. “Four spark plugs; make sure you check they aren’t bunged up with carbon.”

“That sounds straightforward enough, doesn’t it, girls?” Constance commented. Private Gillespie closed the bonnet and walked to the driver’s seat, hoisting himself into it easily.

“This shouldn’t be much different from the Crossley. Same setup for your clutch, throttle, brakes, and gearshift. Go easy on the brakes at first; she’s apt to skid.” He paused, considering the group looking up at him. “Did they give you any cold-weather gear? Not that you need it now,” he clarified, blushing again, “but you’ll freeze solid in winter without a decent greatcoat and gloves.” He waved his arm, indicating the open sides of the driver’s compartment, and the women shivered despite the warmth of the July morning.

He jumped down and walked to the rear of the ambulance. “You’ve got room for three stretcher cases, or six seated, plus you can usually cram one extra man up front between the two of you. You won’t be expected to lift the stretchers into the ambulances; there’ll be orderlies to help with that. But you will have to help the walking wounded. And you’ll also have to swab out the ambulance after each run.” He broke off, and Lilly realized he was considering how honest he ought to be with them.

“Go ahead,” she encouraged him. “We volunteered for this work.”

“That’s good of you, miss. It’s just that . . . well, some of the men, once they’ve been wounded, can’t control their, ah . . .”

“Bodily functions?” Constance interjected gently.

“Yes, ah, that’s it. So it’s a right midden back here sometimes. Blood, of course, and sometimes they’re sick to their stomach, or worse. But if you put off cleaning it up, the smell only gets worse.

“Now I’d best show you the route you’ll take, and all of that. When you come back from the ADS—that’s the advanced dressing station—you’ll pull up there,” he told them, pointing to an open area in front of an especially large tent. “Facing it is the reception marquee. The orderlies will unload the stretcher cases and you’ll be left to help the men who can walk. Don’t give them anything to eat or drink; that’s for the doctors and nurses to decide. Once they’re inside, the doctors will look them over and decide where they go next.

“Next to the marquee is the pre-op tent. That’s where men who are strong enough for surgery are prepped. There’s a wooden building just beyond—can you see it from here? That’s the operating hut. On the other side of it is the resuss tent. That’s where they stabilize the men who are too weak for surgery. Sometimes all they need is a warm blanket around them. It’s also where they take the men who are, well . . .”

Lilly touched his arm, lightly. “We know. It’s for the men who are dying.”

He looked at her gratefully. “Thank you, miss. Seems wrong, somehow, saying it. But it’s true enough.” He rubbed the back of his neck, as if weary already, then continued his explanation. “Beyond it is the ward tent. That’s where the men go after surgery, until they’re strong enough for the trip to a base hospital.”

“How many wounded men are here now?” Lilly asked.

“About a hundred and fifty, give or take a few, I reckon. We’ve fifty ward beds, plus room for another hundred and fifty stretcher cases. That puts us almost at capacity. When that happens, any new casualties will go to the Fifty-Fourth, just down the road, and we’ll have a few days to catch up. Then, once we’ve moved most of the wounded on to Saint-Omer, the Fifty-Fourth will close and we’ll be open again.”

Bridget found her voice at last. “So how are the men moved to the base hospitals?”

“There’s a railhead about five hundred yards from here. Didn’t you come here on one of the hospital trains?”

“No, we were driven here from Saint-Omer,” explained Constance.

“Hmm. Might’ve been a problem with the line somewhere between here and Saint-Omer. At any rate, when we have any men who are ready to be moved, you’ll be taking them. I’ll show you the way today or tomorrow.

“Now, if you don’t have any other questions, we’d best be heading off. I’ll drive in the lead, with two of you up front with me. Which of you wants to drive the second ambulance?”

“It should be Lilly,” Constance answered. “She’s the best driver among us.”

“Right, then. Just give me a minute to fetch some cans of water for the radiators. We don’t want to use any of their water up at the ADS if we run low.”

Annie and Bridget took their seats in the lead ambulance, leaving Lilly and Constance to perch on its running boards. The minutes dragged by and Lilly began to feel rather warm in her woolen jacket and skirt. She loosened her tie a fraction, which seemed to help, and wiggled a finger under her too-tight collar.

On the far side of the clearing, the door to the operating hut opened and a group of men appeared, blinking in the morning light, their surgeon’s gowns splattered with blood. As the last man emerged from the hut’s darkened interior, he paused in the doorway, his fair hair gleaming in the sunshine, and directed a curious glance at the group of women by the ambulances.

It was Robbie. Even at this distance, she knew it was him.

Heedless of what her friends might think, she stood, took a step forward, another, another. She opened her mouth, tried to call out his name, but no sound emerged.

She’d drawn his attention. He began to walk toward her, his expression of stunned recognition transmuting into a grimace of stricken realization. He stopped short when they were only an arm’s length apart.

“It can’t be . . . Lilly, what on earth . . . ?”

“I know, I know. Robbie, I’m so sorry to surprise you like this. They told us two days ago that we were being transferred. That is, they asked us to volunteer, and I said yes.”

“Are you insane?” he countered. “Didn’t you listen to a word I said? When I told you just how god-awful it is here?”

“I did, of course I did. I know it will be difficult, and not just the driving. But I’m sure I can do it.”

He reached out and grasped her shoulders, and she was taken aback by the torment in his eyes. “I’m not talking about that; I don’t doubt for a moment that you can manage. Lilly, it’s too dangerous. The road between here and the ADS has been shelled any number of times. Even the Fifty-Fourth, just down the road, was hit a few weeks ago.”

“But those are just stray shells, falling wide. That’s what everyone says—”

“Bugger what everyone says,” he replied, truly angry now. “That red cross on the side of your ambulance—do you honestly think it’ll protect you if the Germans decide to play target practice with this hospital?”

“Robbie,” she pleaded, aghast at his reaction, “please understand. I had to come. Not because I think it’s some kind of adventure, or for . . . for personal reasons. I’m here so I can make a difference. Just like you promised I would.”

With that, the anger seemed to drain out of him, and he stepped back, his arms falling to his sides. She felt transfixed by the naked anguish in his eyes, bluer than any remembered July sky.

Looking beyond Lilly, he noticed their audience for the first time. “Splendid,” he muttered. “Any chance that your friends didn’t hear our disagreement just now?”

“They won’t say anything, I’m sure they won’t.”

He smiled at her, briefly, then covered his mouth as he suppressed a yawn. “Lilly, I must get some sleep before the next lot of wounded arrive. And you clearly need to be on your way as well.”

“Promise you’ll come and find me when you have a chance?”

“I promise. And in the meantime, please take care of yourself. I’ve more than my fair share of nightmares to cope with already.”

Looking past her, he jabbed a finger at Private Gillespie, who had returned with his water cans and was standing, slack-jawed with astonishment, next to Constance. “Gillespie, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, Captain Fraser, sir.”

“Miss Ashford is the sister of my dearest friend. If anything happens to her on the road today, there’ll be hell to pay. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

Robbie now directed a weary smile at Lilly’s friends. “For my lack of courtesy, ladies, I beg your pardon, and I hope you’ll excuse me now.” With a final nod to Lilly, he walked away.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Constance asked Lilly, concern shading her voice. “Your brother’s friend from school. The one—”

“Yes,” Lilly interrupted, loath to share any more details with Annie and Bridget, not to mention Private Gillespie. “Yes, it’s him. Edward’s friend. I meant to say something, earlier, but I wasn’t sure how he would feel about my coming here.”

“None too pleased, by the look of it,” Annie commented. “He took a right turn, he did, the minute he saw you.”

“I know,” Lilly admitted. “I feel wretched about that. But there was no time to send word ahead. I just hope he’ll change his mind about my being here.”

“Of course he will,” Constance promised. “But none of us will be here for very long if Miss Jeffries decides we’re slacking off. So let’s be on our way. Lilly, do you want to drive or shall I?”

“I will, but thank you for offering.”

Lilly walked to the second ambulance and heaved herself into the driver’s seat. She’d never driven a Ford before, and although Private Gillespie had said it was similar to the Crossley, from where she sat, everything about the vehicle looked and felt different. Driving it, for the first time, she would have to muster every ounce of concentration she possessed. Today there would be no time to think about anything else.

Or anyone.