The Lost Soldier (15 page)

It would be difficult to carry very much with them, but Sarah packed all their purchases into parcels and addressed them to herself care of the convent. There were bandages and aspirins, thread and needles, chocolate, paper and pencils, soap, towels and some fine tooth combs. Freddie had said that one of the problems they all faced were lice. Sarah shuddered at the thought of lice in her long hair and not for the first time hoped that she was not too squeamish for the task she had set herself. At the last minute she added some feminine requirements for herself and Molly. These had not been mentioned by Freddie, but had been suggested delicately by Lady Horner.

“It’s not the sort of thing a gentleman would think of, but you will need them nonetheless and they may be difficult to acquire in a military hospital.”

No less embarrassed than her aunt, a red-faced Sarah agreed and discreetly sent Molly to buy the required sanitary towels and added them to one of the parcels.

They sailed from Newhaven on the
Sussex
, a small civilian boat that still carried passengers across the channel. Although it was an entirely civilian boat and held firmly to the international agreement that no military supplies should be carried, the captain was a cautious man and the journey took twice as long as in peace time as he zigzagged his way to France for fear of German submarines.

Molly was terrified they would be torpedoed and sunk by one of these, but Sarah, though also afraid, tried to reassure her.

“We’re quite safe, Molly,” she said cheerfully. “This is not a military ship, you know. It’s just the steam packet. We’ve no supplies for the army on board or anything like that. Even the Germans wouldn’t sink a ship full of civilian passengers.” She lowered her voice and nodded in the direction of a middle-aged couple standing at the rail and gazing out towards France. “Those people are called Mr and Mrs Hodges. They’ve been called to the hospital in Etaples to see their son. He’s so badly wounded that they can’t even get him home to England.”

Molly flicked her eyes in the direction of the couple where the man stood with his arm round the woman and she gripped his hand in one of hers, an unusual display of affection in such a public place. “How do you know, Miss Sarah?”

“I heard Mrs Hodges ask one of the crew when we would dock. She said her son was dying.”

Molly stared at her for a moment and then murmured, “Oh, Miss Sarah, I don’t think I’m going to be any good at this, boys dying round me and that.”

Sarah put her hand on Molly’s arm and said, “Of course you will, Molly. Better than me probably. But we’ll both just have to do our best. At least we’ll have somewhere safe to live, and will be able to get cleaned up when we go off duty. My aunt says they have set aside a room for us in the guest wing of the convent.”

“Both of us together, miss, sharing?” Molly sounded startled.

“Certainly sharing,” Sarah said firmly. “And we’re lucky to have that. There’s no space for separate rooms. Some of the building has been turned over to make more wards, and I believe there are huts outside as well.” Sarah paused, gazing out over the steel grey sea that heaved gently as they chugged their way across. Might there indeed be a submarine lurking under the water? Might they unknowingly be minutes away from death in the cold English Channel? It put life into perspective; things that had seemed so important only recently now seemed of little consequence, and other things, other people, suddenly became much more significant. She glanced across at Molly, brave Molly, who had followed her to France because she thought she ought to, not from any real conviction of her own about nursing the wounded; who had left home and family and ventured out into a world from which she would have shrunk only weeks before.

“Molly,” she began, and then hesitated, wanting to say something of her thoughts, but unsure of exactly what.

“Yes, Miss Sarah?” Molly, clutching her overcoat about her thin shoulders against the wind, turned her gaze from the sea and looked expectantly at her.

“I think,” began Sarah and paused again before saying in a rush, “I think while we are out here in France together, you should simply call me Sarah. Drop the ‘miss’.”

Molly looked horrified. “Oh, Miss Sarah, I couldn’t!”

Her horrified expression made Sarah laugh and she took Molly’s hand. “Yes, you could. We’re in this together, Molly. I dragged you here, and while we face the same difficulties and dangers,” her eyes returned for a moment to the grey water, “it seems to me that we should be friends, each helping the other, not mistress and servant. Don’t you think?”

Molly looked extremely doubtful. “Oh, Miss Sarah, I don’t know. What will your auntie think of such a thing?”

Sarah laughed. “I’m sure she’ll approve. After all there are no servants and mistresses in a convent. All the nuns have their own jobs to do, but they are all equal under the Reverend Mother.”

“That’s another thing, Miss Sarah…”

“Sarah.”

Molly flushed, “Sarah. I don’t know nothing about convents and nuns and the like. What do I call them? Do I have to cross myself and that? I don’t do that in church.”

“Molly, you don’t have to do anything like that. All the nuns you call ‘Sister’, except the Reverend Mother and you call her ‘Mother’. If it turns out to be any different they’ll tell us when we get there.” She smiled reassuringly, and then exclaimed, “Oh, look I can see the coast of France.” Both girls ran to the rail and peered into the distance where, eerily floating on the horizon the low hills of the French coast drifted into view.

They made the journey to St Croix by train. Crammed into a compartment in a small civilian train, with their luggage at their feet, Sarah and Molly spent several hours in uncomfortable confinement. Their travelling companions were a succession of local French country people, who climbed in and out of the train at the small stations along the way. Most of them chatted volubly in French to each other, ignoring the two English girls once they had subjected them to short but intense scrutiny. The train was cold, but the crush of bodies produced enough heat to warm them although the rank odour was almost overpowering. Sarah listened to their talk, and was dismayed to find that, while she had thought she spoke reasonable French, she found their harsh accents and their speed of speech made them almost impossible to understand. She could only pick out occasional words and phrases, but had no hope of following the conversations.

Oh dear, she sighed inwardly, at least I thought I would be able get along in French.

At the station in Dieppe she had successfully bought them two tickets for Albert, the nearest large town to the village of St Croix, where the convent of the order of Our Lady of Mercy was situated. She had discovered which platform they should find and at what time the train was supposed to leave. There were no porters to be had, but the two of them had managed to manhandle their cases on to the train themselves, and Sarah was quite proud of the way she had made herself understood and of the way they had coped without the assistance to which she, at least, was used. However, now as they were pressed about with local French peasantry carrying everything with them from a basket of apples to a small crate containing a vociferous cockerel, she knew a gnawing anxiety. Were they on the right train? This train seemed to stop everywhere and perhaps it was just a local train and not going to Albert at all.

As they drew into yet another tiny station she said to Molly, “I’m just going to get out and check we are on the right train.”

Molly grabbed her by the hand. “Oh, no, Miss Sarah, don’t get off. The train might go without you and then what should I do?”

“You’d stay on it and go to Albert,” Sarah replied briskly, not correcting her for using ‘miss’ again. This was a time to be in charge, even if she was apprehensive herself. “You have the name and address of the convent written down, just in case we get split up, and I gave you some money, so you’d be perfectly all right.” However, Molly had added to her anxiety. Sarah didn’t want them to get separated either, so she contented herself with leaning out of the window, and calling out to some sort of official, he was wearing a uniform anyway, on the platform. “Monsieur, Monsieur. C’est le train pour Albert?” The man glanced up. “Quoi?”

Sarah tried again: “C’est le train pour Albert? Ce train vient a Albert?”

He still seemed puzzled, but on recognising the word Albert he nodded vigorously and answered in a torrent of words, none of which Sarah understood. However, her mind eased a little by the nod she smiled at him and said, “Merci, monsieur,” Drawing her head back inside, she regained her seat, about to be invaded by a huge countrywoman with a large wicker basket containing something live.

“We’re all right, Molly,” she said. “It is the right train. I suppose most of the express trains are used for the troops.” Even as she spoke another train chugged passed them as they waited in the station, its carriages packed with men in khaki and two covered wagons on the end carrying horses.

Time and again their little train stopped, sometimes for an hour or more, without apparent reason, but often shunted into a siding as another train rumbled its way back from the front. These were often hospital trains with huge red crosses painted on their sides and roofs. From what the two women could see as these trains trundled slowly by was that they were crammed to capacity with men.

Sarah stared in horror as one of these trains stopped for a few moments alongside them. “My God,” she whispered. “Do you think all those men are wounded?”

Molly followed her gaze, taking in the sight of the crushed humanity heaped into the train before it jerked suddenly and then chuffed slowly away. Even as it did so, she caught the eye of a soldier with a bandaged head whose face was pressed against the dirty window. For a moment their eyes met and held. There was such patient sadness in his eyes, that Molly instinctively raised her hand, and as he slid away from view, she saw the flutter of his hand in a return salute.

“There were hundreds of them,” was all she said, before leaning back into her seat and closing her eyes to cut out the sight of the still passing hospital train.

There were trains going the other way as well; trains filled with men in khaki, far more important than the little local train which civilians might use. Their train would wait in its siding until the line was clear again and then jolt on once more, slowly crossing the dull flat countryside towards Albert. Both girls were very hungry and thirsty. They had had no idea that the journey would take so long and had not thought to buy more food at Dieppe. It hadn’t looked far on the map, and they had hoped to arrive in Albert in time to reach the convent that evening. The small packet of sandwiches they had brought with them did little to assuage their hunger, and the bar of chocolate that Sarah produced from her bag and shared with Molly, was fixed upon by eight other pairs of eyes. It made uncomfortable eating. Night came on and still the train rumbled slowly along, stopping, starting, stopping again, until at last they reached the outskirts of a town.

“I think we might be there,” breathed Sarah, peering out of the window. “It certainly looks more like a big town.” Molly too, pressed her nose to the window. There was not much to see, but occasional pinpricks of light suggested houses, and darker shapes, presumably large buildings, loomed in the darkness beside the track. Once again the train wheezed to a halt, and this time they realised with tremendous relief that they had arrived as they heard the strident cry of a porter, “Albert, Albert. Terminé. Albert.” It was indeed Albert at last. It was also, apparently, the end of the line, and the train disgorged its passengers on to the platform, where all was noise and confusion in the semi-darkness.

Sarah and Molly got their luggage out on to the platform, and Sarah said, “Stay here with the luggage. I will go and find out how we get to St Croix.” She had instructions from Aunt Anne in her pocket, but she hadn’t bargained for arriving in the middle of the night to a blacked out town. As she headed for the entrance she was hustled and bumped in the bustling crowd, but at last she found a ticket office and in her careful, schoolroom French made the man understand that she had to get to St Croix. He shrugged energetically and regretted that mademoiselle would not be able to continue her journey this evening. She must go to an hotel and wait until the morning when one might perhaps engage a horse and cart to take her to St Croix. He, himself, was unable to assist mademoiselle further as he could not leave his position, but he suggested that she went to the Hotel de la Reine which was just two hundred metres from the station, where she could be accommodated very moderately.

Sarah understood at least two-thirds of this, when he had said it all twice, and thanking him she went back to Molly, whom she found standing exactly where she had left her, but surrounded by a group of soldiers offering their assistance. Flushed and determined, Molly was guarding the cases and facing them down with short sharp answers. But at least they spoke English, and at least she could understand them. Naïve though Molly was, she had held her own against footmen and stable boys before, and these were, after all, only footmen and stable boys in uniform. However, she looked extremely relieved when she saw Sarah pushing her way back through the crowds.

“We can’t go any further tonight,” Sarah told her. “We have to go to an hotel.”

“Where you trying to get to, miss?” asked one of the soldiers.

Sarah turned, and in him she saw an answer to their immediate problems. “We are going to St Croix in the morning, but for tonight we have to get to the Hotel de la Reine. I believe it’s not far.”

“No, miss, just across the square. ’Ere, Charlie, grab them bags and we’ll show the ladies the way.”

“How kind of you,” Sarah beamed, at her most gracious. “Would you really? Thank you so much.”

To her delight, Charlie and his friend hefted the cases under their arms and forged a way through the undiminished crowds on the platform and out of the station into the night. Sarah and Molly followed and as they emerged they heard dull thuds and thumps in the distance.