‘I’m sure I’m fit enough to go,’ he said. Janet found him an ashtray and he put out his cigarette.
Cook produced a bottle of iodine and some cotton wool and Amy rolled up Peter’s sleeve. ‘Sit down while I deal with it,’ she told him. She shook some salt into warm water and began by sluicing out the wound. When she had washed away the dirt she saw it was worse than she had thought. ‘It’s quite deep in the middle,’ she said.
Peter winced as she probed the wound lightly with her finger. ‘A twig caught it,’ he said.
Amy sluiced it some more, feeling around gently for any splinters but not finding any.
Just then Beatrice burst in, wearing a cream-coloured lacy gown Amy had not seen before. ‘Pa told me you’ve hurt your arm,’ she said. ‘You won’t be long, will you? We need to set out soon.’ She peered at his arm. ‘It’s nothing serious, is it?’
‘It should heal well,’ Amy told her, ‘but I need to clean it thoroughly.’
‘It’s quite superficial,’ Peter said.
‘Not really – the gash is quite deep in the middle.’ Amy became aware of them all looking at her. ‘It could do with stitching.’ That would mean he had to go to the hospital in Wealdham.
Beatrice looked perturbed.
‘It’ll be all right without that,’ Peter protested.
‘Believe me, I’ve seen enough wounds to know how vital it is to treat them properly to prevent infection,’ Amy said firmly. She considered the situation. It was borderline, as to whether or not it needed to be stitched. ‘It should be enough for me to disinfect it with iodine and bandage it well,’ she said.
‘Let’s hope it won’t take too long,’ Beatrice said. Between her other duties, Janet had arranged her chestnut hair so there were little curls round her face.
Amy dried off Peter’s wound and then tipped some iodine onto cotton wool. ‘I’m afraid this will sting badly,’ she told him. He winced as she applied it to his arm. Then she began carefully bandaging his injured limb.
Beatrice was pacing up and down, trying to persuade her mother it would be acceptable for her to attend the party without Peter.
Amy paid little attention as she completed the bandaging to her satisfaction.
Peter smiled at her. ‘Thank you so much,’ he said. ‘It’s wonderful having someone with medical knowledge in the family.’
‘If you feel at all unwell, feverish for example, you must ask your host to call a doctor,’ she told him firmly.
‘Will you be long getting ready?’ Beatrice asked.
‘No – and my bandage will hardly show,’ he assured her.
When Amy had helped the staff put away their first aid items, she left the kitchen. In the hall, Mr Derwent was returning from checking on Wanderer. ‘He’s not too shaken now,’ he told her. ‘Have you seen to Peter’s arm?’
She told him what she had done. ‘I’m very thankful you were here to give it expert attention,’ he said.
Before long, Peter came downstairs in evening dress and Beatrice put on her Indian shawl. Amy watched as the chauffeur set off, taking the brother and sister to their evening engagement.
* * *
Next morning Peter was there at breakfast, with his parents. ‘The arm still stings from the iodine,’ he told Amy, ‘but it hasn’t given me any trouble.’
Cook came to serve Amy a kipper. ‘After breakfast I’ll take the dressing off and check it’s healing well,’ she said.
‘Doctor Stanhope was at the party,’ Peter told her. ‘He’s recently retired. When I told him what happened he said Amy did absolutely the right thing by disinfecting the wound. He said it’s essential to prevent infection.’
‘There! We’ve cause to be grateful to Amy for dealing with it thoroughly,’ said Mr Derwent, beaming at her. ‘I knew your skills would be an asset to the family.’
His wife looked in her direction, appreciation showing in her face.
Beatrice came in, looking half asleep.
‘How was the party, darling?’ her mother asked her.
‘It made a pleasant change to go out. It’s not the same, though, with so many young men away in Flanders.’
Amy checked Peter’s arm after breakfast and found it showed no sign of infection. She joined the family setting off to church. Peter went on foot so there was plenty of space in the car for the rest of them. Amy had arranged to join her own family for lunch. She walked back with them after church.
‘You look tired, dear,’ Father said as they arrived at Sebastopol Terrace.
‘We work long hours in the hospital,’ she admitted, not prepared to discuss the distressing sights they sometimes witnessed.
‘Did you come back from London all by yourself?’ Mother asked.
‘Yes – I’m used to it now,’ she said. Mother would probably be shocked at the times she had walked back from the hospital to the hostel after dark on her own, on days when her hours were different from those of her friends. The demands of the war were easing the restrictions on women’s movements, and generally she welcomed it.
‘Listen, Mother, have you got any spare ribbon? My hat needs smartening up,’ she said.
‘Yes, of course, dear, I’ll see what I can find.’
Soon Amy was attaching a new length of rose pink satin ribbon to her hat.
‘I’ve invited Florence to lunch,’ her mother said.
‘Oh, thanks – it’ll be lovely to see her.’
‘She and Bertie seem very close. When he was on leave a couple of weeks ago he was invited to join her family for an outing in their motor car. They took a picnic hamper and seem to have enjoyed a splendid day out. He was quite elated when he arrived back.’
Before Amy could explore this news any further, Florence arrived. She seemed in a merry mood as the girls exchanged greetings.
‘I hear Bertie joined you and your family on a picnic,’ Amy said.
‘Yes – we only went as far as the Ashdown Forest, as I’m afraid I’m prone to feel a little sick on long car journeys. But we had a wonderful time.’ Her face dimpled with a smile. She paused, as though wondering whether to say more, but changed the subject. ‘When will Edmond manage to get home leave?’ she asked.
‘In summer they said – I hope they’ll let him come soon.’
A bowl of lilac blooms graced the table as her mother served the simple roast meal.
‘Has anyone heard from Bertie since he went back?’ Amy asked.
‘No, it’s high time he wrote,’ Father said.
‘I heard from him the day before yesterday!’ Florence’s eyes were bright as she told them of his assurance that his part of the Front was relatively quiet.
‘I hope I can see him next time he comes home,’ Amy said.
‘Bertie and me…’ Once again, Florence seemed to be considering how much to tell them. ‘We’ve reached an understanding,’ she said, smiling shyly.
A glow of happiness engulfed Amy. ‘You mean – you’re engaged?’ she exclaimed. Florence was sitting next to her and she looked in vain for a ring on her dainty hand.
‘We only talked of it the day before he had to go back,’ she said.
‘Bertie’s still quite young,’ Father said, ‘and I believe he’s surprised at his sudden feelings and urge to marry. But you’ll make him a fine wife.’
It was true, Amy thought, for though Bertie was a year older than Edmond, he had always been easy-going and playful.
‘Won’t it be wonderful, being sisters-in-law, you and I?’ Florence said, reaching out to embrace Amy.
‘Perfect!’ She wondered if the couple would plan a wedding to take place when Bertie next came on leave.
The day was drizzly and after lunch they went to sit in the parlour.
Florence was still working with the Belgian refugees, and told her they were settling well now. ‘I started some more war work,’ she told Amy. ‘I’ve joined the group in the village hall, helping roll bandages and knit and so on. I only have time in my holidays, of course.’ She was completing her tra
ining to teach and hoped to begin at a local school in the autumn.
Soon the doorbell rang and James was there.
‘Not watching the cricket, then?’ Amy’s father asked him as he joined them in the parlour, knowing he was a keen spectator. Amy winced at the mention of cricket, still sensitive about what had happened at the pavilion.
‘There isn’t any this summer,’ he told them. ‘Most of the able-bodied young men are away fighting, and Colonel Fairlawn is in France. Mr Leadbetter is talking of trying to start junior matches.’
‘Have you any plans for the future?’ Amy asked him nervously, knowing he was due to be conscripted, against his will, when he reached eighteen.
‘I’ve resolved to volunteer to be a medical orderly,’ he told them. ‘That way I can serve my country without actually fighting.’
‘I’m so glad!’ Amy rushed to hug him.
‘My parents approve of my decision.’ He was taller and looking more grown-up now, she thought.
Amy’s Father was less impressed. Now there was conscription, choosing a non-combatant role might seem motivated by cowardice. Florence did not comment, as though she felt it was a poor contribution to the war effort, compared with the active service of Bertie and Edmond.
‘It’s valuable work,’ Amy assured the others. ‘I’ve seen the casualties arriving from France. Orderlies help, getting the injured to the casualty clearing stations, escorting them on the trains and supporting the qualified medical staff.’
By late afternoon, the rain had stopped. ‘I’d better get back to The Beeches,’ Amy said reluctantly. Florence was leaving too.
‘Is it official about you and Bertie?’ Amy asked her as they left. ‘Can I tell everyone?’
‘Perhaps not yet. We barely had time to discuss the details,’ Florence said.
Amy smiled at the memory of that precious time when she and Edmond had been falling in love, but their feelings had seemed too fragile to share.
‘Let me know as soon as he’s given you a ring!’ she told her friend. Of course, her parents would be sure to tell her when there was a wedding date.
She set off back to the Derwents’ house. High tea would be served there shortly, with due ceremony in a formal atmosphere.
* * *
Edmond had been counting the weeks till he was eligible for home leave. As soon as his restriction was lifted, he applied to his senior officer.
‘I’ll let you know when we can spare you,’ Major Saunders said.
The battalion had been moved on, further south, beyond the Flanders area, but he still shared quarters with Frank. ‘I can’t bear it,’ Edmond told him as they settled in their dugout that evening. Back in the autumn his early return from his honeymoon had been for a fresh offensive, but it had barely begun when the winter weather set in. The punishment for his late arrival meant he had not seen his wife since.
‘You can get weekend leave, I suppose.’
‘Yes, I’m taking some at the end of next week,’ Edmond said without enthusiasm, lounging on his camp bed.
‘You can go into one of the nearby towns.’ Frank passed him a steaming mug of cocoa. ‘Some of the bars are lively.’
‘They’re more like brothels, from what I hear.’
‘They’re not all like that.’
In the end, he spent his free time wandering the countryside. Certain areas had been scarred by the artillery now and some of the farmhouses reduced to rubble but he found a stretch by a river which was still unspoilt. He sat beside the tranquil water, as ducks swam past and dragonflies flitted through the reeds. For a moment, he could forget there was a war. Then the artillery opened up again in the distance.
Two weeks later, brilliant poppies were beginning to flower in fields nearby. The trenches were still muddy as the early summer had been very wet. He reminded Major Saunders of his request. ‘Prospects for leave don’t look good at present,’ his superior officer said.
Edmond absorbed this information. ‘You mean, the new offensive will begin soon?’
‘Yes. We’re not to discuss it with the ranks, of course.’
There had been rumours all through spring that a major offensive was planned.
‘We won’t know the exact date until the last minute,’ the Major continued. ‘Troop movements will take place at night, where possible, to maintain secrecy.’
Edmond stood there glumly.
‘Come on, lieutenant! You know how important it is to make a breakthrough. This war has gone on quite long enough. We need to send the Huns packing.’
* * *
Back at the hospital, Amy received a letter from Peter. She had checked his arm and put on fresh iodine on the Monday morning, before setting off back to work. Now he was confirming that it was healing well and repeating his gratitude.
Two weeks later, there was a letter from Lavinia and Amy found she had contrived to be posted to nurse in France.
‘I’d like to be sent there,’ Amy told Katherine as they put on their white aprons ready to begin work. ‘I might not be able to spend time with Edmond – we’d probably be stationed at different stretches of the Front – but I’d like to be nearer him. I’ve really very little idea what it’s like over there.’
‘You’d be receiving casualties straight from the Front,’ Katherine said.
‘Yes – would you consider working there?’
‘I’d far rather stay here. My young man is still at Oxford university, remember.’
‘Yes, of course. It’s different for you.’
She was glad that Katherine no longer talked of leaving nursing. She had summoned up some inner strength, forcing herself to come to terms with the mutilations she might see on the ward and to accept their working conditions. As July approached they were completing their probationary period at the army hospital and planning to sign on for a further six months.
Edmond had still been unable to obtain leave for long enough to come home. One day towards the end of June Amy saw a form pinned to a noticeboard asking for volunteers to serve abroad and immediately added her name to those on the list.
The following day, they found that lots of convalescent men were being sent home.
‘They’ve practically emptied the ward,’ Katherine said. They gazed at the rows of vacant beds.
Then they were told to make them all up ready in case there were new patients. Amy had an ache in the pit of her stomach. She had heard rumours that a great offensive was in the offing. She guessed it would begin soon.
Chapter Fourteen
The Somme and Larchbury, Summer 1916
At daybreak on the first of July Edmond was awoken by the great bombardment. Though it was aimed at the enemy, the ground all around was shaking, and dust flew around their dugout. They looked anxiously at its flimsy supports, worried the structure might cave in and entomb them, as had occasionally happened to other men.
He and his platoon were in the reserve trenches, some way back from the Front Line. When the bombardment ended, he and Frank exchanged glances. By now, the men in the Front Line would be surging over the top of their trenches to begin their advance. The preliminary bombardment had been meant to incapacitate the enemy but almost at once they could hear the German artillery beginning to pound.
As the sun rose higher, they waited tensely. For miles, men should be advancing now. The pandemonium coming from the direction of the Front Line suggested the advance was not progressing as smoothly as had been hoped.
Soon afterwards, the first wounded were being brought back, some carried through their trenches on the way to the casualty clearing station. There were groaning soldiers with bleeding wounds, hastily bandaged – they had witnessed this kind of pitiful scene before, but today the casualties kept passing through for most of the long day. Their men fell quiet, demoralised.
* * *
Over the following days, they heard reports of ground gained ahead and elsewhere along the Somme. The bombardment often started soon after the early midsummer dawn.
Edmond lay awake. They got up before it was light, dressed and waited by the step ladders. He was shivering though it was not particularly cold. As usual, he had Amy’s photograph in the breast pocket of his tunic. Would he live to see her sweet face again? Dawn came and soon they were propelling themselves out of the trench and towards No Man’s Land. Shells whistled past them as they surged forwards, trying to keep going under the enemy onslaught, dodging round ‘crump-holes’ left by the explosions. The bombardment paused momentarily. His unit were among the leaders of the British advance, yet the pounding from the enemy had not sounded so heavy as on other days. As it began again, rather sporadically, he started to believe that his comrades actually had made some impression at this part of the line.
He shouted out words of encouragement to his men as they continued towards the German lines, raising his voice to its limit when the bombardment became noisy again. He ordered the men to fire if the enemy appeared. Starting to become breathless, he hurried on. He seemed to have been running for several minutes, but maybe it had not been that long. They must be approaching firing distance now. There was a sudden movement ahead and a bullet whistled past. Edmond fired back in the direction of the movement. For a few moments there was a volley of shots on both sides, and he was aware of a cry behind him. He looked round to see one of his men falling, injured.
‘Clark’s been hit, Sir!’ As Edmond hovered, trying to decide whether or not to continue, the enemy fire dwindled and stopped.
Sam Clark was a popular private who often led the singing of saucy songs in the trenches. Now he was pale but conscious, shot in the leg, but without the serious bleeding there would be if a major blood vessel had been damaged. They propped him up in a shell hole and Edmond detailed one of his comrades to apply a field dressing from the basic first aid equipment he carried. He must stay there with the casualty until Edmond could send a stretcher party.
Until We Meet Again Page 14