Soon her bus arrived and she set off with some other young women through the flat countryside as dusk fell. They travelled a little way beyond the Flanders area. It was late by the time they reached the hospital but they could hear artillery in the distance. They were served a supper of cold meat and potatoes, then she was shown to her small Alwyn hut, made of wood and canvas, which she was to share with another VAD, called Emily. She was small and slightly built. Amy discovered she was one of the older daughters from a large family.
‘I must write to my parents tomorrow,’ Amy said. ‘They didn’t want me to come to France.’ As they had seen her off on the train, Mother had been crying. Father had told her he was proud of her, but his smile was a shade unconvincing.
‘There’s no need for them to worry!’ Emily told her. ‘They’re bound to take good care of nurses over here.’
‘That’s what I told them.’ Mother had wiped her eyes, but Amy wished she was not leaving them at this particular time. ‘My brother was killed on the Somme earlier this month, you see,’ she explained. ‘They could do with my support.’
‘Oh, how dreadful!’ Emily said. ‘I’m very sorry about your brother. But the injured men at the Front need our help urgently.’
The September evening was mild as she and Emily settled into their beds. What were the chances that Edmond would manage to visit her here, Amy wondered. How frustrating it would be if they still remained apart.
Next morning they walked up a drive to the hospital, which was a substantial building with rows of windows on three storeys and a turret at each end.
‘Is this what you call a chateau?’ Emily asked, not pronouncing it quite correctly.
‘It might be. I suppose a wealthy family used to live here.’ They continued across the lawn, bounded by cypress trees. They went through the main entrance and into Matron’s office. She was a middle-aged woman, preoccupied-looking, who passed them over to Sister Reed. The latter had curly dark hair, glasses and a serious expression. She addressed the new arrivals before they started work.
‘You should know we have some German casualties here,’ she told them. ‘We treat them the same as we treat our own men. We hope any of our wounded men who are captured behind German lines will receive similarly decent treatment.’
As they followed the sister to their ward, Emily exchanged glances with Amy. They would meet real Germans. ‘My father is a schoolteacher…’ she began to say.
‘So is mine!’
‘Mine actually teaches German,’ Emily whispered, ‘though it’s much less popular now. He studied in Germany for a short while, many years ago. He finds it hard to believe the Germans are as bad as people say.’ Her Belgian friends had told Amy some horrifying incidents relating to the invasion of their country and newspapers were still suggesting they were ogres.
It turned out the Germans had been assigned a ward of their own, and for now Amy and Emily would not be working there.
The artillery was louder and they could feel the vibrations from the direction of the Somme as they began work in one of the surgical wards. Some of the men were mumbling incoherently as they came round from operations. There were still fresh casualties arriving. Though Emily was tiny, she seemed to have boundless energy as they rushed around making up beds and administering saline solution to the new arrivals to stabilise them.
At lunchtime, Amy joined some of the other staff who took their break at midday. As soon as she walked into the canteen she heard a familiar voice nearby. Lavinia was just about to leave with a colleague, her starched cap perched a little crookedly on her abundant dark hair. ‘Amy!’ her old friend called out as they came face to face and hugged, delighted to see each other. For a few moments they caught up with each other’s news.
Lavinia frowned. ‘I’m very sorry about your brother,’ she said.
‘I don’t suppose I’ll ever come to terms with losing him,’ Amy said. Tears came into her eyes as she remembered him. Lavinia put her arm round her.
‘Has Edmond recovered now?’ she asked after a few moments.
‘Yes, he’s back with his unit. I’m hoping there’ll be some chance of meeting him, though he’s further south, in the Somme area.’ She had posted a quick letter to him first thing that morning, confirming her arrival.
‘My father’s in France now,’ Lavinia said. Amy remembered he was a distinguished surgeon. ‘He works here and at other hospitals. They call on him for some of the more difficult cases.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I must go back to the ward. We’re supposed to have three hours’ break in the middle of the day, but we seldom get the chance when we’re busy.’
For Amy too there was a rushed lunch and a tiring afternoon in the stuffy ward. As she finally left, a woman she recognised as one of Lavinia’s colleagues came up to her.
‘Are you Amy Fletcher?’
‘I used to be. I’m Amy Derwent now.’
‘There’s an officer at the gate asking for you.’
Could it possibly be Edmond? Would he have received her letter by now? But surely he would not have called her by her old surname. She hurried down the drive between the areas of parched grass towards the gate. There was only one officer waiting there and it was Wilfrid Fairlawn, standing beside a shiny motor car.
‘Good evening, Amy,’ he said with an ingratiating grin. ‘I was wondering if you’d care for a little jaunt into Arras.’
She struggled to remain polite. ‘No, thank you, Captain Fairlawn. Perhaps you haven’t heard, I’m married now.’
‘I daresay – but your husband isn’t here, is he? I could show you around.’
‘That would not be appropriate. Excuse me, I have to get on.’ She hurried away without turning back. As she walked towards her hut, she noticed Sister Reed and Lavinia watching her.
The sister stepped forward. ‘I must make it clear, Nurse, that we don’t allow fraternising with officers or male medical staff. All relationships must be professional.’
‘Of course, Sister. In any case, I am married. That officer is an acquaintance and I have just declined his offer of an outing with him.’
The sister seemed satisfied with her explanation.
‘Oh, dear, Captain Fairlawn,’ Lavinia said when Sister had gone. ‘He’s got a reputation for unwanted advances to VADs and nurses.’
‘I assure you I won’t be going anywhere with him.’
* * *
The next morning, a convoy arrived with fresh casualties and some of them were German. Emily and Amy were now sent to their ward to help. The young men seemed little different from their own troops and just as vulnerable. There were perhaps more with fair hair, but many of them were indistinguishable from British Tommies; only the uniforms were different. It was impossible for Amy to understand most of what they were saying to each other but they behaved in a respectful manner. She found Emily understood enough German to translate some key phrases.
‘Did you notice that inscription on their belts?’ Emily asked. ‘“Gott Mit Uns” – that means “God with us.”’
Amy gasped at the idea of British and German soldiers praying to the same God for victory.
At lunchtime, she emerged from the ward to receive a message from an orderly. ‘Amy Derwent? There’s an officer waiting for you at the gate.’
As she hurried down the drive a few of the staff were enjoying the sunshine on nearby benches. Please don’t let it be Wilfrid again, she thought. But long before she reached the gate she made out Edmond’s beloved figure. She broke into a run and he hurried through the gate and caught her in his arms. For a moment she was aware of nothing but blissful kisses.
‘Nurse Derwent!’ she turned to see an outraged Sister Reed.
She detached herself from his embrace. ‘Sister, may I present my husband, Lieutenant Derwent?’
Edmond smiled charmingly as he shook the sister’s hand. ‘Excuse my exuberance, Sister. It’s been nearly a year since I’ve seen my wife.’
The woman unbent a little. ‘Try not to
exceed the boundaries of propriety, please.’
‘We’ll do our best,’ Edmond said as the sister returned towards one of the benches.
At last he was here, beside her! ‘You can’t imagine how I’ve missed you!’ she cried. ‘How long did it take you to get here?’ If only his visits would be frequent.
Edmond took her hand and led her through the gate. He pointed to a modest-looking motorbike. ‘That’s my transport,’ he told her. ‘It took me two hours to get here on these awful roads, but I had to see you.’
There was something different about him which she had been very aware of when he kissed her. ‘You’ve grown a moustache!’
‘Yes – I’ve resisted having one for so long but it makes preparations a shade faster each morning. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘I’ll get used to it.’
He went over to his machine and opened up a panier attached to it. He brought out a bunch of creamy roses and thrust them into her hands. They were fragrant and their petals silky, like the ones she had had in her wedding bouquet – both times.
‘They’re wilting in the heat,’ he said.
‘I’ll put them in water as soon as I can and they’ll revive.’
‘I’ve only got eight hours’ leave,’ he told her, ‘and I’ve spent over two hours of that waiting for you to come off duty. We haven’t much time.’
‘That’s just not fair – I haven’t seen you for nearly a year! When will we have the chance to spend longer together?’
He led her to the grassy bank beside the road and they sat down in the midday sun, still warm though it was the end of September. ‘I promise I’ll try to do better next time. I’ll get twenty-four hours, a weekend – as much as they’ll give me.’
She tried to be satisfied with this assurance. He was the same Edmond with the loving blue eyes. His face was tanned from the hot summer.
‘I was horrified to hear about Bertie,’ he told her. ‘He’s such a loss for you and your parents. I’ll miss him too.’
‘Sometimes I can’t believe I’ll never see him again.’ In her last week at the London hospital she had received a pitiful letter from Florence. ‘He’s buried somewhere near a town called Morval,’ Amy told Edmond. ‘Can you take me there to see whereabouts he was killed?’
‘We can’t take visitors there – it’s too near the Front Line. I’m sorry, darling. On days when it’s quieter, nurses sometimes go to nearby graves and lay flowers there. After the war there’ll be proper cemeteries.’
After the war? Whenever would that be? For a few moments they were both quiet.
‘Is there still a lot of fighting round Amiens?’ she asked. Once more there was the sound of artillery in the distance.
‘It’s lively. You know I can’t tell you any details.’
‘Let me see your wrist. Is it better now?’
‘Good as new.’
She examined it and it seemed to have mended well, allowing him full movement of the joint. It had at least kept him from fighting for a few weeks, she thought, as she sat there with his arm round her, basking in the delight of his presence.
There was a faint drone from above. He looked up and pointed to a small brownish biplane travelling across the blue sky. ‘It’s one of ours.’
‘Oh – I haven’t seen one before. What must it be like to fly over the fields like that?’
‘They mostly use the planes for reconnaissance. We occasionally meet some of the pilots in a bar.’
All too soon, he rose to his feet. ‘I simply can’t afford to be late back,’ he said.
She wanted to protest, to prevent him from rushing away, but could not risk him being punished again and losing more leave.
They enjoyed a lingering kiss, though it could not satisfy their need of each other, and she watched him climb onto his vehicle and speed off noisily in the direction of the Somme.
She picked up the delicate roses. She must find a glass and some water, then see if there was any time left for lunch.
* * *
They wrote to each other regularly and within three weeks Edmond had the promise of twenty-four hours’ leave. Amy spoke to Sister and was granted leave for the same time. At last we can be properly together, she thought. We must make each hour count.
They would spend the day in Arras. That morning, she was already waiting outside the gate in the drizzle when he arrived on his motorbike. She had changed out of her uniform into the autumn suit she had brought with her, a darker, more robust outfit than the best one she had worn on their brief honeymoon.
He took her small bundle of belongings and placed them in the panier on his bike. ‘I’m sorry you’ve got to travel like this,’ he said. ‘Only one officer I know well has a motor car and he wouldn’t let me borrow it.’
‘I don’t mind,’ she said.
‘Is your hat anchored well?’
‘Yes.’ She climbed on the back of his vehicle and tucked up her skirt as best she could so it did not catch in the wheels. She clung on tightly as he roared off along the bumpy road. She hoped no-one would see her, for it was almost certain to be deemed inappropriate behaviour for a VAD, even one travelling with her husband.
The wind rushed around her head and the few locks of hair which were loose whipped her face. Edmond smelt of oil from the machine and mud, for it had rained for the last week. His trenches must be becoming waterlogged again.
After a few uncomfortable miles they rode into Arras. Lavinia had told her it was the main town of Artois, just south of the Flanders area. Some of the buildings here were badly damaged, but her dismay gave way to joyful anticipation as Edmond stopped outside a small hotel.
‘Is your skirt all right?’ he asked, helping her clamber off.
‘It’ll be fine,’ she said, though the hem was damp and muddy.
He stood looking across the street towards a pile of rubble. ‘Shame this is the nearest town,’ he said. ‘It’s seen a lot of punishment. The Germans occupied it in 1914. They were sent packing by the French, but only after heavy fighting.’
A middle-aged couple with sabots on their feet trudged along the opposite side of the street. What must it be like to see your home town become a battleground, Amy wondered.
Edmond turned back resolutely towards the hotel. ‘I’m told this place is comfortable,’ he said, then hesitated, suddenly solemn.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m afraid they’ve cut short my leave. I have to be back by midnight.’
‘What!’ She could hardly believe their time together was to be curtailed again.
‘They’re planning to move us on somewhere any day now.’ He held her in his arms. ‘I daren’t risk disobeying them again.’
‘No.’ Their day was diminished.
‘We’re going to take a room, no matter what. They’ll understand if we spend part of the day there.’
She put her arm through his as he led her into the hotel and booked a room. They were shown to a simple upstairs room, clean and light, where they could leave their limited luggage. She looked at the double bed and they exchanged glances.
‘Dearest, how would you like to spend our day?’ he asked.
There was something not quite respectable about making use of the bed at midday.
‘How about a short walk, and lunch before we come back here?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’d like that.’
He took her hand and they went back out. The rain was still falling fitfully and browning leaves were blowing off the trees. They passed houses with crumbling stonework and soon arrived at a market square, where a few traders were packing up their stalls. One was loading his remaining produce onto a dog cart. Across the square was a massive amorphous pile of rubble, apparently the debris from a large building. The only Frenchmen they saw were elderly ones, and the women looked sombre.
‘One of our officers told me the baroque city hall was burnt down in 1914 and the belfry was demolished,’ Edmond said. ‘Last year the cathedral was destroy
ed. It’s dreadfully sad.’
‘People are being killed, remember.’
‘I know; one shouldn’t mind so much about buildings, but it’s as though the Germans are trying to wipe out their culture.’
Amy hoped desperately that one day normality would return.
At the end of the square were a couple of bars and a small restaurant that Edmond had been recommended. As they approached, they saw some off-duty soldiers emerging from one bar, somewhat drunk. The other bar was frequented by officers, Edmond told her. A captain was leaving this bar with a young woman on his arm who was murmuring a few words in poor English. From her tight dress and elaborate hairstyle, Amy suspected she might be a prostitute. Edmond hurried them into the restaurant.
Amy suddenly remembered Polly, the woman she had met in jail. Her French equivalent had not looked so downtrodden, and Amy wondered if there was less of a stigma here to that way of life. Perhaps one day she would tell Edmond about Polly, but not now when they had so little time together.
The waiter brought him a menu and spoke to him in heavily accented French. ‘There are shortages here now,’ Edmond told Amy. ‘They can offer us trout from a river nearby, or omelettes.’
‘Trout would be lovely.’
He ordered their meal and they heard the waiter talking to the kitchen staff in an incomprehensible patois.
They sat holding hands still, happy simply to be together. They were the only customers as the clock in the corner struck one. When their meal arrived, Amy found it was tasty and well cooked, more refined than the food at her hospital.
All the same, she set it aside without finishing it. ‘Let’s go back to the hotel,’ she whispered, feeling herself blush.
Edmond took a fresh folded handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped the slices of bread that were in the basket on their table. He thrust them into his pocket.
The day was cloudy and dim but there were still a few hours before it would grow dark. They went back through the town and into their hotel and climbed the stairs to their room. Edmond pulled the curtains across to shut out some of the daylight. Joy swept over Amy as he took her in his arms.
Until We Meet Again Page 16