‘Dearest, I’ve waited so long for this moment,’ he told her. He began gently undoing her clothes. Lovingly they embraced each other and sank down on to the bed.
* * *
When he awoke it was only just light enough to make out Amy’s blonde hair strewn across the pillow. He could detect the faint aroma of her flowery perfume.
A bell was ringing, probably from a nearby convent. He peered at his watch and found it was six o’clock. He stroked the soft, warm flesh of Amy’s arm, then shook her gently.
‘Dearest, I need to leave soon.’ He dared not put off starting their return journey till the last minute. He lit the oil lamp. How sweet and innocent she looked in its soft light as she reached for her clothes.
He tried to be patient while she arranged her hair, passing her the pins. Then they shared the bread he had brought from their lunch table before going back to his motorbike. The street was nearly dark now and he needed the light on his machine. They set off out of the quiet town and back to the road towards her hospital. Though it was the main road in that direction, it was scarcely wide enough for two cars or carts to pass. The half moon appeared and disappeared as clouds flitted across the sky. Before they had gone very far they saw a convoy of army wagons ahead, filling the full width of the road, dawdling at the steady pace of the horses that pulled them.
Edmond sounded his horn. There was no response from the carter ahead. In any case, to allow him to pass, the wagon would need to veer dangerously near the ditch. He followed impatiently behind until the road widened a little, then hooted again. At last the wagon drew to the side and he was able to squeeze past, only to find himself stuck behind the next vehicle.
‘Edmond – what are you going to do?’ Amy said, valiantly hanging on behind him.
He tried not to panic as their slow progress continued. Occasionally he was allowed to overtake, but he could still see more wagons ahead. Then they reached a narrow lane to the right and he turned off thankfully.
The lane wound between the fields. ‘Do you know the way?’ Amy asked him, sounding anxious.
‘We marched along here once in the summer, when the main road was clogged with vehicles.’ But it had been light then, and he had simply followed others who knew the way. Here and there the lane forked and he had to peer at a signpost, if one existed.
We’re going downhill, he thought. That’s right, because we should cross the river soon. Besides, the sound of the artillery is still more or less ahead.
The road was uneven. ‘Hang on tightly,’ he implored Amy.
Should it really take this long, he wondered. He had forgotten what a roundabout route this was. At last the lane swooped down to the river, and the bridge ahead looked familiar. They crossed and continued on a slightly uphill course. It was almost pitch black now either side of the beam of his light and he was only vaguely aware of fields and trees.
He came to another fork in the road and this time the signpost was reassuring. He turned left. Then at last they reached the main road again at a familiar village. The convoy must be behind them now. He stopped momentarily.
‘Are you all right, Amy? It’s only a couple of miles now to your hospital.’
‘Yes.’ She sounded a little dubious.
‘Don’t worry, this is a narrow road, but it’s the only one round here that amounts to more than a lane.’
At last the dimly lit hospital loomed up just ahead. He pulled up outside and helped her down.
‘If only you didn’t have to get back,’ she said as they embraced.
He took her luggage out of his panier. ‘Till the next time, darling,’ he said, kissing her again, reluctant to let her go.
‘Will you get back in time?’ she said.
‘Yes – I’ll make it in spite of the detour.’ He tore himself away and stood by his bike waiting to see her pass safely through the gate. Then he waved and set off.
In theory I’ve still got time to get back, he told himself. It’s just a question of whether my petrol lasts out till then, after all those extra miles.
Desperately he rode on towards the Somme. He tried not to drive faster than he needed, for he suspected that would consume more petrol each mile.
The road was deserted now. He tried to recall which village could supply petrol, but in any case the place would not be open at this time of night. He made good progress to the point where he had to turn off the main road for the nearest village to his unit’s position. His petrol must be almost exhausted by now but he could not tell exactly when it might run out.
With two miles to go, the bike spluttered to a standstill. He got off and dragged it into a bush behind a prominent tree. His eyes had become used to the darkness, and the moon had emerged again, so he was able to take stock of a farm entrance nearby. He would have to acquire some petrol and return for the bike whenever he could.
Meanwhile, he had under half an hour to reach his unit. He set off running along the lane, slowing to a walk as he became tired. He panted into his trench with ten minutes to spare.
Chapter Sixteen
France and Larchbury, November and December 1916
‘The roads seemed a little better this time,’ Amy said as they walked through the chilly streets of Arras at nightfall. It was towards the end of November and they had finally managed to get leave again.
‘Sometimes they manage to get German prisoners of war to repair them,’ he said.
It had not seemed such an ordeal on the motorbike this time. ‘At least they’ve allowed us the whole weekend,’ she said as they went into the restaurant. They would have a blissful uninterrupted two days.
They were the only customers and the waiter, probably in his fifties, brought them a brief menu. Perch from the river seemed the best option.
The room was warm, with its blazing logs. I’ve been waiting so long to see him again, Amy thought, suddenly tongue-tied. The busy wards occupied her days but gave her little to tell him, for she could not bring herself to describe the injuries she witnessed there. Physically he looked well, if less buoyant than he used to be, before he became battle-weary. She knew that although it was late in the year, there was fighting around Thiepval.
‘Are you keeping warm in the trenches?’ she asked him.
‘Mostly,’ he smiled. ‘We’ve been receiving parcels of socks and mittens. And the YMCA have arrived. They’re running a stall behind the lines where we can get hot drinks.’
She was a little comforted. The waiter brought their meals and Edmond looked disappointed for a moment at the frugal portions of fish, before beginning his dinner without complaint.
‘Are they treating you well at the hospital?’ he asked presently. ‘Some of the men can be coarse but I imagine they generally behave themselves in front of young women.’
‘They’re usually very grateful for what we can do for them. You mustn’t worry about me.’
She remembered the times she had walked into a ward to hear the men hastily suppressing a questionable song or saucy joke. Usually they were polite and appreciative. Occasionally one was wild or offensive, but usually that was because he was out of his mind with pain or misery, and the nurses tried not to be judgemental.
He set aside his empty plate. ‘Mind if I smoke?’
‘No – go ahead.’
He lit a cigarette from his case. ‘You haven’t started smoking, have you?’ He let out a curl of smoke.
‘No, though a few of the nurses do when they’re off duty.’
He had been sitting opposite her, but now he came and sat beside her, his arm about her shoulder. ‘I think of you, day and night,’ he said, ‘wondering what you might be doing. Our casualties go to one of the hospitals in the Somme area at first, but later they may be sent on further. If a wounded man goes off in an ambulance I imagine him arriving at your hospital, and you tending him back to health… It’s almost tempting to get a wound so I manage to see you!’
‘What an idea! And you might not be sent to my hospital or my ward. W
e do receive some casualties from your area, when they’re fit to move, but I don’t want to hear anything like that suggestion again!’
There was little fighting near Amy’s hospital and when men arrived their wounds had been cleaned up. She had heard stories of the clearing stations receiving men with smashed limbs bound to splints by filthy bloodstained bandages.
He put out his cigarette and sipped his drink before leaning towards her and kissing her tenderly. ‘I’ll pay the bill and we can go back to the hotel,’ he whispered.
They walked back and climbed the stairs to their room. The fire was low in the grate and they shed their clothes quickly before scrambling into the bed. Soon they were making up for all the time spent apart.
* * *
‘I begged them to find something special for us to eat tonight,’ Edmond said, as they waited to be served the following evening. ‘I explained that tomorrow is our anniversary.’
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. ‘Who would have thought last year that we’d be celebrating it here?’ she said.
‘You look sad.’
‘For a moment I was thinking how little time we’ve spent together.’ The waiter bustled across with their dishes: there was duck in some kind of sauce with an appetising smell.
‘This looks lovely.’ She cut into her meal and enjoyed its rich taste.
Edmond sampled his. ‘I think they’ve laced it with cognac,’ he said.
The waiter returned with a bottle of wine for him to try. ‘This is good, too,’ Edmond said, and the man filled their glasses.
There were few customers but the restaurant was cosy. The wine made her feel mellow and they lingered over the meal before setting off back towards the hotel, her arm through his. Fog was closing in until they could barely find their way back to the hotel.
The following day was Sunday, their actual anniversary. They lingered in the warm bed. ‘Remember how you rushed off, the morning after our wedding?’ she said, her arm around him.
‘That was a terrible wrench, but I knew I’d be in serious trouble for returning late from leave.’ His widest smile lit up his face. ‘There’s no hurry this morning!’
By the time they eventually got dressed the church clock was striking half past ten. ‘We’ll have most of the day before we need drive back to our posts,’ he said.
They went out but it was cold now and misty. ‘We must find a different town to visit next time,’ he said as they passed buildings still unrepaired from the bombardment.
They dawdled back to the café and ordered omelettes for lunch. They were seated by the window, looking out on the misty street. Amy shivered as she remembered the misty morning after Bertie’s memorial.
‘My life seems like trying to see ahead through mist and without a signpost.’ She told him how that image plagued her. ‘Uncle Arthur tries to tell us God has a purpose for us all, but it doesn’t seem right since Bertie was killed.’
‘So long as we can spend time together I’m happy,’ he said.
As the townspeople set out for their evening service, Amy and Edmond began their journey back.
* * *
Amy was seldom allowed in the operating theatre with the regular nursing staff, but she had to pass that wing of the building to reach her usual ward. One day, she saw Lavinia outside the theatre, talking to a familiar-looking tall middle-aged man.
Of course: it was Mr Westholme, her father, the highly respected surgeon who worked at their hospital, among others.
Lavinia greeted her as she was walking past.
‘Good day,’ Mr Westholme said to her vaguely, peering at her from behind his spectacles. ‘I know you from somewhere, don’t I?’
‘This is Amy Fletcher, Father, from Larchbury. I’ve brought her back to the house once or twice. Actually she’s Amy Derwent now, because she’s married.’
‘Pleased to meet you again,’ he said, shaking her hand vigorously. ‘Is it your break time? I’ve finished my operations for the day unusually early. I’m just taking Lavinia to a restaurant for lunch – would you care to join us?’
‘I’d love to, if it doesn’t make me late back.’
‘We’re only going to the nearest village – there’s a restaurant of sorts. You know how stuffy they are here about how nurses and VADs behave. They won’t let Lavinia eat with me in the hospital.’
The early December day was chilly as she followed him to his motor car outside the main entrance. It would have been a smart vehicle, were it not for all the mud spattered on and around its wheels. He let her and Lavinia into the back before climbing into the front and driving towards the gate, then out onto the road. Amy held on to her hat in the breeze. There was little chance to talk as he drove into a small village of stone houses clustered round a church. He led the young women into the modest restaurant. There were no other customers but there was a savoury aroma.
Amy sat down at the table with them, grateful for the change of routine. There did not seem to be a formal menu, but the waiter told Mr Westholme he could bring them onion soup followed by braised pigs’ kidneys.
‘Aren’t you the young lady who kept my daughter out of trouble by not giving her name to the police?’ Mr Westholme asked suddenly.
‘Oh, yes – it wouldn’t have been right for me to betray her. I’m sure she’d have done the same for me if she’d been the one who was found out.’
‘I like to think I would have done,’ Lavinia said. ‘But poor Amy had to go to jail for a week, Father – imagine!’ Her eyebrows raised above her dark eyes.
‘There was always the risk,’ he said. ‘You and she must have known that.’ He did not sound angry with them. Lavinia had told her once that her parents recognised the merits of their cause. If only her own parents and the Derwents felt the same.
She felt the usual jolt of dismay at the memory of her humiliating week in jail. It still upset her that her one act of rebellion had caused such repercussions, blighting her relations with Edmond’s mother and sister.
The soup arrived and proved to be tasty.
‘How long have you been married now?’ Lavinia asked her between courses.
‘Just over a year, though we’ve hardly spent any time together.’
‘It’s the same for so many young couples now,’ Lavinia’s father said, sympathetically. Amy watched his skilled fingers which, she had heard, wielded the scalpel effectively, driving his knife systematically through his pigs’ kidneys.
Amy told the others of her good fortune in spending the weekend of her wedding anniversary with Edmond. Since then, she had received more letters and was waiting for him to get leave and arrange a meeting. Probably it would be another rushed rendezvous.
‘Where’s he stationed?’
‘Somewhere near Amiens. He tells me some of the casualties there are being treated under canvas, even now it’s winter,’ she said.
‘Yes, there’s a shortage of suitable buildings in the Somme area. The clearing stations need to be near a railway line. High Command are trying to take space in hotels to get the men proper shelter before the weather gets worse.’
‘I heard a patient say the offensive is being scaled down now,’ Lavinia said.
‘So I understand,’ her father said. ‘There’s even a chance that the statesmen might get together to negotiate for peace.’
‘Oh, if only they would!’ Amy cried.
* * *
Soon the Front was quiet and the weather very cold and intermittently snowy. They had not managed to meet but Edmond applied for Christmas leave and Amy did too. His unit had not been moved on as planned. Conditions seemed favourable for being granted leave around Christmas or New Year, but everyone wanted to take advantage of the lull and the men could not all be spared at once; neither could the nurses and VADs.
‘It’s too bad they couldn’t have given us the same days off,’ Amy complained to Emily when her leave was official. ‘Edmond reaches home three days before Christmas and goes back two days afterward
s. I don’t arrive till Christmas Eve, though I get a whole week.’ They were sitting in their chilly hut drinking cocoa after work.
‘At least you’ll be together for Christmas Day.’
‘Yes.’ Edmond’s family were longing to see him, for he had not managed to get home leave for a whole year, since they were married. She supposed that the whole of his leave would be spent at The Beeches, with them having little time to themselves.
At last she was travelling across the stormy Channel, sitting with some other VADs in the cramped area below deck, next to a steamed up window. She and Edmond had last seen each other on a hasty day’s leave in the second week of December.
It was late evening when she reached Larchbury. She alighted from the train into a snow flurry and saw the delightful sight of Edmond rushing down the platform to meet her.
‘Darling!’ he wrapped her in his arms.
‘How long have you been waiting?’ She was later than expected because the sea crossing had taken longer than usual.
‘I’ve spent nearly two hours in the waiting room,’ he said calmly. He picked up her small suitcase. ‘The stationmaster will let me use his telephone to ring Ma and she’ll make sure Cook has some soup ready when you arrive.’
When he had made the call, he led her outside to where the chauffeur was waiting in the motor car. Edmond apologised for his lengthy wait. ‘I should take a lesson or two in driving the car,’ he said.
At The Beeches, Edmond led her into the dining room where she was greeted by all the family. The room was decorated with seasonal foliage as usual.
Peter commiserated with her about her extended journey. He was still working in London at the War Office, renting a small flat nearby but coming home when he could. ‘I’m hoping they’ll send me to Headquarters in France soon,’ he said, ‘so I’ll at least feel more in touch with what’s happening.’
Until We Meet Again Page 17