Then the other British soldiers began to chuckle. The target of the prank seemed to relax as he brushed off the snow. Two British soldiers were gathering snow now and preparing solid snowballs which were soon flying through the air and finding their German targets.
Amy exchanged amused glances with Emily. They remembered nursing some of the Germans. One of them was largely fit, though his leg wound had left him with a limp. He was eagerly scooping up snow to hurl at the British. Other Germans, leaning on crutches, were too handicapped to act, but one with a bandage over one side of his head was able to stoop and gather enough snow for an effective missile. Three convalescent British soldiers now arrived on the scene and began to pelt the prisoners. Snowballs burst on their coats and laughter rang through the chilly air.
The few Germans well enough to join in were outnumbered now, but they did their best to continue the onslaught. Amy joined in the mirth, wondering when someone senior would arrive, determined to stop the game.
Then an ancient army bus drove in. The escort party brushed themselves down, stood up straight and pointed their rifles in the direction of the prisoners. The bus came to a halt and the driver got out and held open the door.
‘On board! Quickly!’ snapped one of the guards.
‘Schnell!’ shouted one of the others.
The first of the Germans climbed into the bus while the lieutenant crossed his name off a list.
‘Goodbye, Fritz!’ shouted one of the British convalescents.
‘Farewell, Tommy!’ came the reply as the less mobile Germans were helped on to the bus. Then the escorts climbed aboard, the door was slammed shut and the bus set off carefully down the snowy drive and out into the road.
‘I’d never have believed it!’ said Emily.
There remained only the tyre tracks in the snow and a few melting remnants of the missiles. Amy was aware that any day now the artillery would begin again and there was no prospect of a truce. All she same, she knew Edmond would enjoy her account of what had taken place, and so would some of her family. How Bertie would have loved the incident, she realised, with a pang of grief.
* * *
War seemed to be suspended while the very cold weather lasted. When the snow thawed, Edmond sometimes managed to ride over on his motorbike for a few hours or a whole day and night. He was amused by her account of the battle of the snowballs. ‘If only that could persuade those in command that we all want peace,’ she told him.
He shook his head. ‘We need a decisive win,’ he said. ‘Somehow we’ve got to make it all seem worthwhile.’
She could not come to terms with the prospect of the resumption of hostilities.
‘I’m due three days’ leave,’ he told her one day in March, ‘maybe at the beginning of next month. Where shall we go? We could visit Paris, if you like, or we could go somewhere quieter.’
The sophisticated city that everyone talked of: she had dreamt of visiting it. ‘Is it a long way to Paris?’
‘It’ll probably take us most of the day to get there.’
‘Perhaps we should go somewhere nearer where we can relax together, instead of rushing wildly round a busy city.’
‘There’s a town north of here called Béthune which hasn’t seen any fighting. It sounds a lovely place to go.’
* * *
The sun was shining when they set out that April day, the day after Good Friday. They passed a column of soldiers on the road heading north. Edmond drove into a village to buy provisions and they stopped beside the road, where there was an attractive view of fields and a stream, to eat their picnic of bread and tasty local cheese. In shady places there were still traces of snow, but primroses and violets were growing on the bank and the birds were singing merrily.
‘I’ve been thinking of getting a sidecar for the bike,’ Edmond told her. ‘You could travel in it. You’d be more comfortable and not get so dusty.’
She remembered seeing bikes with sidecars, poky little attachments. ‘They look awfully claustrophobic,’ she said. ‘I think I’d prefer to go on riding on the pillion.’
Once they had passed the turning for Arras, there were army vehicles on the road, heading south. Edmond stopped for a moment where the road was a little wider to allow a large wagon to pass.
He was quiet, thoughtful. Will there be fresh action on the Front soon? she wondered.
They reached Béthune by mid-afternoon and Edmond booked them into a small hotel he had been recommended. Amy changed into her suit.
They set out to see the old medieval square with its famous belfry. She gazed up at the beautiful Flemish houses with their steep gables.
‘It’s lovely to see a town which hasn’t sustained any damage,’ Edmond said.
‘I never expected French towns to look like this,’ she told him. ‘Beatrice showed me some pictures of Nice.’ She had gone there with her mother one spring, before the war. ‘There were palm trees and mimosa, and she said the villas were painted in pastel colours.’
‘The south of France is very different,’ he told her. ‘The climate there is much warmer. The buildings here are more suited to severe winters.’
‘You must think I’m awfully silly, knowing so little about France,’ she said.
‘You just haven’t had the chance to go abroad before, that’s all.’
As they walked back, three soldiers were going into a bar. There was the sound of laughter from the popular place near their hotel. Back in their room, a fire had been lit, for the evenings were still frosty. ‘What a lovely room,’ she said, admiring the tablecloth and curtains made of Flemish lace.
There was a small restaurant attached to the hotel where they took their evening meal. ‘We have mussels if you would like some,’ the waiter said. ‘We are near enough to the coast here to get fresh ones delivered most days.’ He spoke with a strange local accent.
‘That would be good,’ Edmond said. ‘Would you like some, Amy?’
She enjoyed the meal. ‘I had a letter from my cousin James the other day,’ she told him. ‘He’s in France now, as a medical orderly, near Bapaume, I think. And he told me he saw your brother Peter on the ship coming out.’
‘Oh, yes – he’s been sent to work at General Headquarters at Montreuil. He was glad to reach France and feel nearer the action. Ma wasn’t happy, but at least he’s not actually fighting.’
Soon they went up to their room and he helped her unpin her hair, stroking the blonde tresses.
‘We’ll be together tomorrow,’ he murmured tenderly as she began to undress. ‘And the day after tomorrow too.’
* * *
In the night, Amy awoke once to the sound of raucous voices from the street, in the direction of the bar. She tried not to resent the young men enjoying their leave. By now you could tell the eager-faced new conscripts from the battle-weary veterans from earlier in the war. Beside her lay Edmond, his flesh soft and warm as she relaxed against him. He stirred for a moment and his arm came round her. Soon she drifted off to sleep again.
Next morning, they awoke to delicate tuneful chimes from the bell tower. ‘It’s the carillon,’ Edmond told her. ‘It’s normal for Flemish towns to have a belfry and each plays a different tune.’
Soon they were eating breakfast in the restaurant. Seated beside the window she looked out at the street, where smartly dressed people were heading towards a nearby church.
‘It’s Easter Sunday!’ she remembered. ‘Edmond, let’s go and join the service.’
‘It’s a Catholic church, and the service will be in French, or Latin probably.’
‘It’s still Easter! It can’t be all that different from the service Uncle Arthur will be celebrating in Larchbury.’
They went out and hurried to the church. They were late and slipped quietly into the back. The service was in Latin, but its joyful message was clear and one of the hymns had a familiar tune. A few other soldiers could be seen in the congregation.
Afterwards, they went back to the large square and enjoy
ed an aperitif outside a bar. ‘We should go up the belfry,’ Edmond said. ‘There are over a hundred steps, I’ve heard, but there’s supposed to be an outstanding view.’
After lunch they went there and clambered breathlessly to the top, where the breeze was fresh. They gazed out across the flat landscape, quiet and pastoral, towards the south and west. Then they looked east, where traffic and military camps could be seen towards the Front. Now she began to grasp the extent of it, following its line towards Belgium in the north, and south as far as they could see towards Arras. And beyond their field of vision it stretched on towards the Somme, then further east across France.
Edmond led her to the north side. ‘You’re supposed to be able to see as far as the Belgian border here,’ he said. ‘It’s clear enough today, I should think. Over that way you can probably see nearly to Wipers.’
Wipers, she knew, was what they called Ypres, a Belgian town where there had been fighting early in the war. She gazed across towards canals and windmills.
She dawdled back to the hotel with him, wishing their break could last much longer. As they sat down for their evening meal they heard the bells of the carillon sounding once more.
* * *
Next morning they planned to enjoy a leisurely breakfast and a last walk around the town. They had barely reached the dining room when they noticed the unwelcome sound of artillery somewhere in the distance.
She looked across the table at Edmond’s stricken face. ‘Let’s not allow it to spoil our time together,’ she said.
He went to the door and stepped outside to listen. ‘It’s coming from the south,’ he told her, ‘some way away.’ He sat down again. ‘It might be round Arras. There was traffic heading there on Saturday.’ Absentmindedly, he chewed a mouthful of bread.
Why did it have to start up again now? she thought. The staff of the hotel were talking in the local patois, with an air of concern. The middle-aged waiter brought them coffee. ‘My son is at Verdun,’ he told them.
‘Have you heard anything about a fresh offensive?’ Amy asked Edmond, when the waiter had left. She knew they must not discuss troop movements in front of civilians, even pleasant, seemingly friendly ones.
‘Only rumours. I didn’t hear when or where. They haven’t stopped our post or cancelled my leave, so I don’t imagine we’ll be involved in the near future.’ He considered for a moment. ‘The road might be clogged again. We’d better not leave it too late to start back.’
They packed their few items of luggage, the carefree holiday coming to a premature end. Outside in the street, soldiers with kitbags were leaving the various hotels and setting off in the direction of the railway station.
Edmond and Amy began their journey back. As before, there were army vehicles heading south. There was a brief pause in the sound of the bombardment, then it resumed. It seemed to be coming from a little to the east of the road ahead, so Edmond was probably right in thinking that it was from the Arras area.
‘Let’s stop for lunch before we get any nearer,’ he said, turning off for a village to the west. They found a small inn where they were served omelettes. The elderly waiter enquired if they had any recent news but Edmond shook his head.
‘My unit might be sent to the Arras area if they need reinforcements,’ Edmond told her when they were alone. ‘At least I’d be stationed nearer you. The High Command try to keep their plans secret from the enemy, so they might stop our post before we’re moved.’
‘So I won’t even know where you are!’
‘Try not to worry, darling. I’ll keep in touch as best I can.’ He was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Some men use a coded message to their family if they think there’s a chance of action. They’ll try to send it out in good time, before the post is stopped.’
‘How do you mean, a coded message?’
‘Something cryptic that will get past the censor.’
‘We need a coded message. I want to know if you’re being moved near the action.’
He thought for a while and then smiled. ‘I’ll send you news of my Aunt Ada,’ he told her.
‘Have you got an Aunt Ada?’
‘No, but the censor doesn’t know that.’
They set off again on the bike, the noise of the guns growing louder as they approached the turning for Arras. Where the road was in poor condition it had become churned up. Edmond rode carefully round ruts and potholes.
Once past Arras, they found a column of soldiers were marching towards them from the south. Then as they neared her hospital, an army ambulance overtook them. Perhaps there were casualties bound for her hospital, Amy thought.
When they arrived she got off the bike and stood with her arms round Edmond, not wanting to let him continue on his way.
‘If my unit gets sent to the section of the Front near here it might be easier to meet up,’ he said.
‘But you’re liable to be fighting.’ The familiar dread was returning.
‘I survived the battles on the Somme, didn’t I?’ She could sense his desperate attempt to remain optimistic. ‘Wish me luck, darling,’ he said.
‘Keep safe. I love you so much.’
‘Goodbye, dearest. Till the next time.’
Chapter Eighteen
France, Spring to Summer 1917
Amy’s hospital was soon receiving casualties from Arras. The fresh mild days of spring were blighted by the sound and vibrations of artillery and a steady stream of ambulances arriving from the nearest railway station with wounded men. The wards were busy again, and now they were quite near the Front Line. She saw men brought in fighting for breath and with streaming eyes.
‘They’ve been gassed,’ a senior nurse told her. She had not seen such cases before.
One day when she had just gone off duty, another ambulance was driving up to the main entrance and her attention was caught by a figure stepping out of the back. For a moment she gasped, briefly taking him for Bertie. But the man was an orderly and of course it could not possibly be Bertie.
‘James!’ she cried. He was a grown man now, and resembled her brother more than ever.
He turned round and waved delightedly, before turning his attention once more to his task of helping transport the injured into the hospital. She waited on a nearby bench, hoping for a chance to talk.
At last they had passed on all their charges. An orderly attached to the hospital was bringing them mugs of tea.
‘Amy,’ cried James at last, joining her and folding her into his arms. ‘How are you?’
Sister Reed appeared at that moment. ‘Nurse Derwent!’
‘Sister, allow me to present my cousin, James Fletcher. He’s recently begun work as an orderly.’
‘Hm – good day, Orderly Fletcher.’ She went on her way.
‘How’s Edmond?’ He looked more serious, as young men almost always did when they arrived at the Front.
‘I got a letter yesterday – he’s still over near Amiens, but there’s talk they’ll be moved to this area shortly. Are you settling well into the job?’
‘I’m glad I’m doing something worthwhile. One of the chaps we’ve brought in needs operating on straight away.’
‘We’ve got Mr Westholme here, so he’ll be in good hands.’
‘Then there are a couple of SIs,’ he told her. He was picking up the terms; SI for seriously ill and DI for dangerously ill. ‘We don’t think the other casualties are so bad. They might just need stabilising before being sent further from the line for treatment.’
The following day she received a letter from Edmond in which he told her Aunt Ada is coming to stay with my family. So he was being moved on, probably heading for the fresh outbreak of fighting. There seemed to be a leaden weight inside her, preventing her from enjoying the spring sunshine.
The day afterwards she started the morning on the ward, mainly helping to apply fresh dressings. Then she was allowed to help in the operating theatre, as new casualties had arrived and there was a shortage of fully trained nurses availabl
e. She began handing instruments to Mr Westholme as they were required. With an effort she managed to control her shock at the sight of the raw wounds. It was thrilling when the surgeon’s skilful work succeeded in stopping the bleeding and closing up the wounds.
The following day she went back to her normal duties. Emily joined her as she prepared drinks to take to the wounded. ‘There’s a column of men marching past the hospital in the direction of Arras,’ she said. She told Amy the battalion: it was Edmond’s.
She could not be spared for the next hour. When she rushed to the gate, the road was quiet once more.
Did he march right past, she wondered. He would be leading his men, eager to maintain discipline, so he would not have had the opportunity to stop or leave a message for her. She could feel the sharp edges of her nails digging into the flesh of her hands as she clenched her fists. She took a few deep breaths before going back to get her lunch. She remained engulfed in fear, scarcely able to eat, while the artillery was noisy to the east.
* * *
There had been a few days with no post, but eventually she heard from Edmond that he was in a reserve trench behind Arras. We marched past your hospital, he wrote. How I wished I could have stopped to see you, but of course that was not allowed.
He wrote regularly every day or two, though he seldom managed more than a few lines. There was little he was allowed to reveal about the offensive, she supposed, but he often reminded her of their brief happy stay in Béthune.
I worry that you might be gassed, she wrote to him in one of her letters.
Until We Meet Again Page 19