He soon replied: The enemy seldom use gas. The wind blows mainly from the west, so it would simply blow gas back into their own trenches.
Soon it was clear he and his men were at the Front Line again. You mustn’t worry, he wrote, we’ve advanced and are occupying trenches we’ve won from the Huns. Isn’t that wonderful news?
If only they could drive the Germans into a full retreat.
* * *
By May, there was less talk of an advance. Casualties were arriving at their hospital in convoys of ambulances. They were not supposed to reveal any details of the offensive, but those who were beginning to recover would compare experiences, and it sounded as though there was a struggle to hold on to the land they had gained.
Besides her worries about Edmond and the demands of her work, Amy was not feeling her usual healthy self. In the close confines of the hut she shared with Emily, it was hard to conceal any ailments.
‘Are you feeling better?’ her friend asked her.
‘Yes – I’m fine now.’
‘You were sick yesterday morning as well, weren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think you could be expecting a baby?’
Amy had been wondering about that. ‘I suppose I might be. Don’t tell anyone. It’s too early to be sure.’
If they got a doctor to examine her, and she was indeed expecting, they would probably send her back to England straight away. She needed to stay as long as possible, in the hope that Edmond would get leave again and she would be able to see him.
She did not mention the possibility in her letters to Edmond, for she might be mistaken, but at night, lying in her bed, trying to ignore the sound of the artillery, she let the idea fill her imagination. How wonderful it would be to give Edmond a son or daughter! His family would probably wonder how he would support them all once he returned to being a student, but she knew they need only live modestly together to be happy. In many ways she would have preferred to wait till peacetime to start a family, but who knew how far ahead that might be?
The Front’s a little quieter now, he wrote a few days later. I’m hoping there’ll be a chance of leave.
Then one morning they were woken by a massive, ear-splitting explosion which shook the ground and seemed to reverberate.
‘That didn’t sound as though it was from Arras,’ Emily said.
‘No – it seemed further to the north.’
Later they heard the men talking about it on their ward. ‘There was a rumour about trying to take the Messines ridge,’ one of them said.
‘Where’s Messines?’ she asked.
‘Over towards Wipers. There’s a ridge held by the Huns.’
Soon it was official that fighting had broken out there in an attempt to capture the ridge. At least it’s some way from Edmond’s position, she thought. His letters told her that their section of the Front was quieter now and he was hoping to be granted twenty-four hours’ leave.
* * *
One hot day in June she came wearily off duty, made for her dim little hut and slumped onto her bed, pulling off her cap.
‘Are you all right?’ Emily asked her. Normally she would sit outside for a while but today she had accompanied Amy back, concerned about her.
‘Yes – the heat’s getting to me, though.’ She was seldom sick now but occasionally she felt faint and she became exhausted more easily from her duties.
She reached for their jug of water and poured them each a glass. When she had drunk most of hers she took off her cuffs, pushed up her sleeves, dipped her hand into the remaining water and splashed it on to her arms and face, feeling a little refreshed.
‘Shouldn’t you get examined by a doctor?’ Emily asked, taking off her cap.
‘I’ll be fine. There’s so much to do here – I’d hate to be sent home.’ There were still many casualties remaining in the hospital from the Arras offensive.
‘You should be taking more rest. They advise expectant mothers to give up work, especially if you’re on your feet a lot, like here. Mind you, my mother was always rushing round looking after the others in the family while she was expecting.’
‘I’ll go on a little longer, providing I feel all right. To be honest, I’m hoping to see Edmond if he manages to get leave. It’s so frustrating, not knowing when I’ll see him again. You know, after we got married we didn’t see each other for nearly a year.’
‘Have you told him you might be expecting?’
‘No – I wanted to be certain first. I hope to tell him soon, though. If he gets leave I’ll tell him then.’
She had not even told Lavinia of her condition. If it’s a boy I want to call him Albert, she thought. But maybe Edmond’s parents won’t like that. Maybe Edmond himself will prefer a different name. Well, then, he should have Albert for his second name.
* * *
The summer days drifted past, with vague news of fighting from Messines and then a gradual build-up of men around Ypres. Amy was thankful to Emily for sometimes relieving her of the heavier duties on the ward.
‘Are you all right, Nurse Derwent?’ Sister Reed asked her one day. ‘You’re looking a bit peaky.’
She had noticed she was getting shadows below her eyes. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘though I prefer it when the weather’s not so hot.’
Sister Reed did not press her any further but she felt guilty about the deception.
By the beginning of July, Edmond was still writing of the possibility of leave. Amy noticed the first signs of her body thickening and wondered how long it would be before one of the sisters realised her condition.
‘Have you still not told your husband?’ Emily asked her as she strained to do up her skirt.
‘No – I keep hoping he’ll get leave,’ she said. ‘I can’t put it off much longer, though – I might need to put it in a letter. Once I’ve told him, I can write and tell my parents. I worry about Mother, since my brother died. I think she’ll be thrilled to hear she’s going to be a grandma.’
‘It’ll give her something to look forward to.’
One day she received a letter from Edmond in which he mentioned that Aunt Ada is looking for a new maid. He’s going to be moved on, she thought. He won’t be nearby and maybe he’ll be fighting again. He never got granted his leave.
Then there was no mail for a few days. Once James arrived with his ambulance, bringing men from the nearest railway station who had been sent on from a hospital nearer Messines. ‘They say there’ll be more fighting round the Ypres salient,’ he told her. It was a bulge in the Front Line.
Mr Westholme came occasionally to operate. He told Lavinia that units were marching north towards Ypres.
Finally a letter came from Edmond to tell her they had been moved north. There was no mention of Aunt Ada, so presumably there was no major advance imminent.
Then the post stopped again. On the last day of July there came the sound of a heavy bombardment to the north. It’s starting, she thought, and he hasn’t had the chance to come on leave. I don’t want to go home and be further away from him, but it’s only a matter of time before I get sent back.
Chapter Nineteen
Near Ypres, Belgium, August 1917
In spite of what Edmond had told Amy, there were occasional days when the Germans were able to send chlorine gas westwards across the Front Line into British trenches. The men dreaded the creeping green clouds of gas. Up till now it had not reached as far as Edmond’s unit’s reserve trenches, but he had seen gassed men from nearer the Front Line struggling for breath as they were evacuated. One evening, he and his men emerged from their trench ready to patrol the area. They saw a unit retreating along the nearest stretch of road wearing grotesque masks to avoid succumbing to the gas.
After Edmond’s injury on the Somme he had returned to the same unit, so he and Frank were still comrades. They had shared a dugout near Arras, and now one near Ypres, heavily bolstered with sandbags. ‘They say those masks are bloody uncomfortable to wear for
any length of time,’ Frank said. They too had been issued with gas masks and had tried them on, but as yet they had not needed to wear them for protection.
As they watched, a group of cavalry came cantering along the road. The officers were wearing masks and surreally, even the horses had been fitted out with protective covers for their heads.
Edmond and Frank exchanged glances. Such sights made him wonder if life would ever approach normality again.
There was the artillery too, of course. The men in their trenches complained, with a kind of resigned humour, about the ‘whizz bangs’ coming over. Most days they saw men being evacuated on stretchers from the Front Line, victims of debris from some random shell that had exploded nearby. As they were carried away, they would be crying out for their mothers.
Sometimes, in the privacy of their dugout, Edmond and Frank would question whether High Command knew what they were about.
‘Three years ago I’d just finished my first year at Cambridge,’ Edmond told his comrade. ‘Apart from my studies, all I thought of were parties and punting and merry evenings with my friends.’ He poured them both a glass of whisky.
‘I was just leaving school,’ said Frank, knocking back the drink. ‘I went to Henley in the summer, and attended some balls, and enjoyed a holiday in Italy too.’
‘I’d been to Europe the year before.’
‘There seemed no reason why we shouldn’t go on living like that.’ Would those carefree days ever return?
One evening, when it was misty, Edmond remembered what Amy had told him about her recurrent image of a misty view, lacking a signpost to show the way ahead. The idea was beginning to haunt him too.
There was the prospect that their own unit would soon be sent forward to fight.
Aunt Ada is growing very restless in the hot weather, he wrote to Amy, and towards the end of the letter, Remember what I told you once; that if I should die you are not to forget me, but you must make a new life for yourself. That’s what I want for you. I believe I would be watching over you, determined for you to be happy and spread your joy to others.
She wrote to him almost every day and he treasured her messages of love. It was tantalising to think that he had spent part of the summer within twenty miles of her hospital, without having had any chance of seeing her. The Germans were bombarding the road parallel to the Front, and on their journey past Amy’s hospital his unit had passed some shattered wagons and a dead horse. The road was becoming more dangerous, which was one reason he had not pressed for leave.
Sometimes he dreamed of a contented life with Amy after the war, perhaps with a child or two, but then some advance or other would begin along the Front and his plans would recede further into the distance. At night he would try to imagine her beside him and the illusion helped him fall to sleep.
* * *
As expected, they were moved up to the Front Line. Then came a morning when he had to lead his men over the top towards the enemy. As they climbed the ladders out of the trench, a gentle mist lay across the fields either side of the barbed wire. Then the sunshine broke through, somehow dispelling his nightmares. Why, there was a lark singing and there were even poppies blooming in No Man’s Land. For one moment his mind dwelt on the timeless beauty of the summer day. Then the big guns began to boom again, as he knew they must, but he kept running towards the German line, rifle in hand. A shell whistled past, making him stumble for a moment, then he ran on, conscious of Frank and the men close behind. Then an immense force caught him in the chest and blew him over onto his back. Almost at once he was engulfed in pain and struggling to breathe. He lay, gasping, on his back. He had not even heard a shell approaching. His chest was nothing but a mass of agony. He hovered on the brink of consciousness, vaguely hearing a call for a stretcher.
Someone who sounded like Frank leant over him. ‘Hang on, Derwent! Help’s coming!’
He began to shiver but someone placed a tunic over him. What was happening about the advance? Were Frank and his men placing their own lives at risk by attending to him? He closed his eyes against the bright sun, still fighting to draw each breath, feeling something sharp cutting into him each time. He felt cold and faint.
‘Take a swig of this – it’ll do you good.’ It was Frank again. Some of the whisky trickled down his face but he managed to take a small gulp. There was a warm sensation as it went down his throat.
‘We’re here, Sir, we’re going to get you to the casualty clearing station!’ He could just make out the matter-of-fact voice of someone medical. ‘No, don’t give the officer a cigarette! We’re going to make you comfortable, Sir… Not too much morphia: we need him to go on making the effort to breathe.’
There was a sharp pain in his arm: they must have given him an injection.
‘Gently, now.’ He was manhandled on to a stretcher, groaning at the pain of the movement. Then he felt himself being humped across the uneven ground, but gradually the pain eased a little. He was shuddering now with each breath. ‘Amy!’ he cried as he began to wonder if he could go on. Had his luck finally run out? Was this how it was going to end?
I have to get better for her sake, he thought, as the terrible transit continued. Only the sudden dimness persuaded him that he had made it to the ambulance. The journey along the rough roads was nightmarish. Spots appeared in front of his eyes, as though he might lose consciousness.
‘Steady, Sir, keep on breathing. We’ll be at the hospital soon.’
‘I want Amy’s photo,’ he told his escort. ‘It’s in my pocket… the left hand pocket.’
Someone was fumbling around, feeling for it. Is it still there? What if it’s in pieces from the shell?
‘Here you are, Sir. Pretty young woman.’
He took her picture gratefully in his hand and tried to focus on it. One edge of it was torn and bloodstained, but her image was unspoilt. ‘Amy!’ he said.
Will I see Amy at the hospital? he thought. No, she’s miles away, I’m up near Wipers.
The ambulance came to a halt and light flooded in as the door opened. ‘Straight up to the operating theatre,’ said an authoritative voice.
* * *
He was still engulfed in pain but it was different from before. Breathing was a constant struggle but there was less of a feeling that something sharp was digging into his lung. There were fresh pains around the area, as though they had needed to cut him open and stitch parts of him. Elsewhere in his chest he was just stiff and achy. He thought he could taste blood in his mouth.
‘How are you feeling, Sir?’
He could barely find the words. ‘It’s so hard – to breathe.’
‘Just keep on, shallow breaths will do.’
‘Can I have some water?’
A nurse held a cup and he raised his head enough for him to take small sips.
He could barely find the energy to look round. He had a glimpse of dressings across his chest before someone pulled up a blanket.
‘Keep him warm, nurse, he’s in shock,’ someone was saying. ‘And stay beside him. If he seems to stop breathing, wake him up. Call me again if his condition worsens.’
He was vaguely aware of the nurse sitting there. It was quiet now and the light was dim. All kinds of images flooded into his brain; memories of other men badly injured or crying out from the barbed wire in No Man’s Land. He recalled the men and the horses masked against gas, and a dying casualty in his ward after he was injured on the Somme. There were other images too. There were his men, advancing bravely towards the salient; he should be with them, he knew, as he struggled to catch up. Then he imagined riding through the grounds at home on Wanderer, heading for the forest. Then he recalled Amy, beautiful in her wedding dress, being cross-examined in court.
The nurse gave him a little water. It was growing light. He felt exhausted still, simply from the effort of breathing.
Will I recover? He wondered. And if I do, will I be any use to anyone now? What will Amy think when she sees me in this state?
; Chapter Twenty
Near Arras, and Ypres, August 1917
It’s high time I told him, Amy was thinking. He’s liable to be involved in the fighting round Ypres. He needs to know there’s someone else to stay alive for now.
She began to plan what she might put in a letter. Aunt Ada tells me there will be an addition to the family might convey the news.
That morning she was sent for by Matron. As she headed for her office, she saw Lavinia hovering nearby. Inside, she found Mr Westholme standing, looking solemn, beside Matron, who was seated at her desk.
Amy froze, suddenly alarmed, and looked from one to the other.
‘Your husband’s been injured, Amy,’ he told her. ‘I’m afraid it’s severe.’
She felt herself swaying and reached for the chair opposite Matron’s desk.
‘Sit down, nurse,’ Matron told her, less stern than usual.
‘It’s his lungs,’ Mr Westholme told her. ‘We’re hoping for the best but he’s not in good shape.’
‘Where is he? I need to go to him!’ she cried.
He told her which hospital it was, in Ypres. ‘Matron, I’d like to suggest Mrs Derwent comes back with me to the hospital, with your permission,’ he said. Relatives were sometimes sent for, even from England, in grave cases. ‘It could help the patient to rally.’
‘Please let me go!’ she begged Matron. I have to see him, she thought. He doesn’t even know about the baby.
‘When was he injured? Has he had an operation?’ she asked Lavinia’s father frantically.
‘I operated on him yesterday. His right lung was badly wounded and the left one slightly injured. I could only do a preliminary operation to stitch up the wounds, but he needs more surgery. I need his breathing to begin to improve before I can do that. I left another surgeon in charge as I had to come to this hospital to help a patient with complications from his operation last week.’
Until We Meet Again Page 20