Chapter 12
Canteens
1917–18
“Would you like me to stand still so that you can get a better look?” snapped Flora to an “old chap” who stood motionless in the middle of the road staring openly at her. She was dressed in uniform, hurrying to catch a train from Croydon to London, and was in no mood whatsoever for anyone to be throwing disapproving looks her way. To her surprise he hurried across the road towards her. “My great wish has been to meet you,” he told her as he shook her hand warmly, while she stammered a sheepish apology and made a mental note not to jump so hurriedly to conclusions. “The incident taught me not to be so snappy on such occasions,” she wrote later.1
Flora was now recognized widely wherever she went. Her arrival back in England was heralded soon after by coverage in the Daily Mail, the Daily Mirror and the Daily Express and she began to use the press interest and her resulting fame to launch an extensive campaign to raise funds.2 When she had left the front she had only a vague notion of building upon the nascent scheme of sending parcels to Serbian soldiers that her friend Bessie Stear had helped her get under way. By the time she reached home she had resolved to provide winter clothing for as many soldiers as she could, a decision prompted by the refusal of the British Red Cross representative in Salonika (almost certainly Colonel Herbert Fitzpatrick) to give her a dozen pairs of socks for the men of her section. “That’s the business of the Serbian Government, not the Red Cross,” he told her curtly. “You can’t possibly expect to clothe the whole army.” The idea of clothing the army had not, until then, crossed her mind. “Why not?” she thought with a flash of anger. “If you want a pig to go straight ahead, you must pull it the other way,” she wrote after their meeting, no doubt amused at the analogy at her own expense.3
Initially Flora focused her efforts on helping to raise funds for a friend’s campaign. The friend – the Hon. Evelina Haverfield – was an experienced fund-raiser who had first arrived in Serbia in April 1915 as an administrator for the Scottish Women’s Hospitals in Kragujevac. There she had joined her partner, chauffeur Vera Holme, a former occasional male impersonator who retained her preference for wearing masculine clothing, and whom Evelina had met via their mutual membership of the militant suffragist Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU), presided over by Emmeline and Christabel Pankhurst. Although Flora had developed a rather formal friendship with the delicate-featured, slender fifty-year-old Evelina, not everyone liked her. She was able and efficient, capable of immensely hard work and charming to those she liked. Those she disliked – and there were many – found her cold, proud and distant. Vera, known as “Jack” to her friends, was far more easy-going. In her, Flora had spotted a kindred rebellious spirit: they both took pleasure in disregarding social convention and had a shared sense of fun and adventure. While Evelina remained “Mrs Haverfield” to Flora in correspondence, Flora and Vera soon became “Sausage” and “Jack” to each other.4
Evelina’s scheme, “The Hon. Mrs Haverfield’s Fund (Registered) for Providing Comforts for Serbian Soldiers and Prisoners”, appealed strongly to Flora. Directed at military rather than civilian relief, it aimed to provide practical help to men by sending them warm clothing and small gifts. Flora’s first appeal on behalf of it hit the papers just before Christmas. “The terrible cold of the Balkans must be endured to be understood,” she wrote in a letter published in the Weekly Dispatch on 23rd December. “The almost total absence of woollen garments which the men suffer from is likely to render their life in the trenches almost intolerable. Perhaps it may seem an extraordinary thing to appeal on behalf of an entire army, but it must be remembered that the Serbian army depends for its entire sustenance on Allied support.” She appealed in particular for unglamorous but desperately needed underclothing, mufflers, socks and gloves.5
By early January 1918 Flora’s thoughts on future fund-raising were beginning to crystallize. She had kept her conversation with Amelia Tileston at the back of her mind since meeting her the previous August. She had been impressed by her description of her work running canteens for Serbian soldiers, something Amelia herself had copied from Alice Erin Massey, the daughter of a chemical manufacturer from Newcastle, who, equipped with a similar mobile kitchen van, had set up base alongside Serbian ambulances to feed the wounded as they arrived on the train, and whom Amelia had worked alongside in Vrbeni.6 Flora now began to contemplate doing something similar. By February she had joined forces with Evelina in a shared scheme, the “Sandes-Haverfield Canteen Fund”.7 The Fund aimed to raise money for free canteens for “cheechas” – elderly soldiers who would march up to thirty punishing miles daily alongside pack-horses carrying equipment for the army – along with any soldiers facing a long trek back to their regiment after being discharged from hospital. “To have some kind of shanty, however small, on their line of route, where the poor old chaps could have a rest and some refreshment, was what I really aimed at,” summarized Flora.8
Ahead of her first speaking engagement on behalf of the Fund, Flora stood in the wings of the Alhambra shivering with nerves as she waited for the first half of the afternoon’s entertainment to finish. It was Sunday 27th January, and she was scheduled to speak for ten minutes at the music hall in Leicester Square, at a concert arranged by the actress Lilian Braithwaite.9 She was confident about her ability to raise funds through written appeals in the press, but she was also painfully aware that she had had little experience of public speaking.
In the weeks leading up to the event she had rehearsed a speech until she knew every word by heart. On the day she had dressed smartly in her red-trimmed khaki sergeant major’s uniform, onto which she had pinned her row of medals. She had done her best to smooth her short, grey hair under her peaked Serbian officer’s cap. Her high black boots had been polished to a shine, and she held her silver-handled swagger stick tightly. But instead of lending her confidence, her appearance worsened her concerns about how her London audience would react to the sight of a woman soldier.
So miserable did she look that a wounded young officer of the Royal Flying Corps, his arm in a sling, came up to try to reassure her. “I can’t remember a word I’m supposed to say,” she told him wretchedly. “Never mind what you say,” he advised her. “Just go on and say anything, they won’t hear it anyhow.” One star after another – including ballerina Phyllis Bedells, actor Lyn Harding, soprano Amy Evans, contralto Phyllis Lett and comedian Nelson Keys10 – performed on stage while she fretted and paced. In an attempt to distract her from her worries, the officer continued to chat to her, explaining that he had been wounded in a flying accident. “I’m going back the moment I can,” he told her cheerily. Flora was heartened by his words. “If he can be as brave as that, so can I,” she resolved to herself. “I’ll make my speech or die in the attempt.”
When her cue was finally called, she walked shakily to the brightly lit centre of the “enormous, empty stage”. Feeling “about the size of a peanut”, she looked out over the vast audience and began to speak. “A voice, which did not sound at all like my own made some kind of speech,” she recalled. “I have never really had the slightest idea what I did say, but I knew some of the audience were crying, and we got the biggest collection ever taken there at a charity matinee; and my young flying friend patted my shoulder and emptied his pocketbook into my hands.”11
Flora’s success at the Alhambra gave her the confidence she needed to speak in public again. It also lent renewed vigour to her campaign, while her spreading fame gave her the platform she needed to make it a real success. In the days that followed she took to the stage as required, made further appeals through the press, appeared at public events, auctioned souvenirs from the war in Serbia, and raised an astounding £1,235 [the equivalent of around £46,600] following speeches at the London and Leeds Coal Exchanges.12 “Croydon’s Lady Soldier”, as she was excitedly christened by a local paper, was even given a triumphant homecoming when she arrived to give a talk to munitions workers.13 E
velina Haverfield too put her considerable fund-raising experience to use on behalf of the Fund in a series of lectures and visits to girls’ schools and colleges. Soon, donations of funds began to flood in from individuals while voluntary societies gave vast quantities of underclothing, shirts and socks.14
Flora predictably had utterly disregarded her doctor’s order to rest. This time, however, it did her no apparent harm and she followed her fund-raising efforts in London and Leeds with a trip south to Plymouth. There, she had heard that her seventeen-year-old nephew Dick Sandes, now a midshipman in the Royal Naval Reserve, had arrived in port.
One day whilst in Plymouth harbour a phone message directed to me from the Admiral requested to know whether I had any relations who were soldiers in a foreign army. I said “have you got one there” and he replied “yes, and he won’t tell me why he wants to see you.” I replied “Good God that must be my aunt.” A muffled blurt from the other end of the line and nothing further. A few minutes later Flora arrived under the escort of the Flag Lieutenant, both in full uniform. I did not know whether to kiss or kick my aunt under the circumstances and the Flag Lieutenant would not leave until Flora had been introduced to the First Lieutenant of the ship and arrangements made for her to have lunch on board. The First Lieutenant did the honours in the absence of the Captain. He apparently thought that a few gins would not do any harm – they did not as far as Flora was concerned. She was used to drinking vodka or Rakija [Serbian fruit brandy]… but by lunchtime Jimmy the One had to excuse himself to get back his bearings much to the delight of those present. Incidentally Flora was then only a sergeant major but looked more like a full-blown general in all her finery and behaved like one.15
By early 1918, following her high-profile publicity campaign on behalf of the Fund, Flora had little short of celebrity status in England. She was stopped in the streets by policemen and taxi-drivers who would ask after Serbia, and was summoned to a meeting at the War Office to tell them all she knew. “Several years before,” she reflected, “[a palmist] had managed to hit the nail on the head, for she had told me I should become notorious in the press; a prognostication which rather alarmed me at the time. It came true, however, and in consequence I spent half my time trying to dodge reporters.”16
Then, out of the blue, she received a letter from Queen Alexandra’s private secretary requesting her attendance at a private royal audience. “What shall I wear?” she replied, worried that that the Queen would disapprove of women in breeches. “Come as you are,” he answered. At noon on Sunday 20th January, Flora presented herself at Marlborough House, dressed once again in full Serbian uniform. Overcome by uncharacteristic shyness, she was escorted into a large, formal reception room. As she entered, the elderly Queen walked towards her and shook her hand. With a practised but genuine concern to put her often nervous guests at ease, she ushered her into a room to show her an oil painting of her husband, King Edward VII; then she asked her to sign her autograph book. “Do you have any photographs of the war in Serbia?” asked the Queen, before poring over the ones that she produced. “I quite forgot to feel shy,” Flora wrote of the expression of genuine interest.
At that moment, Princess Victoria peered round the door and walked into the room, curious to see her mother’s latest guest. “I wish I could wear those sorts of clothes,” she sighed wistfully to Flora when she was introduced to her. “Are you carrying a revolver?” she asked. “Yes, I do always,” replied Flora. “Show it to us,” asked Queen Alexandra with a mischievous hint of a smile. “Hurry up! Hurry up!” she teased while Flora struggled to undo her holster, which she so rarely fastened. “Supposing someone was attacking me, and you were all that time getting out your revolver.” At last, Flora eased it out carefully and pointed out marks left in the metal by the grenade that had wounded her fourteen months before. “Watch out, it’s loaded,” she warned before she handed it to them. Years later, Flora remembered the visit fondly. She was “such a very lovable old lady”, she recalled.17
By mid-February 1918 Flora and Evelina had raised sufficient money to make their first contribution to what they hoped would be a network of free soldiers’ canteens alongside transportation routes in Macedonia. Their first donation was to Amelia. When Flora’s telegram arrived notifying her of the payment, Amelia’s opinion of her performed a volte-face. “[Flora] is very capable and a pleasant companion,” she wrote about the woman she had first described as an “anomaly”. “[Her support] will mean an enlarged field of work, so I’m much pleased.”18
Amelia had been running her canteen since the previous spring in a “really lovely spot” near Vladova. Although it was just twenty feet above the busy Monastir Road, a running brook a few feet away drowned out the sound of the military lorries that rumbled past. It was a simple affair, with an improvised kitchen, a handful of small tents and a large one for passing soldiers, marked with an American flag proudly flying outside. For company, she had Jovan and Milorad, Emily’s former assistants who had now been reassigned to her.
Every day Amelia rose at four a.m. and, with the help of the two Serbs, saw off the soldiers who had spent the night in the large tent. She spent her days cooking soup for new arrivals and handing out tea, coffee, cigarettes and clothing. She had also taken it upon herself to diagnose – not always accurately, as she freely admitted – and treat those with any afflictions who passed her way. She gave quinine to those with malaria and treated the blistered and aching feet of soldiers, while Jovan too took it upon himself to dish out free medical advice. “Of course you have malaria,” she overheard him saying once. “You eat plums and then drink cold water; you ought to know better.”19
Amelia was devoted to the care of the soldiers who passed her way. She also undertook, albeit with far less enthusiasm, to provide some rudimentary medical care to local refugees and villagers, many of whom were suffering from malaria, which was raging unchecked throughout the region. Although she was often their only source of medicine, her bigotry continued to interfere with her work. She did not have sufficient for all, she reasoned, so she might as well save what she had for the more worthy – among which Jews were rarely included.20
Her prejudices aside, her work in many respects was remarkable. She often drove herself to the point of exhaustion, working day in and day out in inhospitable conditions. Equally remarkably, she also managed to finance it herself by browbeating her wealthy family, friends and contacts for money, with much success. Her financial independence gave her considerable freedom, as it meant that she had to report to no higher authorities. It also meant that she was able to continue her vitriolic personal campaign against Dr Edward Ryan.
Then, in September, shivering and shuddering from fever, she was hospitalized with a case of severe malaria. The attack was serious and her doctors worried that it might affect her heart. “You must rest,” they told her. “If you go back to work too soon, we won’t answer for the consequences.”21 Sick and pale though she was, her eyes shone angrily when she was asked about the activities of Dr Ryan by the nine-member “fool commission” who interviewed her at her hospital bed in Salonika in early October. He was arbitrarily supplanting her work and that of others, she accused. He was depriving refugees of their rations and “living in style, not doing much”. Worst of all, he was using his work with the Red Cross to “lie low” in the Balkans where he could freely pursue his interest in young girls, she alleged.22
In the course of their extensive investigations, the commission held interviews in Salonika, Macedonia, Paris and New York. One of those summoned in Paris was Emily.23 In early September she had returned to the French capital to await orders from the American Red Cross after spending the summer months in New York appealing on their behalf for funds and volunteers to carry out civilian relief work in Macedonia.24 The interview put her in an extraordinarily difficult position. Torn by a desire to remain loyal to her friend Amelia but keenly aware of her dependence on the Red Cross for her funding and her papers, she gave little away. She
refused to “talk freely” about Dr Ryan and appeared “suspicious” of them, scribbled one member of the commission in his notebook.25 But others had spoken openly during their interviews, including Colonel Fitzpatrick of the British Red Cross. In a devastating accusation he charged Emily and Amelia with “running about loose”. In his opinion, he told the men of the commission, it was they, not Ryan, who should be barred from work in Macedonia.
When the commission submitted its report to Red Cross headquarters, they were unanimous – and almost certainly correct – in their verdict that the charges against Dr Ryan were groundless. The originator of the rumour about gonorrhoea, they reported, appeared to have been a doctor who was working with the unit, Dr Calkins from Oklahoma. “[Dr Calkins] proved to be an undesirable character, contracted gonorrhoea and gonorrhoeal rheumatism and tried to elope with one of the nurses of the Mission,” the investigators informed Red Cross headquarters. “Dr Ryan succeeded in stopping this elopement and then called Dr Calkins into his room with the nurse with all the doctors present and told him what he thought of him… The gonorrhoeal part of Calkins’s story is made by Dr Ryan’s accusers to apply to Ryan.”26 Then, heeding Fitzpatrick’s advice, they made a recommendation designed to take revenge on their accusers. Within days of her interview, Emily had been barred, along with all other women, from further work in Macedonia for the organization.27
A Fine Brother: The Life of Captain Flora Sandes Page 22