by Rosie Clarke
The washing facilities were just as Maggie had been warned. Both the nurses and the soldiers had to use old French wine vats and once filled they were used over and over again until the water was filthy and cold, when it was painstakingly emptied out by a team of soldiers. The toilets were just a line of buckets, under a long wooden seat, and these also were emptied by the soldiers; the unlucky men were most often those on a charge for some minor disobedience. The smell was vile and it was a small wonder that the girls complained about catching fleas; the men were covered in fleas and lice when they came in from the trenches and it was impossible not to pick them up, whatever they did to keep clean.
Maggie thought she hated that more than anything else. Tending the critically wounded was shocking and it often brought the girls close to tears as they saw the horrendous injuries, but they got used to it. Men with legs, arms and even half of their faces blown away by the terrible explosions that happened all the time were common sights. Burns and bullet wounds were almost acceptable after a while, but it was the sight of brains hanging out of a man’s head, or a young lad trying vainly to hold his guts in as the blood poured out of his stomach and his life drained away that made them want to vomit.
After a while, they learned to endure even those awful sights and to do what they could to comfort the dying. There was often nothing much they could do but hold a man’s hand as his eyes clouded and the colour drained from his face, or sit by his bed and listen as he talked of home and loved ones. Perhaps a sip of water that like as not he couldn’t swallow or a puff of cigarette smoke. Strong drugs that would have taken away the pain were scarce and used mostly for those men that had a chance to be patched up and sent home. It was heartbreaking, courage-sapping work, and it was no wonder that only the strongest of them survived longer than a few weeks. Already ten of the girls that had travelled out with Maggie and Sadie had been sent home after they couldn’t cope and cried so much that Matron told them to pack their bags and go.
‘Our men deserve better than your doleful faces,’ she’d told them severely. ‘If you cannot smile and control your feelings, go home and bind up splintered fingers, which is all you’re fit for.’
Sadie was just dressing when Maggie walked into the hut. Thankfully, it was no longer as cold as it had been when they first got out here, but early in the morning it could be chilly and Sadie was pulling on an extra pair of long drawers.
‘You’ll be hot once you get on the wards,’ Maggie said. ‘We had twenty new men brought in last night and it’s packed in the ward, the atmosphere is like a hothouse.’
‘I’ll risk it.’ Sadie grimaced as she pulled on her thick stockings. ‘I hate these things, but they keep your legs warm and I’m cold.’ There was no heating in the huts and the girls piled blankets and coats on their beds at night to keep warm.
‘You’re not going down with a chill?’ Maggie looked at her in alarm. Sadie hated having to use the wine vats for washing and like some of the other nurses she’d discovered a small stream and went there to wash in its cold water. The soldiers had told them about it first and shown them a secluded spot, which by mutual agreement the men left to those nurses that wanted to use it. ‘I told you it was too cold to bathe in the stream yet.’
‘Nah, I’m tough.’ Sadie made the boast but coughed and Maggie frowned at her. Most of the nurses had coughs or colds and those sensible enough asked for a day off and went into the village of Saint Angelus, which was behind the Allies and about twenty-five kilometres away from the German lines. ‘I just ache all over.’
‘Try and get some sleep and I’ll be back later,’ Maggie said to soothe her.
She left Sadie snuggled down in bed, still moaning and set out for the hospital tents that served as wards for so many injured men, her thoughts busy. Sadie ought to go to the village to recuperate, where she could be sure of getting help. The village women were welcoming and opened their homes to the nurses, giving them warm baths in clean water in front of the kitchen fire and a bowl of hot stew or whatever food they had, and most wouldn’t accept a penny for their kindness but there were other ways to show their thanks, with gifts from the parcels the nurses received from home.
Maggie had received as many food parcels as any of the nurses and she saved some of her chocolate to take to Madame Marie Heron, at her little farm on the village edge, where she stayed on her day off. Madame Heron was also a dressmaker and she loved Belgian chocolate but it was scarce and so Maggie took her a bar from her little hoard when she visited. Of course, it was English rather than Belgian chocolate, but Marie thought it delicious, especially the milk variety.
‘You should keep it for yourself, ma petite,’ she’d told Maggie, but when Maggie insisted, she’d broken it in half and they’d shared it. ‘This is very good – your family send from home, yes?’
‘Yes, it’s Fry’s milk chocolate,’ Maggie had said and smiled. ‘My friends send me all sorts, but this is nice because it has a sort of biscuit inside.’
‘We used to have chocolates from Belgium,’ Marie had replied, ‘for special treats – birthdays and Christmas, you know. It was so delicious when Papa brought home the bonbons…’ She’d sighed and looked sad. Her father had been killed in the first few days of the war, when a German plane had dropped a bomb on the barn he was working in and he’d died instantly. Her husband was fighting with the patriots, so Marie, her ten-year-old son, her twelve-year-old daughter and her fifty-six-year-old mother kept the farm running; she had various cousins and nieces who all visited and helped out when they were harvesting the grapes.
Maman, as everyone called her, cooked the most delicious stews, sometimes fish with mussels, shrimps and other river fish that were strange to Maggie but tasted good when served with vegetables and Maman’s delicious sauces; sometimes they had meat, usually pork if they killed a pig, and very occasionally beef or poultry.
The French country people tended to cook many different things, using ingredients Maggie didn’t know or recognise, but she ate them, because she was hungry and their food tasted better than what she was given at the nursing station. Her friends made her welcome and she enjoyed the time she was able to spend with them, talking, sharing their stories and telling her own of home. Marie marvelled at all the things Harpers sold and was fascinated by Maggie’s description of hobble skirts, which she’d never seen, because the fashion had never reached her village.
Marie had never been far from her village. She dreamed of going to Paris one day and shopping in real dress shops, buying a dress straight off the rails. Her own dresses were black, with white lace collars for Sunday. Maman made the lace and she sold some to her neighbours, earning a little extra income by her industry. When Maggie admired some of her work, she was presented with a large piece, which could be made into a wedding veil or a Christening robe for her first child. She offered payment, but Maman shook her head and Marie advised her not to press it.
‘Maman likes you very much or she would not give you such a gift,’ Marie had explained. ‘The veil was intended for my younger sister, Yvonne, but she died when she was sixteen and never used it…’
Maggie had felt moved to tears by the story and humbled that she had been given such a present. She felt she’d done nothing to deserve it and couldn’t think what she could do or give the generous lady to repay her for her gift – until the parcel came from Sally Harper. Sally had sent her a big box of Belgian chocolates and a wonderful sea-green silk scarf.
I’m sending these for your birthday,
Sally had written on a pretty card.
I know it isn’t your birthday yet, but there’s no way of being sure you’ll get them on time so I thought I’d send early. We think of you all the time, Maggie love, and hope you’re well – do send a postcard soon if you can…
Maggie smiled wryly. That meant Sally hadn’t received the last three postcards she’d sent. The post was so haphazard, but it couldn’t be helped. She would send a thank you for these and hope it got there this t
ime.
The chocolates she would give to Maman next time she visited the farm and although the scarf was beautiful, Maggie decided she would give it to Marie for her birthday, because it was coming up very soon. Marie had never had anything as pretty in her life and Maggie had lots of nice things. She wouldn’t tell Sally what she had done, though she was certain that her friend would approve if she did. However, if she’d mentioned it, Sally would be certain to send more gifts.
Maggie wrote her postcard that evening, using the code they’d agreed.
Thank you for the lovely gifts, much appreciated. Things are great here, as usual. Thinking of you and looking forward to a summer holiday at the sea when I’m home. Love, your Maggie. xx
Sally would know that meant the conditions were as awful as they’d expected and that she wasn’t near the coast but in the French countryside. She’d told Sally half-jokingly that she would write the reverse of the truth on her card and she thought it would work but had no way of knowing, because most of her cards never arrived where they should. Although she’d had a gift from Marion Kaye, some mint humbugs, a bar of perfumed soap, and a packet of cigarettes and a note that said she hoped Maggie was well and she’d had her card. The cigarettes were for the men. Maggie didn’t smoke and Marion knew it, but she also knew the nurses kept a packet in their apron pockets to give dying men a puff in their last moments as comfort. The cigarettes showed Maggie that at least the card she’d sent Marion had arrived safely.
She’d sent Marion a thank you straight away but hadn’t heard since. It was the way things happened out here. You got a bundle of mail, parcels and letters from home and then nothing for weeks. Perhaps that was why she’d had nothing from Tim. He’d promised to write and it was odd that he hadn’t sent her anything for her birthday.
Maggie felt a strange sensation inside. Where was Tim? He’d promised he would find her and visit as soon as he could, but apart from one brief card, she’d heard nothing in ages. She knew that if he was as busy as they were, he didn’t get much time, but that didn’t stop her worrying. She knew he was flying dangerous missions and sometimes she woke in a cold sweat, worrying about where he was and what he was doing.
Maggie woke refreshed from several hours’ sleep when Sadie entered the hut and flopped down on her bed with a grunt. Startled, Maggie looked at the little silver watch pinned to her nightgown; she wore it in bed at night so that it didn’t get lost, and on her uniform during the day. A lot of the nurses lost things and no one knew who was doing the pilfering, so Maggie made sure she never left her watch lying around.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked as a muffled groan came from Sadie’s bed. She got out and went over to her friend, who was lying with her eyes closed and moaning. Maggie felt her forehead. ‘You’re hot,’ she remarked, but got no answer.
‘Sister… sent me back…’ Sadie moaned and buried her head in the pillows. ‘I ache all over…’
Sadie clearly had a nasty chill. Maggie pulled a warm blanket over her and went off to get them both mugs of hot tea. She had time before her next duty started and she would feed Sadie toast and butter with marmalade and hot tea, and an aspirin. Her friend needed a little nursing and the doctors were far too busy to come out to nurses who had taken a chill, so it was up to Maggie to look after her.
Sadie was unappreciative of her efforts and tried to push her away, but Maggie managed to get some medicine into her and three hot drinks before she was due on duty. The canteen manager had come up with a stone flask of hot cocoa for Sadie after Maggie fetched the first two hot drinks and she left it by the bed with instructions to drink as much as she could.
Sadie mumbled something rude, but when Maggie returned to their hut after her own duty, Sadie was sitting up in bed looking better.
‘Thanks for the cocoa,’ she said sheepishly. ‘I may have been a bit rude earlier?’
‘You were, but it doesn’t matter,’ Maggie said. ‘Why don’t you go and stay with Marie and Maman for a couple of days? Sister told me you’re banned from duty for at least two days – she doesn’t want you infecting the rest of us.’
‘Thanks so much,’ Sadie muttered and rubbed at a nose that looked increasingly red. ‘It’s nice to be wanted…’
‘If we’re all ill, who will look after the men?’ Maggie said and grinned at her. ‘You can take Maman those chocolates – and you’re not to eat one, even if she opens them and offers them to you.’ Sadie had been eyeing them lustfully ever since they’d arrived.
‘You’re mean,’ Sadie grumbled, then turned over in bed and went back to sleep.
However, in the morning when Maggie woke, there was a note on Sadie’s bed to say she’d gone and the chocolates had gone with her. Maggie smiled, knowing that her friend wouldn’t be able to resist if Maman offered one of the delicious morsels, but it didn’t matter. Sadie needed a rest and she needed to be fussed over. She wouldn’t have given in if Maggie hadn’t pushed her and Sister Mayhew hadn’t banned her from working, but she would come back refreshed and all the better for her little break.
Sadie came back on the following Monday and Maggie saw at once that she could hardly contain her excitement. Sadie’s cold had gone and her eyes were bright, her hair shining clean after the bath she’d had in front of Marie’s kitchen fire.
‘So, what put the sparkle in your eyes?’ Maggie said, and Sadie laughed.
‘You know me too well,’ Sadie replied and gave a naughty giggle. ‘I’ve met someone, Maggie – Pierre is with Marie’s husband working for the French partisans. They came on a flying visit to the farm and, well, I’ve fallen in love…’
‘Sadie! You can’t have,’ Maggie said, looking at her in disbelief. ‘You were only there three days.’
‘One look was enough,’ Sadie said and giggled. ‘His eyes are like melting chocolate – and by the way I didn’t eat any of those you sent Maman. She offered me one, but I gave it to Pierre. He hadn’t tasted any for more than a year and he said it was wonderful.’
‘Then it was well given,’ Maggie replied. She eyed Sadie in amusement. Her friend must have really taken to the young Frenchman to have given him her chocolate – but love? Surely that came slowly, little by little? ‘So, you really like him then?’ she said, and Sadie smiled dreamily.
‘He’s gorgeous, fantastic – he makes my heart race and my knees go weak…’
‘That sounds promising,’ Maggie joked. ‘When will you see him again?’
The smile died from Sadie’s eyes and she sighed. ‘Who knows? He’s with the partisans, so it might be months before I see him again – or never…’
‘Did he say anything – did he say he liked you?’ Maggie asked.
Sadie nodded and smiled. ‘He said he’d never met anyone like me and that he would never forget me. Only he can’t promise to come back because…’ Sadie shook her head sadly. ‘I know why, Maggie. It’s this bloody war.’
Maggie looked at her and then went to sit next to her and take her hand. ‘I know, love. Now you know how I feel wondering where Tim is all this time. He promised he would try and visit me, but he hasn’t and that makes me wonder where he is and what he’s doing…’ Her eyes felt moist as she felt her desire to cry.
Sadie nodded and then hugged her. ‘They’re both strong, brave men,’ she said. ‘We just have to believe they will come back to us, Maggie.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Maggie said and sighed. ‘I’m tired out, so I’m going to get some sleep.’
‘Maman said thank you for the chocolates and she hopes you will visit very soon.’
‘Yes, I shall,’ Maggie replied, yawned and turned over.
She dreamed as she slept and as she dreamed, she saw Tim’s face and he was smiling at her.
‘I’ll see you soon, love,’ he said. ‘Remember I love you – I’ve always loved you and I always shall…’
13
Beth was with Fred when the telegram was delivered. They were just sitting down to their tea on the Saturday afternoon when th
e doorbell rang and Fred went to answer it. He came back with the small buff-coloured envelope in his hand and his face had gone as white as a sheet.
‘Oh, Fred!’ Beth’s hand went to her heart. A telegram could only be bad news – which of his sons was it? She could hardly breathe as he opened it, stared at it in silence for a moment and then looked at her.
‘It’s Tim, Beth, not Jack.’ He sat down abruptly on the nearest chair and she ran to him kneeling by his side, taking his hand in her own. ‘My Tim’s plane has gone missing over the sea…’
‘No…’ Beth held on to his hand tightly, her own sense of relief tempered by the grief of Tim’s death. Her hand was shaking almost as much as his and the tears were running down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them. ‘Oh, Fred, maybe they’ll pick him up…’ Her heart ached for him. He’d thought Jack was lost when the Titanic went down, but miraculously Jack had been saved and had saved others, and been lauded as a hero by his employers and the people he’d rescued. Perhaps another miracle could happen for Tim. ‘There are a lot of ships out there – if he went in the sea, he may be safe on a ship…’
‘It happened three days ago and nothing has been heard since.’ Fred’s expression was bleak. ‘He’s gone, Beth. No one could live for three days in that sea; it’s too cold…’
Beth clung on to his hand. She could see the grief in his face, though he was trying to control it rather than upset her, and of course she was upset, because she was fond of her brother-in-law – and there was Maggie. If Tim was lost, Maggie would be devastated.
Beth swallowed a sob. How were they going to tell Maggie that the man she loved might be dead? It would be too cruel to just send her a letter.