The Bannister Girls

by Jean Saunders

  Ellen felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. Angel didn’t know of her humiliation. Nobody knew. Angel thought that she and Peter still had a fondness for one another … she blinked quickly, before the wretched tears made a fool of her.

  ‘I’m all right. Still looking for something to do to be useful, which is why I’m here. The munitions factory was a dreary place, with nobody allowed to talk for fear of inhaling the fumes, and then Rose got TNT poisoning, which made her look so ghastly, Angel. I thought she’d never get over it, but she did, and has a new beau hanging around.’

  She looked at the small clock on Angel’s bedside table.

  ‘I say, hadn’t you better get back to the ward? The old dragon will be looking for you, and I shall get the blame for keeping you, which won’t start me off too well. I’m dropping with sleep, so I’ll just have a nap until you get back. She won’t expect me to report for duty just yet, will she?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Angel laughed. Ellen lay flat out on the bed, fully dressed, and Angel pulled the coverlet over her, leaning down to kiss her square cheek with real affection.

  ‘Oh, Ellen, I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.’

  ‘Me too,’ Ellen mumbled, already drifting into sleep. ‘Just as long as I don’t get all the dogsbody jobs because I’m big and strong. That’s some recommendation! Is this how a railway navvy feels?’

  Angel tiptoed out as the voice dwindled away. She felt better than she had in weeks, she realised, even hummed a little tune as she sped down the stairs to the wards. It was only later that she realised that Ellen had avoided any mention of Peter Chard, as neatly as Angel had avoided asking about their father.

  By the time she came off duty exhaustedly that night, Ellen was sound asleep. At some time she must have roused herself enough to undress, and her clothes were scattered at the foot of the bed. Angel hung them up mechanically, knowing they would be a mass of creases otherwise, and there was always a race for the flat iron among the girls.

  She awoke to a clear, crisp morning, the kind of morning that somehow filled you with anticipation with no definite reason for it. It was the joy of having Ellen here, Angel decided. She looked across the tiny room to smile at her sister’s sleeping face, so cherubic in sleep, so often waspish when she had every intention of getting her own way.

  It was a good thing that Sister Yard was genuinely in need of office help, Angel mused. If Ellen had got up on her high horse last night when she had travelled all this way, then things might have got off to a very different start. As it was, Sister had told Angel to pass on the message that Ellen could report to the office for duty that morning.

  ‘I’m not doing you a favour, Bannister,’ Sister had added keenly. ‘If I didn’t think your sister could be useful, then she’d be sent back. There’s no room for young women who think that playing at being a heroine is fun.’

  ‘Ellen would never think that –’

  ‘If she’s half the girl her sister is, then that should prove to be so,’ Sister paid her the obscure compliment, and left Angel wondering how anyone could call her a heroine. Florence Nightingale and her nurses were heroines. What Angel and the others did was sheer bloody hard work … but perhaps that was the stuff of which heroines were made. It was something you never had time to think about.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said now, as Ellen opened her eyes and groaned at the daylight.

  ‘Is it good?’ Ellen said cautiously. ‘I was dreaming I was in France. Tell me I’m still dreaming. Stick a pin in me or something. I didn’t actually volunteer, did I?’

  ‘You did and you are,’ Angel said cheerfully. ‘Get up and wash and dress, and we’ll go and get some breakfast, then I’ll show you where to report. You’ll meet Doctor Lancing –’

  ‘Doctor who –?’ Ellen spluttered.

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Angel said briefly. ‘Come on. We’re late. You know what Mother used to say. Never be late anywhere on your first day. It’s bad form.’

  She grinned as she spoke. Clemence had always tried so hard to instil good form into her girls. Had they really turned out so badly? But this was no time for introspection. There was a small washbasin in their room and they washed quickly in the cold water, brushing their teeth in the minimum of time, and walked sedately down the corridors until Ellen was shown into the office. A beefy man rose to greet her. Doctor Lancing, she presumed, resisting the urge to smile at such an impossible name for an army surgeon…

  They saw little of one another that day, except for the briefest of meal times. But the mere knowledge of Ellen’s presence had the power to lift Angel’s spirits. Or perhaps it also had something to do with the strange feeling of elation she had felt early that day.

  ‘Goin’ out wiv yer bloke or summat, are yer, Miss?’ one of the patients winked knowingly at her as the day’s shift neared its end. Angel laughed, tucking the bedding around him more securely. It was hard for men with no arms to keep their balance in the beds. It constantly amazed and humbled her to see how cheerful they kept.

  ‘What bloke?’ She teased him back. ‘I’m too tired from dealing with all my blokes here to be going out at night.’

  ‘Garn! A good-looker like you! I bet there’s a bloke somewhere who can’t wait for yer to go on to ‘is special night shift!’

  ‘Stop trying to shock me, Les Higgins,’ she said in mock severity. ‘Don’t you know that nurses are unshockable?’

  The man chuckled. They had to be, poor little devils, he thought sympathetically, with all the rotten jobs they had to do. Even to holding a man’s privates for him to have a pee. When there were no hands to do it, it became a job for somebody else. Some blokes thought it a bonus to have a pretty little nurse doing the necessary, but for Les, the prospect of the future became too mucky to contemplate.

  ‘Come on, Nursie,’ he coaxed. ‘Tell us yer bloke’s name.’

  Angel bent down to remove the man’s glasses before he settled down for a sleep. He squinted at her short-sightedly.

  ‘Well, just between you and me, it’s Jacques,’ she said.

  ‘A Froggie, is he? Might have known you’d have summat a bit special, a girl like you –’

  ‘Bannister, please come to my office when you’ve finished there,’ Sister Yard’s voice cut through the conspiratorial chat, to Angel’s relief. Even though it gave her sweet comfort to speak Jacques’ name, she didn’t intend getting into conversation about him with Private Higgins or anybody else.

  She went into Sister’s cubbyhole of an office. Beyond it was the larger room where Ellen was working now with another girl, both heads bent busily over some ledgers. Recording names and addresses of the dead and wounded to be sent to commanding officers must be a grim and mountainous task, Angel thought.

  And then she dismissed it from her mind as Sister told her to sit down and made the statement that proved to Angel that her feelings of optimism in the day were not unfounded after all.

  ‘Bannister, we’re to get a new intake of V.A.D.s in two weeks’ time. You have the option of staying here, or of being transferred to the Abbey of St Helene as you requested. I realise that you may wish to change your mind now that your sister’s here –’

  ‘No! Oh no, Sister! I still want the transfer!’

  She clasped her slim hands together, her eyes glowing like jewels, and even Sister Yard could see the delicate luminous beauty of the girl. She cleared her throat.

  ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for, Bannister.’

  ‘I know that I will, Sister. And thank-you!’

  Sister Yard shrugged. ‘Don’t thank me. I think I must be a fool to lose one of my best nurses, but I know that this means a lot to you. You do realise that the young man may not be who you think he is? The enquiries we made for you were all far from satisfactory, and the nuns could tell us nothing.’

  ‘And they refused to allow him visitors, while the balance of his mind was so disturbed.’

  Angel r
epeated the words somewhat bitterly. She had desperately wanted to go to the Abbey to see for herself, but the nuns had been adamant. The mystery patient was their responsibility, and until he had recovered some of his memory, they had ordered no visitors. Nothing to disturb that fragile hold on sanity…

  ‘Your sister will be sorry to see you go, so soon after her arrival, Bannister. I’ll leave it to you to explain to her, and at least you’ll have two weeks together.’

  Angel was dismissed. She stood outside the tiny office, her heart thudding. She could hardly believe it. At last her request for a transfer was granted … but she felt a swift compunction now that she had to tell Ellen. But surely Ellen would understand. She must, if she had any soul at all. And after all, she hadn’t known Ellen was coming here out of the blue!

  Ellen’s face was filled with consternation when they both fell onto their beds that evening for a short rest before the evening meal. She leaned up on one elbow, looking at the flushed face of her sister, and knew that she couldn’t begrudge her this chance, once Angel had explained her reasons to her. Until then, Ellen had had no idea of the torment Angel must have gone through, not knowing whether Jacques was alive or dead.

  She still didn’t know, Ellen thought uneasily. And even if the mystery man were Jacques, what kind of state was Angel going to find him in? Ellen was more troubled than she admitted, and tried to warn Angel that it might not all be plain sailing. Jacques might be no more than a shell of the man Angel remembered…

  ‘Do you think I haven’t told myself that a hundred times?’ Angel said painfully. ‘But it makes no difference. I have to go, to see for myself. And if it is Jacques, and if he’s badly disfigured, that won’t make any difference to me either. I love him and I shall always love him. Looks don’t matter, Ellen. It’s the heart and soul of a person that matters.’

  ‘You make me feel ashamed –’

  ‘Why? Wouldn’t it be the same for you if it was Peter? Don’t pretend that you don’t feel something for him! You can pretend to the others, but not to me. I know something happened between you, so you must understand something of what I feel.’

  Ellen suddenly sat up with a jerk, her arms hugging her knees, her head bent over them. Appalled, Angel realised that the unlikely sounds her sister was making were great racking sobs.

  ‘Ellen, darling, what is it? What have I said?’

  Ellen couldn’t speak for some minutes. She hated herself for being so weak, and letting go like that. Clemence would think it terribly bad form … at the thought of her mother’s censuring look, Ellen howled afresh.

  ‘Are you ill, Ellen? Please tell me. Can I get you something?’

  At last the paroxysm stopped. Ellen’s shoulders were tense, her mouth still trembling, vulnerable as a child’s as she looked up and spoke in a husky voice.

  ‘I did something awful, Angel. I nearly let myself be seduced by a despicable man – oh, he was charm itself, and I was so besotted by him –’

  ‘Well, that’s not the end of the world,’ Angel was gentle with her. ‘You had a bad experience, that’s all –’

  ‘No, it’s not all.’ Her voice was low and intense, and Angel had to lean forward to catch the shamed words. ‘The man was a bigamist, but of course I didn’t know that at the time. He was just an exciting, handsome Cornishman who came to work on Peter’s farm. We got on famously, and I really thought he loved me.’

  She caught her breath on a sob as the painful memories swept through her mind. Reliving them was almost as terrible as when they actually happened.

  ‘Go on, darling,’ Angel said quietly, sensing there was more to come.

  ‘We were in Peter’s hayloft – Andrew and me. That was his name, Andrew. We were almost – almost – well, you know, Angel! And I was doing nothing to stop it. I was letting it happen – and then there was a terrible shouting outside, and the door flew open, and there was Peter and a strange girl who stood there accusing Andrew of being the father of her child when he already had a wife, and there we were – in the hayloft – oh God, I never want to live through something like that again. I was so ashamed – so humiliated –’

  Angel rocked her in her arms, hardly knowing what to say. Her strong, capable sister had obviously been badly shocked, and had still not recovered from it.

  ‘What was the worst thing, Ellen?’

  Ellen’s eyes were drowned in tears.

  ‘All of it, of course! The entire, terrible day –’

  ‘But the very worst thing,’ Angel persisted. ‘Was it the fact that you made a mistake in trusting this Andrew? Or being caught by the other girl, and being made to feel foolish for falling for this unworthy man? Or losing Peter Chard’s respect?’

  Ellen didn’t speak for a moment. Then she took a deep shuddering breath.

  ‘Losing Peter’s respect! I could cope with all the rest. It’s the thought of facing Peter again, and knowing what he must think of me. I did meet him briefly, when I was down at Meadowcroft a few weeks ago, and it was so awful. He looked at me as though I were an insect. I couldn’t bear it, Angel.’

  ‘And that’s why you came here.’

  Ellen shifted out of her arms. She spoke defensively.

  ‘You think I came for the wrong reasons, don’t you? I’m not patriotic like you, or brave, or dedicated –’

  ‘Yes, you are, love. You’re all of those things, but you’re also very foolish in letting this situation go on. Why on earth haven’t you told Peter all that you’ve told me? He’d understand. It’s obvious that you were made for each other.’

  ‘Perhaps we were,’ Ellen said bitterly. ‘Until he saw me for the idiot that I am. How can I possibly explain to him? I’ve got too much pride.’

  ‘Then write to him. It’s sometimes easier to write things down than to say them.’

  Ellen shook her head decisively.

  ‘No. If he can’t believe that I made a mistake without my grovelling to him, then so be it.’

  Angel sighed. There were times when pointless pride got in the way of happiness, but she knew better than to argue with her sister any longer. When she got that mutinous look in her eyes, all her family was aware that any discussion was at an end.

  At least, telling it all to Angel seemed to be something of a release to Ellen. The guilt had been festering in her mind, and Angel had put it all into perspective. There was nothing she could do about Peter for the time being, since she refused to consider writing to him, so she set about becoming an asset to Sister Yard and Piersville hospital.

  Angel was very relieved at the way Ellen took to her new regime so readily. The days were passing, and soon she would be leaving with an ambulance full of convalescents on their way home, driven by one of the other girls, and making a special detour to the Abbey of St Helene.

  The anticipation of seeing Jacques again was almost making her ill, and she and Ellen hugged one another when the day arrived for Angel to leave.

  ‘Promise to write and let me know what happens,’ Ellen begged.

  ‘If you promise to keep writing to Mother, and think about writing to Peter.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ Truth to tell, Ellen had been thinking about it quite a lot in the last two weeks of working in the hospital office. Making so many sad entries into the ledgers had reminded her forcibly of her own mortality. Was she being so very silly not to give herself and Peter one last chance? But she couldn’t promise Angel that she would write. Not yet.

  They hugged each other, each wondering when they would meet again.

  ‘Chin up, darling,’ Angel whispered, in Clemence’s tones. She turned blindly, and climbed into the passenger seat of the waiting ambulance, blowing kisses back to the dwindling figure of her sister as the vehicle trundled over the cobbled streets of Piersville and away from the vicinity of the Front Line fighting.

  As they drove for seemingly endless miles, Angel couldn’t help giving a shiver, listening to the soldiers talking in the back of the ambulance, each trying to outdo t
he other in superior knowledge of the war strategies.

  ‘Thank the stars you ain’t back in Blighty, mate. Hear about the Suffolk coast bein’ badly hit end of last month –’

  ‘I’m just thankful I’m not at sea. Did you know the Jerry bastards have begun submarine warfare now? They’ll be sinking hospital ships before we know it. If you don’t get blown up at the Front, you’ll end up as fishes’ bait.’

  ‘Put a sock in it back there,’ Jones, the V.A.D. girl trying to steer the ambulance over the bumpy roads, shouted back. ‘I swear they take delight in spreading as many grisly details as they can,’ she muttered to Angel.

  ‘It’s all they can think about, the war and home,’ Angel said. It was all anybody thought about. Getting through the war, and going home, and taking up the old life where it left off…

  But that wasn’t what Angel wanted. Whenever she thought of the future, it was with total confusion. All the old ideas of a coming-out season in London, of balls and social afternoons and being seen at Ascot and at Wimbledon and all the fashionable places, seemed of so little importance compared with the enormity of surviving the war to end all wars.

  What was dearer to her heart than any of those things, was being with Jacques. Living and loving together, for the rest of their lives…

  ‘I say, Bannister, you’re not being much help,’ she heard Jones say crossly. ‘You’re supposed to be navigating to this Abbey place, and I’ve asked you twice which way we go at the crossroads ahead!’

  ‘Sorry!’ Angel bent her head, feeling embarrassment heat her cold cheeks. At least it was better than feeling frozen. The day was bitter. February was living up to its reputation, and even the soldiers had gone silent in the back now, huddling together to keep warm.

  She gave directions quickly and efficiently after that. It was to her benefit, after all. The sooner they reached the Abbey of St Helene, the sooner she would know the truth…

  ‘That must be it,’ Jones pointed ahead in the late afternoon, after what seemed an interminable ride through flurries of snow, and increasing areas of choking fog making the journey hazardous. Looming ahead of them was the gaunt outline of an old abbey, typically French, and the most welcome sight Angel had yet seen. Jones and the convalescents were to stop here for refreshments before driving on to Boulogne for the night ship.