by Ann Harries
And dare I tell Louise? I think for the moment that I’ll savour these moments on my own. Nothing will come of them, in any case.
At the same time – how is it possible to experience such different emotions simultaneously – I am worried about the high expectations the black population here has of Britain’s promise to give them equal rights with the white population if they help out in the war. From what Sophie has told me, this is extremely unlikely, as Milner’s idea is to create a union of English and Dutch in which the black man plays no part. I fear the worst.
Louise’s Diary
9 April
Our fancy-dress parties, concerts and tableaux continue in our efforts to assure the enemy we are all now friends – what a jolly time we are all having. So popular is our diminutive general that there is a move to re-christen the town ‘Bobsfontein’ – what an idea! And yesterday Dr Theodore Chappell proposed to me and I am seriously considering his offer. I realise it is rather sudden, but he seems in earnest, saying that my laughter had completely conquered him!
I told Sarah the news as we walked back to our bell tent in the afternoon. Instead of the excited congratulations I expected, and wanted, she looked at me with her head on one side and said, ‘This is very soon, Louise. Are you sure he’s not married?’
‘Of course he’s not!’ I shouted at her. I felt like shaking her fragile little shoulders till she begged for mercy. ‘Well – remember Dr James.’
As I’ve remarked before, there is a directness and confidence about Sarah now that seems to have come about as a result of her lift of spirits. Just as I was about to smile frigidly and march off, she burst into peals of laughter and squeezed my hand hard. ‘Oh, Louise,’ she cried. ‘Falling in love is such a curious thing.’
‘What can you mean?’ I stared at her. She suddenly seemed to be glowing, her eyes, her cheeks, her whole body. She looked at the ground, avoiding my stern gaze. ‘You haven’t – fallen in love yourself?’ I demanded suspiciously.
‘It’s not worth talking about,’ she whispered. A gust of red sand blew up and threatened to wrench our veils from our heads. After it had died down, and we had stopped coughing from the dust that had whirled into our noses and mouths, she continued in the same unwilling tones, ‘I’ll tell you when – or if – it is. I hadn’t meant to speak to you about it. It’s nothing, really.’
‘Well, you’re the one!’ I exploded. ‘Fancy deliberately keeping it from me! Who is he?’ I felt a twinge of anger – and sadness – that she had not told me.
She looked up at me in a rush. ‘Darling Louise.’ She squeezed my hand again and I realised she had been holding it all the time. ‘There is honestly nothing to tell. Something’s in the air, that’s all. It’d be bad luck to talk about something so – insubstantial. Let’s be happy for you and Theodore.’
She gave me her new radiant smile and I had to be satisfied with that. For the moment.
10 April
Though life in Bloemfontein is full of parties and romance, things are going badly wrong in the tents of the field hospitals. A British Member of Parliament, Mr William Burdett-Coutts, comes to report on the medical facilities provided by the army for the enteric-stricken Tommies. He walks about, his face livid with horror, as if he has just walked through the gates of hell. It is certainly time the British public are made aware that their troopers are not receiving the best medical treatment that money can provide, but just the opposite. Mr B-C blames the Medical Services for this, and of course the Medical Services blame the Military. Kitchener summed up the situation in his bullish way to the Royal Army Medical Corps who have dared complain to him about lack of supplies: You want pills and I want bullets, and bullets come first. I wonder if he still has his pet flying fish.
Sadly, Sister Hemmings passed away last night after a sudden decline – just when we thought she was over the worst. Even the orderlies were upset as she was a great favourite with them. She had such high ideals, perhaps unrealistically high, but that doesn’t mean she deserved to die. We nurses take such a risk here – I am not sure that I want to breathe my last in Bloemfontein.
11 April
At last the tents of three General Military Hospitals, numbers seven, eight and nine, which have been waiting for weeks in the Cape Town docks, have arrived, together with sixty-two truckloads of hospital and medical supplies. It seems that in a supreme effort of determination, the Royal Engineers have repaired all the broken bridges and culverts. Of course, it does not help that there is only a single track railway which means one train can’t go up while another is going down. I hope the arrival of these hospitals doesn’t mean I’ll have to move from the spacious Raadsaal where my patients and I are very comfortable. I am growing very worried about the state of my skin. All the unguents and emollients I brought over from England are quite useless in the violent South African sun, and not only am I growing as bronzed as a Boer, flakes of dry skin are peeling off my nose and forehead. No wonder the Boer women wear those monstrous flapping sunhats which completely conceal their faces, like nuns’ wimples. Some of them are made out of layer upon layer of lace and frills and look as if they have been concocted from my old petticoats. I think on reflection I’d rather have sunburnt skin than one of those ghastly things on my head.
I noticed that a similar thing is happening to Sarah’s skin. She asked me if she could borrow one of my unguents the other day, which is unlike her. Something is definitely on the go in her life. Why can she not tell me about it? How different we are.
28 April
The new hospitals have been erected and thank heaven it has been decided my officers and I can stay in the Raadsaal. Theodore is relieved as it is hell in the marquees. Sarah has been moved from her tin hut, with her patients, into hospital number nine where she found that all 520 beds are already taken, so twelve more beds had to be moved in for them. The next day two hundred wounded men arrived. They have to lie in their filthy bloodstained uniforms because there isn’t enough hospital linen to go round in spite of the sixty-two truckloads, which turned out to have equipment only for the officers – linen, not cotton, sheets, and so on. Sarah says the marquee is filled with an appalling stench as the night stools aren’t regularly removed. Thank God we have working lavatories in the Raadsaal.
Mr Burdett-Coutts holds a perfumed handkerchief over his nose and mouth as he creeps about the tents and marquees, shaking his bald head in disbelief. Apparently his despatch to The Times has shocked the British nation.
29 April
Today Lady Roberts arrived here with great pomp and ceremony. She is twice the size of her little husband, who obeys her every word. I’m told that she personally stitched the silken Union Jack that flutters in the Market Square where the Highland Brigade now play their bagpipes every evening. The gossip is that she has managed to convey eight large personal trunks from Cape Town to Bloemfontein. A fatigue party has been sent to the station to fetch the eight trunks, and mutters are being heard about the ‘plague of women’. Somehow a crowd of those lady amateurs who pestered us so in Cape Town have now arrived in poor little Bloemfontein. They spend most of their time squabbling over officers or tittering at parties; they fill the hotels and barge into the wards, offering to read novels to the Tommies or comb their hair with pomade. I give them short shrift when I am on duty in my ward. I recognise a couple from the Dunottar once again. They are thoroughly enjoying this war.
Theodore has obtained a phonograph from Cape Town and plans to hold a musical evening in his villa soon. I have decided to accept his offer of marriage in spite of Sarah’s lukewarm response to the news.
30 April
Seven of Lady Bobs’ trunks turn out to be filled with comforts to be distributed among the Tommies. All is suddenly forgiven. She has managed to smuggle in several hundredweight of tobacco, chocolate etc for the men. Only one small trunk contained her kit. Or so they say …
3 May
Roberts has given the orders to advance to Pretoria! The men threw th
eir helmets into the air; then began to dismantle the field hospitals which of course must be taken with them. This means that all the sick men inside them are now pouring into the hospitals which remain: in the space of twenty-four hours there are a thousand patients in tents meant for little more than half that number. Even the Raadsaal is filling up with rank and file.
At least we all have fun with the ‘garglers’. It is hilarious to watch the daily ritual of convalescent rank-and-file Tommies gargling their antiseptic together with their commanding officers. They all pull agonised faces as they throw back their heads and gargle, each man on a different musical note – what hilarious discord – but are not allowed to spit out the foul-tasting stuff till the nurses are satisfied that the antiseptic has done its job.
I must say I do enjoy working with entirely male patients. It is hard not to tease them and make them laugh. I think Theodore grows jealous of the fun we have.
Sarah’s Diary
6 May 1900
I hardly know if I dare describe what happened yesterday. Yet though I am utterly exhausted now, I simply must record what I suppose I can call a romantic encounter.
During the afternoon I had an idea that some hospital linen might have been left in the abandoned tin hut. It was the time of day when the men are left to themselves to smoke and swear while the female nurses grab a couple of hours sleep, or go shopping in the little Boer stores nearby.
The sky was purple with storm clouds as I hurried towards the school to which the hut is attached, and as I unlocked the door sheets of lightning flared up over the open veldt which lay just beyond. It is always a dramatic moment when the elements run wild. The huge, distorted shadows of a troop of Lancers passed the window, each holding erect his lance with its triangular pennant a-flutter, as if preparing for battle in some celestial Valhallah; the thunder exploded overhead, and the music of the Ride of the Valkyries began to pound in my head at once.
To bring me back to the twentieth century (as it has been for over four months now), hail and rain began to clatter down like bullets from a thousand Maxim guns; the hailstones grew larger and larger, some of them the size of a small fowl’s egg. I could see the tethered English horses rearing and prancing in terror: many broke their halters and tore away. Although I have experienced numerous thunderstorms over the past few weeks, this one was certainly the fiercest, and I began to feel slightly anxious as I threw open the doors of the linen chest, for buildings and animals and humans are often struck by lightning in these parts. However, I was delighted to see that a large pile of cotton sheets and pyjamas had indeed been forgotten by the orderlies in the rush of the move, and I began to pile them into the basket I had brought with me. The touch and smell of their homely fabrics soothed me in the violence of the storm, and I stopped a moment, relishing the howl of the elements from within the safety of the hut. Just as I braced myself to return to the Number 9, the door flew open before a particularly furious gust, and wind and rain whirled into the ward. On turning round, imagine my amazement when I saw the bent figure of a trooper staggering in with the elements!
‘Goodness me!’ I exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here, Patch?’
A range of expressions which I could not interpret passed over his face. He walked towards me. ‘You are always too busy to speak to me now,’ he said.
‘Have you followed me here?’ I asked in alarm.
‘Why do you not speak to me?’ he asked. I could see he was in an emotional state, and had indeed followed me.
‘It is not intentional,’ I replied as calmly as I could. ‘You must know how busy I have been with the move and the new intake of patients. We no longer have free time during the day. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you told me. The only time I have to myself is at night and I cannot see you then.’
At this the hut seemed to burst apart as a thunderous explosion rocked its fragile walls. I think both of us thought for a moment that it was a shell from the Boer artillery. He took a step towards me as if to protect me. But when it became apparent that our assault was no more than a particularly ear-splitting thunderbolt hurled by Jove rather than De Wet, we looked at each other in relief and smiled shakily.
He was so close to me that I could inhale his scent of warm tobacco and sweat, and though I am not normally fond of either of these smells, their combination on his body aroused in me an overwhelming desire to be touched by him.
‘Sarah,’ he whispered. ‘There is something I would like you to do.’
‘And what is that?’ If only my voice did not grow tremulous.
‘I would like you to take off your veil.’
I said nothing, nor did I move.
‘I would love to see your hair.’
I lifted my hands as if mesmerised by his request, and began to withdraw the pins that held my headdress in place. Who would ever have thought that unpinning one’s nursing veil, usually a brisk, everyday deed, could turn into an act of surrender – for in obeying his request I knew I was already giving him some mysterious part of myself. One by one the pins went into my pocket until I could lift the square white fabric and reveal my brown hair, tied back tightly into a knot.
‘And now,’ he said in a low voice, ‘will you undo your hair?’
My fingers were already removing the grips that held my knot in place. It is not often that I allow my hair to fall about my shoulders in public, but now I felt as if some convolution within myself was unwinding as the skeins of hair swung down, almost reaching my waist.
To my astonishment Patch fell on his knees before me and flung his arms round my lower body, his fingers winding my hair between them. Outside the wind continued to hurl itself at our hut, as if trying to wrench it apart. I felt my back arch as his embrace grew stronger. ‘Patch!’ I cried out, frightened of the sensations running through my body. ‘I must return to the hospital!’
At this he leapt to his feet, an expression of acute embarrassment on his face. ‘Forgive me,’ he mumbled. ‘Forgive me.’ Then he closed his eyes and stammered, ‘But you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.’ He smiled his strange half-grin which I think is designed to be irresistible to women, and spoke with his Irish brogue. ‘Sure, when I first saw you I thought you were the Blessed Virgin herself!’
‘Well, that’s a compliment coming from a Catholic,’ I said, not knowing if I cared for that analogy much. My heart was beating rapidly, making me want to dance around for joy. I began to wind my hair back into its accustomed knot, thankful to have something sensible to do with my hands, for I longed to lay them on his shoulders. ‘But I must get back.’
He pulled himself up to his full figure, as if on parade inspection. ‘Message understood, ma’am!’ And gave me a very smart salute that made me laugh – rather too fulsomely, I suspect.
‘How strange: the wind has dropped altogether,’ I remarked as I re-pinned my veil to my head (even though it is quite normal for the wind to drop after a storm). I peered out of the window. ‘The clouds have vanished. The sky is clearing. The light has returned.’ I started to pack the sheets and pyjamas into the basket I’d brought with me.
‘Let me carry the linen for you.’
‘We can each take a handle.’
The sun was blazing down as we left the hut, no hint of fiery battles in the sky. It was hard to believe that we had sustained such an assault from the heavens. Had I imagined everything that had just happened?
In the distance a line of English cavalry seemed to be floating two feet above the ground: a phenomenon caused by the sudden rising of condensed air, I’m told, which always looks so ghostly, reducing solid substance to slippery fragments.
I felt that I too was floating two feet above the ground, and could have believed that the solid substance of my body had melted into a mirage. I was glad of the weight of the linen basket or else I might have soared upwards into the clear blue heavens.
Louise’s Diary
14 May 1900
If things were good while Roberts was
here, now that he has left with the bulk of his men they have grown even better. Bloemfontein positively bubbles with new life. There is an outbreak of fancy dress parties, musical evenings, afternoon teas, games, dances, plays and concerts! I have had to get Dolly to take in all my evening dresses as I have lost a huge amount of weight here (joy of joys) – the heat reduces the appetite, and there is only one word for the food provided for nurses: filthy. Potatoes and rice are served on the same plate with a lot of sweetened carrots and a lump of meat. Horribilis! My stomach heaves at the sight of it. Things are of course very different in the officers’ bungalows: legs of mutton, whole capons, sides of beef, fresh green vegetables, trifles, fruit puddings, and an endless supply of claret and champagne.
15 May
Last night Dr Phillips held a fancy dress party and I went as the Absent-Minded Beggar, Sarah’s little outburst in March having reminded me of his existence. Theodore managed to get hold of a trooper’s khaki uniform complete with pith helmet for me to wear, and I paid a local carpenter to carve me a wooden replica of a Lee Enfield rifle. I bound my khaki arm with bandages (unbloodied, I’m afraid), and begged Sarah to come as the cowering Boer for the tableaux vivants afterwards but she declared the idea to be in bad taste and wore the kimono she uses for a dressing gown and drew lines slanting up from her eyes with a kohl pencil in an effort to look Japanese. Halfway through the evening I was startled to see a scarecrow peering through the window. I recognised him as one of the troopers Sarah has nursed back to health. He was gazing hungrily at what I at first thought was the piles of food on the tables, but what I then realised was none other than Sarah herself. As usual, she was surrounded by admirers, so he couldn’t have seen much of her. I was about to report him to one of the officers, for surely rank and file can’t just wander about whenever or wherever they wish, but when I looked again he had disappeared. A handsome man he must once have been, before the ravages of enteric.