Road to War

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Road to War Page 6

by Valerie Wilding


  I’ve had to attend a lot of lectures, and I do have trouble staying awake in some of them. One or two of the lecturers were superb, though, and made everything sound thrilling, even something as odd as arranging for Tommies, as they call our soldiers, to bath in the back of a special vehicle. Forty men an hour can have a bath, miles from any hotel or anything. It’s amazing – I saw pictures of it. It has collapsible baths in the back, and the water is heated by the engine, in a sort of tank! Amazing! I should get an engine like that at home – it takes Elsie hours to fetch and heat enough water just for me!

  Oh dear, thinking of Elsie makes me sad. I shall go downstairs and play cards with Bobby when she comes home. I hope I don’t get a lecture from her! She’s deadly earnest about rights and votes and things. I agree with everything she says, but I’m glad there are other people fighting that particular battle.

  31st July

  I am so excited, and a little afraid. Three days ago, I was called into the FANY office and told that I am to be sent to France!

  “You’re an excellent driver,” they said. “We’d better send you out there as soon as possible. Get ready for the off, Rowntree.”

  Gosh, that was a little unexpected. I’m to report to the FANY convoy in Calais, and eventually I’m to become an ambulance driver.

  I’m not used to things happening so quickly. How will I ever be ready in time? Will they like me? Will I fit in?

  I immediately went home to sort everything out and to break the news to Mimi and Aunt Eloise. I’m not giving them much detail. I know soldiers are supposed to be careful of what they say because of spies. Well, I’m in the armed forces now (except I’m not armed), so perhaps I should keep my movements secret. I decided to tell Mimi the truth, that I’m going to Calais, and that Calais is miles from the front line where the fighting is. My guess was that she wouldn’t ask exactly how far, and I was right.

  My lovely mother’s reaction was to hug me and say, “Daffy darling, life is very short. We mortals should make the most of our brief time, Lalu says. You must do what makes you happy.”

  I told her that I’m not doing this to make me happy, I’m doing it out of patriotic duty!

  “While you’re in France, Daffy,” she said, “you will look for Archie, won’t you?”

  “Oh, Mimi,” I said, “his own regiment can’t find him. How will I? I shall be nowhere near the front line, where he was last seen. That’s where they found Firebrand, remember?”

  “No, darling, I don’t remember,” she said, picking up some pine cones she’d brought in from the garden to paint.

  She doesn’t want to remember, poor thing.

  As I left, Aunt Eloise hugged me and pressed some cash into my hand. “You look very smart in your uniform, Daffy,” she said. “Now off you go. Stay safe.”

  I dripped all over Billie, who looked so sad. There is nothing quite so pathetic as an unhappy Airedale.

  Then Mimi kissed me goodbye. Her last words were, “Find my Archie.”

  I wish I could. Is it possible?

  2nd August

  I’ve had the most ghastly day. I stayed overnight with Aunt Leonora and got to Folkestone with no problem except for a horrendous thunderstorm. I was with two other FANYs, Corbett and Sutton, who’d been home on leave and were returning to Calais. They were very jolly, which was nice at first, but I fail to see how anyone could stay that perky in such conditions. I stood on the windswept quay, my tunic soaked, and my skirt flapping damply around my calves. Our sailing was delayed because some mines had come loose in the water, and it was too dangerous. If we’d hit them, they’d have blown up – and us with them.

  Eventually we were allowed to board, and soon we were able to stand at the rail and wave goodbye to anyone who’d wave back. I was so glad to be on the boat.

  But not for long. Oh, I’d forgotten how dreadfully seasick I can be. I have never felt so ill in my life, not even when Archie and I ate some red berries we found in the shrubbery. Corbett thought it was hilarious, though Sutton was a little more sympathetic.

  “Come on, Rowntree,” said Corbett. “You can’t start off like a wet lettuce. Take deep breaths.”

  As every breath I took was damp and tasted of oil, I ignored her and instead took Sutton’s advice. I found a bench, lay down and closed my eyes. The only time I opened them was to raise my head to check that the destroyers accompanying us were still in sight. Although being targeted by a German submarine might put an end to my misery, it was something I didn’t want to think about too much.

  But it didn’t last. I lived through that hideous journey and am now in France. It’s just as wet here. Corbett, Sutton and I finally arrived in camp late this afternoon, and we don’t start duties until tomorrow. Just as well. How I’m ever going to make myself comfortable in this place, I cannot imagine. When I looked round our hut – for that’s all it is – I said, “Gosh, this is a bit grim!”

  One of the girls, Meldrew, stuck her head out of her cubicle and said, “You’ve got a nerve! It wasn’t long ago we were living in tents among the sand dunes.”

  “Too right,” said another, called Jolliphant. “The tents used to belong to the Army in India, so they weren’t suited to the perishing winds we get up here.”

  “And the tent pegs wouldn’t hold in the sand,” said Meldrew. “Many’s the night I woke to find my tent blown halfway out to sea. In the end, I moved into an old bathing machine. Dingy and damp and smelly, but at least it was still there when I came to in the mornings.”

  Personally I think the hut is dingy and smelly, but it certainly isn’t damp. There’s an oil stove absolutely shoving out heat – the air’s thick with it, and I suppose I should be grateful. At least I was able to dry out my tunic and skirt.

  Jolliphant showed me my cubicle. It has a bed, like a cot, and a sleeping bag – or “flea-bag” as Meldrew calls it. I have some shelves, and little else. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hut, but it’s so basic.

  What have I done?

  3rd August

  When everyone was asleep last night, I had a little cry.

  I felt better this morning. At least, I do now. We were roused at some unearthly hour – we washed and dressed at the speed of light (oh, Elsie, I will never snap at you again), and went straight outside for roll call. This was before breakfast!

  Meldrew explained roll call. It’s just to make sure everybody’s up and ready for work. I understand that, but surely it would be as quick – and a lot more pleasant – if we simply checked each other. But I’m not in a position to suggest changes yet.

  The other thing she told me was to salute the FANY officer in charge – everyone calls her Boss – first thing in the morning, but I needn’t bother again during the day.

  “We’re a bit different from other military outfits,” Meldrew explained. “We’re a lot more informal, but,” she added, seeing my expression, “you needn’t think that means we’re slackers. We get things done.”

  “I’m sure,” I said politely.

  “Someone once said that FANY meant First ANYwhere,” Meldrew continued. “Let’s see if we can be first to brekker.” And off she raced. She’s fun!

  We had breakfast – or “brekker” as I must learn to call it – in a hut called the mess. It’s quite tidy really, but that’s what it’s called. We had porridge, which I love (though the tin bowl was not too pleasant), and I was halfway through mine when someone outside bellowed, “Barges! Barges!”

  Honestly, you’d have thought the place was on fire. In seconds, everyone was on their feet, heading for the door.

  “What is it? What’s happening?” I cried.

  Meldrew shoved me out of the way. “Barges. You stay here.”

  In no time, the only people left in the hut were me, the cook and an orderly – her assistant – who are both FANY members, too. All I could hear was a steady booming in the distance.

  The cook, who has bobbed hair and seems frightfully modern, explained what “barges” means. “
Wounded Tommies from the front have to be brought to safety for treatment. Most of them come on special trains, but the worst ones travel on barges on the canal. It makes the journey less bumpy for the poor souls.”

  “So “Barges!” means some barges have arrived?” I said.

  “Right.” The cook handed me a cotton cloth. “The girls have to drive helter-skelter down to the quay, collect the patients, and take them to one of the Calais hospitals or to a ship.” She stopped what she was doing and said, “Dishes?”

  I thought this was another technical term. “What’s “dishes”?” I asked, keen to learn.

  Merriwether, the orderly, burst out laughing. “It’s those upside-down wet things that everyone’s just eaten their porridge out of. Dry them!”

  I’ve never done dishes before. It’s quite relaxing.

  Afterwards, we sat and had a cup of tea (well, a mug, actually – there are no cups here) and I told the others about Archie. They were so sympathetic.

  “My mother wants me to look for him,” I said.

  They stared. “Rowntree,” said the cook, who’s been a FANY since before the war, “I don’t want to dash your hopes, but if he’s not been found by now, my dear, he probably isn’t going to be. And anyway, you’re going to be far too busy here to go searching for your brother.”

  “But I could, you know, sort of keep my eyes open, couldn’t I? He might be in a hospital, suffering from loss of memory or something. I could ask if there are any young men with no names.”

  Merriwether poured milk into my empty cup. I hate that. I like to add the milk to the tea.

  “He could be a prisoner of the Germans, I suppose,” she said. “You needn’t give up hope, Rowntree.”

  I was grateful to her for saying that, but I could see the cook thinks I’m off my chump.

  Just then another FANY burst in through the door. She had bobbed hair, too. “Rowntree! Welcome to our convoy,” she said. “There’s a car outside that could do with a lick. Just the wheels till we’ve time to take it into town. Jump to it.”

  She spoke so briskly and disappeared so quickly I didn’t have time to ask what she meant. I looked helplessly at Merriwether.

  She laughed. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Before I knew what was happening, I found myself with a bucket of water, cloth and brush and a car. The wheels were absolutely caked with mud. I wonder anyone had been able to drive it.

  “Slosh some water on them,” said Merriwether. “The girls usually take the cars into town to be washed properly, so you needn’t fuss too much. Here, I’ll give you a hand.”

  I examined the car. The front seat was just a board with a couple of worn cushions on it. There was no windscreen, and in the back, the seats had been taken out and the space divided into four sections – two up and two down. It had a canvas roof.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Merriwether stared at me. “It’s an ambulance, you mutt! What did you think it was? It holds four stretchers in the back for four blessés.”

  “Blessés?”

  “It’s French. It means casualties. It’s what we call the patients.”

  “I see.” I walked round the front. “Why is there no windscreen? The driver might get a fly in her eye.”

  I soon learned that there was no windscreen for very good reasons. They might reflect light at night, and the enemy might see it and shoot. Also, it could get hit by a stone, never mind a bullet, and shatter, which could injure the driver.

  When I’d finished, Merriwether suggested I go to our hut and clean the bathroom. I decided to write in my diary first. Now that I’m sitting here in France, all on my own, I miss everyone so much. I keep thinking of Mimi, pining for Archie.

  I won’t go searching for him. I believe the cook’s right. There can be little hope. But then Merriwether told me not to give up hope. Well, I won’t. I won’t go searching, but I’ll never stop looking.

  Later

  I fell asleep! And I hadn’t even started the bathroom, which was absolutely filthy. I didn’t know where to begin. There was a cloth lying on the floor beside the basin, so I used that. Lots of water, and a bit of soap for the really mucky bits, and it was done.

  In the corner of the hut I found a broom. I’d seen the maids use one often enough, and I even used to help Hawkins sweep the yard when I was small, so I knew what to do. Picking up all the dirt and fluff wasn’t easy. I shoved it on to a magazine and tipped it in a bin. Then I used the cloth to wash over the floor. I could see it would all take a while to dry, so I left the door and windows open.

  Just as I was finishing, there was the roar of motors. I looked out and saw several ambulances pulling up. When the girls got out, I was shocked at the state of them. They were pale, and their hair stuck out all over the place, their belts were undone and they looked as if they could hardly walk for tiredness. They’d only been gone a few hours.

  Most headed for their huts. Meldrew came in and flung herself on her bed. I stood in the doorway, clutching the broom.

  “Hello, Cinders,” she said wearily. “Been busy?”

  Others were coming in now and collapsing on their beds. I thought I might have another little lie-down myself, but decided I didn’t deserve it, so I went back to the cookhouse.

  I was set to work peeling potatoes. It’s not an easy job at all, and your hands get very cold and covered with dirty water. But I did feel as if I was helping to cook the dinner.

  We hadn’t spoken for a while, when Merriwether suddenly said, “What’s that hideous noise?”

  I looked up from my “spuds” as they’re called here. “It’s the fighting at the front,” I said. “I thought it was thunder when I arrived.”

  She laughed. “I didn’t mean that.” Cocking her head to one side, she listened. “It’s stopped now.”

  I went back to my spud-peeling.

  After a moment or two, Merriwether said, “There it is again – that noise. What on earth is it?”

  I didn’t reply, because I was trying to hold back a giggle. The noise was me, humming!

  The rest of the day passed in a series of small jobs, some of which I did well, and some of which I couldn’t begin to understand. At one point, I was given something called “Little Mary Custard Powder”. I hadn’t a clue what to do with it, until Merriwether kindly showed me. As milk isn’t too plentiful at the moment I had to use half milk and half water. It looked quite nice when I’d finished, but the cook just glanced at it and handed me a whisk to get the lumps out. I didn’t realize cooking was so complicated. I suppose they’re the sort of tasks our servants do all the time, but it’s all right for them – they’ve been trained.

  7th August

  The drivers are divided into two sections, and as I’m going to be a driver I’m in one of them. Our section leader is Corbett, and she’s a sergeant. She’s very friendly, though, and only gets bossy when someone’s slacking. And that’s not very often, I can tell you. These FANYs are a great group of girls. Bags of energy!

  It’s quite a tiring life, though.

  Another new girl, from the other section, and I had a little talk from her section leader, explaining the system for the wounded men. They’re treated first at a dressing station, then get sent to a casualty clearing station. From there they go either to the train or the canal quay to be transported down to us. That’s when we pick them up and deliver them to hospitals or the ships for home. Some of them don’t survive the journey, the section leader explained, so it’s obvious what sort of state they’re in, and we must be kind, compassionate and as gentle as possible. But we have to be firm, too.

  16th August

  My cubicle is a little nicer now. Mimi has sent me three postcards from home, which she has decorated herself – with fairies, of course.

  “Aah! Aren’t they sweet!” Meldrew said.

  Jolliphant and some of the others crowded in to see what she was talking about. They loved them, too. I think I’ll ask Mimi to send a little picture to Me
ldrew for her birthday, which is very soon.

  I’ve spent nearly all my time on orderly duties, which involves mostly housework-type things. One thing I’ve learned is to use the right tool for the job. For instance, there’s a special sharp knife thingy for doing potatoes – you don’t use an ordinary dinner knife. And there are special cloths that you use for cleaning. I will never, ever forget the roar from Jolliphant!

  “Has some clown been using my face cloth to wash their motor car?”

  I kept quiet. She shouldn’t have left it on the bathroom floor.

  I might be driving soon, the Boss said. One of the girls has gone back to Blighty (that’s what they call England). She has compassionate leave, because the man she was engaged to has been killed. Being one pair of hands short makes a difference, and we’re going to get very busy now, Corbett says.

  The last couple of weeks have been quieter than usual, I’m told, because there hasn’t been nearly as much fighting going on at the front. I can’t imagine what it must be like when it’s really busy. I’m absolutely worn out all the time. I’ve never worked so hard in my life. I swear I will be more thoughtful towards our servants when I go home.

  Anyway, the reason it’s been quieter is that the weather has been so appalling. Rain, rain and more rain. Apparently, the battlefield at the front is just a sea of mud, and it’s dotted with huge shell-holes which are like craters filled with water.

  One of the girls, Westerling, said gloomily, “When that lot dries out they’re going to find a fair number of bodies in the craters.”

  I thought of Archie. I had to run to the bathroom, where I was violently sick.

  18th August

  Today I feel so tired. My eyes burn and my head throbs. I’m to stay in the hut for a couple of hours this morning, to rest, and then I’m to go and help in the cookhouse.

  The reason for my feelings of exhaustion? Partly it’s because yesterday I actually went to the war. Well, not to it, exactly, but up near the front line. I had my first drive in one of the ambulances, to see what I’m made of, as they put it. I went with Jolliphant to take comforts up to the troops. The FANY don’t just do ambulance duties, they take supplies, drive nurses to and from the boat so they can go home on leave – all sorts of things. Even collecting laundry for the hospitals! We can use army cars for driving the army nurses – much more comfortable! One thing surprised me – sometimes we’re expected to take wounded German prisoners to a hospital.

 

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