Road to War

by Valerie Wilding

  There was a letter from Bobby, telling me she was jolly proud of me, and that it’s perfectly splendid that I’m helping our boys. And there was a sad little note from Violet. She says her heart is quite broken, and she has started a second knitting group in the next village.

  Clever Violet. As Archie once said, isn’t she amazing? Oh, stop being so nasty, Daffy.

  I kept a little package to myself, and didn’t open it in front of the others. I could feel what was inside it.

  It was only when I stopped to think about today that I realized I hadn’t much noticed the booming of the guns. I was getting used to it. I told Jolliphant, and she said the only time she ever noticed the guns was when they stopped.

  30th August

  It was Meldrew’s birthday today. The rest of us got up early and, since we don’t have any bunting, strung our most colourful undies across the room. When she woke, she burst out laughing and said we were all absolute buffoons.

  After roll call and brekker, she opened her presents. Several people had made things for her. Jolliphant had stolen Meldrew’s plain white petticoat weeks before, and had spent hours and hours in secret, embroidering it with pansies. Corbett gave her Something Fresh by P G Wodehouse, who is screamingly funny. We all want to borrow that! Then there was a little book of poetry from Westerling, and a third book, which is of plain cream paper for her to write in. That was from Sutton, who’s always writing in such a book herself. She says she will be a great novelist one day.

  I would have liked that notebook. My diary is rather battered, and has two small oil-stains on the silk cover.

  Soon it was my turn to give her a present. I took out the contents of the little package Mimi had sent, crossed my fingers and said I hoped she’d like it. Meldrew pulled at the tissue paper it was wrapped in, then gave a little scream.

  “Rowntree! You darling! It’s one of your mother’s paintings! What’s it called? It’s written here…” She squinted at the pencilled writing at the bottom, near the frame. “‘Lalu and her baby!’ Oh how perfectly adorable!”

  She jumped up and hugged me. “Thanks, old bird! Cripes, a genuine Rowntree painting!”

  These girls are so nice. Why have I never found friends like them before?

  It was only after the lights were put out that I realized Lalu had had a baby. Whatever next?

  29th September

  I haven’t had a free moment to myself for ages. At least, I haven’t had a free moment in which I was able to stay awake! The blessés have been pouring down from the front. It must be utter carnage up there. The good news is that the British, with the help of other nations, have made progress against the Germans. The bad news is that it’s at such a terrible cost. We only see the live casualties. How many dead must there be?

  I’m so thankful for a breather. I sometimes wonder how much longer I can go on. Every day has started at some unearthly hour, with trains or barges to meet. Sometimes we’ve been woken in the middle of the night because word’s come that a train’s on its way. Often we’re at the railway sidings long before the train arrives, and have to wait for hours. Then there are anything up to 400 wounded men to transport. The nights are really cold now, and there always seems to be a sharp wind coming off the sea. Driving at night, apart from being cold, strains my eyes. As we can’t use headlights, we have to drive with our noses practically on the bonnet in order to see where we’re going, and to avoid the worst of the holes in the roads. All this might be against a background of heart-rending groans, or some poor lad screaming for his mother. I yearn to race to the hospital or ship, to get them there quicker, but I know it’s better to go slowly, to take them gently.

  Even when we stagger into the mess hut for a bite to eat, there’s hardly time for a cup of cocoa before someone’s sent off on a special job, delivering an officer here, fetching someone from there, collecting supplies from the boats and delivering them to the hospitals. Or, worst of all, “doing corpses”. That means transporting dead bodies to the mortuary. I try not to think of them as people. That seems hard, I know, but if I do start imagining their lives and families, it almost destroys me. So I don’t.

  Never mind. I’m going home on leave soon.

  14th October

  My leave was almost as exhausting as life in camp.

  Mimi says she’s fine. I actually think she is better, because her latest lot of paintings are beginning to show some of the old boldness. There’s a fairy in every one, but that’s all right, because the Americans are still buying them. So Uncle Cecil told me when I visited him and Aunt Leonora briefly. Bobby whirled in and whirled out, just pausing to say, “I think you’re perfectly splendid, Daffers. Get your hair cut.” Hers is even shorter now – almost as short as a man’s. It does look awfully dashing, though.

  Aunt Leonora’s heard good things about me! I’m so proud. She said I seem to have knuckled down and adapted beautifully, and I’m not afraid to tackle anything. I didn’t tell her that my mechanical maintenance leaves a lot to be desired, and I couldn’t cope without Meldrew and Merriwether helping and guiding me. Well, without them doing a lot of it, actually.

  The FANY don’t require me to do lectures yet, but I did have to go fundraising. I went with a couple of girls as they addressed small audiences. I hope I never have to do that – even with only twenty or thirty people, it would scare me to death. I’d rather take Honeycomb over our yew hedge with no stirrups than speak in public.

  Dear Honeycomb! She was so pleased to see me. Billie, I was annoyed to notice, adores Aunt Eloise, but he did give me a glorious welcome. Gulliver grabbed the chunk of crusty bread I took him, then, as I chatted to Hawkins, chewed my skirt. So everything’s normal.

  Aunt Eloise said Mimi’s talk is often about other things now, not just fairies. I was wrong about Lalu having a baby. She has three. I’ve seen a painting of them, and they are unbelievably dainty and pretty – all girls!

  I can’t believe I wrote that last sentence! Whatever is the matter with me? Jolly good thing I’m back in camp. That steady booming of the guns keeps reminding me why I’m here.

  15th October

  A huge hank of my hair came unpinned today while I was cleaning my engine and, when I brought my head up, it was all oily.

  When Jolliphant saw it, she said, “Hmm, there’s only one sensible course of action, Rowntree, old thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Meldrewww!” she bawled. “Fetch the scissors!”

  “No!” I squealed, but everyone joined in chanting, “Bob! Bob! Bob!” and I suppose I remembered what Bobby said and got swept away with it all. Anyway, here I sit in my cubicle, half afraid to look in the mirror, but absolutely delighted with the result!

  16th October

  Oh dear. I had a little note from Reggie today. It was mainly news of the Baguleys and their social life, but it ended with a rather peeved comment about how he didn’t see me when I was on leave. I wouldn’t have thought he’d care. Never mind, I shall write a nice apologetic note back, explaining how busy my leave was – when I get time.

  17th October

  I had a fall yesterday. All the fault of the stupid starting handle. I caught my knee a real bang with it, then crashed to the ground. My leg’s really stiff today, so I’m excused cars and am to help where I can around the camp. I hobbled about, folding all the girls’ thrown-off bonnet covers and stacked them beside the mess hut. I couldn’t clean out the boiler (thank goodness – I hate that job) but I was able to hoe our vegetable garden until it began to rain too hard to be outside.

  Someone came in with a request for a driver to take some German prisoners to hospital. I’m glad I wasn’t able to. I haven’t had to drive Germans yet, and I don’t really want to, injured or not. Sutton says there’s no need to be a fraidy-cat. You have armed guards and so on, and the prisoners are mostly not in a fit state to try it on. But still…

  20th October

  Today, I sang as I rinsed out my undies in a basin. Meldrew had just
said, “Stow it, Rowntree!” when Jolliphant called from the window. “Hey, look!”

  With that she rushed out. We followed, and saw her pick up a bird.

  “Oh, poor thing!” I said. “Is it dead?”

  “Afraid so,” said Jolliphant. She fiddled with its leg.

  “What on earth are you doing?” I demanded.

  “It’s a messenger pigeon,” said Meldrew. “And it’s carrying something. It could be vitally important.”

  Jolliphant took it to the Boss to be dealt with.

  Messenger birds – I seem to learn something new every day. And it’s not only pigeons that carry messages. Dogs do, too. And some of them are incredibly brave, dashing with their messages through areas where shells are bursting and bullets are zinging through the air. I was amazed (but not all that amazed) to find that some of those brave dogs are Airedales. I doubt if my Billie would be that brave. I wouldn’t want him to be.

  There’s great news from Blighty. Eleven Zeppelins, sent over on a bombing raid, were destroyed. The weather had a lot to do with it, as there was a bad storm, but our anti-aircraft gunners were determined not to let them through. Hurrah!

  22nd October

  As if to pay us back, German planes bombed Calais during the night. We had to go out while they were still dropping their hideous loads, to rescue some of the injured and get them safely to the hospitals. It was a horrendous experience. I have never, ever been so afraid, but I’m a FANY, and fear wasn’t going to stop me, or any of us, for that matter. We carried the injured, the dead and the dying amid explosions, fire and panic. For once, we didn’t worry too much about gentle driving – we went for it. Thank heaven, we all returned safely.

  23rd October

  News from Corbett and Sutton, who’ve just done a comforts run. The rain at the front has been torrential, and the number of men and horses who’ve drowned where they fell is truly horrifying.

  On their way back, they heard an aeroplane engine, but didn’t see it at first, even though it was so loud. Then Corbett stuck her head out of the window and there was the aeroplane, circling right above them. And it was German.

  Sutton leaned out, too, and shook her fist at the pilot. He circled once more, then flew away.

  Why didn’t he shoot? It can only have been because of the red crosses on the ambulance. He assumed that there were injured men inside.

  I know our pilots would have done the same.

  24th October

  A strange, exhausting day today. We were called early this morning to do the trains. Some had to do hospital runs, and I was detailed to take my blessés to the boats. These were the ones who needed to be sent back to Blighty.

  To be perfectly frank, I hate going down to the boats. The quay is long and so narrow that two of our ambulances can only just pass. That’s OK, as long as you’re not on the side nearest the water. It’s a long way down, so the last thing we want to do is drive over the edge, especially with a cargo of blessés. It’s even worse in the dark, when the rain lashes you, and the smell of the sea blends with the stink of oil.

  Once our load is delivered, we drive further on to a turning place. It’s not easy. You have to reverse against a platform, then there comes a point where you’re at right-angles to the sea, facing it, and you have to move forward, inch by inch. It’s impossible to see over the bonnet to gauge how close your wheels are to the edge, so it’s a very tense moment. Luckily, as your vehicle’s empty by then, no one can hear you swear if you do it quietly enough. One girl did go over once, but escaped out of the back of the car, thank goodness.

  Anyway, today was a beast of a day, far more tiring than usual, because it was cold and foggy. I was on my last trip. The orderlies loaded up my four blessés on their stretchers, then asked if I could take a sitter up front with me.

  “Of course,” I said.

  An Army captain in a filthy, torn uniform was helped in beside me. Both his hands were heavily bandaged, and his eyes looked too big for his face. I’ve seen that look plenty of times before. This poor man was exhausted, in a bad way, and had certainly seen the sort of sights no human being should have to witness. Apart from having his hands treated, he needed some rest and lots of comforts.

  “I’m not going to the boat,” he said. “They reckon a stay in hospital, with some good treatment, will put me right, then I can get back to my men. Would you be kind enough to take me there?”

  How brave. I’d have been scrabbling to get on the boat back to Blighty.

  We had to go slowly, of course, not just because of the fog, but because of the poor men in the back. One, who I thought looked little more than a boy when I saw him being loaded in, cried in pain, then called for his mother, which upset me terribly. But my sitter turned and spoke softly to him until he drifted into sleep. That was kind. I thought how lucky his men were to have an officer like him.

  I drove as carefully as possible, but the fog made it impossible to see the ruts and holes in the road. I desperately wanted to avoid waking the poor young boy. Far better for him to sleep the time away. I hoped he would make it home, and be able to see his mother again.

  Not like Archie.

  With absolutely no warning, a great sob burst from me. Oh, please, no, I thought, don’t let me break down now. Not again.

  The man beside me asked, “Are you all right, Miss?”

  I couldn’t speak. I just nodded and forced myself to think of happy things, like the concert Meldrew’s planning. Then Mimi’s fairies invaded my mind. I welcomed the distraction and tried to imagine what Lalu might have called her children. Peaseblossom, Cobweb and Moth, like in Shakespeare? Or names to suit their characters, like Happy, Cheeky and Lazy?

  Soon I felt calm. I marvelled that Mimi’s imaginary companions had helped me on this difficult journey.

  I joined the line at the quay. One of the girls spotted an open estaminet, a little café, selling drinks and snacks, so, as we had a while to wait before we were unloaded and could be on our way, I bought a cup of tea for myself and my sitter. I also bought him a cake for ten centimes. The other blessés, poor souls, were beyond drinking.

  I’d forgotten the captain’s bandaged hands. I had to hold his cup for him as he drank, and pop bits of cake into his mouth. He was very grateful. Once, as I held the cup to his lips, I glanced up to see him looking straight into my eyes. It gave me a shiver down my spine.

  Eventually my car was emptied and I drove along the quay to the turning place. I backed carefully against the platform, ready to move forward extremely cautiously towards the edge of the quay, but I overdid it! I hit the platform too hard and bounced off it – forwards!

  I slammed on the brake, and we skidded to a stop. I’m sorry to say that my sitter heard me use language that would make most ladies blush.

  “Sorry,” I said, blushing myself.

  He grinned. “I’ve heard worse! Well done – at least you managed to keep us out of the sea.”

  I pulled away, glad to be able to move at a reasonable pace. On the way to the hospital, the captain said, “My name’s Charles. Charles Wensley-Croft.”

  “My father’s name was Charles,” I said. “I’m Daphne Rowntree.”

  When we reached the hospital an attendant checked for stretcher cases, then came round to the passenger door. But the captain said, “One moment, please,” and turned to me.

  “Miss Rowntree, I don’t suppose you’d have time to visit me while I’m here, would you? I’m sure I shan’t know another soul.”

  I was surprised to be asked this, but I must confess I was pleased.

  “If I get time,” I said.

  He obviously couldn’t shake hands, but he gave me a lovely tired smile as the attendant helped him out.

  “Captain!”

  He turned. “Charles,” he reminded me.

  “Charles,” I said with a smile. “My friends call me Daffy.”

  Then I thought – actually, my friends don’t call me Daffy. They call me Rowntree!

 
And then I thought: My family would be shocked to hear me being so forward with a man!

  26th October

  Tonight we all snuggled into our flea-bags and shouted ideas to each other for the concert.

  “Meldrew’s a great mimic,” said Jolliphant. “She can do some impressions of well-known people.”

  “Rein back, Jolliphant. Nobody asked for your opinion,” said Meldrew, in a perfect imitation of the Boss!

  “I had a ballet mistress for seven years – seven long years,” Sutton shouted. “I could do some sort of dance if you like.”

  “The dance of the seven veils!” shrieked Westerling.

  “That would be ripping!” Meldrew called. “So, we have one dancer, one mimic – me – one conjuror, one trio singing French folk songs … and Jolliphant’s doing a recitation. Anyone else volunteering?”

  “Yes, me,” I called. “I could sing if you like.” I expected a barrage of catcalls, but none came.

  It did go quiet, though. I wondered if they’d all suddenly dropped off. Then I heard a muffled, “Yes, lovely, thanks,” from someone. It could have been Meldrew. I can’t believe she said yes! Everyone started talking about costumes then, so I got out my book.

  I’m really looking forward to the concert.

  30th October

  We’ve been so busy recently. We keep getting trainloads of victims of a dreadful new gas attack – mustard gas. The poor things are covered in painful, burning blisters, and often their eyes are swollen and gummy. Those who can speak have hoarse, whispery voices, and some become panicky because they can’t breathe properly.

  Today I’d finished and had lunch by three, so I offered to take a car down to the town to have a new bit welded on. I think the Boss knew I’d never remember the name of the bit, because she gave me a note to give to the mechanics.

  I stood around waiting for a while, but got so cold that I took a brisk walk up to the nice warm hospital and asked a sister if I could see Captain Wensley-Croft. They usually let us FANYs in if at all possible.