In Love and War

by Lily Baxter

  The first day was a living nightmare and both Elsie and Rosemary returned late that evening too tired to eat the frugal meal of soup and bread, and too exhausted to do anything other than wash their hands and faces in cold water and slide into bed.

  The next day Elsie was so stiff she could hardly move, but somehow she managed to raise herself, and judging by the groans and moans from the others she could tell that they too were suffering. There was no escaping the duties that they had taken on with such enthusiasm. Their days in training seemed like a picnic compared to the reality they had to face now, and she realised how little people at home knew of the real suffering and carnage brought about by war.

  Gradually as the weeks went by she grew used to the physical demands placed upon her, and the camaraderie amongst the women and a sense of humour kept her sane. In the beginning they had all, without exception, been distressed by the condition of the men they sought to help, and Elsie found it impossible to hold back tears when she cradled a dying soldier in her arms, or comforted a young boy who should never have been allowed to enlist in the first place and now, even if he survived his terrible wounds, faced a life as a cripple. On occasions when she could bear it no longer it was the thought of Guy that kept her motivated. She had helped to save his life once, and if he were lying injured on a battlefield she could only hope that a woman like herself would come to his aid. The injured men were all someone’s son, husband or father, and all of them were in desperate need. The hardships she faced were many, but she was not about to give up. Poor food, unsanitary living conditions, bed bugs and chilblains were a small price to pay when compared to the sacrifice of young men’s lives.

  It was a harsh winter, some said it was the coldest for many years, but gradually the temperature began to rise and the thaw set in. This in itself caused problems as the melted snow left a sea of mud and roads that were even more difficult to negotiate. Elsie had become proficient at changing tyres even at the roadside, kneeling in thick mud, and it became a joke between herself and Rosemary that when the war was over they might open a garage on the outskirts of London and work as mechanics as well as manning the petrol pumps.

  Despite the constant barrage of bombs and flying shrapnel, and the scourge of the flu epidemic that had taken the lives of several of the nurses as well as many of the patients, there were lighter moments when someone arrived back from home leave and brought food parcels and letters from loved ones. There was always someone’s birthday to celebrate with cheap wine purchased in the town, which lightened the mood and left them with terrible hangovers next morning. But after taking a couple of aspirin and a cup of black coffee, the indomitable girls of Priory Camp were back on the road. Headaches were forgotten, and they set off not knowing whether they would ever return.

  Although the town of St Omer was shelled regularly, by some miracle the priory escaped, and as winter gave way to spring the gardens of the old monastery burst into bloom. Vast sheets of golden daffodils waved in the breeze and clumps of primroses spread like pools of sunlight at the edge of the woods. The days lengthened and temperatures improved, but night raids increased, and the town was heaving with troops who were allowed a couple of days’ rest before returning to the front.

  At the end of April Elsie was due for home leave, but she did not relish the thought of returning to London. She would be pleased to see Felicia but it was Marianne who came second in her thoughts only to Guy. She had no idea where he was but he had not appeared on any of the casualty lists she had been privileged to see, although that was small comfort. There had been a rumour that the Germans were pushing forward and getting close to St Omer, but it had proved to be false, and Elsie put in a request to be allowed to travel to Paris. Muriel had questioned her closely but had seemed satisfied by her explanation that she had once worked there and wanted to visit a friend. She was granted a week’s leave and given a travel permit.

  Rosemary drove her to the railway station and gave her a hug. ‘I’m off to England tomorrow,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’m going to stay with my Aunt Bessie in Dover.’

  ‘I thought you were going home to your mother’s house in Essex?’

  Rosemary shook her head. ‘I had a letter from Mum. She’s married Alf, the plumber who used to live next door but one. He’s had his eye on her for years, and then when my stepdad died in the flu epidemic he made his move.’

  ‘Don’t you like him either?’

  ‘I can’t stand him, but it’s Mum’s life. She’s got to do what’s best for her.’

  Elsie returned the hug. ‘Never mind, Rosie. If we don’t get blown to bits by a German bomb we’ll start that garage together.’

  Rosemary gave her a shove towards the platform. ‘Your train’s coming. Have a lovely time in Paris.’

  ‘I will. Be a good girl in Dover. I’ll see you in a week’s time.’ Elsie boarded the train and found herself in a compartment filled with American soldiers. They were a lively bunch and were delighted to find someone who spoke English. She was glad that she had been able to take a bath and put on clean clothes before setting out, as these affable young men would not have found her so interesting had she been in her usual muddied state, with overpowering body odour and unwashed hair. She could not help comparing these healthy, bright-eyed boys with the sick and dying British soldiers she had tried so hard to help, and she wondered if they were aware of the horrors of trench warfare, gas poisoning and shell shock.

  She arrived in Paris and said goodbye to her new friends with some regret. Their cheerful conversation had lifted her spirits and their confidence that they would help to win the war had been touching. There was always hope, she thought, as she climbed into a waiting fiacre outside the station and gave the driver instructions to take her to the rue Saint-Roch. She had decided to start there as there was a good chance that she might catch Marianne at work; if not, she planned to walk to the rue de l’Echelle and call at the Bellaires’ apartment. It was all a bit of a risk as she did not know if Marianne was still in Paris, but it was worth a try.

  The cab dropped her outside number 41 rue Saint-Roch, bringing back poignant memories of her time there. She had been little more than a girl when she first came to Paris, cherishing romantic dreams about her handsome Frenchman. It seemed like a lifetime ago and not a mere three years, but the world had changed and so had she, or perhaps she had merely grown up.

  She straightened her forage cap, adjusted her uniform jacket and opened the door. Once inside she had to explain her mission to the desk clerk, who looked her up and down with a sceptical eye, as if suspecting her of being in fancy dress. But her persistence paid off and she was shown into the small interview room, where she was left to wait for what seemed like hours. Eventually the door opened and Marianne stood there, staring at her in disbelief, and then her face lit up with a smile. ‘It is you, Elsie. I thought at first that they were pulling my leg.’ She rushed forward and flung her arms around her. ‘It’s wonderful to see you.’

  Half smothered by Marianne’s embrace, Elsie managed to extricate herself. ‘I missed you too, you dreadful girl. Why didn’t you write and tell me where you were? I had to find out through official channels.’

  Marianne held her at arm’s length. ‘What in heaven’s name are you wearing? That uniform is absolutely ghastly and it does nothing for you.’

  ‘I’m in the FANYs,’ Elsie said, laughing.

  ‘That sounds vaguely rude. What sort of outfit is it?’

  ‘The First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, you idiot. You must have heard of them. We’re at the front, driving ambulances and setting up hospitals. It’s vital work, saving lives.’

  ‘You always were a bit of a heroine, but that wouldn’t suit me. I’m absolutely useless at that sort of thing.’ Marianne slipped her arm around Elsie’s shoulders. ‘It’s good to see you. I was devastated when Valentine sent you away.’

  ‘We’ve such a lot to catch up on, Marianne. I’ve got a week’s leave but I have to find somewhere to stay.’
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  ‘Nonsense, darling. You’ll stay with me at the rue de l’Echelle. Selene has gone to le Lavandou for the summer, but Philippe won’t mind. Anyway, he’s out all day at the bank and doesn’t come home until late.’ She released Elsie and moved swiftly to the door. ‘Wait here a moment while I fetch my bag. We’ll go to the Café Goulet for lunch and we can talk without being interrupted, that is if you don’t count Raimond who is as garrulous as ever. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’

  She was gone, leaving a waft of L’Heure Bleu in her wake.

  The Café Goulet had not changed since Elsie’s last visit, neither had Raimond. He greeted her as if she were a long lost friend, and gave them the table in the window. The glass was still furred with city dirt on the outside and the sill on the inside was speckled with the bodies of dead flies. The check tablecloth was spotted with red wine and the clientele did not seem to have changed much either. Elsie was certain that she recognised the workmen who sat at the next table and the old man who was perched on a bar stool with a glass of absinthe and water on the counter in front of him. He turned his head and winked at her.

  Raimond went behind the bar and returned moments later with two large glasses of red wine. ‘Our menu is rather short today,’ he said, folding his hands over his grubby apron. ‘It’s onion soup. I am afraid that beefsteak is almost impossible to come by, unless one deals with the black market, which of course I do not.’

  ‘Thank you, Raimond, but onion soup would be delightful, as always,’ Marianne said with a smile. ‘How is Madame Honorine today?’

  ‘She is well, but working very hard at the hospital. There are many casualties still. I’ll fetch your order.’ He hurried off in the direction of the kitchen.

  ‘It’s good to be back in Paris,’ Elsie said, sighing. ‘I didn’t realise how comparatively easy things were when we came here, or how bad they would get.’ She met Marianne’s concerned look with a smile. ‘But let’s not talk about depressing things. What happened in Belgium? What about Dieter?’

  ‘It was thrilling while it lasted, but to tell the truth, Elsie, I was getting a bit scared.’

  Elsie stared at her in surprise. ‘You? Scared? Never!’

  ‘Not physically scared, darling. But I knew that he was serious and, to be honest, I was cooling off.’ Marianne shrugged her shoulders. ‘You know me; I’m inclined to be shallow when it comes to relationships.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s true at all, but how did you end it?’

  ‘He was transferred to the front. It was all very sudden and I was quite upset at the time, but then Valentine arranged for me to return to Paris, and I’ve been here ever since.’

  ‘And you started back at your old job?’

  ‘Again, I had little to do with it. I think it was all fixed before I left the Merchant’s House, but I had to find somewhere to live. I couldn’t face going back to that ghastly room and that awful Madame Chausse.’

  ‘Did you go straight to the Bellaires’ apartment?’

  ‘No. I was too proud to admit that I’d made a mess of things and I booked into a horrid little pension. Anyway, I had to go to the bank to withdraw some money, and I happened to bump into Selene. She insisted that I should move in with them and who was I to refuse?’ Marianne laid her finger on her lips as Raimond bustled towards them carrying two steaming bowls of soup. ‘Best talk about mundane things. We’ll chat later. There’s something I must tell you, but this isn’t the time or place.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  MARIANNE WOULD SAY no more and Elsie was left to wonder what surprises her friend had in store for her. They finished their lunch and walked back to the rue Saint-Roch. ‘I’ll collect my case and go for a walk by the river,’ Elsie said as Marianne was about to open the door. ‘Do you still finish at five?’

  ‘On a normal day, yes, but today is special. I’ll use all my considerable powers of persuasion to get the afternoon off. I’m owed it for all the overtime I put in.’ She pulled a face. ‘Don’t look so surprised. I’m very conscientious these days. I do my bit for the war effort, in my own special way.’ She opened the door and headed for the stairs, leaving Elsie standing in the vestibule. She smiled to herself. Marianne would never change. She was as mercurial as ever and still determined to get her own way. Elsie checked with the receptionist and went into the waiting room to collect her battered cardboard suitcase. She did not have long to wait before Marianne put her head round the door.

  ‘Come on. We’ll go to the flat and drop off your case and then we can do as we please for the whole afternoon. Isn’t that a simply heavenly idea?’

  They walked arm in arm through the dusty streets. Paris had changed little as far as Elsie could see, although Marianne said there had been air raids earlier in the year. It might be a city virtually under siege but Paris wore its scars with pride and the people who thronged the streets exuded an air of stubborn resilience. It was all in stark contrast to the devastation and destruction that Elsie had seen in the villages surrounding the battlefields.

  Marianne produced a key from her handbag and let them into the Bellaires’ apartment on the first floor. Elsie had thought that Felicia’s flat was the height of luxury, but entering the Bellaires’ Paris home was like stepping into another world. The entrance hall must, she thought, have been inspired by the architecture of the Palace of Versailles, and no expense could have been spared. Ormolu sconces were placed at intervals on walls covered in pale green silk damask, and a huge crystal chandelier sent prisms of light dancing on the ceiling. Her feet sank into the thick pile of the Aubusson carpet, which was patterned with delicate pink and cream flowers, and the air was redolent with the scent of white lilies spilling out of a Sèvres vase. Elsie tried to look casual as she followed Marianne into the drawing room, which was equally magnificent, with its Louis Quinze furniture and tall windows draped in rose velvet with opulent swags and tasselled tie-backs.

  Marianne tossed her straw hat onto a chair and dropped her handbag onto a side table. ‘Make yourself at home, Elsie.’

  Elsie glanced down at her khaki uniform and serviceable lace-up boots. ‘I feel a bit out of place here, Marianne. Maybe I should find a cheap hotel nearby.’

  ‘Nonsense, old thing. Don’t talk such rot.’ Marianne picked up a silver cigarette box and lifted the lid. ‘Do you smoke? I know you didn’t before the war, but everything changes.’

  Elsie shook her head. ‘No. I tried it once, but I didn’t think much of it to be honest.’

  Marianne perched on the edge of a spindly-legged sofa and reached for a match holder. She lit her cigarette and sat back, inhaling deeply. ‘Do sit down, Elsie. You look as though you’re waiting for a bus.’

  Elsie took off her forage cap and sat down gingerly on one of the dainty chairs. ‘It’s like being in a museum. I’m afraid to touch anything.’

  ‘You’ll get used to it. The Bellaires have oodles of money even allowing for the war and everything.’ Marianne blew smoke rings at one of the three chandeliers in the room. ‘Smoking calms the nerves, or at least that’s what I was told.’

  Elsie gave her a searching look. ‘You said there was something you had to tell me. What is it?’

  Marianne hesitated for a moment, frowning. ‘You were rather keen on Henri, as I remember.’

  ‘I never said so. What gave you that idea?’

  ‘I know you so well, darling. Anyway, you’re absolutely transparent, like a sheet of glass. You used to blush every time he spoke to you …’

  ‘All right,’ Elsie said hastily. ‘So I liked him rather a lot. What’s that got to do with anything? I’m with Guy now, and I love him.’

  ‘Really? You’re in love with dear old Guy, the sweetest, kindest, most boring man in the War Office?’

  ‘That’s not fair. He’s not boring when you get to know him. He’s shy and sensitive but he’s got a wonderful sense of humour and he’s terribly brave.’

  Marianne held up her hand. ‘Sorry I spoke, but yo
u must admit you weren’t smitten on your first date.’

  ‘It wasn’t a date exactly. He took me to Hackney to a Christmas Eve party for the Belgian refugees.’

  ‘My point, darling. That wasn’t the most exciting way to begin a relationship.’

  ‘You’re impossible,’ Elsie said with a reluctant smile. ‘I was a bit smitten by Henri in those days. Who wouldn’t be?’

  ‘I agree, but what made you fall for dear old Guy? Or were you just sorry for him? You must have spent a long time in his company while you were making your way home and having all those adventures you told me about over lunch today.’

  ‘I got to know him, Marianne. That’s the difference. I stopped pining for someone I knew I could never have, and I began to see what a truly wonderful person Guy is.’

  ‘Well, I’m happy for you, and it makes what I have to say next so much easier.’ Marianne stubbed her cigarette out in an onyx ashtray. ‘Because Henri is here, only thankfully he’s spending the day at the bank, which has given me time to prepare you.’

  ‘Prepare me for what? What are you talking about, Marianne?’

  ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter now, but when you turned up unexpectedly the first thing that came to my mind was how you would react when you found out that Henri and I have an understanding, as Aunt Josephine would put it.’

  ‘You’re engaged to Henri?’

  ‘Not officially.’ Marianne’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Actually we’re getting married tomorrow. Nobody knows anything about it, not even his father.’