by Maggie Holt
It was time for a change of subject. Uncle Thomas asked if there was any news of George and Mabel had his last letter from the Alberta prairie farm where he worked with his good friend Davy. The farmer’s wife had bought them new clothes from a catalogue.
‘They’re two hundred miles from any shops, but these catalogues come round an’ people send away for what they want, an’ pay the money when it arrives,’ she explained.
There was a rather strained silence. The Somertons and Aunt Kate had never understood why George had been sent out to Canada at twelve, all by himself, so soon after the death of his father. However, they all agreed that Davy Hoek had been heaven-sent, and proved himself a true friend to George who looked upon him like another brother.
‘Did they meet on the ship going over?’ asked Somerton.
‘No, it was at Waterloo Station. I just marched up to him and begged him to look after me brother. And so he has – even said he wouldn’t go to McBane’s farm unless George went too.’
‘When will George come back?’ asked Daisy and again there was a silence which Mabel felt obliged to fill.
‘I don’t know, dear. Perhaps he’ll come and visit us again one day, and bring Davy,’ she said gently, though she knew it was most unlikely that they would ever see George again; she only wished she could thank Davy for what he had done for her brother.
She had no news of Albert, and Thomas Somerton looked grave at the mention of the navy. Mabel realised that his views on the situation in Europe were far more alarming than Harry’s.
‘Do you mean to tell me, Mabel, that living in London as you do, you know nothing of the danger this country’s facing? Good heavens, girl, are you shut up in an ivory tower?’
‘No, Uncle, I’m shut up in the Booth Street Infirmary,’ she retorted. ‘I only hear what I pick up from what people say and I wish ye’d tell me about it!’
‘It’s been brewing for a very long time and ever since the Archduke Franz Ferdinand was shot dead last month, Germany’s been mobilising men and artillery, ships –’
‘Excuse me, Uncle Thomas, but who did yer say was killed? I never heard anything about it. Was it in London?’
‘No, my dear, the Archduke was assassinated at a place called Sarajevo in the Balkans and it’s caused repercussions all over Europe. It’s a warning that no government should ignore.’
Mabel had to admit that she had never heard of the unfortunate nobleman who had been killed in a place she knew nothing about, nor could she see how this distant event might affect the destiny of Europe, especially of the British Isles, with or without Ireland. But it was not for her to question her uncle’s superior knowledge on such matters.
There were tears, kisses and promises to write when Mabel boarded the London train on its way up from Southampton that evening. She found it unexpectedly crowded with men, mostly young though a few were older, some in the uniform of the Territorials or the Officers’ Training Corps, others in plain clothes. The air was full of a strange excitement and Mabel heard enthusiastic talk of ‘seeing some sport before it’s all over’.
A bewhiskered old gentleman in military uniform ordered the young ones to make room for Mabel in a corner seat and she politely enquired of him where all these men were going.
‘My dear young lady, we’re reservists goin’ to join our regiments and one or two fellahs are goin’ to enlist with the Army Service Corps,’ he told her importantly. ‘We’re gettin’ ready to show the Kaiser that if he wants a fight, he’s got Great Britain and her Empire to give him a run for his money. Huh! We’ll show the bounder!’
Mabel was beginning to realise that something momentous was about to happen and when the train drew in at Waterloo her eyes darted among the crowds, looking for the familiar Salvation Army uniform.
But it was a man in a different uniform who hailed her.
‘Miss Court! It is Miss Mabel Court, isn’t it?’
Two smiling blue eyes met hers and a firm arm helped her to step down on to the crowded platform. She recognised Dr Stephen Knowles, the son of their old family doctor who had been such a friend to the Court family during that terrible summer of 1912 when Annie and Jack Court had met their deaths within six weeks of each other. And Stephen had treated Albert’s injuries when he’d been involved in the railway strike the year before.
‘Dr Stephen! Don’t say you’re going to join yer regiment!’
‘Not exactly. I’ve joined the RAMC in case they need extra medics. But how are you, Miss Court? My father heard you’d gone to train as a nurse and said you’d be ideal.’
Mabel glowed. ‘That’s right, Dr Stephen, I’m at Booth Street Infirmary. Are yer still at the London Hospital in Whitechapel Road?’
‘No, no, I’m at the East London for Children at Shadwell – poor district but wonderful hospital. I always wanted to specialise in sick children.’
Mabel’s eyes shone. ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, care for children, only I couldn’t afford the trainin’, that’s why I’m doin’ me general at a Poor Law infirmary.’
‘Jolly good experience, Miss Court – and once you’re trained you might apply for a place on the staff at Shadwell. You’d be just right for it.’
‘D’ye think there’s goin’ to be a war, Dr Stephen?’ she asked him abruptly.
His face darkened. ‘We all hope not, but it looks pretty bad now, worse by the day. And just as I’ve got engaged, too!’
‘Oh, Stephen! Who is she?’
‘A friend of my sister’s, Miss Phyllis Rawlings, and I just can’t believe my luck – she’s the sweetest, most adorable girl. We’re bringing the wedding forward because of all this war panic. Can’t be too soon for me, Mabel!’
His eyes sparkled and he forgot to say Miss Court; his father had always referred to this pleasant girl as Mabel and had told him something of the family history.
‘I’m happy for yer, Stephen, and I bet yer dad – I’m sure Dr Knowles must be ever so pleased. Remember me to him, will yer? He was so good to us all, I’ll never forget what he –’ She lowered her voice and looked away.
‘I’ll tell him, Mabel. And don’t let them work you into the ground,’ he added, looking sharply into her face. ‘I know what these places are like, always short of staff and overflowing with hopeless cases –’
He broke off as Captain Drover came panting up to them and seized Mabel’s arm, giving Knowles a questioning look.
‘Sorry, Mabel, I got held up at the Citadel meeting – there’s so many troubled souls at a time like this,’ he apologised breathlessly.
‘Harry, yer remember Dr Knowles who looked after Albert when he was hurt in the Tower Hill riots?’
‘What? Oh, yes, o’ course – good evenin’, Dr Knowles. I see ye’re in the Royal Army Medical Corps.’ Harry’s face was flushed and he was still trying to get his breath back.
‘That’s right.’ Knowles smiled and held out his hand. ‘Though I’m still hoping I won’t be called upon!’
‘Stephen’s getting married, Harry.’
‘Gettin’ married? Ah, congratulations, doctor.’ There was a distinct warming of Harry’s voice as he pumped Stephen’s hand up and down.
‘Thanks, Captain – er –’
‘Drover.’
‘Yes, of course, Drover. Well, I’d better be off. Remember what I said, Mabel, and take good care of yourself. I’ll tell my father. Goodbye and good luck!’
As he disappeared into the surging crowds of uniformed and ununiformed men filling the station concourse, some with women hanging on to their arms, Mabel turned anxious eyes on her Salvation Army captain.
‘You won’t have to join up, will yer, Harry? Ye’re in uniform already.’
‘If I’m called on to fight for me country, Mabel, I’ll have to go along o’ the rest. But I hope it won’t come to that. Please, Lord, let it not come to that,’ he muttered half under his breath.
But it did. After Germany’s declaration of war against France, The Times thundered
that ‘If we at this critical juncture refuse to help our friend France, we shall be guilty of the grossest treachery’.
And now the rumours of war were everywhere, inside as well as outside the Infirmary. Prayers for peace were offered up from packed churches and Mabel’s brow was furrowed with uncertainty as she bathed Susan Graves’s hot, dry skin with cool water; the girl lay muttering in delirium, not expected to survive to set eyes on her child again.
But then on the following Tuesday, 4 August, Susan’s temperature dramatically fell and she was pronounced to be past the crisis, ‘over the worst’ as Sister put it, and Mabel Court rejoiced to think of the little girl who would not after all be left like Norah McLoughlin, without a relative in the world.
But her thankfulness was immediately followed by the news that Germany had invaded Belgium, and Britain had therefore kept her word and declared war on Germany.
It was as if a bombshell had exploded. Outside in the streets at midnight the shouting of the exuberant crowds could be heard in the wards and the next day men flocked to enlist for military service.
England was at war and nobody could foretell the outcome.
Chapter Two
‘IT’LL ALL BE over by Christmas.’
This seemed to be the general opinion as war fever swept the country and queues formed outside recruiting offices. The minimum age for enlistment was eighteen, but boys as young as fourteen were trying to pass themselves off as old enough to join the adventure of ‘Kitchener’s Army’, and enlisted men without uniforms marched, drilled and paraded in London’s parks, cheered on by a populace fired by patriotic fervour.
Stories of German atrocities in Belgium led to an unpleasant upsurge of hate for all things German, and the homes and shops of law-abiding citizens were attacked and burned by angry Londoners. Harry Drover told Mabel of a brother Salvationist who had caught the lash of it.
‘Poor Pieter Hummel, a bandsman of ours, got home from a meetin’ to find his house full o’ shoutin’ rabble, an’ Lili clutchin’ their little boy in her arms and beggin’ them –’
‘But why?’ asked Mabel in horror.
‘His name – Hummel. Anythin’ foreign-soundin’ must be an enemy, they reckon, even though he’s been a good neighbour an’ local baker for years.’
‘But what happened then? Did he manage to get rid of ’em?’
‘When they saw the Salvation Army crest on his cap, they started to slink away, shamefaced, like – but it’s shaken ’em up badly, Mabel. Pieter told me he’ll never forget seein’ the hate on the faces o’ those people. That’s not patriotism, that’s downright wickedness.’
Mabel knew that Harry had his own inner conflicts, his doubts about where his duty lay.
‘It’s seein’ that poster everywhere yer look,’ he told her. ‘Ol’ Kitchener pointin’ his finger straight at me. Oh, Mabel, if yer king an’ country need yer, how can any chap not enlist?’
Mabel looked up into his troubled eyes and squeezed his hand. ‘There’s hundreds gone to enlist, Harry, and they say it’ll all be over by next year, most likely. Just wait an’ see how things go.’
‘It’s the thought o’ killin’ another human bein’, Mabel, a brother man. Me own brother-in-law, Herbert Swayne, he don’t hold with the takin’ o’ life, not even in wartime. In fact, he says he’ll never join up, whatever happens.’
‘But he won’t have to, he’s a married man an’ they’ve got the two little boys!’
Harry shook his head and muttered, ‘All I hope for Ruby an’ the boys’ sake is that Herbert’ll have the sense to keep his mouth shut.’ There were already murmurings against objections to military service, and because it was known that the Quakers were opposed to the idea of men fighting and killing each other, for whatever reason, they sometimes found their meetings disrupted by shouts and jeers.
After much heart-searching and self-questioning, Captain Drover decided to enlist, though to Mabel’s infinite relief he was put on reserve and given a striped armband to wear.
‘Ye’re doing good work where you are, Captain Drover,’ he was told. ‘We’ve got you down as enlisted and ye’ll be called on later if the need arises.’
Mabel prayed that his services would never be needed. The other army – ‘God’s Army’ – was in greater need of men like her Harry, she believed. She knew that it helped him to be able to talk to her, though their meetings were briefer and fewer than ever. She seemed to be always hurrying to get back on duty or to beat the ten o’clock curfew when the hostel door was locked and latecomers had to go to the Infirmary’s front entrance where their names were taken and reported to Matron. So far Mabel had always managed to get in by the skin of her teeth, to the envy and admiration of her room-mates.
It was mid-September and Mabel had an evening off. In the shared bedroom she was pulling off her cap and cuffs when Norah McLoughlin came panting up the stairs half a minute later.
‘Isn’t it grand to be away from work for the evenin’, Mabel!’ she exclaimed eagerly. Both girls had been on duty since seven, with a half-hour break for the midday dinner. ‘Are ye comin’ up to St James’s Park to walk alongside the quality?’
‘Er, no – Harry’s callin’ for me, and we’re goin’ to a meeting at the Elephant an’ Castle, Norah, but ye’re very welcome to come along,’ answered Mabel, wriggling out of her uniform dress. Harry often asked if any of her friends would like to come to a Salvation Army gathering; a fair number of the probationers were regular churchgoers, and Norah said she had received ‘a good Catholic education’ from the Sisters of Mercy. She nearly always managed to attend Mass on Sundays at St George’s Roman Catholic Cathedral, within easy walking distance.
‘Sure, but ye’ll want to be togither, so ye will,’ she said with a little sigh. ‘I’ll take meself up to town and maybe find a nice fella for meself, who knows?’
‘Oh, be careful, Norah, there’s some rum characters around,’ warned Mabel quickly. The Irish girl was such an innocent and liked nothing better than to wander around the West End goggling at its endless attractions. She could be an easy prey to some smooth-talking man on the lookout for a quick pick-up, thought Mabel; a few flattering words, a few drinks, and a girl could find herself in a very awkward situation.
‘No, come along with Harry and me, Norah, ye’ll stand a better chance o’ meeting a decent chap than yer would wanderin’ round Leicester Square.’
Norah did not need further persuading. She took off her shoes and stockings to give her feet a brisk rub; they were tender after pounding up and down Men’s II all day. Mabel put on clean stockings and a pair of well-polished shoes with pointed toes she’d bought from a stall in the Cut. On went her high-buttoned blouse, navy skirt and jacket, and then the hat. There was only one small mirror on the wall, and the girls relied on each other to check that hair was securely pinned up and labels tucked away inside collars before carefully placing hats in position. Finally she pulled on her thin cotton gloves and smiled first at her reflection and then at her friend.
‘Ready, Norah?’
Norah had to remain Nurse McLoughlin for the evening. She pulled her black stockings back on and tied up her shoelaces, then adjusting her cap and smoothing down her grey uniform dress, she pulled her grey flannel cloak around her shoulders and checked that the ‘tail’ of her cap was hanging outside it. She was ready.
Mabel smiled and said how nice she looked. Norah had a summer dress but no coat now that the evenings were getting shorter and chillier. Her cloak was warm, but was not to be worn with anything other than her uniform dress and cap. The only thing missing was the apron.
‘Yer look better in yer uniform than I look in this old outfit,’ Mabel assured her. ‘Come on, Harry said he’d meet me outside at a quarter to six.’
Just as they were about to leave, an urgent hammering on the door made them both jump back in alarm.
‘Mother o’ God, who’s that?’ gasped Norah. Mabel opened the door, to be confronted by two flushed faces. O
ne was the staff nurse on Women’s I, the other was Nurse Smith.
‘What’s up?’ Mabel asked sharply.
‘Yer may well ask, Court!’ replied the staff nurse grimly. ‘Oh, my, ye’re in trouble, and no mistake – ye’re to come down straight away.’
Mabel’s heart thumped as she thought back over the day on duty and wondered what she could have done, or failed to do, that had landed her in this sudden disfavour. She held her chin up as she looked the two messengers straight in the eye. ‘What am I supposed to’ve done?’
‘Don’t hang about, Court, ye’d better come down now, this minute, an’ explain yerself to Sister Mattock – she’s out for yer blood!’
Did Nurse Smith give a sly little smile at seeing Nurse Court in trouble? Mabel thought she saw the girl’s mouth twitch and her own expression hardened. ‘Mattock? I haven’t heard her name before – what ward’s she on?’
‘Never mind what she’s on, Court, just get down an’ face ’er, or she’ll have yer guts for garters – in fact, she will anyway. I wouldn’t be in your shoes for a fortune.’
‘All right, staff nurse, ye’ve made yerself clear, I’ll come down an’ see what’s troublin’ the good woman,’ said Mabel. ‘Though if it’s as bad as yer say, I wonder she hasn’t gone straight to Matron. Where is she?’
‘Downstairs in the dining-room – they’re all agog, she’s in such a temper.’
Mabel turned to Norah. ‘Excuse me, Nurse McLoughlin, but if yer see Captain Drover, will yer tell him I got held up for a bit?’
‘Sure I will, Mab— Nurse Court,’ faltered Norah.
The two nurses clattered downstairs with Mabel following closely and Norah lagging further behind. If Mabel was sacked, what in God’s name would she do? It didn’t bear thinking about.
On reaching the ground-floor passage Mabel squared her shoulders and marched into the dining-room.