by Maggie Holt
‘All these boys are my brothers, Mabel, and their hearts are brave, it is not their manners I care about. But the thought of killing a fellow man troubles me far more. I think of you every night my own dear Girl and I see your sweet face in my dreams like a Guardian Angel.’
Which gave Mabel a sense of unease, knowing herself to be all too human.
She no longer had to wait for weeks on end to get news of Albert. Norah’s reply to his Christmas card had begun a regular correspondence which reflected in Norah’s eager steps towards the letter rack in the diningroom each day. Sometimes there would be nothing for a month or more, but then two or three scrawled, well-thumbed letters would arrive together, sending Nurse McLoughlin into a seventh heaven of delight. Mabel now learned more of her brother’s whereabouts at sea, mostly around the Mediterranean. He was to spend the whole of 1915 away from home waters, but they always got news of him sooner or later, and Norah’s letters were apparently as eagerly looked out for as his own. Mabel’s feelings about this romance remained mixed, but she could not grudge her friend’s newly found happiness. It was wartime and didn’t she know it! Nobody knew what the future might bring.
‘What shall we do this afternoon, Norah – test each other on Basic Surgical Nursing?’
‘Sure, an’ won’t me eyes close shut as soon as I lay me head down!’ Nurse McLoughlin sighed wearily. Both probationers were off duty until five, and had been exchanging stories about what had happened in theatre that morning and on Men’s I where chronic bronchitis was taking its winter toll. And inevitably their talk turned to Harry and Albert.
‘Don’t I think o’ yer brother all the time, God love him, wonderin’ what he’s doin’, ivery hour o’ the day,’ confessed the Irish girl.
‘I know, Norah, I know. Same with me – him an’ Harry both. Come on, we’d better test ourselves on reasons for gastric surgery. I’ll ask yer the first question –’
There was a sudden brisk knock at the door and in sailed Maud Ling; she had come up the stairs from the side entrance.
‘Maudie! Ye’d’ve copped it if Mrs Bullock’d seen yer!’ cried Mabel, amazed at her friend’s cheek.
‘Nah! I’d talk me way rahnd any ol’ ’ousekeeper! Listen, it’s a lovely day, a real breff o’ spring, so what’re you two doin’ layin’ abaht in this ’ole? C’mon, let’s go up over Lambeff Bridge for an airin’.’
‘But Maudie, we’re whacked out – an’ we’re on again at five,’ protested Mabel.
‘Then maybe we can find a nice little tearoom to ’ave a cuppa an’ a bit o’ cake, eh?’ asked Maud and saw their eyes brighten. ‘C’mon, I ain’t takin’ no for an answer – what you two need’s a change o’ scene – pooh, I can smell the pong o’ the wards on yer!’
Within twenty minutes the three girls, two in their nurses’ uniforms, were standing on Lambeth Bridge, now so badly rusted that it was open only to pedestrians; they could look up and down the river where the keen February breeze carried a whiff of tar, timber and the indefinable tang of the docks and cargoes being unloaded in the Pool of London. Norah’s misty blue eyes gazed downriver as if to follow her thoughts out to the open seas and wherever the SS Christina was ploughing her dangerous way. She felt Maud’s touch on her arm.
‘Time to move on, gal, an’ go for that cuppa.’
Norah heard the understanding in the light remark. ‘Sure an’ it’s a heart o’ gold yer friend’s got, takin’ me on along o’ yeself,’ she murmured to Mabel as they followed Maud towards the north bank and up Horseferry Road, and Mabel realised that her childhood friendship with Maud Ling had become a trio with Norah McLoughlin; their three lives were to become more closely interwoven in the dark days to come.
In the up-market tea shop that Maud chose, her voice rose above the genteel tinkle of bone china, calling for toasted buttered muffins. She took charge of the teapot, and was about to pour out when her eye fell on the two women sitting at the next table; the younger one held a baby on her lap and they were accompanied by a bonny little boy of about two.
‘Don’t look now, Mabel,’ said Maud holding up the teapot with its spout poised in mid-air. ‘But ain’t that yer pal Ada Clay?’
Mabel of course turned round at once. ‘Ada? Yes! That’s her, Ada Hodges now, and that’s her mother – and that must be little Arthur, named after his dad, an’ another baby! Oh, it’s been so long since we saw each other – I must speak to her!’
By this time they had been seen and recognised, and Mabel leaned across to greet her old friend. There were smiles, introductions and mutual regrets at having lost touch.
‘Yer know Maud Ling and this is my friend Norah McLoughlin who’s trainin’ with me at Booth Street Infirmary. Norah, this is my friend Ada and her mother Mrs Clay. Ada an’ me worked together at the Hallam Road Babies’ Mission after I left school, and Maud an’ me went to her weddin’ – an’ now ye’ve got this dear little boy, Ada, and – is this a little girl?’
Young Mrs Hodges was only too pleased to show off her baby girl Jenny aged four months, and smiled fondly at her son and daughter. She had put on weight and had turned from a rather giddy girl into a complacent young matron who spoke with a more genteel accent than Mabel remembered from their days at Hallam Road.
‘I heard you’d gone in for nursing, Mabel, but I didn’t think it would be at a Poor Law infirmary – how awful! Are you still walking out with that young Salvation Army man? My poor Arthur has to work terribly long hours at Lipton’s because so many of the young single men have been called up. He hardly ever sees the children, which is such a pity as he dotes on them so much.’
‘Captain Drover – that’s my Harry – he’s at Aldershot, trainin’ to be sent out overseas,’ Mabel answered when she could get a word in. ‘And my brother Albert’s in the navy. And Maud’s young man’s in the flying corps, learnin’ to drive those aeroplanes.’
‘Oh, how simply dreadful, Mabel! Thank goodness my Arthur couldn’t possibly be spared from his work, quite apart from his responsibilities as a family man, of course. My dad says it’s all very well for the young, single men to go in for heroics, but –’
She suddenly caught sight of Maud’s unsmiling stare and looked a little confused. ‘We try to do our bit for the war effort, make-do-and-mend and bring-and-buy sales – don’t we, Mother? My friend Mrs Spearmann has started a Ladies’ Committee to provide comforts for the soldiers serving in France, and that keeps us well occupied. Did you know we’ve moved to Rectory Grove in Clapham? Arthur thought we ought to have a larger house for the children.’ She simpered and lowered her eyes. ‘I don’t suppose we shall stop at two! If only this wretched war was over! Anyway, you must come to Rectory Grove, Mabel, and bring your friend. Actually we’d better be getting along now, but it’s been so nice to see you again – and Maud, of course.’
‘Yeah, well, I reckon it’s time we was gettin’ along an’ all, Mabel, seein’ as you an’ Norah are on at five an’ I’m doin’ me stuff at the Canterbury tonight,’ said Maud drily. She rose and beckoned to the waitress for the bill, leaving Mabel to take leave of Ada while Norah, who had been quite overwhelmed by this charming, well-dressed young mother who was a friend of Mabel’s, bent down to young Arthur and held out a hand to him.
‘And aren’t ye the fine little smilin’ fella?’ she said softly, at which he seized her hand in his chubby fists and shouted, ‘You go home wiff me!’ The ensuing laughter from his mother and grandmother trailed off as Maud swept out of the teashop with the two nurses in tow.
‘Well! I’d say Ada’s gorn up in the world and left ’er ol’ friends be’ind,’ she declared as they hurried back across the bridge. ‘There she is wiv everyfing a woman can ask for, a nice ’ome, not short o’ the ready, two little kids and an’ ’usband comin’ ’ome to ’er ev’ry night – an’ all she can do is look dahn ’er nose an’ moan.’
Putting on a would-be refined accent, she drawled, ‘If only this wretched war was ovah! My poor Arfah has to work such frightf
ully long hours, yer know – but we try to do our bit, don’t we, Mother, deah – knittin’ comforts for the poor bleedin’ soljahs!’
Mabel shrugged and said nothing. What was there to say? Her life and Ada’s had taken different directions, in the same way that Alice’s and Daisy’s lives had changed. She glanced at Norah who smiled and said how much she’d enjoyed the treat.
And then all of a sudden at the beginning of March Harry appeared again and told his sweetheart that he had forty-eight hours’ embarkation leave, and could she come to tea at Falcon Terrace on Sunday? An invitation from Mrs Drover could not possibly be refused, though Mabel had great difficulty in changing her Sunday shift, and was made to feel a thorough nuisance by the rest of the staff. She arrived at the Drovers’ at four o’clock and found the whole family gathered for tea, including Ruby and Herbert Swayne and their boys. Harry was bound for Southampton the next morning and was being sent out to Egypt, of all places, for desert training at Alexandria.
Mabel felt tired and tense after trying to look after too many patients in an overcrowded ward; her head ached and her period had just begun. She did her best to behave in a polite and helpful way, offering to help Mrs Drover lay the table in the front parlour and set out the bread-and-butter to eat with tinned salmon, a special treat that had to be divided up into eight small portions. There were also home-made scones with jam and a currant cake. Harry said grace and they sat down to eat a meal for which none of them except the little boys had much appetite, though Mabel praised it all and forced herself to eat a little of everything. Ruth helped her mother wash up afterwards while Mabel and Harry sat awkwardly on the settee, unable to tell each other of the turmoil in their hearts – trying to hide their dread of the parting that lay ahead under a thin veneer of small-talk. It was a relief when they all walked off together to the Sunday meeting at the Clapham Citadel which began at half past seven and went on until nine. Mabel sat with the Drovers and joined in the prayers and hymn-singing without any real sense of the words; she found herself yawning in the middle of a new young brother’s testimony – and felt Mrs Drover’s eye upon her.
When Harry abruptly rose and said he had to leave before the end of the service it caused consternation to his family.
‘But we’re having special prayers said for yer, son – yer can’t just get up and walk out!’
‘I won’t be late back, Mother, but I need to talk to Mabel. For God’s sake, she’s the woman I’m goin’ to marry – if I come back!’ And without further excuse or apology he took Mabel’s arm and almost pulled her out of the Citadel, leaving John and Doris Drover open-mouthed.
Mabel clung to his arm as they walked quickly back to Booth Street. It was raining, but neither of them heeded the icy drops bombarding their faces like needles; Harry’s outburst had expressed what they had both been feeling and Mabel was almost relieved. It was as if the truth had been spoken for the first time on this fraught Sunday evening, and when they stood together in the familiar dark alcove near to the door of the nurses’ hostel, she asked him to tell her again what he knew about his destination and what was to happen there.
‘They don’t give us many details, but there’s a big landin’ o’ troops goin’ on in Turkey, and we’re to follow on after the first wave,’ he told her, adding in a rush of words, ‘Mabel, my love, I’ll never be ready to kill men. The thought o’ shootin’ a man and runnin’ him through with a bayonet point – how can I ask the Lord to help me do that?’
She heard the note of desperation in his voice and wished with all her heart that she could give him a satisfactory answer. Instead, she put her hand in her pocket and brought out a little polished metal mirror.
‘Look, I got this for yer, Harry, and on the other side it’s got the Lord’s Prayer engraved on it, d’ye see? Keep it in yer top pocket, over yer heart, an’ I’ll pray that the Lord’ll show yer what to do when the time comes. Think o’ me, my love.’
‘Oh, I do, I do, dearest Mabel, all the time – every waking hour –’
He groaned and buried his face against her neck. She felt his breath warm on her skin and also felt his fear like something tangible between them. Was there anything, anything at all that she could do to help him?
And without him saying a word, she knew that there was: she knew what would send him off to the war with fresh courage in his heart. And that was to let him take her, to possess her body as a husband honours his wife.
But of course it was forbidden to them. Fornication was a serious sin – and moreover, a sin that might have dire consequences; and in any case, there was no time, no place. There was so little she could offer him as they stood in the shadow of the Infirmary – only perhaps an extra closeness, a brief moment of intimacy such as they had not had before . . .
Breathlessly she took off her gloves and unbuttoned her jacket. And then the front of her blouse. The cotton camisole beneath could be pushed off one shoulder and lowered.
‘Harry . . . Harry, my love,’ she whispered, taking his hand and guiding it inside to the curve of her right breast. She felt him cover it with his palm and gasped at the sensation, the hand of a man – the man she loved – cradling her soft warm flesh as they stood against the grey wall. She heard his long-drawn-out sigh and felt his mouth seeking hers while she put her arms around him to hide their secret contact from any onlookers; but they seemed to be alone in the dark and the rain, as if there were only the two of them left in the whole world. Their bodies pressed together and she felt the hardness that was his erection, the proof of his desire for her; on previous occasions when this had happened, he had moved a little away, or had turned to one side – out of respect, or so as not to alarm her – but now he let it thrust against her as if wanting to let her know of his agonising need. Offering her open mouth to his long, devouring kiss, she lowered her right hand to touch him through the layers of material that separated skin from skin, and felt him tremble from head to foot.
At length she had to take her mouth from his to draw breath, and it was he who spoke first.
‘Thank yer, Mabel. Thank yer, dearest girl. I’ll remember this all the time while I’m away.’
‘Think o’ me here, Harry, prayin’ for yer every day,’ she said shakily – ’an’ thankin’ God ye’re not goin’ to them dreadful trenches!’
She was right. It wasn’t the trenches of France that awaited him, but the Gallipoli Peninsula overlooking the straits of the Dardanelles.
Chapter Four
THERE WAS A sudden stir at the bottom of Men’s II. From behind the screen where she was changing a dressing, Mabel heard the patients’ voices upraised in anger and indignation.
‘Hey, they’re shoutin’ summat dahn in the street, summat abaht a big ship the Jerries’ve gorn an’ sunk!’
‘Shut yer marf, Grandad, an’ listen!’
‘Wot’s ’e sayin’?’
‘Bloody Jerries blew it up, whacking great liner wiv ’undreds aboard, lot of ’em Yanks – wivin’ sight o’ shore, they was.’
‘Did yer say Yanks?’
‘Broad daylight, ’e says.’
‘Bastards.’
‘D’j’ear that, nurse?’
Mabel had indeed heard and her heart missed a beat, thinking as always of Albert. The sinking of the Cunard liner Lusitania was a terrible reminder of the danger to all shipping, and as the details became known she shared in the general horror at its loss, along with twelve hundred passengers and crew members. Comparisons were inevitably made with the Titanic disaster three years earlier, but this was no tragic accident; this was a brutal act of aggression in home waters, just off the Irish coast on the last lap of a journey from New York to Liverpool.
The terror of the submarines, the German U-boats, had begun. All merchantmen would be under constant threat from the unseen enemy, to add to the fears of a nation already reeling from the loss of a hundred thousand men in France.
Mabel found herself suddenly waking in the night from dreams in which she was fl
oundering in a sea of wreckage and Albert’s drowned face was looking up through the water; or Harry was being run through by an enemy bayonet while throwing his own aside. She would wake gasping and choking from the toils of nightmare, and once she found Norah McLoughlin at her side, whispering soothing words.
‘Ssh, ssh, Mabel, ‘tis only a dream ye’re havin’ – don’t worry, darlin’, there’s nothin’ to be afraid of, ye’re here in yer bed, an’ it’s meself beside ye.’
Mabel groaned and said she was sorry, though she almost wept with relief to find that it had only been a dream.
And there were other dreams of a very different kind. Before she fell asleep one night she lay repeating to herself the words of Harry’s letter written from Cairo where he was training with men from Australia and New Zealand. They were housed in old cavalry barracks, and he tried to describe the awesome sense of the past as morning broke over the Pyramids: ‘Dearest Mabel, you can’t imagine the desert at dawn, so cool and quiet and still. And that’s when your closest to me my own dear girl.’
In sleep she was back in his arms when he had kissed her goodbye and pressed his body against hers. And in her dream Mabel felt herself to be truly possessed by him, his weight on top of her, flesh straining against flesh, his hands upon her body, and more than his hands: that male part of him that she had never seen entered her in the union of man and woman, and she cried out in joy – and woke.
The room was silent except for the breathing of the other three girls; Davies was snoring lightly. Thank heaven none of them had heard – if there had been anything to hear. Mabel was a virgin and had been no closer to Harry than when he had kissed her and touched her with such longing, but she could well imagine the sexual union that preceded the conception of babies. This nocturnal fantasy had given her a sensation she had never known before, both pleasurable and disturbing: she lay on her back, panting softly as it subsided, her right hand between her legs. Only then did she realise what she had been doing in her sleep and she blushed for shame, remembering ‘Family Doctor’ booklets with dark warnings to young people about dangerous habits that they should avoid, usually directed at growing boys.