by Maggie Holt
Like the trouble at the Rectory where Mrs Drummond did nothing but cry because the eldest boy, Cedric, had been conscripted to go to the war like Harry and Albert and Gerald. Lucy cried about Cedric, too, and had nothing to say to Daisy about the things they’d been talking about lately: the business of growing up and what happened to girls when they were twelve or thirteen or fourteen. A lot of secret whispering went on among the girls at school, about how you got bigger and rounder in the chest, like Alice, and hair suddenly appeared under your arms and down there where you did number ones and number twos, things that were never mentioned out loud. And there was something else that happened to girls as they got older and bigger: Aunt Nell had spoken to her rather awkwardly about monthly periods and what had to be done to conceal the mysterious flow of blood. Daisy already knew from Alice that ladies had to wear strips of cloth between their legs, attached to belts round their waists, rather like babies’ napkins, when these ‘periods’ were on, and that it was in some way to do with what happened later on when you got married and had babies. Daisy thought it sounded very messy. And there were some silly, giggly girls at school who whispered unbelievably vulgar things to each other about how and why babies began to grow. Daisy had no wish to hear the rude words they said, yet at the same time she felt left out of some secret knowledge. Her teacher said she was a very bright girl and she usually came top of the class at the end of term; yet silly girls at the bottom of the class seemed to know more than she did about certain things. It was no good asking Alice who was twittery and cross these days because Gerald was in France as an air pilot, and hadn’t been home since the middle of March and now it was June. And Mabel hadn’t been to see them at all this year, though it had been lovely when Norah came for the week in April and Albert had brought her all those presents. Now that’s what being in love should be like, thought Daisy, not giggly and rude like the things whispered about by those girls at school.
She picked up her sunbonnet and wandered out into the lane which continued southwards over rich farmland owned by the Savage family of Houghton Hall. Fields and woodlands lay shimmering in the blaze of a summer afternoon; the ripening corn was turning from green to gold, and fine dairy cows stood motionless in lush meadows. Daisy had heard the cuckoo that morning, but now all the birdsong was hushed, and the only sound was the tiny whirring of innumerable insects in the grass and on the still air.
Suddenly the quiet was broken by the clatter of a motor car engine, and Daisy stepped over to the side of the lane. Into sight came a dusty cloud containing the open-topped car from the Hall, all polished metal bodywork and leather upholstery. Young Sir Guy Savage was at the wheel and conscientiously sounded his horn long before he reached the young girl idling beside the lane. The lady beside him lowered her dark head and put a hand up to steady her hat, which was tied in place with a strip of white muslin as a motoring-veil, essential protection against wind and dust. But Daisy knew the blue flower-trimmed hat and, with a shock of surprise, realised the lady was her sister Alice who clearly did not want to be recognised.
The car roared off up the lane in its accompanying cloud and disappeared around the next bend. Alice hadn’t said anything to Daisy about going out for a drive, but then Alice didn’t say much about anything to her sister these days. Perhaps old Lady Savage had invited her up to tea at the Hall with those two daughters. What did it matter, anyway? If only Mabel would come to see her again! But Mabel was always so busy at that infirmary, and she and Norah were also in the middle of their final examinations; Albert had gone back to the dangers of the sea, which must be a terrible worry for Norah, just as Mabel worried about Harry. Nothing was the same as it used to be and all because of this horrible war. It was supposed to have been a great adventure and everybody had been so excited at the beginning, but now it was spoiling everything, and Daisy wished that it could all be over and done with.
‘I thought you were at Pinehurst this afternoon, Alice,’ said Mrs Somerton at teatime. ‘But Kate says you haven’t been there since Monday.’
Daisy’s ears pricked up as she spread strawberry jam on her bread-and-butter.
‘I took a walk over by Parr’s Wood, Aunt Nell. Er – I thought I’d call at those cottages on the corner there, where the – er – what’s the name of the people –’
‘The Potters?’
‘Yes, that’s it, the Potters. There’s been trouble there this spring – the children have had whooping-cough and I thought I’d enquire how they were.’
Elinor Somerton frowned. ‘Mary Potter’s girl had a cough during the winter, Alice, but it’s all right now, she’s back at school. But only last week they heard that the eldest boy, Mary’s brother Billy, has been killed in France. Mary’s heartbroken and somehow or other she’s got to comfort the poor old parents. That’s the trouble at Potters’ cottages and I’m surprised you didn’t know about it. I’m sure I told you.’
Aunt Nell’s tone held a question and she looked straight at her eldest niece.
‘Er – yes, well, Aunt Nell, I didn’t actually reach the cottage. The sun was so hot and I had a headache, so I thought I’d rest a while in the shade by Parr’s Wood, and then I came home.’
Alice spoke confusedly and looked flustered. When Daisy looked up she caught Aunt Nell’s eye and blushed crimson, just as if she had told a lie, not Alice. In the awkward silence that followed Mrs Somerton pressed her lips together to stop herself from saying more.
‘I needed to be alone by myself, Aunt Nell. For heaven’s sake, I needed to think,’ said Alice irritably, using attack as the best form of defence.
‘Very well, Alice. I realise how difficult it must be for you, with Gerald away in France,’ said Mrs Somerton quietly, though Daisy felt that she would have questioned Alice further if they had been alone.
Sitting out in the central courtyard on that same sunny June afternoon, Mabel and Norah were joined by Maud, who had bought a chocolate cake for them and begged for a cup of tea in return. She sat beside them on the bench and fanned herself with a newspaper.
‘So, that’s your exams over, girls. When d’yer get the results?’
‘Couple o’ weeks,’ replied Mabel wearily. ‘And either we’ll pass or we won’t. Either way, we’ll be stayin’ on here for the time bein’.’
‘Phew, i’n’t it ’ot?’ Maud went on. ‘Wonder ’ow the boys are likin’ it over there? Must be better ’n that rain an’ mud they ’ad all winter. Alex reckons the big push is comin’ up any day.’
Mabel nodded. ‘That’s what everybody’s sayin’.’
‘Harry an’ all?’
‘Harry never writes about that sort o’ thing in his letters.’
‘Well, they’re not allowed to, are they? What does ’e say, then, apart from the love an’ stuff?’
Mabel took the latest letter from her pocket. ‘Not a lot, really, Maudie.’ She opened it out and read a few sentences; there was only one page. ‘The men are in good heart, and I am full of admiration for their courage and cheerfulness,’ he had written.
There is a great sense of fellowship in a common purpose, and we are sure that the Lord will give us victory. The French have suffered heavy losses at Verdun, but so have the Germans. We always look forward to getting our rations, and it is funny to see bacon and eggs frying in a pan at the side of a trench, and water boiling in a billycan for tea!
Mabel paused, and Maud raised her eyebrows. ‘Ooh, don’t ’e write a lovely letter! Sounds as if it’s come straight aht of a book!’
‘The next bit’s just for me alone,’ said Mabel with a shy smile, for Harry had gone on to write, ‘I carry the memory with me that we share, my dearest girl, and it never fails to renew my strength. You are ever in my thoughts and prayers, as I know I’m in yours.’
‘Sure he’s a grand writer, better than Albert for the spellin’, but they all have their own ways o’ sayin’ things and isn’t it grateful that we are to get their letters!’ said Norah with feeling.
Mabel smil
ed. ‘He says, “Give my kindest regards to your good friends Maud and Norah and say I thank the Lord for them. And my love to Daisy and all at Belhampton.”’
‘Well, ’e can’t say fairer than that, can ‘e? It’s more ‘n I get from Alex,’ said Maud, though Mabel’s impression was that the letter withheld more than it told. Corporal Drover’s letters from the Front, so eagerly read, were full of praise for the men who lived and fought in the trenches behind the battle lines, and Mabel treasured every word, yet they were curiously unreal; apart from his brief, loving personal messages, they told her nothing of his true feelings about the warfare as he was now experiencing it.
‘The staff nurse on Men’s I showed me a letter from her young man, an’ he told her that the worst part was the noise o’ shellfire all day an’ sometimes all night as well,’ Mabel told them with an anxious frown. ‘He said it got on their nerves even more than the lice. Y’ know, it must be far worse out there than any of us can understand.’
‘’Arry don’t want to upset yer, Mabel, that’s why ’e don’t go into details,’ said Maudie. ‘I mean, d’ye tell ’im abaht the latest Zeppelin raids?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, the great monsters, don’t they scare the livin’ daylights out o’ me!’ Norah shuddered, and indeed it was true that Mabel told Harry little about the terrifying raids when Londoners looked up to see the cigar-shaped airships humming in the night sky, manoeuvring to avoid the searchlight beams. Their bombs left random scars across the city and the last raid had set a row of warehouses ablaze down by the docks.
‘So there y’are, Mabel, yer both try to save each other from worryin’,’ Maud said reasonably, and turned to ask Norah for news of Albert. The terrible naval battle of Jutland at the end of May had left the sea awash with bodies and both the British and German dreadnoughts had claimed victory after a night of mutual destruction. Mabel had shared Norah’s thankfulness that Albert was in the Med on the Galway Castle, well away from the North Sea – but the loss of over six thousand British sailors had shaken the nation, and Norah wept as she knelt and prayed for the bereaved families. The tragedy had helped her to put into perspective a more personal matter that she had to bear: a painfully divided loyalty as an Irishwoman. The Easter Rebellion in Dublin against British rule had been forcibly crushed within twenty-four hours and a Royal Navy gunboat had shelled the rebel headquarters from the River Liffey. All the leaders who had signed the proclamation of independence were arrested and executed, not even being allowed burial in consecrated ground. Anti-Irish feeling was bitter at a time when England was fighting for her life in a bloody European war and Norah had been subjected to pointedly harsh remarks against her countrymen. She had remained silent, saying nothing about centuries of British oppression, nor of the letter she had received from Mother Patrick, telling of the death of the Mayor of Cork while on hunger strike, and the British troops now occupying the city; but now she allowed herself the relief of confiding in her two dearest friends.
‘The fact is that I’m here now, y’see, and not over there. I’ve thrown in me lot wid the English for better or worse, an’ I’m goin’ to marry an Englishman. If I was to stand up for me own people, there’s them who’d tell me to go back there – an’ I can’t go back, not now.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘I just hope the Sisters o’ Mercy don’t think the less o’ me for turnin’ English. Mother Patrick says there’s no love lost between the Cork people an’ the British troops keepin’ the peace there. Sure an’ that’s not my fault now, is it?’
‘Of course it isn’t, Norah, but we’re sorry, just the same.’ Mabel felt for her friend’s divided heart in much the same way that she sympathised with Ruby Swayne who was finding life very difficult as the wife of a conscientious objector. Matthew and Mark had to endure ridicule and ostracism at school, and Ruby had been shouted at in the street and spat upon by a woman who had taken to drinking after her son had been killed in action. She told Mabel that Herbert had lost weight and looked wretched after three months of solitary confinement and a diet of mainly bread and water at Wandsworth Military Prison. His fingers were rough and sore from sewing mailbags, though he had refused to stuff canvas bags with cork to make make fenders for ships.
‘He’s to go before another tribunal at the end o’ June, Mabel, and I pray to God that he’ll agree to join up as a non-combatant,’ Ruby confessed, though what the Drovers thought about their son-in-law’s stance they kept to themselves, but the strain showed.
Norah brewed the tea for the three of them, and brought it out on a tray with a knife to cut the cake. Maud grinned as she raised her cup. ‘Guess what, girls, I’m in the chorus o’ Chu Chin Chow – and understudyin’ for Ali Baba’s wife and ’is son’s little bit o’ fluff, Marjanah. So ye’ll ’ave to come an’ see me doin’ me stuff at ’is Majesty’s – we open at the end of August – an’ please Gawd, let the boys be ’ome to see it ‘fore it finishes. Goin’ to be good. Cheers!’
She gulped her tea with relish and held out her cup for a refill.
‘I’m afraid there’s no gin, Maudie.’
Maud gave her friend a sharp look. ‘So? That don’t worry me, gal, I can take it or leave it. An’ besides, I can’t ’ave me little bruvver gettin’ into them sort of ’abits already.’
Mabel smiled and poured out another cup for her. When Teddy Ling had begun to turn up more and more frequently at his sister’s lodgings, she had flatly refused to give him money and ordered him back to the Waifs and Strays home. But Teddy, now fifteen and a bright lad, had found himself a variety of jobs – first as a newsboy, then a messenger in a newspaper office, where he made himself both popular and indispensable. And when he moved into a tiny room at the top of the same lodging house as Maud, he used her gas ring to heat water and do his simple cooking, sometimes for them both. He was there for her when she got in late at night from wherever she was playing and he let himself out in the mornings while she was still sleeping. Maud complained that he got in her way and was a big responsibility, she never knew what he was up to, and suppose Alex was to appear on the doorstep? But she had also admitted that she quite liked having ‘the little bleeder’ around, and Mabel suspected that Teddy had noticed his sister’s gin-drinking habit and that was the reason he had moved in with her. The brother and sister had been through bad times together as children, and the bond between them was deeper than might appear on the surface; when Maud complained that she had to keep an eye on him, Mabel felt pretty sure that Teddy might be watching her too. And that, she thought, was all to the good.
‘Any ideas abaht what ye’re goin’ to do when they tell yer ye’ve passed?’ asked Maud.
Mabel and Norah exchanged a look. They had already talked about this and come to no conclusion so far.
‘Matron wants us to stay on as staff nurses and says we’ll be in line for Sisters’ posts this time next year if we do,’ began Mabel without enthusiasm, but Norah cut in quickly.
‘And she’s been so good to us, it’d be a sin to let her down, so it would.’
‘But Mrs Spearmann wants me to go to the Midway Babies’ Home as Assistant Matron to Mrs Lovell –’
‘Cor!’ Maud was impressed. ‘That’s pretty quick promotion, ain’t it? An’ ye’ve always wanted to be wiv children. Are yer goin’ for it?’
‘Oh, Maudie, I don’t know. I went there on me half-day last week and it always breaks me heart to see ’em, though Mrs Spearmann’s done a lot to brighten the place up. They’re not exactly sick children, poor little lambs, just short o’ lovin’ – and it’d be good trainin’ for runnin’ a Salvation Army children’s refuge when Harry and me – oh, whenever this wicked war’s over. I just can’t seem to see me way ahead at all.’ Mabel shook her head helplessly.
‘Nobody can, darlin’,’ soothed Norah. ‘An’ shouldn’t we stay here an’ wait for our dear men to come home before we think o’ movin’? An’ stay together wid each other,’ she added in a lower tone, for she dreaded separation from Mabel.
Maud
glanced from one to the other and saw how tired they both looked, older than their years. She nodded. ‘That’s right, if yer can’t make yer minds up, better stay put till yer can. Only trouble is, ye’re sloggin’ yerselves into the grahnd ’ere, that’s what worries me.’
‘I got a week’s holiday comin’ up in July,’ said Mabel, brightening a little. ‘It’s been such a long time since I last saw Daisy an’ the family. Oh, wouldn’t I just love to take half a dozen little mites from the Midway for a holiday in the country!’
‘Didn’t yer say there was one poor little gal there ’oo’d wet’er drawers, an’ yer wished yer could take ’er ’ome wiv yer?’ asked Maud.
‘Yes, dear little Mary.’ Mabel nodded, brightening. ‘There’s a bit o’ good news about her now, at least I hope so. Yer know I told yer Mrs Spearmann’s been askin’ friends o’ hers to invite children to tea with ’em, to give ’em a treat – well, Mary got taken out to tea with these two spinster sisters who live together, quite well off, said they wanted to do somethin’ for the war effort, an’ Mrs Spearmann told ’em that this was one way o’ doin’ it. An’ now Mary goes to stay with ’em overnight and they’ve really taken to the poor little soul.’
‘Go on! D’yer think they might take ’er on? Adopt ’er, like?’
‘Who knows? It seems they’ve got this maid, Kitty, who’s about eighteen and came from an orphanage herself – she loves lookin’ after Mary. Mrs Spearmann says it’s changed all their lives, an’ she’s ever so pleased ’cause it was her idea in the first place.’