Belle had also imagined that being ‘in reserve’ meant resting up, but according to David that wasn’t so. They were kept very busy, training, moving supplies around, improving trenches, burying the dead, repairing the barbed wire, taking ammunition to where it was needed, along with washing and mending their uniforms.
Jimmy had touched lightly on things like lice, mud, soaking uniforms, rats and the state of the latrines ever since he finished his training back in 1915, but it had always been in a casual way, as if these things didn’t bother him that much. But the drivers here who had all done a stint at some time collecting the wounded from dressing stations were more graphic about these horrors. One described to Belle how the men were almost driven mad by lice and would run a lighted candle down the seams of their uniforms to burn them off. He said their bodies were covered in bites which often became infected. She heard how the thick mud the soldiers had to wade through was often mixed with excrement from the latrines and even body parts from men who had died there. Rats were said to be as big as cats and overran the trenches, and so even a fairly minor injury could easily become gangrenous and result in amputation.
On Easter Monday, 9 April, when the battle at Arras had begun, there had been the further trials of sleet and snow to contend with. The wounded who were coming in daily spoke of tanks being bogged down in the thick mud, of pack mules falling over and drowning in it, and many of the wounded often couldn’t drag themselves out of the mud so they died there too.
Jimmy was billeted in a barn and wrote more about having a drink or a plate of egg and chips in an estaminet than about the conditions out there in low-lying marshy ground, but it was clearly only a matter of time before his regiment would be sent into the battle. Knowing now what that would entail, Belle found it hard to pen bright, cheerful letters to him, as day after day she was seeing what could well happen to him.
Vera was excited by the imminent arrival of her two brothers who had joined the Anzacs and were on their way here from New Zealand. They were called Tony and ‘Spud’ and she just laughed when Belle asked her about the nickname. But along with the excitement that she might get a chance to see them, even if only briefly, she was also afraid they would be sent directly to the front as Canadians and Australians had been.
Sally, Maud and Honor all had brothers or cousins here, and Belle had noticed that although they said little about them, they discreetly checked the casualty lists every day. There appeared to be an unspoken agreement amongst everyone that you controlled your anxiety about relatives at the front. Henry, one of the drivers, saw his nephew posted as missing, presumed dead soon after she and Miranda arrived here. Belle had seen Henry standing behind the hut, head bowed and shoulders heaving, yet he jumped into his ambulance when the bell rang and continued to work all day as normal. Sally said in her usual practical manner that remaining busy was the best way to deal with grief.
But even if all the nurses, drivers, orderlies, doctors and other personnel at the hospital managed to hold themselves in check, the relatives who arrived from England to see sons or husbands who weren’t expected to live could not control their grief. Day after day the girls saw these people arrive at the hospital. They stood out from the work force not only by their civilian clothes, but by their strained and bewildered expressions. Most of them had never been out of England before, they couldn’t speak any French, and they knew too that their son or husband was going to die. Often they arrived too late and he was already dead. The nursing staff were always sympathetic and did their best to offer some comfort, but it seemed even more tragic that those poor people had come so far yet had no chance to say a proper goodbye. Almost every day there were burials; Belle’s blood ran cold each time she heard the haunting sound of the bugle playing the Last Post.
David was very philosophical about the grieving relatives. He said that at least they knew where their loved one’s body lay, and had heard the prayers, unlike the relatives of thousands of other men who had been committed to a communal grave near the battlefields. And some bodies were never found; they were blown to pieces and scattered in the mud. For the families of those men it had to be torture, hoping against hope that they’d been taken prisoner, or that they were lying in a hospital bed somewhere and would one day return home.
At the end of May, when the girls had been in France for over a month, they were told they could have the following day off. Up until then they had only had the odd half day, usually on a Sunday when fewer trains came in. But as the nearest village had nothing much to offer, and it was a long walk too, they always just stayed in the hut or did their laundry.
Not having to get up early was a real treat in itself, and when they eventually woke to find the sun shining, Miranda suggested they got a lift into Calais that afternoon to look around.
Trucks went to and from Calais daily to pick up supplies from the docks, and they knew it would be easy enough to persuade one of the drivers to let them go with him. They had a bath, washed their hair, and put on their best dresses. They had been told before they left England to bring only sensible, everyday wear as space would be limited in their accommodation. But neither had been able to resist packing something slightly fancier in case a special occasion should arise. Miranda’s dress was blue crêpe-de-chine, and Belle’s was a mauve floral print.
‘I wish I had a prettier hat,’ Miranda said as she put on the navy-blue felt one she’d worn to come here.
‘If we left here looking like we were off to a garden party that would arouse too much attention,’ Belle said, skewering on her own light brown hat which she’d made to go with her winter coat. She wasn’t sure if going into Calais was even allowed. One of the nurses had told Belle that neither the nurses nor the VADs were allowed to fraternize with soldiers, and they could be sent home if they were suspected of doing so. The same nurse said that one of her colleagues was refused permission to go out of the hospital grounds with her father, who was a serving officer. That seemed utterly ridiculous, but then, Matron at the Herbert had been equally tough on her nurses.
‘Maybe we could buy another hat each in Calais,’ Belle said. ‘We can’t wear these all summer.’
‘Don’t you just ache to have a long soak in a bath and then dress up in something frilly and go somewhere elegant?’ Miranda asked, pinching her cheeks to make them pink.
‘I ache for lots of things,’ Belle admitted. ‘Mog’s cooking, a comfy bed, and Jimmy cuddling me at night. The only time I’ve ever been to elegant places was in Paris, and I don’t like to think about why I was in them.’
‘Maybe we could go to Paris one day?’ Miranda said hopefully. ‘You could look up that friend you had there that owned restaurants. I bet he’d show us a good time.’
‘That part of my life is dead and buried. I never think about it,’ Belle said a little sharply. This wasn’t strictly true; she had thought about Etienne and Philippe, the restaurateur Miranda had mentioned, far more since she’d been here. Each time she heard a French accent she was jolted back to the past. But admitting that to Miranda would open a floodgate of memories she’d have to share with her.
‘Sorry I spoke,’ Miranda said, pulling a face. ‘All I want is a bit of fun.’
The truck driver they picked to ask for a lift was a Frenchman in his fifties. He didn’t know much English, but he managed to tell them he was returning at six, and if they weren’t there to meet him he’d have to come back without them.
‘Calais not a good place for jolies filles,’ he added reprovingly. ‘Many soldiers!’
The driver was right about there being many soldiers. They were everywhere, in the cafés, bars, in trucks, and milling around the streets. There were French, English, Australians and even a few Scots Guards in kilts. The girls were gawped at, whistled at, and one young soldier began singing ‘If You Were the Only Girl in the World’ very loudly, and his friends with him all joined in.
Both girls put their noses in the air and kept on walking, even though they wanted to la
ugh, for they were mindful that someone from the hospital might see them here and if they appeared to be encouraging the men they’d be on the carpet the next day.
It was intoxicating to be out in the sunshine, to see shops, cafés and ordinary people going about their business, and to be free of the sights, sounds and smells of the hospital. They found a dusty little hat shop in a back street and bought a straw boater each, putting them on immediately and relegating their old hats to the shopping bag. They bought some new stockings, had a cup of chocolate in a café, and then went for a walk along the beach.
The English Channel was bristling with ships, a reminder that the war wasn’t only being fought on land. The Germans held Zeebrugge and Ostend just up the coast, and their U-boats were constantly targeting British ships.
Miranda looked up at an aeroplane flying overhead. ‘It’s odd how we just accept them now,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Papa showed me a picture of one a few years back, he was so excited about flight. But I couldn’t understand how they could stay up in the air and I thought it was just a fad that would die out.’
‘I still don’t really understand how they fly,’ Belle said. ‘And motor cars! I was about thirteen when I saw my first one in the Strand, and I ran along beside it. People said they would never catch on. But they did, and now even people like us can drive them. Imagine when we’ve got children and we tell them things like that! They won’t be able to imagine life before these things were invented.’
‘I can’t even imagine what life will be like when the war ends,’ Miranda said. ‘I mean, how can I go back to how it was before?’
Belle was surprised at the bleakness in that remark. ‘It won’t be the same,’ she assured her. ‘How can it be when the war has changed everything?’
‘So many thousands of men have died already, even more will be left crippled,’ Miranda said. ‘There will be even less chance of me falling in love and getting married than there was before it started. You’ll have Jimmy, and I’ll be the spinster growing old still living with my parents.’
‘That’s such a defeatist attitude,’ Belle said indignantly. ‘You will meet someone and fall in love, I’m sure of that. Besides, you said you were never going home, that this was the start of your independent life. You’ve managed so well in this job, so when the war’s over you’ll be able to do anything you put your mind to.’
‘Then why can’t I ever imagine it?’ Miranda asked, picking up a pebble and skimming it into the sea. ‘I bet you can.’
‘Well, yes, I can,’ Belle admitted. ‘But imagining is only thinking what you want to happen. I like to picture Jimmy and me living by the sea, perhaps running a guest house or something. I doubt it will really happen, but unless you have a dream and work towards it, nothing will change.’
They walked back into the town then, and went into a café for something to eat before getting their lift back.
It was small and scruffy, with plain wood tables that needed a scrub, but other cafés that were nicer had been full of soldiers. Two elderly men were tucking into a plate of what looked like beef stew, and it smelled delicious, so when the waitress came over to them for their order they pointed at it and asked for some wine too.
They were eating their food when two American soldiers came in. They were young, perhaps twenty-three or -four, tall with sunburnt faces, and in comparison to their English counterparts, their tan uniforms looked very smart.
Miranda beamed at them, and Belle shot her a warning glance.
Both men removed their hats and paused at the girls’ table, looking not just at them but their food too. ‘That looks good, mam,’ the dark-haired one said. He had a sergeant’s three chevrons on his sleeve. ‘Would you recommend it?’
‘It’s very tasty,’ Miranda said, blushing a little.
‘Then I guess we’ll settle for that too,’ he said. ‘We don’t know our way round here yet, only arrived a few days ago. May we share your table?’
‘By all means,’ Miranda said, not looking at Belle, who she clearly knew would not approve. ‘I’m Miranda Forbes-Alton, this is Belle Reilly. We don’t know our way around either, this is the first time we’ve come into Calais.’
‘I’m Will Fergus,’ the dark-haired sergeant said, offering his hand. ‘And this is Patrick Mehler,’ he added, nodding at his fair-haired companion. ‘Are you sure we aren’t intruding?’
‘We have to leave soon for a lift back,’ Belle said, hoping that was enough of a hint for Miranda not to get too carried away by two such handsome men.
‘Back to where, mam?’ the sergeant asked as both men sat down.
‘Camiers. The hospital,’ Miranda said. ‘We’re ambulance drivers. And you don’t have to call us mam, we’re Miranda and Belle. In England only royal ladies are called mam.’
Will laughed, showing beautiful white teeth. ‘Well, ladies, may I call you Belle and Miranda? I can’t believe two such pretty girls can do such a job. It would be worth being wounded to be driven by one of you.’
Belle knew in that instant that Miranda was going to fall for this man. He was handsome, charming and able-bodied. Furthermore, he didn’t have that war-weary look that most of the staff at the hospital had.
The men ordered their meal, and they all made smalltalk. Will came from Philadelphia, Patrick from Boston, and they were here as part of an advance party to get things ready for the American troops who would be arriving at the end of the year.
Belle quickly established that she was married; Patrick was too, and she sensed that he felt much the same as she did, a little anxious that he might be dragged into something by Will. So she talked to him about Jimmy, and why she and Miranda were here, and asked him about his wife, making it quite clear where she stood.
Within a very short time it was quite obvious to Belle that Will was as taken with Miranda as she was with him. They were laughing like old friends, talking nineteen to the dozen and leaning closer to each other over the table. If it hadn’t been against the rules to fraternize with soldiers Belle would have been delighted for her, but she knew her friend well enough to be sure that she would be prepared to risk anything for a man she liked.
When Belle began reminding Miranda they had to leave to get their lift back Will was quick to offer to drive them. ‘I’ve got a staff car,’ he said. ‘Stay a while longer. We’re only just getting to know one another.’
Belle knew if she insisted they left now Miranda would be cross with her. But more than that, she could see the first signs of a budding romance there, and she couldn’t begrudge her friend that. So she smiled and accepted another drink.
Will was as good as his word. After a walk around the town and then several more drinks, he took them back. At least, Patrick drove and Will and Miranda sat in the back, kissing the whole way.
‘You don’t approve,’ Patrick had said in the last bar they went into. Miranda and Will were a little way off, standing so close together, gazing into each other’s eyes, that they looked like one person.
‘It’s not that. They make a lovely couple,’ Belle sighed. ‘I just don’t want her to be hurt, or get into trouble at the hospital.’
‘I’ve never seen him like this with a girl before,’ Patrick said. ‘He’s got it bad, I’d say. Hell, why shouldn’t they have fun? I’m sure it’s the same for you in England, folks saying do this, don’t do that. We’re here in France, there’s a war on, and any of us could get killed any day. You and I are married, Belle, but we’ve had that same crazy feeling ourselves. Shouldn’t we be glad they will have it too?’
’Yes, you’re right,’ she admitted. ‘But this has come on too fast. Miranda’s headstrong.’
‘And Will’s a good guy.’ Patrick put his hand on her shoulder. ‘You don’t choose to fall in love, it chooses you. Besides, you are too young and pretty to worry your head about what could go wrong.’
Will and Patrick dropped them at the hospital gates. It was nearly eleven and Belle realized as she began to walk with Miranda to t
he hut that she was tipsy.
‘Isn’t Will just wonderful?’ Miranda said breathlessly, linking arms with Belle.
Belle glanced sideways at her friend. Even in the dim light on each ward door, she could see her eyes shining. ‘Yes, he is,’ she replied, shivering with the cold. ‘But right now I’m just afraid we might be in serious trouble.’
‘I’m meeting him again tomorrow,’ Miranda said in a tone that implied she wasn’t prepared to be argued with. ‘I’ve met the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I don’t care about anything else.’
Vera was reading in bed when they got in and put her finger to her lips to remind them the other three girls were asleep.
‘You’re late,’ she whispered. ‘I was getting worried. Did you have a good time?’
‘The very best,’ Miranda whispered back and did a pirouetting dance right down the hut to the lavatory.
Belle sat on Vera’s bed. ‘Did anyone ask about us? Are we in trouble?’
‘No, only with me for making me worry,’ Vera smiled. ‘So tell me, what happened?’
‘The full story in the morning,’ Belle said. ‘But let’s just say Miranda’s fallen in love. Don’t say anything to the others; we don’t want Captain Taylor hearing about it.’
Belle looked over at Miranda before she turned off her light. She wasn’t asleep, just lying there with a smile on her face. She’d never looked so radiant.
Chapter Fifteen
Belle found the change in Miranda since she’d met Will remarkable. Even though she was slipping off to meet him almost every night, and not getting back until after twelve, she was up like a lark in the morning, singing, laughing and being sweet to everyone.
The Promise Page 20