Gwen and I were rostered on at the centre on Thursday. Lady Bellamy was sure that many soldiers would be in Cairo to attend church the following day, Good Friday. Gwen and I weren’t as convinced about why they’d want to be in Cairo, but we accepted there’d be lots of men in town.
The centre was busy with soldiers all day. Trooper Alex Hendy and his group of mates were among them. They were in town for a good time, of course, but they weren’t quite as ready to joke and laugh as they had been. They were quieter, more preoccupied.
‘Is something wrong?’ I asked Alex when I was able to speak to him alone briefly.
He looked startled. ‘Why should anything be wrong?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. I felt Lady Bellamy’s eye on me and to look busy I started to pour Alex a cup of tea. ‘You just seem different.’ I nodded towards his friends. ‘Ted and Stan aren’t fooling about the way they usually do.’
Alex took the tea and absentmindedly added four spoonfuls of sugar. ‘Yes. Well. I suppose we’re all doing a bit of thinking, so to speak.’ He glanced around and then lowered his voice. ‘There are rumours going about that there’ll be action soon, big action. It makes a fellow think.’
‘Action? Where? Not around here, surely?’
Alex grinned. ‘Oh, the brass don’t tell us that! We could even be shipped to France. But I don’t think so. Why would we be doing all this desert training if we’re going to France?’
I looked over at Ted and Stan. They were playing table tennis, but the game was slow and languid. Normally, they’d be leaping around the table like crazed kangaroos, and table tennis balls would be flying dangerously. They’d become very skilled at landing them, quite accidentally of course, in cups of tea.
Before Alex took a sip of his tea, I said, ‘You’d better give me that. You’ve put four sugars in it.’
‘Have I?’ Alex looked at his cup, surprised. ‘Well, there you are. My mind’s on other things.’ He hesitated. ‘Speaking of other things …’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, if we’re moving out, going into action, I wondered – well, would you write to me? I know you’re busy,’ he added hastily. ‘But if you had a spare moment, just a line or two …’
I handed him a fresh cup of tea.
‘I’ll understand if you don’t have time,’ he said.
I put my hand on his arm. Bother Lady Bellamy. ‘Of course I’ll write to you, Alex. I’ll be happy to. I can tell you everything that’s happening in Cairo, and you can tell me what’s happening in – well, wherever you are.’
Before the end of the day, Ted and Stan had both approached me quietly with the same request.
‘I don’t suppose you’d write to me, would you? Just now and then.’ Stan said with a forced smile.
‘It’s so good to get mail, you see,’ Ted said.
Other soldiers I’d come to know asked me to write as well. By the end of the day I had a pocketful of slips of paper with names and addresses, and I was feeling rather overwhelmed.
When I got a chance to talk to Gwen I noticed that her overall pocket was bulging as well. ‘Not you too?’ I said.
Gwen looked troubled. ‘I don’t know how I’ll manage,’ she said. ‘But what can you say? I know it sounds silly, but they’re all so young, though they must all be older than I am – they’d have to be.’
‘Not all of them,’ I said.
…
We worked at the busy rest and recreation centre all through Good Friday. Lydia called in towards the end of the day, on the arm of Matthew Grier, her dance partner at my party. Alex, Ted and Stan came in again.
‘We were right,’ Alex told me. He was tightly holding the glass of lemonade I’d poured him, but he wasn’t drinking it. ‘Our training period’s over and we’ll be embarking for action soon. We still don’t know where, though.’ He looked down at his glass. ‘It’ll be good to have a crack at the enemy at last.’ He downed the lemonade in one long swallow.
‘Yeah,’ Ted agreed. ‘About time we saw some sort of a fight.’
Then we heard a gunshot. Heads swung around sharply.
The shot was followed by several more and everyone in the pavilion stopped dead. I tried to follow the source of the sound. It wasn’t very close – but it wasn’t too far away, either.
‘Hell,’ said Alex. ‘They’ve done it. They’ve gone for the Wozzer. The idiots!’
‘They’ve what?’ I said.
Alex, Ted and Stan snatched up their hats, ready to run in the direction the shots had come from. I grabbed Alex’s arm. ‘The Wozzer?’ I said. ‘What’s going on there?’
Alex stopped and stared at me. ‘What do you know about the Wozzer?’
‘I know it’s the bad part of town,’ I said. ‘What’s happening there?’
‘I don’t know exactly, but it won’t be good,’ Alex said. ‘Some of the fellows say they’ve been cheated there and –’ He stopped. ‘Well, if we were moving out, they’ll be getting their own back before we go. But shooting – that’s well out of order.’
Lady Bellamy’s voice rang out, ‘There is no need for panic or to be concerned. The situation will be well under control.’
‘How’s she know that?’ growled Alex. ‘See here, Flora, you get Gwen right now. We’ll get you both to your house, that’s right away from the Wozzer.’
Lydia and Matthew Grier joined us. ‘Do you know what’s happening?’ Matthew said sharply to Alex.
‘I’ve got an idea, sir, but not exactly, no,’ said Alex. ‘We’re just saying, we’ll get Miss Wentworth and Miss Travers to Miss Wentworth’s house.’ He looked at Lydia. ‘You too, ma’am. I think that’d be best until we find out what’s going on and which areas aren’t safe.’
Matthew hesitated. I could see all four of them were dying to run out of the pavilion and straight to the Wozzer. Whether to join in, or to stop whatever was happening, I didn’t know. Most of the soldiers had already gone, running towards the shouts and yells and whistle blowing. I was frightened. Gwen had gone pale.
‘Yes, first thing, we must get the girls to a safe place,’ said Matthew. I didn’t have the car today, Fa had needed it to go to the excavation that afternoon. Mr Hussein had dropped me at Shepheard’s on the way, and I’d walked across the gardens to the rest and recreation centre with Gwen. ‘Can we walk to your house?’ Matthew asked me. ‘Is it far from here?’
‘That will not be necessary.’ I hadn’t seen him arrive but Mr Hussein was beside us, composed as ever. ‘I have a motorcar and I will see the young ladies safely home.’
‘Are you sure you can?’ Matthew asked him.
Mr Hussein flicked an eye at him. ‘Certainly. No harm will come to them.’
Matthew looked Mr Hussein over and wisely decided to take his word for it.
‘Very well. Thank you.’ He turned to Lydia, taking her hand and holding it while he looked at her intently. Very interesting, I thought. ‘I’ll come to see you as soon as I can. Will you stay at Flora’s house?’
Lydia looked doubtful. ‘I should get back to the hospital. I’m on duty later tonight. Will it be safe?’ she asked Mr Hussein.
‘If it is possible, I will return you to the hospital. If not, I will have a message sent saying where you are.’
Another shot rang out.
‘We must go now,’ said Mr Hussein.
I didn’t need any urging. A swift wave to the boys – who were already on their way – another to Lady Bellamy to indicate we were leaving with Mr Hussein, and we were off. Mr Hussein had driven the motorcar right into the gardens, which was usually strictly forbidden.
‘Do we need to keep our heads down?’ gasped Gwen. She looked as if she’d recovered herself and was now rather enjoying the situation.
Mr Hussein looked at her with amusement. ‘That will not be necessary,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Gwen sounded disappointed.
We saw no signs of disturbance as Mr Hussein drove us to the House of the Butcher and Blacksmith. The alleys
, in fact, were much quieter than usual. Many of the small shops had put their shutters up.
‘It won’t spread to here, surely?’ I asked. The shouts and yells had faded far behind.
‘I think not,’ Mr Hussein said. ‘The shopkeepers are taking precautions only. The disturbance seems to be confined to a certain area.’
‘You mean the Wozzer,’ I said.
Mr Hussein raised an eyebrow. I could see he was wondering, as Alex had, just how I knew about the Wozzer – and how much.
‘Because the disturbance is not far from Shepheard’s,’ he said delicately, ‘I think it would be wise for Miss Gwen to stay with you until I ascertain whether it is safe to take her home. I will have a message sent to her family and to your hospital, Miss Lydia.’
Mr Hussein carefully negotiated a tight turn into a narrow street. The shops here, too, were all locked and shuttered. I saw Mr Hussein look ahead and brake suddenly. A crowd of soldiers was running into the alley. Some of them were carrying things. There was a roar of disappointment as the men saw the shuttered, locked shops. ‘All closed up here, too, lads!’
Looting, I thought. They were looting.
Mr Hussein spun the steering wheel urgently, trying to reverse, to get away. ‘Get down!’ he said quickly to us. ‘Get your heads down!’
Gwen gasped. Lydia, in the back with her, grabbed her head and pushed it down. I slid down and crouched on the floor in the front. We clung to whatever we could grab as Mr Hussein tried desperately to turn the motorcar.
There was another roar from the soldiers. ‘Look! A gyppo! A gyppo in a motorcar!’
‘He’s one of them! Get him!’
I heard many feet running towards us, hammering on the stones of the alley. Something crashed against the motorcar. A stone? A bottle?
‘Hold on!’ Mr Hussein ordered. The motorcar made a last sharp, shuddering turn and sped up. We must have turned, I thought. We’re getting away!
There was another crash as a missile hit the motorcar, and another.
‘They’re throwing things at us!’ Gwen exclaimed, unbelieving.
And I heard Mr Hussein cry out. I looked up from my crouched position on the floor. Mr Hussein had his hand to his head. There was blood on his face; something had hit him on the head. The motorcar careered wildly. We scraped the wall of the alley. Mr Hussein took his hand away from his head and gripped the wheel. But he couldn’t see through the blood streaming into his eyes.
I crawled back into my seat and leaned over. ‘Give me the wheel!’ I yelled. I fought to control the motorcar, but from my position I couldn’t get to the pedals. We were going to stall, to stop – and then the mob of soldiers would be on us.
Lydia leaned over the back seat to help Mr Hussein. Behind us, the sound of pounding feet had slowed. ‘There’s a girl in the motorcar!’ I heard. ‘A white girl!’
‘There’s another one!’ a soldier shouted, spotting me leaning over Mr Hussein to get to the wheel.
The sound of feet stopped. ‘That’s the girl from the rec centre in the gardens,’ an incredulous voice said.
The motorcar stopped with a bone-wrenching jerk and buzzed like an angry hornet. Mr Hussein looked around blankly. ‘Sit still,’ said Lydia, pressing her handkerchief to the wound on his face.
I stood up in the motorcar and turned to face the soldiers. Even though the alley was dim, I could recognise both Australian and New Zealand uniforms. I’d felt scared before, but now I was angry. Boiling mad, in fact.
‘Look!’ I shouted. ‘Look what you’ve done! You’ve hurt our friend and you’ve made us crash. You should be ashamed of yourselves. The people in this area have done nothing to you! Why would you steal from them? What do you think you’re doing?’
The soldiers stood silent. I knew they wouldn’t attack us now. They knew they’d gone too far.
‘I’m going to start this motorcar now,’ I went on, ‘and I’m going to drive our friend home and take care of him. Are any of you going to stop me?’
Silence.
I leapt out of the car. ‘Gwen, can you take the wheel?’ I said. Gwen got out, looking defiantly at the soldiers as she helped Lydia move Mr Hussein to the back seat. Lydia got in beside him, keeping up the pressure on his wound with her handkerchief while he leant back with his eyes closed. I looked worriedly at Lydia. She gave me a tiny, tight smile, and nodded slightly.
Gwen got into the driver’s seat. ‘Ready,’ she said.
I swung the crank handle as hard as I could and prayed it would work first time. The motorcar fired up. Thank heaven Mr Hussein had insisted we must learn to start the motorcar by ourselves! I thought. I jumped back in, and Gwen drove us away. I thanked heaven, again, that the motorcar hadn’t been badly damaged in its scrape against the wall.
There was still no sound from the soldiers. When I looked back, there was no one in the alley. They had gone.
Gwen found our way through the narrow streets to the House of the Butcher and Blacksmith. We saw no one else in the streets. When we reached the house, we looked at each other and drew deep breaths. I was surprised to find my hands were shaking as I knocked urgently on the door and pulled the bell at the same time. I had time to be frightened now.
Mr Bilal and Mrs Maryam were horrified. ‘What has happened to Mr Hussein?’ Mrs Maryam cried. ‘You must bring him in at once!’
‘The young ladies are safe?’ Mr Bilal said urgently to me.
We were.
‘Do you know what is happening?’
We didn’t.
Mr Hussein was helped to a couch inside and the blood sponged from his head. When the blood was washed off, it didn’t seem to be too bad.
‘Superficial’ said Lydia with relief. ‘It won’t even need stitches. Head wounds always bleed a lot. He’ll have a bad headache though. He certainly shouldn’t drive.’ She wrapped his head in a bandage Mrs Maryam had supplied.
‘Now you must all sit quietly and rest,’ said Mr Bilal. ‘We will bring tea and food. I will send a message to Mr Khalid.’
We hardly felt like tea, or food, but I knew they wouldn’t be happy until they’d served it.
We went to the roof, of course, and Mr Hussein, much recovered, came with us. We made him comfortable on a cushioned couch in the corner. He closed his eyes and we left him to rest. We leaned out to look over the town in all directions but could see nothing out of the ordinary. The domes and towers and minarets were as peaceful as ever. White pigeons still wove intricate patterns in the air between them. If we listened very, very carefully we could hear faraway noise but it was difficult to distinguish it from the ordinary clamour of the city.
‘Oh, I wish I knew what was happening! I hope Matthew’s all right,’ Lydia fretted.
I turned to her. ‘Yes, tell us about Matthew, Lydia.’
Lydia glanced at Mr Hussein. ‘Tell you what?’
‘Mr Hussein’s not listening,’ I said. ‘There’s something to tell. I’ve noticed Matthew’s been around rather a lot lately.’
‘And he was holding your hand very significantly,’ said Gwen. ‘There’s either something to tell or you’re an appalling flirt, Lydia.’
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ said Lydia. ‘Yet.’
‘But there might be,’ Gwen pounced.
‘Maybe. Perhaps. Nothing’s settled yet.’ Lydia had gone an interesting shade of pink.
‘When something is settled, I hope we’ll be the first to know,’ Gwen said severely.
‘And we want to be bridesmaids,’ I added. ‘What colour dresses do you think, Gwen?’ Lydia gave a small smile, but she wasn’t admitting a thing.
Mr Bilal came up to the roof terrace with tea.
We sipped our tea as the sun went down. The sky flamed red and orange. As it deepened to purple and dark blue, some of the red and orange remained – an ominous smudge just above the rooftops. There was fire in the city.
‘That doesn’t look good,’ I said.
Mr Bilal returned with little snacks and rumours
of what was happening. ‘There is a riot. Houses are being burned and soldiers are throwing –’ He paused delicately. ‘Soldiers are throwing, uh, bad women into the street.’
‘What soldiers?’
‘They say Australian and New Zealand soldiers,’ said Mr Bilal.
I was sure the soldiers who’d confronted us had been wearing the uniforms of Australia and New Zealand.
‘Is anyone stopping them?’
Mr Bilal went to try and find out more.
‘Throwing bad women into the street?’ Gwen said. Gwen and I looked at each other. Then at Lydia. ‘What has Matthew told you about this?’ Gwen asked.
Lydia hesitated. ‘Do you know about the Wozzer, where some of the men go?’
‘Yes, yes,’ I said impatiently. ‘Frank’s put us in the picture about all of that. Bad liquor, bad women and being cheated.’
Lydia was silent.
‘Is there more?’
‘Well, yes. Look, I’ll give it to you straight. Yes, the men have been complaining that they’ve been cheated. They’re sold diluted liquor, they’re robbed, they’re overcharged for what they buy, there are even stories of some being stabbed, though I have to say if that’s true they haven’t come to the hospital for treatment.’ She paused to scoop some tomato salad onto a piece of flat bread. It took rather longer than it should have.
‘And?’
‘Some of the men have picked up diseases from the women in the Wozzer,’ Lydia continued reluctantly. ‘We nurses aren’t really supposed to know about that, but of course we do. There’s a special hospital at Abbassia, near the Suez Canal, called the Contagious Diseases Hospital,’ she said and took a bite of her bread and salad. ‘Measles cases, for example, would go there, but it’s more than that. There’s a barbed wire fence around it and sentries on duty. It’s where venereal diseases – gonorrhoea and syphilis – are treated. Nurses don’t work in that section; it’s all done by doctors and male orderlies.’
‘You’re not supposed to know?’ I said.
‘They’re protecting our innocence, I suppose,’ said Lydia wryly. ‘The men are given lectures on the ship on the way over, and their medical officers supply …’ she paused delicately, ‘… prophylactics, if you know what they are …’
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