Flora's War

by Pamela Rushby

  She looked out over the city, her eyes following the flying flocks of pigeons. The glass in her hand, I noticed, was shaking slightly.

  ‘We were off Gallipoli when our boys first went ashore,’ she said quietly. ‘When it got light enough, I could actually see them running up the beach. I could see them being shot down, as they dodged from cover to cover. Not that there was much cover. I could see them start to climb those awful cliffs. There were shells bursting and observation planes flying over.’

  I tried to picture it.

  Lydia barely paused for breath before continuing, ‘Then the wounded started to come. They came on barges and they were hoisted onto the decks in a sort of wooden cradle. They were laid in rows on the deck until a doctor could identify the most urgent cases.’ She didn’t look at us, she seemed almost to have forgotten we were there. ‘There were bullets actually hitting the deck. Catherine told me she was talking to a boy, and she’d just moved away when a bullet hit him in the leg. I wasn’t on deck, I’d been sent below.’

  ‘What were you doing there?’ Gwen asked quietly.

  ‘The hold was set up as a hospital. It was strange, the whole ship was vibrating from the cannon fire from the English and French warships. We were trying to work with a few electric lights that kept flickering. It was so hot we had the portholes open for air and a few electric fans, and they kept going on and off too. The surgeon was operating in a corner, on a mess table. And the wounds –’ She stopped and put her hands over her face for a moment. When she took them away she looked into our eyes. ‘Oh, the terrible wounds! I can’t tell you –’

  ‘You don’t need to,’ I said. ‘We’ve seen them.’ We told Lydia about the trains.

  ‘And that’s after they’ve had some treatment!’ she said. ‘But there just isn’t the time. The smaller wounds usually have the bullet still in them when the boys leave us; the surgeons are too busy with major procedures like amputations.’ Her hands were shaking more now. I took her glass, put it on the table, knelt before her, held her hands in mine. ‘The boys are dirty and they smell,’ she almost whispered. ‘I hate to see it.’

  Gwen sat beside Lydia and gave her a small hug. ‘They make them comfortable here,’ she consoled her. Lydia smiled at us and removed her hands from mine. ‘Lydia, are you going back there?’ Gwen asked.

  ‘No,’ said Lydia. ‘I’ve been posted to Lemnos. We should be able to do much more for the boys; make them comfortable, instead of just doing the patch-up jobs that are all we can do on the ships.’

  I handed her the glass of lime juice and she took a sip. ‘Lydia,’ I asked, ‘do you think – is it going to go on much longer?’

  ‘I’m no strategist,’ said Lydia. ‘But from what I’ve seen from the ship there are lines of Allied and Turkish trenches at the top of the hills. They’re so close together, with lots of firing back and forth. No one’s moving much either way.’

  ‘So you think …’

  ‘It could go on for ages,’ Lydia said.

  Chapter 14

  We worked throughout June and July as it became hotter and hotter. The wounded arrived in a steady stream. When a train of casualties arrived we worked until the train was cleared.

  There was sometimes a special carriage on the train, its doors locked and the windows closed tight. These men were only unloaded after every other carriage had been cleared. Most didn’t seem to be badly wounded.

  ‘Why are they locked in?’ I asked an orderly.

  ‘We have to do it. A week or so back one jumped off the train between Alexandria and Cairo,’ he said.

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  The orderly shrugged. ‘Who knows? Mental cases, these are.’

  I looked again. Some of the soldiers sat quietly, but their eyes were locked in a horrified stare. One was picking incessantly at his sleeve. Another was trembling. I turned away. I didn’t want to gawp.

  ‘What happened to the poor man who jumped?’ I asked.

  ‘They found him just walking along the track. Goodness knows where he thought he was going.’

  ‘He wasn’t hurt?’

  ‘Not him. But now we lock them in. Look, I haven’t got time to talk. Are you taking these four to the hospital or not?’

  I turned away from the carriage of mental cases, but I couldn’t forget them. The war, I’d found, could wound more than bodies.

  When there were no trains, we transported wounded between hospitals, driving the less serious cases to convalescent hospitals. These were happy days, the boys were feeling better and looking forward to resting in a comfortable place. They laughed and joked, and teased Gwen and me about our driving.

  On the rare days we weren’t called in, I went to the excavation. Most of the burial chamber had been cleared and Fa was working on cataloguing and drawing the things it had contained. Khnumhotep’s beautiful painted sarcophagus had been carefully removed and was in secure storage at the Egyptian Museum. It had been sealed with resin and would need careful handling to avoid damage when it was opened. Fa was waiting for advice from the British Museum on the best way to approach it.

  I felt guilty about not helping him more with the cataloguing and drawing, but when the trains of wounded came I had to be there. Every car, every driver, made a difference in getting the boys to hospital quickly.

  …

  I was still receiving lots of letters. But now, the letters weren’t all coming from boys who’d asked me to write to them. Sometimes I’d receive a letter from a soldier I’d never heard from before to tell me that their mate Harry, or old Arthur, or Herbert, or Cliff, wouldn’t be writing to me anymore. ‘I’m sorry, but he’s bought it, miss.’ I hardly remembered the boys, but every one of those letters made me cry.

  Sometimes a soldier who’d written to me half a dozen times or more, simply didn’t write anymore. I always kept all their letters together with carbon copies of my own letters, so I could remember what I’d written to each one, and after a while I’d notice that no new letter had come from George, or Bill, or Jack. I sadly put their letters away in a different box that was filling rapidly.

  But sometimes, a letter came that made me happier for a while. A boy might write to say that his mate had been wounded and had been taken to a hospital ship. If he arrived in Cairo, and if I had the time, could I see if I could find him and let his mates know how he was getting on?

  I enquired at the hospitals, and sometimes I found the soldier. I’d visit him and tell him his mates were anxious about him. The boys were always thrilled to think that someone was asking after them.

  ‘They’re worried about me? Ah, they don’t need to worry about me! In the lap of luxury I am, here,’ they’d say. ‘Here, is there any of that writing paper around? And a pencil? I’ll write to them straight away, let them know Johnny Turk doesn’t get rid of me that easily!’

  If they couldn’t write themselves I’d write for them, and hope that their mates would still be there to receive the letter.

  Often, I couldn’t find the soldier. It meant that he might be in a hospital on Lemnos, or in Alexandria. I would write and tell his mates that I was sure he was fine, he was probably in a hospital I couldn’t get to.

  But in some cases, I found a name in the hospital records. Then I wrote back to his mates, as gently as I could, and told them what I knew. ‘I will visit his grave for you, if you like,’ I’d write. ‘I’ll leave some flowers. Would you like me to do that?’ A few wrote to say yes, they would, they’d appreciate that. So I made time to drive to the New British Protestant Cemetery where most of the Gallipoli dead had been buried, not far from the centre of Cairo. The new section was raw; no gardens, no flowers, just mound after mound of sand with a plain white wooden cross. A few had a white wooden Star of David. I walked the rows, a cemetery official guiding me, the sun beating down and my poor flowers wilting, until I found the one name I was looking for. There were so many graves.

  Jay’s letters kept coming. Each time one arrived I took out the photograph
he’d given me before he left and wondered whether all those young men were still alive. I gazed at Jay, smiling in the middle of them. Was he still smiling? His letters didn’t sound like it. He still wrote about how wonderful his men were, but he wrote more and more about how he must look after them, how he couldn’t let them down. How he’d do everything he must and it was the thought of someone waiting for him that was keeping him going. ‘Please keep writing, Flora,’ his letters always ended. ‘Please write often. Every day if you can.’

  …

  In early August, Lady Bellamy sent a note asking Gwen and me to see her at the rest and recreation centre as soon as possible.

  ‘What’ve we done?’ asked Gwen.

  ‘Even worse, what haven’t we done?’ I answered.

  We hadn’t been to the centre much lately, but surely Lady Bellamy realised we were busy as drivers? She couldn’t expect us to do more, could she?

  Lady Bellamy chose a quiet moment to take us aside. ‘I know you have important driving duties,’ she said. ‘Sadly, the need for drivers will continue. Even more so, in the near future.’

  Hmm. So Lady Bellamy knew something.

  ‘I have been asked if I have any more ladies able to assist the nurses on the wards,’ said Lady Bellamy. Apparently she could expect more from us. ‘It is expected the hospitals will become even more challenged quite soon.’ She paused for a moment. ‘As unmarried girls I have endeavoured to keep you away from the wards,’ she went on. ‘But needs must.’

  Gwen and I both stared. What did she think we’d see on the wards, for heaven’s sake? Boys in their pyjamas? Boys not in their pyjamas, perhaps? We’d observed worse as the trains were unloaded.

  ‘What sort of work, Lady Bellamy?’ asked Gwen. ‘Will we be using our first aid training?’

  I hoped not. The training we’d had would be completely inadequate for the wounds we’d seen.

  ‘There will be no nursing, as such,’ said Lady Bellamy. Gwen and I heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Your tasks will consist of preparation, tidying up, some cleaning. There will be plenty to do, I’m certain. And girls?’ She looked at Gwen in particular.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Wear sensible clothing, plain skirts and blouses, hair tied back. You will be there to work.’

  ‘Really!’ said Gwen, as we left. ‘Surely we could have figured that out ourselves.’

  I looked at Gwen. For a day of driving boys between hospitals, she had chosen a rose pink skirt, a paler pink blouse covered in frills and a distractingly pretty pink hat, which tied under her chin to keep it from blowing off. Gwen caught my look, and we both laughed.

  ‘A girl has to give the boys something to look at,’ she protested.

  ‘And indeed you do,’ I said. ‘What do you think about this work? If we’re not doing first aid?’

  ‘I’m awfully afraid I think the worst,’ said Gwen. ‘I’m afraid it might mean –’

  ‘Bed pans,’ I finished for her.

  …

  While we waited for the call to work in the hospital, we kept on with our driving. A train arrived one day and we reported as usual. This one was no different from the others: the same appalling smells, the infected wounds, the oozing, maggoty dressings. I watched the stretcher cases being unloaded, waiting to drive the more lightly wounded to the hospital. If a stretcher case had to wait to be loaded into an ambulance, I moved from my motorcar to shield the soldier from the sun with my shadow and said a few reassuring words.

  An anxious boy had seized my hand and I was talking to him, telling him he’d be helped soon, when I heard my name.

  ‘Flora! It’s you, isn’t it? Flora!’

  The voice came from the nearest stretcher case. I didn’t recognise the face. It was dirty, with a stubbled chin. The man had a loose bandage around his head.

  I patted the shoulder of the boy I’d been talking to, gently released his grip on my hand and moved closer. Now I could see it was Lydia’s fiancée, Matthew Grier.

  ‘Matthew! What’s happened to you?’ I glanced at the red tag pinned to his jacket. Red tag. That wasn’t good.

  ‘Not much,’ said Matthew. He tried to smile. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  I doubted that. ‘Of course you will!’ I said.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Driving. Taking men to the hospital.’ Such a stupid conversation. It sounded as if we’d met in the street, and I’d told him I was on my way to Groppi’s.

  Stretcher bearers were ready for Matthew and I had to step back. ‘I’ll come and see you!’ I called after him. ‘I’ve heard from Lydia. She’s on Lemnos!’ He waved a hand in acknowledgment, as he was loaded into the ambulance.

  ‘Where are you taking him?’ I asked an orderly.

  ‘Nile Palace.’ I’d expected so, the Nile Palace was a hospital for serious cases.

  I went there that very afternoon, as soon as the train was empty of wounded.

  ‘He’s being operated on,’ I was told. ‘You can’t see him now. Come back in two days.’

  ‘Two days? It’s really serious then?’ I asked. ‘What’s being done?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say,’ said the nurse. I didn’t know her, she wasn’t going to tell me anything.

  Two days later I returned, and found to my relief that Jean had been transferred to Matthew’s ward.

  ‘Yes, of course you can see him,’ she said. ‘But Flora, you should know. He’s lost his left leg below the knee.’

  ‘His leg!’ Matthew was a career soldier. He’d been going to spend his life in the army. He wouldn’t be, now. ‘Does he know?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jean said. ‘He’s taken it fairly well, considering. But it shouldn’t have happened! If it’d been seen to sooner …’

  ‘It was infected?’ I asked.

  Jean nodded. Her eyes flashed. ‘Appalling conditions! Such a waste!’ She broke off as another nurse passed by. ‘There’s no use carrying on about it. Come on in, he’ll be pleased to see you.’

  As an officer, Matthew was in a smaller ward on an upper floor. It had once been a bedroom, but now it held six folding metal-framed beds. I noticed that having a chair placed at the end of them had extended some of the beds.

  ‘That’s for the six-foot Queenslanders,’ Jean grinned. ‘You breed them big up there.’

  Matthew had been washed and shaved and looked considerably better. A cradle held the sheet up over the bottom end of the bed.

  ‘Flora!’ His face broke into a huge smile. ‘Do you know, when I saw you at the train, I thought I was dreaming. Is visiting old crocks in hospital included in your driver’s duties?’

  I put down the magazines and chocolates I was carrying. ‘All part of the service,’ I said. ‘How are you feeling?’

  Matthew shrugged. ‘All right, considering. You know about this?’ He nodded at the place where his leg used to be.

  I bit my lip. ‘Yes. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It could be worse. I could be dead. Enough about me. Do I remember you saying you’d heard from Lydia?’

  ‘Yes. Over two weeks ago. Just a postcard saying she’d arrived on Lemnos and it wasn’t quite what she’d expected, and she’d write properly soon. I haven’t heard anything since.’

  ‘How’s that delightful Gwen?’

  ‘Oh, charming every soldier she drives,’ I said. ‘Just as usual.’ We laughed and I told him about the soldiers I’d heard from that he knew. There was a brief silence.

  ‘Matthew,’ I said carefully, ‘have you seen anything of Jay – Jim Hunter?’

  Matthew’s face changed. His eyes slid to the window and he gazed out. ‘Jim? Oh yes. We’ve run into each other a couple of times.’

  ‘What did you – what did you think? Is he all right?’

  ‘You’ve been writing to him?’

  I nodded. As far as I knew Matthew didn’t know Jay had asked me to become engaged, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  ‘Well, he’s still in Gallipoli. At least he was, when I was taken out. W
hy do you ask if he’s all right?’

  ‘His letters changed so much. It seemed as if things were getting too much for him. It worries me.’

  ‘Things are getting too much for everyone,’ said Matthew. ‘It affects some fellows more than others.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘Fond of him, are you? If it’s not a delicate question, is there something between you?’

  I could feel a flush rising up my neck to my face. Matthew watched its progress with interest.

  ‘Mmm. You don’t need to answer that,’ he said. ‘Look, some fellows are operating on the edge. Sometimes, it’s letters from home that are keeping them balanced. If you want my advice, Flora, you keep on writing.’

  That wasn’t at all what I’d wanted to hear. It was putting a responsibility on me that I didn’t want.

  ‘I’ll keep on writing,’ I said.

  Chapter 15

  Then, suddenly, the trains began arriving in greater numbers. Train after train.

  ‘There was a big battle,’ an orderly on one of the trains told me. ‘A place the Turks call Kanli Sirt, Bloody Ridge. Our boys are calling it Lone Pine. There are more wounded coming, lots more.’

  This, I gathered, was the something Lady Bellamy had known about. Cairo was again bursting with wounded. More and more beds were squeezed into the existing hospitals and the army searched for more places to establish hospitals. And we worked.

  Now, when we’d cleared the train, Gwen, Frank and I didn’t go home. We parked our cars by the hospital and put in time on the wards.

  As Gwen and I had feared, our work involved bedpans. And a lot more. We weren’t trained nurses and we couldn’t take on nursing duties, but we could boil up instruments, roll bandages, wash and clean, and make tea. And deal with a lot of bedpans.

  ‘I can’t believe how many they get through,’ Gwen groaned. ‘Are they doing it on purpose, do you think?’

  ‘Oh, probably,’ I agreed. ‘Especially the ones with dysentery. You’d think they could wait or go to the lavatory, wouldn’t you?’