Among the Poppies

by J'nell Ciesielski

  She threw open the stable door and stepped inside. The musty scent of hay and horse curled under her nose. “William!”

  Straw rustled from the far stall. William’s head popped around the gate, a pitchfork in one hand and a look of panic on his sweat-sheened brow. “What’s wrong? Did you have an accident?”

  “No. No accident.”

  He set the pitchfork’s tines into the ground and swiped a hand over his mouth, easing the lines of alarm. “I told your father you had no business driving that rust bucket all over town delivering the paper when the roads are slick with ice. Why he insisted you take Lizzie is beyond me.”

  Gwyn ignored his tirade as she sailed past the stalls of horses poking their heads out to see their owners’ latest commotion. “It’s over!” She waved the paper in William’s face. “It’s all over. The war. They’ve signed an armistice.”

  Leaning his tool against the wall, William took the crinkled paper from her hands and read the bold headline. “The Great War ends. Germany surrenders.” The muscles in his neck constricted. “Armistice to begin at eleven o’clock Paris time. Terms of agreement follow on page two.”

  Gwyn laughed as the years of anxiety melted away. “It’s finally over. They can come home. We don’t have to fight anymore. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  He dropped the paper and swept her into his arms, spinning in wide circles. “Wonderful,” he murmured into her ear. Clenching tight, his arms threatened to break her ribs and squeeze the air from her lungs.

  Gwyn didn’t care as she pressed kisses over his cheeks, jaw, and every inch of exposed skin she could find. The countless hours of prayer had finally come to pass. Cecelia and her dear Doctor Bennett could finalize their engagement, and Rosie would find her new home right next to Lizzie, thanks to Lady Dowling.

  Too excited to stay put, Gwyn wiggled out of William’s arms and grabbed his scarred hand. The wounds had healed well, but his body would carry the scars for the rest of his life. “Let’s go into town and celebrate with everyone. The mucking can wait for today.”

  “Tell that to the horses.” Despite his weak protest, William allowed her to pull him along.

  “More than glad to because not even their long faces can bring me down today.”

  “Long faces?” William rolled his eyes. “Did you really just make that crack?”

  She laughed, stepping out of the barn. Brilliant morning sun sparkled through the icy branches of the apple orchard surrounding their cottage. Tonight she would make a special batch of apple cider to toast the glorious day.

  “I need to send a telegram while we’re in town. To Johnny Philson,” William said.

  “The man you bunked next to at St. Matthews?”

  William nodded and looked to the sky, shielding his eyes against the bright glare of blue and white. “Was part of a flying squadron, but got shot down over Belgium. Managed to walk away from his burning aircraft. Now, he delivers air post near his farm in Norwich. High time he took on a pupil.”

  Gwyn’s feet stopped. If possible, her excitement doubled over. “A pupil?”

  “The Stinson school closed when the Yanks joined the war, and there’s no word on whether it’ll reopen. You’ll simply have to obtain your pilot license here in dear ol’ Blighty.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the simple band wrapped around her fourth finger. “That way, I can come watch you do those loopty-loop circles while making sure Phil keeps his curious hands to himself.”

  “Oh, Will! How wonderful. You’ll come fly with me, won’t you?”

  “My feet are perfectly happy here on the ground, but I’ll wave every time you rush by on a gust of wind, my darling.”

  She bounced on the balls of her feet as the future spread wide with awaiting possibilities. William and their horses. Her pilot’s license. And now… “You know what the best part of this war news is?”

  He brushed a wild curl from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “What?”

  She grinned, kissing his hand. “It’s over before Christmas.”

  AUTHOR NOTES

  I remember the day I entered the world of Downton Abbey. On Christmas morning, a costume drama period piece that had somehow escaped my knowledge waited for me under the tree. Thankfully, my husband knows how to cover my blind spots. That night, with a box of fudge on my lap, a world of silk, jewels, witty repartee, manners, and sprawling aristocracy swept me away to a beautiful dream. As the exquisiteness of Season One rolled into the Great War, I began to contemplate the relationship between the rich young daughter in her nurse’s uniform and the handsome chauffeur. And when I heard “If You Were the Only Girl in the World” being sung to a returning soldier, A Rolls Royce in No Man’s Land was born—only you may know it by its more romantic title, Among the Poppies.

  Diving into the struggles of the Tommies, women on the homefront, trench layouts, and all manner of medical duties, I experienced the great struggle of all historical writers: wanting to include every ounce of detail possible. But readers aren’t often interested in the different types of trenches, artillery shell sizes, and the various problems an ambulance can rack up during one night shift on the Front. Whatever detail I do decide to include, I do my utmost to provide the most historically accurate account I possibly can. But where to start? I decided early on that I didn’t want a militarized unit like the FANYs, VADs, or Red Cross so I settled on a private ambulance fleet run by a private hospital which would allow the freedom to move outside the strict guidelines enforced by rank and regulations. Many wealthy ladies turned their English estates and French chateaus into much needed convalescent homes and hospitals, such as the Countess of Carnarvon and the fictional Lady Dowling. Much to the Marchioness’s chagrin, the Duchess of Westminster and her friends truly did dress in their finest diamonds and silks to meet the wounded at her villa-turned-hospital in Le Touquet. It was the least they could do to boost the soldiers’ morale, the Duchess would say.

  While Gwyn is part of a private ambulance fleet, she did take the same first-aid classes a VAD would have. And she was required to pass a driving test like the FANY, whose headquarters was indeed located at 192 Earls Court Road in London. She and her fellow drivers also wore large fur coats in the winter that were donated to them by wealthy ladies, again just like the FANY. There was a “Gutless Gert”, but she was a Rover Sunbeam who saw service in France and I felt it appropriate to christen Gwyn’s infamous jack with the moniker. After a long hard day and night of driving, these brave women of the driving fleet would finally sit back with a steaming cup of hot chocolate—a decadent juxtaposition between the juggling of life and death they faced at every turn. It was one of the few ways they could hope to find a sense of normalcy. Many people who had yet to make their mark on the world drove ambulances, such as Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, and Walt Disney. Disney served as a Red Cross Ambulance Corps driver in France. He even managed to decorate his own ambulance, but he never saw action since his unit didn’t ship out until the day after the armistice was signed. I simply couldn’t resist having him make an appearance earlier in the war.

  The Great War raged for four uncompromising years, filling history with some of the bloodiest battles ever recorded and wiping out an entire generation of young men. Soldiers returned home broken and shattered, oftentimes burned so badly that only combed Pekinese dog hair woven into light garments could cover their fragile skin. Perhaps these brave men are remembered best in John McCrea’s immortal poem In Flanders Fields where the poppy flower, crimson red against a field of green and white crosses, has come to symbolize the Lost Generation. I hope in some small way that I’ve managed to pay tribute to these courageous men and women who gave their all not only to their country, but to their brothers and sisters who stood beside them among the ravages of No Man’s Land.

  GLOSSARY

  – alcohol bath – Used to decrease body temperature.

  – banger – Sausage.

  – beef tea – Boiled rump meat and strained to drink. Used es
pecially for the sick.

  – Blighty – Soldier’s slang for England. A Blighty wound was the most Desirous as it was just serious enough to send a soldier home but not bad enough to maim or kill.

  – bonnet – Hood.

  – bottled chicken – Jellied skin and bone of chicken.

  – brollie – Umbrella.

  – bully beef – Finely minced beef in a small amount of gelatin and used as a main field ration for the British army. Commonly known as corned beef.

  – chatts – Lice.

  – clearing station – A military medical facility behind the front lines for treating soldiers out of range of enemy artillery. Not intended for long-term stay.

  – CO – Commanding officer.

  – COMMS – Communications.

  – dressing station – First aid post close to a combat area.

  – duck board – A platform built over muddy ground to form a dry passageway.

  – FANY – First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. Founded in 1907 and provided nurses, ambulance drivers, and general volunteer aid.

  – fire step – Built into each trench two or three feet from the floor to enable soldiers to peer over the side of the trench through the parapet into No Man’s Land and across to the enemy line.

  – firestorm – Heavy shooting.

  – Fritz – Germans.

  – Front – The main theater of war where the battles took place.

  – hardtack – An inexpensive and long-lasting biscuit made from water, flour, and sometimes salt. Commonly used during long sea voyages and military campaigns.

  – Jack Johnsons – A black German 15 cm artillery shell, the heaviest used by the German army to create a crater twenty feet deep. Nicknamed after Jack Johnson, the US world heavyweight boxing champion.

  – Jerries – Germans.

  – Kaiser – Wilhelm II the German Emperor.

  – lorry – Truck.

  – lysol swabs – Used to clean wounds.

  – mape – Slang for a Canadian derived from maple.

  – MO – Medical officer.

  – No Man’s Land – Area of ground between the two opposing armies.

  – over the top – An idiom dating back to WWI meaning excessiveness. Chiefly used by the British, it’s the process where infantrymen emerged from their trenches and scrambled into No Man’s Land to attack the enemy.

  – POW – Prisoner of war.

  – puttees – A long, narrow piece of cloth wound tightly around the leg from ankle to knee to provide support and protection.

  – quartermaster – A senior soldier responsible for quartering, rations, clothing, and other supplies.

  – RAMC – Royal Army Medical Corps.

  – reserve line – Backup trench for the second line trench should the enemy break through the lines. Contained extra supplies, cooks, medics, and new recruits.

  – Sam Browne Belt – A wide belt, usually leather, supported by a narrow strap passing diagonally over the right shoulder of an officer’s military uniform.

  – Sister – A position of authority within the nursing hierarchy who is registered and can administer drugs. As nursing used to be province of religious orders, especially orders of nuns, the term ‘Sister’ was used.

  – Stahlhelme – German helmet.

  – tincture of iodine – antiseptic.

  – Tommy – British soldier.

  – VAD – Voluntary Aid Detachment. A volunteer unit providing field nursing services. Cheekily referred to as Very Adorable Darlings with noted members Vera Brittain, Agatha Christie, and Amelia Earhart.

  – Yank – American.

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