All I Have to Give

by Mary Wood

  With no time to ponder this, Edith bent her head against the onslaught of rain that was now bucketing from the rolling sky. Forgetting all her fears, she hurried as fast as she could through mud that sucked her feet into its squelchy ruts, as she desperately made her way towards the largest of the tents.

  Getting there before the stretcher-bearers, she was appalled to see an empty space, with stacks of beds to one side, and boxes and boxes of supplies piled high next to them. Realizing that she was the most senior person present, she began to shout orders.

  Trying to do what she could for the men lying on the damp floor wherever the stretcher-bearers could lay them, she shouted, ‘Make a line of beds here and here. Then put those tables along here. Oh God, we need lights!’

  ‘I can fix the lights up, Ma’am. Me job before this lot was . . .’

  Edith turned towards the soldier who had said this and, like him, had a moment’s hesitation. It seemed to her that for a second or so the noise of the war, and the clatter of beds being assembled, faded into the distance as her heart jolted and she found herself looking into the most beautiful face she had ever seen. Can a man be beautiful? As her mind asked this question, she felt a blush sweep her face, but still she didn’t look away. In such a short space of time she registered his golden hair and how it waved back from his forehead, his freckled skin and his green-grey eyes, which held a look of astonishment as he stared back at her. A look that told her he had felt the same connection to her as she had to him. But then his words jarred her and didn’t fit their situation. ‘Corporal Albert Price, Ma’am. I was a mechanic before the war. I’ve seen a generator outside. I’ll have it going in no time.’

  Dragged back to reality, she lowered her gaze to compose herself, before answering him, ‘Thank you. That would be spiffing.’ Spiffing! Bother – did I really say that! When what I wanted to say had nothing to do with the war, or generators, or the sick or dying . . . Oh God, what is the matter with me?

  As he turned from her, he winked. Rather than offend her, it made her feel as if someone had brushed her skin with a feather. It was the kind of wink that said he knew how she felt, and this made her even more flustered, giving her the sense that she was a young girl instead of an adult woman – and a doctor at that.

  Cross with herself, Edith shook the thoughts from her. How could she have allowed her focus to shift from the important job at hand for even one second? The answer was simple. She’d not been given a choice, for the impact had happened without her bidding it to.

  Albert’s ‘no time’ took half an hour, during which time a minor miracle occurred, as the first signs of a hospital ward began to take shape, speeded up by another soldier who had come up to Edith. ‘I’m Private Walter Hermon, Ma’am. Over the last few days me and others assigned to get things shipshape have managed to get a wooden floor down in the next tent, but we were told the medical staff were to put the beds up and unpack the equipment, so we didn’t touch it. I can get the men to help, if you like?’

  ‘Good. Yes, set to. Thank you. I’ll utilize the wooden-floored tent as an operating theatre. And I have been informed there is an Australian hospital nearby that has been coping on its own. Would you send someone over there and ask them if they can take some of our cases? Tell them we are not fully up and running yet, and only have one surgeon at the moment, but more are expected any day.’

  ‘I’ll try, Ma’am, but those we have here are an overflow from that hospital, as it is. I think they thought we were ready.’

  ‘Well, tell them we are not; and if they cannot take any patients back, ask them to at least spare us a surgeon, as we are desperate!’

  Assessing patient after patient, Edith methodically labelled each according to what they would need, mentally working out an order of priority. The nurses working alongside her were putting her requests into action as best they could.

  ‘Connie, have you come across an operating table yet?’

  ‘Yes, and much more for a theatre, Doc, and I have them all sorted.’

  Edith set Connie the task of grabbing one of the helpers to get the wooden-floored tent ready for that purpose, while shouting, ‘Nurses, get all the patients onto beds now, quickly! And has anyone located drugs and dressings?’

  ‘I have. They’re all in this case here, Doctor Edith. And may I say, listening to you on the drive here, I worried that you were as green as me. But, hey-ho, you’re top-hole! What shall I do with this stuff? Oh, by the way, I’m Jennifer Roxley, of London. I think you guessed that I am with the Voluntary Aid Detachment. Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘I know of the Roxleys: you must be a younger sister of Allen, who is in my social set. I’m pleased to meet you, too. Locate either Nurse Connie or Nurse Nancy – they will know where to put everything. Just follow their direction to the letter. You heard what they said about VADs: prove them wrong, for all the posh-girl brigade. And, Jennifer – thank you, and well done.’

  Darkness had fallen before Edith’s lips touched a drop of liquid. Sipping on the delicious hot tea, which the strange feel of a tin mug didn’t diminish, she leant back on the tent post. Thank goodness another team of doctors and nurses was expected soon, to work alongside her team, as she doubted any of them could keep up the pace that had been set today.

  An eerie silence clothed the site and the surrounding area with an atmosphere of delicate peace. Some of the tension left her body, if not her mind, as she reflected on what this first day had brought. Men with horrific wounds, some so badly hurt that it had been beyond her power to save them. She’d had to cut out bullets and shrapnel and stitching and . . . and saw off a leg of a young man not much older than twenty! Then, amidst all this, there was the effect that Albert had had on her. Throughout all she’d done, his presence had lingered with her, and his wink and his smile had revisited her mind at the most unexpected moments. What is the matter with me? Have I fallen in love? No, that couldn’t be right, for Albert was far below her in standing. It was ridiculous – they would have nothing in common. It must be the situation we are all in, playing with our emotions. I have to put him out of my mind! Somehow, though, she knew she couldn’t do that. With these thoughts confusing her, weariness crept into each limb, and tears plopped unbidden onto her cheeks.

  “Ere, love, you have a good cry – we all do it. Shows we’re ’uman. You did a fantastic job or, as you would probably say, “an absolutely spiffing job”!’

  Edith had an urge to giggle at Connie’s mimicking of her but, instead, deep rasping sobs racked her body. Connie stood by, waiting, not speaking. At last the deluge calmed. As Edith wiped her face on the apron she’d not yet discarded, the blood of a dozen men mingled with her tears, bringing home to her the pity of it all. Connie’s cheery cockney voice saved her from descending once more into a pit of despair.

  ‘Now you’ve made a right mess of yerself Come on, there’s a shower tent with hot water. Gawd knows yer could do with one. Go and ’ave a quick swill. But hurry back, as we’ll need yer in a mo.’

  As Edith washed the muck of the day from her face and arms and donned the clean overall that Connie had brought to her, she wondered why she would be needed. Yes, there were one or two cases that the nurses might have to call her to, but Connie had hinted that there was a greater reason for why she was required – a reason Edith hadn’t yet been made aware of.

  It didn’t take long before the rumble of vehicles made the ground shudder, and grated on her ears. Leaving the tent and turning in the direction of the noise, she found Connie already outside. ‘Okay, Doctor, ready for the final task of the day? These will be the dead. They collect them at night. They’ll need identifying and certifying. Then the men will bury them. Nancy will help you.’

  ‘Oh God!’

  ‘Don’t worry, me duck.’ Nancy’s flat Leicestershire tones soothed her. How often she’d heard the gardeners and stable hands of their country home use that expression. Not to herself of course, but still it gave her comfort, as Nancy continued, ‘It�
��s been a hard day – the first of many – but you’ve coped. And when we get ourselves sorted, we’ll find ways of dealing with the horror. In the meantime I’ll help you with this lot. I had one of the men fix up that tent over there to use as a morgue. And there’ll be an officer with them, to do the paperwork. All must be done with the dignity that the boys deserve, and I know you’ll do that.’

  These last words from Nancy pulled her up. Yes, she would do this last thing for the soldiers, and she would do it keeping their pride and dignity in mind. But the sadness of it wrenched her heart, as for the umpteenth time she wrote ‘Killed in Action’ and watched the little pile of belongings, with an identifying tag resting on top, being packed away. Another life reduced to the size of a brown paper bag.

  ‘Well, that’s all done. When I emptied the last bucket, I saw Connie. She’s done the rounds, and everyone is as best they can be. She was laughing, as one of them posh lot has set to and made us all some cocoa. Bet you could do with some, although I don’t think it’ll taste much better than ditch-water. Bloody hopeless, the VADs are.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know – she may surprise you. Our nannies were very good at teaching us to fend for ourselves . . . Oh, I’m sorry, I sounded a bit off. Didn’t mean to, I . . .’

  ‘No, I’ve been around your class of people long enough now to take what you say as the way you mean it. You’re used to different ways, that’s all. I’m for a shower first. How about you?’

  ‘Thanks, Nancy. It’s nice to know I won’t have to be on my guard all the time and that we’ll get along. You’re a jolly nice sort. And, yes, I’ll take another quick shower before I tackle that cocoa.’

  Lying on a camp-bed for the first time surprised Edith. It felt very similar to lying on a hammock and gave relief to her aching bones. For a moment she thought of her home in London, and of lazy days spent resting in the garden. Hammocks would be slung between the trees, and she and her cousins would lie for hours chatting about their future. Well, she wouldn’t chat exactly, but she would listen to Eloise and Andrina talking about how they would marry amazing men and throw wonderful parties. Why their heads were full of such stuff, she couldn’t imagine.

  For all their frivolity, they were intelligent young women; especially Eloise, whom Edith knew would secretly love a career. If only she had the courage to pursue her dream, rather than thinking it was hopeless to do so. Well, it wasn’t, as she herself had proved. Women were fighting all the time for the right to live their lives as they chose, and to have a say in the politics of their country. She would do the same, once this was over, but not in the way Emmeline Pankhurst advocated. Becoming an arsonist, smashing windows and serving time in prison just wasn’t her style. No, her way would be more along the lines that Elsie Inglis, her newfound hero, had taken.

  Edith had found out more about this Scottish lady after the arrival of her brother Christian’s letter, and had liked what she’d learned. A supporter of women’s suffrage, before her hospital war work Elsie had given talks and had shown by example what women could achieve. But Edith did agree with Mrs Pankhurst on one thing: change could only come about if women were given the right to vote. Everything had to start with that.

  However, her thoughts didn’t stay long with the part of her that would campaign. Instead, the image of Albert came into her mind. She hadn’t seen him again, and when she’d asked where he’d gone, one of the ambulance men had said that Albert would be back in the trenches. It appeared that whenever he had a break, he’d offer to help the crew who had been assigned to erect the tents for the medical camp.

  Her body shuddered at the thought of Albert in the trenches; and maybe even, at first light, going over the top to attack. Curling herself into a ball as she thought of this, she prayed: Dear God, please keep him safe.

  3

  Ada

  Low Moor, July 1916

  Decisions and retributions

  Pacing up and down tired her and the cold slabs made her feet ache, but the restlessness didn’t leave Ada, no matter what she did. Shaking her head in an effort to clear the heavy fog that clouded her mind, she felt as if she was sinking into madness.

  It had been like this since the day Jimmy had left for France. He’d been home after a short leave in March, once his training was over – if you could call it training: six weeks is all he’d had; six bloody weeks! It seems they had shown him how to fire a rifle and not much else, by the sound of what Jimmy had told her. Then he’d been shipped out to fight. The poor lad hardly knows one end of a gun from the other! This thought made her blood run cold. How will he cope? How will he keep from getting killed?

  Pulling herself up, Ada stopped her pacing and leant heavily on the wooden table. As she stared down at the many impressions crayons and pencils had made on it over the years, tears began to well up in her eyes. Running her finger over the indentations brought back memories of rainy days when her three lads had sat at this table, scribbling away. Oh God! I can’t go on like this! Folding her arms around herself as if to ward off the unbearable pain, she turned away from the table and stamped her foot in frustration. I need a distraction. I have to do something with my time. I have to!

  Never a curtain-twitcher in the past, Ada now often found herself lifting the net from the window above her pot-sink and staring out. She did that now, and saw Mabel and Agatha, arms linked, making their way from the station. Mabel, the mother of Eric, and Agatha, the mother of Arthur – the two lads who had gone with Jimmy – hadn’t stayed at home moping about; they’d got themselves a job. That’s it!

  Her cardigan resisted her tug as she dashed out of the door, so she left it hanging on the hook. Though she’d found it a chilly day when she’d hung a few bits out on her line earlier, she’d risk getting cold, rather than miss catching up with Mabel and Agatha. Seeing them had given her a solution, and she wanted to sort things before she lost her nerve.

  ‘Hey! Mabel, Agatha, hold on a mo!’

  ‘Eeh, Ada, you gave me a reet fright. What’s wrong, lass?’

  ‘Everything, Mabel. Where do I start? But it ain’t me troubles I want to talk to you and Agatha about – it’s a job. I’ve heard Low Moor hasn’t got owt going. Not that I have enquired for meself, but my Paddy hears stuff, and he was saying that Low Moor was fully staffed. D’you know if there’s any jobs going at that munitions factory you work at in Leeds?’

  ‘It’s called Barnbow. And, aye, there’s a few. But it ain’t no cushy number . . .’

  ‘Since when have I ever shied away from hard work, eh? The bloody cheek of you, Agatha Arkwright!’

  ‘Eeh, Ada, don’t take on – I didn’t mean that. I were just going to say as it’s hard work, and I reckon you could find sommat a bit easier, if you were serious about it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, lass, I shouldn’t have taken offence. But, look, I don’t want easy. I want sommat as’ll take all me energy and keep me mind occupied in the day, and drain me so that I fall asleep at night.’

  ‘By, working in the munitions will do that alreet, lass. Me and Mabel can hardly keep awake on the train going to, or coming home from, the factory. I’m dead on me feet now. We’ve been on early shift and started at five this morning, and that meant catching the train at four.’

  ‘Aye, I can see as you’re tired. Look, come in and have a cuppa. I’ve a pot on. I want to ask you more about it, and whether you think I stand a chance of getting set on.’

  ‘I’ll pass on the cuppa, if you don’t mind . . .’

  ‘Aye, and me too. Look, Ada, all me and Agatha want to do is get home. But, aye, you’d get set on. Crying out for workers, they are. I’ll put a word in for you tomorrow and stop by tomorrow afternoon and let you know. But I reckon as you’ll be on that train with us the next morning, so prepare yourself.’

  Some of her despair lifted with this and made her step lighter. Closing the door once she was inside, Ada leant heavily on it. What have I done? But then, Paddy will have to lump it. It’s Barnbow Munitions Factory for me
, no matter what he says!

  A proud man, Paddy maintained that he was the breadwinner in the family. Huh, I’ve yet to see the day! She’d never known a time without worry over money, though it had eased a little when her lads had found work . . . No, she mustn’t think of that time. They were gone, and that was that.

  Even to her own mind that sounded harsh, but it was the only way she could cope.

  Taking her cardigan and coat down from the peg behind the door, she pulled them on. It might be a bit chilly down here, but up the hill where her sister Beryl lived, it could fair cut you in two at times. But she needed to go there to talk about her plans.

  The houses at the top of the hill were superior to the rows where Ada lived. The folk up there had jobs – or, rather, positions. Beryl’s Bill was a bank clerk, and he was forward-thinking, in that he allowed Beryl to work. She managed the local grocery store for the owner, who had retired.

  This meant they could have holidays each year and go to places like Llandudno. Beryl said that was in Wales, so it was like going abroad. Eeh, what does it feel like to have a holiday and to see such places? Nevertheless, Ada would not have swapped her life with Beryl’s. Never to have had young ’uns? Naw, that was sommat as she wouldn’t have wanted to miss out on.

  As she neared Beryl’s house, Ada saw her sister just going into her front gate. Looking at Beryl was like looking at herself, except that Beryl’s figure was slighter and almost boyish-looking and she wore her hair short, whilst Paddy made Ada keep hers long. Not that Beryl’s bob tamed her curls; if anything, they were worse than Ada’s long ringlet ones, especially now, when the wind caught and ruffled them. A smile formed around Ada’s lips at the thought of Beryl’s hair looking like a dozen coiled red springs, stuck on her head. Eeh, it must be the new hope in me, as that’s the first time I’ve spread me face in a smile for a long time!

  Calling out to Beryl made her sister wave and beckon Ada over. When she reached the door Beryl said, ‘Come in, love. Eeh, our Ada, I feel your sorrow every time I see you, lass, and it wakens up me own. Have you heard from Jimmy? Has he got there yet?’