No Place for a Woman

by Val Wood

  ‘I try to,’ Edie murmured, and didn’t tell her that whenever a badly injured soldier was brought in she kept her soldier brothers in her mind as she tried to save him.

  ‘The casualty clearing stations,’ Matron said. ‘The nursing staff can’t work in front line conditions for long; it would be a short term contract, then a long leave before returning to the front again. The conditions for the medical and nursing staff are not what you might expect, but the patients are well looked after. Sometimes the nurses have to live in tents or temporary accommodation.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Edie said without preamble. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  I don’t know whether I’ll mek it out of here, Stanley wrote to Josh from hospital, though I’ll do my best. I think I might have used up most of my nine lives in this caper. Tomorrow I’m going back to front line hell again, proper treat that’ll be. I don’t think. I’ve had a real bad dose of scabies and trench foot again, thought I’d be driven mad with itching and I can’t feel my toes, but I’ve seen much worse in here. Some of the lads that have been gassed are in a worse state than me. Some of them were shot at as they ran to get away from the poison gas cloud. It’s not proper soldiering, not fair and square. I bet the German soldiers don’t like it any more than us. I’ve had a letter from our Bob and one from Charlie. Mebbe they had the right idea about working on the railway, though I know that Charlie was keen on soldiering to begin with. Anyway, tek care of yourself.

  Fondest regards, from your brother Stanley.

  Josh tucked the letter into his battledress pocket and took out a bent and wet cigarette. He looked at it and rolled it between his fingers and then put it back in his pocket. Daren’t risk the smoke being seen. What was all that about, he thought. It’s not like our Stanley to be such a pessimist. Is he warning me, knowing that I’ll be moving up to ’front any day now? Preparing me, that’s what he’s doing. He allus did look after me, just as I did wi’ our Charlie.

  He shifted his feet and felt the mud slurping and sucking beneath them. They’d had a deluge of rain over the last couple of days and there was really no place to keep dry. He stepped on to the ladder and peered through the periscope. Seemed quiet but you couldn’t be sure, couldn’t let your guard slip for a second.

  He glanced down the trench. Some of the lads were snatching a spot of shut-eye in the func holes – just narrow slits that were dug into the sides of the trench; you had to sleep whenever you could. It had been a vicious few days. Fritz hadn’t let up, not even at night. They’d endured hours of artillery fire. He’d heard one of the young lads sobbing. It wasn’t right sending such young bairns out here when they should be at home with their mothers.

  There was a low light burning in the dugout which served as the officers’ mess, where the field telephone sat on a makeshift table made out of planks and the reports were written. He saw Captain Warrington looking his way and he touched his finger to his helmet in a casual acknowledgement. He’d say one thing, and that was that the captain didn’t ask any man to do something he wouldn’t do himself. He was a proper soldier, as Stanley would say.

  Josh began to hum beneath his breath. It’s a long way to Tipperary. It’s a long way to go. Where the hell was Tipperary anyway? Sounds Irish. Some Irish fellow wanting to go home, just like we all do. Hope he made it.

  He ducked as a cacophony of noise, shell explosions and a racket of rapid firing rocked him off his feet. He blew his whistle and shouted an order as he jumped up, grabbed his rifle and gas mask and felt on his back-webbing to make sure his sharpened helve was in place. He felt his heart hammering. God! That was close. His new stripe felt heavy on his sleeve. ‘All right, lads,’ he shouted. ‘On your feet. Watch out for grenades. Lob ’em back to where they’ve come from if you can. Come on. Keep your heads down. Let’s go.’

  Henry Warrington, now in truth the captain Edie had called him, had been watching the sergeant. He appeared to be relaxed but by his movements Henry could tell that he was as aware as a cat on a night-time prowl. He watched as he read his letter and tucked it safely away, examined his roll-up but didn’t light it. Henry’s mouth lifted at the corners in a wry grin as he recalled his first meeting with Joshua Morris and his offer to fight him. What cocky little blighters we were back then. I thought I knew everything. I know this much, I’m glad he’s on my side rather than on the enemy’s, he was thinking, when the whistle went and ferocious hell came to visit them again.

  Lucy was on her way home for some leave before preparing for her journey to France. She doubted that she would be back again before Christmas. She’d written to Edie to tell her that she would be heading for a casualty clearing station in France early in the New Year. It wasn’t an order, she explained, I volunteered. I don’t know what they’ll say at home and I know that Oswald will be furious with me, but I believe I should go. If I find that it’s intolerable then I can leave and go back to a hospital, unlike the poor soldiers who have no choice where they will be sent. There seems to be no end in sight of this dreadful war, and for what? It seems that there has been little to gain; every few yards that are won are lost elsewhere. The German soldiers must be as sick of it as we are. Keep well and safe, dearest Edie. With love from Lucy.

  Her aunt and uncle were understandably worried when she told them, but neither of them tried to dissuade her and she was pleased that she had arrived home a day earlier than Oswald, who was expected late on Friday night. She hadn’t rung the bell on her arrival but had let herself in and found that no one was home but Mary, who she could hear moving about in the kitchen. Lucy stood for a moment in the quiet hall and revelled in the silence; the melodic ticking of the grandfather clock was no more than a comforting heartbeat, and God knows, she thought, I’ve sought and fought for many of those.

  How peaceful it seemed. No one would guess in this quiet house that such turmoil and anguish was going on elsewhere. Yet everyone did know; she’d taken a longer route home from the railway station to Baker Street than usual and it was as if a pall of sorrow hung over the city. People were going about their business but speaking in low tones to one another. The errand lads on their bicycles seemed younger than they used to be, too young to go to war, and even they were not whistling, aware perhaps that it wouldn’t be fitting.

  She’d called in at a newsagent’s for a newspaper and noticed a rack of postcards. Amongst the flowery birthday cards there were some with photographs of soldiers standing or kneeling by their wives or sweethearts, saying goodbye before going off to war. Below them were verses from a well-known song, ‘Goodbye Dolly Gray’, sung during the Boer War and reintroduced for this one. There were other cards too, one depicting a child at a post office asking if he might send a letter to his soldier father in heaven.

  Lucy turned away. Were they meant to bring comfort to those left at home, she wondered, and thought of some of the images in her own head: bloodied limbs and torn bodies that couldn’t be healed. Yes, she thought. Those real images should not be seen. Better by far for their loved ones to remember the picture they had in their heads, of patriotic smiling men in their pristine uniforms marching off and whistling ‘Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit-Bag’, or ‘Keep the Home-Fires Burning’. That, she thought, is how they should remember them.

  She called to Mary to let her know she had arrived and put her arms around her when she came out of the kitchen, her apron dusty with flour; seeing Mary always gave her a feeling of refuge, of safety, and to know that she had come back to the house in Baker Street especially so. She sat at the kitchen table whilst Mary fussed over her, bringing out the biscuit tin and filling the kettle to make tea, and felt like a child again.

  ‘We’ve had a sad time of it lately, Miss Lucy,’ Mary said. She hesitated. ‘I don’t think you’ll have heard; we’ve lost our Max.’ She took out a handkerchief from her apron pocket and wiped her eyes. ‘We’re all devastated. Especially his mam and da – and Jenny, well, she never stops crying.’ />
  ‘Oh, no!’ Lucy was shocked and upset. She had seen death so many times, but – not Max. Tears filled her eyes. She had had a childish crush on him, and the last time she had seen him, when she hadn’t liked his attitude, faded into insignificance.

  ‘I’m so very sorry,’ she murmured, her voice choked. ‘He was a special young man.’ As they all are, she thought. ‘When did they hear?’

  ‘Onny recently. They had a telegram.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Onny consolation they’ve had, and they were so grateful for it, was that our Edie was with him.’

  ‘Really?’ Lucy whispered.

  Mary took out her hanky again and blew her nose, then turned her back to go to the sink and wash her hands. ‘Yes.’ She took a deep breath. ‘She wrote to say she’d stayed with him until ’very end. She said that they’d had a laugh and talked about home and ’tricks they got up to when they were bairns.’ She sniffled. ‘And that he’d simply gone to sleep and wasn’t in any pain.’

  Tears rolled down Lucy’s cheeks. This was the worst part of the war; it wasn’t out on the battlefield or trenches and that was bad enough, it wasn’t about the medical team trying to save lives. It was the gaping hole left behind, the vacant space that could never be filled for those who were sitting at home knowing that their sons or husbands wouldn’t return.

  As she had predicted, Oswald was furious with her for agreeing to go off to France. ‘I can understand that you’d go to a military hospital abroad, but no, not out near the battlefields, Lucy. It’s so dangerous; medical staff have been killed! A stray bomb or shell – and now there’s air power, and the pilots and gunners are not so accurate with their targets on a bombing mission that they can avoid a tented hospital! And besides,’ he went on in full fury, ‘they’re not necessarily hospitals as you might imagine them to be; they’re casualty clearing stations and even nearer to the front.’

  She let him rant on; she understood his concern, but did he not realize that she knew all that he was telling her? Details had been given to her and she didn’t think for one minute that she would be as close to the front as he was describing.

  ‘Stop!’ she said at last. He had waited until his parents and Eleanor had gone up to bed before letting forth with his tirade, and Lucy wanted to go to her own bed. ‘Stop. Stop. Stop! I can hear you. I’m not a little girl any more, Oswald. I know what happens and I will take care.’

  ‘You can’t take care if a grenade or a shell is heading towards you,’ he persisted.

  Lucy got up from her chair. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said. ‘You’re giving me a headache.’

  He got up too. ‘Lucy! He put out a hand to pacify her. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that—’ He shrugged. ‘I’m worried about you.’

  She turned to face him. ‘I’m worried about me too, but I have to do this. I feel the need and I’m not being foolhardy; other women, doctors and nurses, are out there, and,’ she paused, ‘I believe I’m ready.’

  He looked miserably at her and knew he had lost this battle. He could only pray that she didn’t lose the next one. He shook his head and turned away.

  ‘Oswald?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I heard you.’ When he heard the door click behind her he sat down in the chair she had vacated; he sighed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands dangling between.

  Well, there’s only one thing to do, he thought. I’ll never get a moment’s peace if I don’t.

  He rose early the next morning, put on his dressing gown and went downstairs, hoping to catch Pa and have a quiet word before he left for the bank, but he’d forgotten that William was now the proud owner of a motor car and sometimes drove Eleanor to Pearson Park, which was what he was going to do this morning. Eleanor was in the kitchen having her breakfast, so when Oswald said he had something he wanted to discuss, William suggested he come through into the study. As they went in, Lucy was coming down the stairs, also in her dressing gown, in search of a cup of tea.

  ‘What’s Oswald doing?’ she asked Eleanor.

  Eleanor shrugged and shook her head. She picked up her cup. ‘Asked if he could have a word. Hope they don’t take long.’ She looked up at the clock. ‘Ten minutes and we have to be off.’

  Lucy smiled. ‘What a busy young woman you are. Are you enjoying the challenge?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I am. I love it! But I’ve been thinking, Lucy; when the war is over I’d like to keep the business going. I’ll produce women’s clothing, cotton dresses and skirts and blouses, clothes that people can afford, because I’d guess that there won’t be much money about, and then once it’s established I’ll put Sally in charge and I’ll take an intensive course in designer fashion and design and make clothes for the better off. Not for royalty or society ladies, like Madame Clapham, but for those who can afford something a little better and like something with style.’

  Lucy was amazed at her young cousin; she seemed to have her life mapped out. She sighed. If only it were so easy.

  When Eleanor and her father had left, Lucy continued sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea. How nice it was, she thought, to just relax without having to rush off to the wards or surgery. She loved her vocation but hadn’t realized just how tired she had become. She wondered whether to go back to bed again; it was only eight o’clock and she hadn’t slept well. The argument with Oswald had unnerved her.

  She was getting up from her chair when he came in; he hadn’t dressed yet either. ‘There’s tea in the pot.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It’s still hot.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, and reached into a cupboard for a cup and saucer.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said awkwardly. ‘When do you go back?’

  ‘Tomorrow. Late afternoon. We’ve got a lot on just now.’

  ‘I’ll see you later, then,’ she said. ‘I’m going back to bed for an hour.’

  ‘Righty ho!’ He concentrated on pouring the tea, but then looked up. ‘Lucy?’

  She turned. ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t let’s fall out.’ His soft grey eyes without his spectacles looked larger and tender. ‘You’ve made your decision and I’ll abide by it.’

  ‘I don’t want us to fall out,’ she said miserably. ‘We never do. This is the first time ever, since we were adults anyway. I can’t bear it when you’re cross with me.’

  ‘I’m not cross.’ He put down the cup and went towards her. ‘How could I be cross with you? I’m just concerned about you being out there.’ He put out his arms. ‘Come here. Let’s make up; be friends again.’

  Lucy felt her eyes smart and tears not far away as she went towards him. What on earth was wrong with her? She’d seen so much and thought she’d been hardened, and here she was about to weep over a disagreement.

  He put his arms round her and kissed her cheek. ‘We’re the best of friends, aren’t we?’ he said softly, and she nodded and returned his kiss.

  ‘Of course we are.’ She looked up at him and saw something in his gaze that told her they were more than that, and as he bent his head to kiss her once more the door quietly opened and his mother came in.

  She murmured, ‘Good morning,’ but had quite clearly comprehended that there was a charge in the air and that her son and her niece had been about to embrace.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Lucy sat on the side of her bed; she was confused and rather bewildered. I misread Oswald’s intention, that’s all, she considered. How silly of me. I thought for a moment that he was going to kiss my lips. She touched her mouth. But of course he wasn’t; he wouldn’t … would he? They were cousins, sister and brother almost – and yet neither of those. And then Aunt Nora walking in as she did; whatever did she think? She seemed astounded and confused, just as I am, though she covered it very well.

  I mustn’t let Oswald think I’m embarrassed, because I’m not, of course I’m not, and I don’t want him to feel awkward. We’ve had a good relationship throughout our lives, mostly anyway, although there have been times when – I don’t k
now quite how to put my finger on it, but I’ve felt changes in him from time to time when we have met.

  She sighed and decided that she wouldn’t go back to bed after all. She was wide awake anyway. She’d get dressed and go out and ask Oswald if he wanted to come, just so that he would know that everything was all right between them. Because it is!

  But still she lingered. The illogical thing is, she contemplated, that although I realize now that his intention was not to kiss my lips but my cheek as he always does – her fingers strayed to her mouth once more and she swallowed – I actually wanted him to.

  She came downstairs again, dressed to go out and carrying her coat.

  ‘You haven’t had breakfast, Lucy,’ Nora said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. ‘Do have something, or we can have an early lunch if you’d prefer. I have to do some shopping this afternoon. Eleanor has run out of a particular cotton thread that she needs and I said I’d get it from the haberdasher’s. Would you like to come or have you something else planned?’

  ‘I’ll just have some toast for now, Aunt, thank you. Can I smell coffee? Mmm, yes, please.’ She sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I thought that I’d visit Max’s parents. I don’t know them, but I know Jenny, so I thought I’d drop in and offer my condolences. Do you suppose their shops will be open?’

  ‘So Mary said. She doesn’t really approve of Max’s father. He only shut the shops for one day apparently after they’d been given the news about Max. So very sad. I recall him as such a polite boy, and so handsome.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lucy murmured. ‘He was.’ Her lips lifted in a gentle smile. ‘I fell in love with him when we went on that first picnic, do you remember? I decided that I was going to marry him.’ She laughed softly.

  Nora shook her head and said she couldn’t recall and Lucy silently thought of Josh and Stanley in France or Flanders, and then of Henry Warrington. Where was he? Edie said she’d met him when she was last at home. She pressed her lips together, fervently hoping that this dreadful war would end soon, before it devastated more families by taking the lives of more young men.