6 August
There has been a terrific thunderstorm today, which feels quite appropriate, as if God himself is raging over the foolishness of Men.
7 August
Miss Hurley arrived in a carriage mid-morning and we jogged off along the narrow lanes, raindrops sparkling like jewels where they hung in the hedgerows. The maze was diverting (if a little damp underfoot), but it is the architecture of the town that thrills me. Even the simplest worker’s cottage has charm, while the dark timbers, whitewash and handsome pargeting of the larger buildings are steeped in the memory of those gone before.
10 August
A number of ships have been sunk and hundreds drowned. The Defence of Belgium is under way, with reports in the newspapers of fierce fighting on both sides. Mother says I am becoming far too serious and is planning an outing ‘to cheer us’.
11 August
It seems there is to be one shock after another. I discovered Aunt Marjorie ripping open the seams of one of Mother’s dresses. When I asked why, she replied, ‘Can you not guess?’ I could not, and said so. Pursing up her mouth, she sent me to Mother, who first denied there was anything wrong then broke down in tears. Given her persistent illness of the last months, I began to worry that something serious was afoot, as indeed it is, though not at all in the way I expected. I went looking for Father to demand he tell me what was wrong, but instead found Uncle Aubrey. His reply to my distressed outpouring was to say, with some embarrassment, that it was a ‘woman’s concern’, and to escort me back to Aunt Marjorie with a firm directive that she should enlighten my ignorance, which she proceeded to do.
I confess I don’t know what to think. Mother is with-child, by some four months. Apparently Mr Wheatley, the Ship’s Surgeon, proposed it as an explanation for Mother’s lingering malady. Edmund, it seems, has known for some time — in fact, everyone but me has known. If it was not now quite confirmed, I should think it impossible at Mother’s age. As it is, I am finding it rather hard to take in.
14 August
Our outing to Cambridge proved a pleasant enough diversion, though I remain piqued that Mother should have kept me in the dark over so significant a matter. I really must wonder whether she had planned to confide in me at all.
15 August
I should have described Cambridge a little. It is a beautiful and venerable town. Our capital city of Wellington, which I previously thought quite cosmopolitan, is positively dowdy and provincial by comparison. We visited St John’s College, which was sublime (although that might truthfully be said of all the Colleges). They are like grand cathedrals — cathedrals of learning, I suppose. The River Cam, at Littlebury no more than a creek, is in Cambridge a calm expanse bounded by manicured parks and overhung by willows, on which punting is a common pastime. Aunt Marjorie has allowed we might try it at a later date. It being the summer holidays there were few students about, but still I could imagine the cobbled streets and parks and even the river crowded with them. It made me quite envious of Lettie, who aspires to be admitted to such a place. I have written to tell her about the Colleges and to ask after her application to Oxford University, which I am sure will prove just as beautiful, if not more.
Sunday 16 August
Today’s sermon focused on the brave Sacrifice of our Soldiers and the need to stand firm against the Menace shaking its mailed fist over Europe.
19 August
A letter came from Lettie, who says I should not be cross with Mother for failing to inform me of her condition, as the situation must be quite difficult enough at her age, and worrying besides. I confess I had not thought of it being worrying, merely repellent.
20 August
It is fiendishly hot. The Misses Morecombe sent a note inviting us over for the afternoon, but it was too hot for tennis. At length Sybil brought out the latest papers, which report a Russian victory on the Eastern Front. It seems as if this War will engulf every country of Europe! Sybil is of the view that one must do what one can to help, to which end Lady Braybrooke is organising First Aid courses. Mrs Morecombe says there is no end to useful work if one only puts aside one’s more frivolous concerns. I have volunteered to knit scarves, though my knitting is rather poor. Sybil has promised to teach me socks.
As Edmund and I walked back to Deans Park he raised the possibility of signing up, but is unsure whether the British Forces will accept him. By preference he would join the New Zealand Expeditionary Force but as they are unlikely to arrive in Europe for some months, he is concerned lest he miss the War completely. My advice was that he should better wait until Father decides what we are to do.
24 August
The British Forces are in retreat and Germany has invaded France. Everyone begins to fear that the War may not be won quite so quickly as had been hoped. Uncle Aubrey says we must accept that this summer is out completely for our Tour. Father raised the possibility of our returning to New Zealand at once, but — to my relief — Mother is reluctant to travel in her condition. I should certainly not wish to sail back around the world having seen so little of Europe, which, alongside visiting Aunt Marjorie and Father’s obligations regarding his father’s estate, is our chief purpose in coming all this way.
25 August
Having done First Aid at School last year, I acquitted myself favourably at the St John’s Course organised by Lady Braybrooke, afterwards accompanying Miss Bartlett to her WSPU meeting. The women were all of one mind: namely, that their focus must, in the interim, be on supporting Our Men at the Front. All efforts are to be put into fundraising for a Mobile Hospital Unit, and to helping in any other practical way. It was suggested by the evening’s speaker, the Honourable Evelina Haverfield, that our combined efforts will not only be of immeasurable value, but in the long term will work in aid of obtaining Women’s Suffrage by demonstrating women’s value outside the domestic sphere. It is the first time I have attended such a meeting and I confess I found it somewhat jingoistic, though I do not doubt the worthiness of the cause.
27 August
Uncle Aubrey is to join the War Office, which will oblige him to move to London for the duration. As a consequence he has requested of Father that we remain at Deans Park, both to look after his interests and to keep my aunt company. He is confident the War will be over before Christmas, and that we might then decide whether we proceed directly with a more limited Tour or wait until the following summer. I hope delay is possible, as I should not like to miss anything by rushing.
28 August
Sybil and Isabel Morecombe came to tea, during which the vigour of their inquisition suggested they have developed more than a passing interest in Edmund. Mother described their questions as a ‘favourable sign’ and instructed me ‘not to do anything which might damage my brother’s chances’, so she clearly sees Catmere as a desirable match. I wonder whether Edmund is to have any say in the matter?
Sunday 30 August
Eugenie wildly upset, having newly been told of her father’s imminent departure. Millicent more composed but looks pale. I feel guilty for neglecting them.
1 September
Attended my second, and somewhat heated, WSPU meeting. Some members wish to form a local branch of the Women’s Emergency Corps, for which Mrs Haverfield is Patron, while others feel that organisation’s insistence on uniforms is an unnecessary expense when no more would be achieved through wearing them than not. I confessed to Miss Bartlett that I thought it all rather trivial, to which she replied that in the event of a German invasion, it might seem less so. At the time I conceded meekly, though as I write I find that I can’t, in that horrid circumstance, see how uniforms would make the slightest difference either way.
There was a depressing article in yesterday’s newspaper, which I did not read till this evening, about British losses. Despite the best efforts of both British and French Armies, Paris itself seems at risk.
3 September
I am the cause of further furore: a peaceful afternoon picnic was spoiled when Monty
fell into the river. Of course I plunged in after — really, the water was only waist deep. But all present were surprised to learn that I was perfectly able to swim (this apparently being a skill rather more commonly acquired in New Zealand). Eugenie promptly asked if I might teach her, which made Monty demand a similar favour. I am glad there is one thing my cousins have found to admire in my Colonial upbringing!
4 September
Edmund and I are to attend a party at Catmere to celebrate Sybil’s eighteenth birthday. Aunt Marjorie says my dresses are out of date, and has proposed a trip to her dressmaker in Saffron to arrange ‘something more suitable’.
Sunday 6 September
Mother feeling unwell. Rained non-stop all weekend in a drizzly sort of way, with a heavy thunderstorm this morning. After Church I played cards with Millicent and Eugenie. Monty was in too foul a mood to participate and was eventually evicted from the parlour.
8 September
We are now to have First Aid classes twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Mother says I will overtax myself.
10 September
Having discovered that I have already achieved a St John’s First Aid Certificate (I had not been sure whether a New Zealand qualification would be recognised so had not mentioned it earlier), Lady Braybrooke assigned me to teaching, with a brisk ‘nonsense, my Dear’ to all my objections. Some of the women really are hopeless — Miss Lorly is squeamish at even the mention of blood! Lady B has moved her to bandage rolling.
11 September
I have a new dress, pale green crêpe with broad revere collar, revamped from one of Aunt Marjorie’s by her dressmaker. I do hope I shall look suitable.
News from France significantly improved, with the British and French Armies pushing the Dreaded Hun back.
12 September
Joy of joys, a parcel of letters has arrived from New Zealand, amongst them a long missive from Ada and a shorter one from Harriet. Of course the news is rather old, War not having been declared when the letters were written. Harriet reports the first spring blossom on the trees and daffodils in abundance, and that her father has her reorganising his patient files. Ada was newly home from a month staying with cousins in Auckland, where tea parties and dances were the order of the day, and where she met several young men who proved of interest — apparently it is rather quiet at home by comparison, though it may not remain so, as her father intends standing for Parliament in the General Election later this year under Prime Minister Massey’s Reform Party banner. I should think it a troublesome time to become a Member of the Government.
Sunday 13 September
Sybil’s party was very jolly, despite the War. Edmund was in great demand with the young ladies, who took delight in laughing at his accent. Nor did I lack for attention. My dress, though nice enough, was not so lovely as Sybil’s, which was a confection of pleated silk and lace in the palest pink. About half the young men were in uniform and looked very smart, leading Edmund to agitate about joining up. He has asked whether Uncle Aubrey might gain news of the New Zealand contingent.
14 September
The newspapers report that wounded servicemen are daily arriving on our shores in such numbers that our Hospitals risk being swamped.
15 September
At tonight’s meeting a resolution was passed to raise funds in support of the work of Dr Flora Murray and Dr Louisa Garrett Anderson, both members of the WSPU, who are committed to establishing Military Hospitals — staffed by women! — where they are most needed: in France. The War Office has raised objections, saying that women should do better to stay at home.
17 September
Miss Winstanley deigned to join my bandaging class yesterday and her behaviour towards me was quite vile. But I bit my tongue and refused to rise to her gauntlet, being well aware that was exactly her intention. Sybil stepped in at last and dressed her down for her snide comments, Miss Winstanley then flouncing off to take her complaint to Lady Braybrooke. I later heard from Miss Bartlett that she received very short shrift!
19 September
Uncle Aubrey came home for the weekend and I was able to ask what he thought about the Women’s Hospital Corps initiative. He replied that the Front is no place for women, being too challenging by far, however he did concede that the work carried out in England by Doctors Murray and Anderson suggests that they may be amongst those ‘rare birds’ who might prove able to cope. He also told us that the New Zealand Expeditionary Force has secured a victory in Samoa, wresting the Island from German hands, which caused us no small amount of pride.
22 September
Miss Bartlett has joined the Voluntary Aid Detachment. She made the announcement at tonight’s WSPU meeting in the hope that her actions would spur others to do the same. I do admire her gumption, and wonder whether perhaps I might do more in support of the War Effort.
23 September
More letters! The first from Lettie, who is much engaged in fundraising via Mrs Morrison’s penny flags, through sales of which substantial sums have been raised in support of both the local Regiment and Belgian Refugees. She encloses two flags that she proposes I wear on my lapel or else keep in an autograph book, as she does, alongside tokens from ‘Our Brave Soldiers’. My second letter is from Mr Lindsay, who gained our address via correspondence with Mr Wheatley. His letter is perfectly proper but leaves me with a sense that he is finding Oxford rather lonely. When Mother is feeling in a positive mood I shall place the matter before her and see whether we might invite him to visit. At the very least I shall write to reassure him that I do not in the least condemn his concern, as he seems fearful I might, for I should have done the same were the situation reversed.
24 September
Miss Bartlett, who says I must call her Winifred, has asked whether I might provide personal tuition in First Aid in advance of her examination next week, which she is quite desperate to pass. Of course I agreed, and all is arranged for tomorrow.
26 September
I am now fully apprised of the gulf that stands between Winifred’s family and mine. Although Father has ensured we are well provided for, all his efforts count for a mere drop compared to the wealth enjoyed by Lady Braybrooke. Her home — reminiscent of our New Zealand Houses of Parliament, though they are smaller and a good deal less grand — left me completely overawed, but Winifred, Miss Bartlett, was quite off-hand and told me I must treat the ‘old place’ as my own (which I could not possibly do). Lady Braybrooke was very gracious. I am to return on Monday to test Miss B on her memory of various types of bandaging.
Sunday 27 September
Today’s Service was extremely moving. Two of the village’s young men have been killed at the Front and another wounded. We prayed for their families, who stood alone but surrounded by friends in the desperate hour of their grief. It has made the War very real.
28 September
I have had a most entertaining day. WB had enlisted various maids to act the part of injured servicemen on whom she might practise bandaging, but as they were ill at ease with their young lady attending them in such a fashion, I finally suggested she bandage me instead. As a consequence I was festooned with a dozen or more wrappings when Lady Braybrooke summoned us to luncheon. Over our meal Lady B quizzed me regarding my education, family situation and life in New Zealand, concluding with a query about my plans for the duration of the War. I acquitted myself rather badly in answering this last, as I was somewhat at a loss. Winifred said later that I should be careful lest her aunt decides to make me ‘a project’. I have not the slightest idea what that might mean, but the interrogation has started me thinking.
30 September
Aunt Marjorie has proposed a trip to London, ostensibly to acquire items essential for the well-being of the baby. I do hope Mother agrees to take me with them.
2 October
Hooray! Edmund and I are to accompany Mother and Aunt Marjorie. We will travel by train and stay at an Hotel (there being no provision for family members, especial
ly female ones, at my uncle’s Club), and I am assured there will be time for a little sight-seeing.
Sunday 4 October, London
Attended Morning Service in St James’s — designed by Wren, rather grander inside than out, the vaulted ceiling and soaring voices in heavenly accord. By contrast the secular world feels much engaged in War. London is overflowing with soldiers, highlighting how isolated and provincial we are at Littlebury, where there is no real sense of the daily demands and fears. Today I saw a trainload of injured men and was hard-pressed not to stare at their bloodied heads and exhausted eyes. Some were missing limbs. Aunt Marjorie hurried us away, but still the tiniest details, such as the pattern of dark staining across one man’s torn jacket, stay burned into my mind.
Evie's War Page 3