Winifred ‘sought refuge’; she says she cannot bear the fuss and bother, and would as happily marry her Colonel in a Registry Office. I soothed her as best I could, all the while pushing aside thoughts of Charles.
Sunday 12 May
A glorious day; England at her finest. And all this would be gone were we to lose the Channel Ports. None save my brother and I understand what these pretty fields and hedgerows would come to resemble in that eventuality. At least it reminds one of the necessity of this apparently endless War.
13 May
Edmund plans to return to London immediately after the wedding, despite having another week of leave. He confessed he no longer feels at home at Deans Park, though says my company ‘improves it’.
15 May
Mr Lindsay writes that he has taken up bicycling and is ‘wobbling his way into the countryside and finally able to enjoy beauty again’. He also speculates on the Germans’ lack of aggression over the past fortnight — ‘one would like to think we have finally stopped them, or else that they have worn themselves out, though I suspect they may yet have a few tricks planned’. It is a relief to be able to discuss such things openly. Mother is quite allergic to any mention of the War — as if that will somehow improve things.
16 May
Winifred approves my dress, though complains I am too thin. Regarding arrangements for Saturday, she said that if they had only appointed Lady B as Chief of Staff, the whole War would have been organised with precision and polished off within a month.
I feel churlish to begrudge a single moment of her happiness, but cannot fail to think of Charles and what would have been.
18 May
It is done, and they will by now be departed. Rose petals tossed and the Bride and Groom’s health being drunk, I asked Edmund to escort me home that I might shed my tears in private. I do wish her well.
Sunday 19 May
A further farewell, this time to my brother. I wished him luck for the Board; I think it likely he’ll get B2 rather than B1.
25 May
Feeling rather bleak all week. It is not an anniversary I can speak of. Mother has been unusually solicitous. I think perhaps William’s arrival placed her under more strain than I had realised; this morning she called me her ‘dearest girl’ and patted my cheek. Received a kind note from Mr Miller, which crossed with my own.
Sunday 26 May
Millie took me to inspect progress on a project initiated by the GFS and latterly taken up with gusto by Aunt Marjorie, being the support of War Orphans. Between them they have gathered clothing, toys, blankets and other necessities, which are distributed as need dictates, first to local children then to those in towns and cities which have been bombed, and also to War Refugees. I am impressed by her zeal, and said so.
27 May
Uncle Aubrey yesterday enquired of my plans once my convalescent leave ends, rather putting the matter on the table. I had no answer, but know that I can no longer sit about doing nothing while our boys continue to suffer.
28 May
Reading between the lines of the newspaper reports, it would seem the Germans are again on the advance.
29 May
Winifred has confirmed a heavy bombardment at Chemin des Dames and ten miles lost; they are eighty miles from Paris. Mother ‘could not see the point of writing with such news’.
30 May
Note from Edmund to say he is graded B2, with orders to report to Codford. I am relieved, though I know it will be a disappointment to him. Newspapers report that the Germans have reached the Marne.
1 June
Headlines trumpet a great victory won by the Americans on their first engagement. Let us hope it is enough.
Sunday 2 June
A short sermon and much prayer.
4 June
Surprise visit from Uncle Aubrey. On hearing that I am due to report to HQ on Thursday he proposed we travel down to London together. He believes the Germans exhausted and overstretched. With my assessment that we are in a similar state he agreed, adding only ‘but the Americans are not’.
5 June
Spoke with Mother; she is in a state but ‘must bow to the inevitable, her feelings on the matter apparently being irrelevant’.
6 June, Mayfair, London
Uncle Aubrey had booked me into an Hotel very near Devonshire House so that I might report first thing, but I am apparently lacking the relevant paperwork (medical clearance), so now have to wait to be assessed. There seemed also an interminable amount of form-filling (partly due to the ‘irregular nature’ of my initial posting to Flanders — upon which matter I judged it best to say nothing whatsoever).
7 June
Medical assessment went well; signed off A1 (not wishing to spend more time kicking my heels at Deans Park, I did not mention the breathlessness which still bothers me; really, I am better put to use).
Dinner with Winifred and Colonel Mallory. She looks rather like the cat that got the cream. The Colonel (who says I must call him Lionel) reported a successful counterattack against the German Advance.
8 June
Message from reception to say I had a visitor, a ‘young man in uniform’ — and was slightly relieved to find my brother waiting in the foyer! He has been successful in having his status upgraded to B1 and will be posted in a fortnight.
Sunday 9 June, Deans Park
Edmund, Uncle Aubrey and I travelled up together. The atmosphere is rather thick, Edmund having shared his news.
11 June
My papers have arrived: I am to report to Devonshire House next Monday, with notification of my posting to follow. Told Mother I would leave for London on Thursday, staying with Winifred, to attend to matters such as my uniform: she was a little wobbly, but not so opposed as I had expected.
13 June
Telegram from Mr Lindsay; he says he will be in London this weekend and wonders whether he might call on me. Of course I have said yes — I have not seen him in an age — but proposed meeting at the Boat House in Hyde Park (thereby avoiding any awkwardness with Winifred) on Sunday afternoon. I do hope the weather is fine!
14 June, Belgravia, London
Chez Mallory is a four-storey white stucco townhouse (a momentary wobble as I recalled the house Charles had secured for us; I do hope a young couple has taken it). The Colonel has lived here for years so it feels very much his — the guest room done out in Chinese lacquer — but Winifred is slowly arranging things to her liking; ‘putting her stamp’ as Lionel says. While she was giving me the tour I asked about Lionel’s first marriage. She says he never speaks of it, other than to say he had once made ‘a great mistake’ which caused him to become rather gun-shy. ‘Till you came along,’ said I, and she smiled in a very satisfied manner.
15 June
My uniform is now sorted and packed in Winifred’s old trunk (which she said I should keep, and indeed I have grown quite fond of it) together with ‘a few luxuries’ she insisted on buying me in Fortnum’s. As a consequence I have finest Ceylon tea, Evelyn rose soaps, a Dundee cake sealed in its tin and two new sets of silk underwear (over which we giggled like schoolgirls); all items highly overpriced thanks to the blockade and rationing. I confess I am a little nervous to know where I shall be sent.
Sunday 16 June
Splendid afternoon with Mr Lindsay. He was at our designated meeting place before me (despite my early arrival) and we were soon at ease, our conversation initially taken up by calculations of how long it had been since we last met (we settled on eighteen months) and all that has happened in that time. I talked a good deal about Flanders and Edmund and Deans Park, and not at all of Charles or Winifred. I did, finally, tell him I was staying with her. Of course he knew she had married (she had written) and seems perfectly sanguine. Still, I do not think I shall invite him to call for me chez Mallory. He spoke about Oxford and his studies, and I eventually gathered courage to ask about his health. He has regained ‘tolerably good’ sight in his left eye and, truly, his fac
e does not look as bad as one might have supposed, the scarring having improved a good deal. He has been offered corrective surgery but is at present content to ‘leave things as they are’, with which I concur. He looked at me sideways (he has acquired a habit of ensuring he is on one’s right, so that the damaged side of his face is averted) and asked whether I did not find him rather monstrous. I replied vehemently that I did not. He said nothing more on the topic but was, I suspect, relieved.
After tea (fish paste sandwiches: not my favourite but the choice was rather limited) he proposed hiring bicycles. I had not ridden for years and was a little unsteady at first but, once I had the trick of it, it proved rather fun. I had forgotten how much I enjoy his company. As well, it was a relief to be able to speak openly about my experiences in Flanders — at Deans Park I feel as if I must be ever on my guard against saying too much. When I told him what a lifeline his letters had been, he replied that I had provided the same service during ‘the odd rough patch’. We have arranged to meet tomorrow after my appointment at Devonshire House.
17 June
I am officially approved and am to be sent to France. When asked whether I was ready to go at short notice I answered with an emphatic ‘Yes!’ and said my time felt wasted at home now my health had returned, earning me a wintry smile. I am to expect my papers within a few days. On enquiring whether I should remain at readiness in London I received a curt ‘that would be best’. So I am to go soon.
Mr Lindsay proposes, in light of the length of our friendship, that I might consider calling him Arthur, to which I agreed. (He says he has thought of me as ‘Evie’ since his friendship with Winifred, she always referring to me thus.) We had tea in town and went to the cinema — a Charlie Chaplin movie, rather silly but good to have one’s mind distracted from more serious matters — after which I caught a trolleybus back to the Mallorys’.
18 June
Uncle Aubrey rang to say that Edmund was to re-join his Regiment on Thursday. He is taking us both to dinner tomorrow. Winifred and I spent the day rearranging furniture. I am quite exhausted!
19 June
I felt rather torn bidding farewell to my brother. He suspects he will be going to the Somme, and reported a general clearing out at Sling Camp and Codford; all possible men being scraped up and sent to the Front.
20 June
I am to sail on Saturday with a group of twelve nurses. All being in readiness, I will go to Deans Park for the night.
21 June, Deans Park
I know it is difficult for Mother to have me leaving so soon after Edmund, but honestly! I do not believe her ‘quite deserted’. Rather, it is clear she is worried for us both. Father patted her hand, quietly adding that my brother and I would be constantly in their thoughts and prayers.
22 June, Southampton
We sail at dusk. Prayers offered up by all. Quite a large convoy — I wonder whether Edmund is aboard one of the troopships.
Sunday 23 June, Le Havre
Moonless night, which one might think would make the threat of U-boats less worrying. Not so! But we are safely arrived, and are to remain here until individual orders are issued. Two of our group have been assigned to an Ambulance Train. Rather glad I am not with them; I am quite sure I should suffer motion sickness.
24 June
Ran into Lieutenant Ledingham, last seen in Saint-Omer — what an arena for coincidences this War provides! He passed on the rather sad news that of the four young men with whom we had lunch, two are now dead and one — who I recall as extremely serious — sent home in a bad way. Lieutenant L is currently attending a training camp. He invited me for a meal, which I declined on grounds of having a previous engagement, though it was not quite true.
25 June
Today I saw several of the tanks which have proven such an asset. They are rather squat and ugly; it is hard to imagine them being of great use in battle — though I don’t doubt that if they were bearing down upon one, they would be daunting indeed. The town is positively bursting with soldiers. For the locals it is ‘business as usual’, while we kick our heels or go sight-seeing. But all are eager to get on.
27 June
Postings at last: all remaining are to go to Abbeville.
28 June, No. 2 Stationary Hospital, Abbeville
Arrived early afternoon. The Railway Station is charming, red brick with the sweetest little clock tower. At one end of the platform a VAD Rest Station has been established, canvas and batten walls, around thirty by fifty feet, where comfort in the form of hot drinks and basic care is offered to men (and nurses, for whom they also run library and laundry services) passing through on Ambulance Trains. They have been required to rely heavily upon improvisation and ‘acquisitions’; Miss Conway told us that all difficulties tend to be met by those in (French) authority with a Gallic shrug and ‘C’est la Guerre’. But that having taken to saying it themselves, they have found that it somehow seems to work. They have been subject to air raids fairly continuously. The AT Depot opposite was hit and set on fire in May.
Two trucks arrived to take us to No. 2 SH. There are any number of SHs and CCSs dotted about, all quite extensive. We are a little out of town, good road, with very tidy arrangements of marquees and huts. Quite established. Four of us are posted here, the others going to No. 38 CCS and the Canadian SH at Doullens.
29 June
Back into the swing. I had quite forgotten the pace. I am in Fractures. Have written to Deans Park and Edmund.
1 July
Matron, Miss Willets, breezed through the mess. She appears a very competent individual.
2 July
Sister approved my efforts and I am permitted to work unsupervised on changing simple dressings. The man on whose dressing I was being tested winked at me after!
3 July
Fields of ripening wheat surround us; below runs the Somme River, from which the slopes gently rise in smooth-shouldered ridges. It is pretty countryside: copses dotted between the fields, church spires rising here and there above the low hills. It is astonishing how walking to the edge of the camp and breathing in the warmth and scents of summer can lift one’s spirits from the suffering at one’s back.
4 July
A great victory at Le Hamel; Australian and American troops supported by tanks. Cautious optimism that the tide may be on the turn.
5 July
One of the orderlies offered instruction regarding a patient who has two broken arms as well as wounds to the chest and head: he says I must ensure the man has at least one cigarette an hour, which I must light and place in a holder between his teeth, then later remove it, as he can do none of it for himself. As well I must watch that the ash does not fall and burn a hole in the sheets!
7 July
Our great victory has brought a rush of admissions and my first American casualties; they are politeness itself.
8 July
Word has gone round that 1,000 men were killed or wounded at Hamel, and all in the hour and a half that the victory cost.
9 July
One of my young men is from the Tank Corps, and must constantly suffer the praise of the men around him. He does not appear to mind but says little in reply, being in considerable discomfort.
10 July
No. 2 is well settled, having been here for some time. All seems to run smoothly, and when it does not: ‘C’est la Guerre.’ Nurse Ashby (in Heads, which she does not care for) and I shared a few hours off and set out along the road towards town (receiving a number of toots from passing ambulances) until we located a track leading down to the river, and there a pretty avenue of trees that cast cool shade over the grassy banks. And with a sigh took off our boots and wriggled our toes in the sun!
11 July
Note from Edmund, dated a week ago: he is ‘somewhat south of his old stamping ground’ and ‘currently keeping in one piece’, though he says of his old Company there is scarcely a sign, all the faces being new.
12 July
Aeroplanes o
verhead; too high to see whether they were ours or theirs.
13 July
Being a Stationary Hospital rather than a CCS, our patients are with us a little longer before they are moved on (back to the Front or to a Convalescent Hospital, as required) so that the work is more like 1st Eastern than Lijssenthoek. Though of course the men reach us far more quickly, which is all to the good.
Evie's War Page 25