Until the War is Over

by Until the War is Over (retail) (epub)

  ‘I haven’t seen you here for a couple of days,’ remarked Captain Turnbull, a thin, lofty officer sitting close by. His foot was injured but Charles had heard the doctors were confident of saving it.

  ‘I had to go back to the operating theatre,’ Charles told him. His fears had been realised. The remains of his right leg seemed clear of infection, but the doctors were not satisfied with the way his left leg was healing. They had had to remove some more of his left foot. He was in severe pain again each time the morphia began to wear off. After being given a dose he would be sleepy for a while, which helped quell his anxiety about the slow healing of his wounds.

  Lavinia Westholme came in with her thermometer, moving lithely round the group of men. He waited patiently for his temperature reading, which she said was satisfactory. A raised temperature was often a sign of infection.

  ‘Have you heard from home today?’ she asked him. Her waist was trim in her uniform.

  ‘Mother wrote to me again, and one of my sisters.’ He was longing to get one of Beatrice’s loving letters, but since his injury he had only received quite a brief one. ‘Edmond wrote to me, too. He’s going back to university in the autumn, determined not to let his war wound hamper him.’

  ‘He and Amy won’t make concessions to his injury, if they can help it.’ Lavinia moved on, to continue her work. She had a reputation for being brainy but rather opinionated, he remembered, but he was growing to like her.

  Around him other officers were dozing or reading newspapers. He had read the latest about the war. He was growing restless, almost wishing he could return to the fray.

  He leant across to speak to Captain Turnbull. ‘I heard a strange story about you,’ he said. ‘Is it true you escaped from occupied Belgium at the start of the war?’

  ‘Yes.’ A grin spread across his narrow face. ‘Back in 1914 I had a particularly eventful few weeks.’ Charles gathered he had already been serving in the Regular Army when war broke out.

  ‘I was with one of the first units sent to Flanders,’ Turnbull explained. ‘I was just a lieutenant then. We were among those the Kaiser described as a “contemptible little army”. We were involved in the very first fighting. I was injured around Mons, and I got left behind in the retreat. It wasn’t my foot that time: it was a shoulder injury and I was sent to a Belgian hospital near Brussels.’

  ‘Bad luck.’

  ‘I was fortunate, because I was taken to the hospital where Nurse Edith Cavell worked.’

  ‘You mean that nurse they executed in 1915?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Goodness! You actually met her.’ Charles remembered that she had been arrested in 1915 and, unwilling to lie, had admitted helping British men, and Belgians sympathetic to the allied cause, to reach neutral Holland. There had been an outcry when she had been sentenced to death, but the Germans had refused to pardon her and she had been executed by a firing squad. In Britain she was regarded as a heroine.

  ‘She was a senior nurse at the hospital, a stern woman of about fifty – we didn’t like her at first. But when we were well enough, she arranged for some of us to be smuggled out to join an escape line.’

  An orderly brought round mugs of tea.

  ‘Nuns, nurses and brave young couriers all helped us travel. They escorted us on trains and through checkpoints, and found safe houses for us to stop in briefly. We had false papers. It’s only about sixty miles to the Dutch border, but the direct routes were checked more thoroughly.’ There was a thoughtful expression in his pale blue eyes. ‘There was one young courier chap who posed as a German officer, travelling on the same train. If anyone questioned our identity he would take over the detailed checking of our documents. He had an air of authority, so we always got through.’

  ‘Wasn’t he really German?’

  ‘He had a German passport. Let’s see … I can’t remember his name, but it was a fairly common German name, I understand. It may not even have been his real name. I woke up after a nightmare once, shaking, wondering if he could be a real German who’d infiltrated the escape line.’

  ‘Could he have been a Dutch or Flemish sympathiser?’

  ‘We got the impression he was from some border area, where there are divided loyalties. Some such place was mentioned, but I forget where it was… Thank goodness we finally crossed the border into neutral Holland and eventually I was able to rejoin my unit.’

  The orderly returned for the mugs. Charles enquired, as he did each day, about James Fletcher’s progress. He heard that he was still in pain, but his leg was healing well.

  Then Turnbull limped over to the piano and played a few tunes. They joined in singing ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’.

  In his mind Charles went on reviewing Turnbull’s account of Nurse Cavell and the escape line. Surely, with courageous actions like that, their side was bound to triumph eventually.

  Lavinia and another nurse arrived to take them back to the wards. ‘Poor Captain Turnbull,’ Lavinia said as she wheeled Charles along the corridor. ‘He tries so hard to keep everyone cheerful but his playing is a little amateurish.’

  ‘If I’d been able to move around I’d have offered to play something more classical,’ Charles said.

  ‘I believe several of the patients and the staff are musical,’ Lavinia told him. ‘Some of them have even had instruments sent here from home.’

  ‘You sing, don’t you?’ he said, remembering her performing at a party long before.

  ‘Yes, I do. You know what, I think we should organise a concert party. I’ve heard of staff arranging them in other hospitals, and they can be great fun.’

  ‘That would be wonderful – a boost for morale!’

  ‘I’ll suggest we hold one,’ she said, ‘though they might make us wait until there are fewer casualties.’

  How long might that be, he wondered.

  Chapter Eight

  Larchbury, June

  One day the dressmaker called at The Beeches with the new clothes she was making for the family. Amy tried on her dress in the pretty floral fabric she had chosen. ‘You may take it in a little more,’ she told the seamstress, ‘for I’m almost back to the size I was before I was expecting.’ Otherwise she was delighted with the result.

  Ma and Beatrice were content with their outfits, and approved Amy’s dress. ‘This afternoon we should go to the milliner’s,’ Ma said.

  Amy was a little daunted as they arrived at the smarter of the Larchbury hat shops, with swatches of their fabrics to match. She looked as Beatrice selected a large, wide-brimmed hat lavishly trimmed with artificial flowers, which toned well with her pale yellow dress. She herself reached for a slightly more modest confection in a blue which matched the major colour in her new dress.

  Beatrice was surveying her choice critically. For a moment Amy was annoyed, but then she remembered Edmond’s sister was renowned for her elegance. ‘What do you think?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s a pretty hat,’ she replied in an authoritative tone, ‘but you might wear one with a higher crown, to give you a little more height.’ She scanned the selection displayed and passed Amy one in a similar colour. ‘Try this one.’

  Amy placed it carefully on her head and examined the mirror again. She was surprised how flattering it was, somehow balancing the shape of her face. ‘You’re right, Beatrice! This one is perfect.’

  Her sister-in-law smiled, content to have her good taste acknowledged.

  It was a mild, sunny day and they had walked into the village. As they strolled back, a young man in uniform was striding along on the other side of the road. He had long shiny boots and a badge with wings on his khaki tunic. He must have been barely old enough to serve.

  Mrs Johnson’s daughter, Elsie, came out of the nearby grocer’s shop and she stopped, her mouth dropping open at the sight of the young man, setting forth bravely like a hero from a legend.

  ‘Doesn’t that chap look smart?’ Ma said. ‘I can’t remember who he is.’

  ‘That’s
Philip, Caroline Brownlee’s young brother,’ Beatrice told her. Caroline, the daughter of the auctioneer at the local livestock market, was a friend of hers. ‘He’s training to serve in the Royal Flying Corps. Imagine, going up in an aeroplane!’

  ‘I used to see the flimsy little planes flying overhead when I was in France,’ Amy said. ‘It must be thrilling to be up there in the sky, but they say there are lots of casualties among the airmen.’

  * * *

  Peter reached home just in time to be godfather. As he strode into the drawing room Amy was struck once more by the resemblance between the brothers and could not help recalling how healthy and vigorous Edmond had once been. She banished the thought to the back of her mind, determined to concentrate on the future.

  ‘It’s demanding work out there at Headquarters,’ Peter told the family as they sat together. ‘I’ve secured my promotion, though.’

  ‘Capital,’ said his father.

  ‘We do our best there to support our brave troops.’ He always sounded apologetic, as though recognising that his role was not as heroic as serving on the Front Line. ‘I’ve just been moved from handling records and disciplinary matters relating to the army staff. I’m not involved in the strategic planning but I’m one of the team making sure the supplies get through.’

  ‘That’s vital work,’ Edmond said. ‘Make sure the cocoa and dried fruit reach the Front Line so the cooks can make Trench Cake!’

  ‘We try,’ his brother said. ‘They’re so short of eggs we have to send them baking powder and vinegar to make it rise.’

  ‘It boosts morale along the Line when they serve it.’

  Peter sighed. ‘It’s been touch and go lately: we’ve often had to make fresh plans at the last minute.’ He looked fatigued. ‘They left it till the day before I was to travel here to confirm they were allowing me the leave.’

  When Peter was alone with Edmond and Amy he spoke of returning to India once the war was over, whenever that might be. ‘Pa won’t be pleased,’ he told them, ‘but my new rank will give me more status out there and I can ask my girl to marry me. She’s kept on writing to me.’

  ‘Is the Front Line secure now?’ Edmond asked.

  ‘There was a massive crisis when the Germans began their big push,’ Peter said. ‘They were driving back our troops, recapturing ground we’d won from them. There was a panic that they might actually win the war.’

  ‘It was that bad?’ Edmond exchanged a horrified glance with Amy. ‘I was very anxious when I heard Field Marshall Haig’s dramatic Order of the Day, but I hoped he was exaggerating the seriousness of the situation.’

  ‘It was every bit as critical as he said,’ Peter told them. ‘Don’t talk about it to anyone else – we need to maintain morale. Now the Americans are arriving in larger numbers we’re beginning to turn the tide, otherwise they’d probably have cancelled my leave. There’s still a high toll of casualties, though.’

  Amy had been shocked to hear of the recent bombardment which had devastated Béthune, the peaceful Flanders town where she and Edmond had enjoyed a break together at Easter the previous year.

  As she left to feed Beth, she had the feeling that Edmond was anxious to speak to Peter on his own. They’ll be discussing strategy, she thought, or something which is too disturbing or secret for me to hear. But there’s a private matter I’d like to discuss with Peter when I get the chance.

  * * *

  Edmond accompanied Peter as he went out to the veranda to smoke.

  ‘Everything all right with the forest?’ Peter asked.

  ‘Yes – we’ve been clearing the fire breaks, just in case there’s a drought.’

  ‘The ground doesn’t look parched.’

  ‘Thunder and lightning could be a problem,’ Edmond told him. They had to be prepared in case a fire ever broke out. ‘We’re short of workers, of course. I help with the paperwork now, but Pa sometimes does physical work up on the plantation. It’s a strain for a man his age.’

  ‘I must help him while I’m here.’

  ‘Are you still involved in secret operations?’ Edmond asked his brother now they were alone. He had been intrigued, but also horrified, at Christmas, when his brother had confided his secret visit behind enemy lines through a tunnel. None of the others knew about it.

  ‘I haven’t made another clandestine trip underground, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that! Are you just doing routine work, then?’

  ‘I’ve got some good informants. A brave young man with German contacts brings me valuable details of what the Huns are up to. If we intercept any written information he can translate it for us.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be as hazardous as what you did before.’

  ‘Nothing like. And I’m immensely fortunate compared with the poor chaps in the trenches.’

  * * *

  After breakfast next morning Amy found herself alone with Peter. ‘We’ve tried again to pursue your grievance against Captain Fairlawn,’ he said, his blue eyes focussed on hers.

  She had been impatient to know the latest about her complaint, worried he would escape punishment.

  ‘Oh – I wondered if you’d dropped it,’ she said.

  ‘I supported Robert Lambert when he approached the authorities again,’ Peter told her gently. ‘Fairlawn should be put on a charge for trying to force himself on you. I’m afraid they’re not upholding the complaint, partly because they don’t want to interrupt Fairlawn’s war service.’

  ‘I suppose I guessed that’s what would happen.’

  ‘I don’t think he’d get away with what he did so easily in peacetime.’ He reached for another slice of toast. ‘The man’s a bounder. I remember him from school: he used to bully the younger boys.’

  ‘His father’s a colonel and very influential.’

  ‘That may have been a factor.’ He fell silent as Janet brought them fresh coffee.

  Amy’s fists clenched at the injustice. She remembered her fright the time George had innocently followed her that evening in Larchbury. Wilfrid’s attack had had a lasting effect, depriving her of the confidence she had once enjoyed. Apart from Peter and his fellow officer, Robert, she had only told Lavinia of the incident.

  ‘But we’ve made sure the allegation stays on his record,’ Peter said when the maid had left. ‘It might deter him from that kind of behaviour. He won’t want another complaint.’

  * * *

  Carefully Amy put on her fine new hat. ‘How beautiful you look!’ Edmond exclaimed. She picked up Beth from her cot, adorable in her long white gown, smelling faintly of soap, and smiling at her parents. They joined Pa in the car and set off for the baptism.

  The church was almost full as Uncle Arthur presided over the service, his warm voice echoing round the stonework. The weather was better that day and bright streams of sunlight took on the colours of the stained glass as they illuminated the nave. Beth scarcely gurgled as Uncle Arthur made the sign of the cross on her forehead at the most solemn part of the ceremony.

  As they came out of the church afterwards, friends and neighbours crowded round to see Elizabeth, as she was officially known, in her long white gown. Around the edge of the skirt Amy had stitched a beautiful panel of Belgian lace that she had made with help from Madame Rousseau.

  Uncle Arthur looked weary but thankful that this service had been a joyous one. They had all been relieved recently to hear that James was continuing to recover. But new families were appearing in mourning, and not just from the war. The latest loss had been Margaret Leadbetter, the headmaster’s wife, who had been taken ill suddenly. ‘It was very shocking, how quickly she died,’ Amy’s father had told them.

  Edmond’s father drove most of the family and godparents back to The Beeches, in two trips. Peter walked back, accompanied by Amy’s parents and aunt, and Lavinia, who had managed to obtain leave.

  Back at The Beeches, a photographer was waiting. Edmond stood beside Amy as she held Beth close, her soft, warm face
next to her own. Amy was confident that she looked her best in her elegant new dress and hat. For the photograph of the godparents, Florence held Beth as though she was the most precious bundle, smiling at her in a way that was almost maternal. Amy had seen her friend’s dress a few times before, though her hat looked new. Florence paid less attention to her appearance since Bertie had died.

  The sky was clouding over but it was just mild enough for the guests to sit outside on the lawn nearest the house, near the bank of pink hydrangeas.

  ‘This is my favourite part of the garden,’ Ma said as refreshments were brought round.

  Amy took Beth with her as she joined Edmond and mingled with his relatives. She greeted his seventeen-year-old cousin Vicky, who always loved to come to events at The Beeches. Strands of her long auburn hair hung down below her hat, in a pale greeny blue, which matched her close-fitting dress. How pretty she is now, Amy thought, and more stylishly dressed than when she was younger.

  ‘Your little girl is so sweet!’ she cried when she saw Beth. ‘May I hold her?’

  She took the baby and walked around with her for a while. The summer sunshine had brought her face out in freckles.

  ‘Edmond, you look so much better now!’ she told him as she handed Beth back to Amy. ‘I hear you’re going back to Cambridge soon.’

  Vicky’s parents seldom visited, as her mother was frail, but this time they had come. It’s high time I got to know them, Amy thought.

  Edmond’s aunt approached them slowly. ‘Are you really taking up your studies again?’ she asked him. ‘Is that prudent, after you’ve been so badly injured?’