Until the War is Over

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

  Walking further from the main hubbub, Florence was startled by the noise of an artillery bombardment to the south. She reached the café, tired from getting little sleep. After the voyage she did not want to eat but drank a cup of coffee. Then she climbed on to the bus while it still had spare seats and presently it set off, with hospital staff on board. They passed army vehicles and horse-drawn wagons on the way.

  At last they reached a large building which had ambulances outside. There were also lots of huts and tents nearby. With as much confidence as she could muster she went through the main entrance and asked for Lavinia. She was told to take a seat and soon received a message that her friend was not due a break until late afternoon.

  Florence went and sat outside on a bench, dozing in the sunshine. The afternoon wore on and she grew more wide awake as the wind became penetrating. Medical staff and orderlies passed by, too busy to show any curiosity about her presence there.

  Ahead of her was a tent with its flaps open to admit the fresh air. Inside she could make out wounded soldiers lying in camp beds. She imagined they were lower-ranking soldiers, not officers. Another man was sitting at the opposite end of the tent. Some of the men lay motionless, probably asleep. From the others there was a murmur of chat, and the occasional burst of laughter.

  The seated man got up and walked down the tent towards her, then turned and retraced his steps. She noticed he was carrying a rifle. One of the men began talking more loudly and she realised suddenly that they were not speaking English. Heavens, she thought, the wounded men are captured Germans! So these are the evil Huns we’ve been taught to hate. They don’t look any different from the British Tommies.

  ‘I didn’t know what day you were arriving!’ Lavinia appeared suddenly and embraced her. Her uniform was clean and tidy and her hairstyle only slightly lopsided under her cap. ‘In fact, I wasn’t sure you’d even go through with the idea.’

  ‘I felt I should come.’

  ‘I’ve got a three-hour break so I can take you to the little hotel in the village. It’s quite close by. We can get you a room and have a meal together.’

  Florence picked up her small overnight bag and accompanied Lavinia out of the hospital grounds and along the narrow road towards the nearby jumble of houses around a stone church. ‘It’s so windy here,’ she complained.

  ‘It’s almost always like that near this coast,’ Lavinia said. ‘It was much worse in the winter. Look at the trees, how they grow at an angle, leaning away from the direction of the sea.’

  They booked Florence into the small hotel. She was impressed at Lavinia’s mastery of French.

  ‘You speak the language so well!’ she said. She had only received a few French lessons in the top class at school, and after her brief visit to the country she was just confident in a few travel-related phrases.

  ‘The locals pronounce it with a strong accent. It takes a while to become used to it.’ Then they sat in the small dining room and the elderly waiter told them the limited choice: they could eat mussels or an omelette.

  ‘I’m not very hungry but I should manage an omelette.’ Florence’s stomach was only just settling from the sea crossing.

  ‘I’ve managed to get a half day’s leave tomorrow and the next day,’ Lavinia said, ‘but not till the afternoon. I’ll take you on the motorbike over to the hospital near Saint-Omer where they’ve sent James. It’ll only take a couple of hours. We’ll have to find you somewhere to stay there, too. Then I’ll take you back to the coast the day after.’

  ‘Thank you so much. Actually, I’m torn – I want to visit Bertie’s grave too. I was wondering, would there be time to see that first?’ How can I visit James without seeing my fiancé’s resting place? she thought. She took a sheet of paper from her bag and told Lavinia its location near Morval.

  Her friend examined it. ‘That’s near the Somme, some distance away to the south, heading towards Paris,’ she told her, with a sympathetic smile. ‘There’s fighting around there, so you almost certainly wouldn’t be allowed in the area.’

  The familiar sadness swept over Florence.

  ‘Besides, it’ll be a temporary grave,’ Lavinia told her. ‘They’ll arrange some proper cemeteries after the war.’

  Florence’s stomach contracted. There was not even any certainty that the war would end soon.

  Lavinia poured her some water. ‘At the convalescent hospital there’s a nurse called Emily,’ she said. ‘She’s an old friend of Amy’s. She can make sure you’re all right while you’re visiting James.’

  Their omelettes arrived, and Lavinia ordered a glass of the local cider, while Florence decided to stick to water.

  ‘You had to leave your old hospital in the spring offensive?’ Florence asked.

  ‘Yes. I’d spent the winter working in Ypres. When the Germans advanced, it was chaotic for a few weeks. There was a chance the Huns might catch up with us and we could have been captured. We knew we were heading towards the coast, but they had trouble finding anywhere to accommodate us. Sometimes we had to stay in tents, and it was freezing cold at night.’

  ‘You must have been thankful to settle here.’

  ‘The building used to be a hotel before the war. We still weren’t safe. It was bombed and machine-gunned from the air once. They’ve patched it up since. The Huns were trying to destroy the railway line which runs nearby.’

  ‘That’s awful! Were there casualties?’

  ‘No serious ones in our hospital, but at a larger one closer to the tracks some patients and medical staff were killed.’

  ‘I had no idea!’ How can Lavinia describe it in such a matter-of-fact way? she wondered.

  ‘They may have kept quiet about it in the papers, to maintain morale. You’d better not gossip about it. They haven’t attacked us lately. The place where James has been sent is near Saint-Omer, where some of our aeroplanes are based.’

  ‘How’s Charles Shenwood now?’ Florence asked when she had finished her omelette.

  Lavinia’s smile faded. ‘He’s had a setback, I’m afraid. His left foot showed signs of going gangrenous, so they’ve just had to remove part of that as well.’

  Florence shuddered.

  Lavinia took out a packet of cigarettes from her bag. ‘Do you smoke?’ she asked.

  Florence shook her head. Lavinia lit a cigarette. ‘I don’t know if anyone has told Beatrice yet,’ she said.

  ‘In the past I’ve met Lieutenant Shenwood socially at The Beeches. He’s charming, but I don’t know him very well.’

  ‘He’s Captain Shenwood now,’ Lavinia told her. ‘He’s being amazingly brave.’

  * * *

  Florence slept badly, her mind often returning to the horrors Lavinia had described. The reality was much worse than she had imagined, though some troops managed to still look cheerful.

  She spent the morning strolling along a path by the bank of a river, reasoning that if she kept beside it she should not lose her way. Swallows were wheeling overhead. When she was a little distance from the hospital she found the area peaceful and felt as though she might, after all, be a tourist. Then the bombardment broke out loudly again.

  Shall I find lunch somewhere? she debated. Probably not, before travelling on the motorbike. In early afternoon she returned to the hospital and was met by Lavinia, who led her to her bike.

  ‘It’s been useful for getting away from the hospital in my time off,’ her friend told her. ‘When we evacuated the hospital at Ypres hurriedly I had to leave the bike behind, and I was worried that would be the last I saw of it. Luckily an orderly who wasn’t required to escort any of the injured contrived to ride it out of Ypres for me. It was weeks before we became settled enough in our new positions for him to ride over in his off-duty hours and reunite me with my transport.’

  She took Florence’s overnight bag and crammed it into her pannier, then looked her up and down. ‘I’m glad you’re not wearing anything pastel coloured. Climb on to the pillion and hold on tight.’


  Florence was travelling in the lightweight grey suit she had bought in her first year as a teacher, aiming for a dignified look. Underneath its jacket she was wearing her favourite pale blue blouse. She had anchored her hat well with a pin, like she did when her father took her out in their motor car, but now she was dubious as she tried to tuck up her skirt and climbed on to the dusty vehicle.

  ‘I hope you weren’t expecting high class, comfortable transport,’ Lavinia said. ‘The roads around here are in poor repair. And with all the storms we’ve had, some areas are still muddy.’ The bike set off with a roar.

  Lavinia had not exaggerated about the roads, which had a pitted, uneven surface, with the occasional broken-down wagon. They went beside the river for a while, then between some fields. Progress was slow and Florence began to feel a little sick. The bike swerved fiercely as Lavinia tried to avoid potholes, and landed heavily after crossing humps.

  They came up behind a column of soldiers marching along. The men pulled over to nearer the side of the road to let their vehicle pass. They looked dusty and weary. Then they realised the motorcyclists were women and began to wave, cheer or whistle. Florence smiled, for it was all in good humour, and let go with one hand to wave back.

  As they continued she tried to ignore the sick feeling. They reached an area of woodland that had been reduced to uneven stumps on both sides of the heavily pitted road. There must have been a bombardment here at some stage of the war. Florence stared at the scene of desolation. There were some broken-down stone cottages as well. Then they passed a field with simple wooden crosses and humps – she gasped at the realisation that war victims had been hastily buried here in shallow graves. There were dozens of them.

  Now Florence’s stomach started to churn. In a minute she would be sick. ‘Stop, Lavinia! Please stop!’ she cried. When her friend did not hear her above the noise of the engine she shook her shoulder.

  Lavinia drew up at the side of the road. They must be half a mile away from the graves now. ‘Are you all right, Florence?’

  ‘No!’ She climbed off and hurried to the ditch, where she retched. Her mouth and throat stung as she vomited. She had seldom felt so dejected.

  ‘Here, wash out your mouth and then take a drink.’ Lavinia passed her a water bottle.

  Florence did as she suggested. ‘I’ve been so foolish!’ she said. ‘I should never have started this trip. I’m not a good traveller. I’ve sometimes felt sick even in Father’s car.’

  ‘Come and sit down for a while.’ Lavinia wheeled the bike a little further along, where there was enough roadside bank for them to sit. ‘It’s almost dry.’

  How kind her friend was, Florence thought. Lavinia, though not always quite tidy, always looked brisk and efficient. Her patience and understanding somehow came as a surprise, but then she was trained as a nurse and used to dealing with sick people.

  ‘I think it was partly seeing the war damage and the graves,’ Florence said. Of course she had read the papers and knew that there were many such places, but she had been unprepared for their sudden appearance.

  What am I to do now? she wondered. Even if we go back it’ll mean a long journey on the bike. It was less windy here and the sun beat down.

  ‘How are you feeling now?’ Lavinia encouraged her to take another drink.

  ‘Better now I’ve been sick.’

  ‘It’s not that far to the hospital from here,’ Lavinia said. ‘Six miles maybe, definitely less than ten. If you’re well enough we could go on.’

  After another few minutes Florence felt sufficiently better to chance continuing their journey. She settled on to the bike once more, feeling small and frail behind her competent companion.

  As if to reassure her that they were approaching Saint-Omer, she saw a biplane flying overhead, then another one that was fairly low as though it had recently taken off. She peered curiously at the flimsy looking contraption, though it was too far away for her to get a good view of the pilot.

  They reached the outskirts of a town and Lavinia drove towards a large building with elaborate plaster decoration, and slowed down outside. Along the upper storey was the word Casino in bold red letters. Florence stared, open-mouthed, at the place. As Lavinia drove the bike down a turning beside it a woman in nurse’s uniform came out of a side door and headed down the street.

  Lavinia parked at the back, then alighted and held out a hand to Florence. Looking up she could see a balcony on which some soldiers were sitting in wicker chairs or lying on beds. She looked eagerly for James but without seeing him.

  ‘There’s a shortage of hospitals,’ Lavinia explained. ‘They’ve needed to adapt other buildings, especially for convalescents.’

  They walked towards the doorway. ‘I’ll have to start back fairly soon,’ Lavinia said. ‘I’m on duty for part of the evening. If it’s all right to see James now I’ll just stop to say hello. But I’m worried how you’re going to get back tomorrow. If I take you by bike you might be sick again.’

  Florence felt helpless once more, and extremely silly for embarking on this excursion. I should have stayed in Larchbury and tried my hand at haymaking, she thought.

  ‘What’ll I do? Is there a bus or train I could take?’ But I barely speak any French, she panicked.

  She followed her friend into the building. ‘I’ll ask for Emily,’ Lavinia said. ‘If she’s free we can decide what’s best.’ She spoke to a blonde woman with an elaborate hairstyle who was sitting at a desk in the lobby. She replied with a strong accent that Florence could barely understand, then got to her feet and went to look for Emily.

  ‘That’s Claudette,’ Lavinia said. ‘She used to work here when it was a casino and now she helps us out.’

  Florence stood uncertainly in the lobby, with its smell of carbolic which would not have been there in its heyday. She wanted to go and see James. It occurred to her suddenly that although he had been happy to reply to her letters he might not entirely have forgiven her for her earlier rudeness and unkind taunts. What if he doesn’t even want to see me? she thought.

  Claudette returned with a trim nurse hurrying on short legs to keep up with her. ‘Lavinia!’ she cried delightedly. Beneath her cap a few strands of dark hair were visible.

  ‘Hello, Emily, how are you?’ Lavinia said. ‘This is my friend, Florence. She’s a close friend of Amy’s, too.’

  Emily greeted her enthusiastically and demanded news of Amy, Edmond and Beth. She was a charming young woman but Florence was growing impatient.

  Lavinia, eager to set off back, told her of their mission.

  ‘Orderly Fletcher should be in the dayroom, where the men go in the afternoon, unless he’s out on the balcony.’

  ‘Is he doing well?’ Florence asked urgently.

  ‘Yes – he’ll be sent back to his duties soon. Follow me up the stairs.’

  As they headed for the wide staircase Lavinia mentioned the difficulty of getting Florence back to the coast the following day.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Emily said.

  They reached the top of the staircase. ‘Please don’t tell James I’ve been sick, or that I might have trouble getting back,’ Florence begged the others. ‘Is there somewhere I can comb my hair?’

  Emily took them into a pleasant Ladies’ room, with gilt frames around the looking glasses. ‘We’re fortunate here to find ourselves in stylish accommodation. You should see some of the places where I’ve worked.’

  ‘I’ll try to organise a lift to the station for you tomorrow,’ she went on as Florence restored her light brown hair to order. ‘Or even a lift back to the coast, if there’s any suitable transport.’

  ‘Make sure you send me a message to tell me what you’ve arranged,’ Lavinia told Emily. ‘If all else fails I’ll come over on the bike for you, Florence.’

  Florence wished she could brush the dust from her skirt. ‘Thank you both for being so wonderful to me,’ she said. I hope I never need to travel on the bike again, she thought, but I’m in no po
sition to be fussy.

  They followed Emily into a large room where several invalids were sitting in wicker chairs. Florence had a brief impression of elaborate décor, but she was looking around for James. Then she heard his voice, unmistakeable, though today he was not reading the lesson in his father’s church. He was sitting sideways on to them, with a group of men around a table, playing cards.

  As they walked across the room he and most of the other men turned in their direction. He, and those who were not too badly injured, stood up. ‘Hello, Lavinia!’ he cried cheerily, then ‘Florence – is it really you?’

  ‘Yes. Do please sit down.’ She rushed over and took James’s free hand in hers. ‘I’m so relieved that you’re making good progress.’

  ‘I’m throwing in these cards,’ he told the others, flinging them down. There were heaps of francs on the table, along with a few pennies and shillings and a silver threepenny piece. ‘Don’t tell Father I spend my time gambling,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘I need to get back to the ward,’ Emily said, arranging quickly to meet Florence later.

  ‘This is the dayroom, but it used to be the main gaming room, you see,’ James explained. Now Florence examined her surroundings more closely she noticed the polished wooden bar at one end of the room, though it was free of bottles, only holding mugs and glasses of water. Behind it some fancy glasswork in a swirling Art Nouveau design hinted at the building’s former splendour. ‘They’ve banished the roulette wheels,’ he told them, ‘but we keep up the tradition with poker.’

  He moved away from the other men and took his visitors to chairs around an empty table. He had only a slight limp as he walked. There was a sense of purpose in his movements that reminded her he had changed from the awkward youth of a few years earlier.

  An orderly brought them mugs of tea, lukewarm but welcome.