Daughters of War

by Lizzie Page

  ‘He’d have to pay them…’

  ‘But not recently,’ she said suddenly, like that would make me feel better. ‘His gout has come back.’

  Strangely enough, that did make me feel better.

  * * *

  The next morning, I went up to Leamington. There were my darling girls, trotting down the marble steps. As soon as they saw me, they pulled up their long skirts and ran, throwing themselves around me. I was nearly toppled by the wonderful weight of them.

  ‘You’re back!’

  ‘Why are you crying, Mummy?’

  ‘Happy tears, darling.’

  On the train, Leona told me she was far too old for The Wind in the Willows now. Joy had started reading Journey to the Centre of the Earth, but it was too much about boys so she had borrowed Jane Eyre, while Leona was attempting Mrs Gaskell’s North and South. They argued over whether that was too hard for her or not. Leona insisted she could manage, but Joy and I saw her skipping pages and winked at each other.

  Once the girls were home, it was business as usual. Which unfortunately for me meant: tennis club.

  * * *

  My parasol wouldn’t stay up. I fiddled with it for a while, then gave up; it seemed pointless. Three days ago I had been comforting a man who had lost a leg in a sniper attack, now I was worried about a little bit of sun. I couldn’t have been further away from the field hospital in the Somme. It wasn’t just the distance, somehow, it was everything. It suddenly felt unbelievable that I had ever been out there, as though my life with Matron, Kitty and Bonnie and the others might have been nothing more than a strange dream.

  Members of the club were complaining about their staff as usual.

  ‘Her fiancé died, which was sad, of course it was, but I had to let her go.’

  ‘I know, you can’t have them sobbing instead of cleaning the windows.’

  ‘Exactly, how long are you supposed to give them to grieve? I have a household to run.’

  Joy was playing against a strong blonde girl who seemed all brute force. I was pleased to see my daughter holding her own. Leona and her group of friends were sat on the grass, drinking iced lemonade and telling jokes. I heard Leona suggest ‘I Spy’ and one of the others sighed and said, ‘You always want to play that.’

  Listening to the thwack of the ball on the racquets and the shouts of the players, looking at the gleaming white of the shorts and dresses, made such a contrast to the sights and smells of the hospital that I found it overwhelming. I found myself closing my eyes, shutting them out and then, just as I was drifting off to sleep, a shadow fell over me. The Framptons’ eldest son was standing square at my front; I don’t know why but I thought he was going to pick an argument. I knew his parents weren’t fond of me, and I had seen him shout at umpires plenty, but in fact he said quietly, ‘Mrs Turner? So sorry to bother you. Father says you are working in a hospital in France.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Might I ask, how is it out there?’ he asked softly.

  I explained to him that I was based in a quiet area, and that we didn’t see much action, but what we did see could be difficult. We talked together for some time and I was grateful for his interest. The disconnect I had been feeling lessened. He was far politer than his parents and I thought what a shame it was that he and not they who was going off to fight and maybe (no, probably) to suffer.

  * * *

  I couldn’t wait to meet Elizabeth at the Tooting Bathing Lake on Thursday morning. I didn’t see her as I arrived, so I entered the lake in my usual slow, self-conscious way. This was as warm as the water would get, yet still it made my ribs tingle and took my breath away. I did my inelegant splashy head-out-of-water crawl, but I was enjoying myself. The pool was a fantastic blue, sparkling with little diamonds. And then, when I paused to catch my breath, I saw Elizabeth: she was dawdling at the side in such a way as to give the impression she was reluctant to get in, but then suddenly she dived in, smooth as anything, straight as a knitting needle. It reminded me of the unexpectedly tidy way Gordon could do surgery. Then she proceeded to do her breaststroke, which was both elegant and immensely powerful. Unlike me, a fish out of water, reluctant to wet my hair, Elizabeth always looked part of the scenery.

  ‘Elizabeth,’ I shouted excitedly, ‘over here!’

  She raised a hand at me, then continued across the pool. It was a chilly reception. You wouldn’t know we corresponded with each other twice, sometimes three times a week, or even that we knew each other very well. I felt disappointed – I had so been looking forward to seeing her. It seemed it was not reciprocated. But finally, Elizabeth swam over to me and when she was closer, I could see she was smiling, really smiling, with her tiny teeth on show. Relief ran through me.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I have to do it, or I’ll never do it.’

  This didn’t make sense, but I was too delighted to pursue it.

  ‘New swim-hat?’

  She shook her head. ‘The flowers fell off.’

  ‘It suits you.’

  Her head smooth and egg-like, she looked athletic and serious.

  ‘How is everything here?’

  ‘Same.’

  This wasn’t what I’d heard.

  ‘What about the shortages of fuel and food?’

  She nodded fiercely. ‘Playing havoc with my training. And of course, Tiggy and Winkle have suffered.’

  ‘How about Delia?’

  She wrinkled up her nose, shrugged. ‘Delia still gets the best of everything.’

  The insects buzzed in the following silence. Then the whistle blew.

  Even though no one was waiting, we had to get out because it was the end of the women’s swim. (There was nothing topsy-turvy about the Tooting Bathing Lake.)

  I wasn’t sure whether I was invited back to tea, but as Elizabeth swept past me after changing, she called: ‘Why so slow, May?’ and my spirits soared. I loved Elizabeth’s house almost as much as I hated my own.

  It was so exciting being with my friend on the streets of London that I didn’t mind her driving half so much as I used to. It was nothing compared to travelling the crater-pitted roads in France anyway. Away from the bathing lake, Elizabeth was back to her usual self, ranting animatedly about the suffragettes’ lack of action – too delicate – the government’s incompetence, even the pathetic people at the refugee school. I grinned. It sounded like my brilliant Elizabeth was busy making enemies wherever she went.

  * * *

  Back in her living room, we sipped tea and I told her some of the things I had seen in the hospital. I was careful though; I didn’t want to turn the poor boys into sob stories or even funny anecdotes. And I certainly didn’t want her to think I was doing anything special, because I wasn’t. I needn’t have worried really, because Elizabeth was never that sympathetic about anything except the cats.

  ‘And George?’

  ‘George is George.’ I shrugged. She inhaled sharply.

  ‘You’re divorcing?’ Now it was my turn to inhale.

  ‘I imagine we will, it’s just a matter of…’ I didn’t know what it was a matter of. I had never met a divorced person in my life although I had read about them in the newspapers and they all seemed somewhat of a type. A wealthy type, I supposed. I hated to think it would disadvantage the girls at school. How would the Pilkingtons – usually so kind and forgiving – react? It wasn’t like I didn’t already have a pretty hefty black mark against my name and a tag: American. Now it would be American divorcee. I knew exactly what people like the Framptons would think about that.

  ‘A matter of what?’ Elizabeth urged me on.

  ‘Of paperwork,’ I finished, although I wasn’t entirely sure it was. Anyway, Elizabeth nodded, satisfied with her interrogation. I asked for a cigarette, but she apologised – she had given up. Her new coach had decided they were a no-no.

  ‘In that case,’ she asked, returning to the question of my relationships, ‘have you met anyone out in France?’ She peered at me from u
nder lowered lashes.

  ‘Dear God!’ I laughed. ‘Give me a chance!’

  ‘A handsome doctor, peut-être?’

  I thought of Gordon. He was handsome but the more I got to know him, the more I realised he was not my kind of handsome.

  ‘I would have written you if I had, you know that,’ I said playfully.

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘I’m going to be a spinster like you anyway,’ I continued.

  She gave a secretive smile to herself. ‘That’s the ticket, Nurse Turner.’

  Elizabeth seemed happy with her lot, and still very focussed on her Channel swim. ‘The first woman to do it,’ she repeated as though it were already accomplished. ‘What an accolade!’ She did cartwheels across the room. The cats must have been used to it for they didn’t move a muscle. I thought back to George’s declaration that it wouldn’t affect people like us. I supposed the war hadn’t affected Elizabeth; she wouldn’t let it.

  I didn’t visit Percy. His goodbye kiss on the back of my hand had felt too passionate. Meeting him might suggest that I had rethought the question of a dalliance or give him false hope. It was a shame because he had been there for me when I had felt so out of sorts and I did like his company. I hoped he didn’t think too badly of me.

  * * *

  I had been home for just over a week when George came back. I saw his great shoes and his lightweight coat hanging in the hall, and fear congealed in the pit of my stomach. So much for my light-hearted discussion of divorce with Elizabeth. I dreaded the thought of bringing up any subject with him, let alone something as terrible as that. The girls were receiving group tennis coaching that morning from a dynamic young woman from Ireland, so they were out of the way. I stayed up in my room for some time. Opening the window, a fly buzzed in like it had been waiting a long time for the chance. I tried to read the newspapers, I tried to write a letter to Kitty – reading practice for her – but could not concentrate on anything. George was in the house. What would he do once he heard I was home too?

  Providentially, that morning he left me unmolested. I found myself dreaming that our paths mightn’t cross all week but when I went down for lunch, he was already at the table. He reminded me of a waxwork figure at Madame Tussauds. The kind of grey-suited, grey-skinned politician you can’t place even after you have read their name-card. I took my place docilely at the other end of the table. A whole person could have fit top to toe between us. I imagined we would eat in excruciating silence, like we had done at so many mealtimes before, but he asked me how the weather had been, how my journey was. He even said I looked ‘well’.

  ‘And our soldiers?’ George was asking my opinion on the war! This was a first.

  He was still drinking heavily. I watched as he poured glass after glass of wine and his face grew waxier. He asked if I would take a stroll outside – he had some ideas for the garden but wanted to see what I thought. (Another first.)

  I felt discombobulated; I was all fired up and nowhere to go. Our yard was small – a city garden – yet pretty. Now, though, I saw it hadn’t been looked after. The grass came up to our knees, the ivy fairly muzzled the trees and the hedges had raggedy tops. Nevertheless, there was a watering can on the steps. Mrs Crawford’s, perhaps? She probably couldn’t bear to see the garden getting too bad. It was a bright blue-sky day, and as we walked down the path, my spirits began to rise. George was a reasonable man. We could do this split amicably. We would. After all, we had the girls in common. We had to have their best interests at heart.

  ‘The pier business is busy,’ George said, which was probably the most he had said about his employment since our courtship.

  ‘How interesting,’ I said. ‘I had supposed it would be quieter.’

  I admired the rose bushes as George told me about his plans for the yard.

  ‘We should grow vegetables here,’ he said when we were out of sight of the house, at the far-back fence.

  ‘That sounds good. What were you thinking?’

  ‘Potatoes, carrots, onions.’

  ‘I’m not sure the soil here is the best for growing—’ I started.

  George laughed bitterly. ‘You’re an expert, now?’

  I stiffened at some of the old George coming back. I have to be careful, I told myself. Some pears from the neighbour’s tree had fallen onto our lawn, so I picked them up and put them in a stray basket – they were too maggoty to eat.

  When I went back to his side, he snaked his arm around my shoulder.

  ‘It’s the gout. If it weren’t for that, and my age of course, I’d probably have got the Victoria Cross by now. Everyone is fighting for the country. Even you are doing your bit!’

  I tried to ignore the incredulous way he said, ‘even you’.

  He continued, ‘Yet here I am, like a cripple.’

  ‘You’re doing your best, George.’

  ‘That’s kind.’ He gripped my shoulder and turned me towards him so that we were only inches from each other’s faces.

  ‘I’m glad you’re back, May.’

  He clutched me, burying my face in his chest. I froze. He thought I was back for good! How could this have happened? When had I given him the slightest indication that this is where we were? My mouth felt dry. Oh God! George leaned down, his face loomed over mine, then he proceeded to kiss me. I pulled my face back, but he had caught me. Oof, his tobacco breath! His tongue prodded at my lips.

  ‘No, George.’

  ‘I’ve been an idiot, but you know me better than anyone, May. At heart, I’m a good man. And I love you more than… more than any of the others. We’re made for each other.’

  The wind blew between the leaves. Over his shoulders, I could just about see the roses. I thought of the fancy women who passed through this house. Everyone knew about them, they probably laughed about them. This wasn’t the life for me.

  I said softly, ‘I’m going back to France, George.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘As long as the war is on I must continue doing my duty.’

  He backed off now. He kicked the watering can. It somersaulted across the lawn before clattering onto its side on the stones. It sounded like gunfire.

  ‘If you go, May, you’re never coming back here again.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ I said coolly. ‘This is my house too.’ For good measure, I added with my arms outstretched, ‘And my garden.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ he grunted, stalking off towards the street.

  Books for Kitty

  Peter Pan

  War of the Worlds

  Anne of Green Gables

  A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Wuthering Heights.

  15

  I was just walking from my tent to take my first shift since my return from London when Katherine ran past me, sobbing loudly. I caught up with Millicent, who was dragging her feet along behind her.

  I asked worriedly, ‘What on earth is the matter with Katherine?’

  Millicent didn’t look too troubled. She adjusted her spectacles. ‘It appears Katherine’s sweetheart has a sweetheart… who is not Katherine.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  She made a face. ‘In other news, we’ve lost a boy to pneumonia.’

  At tea, Matron dealt out some rock cakes that had been sent from England. ‘And that is another reason you should avoid romantic entanglements in service,’ she said. She examined her cake, then, with eyes closed, put it in her mouth. She struggled valiantly to chew it. Little crumbs spilled everywhere. ‘Not bad,’ she said, her cheeks purple with effort.

  Kitty and I declined cake and smirked at each other. We managed to hold off laughing until Matron had left.

  ‘Did you miss us?’ asked Kitty, one eyebrow raised.

  ‘Some of you,’ I said, smiling.

  * * *

  The worry never stopped. Even when I was tending to a man with trench foot, even when I was preparing for the arrival of ‘three from Mametz, head, neck and back injuries’, my heart was also
half at home. I was confident the girls were doing well at school but I missed them dreadfully. And I was concerned about George too, although in a very different way. Had I been right to leave him? Other people put up with husbands like him. Other people didn’t mind the drink, the affairs. Was separating from him really the best answer?

  I asked myself constantly, should I even be here? It wasn’t like I had to do my service, not like the poor conscripted boys. And it wasn’t like I had training and skills that made me indispensable, not like Gordon, Matron or even Kitty. Us volunteer nurses were two a penny, I knew that. But I liked it out here. I liked putting on my uniform, my apron, my cap, and being part of my team. I liked doing my best alongside the others. I liked that feeling that I had lightened the load or enhanced someone’s day. How much better it was to be here, doing my utmost, rather than twiddling my thumbs back home. The war mightn’t have finished this summer, but I was certain we would be done by Christmas 1915.

  * * *

  That autumn term, I was often in convalescence for nights. There had always been six beds in the tent, then one day, six more beds appeared. Bonnie and I got used to squeezing past one another. And now the beds were closer, the men could sometimes reach out to each other and light a cigarette, pour some water, or offer a kind word. If a patient died during the day, the orderlies would sort it out, but at night there was just Bonnie and me to deal with it. The second night after I got back from England, we lost one boy and it was terrible. He managed to say a few words near the end and I wrote them down. He said he was glad to have done his bit but he hadn’t expected to die so young. ‘Not to worry,’ he said stoically.

  * * *

  Bonnie was always a remarkable cleaner, but one week in September she surpassed herself: she made everything in the ward spotless. The sheets, the pillows; she scrubbed the bed frames, she wrestled to clean the legs of the beds. She was a woman on a sterilising mission.