by Lizzie Page
Still, Elsie was unconvinced: she couldn’t bear to be away from the injured or needy.
‘What about Shot?’ she eventually said, which was when I knew she’d given in. Martin would be more than delighted to receive the extra doggy cuddles. I wondered if Harold figured in her calculations to stay – perhaps she couldn’t stand to be away from him too? – but she didn’t mention him, so I wasn’t going to call him back into her mind.
Throughout the journey to England, Elsie kept stewing. She said we had taken the wind out of Dr Munro’s sails, that he was sending us away to spite us! It was disconcerting that she still nursed such resentment against him.
As I listened to her, I realised her bravado sprang from the same well as mine: fear. Elsie still believed that we might be forced out – not by the Hun, but by our own side. She was sure a reason would be found to get us out: lack of money, lack of safety or lack of something else we had failed to foresee. The exception they made in our names wouldn’t – couldn’t – last forever.
‘But I won’t let it happen,’ she said ominously, gripping my hand. ‘We’re staying put, little sister. Whatever Munro thinks.’
* * *
Arriving at Dover, we saw shiny-booted new recruits heading in the other direction. Wonderfully clean, every button firmly affixed. Warm, lice-free socks. Combed hair. Eyes that were alive. Blister-free hands. All eager-cheeked and full of raw enthusiasm.
We sat on our suitcases amid the smoke and whistles, waving.
Elsie yelled excitedly, ‘Let’s cheer the boys… for King and Country!’
And the people who were in that station did just that. Their cries rang out and the new soldiers grinned excitedly. We clapped until I was sure my hands would fall off.
After they had left, Elsie’s demeanour changed. She transformed into an image of despondency, flopping over her suitcase like a puppet without a string. The energy faded from her voice.
‘God help them. They know not what lies ahead.’
I remembered what Dr Gus had said: ‘As long as both sides believe they can win this by killing each other, it’s never going to end.’
‘I’m glad Kenneth is too young to be called up,’ Elsie continued, still slumped. ‘I couldn’t stand it.’
Father was the opposite. He was too old to fight, but still chomping at the bit for his piece of the action. ‘My father wants to visit,’ I told Elsie.
She sat up straight. ‘Visit what?!’
‘Us,’ I said uncertainly. It had been at the end of a recent letter from my mother. ‘When can Father come to see you?’ Just like that. Out of the blue. We’d never discussed it before.
‘What an idea!’
‘He’ll stay out the way, Elsie.’
* * *
On our train, we stuffed away our luggage and sat opposite each other next to the window. It didn’t smell of struggle, sweat and death here but polish and upholstery. Elsie morosely lit a cigarette. Dragging her away from the cellar had been a mistake. It was like she’d run out of fuel.
‘I can’t see why your father should come. It’s pointless.’
‘Dr Munro would be delighted. I expect the pair of them would reminisce about the grand old days of the Boer War.’
Elsie shook her head at me. ‘How peculiar.’
But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted my father to come and admire our mission. Lately, he sometimes added a postscript to my mother’s gossipy letters admonishing me to ‘Dig deep’. That was pleasing, if brief. How stupidly I yearned for an ‘I’m-proud-of-you’. I told Elsie, ‘It’ll be good for him to see what we do. We can show how important it is.’
Elsie wrote ‘As a box of frogs’ on the steamed-up window. I wasn’t sure if she meant me, my father or Dr Munro, but I didn’t ask. She had begun smiling again.
* * *
I thought of Madeleine and her family travelling to England, sitting anxiously on the train. Maybe she had been fretting about the things she had left behind.
Perhaps they had sat in these very carriages, on these wooden benches, listening to the clunking rhythm of the train, on their way to a different life.
Now the house had virtually been flattened, I changed my picture of our union. I would meet the family before they came back to Belgium. I would explain sensitively that almost everything had disappeared. There would be a ceremonial handing over of the toys.
‘Madeleine, the house may have gone, but we have preserved the cellar and your things the best we could.’
Watching the English countryside fly past our window, I considered how affected England had been over the past year. I had heard there had been Zeppelin attacks in London. It must have brought the war horribly home. I wondered if everyone back here was changing as fast as I was changing.
* * *
As we walked up to the buffet car, a couple of soldiers nodded at us. Elsie responded with her broad smile and I heard one of them say, ‘She’s a cracker!’ and the other replied, ‘A sight for sore eyes.’
Times like these, I was glad to be the less visible one.
Elsie was still absorbed by Munro. ‘I am so fed up with him,’ she muttered.
‘He just wants us to be safe.’
‘What kind of ambition is that?’
There was no food left, but the lady at the bar offered to make us tea. The tea wasn’t half as good as Lady D’s but Elsie and I took a sip and, at the same time, both said, ‘Lovely!’
After we returned to our seats, I said, ‘You’ve been having such bad dreams lately, Elsie. Calling out in your sleep. It’s getting worse.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Sometimes you say things about your late husband—’
‘Goodness. What do I say?’
‘I can’t make it out.’
‘Well, that’s something!’ She gazed out the window at the galloping fields. Fields that were green and yellow, flourishing with life, not brown and impotent-grey like in Belgium. ‘What about you, Mairi? Are you in tip-top condition?’
At first, I was too amazed to reply. What could she mean?
‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’ I was fit as a fiddle!
‘You’ve not got a boil that needs treating?’
This was so typically Elsie that I was momentarily lost for words. I did have a boil on my back, but I had never told her about it.
‘Do you know everything about me?’
‘Not everything. You want me to lance it for you when we’ve arrived?’
‘I’ll never tell you anything again,’ I said. We both knew that wasn’t true!
‘I still remember the maid who ran off with your mother’s cousin. The scandal! And your brother’s best friend? Percy, wasn’t it? Percy pea-head who chased you around the garden with his pants on his head.’
‘He was six!’ She was incorrigible. ‘Elsie Knocker! Don’t you ever forget anything?’
‘I never forget a secret. They are much too powerful.’
I shook my head incredulously. ‘I’m surprised you agreed to take this holiday.’
‘Holiday? We’re not going on holiday! We’re going fundraising, Mairi.’
16
Elsie had been invited to speak at the Glasgow Assembly Rooms! I had never been there before, but I knew – everyone knew – that it was a large and impressive venue. I couldn’t believe it.
‘To speak about what?’
‘About our work at the cellar, everything,’ Elsie said vaguely. ‘Think about it, Mairi. What an opportunity to get the word out there.’
‘And the money in here,’ I said pointing at the purse she was clutching in her lap. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘I only got the telegram this morning,’ she replied. ‘But it’s perfect timing. We’ll take the overnighter from London to Scotland – they’ve offered to reimburse us – and in the morning, we’ll pop out to get hats,’ Elsie went on, as though hats were my biggest worry. ‘The actual meeting isn’t until midday, so we’ll have time.’
I gaped at her. I wondered if she had sprung it on me at the last minute so there was less chance I could wriggle out of it. I could have refused to go. I could have insisted that I had to see my family, but actually I wasn’t keen to go home to Dorset. The less time spent dissecting Uilleam’s latest infraction, the better. At home, I was even less visible than sitting on a train with Elsie! Even the thought of Cook’s venison, steak pies and gravy could not lure me back. (Besides, Cook had joined the war effort and, considering the shortages, I doubted even my well-to-do parents could source quality meat.) Glasgow sounded quite the adventure. Plus, as I wearily admitted to Elsie, ‘I haven’t had a new hat in a long time.’
‘You’ll look sweet in a nice hat.’
‘A massive bonnet with full netting to hide my flaws…’
‘Silly girl,’ Elsie said. ‘I wish you knew how lovely you are.’
I smiled, but I was thinking, why are we discussing the hats?
* * *
The next morning we went directly from the station to the guesthouse where we would stay that night. We enjoyed toast with (oh my word!) thick, sweet marmalade. Then the guesthouse manager, a kindly older lady, directed us to ‘Scotland’s Top Hat Shop’, where we would be able to select the finest bonnets – with netting or not – for the afternoon. As we walked, the scenes that passed in front of me were so diametrically opposed to my life on the Western Front that it almost took my breath away. How could I reconcile the fact that one moment I was stumbling across the hand of the man buried by our cellar wall and the next I was shopping for pretty headwear?
Still.
I was torn between a hat topped with decorative cherries (shades of Lady D) and a fat green one with a thick band of ribbon. Elsie said the green ‘set off my features’. She made it sound like setting off my features was a desirable thing, so I bought it. She didn’t hesitate in choosing a flamboyant bonnet the crimson shade of her lips. The pretty sales-girl was wary of us, but she finally approached Elsie with an urgent question.
‘Why is your hair so short?’
‘It’s the new fashion!’ Elsie gave her a broad wink.
I imagine the girl might have stared into the mirror that evening wondering if she too could carry off the new look.
I asked Elsie if she had prepared anything for the talk but she said not.
‘Shouldn’t you practise?’ I would rather have died than got on stage without notes.
‘Some things are better off the cuff,’ she said casually. She meant, I don’t want to discuss this with you.
I reminded her that whatever happened in the meeting – and I was thinking that she might run out of things to say – I was not going to speak. Definitely not.
The last time I had spoken in public was reading Shakespeare in front of my class at school – ‘Oh woe, O woeful, woeful, woeful day! Most lamentable day, most woeful day…’ It had not gone down well.
Elsie laughed. ‘Fine, little piggy,’ she said, then nudged me playfully: ‘Who’d want to hear you speak anyway?’
* * *
Elsie had arranged to meet a friend – she did have friends everywhere – so we agreed that we would meet at the hall just before midday.
At half past eleven, I went to the door of the Assembly Rooms. I felt like a gooseberry. It was raining. I should have bought an umbrella, but after the expense of the bonnets I had been reluctant to purchase anything else for myself. Finally, someone came over asking for my ticket. Of course, I didn’t have a ticket. I hadn’t even seen any tickets! The woman apologised but said she couldn’t let me in: ‘Rules are rules, duckie.’
As I was about to turn out into the downpour again, I told her, by the by, that I was here with Elsie Knocker – but she wasn’t here yet – so…
Confused, the woman looked at her notes, then smiled at me. She had shiny cheeks like a picture-book farmer’s wife and perspiration on her forehead like she’d been out in the fields digging.
‘It isn’t Miss Chisholm, is it?’
‘Yes?’ I didn’t understand how she would have heard of me.
‘Why! You’re just a young thing!’
‘Nineteen,’ I said to prove her wrong as she pulled me into an embrace. I felt stiff as a board in her warmth, but she didn’t seem to mind.
She was Mrs Grange, the organiser of the event. She bustled around, helping me to remove my wet coat, taking my damp bag, offering me hot drinks. I was too nervous for anything.
I asked which other speakers were on the bill today. She didn’t seem to understand what I was saying, then she shook her head fast like a cornered gerbil.
‘Oh no, dear. It’s just you and Mrs Knocker!’
‘Really?’
‘And it’s a sell-out!’
‘But—’
‘But nothing,’ she said, incredulous at my reaction. ‘Everyone’s heard of the Madonnas. You just wait.’
* * *
More and more chairs were brought in. I counted: fifteen in each row going at least thirty back. Surely, they didn’t expect to fill them all! And in this wet weather too? Who’d come out in this, to see us?
Mrs Grange went to greet a group of finely dressed people. I heard her say, ‘That’s Mairi Chisholm, one of the Madonnas of Pervyse,’ and they looked over and nodded. The men tipped their caps at me. I was glad of my great bonnet; I could pretend to be the kind of person who always wears an elaborate green hat on a Friday afternoon in Scotland.
I tried to assist with the laying out of the chairs but was told firmly I must sit down. I was an honoured guest.
I smelled wet. It was my habitual smell in Pervyse, but here it felt different. Here, everyone seemed tidy and immune to the elements.
Then people began pouring through the doors. Soldiers, mothers, fathers, everyone, and I felt even more of a fraud. I was afraid that the star of the show was going to be late: where, in heaven’s name, had Elsie disappeared to now? I kept my eyes fixed on the door, watching out for her elaborate hat. Plenty of people arrived, some in elaborate hats too, but none of them were her. She couldn’t be with another Gilbert, could she? She couldn’t be kissing, not now, of all times?
* * *
Elsie arrived bang on twelve. Not only was she wearing her brand-new bonnet but when she took off her coat, I saw she had changed into the most wonderful frock I had ever seen. I wondered if she had been rained on, and if she had, how she could look so refined. It was a mystery to me. Elsie didn’t ever need window dressing, but as she clattered in from the back of the room and onto the stage, I could hardly believe this glorious vision was my nit-infested, constantly smoking, cave-dwelling, tomato-gorging sister. Never had the word ‘Madonna’ seemed more appropriate!
Mrs Grange introduced us to the crowd. I was too anxious to take it all in, but Elsie gave me an encouraging look. Then it was her turn.
She began in her low husky voice. ‘Good afternoon everybody!’ but the crowd could hardly see her and a couple of men heckled, ‘Can’t hear ya!’ and ‘Speak up, love!’ before she’d even had a chance.
A young boy shot out from nowhere with a wooden crate. He held Elsie’s hand while she stepped up onto it. She ascended graciously, like a queen. Now she was two or three feet taller than anyone there. Everyone, and I mean everyone, gazed at her like she was Moses on the mountaintop promising to free the children of Israel.
I should have known Elsie would prove to be the most splendid raconteur.
She spoke about the formation of our flying ambulance corps, her enormous affection for its founder – ‘the indomitable Dr Munro’ (since when!?) – and our move from Furnes to the cellar house at Pervyse. It was while explaining our work in Pervyse that she became most impassioned.
‘We call it the golden hour. The quicker we treat the men, the more likely they are to survive. Since we have moved closer to the battlefield, into the cellar, the results are… impressive. I have testimonies here.’
Elsie reached in her bag, then waved sheets of paper at th
e transfixed crowd. I didn’t know she had collected them. I gazed at her incredulously. She had prepared.
‘However, it does not come cheap, and that is why we come to you, with our caps – or rather our bonnets – in our hands.’
She took off her hat, and the audience gave a collective sigh at her cropped hair.
A handsome man yelled out from the audience. He had curly hair and shaking hands. I knew he was just back from some terrible place. You come to recognise it. It’s not just the eyes, it’s the mouth, it’s the colour of the skin, it’s their gait, it’s everything.
‘Why don’t the Belgians pay?’ His voice was vicious. ‘You’re in their country after all.’
Elsie put down her papers, collected herself and then beamed at the speaker, as though that was the very question she had been waiting all her life to answer.
‘But then I’d be under Belgian bureaucracy, and if there is one thing I have always liked to keep clear of, it’s that appalling red tape. Being independent means we have more freedom to save lives: British and Belgian lives.’
A man in the front row, in about his late sixties, said: ‘Is it very lonely, Elsie, out there on the Western Front?’ The plump woman next to him nudged him firmly in the ribs and squealed half to Elsie, half to the crowd, ‘Mrs Knocker, I declare he’s volunteering to come out and give you a cuddle!’
So what did Elsie do? She only clambered off her soapbox and marched over to him, arms outstretched. He got up and they shook hands enthusiastically. I had never seen anyone work a crowd like she did.
Elsie got herself up on the box again, and when the clapping had died down, she recommenced her speech.
‘But everyone, you are mistaken if you think I work in solitude. I am certainly not alone! You see… Mairi, my sweet, step forward.’
She had promised me I wouldn’t have to speak. I shook my head at her feverishly.
