by Carol Rivers
The doctor’s face darkened. ‘But I heard it was the French and Algerian troops who suffered that monstrous onslaught.’
‘It was, doctor,’ agreed Eric, wheezily. ‘We was ordered to scout up to where our lines met the French. I wish to God now I’d disobeyed that order and run in the opposite direction. When me and Reg got up there, the troops that survived the gunfire were making a dash towards us. And that was when we first saw it. A bloody great yellow-green cloud, hanging in the air, like a bank of fog. We thought it was fog too and just stopped to stare at it wondering why the French was bottling out.’ Eric cleared his throat and the sweat broke out on his face. ‘Then we started coughing—’ As if the memory was too painful to voice, he hid his scarred face in his hands.
‘Water, please, nurse,’ Dr Tapper said, nodding to the pitcher on the side.
Flora poured a full tumbler and put it to his lips. As he sipped, Eric’s sad eyes met hers. ‘The French stood no chance. They was falling around us as the breeze brought this terrible stink. It made your throat tickle at first, then your eyes started to smart. I tried to cover me face with a rag, but it weren’t no use. This coughing started and has never left. All we could do was run, like our allies. Through the bodies and the dead horses and the screaming wounded. My face felt as though it was burning.’ He stopped again and his shoulders shook as he heaved and threw back his head to breathe air. ‘Something must have been on the rag as my skin peeled off under it. They did their best back at our lines, but I was in so much pain with me face, they took me to the base hospital.’ He gave a hoarse gasp. ‘Dunno what went on after that. They put me out and I was thankful they did.’
‘I can give you something to help,’ the doctor said, patting his shoulder.
‘Am I gonna die, doc?’
‘I’d like you to see another physician. Could you get to the East London Hospital? I have a colleague there who is more experienced than I in these matters.’
Eric looked into the doctor’s face. ‘I’ve a wife and two kids. I’d like to see the youngsters grow up.’
‘We’ll make every effort to see that happens,’ the doctor said with a nod.
After their patient had left with a letter from the doctor to the hospital physician, Flora saw the doctor slowly close his written notes. He looked up at her. ‘A sad case, Flora. Very sad indeed. What was on the rag we shall never know. Surgeons are beginning to discover new ways of skin reconstruction. But I fear his lungs are collapsing.’
Flora thought of Will, of his innocent, gentle eyes and mop of blond hair flopping over his forehead. Had he experienced this new menace of gas poisoning? She loved her friend so dearly, as she loved Hilda. He had become her little brother and she his protector. But how could she help him now?
‘We must press on,’ said Dr Tapper, rising to his feet. ‘And do what good we can in this perilous time.’
Flora knew he was hiding his fear for Wilfred, as she was for Will. The son the doctor treasured, whose fate remained unknown, may have been exposed to the same dreadful weapon as Eric.
‘My plans have changed,’ announced Hilda, on a bright September Saturday as the two girls met in their usual spot at the market.
‘You’ve decided not to leave Hailing House!’ Flora wanted to jump and clap her hands for joy.
‘No, silly. Of course I haven’t changed my mind.’ Hilda pouted.
‘Sorry.’ Flora sighed. For a moment, she had thought Hilda had come to her senses.
‘You said you were happy for me.’
‘I am.’ Flora hoped she’d be forgiven her fib. ‘But as the time grows close, I know how much I’ll miss you.’
At this, Hilda’s face softened. ‘I’ll miss you, too. But think of what we’ll have to tell each other when we meet.’ Hilda pushed her towards the tea stall. ‘Let’s have lemonade. I’ve some very good news.’
Flora bought the two drinks from the tea stall. They sat on the bench under the tarpaulin to enjoy them, hearing the rattle of the wind in the canvas folds.
‘Lady Hailing came to the house last week,’ Hilda began in a confidential tone. ‘She brought her two daughters, not much older than us. Oh, you should have seen them, Flora. So nicely dressed, I could have wept!’
Flora smiled. ‘I hope you didn’t.’
‘Course not. But me, er, my head spun when I saw their pretty frocks and shoes. Not boots, mind, but lovely pale leather shoes with pointed toes and buckles. And . . .’ Hilda tilted up her chin and waved her gloved hand, one finger drawing a circle as if she was royalty. ‘Lady Hailing said, “Girls, this is Hilda, who will be leaving us soon.” Can you believe it, Flora? I was speechless and couldn’t breathe a word in reply.’
‘That’s not like you.’
‘I know.’
‘So what happened?’
Hilda sat erect, saying in a high voice, ‘ “Annabelle and Felicity, what have you to tell ’Ilda?” ’
Flora giggled. ‘You just dropped an haitch.’
‘I nearly dropped down dead an’ all when I heard what came next.’
‘What was that?’ Flora loved to watch Hilda acting the part.
‘ “ ’Ilda, would you take it as an insult if we offered you these clothes? We’ve outgrown them and wondered if you’d like them.’” Hilda rolled her dark eyes and placed her hand on her heart. ‘Oh, Flora, I couldn’t believe my ears. I couldn’t catch me breath and thought I was about to faint!’
‘But you managed not to in the end?’ Flora smirked.
Hilda pushed Flora’s arm. They burst into laughter. ‘The girls even said they hoped I was coming back to Hailing House after the war, but, if I wasn’t, I was bound to do well at Adelphi. I think it was the best day of my life, second to going to Surrey.’
Flora put down her mug of lemonade. ‘Are you sure you want to leave the family?’
There was longing in Hilda’s voice when she replied. ‘I want to be like them, Flora. But I know I can’t. And never will be. So the next best thing is being a lady’s maid, ain’t it? I’ve got to go somewhere with prospects.’
Flora gazed into her friend’s deep brown eyes. ‘You’re a lady to me.’
Hilda smiled. ‘I’ll look like a lady in me, er, my new clothes. Mrs Bell is helping me to alter the ones that need changing. Not that there’s much to do. Quality counts, and even if a dress is too big or too small, I reckon it don’t matter. Lady Bertha will see that I’m not a cheapskate when it comes to me fashion sense.’
Flora smiled with her friend. It seemed everything was working out all right for Hilda after all.
Chapter Nine
Flora had never seen such lovely clothes. ‘Hilda, this is beautiful,’ she said as she touched the pink dress folded on Hilda’s bed. The dress was striped, with a cotton bodice and tapered skirt. The long sleeves and pleated cuffs were very fashionable.
‘That dress was Annabelle’s,’ said Hilda. ‘She’s a year younger than me, but taller.’ Hilda went to the wardrobe and drew out another dress. Flora saw that this one had purple embroidery around the collar and hem. ‘It’s real silk, Flora, touch it.’
Flora was almost afraid to touch the delicate, slippery material. ‘Hilda, this must have been very expensive.’
‘I know. I’ve never worn silk before.’
‘I’ve only ever seen silk in shop windows.’
‘There’s more, too.’ Hilda took out a beige linen suit with a tailored jacket and ankle-length skirt. Inside the skirt was a dark-brown lining that matched the brown velvet trims on the collar and cuffs. ‘This will be just right for autumn. I’ve decided to wear it when I go to Surrey. Mrs Burns won’t be able to look down her nose at me ever again.’
Flora watched breathlessly as Hilda showed her more of the outfits: a day dress of pale green cotton, and several more suits, all of which had gloves and scarves to match. On the bare floorboards beside the bed were leather shoes, six pairs in all. ‘One or two pairs are a little large, but I’ll stuff the toes with paper which
always works a treat.’ Hilda kicked off her old boots and slipped on a pair of black buckled pumps. ‘What do you think?’
‘They’ll go very well with the suit.’
‘I tried everything on last night. Mrs Bell, who’s very good with a needle, says she’ll make all the alterations next week.’ Hilda gave a deep sigh. ‘Though in return she expects me to listen to her long stories of how she’s worked for Lady Hailing since she was twelve and how she’s scrubbed till her fingers bled. You’ll be pleased to know I listened patiently. And for once, I even got a good word out of her. She said as long as I kept me feet on the ground and didn’t let all this go to my head, I might do very well in me new job.’
‘I told you before, Mrs Bell only wants what’s best for you. She looks on you as a daughter, as she’s never had a family of her own.’
‘I know. She’s not really even a “Mrs”.’
‘Cooks are always called “Mrs this or that”.’
‘I’ll be just “Jones”, but when I’m Lady Bertha’s maid, I’ll have Mrs Burns call me “Miss Jones”.’
Flora could never see that happening, but didn’t say so.
‘Why don’t you try this hat?’ Hilda picked up a pretty blue cloche. ‘Ain’t it pretty? Blue is your colour. It matches the colour of your eyes.’ Hilda placed it on Flora’s blonde curls. ‘Look in the mirror.’
Flora looked into the mirror that was nailed to the wardrobe door. The hat looked lovely, but her other drab clothes didn’t. The hat showed up her brown-checked wool suit for what it really was: old and unfashionable. Her shoes were bulging at the sides where they had been worn out by their previous owner, and her stockings were snagged. She tried not to look disappointed in herself.
‘And to go with the hat, there’s this.’ Hilda lifted a blue tailored suit with a calf-length skirt and fitted sleeves. She placed it against Flora’s slender form. ‘There you are, don’t you look the part? I wish I could wear blue, but it doesn’t do me justice. You’ll have something nice to wear on Sundays now.’
‘I couldn’t accept this, Hilda.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they were given to you.’
‘But this suit won’t fit at all. I tried it on and even with my stays laced tight, I can’t do the jacket buttons up.’
‘No, it’s just not right.’ Flora took off the hat. ‘I’m sorry, Hilda, but I’m sure Mrs Bell could make it fit.’
‘I want to give you something. And now’s my chance. After all, I said I’d take you up West for tea for your birthday and I haven’t.’
‘There’s still time.’ Flora lay the suit and hat on the bed.
‘I’m afraid there’s not,’ Hilda said quietly.
Flora turned to stare at her friend. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The family are coming back from abroad early. Mrs Burns wrote to say she wants me to start next month, just two weeks away.’
Flora felt sad, though she knew she should be happy for Hilda. She was soon to lose Hilda; her best friend and sister was leaving London and the only life they had ever known.
‘I’ve already asked Albert if he’ll take me in the cart,’ Hilda said shyly. ‘He’s agreed on a shilling like before.’
Flora was trying not to shed any tears. ‘You’ll write the moment you get there, won’t you?’
‘I’ve told you, I will. There’s no one else I can boast to.’
‘And not just a few sentences with bad spelling mistakes.’
Hilda giggled. ‘Yes, Sister Patricia.’
Flora smiled. ‘You won’t think much of my news as you don’t like to hear about the walking wounded.’
They looked at each other and laughed. Flora scooped a tear from her eye, as did Hilda. They knew each other well, as sisters and good friends should. But it was hard to say goodbye. However, Flora couldn’t blame Hilda for leaving. Even Mrs Bell had come to that conclusion. Her friend was exchanging one life for another. A life that seemed to have all that Hilda had ever dreamed of.
Chapter Ten
The day arrived when Hilda was to leave. It was a misty Sunday morning in October and the sound of Albert’s cart on the cobbles caused Flora to hurriedly put on her coat. There would only be a few minutes to say their last goodbyes. Before leaving the airey, she picked up the parcels of crusty bread and thickly spread dripping that she had made for Hilda and Albert’s breakfast.
Outside, the air was heavy with the scents of the island: spices and oils and confectionaries from the factories; tarry ropes and musty timbers and smoke-belching chimneys. All this was mixed with the falling leaves from the trees and the dust and dirt of the streets, together with the waste and flotsam from the water traffic. On smelling the scents, Flora knew she was home. She marvelled at Hilda’s courage to leave what was safe and familiar.
‘Mornin’,’ Albert called, lowering the reins. His weather-beaten face and long straggly hair were shielded by his cloth cap and the collar of his greatcoat. ‘Good enough weather for travelling, ain’t it? No rain, and that’s what counts.’ He clucked through his teeth as the horse tossed his head. ‘Steady, boy. We’ll not be stopping for long.’
From out of the back of the cart climbed Hilda. She wore one of her new outfits – the beige linen suit and tailored jacket with brown velvet trims. Over her hair, she wore a small felt hat that discreetly hid her abundance of youthful curls.
‘Hilda, you look very grown-up.’
‘I’m all fingers and thumbs this morning. I could hardly dress meself. Do you know I’ve three bags full of clothes? And another of shoes and hats. I can’t imagine I’ll need them all, but I can’t bear to leave any behind.’
‘Have you got your new uniform?’ Flora asked, wondering if Hilda really had made all her dresses.
‘Mrs Bell helped me.’
‘And enough underwear?’
‘All that, too.’ Hilda paused. ‘There were a few tears from Mrs Bell and Aggie before I left.’
‘I’ll go and visit them soon.’
Hilda smiled. ‘They’ll like that.’
Flora handed Hilda the parcel. ‘You might get hungry on the journey.’ Then she reached into her pocket and brought out a small black book. ‘This is for you, too.’
‘Your catechism?’ Hilda asked as she turned the pages.
‘To remind you of who you are. A good Catholic girl.’
‘I lost mine when I left the orphanage.’ Hilda went red.
Flora knew that Hilda had probably thrown it away. ‘You won’t lose this one, will you?’
‘No. Course not.’
Flora smiled. ‘You’d better not keep Albert waiting.’
Hilda caught hold of her. ‘I’ll miss my big sister,’ she said, shakily.
Flora kissed her friend’s cheek. ‘God bless, dearest.’
Hilda climbed back under the canvas and Albert shook the reins.
‘Take care of yourself. Remember to say your prayers,’ Flora called as the cart moved off.
Hilda stuck out her head. ‘Light a candle for me at church!’
As the sound of the horse’s hooves faded away, Flora shivered. She felt very alone. Her dear friend had always been part of her life. Now, Hilda was travelling far away. Her new home was not even within walking distance or a bus ride. At the earliest opportunity, Flora decided, she was going to St Edmund’s, the parish church at Millwall, and would do as Hilda had asked. The nuns had taught them that if they lit a candle to accompany their prayers to heaven, their requests would be granted. Flora had always lit candles for the poor, sick children in the convent infirmary. When some of them had died and she’d helped the nuns to lay out their often emaciated and crippled bodies, she imagined their souls rising up from their earthly forms and, helped by their guardian angels, being borne away to heaven’s gates, free of suffering and shining brightly like stars. Of course, no one knew if this was true, not even the nuns. But Flora believed that such innocent little souls were welcomed to heaven by their creator, in the light o
f the candles. She never felt sad, but happy that they were finally out of all pain and misery. Flora still believed in the power of prayer and a burning candle. Hilda insisted that prayers and religious practice were not for her. But Flora believed that Hilda was not at all the lost soul she pretended to be.
The very next Sunday, Flora decided to visit Sister Patricia at the orphanage. Instead of going to St Edmund’s, she would go to Mass in the chapel. It had been three years since she and Hilda had left St Boniface’s. Had there been many changes in that time? she wondered. She would ask Sister Patricia to offer prayers for Will and Hilda. The nun had taken on a motherly role with all of them, even though Hilda, having strong memories of her own mother – unlike Flora and Will who knew nothing of their parentage – had always insisted that no one could take Rose’s place. But it was also Sister Patricia who had given Rose the job in the laundry when she was destitute, and taken Hilda in when Rose had died.
When Flora set off, a cold October breeze blew in her face and whistled round her ears. She had wrapped up warmly in a coat and scarf, though she knew a brisk walk would soon make her cheeks burn. The streets of the East End were deserted at such an early hour. If she’d made her journey during the week, she could have caught the number fifty-seven bus. But on Sundays, transport was scarce. The convent was on the far side of Victoria Park.
The streets slowly came to life as she hurried along. She nodded to the early-morning churchgoers who made their way to worship, dodging the horse-drawn traffic as it began to fill the roads. Flora preferred the weekday hustle and bustle of trade: the many port workers with regular jobs who arrived by bicycle or on foot at the dock gates; the less fortunate stevedores waiting at the dock gates for casual work; and labourers, shore gangs, bargemen and lightermen making their way towards the river. But this morning the hooters from the boats on the river were silent. Only the hungry gulls screamed, their cries interwoven with church bells. The small shops were all closed and shuttered. A few young children played hopscotch or cat-o’-nine-tails. The grimy, noisy environment of the docks was at peace this morning and Flora hoped she would find help and inspiration from the place that, from her earliest memory, had been her only home.
