by Hilary Green
‘That’s marvellous!’ Leo exclaimed. ‘And it really works?’
‘Well, proof of the pudding and all that . . .’ Marion said with a grin. ‘But we’ve tested all the equipment and we should be able to bathe twelve men every fifteen minutes – say forty-eight an hour. And what’s more, we can boil up their clothes as well.’
‘It’s exactly what’s needed,’ Lilian Franklin said. ‘Most of the men are ridden with lice, poor things. No wonder there is so much typhus.’
Leo found that the days began to blur into each other, each of them a long round of back-breaking labour. To her intense distress, she discovered that the resilience and self-confidence which had carried her through the mud of Chataldzha and the squalor of Adrianople seemed to have deserted her. Then, she had been buoyed up by the excitement of strange surroundings and new experiences; and there had been, of course, the vital frisson of knowing that Sasha Malkovic was somewhere nearby. Now, the work had become a matter of routine, there were few distractions in Calais, and she was more acutely aware than ever of the pointless waste and misery of war.
Her depression was deepened by the news from the front. She knew from letters forwarded from Sussex Gardens that Tom and Ralph were somewhere in the Ypres salient and she dreaded going to pick up casualties from the train one morning and finding one or both of them there. But her worst imaginings were centred on what was happening in Serbia. In November the Austrians had occupied Belgrade but then, in a determined counter-attack, the Serbs had retaken it and pushed forward into Bosnia and Croatia. Max had ceased to write and she had no way of knowing whether he had been killed in the fighting, or had fled the country, or whether he was still at his post but unable to get letters out. Either way, she had no news of Sasha and no way of knowing if he was alive or dead.
Strangely, it was the behaviour of her colleagues that she found hardest to tolerate. At the outset, she had had private doubts about how some of her fellow FANYs, with their highly privileged upbringing, would react when faced with real casualties. It was one thing to be full of fun and enthusiasm at camp in England but could they cope with the real thing? She soon had to recognize that they coped superbly. Their main resource was humour – much of it of a fairly black variety. They had the capacity to transform even the most gruesome occurrences into jokes that left them all doubled up with giggles. All except Leo. She found herself unable to join in the laughter and every day it grated more and more on her nerves.
One morning in the common room she found herself screaming at the top of her voice. ‘Stop it! Stop it! It’s not funny! How can you laugh like that? You’re like a lot of little children! Stop it, for God’s sake!’ In the stunned silence that followed she was overwhelmed by a wave of anguish. She clasped her hands over her ears and sank down on a bale of blankets that served as a stool, sobbing desolately.
Victoria was by her side instantly, wrapping her arms round her. ‘Leo, don’t, don’t! Whatever is it? Come on, old thing, this is not like you.’
‘It is, it is!’ Leo sobbed. ‘I’m such a bitch, Vita. I’ve been so full of my own importance, as if I’m the only one who knows what to do. And I’m the feeblest of you all. I can’t bear it. I can’t face it any more.’
Victoria’s arm was removed and Leo felt her shoulders gripped by less kindly hands. Sister Wicks’ voice cut through her paroxysms of self-flagellation. ‘Now, that’s quite enough of that. Pull yourself together. We’ve got enough to cope with. The last thing we need is you sobbing and screaming.’ Then, as Leo looked up and gulped back her tears, she went on more gently: ‘You’re tired. We all are. But you’re one of the strong ones. We need you to help the rest to keep going. Now, you’ve had your little outburst. Go and wash your face and get back to work.’
Later, Victoria sought Leo out on the ward. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry about earlier.’
‘What you said, about being the only one who knows what to do . . .’
Leo shook her head and brushed the back of her hand across her eyes. ‘I’m so ashamed of myself, Vita. You know once, years ago, I heard my grandmother tell someone I was arrogant. And she was right. I’ve always had this idea of myself as being stronger and braver and cleverer than other people and I’m not. I can’t compete with the likes of Mac or Boss or . . . or any of the others.’
‘That’s not true!’ Victoria said, with quiet conviction. ‘You’ve been terrific with the typhoid patients. Most of the others were scared stiff to begin with and they looked to you to show them what to do. They still do.’
Leo sighed. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I am just tired. It’s all such a mess, such a waste.’
‘I know,’ Victoria responded. ‘But what can we do? We just have to keep going and hope for the best. But just remember, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.’
Two days later Leo received a letter, forwarded as usual from Sussex Gardens. As soon as she had finished reading it she hurried to find Victoria, who was down in the courtyard with her head, as usual, under the bonnet of one of the ambulances.
‘Vita, I’ve had a letter from Mabel Stobart!’
Victoria straightened up. ‘Really? The last rumour we heard was that she’d been arrested as a spy by the Germans. Was it true?’
‘I don’t know, she doesn’t say. The point is, Vita, she’s going back to Serbia. She’s got another convoy together and they’re sailing from Liverpool on the first of April.’
Victoria resumed her work on the engine. ‘Good for her!’
‘But don’t you see?’ Leo persisted. ‘We have to go with her.’
‘Oh, no, we don’t!’
‘You mean, you won’t come?’
Victoria stood up again. ‘Leo, you are not seriously considering going back there, are you?’
‘Of course I am. I must!’
‘Why?’
‘You know why.’
Victoria wiped her hands on a rag and reached out to touch Leo’s arm. ‘What’s the point? The chances are you’d never catch up with him – assuming he’s still alive. And even if you did, he’s married. You know that.’
‘Married to a girl he doesn’t love.’
‘But still . . .’
‘It wouldn’t matter! She won’t be with him. She’ll be on the family estate, or perhaps evacuated to Greece or somewhere safe. If I can just find him, Vita . . . if we can just have a few weeks, a few days even . . .’
‘You mean, an affair?’
‘If that’s what you want to call it. And you can’t criticize me, you of all people. Not after Luke.’
‘I’m not criticizing. I’m just afraid that you’ll go out there, into heaven knows what dangers, and then discover that he’s miles away, or . . . or dead . . . or . . .’
‘Or what?’
‘It’s been nearly two years, Leo. A lot can have changed in that time.’
‘He won’t have changed,’ Leo said with conviction. ‘And if I go, at least I shall be able to find out where he is, and if he’s still alive. I have to go, Vita. You must understand that.’
Victoria sighed. ‘I suppose so. You’re not happy here, that’s obvious. It’s got to be your decision.’
‘And you won’t come with me?’
Their eyes met and Victoria shook her head slowly. ‘No, I’m sorry, Leo. Not this time. I like what I’m doing here. You know I’ve always preferred the driving to the nursing, and I don’t imagine the Serbs will have many motor ambulances. I know I can be useful here and I’ve always felt that my first loyalty is to the FANY. So, no, I’m afraid I won’t come with you.’
Leo held her gaze for a moment, tempted to try to persuade her, but what she saw convinced her that she would be wasting her time. She turned away sadly. ‘All right, if that’s how you feel. I’d better go and break the news that I’m leaving to Boss.’
Grace MacDougall was away, attending a meeting somewhere, so Leo had an uncomfortable interview with Lilian Franklin.
‘I know you wer
e involved with Stobart in Bulgaria, but you’re a FANY first and foremost. I don’t understand why you feel you have any obligation to rejoin her.’
Leo could not explain her real reasons so she said, ‘I feel an obligation to the people I worked with out there. The Serbs are fighting the Austrians all on their own and we haven’t lifted a finger to help, and their soldiers need nursing just as badly as ours.’
‘But it was the Bulgarians you worked with, wasn’t it?’
‘It was both. They were fighting on the same side then. Now the Serbs are with us and the Bulgars have chosen to remain neutral.’
‘But don’t you have a duty to our men? Why do you want to go off and nurse the Serbs instead?’
‘I’m not nursing “our“ men, am I?’ Leo pointed out. ‘What is the difference between nursing Belgians or Serbs, when we are all fighting on the same side?’
That effectively finished the argument and Franklin conceded stiffly that, since Leo was a volunteer and under no obligation to remain, she could do as she pleased. The other FANYs were stunned to learn that she was leaving and it was equally hard to convince them that she had good reasons, since only Victoria knew the true story. One or two even implied that she was running away. Leo shrugged and would have ignored them, but Victoria leapt to her defence, with a graphic account of the conditions they had endured on their previous expedition. Leo left her to it and went to pack, although she had a suspicion, from the changed attitudes she met when she went to say goodbye, that her friend had dropped a few hints that there was more to her decision than they had been told.
Victoria drove her to the ferry. On the quayside they hugged each other and Leo murmured, ‘I wish you were coming with me.’
‘I wish you were staying here,’ Victoria responded, ‘but all I can do is wish you luck. I hope you find him – and if you do, don’t let old-fashioned Victorian morality stand in your way. Take a leaf out of my book!’
‘I shall,’ Leo promised. ‘Take care, Vita. For goodness’ sake, mind how you drive. Stay on the bloody pavé!’
‘I’ll try!’ Victoria forced a laugh but Leo saw that there were tears in her eyes. ‘Take care, yourself.’
‘I will.’ They looked at each other in silence for a minute, then Leo said, ‘I expect the war will be over by the time we see each other again.’
Victoria hugged her again. ‘Then let’s hope it ends soon! I won’t say goodbye. Just au revoir.’
‘Au revoir,’ Leo echoed. Then she turned away and hurried up the gangplank without stopping to look back.
Mabel Stobart’s convoy sailed from Liverpool on 1 April, with Leo among them. It was a larger group than the one which had manned the hospital in Lozengrad, including among others seven women doctors. They were not the only medical expedition on the ship. It was crammed with Red Cross volunteers and VADs, all bound for the same destination. The first few days were tense, as they had been told to anticipate attacks from the Germans’ new submarines in the Irish Sea, but the danger did not materialize and on 8 April they reached Gibraltar. On 15 April they sailed into the harbour at Salonika. Standing on the deck, watching the towers and domes appear out of the mist, Leo was almost swamped by nostalgia. Two and a half years had passed since she last saw this sight but now she could hardly recognize the naïve, excitable girl who had stood there then.
The same contrast between then and now persisted as they went ashore. She remembered the irritation and disbelief with which she and Victoria had been met on that first occasion. Now, the group was expected and welcomed and their onward passage was smoothed by the new British military attaché, Colonel Harrison, and Colonel Hunter, who was in charge of the Royal Army Medical Corps’ mission. They were to go, they were informed, to Kragujevac, to the south of Belgrade, where they were to set up a field hospital.
They travelled by train, first to Nis, where they spent the night, and then on to Kragujevac, and all through the journey Leo was beset by contrary emotions. First she was reminded of the last time she had passed that way, sitting between Ralph and Tom, wearing the dowdy dress her brother had bought in Salonika to replace her boy’s breeches and tunic, all three of them too angry and shocked to talk. But then she became aware of the beauty of the countryside: the green hillsides and deep pastures, the orchards awash with cherry and plum blossom, the storks sitting on their nests on the tops of chimneys in the villages they passed. That recalled the drive out to the Malkovic estate when they had been invited to the family’s Slava day celebrations and the garden where she and Sasha had sat and talked and she had understood for the first time that he cared as much for her as she did for him. It was that memory that she clung to as the train chugged slowly towards its destination.
Her companions teased her for her silence and her abstracted manner but she smiled and said nothing. Some of them remembered her from Lozengrad, but they had never been at Chataldzha or Adrianople and never met Sasha Malkovic.
At Kragujevac they were met by the commander of the local garrison. There was already typhus in the town, so it had been agreed that the hospital would be set up on a small hill outside. They had brought specially made tents with them and a detachment of soldiers from the garrison was detailed to put them up. By the following day they were ready to receive their first cases.
As soon as she had the opportunity Leo asked one of the officers for news from the front line. He was cheerfully optimistic. It seemed the Austrians, who had been badly mauled during their last attempt to invade, were thinking twice about trying again. Besides, they now had a Russian invasion on their eastern border to deal with. The Serbian army was encamped along the border, ready to repel any further incursions, but everyone was hopeful that the danger was past.
‘The only worry is the Bulgarians,’ her informant explained. ‘So far, they have stayed neutral but if the Germans can persuade them to come in on the side of the Central Powers we shall have a real fight on our hands.’
As casually as possible, Leo inquired for news of Colonel Count Aleksander Malkovic, whom she had met during a previous visit to Belgrade. He was with his regiment, she was told, on the border and, as far as anyone knew, in good health. Leo thanked the officer and made an excuse to hurry away, so that he would not see the relief on her face.
Ten
Eight days after Leo’s arrival at Kragujevac Luke Pavel stood on the deck of the ship that had brought him from Egypt and gazed across at the dun-coloured cliffs and snaking ravines of the Gallipoli peninsula.
‘Looks a pretty godforsaken sort of territory, Sergeant,’ the young officer beside him remarked.
‘Too right, sir!’ Luke responded. ‘There isn’t enough vegetation to feed a goat up there.’
‘You sound as if you know it.’
‘I do. But last time I was here I was up there, trying to push the Turks into the sea, instead of down here trying to get at them from the beaches.’
‘What the hell were you doing?’
‘Working as a stretcher-bearer for the Bulgarians.’
‘What made you want to do that, for Christ’s sake?’
Luke was beginning to explain when his companion interrupted.
‘Hold up! Looks like the Aussies are on the move.’
Luke watched as the first troop transports headed for the shore. The beach appeared undefended but beyond it the cliffs rose steeply and as the first men landed they were cut down by merciless fire from above. Soon the beach and the shallow water along it were choked with bodies and the beach itself was a chaos of milling men as more and more transports discharged their cargoes. Groups of men ran for the narrow ravines that carved through the cliffs and Luke saw that once there they had some shelter from the fusillade and that they were beginning to work their way upwards towards a ridge that resembled, from his angle, the trunk of a sleeping elephant. The objective, he knew, was to gain the heights above it, but he knew, too, how broken and contorted the landscape was, and how easy it would be to lose all sense of direction. He licked
dry lips and swallowed. The Turkish defence was more determined than they had been led to expect and there was no artillery support from their own side. He knew it would be his turn to join the melee soon.
He had to wait until four thirty that afternoon and by that time the landing craft had to push through a tangle of floating bodies to reach the beach. Small craft full of wounded surged around them, begging the sailors to take the casualties on board. As soon as his feet touched firm ground Luke ran for the shelter of the cliffs. He had fixed his eyes on a ravine that seemed from the sea to lead inland and shouted to his companions to follow him. The gully was choked with undergrowth, all of it sharp with thorns designed, it seemed, to catch at clothes and boots, but here they were out of the line of fire and Luke scrambled upwards, the others following. At the top the ravine opened out on to a narrow ridge and Luke turned left, heading still for the higher ground. Some yards further on they came upon a company of Australians, sheltering behind rocks from sniper fire. Luke looked around him and realized that there were no officers in sight.
‘What’s going on, lads?’ he asked breathlessly.
‘Search me,’ one responded. ‘We were told to follow this ridge but there’s no shelter from here on and the ragheads are well dug in up at the top.’
Luke peered round the rocks and ducked back as a bullet whistled past his head. The Australian was right. To press on was to court certain death.
A runner stumbled up the track behind them. ‘Change of orders. This way is too exposed. You’re to rendezvous with Captain Fraser’s lot over there, on the parallel ridge.’
Between the two ridges was a deep valley. Somehow they scrambled down into it, but once there they lost sight of the ridge they were aiming for and found themselves wandering in a maze of gullies that ended in unscalable cliffs. By the time Luke and a small group of New Zealanders finally reached the ridge the sun was low in the west and they had lost contact with the rest of the men. Once again, they began to climb towards the summit, keeping low and taking advantage of every scrap of cover from the Turkish riflemen on the hills above.
