Passions of War

by Hilary Green

  ‘You were right. You’re the right man for the job.’

  There was nothing to do after that but wait out the daylight, listening to the sounds of work nearby and eating and drinking sparingly from the supplies they had brought with them. Tom thanked heaven it was winter and the days were short, even if the cold had penetrated to his very bones. When darkness fell again and all was quiet they hauled themselves out of the shell-hole and began the crawl back. Stiff and chilled, they found it harder going than on the way out, though Tom was amazed to see, from his reconnoitre earlier, how short the actual distance was. It took them nearly two hours to regain their own trench. When they reached it Ralph beckoned Tom forward and he slid over the rim and dropped on to the fire step, where his platoon sergeant was waiting to welcome them.

  ‘Well done, sir! Good to see you back . . .’

  His words were lost in the crack of a sniper’s rifle. Tom turned to say, ‘That was a close one . . .’ and was just in time to catch Ralph as he fell into the trench.

  Sixteen

  ‘Forty-eight, forty-nine – start, damn you!’ Victoria muttered breathlessly as she cranked the starting handle of the Napier. ‘Fifty, fifty-one – oh, thank God!’ as the engine coughed into reluctant life.

  The new base for what was being called ‘the Calais convoy’ was on the top of a windswept hill just outside the town. The accommodation was in tents, set round an open square in which the ambulances, all converted motor cars, were parked. It was a bitterly cold January and Victoria had grown accustomed to waking in the morning to find icicles on the outside of her sleeping bag; but it was the cars that caused the most problems. They had been filled, supposedly, with antifreeze, but still starting them in the mornings was a nightmare. Start they must, because every morning a hospital train, marked with red crosses, came into the Gare Centrale loaded with wounded who must be conveyed either to one of the hospitals in the area or, when the hospitals were full, as they often were, to ships in the harbour.

  As soon as all the vehicles had been started a procession formed behind Lilian Franklin’s car and they drove through the town to the station. When the train came in the casualties were sorted by the duty medical officers and then allocated to different vehicles. Victoria helped to carry two stretchers to the Napier and load them in. One of the men was writhing and groaning in pain; the other was silent and so pale that Victoria wondered if he was still alive. She placed her fingers on his neck and found a faint, unsteady pulse. Climbing into the driver’s seat, she wondered if he would survive the journey.

  As carefully as possible she eased the car out of the station yard and over several sets of railway lines. The inevitable jolting provoked a stream of obscenities from the man who was conscious, and then a shamefaced apology.

  ‘Never mind me, miss,’ he called. ‘Just go as fast as you can and get it over with.’

  Victoria paid no heed and nursed the car along the potholed road as gently as she could. When they finally reached the hospital the man apologized again and thanked her. One of the nurses bent over the second man and felt his pulse.

  ‘Is he still alive?’ Victoria asked.

  The nurse looked up. ‘Just. Any longer and we would have been too late.’

  Victoria turned the car and set off back towards the camp. Now that there was no need to avoid the bumps she drove flat out, using all her skill to cover the distance as quickly as possible. It concentrated her mind and helped to wipe out the memory of those screams of pain.

  She was almost there when the engine lost power, choked once or twice and died. Cursing under her breath, she climbed out and swung the handle. It took her a long time to get the Napier going again and by the time she got back to camp all the other ambulances were parked in their allotted places. Victoria ignored the friendly jibes of her fellow drivers and went to find Beryl Hutchinson, who was in charge of the mechanical upkeep of the cars. In passing she paused to pat Sparky’s bonnet. He had been deemed too small for ambulance duty and was kept as a general run-about, but she felt sure he would not have let her down.

  She explained what had happened to Hutchinson. ‘It’s probably a fuel blockage, I should think.’

  Hutchinson grimaced. ‘That means it’ll have to go into the depot for an overhaul, and I’ve just been warned that Captain Goff, who’s in charge, gets almost apoplectic at the very idea of women drivers.’

  Victoria groaned. ‘You know what that means. Our job will go to the back of the queue and every vehicle that comes in with a male driver will get done first. Wretched man! Why should it be a male prerogative to drive? Most of them haven’t the foggiest idea how to maintain a car.’

  ‘Because it’s a male prerogative to do most things that are fun,’ Hutchinson responded. ‘But you’ve given me an idea. We’ll show him that we do know how to look after our cars. We’ll clean the engine up till it looks as if it has only just come out of the showroom and we’ll oil all the bolts that might have to be undone and loosen them off and then do them up just tight enough to get us to the depot. That way, they will have the minimum amount of work to do and Goff won’t be able to find anything to complain about.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ Victoria said with a grin. ‘Right, let’s get to work.’

  An hour later she wriggled out from under the car and got to her feet, rubbing her back. ‘Well, I reckon you could go under there in full evening dress without having to worry about getting dirty.’

  Hutchinson was wrestling with a spanner. ‘I’ve slackened off every one except this and I can’t move the beastly thing.’

  ‘Let me try,’ Victoria offered. She took the spanner but after a few minutes she, too, had to admit defeat. ‘Wait a mo! I’ve got an idea.’

  A number of bathing machines had been parked around the site and served various useful purposes. She went to the one which Hutchinson used as an office and came back a few minutes later carrying a label. Hutchinson took it and read out ‘I’m afraid this one was too hard for a poor weak woman to undo. It needs a man’s touch.’

  ‘That is brilliant!’ she declared. ‘Clever you!’

  ‘Well, it never does any harm to flatter the poor creatures’ egos, in my experience,’ Victoria said with a chuckle. ‘And they never seem to realize that we’re laughing behind their backs.’

  They drove the Napier to the depot and reported to Captain Goff. He looked them up and down and blew through his nostrils – like an impatient horse, Victoria thought.

  ‘You’ll be two of these Fannies I’ve heard tell of. Why some fool thought it would be a good idea to put women behind the wheel of a car I shall never understand.’

  ‘We’re here to do a job, sir, like you,’ Hutchinson said. ‘We do a lot of our own maintenance but I’m afraid this is a bit beyond our resources.’ She detailed the symptoms and added: ‘We think it may be a fuel blockage.’

  ‘Oh, you do, do you?’ The sneer in the captain’s voice was barely hidden. ‘Well, leave it here. I’ll see when we can get round to it.’

  Victoria had been patient long enough. ‘We need it back by the end of the day, Captain. Tomorrow we have to collect more wounded from the train and we have barely enough vehicles for the job as it is. A man nearly died in my ambulance today. If it had broken down on the way to the hospital, instead of on the way back, he would have done. So, if you care about the lives of our boys, please do your best to get the repairs done quickly.’

  Goff looked at her, nostrils quivering. Then he turned away. ‘I’ll see what can be done but I make no promises. Come back later on this afternoon.’

  When they returned, the Napier was standing ready and Goff’s face bore a grudging smile. ‘Well, I’ll have to give you credit. I’ve never seen an engine so well maintained.’ He patted the Napier’s bonnet. ‘She’ll give you no more trouble, I’ll guarantee it. And I’ll see all your vehicles get priority treatment in future.’

  Once in the cab and away from the depot, Victoria and Hutchinson gave way to a fit of giggling
that lasted all the way back to the camp.

  Later, in the mess tent, someone came in waving a newspaper. ‘I say, chaps, has anyone else seen this?’

  ‘Seen what?’ several voices enquired.

  ‘This article. It’s about women who drive cars. Hang on, I’ll read you a bit. “The uncongenial atmosphere of the garage, yard and workshops, the alien companionship of mechanics and chauffeurs, the ceaseless days and dull monotony of labour will not only rob her of much feminine charm but will instil into her mind bitterness that will eat from her heart all capacity for joy”. How about it, girls? Have we lost all capacity for joy?’

  A roar of laughter gave her her answer, but when it died down a plaintive voice remarked, ‘I can see his point in one way. I don’t think I shall ever be presentable enough to show my face in a London drawing room again. Driving around in the snow and the rain and the wind, I’m going to have a complexion like an old washerwoman by the time we’re finished.’

  Victoria rubbed her cheeks and recognized the truth of the comment. None of the vehicles had windscreens and as a result her face was chapped and her lips were cracked, and she had run out of cold cream to put on them.

  ‘Never mind faces,’ someone said. ‘Look at my hands!’

  ‘Snap!’ Victoria said, holding out her own. ‘I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed but I can’t get the grease out of my fingernails.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Hutchinson said, ‘when the war is over we’ll start a new fashion. We’ll call it washerwoman chic!’

  Next evening, coming into the mess tent, Victoria found a small group standing in front of the noticeboard, on which was pinned a sheet of paper torn from a notebook. Over their shoulders she read:

  I wish my mother could see me now, with a grease-gun under my car,

  Filling my differential ’ere I start for the camp afar,

  Atop a sheet of frozen iron, in cold that would make you cry.

  ‘Why do we do it?’ you ask.

  ‘Why? We’re the F.A.N.Y.’

  I used to be in society once;

  Danced and hunted and flirted once;

  Had white hands and complexion – once.

  Now I’m F.A.N.Y.

  The daily routine continued: the hospital train convoy went out every morning and often, later in the day, the cry would go up, ‘Barges!’ and everyone would drop what they were doing and run for the ambulances. Barges were used to convey the most seriously wounded along the canals, because they caused less jolting than the train journey. But there were lighter moments. Calais was always full of troops, either passing through or based there as part of the garrison, and the officers were glad to have female company – even with ‘washerwoman’ complexions. There were frequent invitations to dinners and dances and a number of flirtatious liaisons were begun. Victoria’s first impulse was to steer clear of all such involvements. Her affair with Luke was still a very present memory and she had no intention of letting anything similar happen now. What changed her mind was the realization that these officers had horses at their disposal and were happy to lend them. A good gallop along the sands was second only to driving a racing car flat out in her estimation and so she began to accept the invitations, though she was careful to make it clear that all she was offering in return was a cheerful comradeship.

  When she started work at Lamarck she had sometimes wondered how long it would be before she found herself treating someone she recognized. She had had a wide circle of friends in London before the war and many of the men were now serving in the army. It was something she dreaded, but as the days passed she forgot about it and now the blanket shrouded figures she loaded into her ambulance had acquired a kind of anonymity. They were patients, some more seriously wounded than others, some noisy, some quiet – but just patients. One morning, stooping to pick up a stretcher, she suddenly found herself looking down at a face she knew. As she stared, momentarily caught off-guard, the man opened his eyes.

  ‘Oh, bloody hell! Not you, of all people!’ said Ralph, and shut his eyes again.

  Seventeen

  As the overloaded ship ploughed southwards towards Corfu Leo convinced herself that all their troubles were over. There was no food on the ship, and very little drinking water, but once they reached Corfu they would be on friendly territory and their allies would provide for all their needs. In her imagination the island was a paradise, bathed in constant sunshine.

  When they eventually docked it was dark and still raining and there was no one on the quayside to welcome them or to tell them where to go. The warehouses were closed and the streets deserted. For eight hours the pathetic remnants of the Serbian army sat huddled on the dock without food or shelter. Eventually, when it grew light, a French officer appeared and asked to speak to the senior officer.

  It seemed that in all the confusion of the journey most of the units had lost their officers and Malkovic was the most senior of those that remained. He stepped forward, saying to Leo, ‘Come and translate for me. Ask him why we have been left sitting like this all night.’

  It seemed that their ship had not been expected. Others had arrived, in the last few days, but it had been assumed that they carried the only survivors. However, a camp had been prepared for them, some twelve kilometres outside the town.

  Sasha looked around at the empty dockside. ‘How are we to get there? Where is the transport?’

  Leo translated the question and turned back to him with bitter resignation. ‘There is no transport. We have to walk.’

  So they set off again, not marching but shuffling and limping, the stronger among them supporting their weaker comrades, a rag-tag army of ghosts plodding through the rain. The camp, when they reached it, was another collection of tents in another muddy field and there was neither food nor firewood. Sasha called the junior officers and NCOs from the other units together and told them to take a roll-call. Each one reported back that less than a third of their men had survived. Of his own regiment, two more had died on the ship and three others were too weak to stand. He dispersed them to find what shelter they could and disappeared into one of the tents. Leo followed and found him huddled on the ground with his head buried in his arms. When she touched his shoulder he turned a haggard face towards her.

  ‘We were one thousand strong when we left Prizren. Now there are just over three hundred left. How many others have died from other battalions? And what have we struggled for? So we can die here, instead of on the mountains? Where are our so-called allies? Where are the British?’

  Unable to answer, Leo turned away. She had never seen him like this and his despair dragged at her heart. She left the tent and as she stood gazing around her in a desperate search for inspiration she saw a lorry pass along the road, heading for the city. It was quickly followed by another. She wiped her hand across her eyes and went to find Janachko, Sasha’s orderly.

  ‘I am going into the town to look for help. Don’t tell the colonel, unless he asks for me. He is resting, so don’t disturb him.’

  She did not have long to wait at the roadside before another truck came into sight and she saw that it was flying a small union jack from the bonnet. She stepped into the road and held up her hand. The driver sounded the horn and made to drive past but she stood resolutely in his path so that he had to skid to a halt.

  ‘What the hell are you playing at, boy?’ he demanded. ‘Bugger off out of it! Go on! Imshi! Vamoose!’

  Leo summoned her most ladylike tones. ‘I don’t know who you think you are addressing, Corporal, but you shouldn’t be deceived by appearances. My name is Leonora Malham Brown. I am an officer in the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry and I require immediate transport into Corfu Town.’ Then, ignoring his half-throttled exclamation of ‘Blimey’, she swung herself up on to the seat beside him.

  ‘Beg pardon, ma’am,’ he mumbled. ‘I thought you was one of them peasant boys. I didn’t mean no offence.’

  ‘And I have taken none,’ Leo assured him. ‘I quite understand that I don’t look as
you might expect. But I have had a very long and difficult journey and now I must see someone in authority. Who is in control here?’

  The driver gave her a sideways glance as he put the engine into gear. ‘That’s a very good question, ma’am, if you don’t mind my saying so. Officially it’s the French. They’ve taken over the island for the duration and we’re here as back-up. But then there’s the Greek government and the Eyeties. If you ask me, nobody knows who’s in charge.’

  ‘But there is a British military mission here?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Then please take me to the British attaché.’

  Ten minutes later she was dropped outside the building housing the British military mission. The sentry at the gate was not as easily persuaded as the lorry driver so Leo produced what she regarded as her trump card. Fortunately, before leaving England the previous April she had obtained one of the new passports, with a photograph and a description. She had kept it securely buttoned in a pocket of her tunic all through her journey and held it out to the man with a flourish. He peered at it, and then at her, and turned his head towards a small building just inside the gates.

  ‘Sarge! Something here I think you’d better see.’

  The sergeant appeared, chewing and clearly annoyed at having his lunch disturbed.

  ‘Lad here trying to pass himself off as the owner of this document,’ the sentry said.

  The sergeant examined the passport and then looked at Leo. ‘How did you come by this, eh? Did you steal it? Where’s the owner?’

  Leo drew a long breath. She was almost at the end of her strength. ‘I am the owner. I am Leonora Malham Brown and I must see the attaché immediately. If you don’t believe me I’m quite prepared to take off my clothes here in the street, so you can see that I am a woman.’

  She began to fumble with the buttons of her tunic and saw the sergeant’s face turn red.

  ‘Now then, that’s enough of that! You’d better come with me and get this sorted out inside.’ Leo followed him into the house, where they were met by a Greek in civilian clothes who appeared to be the butler. ‘Someone here to see the major,’ the sergeant said, neatly bypassing the question of Leo’s sex.