Passions of War

by Hilary Green

  ‘But you must be thankful to know that she’s all right.’

  ‘Yes, of course I am! I just wish she’d come home and marry Tom and behave like any other decent woman.’

  ‘Present company excepted, of course!’ Victoria said waspishly.

  He gave her a crooked smile. ‘All right. I know you’re doing a wonderful job out there, and I suppose she is, too. I’m just tired of wondering what she’s going to get up to next.’

  Victoria studied his face for a moment and saw the faint lines around his mouth and the shadows under his eyes. She remembered making a cruel joke to Leo about his shiny boots and felt contrite. She softened her tone.

  ‘Anyway, what about you? How is the wound healing?’

  ‘Pretty well, thanks. It still gives me a stab if I move too quickly, but the medics say I should be able to go before a board in a week or two. I’m just praying they will pass me fit to go back to the trenches. Frankly, I’m going out of my mind here. It all seems so . . . so unreal, pointless . . .’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Victoria said. ‘People here don’t seem to understand what it’s like over there.’

  ‘They don’t want to understand,’ Ralph said bitterly. ‘They just want to think of it as a glorious sacrifice. Have you seen these houses with photographs in the windows, draped in black crêpe, just so everyone knows that their son or husband or brother has died for his country? It makes me sick!’

  ‘Some of the letters to the papers are pretty mawkish, too,’ Victoria agreed.

  ‘I want to shout at people that there’s nothing glorious about it! What’s glorious about thousands of men dying for the sake of a few yards of muddy ground?’ Ralph hitched himself up in his chair and winced. ‘Mind you, I’m as much at fault as anyone, I suppose. When I have to write home to some grieving mother or wife I don’t tell them their son or husband died in agony after lying up to his waist in mud all day with half his face shot off. I tell them he was shot while bravely doing his duty and let them think it was quick and virtually painless.’

  ‘What else can you do?’ Victoria said. ‘Why make their suffering worse? But I sometimes think that if some of those wives and mothers could spend a day or two with me, and see the casualties coming off the trains and the barges, the war would be over by the end of the week. People wouldn’t stand for it, if they could see the reality.’

  Ralph sighed and they were both silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘Look here. What we both need is to be taken out of ourselves. How do you fancy a night out?’

  ‘A night out? Where?’

  ‘Oh, anywhere you like – as long as it’s not the opera! I can’t offer to take you dancing, I’m afraid. How about the music hall? I feel like some good, rowdy entertainment. What do you say?’

  Victoria hesitated. Once upon a time she would have laughed out loud at the notion of a date with Ralph. But he did seem to have mellowed and was not the bumptious, self-satisfied prig she had thought him before the war. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Music hall it is.’

  ‘Excellent! I’ll pick you up around seven, and we’ll have a bite of supper afterwards.’

  The evening was more enjoyable than Victoria had expected. She had never been to the music hall before and initially the rowdy voices and the haze of tobacco smoke that hung over the long tables and the crowded benches gave her reason to doubt the wisdom of agreeing to Ralph’s suggestion. But she had developed a taste for gin during her service in France, as an antidote to the stresses of the job, and Ralph saw to it that her glass was frequently refilled, while he kept pace with her in pints of beer. Very soon they both relaxed and allowed the convivial atmosphere to sweep them along. The chairman kept the evening going with a swing, summoning act after act on to the tiny stage. There were comics and singers and magicians and conjurers and Victoria found herself applauding and joining in the choruses with the rest. Top of the bill was Marie Lloyd, resplendent in a huge hat and a frilled parasol. Her sly innuendo, pressed home with winks and nudges, had Victoria giggling helplessly during songs like ‘A Little of What You Fancy’ and ‘She Sits Among the Cabbages and Peas’. Ralph roared with laughter, too, but they both sobered up and glanced at each other ruefully when she sang her well-known recruiting song, ‘I Didn’t Like You Much Before You Joined the Army . . .’ The mood passed, however, and they left the hall humming and holding on to each other’s arms.

  Ralph took her to the Café de Paris for supper. They ate oysters and drank white wine and Victoria began to feel a languorous euphoria enveloping her. Ralph, she decided, was good company and not nearly as objectionable as she had found him before the war, and it was pleasant to be seen on the arm of a handsome man in uniform. When the taxi stopped outside her flat it seemed just common good manners to invite him in for coffee. Anyway, she told herself with a suppressed giggle, he was perfectly harmless. ‘I might as well be with my maiden aunt!’

  Quite how it happened that she found herself kissing him, she was never sure; but then suddenly she was flat on her back on the sofa with Ralph on top of her. There was a brief, undignified scuffle with underwear, a moment of violent thrusting and then he pulled away with a choking sound and turned his back on her.

  Muzzy-headed, she pulled herself together and straightened her clothes, but he was already heading for the door.

  ‘Ralph!’ she called. ‘It’s OK! Come back.’

  ‘It’s not!’ he replied, his voice strangled. ‘It’s not. I’m sorry!’ And the door of the flat banged behind him.

  Next morning Victoria telephoned Sussex Gardens, to be informed by Beavis that Captain Malham Brown had gone to the country for a few days. He was still away when her leave came to an end.

  Twenty

  Leo sat beside Sasha Malkovic on a bench overlooking Corfu harbour. Almost two months had passed since their arrival and at last the rain had stopped and the sun was warm on her shoulders. In the crystalline air the rocky shores below them dropped sharply into sea that shaded from turquoise to sapphire, while the slopes above were silvered with olive groves and punctuated with the sharp exclamation marks of Cyprus trees.

  ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said.

  Sasha stirred and grunted. ‘Is it? For me, rocks and water and those twisted trees don’t constitute real beauty. That requires green pastures and tumbling rivers and rich orchards.’

  Leo sighed. ‘I know. You’re pining for Serbia.’ She touched his sleeve. ‘Don’t give up hope. We will go back, one day.’

  ‘We?’ He looked at her.

  ‘Yes, of course. I miss it, too.’

  He looked away again. ‘You should go home.’

  ‘Why? There’s nothing there that matters to me.’

  ‘What about your family? They must be worried about you.’

  ‘I have no family, except my brother’.

  ‘And your fiancé. What about him?’

  The question gave her a shock. She had not mentioned Tom since meeting Sasha again. ‘You know about that?’

  ‘Naturally. You became quite a celebrity in Belgrade, when you were there. The local papers soon picked up on the announcement of your engagement. It did not come as a surprise. It was obvious that Tom was in love with you.’

  ‘You’re wrong!’ Leo exclaimed. ‘It was a ruse, a deception. I had to get out of Belgrade after . . . well, you know why. I was still underage and Ralph was my guardian. He would not allow me to go home alone, so Tom agreed to the engagement. It suited us both, but we never had any intention of marrying. You must know that! I could never have considered marrying anyone . . .’

  ‘I assumed,’ he said, ‘that you had decided that marriage to an old friend would be preferable to the life of a single woman.’

  She stared at him. ‘How could you think that? How could you believe that I would do something so . . . so venal? Did you really think that I was unable to face life independently, without a man to support me?’

  He glanced at her and then away again. ‘What e
lse was I to think?’ The tone was abrupt, but she saw the colour rising in his cheeks.

  ‘I thought you knew me better than that,’ she answered.

  He was silent for a moment. Then he turned and took her hand. ‘Of course I should have done. Forgive me.’

  ‘I understand,’ she conceded. ‘It was a difficult time, for both of us.’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t understand why Tom agreed to the deception.’

  ‘It suited us both. You were wrong to think he was in love with me. A platonic relationship was all he wanted. Tom has no interest in women.’

  He looked surprised, even slightly shocked, and she realized that he was uncomfortable with the idea that she even knew about such matters. But he recovered himself and continued. ‘All the same, he must be worried about you – and your brother, too.’

  ‘I have written to both of them,’ she said. ‘But I assume they are both in France somewhere – that is if they are . . .’

  He pressed her hand lightly. ‘We must hope for the best.’

  ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘I have no idea how long my letters might take to reach them. I have not had any reply so far.’

  ‘There is still time,’ he said. ‘Don’t be downcast.’

  The conversation had brought to her mind a subject she had been avoiding since their meeting in the mountains. She decided the moment had come to put it into words.

  ‘And you? Have you been in touch with your wife? Where is she?’

  ‘In Athens, I hope. When the fighting started I sent word to my mother that they should both head south immediately. I can only hope that they reached the border before the roads were cut off by the Bulgarians. I have spoken to our consul here and asked him to make enquiries through his counterpart in Athens, but, like you, I have not had any response so far.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, trying to express a sympathy she did not feel, ‘as you say, there is still time. We must hope for the best.’

  He gave her a quick glance, an acknowledgement that neither of them was saying what they really meant.

  They were both silent for a while, then he stirred himself and murmured, ‘You are right, of course. There is beauty of a kind out there. But I shall never be able to look at this scene without sorrow.’

  She followed the direction of his gaze, to where the island of Vido rose from the blue waters. ‘Of course, I didn’t think. I’m sorry.’

  For the first weeks after their arrival Serbian soldiers, sick and starving after the journey through the mountains, had died on the island at the rate of three hundred a day. One thousand had been buried on the island itself; then, when space ran out, they were buried at sea in the deep waters around. Already, the Serbs who survived were referring to them as ‘the blue graveyard’. But there was room for optimism. The death rate had reduced now, and for the survivors who were camped around Corfu conditions had improved. Food and fuel were adequately provided, and the men’s tattered clothes had been replaced by good English boots and woollen underwear and French uniforms. Leo had worked tirelessly with the committee, interpreting and cajoling, seeking to iron out the endless bureaucratic misunderstandings, resorting at times to foot-stamping fury, and she knew that she could take some credit for the improvement.

  The Corfiotes themselves had taken the refugees to their hearts and invited many of them into their homes. Increasingly, Serbs displaced from their homeland congregated on the island. Serbian government ministers had established themselves in the White Venice Hotel and the National Assembly now met in the National Theatre. Certain churches, such as St Archangel and Holy Trinity, had been set aside for Serbian Orthodox worship. There was even talk of producing a Serb-language newspaper.

  Leo herself was being spoilt and pampered in a way she had never before experienced. Melinda Papadakis was a childless widow, who had been left comfortably off by her late husband, and she treated Leo as if she were her own daughter. Horrified by her skeletal appearance, her hollow eyes and unkempt hair, she set out to tempt her appetite with all sorts of delicacies and put her in the hands of her own lady’s maid, who gave her hot baths and massaged her body and her hair with scented oils. Leo accepted these attentions gratefully, though she had pangs of guilt when she considered the hardships still suffered by Sasha and his men. There was one point of dispute, however, between her and her hostess. Melinda had a wardrobe full of elegant and fashionable dresses, which she was eager to have altered by her dressmaker to fit Leo, so that she could show her off in local society; but Leo insisted on choosing the plainest and most serviceable garments. Melinda complained that they made her look like a governess, but Leo pointed out that she could hardly conduct her work with the committee dressed as if she was on her way to an embassy garden party.

  One of her first acts on her arrival at Melinda’s, apart from writing to Ralph and Tom, had been to contact the London solicitor who managed her affairs. He had set up a facility for her to draw money from a local bank. No longer dependent on Melinda’s generosity, she went to a tailor in the town and ordered a replica of her FANY uniform. Clad once again in breeches and boots she felt more like her old self, though she had to bow to society’s rules by donning the divided skirt that covered them. It irritated her to feel it flapping round her ankles, but at least she could stride out freely. She remembered, with a pang, how her grandmother had despaired of her mannish gait. She had even sent her to a finishing school where they had tried to teach her to walk ‘like a lady’, with a book balanced on her head. She had tried to conform; but what a relief it had been to join the FANY!

  One thing that did bother her was her shorn hair. This time she had not kept the locks she had hacked off to form a switch, so she had no way of disguising their lack. But it was beginning to grow again, and most of the time it could be hidden under a hat.

  Sasha stood up and stretched. ‘I must get back to camp.’

  Leo rose also. ‘And I have another meeting of the committee. There are rumours that Crown Prince Alexander is going to visit us and people are talking about organizing a ball or a concert in his honour.’

  ‘He will not want any ceremony, if I know him,’ Sasha responded. ‘What he will want is to review his troops and discuss how soon we can reform and prepare to counter-attack. That is all that matters.’

  ‘I know,’ Leo agreed. ‘But it will take time to re-equip the army. I hear all the time about shortages on the Western Front. It is not going to be easy to persuade the British and the French to part with weapons for us.’

  He sighed and nodded. ‘I know – and I know we have a staunch advocate in you. I will try to be patient.’

  ‘Will you dine at Mme Papadakis’s tonight?’ Leo asked. Sasha had become a regular guest at the house.

  He hesitated and then gave her his rare grin. ‘Why not? The food is good and the company . . . has its attractions.’ He took her hand and kissed it, then saluted and walked away.

  Twenty-One

  Victoria peered out of the door of the latrine block. No one was about yet in the compound, where the ambulances stood in line. She had been back in France for nearly six weeks and, opposite her, a long building housed the individual cabins which had replaced the bell tents, where the members of the convoy had originally slept. She thought grimly that when the new huts had arrived she had never imagined how grateful she would be for the privacy they conferred. At that moment the doors were closed, but soon the reveille would sound and the occupants would come tumbling out for roll-call. She had just enough time to get back to her own room without having to explain why she was up so early. She took a deep breath and prayed that she was not going to be sick again. As she crossed the compound, the morning breeze wafted the smell of cooking from the cookhouse at one corner, triggering another wave of nausea. She fought it down and hurried into her room.

  Scrambling into her uniform, she cursed herself for the hundredth time. What a fool, to let herself fall pregnant after all this – and to Ralph of all people! She had been lucky wit
h Luke, and since then she had made sure that her relationship with the various officers passing through Calais had never gone beyond a chaste kiss on the cheek. She had been so sure that she was safe with Ralph. She was drunk, of course. They both were. But that was no comfort now.

  Buttoning her tunic, she forced herself to assess the situation. There were three options, for a woman in her situation. One was to confront the man and ask him to ‘do the decent thing’. And she was fairly sure that Ralph would feel obliged to comply. It would be a matter of honour. But what a prospect, for both of them! She remembered how he had torn himself away, almost before the act was completed, and rushed out of the flat. She was certain, now, that he was homosexual, even if he did not admit it to himself, and their brief coupling had sickened him. To be locked into marriage would be torture for both of them, to say nothing of the unwanted child. It was not to be contemplated.

  Option two was to confess to her superiors, suffer the opprobrium visited on single mothers, let the pregnancy go to full term and have the child adopted. She had no doubt that it would be the end of her career with the FANY. Neither Mac nor Franklin would be prepared to tolerate such a scandal. What she would do with herself after the birth she could not imagine, but she knew that she was not prepared to bring up a child on her own.

  There remained one further resort. She remembered the woman who had spoken of doctors in London who could arrange matters, for a fee. She had given Victoria a card with the name of one such. At the time, Victoria had tried to refuse, certain that it was something she would never need, but she had tucked the information away . . . ‘just in case’. Now the time had come to use it.

  But to do that meant going to London, and she had only just come back from leave. There was no possibility of another spell for months. And she could not pretend that there was a close relative who needed her presence at the bedside, because she had often told people, proudly, that she had no close family and therefore no ties. The only other possibility was to feign illness, but that required a sickness that was serious enough to get her sent back to England and she was doubtful that she could convince the doctors at the local hospital that it was genuine. She seemed to have hit a dead end.