“The FANY are known for doing anything they have to do,” said Meldrew proudly.
“Including peeling spuds!” I laughed.
Anyway, there I was, up front in the ambulance, on its very hard seat, with Jolliphant at my side. I’d started the vehicle on the seventeenth swing of the starting handle, which wasn’t bad!
Outside the town, we approached a level crossing.
“Always watch it here,” Jolliphant warned. “They’re using local women as crossing-keepers, and they’re useless. This one’s called Sleepy Suzanne, because she always comes out yawning and stretching as if she’s just got out of bed. Even if she signals you to go across, check both ways!”
The crossing-keeper ambled out of her cottage, just as Jolliphant had said.
“Once,” Jolliphant said, breaking off to shout a quick, “Merci, madame,” to the crossing-keeper, “Sutton couldn’t rouse Sleepy Suzanne, so she got out of the ambulance and went on to the track to throw a stone up at the window. A train came along, and poor Sutton had to scramble over the barrier to safety!”
I’d picked up speed and we were bowling merrily along. “It won’t all be like this,” said Jolliphant. “We’re going fairly close to the front. It’s not pretty, I warn you.”
So far it had been very pretty. We’d had a nice view of the sea to start with, then passed through a dear little village with a very old church. But as we rumbled forward, things began to change. Houses stood empty, with gardens overgrown. Those that weren’t shuttered had broken windows.
“You’re going to see far worse than that,” said Jolliphant, hearing me tutting at such a shambles. “You’re not half a good driver, though, Rowntree.”
“Thanks,” I said. It was the first compliment I’d had since I arrived.
She was absolutely right. The further we travelled, the worse the landscape became. We stopped by a crumbled wall for a call of nature. There was a broken kitchen table lying nearby.
“I’ll leave the engine running, so I don’t have to start it again,” I said. My arm still ached.
“OK,” said Jolliphant. “I’ll stay here till you’ve finished.”
“That’s awfully decent of you,” I said, appreciating the privacy.
She snorted. “It’s not for your sake, it’s so our precious ambulance doesn’t get pinched by the Germans.”
“What?”
“Tell you in a sec,” she said. “Get a move on. My turn.”
I was suddenly aware that the rumbling, booming noise that was always in the background was much louder here. “Is that gunfire?” I called.
“Probably round Ypres,” she said.
“Is that where the fighting is?” I asked, returning to the ambulance.
“Lord, Rowntree, where do you bury your head? It must be awfully quiet there, wherever it is. Don’t you have any idea what’s going on? Of course that’s where the fighting is. It’s the third battle we’ve fought there. It’s been going on for weeks!” She strode behind the wall. “I don’t know. What an innocent.”
I don’t object to her calling me an innocent. If she’d called me ignorant she’d have been spot on. I feel quite ashamed. I tried to excuse myself by saying, “Everybody said the fighting had all but stopped since I arrived, so I haven’t really been aware of it.”
“You will be now.”
Soon we were back on the road, if you could call it a road. It was a disgrace – full of potholes, and with a dangerous ditch each side. Every time we passed another vehicle – which wasn’t often, thank goodness – I was scared my right wheels would slide over the edge.
“What’s this about Germans?” I asked eventually. “They’re all at the front line, surely?”
“That’s what you hope. But some are taken prisoner and manage to escape. Some crash their planes and go on the run. You never can tell. Better safe than sorry, that’s my watchword.”
Mine too, now. I’d hate to meet a German.
The booming of the guns was much louder now, and I’d been noticing the landscape changing. We passed many houses and cottages that were all but ruined. There couldn’t have been anybody living in them. Jolliphant told me they’d probably been hit by shells or stray bombs.
My stomach lurched when she said that. If shells and bombs reached this far, then we could be in danger. And it was clear they could. There was hardly a tree standing. Well, there were lots of blackened tree trunks, but few had any branches or leaves on them. “Shell damage?” I said.
“Shells,” agreed Jolliphant. “And fire.”
The sky was darkening. I looked round at the damaged houses and ruined farm buildings. There was nothing growing in the fields – they were just grass and weeds and mud, endless mud. I thought back to the factory girl who’d hammered her hand. This was the sort of damage her shells caused. What would they do if they hit a soldier?
A picture of Archie and Firebrand flashed into my mind. I thrust it away. It was too much to bear, and I had to concentrate on just staying on the road.
Nearer and nearer the front we went, passing more and more vehicles and sometimes local people on foot, who waved. They didn’t smile, though. They looked too tired for that. Occasionally the gunfire almost stopped for a moment, but then started again, pounding away at my brain. I tried to imagine each bang was a bullet or a shell, but it became too much to contemplate.
Rain began to fall. Thin spiteful drops. I wished we had a proper windscreen.
Almost there.
“Look!” Jolliphant cried suddenly.
I stamped on the brake. “What?” My heart pounded.
“Men,” she said. “Break open a couple of boxes, quickly. We’ll give them some comforts. They look like they need them, poor souls.”
I jumped out of my seat and ran round the back. “But why? These are for the soldiers at the front.”
“Rowntree, these men are soldiers,” Jolliphant explained, not too patiently, as she grabbed a couple of boxes.
As the line of men drew level with us, I could see the exhaustion in their faces. They were filthy, and their uniforms stiffly caked with mud. Jolliphant explained they’d been in the trenches for days and were being marched off to the small town nearby for some rest and good food.
“Be prepared for a bit of a pong,” she said. “They probably haven’t washed for weeks.”
She chatted cheerfully to the men as she handed out cigarettes and tobacco. They were so pleased to have them, though I can’t think why. Smoking has always seemed a revolting pastime to me.
I gave out scarves. I smiled and chatted, too, though the smell of the men was getting to me. One middle-aged man took a scarf, but said, “Got any socks instead, Miss? I couldn’t half do with some dry socks. It’s like a swamp up there in the trenches. Stinks like one, too, begging yer pardon, Miss.”
Jolliphant heard. “There are some in the back, Rowntree,” she called.
I went to look and the man followed me. Suddenly there was an eerie whistling sound, followed by a mighty explosion. I stood rooted, frozen to the spot. “Wh-what was that?”
“Stray shell, Miss,” he said. “Not too close. Don’t you worry none. It can’t do you no harm now.”
I took a deep breath and tried to look as relaxed as he was. But my hands shook as I broke open a package.
“My feet’ve been sloshing about in watery mud for days now,” said the man. “Reckon they’re going rotten, I do, Miss.”
I pulled out some dark green socks. There was a little message tied to them, which he examined eagerly. I remembered the knitting group adding little messages to their completed items. How lovely to know that they were so appreciated.
“Gawd bless you, Miss,” he said. “Hey! You lot! There’s socks round the back here!”
In seconds I was thrusting socks into eager hands. They were so grateful it made me wish I’d tried a bit harder with my knitting.
We drove on.
“Where does all the mud come from?” I asked. “We have rain a
t home but it never gets like this.”
“I wondered that when I first came,” said Jolliphant. “It’s because the area’s low-lying and very wet, so to keep the marshy land suitable for farming, the locals put in drainage systems. The shells smash the pipes, so the land doesn’t drain. Thus you get mud. And believe me, the nearer you go to the front, the worse it gets. Especially after all the rainstorms we’ve had. I don’t know, this is supposed to be summer!”
Occasionally planes buzzed overhead. They always took me by surprise – I couldn’t hear them over the noise of my engine.
“Look at all those huge puddles,” I said, as I slowed to manoeuvre round a particularly large one that spread over half the road.
“They’re not puddles,” said Jolliphant, “so don’t you dare drive into one. They’re shell holes, and they’re deep. You’ll be up to your neck in muddy water before you know it. And it stinks.”
“Gosh, that’s dangerous!”
“You think this is dangerous?” said Jolliphant. “Between our front trenches and the German front trenches, there’s no-man’s-land. It’s full of shell holes, and when the men scramble out of their trenches to attack the Germans, some of them fall into the holes, which are usually full of water.”
I remembered what Westerling said about finding corpses in the shell holes when they dried out.
“But if they fall in, they can climb out?” I asked.
She looked at me for a moment. “Rowntree, the reason they fall in is usually because they’re wounded. Sometimes they can’t get out, and that’s it – they’re goners. Others fall into the mud when they’re shot. And the worst thing is,” she continued, “that when the next lot of men come charging behind them, they can’t see where they’re going for smoke and mud and rain, and trample on the fallen ones, whether they’re dead or alive.”
I was silent. I couldn’t cope with this.
Jolliphant punched my arm. “Come on, Rowntree, let her rip!”
I put my foot down. Almost immediately, she cried, “Slow down!”
Something lay ahead, half on the road and half off. Nearby was a group of cavalrymen, most still mounted. One of them was kneeling beside the object. As we drew closer, I saw that it was a horse, dead. One of its hind legs had been blown away. The soldier looked up at us, tears glittering in his eyes.
I went to stop, but Jolliphant said, “Keep going. The horse must have been caught by a shell. There’s nothing we can do.”
I heard what she said, but my heart was somersaulting. These men were cavalry. They might know Archie! I braked, and the ambulance slithered to a stop on the muddy road surface. I leapt out.
“Archie Rowntree! Archibald! My brother! Do you know him?” I shouted to the cavalrymen. “Have you seen him?”
Slowly, they shook their heads.
“Sorry, Miss,” said one. “I’ve never heard of him.”
I burst into tears. “But he can’t have just disappeared. He can’t!” Visions of shell holes, bodies trodden into mud, and dead horses whirled through my head. I felt faint.
Jolliphant’s arm went round me as she guided me back to the ambulance. “Sit here. I’ll drive,” she said.
I sat beside her and sobbed. I thought I’d cried enough for Archie and Papa, but I hadn’t. That wasn’t real crying. This was. It came from somewhere deep inside me. And it hurt so much.
The rest of the trip passed, but I remember only a little. Grateful men. Ruined villages. French people trudging along the road, heads bowed. And over it all, the constant boom of the guns. Boom-boom-boom.
I curled up in my flea-bag when we got back to camp. Meldrew brought me some cocoa and said things would look better in the morning. They do, a little.
The Boss came and talked to me, and although I didn’t want to, I found myself telling her all about Archie, and how Mimi’s convinced he’s alive.
“And you, Rowntree?” she said. “What do you think?”
I swallowed hard. “I think he must be dead. But I’ll never stop looking.”
21st August
I’m an absolute disaster in the kitchen. Never again will I complain to Mrs Rose that the toast is cold, and never again will I look at a table laden with food and tell the maid that what I’d really like is some scrambled eggs. We’re only cooking for about twenty at a time. Imagine poor Mrs Rose cooking for all our family, and cooking different things for the servants – three times a day! Not to mention all the bottling of fruit, and the baking of cakes and biscuits and so on. And, oh dear, my late-evening requests for hot milk, when the poor woman’s probably ready for bed. Maybe even in bed, exhausted.
Like me. I get so tired these days that I just fall into bed. Well, on it. It’s not very soft, but my flea-bag is comforting, and I’m getting used to it. The same as I’m getting used to the roll calls, and the rushing about, and all the on-the-spot lessons, like how to do things with spark plugs (haven’t quite got to grips with that yet) and all about grease guns and exhausts and wrenches. I’ve learned to change a wheel, and have been challenged to do it in ten minutes. Some hopes.
I even know how to get stains off clothes with petrol! That’s something to tell Elsie when I get home, although it might not be so good there, as the smell is awful.
We do have a couple of mechanics to call on, but we’re expected to look after the cars (that’s what ambulances are called) ourselves. We have to put oil and water in, and do all sorts of things with the engine that I haven’t mastered yet.
But I will.
23rd August
Meldrew bobbed Jolliphant’s hair this evening. I must say, it looks jolly smart, even though it’s a bit ragged at the ends. Meldrew said it will grow into itself, whatever that means.
As soon as it was dark, we drove down to the sea for a swim. It was glorious! Afterwards, we dried ourselves and dressed behind the ambulance. Jolliphant made a big show of towelling her hair dry, saying what a wonderful relief it was to have it so light and short. When she’d finished, she looked like an upended floor mop.
25th August
Today was my first day of driving wounded men. Just one barge was coming in, and four ambulances went down. I drove one of them. I was pretty nervous. I just wanted to do it right, especially after my outburst when Jolliphant and I took supplies up near the front lines.
It’s been a bright, breezy day, not too hot, so everyone set off in high spirits for the canal quay. I was second, and had no trouble keeping up with Meldrew, in the lead. Maybe it’s the way the wind was blowing, or maybe my engine was quieter than usual, but as I drove I could still hear the endless booming of the guns, far away.
When we got to the quayside, we manoeuvred into position, backing towards the canal, and waited. Before too long, the barge appeared, gliding quietly through the water.
While they were bringing the blessés up on their stretchers, I peeped inside. It was just like a hospital ward. I think the men must have been as comfortable as possible on their journey down, although several didn’t appear to be conscious.
The attendants were so kind and gentle. They carefully slid the stretchers into the backs of our ambulances, and soon both Meldrew and I were ready for the off.
There’s a slope up from the canal. I tried desperately hard to start away smoothly, and I don’t think it was too bad. The roads are dreadful here, and it’s hard to steer round potholes and keep the ride smooth at the same time. Occasionally, when I was unable to avoid a bump, one of the men would groan, which made me feel terrible. These poor men had come by barge especially so they wouldn’t have to suffer on a jolting train ride. Now I was putting them through unnecessary pain.
I was shaking by the time I reached the hospital, and was so relieved to have the staff there take over. As my blessés were lifted out, two of them managed to lift a heavy hand and say, “Thanks, Miss.”
“Goodbye and God bless,” I said. Tears pricked my eyes. The men had bloodstained bandages and moaned quietly as they were moved. And all they ha
d to look forward to, once they’d recovered, was being sent back to the trenches to face the guns again.
In spite of that, and in spite of their dreadful injuries, I couldn’t help wishing that one of them was my brother.
It was only as I climbed back into the driving seat that I realized how tense I’d been on the journey. My knees and my back felt rigid and ached so.
“Let’s go, Rowntree!” shouted Meldrew, and off we went. It was a much better, and much faster drive back – three times faster, in fact, and I actually found myself enjoying handling the car. We used a different road on the way back, so there was no chance we’d crash into another ambulance making its slow and steady way with its precious cargo of blessés.
Two more trips and I was done. All that was left to do was take some stretcher-bearers back to their quarters.
When we arrived at camp, Sutton came over to me and said, “First time for you, Rowntree, wasn’t it? Well done, old thing!”
All my life, outsiders have sometimes disapproved of me and my behaviour. Here was someone telling me I’d done well. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such pride. Meldrew says I’m a “bird”, which I gather is the opposite of “blighter”, so that’s all right!
I do like it here. It’s hard, but I feel it’s right for me. I think I fit.
I reached the hut to find some mail waiting for me. Another postcard from Mimi, which was pounced on by some of the girls before I’d even read it, with cries of, “Oh, aren’t they sweet!” Needless to say, Lalu and some of her little friends featured prominently in the decoration. Mimi asked if I had been looking for Archie.
Yes, Mimi, but only every time I step outside the camp. Only every time I pass some men on the road. And now that I am to be on permanent ambulance duty, only every time a stretcher is put into my car.
Road to War Page 7
