Teardrops in the Moon

by Crosse, Tania

  She linked her arm through Rose’s. ‘It can’t go on forever, you know. It must end some day.’

  She heard her mother give a wistful sigh. ‘I hope so, my dearest child. And you must take care out there.’

  ‘Yes, I promise. If you promise to take care of Pegasus for me.’

  ‘Of course we will.’

  Marianne returned her mother’s fathomless smile and together they turned back to contemplate the moon.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘Climb aboard then, chaps,’ the giant of a woman invited them cheerily. ‘Been cleaned out this morning, of course. First duty of the day, and we wouldn’t want to throw you in at the deep end with a dirty ambulance, would we, what? Hear you had a damned filthy crossing. If any of you think you still might be sick, you’ll find kidney bowls in the back. Pile in, then.’

  She held open the back of the ambulance with a confident, welcoming grin. Since her companions appeared to hesitate, Marianne took the initiative and dived under the woman’s arm. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she was in FANY uniform and, close up, her skin was smooth and hairless, Marianne felt anyone could be forgiven for thinking it was a man. She must have been six foot tall with shoulders to match and a deep, masculine voice.

  Inside the ambulance, they were plunged into gloom. Marianne shuffled along, negotiating the runners, top and bottom on each side, that she knew from her training took the stretchers. The smell of disinfectant was overpowering, and it wasn’t so dark that she couldn’t make out the stains on the floor. Blood and God knew what else, she realized with a gulp. But this was what she had come for. What the months of training had been about.

  ‘Righto, everyone?’ the big woman boomed, although Marianne couldn’t imagine anyone daring to reply in the negative. ‘I’m Captain Lansdowne, by the way. But everyone calls me Tanky. Built like one, don’t you know. God knows what Pater would think of such a nickname. Baronet, you see. Doesn’t hold with my being out here, but good old Mac persuaded him otherwise. Anyway, hang onto your hats. The old Sizzley-Beastey’s a devil to drive. Has a revolving gearbox. Any of you come across one of those before? Haven’t got to go far, mind. Might just take a minute to start her up.’ With that, she disappeared and Marianne had to peer into the gloom to make out the shapes of her fellow troopers.

  ‘Heavens, she’s a one.’ Marianne recognized the voice of Phyllis Harcourt from the opposite side.

  ‘Bet you can rely on her in a crisis, though,’ Marianne commented. ‘Steady as a rock, I should think.’

  ‘Does that make her Lady Lansdowne, do you think?’ Lucy Ainsworth asked in total awe.

  ‘Get used to it, Lucy,’ Phyllis chastized her mildly. ‘A lot of the FANY are from the aristocracy.’ And then, ‘Oh, Lordy Love, can anyone find one of those bowls? I think I’m going to be sick again. I never want to go on another ship in my life.’

  ‘You still look green. At least you did when I could still see you. Here.’ Just in time, Marianne shoved a bowl under Phyllis’s chin. ‘You’ll have to, to get home,’ she sympathized. ‘Go on a ship, I mean. I think I was too scared of being torpedoed by a U-boat to feel sick. I think I could face anything but drowning.’

  ‘It was a pretty rough crossing, though.’

  ‘Well, it is December. And we’re here now.’

  ‘Thank God.’

  ‘It doesn’t make her Lady Lansdowne,’ a small, hesitant voice managed to get a word in edgeways. ‘But, actually, I’m a lady.’

  ‘What, you, Stella?’

  ‘All these weeks training together and you never said?’

  ‘I didn’t want you to think I was toffee-nosed or anything.’

  ‘But you’re the kindest, gentlest thing I’ve ever come across. We all think so, don’t we? Oh, whoops!’

  They had all heard the familiar clanking of the engine being cranked and once it burst into life, Tanky had obviously clambered into the driving seat. The vehicle lurched forward, ceasing all conversation. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Marianne looked about her. Like many of the FANY ambulances, it had been converted from a normal motorcar, probably donated by some wealthy patron back in Blighty. The seats had been removed and replaced with the fittings for the stretchers with a wooden box for the driver. As was common practice, Marianne had noticed that the windscreen had also been removed to avoid reflecting light and attracting enemy fire in a raid and so that there couldn’t be any broken glass to injure the driver.

  ‘When she said Mac, do you think she meant Grace McDougall, our founder?’ Ursula, the fifth recruit, drew Marianne from her thoughts. ‘Do you think we’ll meet her?’

  ‘She spends a lot of time campaigning for supplies and Lord knows what else back home, from what I’ve heard,’ Phyllis declared knowledgeably, lifting her head from the bowl.

  Before anyone could say more, they hit another pothole and were all thrown whichways, grabbing whatever came to hand, which was mostly each other. They scrambled back into their places laughing, and all the tensions of the journey instantly dissipated.

  ‘Didn’t expect the roads to be this bad.’

  ‘All the air raids, I suppose. If we’d known the Germans were going to be bombing Calais so regularly, my parents might have tried to stop me joining up. I’d have come anyway, but it was good to know I had their blessing.’

  A vision flashed across Marianne’s brain of her parents standing on the terrace with the tranquillity of Dartmoor spread out behind them. For a second or two, she was swamped with intense longing to be back with them in her peaceful home, so different from the bustling quayside, heaving with soldiers, vehicles and supplies, where they had just disembarked.

  ‘Looks like we’re here,’ Phyllis announced as the car came to a halt and the engine stopped. ‘Hopefully I’ll stop being sick now.’

  ‘Wasn’t far now, was it, chaps?’ Tanky’s head appeared once more. ‘Like to meet any new troopers off the ship if we can. I know you’ve had street maps to study and you’d have found your own way, but plans look different in reality. Suggest you take a few days wandering about so you know the place backwards. If you get caught in a raid, you might not be able to take your normal route and have to find an alternative, what.’

  As the last one off, Marianne hadn’t heard Tanky clearly but had caught the gist of her words well enough. She was used to wide, open spaces where the greatest challenge was finding the way in a swirling, disorientating mist, and she was aware of nerves fluttering in her stomach at the thought of being lost in a maze of streets. But she supposed she would soon find her bearings. To her relief, as she climbed down from the ambulance, she discovered they were parked by a huge expanse of sandy beach which seemed to stretch for miles. The sea they had just crossed had been whipped up into banks of rollers driving onto the shore, and the bracing wind stung into Marianne’s nostrils with the distinctive tang of salt water and seaweed.

  ‘Welcome to Unit Three’s sumptuous quarters!’ Tanky bellowed. ‘Just had tents among the sand dunes when we first came here back in January but Mac got us these huts delivered in the spring. Mind you, they’ve already warped and are almost as draughty as the tents were, but they’re sending us asbestos sheets to line the cubicles, which should help. But come inside. We’ve put you all together and once you’ve settled, come over to the mess hut. That’s that one over there.’

  The five recruits followed Tanky inside the large wooden hut, taking in their surroundings in silence. Marianne’s heart sank. She expected the accommodation to be basic, but this was hardly even that. The conscientious objectors who were now incarcerated in Dartmoor Prison surely fared better than this! They were each allocated a tiny cubicle coming off a central passage with a communal bathroom at one end, the whole inside painted what Marianne imagined was supposed to be a cheery bright green. They had been warned to bring very little with them, and she could see why. There was room f
or an army-issue bed and some shelving, but little else.

  Marianne lowered herself onto the bed and had to take a strong hold on herself to keep back her tears. Oh, Lord. She knew she was shaking, but was that from nerves or the arctic cold? She had to force herself to remember that she was there to help wounded soldiers, soldiers who often had to sleep in the trenches wherever they could, knowing they could be blown up or gassed as they slept. There was a continuous rotation system so that no man spent too long in a front-line trench before being pulled back to recover, but even then, they mainly only slept in barns or tents or whatever makeshift accommodation could be found. Marianne knew she flushed with shame and jumped up to unpack. Her few toiletries, the photograph of her family, a few books and her spare underclothes and uniform she put on the shelves. The rest remained in the small case, which she pushed under the bed.

  ‘Everyone ready?’ she heard Phyllis’s voice from the corridor.

  As ready as I’ll ever be, Marianne replied in her head. As she went outside, she glanced at Hal’s face in the photograph, and felt a determined strength flow back into her. She was doing this for him, but also for herself, and she mustn’t lose courage now she was here.

  ‘Hardly the Ritz, is it?’ Lucy grimaced.

  ‘Look, though,’ Marianne said in sudden surprise, pointing to the open door of another cubicle. ‘That one’s been made really cosy. Bedside table made out of an old box with a lace doily on it and pictures on the walls.’

  ‘And a nice warm quilt on the bed,’ Ursula observed. ‘Staying warm’s not going to be easy.’

  ‘We’ll be given sleeping bags, won’t we? But a thick quilt like that on top looks a good idea.’

  ‘Come along, chaps.’ Stella astounded them with a perfect imitation of Tanky. ‘Let’s find the mess hut, what ho.’

  They all fell about laughing, a happy release from the qualms each of them was feeling, and Phyllis clapped Stella on the shoulder.

  ‘That was brilliant! You’re a dark horse and no mistake.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got to make the most of it,’ Stella replied in her normal quiet voice. ‘We’re here to do a job, not have a holiday.’

  ‘Hear! Hear!’ Marianne beamed back. Although she liked everyone in the group, she had felt an instant affection for young Stella in particular when they had all first met.

  Tanky was waiting for them in the mess hut, handing out mugs of steaming tea and bacon butties. The newcomers were so cold and hungry, they agreed it was the best meal they’d ever consumed!

  ‘Have a ciggie to warm you up, too,’ Tanky offered, handing round a packet of cigarettes.

  ‘B-but I don’t smoke,’ Stella answered warily.

  ‘Helps the old nerves, too, don’t you know,’ Tanky advised, fixing her own cigarette into a long holder like the one Marianne had seen in the one and only silent film she had ever watched. ‘Have a go, if I were you. Soon get used to it.’

  Gingerly, Marianne accepted one, too. She had barely taken a breath on it before it made her cough and she felt dizzy. It evidently showed as Phyllis, who she had seen have the occasional cigarette before, said quickly, ‘Don’t breathe it in deeply. Just puff on it gently until you’re used to it.’

  Marianne blinked as her head cleared again. Well, she didn’t think she would ever get used to it, and it left a disgusting taste in her mouth. But then she saw Stella and Lucy both taking their first tentative puff, and felt she should persevere for a while at least. If, as Tanky suggested, it helped warm you up, it would be worth it. She already felt colder than she ever had in her life, even when they were snowed in by ten-foot drifts on Dartmoor. She could understand why many of the other girls who had wandered into the mess were wearing fur coats over their uniforms rather than the long, navy coats with their smart red piping that were the regulation uniform.

  ‘Expect you already know,’ Tanky boomed at them, ‘but I’ll just run through the few rules we have. Anything you’re unsure of, just ask. We’re a jolly friendly lot, I’d say, and you’ll soon settle in. Now, no smoking in public and you must always wear your uniform. I know it’s not very flattering, and that wearing a collar and tie and puttees round your legs might feel odd at first, but it’s practical and it reminds the British Army that we’re a fighting force. You must all know that only the Belgians would accept our help at first, and Mac fought tooth and nail to prove to the British that they needed us. It was only this January they finally agreed to let the FANY work for them, and now they couldn’t do without us. Not that the old stuffed shirts would admit it, but we know, don’t we, girls?’ she grinned, addressing everyone else present in the hut, and she was met by a cheery chorus that made the new recruits feel warmly welcomed.

  ‘Just one more thing,’ Tanky nodded more seriously now. ‘We’re in a civilian town and you can make the most of that. But you’re not allowed to consort with any soldier, only officers, and even then never without a chaperone, except for having lunch in a public place. And you must always have permission from a senior FANY officer.’

  ‘Lore, can’t we have any fun?’ Phyllis groaned.

  ‘Good heavens, yes. We’re lucky, really. The VADs aren’t allowed to fraternize with the opposite sex at all. One poor girl wasn’t even permitted to go for a walk with her father who’s a general! But we can!’ Tanky tipped her head and gave a cheeky wink.

  ‘That sounds more promising.’ Lucy, who had surprised them all by having a string of admirers during their training, looked distinctly relieved, Marianne thought. As for herself, it would be nice to have some diversion from the horrors they would undoubtedly witness, but she wasn’t fussed about the opposite sex. On both occasions she’d had feelings in that direction, she had suffered – and she had no intention of being hurt ever again.

  ‘Oh, yes, we have some spiffing times, you know,’ Tanky went on with an unexpected twinkle in her eye. ‘We’re always invited to the shows the troops put on. We sit in the front with the officers, of course, and more than one of us has found a husband that way. That’s how Mac met hers. She was Ashley-Smith before she married.’

  ‘Hope for us all yet, then,’ Phyllis commented drily.

  ‘You never know,’ Tanky replied, flushing such a deep crimson that Marianne felt convinced the gigantic woman must have enjoyed some sort of amorous relationship through the said concerts. ‘By the way, we’re having a fancy dress party at Christmas, so put your thinking caps on. You need to be pretty resourceful, but it’s all good fun. And if any of you have any talent – well, even if you don’t – join the Fantastiks anyway. We put on the most diabolically unrehearsed concerts, but they’re an absolute hoot!’

  ‘Stella has a talent for impersonating people.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that!’ Marianne could see that Stella looked horrified.

  ‘That would be top hole. Just the sort of thing people love! But to more serious matters. Your fleabags are in that box over there. That’s sleeping bags. The other box has tin helmets in it. Always have yours with you. Take your caps off and go and pick one out that fits.’

  Each trooper dutifully obeyed, removing her soft beret with the FANY emblem, the Maltese Cross inside a circle, on the band. That morning, Marianne had tamed her rebellious tresses into a bun at the nape of her neck, but now she could feel it working loose.

  ‘Trooper Warrington,’ she realized Tanky was speaking in a quiet voice for once as she drew her aside. ‘I see you’re the only one not to have cut your hair short, but I strongly advise you to do so. Long hair can be dangerous and believe me, we don’t have the time or the facilities to look after it. I’ll introduce you to Lieutenant Grainger. She does all our hair. Come along, let’s strike while the iron’s hot.’

  Marianne took a trembling gulp. She had hoped to retain a vestige of her femininity and her tumbling locks were very much a part of that. But she supposed that she would soon become used to it, a
nd she could always grow her hair long again after the war.

  A few minutes later, she was sitting at one of the mess tables, silently gritting her teeth against her tears as Lieutenant Grainger, a very pleasant young woman, denuded her of her crowning glory.

  ‘Do you fancy a bob or would you like it more shaped to your head?’ she was asking. ‘You’ve such lovely hair, it’ll look superb either way.’

  ‘I-I think a bob,’ Marianne faltered. ‘It’ll be less of a shock.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ve all been through it, those of us who didn’t want to embrace the new fashion. There. Take a look. You’re truly one of us now.’

  The girl produced a mirror and Marianne’s heart leapt nervously into her mouth. She stared back at the unfamiliar reflection, feeling for her riotous tresses that now ended half-way down her swan-like neck. But the FANY hairdresser had cut a fringe and shaped Marianne’s curls around her ears, to keep them out of her eyes, she had said, but it gave a softer effect which wasn’t altogether displeasing

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Marianne muttered, pleasantly surprised.

  ‘Not at all. If you want to try something different, just let me know. It’s all on the house.’

  ‘We all felt odd at first.’ Another girl gave a friendly smile. ‘Mine could do with a trim if you wouldn’t mind, Sylvie.’

  ‘Sorry, no time for that!’ a voice called out. ‘Message just come through. Couple of hospital barges coming along the canal.’

  ‘You new troopers might as well pile in, too,’ Tanky announced. ‘See what it’s all about. The worst cases come by barge. Less painful than being jostled about on a hospital train.’

  Within seconds, Marianne and her four comrades were swept up in the avalanche of urgency as FANY Unit Three catapulted into action. They found themselves outside again in the bitter, dying winter’s day, icy air biting into their faces as engines were cranked up and spluttered into life. Marianne’s shorn hair was instantly forgotten as her new life began.