The Victory Garden: A Novel

by Rhys Bowen

“Mine, too, but it was worth it, wasn’t it? What a lovely party. And Ronald is going to write to me.”

  “Ronald?”

  “Lieutenant Hutchins I told you about. And we’ll see each other when we’re both safely back home. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “I’m so happy for you.” Emily studied her friend’s face, now no longer pale and drawn.

  “And what about your Australian?”

  “He kissed me. It was wonderful.”

  “Emily?” Mrs Bryce came into the room. “It’s time poor Clarissa went to bed. She should be getting some rest before she returns to France. Off with you, young lady.”

  “I’ll come up and unhook you,” Emily said.

  Emily’s mother restrained her. “Just a minute. I want a word with you.” Her face was like stone. “Those uncouth Australians you invited to the party—what were you thinking, child? And did it not occur to you to ask our permission first?”

  “One of those Australians is my friend, Mother. He asked to bring his mates with him. I agree; they were a bit boisterous. I’m sorry.”

  “They are quite of the wrong class, Emily. Absolutely unsuitable. I saw you with that boy. Don’t think I didn’t.”

  “Mummy, he’s just different, that’s all. His parents own a large property in Australia. Over twenty thousand acres.”

  “I understand that cowboys in America also have lots of land, but that doesn’t make them the sort of cultured people one would want to fraternize with. They were boors, Emily. Utterly uncivilized. So you can put any notions in that direction out of your head. Your father and I forbid you to see him again.”

  Emily opened her mouth to say she was now twenty-one and could do as she pleased, but thought better of it. This was not the right moment for a big scene. Without another word, she stalked out of the room and up the stairs.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Clarissa left in the morning, having given Emily details on whom to contact about joining the volunteer nurses brigade. After she had gone, Emily sat at her desk, pen in hand, but she hesitated to write the letter. If she had to go up to London for training, she wouldn’t see Robbie again. It was going to be hard enough to slip away and visit him after last night. She knew that her mother was vindictive and manipulative enough to ask Matron to have him transferred to another facility right away.

  Then an idea struck her—wherever he was transferred, she would volunteer as a nurse at that hospital. She didn’t have to go to the front, like Clarissa. Surely nurses were needed at home, too. She had to grin at her own bravado.

  Her suspicions proved to be right. A few days after the party, Mrs Bryce took to her bed, claiming complete mental and physical exhaustion. Emily seized the chance to hurry next door to see Robbie. She found him sitting outside in the sunshine amongst a row of bath chairs, his face showing concentration as he tried to weave a raffia mat.

  “Look who’s coming, Rob. Mind your manners,” one of the men called. Robbie looked up, then put down the mat and attempted to stand.

  “Stupid waste of time,” he said, indicating the project. “What do I need to plait raffia for?”

  “I suppose it’s to keep you busy, and out of mischief,” Emily said.

  He smiled at her, but there was a guardedness in his smile that she picked up on straight away. “Hold on. Let me get my crutches, and we’ll go for a walk,” he said.

  “Will Matron approve?” she asked.

  “I don’t care,” he said. “I’m not going to be here long anyway.”

  “You’re not?” They started to move away from the other men, into the shade along the side of the building.

  “No, I’m being transferred in a couple of days,” he said. “To the naval hospital in Plymouth. I’m told it has better opportunities for rehabilitation to get me up and walking again.”

  “Oh, I see.” She stood looking at him. “Why the naval hospital when you’re with the air force?”

  “We’re not big enough to have a hospital of our own yet, I suppose. And Plymouth is a navy town and the hospital’s supposed to be the best.”

  Emily tried not to let her disappointment show. “Well, I suppose that is good news in a way, isn’t it? Better than wasting your time here weaving mats.”

  “Yes,” he said, “if I could really believe this was all arranged for my own good.”

  “You think my mother might have had something to do with it?” she asked.

  He frowned. “You know something about it?”

  “No, but I suspected she might do something like this. I got a long lecture after you left about your being unsuitable and that I was forbidden to see you again.”

  They passed beyond the building, walking in silence, heading for a rose arbour. When they reached it, they sat on the wooden bench, the heady scent of pink roses all around them.

  “She’s right, you know,” he said at last. “I am quite unsuitable. So maybe this is all for the best, Emmy. You shouldn’t fall for me. I’m a bad prospect. My chances of surviving until the end of the war are not good, and if I do, then I’m heading ten thousand miles away from your home. I couldn’t expect you to follow me there, not to lead the sort of life I’m used to. Not so far from your family. It would break their hearts.” He paused. “So maybe it’s good that I go away now and we remember each other fondly. I’ll carry your picture in my head when I’m flying over enemy lines. I won’t ever forget you.”

  “Don’t talk like that, please, Robbie. Of course I’m not going to forget about you. I care about you, you know. I’m not going to give up without a fight. Plymouth isn’t the end of the world. It’s only an hour on the train. I’ll come and visit you there. I told you I was determined to find some sort of useful work. And my parents really can’t object any longer. Now that I’m twenty-one, I’m supposed to offer my services to the country. I was thinking I might try to volunteer as a nurse at your naval hospital.”

  He looked concerned. “You wouldn’t really want to be a volunteer nurse, would you, Emmy? It’s not the sort of thing you’ve been used to. They’ll have you carrying bedpans and taking off bloody dressings.”

  “My friend Clarissa, whom you met at my party, had the same upbringing as I. We were at a posh girls’ school together. But now she’s working on the battlefield in France, in the worst possible conditions—rats and mud and awful wounds—and she’s thriving on it. So you see, it is possible.”

  “I still don’t think—” he began.

  “What’s the matter?” she demanded. “You don’t think I’d be able to handle it? Or are you hinting that you don’t want to see me any more?”

  He winced. “You know that’s not true, Emmy. I can’t tell you how I feel about you. But it’s because I care so much that I want only the best for you. A happy life. The sort of life you deserve.”

  Emily put her hand over his. “Let’s take it one day at a time, shall we? Let’s enjoy the fact that we’re both alive and you’re here right now and see what the future brings us.”

  “Rightio,” he said. He grimaced and looked out beyond Emily. “Oh, stone the crows. There’s Nurse Hammond. I’ll catch it for running off like this. Look, I don’t want to get you in trouble with your mum. You slip off through the hedge. You can get through where I did that time. Behind that big oak. And I’ll go and face the music.”

  “All right.” She gazed at him with longing, impulsively reaching out to stroke his hair back from his forehead.

  “You didn’t mind it when I kissed you the other night?” he asked.

  “Mind it? It was wonderful. I still think about it.”

  “That’s good.” He gave a fleeting grin. “Because it was pretty special for me, too.” He gave her a little shove. “Go on. Stay hidden until I get to the nurse, then run for it.”

  He came out of the arbour and started to hobble back towards the building. “Sorry, Nurse,” he called. “I had to stretch my legs. I was getting a terrible cramp from sitting in that chair.”

  “A likely tale, Flight
Lieutenant Kerr.”

  “No. Fair dinkum. And I wanted to see the roses. Did I tell you my mum tries to grow roses at home?” His voice died away. Emily waited until he was walking back with the nurse, then she darted across the lawn and squeezed through the hedge.

  By the end of the week, he had gone. Emily decided the time had come to make her own move. She raised the subject at the breakfast table. Her mother had emerged from her bed, looking pale and listless.

  “Now that I’m twenty-one,” Emily said, “it’s time I did something useful. I’m supposed to report to the local volunteer headquarters.”

  “I certainly hope you are not contemplating doing anything foolish like enlisting in the VAD like Clarissa?” Her mother’s voice was taut.

  “I promise I’m not going to volunteer for overseas work, Mother,” Emily said. “I’ll stay right here in Devon for now, but I can’t sit at home being idle any longer.”

  “Yes, good idea. I’ll drive you into Torquay if you like,” her father said. “I believe they have a recruitment office there. They’ll find you something to keep you busy.”

  “I hardly think they’ll have many volunteer opportunities in a small town like Torquay,” Emily said. “What would they want me to do—act as a chambermaid in one of the hotels? Walk elderly colonels along the seafront promenade? No, I really feel I should go to one of the bigger towns like Exeter or Plymouth. So if you’d be good enough to drop me at the station, Daddy.”

  “I’ll be going into Exeter tomorrow if you want to wait,” he said.

  “No, thank you. I’d rather get moving as soon as I can,” she said. “I’ve been wasting my life for so long . . .”

  “If only you’d paid more attention to one of the young men at the party, maybe you’d find yourself with a wedding to plan,” her mother said bitterly. “I’ve told you that Aubrey Warren-Smythe was quite smitten with you, and you couldn’t even give him the time of day. He has a good job, good prospects . . . he may not be the best-looking young man in the world, but you could do worse.”

  “Mummy, he has weak ankles, remember?” Emily said. “Besides, I’m in no hurry to get married. I want to see a bit of life first. I went straight from boarding school to the middle of a war. I’ve never had a chance to travel, to spend time in London, to go to a play in the West End, even. I know those things won’t be possible until the war is over, but at least I want to gain some feeling of independence. You do understand, don’t you?”

  “In my day, a young woman never needed to be independent,” Mrs Bryce said. “She was under the protection of her father until a suitable husband was found for her. That way, she was always safe.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be safe and protected,” Emily said. “And remember what Clarissa was saying—after the war, women will be called upon to do men’s jobs. I should gain some experience.”

  “The girl is right, Marjorie,” her father said. He reached across and patted his wife’s hand. “You can’t hang on to her forever, old thing. I see no harm in her doing some kind of suitable volunteer work. Go to the recruitment centre with my blessing then, Emily, and see what they have available.” Emily could not believe how easily they had capitulated. It was as she went up the stairs that she heard her father saying, “I think a job is an excellent idea, Marjorie. It will take her mind off that Australian chap, and who knows, she might well meet someone we’d approve of. A local boy.”

  She dressed in a sombre blue linen suit with white gloves and a white hat. Her father dropped her at the station, but instead of taking the train to Exeter, she went in the other direction, to Plymouth. As the fields and woods flashed past her, she tried to remember when she had last been on a train alone. She had travelled to school and back, but in the company of a mistress and other girls. A rush of excitement shot through her. This was a first step. A small one, but one in the right direction. With any luck, by the end of the day, she’d be working near Robbie as an independent woman.

  When she alighted from the train at Plymouth railway station, she was given directions to the Royal Naval Hospital. It was a long walk, she was told, but she could catch a bus or take a taxi. She opted for the bus, and soon found herself standing at the entrance to the hospital, gazing in awe. She had expected a building like other hospitals she had visited—grim and square and featureless. This was a series of elegant Georgian buildings spaced around a square of lawn. It was vast and quite intimidating. As she stood there, wondering which of the buildings she should approach, a group of nurses came towards her across the green. They wore crisply starched caps and dresses, and their capes blew out in the breeze as they walked. Emily approached them.

  “Excuse me, but could you tell me where I should go if I wanted to become a volunteer here?”

  “Are you a nurse?” one of them asked.

  “No, not yet. I’d like to become one.”

  “We’re all navy nurses here,” another said. “Members of the Queen Alexandra Royal Navy Nursing Service. I’m not sure they’d take you now, with no nursing skills. It wouldn’t be worth training you if the war’s going to end soon.”

  “But what about ward maids, helpers? Surely you must have those,” Emily said.

  “Yes, but it’s frightfully menial work.” The nurse gave Emily a worried frown. “However, you should go and speak to the sister in charge. She’ll set you straight. Over in Trafalgar—that building at the end. Her office is just off the main hall, on the right. I’d take you, but we’re due on duty, and our sister is a real cow if we’re a minute late.”

  Emily thanked them and headed towards the building they had indicated. She found the office with no trouble and was soon facing a distinguished-looking older woman—not unlike her former headmistress at school.

  “And what can I do for you, young lady?” she asked.

  “I’d like to volunteer my services,” Emily said.

  “As what?” The voice was clipped, but the expression not unfriendly.

  “As a nurse, I thought originally, but I’ve just been told that your nurses are all members of the Queen Alexandra Royal Navy Nursing Service.”

  “That is correct. Do you have nursing training?”

  “I have no training in anything,” Emily said. “But I’m willing to learn.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “And what have you been doing since you left school—if you went to school, that is?”

  “I did go to school. I went to Sherborne. But since then, I’ve been doing nothing. Stuck at home, knitting socks and gloves for the troops and taking teacakes to the local convalescent hospital.”

  “Both admirable occupations, but why stuck at home?”

  Emily chewed on her lip. “We live out in the country, for one thing. But the truth is that my parents did not want to let me go. My only brother was killed at the start of the war, during his first week in Ypres. My parents were both devastated and thus terrified to lose me.”

  “And what has changed now?” the sister asked.

  “I’ve just turned twenty-one. They can no longer stop me.” She took a step towards the desk. “I want to do my bit, Sister. I’ve been dying to do something useful. Can you not find a place for me?”

  “I’d really like to, my dear.” The sister paused. “But the truth is that we have a full complement of volunteers at the moment. We have local girls—sailors’ wives, you know, wanting to keep busy rather than worry. Also refugees from Belgium—peasant women who are used to hard work and don’t mind scrubbing floors and washing bedpans.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Emily said. “Truly I wouldn’t.”

  “I commend your attitude, but we really can’t use you, I’m afraid. Have you been to the local recruitment headquarters?”

  “Not yet. I came here first.”

  “Why so insistent on working in a hospital?”

  “I have a school friend who is a nurse on the front lines. She started off as only a volunteer. Now she’s helping in
the operating theatre.”

  “Well, they were desperate in the early days. Good for her. And you want to show her that you have her spunk? Or do you feel that you have a true calling to the profession—because if you are truly sincere, I can write a letter for you to our training hospital in Portsmouth.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said, “but I think I’d like to stay close to home. I’m all my parents have now. I wouldn’t like to desert them completely.”

  “Then I suggest you go to the volunteer headquarters and see where you are needed.”

  “And do you know where it is located?”

  “In the Guildhall on the Royal Parade. Ask anybody. They can direct you there. It’s a longish walk, but it’s a fine day, isn’t it?” She stood up and held out her hand. “Good day to you, Miss . . .”

  “Bryce,” Emily said. “Thank you, Sister.”

  As she came out of the building, she stood looking around her. Had Robbie been moved here yet? If so, which building was he in? She didn’t think it was wise to ask after him at this moment—it might make it too obvious why she was here.

  The day was a warm one, and Emily felt quite flushed and sticky by the time she came to the imposing building on the Royal Parade. She was directed upstairs to a disappointingly small and cramped office and faced a middle-aged woman—the sort who usually run Women’s Institutes and garden clubs.

  “Want to volunteer, do you?” she boomed. “Splendid. We could use able-bodied girls like you.”

  “I was hoping to volunteer at the Royal Naval Hospital,” Emily said. “But I went there and they have no need of more volunteers. I’m willing to try anything.”

  “That’s good,” the woman said, “because what we really need is land girls.”

  “Land girls?” Emily sounded surprised.

  “Women’s Land Army,” the woman went on. “We’re in desperate need, actually. There are no men to work in the fields and the early crops are ready for harvest. As you must know, last year’s harvest was a complete failure, and if we don’t do something soon, the country won’t be able to feed itself. We might win the war, but end up starving. That’s not what we want, is it?”