The decision on one replacement was quickly reached. The other would need to be brought in from outside the squadron. The issue temporarily settled, both officers tried to relax. It was not easy.
‘Have you heard from Grace since you sent off your proposal?’ Rupert asked.
‘Not yet,’ Perys replied. ‘I doubt if I will until things quieten down along the front. She’ll be pretty busy.’
‘I had a telephone call from Morwenna today,’ Rupert said. ‘She told me she will be well clear of the fighting for a while. I must say it is a great relief to me. She’s in Paris at the moment preparing men to return to England. When they are ready she’ll travel with them to Le Havre then accompany them to England on a hospital ship, the Sultan. Once the men have been safely delivered to hospitals in London she’s taking some leave.’
‘Will you be able to get across to England to spend a few days with her?’
‘I’d like to,’ Rupert replied, ‘but with things the way they are at present I will need to lead one of the flights myself.’
‘Things aren’t looking too good.’ Perys agreed. ‘When I look around at those of the original squadron who are left, I am aware I am living on borrowed time.’
Rupert recognised the truth of Perys’s statement, but he said, cheerfully, ‘Nonsense, Perys. Not even von Richthofen himself could down you - and if he’s wise he will give you a wide berth in the air . . . But here, let me refill your glass.’
* * *
A few days later Perys travelled by road to St Omer to meet with three pilots, two newly qualified from the Central Flying School in England. They were replacements for the squadron’s lost pilots. With Perys and the third, more experienced, pilot, they would bring four Sopwith ‘Pup’ fighters back to Arras in order to bring the squadron up to almost full operational strength.
Perys spent twenty-four hours with the pilots, briefing them on the situation at Arras and trying to instil in them some sense of the importance of flying as a tightly knit unit. In order to emphasise this he managed to fit in three hours in the air with them, practising formation flying.
The third pilot had served with the Royal Naval Air Service for two years. Answering an urgent call for experienced pilots to transfer to the RFC on either a temporary or permanent basis, he was to fill the flight commander vacancy in his new squadron.
After the day’s flying practice was over, Perys met up with the new flight commander to discuss the role of the fighter squadrons and fill him in on details that would help him in his new duties.
They had been talking for some time when the naval pilot said, ‘Actually, I heard news only this morning that almost makes me wonder whether I have done the right thing, or whether I might not have been of more use staying with the RNAS and taking on anti-submarine duties.’
‘What brought on the doubts?’ Perys asked, casually, more to make conversation than for any deep interest.
‘All my belongings haven’t arrived at Saint Omer, so I telephoned my old squadron at Calshot in Hampshire. The duty officer is an old friend. He told me that after the sinking of a hospital ship off Le Havre during the night, the squadron was out hunting the submarine that did it.’
The naval officer’s information caused Perys to sit up and take an immediate interest, hospital ship sunk off Le Havre? Do you know its name?’
Perys’s sudden interest startled the naval officer. ‘I was told. It’s something like . . . the S.S. Sultan, that’s it . . .’
When Perys leaped to his feet, the naval pilot alarmed, asked, ‘Does it have particular significance?’
‘Yes,’ Perys said, grimly. ‘One of the nursing sisters on board is my second cousin. She is also engaged to be married to Major Pilkington, your new commanding officer. Excuse me, I must get to a telephone.’
Leaving the shocked naval pilot staring after him, Perys hurried from the mess to the administrative section. There he was able to find a telephone. Less than ten minutes later he was talking to Rupert.
The squadron’s commanding officer had not heard of the sinking of the hospital ship and was deeply distressed by the news. ‘It’s horrifying, Perys. Are you absolutely certain . . . ?’
‘I am afraid there can be no mistake, Rupert. Navy aeroplanes have been out for most of the day searching for the submarine. Of course, it doesn’t mean that anything will have happened to Morwenna . . .’
‘Will you try to learn all you can about what happened, Perys? I can do little myself right now. The Canadians have taken Vimy Ridge and are holding it against fierce German counter-attacks. We’re throwing in every aeroplane that can take to the air in order to help them.’
Reaching a swift decision, Perys said, ‘Issue the daily orders for tomorrow, then take an aircraft up to Le Havre first thing and find out what’s happening. I’ll leave here with the new men at dawn. When I get to Arras I’ll take over and run things until you get back. Don’t come away from Le Havre until you have definite news of Morwenna. Leave me any instructions you feel are necessary and don’t worry about the squadron. I took care of things when Thomas Kemp was killed and am bringing a good navy man to Arras with me as the new flight commander. Just get to Le Havre and stay there until you know that Morwenna is safe. I’ll do all that’s necessary at Arras.’
Chapter 60
It was a very happy company of nurses and wounded soldiers who had boarded the hospital ship S.S. Sultan at Le Havre. For most of the soldiers, the war was over. Many had wounds that would affect their lives until the day they died, but for now this was not the most important consideration. They had survived. Many, far too many - of the men with whom they had gone into battle had not.
These men considered themselves to be among the lucky ones. They had journeyed to hell and beyond and had survived.
As medical orderlies carried stretcher cases into holds fitted out as spacious wards to receive them, nurses were kept busy ensuring that medical records for each patient were secured to the cot on which he was placed. If not, rough weather could cause havoc. One of the nurses was Morwenna - another was Grace.
A number of the men were being transferred to hospitals in England for specialised treatment. For such men the journey would be a particularly hazardous one and they would require constant attention from the nursing staff.
Eventually the bustle and confusion on the dockside began to subside until, at dusk, the last scheduled ambulance had departed and the hospital ship was almost ready to sail.
Looking out across the wide estuary of the River Seine, as she walked across the deck from the dispensary, Grace found it difficult to equate this mighty seaway with the river so beloved by Parisians, where she and Perys had strolled on their memorable first visit together to the French capital.
She had paused on the upper deck when Morwenna emerged from one of the cabins carrying a tray of clean dressings. Aware of the meetings Grace and Perys had enjoyed in Paris, she smiled at her friend. ‘Let me guess. You are thinking of the Seine and its associations with Paris?’
Grace nodded. ‘Paris - and Perys. I was wondering what he is doing right now.’
‘Thinking of you, I expect,’ Morwenna said. ‘Do you think you will spend your honeymoon in Paris?’
Grace carried the letter from Perys in a pocket. It gave her a warm glow whenever she thought of it and she nodded. ‘I would like that very much, Morwenna, especially if this war is over by then. Paris is a truly magical city in peacetime.’
At that moment a late ambulance drew up at the foot of the gangway to the ship. Two men emerged from the rear of the vehicle and turned back to help a third, who was supported by two crutches and had difficulty negotiating the step.
‘I thought the last of the patients were already on board,’ said Morwenna as the three men made their way slowly up the gangway. The leading man had lost the lower half of a leg and was obviously unused to using crutches.
'I'll go and help him,' Grace said, hurrying to the gangway.
Morwenna watch
ed her for a few moments before going about her own business.
It was quite dark when the Sultan edged away from the Le Havre quayside and headed out of the harbour, nosing into the gentle swell of the estuary.
There was no black-out on the ship and no attempt at concealment. Huge boards on either side carried hundreds of red and white electric bulbs, forming the pattern of a red cross on a white background, indicating clearly that this was a hospital ship. In addition, spodights had been rigged over the side to illuminate red crosses painted on the white hull.
The movement of the ship as it cleared the estuary was the cause of a great deal of hilarity on board. Nurses, in particular, had difficulty moving about, hampered as they were by their long skirts. There were loud cheers from their patients when they succeeded in successfully negotiating the length of an aisle between the beds.
However, by the time the ship had been ploughing through the swell for an hour, the men lying in their cots were beginning to find the movement of the ship less to their liking. When Grace went among them asking who would like a drink of cocoa, very few accepted her offer.
Grace had gone to the galley, situated amidships, to collect the cocoa for the hardy few when there was a violent explosion. She was thrown against a bulkhead and the ship shuddered as though struck a blow by a superhuman fist.
‘What - ?'
Before she could complete the sentence, the chef shouted, ‘It’s a torpedo. Quick ... out on deck!'
Stumbling outside in the cool night air, Grace found a scene of frightened confusion. The ship was no longer underway and from somewhere below decks she could hear the sound of escaping steam and a great deal of shouting.
The ship’s officers added to the noise by calling for crew members to swing out the lifeboats.
Miraculously, one of the first people Grace saw on deck was Morwenna.
‘We’ve been torpedoed!’ Morwenna shouted the news to her friend. She was in charge of the officers accommodated in the deck cabins, while Grace was the senior nurse in the forward hold.
Grace said, ‘Yes, get your officers from the cabins to stand by the lifeboats. I’m going below to help bring my patients up on deck. Most are cot cases. Send any able-bodied men you can find to help me.’
They were the last words the friends would ever speak to each other.
Grace had disappeared below decks for no more than a minute when there was a second gigantic explosion, this time from the bows of the vessel. The Sultan seemed to rise in the air for a moment before settling down once more, but now the deck was sloping to one side and most of the lights on board had been extinguished.
Aware that the latest torpedo must have hit the ship in the vicinity of the forward hold whe Grace had just gone, Morwenna ran to the hatch which was now minus the hood and framework erected to protect the entrance from the elements.
At the edge of the hatchway one of the ship’s officers grabbed her arm. ‘You can’t go down there, miss. The ladder has been blown away.’
‘But there are wounded men down there . . . and nurses.’
‘I'm sorry, miss, listen for yourself.’
Above the pandemonium on deck and the cries of wounded men, Morwenna could hear the sound of rushing water. It came from beneath her feet. From the forward hold.
‘There’s nothing can be done for anyone down there, miss. You’d better be finding yourself a place in one of the life-boats . . .’
Despite her horror at the knowledge that Grace must have been caught in the explosion, Morwenna still hoped that a miracle might have occurred . . . but now there was a great deal that needed to be done for those wounded men who had found their way out on deck.
The Sultan was settling in the water quickly and had developed a severe list, making it extremely difficult to fill and lower the lifeboats. Despite this, the surviving nurses, aided by doctors and crew, worked frantically in a bid to help the wounded men into boats.
One of the officers tried to persuade Morwenna to take a place in a lifeboat, but she brushed him aside. There were still many wounded men to be placed in the boats first.
She was busy at her task when there was a huge sigh of escaping steam and someone shouted, ‘She’s going down! Quick, get all boats away! Everyone else . . . into the water!’
There were no empty boats close to Morwenna, and one of the doctors nearby shouted, ‘We’ll be in the water in a minute. Get your cape and that skirt off or they’ll take you under.’
When Morwenna hesitated, uncertainly, the doctor ripped the heavy cape from around her shoulders. Suddenly aware of the sense in what he had said, she swiftly unfastened her skirt as the ship began to roll over. She had a few moments of sheer panic as she tumbled from the stricken ship and cold water closed over her. Fighting her way to the surface, she trod water and sucked air into her lungs before becoming aware of the shouts about her. They were cries for help, but Morwenna was finding it difficult to remain afloat herself.
Suddenly, from nearby, someone shouted, ‘Is there anyone here?’
‘Yes . . . Help me!’ Morwenna cried.
‘Swim towards me. I’m on a grating of some sort. . . There’s lots of room, but I can’t make it go in any direction . . .’
Striking out towards the voice, Morwenna soon reached a wooden grating which was floating like a giant raft.
‘I’m here . . . ! Here!’
A hand reached out for her and a few moments later she was hauled on board the grating. She lay gasping until her rescuer called for her to help him haul another survivor on board.
Morwenna was cold, wet and uncomfortable - but she was safe.
When morning came there were eight men and Morwenna on board the makeshift raft. They quickly discovered that one of the men had died during the night. After removing his identity disc, the body was dropped over the side, into the sea.
Even without the dead man the raft was still overcrowded and an occasional wave would wash over it, threatening to sweep the occupants away.
Now daylight had arrived those on board expected to be rescued quickly, but it was not to be. There was no sign of anything, or anyone, about them. They seemed to be alone on the water.
Close to midday they saw smoke that must have been pouring from the funnel of a ship, but it was so far away it was not even worth shouting in a bid to attract attention.
As the day wore on their hopes of being Saved began to fade. Then, just when it seemed they were destined to spend another uncomfortable night on the raft, the survivors heard the throb of an engine. It gradually became louder and one of the men stood and shouted excitedly that it was a fishing boat.
For a few terrifying moments it seemed the boat would pass them by, but this time they did shout and one of the wounded men on board the raft removed his bright red hospital coat and handed it to a Sultan seaman. With two men holding his legs so he would not overbalance and fall, the seaman stood up and frantically waved the coat, while others on the raft shouted as loudly as was humanly possible.
‘They’ve not seen us. They’re going past!’
Morwenna joined the men in their desperate shouting. Suddenly, a man came out of the fishing boat’s wheelhouse and looked straight at them. A minute later the boat slowed, then turned back towards them.
Fifteen minutes later the desperately relieved survivors were on board the vessel, everyone talking excitedly at once. While coffee was being handed to them, one of the crew began preparing food.
They were safe.
* * *
Four days after the Sultan sailed from Le Havre with such high hopes held by all on board, Morwenna and the others who had been rescued from the raft returned to the French sea port.
The fishing boat which rescued them had taken them to a small fishing village, many kilometres along the coast. A message had been sent to the British military authorities that seven men and a woman from the torpedoed hospital ship had been rescued, but no names had been given to them.
All that was kno
wn was that they would be conveyed to the military hospital at Le Havre in two vehicles, a taxi-cab and an ambulance, both commandeered by the French police.
Rupert realised it was a forlorn hope that Morwenna would be the woman with the small party of survivors. Nevertheless, he was waiting at the hospital when the vehicles arrived.
The able-bodied men were first to alight the taxi-cab, then three wounded men were helped from the ambulance. They were accompanied by a woman who backed out of the ambulance, directing the hospital orderlies as they lifted a soldier in a stretcher from the vehicle.
Rupert’s hopes fell when he first saw her. Dressed in a rough-woven brown dress, her hair tied loosely at the back of her neck, it seemed she was a peasant woman.
Then the woman turned towards him and he recognised Morwenna.
Calling her name he pushed his way past two startled French policemen as she ran towards him. A moment later he was holding her and, suddenly, all the stoicism she had shown during recent days disappeared. Clinging tightly to Rupert, Morwenna broke down in tears.
Chapter 61
Perys would always look back upon April 1917 as the worst month of his life. For a couple of weeks after the sinking of the Sultan he clung to the hope that Grace might have survived, perhaps been picked up by a German vessel and her rescue not yet reported.
As time passed his optimism faded. It left him altogether when he put through a telephone call to Major General Ballard at the War Office in London, to ask if he had heard anything of Grace.
General Ballard’s reply was sombre. Sir Giles had many friends in neutral embassies in London, through one of which he had made enquiries in Berlin. They revealed that due to a strong British naval presence in the area after the sinking of the hospital ship, German vessels had given the waters off Le Havre a wide berth. Furthermore, the submarine responsible for sinking the hospital ship had not surfaced to rescue survivors and had since returned to its base.
The Lost Years Page 30
