Poppy

by Mary Hooper

  ‘No, I reckon they’re going to reduce our pay and say it’s to help the war effort,’ said one of the valets. ‘And then what they save will go in Old Man de Vere’s back pocket.’

  ‘Bet they shut up half the house and send most of us packing,’ another said.

  ‘I hope they don’t stop us from having a bath on a Friday night!’ said Poppy.

  Outside the green drawing room, Cook and Joy jostled a little for position and then, in the absence of either butler or housekeeper, Cook knocked and was first through the door.

  ‘I expect you’re all terribly worried about your positions here,’ Mrs de Vere began.

  The more loyal of the servants said that they were and tried to look anxious, although the truth was that they were not too worried about losing their places because of the money that could be earned from other sorts of employment now.

  ‘And I’m afraid I have to confirm your worst fears by saying that, sadly, Mr de Vere and I will not be needing many of you for very much longer. We’re moving to our much smaller country house in Somerset. Here we’ll be well away from the firing line, and be able to manage with minimum staff.’

  Poppy waited, wondering if she was going to be part of that minimum staff. Surely Mrs de Vere would need a parlourmaid? On the other hand, now that even Billy had at last heard the call of his country, shouldn’t she up and leave too?

  ‘Begging your pardon, but when will you be going, ma’am?’ asked Cook. ‘Only, I’ve just ordered a jointed pig from the butcher to put in the ice house.’

  ‘We’ll be going as soon as we can get packed up – I hope by the end of May,’ Mrs de Vere said. ‘And I’m very pleased to tell you that this house will be taken over for the duration of the war as a cottage hospital for injured army officers.’ She gave a faint smile. ‘There’s no ice house in our Somerset home, so we’ll leave the officers the jointed pig with our compliments.’

  The servants exchanged glances.

  ‘That’s me for bomb-making then,’ Molly whispered to Poppy. ‘I’ll be helping the war effort and helping double my pay.’

  Mrs de Vere went on, ‘We will need a small core of staff, so I should like to retain Cook, my own maid Joy, and Poppy. Mr de Vere will still want George, of course – he still needs a valet.’

  Poppy’s heart gave a little jolt. She’d been half hoping that Mrs de Vere would say she didn’t need any of her Mayfield staff, then the decision about whether to apply for work as a VAD would have been made easier.

  ‘If Cook, Joy and Poppy would stay behind for a moment, the rest of you can resume your duties until the end of the month,’ Mrs de Vere said. ‘You’ve all been most diligent and hard-working, and I shall be delighted to supply you with whatever references you require to obtain new positions.’

  ‘I trust you’ll be happy with me in the country, Poppy,’ said Mrs de Vere, when the unwanted servants had left, muttering to themselves.

  ‘Thank you, madam,’ Poppy said uncertainly.

  ‘As your duties will be a little more diverse, there may be an increase in your wage packet after a few months.’ Mrs de Vere got up, walked to the window and scanned the skies. ‘It’s very quiet in Somerset, and we shall be able to keep out of the worst of the war. No Zeppelins there, at least!’

  ‘No. Thank you, madam,’ Poppy said. Then, rather unexpectedly, she found herself adding, ‘But, do excuse me, unfortunately I won’t be able to join you.’

  ‘What?’ Mrs de Vere turned, shocked. ‘Why ever not?’

  Poppy’s heart was beating fast; she found herself almost as startled as Mrs de Vere. ‘Because I’ve decided to take a voluntary position with the Red Cross.’

  ‘Really?’ Mrs de Vere said in astonishment. Cook and Joy turned to stare at her.

  Poppy nodded. ‘I hope to be trained in first aid and nursing.’

  ‘I see. You’ve obviously looked into it.’

  ‘Not really. I haven’t even applied yet. It’s just . . . I think I ought to do something to help the war effort.’

  Mrs de Vere was not able to make the slightest objection to this. ‘Very well,’ she said, at last. ‘I’ll be sorry to lose you, Poppy, but you must do what you think right. If you wish to, you may stay on at Airey House while you make the necessary arrangements.’

  ‘Thank you, madam.’

  Poppy left the room and, feeling an urgent need to catch her breath, sat down on the back stairs for a moment and counted to ten very slowly. She was going to start something new and completely unknown. Once she’d left Airey House she might never see it or its occupants ever again. Any of them. Not even Freddie de Vere.

  She counted ten deep breaths, allowing her thoughts to drift and settle. Leaving Airey House was the best thing she could do in so many ways, she told herself. She would be helping the war – and she would also be getting away from the absurd, dangerous, completely foolish way in which she had begun to regard Freddie de Vere.

  ‘The bluebells are out in the woods,’ Freddie said the next morning, catching Poppy on her own as she cleared away the breakfast things. ‘Acres of them. I suppose you couldn’t come for a . . .’

  Shocked and pleased in equal measure, Poppy quickly shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t possibly!’

  ‘Unless you . . .’

  But Mrs de Vere reappeared from the next room and Freddie went quiet while Poppy, blushing furiously, carried on clearing the table. No more was said, but that evening, on going to bed, she found a jam jar stuffed with bluebells outside her door.

  Airey House

  Mayfield

  Herts

  18th April 1915

  Dear Miss Luttrell,

  You’ll be happy to hear that I’ve decided to take your advice about becoming a VAD and am writing to the address you gave me in London to request an interview. As you kindly suggested, I will give them your name as a referee, and Mrs de Vere said she would also supply me with a reference. The de Vere family have announced they are to leave Mayfield to live in Somerset for the duration of the war, so it has all worked out very well. Airey House is to become a hospital and convalescent home for officers.

  I do hope I give a good interview at Devonshire House. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything from them. I’m rather nervous and not at all sure that I’ll be brave enough to face up to all the horrid things I might see, but I have been telling myself that if our boys are courageous enough to fight, then surely I ought to be courageous enough to care for them afterwards.

  I did send (anonymously!) the white feather to the younger son, Freddie, and though it caused him acute embarrassment it hasn’t made him join up. I’ve noticed him wearing a triangular brass badge lately – Cook says this is to show he is in a reserved occupation in case anyone tries to give him another feather.

  With love and grateful thanks,

  Poppy

  It took several weeks for the interview to be arranged at Devonshire House and Poppy carried on working for the de Veres during this time. She wondered if someone might have told Freddie she was leaving, but didn’t know for sure. The move to Somerset was taking longer than anyone had anticipated, with much furniture going into storage and members of the family travelling backwards and forwards to the country to take precious or delicate objects that couldn’t be trusted to the removal men (or, a wartime novelty, removal women). Occasionally Poppy’s path would cross with Freddie’s, but they were never alone together and Poppy was beginning to think that she had imagined the night-time liaison on the lawn. When she thought that, she would smile wryly, for it had hardly been a liaison at all – they’d merely exchanged a couple of glances and almost held hands. Besides, he had an elegant, accomplished and beautiful young lady in his life. Who in their right mind would prefer a parlourmaid to the glowing Miss Cardew?

  Poppy’s preparations for her interview included looking through the book on home nursing that was kept in Cook’s parlour, and reading the minute instructions on the bandages and antiseptic creams in the first
-aid box. Unfortunately the nursing book was mainly about pregnancy and childbirth, so wasn’t very useful, but she learned a little about pressure points and the importance of cleanliness from the instructions on the packets of bandages.

  This scant knowledge did not give her much confidence, and by the time she got off the train at Euston and caught a bus towards Piccadilly Circus, she felt quite hollow with nerves. Twenty minutes later, wishing herself anywhere but there, she found herself going through the black and gold wrought-iron gates at Devonshire House.

  There were two middle-aged matrons interviewing potential trainees for Voluntary Aid Detachments and they seemed nice enough. They were brisk and businesslike, however, and when Poppy tried to make the smallest of light-hearted remarks about the awfulness of London traffic, they did not respond.

  They wanted to know about Poppy’s background and she told them that she’d been head girl and then won a college scholarship, but had been unable to take it up.

  ‘Since leaving school I’ve been working for the de Vere family,’ she explained. ‘First in the kitchens and most lately as a parlourmaid.’

  ‘Ah yes, the de Veres,’ said the smaller, bird-like matron, as if she knew them.

  ‘But in service,’ said the other doubtfully.

  ‘I expect that means you’re probably very good at taking orders,’ said her colleague.

  Poppy nodded emphatically. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘But how do you intend to maintain yourself?’ the first asked. ‘You must be aware that the positions are voluntary.’

  Poppy explained about her old schoolteacher’s generous offer. They nodded and exchanged a word or two between themselves, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  ‘And, Miss Pearson, what are your people doing to help the war effort?’ the smaller matron asked.

  Poppy was relieved that she could give the right answers. ‘My father’s dead, but my brother has recently begun training with a local division of the army and my mother works in a factory at night, making munition boxes.’

  ‘And have you always wanted to be a nurse?’

  Poppy bit her lip. ‘To tell you the truth, I hardly thought that a girl like me with no medical background could do such a thing.’ She took a breath. ‘But then my old friend, the lady who is sponsoring me, told me that more and more nurses will be needed and that she thought I would be very suitable.’

  ‘And have you ever undertaken any nursing duties?’ asked the second matron, a solid woman with steel-grey hair in a bun.

  ‘Well, I nursed my mother after childbirth,’ Poppy replied. ‘And if anyone in the de Vere family was ever ill, I helped tend to them. I know how to give a bed-bath . . . Oh, and when Mr de Vere had blood poisoning from getting his foot caught in a trap, I dressed the wound every morning.’

  The first matron nodded; the other smiled. ‘And are there any other ways in which you might be especially useful to us?’

  ‘Well, I started work as a kitchen maid so I know how to keep a place spotless,’ said Poppy. ‘And I have excellent handwriting – everyone says so. I wondered if perhaps I might compose letters home for those soldiers who have broken arms or are temporarily blinded.’

  ‘Temporarily or permanently . . .’ said the bird-like matron drily, and Poppy remembered the horrific gas attacks which had recently blinded French and Canadian troops.

  The second matron added, ‘It may not always be nursing work you’ll be called upon to do. You may be asked to serve departing troops with, say, two hundred cups of hot cocoa in half an hour. Do you think you could stay calm whilst coping with that sort of pressure?’

  Poppy smiled. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but I’m used to serving a demanding family. I don’t panic easily.’

  The two matrons exchanged glances.

  ‘Very good. Thank you, Miss Pearson, that will be all,’ said the bird-like one. ‘You will be hearing from us in due course.’

  Poppy stood up and was about to curtsey when she realised that it was no longer appropriate. She wasn’t a parlourmaid any longer – she might possibly become a respected Red Cross nurse. She thanked both the matrons for seeing her and shook their hands.

  On reaching Euston station after the interview, Poppy – more relaxed now – couldn’t help but watch and sigh at some of the fond farewells and tearful scenes taking place on the concourse between Tommies and their sweethearts. After witnessing one girl run the length of the platform rather than let go of the hand of her khaki-clad beloved on the train, she was dabbing her eyes when someone touched her on the shoulder.

  Startled, she wheeled round to come face to face with Freddie de Vere.

  ‘Ah, I alarmed you,’ he said. ‘Do excuse me.’

  ‘That’s . . . that’s quite all right,’ Poppy managed to say, heart thudding and surprised almost out of her wits.

  ‘Have you been lunching?’

  Poppy hid a smile. She had only ‘lunched’ once in her life – when she’d met Miss Luttrell over a meat pie in the Corner House. ‘No, I’ve been for an interview,’ she said. ‘I’m hoping to become a VAD.’

  ‘Jolly commendable,’ he said, nodding. ‘In fact, I’ve been doing much the same.’

  ‘You’ve applied to be a VAD?’ she asked in surprise, although she knew that many men had signed on as orderlies and stretcher bearers.

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘No, I’ve been undergoing interviews for a commission in the army. They’re pretty desperate for recruits and so they’ve agreed to take me in the Officer Cadet Unit. I begin my training at Sandhurst on Monday.’

  ‘Really? That’s marvellous,’ Poppy said, and she thought of the white feather and felt herself blush at the thought of what she’d done. As they crossed the concourse, she tried not to dwell on it.

  ‘Kitchener has said that they need thirty-five thousand men to join up per week,’ Freddie said. ‘And of course we chaps don’t like to be called cowards, and everyone thought that I really ought. Even Mother is happy that I’m going to fight the good fight.’

  There was a slight catch to his voice and, with the new and strange chemistry between them, Poppy understood that he was frightened of what he might have to face. There was no shame in being scared, she wanted to say, and not everyone could feel brave all the time. But while she was trying to articulate the right words, he spoke again.

  ‘You’re catching the 3.12 back to Mayfield?’ he said when they reached platform ten.

  She nodded.

  ‘Then perhaps we can travel together.’

  Poppy’s heart gave a skip – and then sank. She would be in his company for a little while longer, but what good would that do her? This whole flirtation business (for surely that was all it was) was silly and she was heading for a tremendous fall. Then she realised she was quite safe.

  ‘No, I don’t think we can,’ she said, ‘because I only have a third-class ticket.’

  He pulled a small green oblong from his top pocket. ‘And mine is . . . first class.’

  Poppy nodded. That summed up all the differences between them in a nutshell.

  He looked at her, smiled and continued walking along the platform. ‘But I dare say the rail people would have no objection to my travelling in third!’

  Poppy turned to him, unable to prevent a smile spreading across her face. ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t.’

  ‘And we can talk about Zeppelins and maidens from the lake and all sorts of interesting things.’

  ‘That would be . . .’ Wonderful, delightful, unbelievable – but Poppy never finished the sentence, for there came a rapping on the window of one of the first-class carriages they were passing.

  ‘Freddie! I say! Freddie de Vere!’ A fur-hatted, middle-aged lady stared out, waved at Freddie and lowered her window. ‘Freddie, dear, could you help me? I’ve somehow stuck my trunk in the door and I can’t get in or out.’

  ‘Oh. My Aunt Maud,’ Freddie murmured to Poppy. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Poppy, heart sinking, tried
not to look crestfallen. ‘That’s quite all right. Of course you must go and help her.’

  ‘I’ll try and get away. But look,’ he said urgently, ‘if we don’t get the opportunity to speak before I go, then I’ll write to you from Sandhurst.’

  ‘But I might not be at Airey House much longer.’

  ‘Then leave a forwarding address!’

  ‘I will,’ Poppy said. ‘And thank you for the bluebells . . .’

  Freddie’s Aunt Maud was looking rather troubled at the sight of him deep in conversation with a person of the lower classes. There was another sharp rap from the carriage window.

  ‘Sorry. I’ll have to . . .’ Freddie leaped up the two steps into the first-class coach.

  Poppy, as calmly as possible, continued walking down the platform towards the third class. She took a seat and, when the train pulled out, opened the magazine she’d bought – and didn’t realise for half the journey that she was holding it upside down.

  She put her head against the cool glass and wished she hadn’t gone out to see the Zeppelin in the first place, wished he’d never looked at her so or spoken as he had, wished there was no such person as Miss Philippa Cardew. It didn’t help, either, that a two-page spread in the magazine was given over to the changes there had been in society since the beginning of the war. Heiresses were now sweeping chimneys, housekeepers were mixing in high society, and lords were marrying laundry maids. Apparently anything was possible; the social barriers were crashing down all over Britain.

  But, Poppy thought to herself, a certain rich young man could not forgo his aunt and his first-class seat to sit with a parlourmaid.

  Chapter Six

  As soon as the furniture and personal belongings of the de Vere family had been moved out of Airey House, the equipment needed to change it into a hospital and convalescent home for wounded officers had been moved in. Brand new hospitals were springing up all over the country and were urgently needed. Empty town halls, reclaimed asylums, schools, little used university buildings and many large private houses were being turned into temporary infirmaries. Some – like Airey House – were expressly for officers, while injured Tommies were being cared for in the largest buildings, in purpose-built ‘hut hospitals’ or in huge marquees specially erected in the grounds of existing infirmaries.