by Mary Hooper
‘Where will they be going, then?’ Matthews asked.
‘To one of the hospitals which specialise in helping men with that sort of injury,’ Sister Malcolm said. ‘They can rebuild noses and jaws and make false ears and so on. In fact, you’d be surprised at what they can do these days. The boys call them the tin noses shops.’
Poppy and Matthews smiled, though Poppy thought it was one of the most tragic things she’d ever heard. Tin noses, tin ears, tin masks . . . How could anyone manage to live their life wearing a tin face?
Almost at the end of the train, the little group came to a carriage which had been transformed into a buffet car, with a counter running most of its length and what appeared to be a long, narrow kitchen behind it.
Sister Malcolm halted. ‘This is where you two girls will be for the next few hours.’
‘Working in the buffet?’ Poppy asked.
‘Yes indeed. The boys who are “up” patients – that is, those well enough to be on their feet – will come along here and queue for their cheese rolls and tea. Those who are confined to their bunks will be served by orderlies, who’ll come along with trays.’
‘And we’ll be handing out the food?’ Poppy asked, secretly thrilled at the thought of greeting, being terribly nice to and – who knew? – maybe even flirting a little with scores of young Tommies.
‘No, I’m afraid you’ll be slicing rolls,’ Sister said. ‘Slicing, buttering and putting a chunk of cheese inside, then passing them through the hatch to whoever is running the show. You’ll also be seeing that the tea and cocoa doesn’t run out.’
‘Who’ll actually be serving them, then?’ Matthews asked, while Poppy tried not to look too disappointed.
Sister smiled. ‘Your time will come,’ she said, ‘but today it’s the turn of more experienced VADs who’ve earned that privilege. Also, we try and break you new girls in gently to the realities of the injuries you might see. There will be boys with limbs missing, those who are blinded or who have gangrenous or open wounds. Some of them, trust me, are not pretty sights. You’ll be in the back of the kitchen and at a distance today, and I hope that you’ll both be sensible enough not to react badly if you see anything which alarms you.’
Poppy and Matthews both assured her that they would try not to let her down.
‘If you do happen to meet a badly injured man, the best thing you can do is bid him welcome home and give him a smile. Some of these men haven’t seen a girl for months and you’d be surprised at how a pleasant greeting from a girl their own age can help them feel human again.’
‘Where will you be, Sister?’ Poppy asked as the three of them climbed aboard and hung up their coats and hats.
‘I shall be with two doctors and half a dozen nurses and we’ll be going from the front to the back of the train, sterilising, stitching, tidying and bandaging as we go. The doctors on board will assess everyone and will hope to have seen them all by the time we reach our destination. It means we can be much more efficient at the other end.’
Along the counter of the narrow kitchen were six huge baskets each containing a couple of hundred fresh rolls. There was also an urn of water, just coming to the boil, and a vast pottery bowl containing a soft mass of margarine.
‘The boys will have their own enamel cups and plates, and you’ll find knives and spoons . . .’ she looked around, ‘. . . somewhere or other.’ She smiled at them. ‘I must go and find my team. Get a message to me if you’re in difficulty. Otherwise, Pearson and Matthews, work well and I’ll see you both later.’
She disappeared and the two girls looked at each other.
‘I need to practise something,’ Poppy said.
‘What’s that?’
‘Saying, “Welcome home, soldier” without blubbing.’
The two VADS who would be serving the boys arrived: Rees and Colebrook, who turned out to be very friendly and capable. They’d both done hospital runs before and said that the amount of food that the Tommies could put away was impressive.
‘They’re allowed two rolls – great crusty things that I’d struggle to eat half of,’ said Rees, who was plump and smiley.
‘If they want to queue up again, they’re allowed another roll,’ put in Colebrook.
‘And another – for as long as they last,’ added Rees. ‘Some of the poor darlings haven’t eaten for twenty-four hours.’
There was a huge metal teapot standing by, which the two VADs said held about fifty cups.
‘But you’d better not brew up yet,’ Rees said, ‘in case it gets stewed.’
‘Our boys don’t like stewed tea!’ added Colebrook.
‘We’d better get started on our roll mountain instead then,’ said Matthews, and she and Poppy went behind the partition to begin the slicing and buttering.
They had only got through about a quarter of the rolls when they heard clapping and cheering from further down the platform.
Colebrook put her head round the serving hatch to speak to them. ‘The boys are coming on board! Come and see.’
All four girls went to the open door of the carriage and leaned out, two standing on the top step and two on the one below. Seagulls cried overhead, a band could be heard playing on the concourse, and there was much flag waving and shouting from the crowd who’d gathered.
The funnels of the docked troopships could just be seen, and it was from this direction that they came, stretcher cases first, then the ‘walking wounded’, two by two in a long line, some walking quite briskly but with injuries to their arms, some limping, others leaning on crutches or being helped along by willing orderlies. The stretcher cases mostly boarded the train further down, but as the raggle-taggle line of men came closer to the buffet car and Poppy saw a couple of lads who’d been blinded being led by their companions, she could feel her nose prickling and a lump forming in her throat.
She quickly went back into the kitchen, followed by Matthews.
‘I don’t want to stay out there in case I make a chump of myself,’ Poppy said.
‘Me neither.’ Matthews gulped.
Rees and Colebrook came in as well.
‘It always gets me,’ Colebrook said.
‘I think we’re being very wise.’ Rees blew her nose heartily. ‘The last thing those boys need is a pack of girls blubbing all over them.’
Fifteen minutes later, with men laid out on every bunk and squeezed into every corner, the train chugged out of its siding, bellowing steam, for the cross-country journey across country to Manchester. As Sister Malcolm had predicted, the minute it left the station there were boys queuing for food, and it seemed that as soon as they’d eaten their rolls they began to queue for more, so that Nurse Rees had to tell them with mock sternness that there would be no seconds until every man on board had had his firsts. Even so, the demand was incessant: several times queues built up because Poppy and Matthews couldn’t slice and butter quickly enough, and they heard much light-hearted banter between Rees, Colebrook and the men about how they’d thought they might die of their wounds, but never thought they’d die for want of a bread roll. Poppy and Matthews – buttering for England, they declared – marvelled at the resilience of the men, laughed at the jokes and occasionally, if the soldier had a nice voice, turned and peeped through the hatch to see his face.
The train made three stops at major stations, one for a full hour. Here three St John nurses boarded the train and went from front to back distributing treats for the men: cigarettes, pipe tobacco, newspapers, and postcards so that they could write to their families and let them know what had happened to them. At the second stop a vast assortment of cakes was put on board – every local woman had given up her egg-and-sugar allowance for a week so that she could bake a cake for a Tommy.
The following stop was scheduled to be thirty minutes and several of the injured soldiers, wanting to stretch their legs, got off the train to walk up and down the length of the platform.
Poppy glanced out of the carriage window, then gasped and looke
d again more closely. It looked like . . . yes . . . it really was Jasper de Vere, his khaki trousers cut away to show a heavily bandaged foot and leg, limping along the platform leaning on a crutch.
Jasper injured, she thought, appalled. He could only have been in France a month!
She approached Rees, her heart pounding. ‘I say, I think I’ve just seen someone I know,’ she said. ‘Do you think I could possibly go and have a word?’
‘Oh, I think we could spare you for a few moments,’ Rees said. ‘What do you reckon, Colebrook?’
‘I think that would be absolutely fine,’ said the other VAD.
Poppy carefully climbed off the train and approached Jasper de Vere, pleased she was seeing him whilst she was dressed as a nurse. Maybe she couldn’t help hoping, he would tell Freddie that he’d seen her. Maybe he would even have news of Freddie?
‘Mr de Vere?’ she said tremulously.
He turned in surprise, but didn’t seem to recognise her.
‘It’s Poppy. From Airey House,’ she said, but he just continued looking at her and frowning. ‘I was the parlourmaid, sir,’ she said in a whisper.
‘Oh, my dear girl, of course,’ he said. ‘Do excuse me.’ He nodded at her approvingly. ‘You make a jolly fine-looking nurse, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Thank you, sir. But you’ve been injured!’ she said, and immediately thought to herself what a stupid thing to say.
‘Yes, rotten bad luck. Only my third week at the front, too. Still, I shall rest up and be able to see my family whilst my wounds mend.’
There was a toot from the train and those who’d got off for a walkabout prepared to climb back on.
‘I hope it’s not a bad wound, sir,’ Poppy said, wanting to make a memorable impression on him but not sure how to go about it.
‘Well, I’m mashed up a bit, as they say. But apparently there’s a wonderful bone-setter in Manchester and I should return to Flanders before too long. I need to get back to my boys. Top notch, they are!’
‘Well, I wish you all the best, sir,’ Poppy said. Then, before she lost her nerve, she blurted out, ‘And do please remember me to your brother!’
Jasper de Vere looked at her, rather surprised, but Poppy just smiled brightly and indicated the nearest carriage. ‘Can I help you back on to the train, sir?’
‘No, that’s quite all right,’ he said, hailing a soldier standing by the door. ‘My batman will help me. I’m in the officers’ carriage.’
Unsure of the etiquette of saying goodbye – was she servant, acquaintance or army nurse? – she finished in a muddle. ‘Do kindly excuse me. All the best to you and your family . . . Good wishes and cheerio, sir,’ she said and turned to go back on the train.
Unfortunately, one of the injured boys who’d been travelling behind closed blinds had chosen to take a stroll, too, and as Poppy arrived at the train door and reached up to pull herself on board, so did he. Although he had been holding up a cardboard mask to his face, Poppy was close enough to see behind it – and did so before she could stop herself. What she found herself staring at was only a semblance of features: puckered and raw, no hair and hardly a nose, with shrivelled and burned skin around eyes that may have been permanently open. A skull shape, but formed with scorched flesh. A travesty, a ghastly imitation of a face . . .
Poppy recoiled, horrified, gasped for breath. Hauling herself on to the train, she couldn’t speak as she pushed past Matthews, gained the safety of the little back kitchen and was violently sick out of the window.
‘That’s why we keep all new girls out of the way for a little while,’ Rees said, after Poppy had apologised profusely, cleaned up after herself and apologised all over again.
‘I feel dreadful,’ Poppy murmured. ‘Poor chap. To have suffered all that and then to have me vomiting at the sight of him.’ Tears came into her eyes. ‘Do you think I should go and apologise to him? I mean, it’s not as if I haven’t seen injured people before.’ But not quite like that, she thought.
‘Apologise? I think not.’ Colebrook shook her head. ‘Least said and all that. It won’t be the first time it happens to him, or the last. I’m afraid the poor lamb will have to learn to live with it.’
‘At least you didn’t scream,’ Matthews said.
‘Let’s hope he ends up in one of the specialist hospitals,’ said Rees. ‘They can do wonderful things there.’
Poppy leaned against the wall of the carriage, feeling depressed beyond words. Fancy her behaving like that! Ma would be really ashamed of her – and Miss Luttrell would be shocked to bits. Did she have no self-control? Did it mean she would never make a proper nurse?
‘May I ask you . . . Is it possible for you not to say anything to Sister Malcolm?’ she asked the two older VADs in a wobbly voice. ‘I think it was because I was feeling a bit funny – I’d just seen an injured soldier who I knew. I’ll really try hard never to react like that again.’
‘Your secret’s safe with us, Pearson,’ Rees said.
‘We’ve all done things we were rather ashamed of during our training,’ said Colebrook. ‘Once I fell asleep during a first-aid lecture – and snored. I almost got chucked out of my unit for that.’
‘I’ll never forget the time I committed the terrible sin of putting an officer into a ward with twenty Tommies,’ said Rees. ‘Quite high up he was – a lieutenant colonel, I think. But he was unconscious when he came in and most of his uniform had been blown off, so how was I to know?’
The train continued its steady journey towards Manchester, and Poppy was allowed a ten-minute sit-down to recover herself. She felt strange and unsettled as a result of the encounter with Jasper de Vere, mostly because seeing him had brought his brother to mind so strongly, and of course she was also desperately ashamed of her reaction to the maimed soldier.
It was a long, long day. When the train reached Manchester the men were taken by bus, cart or private motor car to the various military hospitals, while Poppy and Matthews cleared away litter, swept through the carriages and left everything as tidy as possible. The train was then loaded up with supplies, clean linens, drugs and other medical requirements for its journey back to Southampton; nothing being allowed on board which might be construed as of a military nature. When she was given a break, Poppy sat down with her notepad.
From a hospital train in Manchester
Dearest Ma,
I have just completed my first assignment as a VAD: a very traumatic train journey from Southampton to Manchester. I should really cross out that word traumatic, for if there was any trauma involved in slicing and buttering hundreds of rolls it was far surpassed by seeing at first-hand what these soldiers have endured. It was the most humbling thing to be allowed to do something as simple as butter bread rolls for these brave boys, who all bore wounds of one sort or another. There were also those whose wounds were not visible, but of the inner sort, and one of the senior VADs said to me that these were perhaps the most badly wounded of all.
These are serious sentiments, yet the men were not all serious, but fun and amusing. You should have heard them, Ma, there was such an amount of comradeship and larks! Lots of dark humour when they were talking about each other’s injuries, but each anxious to see that whoever he was with should get served before him. It struck me, listening to them, that war is a very terrible thing, but can bring out the best in people.
And what do you think? On the journey up to Manchester I came across the older de Vere boy, who looks to have a bad leg injury but is ‘walking wounded’. He told me that he had only been at the front for three weeks before he was brought down. I expect his mother will be happy to have him back in England again, even if it is only temporary.
This is a selfish thing to say, but I am rather hoping that Billy’s regiment doesn’t get sent abroad.
Do look after yourself, Ma, and best love to you, Mary and Jane.
From your loving daughter,
Poppy
Chapter Ten
Pte Willi
am Pearson,
8903 D Company
Dear Sis,
Well this is a turn-up for the books we are both doing war work. It is different for you of course as i am going to be actually facing the enemy and believe me i have been practising with my bayonet like no ones buisness. When our sergent major says Run Run! and let Fritz have it i make sure that that sack of straw doesnot get up again! When we are not doing bayonet practice we are running across fields with our packs on and doing press-ups and the like. It is important to be fit our sergent major says.
My mates are a solid good crew there are ten of us in the squad and we have promised to lookout for each other and if one of us gets it then whoever has seen what happened will write to that matey’s family and tell them about it.
We have more or less finished our training now and are waiting to see where we are going to be posted. I saw Ronny Bassett from home last week he is a gunner in the artillery and his regiment have already seen active service in France – lucky blighter! We lads were talking the other night about the war and how ratted off we would be if we dont get a chance to fight. Some units just stay in Blighty the whole time and the nearest they get to fighting is beating up each other. I tell you i will be gutted if i don’t get a chance to fight. i want to kill every Fritz I can and earn myself at least one medal and i don’t want it for cleaning the majors shoes neither.
Can you write to me Poppy and i will reply as there is not much to do here in the evening all the lads do is write to there sweethearts. I would like to have a girl by the time i go off to fight the war but the trouble is trying to meet someone in a town full of soldiers!!!
i will write to Ma now.
with love from your brother (Private) William Pearson.
Poppy folded up the letter from Billy, smiling and thinking that he must really be bored if he was writing letters. Nonetheless he sounded as if he was actually enjoying himself – fancy him talking about winning medals! She had wondered if he’d be able to submit to army discipline, but she’d obviously underestimated him.
