Poppy

by Mary Hooper

  Once seated at a small table with its own softly glowing lamp, Poppy gazed about the room, which was fast filling up with customers. If Freddie didn’t arrive, what would she do? Perhaps she could pretend she’d come on her own and order a pot of tea. But how much would it cost? Even a cup of tea in a place such as this might possibly be as much as two shillings, and there wasn’t much more than that in her purse. But if he didn’t come, she thought, then never mind about the cost of tea, because it would break her heart and she’d never get over it! And just after she’d thought that – oh joy, there he was, coming across the thickly carpeted floor, smiling at her, and only ten minutes late.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming!’ she blurted out, and could have bitten her tongue off for doing so.

  ‘I’m so sorry to be late,’ he said. ‘Regimental matters, meetings, the tedious checking of mine and the men’s equipment – it goes on and on.’

  ‘Oh! Of course it must do. That’s quite all right.’ She could have forgiven him anything, because he looked handsome, so very handsome, that surely every girl there would fall in love with him at first sight. His uniform was newly pressed with no sign of wear nor war, the officer’s stripes prominent on his arm. The brass buttons and fixings on his belt glittered, and his hair still flopped over his eyes in an endearing manner.

  He sat down and smiled at her. ‘You look charming,’ he said. ‘And that is a very elegant and stylish outfit you’re wearing.’ He laughed. ‘You might think it strange that I know such a thing, but I have two sisters.’

  ‘Of course,’ Poppy said. Perhaps you also have Miss Cardew? she couldn’t help but think.

  ‘Have you been here before?’

  Poppy shook her head. As if she’d ever have dared!

  ‘The menu is very extensive. When my . . . my brother was stationed here before he went to France, my mother came down for tea. She said it was the only place outside France where she could obtain madeleines. She’s very fond of madeleines.’

  ‘Is she?’ Poppy said politely. She didn’t know what these were – and certainly didn’t want to be reminded of his mother.

  ‘And so, Poppy Pearson, how are you liking being a nurse?’ Freddie asked, settling back in his chair.

  ‘I like it very much,’ Poppy said, trying to dismiss thoughts of Mrs de Vere. ‘It’s very hard work but . . .’

  ‘Better than fighting, given the choice. But you must see a lot of painful sights.’

  ‘We had a boy of only fifteen on our ward until this morning – he’d had his leg shot off and lost a shocking amount of blood.’ As she said this she realised that to be talking of such things at the tea table was frightfully ill mannered. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added quickly. ‘It’s just that Thomas has been very much on my mind – he’s so young and we all made such a pet of him. His mother came down from Newcastle last night and Sister got special permission for the two of them to be escorted by an orderly all the way back to a Newcastle hospital, nearer his home.’

  Freddie nodded. ‘That should suit him better.’

  ‘Thomas used to have Private Taylor looking out for him, you see, but Taylor’s twin was killed by a sniper and since then he’s gone downhill and Thomas has gone with him.’ She knew she was blabbing but couldn’t seem to stop. ‘Private Taylor has refused to eat or drink at all now, and Sister’s really worried about him.’

  There was a pause, then Freddie said, ‘You have a brother in the army, don’t you? Is he in France?’

  Poppy nodded. ‘I don’t quite know where, though.’ She didn’t want to think about Billy.

  ‘And what does he think of army life?’

  Poppy paused. ‘He . . . he’s undecided right now,’ she said after a moment.

  A waitress arrived, pink in the face and eyes ablaze for Freddie (who, Poppy was pleased to see, didn’t seem to notice). ‘How can I help you, sir? Afternoon tea for two, is it?’

  Freddie nodded. ‘And two glasses of champagne, please,’ he added, much to Poppy’s delight, for she had never tasted champagne before.

  ‘At once, sir,’ the waitress said, bobbing a little curtsey.

  A laden tray soon arrived, carried by a man wearing white gloves. Having spent years serving tea, Poppy was on safe ground, confident about handling the heavy pot and not about to make any mistakes concerning in what order the milk, tea and sugar should go into the cups. The savoury food arrived first: roast beef and crab sandwiches with the crusts cut off, salmon pinwheels, cheese triangles, anchovy puffs, bridge rolls with ham and mustard. There seemed to be no shortages at the Criterion.

  Poppy, who’d been too nervous to eat breakfast or lunch, knew that she was starving hungry, but every time she caught Freddie’s eye her stomach turned right over and she found herself unable to do much more than nibble at what was before her. In some ways this was a good thing, she thought, because the food looked so delicious compared to what was on offer in the hostel canteen that she might have forgotten her manners and bolted down more than was seemly.

  She and Freddie spoke about the tragedy of the Titanic, about the possibility of the royal family changing their Germanic-sounding name to one that was more English, and of the case for conscription.

  Time passed. Poppy was anxious to ask whether the War Office would inform her if Freddie was injured (for Mrs de Vere certainly wouldn’t), but felt it would sound presumptuous to ask such a thing, as if she was confident that there was a relationship between them. She had high hopes of the champagne making the two of them more relaxed, and drank hers eagerly, but once the bubbles had gone it turned out that there was actually very little in the glass. She certainly didn’t feel squiffy, as Matthews had assured her she would after drinking alcohol.

  Next the scones arrived, luscious, tall as top hats and still warm from the oven. She knew that jam should be put on first then clotted cream, and was managing this quite tidily when she glanced up at one of the larger tables in the centre of the room and, to her horror, saw one of the Netley Hospital matrons, in her full uniform and white winged cap, taking tea with some army officers. She’d only seen this particular lady once, when she’d been on an inspection tour of the wards, and was fairly sure that she wouldn’t be recognised in civvies, but it had the effect of making her feel jittery – which in turn re-established the barriers which had gradually been coming down between her and Freddie.

  The cakes and sweets came and Poppy changed the angle she was sitting at to be out of the matron’s direct sight. Nervously, she took a small chocolate eclair from the cake stand and, biting into it, squirted cream down the front of Jameson’s purple jacket. Freddie had to give her his napkin to help mop it up.

  Oh, why were things so difficult? Not daring to take another bite from the eclair, she nibbled at a walnut wrapped in marzipan, then, catching Freddie’s eye, felt her stomach lurch and put it down again. She felt sick and thought to herself, sick with love. This was all so strange. It was too correct, too proper – they were being much too polite with each other. What she wanted was to be alone with him and to be kissed again, but that was never going to happen here, with someone playing a harp and a matron lurking a few tables away.

  She knew she really must say something to him about Miss Cardew – either that or spend the days and weeks to come worrying about her. In her head she rehearsed several beginnings: ‘I believe I mentioned in my letter . . .’ and ‘Pardon me for asking such a thing . . .’ and even ‘Of course, it may not be any of my business . . .’

  In the end, pushing aside a pink macaroon, she blurted out, ‘But what about Miss Cardew?’

  There was a fraught moment when she thought he was just going to pretend he hadn’t heard her, but then he said, ‘What about her?’

  Poppy blushed. ‘Well, you and she . . . you are . . . at least, what I mean is, are you . . . friends? That is, not friends, but romantically attached?’

  Freddie’s hand reached for hers across the white linen tablecloth. ‘You mustn’t worry,’ he said. ‘Mi
ss Cardew and her family are great friends of my mother and father. The two of us have known each other since we were children.’

  ‘But is there . . . I mean, do you see . . .’ Thrown by the way he’d boldly taken hold of her hand in front of the whole restaurant, Poppy came to a stuttering halt.

  He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘My mother would love there to be a serious attachment between Philippa and me, but . . .’

  Poppy never found out what he’d been about to say because the waitress had come up and was standing there smirking at the sight of their two hands joined on the tablecloth. ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’

  ‘I think not,’ Freddie said. ‘Just the bill, please.’

  The bill! It was the end of their meeting and she hadn’t really found out anything.

  The waitress went away and Poppy, not daring to bring up the subject of Miss Cardew again, sat there grasping Freddie’s hand, taking in every detail of his face so she could recall it later. This was what it was like to be in love, she thought; this was how those weeping girls at the stations felt as they waved their lovers off to fight – a deep distress and a tremendous pride. Freddie was going to save the world!

  ‘Shall we write to each other?’ Freddie asked. ‘And will you meet me again when I come back through Southampton?’

  ‘Of course!’ said Poppy, thinking that she’d have met him at the gates of hell if he’d asked. ‘Yes to both things.’

  The waitress came up with the bill on a silver tray and Freddie released Poppy’s hand, found a pound note in his wallet and paid.

  ‘Thank you for your attention,’ he said to the waitress.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she replied, smiling and looking at him from under her lashes. And then as an afterthought added, ‘And madam.’

  Outside in the street it was growing dark and there was a high wind gusting down the street and making all the ribbons on the bay trees twist and flutter. Poppy had hoped that Freddie would walk back to the hostel with her but, suddenly struck with the notion that they might see someone from the hospital, said she would be perfectly all right on her own; he must go and prepare for his regimental dinner.

  Would he kiss her, she wondered. Or maybe he wouldn’t think it was right to kiss in the street . . .

  While she was still pondering this, they reached the bottom of the hotel steps, just out of view of the doorman, and he put both his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her nose.

  ‘Dearest Poppy,’ he said. ‘The prettiest flower in the field . . .’

  The prettiest flower in the field, Poppy repeated to herself dizzily. He must love her. She raised her face to his and closed her eyes in preparation for a proper kiss – when there came the sound of running footsteps.

  ‘Poppy!’ a voice called. They both turned to see Matthews, puffing and out of breath. ‘I didn’t know if you’d still be here!’

  Poppy stared at her with surprise and a little alarm. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt, but your ward sister sent a message to the hostel to say that your brother arrived on the last troopship and has been admitted to Netley with a foot injury. You weren’t around so the orderly passed the note to me.’

  ‘Billy?’ Poppy gasped. ‘Is it serious? Is he badly hurt?’

  Matthews shook her head. ‘She didn’t say – just that he’d come in injured and you should go and see him.’

  Freddie had already taken his hands from her shoulders. ‘Then of course you must go quickly,’ he said.

  Poppy looked up at him, feeling quite desperate. ‘Thank you for a lovely tea. I’m so sorry I have to . . .’

  ‘I’ll write to you,’ said Freddie.

  Then Matthews was taking her arm and hurrying her down the road towards the hospital.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘I’m so sorry I had to interrupt you,’ Matthews said, ‘but I thought you’d want to know at once. Just in case he’s seriously injured and . . . well, you know.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Thank you. I’m glad you came,’ said Poppy in a distracted voice. She glanced behind them to the retreating figure of Freddie. Would he turn and look at her? If he really cared, he would. And yes! As he reached the corner, he turned round and gave her a wave.

  ‘How did it go?’ Matthews asked.

  ‘It was blissful,’ Poppy said. ‘I mean, it was all strange at first, and I felt so nervous I could hardly eat a thing, but he held my hand over the table and we just looked at each other and whenever we did my stomach turned over. He told me that this other girl I’ve been worried about is just a family friend and that there’s nothing between them.’

  ‘He’s very handsome.’

  ‘I know!’ Poppy said with a sudden surge of feeling. ‘He looks quite divine in his uniform. The waitress couldn’t take her eyes off him, and when he took my hand at the table she was absolutely goggling at us.’ She sighed, then gave her head a little shake as if to clear it and looked at Matthews with something approaching panic on her face. ‘Our Billy, though! How did Sister sound when she told you? How on earth am I going to tell Ma if he . . . if he . . .’

  Matthews put her arm around her friend’s shoulder. ‘Don’t let’s talk about it until we know more. It may just be a piece of shrapnel or a broken toe or something.’

  Poppy shook her head, knowing that Matthews was just trying to make her feel better, for both girls were well aware that minor injuries were dealt with at a field hospital close to the front. ‘No, not if he got a Blighty ticket for it.’

  At the main reception desk of the hospital, it took quite some time for Private William Pearson to be located, and when the orderly eventually discovered that Poppy’s brother was in Hut 600, he gave her a strange look. A concerned yet slightly disdainful look.

  ‘Why did he look at me in that funny way?’ Poppy asked Matthews as they made their way across gravel and grass towards the higher number huts at the back of the hospital.

  Matthews shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘He did look at me strangely though, didn’t he? Do you think it’s the hut assigned to those who are about to . . . about to die?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Matthews. ‘Look, we’re nearly there.’ As they approached the hut, she asked, ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be on your own? You can say.’

  ‘No!’ Poppy said with some panic. ‘Please . . .’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Matthews said. ‘I’m happy to stay with you, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t intruding.’ She shone her torch beam on to the hut number. ‘Six hundred. This is it.’ She flashed the torch across the outside. ‘This is much smaller than our huts.’

  ‘And look!’ Poppy broke in. ‘It’s got bars on the windows. Why ever would they want to put bars on the windows?’

  Matthews shrugged to say that she didn’t know.

  ‘I just hope the night staff will let me see Billy for a moment,’ Poppy said, tapping at the door. ‘Or at least tell me how he is.’

  She had to knock twice more before someone came, and then it wasn’t a nurse or an orderly but an armed soldier who came to the door. Seeing him, Poppy sensed that something was seriously wrong and was too taken aback to speak, so Matthews spoke up instead.

  ‘Pearson and I are both VADs here at the hospital,’ Matthews said. ‘She’s heard that her brother’s been sent here injured, and she wonders if she could see him or at least find out how he is.’

  ‘Pearson, did you say? First name William?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Poppy said in a choked voice. She was terribly afraid of hearing something she didn’t want to hear – that Billy had died after being admitted or was undergoing a serious operation or wasn’t expected to last the night.

  ‘He’s got a foot injury – a gunshot wound,’ said the soldier. He spoke sharply, matter of factly, not at all like the way Sister and Nurse Gallagher spoke to worried relatives.

  ‘Is it bad?’ Poppy faltered. ‘Really bad?’

  ‘Tha
t’s all I can tell you. You’ll have to come and enquire in the morning. You can’t come in now.’

  ‘But why is he right out here? Is there something different about this ward?’ Poppy asked.

  The soldier looked at Poppy sardonically. ‘You could say that.’

  Poppy couldn’t frame the next question so it was left to Matthews to ask, ‘Can you tell us what?’

  ‘William Pearson is under arrest. He has a self-inflicted wound.’

  Poppy stared at him. ‘Self-inflicted?’

  ‘Put it this way, rather than go into battle and fight alongside his pals, he chickened out and shot himself in the foot.’

  Poppy swayed against Matthews, who put her arm firmly around her friend and glared at the soldier.

  ‘We’ll be back here tomorrow,’ Matthews said.

  Poppy didn’t sleep. Couldn’t sleep. How could Billy do such a thing? How could he let down his pals and shoot himself like that? What on earth would happen to him?

  Sister Kay spoke to her about it when she arrived at Hut 59 the next morning. Taking her to one side, she said with some sympathy, ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t look good for your brother.’

  ‘How bad is not good?’ Poppy asked.

  ‘I believe it depends on whether his company was under fire at the time. If he endangered other men’s lives by his actions, then his sentence could be a severe one.’ Sister added quietly, ‘Pearson, your brother could be facing a death sentence.’

  Poppy stared at her, hardly able to take in her words. It was one thing for a boy to die in the service of his coun­­­try – of course his family would mourn him desperately, but there was a sense that his death was a glorious sacrifice and comfort could be taken from that. But dying as a punishment for cowardice was something very different and terribly shameful.

  Poppy had her regular duties to attend to in Hut 59. She did these automatically, hardly responding to the banter from the boys, and it wasn’t until after eleven o’clock that Sister could spare her to go across to Hut 600.