Leonora1 - Daughters of War

by Hilary Green

  When the door closed behind her Leo sat at the desk staring at the blank sheet of paper for some time. Finally she wrote:

  Lozengrad,

  Nov 23rd (I think)

  Dear Grandmother,

  I know you must be very angry with me for leaving home without telling you, but I was sure that if I told you what I intended to do you would try to stop me. I felt, and feel, very strongly that what I am doing is right and is my duty. Women must show that they have the ability and courage and strength of purpose to be regarded on an equal footing with men.

  I have joined The Women’s Sick and Wounded Convoy, which is commanded by Mrs Mabel St Clair Stobart. She has set up a hospital in Lozengrad, which is the place where wounded men are sent from the front at Chataldzha. The hospital is entirely staffed and run by women, including the doctors and surgeons, and they are doing a wonderful job. The men arrive in such a terrible condition and it is amazing to see how quickly they respond to the care they receive here. I am very proud to be able to play a small part in this.

  I am safe and well, so please don’t worry about me, and please try to forgive me for the anxiety I must have caused you.

  Give my love to Ralph.

  Your affectionate granddaughter,

  Leonora

  There was no doubt in Leo’s mind that the motor power behind the organization of the hospital was Stobart herself. Indefatigable and always cheerful, she faced even the most intractable problems with optimism. Over the next weeks Leo often saw her faced with blank obstinacy or sullen indifference from local officials or craftsmen. ‘Nema,’ – ‘there isn’t any’ – was a regular refrain, but Stobart would never take no for an answer and sooner or later the required equipment or stores would appear.

  ‘How is it,’ Leo asked her one day, ‘that no matter how impossible things seem, you always manage to find a solution?’

  Stobart smiled. ‘I am firmly of the opinion that, if your motives are good, miracles occur just when you most need them.’

  Luke had departed on the morning after Leo’s arrival, as expected, but five days later a second column of ox-carts arrived, carrying another twenty-five wounded men. Three had died on the journey, from exposure and loss of blood, and the news reminded Leo of the thought that had occurred to her earlier. She consulted Victoria and the following morning they requested a few moments of Mabel Stobart’s time.

  ‘We feel it’s all wrong that men should die like that when my car is here and could be used to transport them,’ Victoria began. ‘We would like to suggest that we operate a kind of shuttle service, bring the most seriously wounded back from the battlefront.’

  Stobart gave her a searching look. ‘Just how do you see this working? You would have to have at least one man with you, to help push the car when it gets stuck. And anyway, I couldn’t send two young women on that journey on their own. Your car will hold how many? Four at the maximum. That means that you would only have room for one patient, even if he was able to sit up for the journey.’

  ‘We’ve thought about that,’ Leo said. ‘If we wait until Luke gets here with the next convoy, he could come with us on the way back. Then I would stay at Chataldzha to help give first aid on the spot, and that would leave two places in the car – or enough room for one man lying on the back seat.’

  ‘You would stay there, on your own?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be on my own, would I? There is a first-aid post, and someone must dress the wounds before the men are sent here. I could help with that.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I could agree to a single woman being left alone with all those men.’

  Leo took a deep breath. ‘Mrs Stobart, I’m sure there must have been times when you have had to cope with being the only woman around. Everyone respects you. I’m sure no one would harm me if they know I am under your protection.’

  ‘And we would take it in turns,’ Victoria said. ‘On one journey I would drive back, and the next time Leo would and I would stay behind. And we had another idea, though I don’t know if it is practical. When we arrived, the tent and other equipment we were given at Adrianople were strapped on top of the trunk behind the car. It occurs to us that it might be possible to make some kind of fixing that would allow a stretcher to be attached there instead. Then we could bring up to three patients. I know that the man on the stretcher would be exposed to the elements, but he could be well wrapped in blankets and then covered with an oilskin to keep out the wet, and at least it would only be a matter of hours, rather than days.’

  ‘We could drive back here in a day, at the most,’ Leo put in. ‘That means we could bring back two or three men every other day.’

  Stobart considered in silence for a moment. Then she said, ‘Let us see if it is possible to attach a stretcher, as you suggest. I will talk to the local blacksmith and see what he can do. It may result in some considerable damage to your car, of course.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Victoria said. ‘But there is another problem. We shall need petrol. We filled up in Marseilles and of course we didn’t use any getting to Adrianople but the drive here used up the best part of a tank. We have a few cans for emergencies but they won’t be enough for the sort of journeys we are talking about.’

  ‘Ah, now that may call for a miracle,’ Stobart said with a grim smile. ‘But we shall see what can be done.’

  The blacksmith greeted the idea for the stretcher carrier with the pessimism they had come to expect. It was impossible, it could not be done. But Stobart was not to be put off and after she and Victoria had spent most of a morning suggesting possible solutions he finally agreed to try. By the time the next convoy arrived, with Luke on the leading wagon, two sturdy brackets had been bolted onto the rear of the car, to which a stretcher could be fixed with leather straps. Luke, when faced with the idea, screwed up his face for a moment and then grinned.

  ‘Yeah, why not? It’s got to be worth a try.’

  The petrol, too, was obtained more easily than they expected. The commandant of the Bulgarian Red Cross unit revealed that he had been given a store of it, in the expectation that vehicles to use it would follow later. These vehicles had never materialized, so he was happy to hand over whatever was necessary for their mission.

  The next morning, the three of them set off back towards the front line. Victoria drove and Leo, in deference to Luke’s long legs, let him sit beside her. It was difficult, in this position, to join in the conversation above the noise of the engine but she watched their expressions as they turned their heads to speak to each other and had an uneasy sense of exclusion. There was something in the way they looked at each other that seemed familiar but it was not until they were halfway along that she remembered why. It was the way Ralph and Tom looked at each other, when they thought no one was watching.

  The weather had turned colder and the ground was partially frozen. There were still deep ruts made by the ox-carts but the car, being smaller and lighter, was able to avoid them and keep to the firmer ground. They made good time and reached the first lines of tents soon after midday. All the way the sound of the guns had grown louder and as they approached Luke pointed ahead to where a series of forts stood along the skyline.

  ‘That’s it. Chataldzha. The last line of defence before Constantinople.’

  Between them and the forts was line after line of trenches, and behind them the gun emplacements belching flames and smoke. At frequent intervals they saw an answering puff of smoke from one of the forts and a fountain of earth sprang up as the shell hit the ground. Leo felt as if the noise was a physical force beating her about the head and when they got out of the car the ground beneath their feet shook with the explosions. Luke directed them to a large bell tent a little apart from the rest and marked with a red cross. This was the dressing station to which the wounded were brought and from where they were dispatched to Lozengrad. Inside there were no beds. The wounded men were lying on the bare ground, while orderlies in blood-spattered aprons moved among them. Luke introduc
ed the two women to the officer in charge, a Captain Kyril Draganoff. He stared at them for a moment, then made the standard response: ‘This is no place for women.’

  Leo had used the previous weeks to improve her Bulgarian. ‘Well, here we are, anyway,’ she replied. ‘So we may as well make ourselves useful.’

  Draganoff looked at her as if he was contemplating putting her on a charge of insubordination, then realized that he had no authority and turned away with a shrug.

  Luke said, ‘Take no notice. It took him a long time to accept me but he came round in the end. Now, I’ll show you my tent. You can have it, Leo, while you are here – or Victoria when it’s her turn. I can bunk in with some of the others.’

  ‘I don’t like to turn you out,’ Leo protested and he grinned.

  ‘It’s the only spare space, so it’s that or sleep in the open – unless you fancy sharing it with me. But I warn you, it’s not very big.’

  There was no way of arguing with that.

  They had just finished stowing Leo’s few belongings into the tent when a stretcher party came up from the trenches carrying a man who was clutching his abdomen. Blood was welling between his fingers. Leo grabbed her first-aid bag and nodded to Victoria.

  ‘Come on. Let’s prove that we can be useful.’

  They followed the stretcher party into the tent. Draganoff was at the far end and apparently unaware of the new arrival and all the orderlies were occupied.

  ‘Put him down here,’ Leo ordered, indicating one of the few empty spaces. The stretcher bearers obeyed and she and Victoria knelt at either side. Leo’s hands were shaking as she cut away the tattered uniform. She had learned a great deal in the last few weeks and she was no longer worried about exposing any part of the male anatomy, but this was the first time she had had to deal with an emergency. She was relieved to see that the wound had obviously been made by a bullet. There was a hole from which blood welled in a steady stream but not the terrible ripping wounds that a shell or a grenade would have caused. Further investigation revealed that there was no exit wound.

  ‘The bullet is still in there,’ Leo said. ‘He needs to get to Lozengrad. The Red Cross hospital has one of those new machines that see through the body – you know, what they call an X-ray machine.’

  Luke looked out at the sky. ‘There are still several hours of daylight left. If you can patch him up we could take him now. What do you think?’

  Victoria said immediately, ‘Yes, it’s the obvious thing to do. He can go on the stretcher carrier. We can still put one or two more inside. Can you manage here, Leo, while I ask the old Dragon over there?’

  Leo nodded, busy with pads and bandages, but she stored the appellation away in the back of her mind and from then on she thought of the captain as ‘the old dragon’. With Luke’s help she managed to staunch the bleeding and gave the man a morphine lozenge. When she looked up, Draganoff was standing nearby watching her.

  ‘So. You are not afraid of the sight of blood?’

  ‘No. I’ve seen worse sights than this. Are there any other patients that need to be transferred urgently?’

  He and Victoria had agreed already that two men, both of whom probably needed a leg or a foot amputated, should go in the car, so very quickly the stretcher was strapped onto the carrier and the other two men carried out and lifted into the car, one on the back seat and the other beside the driver.

  ‘What about you?’ Leo asked Luke.

  ‘I can ride on the running board,’ he replied. ‘If I get tired of hanging on I’ll squeeze into the back.’

  Victoria cranked the engine and the car spluttered and swayed away in the direction of the road.

  ‘We’ll be back tomorrow,’ Luke called. ‘See you then.’

  Leo waved till they reached the road and picked up speed, then turned back to the tent. Draganoff was watching her.

  ‘Your friends have left you behind.’

  ‘Yes. That was always the plan. I will help here, until they return.’

  ‘You came from Lozengrad today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  Leo realized abruptly that she was hungry. ‘No – and nor have my friends. They should have waited for some food.’

  ‘Too late now for them,’ he said laconically. ‘But for you, there is soup left from the men’s dinner.’

  ‘Can I wash my hands somewhere?’ she asked, indicating the blood which still clung to them. He seemed mildly surprised at this fastidiousness but he showed her a screened-off portion of the big tent where there were buckets of icy water. Then he led her to a second tent where some of the orderlies were eating and told her to help herself from a big cauldron. All that was left in the way of meat were a few fatty morsels of some animal Leo could not identify, but the broth was thick and spicy with paprika and she devoured a bowl of it with pleasure. As soon as she had finished, she returned to the main tent and set about making herself as useful as possible, ignoring the curious looks from the men, both orderlies and patients. By the time the evening meal arrived – bread, cheese and hot, sweet black coffee – they had begun to accept her as one of themselves and as they ate she answered their questions. Where had she come from? Why? What was England like? Was it true that the streets of London were paved with gold? Most of them had never been further than their own village until they were called up and it was clear that they had little sense of geography; but Leo found, as she had done ever since she arrived in the country, that they had a natural chivalry and good manners that quickly set her at ease.

  Next day, as promised, Victoria and Luke returned and Leo took her turn at driving. She had enjoyed learning to drive in England, but now, as the car skidded and bounced and she wrestled with the wheel, she swore aloud and exclaimed, ‘Oh, give me a horse any day!’

  Luke chuckled. ‘Me, too. But then, I couldn’t do what you’re doing, or I’d offer to take a turn.’

  ‘You can’t drive?’

  ‘Never had the chance to learn. We haven’t got any motor vehicles on the farm back home. Plenty of horses, though.’

  Three times the car stuck fast and had to be manoeuvred out of the mud and the last time the engine stalled and for a while Leo was afraid that she would not be able to start it again. Contemplating the possibility of being marooned in the middle of nowhere until the next convoy of ox-carts came along she realized how unqualified she was for the task in hand. Victoria understood the workings of the internal combustion engine and would almost certainly know how to get the car going again, but she had never taken an interest in what went on under the bonnet. When they finally reached Lozengrad she found herself thinking that she would have preferred to stay in the camp at Chataldzha, however gruesome the conditions. Victoria, on the other hand, greeted them with relief on their return next day, exclaiming, ‘This place is terrible! I didn’t sleep a wink and the noise of the guns is driving me crazy!’ She was only too happy to set off back with Luke and two more patients.

  The weather had broken again and the road conditions had deteriorated to such an extent that it was late afternoon the following day before Victoria and Luke returned. With only an hour or two of daylight left it would have been foolish to set off with a new cargo of patients, so it was agreed that they would all stay overnight. Leo was glad to have Victoria’s company, even though there was scarcely room for two to sleep in the tent.

  As they settled down Leo said, ‘Do you remember what I said that night on the way from Adrianople?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘You said you thought I was enjoying myself, and I said I was.’

  ‘I remember. What about it?’

  ‘I’ve realized now what a wicked thing it was to say.’

  ‘How do you mean, wicked?’

  ‘How could anyone enjoy the things we’ve seen in the last week or two?’

  ‘So, are you telling me you regret coming? Do you want to go home?’

  ‘No! I’d rather be here than anywhere. But not
because it’s fun, or an adventure. It has made me see that war isn’t fun. It isn’t glamorous or exciting or heroic. It’s just futile and cruel. And when I get back I’m going to tell the people back home that.’

  ‘Including your brother?’

  ‘Especially my brother!’

  Next morning Leo made the suggestion that had been in the back of her mind for a couple of days. ‘Vita, you don’t like being left here, do you? And I’m worried about the driving. If anything went wrong with the car I’d be completely helpless. Why don’t you go with Luke and I’ll stay on here?’

  Victoria looked doubtful. ‘It doesn’t seem fair. Are you just saying it because I made a fuss the other day?’

  ‘No, not at all. You’re a better driver than I am, and I don’t mind staying here. And –’ she added with a sly grin – ‘I don’t think Luke will mind.’

  Victoria gave the familiar shrug. ‘I don’t see what it has to do with him. But if you’re really sure . . .’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  So it was decided, and as Leo had guessed, Luke seemed more than happy with the new plan. They collected the three most serious cases and set off.

  While the car took those most in need of immediate treatment, the convoys of ox-carts continued to lumber back and forth with the rest and Leo had to help load them. The process almost reduced her to tears. The men were so stoical in the midst of pain; so uncomplaining about the conditions they had to endure, that it made her want to shout with anger on their behalf. She raged futilely against the faceless officials that allowed this state of affairs to continue; at the politicians who sent these men into battle as if they were no more than senseless animals; against the waste and stupidity of war. But there was nothing she could do except wrap her patients as warmly as possible and ensure that they had water to drink on the journey.

  The wet weather continued unabated and the ground around the dressing tent, churned up by the ox-carts and by the hooves and droppings of the animals, became a sea of mud and dung. Leo had relinquished her linen dress and white cap and apron and reverted to her FANY uniform of boots and breeches under a divided skirt, but by bedtime the skirt was muddy to the knees and heavy with moisture. There was nowhere in the tent to hang it to dry and when she came to put it on next morning the damp had seeped up to the waist. Leo stood holding it for a moment, looking down at herself. Her boots came to the knee and her tunic ended in mid-thigh. In between all that was visible was a few inches of riding breeches. Surely, she thought, there was nothing indecent about that. She hesitated a moment longer, then threw the wet skirt into a corner and headed for the mess tent and breakfast.