Remembrance

by Theresa Breslin

  Francis had also written to Charlotte and in the letter had said that he thought her too young to come to nurse in France.

  Charlotte laughed as she showed Maggie this letter from Francis. ‘He still treats me like a baby sister. He has even threatened to write and tell the authorities my true age.’

  ‘Will he?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Charlotte. ‘I think that he is coming to realize that I must make my own decisions about my life.’

  Maggie admired Charlotte’s courage at leaving the affluence of her home to volunteer near the Front, and she told her this.

  Charlotte turned to her in real surprise. ‘Oh, but you are so much braver than I, and have had much more to overcome to follow your own path. At one time I recall that the most serious decision I had to make was deciding which hat to wear. My mother and brother have always indulged me, whereas you have had to assert yourself in difficult circumstances.’

  Maggie felt drawn to the younger girl by her appreciation, and realized that they both had overcome obstacles in lives which had originally been so very different.

  ‘In any case,’ said Charlotte, ‘I think Francis is reassured because I will be with you, and I expect that we will receive special training before going abroad.’

  ‘They won’t send us out right away,’ said Maggie. ‘I am sure that we will be adequately prepared first.’

  Maggie was right. In the New Year they were sent to train in the military hospital in Southampton, and it was not until Spring 1917 that they finally embarked for France.

  Chapter 25

  ‘I ALWAYS HOPED that I should go to Europe,’ said Charlotte, ‘but I thought it would be a little grander than this.’ The hospital ship was uncomfortably crowded with people and medical supplies, and the two girls were standing with a small group of nurses huddled at the rail as the ship sluggishly drew away from the dock before turning out into the Channel towards France.

  Maggie, who had never even considered taking a European trip, smiled in reply. Despite the circumstances it was a thrill for her to be going on this journey, to a land where a foreign language was spoken and where she would meet people from many different places. The fact that this was only happening because her country was at war served to heighten the tension. Maggie thought of her twin brother. How excited John Malcolm and his friends must have felt as they set off on their great adventure as part of an advancing army.

  The hospital at Rienne in northern France was more austere than either of the girls had expected. Although Charlotte having news from the two nurses from the Cottage Hospital who were stationed elsewhere in France, she was unprepared for the actuality of the working conditions. Marquee-style tents and long wooden huts were set around a large run-down château. This main building, which contained the surgical theatres and the nurses’ quarters, was draughty and cold. Charlotte and Maggie were allocated a little cubicle to share. It contained two beds and a dressing table made from packing cases. At night from the east they could hear the sound of artillery fire.

  Charlotte told Maggie about the young doctor in Springbank who had complained so loudly about the medical treatment of the soldier whose wound had turned gangrenous. ‘It is amazing that the doctors and nurses here manage at all under these conditions,’ she whispered to Maggie as they were shown round.

  There was a steady flow of wounded, and their days consisted mainly of dressing wounds, and dealing with the tremendous number of men who had fallen ill due to the severe weather. The Army was feeling the effect of a most bitter winter, and the wards were full of cases of pneumonia, rheumatism and frostbite. What annoyed Maggie was her feeling that some of the conditions could be prevented, in particular those caused by the soldiers’ own clothes. The puttees wrapped around the lower legs got soaked, dried, shrank, froze, and tightened like a tourniquet, cutting the blood supply to the feet.

  ‘A simple change in the infantry uniform might help,’ Maggie complained to Charlotte as they dealt with yet another case of frost-bitten toes.

  But Charlotte adapted to the conditions much more quickly than Maggie. She is a nurse and I am not, thought Maggie. It is her vocation while I still am unsure as to where my life might lead. Maggie wondered if it was her new awareness and aspirations which made her discontented. She was now unable to accept things meekly. Perhaps her mother was right: one should keep to one’s place in the world and be satisfied with that.

  Another source of intense frustration to her was the disorganized method of obtaining any type of supplies. On the actual wards it was properly administered by the nursing staff, but to obtain anything involved pointless form-filling with frequently the wrong item arriving much too late.

  One day in post-operative care Maggie was sent to the ward stores cupboard for one of the special citrate solution flasks needed to draw blood for transfusion.

  The Ward Sister tutted impatiently as Maggie came back empty-handed. ‘These items were requested days ago. There is a patient due out of theatre within the hour who must have a transfusion.’

  Maggie volunteered to look in the supplies hut, and after searching there for many minutes at last found a box which contained the transfuso-vac flasks. The lid was off and the remaining vacuum-sealed flasks lying among the straw packing were cracked, rendering them useless. Maggie flung the box from her in a fit of temper. The flasks scattered and smashed on the floor. There was an exclamation from behind her. Maggie turned to find the Ward Sister standing in the doorway.

  She was summoned to the Matron’s office the next day.

  ‘This is most serious,’ the Matron began. ‘Supplies are difficult to come by, and those in particular. We rely on public subscription and our accounts are inspected by appointed committees who award our allowances. To destroy precious equipment in bad temper is unforgivable.’

  ‘The flasks were already broken,’ said Maggie. ‘And although I accept that I should not have lost my temper, I find it frustrating that our patients suffer needlessly because of inefficient administration, especially as it could so easily be better arranged.’

  The Matron’s face did not change expression. ‘In what way?’ she asked.

  ‘The arrangement within the supply hut is very haphazard,’ said Maggie. ‘It is likely that the blood transfusion flasks were broken by someone looking for another item in a hurry. Also, the method of obtaining an item is time consuming. Often the wards have to wait for essential supplies.’

  ‘We cannot expect our supply base to anticipate our needs.’

  ‘I think we can do that, to a certain extent,’ said Maggie. ‘My father did this in his shop and I helped him.’

  ‘And?’

  Maggie thought of her father’s method of stock control in the shop at Stratharden, how he assessed his customers’ needs and anticipated demand for special occasions such as Christmas. ‘There are items that are required for almost every patient, and an adequate amount of these must be kept in stock all the time. But post-operative care is most crucial, and I think that we should look at how we can ensure that we never run short of surgical supplies.’

  ‘It would be difficult to “pre-order” to any extent with accuracy,’ objected the Matron.

  ‘I don’t agree,’ said Maggie. ‘It does need research and analysis, but information could be obtained from the medical officers, doctors, nurses, and even the patients themselves.’

  ‘And the arrangement of the stores?’

  Maggie thought for a bit. ‘One would have to consult all the Ward Sisters and then devise a system which could cope with emergencies.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Matron slowly.

  ‘It can be done,’ said Maggie. ‘And it would save time, effort and …’

  ‘Prevent one from losing one’s temper when one can’t find something.’ The Matron finished the sentence.

  Maggie blushed.

  Two days later in addition to nursing duties she was given supervision over supplies, to report directly to the Matron.


  All her training in the shop, her stock management and book-keeping skills, were utilized. These, combined with her knowledge of the wards, helped Maggie overhaul the supply system. It was a task she enjoyed, finding it interesting and challenging, and she discovered that she had a flair for it. She could anticipate demand, and was better prepared than any other unit when an emergency arose. Soon the quartermasters and warrant officers at the nearby army and air bases knew her by name and she made sure that she knew their names, and the names of all their children. Her fellow nurses were cajoled into knitting little mittens for any new baby expected by their wives. She made dressing dolls from the cardboard and paper packaging to send to their children at home. Thus her unit rarely ran short of any items. Often she took Charlotte with her on foraging expeditions, shamelessly using the young girl’s soft beauty and vulnerable look to melt the hearts of crusty sergeants and wheedle equipment from the most reluctant army officer.

  The Matron called for her when the reports had to be sent to the organizing committee and requests for more funds and equipment were submitted. When a group of hospital inspectors was due to visit, it was Maggie who organized their tour.

  Rather than providing them with pages of dry information, Maggie had typed sheets with basic facts laid out: the number of wounded dealt with, number of operations performed; the turnover in laundry, linen, food and medical equipment, and how lack of the last of these could cost lives. She prepared a report on the new blood transfusion method introduced by the American doctors, with a note of the mortality rate before and after its use. Her report included a breakdown of costs, of the equipment needed, and the time required to train staff in its use. She told them the facts about gas gangrene and how it could be treated. Her best idea she held until the day of the inspectors’ arrival, when she arranged to have Charlotte and another nurse change a particularly bad dressing during their ward tour. Using a hushed tone she issued the two women and two men with surgical masks.

  ‘The smell will do you no harm,’ she told them, ‘but it can be overpowering. I would not wish you to experience any discomfort, although …’ she paused, ‘our nurses have to do this every day.’

  Reckoning that their curiosity would overcome their aversion, Maggie was gratified to see them all slide their masks aside a little.

  The Matron spoke to her afterwards. ‘As a lesson in psychological manipulation it was a masterpiece.’

  ‘Not too obvious, I hope,’ said Maggie.

  ‘It would not matter,’ replied the Matron. ‘The gravity of the subject presented in an intelligent way is what will impress them. It so often happens when women are involved in an activity that prejudice prevents us from being taken seriously.’

  Maggie could not help but explore this small opportunity for intimacy. ‘You mean that in a given circumstance women are not allowed to command the same attention as a man would.’

  ‘I mean also that we can do ourselves a disservice by our behaviour.’

  ‘We should be more vocal,’ said Maggie.

  The Matron smiled at Maggie. ‘Ah, you are still young, Nurse Dundas. I myself have found that it is by deeds that we prove ourselves. I leave fine speechmaking to others. You must consider what you wish to do, and then act.’

  Maggie saw that that was in fact what she herself had done, beginning by working in the munitions factory, and then by joining the hospital, and ultimately arriving here in France in her position of supplies administrator.

  Chapter 26

  MAGGIE HAD BEEN at the hospital for some weeks before her mail caught up with her. A small bundle of letters and drawings arrived from Francis, forwarded from her Southampton address. She read through them with increasing alarm.

  The drawings with this letter were a mixture of pastel-shaded trees and hedges and several small detailed sketches of equipment and men sitting by the side of the road.

  Francis had included a black and white drawing of all that was left of the city of Ypres, showing the shattered Menin Road which led to the front lines. Francis had written below this scene of desolation:

  There was no drawing or sketch with the last letter.

  He had not signed this letter; it was as if he had broken off in mid-thought. Maggie put aside the long letter she had been writing to tell Francis all her news since she arrived at the hospital. Instead she wrote him a brief note and sent it at once.

  Chapter 27

  Alex didn’t know whether to put a kiss or not. He knew that it was all right for soldiers to do that when writing to their sweethearts, but he couldn’t remember whether John Malcolm had drawn a kiss in his letters to his parents. He couldn’t go to the sideboard where his mother had put his brother’s letters. She might see him looking at them, and then take more notice of what he was doing. Eventually he decided that a kiss to a mother was acceptable, but was still unsure about his father. He drew one kiss. If it was all right then his dad could share it.

  Alex placed the letter in his school bag and set off in the direction of the village school. In the back lane he spoke to Hugh Kane.

  ‘I feel sick.’ He made retching noises.

  ‘Want me to take you home?’ Hugh asked him.

  ‘Nah,’ said Alex. ‘I’ll manage.’

  Hugh didn’t hesitate. There was always a game of football on the go in the yard before school began.

  Alex waited, and then followed Hugh down to the end of the lane. He made a wide detour to arrive about five minutes later at the place where he had hidden his haversack, packed for his journey, in the field behind the school. The field where the soldiers had come and made camp on their recruiting march. The field where he had met his friend, Senior Private Cooper. Senior Private Cooper, whose name had appeared under Died of wounds in the casualty lists of yesterday’s newspaper.

  It was that which had finally made up Alex’s mind it was time to go. That, and the announcement of the United States of America declaring war on Germany. Once the Americans arrived there would be no room for anyone else. And it was now April. Alex knew the big battles usually began in late spring. If he didn’t go now, it would be too late. It would all be over and there would be no Germans left. He would have no-one to kill to make up for the death of his brother, and his friend Private Cooper.

  The head teacher came into the yard ringing the hand bell. Alex turned over onto his back and looked at the sky. Better wait a bit until the latecomers had gone past, and then he would creep into the yard and leave his school bag by the boys’ toilets. It would be found later, but no-one would think much of it, until they realized he was missing and then the teacher, or his parents, would look inside and find his letter.

  Alex watched the last trailing child go reluctantly inside. Now, he had one more thing to do before he could leave. Visit the house of his friend Hugh.

  The back door was open as he knew it would be. Hugh’s mother should have gone out by now. She earned a little money taking in washing, and she went off each morning with a big pram to collect it. It took Alex only a minute to find what he needed and then he slipped quietly out the way he had come in. He dodged over the coal-house wall and through the back lanes, expecting at any moment to hear an angry voice call after him, ‘Stop, thief! Stop! Thief! Thief! Thief!’

  He ran as hard as he could up the road to the farm. It was Wednesday and the lorry which collected the milk did the Edinburgh run today. His lungs were bursting and he had a stitch in his side as he arrived at the farmhouse. The dogs came rushing at him, barking, but he called their names and they stopped, recognizing him from his delivering his father’s shop order. They licked his hand as he quietened them and Alex slipped round to the milking sheds. The lorry was still there! The driver stood by his cab chatting to the farmer and his wife. Alex crept forward quietly and scrambled up to find a hiding place, crouched down among the milk churns. A few minutes later the farmer came round and secured the tailgate. Alex heard the engine starting and the lorry bumped down the track to Edinburgh.

&nbs
p; Alex left the lorry at its first delivery on the outskirts of the city. Although it meant more walking for him, he considered it too risky to wait on. He had all his maps with him and followed Maggie and Charlotte’s bus route to Waverley Station. After buying his ticket he went to find his train. He made a point of asking the guard, the engine driver, and two different people on the platform if this was the London train. He decided not to take a seat. Better to keep moving about the train. That way no-one would be sure where he had actually got off. They were rattling across the long viaduct at Berwick before the guard inspected his ticket.

  ‘Off to London, then, are we?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alex said loudly. ‘I’m travelling all the way to London.’

  The guard winked at him. ‘Going to enlist, son? Better grow a moustache or you’ll never get away with it.’

  Alex smiled as he unwrapped his sandwiches. He had it all carefully planned. He was going to join up and he was going to get away with it.

  Chapter 28

  MAGGIE WAS STANDING by the open door of the supply hut supervising the unloading of a delivery, when a man in the uniform of an army lieutenant walked behind the lorry. ‘Good morning,’ he said, and touched the brim of his cap.

  Maggie looked up, looked back at her supply checklist, and then dropped it and the box of bandages she had been holding.

  ‘Francis!’ she cried out. ‘Oh, Francis.’

  He took both her hands in his. ‘God, you look wonderful,’ he said. He stepped back and looked her up and down. ‘A truly joyous thing to behold,’ and he kissed her on the top of her head.

  She thought he looked dreadful. Although he smiled at her, his face had lines she did not remember from when she had seen him last. His hands were restless, and he gripped them together tightly, clenching and unclenching his fists.