‘They have shown that, though transplanted to these southern skies, the breed is still the same as that of the men of Mons and Waterloo, and a hundred other great battles.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Constance Dickson, the woman in charge of the local Red Cross.
Veronica wondered why the author felt that being under southern skies would somehow have rendered them less than worthy of being killed in the name of the British Empire. She decided Mr Ashmead-Bartlett was a pompous fool.
‘They were in a desperate position when they landed on the narrow beach in the dawn, but they did not hesitate. They carried the Turkish trenches on the beach and on the cliffs, and, without the support of artillery, held on all day of Sunday, 25 April. Their dash and courage saved the situation, and no troops that ever marched have done better.’ Some of the ladies gave a spontaneous flutter of applause.
‘Would the 1st be there, do you think?’ Catherine asked Alice.
‘I’m not sure,’ Alice replied, looking up from the paper, ‘although they are bound to have to go to this Gallipoli place. Listen to this: The latest news is that a great battle is proceeding, to prevent a division of Turkish reinforcements from joining the main forces. It is probable that it is the Australians and New Zealanders that are engaged in this operation.’ She put the paper down and rubbed at her eyes.
Veronica noticed Alice looked older these days and felt a rush of compassion. Jack’s welfare was in her heart every day that passed too. And Dan’s, she added to her thoughts quickly. And Iggy’s and her brothers. She stood and walked over to the refreshments table, a wave of frustration overwhelming her as she poured a glass of water.
‘Iggy said naught about this Gallopololi, although he can’t as you know. Very strict they are about such things,’ Mildred said, holding the silver cross she wore at her throat anxiously.
‘Gallipoli,’ Constance corrected her. ‘It’s on the Turkish coast.’ Constance knew everything there was to know about the war. Well, everything the newspapers tell her, Veronica thought, feeling bitter. She had a healthy scepticism of the accuracy of the news they received, littered as it was with ‘heroic rhetoric’ as her mother described it. Only in private of course.
‘I do hope Miles takes his swim trunks,’ said Priscilla Enright, the mother of an overweight, lazy lad who was now part of the infantry. ‘It sounds terribly hot over there.’
‘I think feeling the heat is the least of their problems,’ Catherine said, clicking her knitting needles a little loudly. Veronica knew her mother found Priscilla and her ignorance of the realities of war a trial.
‘Oh, I’m sure they’ll have time for a little bathing,’ Priscilla continued. ‘Miles needs the seawater to help him with his skin. Gets dreadful rashes in the heat. I told him to make sure he told the sergeant that he’ll need to bathe at least twice a week.’
‘I don’t think skin rashes are a high priority during battles,’ Catherine said tightly. ‘I think avoiding machine guns is more the issue.’
Veronica felt like patting her mother on the back for that comment. It was almost like having Pattie there, although the latter might have boxed Priscilla’s silly ears by now.
‘Well!’ said Priscilla, pushing her spectacles up onto the bridge of her nose. ‘I don’t think they’ll be close to much of that.’
‘Yes, I’m sure the Turks are on the run by now,’ Constance soothed her, casting Catherine a warning look and changing the subject. ‘And how is Pattie faring, Alice?’
‘She’s been terribly ill throughout I’m afraid,’ Alice replied. ‘And miserable as can be.’
‘She’s not the type to like being forced to sit idle and wait.’ Constance said this with a tone of approval. Pattie was an active member of the Red Cross, Constance’s favourite volunteer in fact, although Pattie didn’t hold too much stock in that. Only pregnancy had been able to slow her down from the whirlwind lifestyle she usually led. She was finding the confinement of her latter stages unbearable. Veronica decided to pop in to see her later that afternoon, rain or no rain.
‘And what’s all your news then, Veronica?’ Constance looked over at her and she started, realising she was still standing by the table and not knitting like the rest. She went back to her chair and answered.
‘Just waiting like everyone else, I suppose. I just wish I could do…something,’ she finished lamely, trying not to reveal too much of her frustration.
‘Well, you’re not only waiting. You’re here, helping our boys be more comfortable. That’s something isn’t it?’ Alice suggested. Veronica shrugged, unconvinced, looking at the socks she was knitting.
‘Perhaps when yer older y’ could join t’ Red Cross over in Egypt,’ Mildred suggested.
‘I don’t think that is a very good idea,’ Catherine interjected quickly.
‘Nonsense,’ said Constance. ‘They can certainly use more volunteers, especially with this push in Turkey. I’ve heard the medical corps are in dire need of the support of young ladies who aren’t afraid to work hard and show good character like this one here.’ She nodded at Veronica approvingly.
‘Oh now, I’m no too sure there, Constance. Could be terrible dangerous for a young girl such as she is.’ Mildred shook her head. ‘I was thinking more organising supplies and the like. Not hospital work.’
‘We old biddies can do that well enough. Veronica here has nursing written all over her. Both her brothers are doctors after all.’ Constance snapped her fingers. ‘I’ve got a wonderful contact for you. My cousin Wilma George is the sister in charge at the holding station in Cairo. I could write her if you like.’
Veronica sat forward, hope rising. ‘That would be wonderful…’
Catherine shook her head. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘She’s too young: it’s out of the question.’
Veronica stared at her, opening her mouth to object.
‘Surely she is well out of danger in Egypt,’ Priscilla interjected. ‘Why, it’s a whole other country. They don’t put nurses near the war.’
‘Actually that’s exactly where they do put them,’ Alice said. ‘But you’re quite right. She would be well away from the actual fighting.’
‘My brother survived battles in the Boer and was killed by a bomb attack when he was in a field hospital,’ Catherine said, her voice shaking slightly. ‘Hospitals are not necessarily safe.’
The room fell silent as the other ladies digested this piece of information. Veronica had known about her uncle’s death through her father but she had never heard her mother speak of it until now.
Mildred reached over and patted Catherine’s hand. ‘I wouldn’t want my daughter anywhere near it, truth be told,’ she said, nodding at Catherine, then blushing slightly, Veronica suspected for mentioning Rose in front of Jack’s mother.
‘I’m terribly sorry to hear of your loss. Truly. But surely that was a freak accident,’ Constance said, seeming to be unable to restrain herself. ‘If all mothers refused to let their daughters be nurses, who would care for our wounded?’
‘Other mothers can make their own choices. My daughter is staying here.’ Something in Catherine’s tone forbade any further comment but looking across at her Veronica determined that this was far from over. In that moment she knew she would find a way to do it. Somehow she would get on one of those boats and go to her boys. Her knitting days were over.
Veronica woke from her dream in a sweat, taking a moment to bring herself back to the present. Jack had been in a maze and there were giant rats chasing him out but then, when he found his way to the open spaces, enormous mosquitoes swooped and attacked, tearing at him as he ran. She screamed but no one could hear her – she was locked in a cage far away.
She stood and dressed in the clothes she’d laid out, putting the last of her things in a valise as quietly as she could. She’d packed what she knew she would need and nothing more. Stuffing the much-read mail from her brothers, Dan and Jack in the pocket, she closed it and placed the note on her dresser.
&n
bsp; ‘They won’t take you without a letter,’ said a voice from the doorway.
Veronica turned, facing Catherine, her heart thudding.
‘I’ve written my own,’ Veronica said, her chin raised as she clutched her bag.
‘I know you think I can’t stop you, but I can. Dr Dwyer knows half the board. They’ll never approve you.’
Veronica knew this was true. The Voluntary Auxiliary Defence or ‘VAD’ had an enlistment age of twenty-three and older. But there was a way.
‘You could make it happen.’
Catherine folded her arms. ‘And why would I do that?’
‘Because I’ll run away anyway, even if you don’t.’
‘And where will you go?’
‘Queensland, Victoria…anywhere I can reapply. Whatever it takes, Mother…I have to go…’ Veronica’s hands shook and she felt the tears well in her eyes.
‘Why? Is it so terrible to stay here safe with us?’ Catherine threw out her arms, encompassing the walls.
‘Yes!’ Veronica cried. ‘I…I have to go to them. Maybe I could be near Tom and Mick – or if not, then any hospital – I can’t stay waiting here any longer, not when our boys might need me. Not when I could be of use. Don’t you see?’ She wiped at her face. ‘It could be Iggy lying there or…or Dan –’
‘Or Jack?’ Catherine said, her gaze pinning her daughter to the truth.
Veronica hesitated then broke down. ‘Or Jack.’
Catherine stepped into the room and gathered her close.
Veronica subsided, to sob in her mother’s arms. ‘Oh, Mum, please let me go to him…please…I know he needs me.’
‘I can’t lose you…’ Catherine began to cry too, pushing back Veronica’s hair and holding her face in her hands. ‘I can’t.’
‘I’ll come home, I will,’ she promised and Catherine rocked her against her heart.
They held each other as the rose of dawn stained the sky. It had cost the admission of her greatest truth but Veronica knew her mother had heard her at last.
Three weeks later Veronica stood at the gangway of the departing ship and embraced her parents one last time.
‘Goodbye, my dearest pet.’ Her father shook his head, tears streaming, and she could barely stand to let him go from her embrace.
‘My baby,’ choked Catherine and Veronica clutched at her, wishing she could take her mother’s strength and wisdom with her.
Pattie was there too, her eyes bright as she held Veronica close, whispering in her ear before she ascended the ramp.
‘Keep an eye out for a certain dashing Australian airman for me, won’t you? And tell him his child seems to share his taste for adventure.’ She laughed through her tears as the baby kicked between them.
Veronica picked up her bag, her initial steps resolute as she climbed towards the unknown but she paused halfway up the gangplank, staring at the enormous ship and feeling very much her paltry nineteen years. Veronica looked back at her mother, fighting the temptation to run back to the protection that at times had smothered her, but had always kept her safe.
Then Catherine smiled at her, pride and love in her gaze, and Veronica knew if her mother believed she could do this, then she believed it too.
Fourteen
Gallipoli, Turkey, June 1915
She was walking towards him, barefooted in the summer fields, trailing her hand across the long grass. Her dress was white and he could make out the shape of her as the sunlight filtered through the sheer material; and the look on her face showed him everything he had ever wanted her to feel.
‘Jack,’ she mouthed towards him.
‘Yes, darling?’
‘Wake up, ya bloody galah!’ Simmo’s boot kicked into his ribs and he blinked awake. ‘You and Bullseye are orderlies and I want me scran…and ya better hop to it before I shove my rifle up yer ass fer calling me darling!’
Iggy and a few of the others laughed heartily at this and Jack turned over, groaning. Being orderlies meant they were responsible for getting the ‘scran’, or breakfast, a much-hated job. It meant running the length of the trenches down to the cookhouse and back, never an easy task.
‘You’re on fatigue today too, so hurry back,’ Iggy said, sending him a sympathetic grin. Jack rubbed his head, wishing he could go back to his dream.
‘Come on, Dan.’ He poked him with his foot. If he couldn’t dream about Veronica then why should he? Not that they got much sleep in this hell-hole. If the Turks weren’t sending over grenades or picking up on their every move with snipers, the rats, lice and flies were there to do their best to make sure they were as tortured as possible.
Dan, or ‘Bullseye’, as he’d been dubbed, met the news about being an orderly with about the same level of enthusiasm but soon they were off, ducking as showers of earth rained down from the Turkish snipers having some fun.
‘Oh they are gunna get theirs when we get back,’ Dan said between clenched teeth as they flattened themselves against the wall, a bullet sending a tin sailing into the trench. He’d earned the name ‘Bullseye’ over the past few months by applying his honed crow-shooting to sniper work, and bets were often placed on him and Iggy for marksmanship. The latter had also shown remarkable skill with the gun, much to his own surprise. Jack figured they were mates you were happy to have in a place like this, especially when shooting ability was one of the Anzacs’ few strengths. They were at a constant disadvantage, located as they were right under the Turks’ noses, and the defenders seemed to have an endless supply of grenades. The Australians had to make their own bombs out of jam tins.
They reached the cookhouse, already sweating in the morning heat, and Jack noted that the flies were thick on top of the billy tin.
‘Sure miss a decent cup of tea,’ Jack sighed, flicking the buggers off, though they immediately landed straight back.
‘And some fresh baked scones with some real butter,’ Dan sighed, looking upwards and pretending to pray before inspecting the contents of the scran. ‘Nup. Just bully beef and rock-chewers again.’
‘Think I might have to start putting these in the jam tins and see if I can soften them up,’ Jack said, holding up a ‘rock-chewer’ army biscuit and shaking his head. ‘My kingdom for something fresh!’
‘Simmo said he would grab me a fish when he went down swimming later. I’ll ask him to get one for you too if you like.’
‘How does Simmo catch the fish?’
‘They get blown up from the bombs.’ Dan grinned.
‘Fish bomb stew.’ Jack shook his head. ‘Only in Turkey.’
They made their way back, cursing the occasional flying debris from the snipers.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Jack as a sudden series of explosions shook the earth. Dirt rained down upon them and the scran went flying as both men flattened themselves against the trench wall, several sandbags falling from the top.
‘Look out!’ Jack grabbed a sandbag and hugged it to his chest, launching his body across the trench on top of the live grenade. The explosion shattered through him, lifting him off the ground like a bucking mule before landing him hard back on the earth. Jack lay there, waiting for the blackness, but it didn’t come. Instead someone was flipping him onto his back and Dan grabbed at him frantically in a cloud of dirt.
‘You…you alive?’
Jack barely nodded, the middle section of his body a fiery pit of pain, and allowed Dan to half drag him to the side.
‘Turks,’ he panted, pointing to their right. Jack heard it too.
‘Allah! Allah!’ The Turkish voices came closer and Jack tried to heave his gun onto his shoulder. It seemed to weigh ten times what it had moments before.
‘Ahhhhh!’ roared Simmo, barrelling past them, bayonet first. He was closely followed by Iggy and the others.
Gunfire pitted the air, and Dan raced after them, Jack clawing his way behind. He rounded several corners, stumbling and clutching, his head swimming in a daze, then suddenly he was in it. Dan was already lying behind a crate, taking
deadly aim in quick succession as the Turks came in over the top. Simmo fought like a wild animal, stabbing the enemy at close contact with his bayonet, and several others were in heated crossfire with some barricaded Turks around the bend. Iggy had picked off several of the enemy from behind a pile of sandbags and Jack collapsed next to him. He felt heavy and awkward but his heart pumped at him to keep going.
It was fast. He tried to make sense of it as bodies fell in the deafening noise and debris.
Then suddenly it all stopped. The shots petered out and it was still. It took a moment for Jack to realise, of course, as his heartbeat thudded in his chest and his senses tried desperately to search for any movement, but the raid had indeed passed. Simmo and the others began to walk back, kicking at the corpses to make sure they were dead. Jack tried to focus on their sightless eyes then closed his own, sickened.
‘Anyone left?’ Iggy called.
A single shot rang out and a Turkish soldier fell next to Simmo from the edge of the trench above. They all crouched immediately.
‘Thanks, Bullseye,’ said Simmo, staring at the man then back towards Dan, nodding.
Dan nodded back and Jack thought he looked like he wanted to be sick. Come to think on it, he felt the same way.
‘What the hell happened to you?’ said Iggy, turning to Jack who was by now wheezing quite heavily.
‘Decided to take a nap on a bomb,’ said Dan, shaking his head, still incredulous, as Iggy undid Jack’s shirt and cut away the frayed edges with his knife.
‘Well, you’ve got to get some sleep around here somehow,’ said Iggy as he worked. Over the past few weeks he had displayed some impressive medical skills, showing he had learnt a lot more during his invalid years than his father ever gave him credit for.
Jack knew his chest must be a pretty sight, judging from the grim look on Iggy’s face, but he couldn’t seem to lift his head to investigate.
‘Hey, where’s me scran?’ Simmo bellowed at Dan, remembering.
‘Hold it down up there,’ said a voice from behind them as reinforcements arrived.
Gallipoli Street Page 12
