Evie's War

by Mackenzie, Anna

  25 September, Deans Park

  Edmund looks a little rested though his leg pains him. He has scandalised Mother by announcing he will not attend Church in the morning, ‘sleep being of more worth’. Rather than leave it she insisted on having it out, and for her trouble got ‘God forgot us when this Damned War began’. And a slammed door.

  Sunday 26 September

  At Father’s intervention Edmund agreed — under sufferance — to join us at Church, the fragile peace almost shattered when the Vicar picked him out for special mention (‘One Of Our Brave Boys Newly Returned To Us’, or some such tosh). Had Edmund not the bother of sticks, I suspect he would have sprung up and left. But as it was, he sat it out, though all might have heard the grinding of his teeth!

  27 September, 1st Eastern

  My brother accompanied me to the Station then took me completely by surprise by joining me on the train! He had left a note, he said, having decided last night that he should like to see where I work. ‘Or get away from Mother’s fussing,’ I suggested, to which he responded with a grim smile.

  I was unsure whether or not he wished to talk, so prattled on in just the way I do when I am taking my Officers for a turn about the grounds. We had almost reached Cambridge when Edmund interrupted to say, ‘I can see why Matron thinks you a tonic.’ Of course I demanded an explanation, but got only, ‘You are an antidote to everything out there.’ He is taking me for tea tomorrow so I shall ask again.

  28 September

  Edmund informed me that he may go to London to visit friends, so I should not expect to find him at Deans Park when I come down on Friday. Taking my courage in both hands I launched forth: ‘They can’t understand, you know. It’s not that they don’t want to.’ He looked at me in silence for a moment before patting my hand, as if he was my father rather than my brother. ‘I’m glad that you do.’

  In no time at all it was time for his train. I do wish we had talked properly.

  30 September

  The only way forward is to throw oneself into work.

  2 October, Deans Park

  Mother being quite astonishingly unreasonable. I vented my spleen to Winifred — what she will make of my letter, I know not! On arriving home last night, tired and a little despondent and with no one to meet me at the Station so a long cold trudge in the rain, I found Mother in a state, demanding to know ‘what I had said to Edmund’. Apparently it is my fault he has gone to London. On enquiring how his decisions could possibly be laid at my door, my Dearest Mother announced that Edmund had been in fine spirits (!) until he went to Cambridge, therefore it must be something I said that upset him. At this point Father determined it wise to intervene, but I could hear Mother railing on for another half an hour. I understand that she is upset by Edmund’s departure, but wish she would sometimes consider my feelings as well.

  Sunday 3 October

  Somewhat calmer atmosphere today but I shall take an early train. Millie sweetly endeavours to distract from any lingering tension, while William, alert to the moods of the house, is abnormally fractious.

  Later, 1st Eastern

  Arrived back in time to attend a cinematographic show with Olive Wilson and several other girls. Olive has been at 1st Eastern from the outset and is a thoroughly decent sort. The film, Enoch Arden, proved rather saccharine, and led (inevitably) to debate over which actor we each preferred. As having ‘no particular preference’ was disallowed, I chose Alfred Paget. Olive picked Wallace Reid, while another of the local VADs, Hillary Morton, claimed neither was good enough for Lillian Gish. It was all very silly and just what I needed to distract from the weekend’s tensions. As for the Newsreel, it was not unremarked that it presented a view of the trenches somewhat out of keeping with the stories the men provide, as do the latest newspapers, which report British troops in the Middle East as having a ‘Splendid Triumph over the Turks’ while those in France are ‘Engaged in a Thrilling Battle at Loos’. Had Winifred been here, she would no doubt have said that we would likely see something of the results through our doors over the coming weeks. On that, I suspect Olive’s thoughts, at least, are in line with my own.

  5 October

  Father writes to request that I excuse Mother’s behaviour, which he claims to be due to stress. Of course I shall.

  6 October

  Mail — hurrah! — from both Winifred and Corporal Lindsay. And, thank Heavens, not bad news. Winifred is ‘working like a Trojan’ and ‘fit to burst with all the sights and sounds’. She ends by saying she could do with a sensible companion — from which I deduce she is as lonely as her absence leaves me. I wrote at once, for good measure seeking her opinion on the Paget/Reid debate.

  Corporal Lindsay is back at the Front, ‘bearing up well’, and asks if there is any possibility I might be able to assist with spare socks, the weather having grown ‘more than a little dismal’. I shall ask Lady B whether she might add him to her list for parcels, and mention him as well to Millie, who has proven very resourceful in gathering donations for the Girls’ Society distributions.

  7 October

  Another setback on the Eastern Front — when will they end? Germany has invaded Serbia.

  Also a letter from Harry; he says his leg continues to improve and they now have him playing bowls! The Hospital grounds are beautiful, he says, but could do with a few lads to keep them in trim. All the ‘lads’ are off in France, of course. I must ask what work he did before the War. He thanks me for the writing set, which he uses for his letter.

  9 October, Deans Park

  Deans Park is once again calm, with both my uncle and brother home. Edmund reports to his Regiment next week but I think it unlikely he will be judged fit to return to France, his leg giving him more trouble than he cares to admit. Mother proposes accompanying him to London to ensure he has all he needs to see him through the winter.

  Sunday 10 October

  Eugenie’s birthday! I had forgotten, and am thoroughly cross that no one thought to remind me. I shall buy a gift this week and take it down next weekend.

  11 October, 1st Eastern

  A note from Major D awaited my return; he says he is well and has regained some feeling in his feet. I sent a card to say how delighted I was to hear it.

  12 October

  Bracing weather, and the wards are positively arctic. Four of my latest cases were wounded at Loos, amongst them Colonel A, who calls out in the night for his men. Sister has proposed removing him from the ward to avoid disturbing the others, but Matron says we should wait to see if he settles; I am doing my best to engage him in conversation. He is invariably polite.

  13 October

  There seems no end to the depths to which the Enemy will sink: Nurse Edith Cavell was yesterday executed by German firing squad. The justification given for this atrocity is that she was a spy, whereas the entire British Nation knows her for a woman and nurse guilty of nothing more than providing succour to British and other soldiers in Belgium. Matron came to speak to us after tea; tears were shed.

  14 October

  A young man came in this afternoon with the most appalling infection. He has already lost both feet and is now likely to lose his legs to the knee. He went straightaway to Theatre.

  Serbia is in trouble, with Germans advancing from the North and now Bulgarians from the East. I do hope the staff of the Scottish Women’s Hospital are safe; I am more than a little grateful that Winifred decided against joining them.

  15 October

  Really, the men are very good. No matter how much pain they suffer they seldom complain.

  Major B today told me that I remind him of his youngest daughter. I am glad his mind is diverted, even momentarily. The young man whose legs were yesterday amputated nods politely when spoken to but rarely replies. In addition to the amputations he has an open wound on his back and must lie on his side. Sister says his torment may soon come to an end.

  16 October, Littlebury train

  No time to get into town, so bought Eugenie an e
mbroidery of a vegetable garden done by one of the men, which I found on sale in the craft workshop (such work is considered useful for cases where dexterity has been lost, as well as occupying the men’s time). I suspect she will think it rather a poor effort, but the theme at least may be of interest.

  Sunday 17 October

  Aunt Marjorie and Millie both suffering with sniffles and inflamed throats. Father, Eugenie and I went for a long, damp walk around Deans Farm and Three Acre Bottom to escape the atmosphere indoors. Father is concerned about my uncle’s estates. There is simply not the manpower to get all the work done.

  19 October, 1st Eastern

  Our young man is lingering, but there is little hope. His mother arrived today and sits weeping by his bed. It is not good for morale; Sister plans to move him to a smaller ward.

  Colonel A also rather downhearted. I asked if it would help were he to tell me about his nightmares. Eventually he answered: ‘They’re good men. Brave men. There was no hope of success, of course, but they wouldn’t let that stop them. I ordered them over the top and they went. Good lads. Good, brave lads.’ He then pinned me with a rather frightening stare. ‘I ordered them and they went. Do you understand?’

  Rather untruthfully, I said that I did. He slumped back in his chair as if all the stuffing had gone out of him. ‘Suspect you do. Can’t tell my wife. She wouldn’t, do you see?’

  It clouded over soon after and I wheeled him inside. He is making quite good progress, aside from the nightmares.

  21 October

  Our leg case passed away this morning. His mother was with him at the end.

  Sunday 24 October, Deans Park

  Home to a sickhouse, Mother and Eugenie having joined the bedridden. Spent all yesterday running about after them — as if I haven’t enough of that during the week! Spoke with Uncle Aubrey this morning about Colonel A. His Brigade was badly shot up, apparently. Few survivors; none unscathed — no wonder the poor man feels bad. But what could one say, even had one known?

  25 October, 1st Eastern

  New intake while I was down at Littlebury; most of my men have been moved on — Sister says Colonel A is in ward 14, but the rest are transferred.

  Full moon, very bright — hardly need a light to write by.

  26 October

  Amongst the new patients is a subaltern who reminds me quite startlingly of Ada’s eldest brother — each time he speaks I am surprised by his accent, which is so broad I can hardly make out what he is saying. There are a number of Scots in the ward; apparently they have been much in the Action.

  28 October

  Called on Colonel A during my lunch break but he was off having therapy. Head a bit thick tonight, and rather tired.

  29 October

  Horribly sore throat and that awful sunken-in feeling around the eyes. Sister took one look and ordered me off sick; to my protestations saying I’ll only pass it around the men. Matron has just been in and is arranging to have me driven to the Station. Head feels as though it is filled with water, with a terrible thundering going on inside.

  3 November, Deans Park

  Millie is quite the sweetest girl; in and out looking after me. Sitting up today for the first time since my arrival. Thank Heavens Matron got a message to Father; I should never have managed the walk from the Station.

  4 November

  Aunt Marjorie is fully recovered; I have surrendered to her care. A team of workmen arrived yesterday afternoon: Uncle Aubrey is having a telephone installed.

  5 November

  I realised today that I am behaving just like the men, tetchiness often being a sign that they are on the improve. I confess I have been rather vile to Mother and snapped at Eugenie for dropping a book, though she hardly did it on purpose. But really I am considerably better. There is far too much work to be done to remain sick.

  6 November

  I have been crying all afternoon, which has set my head back several days. Millie has instructed me to lie down so she might put compresses on my eyes. I have promised I will as soon as I have recorded these fateful words: Ada’s brother Tom is killed, and both the Cameron boys, and Harriet’s brother is wounded and they have had no word since August. Mother says that, had she known what Ada’s letter contained, she would not have let me read it, and is pleased at having held it back till I was ‘over the worst’.

  Sunday 7 November

  Mother was rather short with me when I said I didn’t feel up to Church. Mercifully, my aunt took my part and I am sent back to bed while Father telephones Matron to report me still unwell. I feel something of a malingerer.

  8 November

  Eugenie executed a raid on my uncle’s office in search of New Zealand newspapers and brought up two dated August and one October. The casualty lists are a horror.

  10 November

  Hideous scene when I announced I would return to Cambridge tomorrow. I fail to understand why Mother assumes that at the slightest distress or hindrance I will abandon my work. When I shook the casualty lists under her nose she simply flapped her hands as if she might make the War and all its ‘inconveniences’ vanish.

  11 November, 1st Eastern

  Matron inspected me on my return and pronounced me ‘peaky’; I am not to start until tomorrow. Instead I shall start on my Christmas letters, which may yet reach New Zealand on time. I do so feel for Ada’s family.

  12 November

  Ward busy with new cases. Colonel A is gone, and my Seaforth Highlanders, and all of the last intake I settled in. Sister heard me coughing and threatened to order me off sick, but I assured her it was the tail end. And thereafter held my breath whenever she passed!

  13 November, Littlebury train

  Told Matron I was perfectly up to working the weekend but she would not have it, lest I set myself back. I do feel slightly under the weather, but there is really nothing for it but to get on.

  Sunday 14 November, Deans Park

  The Vicar has come down with the wretched cold that is doing the rounds so the Service was taken by a Curate (who had not the presence to carry it off). Eugenie and I went for a dull and damp trudge around the lower fields; it is all rather dismal.

  15 November, 1st Eastern

  Sister passed me a note left by Colonel A; she had forgotten it last week. He says he will always remember my kindness and understanding and hopes that this ‘interminable War will not depress that youthful spirit which proved so cheering’.

  16 November

  One of the men gave me a model of a soldier’s cap that he had fashioned from a shell case. I shall send it to Monty in the hope that it will be of interest to him and his fellows. Judging by his letters, he remains rather homesick.

  17 November

  A long letter has come from Harry, though it is three letters really. He says the more he wrote, the less certain he was about whether he should send the letter, ‘which must only make me seem ill-educated to someone such as you’. But also that he found the writing therapeutic (which makes me think my next gift might be a journal — I must discover the date of his birthday). The top page of his letter, which is the most recently written, concludes with the hope that I might see fit to continue our correspondence, while subsequent pages describe the Convalescent Hospital and its grounds together with his treatment regimen and daily routine. The place itself sounds rather grand. Of the décor he writes ‘some rooms are decorated in a style not to my taste but that probably just displays my ignorance and you may very well like them’. He says also that he walks in the grounds every day, which will certainly be good for his leg. He does not seem ill-educated, having quite a good turn of phrase, but is forever apologising for himself. The final page of his letter gets rather to the crux of things. It transpires Grandfather’s views were shared by his mother’s relatives, and young Harry was seen as ‘a taint on the family’ — as if such social stigma could ever be the fault of the child!

  Though I cannot quite feel him a brother, I shall certainly continue our corresponde
nce. Of course, if his leg has truly healed as well as he says, he may by now be returned to Active Service.

  18 November

  Olive and I went to a lantern slide lecture on the topic of Robert Falcon Scott’s Antarctic Expedition, which she says was a good deal more interesting than the last she attended, which was on poultry-keeping. The lecture proved popular with the men, I suspect in part due to the room’s two fireplaces! We have had a rush of admissions this week; I shall be quite glad to get home.