22 November
Edmund writes that it is snowing. I do hope he is safe.
23 November
Private H has had one leg off at the knee and the other at mid-thigh. I know the surgeons do their best but the poor boy was in tears when he woke up. He’d been a farm lad before the War, and has no idea what use he might be now.
24 November, Deans Park
Felt positively skittish travelling down on the train, but it was Father to meet me, Captain Miller apparently arriving tomorrow. Father says the Somme Offensive is over — I have not been reading the papers — and all I could think was that it did not come soon enough for Private H.
25 November
It is strange how these things are arranged, and how quickly matters can change. I declined to meet Captain M at the Station, not wishing to have an audience, and instead greeted him in the library. We talked about how abysmally cold it is become, and how there is snow in France and what this might mean for the troops. When our conversation hit a lull I found myself telling him about Private H — which I am sure he did not want to hear, but to which he listened with great patience. ‘You must find it very hard,’ he said, when finally I fell silent.
‘Not so hard as the men,’ I replied, and immediately regretted the sharpness of my tone, but before I could apologise Mother came in, cast me a piercing look, then engaged CM in all manner of frivolous conversation. Really, I became quite cross with her. She had barely departed when Eugenie took it upon herself to join us, until in some desperation I asked CM whether he might like a walk. His reply was that he should, very much, but proposed we delay until the weather improved. Looking out of the window I discovered it to be raining rather dismally. I felt such a fool! Millie rescued the situation, appearing at the door to summon Eugenie away — I think perhaps Aunt Marjorie had sent her. As soon as we were alone I stuttered an apology, feeling extremely inept. Captain M smiled — he really is rather good looking; one takes it for granted and needs to be reminded — and said he would not admire me nearly so much if I was ‘some silly, simpering girl’ (causing me to wonder how many such he knew, and how well), and that if I had not such a noble spirit, we should likely never have met.
His next gambit was to enquire whether I had ever been to Cheshire. I was quite thrown, and replied that, aside from Cambridge and London, I had been only to Oxford and that a trip to Yorkshire had been cancelled due to my catching a frightful cold and that Father had once mentioned the possibility of a Tour of Scotland and the Lake District but that it had been set aside, or so I supposed, nothing specific having been said, and finally noticed that CM was looking rather strained. He smiled awkwardly and laboured on, asking whether perhaps I might like to. I replied that I did not know very much about Cheshire — really, I did not have a clue; I do think Mother or Aunt Marjorie might have warned me. He was, of course, asking if I should care to meet his family. When at last I caught on I felt very dim. CM pulled me to my feet, declaring that he thought me even prettier when I blushed — which moment was interrupted by Millie, come to fetch us to dinner. She looked somewhat startled to find Captain M holding my hands. Aunt Marjorie had sat us opposite one another and I kept glancing up and finding him watching me, and then he would smile and I would blush and Mother would clear her throat — it was almost funny by the end.
Father and Charles (there: I have done it!) withdrew after the meal and I went up to bed. And here I sit, quite unable to sleep, and wondering what tomorrow may bring.
Sunday 26 November
The rain cleared at last and we managed a walk, with Eugenie and Millie and the dogs for company. I am not a dog person but Charles seems to like them. Eugenie quite flummoxed me by asking Charles what was wrong with his leg. Without embarrassment he replied that he had lost his real leg in Belgium and this was ‘a spare’. There followed a rather gruesome conversation about prosthetic limbs — I am jolly glad she didn’t ask during lunch — but Charles seemed to take it in his stride (which I do not intend as a pun!), and shortly after tucked my fingers through his arm quite as though it was the most natural thing.
Over lunch Charles and Father discussed the news from Austria–Hungary, which is that the Emperor Franz Joseph has died and that his successor, Archduke Charles is believed to be less enthusiastic about the War. It occurs to me that I still do not know what Charles does at the War Office. I shall ask him as soon as opportunity arises.
Later, 1st Eastern
No further chance for private conversation; the day ended in a rush with me almost missing my train. On arriving back in Cambridge I felt quite flat. On reflection I find I am not sure what has been settled and what has not, or how I feel about it all.
28 November
A note from Charles saying he will come up on Thursday to take me to tea.
29 November
Sister told me off for being clumsy. Distraction is the cause. I do not at all know what to expect.
30 November
Charles has given me a ring. He says he has been carrying it about for six months but was too terrified to raise the subject due to my being ‘so thoroughly Laudable, Estimable and Admirable as to be Completely Unassailable’. He said he rather hoped I would wear it on my third left finger. As we are not permitted to wear jewellery in the Hospital I have put it safely away.
2 December, Deans Park
Mother, at her most aggravating, suggests I give up the Hospital as soon as possible. I cannot see why, and said as much. Announcing me impossible she went off to engage my aunt in ‘making me see sense’. The house has been in a state of trepidation ever since. With great relief I received a note from Winifred inviting me to tea, and have told Mother I am going even should I be obliged to walk!
Later, Audley End
Winifred is a little improved. In the event I took the trap and, the weather having turned atrocious, am to stay the night. Containing my own news, I asked W about Corporal Lindsay; apparently he will soon be discharged. As that seemed to be the end of that conversation I told her about Charles. Of course she offered congratulations but it was all rather flat. Then, when I asked what she planned to do next, she burst into tears. Not at all like the Winifred of old! But she believes herself quite useless, in part because she can no longer drive due to her wrist giving too much trouble. A larger issue may be that she sleeps very poorly. With a degree of circumspection I mentioned CM’s notion that she may be suffering from shell shock. Her reaction was that she ‘had not the right’, which is clearly nonsense. It occurs to me now that she may find it useful to talk to Matron, who has always been so very sensible. To that end I shall propose that she visit me in Cambridge.
3 December, Deans Park
Winifred has agreed to consider my plan. Lady B drove me home after Church, which W did not attend.
5 December, 1st Eastern
The pace of admissions has slackened, with consequently less pressure to move men on. Matron has asked whether I might like to return to one of the Officers’ wards; I replied that I should like it very much. I have not mentioned Winifred; to do so would have felt uncomfortably like tattling.
6 December
Corporal (soon to be ‘Mr’) Lindsay writes that he is to be discharged in a fortnight. I shall ask Mother whether we might invite him to Deans Park for Christmas.
Romania has fallen to the Enemy.
7 December
Two of my cases have developed pneumonia — not uncommon with gas, but they had seemed to be doing so well.
8 December, Deans Park
Mother is quite impossible! She says we cannot invite Corporal Lindsay for fear of upsetting Captain Miller, though I cannot think why it should. When I proposed asking his view, she forbade me from doing so ‘under any circumstances’.
9 December
Father has taken Mother’s side. Aunt Marjorie endeavoured to ‘explain’ — which was to tell me that Captain Miller is ‘from an excellent family and it would not do to let him think you harboured a preference e
lsewhere’. It is all patently absurd. I took pains at lunch to avoid the subject, instead asking Father’s opinion of the new Prime Minister, Mr Lloyd George. He believes him better suited than Mr Asquith to lead us through the War. I do hope he ensures an end to it.
Sunday 10 December
My cousins and I went for a long walk, Monty frequently threatening his sisters with snowballs, which were in the end dispatched (rather unsuccessfully) against a Regiment of crows. We came in red-cheeked and with our toes frozen in our boots, which allowed the pleasure of warming ourselves by the fire. I do so miss being warm when I am in Cambridge — on which note I must ask Father if he might drive me to the Station.
11 December, 1st Eastern
True to her word, Matron has me back on one of the Officers’ wards, which means stairs but no draughts, the ward being located in a School given over for the duration. Sister T is new and rather stiff; she delivered a talk decrying ‘flibbertigibbets’ who Will Not Be Tolerated on her ward. Jane is also transferred, and is more than a little nervous.
12 December
I have two Majors, one Colonel and a score of Captains and Lieutenants, all from the Somme and invariably stoic and polite. One of the Lieutenants being from Cheshire, I enquired whether he knew Captain Miller, but he did not.
13 December
Brief note from Edmund. He sounds rather despondent.
14 December
One of my Lieutenants is so bandaged that he cannot move or speak, though he does make sounds as if he is trying to communicate. I have proposed that he should blink once for ‘yes’ and twice for ‘no’. He is fed through a funnel, liquids only.
15 December
Charles writes that he is jealous of those Officers who have all my attention while he must remain in London alone. I wrote back to enquire whether there were many young women in London, and whether I should be jealous of them.
I am not going down to Deans Park until tomorrow. We intend making a start on Christmas gifts this evening; there are a great many to do!
16 December, Deans Park
Edmund has been put up for a training course, apparently the next step towards promotion. Father and Mother both pleased. Monty says he will be an Officer when he goes to War, to which my aunt briskly replied that the War will soon be over and we would never allow another.
Sunday 17 December
Having sent a telegram on Thursday saying he was unable to get home for the weekend, Uncle Aubrey arrived late this morning, accompanied by Charles! Aunt Marjorie was quite flustered, announcing that, had she known, she would have managed a better lunch. Charles took the first possible opportunity to speak to me alone, and to describe the anguish he suffers ‘on reading of all my gentlemen admirers’. It was quite clear he was teasing. As to the young ladies of London, he assured me that he is now ‘quite ruined’ as regards other women, and thus had not noticed whether there were any in the town at all!
Later, 1st Eastern
When the time came to depart Charles proposed escorting me to Cambridge and from there catching a London train. Mother, somewhat doubtful, acceded on strength of Uncle Aubrey’s approval. It felt slightly alarming to be setting off together, rather as if we were already a married couple! On the train Charles took my hand and laughed at me for blushing when the conductor came to check our tickets. When we reached the Station he asked — I think perhaps he had been working up to it — whether I had yet decided if I might consent to accompanying him to Cheshire so that I might meet his parents. I said I should have to ask Matron about leave, and Mother as well. Charles adopted that teasing expression I rather like and enquired which of the two I considered most important. Of course I said I should need both.
Ignoring the London train at that moment due to depart, he insisted on walking me to Selwyn, stopping just before we reached it (I thought his leg was giving trouble) to ask whether a liberty might be allowed. I did not know what he meant! And felt quite foolish when I realised. On Christmas Eve three years ago Ada’s middle brother Ernest held a twig of gorse — which he claimed as mistletoe — over my head and kissed my cheek, but this was not at all the same. There is an infinite sweetness in being kissed properly. It left me quite breathless. Charles next kissed my brow and tucked my hands between his and said he was not at all inclined to leave me and go back to the Station. Instead, he proposed posing as one of the patients so that he might wake in the morning to find me leaning over him. I told him that I doubted Matron would be fooled, and he laughed and said in that case he had better go, or miss his train. He walked me to the door and a group of nurses in the foyer stared quite covetously. Charles winked, which caused them to giggle, and I asked if it was in such a way that he ignored all the young ladies of London. He kissed my fingers (more giggling) and whispered that he should not sleep a wink for thinking of me. I do not think I shall either!
18 December
I have read what I wrote yesterday, and feel breathless all over again. I have made an appointment to see Matron tomorrow after tea.
Newspapers full of the German withdrawal at Verdun. It has taken the French ten months but they have finally driven the enemy back. French casualties are said to be in the vicinity of one million. It is inconceivable.
Later
Sister took me aside to say that she had heard reports of my behaviour, one of the nurses having seen me holding a man’s hand. It does make my blood boil that anyone should be so ready to tattle! Sister, very frosty, said she was obliged to report the matter to Matron, to which I replied that, as I had an appointment with Matron already, I would raise it myself. That took the wind from her sails!
19 December
A note from Charles to say he was quite fuzzy-brained all day on Monday, for which he blames me entirely. Of course I wrote denying all responsibility, but added a postscript to say I could accuse him of having the same effect.
Seeing Matron in an hour. I confess I am nervous.
Later
Sister has complained about my attitude, claiming I ‘gave cheek’ when she raised the question of my Moral Reputation. Matron first asked whether Charles had spoken to my Father. I assured her he had and that my parents had given permission for him to accompany me from Littlebury. She said that being the case, it was not unreasonable for Charles to have walked me from the Station, but that it must be made clear that he is my fiancé. I had not thought of the situation in quite those terms, but suppose she is right. With regards the question of leave, I am to have ten days from the 27th. Matron thinks it a good idea that I meet Charles’s parents ‘before matters progress’. She also suggests I review my attitude towards Sister and curb my ‘Colonial outspokenness’ — rather putting me in mind of that ancient incident with Miss Winstanley. Matron added that she believes my effect on the Officers to be positive, and therefore hopes I can prove my value to Sister. I shall try.
20 December
I am most definitely In The Doghouse. Sister has me running hither and yon nine hours a day and has withdrawn any hint of approval. I am afraid my letter to Charles was full of complaint, but I did tell him I should like to visit his family, if Father and Mother give consent.
21 December
Sister tells me off if I so much as speak to one of the men. It does not go unnoticed: Major O enquired what I had done to annoy her.
22 December
Charles says he has written to Father, and also offers to come and box Sister’s ears, though I rather doubt it would help.
23 December, Deans Park
My parents allow that I might go to the Millers from the 29th to the 2nd. Edmund is hoping for leave early in January. I should very much like he and Charles to meet.
Christmas Eve, Sunday 24 December
This afternoon I had a lovely surprise: Mr Lindsay called to see me! Having got wind of The Situation, Lady Braybrooke has invited him for Christmas. He is looking very well, the facial scarring much improved, and has regained a tolerable range of movement in his arm. He admits to
being somewhat overawed at the scale and grandeur of Winifred’s home, which I assured him would pass. When I asked after Winifred he said it was difficult to tell — I feel rather bad that I have not seen her, but have sent Christmas wishes and promised to call on the 28th if there is time.
Christmas Day, 25 December, 1st Eastern
Roast goose with all the trimmings followed by plum pudding (with no less than four buried ha’pennies), made all the more cheery by Christmas decorations and gifts (one for every man, of whom there are 1,500!). Major O made a toast to The Men at the Front, Major C adding another for President Wilson’s Peace Conference. My poor Lieutenant S had to have his dinner turned into soup with just custard for afters, but blinked happily. Midway through tea I was called to Matron’s office to take a telephone call. Of course it was Charles, who wished me a Happy Christmas and said he would come up to Cambridge to collect me on Wednesday. I said it were better not, as of course I do not want any further tattling to Sister, to which he replied that he must ‘bow before my stronger will’. Sometimes I wonder whether he can be serious at all.
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