by Anne Douglas
But this was how it was going to be. This was her future. It was lucky she still couldn’t feel anything about it, and let her drenched eyes rest on her city, looking so beautiful in the dusk of the summer evening, until the tram reached her stop and she had to get down. Brace herself to face the people at the club. Needn’t tell them anything yet. Oh, not yet.
Walking slowly, she passed the gardens of the square and paused to look at the green of the grass and the leaves of the trees and shrubs, all so lovely in the soft light of dusk. They had always given her solace. Still did, but she knew she must wait – wait for time to do its work before she could fully take delight again in the gardens. Or anything, for that matter.
Here was the gate to the area, the worn steps down to the back door, and she could hear voices, probably from the girls making cocoa. Faces would be turned to hers. Someone would notice her tears. They would be wondering . . .
Ah, maybe she would just tell them. She and Barry had parted. He was going to the war, but they had parted anyway. Yes, she would tell them, let herself begin to feel, come alive, however bad it was.
The back door opened, Mattie was on the step, shaking a cloth.
‘Why, hello, Elinor!’ she cried. ‘Want some cocoa?’
Thirty-Eight
Over by Christmas? The war? That was a joke. Though nobody was laughing.
In fact, barely three weeks after war had been declared people had discovered that there was nothing to laugh about in this war, nothing to make it an adventure, or a great lark, or better than going to work. They discovered it the hard way, when news came of the retreat by the British in France after the Battle of Mons, defeated by the Germans at the cost of 1600 men. A further defeat followed, at Le Cateau, where the casualty list was huge. No more euphoria, then, even though recruitment still continued, but at least the volunteers knew now what really lay ahead; they no longer carried false hopes of a speedy victory.
Meanwhile, strange things were happening at home, as people gradually became used to the idea that they were now at war. At first, there had been the problem of panic buying of food, but when that had been resolved, real shortages began to show up, as manufacturers began to switch from goods for the home to equipment for war. Worse for some, even than the shortages, was the sudden disappearance of servants, as women took the places of men, making munitions, working in factories, and saying goodbye with a light heart to domestic work.
‘Can’t get staff now,’ the older lady members at the Primrose complained to Miss Ainslie. ‘The girls just don’t seem to exist any more.’
Just like some of my staff and our younger members, Miss Ainslie would have commented to Miss Denny, except that Miss Denny had gone to learn to drive an ambulance and would soon be leaving for France. And the younger club members? They, too, had vanished to take up voluntary work, leaving the club an echoing shadow of its former self, while Vera had deserted Mrs Petrie for the munitions factory, along with Gerda.
And when Mrs Petrie demanded how she was going to manage with only wee Sal to help, Miss Ainslie had to tell her gently that only a handful of ladies were requiring meals now, and with no country members staying overnight, the time might soon be coming when even the number of maids that remained might have to be reduced.
‘I really don’t know what is going to happen,’ Miss Ainslie admitted later to Elinor. ‘This whole thing is becoming a nightmare.’
‘It is,’ Elinor agreed, as the manageress gave her a sympathetic glance.
Everyone, of course, knew of Elinor’s own private nightmare, though she never spoke of it after her first announcement, and showed little of her inner turmoil in her strong, lovely face. For, of course, her numbness hadn’t lasted long. She’d had to suffer, and was still suffering, not only from loss of love, but also a certain humiliation that she should have offered herself as a wife to Barry and been turned down. In a way, she rather hoped that that feeling would crush out her heartache, but it hadn’t happened yet.
Nor did she know what had happened to Barry. He had turned up at the club with another note, offering to meet, but she had thrown away the note and had not contacted him. It was lucky, anyway, that he was departing, for her father was all set to seek him out and give him ‘what for’, which would have been disastrous – for Walter, rather than Barry. Yes, she thanked God that he was away, out of her life, and also that Stephen Muirhead would never know how her affair with him had ended. But what had happened to Stephen himself? She just hoped, wherever he was, that he was safe.
‘To tell you the truth,’ Miss Ainslie was saying, ‘I’m afraid now that the club will have to close. It’s what the owners believe.’
‘The Primrose? To close?’ Elinor’s eyes were filled with horror. ‘Oh, no, that couldn’t happen, Miss Ainslie, it couldn’t!’
‘I know how you feel. I feel the same. But there’s a war on, places are closing all around us. It will only be until things get back to normal.’
The two women exchanged long, sorrowful looks. Back to normal? When would that be? They knew now that trench warfare was becoming established and that battles could rage for weeks on end before being won in no decisive way and with enormous loss of life. There was no point in even talking about peace at this stage.
‘When d’you think there might be a decision?’ Elinor asked a little huskily. ‘On closing?’
‘Fairly soon.’
‘Suppose I should be thinking about some war work, anyway,’ Elinor murmured after a pause. ‘Mattie’d like to go for the munitions, but I’d rather do some sort of nursing. I’ve done a bit at the Red Cross centre and enjoyed it.’
This was true. Working at the centre on her free Thursday evenings had been the best thing Elinor had found for taking her mind off the man who’d spent other Thursdays with her. In nursing, there simply was no time to think of anything but the work in hand.
‘Why, that’s excellent, Elinor. If you’d like to have extra hours there, I could give you some time off.’ Miss Ainslie gave a tired smile. ‘As you know, we’re not so busy these days.’
Barely a week later, the blow fell. Miss Ainslie called everyone together to her office for an important announcement.
‘No’ about the suffragettes this time, eh?’ Mattie whispered, and even Elinor smiled.
Everyone knew that the women’s suffrage movement had temporarily ceased its activities, with most of its members busy with war work. When things returned to normal, they would resume their quest for the vote, but for the time being, there were other needs to be met.
‘What I have to tell you will come as a surprise,’ Miss Ainslie was saying now, at which Elinor heaved a deep sigh, believing that she knew what to expect. In fact, she didn’t, for she was as surprised as everyone else when the manageress announced in her cool, clear tones that the club had been taken over by the government.
‘Requisitioned, as they call it. The Primrose, as we know it, is to close, but will reopen, when conversion is complete, as a small convalescent hospital for soldiers. Some will be recovering from wounds, some from neurasthenia – what’s known as shell shock. This will be its role until the end of hostilities.’
Those listening exchanged glances. Requisitioned? That was a long word with an unwelcome meaning. For them, at least, as it was certain they would all be losing their jobs.
‘So we’ll all be given the sack, Miss Ainslie?’ Ada asked, to make matters clear.
‘I’m afraid so, but it’s quite possible that when the conversion is finished, there’ll be jobs going here. For domestic workers, or assistants to the Queen Alexandra’s nurses who will be looking after the patients.’
Again, glances were exchanged.
‘It’s munitions for me,’ Mattie said firmly. ‘Vera and Gerda say the wages are no’ bad and you can do overtime.’
‘I’ve always been in service,’ Ada sighed. ‘I’m no’ keen on factory work.’
‘Nor me,’ said Sal. ‘I’m going to stick to cooking.’
> ‘Ha!’ Mrs Petrie exclaimed. ‘And where are you going to pass yourself as a cook, may I ask?’
‘Miss Ainslie, how long will the conversion take?’ Elinor asked quietly. ‘I’d like to try for an assistant nursing post.’
‘I’m told by the owners that it should be finished by next February. All our furnishings will have to go into store, of course, and temporary fitments will be going up for the wards, but there’ll be no need for operating theatres or anything of that sort. The patients here will either be convalescing, or, as I say, shell-shock sufferers.’
Miss Ainslie, clearing her throat, looked from watching face to watching face.
‘I’d just like to say, I know it’s hard, to lose your jobs, and this has been, I hope, a happy place to work, but perhaps we should think – you know – of the club’s new role.’
‘How d’you mean?’ asked Mrs Pierce. ‘It’s no’ our role, eh? We’re leaving.’
‘That’s true, and we’re all upset about it, but at least we can take some comfort knowing that the club’s not going to be left empty. It will be providing a place where some of the war casualties can come after treatment, to rest and build up their strength, get used to injuries that can’t be healed. That’s why I say we should be glad of our club’s new purpose. To help those who’ve fought for us. So many have been killed already, it’s good that something’s being done for those still alive.’
There was a short silence, during which the maids lowered their eyes, and Mrs Pierce blew her nose.
‘Aye, that’s true,’ she admitted, after a moment. ‘You put it very well, Miss Ainslie. I wish there was something I could do, but I think I’ll just be taking a wee rest. How about you?’
‘Me?’ Miss Ainslie smiled. ‘I’m following Miss Denny’s example – I’m joining the VAD – that’s short for Voluntary Aid Detachment.’
‘Sort of nursing?’ asked Mattie.
‘Well, nursing and anything and everything. Serving where you’re needed, I suppose.’
‘Make a change from working at the Primrose Club,’ Mrs Petrie remarked, but Elinor smiled.
‘Serving where you’re needed? Sounds pretty much like working at the Primrose Club to me.’
Thirty-Nine
It was early March before the transformation of the Primrose Club into a small military hospital was completed. By then, of course, the staff had made their tearful farewells and taken their last tours of the building they knew so well. Exchanged last hugs and promises to keep in touch – and scattered: Miss Ainslie to her VAD training, Mattie to a munitions factory, Sal to the kitchens of one of the hotels still functioning, Mrs Petrie, in spite of her talk of ‘resting’, to cook for a titled family in the New Town who welcomed her with open arms, they having had no one to cook for them for months.
As for Elinor, as she’d planned, she’d applied for a post as nursing aide at the new hospital and, after an interview with a stern-faced QA nursing sister, had been accepted, while Ada had surprised everybody by announcing that she was finally going to get married. Aye, it was about time, eh? But after her Bob, against all her protests, had put himself in the army and was now due to go to France very soon, they were determined to marry first. A registry office wedding, no fuss, but would everybody come?
Of course they would, and on a cold bright day in February, with Gerda and Vera joining in, the old friends from the Primrose met at the registry office together with the families of the young couple, and threw their confetti and shed a few tears. Afterwards, there was a meal at a nearby café, and then the ‘going away’, which was only as far as a boarding house off Lothian Road, while the guests thanked Ada’s parents and separated.
Not before sighing and exchanging bleak looks, for wartime weddings were not like other weddings. You couldn’t necessarily hope for a long and happy married life for the couple, could you? Not with the casualty lists from France and Belgium as long as they were, not with the dreaded telegrams being delivered to relatives every day of the week.
‘Bob might be all right,’ Mattie said with a brave attempt at optimism. ‘I mean, there has to be some who come back.’
‘Very true,’ Mrs Petrie agreed, but even her sharp eyes were shadowed, and no one else had the heart to say anything. Certainly, there were no looks or questions directed at ‘poor’ Elinor, whose young man had gone to war but had seemingly made it plain she needn’t wait for him. She wouldn’t even know what had happened to him, would she, whether he was alive or dead?
No, she didn’t know, and tried not to think about it. These days, after all, she was thankful she had other things to occupy her mind, such as the new job she must soon take up at the converted club, which she was already worrying over. That nursing sister had been pretty stiff in the interview, hadn’t she? Emphasizing all the difficulties that Elinor, as an unqualified nursing aide, would face, how she must be prepared for any job that came her way – cleaning the sluice, emptying bedpans, helping handicapped soldiers with dressing, shaving, walking, et cetera. And, above all, not minding what she saw.
‘The effects of modern warfare are not pretty, Miss Rae, as you will have already discovered with your Red Cross training, but in a hospital such as the Primrose Military, you may find some sights even more distressing. Convalescent the patients might be, but all that means is that they’re over their operations. It does not mean that they will be truly recovered and looking as they used to do.’
‘I understand,’ Elinor had replied. ‘And I hope I know what to expect.’
Still unsmiling, the sister accepted her reply, rose, shook her hand and told her she had been successful in her application.
‘I think you will do well,’ she added grudgingly. ‘You’re a strong-looking girl and strength is another thing we are looking for. I believe I forgot to mention that.’
What a relief it would be, Elinor thought, after Ada’s wedding, to begin her new job and be free of anxiety about it. Since the closure of the club, she’d been living at home and working as a temporary sales assistant at Logie’s Department Store, where her mother was still employed as a cleaning lady. There were now plenty of vacancies at the rather grand store, where at one time it had been difficult to get even a foot in the door, and Hessie said she couldn’t understand why Elinor didn’t just stay there, instead of wanting to work in a hospital where goodness knows what sights she’d have to face. After all, she’d wanted to better herself and working at Logie’s was better than being in service, eh? What did she want now, then? What was driving her?’
‘I just want to do something to help, Ma. I want to try to repay what the soldiers are doing for the country.’
‘That’s what Corrie wants to do,’ Hessie said worriedly. ‘You know he’s had one or two of those white feathers pushed in his hand? For no’ being in uniform?’
‘What, from awful women?’ Elinor’s face was red with anger. ‘They make me so cross! Staying at home in perfect safety and going around accusing young fellows of cowardice.’
‘But Corrie thinks they’re right, you see. One of these days he’s going to run off and join up and your dad’ll have a fit. I’m no’ joking. I worry about him, the way he goes on over Corrie.’
‘We’re all worried.’ Elinor sighed.
Forty
Working at the new Primrose, though, turned out to be, for Elinor, no worry at all. Wearing a grey uniform dress similar to the QAs but without, of course, their badges of rank or their outdoor scarlet cape, she slid with amazing smoothness into the routine of the converted hospital, able to use what she had learned and quick to learn more. Though it was true there were things to get used to – more upsetting even than she’d imagined – well, she did get used to them and accepted them, knowing it was, after all, worse for the young damaged soldiers than for her. It was their suffering she had to think of, as well as the torment of those without obvious injury at all – the shell-shock cases, the most difficult of any to treat, it was said.
It had helped Elinor
that the people she worked with – the doctors, the other nursing aides and the QAs – were pleasant and friendly, with even the matron in charge being welcoming, and Sister Penny, the senior nursing sister who’d interviewed her, quite relaxed in manner, once she’d seen Elinor’s willingness to learn. All were intrigued to discover that she had worked at the Primrose when it was a ladies’ club, and asked her how she found it now.
‘Very different,’ she told them with a smile, though in fact it was possible for her to recognize the old Primrose beneath all the partitions and new functions of the rooms she used to know. In a way, it had been a little creepy at first, as though ghosts of her old self and the rest of the staff were still there, moving through the places where they’d once worked, mixing with the shadowy club members long departed to their new activities.
Now, the wide reception hall had been chopped up for doctors’ surgeries, the Quiet Room was reserved for treatment by the nurses, the elegant drawing room had become a common room for the men, complete with easy chairs and games tables, and the dining room, where the maids had hurried around, serving Mrs Petrie’s delicious meals, now offered very different fare. Mounds of boiled potatoes, great vats of stew, huge solid rice puddings and spotted dick to follow, all prepared by army cooks in a cheerful, easy-going fashion that would have had Mrs P herself hitting the roof. How lucky that she was no longer there!
Upstairs, small wards seemed to have been magically created, although a number of single rooms remained, one of which Elinor recognized as the one she had shared with Gerda and Mattie, where she had spent many a sleepless hour. Except when on night duty, all staff at the new Primrose lived ‘out’, the QAs in a nurses’ home, Elinor and other aides with their families, which suited Elinor well enough.
Though the atmosphere at home could still occasionally be uneasy, Walter Rae had certainly rather mellowed, though Corrie had to tread carefully whenever the progress of the war was mentioned. Casualty lists were just as high, especially as a new front in the Dardanelles had been opened in April, with the British, Australian and New Zealand forces trying to capture Constantinople in an effort to gain a sea route to Russia. They were not to succeed, many men were to die or be injured, and as one QA remarked to Elinor, some would probably end up in places like the Primrose, trying to get their heads back together and face life again, eh?
