Evie's War (4 page)

Edmund and I are to attend a party at Catmere to celebrate Sybil's eighteenth birthday. Aunt Marjorie says my dresses are out of date, and has proposed a trip to her dressmaker in Saffron to arrange ‘something more suitable'.

Mother feeling unwell. Rained non-stop all weekend in a drizzly sort of way, with a heavy thunderstorm this morning. After Church I played cards with Millicent and Eugenie. Monty was in too foul a mood to participate and was eventually evicted from the parlour.

We are now to have First Aid classes twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Mother says I will overtax myself.

Having discovered that I have already achieved a St John's First Aid Certificate (I had not been sure whether a New Zealand qualification would be recognised so had not mentioned it earlier), Lady Braybrooke assigned me to teaching, with a brisk ‘nonsense, my Dear' to all my objections. Some of the women really are hopeless — Miss Lorly is squeamish at even the mention of blood! Lady B has moved her to bandage rolling.

I have a new dress, pale green crêpe with broad revere collar, revamped from one of Aunt Marjorie's by her dressmaker. I do hope I shall look suitable.

News from France significantly improved, with the British and French Armies pushing the Dreaded Hun back.

Joy of joys, a parcel of letters has arrived from New Zealand, amongst them a long missive from Ada and a shorter one
from Harriet. Of course the news is rather old, War not having been declared when the letters were written. Harriet reports the first spring blossom on the trees and daffodils in abundance, and that her father has her reorganising his patient files. Ada was newly home from a month staying with cousins in Auckland, where tea parties and dances were the order of the day, and where she met several young men who proved of interest — apparently it is rather quiet at home by comparison, though it may not remain so, as her father intends standing for Parliament in the General Election later this year under Prime Minister Massey's Reform Party banner. I should think it a troublesome time to become a Member of the Government.

Sybil's party was very jolly, despite the War. Edmund was in great demand with the young ladies, who took delight in laughing at his accent. Nor did I lack for attention. My dress, though nice enough, was not so lovely as Sybil's, which was a confection of pleated silk and lace in the palest pink. About half the young men were in uniform and looked very smart, leading Edmund to agitate about joining up. He has asked whether Uncle Aubrey might gain news of the New Zealand contingent.

The newspapers report that wounded servicemen are daily arriving on our shores in such numbers that our Hospitals risk being swamped.

At tonight's meeting a resolution was passed to raise funds
in support of the work of Dr Flora Murray and Dr Louisa Garrett Anderson, both members of the WSPU, who are committed to establishing Military Hospitals — staffed by women! — where they are most needed: in France. The War Office has raised objections, saying that women should do better to stay at home.

Miss Winstanley deigned to join my bandaging class yesterday and her behaviour towards me was quite vile. But I bit my tongue and refused to rise to her gauntlet, being well aware that was exactly her intention. Sybil stepped in at last and dressed her down for her snide comments, Miss Winstanley then flouncing off to take her complaint to Lady Braybrooke. I later heard from Miss Bartlett that she received very short shrift!

Uncle Aubrey came home for the weekend and I was able to ask what he thought about the Women's Hospital Corps initiative. He replied that the Front is no place for women, being too challenging by far, however he did concede that the work carried out in England by Doctors Murray and Anderson suggests that they may be amongst those ‘rare birds' who might prove able to cope. He also told us that the New Zealand Expeditionary Force has secured a victory in Samoa, wresting the Island from German hands, which caused us no small amount of pride.

Miss Bartlett has joined the Voluntary Aid Detachment. She made the announcement at tonight's WSPU meeting in
the hope that her actions would spur others to do the same. I do admire her gumption, and wonder whether perhaps I might do more in support of the War Effort.

More letters! The first from Lettie, who is much engaged in fundraising via Mrs Morrison's penny flags, through sales of which substantial sums have been raised in support of both the local Regiment and Belgian Refugees. She encloses two flags that she proposes I wear on my lapel or else keep in an autograph book, as she does, alongside tokens from ‘Our Brave Soldiers'. My second letter is from Mr Lindsay, who gained our address via correspondence with Mr Wheatley. His letter is perfectly proper but leaves me with a sense that he is finding Oxford rather lonely. When Mother is feeling in a positive mood I shall place the matter before her and see whether we might invite him to visit. At the very least I shall write to reassure him that I do not in the least condemn his concern, as he seems fearful I might, for I should have done the same were the situation reversed.

Miss Bartlett, who says I must call her Winifred, has asked whether I might provide personal tuition in First Aid in advance of her examination next week, which she is quite desperate to pass. Of course I agreed, and all is arranged for tomorrow.

I am now fully apprised of the gulf that stands between Winifred's family and mine. Although Father has ensured
we are well provided for, all his efforts count for a mere drop compared to the wealth enjoyed by Lady Braybrooke. Her home — reminiscent of our New Zealand Houses of Parliament, though they are smaller and a good deal less grand — left me completely overawed, but Winifred, Miss Bartlett, was quite off-hand and told me I must treat the ‘old place' as my own (which I could not possibly do). Lady Braybrooke was very gracious. I am to return on Monday to test Miss B on her memory of various types of bandaging.

Today's Service was extremely moving. Two of the village's young men have been killed at the Front and another wounded. We prayed for their families, who stood alone but surrounded by friends in the desperate hour of their grief. It has made the War very real.

I have had a most entertaining day. WB had enlisted various maids to act the part of injured servicemen on whom she might practise bandaging, but as they were ill at ease with their young lady attending them in such a fashion, I finally suggested she bandage me instead. As a consequence I was festooned with a dozen or more wrappings when Lady Braybrooke summoned us to luncheon. Over our meal Lady B quizzed me regarding my education, family situation and life in New Zealand, concluding with a query about my plans for the duration of the War. I acquitted myself rather badly in answering this last, as I was somewhat at a loss. Winifred said later that I should be careful lest her aunt decides to make me ‘a project'. I have not the slightest idea what that might mean, but the interrogation has started me thinking.

Aunt Marjorie has proposed a trip to London, ostensibly to acquire items essential for the well-being of the baby. I do hope Mother agrees to take me with them.

Hooray! Edmund and I are to accompany Mother and Aunt Marjorie. We will travel by train and stay at an Hotel (there being no provision for family members, especially female ones, at my uncle's Club), and I am assured there will be time for a little sight-seeing.

Attended Morning Service in St James's — designed by Wren, rather grander inside than out, the vaulted ceiling and soaring voices in heavenly accord. By contrast the secular world feels much engaged in War. London is overflowing with soldiers, highlighting how isolated and provincial we are at Littlebury, where there is no real sense of the daily demands and fears. Today I saw a trainload of injured men and was hard-pressed not to stare at their bloodied heads and exhausted eyes. Some were missing limbs. Aunt Marjorie hurried us away, but still the tiniest details, such as the pattern of dark staining across one man's torn jacket, stay burned into my mind.

Uncle Aubrey took us to lunch at the Parisienne Restaurant, where we sat witness to an emotional scene. A young couple, newly married my uncle guessed, was seated nearby. He was in uniform; she, though not terribly pretty or well dressed, had something about her that caught
the attention. Perhaps it was simply the tragedy of their situation. She wept, though she tried to hide it. Just as with the wounded men yesterday, I was deeply moved. Mother and Aunt Marjorie murmured about ‘making a spectacle'; Uncle Aubrey simply averted his eyes.

After lunch Mother and Aunt M continued shopping while Uncle Aubrey took Edmund and I on a whirlwind tour of the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben and so forth. While admiring Boudicca's statue I commented that it was a shame she couldn't return to help us now, Uncle Aubrey replying that War is rather changed since her day. Shortly after he was obliged to return to work, and left Edmund and me the taxicab to take us back to our Hotel.

Who would have thought a baby could need quite so much in the way of equipment and layette! Mother was so exhausted by shopping that we sought refuge in the Savoy tearoom this afternoon, and who should we see but Lady Marchmont. She greeted Mother with great magnanimity then did nothing but complain about the Hardships Imposed Upon One by the War. You would think the Hun had invaded half of Europe with the sole purpose of foiling her plan to take a cure in Switzerland. I asked after Miss Duncan, who was nowhere in evidence, and was informed that ‘that singularly ungrateful and selfish girl' had resigned, leaving Lady M ‘much inconvenienced'. On pressing the point it transpired that Miss D has joined the Belgian Red Cross. How this qualifies her as selfish one can only imagine! ‘How very brave,' I said — which is not at all the way I recall her — and ‘Jolly good for her'. This earned me a withering look from Mother, but Aunt Marjorie was on my side and quickly extracted us from Lady M's company. Once we were seated at the far side of
the restaurant she confessed she agreed with my sentiments (if not my lack of restraint in delivering them) and called Lady M a ‘dreadful woman'. I quite agree. I should think Miss D has made a lucky escape.

Edmund was quiet on the journey home. I think he found the sight of soldiers swamping the railway stations in London rather sobering.

Two letters were awaiting my return. Lettie's is full of a young man she has met, and she also wonders whether I might be allowed to visit. If there is any hope, she says she will have her aunt write to invite me. My second letter is from Mr Lindsay, who sounds rather more settled, though he says the mood of his College is sombre, with many young men not having returned for the new academic year, being already in training or at the Front, and there having been several Services for Undergraduates and Fellows killed in Action. He made enquiries on Lettie's behalf but writes that, while the Women's Colleges might be prepared to take her on, it is not possible for a woman to sit for a Degree. How absurd the world is! I wonder where Doctors Murray and Anderson achieved their qualifications — they are both Scottish, I believe, so perhaps the regulations are different there.

Eugenie's birthday; she is eleven. Cook provided a special afternoon tea of scones, rhubarb tartlets and an excellent Victoria sponge.

Winifred spoke passionately at tonight's WSPU meeting about how cold the men will be in the trenches now that winter is approaching, and we all collected supplies of knitting wool at the end of the evening. Mother insists I give up knitting socks until I have contributed suitably to the baby's layette. Really, it is quite difficult to become engaged with a creature who does not yet exist, compared to the needs of those men fighting so bravely in Belgium.

Lady Braybrooke has asked me to provide tuition in bandaging to the older women. Of course I have agreed, though I do wonder how many of Our Brave Boys will arrive in Littlebury seeking assistance for swollen ankles and strained wrists.

Edmund has delivered an upset, this evening announcing that he plans to apply for a commission in the British Services, as he is not prepared to wait until the New Zealand Expeditionary Force arrives. Father looked grim and Mother was quite beside herself. Edmund is refusing to listen to their entreaties. While I would hate Edmund to be killed or seriously injured, I do understand his sentiment. Were I a man, I should certainly want to join up and show the Hun a thing or two!

Argument continues unabated. Mother's constant weeping causes Father to demand of Edmund how he could upset Mother at such a time, then to tell Mother to pull
herself together lest she harm the baby. In the end Father sequestered himself in the study to avoid further acrimony.

The newspapers are full of the Battle For Belgium. The Hun was at first beaten back, the British Boys backing up the poor Belgian Army, which has had a terrible time. It is a race for the coast, Father says, with control of the Channel Ports being paramount.

Mother has taken to her bed. Dr Chiltern was called out and has decreed rest and quiet. Aunt Marjorie says I am not to worry; Edmund, meanwhile, is ignored. If harm comes to Mother or the baby, he will be blamed. I almost feel sorry for him.

Rain, rain and more rain. The mood in the house is unabatedly drear. A letter came for Mother with a Yorkshire postmark but she has said nothing about its contents.