Poppy (17 page)

How are you, Ma, and the girls? I’m glad you have all settled in with Aunt Ruby. I think that is by far the safest place for you. Yes, do consider staying down there for the duration of the war.

I am sorry I haven’t written more, but it is such awfully hard work being a VAD and when I’m not working I’m asleep. I do love my work at Netley, though. Sister is strict, but adores the men and gives them such tender care we cannot help but emulate her. Some of our boys have no arms and I have had to learn how to shave them. There is a gigantic Scot, Private Mackay, whose arms were blown off by a bomb, and I was terrified shaving him in case I cut him, but he was so good and quiet when I was doing it and afterwards thanked me in such a heartfelt way that I had to go outside and weep. The boys – that is, the regular Tommies (the officers are always ‘the men’) –rarely complain. The standard reply when asked how they are is ‘not too bad’ or ‘in the pink’. They are just pleased to be home – and be alive.

Ma, I can’t resist telling you this, but don’t breathe a word to anyone. You remember the younger de Vere boy, Freddie? We have become quite close and he has written to me to ask me to meet him for afternoon tea at the Criterion when he comes through Southampton. I like him very much so I am fearfully excited about this!

I have an early start in the morning so will close now, with lots of love to you, Aunt Ruby, Jane and Mary, from your daughter.

Poppy

She finished the letter, put it in an envelope, thought about things, then opened the letter and took out the second page containing the piece about Freddie de Vere. Her mother would not understand, she decided. She wouldn’t think it was right. She probably hadn’t heard how society was changing. She took a fresh piece of paper and rewrote the second page without mentioning him.

Finally, after getting ready for bed, she put Freddie’s letter under her pillow, hoping to drift off to sleep and dream of him. When she closed her eyes, the figure who came unwanted into her head was the elegant one of Miss Cardew. Where did she figure in their relationship?

Chapter Fifteen

‘I say, girls, listen to this from the personal column,’ said Jameson. She read out from the newspaper she was holding: ‘
A young lady, who was engaged to be married to an officer killed at Ypres, is willing to dedicate her life to any soldier blinded or severely incapacitated as a result of the war
.’

Poppy and Matthews were silent for a moment. It was seven in the morning and they were sitting together in the hostel canteen having breakfast.

‘Gosh,’ Poppy said then. ‘She’s taking a risk. She could end up with
anyone
.’

‘Of course she could,’ Jameson said. ‘And that’s just it. She’s admitting that because the man she loves is dead, she doesn’t care what happens to her. How
terrible
.’

‘But don’t you think the new chap will mind being second best?’ Matthews asked. ‘She’s obviously still in love with the one who died.’

The other two shook their heads wonderingly.

‘And it would be difficult if the one who died was a colonel or something and the new one was a private,’ Jameson said. ‘He’d never feel quite up to scratch, poor lamb.’ She took a spoonful of porridge, turned the page and began studying the
Died in Action
lists.

‘Anyway, Jameson, how are your Hun?’ Matthews suddenly asked.

Jameson frowned. ‘Don’t call them that.’

‘Your Germans, then.’

‘
You
were calling them Hun before you started nursing them,’ Poppy pointed out.

Jameson began to protest, but on both girls insisting that indeed she had, she said
that
was before she knew what they were like.

‘And what
are
they like?’ Matthews enquired.

‘Just like us. They really
are
, though,’ she added after a moment. ‘They simply speak another language.’

‘But aren’t they terribly fierce and violent?’ Poppy asked. ‘That’s what the newspapers are always saying.’

Jameson shook her head. ‘They have to say that so that people want to go out and shoot them. Actually, the ones at the hospital are very polite and extremely grateful for everything we do for them.’ Looking at her two friends rather sheepishly, she added, ‘They’re far from home, they miss their families and they’re scared to death about what might happen to them if their country is defeated. They’re just like us!’

‘Maybe,’ Poppy said with doubt in her voice.

‘The ward is guarded day and night,’ Jameson went on, ‘and they’re not allowed as much as a sniff of fresh air. When they’re well enough to leave hospital they’ll go straight to a prison camp. They may never see their families again.’

‘Well,’ Matthews said, ‘that’s their fault.’

‘Their fault for being German?’ responded Jameson.

Matthews shrugged. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean.’

‘It’s what happens in a war,’ Poppy said. ‘There are always different sides. There’s you and there’s them, and someone’s got to win.’

‘But they’re just really nice men,’ Jameson went on. ‘They’re all officers –
honourable
prisoners of war. They kiss my hand when I go off duty; they’re interested in my family and what I do in my spare time. One of them even gave me a box of German chocolates.’

Noticing the look in her eye and the tone of her voice, Poppy nudged Matthews. ‘What’s he look like – the one who gave you chocolates?’ she asked Jameson.

‘Oh, he’s very good-looking,’ Jameson said immediately. ‘Thick fair hair and a strong jawline, quite tanned. He hasn’t got blue eyes, though – they’re a greeny-hazel.’ She suddenly noticed that both girls were looking at her with raised eyebrows. ‘
What?
’

Poppy and Matthews just smiled.

‘It’s not like that – not like that at all!’

‘I should think not,’ said Matthews.

That morning, Poppy made up her mind to ask Sister Kay if she could have the afternoon of the twenty-seventh off. She hadn’t asked before because she couldn’t decide if she should tell Sister the truth – that she was going out with a man – and risk being forbidden to go. The other thing was, once she had permission then she’d have to write to Freddie, and she hadn’t been able to decide what sort of a letter this should be. How much should she say about her feelings? Should she ask about Miss Cardew?

Going into Hut 59 that morning, Poppy found it quieter than usual. This was normally a sign that there had been a death or some sort of emergency on the ward, and she looked around anxiously to make sure her favourites were still there. She cared deeply about all the boys, of course, but certain of them had touched her heart. Young Thomas, especially . . . She looked towards his bed, but he was still in it, the small brown bear hanging from the end bar. Private Mackay was in place, too, and Private Franklin and one or two others she took a special interest in.

‘Why is everyone so hushed?’ she asked Moffat when she stopped for a breather in between delivering the breakfast trays.

Moffat looked rueful. ‘It’s so sad. Private Taylor has heard that his twin brother has been killed in Flanders. He was gassed and then shot.’

Poppy gave a gasp of horror.

Moffat nodded. ‘Both sides are using poisonous gas now. The Allies released the gas, but the wind was blowing the wrong way and it drifted back on to them.’

‘What about their gas masks?’

‘They say they’re no good – they fog up and you can’t breathe properly in them. Taylor’s brother became blinded by gas, stumbled on to barbed wire and got tangled up. There he was for Fritz, a sitting target.’

Moffat moved off to start changing beds and left on her own in the kitchen waiting for the porridge to arrive, Poppy sipped water until the lump in her throat had gone. Imagine losing a brother; imagine losing your
twin
.

After breakfast she asked about having the afternoon off and Sister Kay, distracted by the imminent arrival of Private Taylor’s family, agreed without questioning her about what she was going to do.

Moffat, who’d overheard, later said, ‘If you’re meeting a man – fine, go ahead. Just don’t let anyone from the hospital see you.’

‘I
am
meeting a man,’ said Poppy, unable to resist the joy of telling someone else.

‘A Tommy?’

‘No,’ Poppy said, trying not to sound too proud. ‘An officer. Duke of Greystock’s Regiment.’

‘Oh dear,’ Moffat said.

‘Why “oh dear”? Do you know something about that regiment?’

‘No, it’s just that you sound as if you might be a bit soppy about him.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Take a tip from me, old girl: don’t fall for any nonsense he might give you about needing to seize the moment in case “something happens” and you never see each other again.’

Poppy thought back to Freddie’s letter, which she knew by heart. Could it be that his intentions weren’t honourable? She felt rather thrillingly alarmed, then realised that he’d have very little opportunity to behave immorally during afternoon tea at the Criterion.

‘I don’t mean to play the maiden aunt,’ Moffat went on, ‘but I just want to warn you to be careful. Some men will play on a girl’s emotions to get her between the sheets. Other men might be perfectly sincere but might go off to war and never return. Either way you stand a good chance of getting your heart broken.’

‘Have you had . . . ?’

Moffat nodded, pressed her lips together and said no more.

There was precious little space to get away from everyone in Hut 59, but Sister had Private Taylor moved to a reclining chair near the nursing station at the top of the ward and had screens put around it. When his mother and father arrived, pale and worn-looking, he broke down completely and Sister asked Moffat and Poppy to go to the opposite end of the ward and get as many of the boys as possible involved in piecing together one of the huge jigsaws that had been donated.

Visiting time came and went, but Private Taylor’s family stayed on, and only left when it was time to catch their train back to Leicester.

Before Poppy left that day, the ‘Thames by Tower Bridge’ jigsaw not yet completed, Sister Kay beckoned her over.

‘I’m slightly worried about our Thomas,’ she said. ‘He’s been so upset by Private Taylor’s loss.’

Poppy nodded. Thomas’s bed was next to that of Private Taylor, who’d been acting as a kind of temporary uncle to the boy. Since he’d heard the news of his twin, however, Taylor had hardly spoken to anyone.

‘Thomas goes for surgery next week and, well, he’s a sad little chap. It would make all the difference if his mother could come in and see him.’

‘She’s in Newcastle, isn’t she?’

Sister nodded. ‘I’ve written to her, but she’s not replied. I’ve managed to get her a free travel pass now, though. I thought Thomas could write asking her to visit and send the pass at the same time.’

‘Do you want me to help him write it?’

‘I want you to write it for him,’ Sister said drily. ‘The lad can’t pen much more than his name – and he’s nowhere near recruitment age, either. God alone knows what he’s doing in the army.’

When Poppy went over to Thomas with a pad and pencil, he was half-hidden under a pile of blankets. She tidied his bed and changed his pillowslip, then told him she had a travel warrant ready to send to his mother. ‘So, Sister wants us to write her a nice letter to go with it, Thomas. What shall we say?’

The boy looked at her with dull eyes. ‘She won’t come. She’s got three babbies at home.’

‘Your little brothers and sister?’ Poppy asked. ‘How old are they?’

‘The babby is six months, Georgie is two and Flora is five.’

‘Perhaps your da can look after them for a day?’

‘My own da is dead,’ said Thomas. ‘The three bairns are from her new man an’ he’s in the factory working nights.’ His eyes filled with sudden tears and he turned his head so that Poppy wouldn’t see them. ‘He wouldna let her come and see me anyhow. He doesna like me.’

Poppy took his hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m sure he does! He’s probably just a very busy man, earning money to feed all those babbies.’ She brandished the notebook. ‘Now, what do you want to say to her?’

Thomas pushed his face into the pillow. ‘Nothin’. She won’t come.’

‘Thomas . . .’ Poppy said wheedlingly.
Dear Ma
, she wrote, and waited. ‘Come on, Thomas, I’ve got to say something.’

Thomas gave a great sigh. ‘Dear Ma, I hope this finds you as well as it leaves me,’ he said in a monotone. ‘I am in hospital at the moment, but will soon be back fighting for our country. Goodbye. From your son, Thomas.’

‘But that’s not true, is it?’ Poppy said. ‘You know you won’t be sent back to France, not with one leg. Does she know about your leg, Thomas?’

The boy gave a nod. ‘Doesn’t matter – she won’t come,’ he said. ‘Put what I said.’

Poppy, beginning to write, said aloud, ‘Dear Ma, I hope this finds you as well as it leaves me. I am in hospital at the moment, but will soon be back fighting for our country.’