Authors: Freda Lightfoot
She just wanted to hear that Jack was all right. Livia was so lucky to get so many letters from Matthew telling her he was fine.
It was impossible to say how long they lay there. It could have been an hour or half a day as Matthew drifted in and out of consciousness. Time became meaningless. His head was ringing from the explosion, and the air so thick with fumes he was finding it difficult to breathe.
When the smoke eventually cleared he could see by the dim light that filtered in through the cracks of fallen beams that men were shouting and screaming, hammering on the corrugated iron that now imprisoned them in the dugout. But no sound came out of their mouths. The silence was profound. He couldn’t hear a thing.
The young loader sat slumped on the bed under a pile of debris. When he was dragged out, the burnt skin peeling from his face and arms, a shudder passed through his body and his lips murmured a name as he died.
The sergeant was lying like a rag doll over his beloved gun. Matthew shook him and his hand came away wet with blood. There was nothing he could do for him either.
As darkness closed in on them, one man snatched up a shovel and began to dig. His comrade tore at the earth, desperately trying to widen the cracks between the heavy beams. Matthew pulled himself up on shaking limbs and went to help, taking turns with the one shovel. Little by little they prised the fallen beams apart sufficiently for more air to filter through, which at least allowed them to breathe fresh air. There was a faint sliver of daylight, so it must be almost dawn.
Matthew’s hearing was slowly returning but they were making little progress at shifting the rubble that blocked the entrance. He didn’t know how much longer they could hold on as exhaustion threatened, could only hope and pray that relief would come soon.
The hours dragged by at a snail’s pace. Their fear was palpable, the men’s courage indisputable. Is this how it feels to face death? Matthew wondered. Is this how it will all end, in a muddy dugout somewhere in France? Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Livia and to happier days. Their walks by the lake, those spirited discussions over how the store should best be run, which all seemed so trivial now. He recalled the touch of her lips on his, the warm curves of her body in his arms.
Livia, my darling. I hope you are safe from
this hell, safe and warm in England, even if it is in a military hospital some place.
They were woken from their exhausted sleep by the sound of heavy beams being dragged away, the scrape of metal. Thank God! Rescue was at hand. He could hear men talking as they dug. And then Matthew realised that the voices weren’t English.
Mercy was making her way back to their tent at the end of her shift, slipping and sliding in the mud as usual. Livia had spent the morning having a driving lesson. They were apparently short of ambulance drivers so she’d immediately volunteered, even though she’d never driven a vehicle in her life. But then, that was Livia all over. Say yes first, then work out how she could do it.
‘Oh, I’ll soon get the knack,’ she’d said. ‘A couple of hours behind the wheel and I’ll be ready to go.’
Mercy cast a quick glance over the parked ambulances, hoping none of them looked as if they’d recently suffered a crash, when she spotted Livia hurrying towards her. She was calling out to her, waving something in her hand.
Dear God, she was holding a letter.
Mercy began to run, almost falling over in her anxiety to reach Livia just as fast as she could. The two girls grabbed hold of each other, partly
in excitement, and partly as support to keep upright in the quagmire of mud.
‘It’s from Ella,’ Livia gasped. ‘Jack has been wounded but is apparently OK. That’s why we haven’t heard from him for weeks.’
‘Oh, thank God. How is he? Where is he?’
‘I don’t know any more as I haven’t finished the letter yet. Come on, let’s get inside the tent and read it quickly before we go in to supper.’
They sat together on Mercy’s camp bed while Livia read the letter out loud. Watching, Mercy could see the news wasn’t good by the way her face suddenly paled and her voice began to shake slightly. She quickly explained how Jessie had held on to the letter for at least a week before asking Ella to read it for her.
‘Jack apparently told his mother he’d been bombed but was OK. Then Ella says, “
The only problem is that Jessie also got a letter from his commanding officer. It seems that the emergency station they sent him to got bombed. Jack wasn’t killed, thank God, but he suffered further injuries. In the confusion no one can quite say what those are or how badly he is hurt. It’s all a bit vague, I’m afraid.
” She ends by promising that if she hears anything more from Jessie, she’ll let me know. Are you all right?’
Livia looked across at Mercy, and on seeing the tears roll down her sister’s cheeks, grasped
her hand and gave it a little squeeze. ‘He’ll be fine. Jack is a fighter. He’ll get through this, believe me.’
‘I know, but how cruel to be on the mend and then hit a second time. How many bomb attacks is one man able to withstand? What if he dies of an infection, as the boys here do all the time? How will I even hear about it? It takes so long to get news he might be dead already.’
‘Don’t think such things. You know we don’t allow such talk in this tent. Negative thinking is out of bounds, remember? No grumbles, no complaints, no misery. That was our agreement. Chin up and soldier on, right?’ Livia put her arms about Mercy and enveloped her in a warm hug.
Mercy clung equally hard to Livia, swallowing her tears with all the courage she could muster. ‘Thanks, Livvy. How would I cope without you?’
‘Ditto. So what kind of a day have you had?’
‘Marvellous fun dishing out blood. And you?’
‘Terrific. Nearly crashed twice!’
‘Jolly good.’
‘Now wipe those tears, dearest, and let’s go and eat. We’ll hear better news soon, I’m sure of it.’
As yet another winter approached, the snow ran red with blood and the number of casualties seemed limitless. The emergency post was now stationed closer to the front, and coping with the cold was the least of their worries. The Battle of the Somme had been raging on the western front since the end of June with scarcely any let-up. After two years of trench warfare, the British, along with her French Allies, were hoping to break the deadlock. But no such victory was in sight. The sound of the great artillery bombardment could be heard for miles around, and when it stopped, the VADs’ work began.
Nearly two hundred casualties had been brought in the first time the Tommies went ‘over the top’, almost all needing surgery. Once
a patient had been stabilised they were shipped out, back to Blighty. But as fast as they were dispatched more came in to take their place. It was relentless.
The daily battle with hygiene and sanitation was also growing worse, and infection could suddenly carry off a patient who’d seemed well on the road to recovery. Trench fever was another problem. No one knew why but it would come on suddenly, a severe pain followed by high fever, and it would take a patient weeks to recover.
Thankfully a doctor was now available in the reception tent to make those life and death decisions. He would put a special mark on patients not likely to survive. Livia always felt as if the red dot pierced her own heart every time she saw it. She would never grow immune to the suffering.
And the stink of death permeated everything. Most injuries were sustained in the trenches, in particular excited new recruits who would stupidly peer over the parapet. Rotting corpses lay everywhere, not only in the craters that pitted the terrain, but right there in the trenches. Often, by the time bodies were collected, they’d been half eaten by rats. The men feared these more than anything, and when the rats evacuated their holes they knew they were about to come under attack. Whether it was by pure instinct
or vibrations through the ground, the animals somehow sensed the enemy’s advance.
‘The rats are running!’ The cry would go up, putting everyone instantly on the alert.
This morning Livia woke, as she often did, to the sound of gunfire. She could hardly open her eyes she was so exhausted, and daren’t begin to contemplate the day ahead, yet another filled with death and destruction. Their silly jokes were wearing thin and they struggled at times to fight the onset of depression.
‘Is that another wave starting?’ she groaned. It was barely dawn, but raids were known to often start early.
Both girls paused in their hasty dressing to listen, but Mercy shook her head. ‘No, I think it’s the stand-to. They’re out on the fire step firing to warn off the enemy. It won’t last long.’
She was proved right as silence instantly fell, and the girls knew the men would be cleaning their rifles then grabbing some breakfast. After that they’d refill sandbags, repair the duckboards that were meant to protect their feet from the wet, and attempt to drain off the trench with a hand pump, or a bucket if they didn’t have such a thing. But the unacknowledged truce that took place while Allies and enemy alike took this time to eat and do essential chores, wouldn’t last long. For the rest of the day the Tommies must be on
the alert for attack, unable to move about freely until darkness fell. Only then could they get some rest, write, or read letters from loved ones.
More important tasks, such as repairing the barbed wire, or the trench itself, or bringing in rations, must also be done under cover of darkness. And even that was not without danger. The enemy would still be watching for any sign of movement, and surprise attacks at dusk were not unknown.
Today, the two girls managed to eat a good breakfast before the barrage started. The battle was fast and furious and as casualties fell, Livia, Mercy and the rest went into action.
The VADs never considered the danger to themselves. Livia drove the ambulance hour after hour to and from the front, without ever pausing for rest and refreshment. She no longer asked herself if she was tired or hungry, she just did what had to be done without a second thought.
Mercy would often work side by side with the doctor, running back and forth across an open field, dodging sniper fire to help carry the wounded as the ambulances arrived. For all it was a hospital station it was often shelled. But if the Tommies had the courage to face the enemy at the front, then what right had they to complain?
Today, however, Mercy was on the ambulance run with Livia, collecting casualties.
‘Let’s hope this is the last batch for today,’ Livia remarked as she wearily climbed into her ambulance for the fourth or fifth time that morning.
‘I’ve managed to purloin us a sandwich each.’
Livia took it gratefully, the breakfast they’d eaten at six seeming a lifetime ago. ‘Oh, goody, bully beef. What a treat!’
Mercy laughed, since there was rarely any alternative.
They set out across No Man’s Land, happily chewing on their snatched lunch when everything suddenly seemed to freeze.
For several long moments, although it was probably no more than a matter of seconds, Livia found herself studying the perfect formation of a leaf. Foolishly, she was wondering what it was doing inside the ambulance, until it slowly dawned on her that she was no longer in the vehicle but lying on the ground on her back.
Had there been an explosion? Had she crashed the ambulance? Livia couldn’t recall. Something had slammed into her like hitting a wall, and now for some reason she couldn’t get up.
‘Thank God, you’re alive. Can you move?’
Mercy’s elfin face emerged through a haze
of pain. Livia shook her head, then winced as a fresh jolt of agony shot through her.
‘Don’t even try. I think you’ve broken a leg. Your shin bone is fractured. Hold still.’
‘What happened? Where’s the ambulance?’
‘Over there, on its back like you. Either we hit a shell or one was dropped on us, it hardly matters which. We’re in the middle of No Man’s Land, fairly exposed, a mile or more from the station and still under sniper fire, so do try to keep your head down, love.’
As Mercy talked she was binding what looked like a huge hole in Livia’s leg out of which something very nasty seemed to be protruding. ‘We don’t have any splints left so I’m going to strap it to your good leg. Don’t even think of moving that either.’
Livia forced herself to breathe slowly and calmly as the job was done, the pain hitting her in great throbbing waves.
‘Right, now we have to get you somewhere safe. I’m going to drag you under that tree. It’s the only cover there is. It won’t be pleasant moving you. Are you up for it?’
Livia didn’t even attempt to speak, she just gritted her teeth and nodded.
It felt as if her leg were being yanked off every time her heel bumped on the ground. Mercy dragged her some fifty yards then propped
her against the tree. Livia lay there gasping, breathless with the pain for some minutes. But she could see Mercy still wasn’t happy. ‘Is it bad?’
‘You’re still bleeding. I don’t think you’ve severed an artery, so no need for a tourniquet, but it doesn’t look good. There may well be shards of metal in there, and I can’t carry you in this condition. We need a stretcher. We’ll just have to sit tight till somebody finds us.’
As the day wore on, the cold intensified and Livia began to shiver. Mercy took off her own coat and draped it over the pair of them, wrapping her arms about Livia and using her own body to keep her sister warm. Time ticked slowly by, the sound of sporadic gunfire worryingly loud. How near was the enemy, and who would discover them first? A VAD ambulance or the Germans?
They waited and waited till quite late in the afternoon but nobody came. The temperature had fallen to below freezing and Livia was beginning to feel light-headed, deeply aware of Mercy’s increasing anxiety as she constantly checked the wound. She knew it hadn’t stopped bleeding as she could feel a sticky wetness spreading beneath her.
‘We can’t wait any longer. I’m going to fetch help.’
‘No, don’t risk it, Mercy. The enemy could be lurking out there in No Man’s Land. Our lot will come eventually. They can’t have forgotten us.’
‘If the VADs have finished collecting the wounded for the day they might well be too busy to even notice we’re missing for some time. Even if they do, they won’t rush out to find us in the dark, not until the seriously injured patients have been stabilised first anyway. The trouble is, you could be joining their number if I don’t get help soon.’
‘It’s too dangerous. Let’s just wait. I’ll be fine,’ Livia protested, striving to instil some strength into her weakening voice. ‘I don’t want anything to happen to you.’
But Mercy wasn’t listening. She removed her apron, and, bundling it up for a pillow, made Livia as comfortable as possible as she lay half propped against the tree. Tucking her own coat over her she then used her muffler to wrap around Livia’s legs and feet. Livia absolutely refused to accept her mittens as well.
‘You must keep your hands warm, at least, or you’ll freeze. I shall be right as rain, trussed up here like an Egyptian mummy.’
The joke didn’t raise a smile from either girl. Mercy said, ‘I won’t be long. I wish I’d gone sooner, but at least the firing has stopped. Now be a good girl and don’t move.’
‘Not a muscle,’ Livia quietly replied, knowing she was too weak to even try. It seemed to take all her strength just to keep her eyes open. They felt strangely heavy, and her whole body languid.
‘I’ll be as quick as I can, I promise.’
‘Take care,’ Livia begged. ‘There might still be snipers out there.’
‘I’ll make sure I keep a lookout. You’re the one who needs to take care.’ Then Mercy put her arms about Livia and kissed her cheek. ‘I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with, and we’ve had our differences, you and I, but you’ve proved to be the best friend a girl could have. And the best of sisters.’
Livia’s throat closed, choked with emotion, blocked by a sudden rush of tears, but before she could find her voice Mercy put down her head and ran pell-mell across No Man’s Land and disappeared into the darkness.
The cold was brutal. Livia drifted in and out of sleep, snippets of her life merging in her mind, becoming jumbled and confused. She dreamt she was back in the store selling prettily ribboned petticoats to fussy customers, learning all about retailing from dear Mrs Dee. Next she was in the dining hall eating mutton stew, then on hunger strike in prison. The shop girls were laughing at her, putting soggy sago pudding in her bed, or
singing to her outside the prison. She was arguing fiercely with Matthew in his office, then loving him as the boat swayed gently beneath them. But the dream turned to a nightmare when she was back in that attic room and her father’s face was leering at her like a gargoyle, her beloved Maggie hanging from the banister rail.
It was the horror of that shocking image that woke her. Livia blinked into the darkness, coming to with a start and finding herself in a living nightmare of a different sort. She at once started to worry about Mercy. How long was it since she’d left? Not long, surely? She tried to work it out logically, if only as a means of keeping herself awake.
It would take her an hour, maybe two, to get back to the station, assuming she didn’t have to make any detours. The enemy regularly patrolled No Man’s Land at dusk and Mercy may well have had to lie low and take cover for a while. Would she have reached the road by now? She might try to avoid that, knowing she could easily meet a convoy of enemy vehicles. It was full dark now, so it must be – what? – midnight, or the early hours of the morning? Surely rescue must come soon. Livia realised that even if it did, they’d be hard put to find her in this total blackness.
She really must try and stay awake, so that if
– when – she heard a vehicle coming, she could call out. Should she crawl out into the open, try to make herself more visible?
Livia struggled to pull herself up into a straighter sitting position, but the slightest movement brought searing pain, causing her to cry out. She managed to take a sip of water but the effort of moving, and the bitter cold, exhausted her, and she slumped down again. There was no chance of her crawling anywhere. She must be growing crazy and confused even to consider it. Livia knew she had no choice but to lie perfectly still, and wait. For what? Rescue or death? It could be either.
The need to sleep dragged at her, pulling her down again into that morass of memories and confused images. She really mustn’t give in to it. It was imperative that she keep fighting, as she had when in prison. Didn’t she have steel in her soul? She must remember that.
Livia gritted her teeth against the pain and started to sing ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’, her voice weak and trembling. When she ran out of words she could remember, or the pain threatened to overwhelm her, she would valiantly start up another song, and another after that. ‘Greensleeves’ or ‘Old King Cole’, it really didn’t matter. She passed the time by singing every song and reciting every poem she’d ever learnt as a
girl. She even talked to Maggie in her head, but that only brought tears to her eyes, so she was obliged to stop.
The long night passed with aching slowness. Dawn came and the hours continued to drift by, empty and silent save for the distant sound of the artillery bombardment. Livia was relieved to find that the bleeding had stopped at last, probably frozen with the cold, as was she. Another Christmas was almost upon them. Would this war be over by then? If it ever did end, and if she was fortunate enough to survive, what would happen to her then?
She thought about Jack, her husband, lying injured in a French hospital somewhere. They’d been crazy about each other once, but Livia had to admit that she’d never felt for Jack the love she now had for Matthew. Jack had been there when she’d needed someone, following all that trauma with her father. She’d thought him brave and a glorious rebel, exactly what she’d needed at the time. But maybe she should have listened to her instincts and never married him. If she hadn’t found herself carrying his child, she might not have given in to his persuasion.