Liverpool Angels (16 page)

He stirred and slowly opened his eyes. ‘Mam? Mam, is it really you? Alice? I’m not dreaming? I’ve not died?’ he asked. His breathing was still a little laboured. He’d spent days – weeks it seemed – burning with fever, fighting for breath and not knowing if he was alive or dead. There had been brief moments when he’d realised he was on a train, then a ship, then a hospital ward, but they all seemed unreal.

‘Well, it’s the first time I’ve ever been confused with an angel,’ Alice replied laughing, for Maggie was unable to speak, she was so overcome.

Eddie struggled to pull himself up and instantly Alice put her arms under his shoulders to assist him, the way she’d been taught. ‘Mam, prop those pillows up behind him, he’ll find it easier,’ she instructed her mother.

Maggie did as Alice told her, pulling herself together. All that mattered now was that he get well. ‘It’s really me, Eddie, luv. They sent a telegram and we came at once. You’ve been very ill, luv, and we were worried sick about you.’ Gently she stroked a wisp of hair from his forehead, thinking his skin still felt a little clammy.

‘I know, Mam. When the lads got me to the clearing station I didn’t think . . . I’d make it.’

‘Thank God you have. They said you had pneumonia.’ Relief was evident in Maggie’s voice.

‘I . . . I only began to feel better yesterday. Before that . . . I don’t remember much.’

‘You’re in the best possible place, Eddie. You’ll be up and about in no time now,’ Alice said, smiling.

‘And we’re staying a few days to make sure,’ Maggie added firmly.

‘How are the other lads? Jimmy and Harry?’ Alice asked him. She had glanced quickly down the ward and had seen the other men with arms, legs, heads swathed in bandages and she’d thought of the twins still in France and in danger.

‘Not doing too bad when I last saw them, but that seems ages ago now. Jimmy, Harry and Tommy carried me out of the trenches to the clearing station. They wouldn’t hang about waiting for a stretcher. They’re good mates, the best.’

‘Tommy Mitford was with you?’ Alice remarked.

‘Yes, we sort of took him under our wing because he only lives a few streets away,’ Eddie replied. He was already beginning to feel tired again.

‘I’ll tell his mam that when I get home. I’ll go and see Nelly, she’ll appreciate it,’ Maggie said determinedly.

‘We’re tiring you, Eddie, I can tell. You’re still very weak. We’ll go soon but we’ll be back later at the official visiting time,’ Alice promised.

Eddie nodded and closed his eyes. The effort and the emotion of seeing them seemed to have drained what little strength he had.

‘Sleep is the best thing for him now, Mam,’ Alice said quietly.

Maggie agreed. ‘I think I’ll go and have a word with the sister to see how she thinks he’s doing and how long he’ll be here,’ she said, turning away and walking towards the desk in the centre of the ward where the sister sat writing.

Alice bent over her brother. ‘I’ll just make sure he’s comfortable.’ She gently eased him down against the pillows and as she did so he opened his eyes. ‘Get some rest now, Eddie,’ she urged.

‘I’m glad you came too, Alice. Is Mae all right?’

‘I couldn’t let Mam make that journey on her own, Eddie. It was a bit of an ordeal, but she’ll be happy now she’s seen you and knows you’re on the mend. Mae is nursing aboard a hospital train in France now. She writes when she can but as I’m sure you know, they’re kept busy.’

He managed a nod. ‘Alice, it . . . it’s nothing like we . . . expected. It’s worse than all your nightmares put together . . .’

‘Hush now, Eddie, try not to think of all . . . that. At least you and the twins and Tommy have come through it all so far,’ she replied, trying to sound optimistic. It was something Sister Forshaw impressed upon them, the need to be cheerful and optimistic, but despite herself she shuddered at his words. The horror of what lay out there seemed almost unspeakable. It was no wonder he’d ended up here in hospital, she thought, and it made her all the more determined to join Mae one day, hopefully in the not-too-distant future. After all, Mae would be eighteen this year and she was seventeen now and they’d let Tommy Mitford come over to fight.

As she found her mother she could see that Maggie was upset and that Sister was looking grim. ‘What’s the matter? Not bad news?’ she asked, glancing from one to the other.

‘That depends on how you consider it,’ Maggie replied curtly.

Alice looked questioningly at the sister. ‘Eddie is going to make a full recovery, isn’t he? There won’t be any permanent damage to his lungs?’

‘None at all, and with care he should fully recover,’ Sister answered confidently.

‘Then what’s the matter, Mam?’

It was Sister who spoke. ‘I have informed your mother of all this, and that when he is fit enough he will be transferred to convalesce in a large country house on the edge of the New Forest, which has been converted for that purpose. It’s standard procedure.’

‘But then they’ll send him back!’ Maggie stated angrily. ‘Back to those damned trenches so he can get pneumonia again or be killed or wounded. He’s only twenty, Sister, for God’s sake! Hasn’t he been through enough?’

‘Mrs McEvoy, please calm yourself! There are boys here who are even younger and some have been badly wounded, had legs and arms amputated, been blinded . . .’

Alice caught her mother’s arm; she understood how her mam felt but surely she’d realised that he would be sent back when he was fit. She, too, felt it was grossly unfair but there was nothing they could do. What Sister was saying was that eventually Eddie would be able-bodied, not like a lot of the men and boys in the ward. ‘Mam, I know it doesn’t seem right but Sister doesn’t make the rules and I’m sure she isn’t very . . . satisfied . . . that they’ve worked so hard to nurse Eddie to health only to see him sent back again. But there is nothing any of us can do about that. It . . . it’s war and it’s horrible. Come on, we’ll go back to the hostel and you can have a bit of a rest. I know you didn’t sleep well last night. We’ll come back later,’ she urged.

Sister stood up and nodded. ‘I think that is very wise, Miss McEvoy. Nerves get rather frayed at times like this. Visiting is between six and seven thirty.’

Alice thanked her and led a still distraught Maggie towards the door.

Sister gazed after them. What the girl had said was true. She didn’t make the rules. As Miss McEvoy had said, it was war. She was a sensible, compassionate and spirited girl, she thought, especially for one so young.

M
ae turned the letter over in her hand, recognising Harry’s writing, despite the stains on the envelope. They didn’t write frequently now and in some ways she was relieved. She felt they were slowly drifting apart although she did worry about his safety, but then she worried about them all. He was still up in the front-line trenches with Jimmy and Tommy enduring the terrible conditions and the bitter February weather, and she was kept more than busy for although there had been no major battles or ‘pushes’ over the weeks, the flow of casualties hadn’t diminished. The bombardment wasn’t continuous but both sides kept up a steady pace of shelling and the grey trains painted with red crosses continued their slow and arduous progress between the town and the clearing stations.

As usual she was exhausted at the end of another long and trying day and there were the tediously routine chores to be undertaken before she could hope to sleep. She decided she would leave reading the letter until morning and try to find the energy to reply tomorrow night although she felt guilty about it. At least she was safe, warm, dry and had a bed – poor Harry and the other lads out there had none of those things and she knew the effort it must have cost him to write. Each night she prayed for them all, that they wouldn’t be killed or wounded or succumb to illness, like Eddie. She’d been shocked when she’d heard from Maggie that Eddie had been shipped home with pneumonia just as she had arrived in France; thankfully he was recovering, but she was aware that as soon as he was fit again he would be sent back here. He’d been lucky to get over the pneumonia, she’d nursed lads suffering from it who hadn’t even got to a hospital in Boulogne, but would his luck hold out? She placed the letter on top of the little locker and sighed. She knew that sooner or later she would have to tell Harry about her meetings with Pip for they were becoming increasingly friendly. She’d never considered herself to be Harry’s ‘girl’ but she knew he still regarded her as such and so she kept putting off telling him about Pip, suspecting it would upset him and she was sufficiently fond of Harry not to wish to add to his problems.

She’d met Pip on every afternoon off she’d had and her feelings for him were growing stronger. He’d asked her was there anyone ‘special’ in her life and she’d told him about Harry. How they’d grown up together, how he’d asked her to ‘walk out’ just before war had been declared. She’d told him that she hadn’t given Harry a definite answer as although she was fond of him it was affection similar to that she felt for her cousin Eddie. All she’d promised to do was to write to Harry. She still felt guilty she’d let Harry kiss her but that kiss had made her realise she didn’t love him. Even before she’d met Pip she’d known that; ‘fond’ was the only word she could use to describe her feelings for Harry. A little shyly she’d asked Pip if there was a girl in Boston waiting for him. He’d smiled and said there were a couple he’d ‘dated’ but he hadn’t heard from either of them since he’d been in France. He hadn’t viewed either as anything serious, he’d added, and she’d felt relieved.

As she went about the routine tasks of combing out her hair, brushing and mending her dress, washing apron, cuffs and cap, she felt weighed down by her emotions. She was meeting Pip tomorrow and although she was looking forward to it she felt anxious and apprehensive. She’d seen him earlier that day for a few minutes and he’d said there was something important he had to tell her tomorrow, but he hadn’t looked very happy at all. She wondered now if he was planning to tell her he was going home – she suddenly realised that if he were, she would be utterly miserable.

Pip was waiting for her as usual and Monsieur Clari, the café proprietor, nodded genially to her as she sat down. They met quite regularly and were an attractive couple, the pretty English nurse and the young American ambulance driver, he thought.

‘Oh, it’s freezing out there! I shouldn’t be surprised if it snowed,’ Mae commented as she took off her gloves.

‘I know but a cup of coffee will soon warm you up,’ Pip replied, smiling at her, wishing there was some easy way of breaking his news.

‘What is the “important” news you mentioned yesterday?’ she asked slowly when the coffee had been served.

Pip frowned. ‘I’m afraid I’m being moved.’

Mae looked at him in dismay. ‘Moved! Oh, Pip, when . . . where to?’

‘Very soon, within a day or so. You’ve heard of Verdun?’

Mae nodded. ‘It’s a town in the mountains up in Lorraine.’

Pip looked grim. ‘It’s a citadel and permanently garrisoned, but the Germans have launched an attack and the French are determined to hold on to it at all costs, just as they did in nineteen fourteen, but this time the Boche have brought up massive long-range guns. They can fire shells that weigh a ton each. You can imagine the damage they’re doing and you can imagine the casualties too.’

Mae shook her head in disbelief as she tried to picture what a shell that size even looked like, let alone the destruction and carnage it would cause.

‘They desperately need ambulances and experienced drivers to take the wounded to hospital in Revigny, which I believe is about forty kilometres away from Verdun.’ He didn’t tell her that the winding mountain roads were dangerous, particularly in winter when ice and snow covered them, and now they were crowded with refugees, troops and supply vehicles.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve much choice,’ Mae said dejectedly.

‘None at all. Lenny and I are the most experienced drivers, so we’ve to go.’

Mae bit her lip. ‘I don’t suppose you know how long you’ll be there?’

Pip took her hand. ‘Do any of us know how long we’re going to be anywhere? We go where we’re needed most, Mae.’

She wanted to say that he didn’t need to be here at all, this wasn’t America’s war, but she didn’t; she miserably sipped her coffee, which now tasted bitter. ‘I’ll miss you terribly, Pip, I really will. Our little outings are the only bright moments I seem to have to look forward to.’

He looked at her earnestly. ‘Do you mean that, Mae?’

‘Of course I do. Without you, there’s nothing . . . no . . . no joy,’ she replied truthfully but bashfully.

He reached out across the table and took her hand. ‘I’ll miss you too, Mae. I’ve grown to like you . . . a great deal.’

She managed a little smile as his words brought some measure of comfort. ‘I . . . like you a great deal too, Pip. I don’t suppose there will be time to write?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. From what we’ve been told we’ll barely have time to eat and sleep, things are so bad. But I’ll try and get word to you somehow and I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can, I promise.’

Mae felt the tears pricking her eyes as she nodded. ‘I . . . I’ll be here, Pip,’ she replied. ‘The casualties won’t stop coming.’

They finished their coffee and reluctantly left the café. Usually he walked her back to the station and they made plans for their next meeting but today they walked in silence, although Pip took her hand and squeezed it and she smiled up at him.

They had to stop on the corner of the Rue Nationale for a column of soldiers was marching towards the station. They were obviously newly arrived for they looked healthy, their uniforms clean, their steps lively and they were merrily singing ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’.

Mae watched them, wondering how long it would be before she was tending some of them on the hospital train.

‘They always seem so darned cheerful,’ Pip observed, raising a hand to wave to them as they passed.

Mae suddenly heard her name being called and saw a soldier step out of the line. It was Eddie.

‘Mae! Mae! I hoped I’d see you,’ he cried.

‘Get back in line, lad!’ the sergeant major roared and Eddie very reluctantly rejoined the column.

Mae went after him with Pip at her side. ‘Eddie, Eddie! Are you all right? Have you fully recovered?’ she asked, quickening her steps to keep up with him.

He grinned at her. ‘I’m as right as rain now. Spent some weeks convalescing, living the life of Riley in Hampshire, but duty calls, so I’m back.’

Mae smiled at him, but despite his cheerful tone she had detected the note of unease in his voice and glimpsed the dread in his eyes.

‘Will you write and tell Mam you saw me?’

‘Of course,’ Mae promised.

Eddie had noticed the tall, good-looking young man at her side and the fact that he was holding her hand. ‘Who’s your friend?’ he asked suspiciously, knowing Harry considered Mae to be his girl.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. This is Pip. Phillip Middlehurst of the American Field Ambulance Service.’ She looked up at Pip and smiled. ‘This is my cousin Eddie McEvoy – you remember I told you he’d been shipped back home?’

‘Nice to meet you, Eddie, you take good care of yourself this time,’ Pip replied pleasantly; then, realising their presence beside the marching column was being viewed with some animosity by the sergeant major, he drew Mae away to the side of the road.

‘Eddie, take care of yourself! Write when you can, it’ll find me at the Gare de Boulogne,’ she called after him.

‘I’ll tell the lads I’ve seen you and that you’re fine,’ Eddie called back with a final wave and, Mae thought, a meaningful look.

Mae and Pip stood watching until the street was clear again, Pip wondering how many of those lads would survive in the coming months and Mae thinking that she really must write to Harry now and try to explain. Oh, she wished things were different. She didn’t want to hurt Harry, but she had never felt for him the way she did about Pip, and now Pip was leaving for Verdun and all she could really think about was that she had no idea when she would see him again.

Later that evening and with a heavy heart she found writing paper and a pen and composed the letter.

My dear Harry,

I hope you are keeping well and that things are not too bad. I saw Eddie today in Boulogne and he seemed cheerful and completely recovered. By now I expect you will all have had a bit of a reunion. I’m finding this letter very difficult to write for a number of reasons: it’s late and I still have many chores to complete but the most difficult thing of all is how to tell you that, although I am and have always been very fond of you, I think you know in your heart that I don’t love you. I must be honest with you even though I know you will be desperately hurt by what I have to tell you. I have been walking out for a while now with a young American ambulance driver I met when I arrived in Boulogne and we have become very close. I can’t tell you how very, very sorry I am, Harry, for I know this news will upset you terribly, but I never promised to be anything other than your friend. All I promised was that I’d write to you. My feelings for you are the same as my feelings for Eddie and I’ll always think of you with great affection but it’s just not fair or right for me to go on letting you think that there is anything more serious between us.

She paused and reread what she had written. Oh, it was so hard but there was no way of dressing it up; she was sorry, she didn’t want to hurt him but she just had to tell him.

I wish you well, Harry. Take care of yourself and I hope in time you will understand and be able to forgive me.

Mae

She folded it and tucked it into an envelope feeling even more dispirited.

Alice squared her shoulders as she fingered the letter in her pocket. She’d asked Mae to write and describe in detail the conditions and the casualties, for the letters Mae wrote to her mother didn’t give much information about either. Mae had duly complied and now she intended to show that letter to Sister Forshaw. Ever since she’d got back from Southampton she had been dropping broad hints about how badly nurses were needed but they had fallen on deaf ears. After reading Mae’s letter she was now determined to do everything in her power to follow her cousin to France.

She knocked smartly on the door and waited until Sister called for her to enter. She took a deep breath; this was her chance.

Sister looked up, a slight frown of irritation on her face. ‘You asked to see me, Nurse McEvoy? I hope it’s not on a trivial matter, you know how busy I am.’

‘No, Sister, it’s nothing trivial. I’d like you to read this, please.’ Alice held out the envelope. ‘It’s from my cousin Mae, Nurse Strickland.’

Sister took it but looked quizzically at the girl in front of her. She held Alice in some esteem for she was shaping up to be a very practical and competent nurse and she was fully aware of her desire to be transferred. ‘Does it concern me?’ she asked.

Alice nodded. ‘I think it concerns us all, Sister.’

The older woman withdrew the pages of neat writing and began to read and Alice soon saw the expressions of shock, disbelief, pity and frustration that passed in rapid succession across the woman’s face. They were the same feelings that had engulfed her when she’d first read what Mae was coping with. Now she understood the terrible conditions the soldiers were enduring, their horrific and often superficially treated wounds, the sheer scale of the casualties and the very basic medical and living conditions the nurses had to contend with.

‘Is . . . is all this . . . true?’ Sister asked when she’d folded the pages. Oh, she’d heard that things were bad but she’d never envisaged casualties on such a scale nor the appalling conditions both the soldiers and nurses were suffering for they’d had no official notification of the facts.