Guy’s son was born at Cadogan Place on Boxing Day. I did not want to see the baby, but in the end I had to go. Pansy was feeding him when I went in – the small dark head was still against her breast, only the round cheeks moving in and out with fierce concentration. Pansy looked up, her tired face glowing. ‘Isn’t he beautiful, Helena?’ I looked at him and felt only relief; he was so obviously Guy’s son and there was no answering tug in my breast. My brother had the son he had wanted, and I was glad.
Guy came back to England soon after. It was not very clear why, and even Pansy seemed uncertain. Guy himself muttered something about ‘training’, but he was so bad-tempered nobody dared to question him further. The glow died out of Pansy’s eyes, and by the time Guy went glowering back to France at the end of April, Nanny was feeding young Lance from a bottle; Pansy’s milk had dried up because she was pregnant again. I had learnt much in the past year, but I suspected that Pansy had learnt even more.
My leave was due as soon as Guy had gone back, so I went up to Cheshire and spent the time very quietly at Hatton. It was strange to see men in their blues and not be responsible for their welfare, but Mother had organized a team of local VADs who did just as they were told, so I walked in the park each day and then came back to play and sing in the music room, which had been kept as the family sitting room.
The week after I got back a letter arrived from Mother – she had come down to Cadogan Place because Conan had been wounded. She wrote that he was recovering quite well – he had been caught in the head by a piece of shrapnel on his way up to the line with a carrying party. That wound had been relatively slight, but the impact had knocked him off the duckboards and he had fallen awkwardly and broken his leg above the ankle. I wanted to go up and see him at once, but the other VAD on my ward had gone sick and her replacement was a girl from a small Red Cross Hospital in Dorset – she was badly shaken by her first experience of the 6th London, so Sister asked me to stay on duty longer for several days.
When I eventually arrived at the luxurious private hospital for officers overlooking the Park, the small VAD hovering outside the spotless sink room was doubtful about letting me in to see him. ‘Doctor said, as Lieutenant Finlay is a head wound he should be kept quiet – only relatives are allowed to visit.’
I said, ‘I am a relative, I’m his cousin.’
She still seemed uncertain, until a second girl came, and after a whispered consultation she said, ‘Well, since you’re a VAD – I suppose I can take you along to his room.’
‘No, Sybell – I’ll take her…’ They wrangled in soft pretty voices; the first girl waved a pink-tipped elegant hand and I wondered how she managed to keep them so well – finally they both decided to take me. After a slight scuffle Sybell reached the door first and flung it open. My cousin was lying back on his bed while a shapely girl with silver-blonde hair bent over him, holding a medicine glass to his lips. Her eyes were fixed on his face, his were riveted on the swelling curve of her bosom.
Sybell announced, ‘Lieutenant Finlay, your cousin has come to see you.’ Conan’s glance flickered in my direction and he raised a languid hand in greeting. My two escorts stood gazing at him, then Sybell’s friend glanced at me and said, ‘Isn’t it curious – you look much more like him than either of his sisters.’
I looked over at Conan whose eyes were now fixed again on the full breasts suspended above him and said, very distinctly, ‘Lieutenant Finlay does not have any sisters.’
There was a chorus of little gasps, and an indignant trio of skirts rustled backwards through the door. Bereft of his entertainment Conan looked across at me: his blue eyes snapped, ‘Thanks, Hellie – thanks a lot!’
I smiled sweetly at him. ‘You really must introduce me to your sisters some time, dear Cousin.’
His sudden grin flashed out. ‘Give me a chance, Hellie – I haven’t introduced them to each other yet!’ I began to laugh, and he reached out and seized my hand. ‘Anyway, after the damage you’ve just done the least you can do is give me a cousinly kiss.’ He pulled me towards him and I bent down to put my lips to his cheek, but he was too quick for me and it was his mouth which met mine – before I could move away an arm was clamped round my waist and I was sprawling halfway across the bed in a long, breathless kiss.
There was a click behind us, and an indignant squeak of ‘His cousin!’ before the door closed again and I was able to break free. Conan began to laugh. ‘That serves you right – that just serves you right!’ With my cheeks on fire I swept to the furthest corner of the room and sat down with my hands primly folded. Conan lay back on his pillows, looking at me, then he grinned again. ‘I’ll tell you something, Hellie – I like kissing you even more than I do my sisters!’ He started to laugh again, and at last I joined in.
At the end of May, Conan’s father took him back to his estate in Ireland to convalesce, and I began to look forward to the twins’ next leaves – I knew they were due shortly, and opened each envelope with its distinctive black circle with a throb of anticipation. But the news had still not come when, in the middle of June, the hostel housekeeper met me with a telegram. I opened it with shaking hands: ‘Eddie wounded. In 1st London General at Camberwell. Pickering.’
I rushed upstairs and scrabbled for money, then ran all the way back to the cab rank outside the hospital gates. I sat in the cab, clutching the stitch in my side and gasping for breath, ‘Eddie – please God, don’t let it be too bad.’ All the worst and most mutilating wounds I had ever seen flashed before my eyes and I wanted to scream at the driver to go faster, faster. I jumped down and ran to the porter, waiting impatiently as he consulted his records. ‘Lieutenant Girvan, Miss? B Ward, Officers’ Row, turn right by the X-ray hut…’ I was running again.
At the entrance to the hut I stopped, very frightened, looking along the rows of beds. A staff nurse came towards me. But I had seen him, and I plunged forward and there was Eddie, lying back smoking, his face quite unmarked, with his left leg strung up in a Balkan beam and his right arm in a sling. He looked like a schoolboy as he grinned up at me. ‘Hello, Big Sis – aren’t I the popular one today! Papa’s only just left.’ My legs were shaking and I collapsed on to a chair, then threw my arms round him and buried my face in his neck. ‘Hey, watch it – I’ll be setting your hair on fire.’ I straightened up, still clutching his uninjured arm. ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t quick enough at the station – got taken to the rival establishment – so you won’t have the pleasure of carrying my bed pan! Still, it is the same side of the river.’
At last I managed to find my voice. ‘Conan was in Park Lane – it was very luxurious – and he had three terribly pretty VADs waiting on him hand and foot.’
Eddie snorted. ‘Typical! Still, I’m damn glad to be anywhere, frankly,’ he shuddered. ‘Christ, Hellie, I thought I’d had it! They sent us out on one of those bloody stupid trench raids – crawling about in No-Man’s-Land with blackened faces clutching knobkerries, like a crowd of drunken Irishmen on St Patrick’s night – “Just get out there and capture a couple of the enemy, Girvan.” “Certainly, sir,” I said, my knees knocking like a pair of tap-dancers. “It makes all the difference to know whether we’re being shot at by a Prussian regiment or a Saxon one.” “Of course, sir.” And that was it, poor little Edwin for the big heroics.’ He took another pull at his cigarette.
‘What happened, Eddie?’
‘Oh, the usual – a flare went up and someone didn’t freeze fast enough so the next minute a load of grenades were being lobbed in our direction. It was like being hit by a bloody steam-hammer. When I came to in a shell hole there was just me and Private Dobson – and he was dead. I was so stunned I kept whispering in his ear – until I realized it wasn’t actually attached to the rest of his body any more. Then I tried to crawl back, but they’d smashed the other ankle as well; I couldn’t get out of the bloody hole – I was as weak as a kitten. So I just lay there, thinking very gloomy thoughts about the dawn – I’ve never been very keen on seeing the dawn, as you know. We’d gone over too late because it’d been moonlight earlier – the whole operation was a botch-up from start to finish – old Pearson didn’t like it above half, but orders are orders, so he had to send us.’ His face was grim. ‘I kept thinking about Robbie, if he’d been in the forward trench he’d have come looking for me – and I cursed the fact that he was in support, then I thought about it a bit more and thanked God he was further back.’ He fell silent.
At last I asked, ‘But how did you get back, Eddie?’
He shook himself, then winced with pain. ‘Light me another cigarette, Hellie, and I’ll tell you.’ My hands shook as I struck the match; Eddie inhaled deeply. ‘Well, I lay there, watching the pearly glow in the east, feeling pretty sick, when a voice with a strong Lancashire accent whispers, “Is that you, Mr Girvan, sir?” and there, peering over the lip of the hole, was Sergeant Holden. I thought I was hallucinating, but I managed to yelp, “Yes, but I’m afraid Dobson’s had it.” He says, quite calm, “Then I’d best get you in, sir, it’s a bit chilly out here.” I hissed back, “You’re mad – it’s nearly daylight and I can’t move.” He slid down into the hole and said, “That’s all right, sir, I can carry you.” Hellie, I’ve heard some poetry in my time, and I thought it was pretty smart stuff, but that simple phrase, “I can carry you” – I tell you, Shakespeare never wrote words like that. Then he picked me up and carried me in, just like a baby.’
I shivered. ‘Didn’t they – didn’t they fire at you?’
‘Yes, they did – but Holden assured me they couldn’t see properly, not with the dawn rising behind their trenches, and by that stage I’d have believed him if he’d told me the moon was made of green cheese. Anyway, they missed us, or perhaps they let us get away with it – they do sometimes – and there I was back in our trench waiting for the stretcher bearers. Pearson said Corporal Smith had come back in a blue funk so Holden picked him up and shook him like a terrier with a rat until he’d told him more or less where we’d been. Smith insisted that Dobson was dead, but then he admitted he didn’t know about me. So Holden said he’d go out and see what had happened. Little Ormsby offered to have a go, Pearson told me – very decent of him – but Holden said I’d be too heavy for him to manage, whereas he was used to heaving coal around so he’d better do it.’
‘Oh Eddie – how kind, how very kind, I’ll write and thank him today.’
‘Good idea Hellie, I can’t scribble a thing at the moment. God, was I glad to see him – I’ve always had nightmares about lying out in No-Man’s-Land, ever since we found old Sawley’ – he shuddered – ‘the rats had made a pretty fine mess of him – I only hope he died first.’ I could not speak; I just sat and clutched his arm.
As soon as I had scribbled a note to Robbie I wrote to Sergeant Holden, and posted both letters before tea. When I saw Papa the next day at Camberwell he said he had written too, and sent a box of Havana cigars. On the third day I managed to get over in the morning. Eddie lay listlessly in his bed; he looked rather feverish and said his leg was hurting a lot. On the fourth day I just sat with him, holding his hand. His pulse was racing, and as I bent over to kiss him goodbye I smelt the sickly scent of decay from his wound. He opened his eyes and said, ‘Hellie – I feel lousy.’
I whispered, ‘It’s just a reaction, old man, you’ll feel better in a day or two.’ He tried to smile and began to shake. When he had stopped, his eyes were closed again. I tiptoed away.
Matron came to my ward early next morning and said I must go over to the 1st London at once; a cab was waiting at the door. Papa had telegraphed to Mother at Hatton and she had caught the midnight sleeper from Manchester. When I arrived at the hospital Eddie was already delirious; he did not recognize us. They had taken his leg off in the night, but it was too late, he had absorbed too much of the poison. The three of us sat beside his bed until he died.
I went back with my parents to Cadogan Place. Miss Fisher was waiting in the hallway; she hurried forward, ‘My lady…’ Her voice trailed away.
My mother’s tone was quite steady and she held her back ramrod straight as she requested, ‘Please lay out full mourning for Lady Helena and myself, Fisher.’
The maid bowed her head in assent and turned towards the servants’ door. I muttered something to my parents and ran to the stairs and up to my bedroom, where I began to take off my uniform; my hands were trembling so much I could scarcely unfasten the buttons.
When she had dressed me in the black I had worn for Gerald, Fisher handed me a letter – I had put it in the pocket of my frock that morning at Wandsworth, unopened. It was from Sergeant Holden, saying that he was glad to hear Mr Girvan was going on so well. I sat down at my desk, picked up my pen and began to write.
Dear Sergeant Holden,
I am sorry to have to tell you that my brother died this morning.
It looked very bald, so at last I added:
He told me how much he had dreaded the possibility of lying wounded and dying in No-Man’s-Land, and thanks to you he did not have to endure that.
Yours very sincerely,
Helena Girvan.
I sat staring at the letter, then I wrote underneath: ‘Thank you for enabling me to be with him at the end.’ I folded the paper and put it into an envelope, then I began to weep for Eddie, for Robbie, and for myself.
They let Robbie come back on leave. He had been in the support trenches with A Company; he had not even seen Eddie before he was taken down the line. His face was a grey mask. He kept whispering, ‘I knew, I knew – my leg hurt and hurt and then it didn’t hurt any more – there was just nothing – so I knew he’d gone.’
We took Eddie back to Hatton to be buried. I watched Robbie carry the flag-draped coffin of his brother out of the old grey church at Lostherne. Together with the other khaki-clad pallbearers he lowered it gently into the open grave, then he threw a handful of soil down on to the body.
‘…earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…’
I stepped forward and stood close beside him.
‘Grant, we beseech Thee, O Lord, Thine Eternal Rest to all who have died for their country, as this our brother hath…’
Our brother. We stood shoulder to shoulder as the firing party raised their rifles and the volley crashed out over the grave, and I felt his fingers reach convulsively for mine as the bugle sang its wailing lament over the peaceful hillside – the Last Post, for our brother, our brother who was dead.
That night as I lay dry-eyed and sleepless I heard the soft click of the door. ‘Hellie?’ My brother’s tall shape came towards me, his shoulders shaking. I went to him with hands outstretched and led him over to my bed. I pulled him in beside me and we lay clasped in each other’s arms and cried ourselves to sleep.
I went to see him off at Victoria. Robbie said, ‘He was the strong one, Hellie – he always looked after me, all the time. Now he’s gone I don’t know how I can stand it.’
I looked up at his white face, then I said, ‘Robbie, I’ll be old enough for active service in September – I’ll put my name down the minute I get back. I’ll soon be in France, with you.’
His face lightened a fraction, then he hugged me very tightly and strode off to the waiting train. I went home and wept.