Two sleek destroyers raced beside us, their sterns cutting the green water in a froth of curling foam. I stood at the rail in my unwieldy lifejacket, watching them. It was difficult to believe that we on the Channel steamer needed them, to protect us from the swift secret launch of a torpedo. I turned quickly away, and looked down instead at the deck – but there was no escape there. Excited youngsters, obviously going out for the first time, laughed and joked alongside groups of dull-eyed men huddled into their lifejackets in weary resignation as they returned from leave. I remembered the last time I had made this journey, happily anticipating the welcome awaiting me from my friends in Munich – my friends who had become my enemies, who would destroy me if they could.
I was part of the British Army now. Although I had moved away from the other VADs and come to stand by the rail I, like them, carried an army identity certificate in my pocket. It bore my unsmiling photograph, and recorded my name, age, army rank and the number of my detachment. It was only that number, repeated in brass on my shoulder straps, which singled any one of us out from her fellows. Otherwise we were all alike: all labelled by our white shirts and black ties, our ugly hats and dark-blue coats and skirts, and the wide Red Cross brassard encircling our arms as VAD nurses going on active service.
Twenty of us had left that morning in a group from Victoria. Alice had come with me to the station in a cab, ready to wave me off, just as she had waved goodbye to her husband the week before, at the end of his leave.
Dear Hugh: I had been off at five the day after he came home, and Alice had invited me to dinner. I had gone straight up to Eaton Terrace in my uniform – I would change later – and Hugh and Alice were in the drawing room. Hugh’s face was tanned and his chest had seemed broader then ever, stretching the leather strap of his Sam Browne belt; but otherwise he was the same as always, my warm friendly brother-in-law. He held out his hand in greeting, but I ran to him and threw my arms round his neck, and he gave me a great bear hug in return. When he had kissed me, he set me back a little and looked me over, smiling. ‘You’re looking as lovely as ever, Helena – just as beautiful as your sister!’ I knew my face was too pale and my hair was lank, but I smiled back gratefully. ‘And what’s this – your first stripe, eh? Well done.’ He patted the white stripe on my sleeve.
‘Why Hellie – so they’ve made you a lance-corporal at last!’ Alice was laughing.
Hugh said seriously, ‘No, Alice – nurses count as officers, you know.’
I had laughed at that. ‘I’m afraid I’ll never make an officer, Hugh. I’m hopeless at bullying the orderlies – I leave all that to Sister. No, this is just a service stripe – everyone gets it after a year as long as they keep going and behave themselves.’
As she lit her cigarette Alice winked at me. ‘I’m so glad to hear you’ve been behaving yourself, Hellie.’
My face flamed. I looked desperately round for distraction – and caught sight of the two stars on my brother-in-law’s cuff. ‘Oh Hugh – you’ve got your second pip up – I am so pleased. Alice didn’t tell me.’
My sister broke in. ‘I’m only going to start boasting when he gets those pretty little red tabs on his collar – first lieutenant is nothing.’
Hugh’s face reddened, and I flushed again, for him. But he said firmly, ‘I wouldn’t accept them if they were offered to me, Alice. I’d rather stay at the front with the men. Staff officers are good for nothing but saving their own skins and sending a fine bunch of fellows out on useless raids.’
I felt the blood drain from my face, and Hugh saw and looked stricken. He reached for my hand and patted it clumsily as I whispered, ‘Like Eddie, like they did to Eddie.’
Hugh muttered gruffly, ‘Poor old Eddie – God, I was cut up when I heard. It seemed worse somehow – I mean, if anything happened to me, I’ve had some good years – and there’s been Alice and the boys – but these youngsters…’
Alice stubbed out her cigarette; her voice was angry. ‘He was twenty, just twenty.’
My eyes blurred with tears. I stared out to sea and prayed that none of the other VADs in the draft would come and try to speak to me now. I glanced quickly sideways – none of them were near – but a young Flying Corps officer was looking straight at me. He caught my eye and began to edge forward, his mouth curving in a tentative smile. I swung round and fixed my eyes on the grey destroyers.
But seeing his uniform had made me think of Conan. Hugh had talked of my cousin, saying how much he had missed him after he had been wounded – they had been subalterns in the same company for several months. ‘Come to that, the whole battalion must miss him – the Colonel made him billeting officer and we’ve never lived so well out of the line, before or since. That famous Finlay charm – the most obdurate Frenchwoman was putty in his hands – and it’s the women who count in France now, with all their men at the front.’
Alice smiled and blew a smoke ring. ‘But I seem to remember he spoke the most atrocious French!’
Hugh replied seriously, ‘Oh, he knew enough to do the trick. I remember one occasion – we’d been warned by the battalion before us that this spinster schoolmistress ran the village and she hated the English, she’d made life bloody uncomfortable for these poor devils.
She had a chest like a washboard and the moustache of a Grenadier – yet Conan went straight up to her, clicked his spurs, bowed – and then kissed her hand.’ Hugh shuddered. ‘Then he announced: “Irlandais, nous sommes officiers Irlandais, les anciens alliés de France. Mais nous n’aimons pas les Anglais, Madame.” His eyes flashed as he said that, then they went all mooning and he whispered, “Ah, les belles dames de France – elles sont ravissant, et si charmantes – madame, nous sont dans ta mains, nous prieons ta secours.” I don’t know about his grammar but his delivery was impeccable. She nearly swooned at his feet. We lived in the lap of luxury for the next two weeks. The schoolmistress insisted on giving up the best bedroom to us, then waited on us hand and foot. Conan was very decent – he never forgot I was his cousin-in-law – that time he persuaded her to borrow another bed, so I could share with him and Bron Nichols.’
I interrupted. ‘I remember Bron Nichols, I used to dance with him before the war – he has that lovely curly blond hair, and such a sweet face. He used to go around with Conan a lot.’
‘That’s right – they’d been in the same house together at school. They were inseparable in France – but those baby-blue eyes were deceptive, Hellie, old Bron was as much of a young devil as Conan when they were together – the japes they got up to, the pair of them!’
I said, ‘Conan will miss Bron Nichols – I’m surprised he’s transferred.’
Hugh looked up. ‘That’s why he did transfer, Hellie.’ I saw the expression on my brother-in-law’s face, and shivered, although the room was quite warm. Hugh stared at the empty grate. ‘We were due to be relieved that night, we’d had a quiet time, only a couple of casualties in our company, nothing to speak of then there was the usual screeching roar and an almighty crump, and I heard the shout go out for stretcher bearers. A corporal came round the traverse, I asked, “Someone hit?” “They got Mr Nichols, sir.” I pushed along to see if I could do anything – a shell had caught the back of the trench, damned unlucky. They’d pulled old Bron out; he was lying on the duckboards, with his head pillowed on a sandbag, looking very surprised. Conan must have got there just before I did; he was squatting down beside him, chatting, his voice as cheerful as ever. “Well, Bron old boy,” he said, “It looks as if you’ve put one over on me. This should just about get you to Blighty, I reckon – with a bit of luck.” Then he lit a cigarette for Bron and put it between his lips, and while Bron smoked it he went on talking, about what Bron would do when he was on sick leave – he mentioned a tart they’d had in London before we came out – they’d both shared her, apparently. Conan said, “You lucky bastard, Bron – what a girl – and now you’ll be able to have her all to yourself.” He took the cigarette butt out of Bron’s mouth and began to light another one, and I saw Bron smile at him, and he managed to speak – his voice was very low, but quite clear. “I’ll always share with you, Con – you know that.” And Conan smiled at him. Then Bron’s face seemed to change, and he said “Only, Con, I don’t know about tarts – I can’t feel anything down there – would you have a look, old man?” So Conan leant forward, and his face never changed – God, not an eyelid flickered, then he smiled back at Bron, “Don’t worry, old chap – it’s all still there, one cock and two balls, just as the Good Lord provided. The damn shrapnel got you in the leg, a nice clean wound.” ’
Hugh stopped. I whispered, ‘Did he – were his, were they injured?’
Hugh looked straight at me. ‘Hellie, there was nothing there – nothing, except a few pieces of torn gut. The bloody shell had scooped the whole of his middle out, how the hell he survived as long as he did I don’t know. I went back to stop the stretcher bearers – there was obviously no point. I had to steel myself to come round the bay again, I can tell you. But Conan was still there, still chatting and making jokes, though Bron wasn’t answering any more, he just lay there looking up at him; then he whispered, “It’s getting dark, Con,” and Conan replied, “There’s a storm brewing up, the sky’s as black as ink – that’s all we need for the relief tonight. Still, you’ll be down the line long before that.” And just as he said it Bron stopped breathing, just like that. He was still staring up at Conan, but there was nothing there any more. The sergeant came forward and said, “I’ll fetch the stretcher now, sir,” and Conan got up and walked away and was sick over the edge of the duck- boards. I went up to him; I didn’t know what to say, but I had to try, and he just stared at me and said, “I wanted to hold his hand, Hugh – I did so want to hold his hand – but he’d have guessed then, wouldn’t he? So I couldn’t.” I put my arm round his shoulders – he was absolutely rigid – then he asked, “Do you think Anderson’ll let me go down with the burial party?” “I’m sure he will, old man – I’m sure he will.” A couple of months later Conan got his Blighty one, thank God. And now he’s transferred to the RFC – but he should do well in it; they say good horsemen make the best pilots, and Conan’s a damn good horseman. I’d better go upstairs, Alice, and get changed for dinner.’ He walked out without looking at us.
Alice spoke viciously: ‘What a bloody war!’ She lit another cigarette.
I had spent my embarkation leave with Pansy and her mother at The Pines. Then I came back to London for the last night as I had been told to report to Victoria at 7.30. Alice got up early the next morning to see me off. ‘I’ve said fond farewells to so many men, now it’s the turn of the girls. Good luck, Hellie.’ Her perfumed cheek brushed mine. ‘My dear, you look hideous in that ghastly hat.’ She gave a mock shudder then turned and walked away over the station concourse. I saw several backs straighten as men returning dejected from leave stopped to watch her swaying hips and the poise of her beautiful head.
I had looked down at myself: my coat was hideous too, and my shoes were almost flat, but it would not matter where I was going. So I pulled the unaccustomed weight of my knapsack more securely on to my shoulders and beckoned to my porter to follow me on to the platform.
The destroyers began to wheel about; we were coming close to the coast of France. I heard excited squeals of mirth behind me and saw that two of my fellow VADs were either side of the young Flying Corps officer, talking and laughing up at him. I was shocked; how could they have allowed themselves to be approached like that – without an introduction? I looked at them disapprovingly – until I remembered my own voice protesting to Frank Gardiner: ‘But we haven’t been introduced!’ – and such a short time after, I had permitted his intimacies in the taxi, and kissed him in the night club. Bitter shame swept over me. Gerald – oh Gerald, how could I have so forgotten you? And as I stared through a mist of tears at the harbour of Boulogne coming steadily nearer I vowed I would never dishonour his memory again.