The day after the dance Amy went to the station with Edmond’s family to see him off on the first stage of his journey back to France. She tried to hide her anxiety for him, and they talked of arranging a meeting as soon as possible. The train arrived and they enjoyed a final lingering embrace before she had to let him board.
She walked back to The Beeches with Peter, allowing his parents and Beatrice to travel in the car. ‘At least you spent Christmas with him,’ Peter said.
She realised she had been trudging along the chilly streets silently, wrapped in her own thoughts. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I suppose I’m fortunate. And we’ll get the chance to meet in France.’
The loss of Bertie still weighed heavily, partly from the absence of his merry presence, but also because it reminded her of the fragility of life in these days when the fabric of normality was lacking. Even Edmond, usually so cheerful and optimistic, was recognising the dangers he faced and urging her to find some future for herself in the event of his death.
Amy passed a few more days at The Beeches. Edmond’s family, her own parents and Florence all seemed regularly to sink into dejection. Peter was smoking and drinking more than usual, but encouraged her in her attempts at forced cheerfulness. At least she knew her nursing skills would be put to worthwhile use in France.
Before the new year, she was back at the hospital near Arras. There were few casualties because the Front had gone quiet. Now the wards were half empty, she noticed the fancy plasterwork on the coving, a relic of grander days.
There was frost on the ground every morning and sometimes it did not melt all day. By the second week there were heavy snowstorms. The nurses wore extra woollies beneath their uniforms and went to bed early in the evenings to keep warm.
‘They’re billeting Edmond and some of the others in houses in the nearest town,’ she told Emily when she got a letter from him. ‘You can imagine how cold it must be in the trenches.’ But at least they were not fighting.
Then she received another letter. I can only manage a day’s leave at the end of the month, Edmond had written. It would be another rushed rendezvous.
One day, as she ventured outside the hospital at lunchtime she saw a motorbike being ridden through the gate, though it was not Edmond’s. She gasped at the sight of a figure in a skirt riding the bike. The bike came to a halt nearby and a tall woman alighted, rearranging her skirt which had been folded up round her legs.
‘Lavinia!’ she gasped.
Her friend smiled. ‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘Isn’t it dangerous, riding through snow and ice?’
‘It’s a little milder today, though I needed to be careful. It’s just wonderful to have the freedom to go out when I’m off duty.’ She took a packet of cigarettes from her pocket and offered one to Amy, who declined. More women were smoking now, but the habit did not appeal to her. Lavinia lit a cigarette and drew on it.
A senior nurse who was passing stared in their direction.
‘Has Matron said anything?’
‘Not much. I suspect if any other VAD had started riding a motorbike they’d have been in trouble, but my father is influential here, and I’m hoping it will help other women do the same.’
Amy followed her as she wheeled her vehicle over to the area where ambulances and a few cars were lined up.
‘I’m determined that now we’re part of the war effort we suffer fewer restrictions,’ Lavinia said, drawing on her cigarette again. ‘It’s all part of our struggle. So many women are helping now. Our former parlour maid works in a munitions factory.’ She grinned at Amy. ‘You should get a motorbike!’
For a moment she considered the idea, but she could not afford it, even if she found the courage to ride one. Should she think of getting a bicycle, at least, in the summer?
‘We must go out for a meal in the village when it gets warmer,’ Lavinia said.
Next day, it began snowing again and two days later another letter came from Edmond. He was reluctantly calling off their meeting. With the weather so poor he dared not travel, for a sudden storm might leave him stranded.
One cloudy lunchtime when Amy and Emily went off duty, a small group of convalescent Germans were waiting outside for transport. She had heard they were to be transferred to a prisoner of war camp. A British lieutenant and handful of soldiers were standing guard.
As the women approached, a German with a roguish expression, despite an arm in a sling, bent to the ground and scooped up a ball of snow, rolling it against his leg with his good hand and compressing the snow. Then he flung it at one of the guards. It splattered against his coat. There was a moment of silence. Amy watched nervously as the lieutenant and the victim pointed their rifles towards the insubordinate prisoner.
Then the other British soldiers began to chuckle. The target of the prank seemed to relax as he brushed off the snow. Two British soldiers were gathering snow now and preparing solid snowballs which were soon flying through the air and finding their German targets.
Amy exchanged amused glances with Emily. They remembered nursing some of the Germans. One of them was largely fit, though his leg wound had left him with a limp. He was eagerly scooping up snow to hurl at the British. Other Germans, leaning on crutches, were too handicapped to act, but one with a bandage over one side of his head was able to stoop and gather enough snow for an effective missile. Three convalescent British soldiers now arrived on the scene and began to pelt the prisoners. Snowballs burst on their coats and laughter rang through the chilly air.
The few Germans well enough to join in were outnumbered now, but they did their best to continue the onslaught. Amy joined in the mirth, wondering when someone senior would arrive, determined to stop the game.
Then an ancient army bus drove in. The escort party brushed themselves down, stood up straight and pointed their rifles in the direction of the prisoners. The bus came to a halt and the driver got out and held open the door.
‘On board! Quickly!’ snapped one of the guards.
‘Schnell!’ shouted one of the others.
The first of the Germans climbed into the bus while the lieutenant crossed his name off a list.
‘Goodbye, Fritz!’ shouted one of the British convalescents.
‘Farewell, Tommy!’ came the reply as the less mobile Germans were helped on to the bus. Then the escorts climbed aboard, the door was slammed shut and the bus set off carefully down the snowy drive and out into the road.
‘I’d never have believed it!’ said Emily.
There remained only the tyre tracks in the snow and a few melting remnants of the missiles. Amy was aware that any day now the artillery would begin again and there was no prospect of a truce. All she same, she knew Edmond would enjoy her account of what had taken place, and so would some of her family. How Bertie would have loved the incident, she realised, with a pang of grief.
War seemed to be suspended while the very cold weather lasted. When the snow thawed, Edmond sometimes managed to ride over on his motorbike for a few hours or a whole day and night. He was amused by her account of the battle of the snowballs. ‘If only that could persuade those in command that we all want peace,’ she told him.
He shook his head. ‘We need a decisive win,’ he said. ‘Somehow we’ve got to make it all seem worthwhile.’
She could not come to terms with the prospect of the resumption of hostilities.
‘I’m due three days’ leave,’ he told her one day in March, ‘maybe at the beginning of next month. Where shall we go? We could visit Paris, if you like, or we could go somewhere quieter.’
The sophisticated city that everyone talked of: she had dreamt of visiting it. ‘Is it a long way to Paris?’
‘It’ll probably take us most of the day to get there.’
‘Perhaps we should go somewhere nearer where we can relax together, instead of rushing wildly round a busy city.’
‘There’s a town north of here called Béthune which hasn’t seen any fighting. It sounds a lovely place to go.’
The sun was shining when they set out that April day, the day after Good Friday. They passed a column of soldiers on the road heading north. Edmond drove into a village to buy provisions and they stopped beside the road, where there was an attractive view of fields and a stream, to eat their picnic of bread and tasty local cheese. In shady places there were still traces of snow, but primroses and violets were growing on the bank and the birds were singing merrily.
‘I’ve been thinking of getting a sidecar for the bike,’ Edmond told her. ‘You could travel in it. You’d be more comfortable and not get so dusty.’
She remembered seeing bikes with sidecars, poky little attachments. ‘They look awfully claustrophobic,’ she said. ‘I think I’d prefer to go on riding on the pillion.’
Once they had passed the turning for Arras, there were army vehicles on the road, heading south. Edmond stopped for a moment where the road was a little wider to allow a large wagon to pass.
He was quiet, thoughtful. Will there be fresh action on the Front soon? she wondered.
They reached Béthune by mid-afternoon and Edmond booked them into a small hotel he had been recommended. Amy changed into her suit.
They set out to see the old medieval square with its famous belfry. She gazed up at the beautiful Flemish houses with their steep gables.
‘It’s lovely to see a town which hasn’t sustained any damage,’ Edmond said.
‘I never expected French towns to look like this,’ she told him. ‘Beatrice showed me some pictures of Nice.’ She had gone there with her mother one spring, before the war. ‘There were palm trees and mimosa, and she said the villas were painted in pastel colours.’
‘The south of France is very different,’ he told her. ‘The climate there is much warmer. The buildings here are more suited to severe winters.’
‘You must think I’m awfully silly, knowing so little about France,’ she said.
‘You just haven’t had the chance to go abroad before, that’s all.’
As they walked back, three soldiers were going into a bar. There was the sound of laughter from the popular place near their hotel. Back in their room, a fire had been lit, for the evenings were still frosty. ‘What a lovely room,’ she said, admiring the tablecloth and curtains made of Flemish lace.
There was a small restaurant attached to the hotel where they took their evening meal. ‘We have mussels if you would like some,’ the waiter said. ‘We are near enough to the coast here to get fresh ones delivered most days.’ He spoke with a strange local accent.
‘That would be good,’ Edmond said. ‘Would you like some, Amy?’
She enjoyed the meal. ‘I had a letter from my cousin James the other day,’ she told him. ‘He’s in France now, as a medical orderly, near Bapaume, I think. And he told me he saw your brother Peter on the ship coming out.’
‘Oh, yes – he’s been sent to work at General Headquarters at Montreuil. He was glad to reach France and feel nearer the action. Ma wasn’t happy, but at least he’s not actually fighting.’
Soon they went up to their room and he helped her unpin her hair, stroking the blonde tresses.
‘We’ll be together tomorrow,’ he murmured tenderly as she began to undress. ‘And the day after tomorrow too.’
In the night, Amy awoke once to the sound of raucous voices from the street, in the direction of the bar. She tried not to resent the young men enjoying their leave. By now you could tell the eager-faced new conscripts from the battle-weary veterans from earlier in the war. Beside her lay Edmond, his flesh soft and warm as she relaxed against him. He stirred for a moment and his arm came round her. Soon she drifted off to sleep again.
Next morning, they awoke to delicate tuneful chimes from the bell tower. ‘It’s the carillon,’ Edmond told her. ‘It’s normal for Flemish towns to have a belfry and each plays a different tune.’
Soon they were eating breakfast in the restaurant. Seated beside the window she looked out at the street, where smartly dressed people were heading towards a nearby church.
‘It’s Easter Sunday!’ she remembered. ‘Edmond, let’s go and join the service.’
‘It’s a Catholic church, and the service will be in French, or Latin probably.’
‘It’s still Easter! It can’t be all that different from the service Uncle Arthur will be celebrating in Larchbury.’
They went out and hurried to the church. They were late and slipped quietly into the back. The service was in Latin, but its joyful message was clear and one of the hymns had a familiar tune. A few other soldiers could be seen in the congregation.
Afterwards, they went back to the large square and enjoyed an aperitif outside a bar. ‘We should go up the belfry,’ Edmond said. ‘There are over a hundred steps, I’ve heard, but there’s supposed to be an outstanding view.’
After lunch they went there and clambered breathlessly to the top, where the breeze was fresh. They gazed out across the flat landscape, quiet and pastoral, towards the south and west. Then they looked east, where traffic and military camps could be seen towards the Front. Now she began to grasp the extent of it, following its line towards Belgium in the north, and south as far as they could see towards Arras. And beyond their field of vision it stretched on towards the Somme, then further east across France.
Edmond led her to the north side. ‘You’re supposed to be able to see as far as the Belgian border here,’ he said. ‘It’s clear enough today, I should think. Over that way you can probably see nearly to Wipers.’
Wipers, she knew, was what they called Ypres, a Belgian town where there had been fighting early in the war. She gazed across towards canals and windmills.
She dawdled back to the hotel with him, wishing their break could last much longer. As they sat down for their evening meal they heard the bells of the carillon sounding once more.
Next morning they planned to enjoy a leisurely breakfast and a last walk around the town. They had barely reached the dining room when they noticed the unwelcome sound of artillery somewhere in the distance.
She looked across the table at Edmond’s stricken face. ‘Let’s not allow it to spoil our time together,’ she said.
He went to the door and stepped outside to listen. ‘It’s coming from the south,’ he told her, ‘some way away.’ He sat down again. ‘It might be round Arras. There was traffic heading there on Saturday.’ Absentmindedly, he chewed a mouthful of bread.
Why did it have to start up again now? she thought. The staff of the hotel were talking in the local patois, with an air of concern. The middle-aged waiter brought them coffee. ‘My son is at Verdun,’ he told them.
‘Have you heard anything about a fresh offensive?’ Amy asked Edmond, when the waiter had left. She knew they must not discuss troop movements in front of civilians, even pleasant, seemingly friendly ones.
‘Only rumours. I didn’t hear when or where. They haven’t stopped our post or cancelled my leave, so I don’t imagine we’ll be involved in the near future.’ He considered for a moment. ‘The road might be clogged again. We’d better not leave it too late to start back.’
They packed their few items of luggage, the carefree holiday coming to a premature end. Outside in the street, soldiers with kitbags were leaving the various hotels and setting off in the direction of the railway station.
Edmond and Amy began their journey back. As before, there were army vehicles heading south. There was a brief pause in the sound of the bombardment, then it resumed. It seemed to be coming from a little to the east of the road ahead, so Edmond was probably right in thinking that it was from the Arras area.
‘Let’s stop for lunch before we get any nearer,’ he said, turning off for a village to the west. They found a small inn where they were served omelettes. The elderly waiter enquired if they had any recent news but Edmond shook his head.
‘My unit might be sent to the Arras area if they need reinforcements,’ Edmond told her when they were alone. ‘At least I’d be stationed nearer you. The High Command try to keep their plans secret from the enemy, so they might stop our post before we’re moved.’
‘So I won’t even know where you are!’
‘Try not to worry, darling. I’ll keep in touch as best I can.’ He was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Some men use a coded message to their family if they think there’s a chance of action. They’ll try to send it out in good time, before the post is stopped.’
‘How do you mean, a coded message?’
‘Something cryptic that will get past the censor.’
‘We need a coded message. I want to know if you’re being moved near the action.’
He thought for a while and then smiled. ‘I’ll send you news of my Aunt Ada,’ he told her.
‘Have you got an Aunt Ada?’
‘No, but the censor doesn’t know that.’
They set off again on the bike, the noise of the guns growing louder as they approached the turning for Arras. Where the road was in poor condition it had become churned up. Edmond rode carefully round ruts and potholes.
Once past Arras, they found a column of soldiers were marching towards them from the south. Then as they neared her hospital, an army ambulance overtook them. Perhaps there were casualties bound for her hospital, Amy thought.
When they arrived she got off the bike and stood with her arms round Edmond, not wanting to let him continue on his way.
‘If my unit gets sent to the section of the Front near here it might be easier to meet up,’ he said.
‘But you’re liable to be fighting.’ The familiar dread was returning.
‘I survived the battles on the Somme, didn’t I?’ She could sense his desperate attempt to remain optimistic. ‘Wish me luck, darling,’ he said.
‘Keep safe. I love you so much.’
‘Goodbye, dearest. Till the next time.’