A Rose In Flanders Fields (12 page)

But it was not all terrible; there was a certain amount of freedom we’d never have experienced if we’d joined the Field Ambulance, or were tied to the other units. There were a couple of friendly girls who came over now and again to spell us: Anne and Elise were based near Furnes, at a unit with which we often joined forces when things got especially hot. They enjoyed the chance to spend some time away from their slightly more regimented atmosphere too, and were keen to give us the opportunity to go into town now and again.

Will was with the 19
^th
brigade of the 2
^nd
Division at the start, and they rarely seemed to remain in one place for long. Letters were scarce – sometimes weeks would pass and then three or four would arrive at once; those were days I’d take myself off and find a quiet place to read, and read, and read, hearing his voice in my head as clearly as if he were sitting next to me. Except when I was particularly exhausted, when I sometimes struggled to remember what he sounded like, and then I had to put the letters aside or risk smudging the ink with tears of terror – what if I never heard him again? What if this was all I had left of him, only I didn’t yet know it? How would I cope?

In June 1915, he was stationed a mere two hours away from me in Northern France, and towards the end of the month he wrote a hurried letter telling me he was due a weekend leave and would arrive at the station in Cuinchy on Friday afternoon. He would be staying at a hostel nearby, the name of which he jotted at the foot of the note, and he desperately hoped the letter reached me in time.

It arrived on Saturday.

Boxy and I had been working solidly for sixteen days; late April had seen the first use of chlorine gas, and the results were so shocking it was difficult to comprehend such a thing had been invented by human beings. We spent long days at the hospital, and longer nights collecting wounded and gassed soldiers from the dressing stations, barely snatching three or four hours sleep and eating very poorly indeed. We’d reached that point of exhaustion where you don’t quite feel you’re there at all; drifting around each other, avoiding collisions more by luck than judgement, and taking it in turns to clean and disinfect the ambulance and the two cars we’d been loaned by the Belgian Red Cross. When we received our visit from Anne and Elise, with instructions to “flipping well get out of it for the day”, we both threw guilt to the four winds and seized the chance.

Boxy and her airman, Benjy, were unable to meet, but she had friends stationed at the nearby hospital and went off to see them. No doubt she would be called into service there, so it was not much of a holiday. I was luckier; our saviours had blown in the day I received Will’s letter, and I was able to shake off my tiredness and drive to Cuinchy in time to meet him before the cycle began for him again; front line, support, reserve, rest…then back to front line.

Walking into the hostel, I didn’t have to ask at the desk to find him. The place was filled with uniformed men, most in high spirits, and some singing – under the influence of some dubiously obtained wine, no doubt – but over by the window there was a small group, making the kind of appreciative noises that pushed long-distant marketplaces to the front of my memory. I felt the smile on my face before the instinct had solidified into fact, and my feet had already carried me halfway across the room, but I stopped short of drawing his attention, preferring to watch him for a moment, unnoticed.

He sat with his back to me, his dark head was bent to his work, and my fingers itched to brush gently across the back of his exposed neck. There were, perhaps, eight or nine men standing around, calling out suggestions, and the tallest of them was writing busily.

‘Unicorn!’ one man shouted, and the tall man rolled his eyes.

‘Did you ’ear that, Davies? Bleedin’ unicorn, he says! Look, mate, he might be good, but he ain’t no Leonardo daVinci!’

‘Two toffees for a unicorn,’ insisted the soldier.

‘Oh, I can manage that all right,’ Will said, and at the sound of his voice, this time for real, my entire body tightened with anticipation. I waited, curious to see how he could fulfil this lucrative commission. He worked quickly, and in less than a minute he stood up, turned to the soldier, and planted a narrow cone of paper firmly against the man’s forehead.

‘Unicorn,’ he said, and the soldier’s friends hooted laughter, clapping the newly created unicorn on the back, and taking over possession of the horn in order to fasten it to the man’s helmet.

Will stepped back, smiling, and in that moment he saw me. His tall friend followed his suddenly still gaze, and he nodded to me, and squeezed Will’s shoulder.

‘I’ll be busy tonight, mate,’ he said softly. ‘Room’s yours.’

The two-bed room was tiny, but clean. Will closed the door and locked it, and then his hands were at my waist, pulling me against him. Urgency gripped us both, quite suddenly, as though we were two different people from the shy, hesitant newly-weds of last year; this was the first time we had been together, alone, since that night. Romance was the farthest thing from our minds; need was everything. The narrow, single bed was chilly, the sheets felt slightly damp on my bare skin, but Will’s warmth covered me and I gave it no more thought. He gave me the most cursory of kisses, bruising kisses, the kisses of a man fighting for control, and I returned them equally savagely. I bit his shoulder as he entered me, and we both cried out at the same time, rocking together, pulsing heat between us and growing warmer with every beat. We hardly moved, either of us, just stayed locked together until the sensation of mutual release faded and our hearts regained their normal rhythm. Will eased away, as far as the small bed allowed, and we both lay there, searching for the words to express the complicated and contradictory feelings of gratitude and despair, but eventually fell into our exhausted dreams without saying anything at all.

Sometime in the night he woke me with a press of his lips on my forehead, and, wordless, we danced again – this time with slow, sweetly drawn out touches and kisses, and when we next fell asleep it was in a tangle of limbs, and with our heads close together on the single pillow.

All too soon it was morning, and the end of Will’s leave. The tall soldier from yesterday met us at the station with a girl in tow, and Will introduced him as “Private Barry Glenn, Lothario and souvenir-collector extraordinaire. Does a good line in German helmets, but no lady’s honour is safe, from Reims to Nieuport.” Barry grinned good-naturedly, flicked Will’s ear, and left us to our last half an hour together.

Looking at him across the table of the café, where we sat clutching our mugs of weak tea, I tried to pinpoint what exactly it was that made him look different now. His eyes had not lost their sparkle altogether, but it had dimmed, and his smile was still wide, beautiful and with the hint of the impish charm from before. But a hint was all it was. He looked older and leaner, and the dark stories he kept locked away had put circles beneath his eyes, but he was still unmistakeably my Lord William and I loved every new line and shadow that graced his face.

‘When are you expected back?’ he asked. ‘Will you be in trouble if you’re late?’

‘Not really, since I’m not governed by Red Cross rules. But Anne and Elise will be missed if they’re not back at their unit, and I don’t want to leave Boxy on her own for too long. I’ll begin the drive back as soon as your train leaves, it’s only a little over two hours.’

‘Do you have to go back?’

The question came out of nowhere, but when I looked at him, startled, I could see it was something he’d been thinking about for some time. He stared back at me with cautious hope, as if the very suddenness of the plea might surprise me into giving the answer he wanted.

I shook my head. ‘You know I must.’

‘Yes,’ he said quickly, and gave me a little smile. ‘But you can’t blame me for trying.’

‘It’s safe there,’ I insisted. ‘Safer than you’d think. We’re very well looked after, and as soon as we hear any sign of shells we can get down into the cellar. It’s quite exciting sometimes –’

‘Stop it,’ he said, and reached across the table to run a finger over the back of my hand. ‘You’re not as tough as you like to pretend.’

‘Will, these boys need us. We do good things, we’re not just playing at this.’

‘I know! It’s just…I know.’ He sighed, and turned my hand over to lie beneath his, palm to palm. ‘And to be honest, if I was sent down the line I would want someone like you pulling me out and getting me patched up.’ He let go of my hand and forced a smile. ‘But I’ll never stop worrying about you, not until you’re safely back in Cheshire driving Mrs Cavendish mad.’

‘I’m saving up something special to torment her with,’ I promised, relieved he had not continued pressing until we argued; it would have been awful to part like that, not knowing when we’d see each other again. I deliberately silenced that voice that still insisted,
if
…

He picked up his mug and swilled it around, pulling a face at the contents. ‘Have you heard from Lizzy?’

‘A short letter now and again. She’s had a bad chill but she’s a little better now. She’s horribly uncomfortable, and I hate thinking of her in there, but at least she’s safe.’

‘How about Jack?’

‘I had a few lines. I don’t think he’s had my own letters, because he never addresses anything I’ve said to him. Not even about Lizzy, and I know they got on famously and he would want to help. If it wasn’t for the fact I recognise his handwriting I might think it wasn’t from him at all. Presumably the censors have been on his mind; all he said was he’s gone overseas.’

We finished our drinks, now stone cold, and I noticed people starting to move towards the door. It was almost time.

‘You seem to have made a real hit with your paper-folding,’ I said. Anything to prolong the conversation.

He laughed. ‘It’s so strange. These are men who are brilliantly skilled, back home they build houses, and mend
telephones
for goodness sake! Some of them know the law of England like the backs of their hands. They perform complicated medical procedures every day of their lives. But watch a butcher fiddle with a piece of an old newspaper for two minutes and they’re completely flabbergasted!’

I smiled at the honest puzzlement in his voice. ‘I brought the rose with me to Belgium. I can’t bear to be without it,’ I added, suddenly shy in case he should think it was funny rather than touching.

But he looked pleased. ‘It must be a shocking mess by now.’

‘It is. But all the same…’ I really needed him to understand, but it was hard to find the words to explain it, even to myself. ‘When I look at it, it doesn’t just remind me of you, it’s almost as if it
is
you. It’s both of us.’ It sounded silly, and didn’t even really say what I wanted it to, but watching his mobile mouth soften into a smile, I realised he understood, and was moved to lean across the table and kiss him. There was a chorus of whistles from the table of Tommies in the corner so we didn’t stop, giving them the show they were so clearly enjoying, and not even caring if we were reported. When we broke apart we were both breathing faster; the memory of last night seemed very close at that moment.

‘You keep hold of that shocking mess if it makes you do that,’ he said with a grin. Then the grin faded and he grew serious as he rubbed his thumb gently over my cheek. ‘Some of the lads have asked me to make one for their own sweethearts. I’ll make them anything they want; cars, boats, houses…any other flower. But the rose will only ever be for you.’

On my twenty-first birthday Boxy and I threw a party, and invited anyone who could come. Some of the officers from the local company had made themselves known to us, and were pleased to be invited. They brought as much contraband as they could manage, and we ate like kings and queens, and sang songs until well past midnight. The night was a cloudy one, for which we were all grateful; far less chance of an offensive than when the moon shone brightly, and when the party tapered off Boxy and I sat outside, waving off our guests and enjoying a rare quiet night. The guns still boomed in the distance but there was none of the harsh, screaming wail that signified a serious shell attack. We finished the last of the chocolate cake brought by the officers, and took quiet pleasure in the chance to talk as we went over Gertie at our leisure for once.

I had still not told Mother about Will, and although Boxy confessed to finding it quite funny and romantic, she urged me to take the bull by the horns.

‘Come on, Davies, it’s not really fair. She has every right to know. Don’t you think she’ll adore your lovely man?’

‘It’s not a question of what she thinks of him,’ I pointed out, kicking at a loose board on Gertie’s runner. ‘You know that every bit as well as I do.’

She shook her head. ‘Well, no matter what she thinks of the marriage, you’re going to have to brave it one day. Think how much happier you’ll be when you don’t have to think so hard about every letter you send, just so you don’t let anything slip.’

‘That would be easier,’ I admitted. Unspoken between us lay the other truth; should something happen to me, it would all come out, and mother would have an awful sense of betrayal to add to her grief. ‘All right. I’ve got some leave coming up next month, I’ll write and tell Mother I’m coming home for a few days.’

‘And you’ll tell her?’

I sighed, and crossed my heart. ‘I promise. Now belt up and hand me that spanner.’

Chapter Seven

Cheshire, September28
^th
1915.

Oaklands Manor in the autumn was one of the more beautiful sights with which I had grown up, and it had never palled. The huge oaks were cloaked in the glorious hues of red, gold and bronze, and the light that shone through them set them on fire against the bright blue sky. I stood, for a moment, looking down the long avenue of trees, remembering the day, three years ago, that Uncle Jack and I had driven away, holding in our laughter – not well enough – while Lizzy stood looking after us in the gloomy belief she had committed a terrible faux pas.