Daughters of War (16 page)

‘Have you eaten?’

Leo realized abruptly that she was hungry. ‘No – and nor have my friends. They should have waited for some food.’

‘Too late now for them,’ he said laconically. ‘But for you, there is soup left from the men’s dinner.’

‘Can I wash my hands somewhere?’ she asked, indicating the blood which still clung to them. He seemed mildly surprised at this fastidiousness but he showed her a screened-off portion of the big tent where there were buckets of icy water. Then he led her to a second tent where some of the orderlies were eating and told her to help herself from a big cauldron. All that was left in the way of meat were a few fatty morsels of some animal Leo could not identify, but the broth was thick and spicy with paprika and she devoured a bowl of it with pleasure. As soon as she had finished, she returned to the main tent and set about making herself as useful as possible, ignoring the curious looks from the men, both orderlies and patients. By the time the evening meal arrived – bread, cheese and hot, sweet black coffee – they had begun to accept her as one of themselves and as they ate she answered their questions. Where had she come from? Why? What was England like? Was it true that the streets of London were paved with gold? Most of them had never been further than their own village until they were called up and it was clear that they had little sense of geography; but Leo found, as she had done ever since she arrived in the country, that they had a natural chivalry and good manners that quickly set her at ease.

Next day, as promised, Victoria and Luke returned and Leo took her turn at driving. She had enjoyed learning to drive in England, but now, as the car skidded and bounced and she wrestled with the wheel, she swore aloud and exclaimed, ‘Oh, give me a horse any day!’

Luke chuckled. ‘Me, too. But then, I couldn’t do what you’re doing, or I’d offer to take a turn.’

‘You can’t drive?’

‘Never had the chance to learn. We haven’t got any motor vehicles on the farm back home. Plenty of horses, though.’

Three times the car stuck fast and had to be manoeuvred out of the mud and the last time the engine stalled and for a while Leo was afraid that she would not be able to start it again. Contemplating the possibility of being marooned in the middle of nowhere until the next convoy of ox-carts came along she realized how unqualified she was for the task in hand. Victoria understood the workings of the internal combustion engine and would almost certainly know how to get the car going again, but she had never taken an interest in what went on under the bonnet. When they finally reached Lozengrad she found herself thinking that she would have preferred to stay in the camp at Chataldzha, however gruesome the conditions. Victoria, on the other hand, greeted them with relief on their return next day, exclaiming, ‘This place is terrible! I didn’t sleep a wink and the noise of the guns is driving me crazy!’ She was only too happy to set off back with Luke and two more patients.

The weather had broken again and the road conditions had deteriorated to such an extent that it was late afternoon the following day before Victoria and Luke returned. With only an hour or two of daylight left it would have been foolish to set off with a new cargo of patients, so it was agreed that they would all stay overnight. Leo was glad to have Victoria’s company, even though there was scarcely room for two to sleep in the tent.

As they settled down Leo said, ‘Do you remember what I said that night on the way from Adrianople?’

‘What about?’

‘You said you thought I was enjoying myself, and I said I was.’

‘I remember. What about it?’

‘I’ve realized now what a wicked thing it was to say.’

‘How do you mean, wicked?’

‘How could anyone enjoy the things we’ve seen in the last week or two?’

‘So, are you telling me you regret coming? Do you want to go home?’

‘No! I’d rather be here than anywhere. But not because it’s fun, or an adventure. It has made me see that war isn’t fun. It isn’t glamorous or exciting or heroic. It’s just futile and cruel. And when I get back I’m going to tell the people back home that.’

‘Including your brother?’

‘Especially my brother!’

Next morning Leo made the suggestion that had been in the back of her mind for a couple of days. ‘Vita, you don’t like being left here, do you? And I’m worried about the driving. If anything went wrong with the car I’d be completely helpless. Why don’t you go with Luke and I’ll stay on here?’

Victoria looked doubtful. ‘It doesn’t seem fair. Are you just saying it because I made a fuss the other day?’

‘No, not at all. You’re a better driver than I am, and I don’t mind staying here. And –’ she added with a sly grin – ‘I don’t think Luke will mind.’

Victoria gave the familiar shrug. ‘I don’t see what it has to do with him. But if you’re really sure . . .’

‘I’m sure.’

So it was decided, and as Leo had guessed, Luke seemed more than happy with the new plan. They collected the three most serious cases and set off.

While the car took those most in need of immediate treatment, the convoys of ox-carts continued to lumber back and forth with the rest and Leo had to help load them. The process almost reduced her to tears. The men were so stoical in the midst of pain; so uncomplaining about the conditions they had to endure, that it made her want to shout with anger on their behalf. She raged futilely against the faceless officials that allowed this state of affairs to continue; at the politicians who sent these men into battle as if they were no more than senseless animals; against the waste and stupidity of war. But there was nothing she could do except wrap her patients as warmly as possible and ensure that they had water to drink on the journey.

The wet weather continued unabated and the ground around the dressing tent, churned up by the ox-carts and by the hooves and droppings of the animals, became a sea of mud and dung. Leo had relinquished her linen dress and white cap and apron and reverted to her FANY uniform of boots and breeches under a divided skirt, but by bedtime the skirt was muddy to the knees and heavy with moisture. There was nowhere in the tent to hang it to dry and when she came to put it on next morning the damp had seeped up to the waist. Leo stood holding it for a moment, looking down at herself. Her boots came to the knee and her tunic ended in mid-thigh. In between all that was visible was a few inches of riding breeches. Surely, she thought, there was nothing indecent about that. She hesitated a moment longer, then threw the wet skirt into a corner and headed for the mess tent and breakfast.

The first person she met was Captain Dragonoff. He looked her up and down for a moment and then grunted, ‘I told you this was no place for petticoats.’ She was uncomfortably aware of the stares of the other men but none of them commented and before long she was too busy to notice.

Victoria and Luke did not return that evening and Leo tried to calm her anxiety by telling herself that there was probably a simple explanation. Perhaps there had been some problem that had delayed them in Lozengrad. Maybe the road had just become completely impassable due to the weather. It had rained all day and she had been glad of the new freedom of movement that discarding the heavy skirt had given her. It stirred some distant memory that she could not quite put her finger on. Most of her time was spent in the dressing tent but she was also called upon frequently to help with patients as the stretcher bearers struggled up from the trenches. She had a waterproof cape and her cap but by the end of the day her hair had come down and hung heavy and damp on her shoulders. At bedtime she tried ineffectually to dry it with an already damp towel and realized that it was not just wet. It was matted with mud and blood and it was impossible to get a comb through it. She had a pair of scissors in her first-aid bag. She found them and sat for a moment, hesitating. Then, seized by a sudden revulsion, she hacked at the lank tresses until she was left with a rough crop about two inches long all over. Shaking her head, she felt a sudden lightness and the memory that had evaded her all day became clear. She grinned to herself as she imagined the reaction of her grandmother. She would be scandalized, and so would Ralph. Well, she didn’t care. But as an afterthought she gathered up the discarded locks and bound them into a switch with a piece of bandage. After all, she reasoned, she would be going home one day and it could be made into a hairpiece to cover her embarrassment. She ran a comb through what remained of her hair and climbed into her sleeping bag.

Next morning Draganoff looked at her and nodded. ‘So, now you understand why this is no place for a woman.’ Leo was not sure whether this was a sign of disapproval or the reverse but he said no more so she got on with her work.

She was eager to see how Victoria would react to her transformation, so she was doubly pleased when the car chugged and spluttered into view. Rather than drive through the treacherous mud around the tent Victoria parked on the road and she and Luke climbed out and began to trudge up to where Leo was waiting. They were laughing together at something and when Victoria slipped Luke caught her round the waist and continued to hold onto her rather longer than, in Leo’s opinion, was strictly necessary.

‘Sorry we didn’t get back yesterday,’ Victoria called. ‘Couldn’t get Sparky to start and I had to spend most of the day with my head under the . . .’ Then she took in Leo’s changed appearance and her hand went to her mouth. ‘Leo! What has happened? Who did that to you?’

‘No one did it,’ Leo said, laughing. ‘I did it myself. I got tired of trying to keep it dry. What do you think?’ The two arrivals had reached her by this time and she could see that Victoria was shocked. ‘Oh, come on, Vita! You’re a progressive woman. I didn’t expect you to disapprove.’

‘But, Leo, you look like a boy! Honestly, with your hair like that and those breeches, you could be mistaken for one.’

‘So what?’ Leo asked and turned to Luke to see his reaction.

He was grinning broadly. ‘Well, I’m really pleased to meet you, Mr Brown,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘I used to know your sister slightly, but I guess she’s had to leave.’

Leo shook his hand, laughing. ‘Oh, she’ll be back. I’m just deputizing for her till the weather gets better.’

‘But don’t you feel terribly – exposed?’ Victoria asked.

‘No, it feels wonderful. It reminds me of when I was much younger. When I used to travel with my father, when I started to . . . well, grow up he thought in some places I might be at risk as a girl, so he used to dress me as a boy. I’d forgotten until today how marvellous it feels not to have a skirt dragging round my ankles and all that hair weighing my head down. You should try it, Vita.’

Victoria seemed to have got over her initial shock but nothing would persuade her to follow Leo’s example.

By evening, having watched her and Luke together over supper, Leo had graver matters on her mind. When they were both in their sleeping bags she said, ‘Vita, are you serious about Luke?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Yes, you do. He obviously likes you and you seem to like him. But is it serious?’

‘Don’t be silly! We get on well together, which is just as well since we have to spend a lot of time in each other’s company. What makes you think it’s anything more than that?’

‘Well, you have to admit it’s not usual for a young woman to spend so much time alone with a man.’

‘Whose fault is that? I thought you were beyond all that Victorian moralizing.’

‘You’re a fine one to talk! Look at the way you reacted to my haircut.’

‘At least I’m not trying to masquerade as a man.’

‘Nor am I. And it doesn’t matter to me if you and Luke are having an affair—’

‘We are not having an affair!’

‘What I’m trying to say is this. I think Luke is sweet on you, and I think he is probably quite naïve about this sort of thing. I mean, I don’t know what life is like in New Zealand but I bet he’s never met anyone like you before, so don’t lead him on. I just don’t want him to get the wrong idea. I should hate to see him hurt.’

Victoria was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘I am not leading him on, and anyway it’s none of your business. So just leave it, will you?’

She turned her back and shrugged her sleeping bag up round her ears, leaving Leo unhappily aware that she had opened a rift between them that might take some time to heal.

Eleven

Over the next days Leo developed a routine. Up at 6.30, breakfast of black, sweet coffee, bread and cheese, or sometimes a kind of porridge, then the day spent in the endless task of dressing wounds and washing and feeding the patients, dinner and then bed. Most of the time she was cold, wet and often hungry, but that was insignificant compared with the suffering all around her. Dragonoff, perhaps because he saw her as more conscientious or more intelligent than the men under his command, or perhaps because she was neater and more nimble-fingered, began to teach her some more advanced techniques, including how to suture a wound. In civilian life he had been, she learned, the doctor in charge of a hospital in Sophia and his dour manner was his defence against the horrors he had to deal with every day.

Victoria and Luke came and went and each time they returned Leo thought she saw signs of greater intimacy between them. Once or twice she tried to tease her friend about it but Victoria always put her off with a shrug or a sarcastic remark. The convoys of ox wagons continued to plod off towards Lozengrad and the places of those who had gone were immediately filled by new casualties. The battle was at a stalemate and no one could see how it would come to an end.

The only unusual occurrence was the arrival of a Turkish prisoner at the dressing tent. He had been caught trying to burrow into one of the Bulgarian saps to lay a mine and in the ensuing fight had received a bayonet wound that had laid his scalp open. No one knew why he had been brought in instead of being despatched on the spot, which was the usual practice, but there were rumours that he was a spy and was being held for questioning. Casualties had been heavy that day and there was hardly room in the tent for another man, so the stretcher bearers set him down outside while one of them searched for a space. The man was mumbling and protesting in Turkish, convinced that he was about to be killed, and struggling with the remaining bearer in an effort to rise. Leo, hearing the noise, went out to him and stooped beside the stretcher.