Evie's War (20 page)

By the time we returned the sky had begun to darken rather ominously and my nose was red with cold. Mrs Miller berated her son and ushered me in front of the fire. I confess I was grateful of it. Once thawed, Charles escorted me on a tour of the house. It is rather larger than Deans Park, from the outside appearing somewhat four-square and stolid (presenting a Very Proper And Imposing Façade, most fitting to Mrs M), but with beautiful wood panelling
and staircase. The afternoon remaining dreary we sat in the library playing cards. The atmosphere was rather gloomy: I confided to Charles that I scarcely dare speak for fear of disturbing the equilibrium, to which he gaily replied that I had achieved that goal already.

I found myself an Object Of Interest at Church, Mr Miller employing a large number of local men in his ironware manufactory, and all being eager to inspect his son's future bride. To achieve a few moments alone Charles suggested we might walk back around the lake, but the path proved rather muddy and my shoes not quite up to the task (leading also to the discovery that It Is Not Done to visit the kitchen). Over lunch I was further examined by Mrs M and two maiden aunts. Recalling Matron's advice, I ensured I was on Best Behaviour.

After dinner Charles engineered a moment alone so that he might stand me beneath the mistletoe. I accused him of kissing any number of young women in the very same manner. His reply was that there had been none he wanted to kiss quite so much.

1917

My brother William's birthday. He is two. Charles walked me to the Post Office so that I might send a telegram, Mother having rather tediously noted that William's sister would again fail to be present for his birthday (as will his brother, but that — of course — elicits no comment). Thinking of Edmund makes me glad that William will not be obliged to fight in a War.

On our return Mrs Miller delivered us a lecture on the Wisdom Of Restraint in these Sorely Troubled Times. My cheeks were quite flaming as she expounded the folly of Rushing Into Marriage. Charles was furious — one would have thought his own mother would know him better than she seems to. On making our escape he offered every apology, which I declined to accept on grounds of his not being accountable for his mother's behaviour. Had I any intention of rushing, her words would only have served to encourage me — on hearing which, Charles proposed we engage her immediately for a further lecture on the topic. Really, he is too much! The episode has caused me to consider the future, however: I had not previously thought beyond our engagement.

Having a long journey ahead of us our farewells were made early, Mrs Miller electing not to accompany us to the Station. Her husband, by contrast, offered every courtesy. As we waited for our train he took both my hands and warmly thanked me for all I had done, and would yet do, for his son. Retracing our journey, all felt much more settled, our disagreeable words of four days ago a dim memory.

Luxurious lie-in followed by a lovely walk with Charles. The cold was sharp, the sky pewter grey, fields and hedgerows tucked up beneath a pristine blanket of snow. But how different the cold feels when one can return to a snug library fire to toast oneself warm! When I confided to Charles that I did not find myself particularly eager to return to Cambridge, he suggested that I simply marry him forthwith, after which I might immediately move to London to take up my responsibilities as a wife. Not believing him serious I laughed and said I doubted his mother would be impressed by such a plan. Pleasing his mother, he assured me, was a consideration of far less import than his desire to attend to my well-being. The strength of his attestation left me lost for a reply. It is one thing to have become engaged and quite another to think about The Next Step. I do wish I might talk to Winifred.

Edmund has been detained by two days, which is a blow as I had so wanted him to meet Charles. Arrangements can be made for them to meet in London, of course, but it is simply not the same.

Charles left just after two. Somewhat melancholy since.

Dear man that he is, Father drove me to Audley End. Winifred seems in better spirits, if somewhat lacking in direction. As her wrist still gives trouble I proposed a visit to the Physical Therapy Unit at 1st Eastern, which she has agreed to consider. I have written to Mr Lindsay, now back in Oxford, to ask what he makes of it all.

Tried to speak to Mother about the Practicalities Of Marriage, but she repeatedly turned the conversation. I wonder about trying my aunt. Essentially I feel that a great deal has come about rather quickly and I am unsure of What Comes Next.

Back to work, and found I am out of the habit of it. Quite exhausted.

On staggering into Selwyn this evening I found a package sent by Charles containing a lovely bottle of French scent; I cannot think where he got it. It was much admired by my fellows. There is a rumour that I will soon be leaving, and the scent only confirmed it.

Mother says we must have a party for my birthday. I told her there is no need, but it is not clear whether she will take heed of my sentiments.

The sermon this morning touched on the new theme of Fortitude in Adversity. Apparently there are food shortages in the cities and elsewhere.

Matron has me back in Heads. At least I do not have to suffer Sister T's continuing disapproval.

Bitterly cold, especially at night and walking to and from the wards. Thinking a deputation most likely to be successful, Jane and Olive and I jointly enquired whether extra blankets were available. The reply, with a sniff, was that The Men's Needs come before ours. As if we were suggesting otherwise! It is simply that we would be better able to give of our best if we were able to sleep at night. I have taken to wearing several layers to bed, including my overcoat.

Mother says I look peaky. Hearing how dreadfully cold we often are, Aunt M has given me a pair of lisle stockings and woollen camisole, which I shall put to immediate use!

Uncle Aubrey says President Wilson is coming under increasing pressure from all sides. Apparently some scandal regarding a proposed alliance between Germany and Mexico has been uncovered, which Uncle A believes may ultimately work in our favour.

Wonderful surprise: Winifred has just called in! The PT Unit has given her a series of exercises to help strengthen her wrist and for the first time since her accident she seems more her old self. She is staying in Cambridge tonight, so we may go out for tea tomorrow.

Stuffed myself on cakes, much to Winifred's amusement. It transpired she also went to see Matron yesterday and received a pep talk; perhaps that is what has bucked her up.

Had a lovely note from Charles regretting that he is unable to get away this weekend. I think perhaps Mother has abandoned her plan for a party, as it has not been further mentioned. Winifred did not know anything of it.

Two of my Heads have been transferred. No word of new cases; it is refreshing to have the occasional empty bed. Matron has said I might catch an early train tomorrow; there is one at three.

I am surrounded by Liars and Fiends! Even Matron! I am shocked by such perfidy. Father met me at the Station with the news that Mother had been feeling poorly and would likely not come down, but that we should anyway dine at seven. I had kicked off my shoes (which are sadly worn) and was resting my ill-used feet when Millie knocked on my door, ostensibly to show me her dress, remade from one of my aunt's. I assured her it looked lovely. She then proposed wearing it for dinner, and that I must wear the
one I had worn for Winifred's party — which seems very long ago — so that she should not feel overdressed. Not having the energy to argue I complied, though it seemed to double rather than halve the problem. Heedless of that, my young cousin insisted on fiddling with my hair, and not till she was satisfied did she allow that we might go down.

Innocent as a lamb I followed her to the dining room, expecting to find Father there. And so we did, together with a great crowd of others, who all cheered and threw streamers and generally made a great fuss. Charles stood grinning from ear to ear and beside him was Edmund! Winifred and Lady Braybrooke, Olive and Jane, a dozen neighbours, my aunt and uncle, Eugenie and Mother (looking perfectly well and rather pretty) were all gathered. I blushed like a beet and was grateful when Charles strode forward and kissed my cheek, as I had no idea what to say. It seemed that Winifred's visit to Cambridge had not been made solely on account of her wrist, but to arrange matters with Matron. My fellow nurses were quite taken with the whole business and were in fits of laughter describing their manner of avoiding me at the Station. But it was Edmund I was most pleased to see. He whispered that he had news, which he would tell me later. Mother had seated me between Edmund and Charles, and Cook supplied a thoroughly spectacular dinner. After, we played a rather riotous game of charades and stayed up far too late. It was good to see Winifred enjoying herself — I only wish Mr Lindsay might also have been here.

On account of it all, and of drinking too much champagne, I have slept rather late, but must get up soon and find Edmund. Last night he seemed quite taken with Jane, and appeared rather sorry when Lady Braybrooke whisked her and Olive away. No doubt they will be overawed by their accommodation; they seemed quite enough impressed by Deans Park.

Edmund has sworn me to secrecy, and indeed I do not wish to spoil Mother's mood: he has received orders and will return to the Front within the month. He is measured in his reaction, being both eager and filled with justifiable trepidation. He agreed that we might tell Charles, who clapped him on the shoulder and wished him well. They seem to approve of one another, to my great relief.

Church with Edmund on my left and Charles on my right, and not even a dire sermon of re-hashed platitudes could shake my good mood. Before leaving, Charles asked whether we might discuss setting a date. Having no immediate desire to do so I deferred until next we meet. The glint in his eye suggested he will not be put off for long!

On intakes; we are in the midst of another rush.

The latest lot are mostly pneumonia and trench foot, the latter often so bad amputation is required, which is scandalous, given early treatment could so easily prevent it. One soldier told me they have to stand for days in water up to their knees. They are given whale oil to rub on the feet and legs but he said there is not always time to attend to it. There are also cases of frostbite to both hands and feet. One young Private cried as he told me of his Lieutenant, who, on seeing the state of his hands, gave him his own gloves. The man was killed shortly after, and the poor Private somehow feels himself to blame.

I have fears for two of my pneumonia cases. One, currently running a temperature of 102, told me on Monday that he had gone off sick three times but had each time been returned to the Front line after only a day or two. Such a policy is counter-productive, as his current state testifies. He has slipped in and out of delirium all day. I shall go back after dinner to see if he is improved.

My young man passed away at midday. A second looks likely to follow; Sister has promised she will have someone sit with him through the weekend so he need not die alone.

Charles was waiting when my shift finished; he claimed he had thrown himself on my uncle's mercy and begged for the afternoon off that he might oblige me to keep my word. On the train down I did my best to explain that I should feel myself shirking were I to give up my Hospital work before the War's end, which caused him to become quietly thoughtful and the matter remains unresolved.

Mother says she cannot comprehend why I would place nursing above my fiancé. I could describe the desperate straits of those men who pass through our wards, but even then I doubt she would understand the obligation I feel.

As expected regarding my pneumonia case; Sister says he went easily at the end.

Progress with several cases: temperatures down and able to take fluids unaided.

A letter from Charles, in which he threatens to write daily until he is ‘put out of his misery'.

Five survivors from a Merchant freighter came in last night. U-boat attacks being indiscriminate, no vessel is safe. The men are suffering from cold and prolonged exposure in the water. One may lose his fingers. They say the hardest was watching their comrades drown.

Another of my pneumonias has passed away; we had thought the corner turned, but a sudden setback proved too much. There does not always seem to be any cause other than their generally weakened condition. Of the trench foot cases, all will survive, though they may lose toes or feet.

Charles says he is not surprised at the numbers of medical cases coming through, it being the coldest winter on record. In response to my enquiry as to when we might expect an end to this appalling War, he writes that the severing of diplomatic ties between the United States and Germany is a positive sign.

Eugenie has asked whether I might scour Cambridge for vegetable seed (turnip and cabbage by preference), local
supplies being depleted. Her plan, expounded in detail, involves committing most of the lawn to growing vegetables to feed the hungry children of London.

Winifred called in after Church. She is driving again, though cannot yet manage the starter. She looks a good deal less tired but still lacks her characteristic exuberance.

I am to remain in Medical. Our Merchant Seamen have been transferred to Hospitals further north. The remaining pneumonias are too ill to be moved.