Somewhere in France: A Novel of the Great War (8 page)

“Out with it, then,” Charlotte said, swallowing the last of her champagne.

Edward raised an eyebrow at her abrupt tone but continued on without comment. “On the train home from Dover I ran into an old friend from Oxford. David Chamberlain. He’s with the War Office now, though I can’t recall in what capacity. At any rate, he’d been over in France and was on his way home for Christmas.”

“And?” Charlotte prompted.

“And he told me that plans are afoot to create a new women’s corps.”

“You can’t be serious,” Lilly said. She must have misheard him. Or perhaps those two glasses of champagne on an empty stomach were to blame.

“I’m quite serious. Certainly Chamberlain was. The army badly needs women workers to take the place of men who are working behind the lines so those men can be freed up for frontline service. They’ll be looking for ten thousand women, if not more.”

“I can’t believe it. When?”

“As soon as February, I gather. And I think you should consider applying as soon as it’s announced.”

“Do you think they would take me?”

“I do. They’re sure to need drivers to ferry about officers, supplies, that sort of thing. You would be helping out but wouldn’t be doing anything dangerous.”

Lilly looked to Charlotte. “What do you think?”

“I think you should apply. I’d miss you, of course, but isn’t this what you’ve wanted all along?”

“It is . . . but it’s been ages since I did any driving.”

“I’m sure it will come back to you,” Charlotte assured her. “You don’t have to become a driver, for that matter. Most likely they’ll be looking to fill all sorts of positions. There’s certain to be something you can do.”

Edward reached across the table and took Lilly’s hand in his. “Please forget what I said earlier—my remark about cannon fodder. The truth is that we’re desperate for more men. My battalion hasn’t been at anything like full strength since the summer.”

“Wouldn’t it worry you? My being so close to the fighting?”

“Most likely you’d be posted somewhere in England. Although I rather like the idea of your being in France. We could see each other, you know, when I have leave. Experience the heady thrills of Boulogne-sur-Mer together, and all that,” he joked.

Somewhere in France. Close to Edward; close to Robbie.

“You are certain?” she asked, still not quite believing.

“Chamberlain was certain enough. So keep your eyes and ears open, and be ready to apply when the call goes out.”

Their food arrived just then, prepared exactly as Edward had requested: roast chicken, potatoes Lyonnaise, and tiny new Brussels sprouts. Lilly concentrated on her meal, allowing her brother and Charlotte to carry the conversation with their spirited and, at moments, barbed debate over the relative merits of modern art.

As she ate, bite after methodical bite, she let her imagination soar, borne high by Edward’s news. If it were true, and if she were accepted, she’d have a chance to make something of herself, become someone worthwhile to know, even to love.

February couldn’t come fast enough.

Chapter 14

London

February 1917

I
t was no trouble to find a copy of
The
Times
among the discarded newspapers on the bus at the end of the day. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t supposed to keep anything she found, but she couldn’t justify spending tuppence on a daily paper, not when she had to be so careful with her money. And the papers would end up in the rubbish anyway.

Her shift was over, and after ten long hours it was her turn to sit, feet aching, head pounding, on a series of buses as they traced a meandering route east from Willesden to Camden Town. Opening her scavenged
Times,
she went straight to the casualty lists on page five; force of habit compelled her to read through them line by line. Relieved to find only unfamiliar names, she turned to the front of the paper and began to read the articles in earnest.

And then, on page nine, she found it, the article she had been awaiting eagerly since Christmas Day. As Edward had promised, a women’s corps had been established.
WOMEN’S WAR WORK IN FRANCE
was the headline.
Posts to Be Filled Behind the Lines.

She read on, and was heartened to discover that women were required in a number of categories, one of them a motor transport service. Interested applicants were instructed to obtain the necessary forms from Mrs. Tennant, the director of the women’s branch of the National Service Department.

As soon as the bus arrived at Camden Town, she jumped out and ran home, not able to wait another minute to share her news with Charlotte. Dashing through the front door of her lodgings, she shouted out a hello to Mrs. Collins and ran upstairs to knock on Charlotte’s door without even taking off her coat.

“Is that you, Lilly? Do come in.”

“They’ve announced it, just as Edward said!”

“Announced what?”

“The women’s corps. It’s right here in
The
Times
.” She handed the paper to her friend, who was still sitting in her chair by the fire, her darning forgotten on her lap.

“So it is. This is exciting!”

“I must apply immediately. There’s no time to waste.”

“Of course you must. But first take off your coat and hat and change out of your uniform. I’ll make you some sardines on toast and a cup of tea, and
then
you can get started.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I won’t be a moment. Do you have any stamps? I think I’ve run out.”

“I have plenty of stamps,” Charlotte assured her. “Now stop marching around my room in those muddy boots or Mrs. Collins will have both our heads!”

A
WEEK LATER,
Lilly arrived home from work to find a packet of papers waiting for her. Standing in the front hall, rain dripping from her sodden coat and hat, she tore open the envelope, which contained an application form as well as a letter.

Devonshire House

Piccadilly

London W1

Monday, 5 March

Dear Miss Ashford,

Thank you for your letter of 28 February. You are requested to present yourself for an interview with Dr. Chalmers-Watson, our chief controller, on Monday, 26 March, at ten o’clock in the morning. The interview will take place at the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps headquarters at Devonshire House, Piccadilly.

Please complete the enclosed forms and return them to my attention at your earliest convenience. As well, please note that if you are successful in your application, you will be required to pass a medical examination.

Yours faithfully,

Miss Annabelle Hopkinson

Assistant Administrator

Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps

The application form didn’t seem especially alarming, although she was required to state her father’s occupation—how should she answer? member of the House of Lords?—as well as details of her education, scant as it had been. It asked her to specify what sort of work she sought, and also to provide the name and details of people who could act as character references.

Charlotte could certainly provide one of the references, but a second was sure to be difficult. The problem, of course, was that she’d led such a sheltered life. She’d only ever worked at the LGOC, had never gone to a proper school, had never really moved beyond her parents’ circle of friends and acquaintances. She read the form again: one reference was required from “a lady,” while the second had to come from a “mayor, magistrate, justice of the peace, minister of religion, barrister, physician, solicitor, or notary public.” She had no personal physician, hadn’t established any kind of relationship with the vicar at St. Michael’s Church, where she and Charlotte went to Sunday services, and she’d never consulted a lawyer of any description.

But she did know a surgeon.

S
URELY IT WASN’T
possible that most of the night had passed by while he attended to his patients’ charts, filled in forms, wrote letters to the bereaved, and filled in yet more forms. Robbie stole a look at the clock on the far wall: nearly four o’clock in the morning. He decided to admit defeat for now and leave off the final pile of papers that awaited his attention.

While he’d been working, another delivery of post had come in from home. He went over to the bank of pigeonholes by Matron’s desk, extracted a wodge of papers from his compartment, and sorted through them rapidly. Asinine directives and demands from higher-ups went straight into the rubbish. There was a notice from his bank, probably to confirm the additional funds he’d asked them to send to his mother. And, last of all, a small, thin envelope, addressed in handwriting so familiar he didn’t need to turn it over to confirm the sender.

He hurried back to his quarters, hoping against hope to find them empty, and was rewarded by the sight of an empty tent; Tom must still be working away on the compound fracture that had come in earlier. Only then did he tear open the envelope.

21, Georgiana Street

London NW1

Monday, 5 March

Dear Robbie,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have some exciting news: this morning I received an application form from the new women’s corps. They’ve asked me to come for an interview on March 26. The one difficulty is that I require two letters of reference, one from a lady (I shall ask Charlotte) and the other from some sort of official. I apologize in advance for the imposition, but could I prevail upon you to provide the second reference? I will leave off now as I want to send this out with the evening post.

Lilly

P.S. The reference should be sent to Dr. Chalmers-Watson, Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps, Devonshire House, Piccadilly, London.

P.P.S. Thank you!

So the women’s corps Edward had told her about at Christmas hadn’t just been talk, after all. He told himself he was glad, for Lilly’s sake, that it had come to pass. As for how he felt about it? That was a thousand times more difficult to gauge.

He was delighted for her, of course; this was exactly the sort of work she had been hoping to do all along. And it was doubtful that the War Office would knowingly expose women to danger, so he didn’t have to fret about her safety as such.

He had to admit he was nervous about her joining the motor corps, for driving was filthy, backbreaking, dangerous work. The few friends he had with automobiles, Edward among them, seemed to spend half their time fiddling around with engines that had blown a gasket, or mending punctured tires at the side of the road. As for accidents, he’d had to patch up victims of motorcar crashes when he’d been at the London, and it had been grisly work.

Might she be posted to France? Just the possibility was enough to overcome his reticence about her choice of occupation. She wouldn’t be sent anywhere nearby, of course, but he might dare to visit her on his next leave, if only to see that she was well, and happy, and not too homesick.

Altogether, it was the best news he’d had in a long, long while.

He heaved himself up, rummaged in his locker for a pencil, writing paper, and envelopes, and sat at the tent’s lone table, a rickety affair with one leg distinctly shorter than the rest. A few minutes of work to write the reference and his reply to Lilly, another minute or two to drop off the envelopes with Matron, who’d see they went out with the next post, and then he could sleep.

March 16

51st CCS

France

Dear Lilly,

Your letter of the fifth arrived with the post today and I am about to write a letter of reference to Dr. Chalmers-Watson as requested. I have every hope that it will arrive in London before your interview. Before long you will be writing to me from Boulogne or Calais—I am certain of it. I must go, as I have been working for many hours now and need to get some rest. I promise to write again soon.

Robbie

L
ESS THAN A
week after receiving Robbie’s reply, Lilly found herself seated on a hard chair in a gloomy corridor, one of more than a dozen young women who were waiting for their interview with Dr. Chalmers-Watson.

Every ten minutes or so, a terrifyingly efficient-looking aide would open one of the double doors at the end of the corridor, call out a name, then close the door behind the candidate. None of the women called in had, thus far, reappeared in the hallway. Lilly found this disconcerting, mainly because there was no way to judge what the interview was like by the demeanor of the departing applicants.

“Miss Ashford? Miss Lilly Ashford?”

Lilly stood hurriedly, smoothed her coat and skirt, and marched down the hall. The aide, who seemed perfectly friendly at closer range, directed her to a seat in front of a long oak table. On the other side of the table were three women, with Dr. Chalmers-Watson, whom Lilly recognized from a photograph in the newspaper, at the center.

“Miss Ashford, I believe?” The doctor had a lovely voice, clear and warm, with a hint of a Scottish burr.

Lilly found she had to clear her throat before answering. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I see that you wish to join our motor transport service. Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But I also see from your application that you have been employed by the LGOC as a conductress for the past year. Where were you before that?”

“I worked as a painter at the LGOC. Before that I was at home with my parents, ma’am.”

“Very good. Now, your references. Miss Brown was, I believe, your governess?”

“Yes, ma’am. She taught me for almost five years. I’m afraid I have no formal education as such.”

“Quite a number of our applicants have little in the way of formal education, Miss Ashford. That is not an immediate concern, to my mind. As for the other reference: how do you know Captain Fraser?”

“He is a close friend of my eldest brother. I’ve known him for ten years.”

“He writes most compellingly of your capabilities and your very real desire to aid in the war effort.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Both these references do you great credit. But I do have my doubts, Miss Ashford. Or should I more properly call you Lady Elizabeth?”

Lilly squirmed in her seat, feeling like a butterfly at the end of a botanist’s pin. At last she found her voice again. “I do not seek, or expect, any kind of preferential treatment, Dr. Chalmers-Watson. I only want to work, and do what I can to help us in the war effort. I promise I will not be a burden. I’m a good driver and I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“But this work will be harder than anything you can imagine, Miss Ashford. Even harder than your work as a bus conductress. You can expect long hours, difficult conditions, plain food, and even plainer living arrangements. You will be working with women from exceedingly modest backgrounds. Women who, if I may be quite frank, will be rough in their habits and their talk. Are you prepared for all of that?”

“I am,” Lilly insisted. “I truly am. And it doesn’t matter to me. You see, my brother has been in a frontline unit since almost the beginning of the war. I know he has endured terrible hardships. I know my work will help him, and that will make everything worthwhile. I beg you, please let me help.”

Silence fell over the room, and Lilly sank back in her chair, feeling more than a little mortified at her outburst. Turning to one another, the officials spoke quietly, then Dr. Chalmers-Watson finally turned to look at Lilly. “Thank you very much for your time, Miss Ashford. We will contact you in due course with our decision. Miss Hopkinson will show you out.”

“Thank you.” Lilly considered making a further plea, but the doctor had turned her attention to the next applicant, who was already being shown in. Instead, she meekly followed Miss Hopkinson to a door at the far end of the chamber.

“Turn right as you exit, and follow the stairs to the bottom floor. That will return you to the entrance hall. Thank you very much for your time, Miss Ashford.”