Together for Christmas (31 page)

In the middle of January, a West Ham munitions factory blew up. Flora was to think again of the Zeppelin attack of August.

‘Must be spies!’ the traders at the market said. ‘The explosion was ear-splitting, you could hear it for miles around. Let’s hope they don’t come round
’ere.’

‘We’ll give ’em what for if they do,’ others threatened.

‘That’s the trouble. Yer can’t see ’em,’ one costermonger shouted above the rest. ‘Yer can’t ’ear ’em. The kaiser’s men are everywhere
and nowhere. They even dress up to look like us. Before we all know it, the buggers will take over the country.’

Flora hated these rumours that stirred everyone up. There was no proof that the explosion wasn’t accidental. This was the same talk of sabotage and German spies that had ended Old
Fritz’s livelihood.

On a bitterly cold morning in February, even the doctor voiced an opinion. ‘One hundred and thirty-four neutral vessels, including America’s, have been sunk in the last three
weeks,’ he informed Flora as he read the newspaper. ‘I shall not be surprised if America’s entry into the war is approved by Woodrow Wilson’s congress. The National Guard
and navy militia have been ordered into service. Even the United States cannot ignore such open hostility.’ The doctor slipped off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘The rest of
the world is watching and the president cannot be seen to be weak. Though if America does declare war, then I fear the neutral countries will be forced to take sides.’ He glanced at Flora.
‘And of course, Greece has always maintained her neutrality.’

Flora thought of Michael and knew the doctor was thinking of him too. Michael had told them he expected to return to his regiment in Greece. ‘But we mustn’t jump to
conclusions,’ the doctor added cautiously. ‘It’s true King Constantine openly favours Germany, but his prime minister supports the Allies. We have to hope that an agreement will
be reached between them to avoid a coup and, naturally, in our favour.’

The newspapers were full of rumours once more. Each day the doctor read out the latest developments to Flora. With America poised to join the conflict, threats and boasts abounded.

‘Our boys have won at Gaza,’ one patient announced on a foggy March morning. He flourished a newspaper at the huddled figures in the waiting room. ‘We outmanoeuvred the Turks
and sent ’em off with their tails between their legs. The British could do with more good news like this for our forgotten troops at Salonika.’

‘Salonika?’ Flora repeated, remembering that Michael had told her that some of his regiment had been sent there from Gallipoli. ‘Why are they called forgotten
troops?’

‘’Cause the British and French can’t make up their minds what to do there,’ replied the man. ‘The Greeks are split down the middle, see? Some are loyal to the king
and the Central Powers. Others to us. Why? You got someone there?’

‘He might be.’

‘The Greeks have got to make their minds up, ’stead of sitting on the fence,’ the man argued, scratching his dirty whiskers. ‘If they go against the Central Powers then
our lads’ll be right alongside ’em.’

Flora felt her heart sink. Was Michael to be drawn into this fresh conflict?

‘Oh, put that rubbish away,’ commanded another man. ‘If it ain’t the Greeks, then it’s the Irish, or the Ruskies.’

‘You should keep your ear to the ground, chum,’ retorted another patient. ‘This Lenin fella is getting all cosy with the Germans. It’s said the Russians are freezing to
death and want to get out of the war. But where would that leave the Allies on the Eastern Front?’

‘We’re already at death’s door,’ a young mother complained as she cradled her baby in her arms. ‘With no bread, or coal or wood, how are we expected to survive? My
baby’s only six months old and he’s got a chest like a foghorn. His nose and eyes are running muck, which ain’t surprising when you look at the dump we live in. Two rooms and
walls alive with roaches. Nutty slack that don’t burn and just smokes the place out. With an empty larder, five kids and an old man on the stones, I’m expected to perform miracles. So
don’t talk to me about foreigners. The war started with ’em in the first place, so they should finish it and leave us alone.’

The rest of the shivering, hungry, waiting patients nodded their agreement. But the man with the newspaper stubbornly shook his head. ‘You don’t understand, love. The British nation
and its Allies fight for democracy.’

‘At the cost of how many lives?’ an elderly man croaked. ‘I had two sons before Kitchener took ’em to their deaths. And I’m supposed to believe in freedom of
speech? You must be jokin’, mate.’

Flora sighed and went about her duties. People were cold, hungry and sick, which often led to them expressing bitter, unreasonable views. It was only when a casualty of battle limped in to join
them that the self-pitying faces took stock and kept their tongues in check.

The days passed slowly and Flora saw no sign of spirits lifting. To make matters worse, a heavy snowfall had frozen the country. She had made her way to the market through streets banked with
mucky snow drifts and dangerously iced cobbles. And when she’d arrived there, the stalls had little stock and the home-grown vegetables were browned with frost.

As she sat alone in the airey with the luxury of a small fire, she thought about the freezing Russians, the troops in the flooded trenches of the Front and Michael, from whom she had not yet
heard. And felt guilty that she was comfortable and safe from danger when he wasn’t.

Then one early April day, the sun suddenly broke through the clouds. ‘America joins us! Now we’ll show ’em!’ the newspapers vendors shouted on every corner. ‘The
doughboys will soon be in Flanders alongside our troops and giving Fritz the pasting of his life.’

The news soon reached the surgery and Flora listened to the excited cheers of the waiting patients. From the depths of despair last week they were now jubilant, anticipating a swift victory.

But the doctor made only one comment.

‘America is flexing its muscles, doing as Britain did over two-and-a-half years ago, when thousands of our young men volunteered to fight for king and country.

‘And never returned home again.’

One evening after work, Flora found a letter on the mat. It was addressed to ‘Miss Flora Shine’ and was written in a hand she didn’t recognize.

Flora took off her cap, let loose her hair and sat by the unlit fire. Slowly unpeeling the sealed edge of the envelope, she took out the letter. It was written neatly on a sheet of plain white
paper. The address in the top left-hand corner stated clearly, the Bristol Infirmary for War-Wounded.

‘Dear Miss Shine,’ the writer began, ‘I am a nurse working at the infirmary and care for the wounded veterans of war. One of our patients is Private William Boniface from the
London Regiment.’

Flora’s heart almost stopped. Will was alive! Alive! Could she believe it? After all the months of silence, the news had come that not only was he alive, but in Bristol, England. Then
slowly her eyes refocused and her heart steadied as she read on:

Flora read the letter again. She wanted to feel joy that Will had survived and was about to be discharged from the infirmary to convalesce. But her instincts told her that there was much more to
this letter than Nurse Sara Parkin had decided to write.

‘Of course you must go,’ the doctor said after reading the letter the next day. ‘Whatever Will’s injuries, I’m sure he will want to see
you.’

‘Nurse Parkin didn’t say.’

‘We can only conclude that Will is struggling with his recovery.’

Flora had been thinking of the possibility that Will may have lost a limb. Or had he been caught in the clouds of poison gas? How would she react when she saw him? She must try to think of him
as a patient, as she did at the surgery. ‘I’ll write back to Nurse Parkin and accept.’

‘Would you like company, my dear?’ Dr Tapper leaned forward as he sat at his desk. ‘I am sure one or two days away from our patients won’t hurt.’

Flora wanted to say that she would like nothing more than to have him at her side. But she also knew their patients came first.

‘We could travel to Bristol on Saturday morning and return on Sunday,’ he suggested with a light shrug. ‘I’ve great regard for Will, as you know. He is a most personable
young man. But without doubt, he will have suffered and I should like to be there to help you both.’

Flora felt close to tears. ‘Thank you.’

‘We shall pull together for Will’s sake.’

That night, Flora wrote to Nurse Parkin. She told her that both she and Dr Tapper would visit and would be most grateful of the offer of transport.

It was a bright May morning when Flora and Dr Tapper stood together in the courtyard of the London Hospital, awaiting their transport. The weather had turned warm at last and
Flora had dressed in Hilda’s blue suit and had bought a small blue hat from the market. She hoped that the colour was bright and cheerful and would please Will, who must have spent many
months in the drab environments of the hospitals.

Nurse Parkin had replied with information on where to meet the ambulance and a warning that the vehicle might stop on several occasions to fill its tank with fuel. ‘The Red Cross ambulance
that is to take you is spartan,’ Nurse Parkin wrote, ‘but is reliable and will be quicker than a horse-drawn vehicle.’

The hospital grounds were very busy. Flora saw many disabled veterans climbing from ambulances or being stretchered on to others. Flora thought that the ambulance that arrived to take them to
Bristol did indeed look old and battered.

But their driver was young and energetic. She wore a tunic of dark grey, a belted jacket and calf-length skirt with sturdy laced-up shoes. Her small cap bore the emblem of the Red Cross and she
smiled warmly as she held out her hand. Flora took it and felt her firm handshake.

‘I’m Sally Vine,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Sorry about the stretchers piled inside but yesterday I delivered to Brighton and didn’t get home till late. Still, I think
we’ll squeeze you in,’ she explained as they walked round the high-sided van which displayed a large red cross on a white background.

They all peered into the rear of the vehicle. A strong smell of fuel and disinfectant curled unpleasantly in the air. There were stretchers on one side and a large white box above them, labelled
first aid. On the other side, behind the driver’s seat, were four wooden flaps that folded down to make seats.

‘This ambulance is a converted lorry and used to transport the wounded troops from London to military or private hospitals,’ Sally said apologetically. ‘I’m afraid so
many men are returning from war now that the ordinary hospitals are unable to take them. Hence the importance of vehicles like this. No matter where the patients are sent, we deliver them.’
She paused. ‘Is it family you are travelling to see?’

‘We’re visiting my friend, Will,’ Flora replied.

‘Have you gone before?’

‘No. A nurse wrote to say he’ll be discharged soon.’

Sally gave an understanding nod. ‘I see. Well, we’d better get on with it. Now I’ll just let the tailboard down and you can sit.’ She unlatched a chain on either side of
the back and lowered the tailboard.

‘We don’t want you sliding about,’ Sally said with a grin as she pulled down the wooden flaps for them to sit on. ‘You must excuse our Heath Robinson standards of
travel.’

Flora smiled. This was luxury compared to Albert’s cart.

Minutes later, Flora was sitting behind the driver with Dr Tapper beside her. The clattering vehicle bumped and rocked along the roads of the East End, whilst Sally talked over her shoulder.
Flora was not surprised to hear that their driver was a member of the suffrage movement.

‘Have you ever thought of joining us?’ she asked Flora.

‘No, not really.’

‘I’m sure we’ll have the vote soon. We are doing so much to help the war effort that we must be recognized as equal to men. Things are changing for women, you know.’

‘Did you drive before the war?’ Flora asked.

‘My brother has a car and he taught me to drive. But now he’s at the Front.’

‘Oh, so was Will, the friend I’m going to visit.’

A big bump in the road caused Sally to slow down the ambulance. ‘Sorry about that. Was he badly wounded?’

‘The nurse didn’t say. Only that they are sending him to convalesce.’

Sally turned briefly. ‘I hope not to somewhere in the wilds.’

‘She didn’t say where.’

‘If you have somewhere in mind, then my advice is to speak up before they take action. Tell them where you want him to go.’

At once, Flora thought of Adelphi Hall. ‘But would they listen to me?’

‘Do you have connections to this place?’ Sally enquired.

‘It’s a country house called Adelphi Hall. Hilda, our friend, is a maid there. Part of it has been turned into a hospital for the war-wounded.’

‘Sometimes it helps to have a name.’ Sally slowed the ambulance for a line of black and white cows being herded across the country road. ‘Most big houses have been
requisitioned by the government,’ she agreed as they moved on again. ‘It’s worth making yourself and your opinions known. Remember the motto of the Suffragettes: “Deeds not
words”. Perhaps start with this nurse who wrote to you.’