Poppy (27 page)

Michael Archer glanced around the ward, at the beds containing forty or so arm-less or leg-less men. ‘Sometimes glory is in short supply, Pearson. Sometimes I wonder if people like your brother
have
got it right. If everyone refused to fight . . .’

Poppy looked at him, wide-eyed. ‘But you can’t mean that or you wouldn’t be doing what you are doing.’

‘I’m not fighting, I’m just picking up the pieces,’ Michael Archer said. ‘As you are. We’re both doing the same job.’

The boys finished that particular song and there was a moment’s silence. To fill the gap in the conversation, Poppy asked, ‘Will you be at the hospital over Christmas?’

‘Indeed I will,’ he said. ‘I’ve already applied to carve Hut 59’s Christmas goose.’

‘Really?’ Poppy asked, laughing

He nodded. ‘Each hut gets one doctor or surgeon assigned to them on Christmas Day.’

‘I’m on Christmas duty, too,’ Poppy said. ‘Sister’s asked me to collect gifts for the boys’ Christmas stockings.’

‘So you’re kind of like the Christmas fairy?’

‘Kind of.’ Poppy laughed. ‘I’ve asked one of the comforts groups in Southampton to knit fifty loose-loop stockings, each with a tie that will knot over the end of a hospital bed, and I’m collecting gifts to go in them.’ She hesitated. ‘Would it be rude to ask if you’ve qualified yet?’

‘It wouldn’t be rude at all. I have indeed!’ he said.

‘So, will you be staying here at Netley?’

‘Only until my placement comes through. I’ll be sent to Flanders then, but I don’t know quite where.’

‘In the thick of the fighting?’

He nodded. ‘Probably a field hospital – as near to the front line as possible. It’s been established that the sooner injured men can get medical help, the more likely it is that their lives can be saved.’ He looked at her keenly. ‘You know, they’re going to need a lot more VADs out there soon. There’s going to be a big push in the spring.’

‘I know, but . . .’ Poppy’s voice trailed away. She and Matthews had talked about getting closer to the action, working nearer the front line, but the thought of such a move was too heart-stoppingly frightening, too arduous, too terrifying. Also, staying safe in Southampton meant she’d see Freddie every time he came through on leave.

‘Not that you’re not doing sterling work here,’ Michael Archer said, with his wide smile. ‘And I’m sure that your boys here wouldn’t thank me for encouraging you to leave them.’

Poppy was going to reply, but Sister Kay called out,
‘
Pearson!
’ and she had to excuse herself and dash off. She did so accompanied by a rousing rendition of
You Planted a Rose in the Garden of Love
.

Two days before Christmas, when Poppy had almost given up hope of hearing from him, a postcard arrived from Freddie, enclosed in an envelope. The picture showed an infantryman, a sailor, an airman and a VAD standing under a Union Jack, with a banner saying,
England knows that every man will do his duty
. On the back, in very large writing, it said,
Fondest love, Freddie
.

Poppy showed it to Matthews, who thought it was a bit off. ‘There’s a VAD in the scene so it should say every man and
woman
!’ Turning it over, she read the back. ‘That’s nice, though.
Fondest love
 . . .’

‘But in such large handwriting!’ Poppy said. ‘As if he couldn’t think of anything else to say and needed to fill up the space.’

‘And there’s nothing about you meeting up when he comes through Southampton.’

‘Oh, well, he probably doesn’t know exactly when he’s coming back,’ Poppy said. ‘After all . . .’ She looked at Matthews.

‘. . . there’s a war on,’ they chorused.

Our time will come
, Poppy thought to herself. But, it seemed, not just yet.

Christmas Eve dawned fine, bright and frosty, both the sky and sea a cornflower blue. Going into the hospital that morning, Poppy hoped she’d find the boys full of Christmas spirit and perhaps even hopeful about the war going the Allies’ way in the coming year. She was to be disappointed, however, because most of them had lost any earlier optimism along with their limbs. Many, also, had friends or family members who’d not survived to reach this second Christmas of the war. For them, the other depressing thing was that warnings had been sent from the top generals to the boys at the front to say that there must be no consorting with the enemy this year, no communal singing of
Silent Night
or England versus Germany games of football. This command had not gone down well and it was whispered that morale among the troops was low.

At four o’clock that afternoon, the ward became a little more cheerful when Poppy went around hanging Christmas stockings on the boys’ bed rails, then put up homemade paper chains as well as red, white and blue bunting which had been donated by a Good Egg.

It had been announced that, this Christmas, Princess Mary would not be sending out the little brass boxes containing small gifts that every soldier had received the year before. There were so many troops out there now, in such far-flung corners of Europe, that it was thought the delivery of such boxes would be impracticable. Poppy was disappointed about this, but had accumulated a good assortment of gifts for the boys’ Christmas stockings: notebooks, pencils and sharpeners, chocolate bars, soap, packets of cigarettes and special boxes of matches bearing Christmas pictures. She had also obtained some little metal toy cars and vans on the assumption that all men were boys at heart.

The cheery feeling disappeared immediately, however, when news came from Private Taylor’s ward that he had died in his sleep.

His ward sister came in to tell Sister Kay and her team the news. ‘He rallied a little when his mother came to stay nearby,’ she said, ‘but I don’t think he ever really meant to live. When she went back home a couple of days ago, it freed him to slip away.’

‘He told me that he was dreading the idea of Christmas without his brother,’ Sister Kay said with a sigh.

When the other ward sister had left, Sister Kay said, ‘While we’re all together, I’ve something to tell you.’

Nurse Gallagher, Moffat and Poppy looked at her expectantly.

‘I’m afraid this will be my last month at Netley,’ she went on. ‘In the New Year you’ll be working under another sister. A new sister will mean new rules, of course, but I have the greatest confidence in all of you.’

There was a moment’s shocked silence, during which Poppy felt she wanted to hug the gaunt figure and ask her not to leave. ‘That’s really sad news,’ she said.

‘We’ll miss you dreadfully,’ added Nurse Gallagher.

‘Are you retiring?’ Poppy asked.

Sister looked taken aback. ‘Hardly. How old do you think I am? There’s a few years’ life in me yet!’

‘Of course!’ Poppy said, blushing. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’

‘No, I’m going to France to run a casualty clearing station near the front line. I shall miss you all, but I can be of more use out there. I think 1916 is going to be particularly difficult.’

Poppy went back to the hostel at the normal time, ate a quick supper and then returned to Netley to fill the boys’ stockings under cover of darkness. The night staff were on duty by then, the ward was quiet apart from some snoring and snuffling, and everyone was praying that no unexpected convoys of wounded would come in. Poppy did her stocking duty, then remembered that Jameson had given her a satchel containing some illustrated newspapers and magazines. Her friend, already quite settled in her new ward, had been collecting these as Christmas treats for her boys and had found herself with more than she needed. Poppy spread them out on one of the tables, then went home and, looking forward to Christmas Day, slept soundly.

The boys had all investigated the contents of their Christmas stockings by the time Poppy got to the hospital the next morning – in fact, they had already started swapping their tin cars. Breakfast went much as usual, except there was cream and brown sugar for the porridge as a special treat, and afterwards someone put on a recording of Christmas carols and everyone joined in the singing. Following this came a game of bed-to-bed softball and some magic tricks from Sergeant Carter, whilst, in the background, the ordinary life of the ward went on: bandages were changed, lesions cleansed, drugs given out, open wounds packed and bed sores treated.

The roast goose or turkey – one for each ward – came courtesy of the local farmers, and it seemed to be no surprise to the boys that Doctor Michael Archer, wearing a red Santa Claus hat, turned up to carve theirs. Around this time a bunch of mistletoe also appeared, hanging in the doorway tied up with medical tape, and this sight caused Poppy to receive a look of warning from Sister Kay. Knowing exactly what she meant – and much to the boys’ disappointment – Poppy made sure that she didn’t walk directly underneath it while Michael Archer was around.

At about two o’clock, after the young doctor had gone, those boys who didn’t want an afternoon nap put on their dressing gowns and gathered around one of the tables, reading out snippets from the Christmas magazines to each other. Poppy listened to them idly. The King and Queen were going to be at Sandringham for the festivities; the famous pianist Miss Marie Novello was in London for a performance at the Coliseum; Miss Ellaline Terriss was appearing in
Bluebell in Fairyland
at the Prince’s Theatre.

‘Have you seen this photograph of Ellaline Terriss, nurse!’ Sergeant Carter said to Poppy. ‘You look just like her.’

‘I’m sure I don’t!’ Poppy held out her hand for the centre pages of the paper. ‘May I see?’

Moffat peered at the page as it was being handed across. ‘No! Miss Terriss is at least ten years older than Pearson!’

‘Well, I reckon she’s your double,’ said Sergeant Carter. ‘Either that or you’ve got a part-time job up in London o’ nights.’

Poppy smoothed out the paper and studied the picture. She was flattered to be thought to look like the glamorous actress, but Moffat was right – Miss Terriss was at least ten years older. She was just about to hand the newspaper back when her eye was caught by a small, square photograph, one of five in a column down the side of the page. The headline was C
hristmas Romances
and the photographs were all of young ladies who had recently become engaged to be married. And one of them looked very much like . . .

Poppy gave a cry of shock and, in her haste to see the photograph close up, practically snatched the magazine back from Sergeant Carter.

‘So sorry!’ she cried to the astonished men. ‘Will you all please excuse me a moment.’ Jumping up, she ran into the kitchen.

Yes, it
was
her. The same glossy bob, the same perfect smile. Miss Philippa Cardew.

Underneath the photograph it said:

Cardew and de Vere

The engagement is announced between Miss Philippa Imogen Cardew and Second Lt Frederick James de Vere. The bridegroom is at present on active service and, following his return to this country on leave, the wedding will take place quietly on New Year’s Day.

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was all over. The grand love affair that Poppy had envisaged was finished before it had properly started.

At first she didn’t believe it. Surely it was some sort of joke? Or it was a mistake, a foolish mix-up at the magazine offices. But then again it
must
be true, because there it was, printed in black and white, with a photograph and names and everything. It
was
true, and Freddie didn’t love her – had never loved her. He’d just been toying with her affections, leading her on, pretending, lying, acting out a part.

Furious, her heart pounding, different scenarios for revenge came into Poppy’s head. She’d find out where the wedding was to be held and go along – when the rector asked in church if there was any impediment to the marriage, she’d stand up. She’d contact his mother and say that they’d had a relationship. She’d write to Freddie’s commanding officer and say that he hadn’t behaved in a manner that befitted an officer and a gentleman. She’d tell not only Miss Cardew, but the whole village, so that everyone would know how beastly he’d been.

But she didn’t do any of these things.

Instead she thought about it while she was serving tea and Christmas cake, then quietly spoke to Sister Kay and took her notepaper and pen.

YWCA Hostel,

Southampton

25th December 1915

The Recruitment Office,

Devonshire House,

London,

SW1

Dear Madam,

I am a nursing VAD presently working at Netley Hut Hospital. I am hardworking and diligent, and believe I could serve my country better if I was working as a VAD in France or Belgium. I am therefore applying for a position at either a field hospital or a casualty clearing station as close to the front line as possible.

I am not quite of the minimum age for what I know to be dangerous work, but in view of my experience and taking into consideration the great demand for nurses, I hope you are prepared to overlook this. My present nursing sister, Sister Kay, has kindly said she will back my application and supervise my progress.