Suffragette Girl (31 page)

In February news came that the Germans were bombarding the French lines near Verdun. It went on for days, weeks and months. The enemy was, it seemed, determined to crush the resistance and bleed
France into submission by overrunning an area of their country that had special significance for the French people.

‘We must go there. We are needed,’ Ernst insisted, but this time his colleagues disagreed.

‘It’s a French battle, Hartmann,’ Dr Johnson said. ‘If they ask for our help, we will go, of course, but until then we have our own soldiers to care for.’

Having lost his own personal battle, Ernst stamped away in frustration. Instead he divided his time between the house, Poppy Camp and Base Camp. And he insisted that more small first-aid posts
in tents should be set up along the line of defence so that he could visit and give emergency treatment to the wounded.

‘He’ll upset the army medical officers if he’s not careful,’ Florrie heard Dr Johnson say to Sister Blackstock. ‘He’s making it look as if they can’t
cope.’

‘Well,’ Rosemary said rationally, ‘they can just cope now, whilst things are quieter here, but I have to say, Doctor, that when we get a major battle, let’s face it, they
can’t.’

The big man sighed. ‘You’re right, but I just wish the chap would calm down a bit and take a rest.’ Then he added bitterly, ‘We’ll have another battle of our own
before long, I’ve no doubt.’

As spring progressed into summer, the Ypres salient was becoming a rest area for troops from the battle zones or a place where new arrivals from Britain could be eased into life in the trenches.
But there was enough gunfire, shelling and spasmodic trench raids to introduce the raw recruits to war before they were dispatched to more dangerous areas. Despite the steady flow of sick and
injured men to care for, Ernst still chafed that their skills were not being fully used here.

To Florrie’s disappointment, he did not ask her to go with him as he travelled up and down the line, visiting the dressing stations. Now she hardly saw him and they were never alone. He
seemed to be ignoring her and she was hurt. After all they had been through together, after all they had shared . . .

Dr Johnson’s prophecy came true on the 1st July when the British, in an attempt to relieve the pressure on the French at Verdun, launched a major offensive near the River Somme. It was the
largest army the British had sent into battle and, though the French sent troops in support, they could not muster as many as they had promised. Their army had been drained by the continuing
savagery at Verdun.

‘Now we
must
go,’ Ernst declared and, this time, no one argued. Everyone guessed it was going to be a long, weary and costly campaign.

James came to the Base Camp to say goodbye. His battalion had been ordered south. His young face was white and drawn. ‘Fine way to be spending my eighteenth birthday next week, isn’t
it?’ he said, trying to make light of it, although his voice was shaking. ‘Oh, Florrie,’ he burst out, gripping her hands and clinging to her. ‘I don’t want to go. And
I’m not just being a coward. There’s a good reason why I should stay here – why I ought to stay here—’

‘James, what is it? Tell me.’

‘I—’

‘Nurse,’ Sister Blackstock’s voice cut in. ‘You’re needed. Please say goodbye to your brother now.’

‘James, come and see me later. Tonight,’ she whispered urgently.

‘I can’t. We’re moving out in an hour. I have to get back, but Florrie, please—’

‘Nurse!’

He sighed and his shoulders sagged. ‘You go,’ he said flatly. ‘I don’t want to get you into trouble. I’ve done enough of that already.’

Florrie forced a laugh, ‘Of course you haven’t. It’s just that we’re so busy getting all the patients ready to go to a general hospital. We’re all going as soon as
we can – to – to the Somme.’

James tried to smile. ‘See you there then.’

‘I hope you don’t, darling James.’ She hugged him swiftly and then gave him a little push. Tears were very close and she didn’t want him to see her cry. ‘Go on
– and take good care of yourself.’

‘I’ll – try,’ were his last words as he turned and walked away.

‘Nurse!’

‘Coming, Sister.’

Two weeks later, they were still at Base Camp. There had never been any intention to close down the facilities there, or even the Chateau and Poppy Camp, but the promised
replacement medical staff had not arrived.

Ernst fretted at the delay, but Dr Johnson was sanguine. ‘We’ve no choice but to remain here until we’re relieved,’ he said, adopting the parlance of the army. ‘And
there’s no point in just a few of us going.’

‘There are thousands wounded and dying,’ Ernst protested. ‘Haven’t you heard? They’re lying out there on the battlefield for days until they’re found.
We’re needed, Johnson, as we’ve never been needed before.’

The older, wiser and less impetuous man put his hand on Ernst’s shoulder. ‘I know, old boy, but there’s no sense in rushing heedlessly down there without being properly
prepared. I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t think it’ll end before we get there.’

For the next few days the team continued to treat the injured, nurse the sick and wait. It was not something Ernst Hartmann was good at.

Florrie drew her ambulance to a halt at the side of the Chateau least damaged by the shelling. She climbed down wearily. It had been a long day. She’d been up at five as
usual, and now it was gone eight o’clock in the evening, the setting sun slanting its golden light across the fields. But it had been a good day. She’d been ferrying patients back to
the Base Camp all day. Not one of them had died, and all were expected to recover well. And that counted as a good day. A very good day.

She leaned against the vehicle, shading her eyes and looking out over the fields towards where she knew the trenches were. There was no shelling here tonight, but now, in the stillness of the
summer evening, she could hear the distant sound of artillery fire.

Could she really be hearing the guns on the Somme? She sighed. In a few days’ time, they’d be there too, for surely their replacements must arrive soon. Then perhaps Ernst would come
out of his black mood. When they were once more in the thick of battle and being useful, Ernst – perversely – would be happier.

A figure was striding towards her, silhouetted against the evening glow. Florrie gasped and new life flooded into her tired limbs. She stretched out her arms towards him and began to run.
‘Gervase, oh, Gervase!’

He opened his arms and she ran into them. He held her close, his arms tightly around her as if he would never let her go. ‘Florrie, oh, Florrie, my darling girl,’ he murmured against
her hair. At once she knew something was wrong. She pulled back and looked up into his face. ‘What is it? What’s happened? Oh! It’s – it’s not –
James?’

He didn’t answer immediately, but his solemn face and the anxiety in his eyes told her more than words could say.

‘Oh no!’ she breathed. ‘He’s – not—’

‘No,’ Gervase spoke swiftly. ‘No, but he’s in trouble. Serious trouble.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Why? What d’you mean?’

‘Is there somewhere we can go?’

‘Well. . .’ She hesitated, not thinking straight, the worry blotting out all sensible thought. ‘The kitchen, I suppose, but the others might be there, having their meal. I
– I’ve just got back. I – oh, Gervase, please tell me now.’

He took her hands and held them. ‘My dear, James has been arrested for desertion. He’s to be tried by court martial.’

‘Court martial! Oh dear Lord, no!’ Her face blanched and her whole body began to tremble. She’d been out here long enough to know exactly what that meant. If found guilty, her
brother – her baby brother – could be shot. Her knees began to sag and she would have sunk to the ground if Gervase had not caught and held her. Her voice was a husky whisper as she
asked, ‘When is it to be?’

‘The day after tomorrow. He’s asked for me to stand as – as his “prisoner’s friend”.

This was something she hadn’t heard about. ‘What – what does that mean?’

Gervase sighed. The burden was resting heavily on his shoulders. ‘Out here there’s no such thing as a solicitor or a barrister to defend the – the accused, but they’re
allowed to have someone to speak for them, if they wish. Several don’t even ask for that, but James has asked for me.’

Florrie looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. She clutched at his arms. ‘Oh, Gervase, you must save him. You can’t let him die. Not James. You can’t.’

Gervase’s face was haggard. ‘Florrie dearest, you know I’ll do everything I can.’

She gazed into his eyes and whispered, ‘It – it sounds as if there’s a “but”.’

He sighed heavily and pressed his lips together before saying flatly, ‘They’re very heavy-handed about desertion or – or anything they see as cowardice. Some have been executed
just for refusing to go over the top or for “throwing their arms away”, as they phrase it. A top London lawyer would probably have argued a good case and got them off, but out here
– it’s rough justice.’

‘Can we get someone to come out? If I send word home, maybe—’

‘Florrie darling, I told you, the hearing’s the day after tomorrow.’

‘So soon? But when did this happen? How long’s he been held?’

‘He was arrested five days ago.’

‘Five days! But that’s ridiculous.’ Now Florrie was angry. ‘That’s no time to gather evidence, to get witnesses.’

‘They don’t get witnesses,’ Gervase explained sadly. ‘The fact that he was found miles from his unit, without his weapons and trying to get here—’

‘Here? Why was he coming here? Oh!’ She clapped her hand to her mouth and her eyes widened. ‘Was he trying to find me?’

‘I don’t know. He won’t say. In fact, he won’t say very much at all.’ Gervase’s face was bleak. ‘If only he’d open up – tell me what
happened – give me
something
to work on. But if he won’t—’ He said no more, but his meaning was clear.

Florrie covered her face with her hands and groaned. ‘Last time I saw him, just before they all left to go to the Somme, he seemed upset about something. He said he didn’t want to
go, and I’m sure he wanted to tell me something, but we were so busy. Oh, Gervase,’ she cried in anguish. ‘I didn’t listen to him. If only—’

He held her close again. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, dearest girl. I’ll talk to him – try to find out what was troubling him, and if that had any bearing on why
he—’ Again, he stopped, unable to put into words the bald truth. His beloved girl was already hurting enough. He glanced about him and, seeing the lorry, couldn’t help asking,
‘Have you been driving that?’

Florrie took a deep breath, trying to calm her inner turmoil. ‘Yes. I drive it between here and the field hospital we set up about a mile away. It’s well behind the danger
zone.’

‘But this isn’t,’ Gervase said bluntly. ‘You shouldn’t be so close to the trenches. How long have you been here?’

‘Since the end of April last year.’

He looked at her in horror. ‘When the battle of Ypres was going on?’

She nodded. ‘That’s why we came here. Ernst, I mean Dr Hartmann—’ Swiftly, she explained Ernst’s theory and how he’d been proved right. ‘We’ve
saved so many more lives, and the men’s suffering.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Gervase said grimly, ‘but you’ve risked your own life.’

Quietly, Florrie said, ‘Haven’t we all?’

‘Yes, but it’s different, you’re—’

‘Don’t say it, Gervase. Don’t you dare say, “you’re a woman”.’

He looked into her eyes and said seriously, ‘I was going to say, “you’re the girl I love, and I can’t bear to think of you in danger”.’

‘It’s not so bad. We’re using this house. We cleaned out all the cellars. That’s where the patients are and where the doctors carry out emergency operations. Oh, Gervase,
I wish you could see them at work. How clever they are. Especially Dr Hartmann. And we use the kitchen and a couple of the other ground-floor rooms when there’s no shelling going
on.’

Gervase’s face was grim as he was reminded painfully of the reason he was here. ‘Cellars, you say?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘I – we—’

‘What is it?’

He swallowed painfully. ‘I’ve come on ahead. I came to find you – to warn you. James is being brought here for trial, to – to Poperinghe. And – and they’re
looking for somewhere to hold him.’

For a moment Florrie was confused. And then she understood the awful truth. His jailers would be looking for a suitable ‘cell’ in which to imprison him whilst he awaited his trial.
‘I see,’ she said quietly. ‘And you think they’ll want to use one of our cellars?’

Gervase nodded. Now he could think of nothing to say.

‘So,’ Florrie said bitterly, ‘they want to use the very place where every day for more than a year we’ve tried to save lives to imprison a young boy they intend to
execute without even a proper trial?’ When he didn’t answer, she asked, ‘But why here? Why Poperinghe?’

Gervase’s face was bleak. ‘Because – because there’s an execution post there.’

Florrie swayed. ‘Oh, my dear Lord!’

He put his arms around her and held her close again and that was how Ernst Hartmann, coming out of the ruined house to see if Florrie had returned, saw them.

Ernst’s face was thunderous as Florrie made the brief introductions. Her mind was in a whirl, she scarcely knew what she was saying or doing. Her heart was aching with
fear and she felt as if every limb in her body was trembling. Even Gervase was tight-lipped. It seemed as if both men sensed at once that they were rivals. Unwillingly, they shook hands and eyed
each other like a pair of fighting cocks.

‘What are we to do?’ Florrie whispered, her face in her hands and hardly aware of the unspoken antagonism passing between the two men. She turned to Ernst Hartmann and, haltingly,
explained the terrible news that Gervase had brought her, ending by repeating the same unanswerable question. ‘What
are
we to do?’

‘Where is the boy now?’ Ernst asked.

‘Being brought here under escort.’

‘They want a – a place to keep him in. They – they might want to use one of the rooms in our cellars.’