All I Have to Give (3 page)

The weeks of waiting for her deployment dragged by for Edith. Occasional communications came through by letter briefing her of the plans for the tent hospital that was to be
erected in Abbeville, a town on the mouth of the Somme, in northern France. This would be her base. And though nothing was said as to why, she was informed that she would need to be there by
mid-June, to organize the hospital.

This seemed a daunting task for her, especially as there was no indication of whether there would be other doctors there or not. Nurses were mentioned. A contingent of very experienced nurses
pulled back from Belgium were being sent to Abbeville, as well as many Voluntary Ad Detachment personnel with various skills that she would find useful.

When at last the day came for her to leave, Edith felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation. The day of her departure had been delayed from the original plan as it was already the 25th of
June and she was to set off the next day. A confusing number of communications had arrived in the last few days, but the last one by courier spoke of the urgency of her getting to Abbeville and
asked whether she could set off immediately for Boulogne.

Marianne accompanied her to the station to begin her journey. They found it was crammed with soldiers. Some Edith wanted to comfort and tend to as their bandaged wounds showed signs of seeping
blood and weren’t too clean. Others were freshly uniformed and excited, saying their goodbyes to weeping wives and girlfriends. There was a strange mix of emotions, which gave a sense that
something big was going to happen. She supposed the wounded had returned from Verdun and that the new young soldiers were to replace them.

When her train pulled in amidst a screeching of steel and clouds of smoke, Edith found it difficult to say her goodbyes to Marianne. The atmosphere had frightened her, but pulling her shoulders
back she tried not to look as vulnerable as she felt.

Arriving in Boulogne enforced the feeling that the South of France had given Edith. Nothing about it spoke of a war going on, making her situation feel impossibly unreal and had her questioning
how it could be that so many were losing their lives just a few hundred miles from here.

A flustered man of around fifty met her. His armband identified him as a Red Cross official. Not stopping to introduce himself, but only confirming who she was, he gave her hurried instructions.
‘The ambulances are ready to take you on to Abbeville, but prepare yourself, as an offensive on a massive scale is starting. We are hardly ready, but we will get you there as quickly as we
can.’

As she turned a corner to follow the route he’d given her to the beach front, with its grassed area and hotels and shops, seagulls swooped above her and people taking a leisurely stroll
walked past her. Was she really going to the front, where she had been warned in her briefing that casualties could be very high? It didn’t seem possible, when here, as in Nice, life carried
on as normal all around her.

This feeling of disbelief left her as, two hours later, her body bumped and jolted against the sides of the ambulance. The journey of fifty or so miles seemed to be mostly over
rough terrain: farmers’ lanes, for the most part, and make-do roads that had sprung up in preparation of the need to transport supplies and ammunition. Feeling that her bones would rattle out
of her skin, it was a relief when one of her fellow travellers spoke to her. ‘Cheer up, love. It ain’t ’alf as bad as yer think.’ A hand came out to her. ‘Me
name’s Connie. I’m a trained nurse. Been working in Belgium. Not that I’m saying it’s a picnic working in a war ’ospital – it certainly ain’t that –
but there’s plenty of fun to be ’ad, besides all the work and sadness. You’ll get used to it.’

Connie’s words gave a small amount of hope to Edith. She took the outstretched hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Doctor Edith Mellor. And, yes, I am nervous. This is my first
time, and I don’t know quite what to expect.’

‘Blood and gore by the bucketload – and more buckets of tears, love. But there’s also another side. The blokes we save, the pranks some of them get up to, the courage, and . .
. Oh, it’s all ’ard to explain, but it’s something you come to love – the way of life, that is, not the suffering. So you’re a doctor? I had you down as a voluntary
aid worker.’

Edith didn’t miss Connie’s tone of admiration when she found out that she was a doctor, or the note of disdain given to the words ‘voluntary aid worker’. But she just
smiled, not sure that she wanted to engage in conversation and feeling totally out of control of her movements, sensing that she would throw up any minute. But then the sounds coming to her now
told her they were nearing the front, as blast after blast of distant explosions assaulted her ears, setting up a fear in her that she wanted to block out. Holding her hands in tight fists, she
answered Connie. ‘Yes, a doctor – a qualified surgeon, like my father. They say the hospital tents are up, and all the equipment we’ll need is there. We’ll just have to put
it together and fit it where we want it. Jolly glad about the tents being up, though. Gosh, I have no idea how to pitch a tent!’

Connie looked amused. ‘As long as yer can fix a wounded man – and it sounds as though yer can – then you’ll be fine. I’ll stay close to yer and ’elp yer
settle. Where yer from? I’m from Stepney in the East End.’

Chatting about ordinary things helped and, as the other girls joined in, the explosions took a back seat to their laughter, as Nancy, another experienced nurse, and Connie related stories of
their time in Belgium, and here in France. It seemed that most of them had been together throughout the war, moving with the action to wherever they were needed.

After telling a tale about a Voluntary Ad Detachment worker who had fainted at the sight of blood, Connie said, ‘You’ll fit in with the VADs, Doctor – posh lot they are, and
mostly very willing, though some of them are as much use as a chocolate Yule log on a fire!’

A girl who had sat quietly throughout the conversation, and who seemed just as new to this as Edith, looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. A blush spread up from her neck and
beads of sweat trickled down her face.
No doubt a VAD,
thought Edith. But saying anything would only increase her discomfort.

The differences between trained nurses and Voluntary Ad Detachment workers was something that Edith had heard of, but it seemed it wasn’t as bad as it had been painted. Connie and Nancy
sounded quite accepting of them, if a little derisive. For herself, she didn’t think it mattered whether those around her were a posh lot or not, trained or not, as long as they all pitched
in and did their best. And she’d be just as happy being friends with the Connies and Nancys of this world as with her own class. They were salt-of-the-earth types, and funny with it –
just what she needed at the moment.

Both were good-looking girls and sported the same hairstyle, scraped up into a bun on top of their heads. Although this was practical, and would fit under the veil-like hats that all nurses wore
on duty, it also looked very pretty.

Connie had a strong-looking figure and was tall and buxom, with features that were more handsome than pretty, but her lovely blue eyes softened her looks and made you feel relaxed with her
– and safe that she would have your back and would know the answer to anything.

Nancy, on the other hand, was about Edith’s own height, at around five-foot-two. She had a dainty figure and was fairer-looking than the olive-skinned Connie. Her blonde hair was given to
curls, one or two of which had escaped the many pins that she had pushed into it to keep it neat, and now hung around her face. She, too, had blue eyes, but hers were more piercing.

Although Edith had detected from Nancy’s accent that she came from Leicestershire, it was a surprise to learn that she actually lived quite near Lutterworth, Edith’s country home. It
seemed they had even been at the same church functions, though in different capacities: Edith as local ‘royalty’, accompanying the dignitaries and cutting ribbons to open events, and
Nancy running one of the stalls, or just enjoying the visiting fair or circus with her family.

As the stories came to an end, Nancy asked, ‘Have you left a fellow behind then, Doctor?’

‘Good gracious, no. No time for such nonsense when you have had to study as hard as I have – but not for the want of my mother trying.’

‘Ha, I heard how it was for you high-born girls. Mother invites eligible men around, and daughter dutifully marries the pick of the bunch. Not like that for us, is it, Connie?’

At that moment gunshots and blasts bombarded their ears, taking their focus back to the terrifying reality of where they were. Debris catapulted into the air, landing on the roof of the
ambulance with a sound of a million hailstones – a storm holding a fear that stiffened Edith’s body.

‘We’re ’ere. Bloody Kaiser ’ad a gun salute ready to welcome us. Look, you can see the tents . . . Bleedin’ ’ell, look at that convoy coming the other way! I
reckon we should ’urry and stake our claim on the best beds. But wait a minute . . .’

Edith saw what had dawned on Connie. These were not more medical staff arriving, but casualties – the convoy of six comprised of ambulances. Dust puffed into the air as they came to a
halt, just feet away from where Edith alighted.

Doors flew open and stretchers emerged as if vomited from the truck. Shouts of ‘Have the medics arrived?’ and ‘We need a doctor over here!’ vied with the screams of pain
and the hollers of death.
God! How had it come about that casualties arrived before the hospital was even ready?

With no time to ponder this, Edith bent her head against the onslaught of rain that was now bucketing from the rolling sky. Forgetting all her fears, she hurried as fast as she could through mud
that sucked her feet into its squelchy ruts, as she desperately made her way towards the largest of the tents.

Getting there before the stretcher-bearers, she was appalled to see an empty space, with stacks of beds to one side, and boxes and boxes of supplies piled high next to them. Realizing that she
was the most senior person present, she began to shout orders.

Trying to do what she could for the men lying on the damp floor wherever the stretcher-bearers could lay them, she shouted, ‘Make a line of beds here and here. Then put those tables along
here. Oh God, we need lights!’

‘I can fix the lights up, Ma’am. Me job before this lot was . . .’

Edith turned towards the soldier who had said this and, like him, had a moment’s hesitation. It seemed to her that for a second or so the noise of the war, and the clatter of beds being
assembled, faded into the distance as her heart jolted and she found herself looking into the most beautiful face she had ever seen.
Can a man be beautiful?
As her mind asked this
question, she felt a blush sweep her face, but still she didn’t look away. In such a short space of time she registered his golden hair and how it waved back from his forehead, his freckled
skin and his green-grey eyes, which held a look of astonishment as he stared back at her. A look that told her he had felt the same connection to her as she had to him. But then his words jarred
her and didn’t fit their situation. ‘Corporal Albert Price, Ma’am. I was a mechanic before the war. I’ve seen a generator outside. I’ll have it going in no
time.’

Dragged back to reality, she lowered her gaze to compose herself, before answering him, ‘Thank you. That would be spiffing.’
Spiffing! Bother – did I really say that! When
what I wanted to say had nothing to do with the war, or generators, or the sick or dying . . . Oh God, what is the matter with me?

As he turned from her, he winked. Rather than offend her, it made her feel as if someone had brushed her skin with a feather. It was the kind of wink that said he knew how she felt, and this
made her even more flustered, giving her the sense that she was a young girl instead of an adult woman – and a doctor at that.

Cross with herself, Edith shook the thoughts from her. How could she have allowed her focus to shift from the important job at hand for even one second? The answer was simple. She’d not
been given a choice, for the impact had happened without her bidding it to.

Albert’s ‘no time’ took half an hour, during which time a minor miracle occurred, as the first signs of a hospital ward began to take shape, speeded up by another soldier who
had come up to Edith. ‘I’m Private Walter Hermon, Ma’am. Over the last few days me and others assigned to get things shipshape have managed to get a wooden floor down in the next
tent, but we were told the medical staff were to put the beds up and unpack the equipment, so we didn’t touch it. I can get the men to help, if you like?’

‘Good. Yes, set to. Thank you. I’ll utilize the wooden-floored tent as an operating theatre. And I have been informed there is an Australian hospital nearby that has been coping on
its own. Would you send someone over there and ask them if they can take some of our cases? Tell them we are not fully up and running yet, and only have one surgeon at the moment, but more are
expected any day.’

‘I’ll try, Ma’am, but those we have here are an overflow from that hospital, as it is. I think they thought we were ready.’

‘Well, tell them we are not; and if they cannot take any patients back, ask them to at least spare us a surgeon, as we are desperate!’

Assessing patient after patient, Edith methodically labelled each according to what they would need, mentally working out an order of priority. The nurses working alongside her
were putting her requests into action as best they could.

‘Connie, have you come across an operating table yet?’

‘Yes, and much more for a theatre, Doc, and I have them all sorted.’

Edith set Connie the task of grabbing one of the helpers to get the wooden-floored tent ready for that purpose, while shouting, ‘Nurses, get all the patients onto beds now, quickly! And
has anyone located drugs and dressings?’

‘I have. They’re all in this case here, Doctor Edith. And may I say, listening to you on the drive here, I worried that you were as green as me. But, hey-ho, you’re top-hole!
What shall I do with this stuff? Oh, by the way, I’m Jennifer Roxley, of London. I think you guessed that I am with the Voluntary Aid Detachment. Pleased to meet you.’