Authors: Mary Hooper
The Pantiles,
Mayfield,
Herts
12th February 1915
My dear Poppy,
I wonder if you have thought any more about my offer? Not wishing to rush you or influence you too much, but I have this week spoken to one of the nursing sisters at Devonshire House in London, where they recruit VADs. She told me they are sending so many girls to France that they are in urgent need of more volunteers for the new military hospitals that have been set up here at home. Now would be an ideal time to enlist!
I went to Dover last week with a dozen nurses to meet a shipful of injured lads coming home, and was able to see at first-hand how much comfort they derived from being looked after by girls with cheery smiles and solicitous manners. Some of these lads hadn’t seen an English girl for months, and all seemed most grateful for the care and attention they received, even down to trying to make light of their injuries and apologising for the inconvenience when they needed moving from stretcher to bed and so on. They seemed to have kept their sense of humour, too: ‘If you think I look bad, you should have seen the chap who whopped me!’ I heard more than once.
But even if you decide against VAD work, let me know how things are going at the de Veres. I am anxious to hear if the white feathers had any effect on their recipients?
With kindest regards,
Enid Luttrell
This letter didn’t stir Poppy into making a decision about nursing, but she decided she would send Freddie the remaining white feather, feeling that it would keep Miss Luttrell at bay a while longer. It was for his own good, she thought, for the newspapers were full of stories about young men being jostled and shouted at in the street because they weren’t in uniform. Not signing up to fight for their country was, in some people’s eyes, tantamount to helping the enemy. In Poppy’s heart of hearts, however, and even though Miss Luttrell had almost convinced her that it was a woman’s sacred duty to persuade the men in her life to fight, she wasn’t altogether happy about doing such a thing.
Knowing that she really didn’t have the nerve to give Freddie the feather in person, Poppy went to the village post office, bought a ready-stamped envelope and then, writing Freddie’s name and address in a disguised hand, enclosed the feather within a piece of folded paper. It would arrive with the Mayfield postmark on it, but the village contained nearly three hundred people and it could have come from any one of them.
The letter arrived – much earlier than Poppy had anticipated – at the de Vere household the next morning. On this particular day, as luck would have it, the de Veres had several guests staying for a few days of shooting. Miss Philippa Cardew and her brother, Toby, were among them.
At breakfast-time Poppy took a large serving bowl of porridge into the dining room. Seeing the letter beside Freddie’s plate and only then fully realising the impact it was going to have, she was filled with trepidation. She could scarcely believe she’d done such a thing.
As Poppy moved around the table serving everyone, her hands began shaking. She even considered dropping the cream jug on the letter to try to get it out of the room, but abandoned that idea because breaking it would make her look foolish.
All the talk at table was of the war and of the first Zeppelin raids. These strange, surreal-looking airships had dropped high-explosive bombs in Norfolk in January and it was greatly feared that if the London docks were targeted it would mean considerable damage to the British fleet.
The war talk didn’t prevent the de Veres and their company enjoying a hearty breakfast. When Mr de Vere asked for sausages as well as black pudding, Poppy was thankful to leave the room to get them, hoping that, if she took her time, the letter opening might happen in her absence.
When she returned, however, Freddie was just pulling up the flap of the envelope.
‘How curious! Someone has sent me a blank piece of paper,’ he said. He pulled out the folded sheet and the white feather slowly, gracefully fluttered down on to the table.
Poppy turned away and heard him draw in his breath sharply.
There was a moment’s horrified silence and then Philippa Cardew gave a nervous laugh. ‘Oh, I say, Freddie! You’ve been caught by the Order of the White Feather.’
Poppy moved to the sideboard and began to cut more bread. She wished – oh, how she wished – she hadn’t done it!
‘Well, they shouldn’t have sent it . . . It’s not right,’ said Freddie, his face as pale as the porcelain breakfast plates. ‘I’ve got – at least, I’m getting – a reserved occupation card.’
‘It’s a damned bad show. Not necessary at all,’ blustered Mr de Vere.
‘These women, sending out feathers willy-nilly, eh?’ said Toby Cardew. ‘You don’t see
them
fighting in the trenches.’
‘There
are
women just behind the front line,’ his sister said immediately. ‘They put their lives at risk every day, bringing in and tending the wounded.’
Her brother shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Well, yes . . .’
‘Haven’t you got an exemption badge to wear, old chap?’ one of the other young men in the party asked.
‘No, not as yet,’ Freddie admitted, his face now flushed rather than pale. ‘I, er, think it’s on its way.’
‘The feather must have been sent from someone in the village,’ Mrs de Vere said indignantly, studying the envelope. ‘Someone who obviously doesn’t know how important Freddie’s work is here, helping with the estate.’
‘I suppose a woman whose own son has gone to fight might –’ Mr de Vere began, to be stopped by a look from his wife.
‘It’s a pretty bad show. I’m no coward,’ said Freddie. But his voice quavered as he spoke and Poppy discovered that not only did she desperately wish she hadn’t humiliated him, but she also wanted to comfort him and smooth away the little frown lines that had appeared on his forehead. ‘If you’ll excuse me . . .’ Pushing back his chair from the table so abruptly that it screeched on the wooden floor, he went out, not reappearing again in the breakfast room until a good half hour had passed.
Poppy avoided Freddie whenever she could after that. But then, two days later, it was two o’clock in the morning, and Poppy couldn’t sleep. Beside her, Molly was snoring gently, though it wasn’t her who was keeping Poppy awake, but the thought of the dishonour she’d brought down on Freddie in front of his friends and family. They had all tried to make light of the feather’s delivery, but it was not a light matter and it had caused Freddie to become so uncomfortable and embarrassed that the party had broken up and the visitors departed shortly before lunch. The other thing that was keeping Poppy from sleeping was her reaction to seeing Freddie so disconcerted – she’d wanted to wind her arms around his neck, place her cool cheek against his burning one and make him feel better. This feeling was surely ridiculous, she told herself, and could only lead to an unhappy ending. Going silly over a de Vere boy – whatever was she thinking of?
She turned this way and that in the bed, accidentally kicking Molly more than once, but was unable to unravel her feelings and put Freddie out of her mind. As she lay there counting her companion’s snores, she heard a strange humming noise: a droning, as if a large bumble-bee had been caught behind the window blind. For a moment, she thought it
was
a bee, and strained to see across the room in the darkness. The humming became louder, though, and more puzzling, and in the end she made herself get out of bed to investigate.
She lifted a corner of the blind and peered down on to the gravelled drive, thinking that it must be a car or some sort of machinery. There was nothing to be seen, however. Deciding that it was something in the house that was making the noise, she was about to go back to bed when the moon came out and suddenly, startlingly, she saw that there was a great silver shape gliding across the sky.
‘A Zeppelin!’ she said. As Molly stirred in the bed, Poppy called in an excited whisper, ‘Look at this, Molly. Come quickly!’
She pressed her face against the cold pane, staring up at the great oval ship sailing high, shimmering in the moonlight. She hadn’t seen one in real life before, and it looked so strange and unearthly sliding in and out of the clouds.
‘Come and look at the Zeppelin!’ she urged Molly again.
But Molly only grunted and wriggled further under the blankets.
‘I’m going outside to see it properly,’ said Poppy. Not wanting to waste time looking for her dressing gown and slippers, she rushed down the back stairs.
She was slightly surprised that half the household wasn’t out there marvelling at the sight in the sky, but there was no one on the drive. The great front lawn was empty except for the group of Romanesque statues which stood around the lake.
Oblivious to the cold, Poppy slipped across the lawn like a wraith, her bare feet leaving imprints in the wet grass. It was a different and magical world at night: the tips of the trees glittery with rime, the stars twinkling dots of silver and the moonlight sparkling on the water. The Zeppelin was very high and seemed to be London bound. Did it carry bombs, Poppy wondered, or was it on a spying mission? She prayed that it didn’t carry ammunition and that London would be safe tonight.
‘It’s hard to believe that something so perfectly formed can cause such destruction,’ a voice behind her said.
Poppy, startled into thinking that one of the statues had spoken, started with fright.
‘I don’t think that one means us any harm tonight, though,’ the voice went on. Poppy saw with some relief that what she’d thought was one of the cloaked statues was, in fact, Freddie de Vere with an eiderdown thrown about his shoulders.
‘No, nor do I,’ she breathed.
He moved to stand beside her. ‘I think it’s just on a reconnaissance mission.’
Poppy, feeling some explanation of her presence in the garden at this hour was called for, spoke nervously. ‘I couldn’t sleep and then I heard this noise and I had to . . .’
‘Quite, quite,’ said Freddie, and he gazed once more at the great silver ship. ‘I was sleepless, too.’
There was a long moment of silence between them. He was standing on her right, just an inch away, and Poppy knew she only had to stretch out her fingers and they would touch his. The desire to actually do this suddenly became so strong that she made herself take a step away from him.
‘If you’ll excuse me, sir,’ she said, ‘I ought to be going in.’
‘Oh, don’t leave on my account,’ Freddie said, and he turned to her and smiled a smile which was going to cause her several sleepless nights. ‘And, please – less of the
sir
. Freddie will do nicely.’
‘I . . . I couldn’t.’
‘Of course you could.’ He glanced at her again. ‘How long have you been working for my family, Poppy?’
‘Four years,’ Poppy said.
‘Four years! But for most of that time I was away at school, of course.’
Poppy stood, herself as silent and still as a statue.
‘The funny thing is, I feel that I only really saw you – noticed you – when I finished school and came back here at the end of November.’
Half dizzy with a combination of amazement and lack of sleep, Poppy didn’t speak.
‘And then, when I
did
notice you . . .’
His eyes held hers and Poppy, unable to resist any longer, reached to clasp his hand at the same moment he did. The instant their fingers touched, however, she became frightened of what was happening. Suddenly realising that her nightdress was thin and gauzy, she turned away from him and fled back across the dew-soaked lawn without another word.
When she reached her bedroom, quite out of breath, she looked out of the window and saw Freddie was still out there, staring into the clouds which had enveloped the airship.
Too stirred up to sleep, she was awake for the rest of the night. She’d nearly taken his hand! How brazen he must think her. But then,
he
had started it. She didn’t have much experience with boys, but could tell from the way he’d spoken and the way he’d looked at her that . . . Well, she didn’t know exactly
what
she knew, she just knew something was happening. Something between the two of them . . .
The next morning, with Jasper de Vere away doing his military training and just three members of the family in the dining room, Poppy felt a little awkward carrying in the breakfast tray. She wondered if Freddie was embarrassed about last night and regretted having spoken to her. He just glanced up at her, however, gave a slight nod and then resumed his conversation with his mother and father.
‘Yes, it was the strangest sight to see,’ he said, as Poppy placed a jug of cream by his plate. ‘Rather wonderful and other-worldly.’
‘I don’t know that the poor people of Norfolk would find Zeppelins rather wonderful after what they’ve been through,’ his mother remarked.
‘But I’m sure
this
one was just on reconnaissance.’
‘Oh, you mean not actually bombing, but just looking for somewhere to drop ’em next time?’ his father grunted.