Mary Westmacott - Giant's Bread

They began to talk of Joe’s hospital in Paris. Then they talked of Myra and Uncle Sydney. Myra was very well and making an incredible quantity of swabs and also did duty twice a week at a canteen. Uncle Sydney was well on the way to making a second fortune having started the manufacture of explosives.

‘He’s got off the mark early,’ said Sebastian appreciatively. ‘This war’s not going to be over for three years at least.’

They argued the point. The days of an ‘optimistic six months’ were over, but three years were regarded as too gloomy a view. Sebastian talked about explosives, the state of Russia, the food question, and submarines. He was a little dictatorial, since he was perfectly sure that he was right.

At five o’clock Sebastian and Joe got into the car and drove back to London. Vernon and Nell stood in the road waving.

‘Well,’ said Nell, ‘that’s that.’ She slipped her arm through Vernon’s. ‘I’m glad you were able to get off today. Joe would have been awfully disappointed not to see you.’

‘Do you think she’s changed?’

‘A little. Don’t you?’

They were strolling along the road and they turned off where a track led over the downs.

‘Yes,’ said Vernon, with a sigh, ‘I suppose it was inevitable.’

‘I’m glad she’s married. I think it’s very fine of her. Don’t you?’

‘Oh, yes. Joe was always warm-hearted, bless her.’

He spoke abstractedly. Nell glanced up at him. She realized now that he had been rather silent all day. The others had done most of the talking.

‘I’m glad they came,’ she said again.

Vernon didn’t answer. She pressed her arm against his and felt him press it against his side. But his silence persisted.

It was getting dark and the air came sharp and cold, but they did not turn back, walked on and on without speaking. So they had often walked before – silent and happy. But this silence was different. There was weight in it and menace.

Suddenly Nell knew …

‘Vernon! It’s come! You’ve got to go …’

He pressed her hand closer still but did not speak.

‘Vernon … when?’

‘Next Thursday.’

‘Oh!’ She stood still. Agony shot through her. It had come. She had known it was bound to come, but she hadn’t known – quite – what it was going to feel like.

‘Nell. Nell … Don’t mind so much. Please don’t mind so much.’ The words came tumbling out now. ‘It’ll be all right. I know it’ll be all right. I’m not going to get killed. I couldn’t now that you love me – now that we’re so happy. Some fellows feel their number’s up when they go out – but I don’t. I’ve a kind of certainty that I’m going to come through. I want you to feel that too.’

She stood there frozen. This was what war was really. It took the heart out of your body, the blood out of your veins. She clung to him with a sob. He held her to him.

‘It’s all right, Nell. We knew it was coming soon. And I’m really frightfully keen to go – at least I would be if it wasn’t for leaving you. You wouldn’t like me to have spent the whole war guarding a bridge in England, would you? And there will be the leaves to look forward to – we’ll have the most frightfully jolly leaves. There will be lots of money, and we’ll simply blue it. Oh, Nell darling, I just know that nothing can happen to me now that you care for me.’

She agreed with him.

‘It can’t – it can’t – God couldn’t be so cruel …’

But the thought came to her that God was letting a lot of cruel things happen.

She said valiantly, forcing back her tears:

‘It’ll be all right, darling. I know it too.’

‘And even – even if it isn’t – you must remember – how perfect this has been … Darling, you have been happy, haven’t you?’

She lifted her lips to his. They clung together, dumb, agonizing … the shadow of their first parting hanging over them.

How long they stood there they hardly knew.

When they went back to the antimacassars, they talked cheerfully of ordinary things. Vernon only touched once on the future.

‘Nell, when I’m gone, will you go to your mother or what?’

‘No. I’d rather stay down here. There are lots of things to do in Wiltsbury – hospital, canteen.’

‘Yes, but I don’t want you to do anything. I think you’d be better distracted in London, there will still be theatres and things like that.’

‘No, Vernon, I must do something – work, I mean.’

‘Well, if you want to work, you can knit me socks. I hate all this nursing business. I suppose it’s necessary but I don’t like it. You wouldn’t care to go to Birmingham?’

Nell said very decidedly that she would not like to go to Birmingham.

The actual parting when it came was less strenuous. Vernon kissed her almost off-handedly.

‘Well, so long. Cheer up. Everything’s going to be all right. I’ll write as much as I can, though I expect we’re not allowed to say much that’s interesting. Take care of yourself, Nell darling.’

One almost involuntary tightening of his arms round her, and then he almost pushed her from him.

He was gone.

She thought, ‘I shall never sleep tonight – never …’

But she did. A deep heavy sleep. She went down into it as into an abyss. A haunted sleep – full of terror and apprehension that gradually faded into the unconsciousness of exhaustion.

She woke with a keen sword of pain piercing her heart.

She thought, ‘Vernon’s gone to the war. I must get something to do.’

Nell went to see Mrs Curtis, the Red Cross Commandant. Mrs Curtis was benign and affable. She was enjoying her importance and was convinced that she was a born organizer. Actually, she was a very bad one. But everyone said she had a wonderful manner. She condescended graciously to Nell.

‘Let me see, Mrs – ah! Deyre. You’ve got your VAD and Nursing Certificates?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you don’t belong to any of the local detachments?’

Nell’s exact standing was discussed at some length.

‘Well, we must see what we can do for you,’ said Mrs Curtis. ‘The hospital is fully staffed at present, but of course they are always falling out. Two days after the first convoy came in, we had seventeen resignations. All women of a certain age. They didn’t like the way the sisters spoke to them. I myself think the sisters were perhaps a little unnecessarily brutal, but of course there’s a great deal of jealousy of the Red Cross. And these were all well-to-do women who didn’t like being “spoken to”. You are not sensitive in that way, Mrs Deyre?’

Nell said that she didn’t mind anything.

‘That is the spirit,’ said Mrs Curtis approvingly. ‘I myself,’ she continued, ‘consider it in the light of good discipline. And where should we all be without discipline?’

It shot through Nell’s mind that Mrs Curtis had not had to endure any discipline, which robbed her pronouncement of some of its impressiveness. But she continued to stand there looking attentive and impressed.

‘I have a list of girls on the reserve,’ continued Mrs Curtis. ‘I will add your name. Two days a week you will attend at the Out Patient ward at the Town Hospital, and thereby gain a little experience. They are short-handed there and are willing to accept our help. Then you and Miss –’ she consulted a list – ‘I think Miss Cardner – yes, Miss Cardner – will go with the District Nurse on her rounds on Tuesdays and Fridays. You’ve got your uniform, of course. Then that is all right.’

Mary Cardner was a pleasant plump girl whose father was a retired butcher. She was very friendly to Nell, explained that the days were Wednesday and Saturday and not Tuesday and Friday – ‘But old Curtis always gets something wrong’ – that the District Nurse was a dear, and never jumped on you and that Sister Margaret at the hospital was a holy terror.