The Poppy Field. Deborah Carr
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wonder who they belonged to?” Tom said, staring at one as Gemma slid it carefully from the front of one of the bundles.
“It’s addressed to someone called Alice Le Breton,” she said thoughtfully. “I know of some Le Bretons in Jersey. I wonder if they’re related to her?”
“I think we need to get this box inside,” Tom said. “It’s very damp out here and you don’t want them damaged. I’ll carry them in. We can eat lunch and see who they’re from.”
Inside the living room, Gemma draped a tea towel on the table before Tom placed the box onto it.
“Would you like me to make the coffee while you look at the letters?” he suggested.
Excited now, Gemma nodded. “It’s easy to find everything,” she joked. “There’s only one place where I can store anything in that kitchen.”
While Tom clattered around, filling the kettle and spooning coffee into two cups, Gemma pulled up a chair and sat down. She lifted out the first bundle of letters. The envelopes were slightly discoloured with age but seemed in excellent condition otherwise. She tugged gently at the ends of the ribbons and untied the bundle. Winding the red velvet ribbon around her hand, Gemma noticed that in the first bundle of letters Alice Le Breton was writing to a Lieutenant Peter Conway. In the second, however, the correspondence was between her and a Captain Edgar Woodhall. She must have had two sweethearts, Gemma mused.
Taking the letter at the bottom of the bundle, she studied the envelope. She noticed the stamp was on at a strange angle. She saw that other envelopes had stamps stuck on in unusual ways, too. The perfectionist side of her couldn’t help being niggled by the lack of uniformity.
Curious to see what the first letter said, Gemma slid the folded paper carefully from its envelope. Unfolding the single sheet of paper, she began to read.
Alice
August 1916
Casualty Clearing Station No 7, Doullens, Northern France
“Brace yourselves nurses,” one of the orderlies bellowed from outside the cramped bell tent where volunteer nurses, Alice Le Breton and her colleague, Mary Jones were deep in an exhausted sleep. “There’s a convoy on its way. You’re needed. You’ve got ten minutes, before Matron comes looking for you.”
“Thank you,” Alice replied, her voice croaky from sleep. It had been a long six weeks since the big push on July and still the battles were raging. “Mary, did you hear?”
There was no sound from the occupant in the other camp bed. Alice rubbed her eyes and sat up. Her feet and back ached. She looked over at Mary recalling how they had instantly become friends when sat next to each other on the train from Gare du Nord to Doullens the previous year.
If she had done as her mother had insisted, she would be waking up to breakfast in her marital home right now, instead of having to endure another day of drudgery dealing with bloodied bandages and crabby Sisters barking orders at her. This was still preferable though, Alice thought, certain she’d done the right thing. Marriage was not for her. She was going to decide what she did with her life, not her mother, or her ex-fiancé. She pushed away the guilt that seemed to shadow her everywhere.
“Come on, Mary,” she said, stretching. At least this new convoy of injured men would take her mind off what she’d done.
“Stop nagging,” Mary moaned, covering her mouth to stifle a yawn. “Give me a minute.”
Alice smiled at her rosy-cheeked best friend, grateful they had met on the train soon after finishing their training for the Voluntary Aid Detachment.
“You have seven minutes to get there now,” Alice said, throwing back her covers, grateful for the warmer mornings. “I’ll wash first. Hurry.”
“Are we ever going to catch up with our sleep, do you think?” Mary’s sleepy voice asked.
“Probably not until this wretched war ends,” Alice said, stretching. “I can’t recall ever being this exhausted.”
Her heart ached. They had been here long enough to know what to expect. She stood up from her camp bed and pouring water from a jug into the porcelain washbowl on a stand at the end of her bed, she quickly washed her face, hands and underarms. Then, carefully taking her pale blue uniform from the little canvas chair that was forever falling over, pulled it on over her underclothes.
Mary followed the same routine as Alice. She took her uniform from the tent pole that they had wound a leather strap around to create a make shift place to hang some of their clothes.
“This tent is leaking again,” Mary said, picking up her towel and drying several spots next to the small mirror on her trunk. She brushed her hair and checked her handkerchief-style cap. “Wouldn’t it be a dream if we could have a chest of drawers for our clothes, instead of keeping everything in these,” she said slapping the top of her trunk.
“We wouldn’t fit one inside this tent, though, would we?” Alice pinned back her hair and tied up the laces on her sensible shoes.
“When I get home,” Mary said, picking up her hand mirror to check her teeth. “I’m going to find a man who can buy me a proper dressing table. I fancy one of made of walnut. What about you?”
“I haven’t really thought about it,” Alice said, glancing at her watch before pinning it to her uniform. “Come along, we need to get a move on if we want to avoid a reprimand from Matron.”
They walked quickly along the dusty pathway that months before had been covered in grass. Alice yearned to return to her uncomfortable bed in their cramped tent. She was used to the long days and nights on shift but knew only too well that she had at least another ten hours until she could lie down and close her eyes again.
“There she is,” Alice whispered, indicating Matron Bleasdale who was waiting for them, hands clasped in front of her apron as she stood at the helm of the other over-tired nurses.
“Did I tell you about the letter I received from my aunt yesterday?”
Alice shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Mary straightened one of her sleeves as they walked. “She wrote to tell me that the Black Tom Island munitions plant in the States, you know, it’s in Jersey City where my cousin works, well it was destroyed by an explosion.”
Alice gasped, covering her hand over her mouth when a couple of the other volunteers turned to see what had shocked her. “That’s horrible. Is he alright?” she asked, finding it strangely unnerving hearing the familiar name of Jersey being mentioned and relieved her friend wasn’t talking about her home island.
“He was, thankfully. Absent from work with a fever of some sort, my aunt says. Apparently, German saboteurs are suspected of bombing the place. She also wrote that the Statue of Liberty was damaged by shrapnel from the explosion. Shocking, isn’t it?”
Alice thought it strange that the Hun had caused damage so far away from Europe. The notion made her uneasy. “Poor people.”
“I know. It shook my aunt up a fair bit, I can tell you.” Mary slowed her pace slightly. “I forget we’re not the only ones dealing with injured people.”
Alice did, too. “I always feel sorry for the families of these poor men,” she said matching her friend’s speed. “I’m relieved I don’t have a sweetheart at the Front, or anywhere else,” she said. It was the one thing she was certain about. “The worry of him ending up like some of our poor patients would be too dreadful.”
They reached the group of nurses and other VADs at the ten-minute deadline. Both stood silently at the back of the line on the walkway behind Matron, who raised her watch, staring at its face for a few seconds before lowering