.Part One.
Somme
It is summer, again, the third summer of a war that shows no signs of drawing to a close. The sun shines gloriously in a cloudless sky, the wind whispers secrets between the emerald leaves of the trees, and seagulls swoop and shriek above the tented hospital. Kitty Trevelyan stands in the laundry, immersed up to her elbows in soapy suds, rubbing the blood out of bandages, occasionally lifting a hand to push sweat-damp locks of hair from her forehead. Though they have been trusted with more work, now, almost a year after their arrival, the VADs are still expected to do the chores that the regular nurses have no time for – washing bandages, sweeping floors, doing inventories. Sometimes, it is comforting, standing in the laundry or the cool shade of the linen cupboard, but others she just wants to be back in the wards, doing anything she can to help.
Bandages finished, she takes them over to the laundry-woman who is rolling them out and claps her hands together, watching the soapy suds drift down towards the floor, popping out into nothingness. A year ago, she would never have imagined life could have such meaning again, but here she is. An almost fully-fledged nurse.
She gathers up the clean bandages from the roller, and begins to make her way back to the supply cupboard. That's her other regular haunt – Nurse Jesmond and Nurse Burke – the heads of the two wards she's usually assigned to – are constantly sending her to the cupboard for bandages or antiseptic for the endless dressings rounds that take up most of the day.
Not that she minds, really, because it's where she can bump into him. Thomas, her…well, there's no word to describe him really. Flora would call him a boyfriend, Rosalie a suitor, but he's neither of those, he's just Thomas. Tom. The one who holds her when she's thinking about her daughter, or talks to her about his new medical techniques when Miles is too busy to listen. The person she loves most in the world, except perhaps Sylvie.
Her daughter will be seven, by now, and Kitty wonders whether her aunt or new step-mother will have made a fuss of her, will have ordered the cook to make a cake, and the housemaids to pile the presents high. She hopes that Sylvie was happy on her birthday.
As she passes Colonel Brett's office, the door opens and Tom emerges, smiling like a child with a new toy. She slows her pace and he falls into step beside her, trying to make it seem to observers as though they are just heading for the same place, so might as well walk together.
"You look happy," Kitty says quietly. "What did Colonel Brett say?"
"I'll tell you later," he replies, glancing around before reaching out to touch her hand briefly. "Meet me – on the beach, after your shift on the wards has finished."
"Alright." She nods, and then he's gone, down the boardwalk leading to the operating theatre, and she opens the door to the supply cupboard, still thinking about the warmth that spread up her arm as their hands brushed.
"So what's this news?" she asks as they stroll hand-in-hand down the beach later that afternoon. The salt-encrusted breeze teases strands of hair from her headdress and the damp sand crunches under their feet.
"It's not been fully confirmed yet," he says. "But Colonel Brett has been asked to consider some surgeons for promotion."
"You?"
"Yes, me. I'm being moved to a Casualty Clearing Station for the next big push."
"Thomas, that's wonderful," she says, stopping and turning to face him. Of course she's proud, but something about going-away has always scared her
He cups one hand around her face. "I'll miss you very much, you and Miles and Colonel Brett, but no-one else, I don't think."
She manages a laugh. "Flora still thinks you're mean."
"I still think her chatter is more effective than a medieval torture chamber."
She rests her head against his shoulder. "When do you go?"
"A week. They still have to arrange which one I'm going to."
A shiver of something that Kitty can't quite name runs down her spine, and she tugs him close. "Kiss me."
He's more than happy to oblige, and as the waves rasp against the sand and his lips move tenderly against hers, she thinks that she's never known a moment quite so bittersweet in her life.
The next week, his bags are packed and a truck's engine idly roars in front of the Red Cross in the centre quad. Kitty stands to one side as Colonel Brett and Matron wish Thomas well, and as Miles, words having failed him for once in his life, shakes his friend's hand and slaps his back.
Then, as Matron and Colonel Brett turn away, Thomas comes over to her, taking her hands gently. "Write to me, if you have time," she says, trying to keep the tears from thickening her voice. She will not cry – she's done enough of that late at night, thinking about how close to danger a casualty clearing station is.
"I will," he says, his blue eyes searching hers.
"And stay safe," she takes a slow, trembling breath.
"I promise." His hands tighten on hers. "Just in case there's a shell with my name on it waiting out there…"
"There will be no just in case," she insists.
He ploughs on, regardless. "Kitty Trevelyan, I love you."
The tears begin to drip down her cheeks like raindrops falling from a tree. "I know." She breathes in and out again. "I love you, too, and you will not die."
It's the first time she's ever said those words to anyone but Sylvie.
"I won't," he says, and kisses her chastely on the cheek. Then he's gone, up into the truck bed and its driving away and all she's left with is a fading warmth and a heart full of prayers for his safety.
30th June 1916
Dear Kitty,
How are you? How is life at the hospital without me? I suppose you're putting up more tents to prepare for the convoys that are due any day now, washing endless bandages and suchlike if Matron hasn't suddenly had a change of heart.
You wanted to know about the Casualty Clearing Station. Well, officially, we're No. 43 Casualty Clearing Station, but I can't tell you where we're situated, just that we're pretty near the Front, but only the long-range shells can reach us, so it's reasonably safe. It's much smaller than the hospital, only has space for a couple of hundred or so and we're right near a railway siding with the ambulance trains coming and going all the time. They're clearing everyone out now, so there's space for when it all starts tomorrow.
The operating tent is big, and the rest of the surgeons here are decent men – a couple took it upon themselves to show me the ropes – and luckily this isn't the same one Yelland has been sent to!
Write to me soon.
Thomas.
5th July 1916
Dear Thomas,
It's been madness here – we had two convoys in the space of five hours a few nights ago – and more arriving ever since – there's just not space for them. For all but the most serious cases or those who can be cleaned up and sent back to the Front, we're patching them up as best we can and putting them straight on a truck back to England.
And, finally, now when we're all about to drop, Matron has declared that we three VADs should rest before the next one arrives tonight, so I thought I'd write to you.
How are you? If it's been bad here, I can imagine that it's hell where you are at the moment, and I want you to know that I'm very proud of you for being promoted, and I love you so much.
It's strange, now, I always thought women were daft for falling in love with soldiers who wouldn't come back, but now you're out there in the line of fire, I can't help but regret being so disdainful of them. Flora had a letter from her sweetheart – he's still alive – God knows how, it seems as though all the men of England have come through the hospital in the past five days – so that's the beacon of hope keeping her going. Rosalie is managing too, I'm not sure how, as whenever I pass her she looks likely to faint from tiredness, but I've learnt over the past eleven months that she's got a will of iron and she won't give in.
I miss you. Stay safe.
Kitty.
1st August 1916
Kitty,
I'm sorry for not writing up until now, and I'm sorry if I've worried you. I'm fine, I'm safe – I've just been so tired that any time I have outside the operating theatre is spent trying to eat or sleep. But now, things have calmed down much more, and we're having a rest before the next wave comes flooding inevitably in.
You're right, it has been hell. For the first few nights of the battle, I had twenty-one hours of back to back operations, and three hours sleep a night until an orderly ducked into my tent to rouse me for another twenty hours or so. The theatre sister, orderlies and the anaesthetist who are part of my team have been wonderful – sometimes we have three or four operations on the go, and I can only be at one table at a time. Once, when the anaesthetist had to be in another room, the priest had to get the patient under whilst I was getting shrapnel out of another man's head.
All I can do is content myself with the hope that I'm making a difference.
Has anything interesting happened? It's good that Nurse Marshall's sweetheart is still alive – she's irritating at best, but losing a loved one is something I'd not wish on anyone. How are Colonel Brett and Matron? I hope that Colonel Brett's other son is still alive, I know he's out here somewhere – the poor man doesn't deserve anything else bad to happen to him.
This battle will end soon, hopefully, and I'll apply for some leave. It seems as if it's been a lifetime since I've seen you – it's funny how time stretches out like that, when really it's only been just over a month.
With love.
Thomas.
26th August 1916
Dear Thomas,
So many things have happened here that I don't quite know where to begin. Well, I suppose, first things first. The influx of wounded has slowed somewhat, and we've finally begun keeping them, which is better since the one thing I hated was loading a roughly bandaged man back onto a truck to Boulogne when he'd been travelling to us for hours already.
And then, well, I was in the wards assisting with the dressings round like I do every morning, and there was this one patient…well, his name's Arthur Gillan. When he came round, I was the one doing his bandage – don't worry, it's not a very bad wound, just enough to see him up here for a couple of weeks – and I asked him if he had a brother. And he said yes, that his brother was a Captain in the RAMC. I can't deny that I was surprised, because you've never mentioned any siblings before.
It's alright, I haven't told him about us. I don't know how much you tell your family, so I thought I'd leave that to you.
The second thing that has happened is that, considering we're so busy, we've had two new VADs – their names are Elizabeth and Gladys – and Miles has gone head over heels for Elizabeth. Don't laugh – it's not his usual flirt with them as much as possible until he gets bored – he's genuinely serious about her. I'm pleased, because Elizabeth is very nice. Quite young, very quiet, though she's eager to learn – she's the one who has been put under me. And she gives Miles a run for his money – doesn't encourage him in the slightest! Remember when he used to flirt with me all the time before we started walking out?
Gladys on the other hand is loud, and every evening when I can hear her voice floating away from the next tent, I thank God that Rosalie is the one who has to put up with her and not me. Elizabeth is a martyr to share a tent with her.
I'm not very tolerant, am I?
Well, I think that is all the news from here. Please write as soon as you can.
Stay safe.
Kitty.
2nd September 1916
Dear Kitty,
My brother? Arthur's with you? Thank God he's alright – the idiot doesn't reply to his letters, he's never been organised, and our mother is constantly writing to me to see if I've had word of him. She'll be pleased that he's somewhere safe for a while, even if he is wounded.
Well, I haven't brought up my family because it's never really come up. You don't like to talk about yours, so I've never talked about mine. There are seven of us – I'm the oldest. Arthur's third. Then I have one more brother, and four sisters. Then my mother – my father passed away just after the youngest, Catriona, was born.
Another talkative VAD? It was bad enough with Flora – I think you're remarkably tolerant, putting up with her day in, day out. And Miles…that does come as a surprise, I will admit. Do you remember the two weeks or so after we finally got over our differences, and he was acting very subdued? I never got the reason why out of him, but if he's happy, then I'm pleased. As long as this Elizabeth doesn't make it too easy for him – well, you seem convinced that she isn't, so I'll take your word for it.
We're due more injured any moment now, and the orderly has just come by to tell me to prepare for theatre.
I'll write to you soon.
Thomas.
November arrives with sleeting rain that soaks beneath the VADs tent and frost that crystallises into patterns on the grass and window-panes of the huts in the centre of the hospital. At night, it is growing colder and colder, and after several pleading letters, Flora's mother sent all three of them knitted woollen blankets from some shop in London to have over their beds. It took a while for them to get past Soper and his list, odious man, but now the coloured wool cheers up their tent with the promise of warmth after a long, gruelling shift.
One afternoon, Kitty is changing dressings in one of the wards with Elizabeth as her helper, and as she wraps bandages around one man's torso, she thinks of how this time last year, she was the one uncomplainingly holding out antiseptic solution, or unrolling the bandages from their packets. Nurse Jesmond has been given another ward, and now Kitty and Elizabeth work under the supervision of a very strict Sister and another nurse who has recently come over from England.
There is a rumble from beneath the patter of the rain, and Kitty fastens the bandage, lets the poor man relax back against the pillows. Two of the more mobile patients are helping the orderly to sweep the floor.
"Looks like another truck has come in," Kitty remarks to Elizabeth. They've had so many injured come through here in the course of this one battle – The Battle of the Somme, as they are now calling it – that the staff are so used to being wrenched from their regular duties to bring in and look after new arrivals.
Their new nurse, Nurse Linshaw, comes over with a clipboard in her hand. "We've got space for another three in here," she says. "I'll finish your dressings round – go and assist them, please."
"Yes, Nurse."
Kitty ducks out into the rain, its chilly drops kissing her cheeks, and heads across the boardwalk and into the quad. Orderlies are assisting dirty, shivering men down from the truck bed, and she takes the arm of one of them who seems as though he can barely stand. "Hello, I'm Nurse Trevelyan. Let's get you to one of the wards, hmm?"
He mutters something that could be a thank you, and, taking most of his weight on her shoulders, she helps him limp towards her ward. The warmth of the paraffin heater hits her like a wave as she comes in from the cold, and the orderly sweeping the floor takes the man's other arm, guides him gently to a bed with clean, welcoming sheets. "I'll just get you cleaned up," Kitty says gently, taking a bowl of water that was waiting on the floor by the bed and beginning to work the ingrained dirt out of his skin and hair, cutting the uniform that seems to be welded to his skin.
Boots and puttees off – a horrific case of trench foot, this one, but she's had to get used to that over the previous winter – and into bed. "Do you need water, or anything to eat?" she asks, but the man is already asleep.
Sighing – there's no point waking him – she picks up the boots. There is a rattling sound, as if something is rolling around inside of them, and when she puts her hand in to investigate she pulls out two toes, blackened and caked with filth.
A lifetime ago, she would have screamed if confronted with something like this. But now, she merely puts them back into the boots and gives them to the orderly who has just finished bringing the last of the men into the ward. "Take these to the furnace, please," she says, turning towards the next man who has blood seeping from behind a hastily applied bandage.
It is growing dark by the time her shift ends, and she and Elizabeth join the other three in the mess. Flora and Gladys are talking loudly and cheerfully about nothing in particular, and Rosalie sits opposite, staring into space.
"Are you alright?" Kitty asks. Their tentative friendship that blossomed like a flower despite the winter's rage is still going strong, and as the two oldest VADs, sometimes Kitty feels as though they are set apart from the others even though Flora's been here just as long as they have.
"Tired," Rosalie stifles a yawn, and picks up her spoon. "I'll just finish this, then I'll go back to the tent, I think."
Kitty smiles, and begins to eat, but then as a figure – an achingly familiar figure – ducks under the tent flap, she freezes in shock. He makes eye-contact and a small smile, and she can barely breathe, because he's here and he's unhurt by the long-range-shells and…
"Kitty?" Flora asks.
"Sorry," Kitty says. "Sorry, what were you saying?"
"Only that you know Christmas is approaching, and I think it would be lovely if we were to organise another do, like the one we did last year. Gladys says she'll sing."
"Yes, of course," Kitty manages a forced smile, her gaze flitting over Flora's shoulders to see him sit down next to Miles, who is talking away like nobody's business, his blue, blue eyes fixed on her. "That sounds lovely, Flora."
Rosalie stands up, abruptly. "Yes, that is a nice idea. I'm going back to the tent – Kitty are you coming?"
"Yes," Kitty says, making the tiniest motion of her head towards him. He nods, imperceptibly, and then she and Rosalie are making their way into the chill of the wind and the rain that hasn't let up since this afternoon. Within seconds they are both soaked and the brown mud squelches up over their shoes.
"You think you're so subtle," Rosalie says as they reach a boardwalk, climbing onto the relative safety of the slippery wood.
"Excuse me?"
"You and Captain Gillan. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see it."
An irrational fear stabs its sharp fingers into Kitty's chest. Though not forbidden to marry like the military nurses, romances between the staff are strictly frowned upon – even though Thomas is working elsewhere now, he's still a soldier of the RAMC.
"Are you going to tell anyone?" she asks Rosalie cautiously.
"No." Rosalie turns to her frankly, red hair being pulled out of her cap by the wailing wind as though it is the subject of a child's tantrum. "I'm just warning you to be more discreet. And telling you to thank your lucky stars that Flora hasn't noticed, or you'll never hear the end of it."
"Thank you," Kitty says, and then there is the sound of footsteps along the boardwalk behind them. Rosalie's eyes light up, almost mischievous.
"I'll see you in the tent."
And then she's gone into the night, and Kitty can feel his warmth behind her. She turns. "Why didn't you tell me that you had leave?" she demands accusingly.
"I wanted it to be a surprise," he replies, his blue eyes searching her face. She feels tears knot in the base of her throat, and then she's wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into the wet wool of his coat.
"I missed you so much," she chokes, and then his arms are around her and he's holding her close as if the four months they were apart have melted into empty air.
"I missed you, too," he says into her hair.
"How long are you here for?"
"They can only spare me three days, but I'll try and get more at Christmas or New Year."
She pulls away, and then he kisses her, so lightly like the touch of a butterfly. "May I walk you back to your quarters, Nurse Trevelyan?"
She manages a watery smile. "Certainly."
And as they walk away, hand-in-hand, she is struck by a sense that things will be alright. No matter how far they are separated, they will always find their way back to each other like birds flying for their homeland, or ships sailing across the oceans. It will be alright.
A/N Hello, everyone, and welcome to the sequel of The Curtain Descending! I hope you enjoy it, and reviews make the sun come out, so press that little button at the bottom of the page! I'd love to hear from you!