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God bless the people of Brussels. Nous vous souviendrons.
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Chapter Four
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Three mornings after she was assaulted, Isobel held up her bruised chin and limped down the stairs, clinging to the railing. Although the swelling of her feminine parts had gone down substantially, the pain was unlike anything she'd ever known. Additionally, dark, angry bruises had cropped up on her thighs, hips, ribs, wrists, forehead and skull. Her knuckles and knees were scraped and the spot where her hair had been pulled out burned. Pain made it difficult to sleep. At times, she had hidden under the blanket that smelled faintly like her sweetheart and had given in to tears. At others, she hugged her knees and raged, inwardly cursing the bastard who had stolen what ought to have belonged to—
Using Alice as his delivery girl, He had sent her a beautiful get well note and a bar of Caley's Chocolate (i)—both designed to be savoured. Isobel had offered to cut up the chocolate and share it with her friends, but they all said they could see she was suffering and that eating it would make her feel better. All the girls had been most kind. Isobel had not lacked for books, hot water bottles, snacks or meals, and Alice was a cheerful companion who knew when to talk and when to give her space.
On the second floor, Isobel picked strands of music out of the air. He was playing Claire de lune.
The Colonel had said He was no longer her patient. Although she told herself to walk past the atrium and go to read the duty roster, her feet would not obey. Glorious sound filled the space. Despite the early hour, many ambulatory men were inside, listening in silence and having a smoke. One man, in one of their few wheelchairs, had broken down. An Irishman called Newton was sitting with him, helping him enjoy a cigarette, for while Newton had one hand, the other man had none.
Isobel stood behind her gifted soldier and listened to the heavenly music he coaxed from the sinful grand piano. His good looks and artistic ability were ridiculously at odds with the ugly instrument's pornographic cartoon lovers, not to mention that it was pink and it clashed with his hair. However, Isobel did have to wonder if the actions of the characters pictured on the lid and sides were anything close to accurate. She smothered her curiosity. It was unlikely that she would ever find out.
Eddie was dressed in the summer uniform shirt and britches. His shoulders were going to be broad when… The backs of his hands were covered in new sores. How did that happen? She bit her tongue against a rebuke and waited on his attention until the last notes shimmered away into air.
"My winter uniform seems to be missing," he said without turning.
"I have it. I've sewn in a cotton lining. It's just a pair of pyjamas, but—"
He turned slowly on his stool, took both her hands and pressed his lips to her sore knuckles. She was appalled. Had they not just been reproved for forward behaviour?
"Eddie?" she breathed. He raised his face to look at her. His eyes were glassy and red. When he saw her fat lip, puffy eyes and purpled countenance, he winced, then shut his eyes and shook his head with a faint smile. He stood, still keeping hold of her hands.
"Walk with me, my beauty."
Her heart leaped into her throat. "I maun see to my duties." Please, God, the Colonel wouldn't see them breaking the rules again!
Edward tucked her hand under his arm. "Isobel, you have no duties today."
"Haff I been dismissed?" she squeaked as they strolled out of the atrium.
"No, darling. They've found me out."
"About the allergy?"
"About all of it." He opened the door to the storeroom that housed the tub, took her in and pressed her hands to his chest. It felt warm and solid.
"They found out about yer age?"
"Everything."
"Are ye going to Blighty?" Although she knew he would hate it, her heart soared.
"No, darling. They're turning a blind eye. Cap says I'm too valuable."
"What does that mean?"
"It means… our friend Rosie's attempt to keep me here longer has failed. I got these welts for nothing."
"I dinnae understand."
He showed her his blistered hands with a wry smile. "At first, I couldn't understand why she had me wrap you in a woollen blanket and carry you to your bed. She knew about my allergy. But she's very canny. It was a good way to ensure that I'd still be here when you returned to duty."
"I'm glad ye're here." Isobel leaned in slowly and set her ear against his chest, wishing to experience his strength again. Better to be hung as a sheep than a lamb. Eddie wrapped his arms around her and for the first time in days, she felt safe. He touched his lips to the bump on her forehead and then rested his chin on her head.
"I'm glad, too."
"Will ye write to me?"
"Every chance I get. Will you write back?"
"Every single day."
"Promise?"
The door creaked open and Rosie poked her head in, looking harried. "Are you done yet?"
"No," Edward said a tad irritably.
"Hurry up!" she hissed, eyes flashing. "They're waiting for you!"
"Okay, give us a few minutes."
Rosie flicked her skirts away from the door and firmly shut herself out.
"Maun ye leave me sae soon?" Isobel felt her throat close up. She snaked her arms around his back and grasped onto his belt.
"They can wait a bit longer. I'm sorry… I haven't told you everything."
"Tell me now."
"I'm not Canadian. I'm from Newfoundland." (ii)
"You're…"
"I wanted to go to the university to learn music and then be in an orchestra. My father owns a copper mine with a bit of gold in it. He took me down daily to show it off. It's dank, filthy and oppressive. The men cough. He kept talking about me taking over but he intended for me to work in it first. Learn the industry. It's not much different to the trenches, in some respects. Only the trenches are better because they're not closed in."
"Oh."
"Two years ago, I stowed away on a ship and came down the St. Lawrence River to Ontario. Worked my way to Toronto and told everyone I was sixteen when I was actually fourteen. I've always been tall for my age. I played the organ during the moving pictures, and then I got into vaudeville."
"How did you get here?"
"There wasn't enough money. A recruiter said I could earn three times what I was making with my music, see Europe and serve my country, and get my food and shelter on the regular. So I made an alteration here and there to my history and threw in."
Bella blanched. "Will ye be court-marshalled?"
His mouth twisted in a rueful grin. "Hardly. Men join foreign armies all the time. Since I dispatched that Frenchie so neatly and I understand rocks and soil, they've decided I'd make a good sapper. (iii) The Brass had a wonderful argument yesterday over whom I'd be sapping for: Canada, Newfoundland or Britain."
"And?"
"It's nice to feel wanted."
"Edward."
"I'm shipping out today to Egypt."
"But… that's..."
He kissed her on each cheek. "Although I am sorry you put in so much effort—which I appreciate with all my heart—I'm sure you'll be glad to hear I will not have to wear the army's winter wool again. Two weeks to adjust to the heat, then I'm off to lay landmines for the Newfoundlanders in Gallipoli (iv)."
Isobel felt the blood drain from her face. "No!"
"They want me in the Dardanelles (v), Bella. I have… special skills. They're undermanned and the commanders are green."
Because so many men had died! "We're losing there! The country's screaming at Asquith (vi) to resign and they want Hamilton's (vii) head!"
"I'll be all right."
"Ye can't!"
"I have no choice. It's an order."
"But it's so far away! And bombs? The casualties…"
"Please don't waste precious time arguing with me, Bella."
"But…"
"Do you know there are girls marrying soldiers they've never met?"
She shook her head. "Eddie." How could he possibly want to marry her? She might never be a proper wife.
"Only through letters. You know me, Bella. You know everything that matters. If you marry me, I'll know you want me to come back. I'll know you're waiting and praying and—"
The door flew open again. "You're taking forever!" Rosie flapped her hands. "They're going to declare you absent without leave, soon!"
"Okay, okay!"
Pressing her lips together, she left again.
Isobel's mind raced. "Where would we live?"
"Toronto. Scotland. London, I don't care. Wherever you want."
"Canada?"
"It's vast. Much larger than any country you've ever seen. And every part I've visited is lovely."
She longed to see it, but that would be so far from her mam. "We'll decide later."
"Darling?" He stooped slightly to meet her gaze.
"Yes."
His face lit up. "Yes?"
"I will marry you."
Eddie framed her face in his hands and kissed her lightly. "Thank you." He grabbed her hand and tugged her out of the room. Isobel was tall but she had to practically run to keep up with him. When he realized she was struggling, he simply picked her up and ran with her—all the way up to the offices on the third floor, where he set Isobel down and rapped smartly on Colonel Cullen's door. Isobel was panting and Eddie wasn't even winded.
"Lose the wimple," he said.
The door opened immediately. Inside, Rosalie met them, eyes aglow. Several of Bella's friends were inside. They cheered and clapped.
"I'm not getting married in my uniform," Bella hissed at her intended, plucking pins out of her cap.
"Oh, yes you are!" Edward held out his hand to the hospital chaplain. "Hello, I'm Edward Masen and this is my fiancée, Isobel Swan."
"Enchanté," the chaplain said. "Come in, my dears."
Rosalie tugged off Isobel's Dora cap (viii) and combed out her braids, and Isobel untied her apron and took it off. Five minutes later, she was a married woman. Ten minutes later, Edward was gone.
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The atrium was empty and dim. Isobel was still out of uniform. She wandered in and perched gingerly on the stool that Anthony Edward Masen had occupied fourteen hours before. She set her head on her arm and tried not to weep. He would be back. She touched a key and picked out a few, stumbling notes of their song.
"For every heart there is gladness when eyes are wet with tears. For every care there's an answer from One who always hears;
"The trees prayed for the springtime so God gave the spring to each tree. My lonely heart prayed for someone so God gave you to me."
A man cleared his throat gently and she jumped.
"I'm sorry I startled you, miss."
"Oh." Isobel wiped her eyes. "It's all right. I should have noticed you there." It was the man with no hands who'd wept as Edward played.
"Do you play?" he asked.
"No. I wish I did. My husband… plays like an angel."
"Was that him this morning?"
"Yes."
"Would you care to learn?"
Her heart lifted. "Can ye teach me?"
"I'll do my best but you'll have to roll me up to the keyboard."
"It's a deal!"
He held up his bandaged stump and she 'shook' it gingerly. "Tolliver Wilberforce. My friends call me Tully."
"Isobel S—Masen. My friends call me Bella."
"Splendid, Bella. Now, that key, there, is Middle C…"
︻┳═一
October the 18th was a horrid day.
Battle lines in Flanders were constantly being redrawn, and ground gained and lost. The location of the salient never seemed to change dramatically. Casualties flooded the Number Five Hospital (ix) from the three battles that had recently occurred around Ypres, and meanwhile, the Huns began an offensive against Artois. The allies had defeated them in Loos in September, but the Artois conflicts were a draw. Field Dressing Stations and Casualty Clearing Stations overflowed and on the eighteenth, transferred men poured into the chateau; it was the closest evacuation hospital to the coast, from Ypres.
The Number Five's thirty-five doctors, seventy-five QAIMNS and 200 Yeomen of the British Red Cross (x) worked nonstop, with only brief naps to sustain them, while trains, horse carts and ambulances delivered endless queues of horribly injured men. The orderlies placed two officers to a bed, enlisted men lay on pallets on the floors, and mobile men sat wherever they could find a spot—often outside the building. Other, treated men were piled outside to await their evacuation trains to Blighty. And that day, the hospital employees got word that the Huns had managed to establish a route between Germany and the Ottoman Empire, right smack dab in the middle of the Dardanelles. The allied trenches were quickly flattened by the German heavy artillery. Isobel could only hope that Edward was still en route to Gallipoli from Egypt, and not in the trenches.
At the first of November she received the first packet of letters, closed her eyes and thanked God. The last one contained paper money, which she hid inside her corset.
"Won't you read one of Eddie's letters to us, Bella?" Alice pleaded. Many of the women in the attic echoed her wish.
"Well, all right." She pulled one of her favourites out of its envelope. He was a good writer. Although he couldn't tell her much about his duties, each letter covered both sides of the page, and then he'd turn the page and write across its length. She soon adjusted to his penmanship, which was at times dashed down in haste and at others loopy with fatigue.
"Darling Bella,
I pray that you are well. I wish that I could show you the wonders of Egypt. We saw the Pyramids. The air is almost too hot to bear, and scented with fragrant herbs. The sky looks vast, particularly when the stars are out. There aren't many trees, just hills of sand everywhere. I am a Newfoundland lobster, steamed in the sun. My friend, Lefty, who is a second lieutenant if you please, is also a ginger and was much paler than I when we arrived. We joshed that it's a dirty trick for The Brass to play, ordering those of us who blister and peel to remain outside all day doing drills.
On the upside, there's always clean water to drink, and a lot of the time, The Brass doesn't care about our uniforms, so when it's blasted hotter than the devil's backside, they let us run around not wearing much more than our skins and our boots. Smart men do not expose their personal business to the sun. We were warned, but some refused to listen. One of them is a guy in my unit we call Dildo (xi), who seemingly cannot follow an order to save his life. He couldn't sit down for days. Before you ask, it's all men here most of the time, and we all need washing. Cigarettes are gold here. However, the camp's dry and they issued us new linen and socks, so I won't complain.
There is a small group of QAIMNS here that occasionally ride in to look after anyone who needs care. Would you believe, they ridecamels! (xii) Ask Rosie if she wants to give it a go."
Bella and her audience looked expectantly at Rosie.
"Actually," she said, "I would risk the camel ride if it meant I could be warm. And I wouldn't mind seeing some fit, scantily-clad men, either."
The nurses laughed, chattered, nodded and voiced their agreement.
"Go on, Bella," Rosie nodded, "read us more." The nurses shushed each other.
Bella held up the letter. "There are a lot of camels and they're at once comical and vile. They spit, bite and kick—usually right after fluttering their beautiful eyelashes at you. They lure you in just like a rabid cat might. Mash calls one his cheating spouse. That's paraphrased, by the way. I can't tell you what he actually says.
There's a Sikh regiment here, too. It's fascinating. The men wear turbans and ceremonial daggers. Some of them fight with two swords. I saw one get his turban knocked off once and he had hair as long as yours. Most of them have beards. Their cavalry is stupendous. I've never seen such fine horses. The white ones are called Arabians and the black ones Fresians. We don't get to talk to the Sikhs, they bunk in different areas from us, but I love to watch them train. In case it interests you, their women (who do not come here but we've seen them in the towns) wear smaller turbans, a long loose shirt, harem pants and sometimes a scarf. They don't wear corsets, or so I've been told. Our major said his wife came here once and attempted to keep her traditional style of dress. She got heat stroke and nearly died.
There are two things I could do without here, the food and the bugs. And the bugs in the food. The bugs are huge. The food is positively horrible. We're hungry enough that we eat it anyway, but one either loves it or hates it. There's very little meat. One of our staple foods is called Kushari. We get a big bowl containing rice, lentils, spaghetti, tiny pasta rings, hummus, caramelized onions, and thick tomato sauce. You're meant to add oil and vinegar, and hot sauce that makes Major Generals cry. Who on earth would put those things together? And I promise you, chlorine gas is not the kind one must worry about here. Beans, rice and more beans. If we do get meat, it's mutton. I am actually starting to miss the Bully Beef.
The Royal Newfoundlanders' mascot is a black dog the size of a bear. He bays like a mastiff and jumps up to greet a man, and that poor sap finds himself flat on his back under paws the size of dinner plates. He is a lovely dog but I wouldn't like to be the man who cleans up after him. Still, I expect him to serve very well when he carries supplies through the trenches for us. He's got a fancy name but we just call him Pal." (xiii)
"Do go on, Bella," Alice urged.
The pages were full of endearments and anxiety for her welfare. She kept her promise and wrote him daily, although she didn't know if he'd receive her messages.
She prayed for more letters for weeks.
Then, the rains came at the end of November and flooded trenches in the Sulva. An unexpected cold snap followed. Those who did not drown in the flood fell victim to the cold, frostbite, and gangrene. The allied troops began to evacuate the Dardanelles, moving northwest.
On the 23rd of December, 1915, Isobel was summoned by Colonel Cullen to his office. He waved a letter at her casually.
"You must forgive me, Nurse, for keeping a secret, but I got my orders from your sapper."
"Oh?" Her eyes were glued to the paper.
"Yes. This arrived for me yesterday in the mail packet, along with some money."
She wrung her hands. She didn't want the money, just the letter.
"I hope you like your Christmas gifts. There are two." Colonel Cullen tipped the envelope awkwardly and held out something small.
"A wedding ring!" Isobel put on the gold band and admired it. Several small diamonds were embedded to each side of a central true lovers' knot. (xiv)
"Yes. He sent it with the letter. Just fancy how far it's travelled. And this is your other gift." Colonel Cullen gestured at a hatbox on the floor. It was white with a large red ribbon on top. "Go on, open it. Took quite a bit of finesse to procure it."
Isobel reached down to pick up the box but it was unexpectedly heavy. She tipped up the lid and a scruffy little white dog burst out of it with a yap. It looked something like a West Highland terrier, but the shape of its head was too slender and its legs were too long.
"Ohh… what kind is it?" She picked up the dog and it licked her madly.
"Mostly white terrier, at least, that's what the man I sent to buy it told me. Lieutenant Masen said whatever I chose must be a good ratter."
Wait. "He's been promoted again?"
"Second lieutenant. I knew he'd do us proud."
The dog continued to lick Isobel's face. "Oh, these are the best presents I've ever had!"
Colonel Cullen looked at her slyly. "You don't want these, then?" He produced a bundle of dirt-stained letters tied together with twine.
Isobel snatched them and burst into happy tears.
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At night, the dog—christened Private Barker—customarily curled up with Isobel on her cot and she'd pat its coarse-haired head until she fell asleep. During the day, it ran madly around the wards, visiting the delighted men and presenting dead trench rabbits to the nurses, who learned to hide their revulsion and praise it.
Edward didn't write as often. He said the fighting in Gallipoli was fierce and he could only catch a minute here and there, but he was fine and longed to come home to her kisses.
Periodically, throughout the winter and spring, Isobel would have a piano lesson from Tully, who was a fantastic teacher. By June, she could play nearly as well as Edward.
"I hope he's surprised," she told Tully.
"He will be delighted, my dear." Soon after, Tully was sent to Blighty. For a while, her days were dull, but occasionally her mam or her auntie would send a sheet of music in the mail and Isobel would teach it to the nurses and the patients.
Isobel hoped to see Edward soon. The Newfoundlanders badly needed leave. They had been fighting for seven months and although enlisted men occasionally got breaks, officers were reluctant to take leave from their men and thereby offend their superiors. (xv)
Judging by the rumours floating around the hospital, being an officer was hard. Many men succumbed to an illness called shell shock and nobody knew what caused it. Officers had to keep the shell shock from spreading to the other men in their units. The symptoms included terror, uncontrollable shaking, and an inability to walk properly. Some men, although they exhibited no sign of injury, became blind, deaf or mute. The Brass claimed the thousands of sufferers were cowardly malingerers—faking illness in order to get sent home—but that didn't explain why so many decorated officers became afflicted.
Isobel was practicing the Debussy, while the mobile Canadian patients noisily celebrated their Dominion Day, when the Colonel came to stand beside her. "Isobel."
"Yes, sir?"
"It's the Newfoundlanders."
Her heart seized.
"They've … lost Beaumont-Hamel. (xvi) Nearly the entire regiment fell."
The keyboard protested stridently when she clutched it. "No! He's not dead!"
"He's missing. There are only a few known survivors. They're going to Blighty."
"I must go!" She shot to her feet and whistled for Private Barker.
"You should stay here until we know," Colonel Cullen called.
"No, I'm going home!" For the first time in her adult life, she abandoned her decorum, picked up her skirts, and ran.
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i Caley's Chocolate provided candy bars for those in the UK's military service, wrapped in patriotic wrappers.
ii Newfoundland and Labrador was first a colony and then a dominion of Great Britain until 1949.
iii Sapper: from the French sape (undermine) and the French sap (a spade or hoe). A sapper, also called a pioneer or combat engineer, is a combatant or soldier who performs a variety of military engineering duties such as bridge-building, laying or clearing minefields, demolitions, field defences and general construction, as well as road and airfield construction and repair. Male, entry-level military personnel (such as privates, troopers, gunners, sappers, and drivers) received wages of approximately two shillings per day. There were 20 shillings in a pound, and 12 pennies to a shilling, so entry-level men earned £35, 9 shillings per annum.
iv The Gallipoli Peninsula is located in the European part of Turkey. The Aegean Sea is to the west and the Dardanelles straight is to the east.
v The Dardanelles Straight is an internationally key, narrow waterway between Europe and Asia, located between Asian Turkey and European Turkey. It connects the Sea of Marmara with the Aegean and Mediterranean Seas, while also allowing passage to the Black Sea via the Bosphorus.
vi Herbert Asquith: The Prime Minister of Britain was well-liked before the war and served two terms altogether. As a Liberal, he instigated a lot of social welfare programs and rearmed the British Navy before wartime. However, he did not prove a successful wartime commander and David Lloyd George undermined his rule and replaced him as Prime Minister in December, 1916.
vii Sir Ian Hamilton was Commander in Chief of the Gallipoli Campaign, in charge of 75, 000 men. He spent six fruitless months using the British fleet to bomb the Turks at Gallipoli, making little progress but incurring severe casualties. He remained optimistic that his plan would succeed, to the point of opposing Cabinet moves in London to initiate an evacuation. Made a scapegoat for the failure of the plan (despite being hopelessly undermanned and having faced formidable logistical difficulties), Hamilton was recalled to London on 16 October 1915, effectively ending his military career.
viii Sister Dora cap: the wimple-like veil worn by nurses.
ix Details about this Number Five Base Hospital are a product of my imagination. Base Hospitals were generally stationary, although many did move every few years. In September, 1915, there were several Number Five Hospitals (attached to specific armies or designed for general Allied use). For example, there was a General one in Rouen and there were British ones in Dieppe and Abeville. So, as you see, soldiers requiring treatment at a Base were transported from the Front in Belgium to France across great distances. Although there were trains (and sometimes barges) from Casualty Clearing Stations to Base Hospitals, men might reach the CCS by walking, horseback, horse-drawn ambulance, truck, bus, or sometimes even by a volunteer civilian's car. It must have been gruesome to get to a hospital. Near the end of the war, a hospital was established much closer to Ypres, in Dunkirk.
x The Staff at a Base Hospital (serving approximately 400-1200 patients) was normally comprised of 35 Licensed Medical Doctors, 75 QAIMNS, and a trained staff of Red Cross Yeomen of between 200 and 300 persons (both male and female). There were many, much smaller Base Hospitals, too, many of which were large houses volunteered by local residents.
xi Dildo: a useless object. Trench slang for a person who is of no use.
xii Check out my album on Facebook to see the photograph of the nurses on their camels.
xiii I altered this for artistic purposes. The Royal Newfoundlanders did have a famous Newfoundland Dog, christened Sable Chief, but not until 1917. Many regiments kept mascots, including goats and sheep. Messenger dogs were widely used. A good messenger dog could scoot across a couple of miles, leaping over three lines of trenches, in about four minutes. They were usually small enough to avoid being shot, unlike human messengers.
xiv Love knot rings and other jewellery, once known as true lovers' knots, go back to antiquity and are attributed to seafaring sailors, who created interlocking pairs of rings out of gold wire to give to their wives. The rings could move independently of each other, but could never be separated. There are several styles of knot, but all of them symbolize friendship, affection, and love.
xv Officers were entitled to take leave but the upper Brass viewed it as dereliction of duty. Some of the officers grew so frazzled by the lack of rest that they ended up with Neurasthenia (a kind of shell shock to which leaders were prone).
xvi The Royal Newfoundland Regiment, which started out with a thousand men, was virtually wiped out at Beaumont-Hamel on July 1st, 1916, the first day of the Battle of the Somme. Since then, July 1st has been marked as Memorial Day in Newfoundland and Labrador. Although Canada signed the peace accord at the end of the war (independent of Britain), Newfoundland did not become the 10th province of the Confederation of Canada until March 31st, 1949. Canada has celebrated its nationhood every July 1st since 1867. July 1st used to be called Dominion Day. Now it's called Canada Day.