Wildflowers In The Ruins: A 1917 Story

Chapter Two. Cornflowers

Friday, 6th April 1917:

Following Campbell down the rolling hill, the sound increased dramatically. A slight scent of smoke and wet laundry wound its way into my nostrils as the volume of soldiers increased. Many were in small groups with a few solitary ones dotted here and there. Some were cooking what appeared to be meat or vegetables outside or washing mismatched pots and plates. A few hung laundry, played cards perched on wooden crates or were writing, but most were just sitting around conversing or dozing with their helmets pulled down over their faces. Snippets of conversation could be deciphered:
"...milk ran out again..."
"...not since the 23rd..."
"I prefer it when SHE does it!"
That last line was met with a belly laugh from someone and it made me all too aware I was entering a place where women didn't usually go. This was the soldier's quarters, unchartered teritory, and I suddenly didn't want to attract any sort of attention to myself.

During my two years here I'd learned so much about men's behaviour and how to conduct myself. It felt as though I'd garnered far more experience here, effectively on the Hindenburg Line, than my 23 years back in England. I'd become accustomed to bad language and for the most part toughened up a great deal, learning not to take things so personally. Seeing males naked became commonplace for me as I was often shaving them before operations, not to mention the bathing and bedpans. Although I was a nurse, I had to constantly keep my wits about me. I observed Sargent Campbell was luckily a good foot taller and noticeably wider so I could practically hide behind him.
As we strode further, several soldiers noticed my nurses uniform and hastily approached:
" 'scuse me miss, this arm..."
"Nurse! Will you take a look at our Jack's foot? It's not been the same since that deluge we had in February"
"Oi, you, nurse, finally!"
"You got any gin in that bag, love?"
"Sorry, um... please can you check something for me, please?" That last voice, the accent, he sounded like he was from Dorset. I wanted desperately to ask him if he was.
Campbell batted them away like flies with a dismissive wave of his arm:
"Gentleman, she cannot stop. There will be male orderlies along presently."
The groans after that last sentence couldn't help but make me suppress a smile. It felt uplifting to be needed. I couldn't help but feel guilty though. In ordinary circumstances I'd have stopped at the first one and continued until my supplies ran out.
"Sorry. I'm so sorry boys." I called out over my shoulder, my voice sounding weaker than I intended. Campbell half turned and gently shushed me. The impression I shouldn't converse with anyone out here was made clear now.

As we decended the boardwalk into the outer trench area, a young soldier confidently approached Campbell from around one of the many walls of sandbags stretching to just below my shoulders.
" 'ere you go sarge." The private handed a steel helmet, similar to the Brodie ones of two years ago which had now been phased out, to Sargent Campbell who immediately passed it to me as if it was red hot. A small khaki canvas kit bag followed suit and I instinctively looped it over my right shoulder and across my boyish chest.
"Bartlett," Campbell replied with a curt nod, by way of thanks, and then the private nodded vigorously in return and was gone amongst the throng of military green, brown, and grey shades and mud-splattered men.

Finding it easiest to remove my headpiece first and deftly folding it in my bag, I placed the steel helmet on my chestnut bun. The coolness of the metal was a welcome sensation compared to my heavy cotton headdress. Grateful for the fact this particular one had a rubber ring lining the inside, when so many still didn't, I strapped it so it'd slide underneath my hairline before pressing it down firmly upon my head. The feeling was snug but it was little comfort, for I knew why I'd been given it to wear.
I noticed the sergeant was trying not to look impatient as he glanced at his watch.

"Now, nurse Morgan, I know you'll not be accustomed to what you're about to see and hear but I'm going to need you to show strength as well as your usual nurse's compassion. You're to follow me, don't tarry and do not stop under any circumstances until we reach Lieutenant Leslie. I know I sound a wee bit, um... direct, but war calls for us to make haste my dear. Now, you are to go to the Newfoundland's today to be a detachment nurse there."
He must have sensed my surprise!
"Only for a week or two... but you need to listen, alright?"
Nodding quickly, and clutching the olive wood cross in my right pocket, I decended after Sergeant Campbell.
"Your bag there should contain a torch, flare, water canteen and a basic food supply." He continued purposfully staring straight ahead. "The other two should have the same, plus grenades."
Grenades! Good gracious! A flare I could understand, but a grenade... and who were the other two? Perhaps two other VAD's, like me. Or it could be one nurse and a sister. Oh, I hoped they were as friendly as most of the others I worked with.
Perhaps it'd be someone I'd worked with previously in our field hospital?