Those Who Fought for Us

Fig. 4 Depiction of the Battle of Verdun

  London – Late May, 1916

  Robert met her at the Crown and Arms Pub in North Dulwich. “So good to see you again, Margaret,” he offered.

  “And you as well, Captain.”

  “It’s been what, nearly four months since last we met.”

  “Yes,” she replied distantly.

  “How are you getting on?”

  “Well enough, I suppose,” she responded grimly, “I’m working at the hospital, helping patch up wounded soldiers.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard,” he responded. “You have reason to be proud of the way you and the other nurses have functioned. You’ve saved countless lives. It’s all been documented, of course.”

  “Thank you. But to be honest, I feel completely helpless all the time. If I were the person in charge, we should have much better facilities in the field. Such a terrible waste – too many soldiers dying over there that could have been saved. By the time they arrive here, many of them are much too far gone.”

  “I agree completely. Had you been in charge, our soldiers should certainly have fared better. You, dear Margaret, have a head for battlefield strategy, I fear, whereas Elizabeth, bless her heart, is hopelessly lost by it all. Say, where is she, anyway?”

  “Oh, she’s still in York at the moment. We seem to have lost our way, what with the disbanding of the ANZAC’s. But take heart, the ANZAC forces are about to be reassembled and sent off to the Western Front. Elizabeth and I have both been recalled, along with the troops. We shall be shipping out in under a week’s time.”

  “Yes, I had heard that as well. That is why I telephoned you,” Robert put in, “So despite what you’ve already suffered through, you nevertheless intend to join the ANZAC’s on the Western Front?”

  “I expect so,” she responded, “Unless you have a better idea.”

  “Yes, well, er…no, that is, I’m not exactly certain how to respond to that question…” he mumbled.

  “You could do so by saying what you have in mind, rather than stumbling about, as you seem to be doing at the moment.”

  Completely confused by her rather direct attitude, he responded, “Point well taken, Margaret. Er, I’m afraid I cannot suggest a better course of action.”

  “As I suspected,” she replied impatiently, “And you, Captain. What lies ahead for you?”

  “Not sure at the moment. I’m currently detached to Headquarters, but I expect that I shall shortly be sent back to the Western Front as well, perhaps even with the ANZAC Division. Since I served as liaison before, it is certainly possible that I shall be deployed in the same capacity when the ANZAC’s are sent to France.”

  “Sounds like it is within the realm of possibility that our paths shall cross again,” she mused, “After all, tis not like it hasn’t happened before.”

  “Yes, in fact, I rather think that I shall hope for it, Margaret.”

  “Well, I certainly wish you the best, Captain,” she responded noncommittally and, at this, she leaned forward as if to push her chair back and leave.

  Sensing her intended departure, he implored with obvious exasperation, “Please, don’t be going off just yet. Tis not as if you have anywhere to be, is it?” Seeing her rather doubtful glance, he blurted rather hastily, “There isn’t someone else, is there?”

  Eyes flashing in surprise, she exclaimed, “What! What do you mean by else, Captain?”

  “See here, Margaret, I’ve no idea what I mean,” he blabbered incoherently, “But the fact is, I’ve grown quite fond of you. And please, stop calling me Captain!”

  “Alright, Captain, so you’ve grown fond of me. What, if I may be so bold, is the exact meaning of the word fond?” And it was apparent from her exceeding irritation that she was in no way endeared to this particular line of discussion.

  “I’m not sure. I mean, well, I’ve missed you. I’m not quite certain what it means, but it definitely means something.”

  She glared at him for a few moments, apparently contemplating exactly how to respond. By now he was well aware that she was nothing if not brilliantly perceptive, thus prompting him to await her response, however measured it might turn out to be. At length, she caught his eyes and murmured condescendingly, “You prig.” Then, continuing to hold his eyes captive, she paused a moment, eventually querying, “What about Elizabeth?”

  “What!” he exclaimed in confusion, “What about her? This has nothing to do with her.”

  “Don’t try my patience, Robert. We’ve both seen how it is between the two of you. What you’ve just said to me suggests that you are leading one of us, or still worse - both of us - on.”

  “Surely not,” he responded evasively, hoping against hope to somehow beat her, or, failing that, at least match her at her own game. But of course, that was not to be.

  “Why didn’t you take the train to York when I suggested it back in January? You should have gone to see her.”

  “I…I didn’t have time, Margaret. I shipped out to Verdun shortly thereafter.”

  “Oh, psshaw! Robert, you prig, you have been fighting a war for nigh onto two years. One would have thought that you should have matured a bit in that span of time, especially considering the breadth of suffering you have personally observed. Why, pray tell, can you not act like a fully grown man?”

  At this he gaped at her in fathomless surprise, aware that he had yet again been outmaneuvered by her. “Margaret, I’m trying, really I am,” he blabbered lamely.

  “Well, then, get on with it, Captain. And don’t bother me with such misbegotten platitudes. Unless and until you have seen your feelings through, keep your childish attempts at flattery to yourself. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, Margaret,” he responded dejectedly, but despite her remonstrance, he somehow found himself even more enamored with her.

  “Now, I must be on my way. I wish you a pleasant day,” she said flatly. And then she was gone.

  Robert sat motionless and, forlornly staring into nowhere, he wondered exactly what had just transpired. “Did I just make a pass at her? Or did she just think that I had? And if so, was that a rejection? What the devil is happening to me?” he thought to himself. He placed his head in his hands, continuing to ponder, suddenly saying aloud, “What am I thinking of! This is ridiculous – there’s a war on! I don’t have time for this sort of thing. Indeed, if truth be told, what with this war, I have no right to lead anyone on.” Then, realizing he had spoken audibly, he thought to himself, “Best keep my thoughts private.”

  York – The Following Day

  Robert found the restaurant address with little difficulty and, stepping inside, he peered about uneasily. Suddenly, there she was, coming towards him with that gorgeous smile that still took his breath away.

  “Hello, Robert,” she whispered demurely, catching and holding his gaze for just a flash of a second before dropping her eyes.

  Sweeping her into a tight embrace, he responded, “Hello, Elizabeth, dear Elizabeth.”

  “What brings you to York?”

  “Oh, I had to come up, just for the day,” he lied, “To deliver some orders to General Snowden. Normally, they’d do it by telephone, but top secret and all that, you know.”

  “Yes, I see,” Elizabeth replied. “So, how long do you have?”

  “Not long, a couple of hours,” he replied.

  “Want to go somewhere more private?” she queried.

  “Excellent notion,” he responded evasively, “But I really haven’t the time. Fact is, I barely managed to arrange this meeting with you.”

  “So, why DID you arrange to meet me, Robert?”

  Sensing that she might be onto him, he responded, “Why, I simply wanted to see you. Margaret told me that you were here in York, and I had to come up today, so I thought I’d just pop in to see you.”

  “Margaret? You’ve seen Margaret?”

  “Why yes, of course. I saw her yesterday in London.”
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  “Ah, I see. How is she?”

  “She’s seems fine, under the circumstances. She tells me you are both being recalled.”

  “Yes, next week in fact.”

  At this, he hugged her yet again, adding, “It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it, Elizabeth?”

  “Why, yes, it has,” she responded thoughtfully. “Just exactly when WAS the last time we saw each other, Robert?”

  He thoughts for several moments and said, “I’m not sure. Must’ve been in Gallipoli,” “What with the war and all, everything is just so muddled in my head, you know.”

  “Yes, I should think so,” she responded remotely, “Well, what say we have a spot of lunch?”

  “Sounds exquisite to me,” he replied, and the pair settled in to reminisce about old times.

  London - The Following Day

  Robert received his orders, informing him that he would be shipping out in two days. Under the circumstances, he could stand it not a second longer. He therefore grabbed his coat, tugged it on, and made for the door as quickly as possible. Time was suddenly of the essence.

  Twenty minutes later, he rang her doorbell, calling loudly, “Margaret, tis Robert here. Please, open up, I must speak with you. Please!”

  After several moments, he heard the lock click, the door subsequently opening part ways. Margaret, appearing a bit disheveled, peered through the opening and murmured noncommittally, “Robert, what do you want?”

  Suddenly realizing that he hadn’t thought through exactly what he should say, he blurted, “Uh, hello, Margaret…”

  “Robert, we went over this the day before yesterday. Go away!” And at this rather terse command, she began to close the door.

  “Wait! Margaret! I received orders! I’m shipping out in two days – to the Western Front.”

  At this revelation, the door ceased closing. It now slowly reopened, this time all the way, Margaret murmuring, “You may come in, Captain, but this had better be good.”

  Relieved, he accepted her offer, pulling the door closed behind him. Once inside, he gazed longingly at her for a moment and begged, “Margaret, I’ve no right to ask this, I know. I’m about to go off to war yet again, perhaps this time I shall not return. But, God help me, I’m asking anyway.”

  Her visage softened visibly at this admission. She folded her arms protectively about herself and, turning her head inquisitively, she inquired, “Asking what?”

  “I’m not sure what I’m asking, but of one thing I am certain – I need you, Margaret. I have grown desperately taken with you.”

  She stared at him for a moment and, her mouth slowly softening to a tiny smile, she unfolded her arms and muttered, “That’s good enough for the moment, you prig. Come here, and kiss me the way you did that time in St. Andrews.”

  Robert stayed the night and, shipping out two days later, he departed in much better spirits than he had experienced on previous occasions.

  Three Days Later

  Margaret stood awaiting her arrival on the quay at St. Pancras Station. The train pulled in and ground to a measured halt, and as the doors opened a massive throng of passengers spilled hurriedly onto the siding. She strained to penetrate the deluge of arriving travelers and, finally spotting Elizabeth, she could see that she was as usual hauling far too much luggage. She waved and screamed effusively, “Elizabeth! Elizabeth, over here!”

  Having been fighting a losing battle with her bags, Elizabeth turned and shrieked, “Margaret!” and, plunging into her arms, she gave her a crushing embrace. “Margaret, it’s so good to see you!”

  “How was York?” Margaret asked breathlessly.

  Turning to push her way through the crush, Elizabeth exclaimed, “Great! But frankly, I couldn’t wait to get back here. Quite boring, and all that, you know.”

  “Right, mate,” Margaret responded, “It hasn’t exactly been a party here in London.”

  “Well, there’s excitement directly ahead, of that I’m certain,” Elizabeth volunteered.

  “Yes, well, I don’t know that I would use quite that word,” Margaret put in, “At any rate, we ship out the day after tomorrow. We’ll need to get new uniforms right away, of course.”

  “Where are we off to? Do you know yet?”

  “Yes, we’re going to the Western Front. The ANZAC’s have been assigned there. We’ll be shipping out with the battalion.”

  Her eyes lighting up at this revelation, Elizabeth crowed, “Excellent! God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ve actually missed it, Margaret.”

  “I know, Elizabeth, war is hell, but somehow tis even worse not being there - such a feeling of helplessness.”

  “Right,” Elizabeth responded knowingly. “So, what have you been doing since I left in January?”

  “Oh, nothing special,” Margaret allowed, “Mostly, I’ve been working at the hospital, patching up soldiers. Tis hard work, but nothing nearly so traumatic as being on the front.”

  “Seen any of the boys, Margaret?”

  “No, only Robert Sutherland.”

  At this, Elizabeth arched one eyebrow dubiously and submitted, “Oh? Give over, Margaret. You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?”

  “No, I just saw him once, right after we got back from Gallipoli. After that, he was shipped out to Verdun.”

  “When was that?”

  “Oh, that must have been around the beginning of February. He’s been on the Western Front ever since, so far as I know. Actually, come to think of it, he did say that he might be reassigned as liaison to the ANZAC’s. So we may actually cross paths with him over there.”

  Now turning quite serious, Elizabeth inquired, “Did he ask about me?”

  Frowning as if such a question were ludicrous, Margaret exclaimed emphatically, “Did he ask about you? Of course he asked about you, Elizabeth!”

  “How was he doing? Did he look okay?”

  “Same old prig, if you ask me,” Margaret observed banally, “He looked tougher, thinner perhaps, but still quite the gorgeous hunk.”

  “I do hope we get to see him soon,” Elizabeth added hopefully.

  Putting the onus back on Elizabeth, Margaret inquired pointedly, “How about you? Have you seen anyone?”

  “No, I’ve not seen any of the boys. It’s been quite depressing, if you must know”

  “Heard anything at all about Alastair?” Margaret queried.

  Her expression now turning to one of dismay, Elizabeth replied, “No, not a word. How was Robert doing when you saw him?”

  “He’s changed, Elizabeth.”

  Already knowing the answer to her question, Elizabeth blurted, “Haven’t we all?”

  “Yes,” Margaret agreed, “But he’s really changed. All that time in the trenches, on the front lines. He’s lost that carefree boyish attitude. I don’t suppose he’ll ever be the same.”

  “The Western Front is bad, I hear,” Margaret ruminated.

  “And he’s seen quite a lot of it,” Elizabeth observed gloomily, “But perhaps he shall survive the war. Anyone who has lasted this long must know something the rest of them didn’t. Besides, perhaps the whole damn thing will end quite soon. What do you think, Margaret?”

  “I shouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you, Elizabeth.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  Two days later Elizabeth and Margaret shipped out with the ANZAC’s. They were headed for the Somme.