The Victory Garden(15)

“Maybe I don’t want to be safe and protected,” Emily said. “And remember what Clarissa was saying—after the war, women will be called upon to do men’s jobs. I should gain some experience.”

“The girl is right, Marjorie,” her father said. He reached across and patted his wife’s hand. “You can’t hang on to her forever, old thing. I see no harm in her doing some kind of suitable volunteer work. Go to the recruitment centre with my blessing then, Emily, and see what they have available.” Emily could not believe how easily they had capitulated. It was as she went up the stairs that she heard her father saying, “I think a job is an excellent idea, Marjorie. It will take her mind off that Australian chap, and who knows, she might well meet someone we’d approve of. A local boy.”

She dressed in a sombre blue linen suit with white gloves and a white hat. Her father dropped her at the station, but instead of taking the train to Exeter, she went in the other direction, to Plymouth. As the fields and woods flashed past her, she tried to remember when she had last been on a train alone. She had travelled to school and back, but in the company of a mistress and other girls. A rush of excitement shot through her. This was a first step. A small one, but one in the right direction. With any luck, by the end of the day, she’d be working near Robbie as an independent woman.

When she alighted from the train at Plymouth railway station, she was given directions to the Royal Naval Hospital. It was a long walk, she was told, but she could catch a bus or take a taxi. She opted for the bus, and soon found herself standing at the entrance to the hospital, gazing in awe. She had expected a building like other hospitals she had visited—grim and square and featureless. This was a series of elegant Georgian buildings spaced around a square of lawn. It was vast and quite intimidating. As she stood there, wondering which of the buildings she should approach, a group of nurses came towards her across the green. They wore crisply starched caps and dresses, and their capes blew out in the breeze as they walked. Emily approached them.

“Excuse me, but could you tell me where I should go if I wanted to become a volunteer here?”

“Are you a nurse?” one of them asked.

“No, not yet. I’d like to become one.”

“We’re all navy nurses here,” another said. “Members of the Queen Alexandra Royal Navy Nursing Service. I’m not sure they’d take you now, with no nursing skills. It wouldn’t be worth training you if the war’s going to end soon.”

“But what about ward maids, helpers? Surely you must have those,” Emily said.

“Yes, but it’s frightfully menial work.” The nurse gave Emily a worried frown. “However, you should go and speak to the sister in charge. She’ll set you straight. Over in Trafalgar—that building at the end. Her office is just off the main hall, on the right. I’d take you, but we’re due on duty, and our sister is a real cow if we’re a minute late.”

Emily thanked them and headed towards the building they had indicated. She found the office with no trouble and was soon facing a distinguished-looking older woman—not unlike her former headmistress at school.

“And what can I do for you, young lady?” she asked.

“I’d like to volunteer my services,” Emily said.

“As what?” The voice was clipped, but the expression not unfriendly.

“As a nurse, I thought originally, but I’ve just been told that your nurses are all members of the Queen Alexandra Royal Navy Nursing Service.”

“That is correct. Do you have nursing training?”

“I have no training in anything,” Emily said. “But I’m willing to learn.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“And what have you been doing since you left school—if you went to school, that is?”

“I did go to school. I went to Sherborne. But since then, I’ve been doing nothing. Stuck at home, knitting socks and gloves for the troops and taking teacakes to the local convalescent hospital.”

“Both admirable occupations, but why stuck at home?”

Emily chewed on her lip. “We live out in the country, for one thing. But the truth is that my parents did not want to let me go. My only brother was killed at the start of the war, during his first week in Ypres. My parents were both devastated and thus terrified to lose me.”

“And what has changed now?” the sister asked.

“I’ve just turned twenty-one. They can no longer stop me.” She took a step towards the desk. “I want to do my bit, Sister. I’ve been dying to do something useful. Can you not find a place for me?”

“I’d really like to, my dear.” The sister paused. “But the truth is that we have a full complement of volunteers at the moment. We have local girls—sailors’ wives, you know, wanting to keep busy rather than worry. Also refugees from Belgium—peasant women who are used to hard work and don’t mind scrubbing floors and washing bedpans.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Emily said. “Truly I wouldn’t.”

“I commend your attitude, but we really can’t use you, I’m afraid. Have you been to the local recruitment headquarters?”

“Not yet. I came here first.”

“Why so insistent on working in a hospital?”