Hope Page 42

  Queenie Watson was the woman she picked as her servant, but it wasn’t her cleanliness or honesty which singled her out, only her spirit. Queenie and her rifleman husband Robbie had hatched a plan in case Queenie wasn’t picked in the ballot. Robbie had trained her in drill and she’d spent the last night in the barracks, hair cut short and in full dress uniform, posing as a soldier. She had carried it off well enough to pass muster the following morning and marched with the troops to the ship undetected. It was only once on board that she had been discovered, but fortunately for her Lady Errol, the wife of the Earl of Errol, a Company Commander of the Rifles, was on board. She was being seen off by her two friends, the Marchioness of Stafford and the Duchess of Sutherland. The three ladies had been sympathetic to Queenie’s plight and persuaded the Earl of Errol to let her travel with them.

  As soon as Hope had heard about this she’d been sure she would like the woman, and she wasn’t disappointed. Queenie had red hair, sharp features and a defiant manner. Along with her courage, Hope found her to have a great sense of humour. If she had to be stuck in the company of another woman for long periods, she wanted someone who would at least be entertaining.

  Six weeks after leaving England, they arrived at Scutari in Turkey on 7 April. They had spent some time in Malta, then moved on to Gallipoli where they received the news that England and France had declared war on Russia.

  They still didn’t know where they were ultimately bound for. A newrumour started nearly every day, which could place the action anywhere between Odessa and the Danube. But Hope had already been initiated in some of the hardships that could befall an army wife on a campaign.

  In Malta she and Bennett had a room in the barracks, which was only marginally better than the room in Lamb Lane. In Gallipoli it was a tent, sleeping on the hard ground as the camp beds Bennett had brought could not be found. Water had been in short supply, and wood for cooking fires had to be collected and carried long distances to the camp. It was also very hot, and many of the men collapsed.

  On the march to Scutari, they were only allowed a mule to carry their baggage, yet some of the officers had a couple of mules and a horse too. But Hope didn’t mind the march, despite the heat. And she wouldn’t have complained about anything anyway for Bennett was now afraid he might be ordered to send her back to Malta in the company of some other officers’ wives, for the duration of the war.

  Hope believed that she had already proved herself useful by nursing some of the men who had fallen sick in Gallipoli and dressing a bad cut on Lady Errol’s hand. She hoped that an exception would be made for her but she couldn’t count on it.

  The first sight of the Turkish barracks which was to become the headquarters of the Guards and Light Divisions was a favourable one. It was a magnificent building, three storeys high, standing in a courtyard with a tower at each corner. Its position on high ground above a landing stage, the fir trees that surrounded it and the turquoise sea so close by were all very attractive.

  A group of riflemen went in for a cursory inspection, but came running out only seconds later looking as green as their uniforms.

  They claimed it was the worst thing they had ever seen, and as Bennett was aware that many of these men came from places every bit as bad as Lewins Mead, he realized it would be truly hideous.

  As the regimental surgeon he was expected to join the full inspection, and on his return he told Hope that the men hadn’t exaggerated. It was utterly appalling, the courtyard awash with sewage from the blocked sewers beneath the building, a rotting horse’s carcass in the water supply, and the whole building full of every kind of putrefying rubbish, alive with vermin and fleas. There was no question of the Rifle Brigade taking up residence in the building, so a camp was set up far enough away from the barracks so that they couldn’t smell it.

  Bennett was not himself that evening. He declined any food, didn’t smile when Hope pointed out that Lord and Lady Errol’s tent was completely transparent with a lamp lit inside, and that the men were strolling by in pretended nonchalance while Lady Errol removed her stays. He didn’t even look at her when she reminded him of the time early in their acquaintance when he’d said he wished he had a chance to camp out.

  ‘Tell me what is wrong,’ she begged him. ‘Is it concern that I’ll be sent back?’

  ‘Yes, I am concerned about that,’ he said. ‘But I’d rather you were back in England with my uncle and Alice than stuck in Malta.’

  ‘But that isn’t all of it?’

  ‘No,’ he sighed. ‘That filthy barn of a place is to become the main hospital for the campaign. The men can clean it, but we have no beds, blankets or medicine, and I fear that the sick and injured will be filling the place long before those back in England see fit to send us the equipment and provisions we need.’

  ‘You think there is going to be a battle soon?’ Hope asked. She couldn’t help but feel excited; many of the soldiers had confided in her that they couldn’t wait for the fighting to begin, and they’d infected her with their enthusiasm.

  He shrugged. ‘I heard today they are hoping to take Sebastopol in the Crimea.’ He drew a rough map of the Black Sea in the dirt to show her where Sebastopol was. ‘But it’s worrying. I’m only a sawbones, but if I was commanding, the first thing I’d do would be to reconnoitre this place. Few among us can even say where it is, and no one knows how well it is defended. Our men’s uniforms are not suited to this warm climate, I do not think we have enough provisions, we have only a fraction of the medical equipment needed, and so far I have seen nothing that even approaches being suitable for use as an ambulance.’

  ‘You worry too much,’ Hope said, going over to hug him. ‘Lady Errol told me that we are moving on to a place called Varna soon, and that more troops will join us there. I’m sure all the other equipment will arrive there too.’

  On 25 May, the Queen’s birthday, Lord Raglan, the Commander in Chief, arrived at Scutari to reviewthe troops. He seemed very old to Hope, however noble he looked in his plumed hat and gold braid, and he also had only one arm. She’d heard he had been the aide de camp for the Duke of Wellington at Waterloo, so she supposed he was the right man to be in charge.

  Just a few days later, on the 29th, Hope and Bennett were once again on the move, this time on the Golden Fleece bound for Varna in Bulgaria. More troops would be joining them there, along with the French army.

  No one had told Bennett to send his wife home, and Lady Errol, with whom Hope had struck up a tentative friendship, said if there was any difficulty she would speak to Lord Raglan himself about it.

  ‘Doesn’t it look pretty!’ Hope exclaimed as they sailed into the Bulgarian port. While it was true the houses along the quay were ramshackle wooden ones, she thought it very picturesque. But as the ship drew closer to shore, a foul smell wafted out to them and Bennett heaved a sigh.

  ‘I will never complain about anything in England again,’ he said, bending to whisper in her ear. ‘Not the filth in the streets, the workhouses, the beggars, or even the hospitals. And when we get back there, I’ll find us a cottage by the sea and only treat rich patients.’

  The town was fetid and had a slovenly population of some 15,000 Greeks, Turks and Bulgarians who appeared not to notice blocked drains and open cesspits. But the Rifle Brigade disembarked, and with the band playing ‘Cheer, Boys, Cheer’, they quickly marched a short distance out of the town, and made camp above a lake.

  In the days that followed Hope sat up on a hill behind the camp and watched a constant stream of troop ships sailing into the harbour and marvelled at all the distinctive regiments. She was particularly entranced by the Highlanders in their tartan kilts, marching to the wail of their bagpipes which was like no sound she’d ever heard before. The infantry in their red coats and white breeches were stunning, but then so were the French in their blue coats. She’d heard a rifleman being rude about the Russian uniform earlier in the day: he said they wore grey, and looked like a pack of rats. He reckoned they would see
all the vivid colours of our men and run a mile.

  Then, just when she thought the soldiers couldn’t get any more gorgeous, along came the Hussars. It was hard to decide which were the more magnificent, the beautiful sleek chargers, or their riders with their tight cherry-red breeches and blue coats adorned with gold braid.

  So many different bands were playing. There was so much shouting, galloping hooves, and equipment being hauled into place. There were gun carriages, bullock carts laden with ammunition, tents and field equipment, mules weighed down with heavy loads, and still more horses, and they stirred up the dust into a storm.

  Hope noted that the French seemed much better organized and equipped than the English. They alone appeared to have a real plan, and their tents were struck quickly and efficiently.

  Bennett pointed out both Lord Cardigan and Lord Lucan and told Hope there was already a major row brewing between them because Cardigan had believed he was to be in command, yet Lord Raglan had decided that Lucan was to be. Apparently it had eventually been decided that Lord Lucan would have the Heavy Brigade, and Lord Cardigan the Light Brigade, but as Lucan had overall command, trouble was still expected.

  Hope didn’t think much of either of these two men she’d heard so much about back home. They were both so old, at least fifty-five or more. Cardigan looked every bit as arrogant as she’d heard, and not half as handsome, for he had thick bushy whiskers down his cheeks, and his teeth were bad. As for Lord Lucan, he looked as if he were sucking a lemon, and she’d heard he was so fussy that he went round with a ruler measuring the space between each of the men’s tents, and if they weren’t exactly so, he made them take them down and move them.

  But for days Hope was too awestruck by the sheer volume of soldiers – someone said there were over 70,000 – and the chaos and intense activity going on all around her, to make any real sense of how they were being organized, if at all. One minute men were in full uniform on parade, their tents and kits under inspection. The next they would be lounging on the ground smoking or drinking, only to be galvanized later by some unseen force into moving tents, unloading equipment or collecting wood.

  She heard the laughter of soldiers’ wives washing clothes in the river, and when she saw them splashing around like children she was tempted to join them, for it was terribly hot, but she knew such behaviour would be noted, and disapproved of.

  Without Queenie she would have been dreadfully lonely, as Bennett was part of a team of both French and English doctors who were supervising the overhaul of the hospital in Varna town. He said it was a far more hopeless case even than Scutari, full of fleas and vermin, with no drainage, more suitable for cattle than the sick. But Queenie had many of Betsy’s attributes, and was just as saucy, opinionated and full of life. Her cooking skills were non-existent and she had no idea of hygiene, but she was a very good scavenger, able to get practically anything Hope wanted or needed. She was also great fun to be with.

  ‘The water is getting terribly muddy,’ Hope said as she and Queenie approached the river to wash some clothes. They had been in Varna for a month now, and though it had seemed a very pleasant place to camp at first, now, with so many thousands of men living here, it was fast becoming very squalid.

  ‘It would do, wouldn’t it, wif all those great horses trampling about in it,’ Queenie replied. ‘S’pose you expects ’em to line up like gentlemen and drink one by bleedin’ one?’

  Hope laughed. Queenie’s squeaky little voice amused her even when she wasn’t trying to be funny. ‘No, I don’t expect that, but they could all drink further downstream and leave this part clear for us to drink. And what’s that floating in there?’ She pointed to what looked like animal innards floating by.

  ‘Looks like someone killed a sheep or sommat,’ Queenie replied. ‘Filthy bastard chucking it in the river!’

  Bennett had already pointed out that the camp’s position by lakes surrounded by marshland was unhealthy because of the hordes of mosquitoes that drove them all mad at night. Now that the river, which had been crystal-clear when they arrived, was looking so dirty, both he and Hope were afraid the troops might become sick, for in this heat they were drinking the water copiously.

  ‘In future we’ll get our water from right up there.’ Hope pointed further up, where no one bathed and horses rarely quenched their thirst. ‘And we’ll boil it for drinking.’

  Queenie rolled her eyes with impatience. ‘Oh, come on, Mrs Meadows, I can’t be doing wif trekking right up there in the hot sun! The water’s the same wherever we gets it from.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ Hope said firmly. ‘There’s already enough men complaining of diarrhoea, we don’t want anything worse appearing.’

  But a month later something far worse had appeared.

  Cholera.

  It was only in the French camp so far, and the English troops had already moved camp further away from the marshes as a precaution, but there was unease everywhere.

  Hope, who probably knew this disease better than anyone else in her immediate circle, was very frightened. She knew it could decimate a whole regiment, and although every single soldier knew he might die in a battle, that at least was a noble end.

  She’d got to know many of the men now; she’d dressed the backs of those who had been flogged for drunkenness, she’d reproved some for stuffing themselves with unripe fruit and giving themselves stomach aches. She’d written letters home for two or three who couldn’t read or write, and pleaded and cajoled others to help clean up the hospital for Bennett and the other doctors. They weren’t unknown faces like the victims who had died at St Peter’s; these were friends and comrades, and most of them were so young.

  But as the temperatures rose in July, so the death rate rose too, and the sickness was now in the British camp and among the Turks. A party of men heralded as the Hospital Conveyance Corps arrived in Varna. They were intended to be stretcher-bearers and orderlies, but they turned out to be too old, too feeble and mostly too drunk to be of any use. They soon caught cholera and died.

  The men were becoming dispirited even before sickness stole into the camp. The heat, dust storms, endless drills, poor food and the interminable waiting for action were sapping their morale. But now every twinge of stomach pain, a slight fever or a headache could be the onset of cholera and the anxiety showed in every face.

  Hope worked tirelessly alongside Bennett and the other doctors. The hospital at Varna was still overrun with fleas, so they used a marquee for the sick instead. But the overpowering heat, the shortage of laudanum and other medicine made it hard even to make the patients comfortable, let alone help them to recover. Nearly 400 men died during July and in August the figure doubled. The 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade alone had lost thirty men in all. Hope had got to know most of them well on the boat coming over, and losing them had been almost as bad as losing Betsy and Gussie.

  ‘You must rest today,’ Bennett said early one morning right at the end of August. He knelt beside her camp bed, putting one hand on her forehead. ‘I couldn’t bear it if you got sick too. When Queenie comes, go and find somewhere shady to spend the day.’

  ‘But I’m needed,’ Hope protested, attempting to get up and prepare his breakfast.

  ‘You know as well as I do that they die with or without our care,’ he said more sharply, pushing her back down. ‘But I cannot live without you, and you look so peaky I’m going to insist you rest.’

  Hope knew when he had that stern look that he was giving her an order, and it was best not to disobey. Besides, the prospect of a day doing nothing was pleasing. She thought maybe she and Queenie could take a picnic into the woods.

  *

  ‘So tell me how you met the doctor?’ Queenie asked later that morning.

  They had left the camp soon after eight, before the sun got too hot, and with a small picnic in a basket, a blanket to sit on and a large flask of water, they’d made for the woods a few miles above the camp.

  They could still hear some of the noise fro
m the camp – with all the thousands of men there they would have had to go a great deal further for complete silence – but it was none the less muted and distant, and cooler under the trees.

  Lying there beside Queenie on the blanket, Hope could almost pretend she had Betsy back with her, for although Queenie’s voice was very different, and she was smaller and far spikier than her old friend, she had a similar easiness about her, wits sharpened by hardship, and very colourful speech. Hope got Queenie to tell her about her family.

  ‘Me mam’s a whore,’ she said without any embarrassment. ‘Dunno who me dad is, some sailor I reckon. She’s had so many I don’t fink she remembers any more. She done all right fer us anyways, we was fed and that. I’m second to youngest, and me mam lives wif me big brother Michael, cos she’s got too old fer all that now. He’s a blacksmith, does all right fer himself an’ all. The others they all got took on in service. I was working in an ale house when I met Robbie.’

  Robbie, it seemed, was from Portsmouth too, like Queenie. They’d known each other by sight from childhood, but it was only when he came home from Canada on leave that he ran into her again, they fell in love and and got married.

  ‘I tried to go with him when he went to the Kaffir war,’ Queenie said. ‘But I didn’t get picked. I weren’t going to stay home this time, though, whatever it took. I got him to train me wif the small arms and all for days. You shoulda seen me at muster; I fooled the lot of ’em. Shame I ’ad to cut off me ’air though, don’t feel the same without it.’

  Hope laughed. She thought Queenie looked very pretty with her short-cropped hair. ‘There’s times when I’d gladly cut mine off too,’ she said. ‘It’s far too much trouble in this heat.’

  ‘Your hair’s beautiful,’ Queenie said admiringly. She often brushed and checked Hope’s hair for lice. ‘But then, every-fing about you is beautiful, the way you talk, your face, and the way you are. Everyone goes on about that Mrs Duberly what’s come on the campaign, but you are much prettier than her.’