Read Online A Girl in Wartime by Maggie Ford - Free Book Online Page B

sergeant’s voice boomed in his ear. ‘Make yourself bleedin’ useful. You and that soldier there, get that poor sod out the way—’
    â€˜That soldier’s my brother,’ Albert cut in idiotically as the sergeant pointed to Ronnie, who stood transfixed, eyes wide, face frozen by shock.
    â€˜I don’t care if he’s bleeding Beelzebub himself!’ the sergeant grated. ‘Both of you, drag the poor sod out of the way so’s we’ve got room to get the wounded somewhere. And you two …’
    He turned on a couple trying to help others clear the wounded. The men were half-dazed, like Albert and Ronnie, having only fifteen minutes ago arrived with the new intake.
    â€˜Get that soldier there into the dugout. Leg’s gone so take it easy with ’im – if he ain’t bled to death by the time you get ’im to first aid. And you other two …’ He turned abruptly to his original quarries. ‘Stop playing silly buggers and get on with your job!’
    As Albert obediently took the dead lieutenant’s shoulders, Ronnie the feet, and they lifted the body tenderly as if the man might still feel discomfort. He had a strange thought that suddenly made him want to laugh, if it hadn’t been so very sad. ‘Here endeth the first lesson.’
    But he didn’t laugh. Instead, the tears streamed down his face. They weren’t for himself. They were for the well-spoken young man whose life had been swept away. Had he lived, what would he have been? A lawyer, a doctor, a teacher, a professor? Who knows? Yes, indeed, here had ended Bertie’s first lesson, his first day at the front.
    But this was not the time for thinking. Thinking could send a man crackers. It was a lesson he was going to have to learn pretty sharp.
    Yet the thoughts ran like ghosts through his head: how many more months would this death and destruction last before the war ended? And in any one of those months he or Ronnie could be injured, crippled for life, even killed. It didn’t bear thinking about. And it was not something he or Ronnie could ever put into their letters home.

Chapter Nine
    That evening, the letter had lain unopened on her pillow.
    â€˜Ain’t you going to read it, then, love?’ her mother had asked as Connie put it to one side to get on with her dinner before going out for the evening with some friends.
    â€˜Later,’ she said offhandedly. ‘I know who it’s from. It don’t matter.’
    â€˜But it looks official, love. It says the
London Herald
.’
    â€˜I know.’ Connie had shrugged. ‘A job I went after ages ago but they said I wasn’t suitable. It’s just a letter confirming it, that’s all.’
    With a drawn-out ‘Oh’ her mother had gone off into the kitchen to make another cuppa, leaving Connie to slip the unopened letter under the pillow on her bed.
    When George came in from wherever he’d been, he would go directly up to his room, having it all to himself since his brothers left home. It seemed rather unfair that she still had to put up with the parlour alcove with only a curtain for privacy. A girl needed privacy. A man didn’t, not all that much anyway. But if – when – her brothers came back on leave, they’d need a place to stay.
    But each time Connie thought about George having this space of his own, coupled with the fact that he was still not in uniform, it filled her with contempt.
    This evening, wearing a new skirt she had made – one that followed this year’s new fashion influenced by the war, being much wider round the hem now and shorter by several inches, giving more freedom to walk normally – she had met Cissie and Doris for a jaunt up the West End. Hating to spoil their enjoyment, she’d forced herself to be bright and cheerful. Besides, had they noticed her low spirits, she would have had to explain why she was feeling down, and she