down her back.
‘I just got here and took . . .’ Poppy began.
The girl sighed. ‘Do you mean that if I’d been five minutes earlier I could have had this space instead? With the window?’
Poppy, used to giving way before authority, shrugged. ‘I really don’t mind not having a window. Would you like to take this bed?’
‘Oh, how absolutely sweet of you!’ The girl picked up her case and beauty box and was through the curtain before Poppy could change her mind. ‘My name’s Beatrice Jameson. I understand we are to be known by our second names. What’s yours?’
‘Pearson. Poppy Pearson,’ said Poppy, and the two girls shook hands.
‘It’s most awfully decent of you, Pearson,’ Jameson said. ‘Thank you so much! I’m absolutely claustrophobic, you see. I can’t bear to be confined in a small space.’
‘That’s all right . . . Jameson.’
The two girls looked around them: at the paint flaking from the window frames and the almost threadbare curtains.
‘Rather shabby, isn’t it?’ Jameson said. ‘One couldn’t say that they’ve gone to a lot of trouble preparing for us.’
Poppy shrugged again. ‘I suppose all the trouble has gone on improving the hospitals.’
‘Oh, of course!’ Jameson cried, instantly contrite. ‘Our boys must have the very best of everything.’ She smiled. ‘I can’t wait to begin nursing, can you? Such a privilege.’ She began to remove her gloves. ‘Do you have a sweetheart who’s gone to fight?’
‘Not exactly,’ Poppy replied and, thinking of Freddie de Vere, couldn’t resist adding, ‘but there is someone I’m awfully fond of who’s undergoing his training at the moment.’
‘I have two brothers fighting in Flanders.’
Poppy remembered Billy and added hastily, ‘My brother is undergoing military training at the moment.’
‘Oh, this war is simply frightful,’ Jameson said. ‘Just this week I discovered that a very dear friend of mine has lost her husband.’
‘How terribly sad,’ Poppy murmured.
‘Quite. It seems that a girl only has to announce that she’s getting married these days for a telegram to appear saying that her fiancé is dead.’
Poppy couldn’t think of what to say to this, and there was a moment’s pause in the conversation before Jameson said rather pointedly, ‘But now, if you wouldn’t mind excusing me, I think I’ll unpack my clothes and have a bath.’
‘Of course,’ said Poppy, and she jumped up from the bed, took her case and went into the next cubicle to begin her own unpacking.
Once she’d hung her clothes on hooks and filled the locker with her bits and pieces, there was nothing to do but sit on the little school chair she’d been provided with and wait for something to happen – for some official to claim her, perhaps.
She got out her notepad and pen and wrote to Miss Luttrell, giving her address in Southampton and saying how nervous and excited she was. Whilst she was doing this, Jameson disappeared from her cubicle for some considerable time and arrived back in a waft of talcum powder and a white negligee. Poppy heard the bed springs creak as she flung herself down, then came silence, so it appeared that she had fallen asleep. Outside in the hallway, Poppy heard the occasional footsteps echoing as a girl went up or down the stairs, but apart from that there was hardly any noise from within the building. All the VADs who lived there, Poppy supposed, must be at work at their various hospitals.
Some moments later, Poppy was doing what she normally did when she had nothing to do – thinking of Freddie – when suddenly there was a noise on the stairway and two girls came into the room.
‘It’s too bad, really it is!’ one girl was saying. ‘Too absolutely selfish.’
‘Everyone knows it’s your turn for first bath water!’ said the other.
‘Unless . . .’
There was a small gap where the curtains around Poppy’s bed didn’t meet, and she looked through this to see two young
‘I just got here and took . . .’ Poppy began.
The girl sighed. ‘Do you mean that if I’d been five minutes earlier I could have had this space instead? With the window?’
Poppy, used to giving way before authority, shrugged. ‘I really don’t mind not having a window. Would you like to take this bed?’
‘Oh, how absolutely sweet of you!’ The girl picked up her case and beauty box and was through the curtain before Poppy could change her mind. ‘My name’s Beatrice Jameson. I understand we are to be known by our second names. What’s yours?’
‘Pearson. Poppy Pearson,’ said Poppy, and the two girls shook hands.
‘It’s most awfully decent of you, Pearson,’ Jameson said. ‘Thank you so much! I’m absolutely claustrophobic, you see. I can’t bear to be confined in a small space.’
‘That’s all right . . . Jameson.’
The two girls looked around them: at the paint flaking from the window frames and the almost threadbare curtains.
‘Rather shabby, isn’t it?’ Jameson said. ‘One couldn’t say that they’ve gone to a lot of trouble preparing for us.’
Poppy shrugged again. ‘I suppose all the trouble has gone on improving the hospitals.’
‘Oh, of course!’ Jameson cried, instantly contrite. ‘Our boys must have the very best of everything.’ She smiled. ‘I can’t wait to begin nursing, can you? Such a privilege.’ She began to remove her gloves. ‘Do you have a sweetheart who’s gone to fight?’
‘Not exactly,’ Poppy replied and, thinking of Freddie de Vere, couldn’t resist adding, ‘but there is someone I’m awfully fond of who’s undergoing his training at the moment.’
‘I have two brothers fighting in Flanders.’
Poppy remembered Billy and added hastily, ‘My brother is undergoing military training at the moment.’
‘Oh, this war is simply frightful,’ Jameson said. ‘Just this week I discovered that a very dear friend of mine has lost her husband.’
‘How terribly sad,’ Poppy murmured.
‘Quite. It seems that a girl only has to announce that she’s getting married these days for a telegram to appear saying that her fiancé is dead.’
Poppy couldn’t think of what to say to this, and there was a moment’s pause in the conversation before Jameson said rather pointedly, ‘But now, if you wouldn’t mind excusing me, I think I’ll unpack my clothes and have a bath.’
‘Of course,’ said Poppy, and she jumped up from the bed, took her case and went into the next cubicle to begin her own unpacking.
Once she’d hung her clothes on hooks and filled the locker with her bits and pieces, there was nothing to do but sit on the little school chair she’d been provided with and wait for something to happen – for some official to claim her, perhaps.
She got out her notepad and pen and wrote to Miss Luttrell, giving her address in Southampton and saying how nervous and excited she was. Whilst she was doing this, Jameson disappeared from her cubicle for some considerable time and arrived back in a waft of talcum powder and a white negligee. Poppy heard the bed springs creak as she flung herself down, then came silence, so it appeared that she had fallen asleep. Outside in the hallway, Poppy heard the occasional footsteps echoing as a girl went up or down the stairs, but apart from that there was hardly any noise from within the building. All the VADs who lived there, Poppy supposed, must be at work at their various hospitals.
Some moments later, Poppy was doing what she normally did when she had nothing to do – thinking of Freddie – when suddenly there was a noise on the stairway and two girls came into the room.
‘It’s too bad, really it is!’ one girl was saying. ‘Too absolutely selfish.’
‘Everyone knows it’s your turn for first bath water!’ said the other.
‘Unless . . .’
There was a small gap where the curtains around Poppy’s bed didn’t meet, and she looked through this to see two young
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