Harvest of War Read Free

railway station and the adjacent building. Once it had been the veterinary hospital, but now it had been turned over to human use. Above her, the sky was criss-crossed by the beams of searchlights and over the noise of the engine she could hear the roar of aero engines and the scream of descending bombs.
    Her companion, a VAD called Monica Dickenson, leaned over and yelled in her ear. ‘They’re getting a terrible pasting. Do you think we should hold back for a bit?’
    â€˜We can’t!’ Victoria yelled back. ‘There are wounded in there to be evacuated.’
    She pressed the accelerator and drove the Napier forward. As if some higher power had intervened there was a pause in the bombing and they reached the entrance of the hospital safely. As soon as the ambulance stopped the doors of the building opened and stretcher-parties appeared. Dickenson jumped down and opened the back of the vehicle and four stretchers were hurriedly slid into position.
    â€˜Look out!’ someone yelled. ‘He’s coming back. Take cover!’
    A man tugged at Victoria’s door. ‘Quick! Take cover!’
    â€˜I can’t!’ she shouted back. ‘I can’t leave four wounded men out here. Get in, Dickie! We’ve got to move!’
    Dickenson jumped up beside her and Victoria reversed and turned the Napier to head back towards Calais. As she did so she heard the German plane swoop low overhead and another bomb exploded somewhere behind them. A short distance away she saw a dark shape beside the road.
    â€˜That looks like some kind of barn or shed,’ she shouted to her companion. ‘I’ll pull in there and hope he doesn’t spot us.’
    The open-sided barn offered little in the way of shelter but at least they felt less exposed than on the open road. Victoria turned off the engine and they both climbed into the back of the vehicle, where the four patients lay on their stretchers.
    â€˜You girls ought to be in a dugout, not out here like this,’ one of the men said.
    â€˜Can’t leave you all alone, can we?’ Victoria replied. ‘Cigarette?’
    â€˜You’re an angel of mercy, and no mistake!’ he exclaimed.
    One of the patients was only semi-conscious, but the other three willingly accepted cigarettes and they all lit up as the bombs continued to crash around them. Eventually, silence fell and Dickenson climbed down and looked out at the sky.
    â€˜I think it’s over. It’s all quiet.’
    â€˜Right!’ Victoria scrambled back to the driving seat. ‘Let’s get out of here while the going’s good!’
    A few miles away the Second Battalion of the Coldstream Guards was back in billets again after a spell on the front line. This time the officers, including Tom, were housed in a small chateau which had somehow remained undamaged in a fold in the hills. For once, he had a room to himself and was enjoying the unaccustomed luxury of a comfortable bed and the occasional hot bath. Even the mess dinners were no longer as drearily formal as they used to be. Many of the old hands had disappeared: some killed, others transferred to fill the gaps in other units. New men had taken their places, many of them not regular soldiers, and the atmosphere had become much more relaxed and collegiate.
    In spite of this temporary improvement in physical conditions, morale was low. After the long months of minor skirmishes they were all weary and bored, and a stream of bad news had done nothing to help. First, word had arrived that the entire British force in Mesopotamia had been obliged to surrender to the Turks; then they read in the papers of the Easter Rising in Dublin and soon after that of the inconclusive battle of Jutland, at which the pride of the British Navy had been humbled by the Germans. No one could see how the present stalemate could be resolved and there was a general feeling that the war would drag on for ever.
    The family who