Free War Classics by Flora Johnston Page A

quite a considerable house – a ‘shatoo’ in fact, as the troops called it, by daylight. ‘There’s an orderly sleeps in yon stable,’ my guide pointed out. ‘Ye’ll no be feared if ye hear steps like, about five in the morning.’ Dumping down the can, he produced a key and unlocked the door. ‘Ye’ll be a’richt now,’ he sighed, when all my belongings were inside. ‘Guid night then.’
    ‘No, no,’ I cried in alarm. It was pitch dark inside too and I could not find the matches. ‘You come and see that it’s all right,’ I pleaded, ‘Look in the wardrobes, and … and … behind the doors and under the beds.’
    He seemed surprised, but did as he was bid. It was very daintily furnished, but I was in no mood to appreciate it then. We creaked upstairs together. My bed was, as he had said, fine, and the bedroom was beautiful. Off the dressing room was a wide balcony, simply made for people climbing up but I could do nothing about that.
    ‘Ye’re no really feared,’ my guide said at the door with the candle, now lit. He said it as if it were incredible.
    ‘Not really,’ I said, ‘but I can’t come down again to lock the front door. You do that and take the key with you. And if I don’t come down to the Hut by 9 tomorrow morning, you’re to come and fetch me – promise you will.’
    He was a complete stranger, a man that until 5 o’clock that night I had never seen before in my life, and here we were, standing together in a bedroom in a lonely house in a wood. He held a guttering candle – which was our only light – and wore a puzzled frown on his face, as he looked down on me. I still hugged a hot-water bottle with one arm, while the other I had laid on his coat sleeve to emphasise my requests. I have since thought we must have made a dramatic picture, had anyone looked in. The only moral thing about us was the fact that the door was open. In fact, all the doors were open – even the front one, wide. ‘Guid night,’ he called again, clanking cheerfully down the stairs.
    As he turned the key in the lock below, I locked my door hard and then looked round my big room. One candle makes a very little light and a very big shadow. I could not very well undress in the bed, though I should have wished to. It seemed the safest place. But just as at Southampton, a happy thought came to cheer me. ‘Well, if I’m killed, or – even frightened,’ I said to myself, ‘the man who does it will be lynched – torn limb from limb, in fact.’ This was very comforting. ‘The Remounts will see to that all right.’ Then I saw the fun of the situation. Here was I, all alone in a lonely house, with not a creature near, and locked in too! Anything might happen – even anything nice! It was the comfiest bed I have ever slept in in all my life and I didn’t even hear the orderly at 5 a.m.
    Next morning my boots presented a difficulty – they were a rich khaki colour – mostly all over, though here and there, faint streaks of black – their intended colour – could be seen. However, they were the only ones I had, so I put them on. Being locked in, I had to get out by the window, and as I climbed up to the canteen, voices from all quarters – tops of trees, roofs of huts, insides of lorries, far down the horselines – greeted me with ‘Good morning, Miss.’ If it had been the Queen herself, they could not have given a heartier welcome.
    The Hut Leader was just serving breakfast. ‘A wis just comin’ for ye,’ he remarked. ‘What’s the matter wi’ yer airm?’
    ‘It went septic,’ I explained. ‘The vaccination, you know, and when the bandage came off, madame poured ointment on it – tons. But it’s clean now. The English MO has bandaged it and he says it’s doing beautifully – it’s stiff today,’ I added, ‘because there were such a lot of mugs last night.’
    He looked unconvinced. Hut ladies usually have stronger arms than that. I rather liked talking of my arm. He held the frying