Free Poppy by Mary Hooper Page A

take over from me here this morning and he’ll be able to deal with any queries you might have. In the meantime . . .’ her eyes quickly scanned the dozen girls, ‘I need two girls who are used to following orders – girls who can obey instructions without question.’
    She looked across the girls and Poppy drew herself up, feeling as if she were at school and hoping to be chosen for the end-of-term play. After a moment’s consideration, Sister Malcolm reached out to touch Poppy’s shoulder and that of the girl behind her.
    ‘Pearson, is it? And Matthews. Go upstairs for your outdoor clothes, put them on as swiftly as possible and come back down.’
    Poppy, pleased she had been paired with Matthews, a giggly, curly-haired girl from the same sort of background as herself, ran up the stairs as quickly as her long skirts and starched pinafore would allow and put on her outdoor outfit. This had only just been distributed and consisted of a smart dark navy coat with red facings on the collar and cuffs, and a navy blue straw hat. The all-important band bearing a red cross was worn on the left arm. There was no mirror but she looked at her reflection in the window in Jameson’s cubicle and was startled at what she saw: she actually looked like a real nurse. She, Poppy Pearson, was going to help wounded men straight from the front line, newly arrived at the docks.
    Jameson arrived upstairs just as Poppy was going down, and seemed rather surprised at the sight of her. ‘I must say that navy blue suits your hair,’ she said. ‘And I do rather envy you going on a hospital train.’
    ‘I just hope I don’t do anything majorly daft,’ Poppy said.
    ‘Well, you’re not exactly going to find yourself sewing up head wounds or conducting operations, are you?’ Jameson said with a yawn, for she still hadn’t got used to early rising. ‘Sister just wanted a couple of girls who were used to hard graft.’
    ‘That’s certainly me,’ Poppy said drily.
    ‘You’ll probably just be washing out the lavs.’
    ‘I dare say.’ Poppy hid a smile as she spoke, thinking that no one, even the tactless Jameson, could take away the thrill of being one of the first two girls in the detachment to be asked to do real war work.
    Downstairs, Matthews and Poppy exchanged comments about how nervous they were, until they heard a call from outside of ‘Girls! Now, please!’ from Sister Malcolm, and hurried out to where an old army pick-up truck was waiting in the street. There was a regular soldier in the driver’s seat, and Sister was sitting beside him.
    ‘Quick as you can!’ she called.
    Both girls clambered in, ignoring the appreciative wink from the Tommy.
    ‘Any more coming?’ he asked jovially.
    ‘No, just we three,’ said Sister Malcolm.
    ‘Pity,’ he said. ‘Any more and you might have had to sit on my lap, sister!’
    Matthews nudged Poppy and she giggled before she could stop herself, but Sister Malcolm acted as if she hadn’t heard and was very icy with him for the short drive to Southampton station, murmuring, ‘Such insolence!’ under her breath as his truck drove away. She left both the girls waiting under the station clock whilst she dashed off to discover which train they were needed on.
    The concourse was chaotic, heaving with Tommies, officers, equipment and kitbags nearly as big as their owners. There were two train loads of new troops waiting to catch their ships, cross the Channel and join the fighting, as well as several hundred wounded men newly arrived from France and waiting to be despatched to hospitals all over England. Along with the soldiers, there was a crowd of townspeople waiting to see off one group and welcome home another.
    ‘So many people. So many soldiers!’ Poppy gasped.
    Matthews said, ‘Well, the front line goes along four hundred miles.’
    ‘You can tell which boys are going to fight and which are coming back, can’t you?’ said Poppy, for the new boys had spruce uniforms and were