Passions of War by Hilary Green Page A

got to call a halt and face up to them properly, or they’ll sweep us into the sea.’

Six
    On the afternoon of 26 August the London Times produced a special edition. The headline read BROKEN BRITISH REGIMENTS . In a despatch from Amiens, the reporter described the German advance and British losses. New recruits were urgently needed to reinforce the troops, the despatch concluded. By the next morning the recruiting offices were besieged by men wanting to sign up.
    For Leonora it was a time of torment. Her anxiety about her brother and Tom was exacerbated by her own enforced inactivity. While the hundreds of new recruits marched, whistling, through the city streets it seemed that the only contribution the women of Britain were to be allowed to make was to knit socks and pack up parcels of ‘comforts’ for their menfolk. Ashley-Smith was still on her way back from South Africa, and Mabel Stobart seemed to have disappeared completely. The FANYs busied themselves with stretcher drills and collecting equipment, but the chances of their being required seemed remote.
    She received a letter with a New Zealand postmark:
    Dear Leo,
    This will only be a short letter as I don’t have much time. I just want you to know that yesterday I rode into Wellington and signed up with the Wellington Mounted Rifles. It would only have been a matter of time before I was called up anyway, since I’ve been in the territorials since I was eighteen, but I wanted to get in as soon as possible. Looks as if this time I’ll actually get to do some fighting instead of carrying stretchers. It’s a different enemy this time, of course, but there are rumours that the Turks may come in on the side of Germany, so I might get to have another crack at them yet! I don’t know if I’ll make it as far as Europe. We’re still waiting for news of embarkation. But if I do I hope I shall have a chance to see you – and perhaps Victoria, too.
    What are you doing? I’m sure neither of you will be content to sit back and let the fellows do all the fighting. I shouldn’t be surprised if we meet up again on another muddy battlefield. If I ever have the misfortune to get wounded, there’s no one’s face I’d rather see looking down at me when I come round from the anaesthetic!
    I’ll do my best to keep in touch, and look forward to hearing from you.
    Yours affectionately,
    Luke
    One morning the telephone rang and Leo heard the voice of James Bartlett, the estate manager at Bramwell Hall. It was very unusual for him to ring and when he did his tone was normally restrained and respectful. This time he sounded near to tears.
    â€˜They’re taking the horses, Miss Leo!’
    â€˜What? Who are, James? Taking them where?’
    â€˜The army, Miss Leo. They came this morning with a document – all very proper and legal – saying they are entitled to requisition any horses.’
    â€˜Have they taken them all?’
    â€˜All of them, miss. Even your little chestnut mare.’
    â€˜They’ve taken Amber? But that’s ridiculous! She’s too small for an officer’s mount and anyway she’ll bolt at the first sound of gunfire.’
    â€˜I told them that, Miss Leo. But they wouldn’t listen.’
    â€˜And they’ve taken all the farm horses?’
    â€˜Every one except old Bramble. They reckoned he was past it.’
    â€˜How will you manage?’
    â€˜God knows, miss – pardon the language. But there’s one good thing. Most of the harvest is in. There won’t be so much work for the horses until spring ploughing season. Maybe by then it will be all over.’
    â€˜Maybe,’ Leo said, without conviction. She drew a breath and sighed. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it, James. You must just manage as best you can. Buy horses if there are any to be had, but I doubt if there will be. Is there anything I can do to help?’
    â€˜No,