Amy Read Online Free Page B

made a special concession for them and allowed their friends on to the platform to see them off.
    ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Father.’ Amy squeezed his arm. Quite apart from the comfort of his being there, it meant that she didn’t have to circulate or talk much to anyone else. And thank God for the uniform, she thought. It was a sensible colour, mid-grey. The skirt was short, just above the ankle, not like the fashionable hobble skirts that she thought were so ridiculous. The jacket buttoned up over a blue shirt and tie and the small hat had a little veil at the back to cover the hair.
    She glanced across at the group of doctors. They wore the same uniform; they had designed it themselves. The same dress, but that was where it ended. They would be doing the surgery, while she? She felt bereft, as if the whole purpose of her life had been taken away from her, and sick that she had to hide her identity, pretending that she knew nothing. She didn’t know what she would be doing; washing the wounded, probably, feeding, changing beds. If she was lucky she might be promoted to changing dressings.
    She looked away. She felt reasonably safe in the uniform, especially as an orderly. She could become totally anonymous – disappear.
    She had one or two nasty moments. One of the well-wishers with the group of doctors had a face that she knew – a woman doctor who had been a year or two ahead of her at the Royal Free where she trained. She felt a moment’s shock and turned hurriedly away, but she hadn’t been recognized. She was safe, invisible among the orderlies. Then a photographer pointed his camera in her direction. She turned her face to her father, hiding it against his coat and he understood and put his arm around her and waved the man away.
    Beyond the platform barrier she could see a mass of colour, the fluttering shapes of women’s hats and dresses, moving and jostling as the wives and mothers, sisters and daughters, said goodbye to the men who surged through. This side of the barrier there was no colour at all, just khaki and grey. It was, she thought, as if someone had drawn a line across the world. On that side, England and home; on this side, the unknown horror of what was to come. She felt as if all the colour and joy of life were back there on the shore, and that she was drifting out into an unknown sea on a mud-coloured tide.
    ‘Are you all right, Amy?’ Beside her Helen put her hand on her arm.
    Amy shook her head briefly, clearing her thoughts away. ‘Yes, it’s nothing.’ She turned to her father. ‘This is Helen, Father. We met when we joined up. Helen, I would like you to meet my father.’
    Helen’s freckled face smiled up into his. ‘How do you do, Mr Osborne.’
    He gave a slight start at the name, and then smiled and shook her hand. She looks sensible, he thought. He noticed the purple, white and green badge on her lapel. A suffragist, though. Impetuous, perhaps.
    ‘I hope you two young women will look after each other,’ he said.
    Helen gave a broad grin. ‘Oh we will.’ A porter came down the platform with a loaded barrow. ‘Oh look,’ she said, ‘there’s my luggage. I’d better go and look after it.’ She bounded away, her bright red hair glowing under her veil.
    ‘She’s a nice girl,’ Amy said, ‘and fun, I should think. And she’s very sensible.’
    ‘And a suffragist,’ her father said. He smiled. ‘I don’t suppose she’ll be chaining herself to anything in Paris.’
    ‘We’re all suffragists, aren’t we?’ she said. ‘Even if we don’t wear the badge.’
    ‘Of course,’ he said. He was frightened again. These girls seemed so strong these days, so confident. Too confident perhaps.
    There was a sudden movement among the women. The rest of the luggage was piled into their reserved carriages and the women began to climb aboard.
    ‘I’ve got to go, Father.’
    ‘Oh, Amy.’
    ‘It’s all right, dear, don’t look so tragic. I won’t be in any danger.