Poppy by Mary Hooper

Jameson went on, ‘and anyone can pay their respects. There are no rights and wrongs about it.’
    ‘Then I’ll go,’ Poppy decided. ‘I’ll definitely go.’
    The circumstances were certainly not what she’d hoped for, but they meant that she was more than likely to see Freddie again.

Chapter Eleven
    Poppy was granted a day’s leave to attend the memorial service. She consulted a train timetable and worked out her timings carefully, thinking she would go to visit her mother afterwards, but a few days before received a note from her saying that she and the girls were going to Wales to care for an elderly aunt who’d just had a serious operation.
    A pressing concern had been about what she should wear, for she didn’t have a black coat or hat with a veil. On asking the advice of Sister Malcolm, however, she was told that her outdoor uniform would be most suitable for a memorial service.
    On the day itself, Poppy felt very anxious. She told herself that she must be sensible, that there was a chance Freddie had already been posted overseas and wasn’t going to be there for his brother’s memorial service – and if that was the case then perhaps it would be a jolly good thing and stop her making a fool of herself. But oh, if he wasn’t there, how bereft she’d feel! Or, worse, suppose he was there and simply ignored her?
    Before she left that morning, Matthews gave her the once-over. ‘You look grand,’ she said. ‘Just a little too clean and shiny, perhaps.’
    ‘Isn’t that good?’
    Matthews shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘because it shows that you haven’t actually done any nursing. You should look dishevelled and war weary, as if you’ve just come back from saving lives at the front and have been wearing the same apron for days on end.’
    Poppy smiled. ‘I thought of boiling it to make the red cross look a bit faded. That’s what some of the girls do.’
    ‘Too late for that now,’ said Matthews. She looked at Poppy, head on one side. ‘It strikes me that you’re rather over-concerned about your appearance today. I’m beginning to wonder if there isn’t a young man involved. Someone special . . .’
    ‘Well . . .’
    ‘I thought so!’
    ‘But no one knows about it,’ said Poppy anxiously. ‘And really, nothing’s happened between us: only a couple of looks and, well . . .’ She looked at her friend wistfully. ‘But he did say he’d write to me . . .’
    Matthews raised her eyebrows. ‘Is he a member of the family you used to work for?’
    Poppy nodded.
    ‘Oh Lor’,’ said Matthews. ‘I see trouble ahead.’
    ‘Not at all,’ Poppy said. ‘I’ll probably just look at him, realise how silly I’m being and pull myself together.’ But she felt herself blushing . . . she knew she wasn’t likely to do any such thing.
    Feeling splendidly self-conscious in her outdoor uniform, Poppy walked to the station and caught the train into Waterloo, then took a slow horse bus across to Euston. She didn’t want to go on the underground train in case she got smuts all over her face, and there were hardly any of the faster motor buses around; like so much else, they’d gone to do their bit at the front.
    The war was everywhere. She passed town halls which had been turned into army recruitment centres and shops which were collection points for second-hand pyjamas for convalescing Tommies. She saw a market stall which was asking for old gramophones, records and mouth organs for the boys in khaki. In fact, everywhere she looked people were doing something; churches were even holding Blanket Days to encourage people to give a warm blanket ready for the coming winter months at the front.
    She found London more subdued than it had been just a few months before. People still called out cheery greetings to anyone wearing uniform and applauded passing soldiers, but there was a certain reservation in the air; people were not so gung-ho, for by now nearly everyone had a friend, relative or