This week I’m back in the saddle with Sylvia Marks. This has meant a lot of reading about early women doctors and the ways women served in the First World War and generally immersing myself in the world of 1920. I’m not quite talking in the slang of the era, but it’s a near thing.
One of the things I’ve been reading is Elsie and Mairi go to War, the story of Mairi Chisholm and Elsie Knocker, who met at a motorcycling club in 1912 and when the war began joined a private ambulance service and shipped out to Belgium. They spent four years so close to the front that they could hear the men in the trenches talking, running a first aid post in the basement of a ruined house in a destroyed village.
Elsie was quite a bit older than Mairi and I took an instant dislike to her…she was clearly an adventuress who thrived on adrenaline. She lied about being a divorcee and having a child to the Belgian nobleman she went on to marry during the war. Afterwards when he found out and they parted, she flitted from one thing to another…for example setting up a first aid post in the East End of London during the General Strike and actually causing more problems than she solved.
Mairi on the other hand settled back to post-war life with comparative ease. She, a close friend and a couple of other women opened a chicken-breeding farm in Scotland, temporarily moved the whole shebang to Guernsey and from thence back to Scotland again.
It made me think about a conversation I had with a friend when I first began to kick this story around. My grandmother had memories of Dr Fox, a lady doctor from Wellington in Somerset in the years before the First World War. She used to come round and visit my Great-Grandmother and sit on the kitchen table with her skirts hitched up, smoking and swinging her legs as they chatted. My friend is part of the Fox family and says that her husband can remember Dr Fox from when he was a child, probably the 1950s/60s? A tough old bird and smoked like a chimney are the two things that most stood out to him then. My friend also has a vague memory of another woman who was a doctor in France between 1914 and 1918 and then came home, got married and left medicine. I am hoping she’ll be able to find her name so I can do some more research about her.
I knew when I began writing about Sylvia…at the urging of Loukie*, who fell in love with her bit-part in Inheritance of Shadows…that whatever I was going to be writing would have elements of lesbian romance. But it’s also turning out to be a story…three different stories, because it’s a trilogy…about what you do when the thing that defined you really strongly for a long time suddenly stops.
That’s the thing I’ve taken away from Elsie and Mairi go to War—the way some people can throw dreadful, traumatic things off to an extent and settle back into what passes for ‘normal’. And other people, like Elsie Knocker, simply can’t.
*Editor Extraordinaire