He thought of the horror he felt every time a soldier was admitted to hospital with injuries so terrible the sight made Richard wonder at the human race. That men would sacrifice morality to do such terrible acts of violence to one another. God-fearing people, who under normal circumstances wouldn’t hurt a fly. He felt guilty that young lads were fighting for peace while he was living in relative comfort on the home front. But he couldn’t change his standpoint on war. It went so deep that nothing – not even the isolation, humiliation and contempt he had to suffer – would alter his mind.
His leanings towards pacifism had started when he was in his teens and had joined, with his Quaker girlfriend, the Peace Pledge Union that had campaigned since the early thirties for a warless world.
Then his Uncle Jeffrey, who had served in the Great War, had confided in him about his experiences and reinforced Richard’s conviction.
‘Lad,’ he’d said one Christmas Day when the rest of the family were out for a walk after lunch and the pair of them were huddled by an open fire, ‘think twice before you join up if there’s another war. There surely will be, since that is man’s way.’
His eyes had glazed over as he watched the leaping flames, as if he was looking down the years at the horror of it all.
Uncle Jeffrey lit his pipe. ‘I tell you this for your own good but also to keep my mates’ memories alive. I’ve never told their families the truth about their boys, how they died, because the lads wouldn’t want their relatives to suffer on their behalf.’
As he rambled on, the young Richard, intolerant of the old, wished he’d gone out in the freezing cold with the others for a walk.
‘Three of us, there were,’ Uncle Jeffrey went on, ‘joined up together. We were excited because we’d been no further than the town we lived in before then. Known each other since we were young lads… went to school together.’ He puffed on his pipe and clouds of smoke billowed to the ceiling.
‘Such excitement to be at sea… to land in France… but that’s where the fascination at being in a foreign land ended. We were stationed at a place called Ypres in Belgium which must have once been a lovely town but not any more, not when Johnnie, Simon and I were there, late summer of nineteen-seventeen.
‘The battles were fought in bloodied trenches around Ypres. There was torrential rain every day, a wilderness of stinking mud that could swallow a fellow, never to be seen again. That’s what happened to Johnnie after a grenade got him. They say thousands of bodies were never recovered, and my mate Johnnie was one of them.’
He sucked at his pipe. ‘Poison gas got Simon in the trenches. Poor sod. Nineteen, he was. Good men that could have done something with their lives. Instead, they’re barely a memory now.’
Uncle Jeffrey came out of his reverie, and when he turned and faced Richard, it was the first time Richard had seen a grown man cry.
‘It was hell on earth, lad. Don’t you be going, not if you want to keep your sanity.’
The effects of poison gas stayed with Uncle Jeffrey until his untimely death in his late forties.
Later, when Richard thought of his uncle’s tale, the thought of his friends’ deaths affirmed his pacifist principles.
His little brother came to mind, who had paid the ultimate sacrifice. As Richard remembered the dreams Jeff harboured as a little lad – the desire in those far-off days to be a train driver – his throat tightened as grief overcame him.
Richard never wanted to be a part of the madness of war. Not because he was afraid, but because of Simon and Johnnie. Had they made a difference? Richard thought not, because here the world was in the grip of another war.
But the repercussions in his family over his position were something Richard could never come to terms with. The Bentleys never expressed emotion, were never the kind of close-knit family Richard craved as a youngster. His pa, a stiff upper-lip army type, was Richard’s hero and he would have done anything to make him proud. Then war was declared and Richard, a committed pacifist by then, summoned the courage to tell his father that he refused to enlist in the army. Furious with his son, Pa labelled Richard both a coward and a disgrace and virtually disowned him.
Richard, now near the bottom end of Fowler Street, willed his mind from the past to thoughts of pretty Nurse Robinson, who reminded him of an actress but he couldn’t think of her name. Under normal circumstances he would have made advances but since the war had begun he was wary of approaching a girl. For one thing they were more interested in men in uniform, but more importantly, it would go against them if they were seen with him – a conchie – and he understood their dilemma. An alliance with a conchie was considered as bad as consorting with the enemy. Richard shrugged. He would have to admire Nurse Robinson from afar.
He had an instinct that she looked at life from a different perspective than other people. Ever since that first day when he had escorted the latest set of probationer nurses to Parklands, Richard had been attracted to Nurse Robinson. Her candid eyes possessed an innocence that was appealing, and like a child, she was curious about all things and people. She was an open book, every emotion she experienced showed on her face and she had a blistering honesty which left you in no doubt what she thought of you. Richard smiled. Didn’t he know it; she had told him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his unwillingness to fight for his country. He sobered. Would he have fought for her? He remembered the anger he had felt at the numbskull who was going to strike her. The passion Richard had felt shook him, though he had been able to stay in control and avoid a brawl. But the residue of anger still inside was anathema to him.
Richard made his way along Ocean Road to the place he called home these days. He passed a young soldier and his girlfriend linking arms as they came out of the Scala Cinema and an unaccustomed ache – of loneliness? Self-pity? – overcame him. His thoughts again turned to Nurse Robinson. The woman was no fool. She was quick and intelligent, but the unique thing about her, and what Richard found so appealing, was that she seemed unaware of these qualities. Yes, he thought, as he turned the corner into Salmon Street, once upon a time he’d have made a play for her but not under these circumstances – there was no way he’d want to undermine her integrity. Besides, he didn’t think she was interested. She’d made that plain with her cool and aloof attitude towards him when he’d left her at Parklands earlier.
‘Thanks, Mr Bentley,’ she’d said, ‘for getting me out of a fix tonight. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been there.’ She hesitated, a frown wrinkling the smooth skin of her brow. ‘And I have to say, I do admire your inner strength to stand up for your beliefs.’
Her tone implied that she didn’t agree with them, though.
He paused and tried to think of a suitable answer but failed.
He replied, lamely, ‘Any time you’re in need of help, I’m at your service.’
She gave him a bold stare; an I don’t think so kind of stare.
When May entered the lounge, Maureen was sitting alone by the fire, looking pensive.
She looked up. ‘Oh! Hello… had a good time?’
May hesitated. She wondered if she should tell Maureen about Alec, as the lass had become not only a friend but also a confidante. In the past, May realised with a twinge of sadness, Etty had been the one she’d shared her troubles with. She found herself thinking about the letters Etty had sent to Parklands that now lay unopened on the bottom shelf of May’s locker. At the time, she’d refused to read them but found neither could she throw them away. After a while the letters stopped. A sign that Etty must have given up on the friendship. A pang of remorse gripped May’s stomach – she didn’t want that. She vowed that when the time was right she’d swallow her stupid pride and––
‘Everything all right?’ Maureen’s voice penetrated her thoughts.
Maureen’s expression concerned, May made up her mind to tell her about this evening. When she came to the part about the near assault, Maureen’s face not only expressed shock but sorrow too.
‘Oh! Goodness. What a brute.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve come across his controlling type before. I expect he suffers from some form of desperate insecurity.’
Trust Maureen to empathise with the aggressor, but that was her way and May’s too, usually, but not now when she was the innocent victim.
‘That doesn’t excuse his actions,’ she replied.
‘No, but it helps understand them. I’ll pray for him.’
May moved on to the scene with Richard.
‘Thank goodness he was there to intervene,’ Maureen said with relief. ‘Please tell me that’s the last you’ll see of Alec… he needs some kind of help.’
‘I never want to see him again. Though I feel sorry for his nana. I realise now she was scared of him.’
‘I’ll pray God works his wonders and helps them both.’
Maureen’s serene face shone with hopefulness and May envied her her faith.
‘I know the chap you mean, who came to your rescue,’ Maureen continued from the earlier conversation, ‘the porter who works at the hospital.’ Her face creased in concern. ‘Do be careful, associating with him. People tend to be biased when anyone befriends a conscientious objector.’
‘Maureen Gardener! You of all people saying such a thing! I mean, I thought you’d be the first to defend the underdog.’
‘I’m thinking of you, May. With all your troubles you don’t need to take on another one.’
May plonked herself down on the couch and turned towards her friend. ‘As far as Richard Bentley is concerned I’m thankful to him for what he did, but that’s as far as my gratitude goes.’
Maureen put an arm around her shoulders. She said, ‘If only your eyes told the same story.’
May blushed. She knew she was confused about how she felt about Richard. The man’s arrogance infuriated her and yet she was intrigued by his forthrightness.
‘That’s enough said about the porter.’
But May found herself wishing she’d been a little nicer to him – after all, he’d had the decency to escort her home.
She concentrated on Maureen. ‘What was up with you before? You looked preoccupied.’
‘I telephoned Mum and told her my decision… I was a coward and couldn’t face her in person.’
‘What did she say?’
‘To say she was disappointed would be an understatement.’ Regretfully, Maureen shook her head. ‘She tried to talk me out of it.’
May laid a hand on her friend’s arm. ‘Did you stay firm?’
‘I told Mum it was too late and that I’d already handed in my resignation.’
May gasped. ‘Gracious… what did she have to say?’
‘I think she was resigned to the fact that she couldn’t say anything. Mum can make me feel guilty with silence. Anyway’ – determination glinted in Maureen’s eyes – ‘I talked for some time with the priest at the church. The outcome is, I’m travelling to a convent in London.’
‘A convent…’ May repeated stupidly.
Maureen wore the happiest smile. ‘Yes, a nursing convent. It will be rather like here. I will be with twenty others as a novice in training.’
‘W-when will you go?’
‘Matron was rather disappointed that I was leaving but she expressed relief that my nursing training wouldn’t be wasted. She agrees I can leave on my next day off, so I’m travelling down to London on Wednesday.’
‘So soon.’
May was happy for her friend but the little insecure voice in her mind wouldn’t be silenced. Someone else to say goodbye to.
16
May missed Maureen sorely when she left, and, as if she were in mourning, she felt as though she were under water and had slowed down. With no one to spend her evenings with, May was at a loss to know what to do.
One evening after work, as she lay on the bed staring into space, Etty’s letters came to mind and May had a never before, irresistible urge to see what they said. Turning on her side, she opened the squeaky locker door and, slipping her hand beneath a heap of underwear, she brought out a pile of white envelopes. May slid from the bed and, making her way downstairs, she sat in an armchair by a comforting open fire that spat and crackled. She tore open the first letter. As she read, Etty’s world unfolded in May’s mind: the two kiddies, what antics Norma got up to, general gossip about the neighbourhood, moans about rationing, news about the war. At the end of each letter – and there must have been a dozen or so – was the plea, please forgive me. I miss you.
As the letters lay in a heap on her knee, May gazed into the dancing flames.
‘Oh! And how I miss you too,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know when or how but when things quieten down I’ll have to get in touch.’
* * *
Valerie had moved out to the downstairs bedroom before Maureen left, taking Jenny’s old bed. A rather nervous and meticulous type, Jenny had decided she’d had enough of nursing when a patient on Women’s Medical vomited down her spotlessly clean uniform apron. After finishing her shift, Jenny was never to be seen again.
‘No strength of character, I’ve seen it many times before.’ Home Sister gave a knowing nod.
The atmosphere since New Year’s Eve, when Valerie had been spiteful to Maureen, was dire, and even though the kindly nurse had tried to patch things up between the three of them, the situation hadn’t improved. May, now alone in the bedroom, felt this was her destiny – to lose those she dearly loved and cared for.
Maureen had said when she left, ‘I might not physically be with you but spiritually I’ll be by your side wherever you go. I’ll pray every day that your path in life will be smooth and one day, God willing, you’ll be reunited with your son. Believe me, there will come a time when I’ll be but a fleeting memory; your life will be so happy and full.’
May didn’t think so but she smiled anyway to humour Maureen.
As she said goodbye, dressed in mufti, tears brimming her eyes, Maureen had told her, ‘I will miss you terribly.’
Then she was gone.
May received a letter at the end of January, its contents glowing, saying how happy Maureen was and how she’d made exactly the right decision.
I’m to be a ‘postulant’ for some months and I live in a cell-like room. I don’t go out unless it’s to tend the sick but it all seems like home to me and I’ve never been happier. And, May, if I gain Mother Superior’s approval I’ll be given another name…
and so the letter went on, ending…
You mightn’t hear from me but know I am contented to be here serving God in an atmosphere of peace, tranquillity and prayer. And just as it’s your heart’s dream to become a registered nurse so it is mine to become a nun.
May realised then she was being selfish. Maureen was following her dream and building a life around it. May, instead of moping, should be thrilled and doing the same thing. From then on, she bucked up, and whenever she thought of Maureen, it was with a fond smile.
* * *
A month passed and by the end of February, May was mentally and physically exhausted from long shifts on the ward, training at Parklands, lectures and constant studying. After one long day spent in the classroom, she felt a beastly cold threatening. She thought that having an early night and refraining from putting the alarm on to study before work early next morning might stop the wretched thing from developing, but remembered she was supposed to meet up with the two nurses from downstairs to do a spot of studying.
As they were down to three probationers now, Eileen had suggested they team up at night and work together. This, May thought, might be due to the fact that Eileen was wary of Valerie’s temperamental behaviour which could, and often did, cause disruption. With class certificate tests next month, Eileen would be nervous and jittery about getting some serious studying done – not that the lass would need it, clever soul that she was. May, ever the optimist, thought working together might help the relationship between her and Valerie. After all, they were grown women and wasn’t t
here enough confrontation in the world without them adding to it with juvenile clashes? Still, she was wary as she knew Valerie could be unpredictable.
One day not long after Maureen had left, Sister Chilvers, standing at the front of the class in lessons, had drawn herself up as if to prepare herself for something taxing.
‘Nurse Purvis.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘This morning, I was advised to let a maintenance man in to change the light bulb you reported wasn’t working.’
‘Yes, Sister.’ Valerie’s voice had sounded cautious.
‘Nurse, your bed wasn’t made. Worse, you’d left your nightdress thrown on top of it for everyone to see. The rules are explicit. Your nightdress should be neatly folded and placed beneath your pillow, your dressing gown hung behind the door. I was highly embarrassed, Nurse. What the young man thought of such indecent behaviour, I dread to think. Let this be a warning. I don’t wish to witness such improper behaviour again or I shall be forced to report you to Matron.’
Valerie’s face had flushed pink with anger, and May could tell the lass was going to erupt. She’d willed Valerie to control her temper. Fortunately, Sister had left the room then to fetch a glass of water before class began.
Valerie, slowly and deliberately, had picked up the inkwell and slung it at the door. Sailing through the air, the inkwell had hit the side of the front desk and to this day there was an ink stain on the floor.
‘Stupid cow,’ Valerie had seethed.
May did understand because the rules had got her down too. Student nurses weren’t supposed to think for themselves but follow orders even if they did seem antiquated or unfair. But if Valerie wanted to continue in the nursing profession, she would have to learn to abide by the rules. At that precise moment, seething with indignation, May had imagined Valerie might be considering leaving. To her credit, the lass had got over the incident and carried on.
Our Last Goodbye: An absolutely gripping and emotional World War 2 historical novel Page 17
