by Carol Rivers
Dotted about the market she saw street urchins: scrawny, red-nosed children holding their caps and begging for charity. One or two made an attempt to sing carols as she passed, holding out their filthy hands for offerings. Others rushed to grab overripe fruit or vegetables thrown in the gutters as waste.
An aroma of coffee wafted pleasantly in the air. Flora remembered the time when she and Hilda had witnessed the attack on Old Fritz, just after the Lusitania had sunk. His bric-a-brac stall had been turned over and his stock scattered far and wide. The old man had never returned to the market.
Flora wandered over to the bric-a-brac stall that was now standing where Fritz’s stall had been. A tall, middle-aged woman was serving behind it. She had a long nose, small, shrewd eyes and hair stuffed under a shabby-looking felt hat. ‘Fancy a nice trinket or two for the holiday, dear?’ she asked, holding up a pretty brooch in the shape of a butterfly. ‘This would suit you. Real silver and a sturdy clasp.’
‘It’s very nice, but I couldn’t afford it,’ Flora replied politely.
‘What do yer want then?’
‘I’m looking for some Christmas cards,’ Flora replied. ‘Some festive ones, with cheerful greetings.’
‘You won’t get many of those,’ the woman said, dropping the brooch back in the box and pointing to the front of the stall. ‘They’re out of fashion. But I’ve got some nice ones there. I’ll give you tuppence off if you buy six.’
Flora gave the cards a swift glance. They all had crude drawings of the kaiser, or Kitchener, or soldiers or sailors; the jokes written on them didn’t seem very funny. ‘They’re not for me, thank you. My friend is a soldier and I’d prefer something happy to remind him of home.’
‘Your sweetheart is he?’ the woman asked, giving Flora a wink.
‘No, a good friend.’
‘Oh, is that what you girls call ’em nowadays!’
Flora hesitated. She wasn’t sure she liked this woman. ‘Do you know what happened to Old Fritz?’
The female trader narrowed her eyes until they almost disappeared under the bags of loose skin. ‘He was kicked out of the market. Good riddance to him, too.’
‘But he’d been here a long while. He was a nice old man.’
‘Friend of his, are you?’ the stallholder said accusingly.
‘I was here the day he was attacked. He was treated very roughly.’
‘That’s because he was a dirty German. A spy, no doubt, for the other side.’
‘What rubbish!’ a deep voice said, causing Flora to look up into the solemn face of a young man wearing a peaked cap. He was tall and slim and dressed in army uniform. ‘I knew the man,’ he said, looking sternly at the stallholder. ‘Like this young lady, I’m sorry to hear of such foul behaviour towards him.’
The woman’s thin lips curled and twisted. ‘A soldier like you should know better than to fraternize with the enemy. If you don’t want the same treatment, you’d better keep that sort of opinion to yerself.’ She went off to join another trader.
‘Forgive me,’ the young man said to Flora, his face pinched by anger. ‘When I couldn’t find Fritz, I rather feared something may have happened to him.’
‘Did you know him well?’ Flora asked.
‘My mother is a customer of his. He sold very nice jewellery, not of the expensive kind, but quite charming pieces. I came here today to find a brooch or necklace she might like. A small gift for Mama as, since coming home on sick leave, she’s looked after me rather well, despite my often miserable mood and complaints. But when I saw the space occupied by another stallholder, and overheard your conversation, I realized that the poor old man had been singled out along with others of German extraction living in Britain.’
‘Then you know he couldn’t defend himself,’ Flora said passionately. ‘The crowd tore down his stall and spoiled his stock. He had to escape before they turned on him.’
‘It doesn’t make sense, does it? A man can be good and decent, but his birthplace is against him.’
Flora saw his green eyes flash angrily in his weather-beaten face. The emotion drew in his gaunt features and although he could only have been in his mid-twenties, he looked older. But suddenly he smiled, and Flora saw that this smile changed everything.
‘Please allow me to introduce myself.’ He swept off his cap, and his teeth flashed under his parted lips. ‘I’m Michael Appleby.’ He seemed, as he spoke, to draw a halting breath, and an almost imperceptible wince indicated a moment of pain. Quickly returning his concentration to the moment, he laughed lightly. ‘I still can’t get used to this damned thing.’ He nodded down at his walking cane. ‘The ridiculous article is more likely to trip me up than support me. But sadly I find it necessary to walk even a short distance.’
Flora gestured to the benches under the canvas roof of the café. ‘Would you like to rest for a moment?’ Accustomed to helping the patients at the surgery, she reached out to help him.
‘Heavens, there’s a thing!’ he exclaimed in surprise. ‘I must look an old crock, to be given such kind consideration.’
‘Oh, no!’ Flora drew back her hand sharply. ‘Of course you don’t. It’s just—’
‘I’m only teasing,’ he assured her. ‘And yes, I would very much like to rest. Would you care to join me? Perhaps a cup of tea or coffee would revive us both in this miserable weather?’
Flora blushed deeply. ‘I hadn’t quite finished my shopping.’
‘How thoughtless of me!’ he exclaimed, looking disappointed. ‘But drinking on one’s own seems rather a sad thing to do.’
The light went out of his eyes and Flora hesitated. This was obviously a young man who had been wounded in battle. Surely she could spare a few minutes to console him! ‘I’m not in a hurry,’ she decided. ‘Let’s sit at the back of the café where the roof doesn’t leak.’
‘Wonderful!’ The smile was back again and this time she saw what a perfect smile it was. Broad, full lips parted to reveal the whitest of teeth; the corners of his eyes creased into laughter lines and returned his youthful looks. ‘Allow me to fetch the drinks. Something to warm you or perhaps lemonade?’
‘Lemonade would do very nicely.’
Flora watched him limp towards the tea stall. The sun had made a brief appearance, warming the damp streets, and she hadn’t even noticed.
‘Well, not too much lemonade spilt,’ Michael Appleby said, chuckling, as Flora took the tray from his firm grip. His green eyes were very penetrating, she thought, and were enhanced by the dark shadows of exhaustion beneath. He removed his cap and ran his hand through his brown hair, cut unflatteringly short, service style. As he lowered his arm, Flora noted the pattern on the cuffs of his dark-green-grey uniform denoting his rank: lieutenant.
‘Once again, I’m very pleased to meet you,’ he said as he sat beside her on the bench. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’
‘It’s Flora,’ she told him softly.
‘Flora? How splendid! Do you come to the market often, Flora?’
‘I usually meet my friend Hilda here.’ Flora found herself wishing she’d taken more trouble with her own appearance before coming to the market. She had hurriedly put on her old coat and grey cloche hat, with no thought as to whom she might meet. She realized that had never been bought anything by a young man before, except ice cream by Will. Nor given her name to a total stranger. But for some reason that Flora couldn’t quite fathom, this didn’t really seem to matter.
‘So, Hilda didn’t show up today?’ He seemed interested, watching her intently as she pushed a loose strand of hair under her hat. She hoped he hadn’t noticed the tear in the hat’s seam.
‘Hilda’s gone away,’ she explained as she sipped her lemonade, ‘to work in service.’ She couldn’t resist adding proudly, ‘For the Earl of Talbott.’
‘Ah, the Calveys. A well-known military name.’
‘Do you know of them?’ she asked in surprise.
‘The fourth earl fought in both Boer wars,’
he told her, just as Mrs Bell had said. ‘Lord William was a fighting legend. However, the earl’s son showed no interest in his father’s profession. Adelphi Hall is well known now for its many lavish parties.’
‘Oh, dear!’ Flora thought of what Mrs Bell had said about Hilda being faced with temptation.
The officer sat forward. ‘Have I said something to upset you?’
‘No, but . . .’ Flora felt she couldn’t confide in someone she had known only a short while. ‘It’s just that Surrey is so far from London. Hilda’s only sixteen, you see. She’s never been away from home before.’
‘Did Hilda live here, in the East End, with her family?’
‘We’re both orphanage girls,’ Flora said, a little hesitantly. ‘Neither of us had been out of London before Hilda’s interview at Adelphi. I went with her as her companion for the day.’
‘And all was well?’
‘Yes, Hilda had her heart set on Adelphi from the moment she saw it.’
‘Mama once visited there,’ he said with a thoughtful frown. ‘Most impressive, she said. But I would think a very big wrench for two good friends. No doubt you’ve seen each other through thick and thin?’
Flora looked into his kind face. He seemed most understanding. ‘We look on each other as family. Together with Will, of course.’
‘Might this be the young man you were thinking of?’ he asked, quickly adding, ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t help overhearing what you said to the trader.’
‘Will was a volunteer for Kitchener last August. He was certain he’d be home by Christmas. Instead he’s been fighting ever since.’
Michael Appleby’s face became grim again. ‘Your friend was not alone in thinking the war would be over by Christmas. Indeed, some in the government promised a swift end to the conflict. But how wrong they have been proved. Both the Western and Eastern Fronts are deplorable. We are gaining no measure against enemy lines.’
For a few minutes they fell silent. Then Flora asked, ‘And you? Are you recovering well from your wound?’
He gave a tight shrug. ‘I escaped with my life at the Dardanelles. But I have been dragging this dashed leg around with me for the past three months.’
‘We’ve read how bad it is at Gallipoli.’ Flora recalled the many articles the doctor had read aloud from the newspaper. She knew he was always hoping to find something that would give him a clue to Wilfred’s disappearance.
‘Many of my men were lost,’ Michael Appleby said, dropping his chin. ‘Anzacs, French and British, falling side by side against the Turks. Had a bullet not torn through the muscle in my leg and put me in the field hospital, I should be lying alongside of them.’
Flora knew that this young man was quite unlike any other she had ever met. He didn’t sound bitter from his experiences, as were some of the veterans she’d nursed. But she understood the pain he must have suffered and, like Will, the nightmare he’d endured.
‘What is the outlook for your injury?’ she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too bold.
‘I’ve had several operations,’ he replied, ‘and am delaying more. The thought of returning to hospital and its rigours . . .’ He shook his head, turning away.
‘Perhaps you might speak to Dr Tapper,’ she suggested impulsively. ‘He’s a wonderful doctor. In the three years I’ve worked for him, he’s helped so many people.’
‘You’re a nurse?’ He glanced at her sharply.
‘No, just the doctor’s assistant. He always does his very best for the wounded veterans.’
The lieutenant gave a soft sigh. ‘I’ve seen a number of medical men, only to be disappointed.’
‘You mustn’t give up hope.’
He smiled, tilting his head. ‘What splendid advice. I shall certainly try to take it.’
Was he teasing her? Flora blushed. She knew she had overstepped the mark. After all, they were perfect strangers.
The lieutenant moved his cane. Tapping it on the cobbles, he then stood up. ‘Is this doctor far from here? If you would allow me to drive you home in my car, then perhaps you could point his surgery out to me. And then I should be able to call to see him at some future date.’
Flora told him where both she and the doctor lived. Holding out his arm for her to take, he invited her once more to be his passenger. ‘I shall take great care of you,’ he promised as she hesitated. ‘Driving a car is the one thing I can still do quite easily.’
Flora had never travelled by motor car, though she had often admired the new form of motorized vehicles that were beginning to fill the London streets. Though she hadn’t known Michael Appleby for more than an hour or so, she found herself accepting his offer.
Rising to her feet, she laid her hand lightly on his cuff.
‘The car is just an old jalopy,’ Michael Appleby explained as they left the market and walked to the next street. ‘While I’ve been off sick, the mechanics have given me something to occupy my time.’ They stopped beside a large dark-red vehicle at the side of the road. It had a black roof and two large brass headlamps. ‘Well, here she is, let me help you up.’
Flora felt panic. What was she to say to this stranger smiling at her with his intense gaze? She didn’t even know which door opened, or how you climbed into it.
‘Take my hand, place your foot on the running board there and I’ll do the rest.’
Flora did as she was told. Soon she was sitting comfortably in the front seat. Moments later, he had joined her.
‘Fortunately, I can operate the clutch with my good leg,’ he shouted above the racket of the engine. ‘The accelerator needs only a small pressure. You see?’
Flora wanted to say she had no idea what he was showing her. But the noise of the engine was too loud for her to speak above and so she just nodded. He grinned and released the lever beside him. Flora heard a loud bang. It reminded her of the day that she and Hilda had travelled to Surrey and had heard a car on Tower Bridge make the same noise.
‘Hold tight!’
Before Flora could even blink, they were moving forward, the horn sounding loudly as they joined the flow of horse-drawn traffic.
Chapter Fifteen
Flora stood outside Tap House in the darkening light. She listened to the clatter of Michael Appleby’s car as it turned the corner and disappeared.
Would she ever see him again, she wondered? Flora shivered lightly. It was very cold now, though she hadn’t noticed in the motor car. She had been too excited and delighted by the feeling of being swept along and the power that came from the throbbing engine.
From over the roofs of the houses came the distant sound of a barrel organ playing Christmas carols. Flora looked up at the sky. It was turning dark blue and stars studded the heavens. A very bright star twinkled above. Reluctantly, she made her way down the airey’s steps. She had enjoyed the young man’s company, and the journey in the noisy, pulsating vehicle had been an experience she would never forget.
Flora drew up the key behind the letterbox and unlocked her door. The fire that had burned so brightly this morning was now almost out. She had hung a few sprigs of holly from the shelves and handmade paper-chains over the hearth. Arranged on the mantel were three tiny plaster figures of Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus. The Nativity scene was accompanied by a candle that she would light on Christmas Eve before Midnight Mass.
Flora sat beside the glow of the ashes, reflecting on all that had happened at the market. Her concerns over Will and Hilda faded as she recalled her meeting with the young lieutenant. He had overheard her conversation with the stallholder and hadn’t hesitated to speak out in defence of Old Fritz. She liked him for that. As a serving soldier, having lost many of his regiment in Gallipoli, he too could have condemned the old German, as many had.
Flora closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair. Perhaps today’s encounter would fade like a dream, a happy one for her, but for him just a moment in time where he had met an orphanage girl at an East End market and bought her a lemonade in exchange for some well
-meaning advice.
The next morning before surgery, Flora told Dr Tapper about her meeting at the market. If, against all odds, the soldier decided to consult him, then the doctor would be in full possession of the facts.
‘Appleby?’ The doctor repeated when she gave him the name. ‘And Gallipoli, you say?’
‘A bullet went through the lieutenant’s leg. He lost some of his men and fears he won’t be able to fight again.’
‘I read only this morning that the War Office is expected to abandon Gallipoli,’ the doctor related. ‘A tragic waste of life all round. It’s perhaps a good thing that he’ll be prevented from returning.’ He looked at Flora curiously. ‘What makes you think I can help this young man where other doctors have failed?’
‘You helped Sidney Cowper,’ Flora said eagerly.
‘Mr Cowper’s wound was quite recent, with little surgery performed to complicate matters.’ The doctor paused. ‘Have you considered that another failure might not help this young man at all? In fact, it might depress him all the more. I’m sure you tried your best to help, but every wound is different, has its own specific problems and healing can never be guaranteed even by a qualified physician. And from what you’ve told me, I think Lieutenant Appleby understands his predicament very well and has been sensibly advised by his own doctors.’ He patted her shoulder kindly. ‘Now, let’s turn our minds to those who really need our help. We have enough poor souls here, ready and willing, to keep us busy well into the evening.’
Flora began to arrange the trolley, setting out the bandages and ointments. She knew the doctor had gently reproached her for being too impulsive. But she remembered the expression on the young soldier’s face as he tried to hide the discomfort he was having to endure. She didn’t regret speaking out. All the same, she knew the doctor was probably right and it was unlikely she would ever see Michael Appleby again.
The following day, a letter finally arrived from Hilda:
Dearest Flora, you’ll be happy to know that I’m in the pink! I haven’t fallen into trouble or mischief as Mrs Bell vowed I would! Lady Bertha and Lord Guy entertain a great deal and we are kept hard at it. Me and Gracie went to the village on our afternoon off. As I haven’t been paid yet, I was kindly lent a pound by Mrs Bell to enjoy meself. After eating the most delicious tea in the tearoom, we were accosted by two young recruits, waiting for posting. They tried to persuade us into the tavern. But you’ll be very pleased to hear we declined! (Gracie liked hers, but mine had ears the size of saucers and was commonly spoken.) Adelphi brims with decorations, bought from Harrods to impress the guests arriving the weekend before Christmas. I wish you a very happy Christmas and hope to see you in the New Year. Fondest love from your prospering friend, Hilda. P.S. I think of Will often. Please tell Mrs Bell I hope to write in the New Year when I have less on me plate.
