by Daisy Styles
‘The poor lad must be wondering what’s going on,’ Kit murmured.
The conversation around the table was interrupted by Malc, who came rushing up with a wide grin on his face.
‘Guess who’s just turned up?’ he said excitedly.
‘Robert Mitchum!’, ‘Bing Crosby!’, ‘Gracie Fields!’, the girls chorused back.
‘Better than all of them put together,’ Malc laughed. ‘ARTHUR LEADBETTER!’
There was a stunned silence, followed by a torrent of eager questions.
‘Is Stevie with him?’
‘Is he coming back to the Phoenix?’
‘Where is he now?’
‘How does he look?’
Malc answered all of the questions quickly. ‘Stevie’s not here; Arthur left him with someone. He’s not coming back – unfortunately. He’s here to advise the new fire-safety officer. He looks fine! Any more questions?’
Still obscured by the paper she held aloft, Julia wondered why the new arrival was causing such a commotion; no doubt she’d find out soon enough – whether she liked it or not!
As Malc turned to go, he threw a last comment over his shoulder. ‘He’s only here today, so make the most of it, ladies.’
The girls around the table fell silent after he’d left; it was impossible to think of Arthur without thinking of his wife and their dear friend, Violet, who’d tragically died in a factory bomb explosion. Poor heart-broken Arthur had moved to Dundee to start a new life with their baby son, Stevie.
Word got round that Arthur would be in the Phoenix bar later that night.
‘Coming, Rosa?’ Nora asked, as she and Maggie made themselves up for an evening out.
Rosa shook her head; like everybody, she adored Arthur, but she just couldn’t bring herself to go to the noisy bar. ‘No, I can’t face it,’ she replied apologetically. ‘Perhaps I’ll catch him before he leaves tomorrow – but please give him my love,’ she quickly added.
Nora and Maggie rushed off, leaving Rosa and Julia washing up.
‘Everybody seems to like this Arthur chap,’ Julia remarked.
‘He’s one of the best and nicest men I’ve ever met,’ Rosa answered honestly.
By the time Nora and Maggie returned from the pub, Rosa and Julia were tucked up in bed with their feet pressed up against their heavy stone hot-water bottles. Rosa could hear the excited girls chatting in the bathroom as they prepared for bed.
‘I thought he looked really well,’ Nora remarked.
‘Better than he did when he left here, that’s for sure,’ Maggie replied.
‘He’ll be snapped up by some lucky Dundee lass in no time,’ Nora commented.
‘I don’t think so,’ Maggie answered thoughtfully. ‘It’ll take quite a woman to replace Violet – he worshipped the ground she walked on.’
The following morning, after the other girls had left for work and Rosa, on a later shift, was washing her smalls in the kitchen sink, she heard a knock on the cowshed door. Thinking it was one of the girls who’d forgotten her key, Rosa flung it open, only to come face to face with Arthur himself!
‘Arthur!’ she cried in delight. ‘Come in, everybody’s at work but me,’ she explained.
‘I’m just on my way to the bus stop, but I couldn’t leave without saying hello and goodbye to you,’ Arthur said fondly.
As Arthur walked towards the wood-burner to warm his hands, Rosa noticed he’d put on a bit of weight, which suited him; he had virtually been a bag of bones when he’d left the Phoenix just after Christmas.
‘How’s Stevie?’ she asked eagerly.
‘Very good,’ Arthur replied proudly. ‘Growing fast, talking, crawling into everything.’
‘Does he like his new nursery?’
‘Well enough, though it took a few weeks to settle him in,’ he admitted.
Rosa recalled the first time she’d laid eyes on Arthur’s son; she’d only just arrived at the Phoenix, a shy and awkward newcomer. When she met Stevie, cooing and gurgling and waving his chubby little legs in the air, Rosa had fallen in love with him. She still remembered the huge surge of emotion he had released in her, and she had visited him whenever she could. Their bond was so great that after Violet had died Rosa had looked after Stevie, and during those awful times when he was screaming for his mother, whom he would never see again, it had only been Rosa who could soothe him. When Arthur had announced that he was leaving the Phoenix, Rosa had been devastated; not that she didn’t understand Arthur’s motives – she would have done exactly the same in his place – but the thought of losing Stevie almost broke her heart. It had taken weeks to recover from the pain of that loss, and seeing Arthur again now brought it back like a tidal wave.
‘I hear congratulations are in order,’ Arthur said warmly, as Rosa handed him a mug of hot, strong tea. ‘Kit told me your good news.’
‘Yes!’ Rosa replied. ‘It was all a bit fast, but I am engaged.’
‘He’s a very lucky man. I hope you’ll both be happy,’ Arthur said, sipping his tea. ‘Have you had any news of your brother?’ he added in all innocence. ‘I remember how worried you were about him when we last talked.’
Before Rosa could stop herself, she felt the tears pouring down her cheeks. Realizing he’d gone and put his foot in it, Arthur laid down his mug of tea and gabbling apologies he took her trembling hands in his. ‘Rosa, please forgive me. I truly never meant to upset you.’
Seeing the poor weeping girl doubled up with sorrow, Arthur swept her tumbling, long dark hair from off her face and gave her a hug.
‘There … there …’ he soothed as he gently rocked her back and forth.
For the first time in weeks Rosa felt safe; she wanted to stay right there in the moment with her head pressed against Arthur’s strong chest, which smelt strongly of industrial soap. But too soon Arthur gently pulled away. ‘Feeling better?’
Rosa nodded and smiled weakly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she started.
He put a finger on her soft pink lips. ‘Shhh,’ he whispered. ‘How many times have I wept in front of you and the girls? Don’t be sorry – I’m here for you.’ Gazing into her big brown eyes that sparkled with the last of her tears, Arthur ventured, ‘Want to tell me what this is about?’
After she’d told him all that she knew of her brother, Arthur lit up two Pall Mall cigarettes.
‘I’ve got to find him,’ she said desperately.
‘How do you plan to do that?’
‘I don’t know, but I can’t stay here and do nothing!’ Rosa exclaimed. ‘Surely you of all people understand that.’
‘Of course I can see you must do something,’ he agreed. ‘I’m just wondering exactly what you realistically can do,’ he admitted.
‘I could try talking to some of the contacts who helped me out,’ she told him. ‘It would involve a bit of travelling, going down South, asking a few questions at the ports,’ she answered tentatively. ‘I’ve not properly thought it through – all I know is I’ll go mad if I don’t at least try to find Gabriel.’
Seeing she was deadly serious, Arthur locked his eyes with hers, his as blue as an open sky, hers dark and brooding. ‘Be careful what you take on, Rosa,’ he warned.
Rosa flung back her delicate shoulders as she returned his anxious gaze, her dark eyes flashing. ‘I know what I’m doing. I’m not afraid!’
A slow smile grew on Arthur’s wide generous mouth. ‘My God, lass, I wouldn’t want to bump into you on a dark night!’ he chuckled.
14. The Girl with the Tea Trolley
Edna, Nora and Julia were all asked to report for duty at Wrigg Hall on 1 March 1944. They took the bus, Edna and Nora up on the top deck so they could smoke, whilst Julia stayed downstairs, where she was able to sit in peace and admire the majestic beauty of the Pennines through the bus window.
Julia was surprised at how homesick she felt; as she herself said, she’d always taken her home and family for granted, but now, stuck in the far North, she really missed the comforts of home and
the care and love she’d been surrounded by there. She also desperately missed her elusive brother, Hugo, who wrote irritatingly infrequently. There was nobody she could talk to in her new life; she didn’t fit in. She wasn’t interested in tittle-tattle or make-up or boyfriends; she just wanted the bloody war to stop so she could go home, having performed her duty for King and Country and put this ghastly episode of her life behind her.
Up on the top deck, Nora chain-smoked one Woodbine after another.
‘Calm down, our kid,’ Edna advised. ‘We’re all in this together, you know?’ she reminded Nora, who was as white as a sheet.
‘I’m terrified!’ the trembling girl blurted out.
‘You did volunteer!’ Edna reminded her.
‘I know!’ Nora exclaimed. ‘And I bloody well wish I hadn’t! I wish I’d stayed at home with Maggie, worrying all day long about what frock she’s going to wear for her wedding!’
Edna couldn’t help but chuckle at Nora’s remark.
‘That’s just not true,’ Edna pointed out. ‘You were ready for thumping her the other day.’
Nora deeply inhaled the smoke from her fourth Woodbine. ‘She’s my best friend and I love her, but Christ! There are times when I wish she’d put a sock in it!’
When they arrived, the new volunteers, of which there were many of all ages, were issued with the standard pinafore emblazoned with a red cross on the front of the bodice.
‘I feel official now I’ve got mi pinny!’ Edna joked, as she adjusted her greying red curls under her starched white cap.
‘Better than the Phoenix kit,’ Nora remarked, sneakily admiring her reflection in one of the full-length windows. Seeing how smart she looked, Nora felt a sudden and very unexpected rush of confidence. ‘I can do this,’ she muttered under her breath.
After checking the lists in the busy entranceway, Julia was whisked away to the post-op ward she’d been assigned to, leaving Edna and Nora wondering where they should go.
‘Can I help you?’ a smiling VAD Sister asked the two confused women.
‘I’m on teas,’ Nora told her.
‘And I’m on walks and talks – I know that’s not a category, I’ve just made it up,’ Edna said with a grin.
‘We call it “recreational”,’ the Sister informed Edna. ‘But walks and talks sums it up nicely.’
Nora was directed to the large kitchens at the back of the Hall, whilst the Sister took Edna to a large, airy garden room dotted with easy-chairs and tables on which were laid out newspapers, packs of cards, dominoes, chess boards and writing paper. The VAD Sister, obviously in a hurry, introduced Edna to another volunteer called Ivy, then left the two of them to get to know each other.
Coming straight to the point, Edna asked, ‘Where do I start?’
Ivy led her to a large timetable pinned to a cork noticeboard and pointed to the time of day.
‘They’ve just finished their dinner, and the afternoons are free for the patients to do whatever they fancy: listen to the radio, read, play a game of cards or chess, write home, go for a walk.’ Ivy dropped her voice as several men on crutches limped into the room. ‘You have to play it by ear, lovie: don’t push the men if they don’t immediately co-operate; most of them need a bit of gentle persuasion,’ she added in a whisper.
Edna was shocked at the sight of the men who slowly filled the room: some sat in huddles, smoking around tables; loners took themselves off to sit in a solitary chair and stare out of the window; some blind patients were guided in by VAD nurses, who handed them into Ivy and Edna’s care; others were wheeled in by porters. Edna’s strong heart fluttered nervously. She’d expected to breeze into this, smiling and chatting as she always did, but this was serious; these men needed careful, sensitive treatment and she would have to get to know them slowly if they were ever going to trust her.
Meanwhile Nora was pushing a laden tea trolley into the rest room, where she was hailed with smiles and whistles as the thirsty patients welcomed her. Edna, playing snap with several gentlemen who had either an arm in a sling or a leg in a splint, smiled at Nora, who blushed to the roots of her frizzy red hair as she offered tea and thick wedges of Brown Betty, a wartime cake, to the patients, who wolfed it back and promptly asked for more.
‘I can’t give anybody more than one slice apiece,’ Nora explained, repeating the exact words Wrigg Hall’s fearsome cook had told her to say to ‘any greedy buggers’ who wanted more!
‘Awww, go on, just a bit, sweetheart, you wouldn’t deny a soldier a bit of cake?’ a cheeky lad with a patch over one eye teased.
Just as Nora was on the point of relenting, the VAD nurse gave her directions to Ward D6 and, smiling goodbye, Nora rattled down the panelled corridor that led to the north wing.
When she got to the ward and pushed open the door, poor Nora had no idea what she was walking into. Here there was no light-hearted banter, no welcoming wave of the hand, just a disinterested silence broken by an occasional sound, which Nora thought sounded like a yelp or a sob. Men sat sprawled on their beds and across chairs; some muttered incessantly to themselves; others gazed blankly up at the ceiling. Several men were in the grip of uncontrollable trembling, whilst others paced the room as if they were in prison.
‘TEA!’ Nora, at a complete loss as to how to handle herself, called out feebly.
Seeing the new volunteer dithering nervously, the VAD relieved her of several mugs of tea, which she distributed to the nearest patients, who showed no interest in what they’d been offered. Nora heard one man say quite briskly, ‘Give it to young Tommy in the trenches – poor sods down there need it more than us chaps in the dug-outs.’
The VAD, who didn’t argue with her patient’s suggestion, gave the tea to his neighbour.
‘You’ll hear some odd comments,’ she told Nora. ‘Just go along with them, all right?’
Nora gulped and gave a quick nod.
‘Wheel the trolley around the ward,’ the VAD quickly added. ‘You might get some takers.’
Embarrassed by the loud clattering noise her cups and plates were making, Nora almost crept around the beds, calling softly, ‘Tea? Cake?’ The sound of sobbing distracted her, and, turning, she saw a young lad sat on the edge of his bed rocking back and forth. Nora forgot her fear as her heart contracted with pity. Picking up a mug of tea, she approached the lad, whose face was turned away from her. ‘Cuppa?’ she said softly. Nora all but dropped the mug when he jumped at the sound of her voice and turned to her. Nora took in a face that must once have been very handsome; but, now whilst one side of the poor boy’s face was almost normal, the other side was burnt and disfigured to such an extent that the skin of his cheekbones was rucked up like a lump of pastry.
‘AHHH!’ he yelled. ‘Go away! Don’t come near me – don’t touch me!’
As his cries got louder, the VAD came hurrying over. ‘Nothing to worry about, Peter,’ she soothed, as she sat on the bed beside him and took his hand firmly in her own. ‘Just a nice lady offering you some tea.’
Nora, who had frozen when the boy started to yell, hovered nervously.
‘Thank you,’ said the VAD. ‘Just leave the tea for now.’
Nora all but flew back to her trolley, which she hurriedly pushed out of the ward and into the corridor. Once she was well clear of anybody, she flopped against the old oak panelling and took deep breaths.
‘God in heaven!’ she gasped. She’d never seen anything quite so harrowing as those men, and that poor lad with the disfigured face. ‘What the hell have they all been through?’ she wondered.
By now the urn was distinctly cool and Nora returned to the warm, busy kitchen, where she made fresh tea, and after a few more rounds it was time to go home. Feeling utterly exhausted, Nora changed out of her pinafore and cap in the cloakroom, where she found not Edna but Julia.
‘Edna left a few minutes ago to catch the bus,’ Julia explained. ‘She didn’t want to be late for her evening opening in the dispatch yard.’
Nora’s hear
t sank. ‘Sod it!’ she thought: now she was on her own with Julia.
‘There isn’t another one for an hour,’ Julia added, fastening the laces of her smart leather brogues. ‘You can either wait for the next one or walk over the moors with me.’
Nora hesitated – the very last thing she wanted was to be alone with Julia – but the thought of standing at the chilly bus stop didn’t hold much appeal either.
Tying on her headscarf and buttoning up her old winter coat, Nora followed Julia out of Wrigg Hall.
Day was fading to a pearly twilight as they walked back over the springy heather and the slowly uncurling bracken that would soon turn the moors from winter-brown to vernal-green. Deep in thought, Nora walked along in an uncharacteristic stony silence, which surprised Julia, who’d become used to her endless babble. Slowing her long, striding steps, she called over her shoulder, ‘Everything all right?’
Stopping in her tracks, Nora was abrupt. ‘What’s battle fatigue?’
Julia tried hard not to betray her incredulity; she found it impossible to believe that anyone could not know that. Surely, after volunteering to work with the war wounded at Wrigg Hall, Nora would know what battle fatigue was? Registering the genuinely puzzled look on the girl’s pale face, Julia answered her question to the best of her ability.
‘It goes under several names,’ she began. ‘The Americans call it “war trauma”; it used to be called “shell shock”, especially in the Great War.’
‘I’ve heard mi dad talking about shell shock,’ Nora replied, as she kept pace with Julia, who’d resumed walking.
‘Men, and women too, can become sick in their minds if they’re put under too much pressure during battle,’ Julia continued. ‘When you’ve been brought up and educated in a culture where you’re taught not to kill or hurt your fellow man, then suddenly you’re put in a situation where your actions must go against the grain, it ultimately damages you. Exhausted men, worn down by battle, avoid the pain and guilt by shutting down.’
‘Shutting down?’ Nora queried.
‘It’s a sort of self-preservation,’ Julia explained. ‘The human brain shuts down because the soldier just can’t take in any more suffering.’
