The FitzOsbornes at War

by Michelle Cooper

  Not surprisingly, Toby had worked himself into a towering rage by then. He refused to answer a single question – wouldn’t even say his name – and demanded to be taken back to his bed. I’m not exactly sure what happened next, but it ended with Toby grabbing a telephone off the desk and hurling it at his interrogator. I suppose it’s a good thing it missed, because otherwise Toby would be up on a charge, but honestly! If these are the people running the war, how on Earth are we ever going to win it?

  Anyway, they eventually got Toby back to his bed, but he was being so belligerent and uncooperative that the staff couldn’t even change his dressings. Fortunately, Julia heard the whole story a few hours later from a nurse she knows, and in a remarkably short time, it was arranged that he be transferred to the burns unit of a hospital in Sussex.

  ‘I hope I’m not being too interfering,’ Julia said when she telephoned. ‘But I can take him down there myself this evening, and I really think his burns ought to be assessed by the specialists there as soon as possible.’

  ‘Julia, of course I don’t mind!’ I said. ‘I’m so glad you found out what happened, and so grateful for everything you’ve done! But should he be moved, with his leg still –?’

  ‘Well, the stump’s actually healing very nicely, the doctor said. At the moment, it just needs the dressings changed regularly, and some massage and exercises, and they can do that in any hospital. I honestly think he’d be better off anywhere other than where he is now. That Sister’s taken against him so badly that – Oh, I have to go! I’m at the station, you see. I’ll ring you again later.’

  And she was gone before I had a chance to ask whether he was in really terrible trouble with the military. I suppose that’s the least of our worries, but he is still an RAF officer and under military discipline –

  Oh, bother, the Warning siren’s started up. Another reason Toby’s better off out of London, now that the Luftwaffe is trying to bomb the city to bits again.

  21st February, 1944

  TODAY I TOOK THE TRAIN down to East Grinstead to meet Rupert, and we went to visit Toby together. I’d been longing to see Rupert because I hadn’t spent any time at all with him since Milford, but I was also feeling rather anxious about it. Not about Rupert and me, of course – he writes such wonderful, loving letters and I feel entirely secure and happy whenever I think of him, which is quite often. No, I was worried about how rude Toby was going to be to him. I could just see Toby being consumed with bitter envy at the sight of an unscarred young man strolling in without the aid of crutches, and then Toby being as nasty to Rupert as he’s been to all his other visitors. Possibly he’d be worse, out of resentment that Rupert hadn’t visited earlier – even though poor Rupert is frantically busy with his work right now and only managed a visit this afternoon because he had some meetings in the area. And he has been sending kind, supportive messages via me, all this time – not that Toby’s said anything much when I’ve relayed them.

  I don’t even know how Toby feels about Rupert and me being together, although I have told him. I’m not sure he was paying attention at the time – or perhaps he thought the information inconsequential, given all his other concerns. He didn’t even say anything when I told him that Simon had written. I’d become enraged at Simon’s long silence and sent him a furious letter, berating him for not caring at all about Henry or Toby. But apparently, Simon had been moved to another place and he hadn’t received any of our letters for months. I’m still not sure whether to believe that, but he did send his condolences about Henry and said he’d write directly to Toby. It’s anyone’s guess whether he has, but if he hasn’t – or if he’s written to announce he’s engaged to some local nobleman’s daughter – then I suppose that might be contributing to Toby’s black mood.

  Anyway, when Rupert picked me up at the station, he saw at once that I was worried, and asked if something had happened. He was already aware of Toby’s medical condition from my letters, of course – and really, it’s mostly been encouraging news since Toby was transferred to the Queen Victoria Hospital. The doctors took the bandages off Toby’s eyes straight away and replaced them with saline compresses, and said that when the swelling went down, he should be able to see as well as ever. He wouldn’t even need to have new eyelids constructed, the way so many of the patients in his ward did. Then, last week, he had an operation on his neck to allow him to move it more freely, and had his first set of skin grafts done, and the surgeon said everything had gone very well.

  ‘Of course, it must hurt terribly,’ I said to Rupert. ‘Not just his neck, but also where they took the skin graft, inside his good arm. Being in constant pain would make anyone fractious. And his other arm is burnt, so he can’t use crutches at all. He’s not even allowed to move his neck. If he wants to go anywhere, he has to ask someone to help him into a wheelchair, except mostly he refuses to talk to anyone. And when he does speak, it’s generally to say something rude.’

  ‘Is he rude to you?’ asked Rupert, frowning.

  ‘Not actually rude, just sort of . . . cold and dismissive. But I know he’s angry at me. I had to tell him about Henry, you see, and he blames me.’

  ‘That wasn’t your fault,’ said Rupert. ‘It wasn’t anyone’s fault – except the Nazis’.’

  ‘I know, but you can understand why he’s upset. And then he had the most enormous row with Veronica yesterday. He snapped at one of the nurses, and Veronica told him to apologise, and he wouldn’t. He said he was sick of being treated like a child, and she said that was because he was acting like one and . . . Oh, you can probably imagine the rest.’

  Rupert sighed. ‘Your aunt hasn’t been up to see him yet, has she?’

  ‘No, which is probably a good thing, because she’s not the most tactful person in the world. But he thinks she doesn’t want to see him because he’s all . . . because of the way he looks now. Which is true, I think. I mean, it is distressing to see him this way, and she still half-believes he’s some kind of impostor. So you see what a mess it is. Anyway, I thought I should warn you that he might be in a horrible temper.’

  ‘Well, if he is,’ Rupert said calmly, ‘it won’t be the first time we’ve had a row, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.’

  He parked near the main entrance to the hospital, and I led him down the now very familiar path, through the foyer, and down the corridor to Toby’s ward. I could tell from the doorway that Toby was having a bad day, because he was still in bed, rather than sitting in the chair by the window. He wasn’t even reading – just glaring across the aisle at a patient who was surrounded by noisy relatives. Then Toby caught sight of us walking towards him, and all the unscarred bits of his face tightened.

  ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I’ve brought you a visitor.’

  ‘So you have,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Hello, Toby,’ said Rupert, smiling at him. ‘It’s very good to see you.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Toby.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Rupert, pulling up a chair. ‘Sophie, won’t you sit down?’

  ‘Actually, I think I’ll leave you two to have a chat by yourselves,’ I said. ‘I’ll just put your clean pyjamas here in your locker, Toby. I brought two shirts as well, and a couple of books. Oh, and some chocolates.’

  I’d queued for half an hour and spent a small fortune on those chocolates, but he barely glanced at them.

  ‘Well, then!’ I said. ‘I’ll be outside if you need me.’ Then I went back the way I’d come, stopping briefly at the nurses’ station.

  ‘He’s in a right mood today,’ observed Sister Connor.

  ‘I noticed,’ I said glumly. ‘His best friend from school has come to see him, but one would think I’d brought along his mortal enemy, from the looks he was shooting both of us.’

  ‘Ah well,’ she said comfortably, ‘if I hear any explosions, I’ll go in and toss a bucket of water over him.’

  I smiled at her. ‘Thanks. Oh, and I brought you and Sister Patrick something.’ I handed over my second paper
bag.

  ‘Chocolate! Goodness me, we are spoiled!’

  But I thought they deserved a lot more than chocolate for putting up with my brother’s behaviour, let alone having to deal with the dressings and bedpans and everything else. I bet they don’t even get paid very much.

  It was too cold and blustery to go for a walk outside, so I sat in the waiting room and read the newspaper I’d bought. Poor Billy Hartington had lost his by-election by five thousand votes. ‘A landslide victory for the common man and the Welfare State,’ the newspaper trumpeted. Then I turned the page and read about the United States embargo on oil exports to Spain. Apparently, the Americans had finally got sick of selling petrol to Spain, only to have Spain ship it straight to France, whereupon the Nazis would use it to fuel the planes that shot down American bombers. Even the British Ambassador to Spain had made a formal protest to Franco last month, Veronica had told me. That was why she’d been so busy at work lately.

  At that point, Rupert walked in and slumped down beside me.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked anxiously. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Oh . . . you know,’ he said. He tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. It had just occurred to me that an apparently healthy young man in civilian clothes might not be very welcome in a ward full of badly injured servicemen, but when I asked, he said no, there hadn’t been any rude remarks about shirkers or conchies. In fact, it seemed the other men had been quite sympathetic because Rupert had shown such forbearance with Toby. Rupert gave me a brief account of their conversation (it was pretty much as I’d feared), but then he smiled.

  ‘Do you know what I was reminded of?’ he said. ‘Years ago, a cat of ours got caught up in a bale of wire. It was the barn cat, and he was more wild than tame. It took me half an hour to free him, because he kept thrashing about and getting even more tangled up. He had a few cuts – nothing major, but they must have hurt – and the poor thing was terrified, especially when I had to get out the wire cutters. They must have sounded so frightening. Anyway, I eventually cut him loose, set him down on the ground and stood back. It took a few seconds for him to realise he was free. He looked at me, looked around the barn, took a few steps away – then he leapt up at me and clawed three long gouges down my arm before dashing off.’

  ‘Oh, Rupert!’ I said. ‘Poor you!’

  ‘They were only scratches. But the thing is, when animals are hurt and frightened, they lash out at whoever’s closest.’

  ‘Toby isn’t an animal, though,’ I said. ‘He’s a human being.’

  ‘Well, we’re all animals, really – just with a veneer of civilisation. And who knows what barbaric experiences Toby’s had over the past few years? Any one of them might have been enough to strip off the veneer.’ Rupert frowned at the floor a moment, then said, ‘Has he talked about any of that yet?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not a word,’ I said, ‘and it’s only because he’s just had surgery that military intelligence aren’t pressing him harder on that issue. Although it did help that the Colonel personally vouched for him. And it must be pretty obvious by now that Toby isn’t a Nazi agent. If he is, he’s doing a pretty bad job of it, drawing all this attention to himself by refusing to cooperate.’

  ‘Yes, I think they’ll soon give up on trying to question him. But it’d be good for Toby to talk about it, and not simply because it’s better to talk about traumatic experiences than suppress them. I know this sounds silly, but . . . well, he’s acting as though he feels guilty about something. It might help if he could confess.’

  I stared at Rupert. ‘What on Earth would he feel guilty about? Crashing his plane? Not finding his way back sooner?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Rupert unhappily. ‘I just know that he’s acting the way he used to act at school, when he’d done something he was ashamed of.’

  I thought about this for a moment. I could see what Rupert meant. ‘But we can’t make him talk when he doesn’t want to.’

  ‘No, not now. But with a bit of time, with someone he trusts . . .’

  ‘He does get on all right with Julia,’ I said. ‘Mostly.’

  ‘I was thinking of you,’ said Rupert. ‘You’re the one he’s always confided in.’ Then he looked at his watch. ‘Oh. I’m really sorry, Sophie, but I’ll need to leave soon.’

  I went to say goodbye to Toby, who was pretending to be asleep, then Rupert drove me to the railway station. He told me he’d probably be in London next week, and that he’d telephone as soon as he knew for certain.

  ‘I wish we could see more of each other,’ he said, after we’d kissed goodbye. ‘I wish I could be in London with you all the time. But work is just so hectic.’

  ‘Will it become quieter after the Second Front starts?’

  ‘Busier, actually, at least for a month or two,’ he said. ‘After that . . . well, who knows? Perhaps the war will be over by then.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’ I leaned through the car window to give him another kiss, then reluctantly pulled away. ‘Go on. You’ll be late for your meeting.’

  ‘I do love you,’ he said, with his sweet smile, and then he drove off.

  He loves me! It still makes my heart leap when he says that. Somehow it makes all the horrible things going on so much easier to bear.

  2nd March, 1944

  TOBY’S STUMP HAS NOW HEALED enough that the doctors think he can be fitted for his artificial leg. There was some talk of moving him to Queen Mary’s Hospital at Roehampton, because that’s where most amputees go and they have an artificial limb factory on site. But Queen Mary’s has just been bombed again, so another hospital needed to be found, somewhere that had staff with the appropriate skills and was out of range of the Luftwaffe bombers. Of course, this search took a while. It wasn’t till yesterday morning that Veronica and I received the official notification of his transfer from the Queen Victoria Hospital. We stared at the name of the new hospital, looked at each other, then said as one, ‘Julia.’

  Bless her, she’d used all her contacts and influence to ensure he’d be sent to the Milford Park Rehabilitation Hospital. I hadn’t even realised it specialised in helping servicemen who’d lost limbs, although I probably ought to have, given all the figures I’d glimpsed on crutches or being wheeled along the terrace, over the years. Anyway, Veronica and I decided that I’d travel down to Milford this morning, and then, if it looked as though Toby was going to be there a while, Veronica would try to arrange some time off work so she could join us.

  I caught the early train and Mr Wilkin met me at the railway station, as he’d brought a load of pigs into town to sell. (Not Estella, of course, because everyone has a soft spot for her. Mr Wilkin reported she was still going strong, bossing everyone about at the Home Farm and periodically producing enormous litters of piglets.) By ten o’clock, he’d dropped me off at the gatehouse, where I found Aunt Charlotte in an agitated state, pacing about the sitting room.

  ‘I saw an ambulance arrive yesterday, as I was walking back from the stables,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose one of those men could have been Tobias? The matron did telephone here early this morning – Barnes took the call – to say he’d arrived. But one wouldn’t be expected to visit immediately, would one? He’d need time to settle in, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Well, why don’t we walk over now and see?’ I suggested.

  ‘Now?’ Aunt Charlotte said uneasily. ‘Oh, but surely they have official visiting hours and so forth? One wouldn’t want to disturb their . . . their therapies and so on.’

  ‘I’ll just go and ask, shall I?’ I said. ‘You can stay here.’

  ‘No, no, I ought to accompany you,’ she said. ‘Yes. I’ll go with you. Barnes, where’s my coat? No, not that one. My good coat!’

  The mink looked rather odd worn over her battered old jersey, jodhpurs and riding boots, but I didn’t mention this. There were more important things to discuss – specifically, Toby’s current condition. To me, his improvement over the past six weeks had
been miraculous, but I quite understood that his appearance (and probable mood) would be a shock to her, and I tried to explain this as best I could. However, I was also thinking of one of Rupert’s recent letters, in which he pointed out that I wasn’t responsible for the feelings of other people. Aunt Charlotte (or Toby) might feel sad or angry or frightened, but there wasn’t much I could do to stop them feeling that – however difficult it might be for me to observe it.

  But Aunt Charlotte didn’t pay attention to anything I said, anyway. I might as well have saved my breath for trying to keep up with her, as she strode along the driveway. Having finally made the decision to visit Toby, she was determined that it should happen at once, if not sooner. She bounded up the front steps of the hospital and flung open the doors – whereupon she came to a horrified halt. I suppose she hadn’t been inside her own house since the hospital had moved in, and it can’t have been pleasant to see dented metal filing cabinets and ‘What To Do In Case Of Fire’ posters taking the place of her beautiful marble statues and gilt-framed Rembrandts.