by Gordon Ryan
“Wow. They certainly get their pound of flesh, don’t they?”
She tilted her head and looked puzzled.
“I don’t quite understand your meaning.”
“Twelve-hour shifts it would seem,” he answered.
“Oh, yes,” she laughed, “resident doctors are fair game for exploitation.”
“Shall we go in?” Tommy asked. “I’ve reserved a table, although I think they were simply being kind. It doesn’t appear to be crowded.”
“No,” she said, “a Wednesday night would be light dinner traffic, I think. I’m ready if you are.”
“Fine.”
Tommy nodded and glanced at a pleasant-looking woman who stood in the doorway to the dining facility, located just off the entrance to the hotel lobby. The hostess smiled at the couple as they approached.
“Good evening, Doctor Rossiter,” she said. “It’s nice to see you this evening.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Proctor. And how is little Sarah?”
“Just fine, Doctor. She responded to the medicine like a duck to water, that is, once I got her to swallow it.”
“That’s good. Have you met Mr. Callahan?”
“Just briefly, when he registered for his room this afternoon. Welcome again, Mr. Callahan. Would you like to be seated close to the fireplace?”
“Before arriving, I wouldn’t have imagined a fire in August, but England has a unique climate, doesn’t it?” Tommy replied.
“We do, indeed.”
Tommy stepped aside so that Elizabeth could follow Mrs. Proctor, who seated the couple at a stout wooden table slightly to the side of the large fireplace where a small peat moss fire burned slowly in the center of the hearth.
“May I get you something to drink before you order, sir?”
“What would you like ... Elizabeth?” Tommy asked, shifting to her first name.
“I’m famished. I’m ready to order if that suits you,” she said.
“Yes, fine,” Tommy said, looking up at Mrs. Proctor. “I’m reliably informed that your rack of lamb, for two,” he emphasized, glancing at Elizabeth, “is without peer. That would be our choice of the evening if it’s available.”
“The specialty of the house, Mr. Callahan. And your usual drink, Doctor Rossiter?”
“Yes, a nice mug of hot apple juice sounds just fine, thank you, Mrs. Proctor.”
“And you, sir?”
“The same, please.”
Mrs. Proctor walked toward the kitchen doors, and suddenly Tommy and Elizabeth were the only people in the room, and the only sound was the soft hiss from the compressed peat moss burning in the fireplace. They each started to speak at once and then both laughed nervously at the attempt.
“Ladies first?” Tommy offered.
“No, sir. You are the guest and I am the tour guide if I recall the invitation correctly. Who, what, where, when, and why, if you please?”
“My,” Tommy exclaimed, exhaling a deep breath. “All right. As succinctly as possible. Who: Thomas Callahan; what: Major, United States Marine Corps; where: currently arriving for posting to the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst; when: starting tomorrow if I can make it to the grounds; and why: because it sort of took over my life at an early age,” he finished, taking another deep breath.
“That was succinct as claimed. And you answered all five questions,” she smiled, the glow from the fireplace reflecting off her face. “And I know little more than your patient chart told me this afternoon.”
“Right,” he grinned. “Your turn.”
“All right, you asked for it. Elizabeth Rossiter, Doctor of Medicine, resident at Prince Albert Hospital, Camberley, Surrey, England; two more years until completion of an orthopedic residency; and because my older brother said I’d never make it.”
“Touché,” Tommy said. “Now we both know little more than when we started. Let me revise the rules, please.”
Elizabeth nodded, resting her chin on both hands with her elbows on the table. They were interrupted momentarily by Mrs. Proctor returning with two mugs of hot apple juice, a loaf of bread, and a small pottle of whipped butter.
“First, Elizabeth, let me sincerely apologize for my behavior and attitude this afternoon. There’s no excuse and as to mistaking you for an orderly or a nurse, well, I plead guilty. It is after all, 1935, women have the vote, and I’ve previously known several female doctors and lawyers and everything in between, I suppose. It was rude of me to make such an assumption. Can you forgive me?”
“You’ve made a good start, but I’d like to hear more.” She smiled coyly, her laughing eyes barely visible over her hands.
“My father’s name is Thomas Callahan. My mother calls him Thomas, everyone else calls him Tom, and so I became Tommy at an early age and it stuck.”
“I like Tommy.”
“The name or the man?” he teased.
Again she smiled but didn’t respond.
“And what would you prefer to be called? Besides doctor, Doctor?”
“My parents named me Elizabeth after my great-aunt. My mother called me Elizabeth, my father called me Lizzie, and my brothers called me ... other things. I prefer—”
“Bess,” Tommy interrupted.
She paused for a second and then shook her head.
“No one has ever called me Bess.”
“Good. Then that’s what I’ll call you.”
“Why Bess?” she asked.
“Something I recall from history. Elizabeth the First was often called Good Queen Bess, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, she was. But we don’t have the same royal lineage.”
“My mother used to tell us that we were all of royal lineage,” Tommy said.
“Not in England,” Elizabeth laughed.
“Are you from Camberley?”
“Oh, no. Not even from England, although both my parents were from Manchester originally.”
“And where do they live now?”
“New Zealand.”
“New Zealand! I’ve got a brother living down there. He’s been there since 1917 or ’18, I think. Somewhere on the South Island, near Christchurch.”
“Have you ever been there?” she asked.
“Nope. Most everywhere else, though. Why did you come to England, Bess?”
She paused at the sound of the new name, smiled again at Tommy, and continued.
“My father is a lawyer in Dunedin on the South Island. That’s about a hundred miles south of Christchurch. It’s mostly a Scottish community. I was born there shortly after they arrived. I have four older brothers, all born in Manchester, and one younger, born in New Zealand. I attended Canterbury University in Christchurch and was accepted to medical school here in England. Then Prince Albert Hospital took me into its residency program. Two more years, and I’ll be certified in orthopedics and likely return to Dunedin.”
“Here we are, then,” Mrs. Proctor announced as a young girl of about sixteen came out carrying the tray of food. Conversation ceased while plates and a platter of lamb were arranged on the table, cider mugs were refilled, and Mrs. Proctor and the girl departed.
“This is truly a wonderful lamb, but don’t ever tell Mrs. Proctor,” Elizabeth said, leaning forward in a conspiratorial whisper, “that nothing on earth compares to a tasty New Zealand roasted lamb with mint sauce.”
With the cast on his wrist and arm inhibiting his dexterity, Tommy awkwardly cut off a morsel of lamb and raised the fork to his mouth. “Your secret is safe with me, Doctor Rossiter,” he said. “Ummm, if you’re telling the truth, Bess, and if New Zealand lamb is better than this, then I can see why PJ stayed in Christchurch. This is marvelous.”
“Take my word for it. Good as this tastes, it runs a distant second to a Kiwi lamb, properly cooked, of course.”
“Is that a home-cooked lamb you’re talking about?” he said, tasting the boiled potatoes.
“Of course.”
“And you brought the secret with you?” he asked, giving away the game.
“Ah, yes, but these are English lambs. They’re not the same.”
“But surely you can do them more justice with Kiwi cooking? In your own kitchen, I mean.”
Bess cut another piece of lamb and held it up on her fork in front of her.
“This really is good, isn’t it,” she said, dodging the question. “But perhaps, with a bit more practice, I could do it justice.”
“If that’s an invite to a home-cooked, Kiwi-method lamb, I accept your invitation.”
“The Brits are right, you know?”
“About what?”
“You Yanks are brash and pushy.”
“Only if we don’t get our own way,” he countered.
They were silent for a few moments, concentrating on their food. Then, pausing mid-bite and smiling, Tom said, “Bess, I would have never thought I would be so grateful for a broken wrist.”
After dinner, Tommy walked Bess to the front door of the hotel, intending to see her to her car.
“Did you park close by?”
She laughed. “I have no car, Tommy. That’s not part of a resident doctor’s budget. I walked. It’s not far, really.”
“May I walk you home?”
“I’d like that.”
Several blocks from the hotel, Bess turned into a smaller side street and stopped in front of her building.
“This is a large home for a single woman,” Tommy observed.
“I have a small, cold-water flat on the third level, Major Callahan. Nothing so grand as it appears.”
“I see. Third level, you say. That means fourth floor, right?”
“No, it means third level,” she replied, smiling.
“But we are now standing on the ground level and one flight up is the first floor, right?”
“Right. And you thought we spoke a common language,” she laughed.
“I’ve been disabused of that notion ever since I set foot on the ship in New York. Too many Brits on board.”
“I’ve even found differences between here and New Zealand,” she said.
“Bess,” Tommy said, turning serious, “may I see you tomorrow evening?”
“I’m afraid not, Tommy, but thank you.”
“Is my tour over?” he asked, grinning at her.
“The pound of flesh you mentioned earlier—at the hospital, I mean? We don’t have twelve hour shifts. We have thirty-six-hour shifts, catching catnaps when and where we can. I’m on at six tomorrow morning and not off again until six Friday night.”
“Man, and I thought the Corps got their money’s worth. What happens to the patient who comes in during your thirty-fourth hour, when you’re exhausted?”
“Oh, he dies,” she grinned at him.
“And how long does this schedule continue?”
“For two years.”
“Every week?”
“We have some breaks. In fact, I have two more shifts and then five days off. I was planning to travel down to Brighton and see if England really has any sun, but I’ve not yet made arrangements. It’s probably too late to book anything. I never have time to properly plan.”
Tommy reached out and took her hand.
“Thank you, Bess, for a lovely evening. You’ve made my welcome to England all the more special. I truly hope we can see one another again.”
“You’ll be pretty busy at Sandhurst. The new class will be arriving soon.”
“You know about the academy?”
“I work the clinic there sometimes during the school year, to make a few extra pounds.”
“And sleep? Is that part of your routine?”
“Not often. I enjoyed tonight, too, Tommy. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Goodnight, Doctor Bess Rossiter. I’ll be back.”
“And a goodnight to you, Major Tommy Callahan. For a brash Yank, you show some promise.”
Smiling at him again, she let herself in the door. Tommy stood, staring after her for a moment, then crossed the street, retracing his steps to the Star and Garter.
Before turning the corner, he stopped to look back toward Elizabeth’s flat. Then, whistling a tune, he walked on into the damp English night.
Chapter 15
The following morning, after spending a restless night thinking about the woman who had just entered his life—a woman who was so different from Susan Prisman—Tommy telephoned the administration office at Sandhurst and arranged a late-morning appointment with Brigadier David McIntyre. The corporal who took the call said he had been told to expect Captain Callahan’s arrival and that he had arranged a billet until the captain could make his own arrangements. Tommy thanked him and disconnected. Struggling to keep the cast on his left arm dry, he shaved and put on his tropical khaki uniform. Then he repacked his small bag and went downstairs for breakfast.
Mrs. Proctor was on duty again in the kitchen and greeted him at his table.
“Good morning, sir. A cup of coffee?”
“Yes, please, and some breakfast.”
“What would you like, Mr. Callahan? Porridge? Bangers and eggs? Perhaps just some toast and marmite?”
“Bangers?” Tommy asked, screwing up his face.
Mrs. Proctor laughed. “Little sausages, sir. Quite nice, actually. We usually have them in the evening as bangers and mash—potatoes. We’re a world apart over here, aren’t we, sir?”
“A very pleasant world, Mrs. Proctor. Bangers and eggs it is, then. You were here last night when we left and again this morning. Quite long hours for English workers, it seems.”
“Ah, well, me and Albert own the Star and Garter. We’d never work this hard for wages, I can tell you,” she laughed. “I’ll be just a moment with your coffee.”
When she returned, pouring Tommy a cup of steaming black coffee, she stood by his table for a minute, observing his one-handed balancing act while he added a dash of cream and sugar and stirred the contents. Again he was the only occupant in the dining room.
“How did you come to meet Doctor Rossiter, if I might be so bold?” she asked.
Tommy held up his cast. “I fell off the train yesterday.”
“Fortunate, that,” she smiled.
“That’s not how I saw it at first,” he joked in return, “not until after I met the doctor. Do you know much about Doctor Rossiter?”
“She’s been here in Camberley about six months, I think, only been here to dinner with a man once, afore you that is. A very pleasant woman. She worked wonders with my Sarah, so’s I can’t complain.”
“She’s got the ‘touch,’” he said, again holding up his cast. “Now, what can you tell me about the RMA?” he asked.
“A bunch of the aristocracy’s ‘ne’er-do-wells’ if you ask me, the disdain evident in her voice. “Are you bound for there?”
“I am,” he answered, sipping his coffee. “And a right proper ‘ne’er-do-well’ I’d be, too, I suppose,” he said, smiling at her.
“Not a Yank, sir,” she smiled. “You’ll see what I mean. Well, I’d best be off to the kitchen. Bangers and eggs it is.”
After Tommy had finished breakfast, a taxi driver parked down the street from the Star and Garter agreed to take him out to the academy for two and six. Tommy had yet to figure out the pounds, shillings, and pence, and simply held out a handful of coins.
“This one’ll do, sir, ’alf a crown.”
As they drove through the grounds, the area seemed absent of much activity, and Tommy assumed that the students had not yet arrived for the new term. At the administration building, he introduced himself to the corporal to whom he had spoken on the phone and asked if he could be shown to his quarters. After seeing the gold oak leaves on Tommy’s uniform and apologizing to the major for mistaking him for a captain on the phone, the corporal summoned the brigadier’s “batman” and directed him to escort Major Callahan to his quarters.
“Your batman is on a day trip to London, sir. He’ll report as soon as he returns.”
Tommy waited until the brigadier’s
batman had taken the one small suitcase and left the room to ask his question.
“Corporal, just what is a batman?”
“An orderly, sir,” he replied. “An enlisted man who’s assigned to look after senior officers—their needs and such. He’ll do the whole kit and caboodle for ya, Major, right as rain.”
“And you say I have such a person assigned to me?”
“Yes, sir. By all means, sir. The brigadier saw to it himself. Corporal Townsend is a good man, Major. He’ll watch out for you, help you learn the ropes here at Sandhurst. Spent a bit of time in the states, he did, sir.”
“Thank you, Corporal. I’ll be back at one o’clock to meet with Brigadier McIntyre. I appreciate your help.”
“Not a’tall, sir. My pleasure,” he said, coming to attention as Tommy left the office.
After checking out his new digs, Tommy walked around the academy grounds, encountering very few people in the process. At ten minutes to one o’clock, he was back in Brigadier McIntyre’s office foyer, sitting in a chair and flipping through a magazine, when the brigadier walked in with another gentleman. Recognizing McIntyre’s florid face and upright military posture, Tommy stood.
