Poppy Day

by Annie Murray

  He found himself looking for opportunities to talk with her. He wondered now at his decision to put her in the ‘Rumbling Shed’ as the women called it. At the time it had been nothing whatever to do with being able to see her alone. But had some deeper instinct, riding ahead of his knowledge of his own feelings, prodded him to do it? Whatever the case he was thankful daily that he had placed her there, and found himself looking for excuses to visit the shed.

  ‘Is there bad news?’ he had asked her again, cautiously, earlier in the week.

  It was clear to everyone that Jess was in a state. Of course, so were a lot of people, but it was her that he particularly noticed. Her expression was tense and she looked pale and drained. He knew there was something – someone – for whom she worried and suffered constantly, yet she would say nothing about him except that he was on the Western Front. He wanted to know who it was that took up her thoughts and feelings, but why should she tell him anything about her private life? He was only her boss, and he must seem like an old man to her!

  But when he asked, she turned to him with such a look of desperation in her eyes that he wanted to take her in his arms.

  ‘No – no news at all. That’s the thing – I just don’t know.’ Her eyes, already pink from crying, filled with tears.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘I’m ever so sorry.’ He wanted to add some platitude about no news being good news but it felt the wrong thing to say. ‘I hope you have some good news soon.’ The words sounded hollow. He turned to leave.

  ‘Mr Stevenson?’ She was hurriedly wiping her eyes. ‘Is there anything the matter with my work?’

  ‘No!’ He sounded too emphatic and corrected himself. ‘No – not a bit. Why?’

  ‘I just wondered if you was feeling you had to check up on me.’

  He cleared his throat, finding himself reddening a little.

  ‘Not at all, Jess. You’ve been doing that job more than satisfactorily for a long time now. I – er, just like to keep tabs on things . . .’ He knew he was not bound to explain but found himself doing so anyway.

  ‘Oh,’ Jess gave him a wan smile which simply jerked at her mouth and didn’t alter the rest of her face. ‘That’s awright then.’

  She turned back to the drum, already oblivious to him. He watched her, the sturdy determination of her movements. Finding he had been standing there too long, he hastily moved away.

  Staring into the fire he went over what had happened. Had he made a fool of himself? She wouldn’t have noticed, he told himself. She was so worried she barely even saw him. But all evening he was full of longing thoughts of her.

  Jess walked through the gates of the infirmary, the blackened brick building on the Dudley Road next to the Workhouse and near Iris’s house.

  She still had a sense of disbelief that she had found out so quickly where Ned was. When she left his parents’ house her emotions were in such turmoil that no single one seemed able to master the others. She had expected the anger and bitterness they felt, but she was taken aback by how much this bruised her, made her feel worthless and rejected.

  What did you expect? she ranted at herself on the way home. Considering what you’ve done they could’ve been a lot worse! But still she felt winded by it, and tearful. However wrong she and Ned had been in what they’d done, however much they had hurt and betrayed Mary, she had wanted them at least to understand the strength of her feelings for Ned and his for her. That her love was enduring and genuine. But while this seemed so important to her, in their eyes it counted for nothing.

  But with the pain of this, there was also her enormous relief after the tension of the last few weeks, and she was full of joy.

  She burst in through the door at home, her face alight with the news.

  ‘Ned’s alive – ’e’s awright! ’E’s home!’

  Everyone stopped what they were doing immediately.

  ‘Oh Jess!’ Sis said. ‘Thank God for that!’

  Polly smiled bravely at her and Jess saw Olive’s face relax. Though she seldom ever mentioned Ned, the war’s months of slaughter had softened her attitude. Life was too short to bear grudges. Just getting those lads back alive, that was all that mattered.

  ‘So ’e’s out of it?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes!’ Jess was dancing round the room. ‘He’s been wounded – one of his legs, they said. He’s in hospital.’

  ‘Who said?’ Olive frowned.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Green.’

  ‘You went to their ’ouse?’

  Jess’s face fell. ‘I had to find out, Auntie.’

  Olive sank down at the table. ‘Well, what did they make of you turning up?’

  ‘They were none too pleased.’

  ‘I’m not surprised! Oh Jess, how could yer’ve done it?’

  ‘I couldn’t stand it. No one’d ever’ve told me, would they?’

  ‘So where is he then?’ Polly said, eyeing Grace, who was walking now, round the room.

  Jess shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Yet.’

  At first she almost despaired, realizing the number of hospitals in Birmingham, and especially the additional mansions and private houses which had been converted for nursing the war wounded. She’d have to go round every one and ask. She might never find him!

  But luck, in this instance, was on her side. The next evening she went to tell Iris the news. When she described her visit to the Greens, Iris seemed to withdraw from her a little, as if the reality of Ned’s situation, of his parents as live flesh and blood people, had impinged on her properly for the first time.

  ‘You must be careful,’ she cautioned. Her injured leg was troubling her and she leaned down, massaging it as she spoke. ‘You’ve upset people badly, the two of you, and you must think seriously of what you’re going to do next.’

  Jess was in no mood for a sermon from Iris.

  ‘But you’ve always stood by us, up ’til now.’

  ‘I know, dear. I am standing by you, but the facts don’t alter. Happiness should never be at other people’s expense.’

  Jess moved restlessly about the room.

  ‘It’s a bit late for that, Iris. Look, I’ve got to see ’im. I can’t think of anything else until I’ve seen how he is, what he feels. Can’t you understand that?’

  ‘Yes. And I know what you’ve suffered on his behalf . . .’ Iris sighed. ‘But it’s all looking rather a mess.’

  ‘I don’t even know where to start – he could be anywhere.’

  ‘Well,’ Iris said simply. ‘Why not try the nearest? It’s a big hospital. There’s a good chance he could be there.’

  Before going home Jess went into the hospital to enquire and was told that a Corporal Edward Green of Oak Tree Lane, Selly Oak, was indeed in the hospital. Visiting, she was told, was for close relatives only.

  ‘That’s awright,’ Jess smiled. ‘I’m ’is sister.’

  So now she stood looking at the brightly lit windows of the infirmary, wondering which of the high rooms contained him. A thrill passed through her. He was here, so close after all this time! She could see him, touch him! She knew there would be very little time, and was terrified of meeting a member of his family, but her determination was absolute. If she had to come every day, waiting for a chance to slip in and see him alone, she would do it. Nothing was going to stop her.

  She pulled the belt tighter round her coat. She had on her close-fitting hat with the cream band, and under the coat a purple velvet skirt which she had made, with a white blouse and a little blue waistcoat. She knew she was looking her best, her hair brushed and tied back.

  As soon as she was inside the hospital, her excitement faded and was replaced by terror. Her heart was pounding, hands horribly clammy. In these long, echoing corridors there was very little place to hide and she expected any moment to find Mr and Mrs Green walking towards her. But she had to see him . . .

  Ned’s ward was upstairs. Every bend of the staircase, with people moving up and down, was a source of fear for her. She felt like a crimi
nal about to be arrested at any second. By the time she’d reached the door of the ward she thought her heart was going to give out on her.

  The door was open and she stepped in. A nurse near the door seemed to be in position to direct visitors.

  ‘I’ve come to see Mr Green.’ Jess found that she could sound calm. ‘Ned Green. I’m his sister.’

  The nurse looked confused for a moment. ‘Oh – er, I see.’

  ‘Is there anyone here – my mother and father may have beaten me to it?’

  ‘No one’s come in yet.’ She leaned back and looked along the ward. ‘He’s alone. He is very tired today though. Still very up and down. Not too long a visit, please.’

  ‘Yes of course,’ Jess said. ‘I’ll just pop over and say ’ello.’

  Her heels sounded to her like hammers as she walked along the long Nightingale ward, wishing she was invisible. Some of the lads were sitting up talking quite cheerfully to their visitors. One or two lay quiet, some with one or both arms bandaged. One, who smiled at her, had lost most of his right arm, and was nursing a short, bandaged stump. She found this less shocking than she would have expected, and realized that knowing Iris had accustomed her to such sights. She smiled back as she passed. On some beds there was a frame under the bedclothes holding their weight off the injured legs beneath like a tent, and there was one on Ned’s bed when she reached it two-thirds of the way down on the right.

  He was propped in a reclining position on his pillows, his eyes closed, head tilted a little to one side. Jess stopped. Seeing him was a shock: she didn’t know whether he looked different or the same. She was not used to observing him in a lifeless position like this, unaware that she was there. For a moment she did not want to speak, afraid of what he might say when he saw her. But she longed to move closer, to touch him. And there was no time to delay. She glanced behind her, terrified his family might be bearing down on her, then moved quietly to sit beside him.

  ‘Ned.’

  He opened his eyes at once, and she saw his face register who she was. ‘Jess . . .’ Immediately he tried to push himself up, wincing at the pain he caused himself. To her horror, she saw his eyes fill with tears and his face, at first startled, crease with anguish. Supporting himself on one elbow he covered his face with his other hand, trying to hide his distress from her.

  ‘Oh Ned!’ She leaned close, putting her hand on his shoulder, tears running down her own face. She would never have believed she’d see him like this. ‘What is it? Oh Ned! Look, my love, I can’t stop ’ere long – if your mom and dad were to come . . .’

  Hearing what she said he managed to control himself, wiped his face and looked up at her almost as if he was afraid of her.

  ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘My leg?’ He lay back, grimacing for a second. ‘Sometimes, now. Didn’t at all when it happened. Just like a little knock. And all the way back from France. Not a thing. But now – at night mainly. Oh God, Jess . . .’

  ‘I was so frightened . . .’ It was she, now, who couldn’t stop crying. ‘So frightened for you!’ She leaned down and kissed him, stroking his hair, his face. ‘I love you so much and now you’re safe, back with me.’

  He looked back into her eyes with a bewildered, hungry look, as if hanging on every word, needing to hear what she said.

  ‘I saw your mom and dad—’

  He started to speak, but she held up her hand.

  ‘It’s awright. But they mustn’t find me here. Are they coming today?’

  ‘I don’t know . . .’

  ‘They said you and Mary are going to start again . . . Is it true, Ned?’

  She saw panic in his eyes. ‘No, Jess. No! They’ve not said a thing . . .’ He grasped her hand, and to her confusion said with strange intensity, ‘You’re good – a good, good thing. You are.’

  ‘Tell me you love me, Ned. Please. It’s been so long . . .’ She felt and sounded plaintive.

  He began talking fast, a desperate note in his voice. ‘I do. I love you. Oh Jess, I just want to get out of here – away from them all. To come out with yer. You’re my love, you are. Let’s go somewhere where none of them can find us.’ He gripped her hand so tightly that she gasped.

  ‘Are you still feverish?’ she felt his forehead. It was overhot, but not extremely so. But she knew he wasn’t himself, and could see how ill he’d been, this odd excitement in him. He lay limply now, as if he’d exhausted himself. Jess kept her hand on his forehead. ‘Never mind, my love. You’ll soon be better. It’ll be awright, I promise you.’

  ‘You mustn’t come in here again, Jess.’ She was terribly hurt by the sudden aggression in his voice. He was becoming agitated again.

  ‘But why . . .?’

  ‘I’ve told yer – yer mustn’t – it’ll cause trouble. I’ve hurt them all enough and I can’t face it, not stuck lying ’ere like this. Please – stay away. Wait ’til I’m better and then I’ll come to you.’

  ‘But what can they do to me?’ She felt burningly defiant.

  ‘Nothing – not to you. I just – I’m a coward, Jess. I don’t want it going on in here. Fighting, arguments.’

  She understood. He was too weak, too low to have conflict going on around him.

  ‘It’s ain’t just them, it’s Mary . . .’

  Jess had a sensation like a cold hand closing round her heart.

  ‘Has she been to see yer?’

  ‘Not yet, but she will. They’ll make sure she does. Look, just keep out of it for now – please. Don’t make it any worse, Jess.’

  She swallowed. There was desperation in his plea. ‘Whatever you want, Ned. Whatever’ll get you better sooner. As long as I know you love me I can put up with anything.’

  Ned looked stricken. ‘I know yer can . . . oh God.’ He was sobbing again, clutching at her.

  She held him close, kissing him, pressing her cheeks against his, trying to will all her strength into him. ‘I can’t stay now, Ned – just remember, I love you. You get better – that’s your job. I’ll be waiting, however long it takes yer. I promise.’

  She felt him nod as she kissed him goodbye.

  Jess left the hospital with the image of his face in her mind as she left him, pale, but calmer. When she turned back to look, he had already closed his eyes. She was disturbed by the state of him, one moment calm, the next distraught. What in God’s name had they done to him over there? But she was so full of resolve now, that she felt unbreakable. If she couldn’t see him for a time now, until he was healed, if that was what he needed, she could bear it. Knowing he was safe, away from the trenches, and that he still loved her, those were the main things. For their own good she would keep away until they could be together. She would wait. She had borne so much for him already that this seemed only a small thing.

  Later that week, Olive pointed to a few lines in the paper which said that Lance-Corporal Edward C. Green, had been awarded a Military Medal for courage under fire.

  ‘Oh Auntie!’ Jess cried. She burned with pride for him. ‘See how brave ’e’s been – oh ain’t that summat special!’

  And she could see that, though she tried to hide it, there was also pride in Olive’s eyes.

  Thirty-Three

  December 1917

  ‘When’re things ever going to get better?’ Sis groaned, eyeing the evening meal Olive was dishing up, which consisted of a thin broth with a few bits of vegetables in stock made from boiled up chicken bones and a bit of bread and cheese. ‘We’ll be starving hungry again an hour after tea!’

  ‘I was in the line for some stewing beef today,’ Olive ladled out the broth, glowering round the table in a way that dared anyone else to complain. ‘Stood there over an hour I was, and then they shut up shop and said it’d all gone – and that was with her mithering at me the whole flaming time.’ She nodded at Grace. ‘Half the morning gone, nothing done back ’ere, and it’ll all be the same tomorrow. ’Ere – save some of it to go with yer broth!’ She rapped Ronny’s hand gently with the ladle as h
e went to cram his share of bread into his mouth.

  ‘Ow, Mom!’

  ‘Eat slower – it’ll last yer longer.’

  It was a couple of days before Christmas and everyone round the table looked sunk in gloom, exhaustion, or both. The fighting on the Western Front had ground to a halt for the winter months. Everything felt as if it was everlastingly stuck: the grim news, the grief and worry, the sheer drudgery of war seemed set to go on and on.

  This evening was pitch black and wet. Jess and Sis had been soaked through by lashing, ice-cold rain as they came home from work, and even after they changed into dry clothes, sat shivering for ages before they felt warm again because there was barely enough fuel to keep a fire going. Now Grace was toddling, Mrs Bullivant had her pram back and it had found a new role as a coal cart for both families so they could at least get some warmth in the house.

  But day-to-day living had become even more tiring and gruelling than usual. And everyone had the worry of a loved one on their mind: Sis was fretting about Perce, Olive and the girls worried for Bert, Polly was still grieving and Jess waiting for Ned to be released from hospital, on tenterhooks, longing to know how he was and what was happening. Through an old acquaintance of both Olive and the Greens, Olive had heard that he had been moved out of Dudley Road to a convalescent home in Bromsgrove, which would have been difficult for Jess to get to even had she been allowed. But she was tormented by the thought of Mary being able to see him. It was terrible to be banished, pushed into the background, a dirty secret in a corner of Ned’s life. Almost daily she was tempted to go against what he had asked of her, and try to travel over and see him. She didn’t even know the address to write to and she had not heard from him. She understood that while he was convalescent and needing help, he was at the mercy of his family, but his weakness frustrated her when she felt so strong. She was caught between jealousy and worry and shame that she was being so selfish when he had fought and suffered. He needed his leg to mend, she told herself, to get his strength back. Then they would face everyone and fight them together. The two of them could overcome anything. And every day she was thankful that he was at least home, alive and safe.