‘You just move on. From one emergency to the next. They say the good nurses are the ones who don’t feel. And I’ve tried, Guy, I’ve tried to be a good nurse, not to become so emotionally attached that I’m no good to man or beast. But when I saw your name on the register, I just crumpled. It’s been so difficult; I never thought it’d be like this.’
‘The war?’
She nodded, her hand clenched against her lips.
‘I guess none of us did,’ he said.
She fumbled in her gown for a handkerchief. ‘Look at me,’ she said, forcing a little laugh. ‘Three months, I’m your stoical, no nonsense nurse, a good nurse, now two minutes with you and I’m a wreck.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘Mustn’t wake the others.’
‘I don’t think anything could wake these chaps.’
‘Do you know them?’
‘Not really, but they’re good men, all of them.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear about your misfortune.’
‘Yes, well.’
‘How are you?’
‘Glad to be alive.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said.
‘I can’t believe it’s you.’
‘I know. Your name on that register, it gave me such a turn, I had to come see you straight away. I’m sorry for waking you. I think you were in the middle of a bad dream. I ought to go, I’ll be missed, Matron will have my garters. I’m sorry. I wake you up then I’m gone.’
‘Don’t worry, I understand. Will I see you again?’
‘Oh yes, a lot in fact. I’m going back with you.’
‘To England?’
‘Yes, it’s one of my jobs, to transport patients back home, to nurse them along the way. But I never get to step on home soil. As soon as we dock, the ship turns round, comes back here and a couple days later I do it all over again. I’ll still be busy, it never stops, but we should snatch a few moments to catch up. Oh, and tomorrow morning, early. Inspection.’
‘Inspection?’
‘It’s another one of my jobs – to check over amputees to see if they’re fit to make the journey home.’
‘And when do you get chance to sleep?’
‘Every other Thursday. I really ought to go. Tell me, have you seen Jack?’
‘Not recently.’
‘I do miss him; barely an hour goes by when I don’t think of him. At least once a day someone comes in all bandaged up and I think, oh no, it’s my Jack. He hasn’t written for a while now. Oh dear, I said that about you once, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, but it doesn’t matter now.’
‘Yes. Well, look, we might have chance to catch up on the ship.’
‘I look forward to that.’
‘Me too.’ She leant down and kissed him on the cheek. ‘So lovely to see you, Guy. Seeing you again, well, it’s like touching home. Sleep tight.’
‘Goodnight, Mary.’
‘And Guy...’
‘Yes?’
‘Try to dream of something nicer.’
‘I’ll try.’
Guy lay in his bed, unable to get back to sleep, his mind whirling. Mary, he’d seen Mary. It didn’t seem possible. But at some point, he knew, he was going to have to tell her about Jack. It wasn’t a prospect he savoured.
*
The following morning, Ray pulled open the curtains and let in the sunshine. The men smiled, happy to have had the most comfortable night’s sleep for months. Guy remembered being unable to sleep in his own bed when on leave but somehow, in a hotel masquerading as a hospital, it was different. Gazing outside, Ray and Guy watched silently as a small party of men dug a couple of fresh graves in the cemetery.
Having washed and changed, Guy and his roommates went down for breakfast. It was like being in a proper hotel, remarked Lampton. Guy looked round the refectory, heaving with activity, hoping to see Mary. He wondered what time she’d come to do her inspection; she’d said early. A nurse armed with a clipboard approached their table and told them to be packed and ready and back in the foyer by ten – they had two hours, during which time they could expect a visit from a Major Heathcote. Breakfast, although basic, was welcome; the tea strong enough to strip varnish.
Back in their room, packing took all of a few moments. From outside, through the open window, came the sound of a man’s voice, clear in the morning air: ‘Lord most holy, O God most mighty...’
Guy looked out to the scene – a funeral, a small gathering of nurses and wounded soldiers, the coffin wrapped with the Union flag, the padre reading from the bible.
It was then that there was a rap on their door but before anyone had chance to respond, it swung open and in came a major and in his wake, Mary, her uniform clean, her hair tied back in a bun. ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said the major, a short man, barrel-chested and sporting a monocle.
The men stood to attention.
‘At ease. How are you all, this lovely morning? My name is Major Heathcote, and this,’ he said introducing Mary, ‘is Nurse O’Dowd.’
Mary bowed to the men. ‘Good morning. Hello, Guy, nice to see you again.’
‘You know each other?’ asked the major.
‘Yes.’ She smiled at Guy. ‘We go back along way and I am engaged to Guy’s brother.’
‘Hearty congrats,’ said the major.
Guy tried to smile back but the image of Jack flashed through his mind as the words drifted through from outside... ‘Most merciful saviour, thou most worthy judge eternal...’ Turning, he saw a nurse drop a bouquet of flowers into the grave.
‘Right,’ said the major, ‘let’s see how you are. Let’s start with you, Private. I guess you’ll be Private Singh.’
‘Yes, sir, that is all correct, sir.’
And so Major Heathcote made his round with Mary at his side, taking just a few moments with each of them – a quick look at their stumps and, for Guy and Browne, an evaluation on how they walked up and down the dormitory. He made a few ticks on the scrap of paper attached to his clipboard.
The major took a deep breath to address the men as outside on a bugle, clear and crisp, played the first notes of the Last Post. ‘OK, thank you, gentleman. I can certify that with the exception of one you are all fit and healthy enough to take your place on board the ship today. On landing in Dover you will be transferred by ambulance train to London and the Prince of Wales Hospital in Marylebone. The exception is you, Private Browne. The wound in your thigh is still liable to infection but is not, in my considered opinion, of sufficient severity to have you sent back to England.’
‘No, that can’t be.’
‘I will instead be recommending that you spend the rest of your convalescence here in this hospital where we can monitor your progress until such time that we deem you fit enough to be returned to active service.’ The last note on the bugle faded away.
‘No, please, you can’t do that.’
‘I will remind you, Private, to address me as sir, and that yes, I can do that. My priority here is to the forces of His Majesty and not to the whims of the individual whatever their circumstances. Good day to you all. Nurse O’Dowd, would you stay and distribute to the men their boarding chits?’ And with a click of his heels, the major spun round, clipboard tucked under his arm, and left.
The funeral party, Guy noticed, were slowly making their way back to the hospital. A soldier was carefully folding the Union flag, ready to use another time – soon. Browne, shaking his head in disbelief, sat down on his bed. ‘I can’t go back,’ he said quietly, sounding like a man on the verge of tears. ‘Guy, Ray, don’t let them take me back. I won’t stand a chance.’
‘But the major’s right,’ chipped in Ray, ‘look at you, there’s nothing wrong with you.’
‘What? How dare you –’
‘I come all the way from India; I want to go back and fight. I didn’t come half way round the world to sit in a hospital.’
‘Why, you Indian bastard –’ Browne said, springing to his feet
‘See,’ said Ray,
‘see how nimble you are?’
‘Sit down, Private Browne.’ The voice belonged to Mary.
Browne looked from Ray to Mary and back, his fists clenched, his breathing heavy. Then, seized by an idea, he jabbed his finger towards Mary. ‘It was you, wasn’t it, sister, it was you. You told the major I was fit enough.’
‘I did no such thing.’
Running his fingers through his hair, Browne started pacing up and down. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he yelled, ‘I saw you whispering to him, you’re the Blighty nurse.’
‘Major Heathcote is perfectly qualified to come to his own diagnosis without –’
‘You’re all in this together –’
‘That’s enough now, Stephen.’ Guy tried to take Browne by the arm, to steer him back to the bed. Browne yanked his arm free, his eyes ablaze.
‘Help me, Guy.’
Guy turned to Mary. ‘There’s nothing we can do?’
‘Perhaps.’
Browne rushed up to her. ‘Yes, go on, tell me.’
‘We’re expecting a lot of fresh casualties very soon, which is why we’ll be transferring men through double quick – two ships a day. We’ll be needing every bed we can get. Private Browne would be occupying a bed that could be of better use to another.’
‘Can you speak to the major?’ asked Guy.
‘I’ll try. I’ll go see him now.’
‘Thank you, nurse, thank you,’ said Browne reaching for her hand to kiss it. ‘You are an angel.’
‘And me?’ quipped Ray, ‘am I still an Indian bastard?’
Outside, the mourners had all gone; the gravediggers had returned and were shovelling the mound of earth back into the hole, on top of the coffin.
The men waited while Mary went to catch up with the major. The men sat on their beds, Browne and Ray together on one. ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ said Browne, wringing his hands, ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘It is OK, Stephen. These are difficult times. Now we wait.’
‘Yes, now we wait.’
The men watched the gravediggers at work. Another wooden cross to add to the rows already planted, a few adorned with a bunch of flowers. The padre reappeared, walking quickly towards the cemetery, his black cassock flowing in the breeze. The men with shovels stopped to acknowledge him, removing their caps. He nodded back and appeared to be looking for something. The men began searching too, their eyes scanning the grass. Soon, one of the men held something up, a piece of metal. The padre clapped his hands in relief and smiles all round brought the little exchange to an end. The padre, with a grin on his face, briskly made his way back as the men resumed their work.
‘What was that?’ asked Lampton.
‘I think it was a ring.’
‘Obviously meant something to him.’
The door swung open. Browne shot up as Mary marched back in. Wordlessly, she held out her clipboard to Browne, who snatched it from her. His eyes, wide and terrified, skimmed the words. He screamed, then flung his arms round Mary. The men cheered as one, loud enough for the gravediggers to look their way. Releasing Mary from his hug, he turned to his friends, tears in his eyes, and shook their hands one by one. ‘Oh my Lord, the gods are shining on me today, my friends.’
‘What does it say?’ asked Guy.
‘Here, look.’
Among the list of names was Browne’s and the major’s note, which had said, Patient is fit enough to be returned to active duties following another fortnight’s convalescence had been scored out with two thick lines of black ink.
‘So you’re coming back with us, Stephen; well done, man,’ said Guy returning the clipboard to Browne. ‘How did you do it, Mary?’
‘Well, you know, powers of persuasion and all that.’
‘I can’t thank you enough, sister. Will you marry me?’
Mary laughed. ‘Just think, this time tomorrow, you’ll all be waking up in a cosy bed in England.’
‘Far away from all this mess,’ added Lampton.
‘I can’t believe it, I’ve got my Blighty ticket,’ said Browne, re-reading the sheet of paper as if ensuring he hadn’t got it wrong. ‘I thought I’d had it.’
‘Come,’ said Mary, ‘you boys have a ship to board, we should go.’
Chapter 27: The Ship – 17 November 1917
The ship was due to set sail at midday. The whole process of embarkation had been tiring, the usual mayhem of bandaged men, stretchers, and the walking wounded, with the nurses and orderlies trying to maintain a sense of calm, organising and cajoling. Guy saw little of Mary who occasionally, in her blue uniform, passed in a blur. There seemed precious few nurses and orderlies to cope with such an array of men. Guy had stuck with his motley crew, as they nicknamed themselves – Lampton, Ray and the chastised Browne. The ship, the SS Derby, with its two funnels, was some three hundred feet long, at least so Lampton reckoned.
The men, perhaps four hundred or more, trooped on board; Guy and his friends, as the least wounded, were among the last. There was, Guy thought, a palpable sense of excitement at the prospect of going home. Lampton kept winking at him, and Ray, who had never been to England, sung aloud in a foreign tongue and talked of how thrilled he was at the thought of seeing the mother country. Browne, who had the greatest reason to be happy, was instead subdued, perhaps realising how close he’d come to a return to the front.
The dock was full of ships and boats of varying sizes. An English troopship had just docked, bringing from England the newest batch of young men to face the fray. Guy could see their joyful faces. ‘Silly bastards,’ said Lampton.
‘I was like that when I arrived all the way from India,’ said Ray.
‘Me too,’ said Browne.
‘You come from India also?’ asked Ray.
‘No, what I meant... doesn’t matter.’
Ray winked at Guy.
A small crowd of locals had gathered on the quay yelling, ‘Vive l’Angleterre, vive la France!’ Some of the men waved back, shouting, ‘God Save the King, Long Live France!’
Finally, with everyone on board and settled, the ship blasted its foghorn and pulled out of the harbour. Guy and Ray had been assigned a cabin together, with Browne and Lampton next door. The men looked out of their portholes and watched Le Havre, cloaked in a wintry sunlight, fade into the distance. Sailing to the side of the ship, acting as escort, was a destroyer. Guy and Ray settled on their bunks and found lifejackets under their pillows and a nice surprise – hot water bottles, still warm. ‘This is the life,’ said Ray, lying on his bunk. Soon he’d dozed off while Guy turned his attention to his Dickens. After a while he decided to take a stroll in the hope of bumping into Mary. He knew that with only half a dozen nurses on board she would be busy but the thought of some sea air appealed.
Climbing the ship stairs with his crutches proved awkward and once completed he had to stop to catch his breath. The decks were mostly deserted. The sun was shining, the sea calm. The presence of the sleek destroyer glinting in the sun running alongside half a mile off was reassuring. Two nurses rushed past him along the deck carrying fresh supplies of bandages. He found a bench and sitting down, thought back to his first voyage across to France. It didn’t seem possible he was the same man. At the time it seemed the most natural thing to do, to join the cause, and he remembered the sense of excitement and anticipation.
Now, on his return, he had been determined to remain angry and embittered; it was a state he rather enjoyed in a perverse sort of way. It gave him a sense of direction, of power even. The power to view his life and his circumstances with a detachment born of a new-found cynicism. He couldn’t shake off the ridiculous desire to return to active service, as Ray had expressed, but he’d come to hate the army. The army had killed Jack, not the war – he could have coped with his brother’s death at the hands of the Germans, but he couldn’t forgive the army for what they had done to him.
‘Guy, hello.’
‘Mary.’ As much as he’d half expected to see her, it still took h
im by surprise.
She was carrying a jug with a long spout and a length of tubing. ‘How you are feeling?’ she asked.
‘OK, I guess.’
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Do you have time?’
‘No,’ she said, sitting next to him. ‘I’ve been cleaning these things out.’
‘What are they for?’
‘For feeding some chap with lockjaw.’
‘Poor sod.’
‘So, looking forward to returning home?’
‘Yes, but it’ll be strange.’
‘Yes, it might take you time to readjust. Have you any plans?’
‘Not really. I guess Father will be expecting me to return to the fold and help him out with the business.’
‘Do you want to?’
‘No, but what else can I do? And you?’
‘Me? When all this is over? I’ll become a nurse; a qualified nurse. God knows I’ve had the experience now.’
‘Yes, I suppose you have.’
‘I can’t afford to do this as a volunteer forever. Guy, tell me, when was the last time you saw Jack? How was he?’
He took a deep breath. ‘Mary, I’ve got something I need to tell you. This might not be the best time but I don’t know when I’ll see you again.’
‘Oh no, I don’t like the sound of this.’ She hastily placed her things on the bench next to her.
‘Yes, it’s not going to be easy for you.’
‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ she asked, her voice quivering.
‘I’m afraid so.’
Her hand went to her mouth as she let out a squeal of pain. ‘Oh no. Please, Guy, tell me it isn’t so.’
‘If only I could.’ He offered his hand; she took it clenching it tightly.
‘Jack, oh, Jack. When?’
‘A week ago, eleventh November.’
‘Oh, Jack, my poor Jack.’ She grappled for a handkerchief from her pocket. ‘How? How did it happen?’
‘Do you need to know? Isn’t it enough just to know he’s not with us any more?’
She thought for a moment, circling an engagement ring on her finger which he hadn’t noticed before. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I need to know.’
‘This is not easy, Mary.’ He took a breath.
This Time Tomorrow Page 22
