The Lost Soldier

by Costeloe Diney

  “Don’t forget to write,” Sarah called as he put it into gear.

  “I won’t,” Freddie promised and waved as the car gathered speed and disappeared round a bend.

  Tuesday, December 21st

  Christmas is coming close and we are trying to make the wards bright and cheerful. Sarah and I went out to collect holly and ivy today. It was very cold and the sky was very low as if it was going to snow, but it was lovely to be out in the country. I don’t realise how shut in I feel in the convent until I am outside the walls again.

  Some of the men have received parcels from home, which is lovely for them, but we have been trying to find some sort of present for Christmas morning for everyone. Sister Magdalene got some Red Cross parcels the other day, and it was decided that they should be opened and the things sorted out for Christmas Day.

  I wonder if Mam and Dad will miss me this Christmas. I have to be at the Manor for Christmas Day, but I usually see them in church and I go home for Boxing Day. I will go to the Christmas evening service at the camp. At least I can wish Tom Happy Christmas if nothing more. I’ve no present to give him. How I wish I had.

  14

  Sarah stood looking at the empty road for a few moments. She dashed the tears from her cheeks and turned resolutely into the convent, wondering as Freddie headed back to his regiment at the front, if she would ever see him again.

  She spent the half hour before the evening meal in the chapel, and, much comforted, was able to face the refectory feeling a little less lonely. She was further cheered by the way Molly received the news that though Tom was now in the convalescent camp, he was not likely to be sent back to the front until the early New Year.

  “Did you have a lovely time with your brother?” Molly had asked. She could call Sarah by her Christian name quite easily now, but she couldn’t do the same for Freddie.

  “Yes, really lovely,” Sarah sighed. “I couldn’t believe he was really here, and the time just flew.” She told Molly about their lunch and the Christmas shopping and then said, “I bet you can’t guess where else we went.”

  “No, where?”

  “When I was talking to Freddie, I told him about Harry Cook, because of him coming from home and being your cousin and things.” She paused.

  “And?”

  “And, he said he knew Harry had been wounded because they were in the same company. Freddie was Harry’s company commander!”

  Molly still didn’t guess what was coming. She looked puzzled and said, “So, you told him Harry had died.”

  “I did, but I also told him there was another man from his company here, Tom Carter, and I suggested he should visit him in the convalescent camp while he was here… so that’s what we did.”

  At last there was animation in Molly’s face. “You went to the camp?”

  “Yes, and Tom was there. The padre had him brought to the chapel, and we talked with him for several minutes.”

  “But what did Mr Freddie think of you wanting to see Tom? Didn’t he think it strange?”

  “Not at all, because he didn’t know I wanted to see Tom, he thought he did. He asked how Tom was getting on and what the MO had said to him about rejoining the company.”

  “And what did Tom say?”

  Molly sounded fearful and Sarah said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, he’s been told he’ll be fit for light duties in two weeks’ time, so that doesn’t even mean he’ll go back to the front. It also means he’ll be here for Christmas. Didn’t I hear they have special Christmas dinner in the camp? A bit of a party?”

  Molly stared at her and repeated slowly, “He’ll be here on Sunday.”

  “He’ll be here for at least two more weeks, so you’ll see him before he goes.” She saw Molly’s face light up and added, “But do be careful, Molly. Don’t get too involved. You’ll only get hurt.”

  Christmas crept upon them. Released from their duties one crisp December afternoon, Molly and Sarah went out together to gather holly and ivy from the wood on the hill above the village. They returned with armfuls and all the wards were decorated. One of the men in Sarah’s ward had received a parcel from home, which included a paper chain made by his little sister. With great care Sarah draped it above the man’s bed. Another had some tiny silver bells on a string, and these were hung near the stove so that the rising heat made them twist and chime. The nuns were determined to make the wards as festive as possible, and each sister in charge was given a large candle to place among the greenery, to light on Christmas Day.

  The day itself began much as any other for Molly and Sarah. Up at six, they started duty well before breakfast. Each man found a present at the end of his bed, a few cigarettes, a pair of socks or mittens, a note book and pencil, a bar of chocolate. The Red Cross parcels which had arrived earlier had yielded something for every man.

  “Special dinner today as well,” Molly told them as she admired the presents they had received. “Sister Evangeline in the kitchen has been saving ingredients for ages. It won’t be turkey and plum pudding, but it will be special.”

  Father Gaston came round the wards bringing communion to any men that wanted it, followed an hour later by Robert Kingston from the camp. He visited each man, offering him communion if he wanted it, and when he came to leave the ward he drew Molly aside.

  “There is a concert party arranged for the men in the camp this evening,” he told her. “After evening service. If you and your friend would like to come, I will ask Reverend Mother if you can be spared.”

  Molly stared at him incredulously. “Do you think she will let us?” she asked.

  He grinned, suddenly boyish, “I can only ask,” he said. “Would you like me to?”

  “Oh yes, please,” cried Molly in delight. “I’ve leave from Sister Eloise to come to the evening service, but if Sarah and I could come together and stay for the show… ” Words deserted her.

  “I’ll ask,” he promised, and moved on to the next ward.

  Late in the afternoon, as the dusk fell across the courtyard, a small company of the sisters came into each ward to sing carols. They sang in French, but many of the tunes were familiar, and their voices were joined with an occasional tenor and baritone. It was an emotional time. The men thought of their families in England and longed to be there. Some remembered the short unofficial Christmas truce that had occurred spontaneously in some parts of the line the previous year.

  “Really strange it was,” Private Button told Sarah. “The Jerries was singing in their trenches, ‘Silent Night’ it was, and someone joined in, in ours. One of my mates went over the top and wandered out into no-man’s-land. Crazy, we thought he was, thought he’d get blown away, no, but, lo and behold, out came Jerry as well. One of them gave my mate some chocolate, and then more blokes came out from either side. Weird it was, I can tell you. We’d been hammering them to blazes, pardon me, miss, and then there we all was walking about sharing cigarettes. Ordinary blokes they was. Next thing we know it’s back to bombarding them again.”

  There’d be no such truce this year, Sarah knew. Freddie had told her the order had gone out there was to be no fraternising with the enemy this Christmas. She didn’t say so to Private Button; it was too dreadful to think of men killing each other on Christmas Day; she simply admired the balaclava his young daughter had knitted and sent him for Christmas.

  Sarah, too, had been thinking about home and trying not to feel too lonely. She could picture Freddie and her father dozing by the fire in the drawing room after their Christmas dinner, the dogs asleep at their feet. Freddie would have been out with them earlier, striding across the fields and up into the woods that covered the shoulder of hill above the village. It was their traditional Christmas walk taken between church and lunch. She had taken it on her own last year, when Freddie had already gone to the war. Now it was his turn to walk it alone. A wave of homesickness threatened to engulf her, and she made herself look forward to the coming evening.

  When the girls had met for their midday
meal, Molly told Sarah what Robert Kingston had said. “Do you think they’ll let us go?” she asked. “I’m allowed to go to the service, but if you came too…. It would be such a lovely way to spend Christmas, make it really special.”

  Sarah could see how much Molly wanted to go, and she knew why. She herself had been to Mass in the convent chapel, and didn’t know if she’d be spared from the ward again, but she smiled and said, “Of course I’ll come, it they say we may. When will we hear, do you think?”

  They heard almost immediately. At the end of the meal they were summoned to Reverend Mother’s room.

  “The padre from the camp has invited you to the concert party to be held over there this evening. It is Christmas. I have told him you may go. It is after his evening service. You will be met at the gate and escorted. You will stay together at all times, is that understood?”

  “Yes, Mother,” they chorused.

  “And Sarah, I’m afraid you must go to the service too. You must stay together.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Molly returned to the ward her step light, her heart lighter. She had a wonderful evening to look forward to. Sarah was also looking forward to the concert party, but she couldn’t help worrying about Molly. This thing with Tom Carter, a man she knew little about, was getting too serious. In some ways Sarah regretted her visit to the camp with Freddie, but at the time it had seemed such a little thing to do to cheer Molly up. Now she felt she had colluded in something that she shouldn’t have. By doing so, she had given tacit approval to what was going on, and she didn’t approve of it at all. She disliked the clandestine nature of the affair, and she longed for Tom to be sent back to his regiment. She wished him no harm of course, but she was gradually coming round to Reverend Mother’s view, it was not comme il faut.

  The service was lovely, with all the traditional carols and readings. A time of peace and goodwill, the padre reminded them, and Molly and Sarah raised their voices with those of the men, in singing the Christmas hymns.

  Molly saw Tom in the congregation, saw his smile as she caught his eye, and a bubble of happiness grew within her.

  After the service they were led across to the huge tent, which acted as mess hall for the men. It had now been converted into a theatre, with a makeshift stage across one end. The benches and chairs were almost full and there was a great buzz of talk and laughter.

  The show was a great success, with songs and sketches got up by the men themselves. The audience received them all with roars of appreciation and rounds of applause. Molly and Sarah, sitting with Robert Kingston, laughed and applauded with everyone else, and as the show ended with the singing of the national anthem, they all stood to attention and for a moment the mood was more serious. The seriousness was short-lived, however, as the men began to leave and head back to their bunks. Robert Kingston spoke to many of them as they left. He was clearly a popular officer and had made himself accessible to anyone who might need him. Sarah found herself wished Merry Christmas by several of the men who had passed through her ward, and she chatted with them easily enough as she heard how they were doing, and how soon they were to go back. Several had been told it would be early in the New Year. And Tom will go too, thought Sarah, with guilty relief.

  As soon as the show was over, Tom had found his way to Molly’s side. Still chaperoned by Sarah and the padre they spoke softly to each other.

  “Can we talk alone for a few minutes?” Tom asked her softly.

  Molly looked across at Sarah. “It won’t be easy, both Sarah and the padre have promised Reverend Mother we will stay together. Perhaps if we just step aside…”

  Sarah, seeing them in conversation, came over to join them.

  “We should go,” she said. “Perhaps you’d escort us through the camp, Private Carter.” Surely that could do no harm, she thought. I’ll be with them all the time.

  They said goodnight to the padre and thanked him for the invitation. He smiled at them. “I’m glad you could come,” he said simply. “You both deserve a treat.” He glanced at Tom and said, “Carter, please see the ladies back to the convent gate.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tom couldn’t have received a more welcome order.

  The moon came out as they walked across the camp, gleaming silver on the frosted grass, shining coldly on the grey stone of the convent buildings. Just before they reached the gate, Molly turned to Sarah and said, “Sarah, would you mind if Tom and I had a private word? It won’t be long, I promise,” and, seeing Sarah was about to protest, added, “We won’t go out of sight, honestly.”

  Sarah knew she should say no, they must go in, but the look on Molly’s face was such that she said instead, “Only a minute, Molly. It’s freezing out here.” She moved closer to the gate, turning away from them and hugging herself into her winter coat, but she did not go through.

  At once Tom produced a small parcel from his pocket. “Happy Christmas, Molly,” he said handing it to her.

  “Oh Tom,” her eyes filled with tears, “oh Tom, I’ve nothing for you.”

  Tom took both her hands and said, “That doesn’t matter, Molly. You’re here, that’s what matters. That’s all that matters. Go on, open it.”

  Molly unwrapped the little parcel and found, wrapped carefully in tissue paper, a silver bracelet, plain silver links held together by a clasp in the shape of a heart. She held it up so that it caught the light and then looked up at Tom with shining eyes.

  “Oh Tom,” she breathed, “it’s beautiful. Oh, thank you, thank you. Where did you get it?” She held out her wrist to him and he slipped it on, clicking the clasp shut with a snap.

  “Bought it off a bloke,” he replied. “But it’s not what I wanted to give you,” he went on, still holding her hand in his.

  “Isn’t it?” She glance up at him enquiringly. “I think it’s beautiful.”

  He possessed himself of both her hands and drew her towards him, looking down into her upturned face. “No,” he replied. “I wanted to give you a ring. Molly, my darling girl, I’ve been called up for a medical board.” He placed a finger on her lips as she cried out in dismay. “It’s on the 2nd January. If they pass me as fit, and I’m sure they will, I’ll have to leave a few days after. Before I go—” He hesitated uncertainly again. “You know I love you, Molly, don’t you?” Molly nodded and he went on, “I wanted to ask you, please, Molly, my darling, darling girl, will you marry me when this…” he bit off the vicious words he might have used, and simply said, “…when this war is over?”

  Molly’s face suffused with such joy that Tom’s heart jolted within him and he caught her to him, hearing her say as he did so, “Not after the war, Tom, now. I’ll marry you tomorrow.”

  Sarah, waiting close by but out of earshot saw the embrace and her heart was troubled. She knew she should not be countenancing this clandestine meeting between Molly and Tom. If Reverend Mother knew… and what would happen to Molly? Tom must be recalled at any time now. But when she saw Molly’s radiant face as she rejoined her by the convent gate, she swallowed the comment she had been about to make and only said, “Come on, Molly, we must get back inside.”

  Upstairs in the safety of their room, Molly, still glowing with happiness showed Sarah the little silver bracelet and told her that she and Tom were to be married.

  Despite her growing reservations and misgivings, Sarah hugged her and said, “I’m very happy for you, Molly.” She listened as Molly poured out her happiness, and Sarah’s only caution was to say nothing of it to anyone in the convent.

  “I think Reverend Mother wouldn’t approve,” she warned, “and if you say anything to anyone else it will surely get back to her.”

  Molly, who didn’t care if Reverend Mother approved or not, agreed cheerfully. “The only problem is that Tom’s been called up for a medical board. If they pass him fit he’ll leave the next week. I want us to get married before he goes.”

  “Molly, dear, Molly,” Sarah sighed, “I doubt if that is possible.”

  It
wasn’t. On the next Sunday evening, their last together before Tom had to leave, they sought Robert Kingston out after the service.

  “We want to get married,” Molly told him. Tom, less forthright, said, “I’ve asked Molly to marry me, and she’s said yes.”

  The padre smiled, but worry lurked in his eyes. This was his fault, he realised. He had allowed them to meet in his presence, and now with the pressure of the war they were trying to rush into marriage when, he felt, neither knew the other at all.

  “Congratulations, Tom,” he said, shaking his hand. “You’re a lucky man.” Turning to Molly he said, “I hope you will be very happy.”

  Molly had wanted to get married straightaway, but Tom was against it. “What would happen if I got wounded?” he said. “You might be tied to a blind man or a cripple for the rest of your life.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if it was you,” avowed Molly.

  “My darling, I know you think you wouldn’t,” Tom replied gently, “but you might come to mind, and I couldn’t bear that, for either of us. We should wait till the war is over.”

  “The war will never be over,” Molly said petulantly.

  “It will one day. Molly, I want us to be together, to be married with a home and a family. I’ve never had a family and I want us to be one more than anything in the world.”

  “I want that too,” Molly cried. “Oh Tom, I want that so much.”

  “I might be killed and you’d be left. I don’t want you to be a widow, Moll.”

  “If you’re being that morbid,” Molly said quickly, “if you’re going to think like that, you might be killed anyway, and then we’d never be married at all. We have to live for now, Tom. There may not be a tomorrow.” At last she had persuaded him at least to speak to the padre, but now Molly could see that, despite his congratulations, Robert Kingston was not happy with what had happened.

  “I’m afraid I can’t marry you, just like that,” he said quietly. “You need a licence, and there’s no time for that. But that is not the only issue here. You’ve known each other a very short while…”