by Ruby Jackson
‘Wouldn’t it be nice if there was snowdrops and crocuses under them trees?’ said Flora in an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.
‘I’m sure there will be, Mum, and daffodils,’ said Rose, and she took her mother’s hand as they walked into the hospital.
*
Their parents stopped to talk to the sister on duty and Rose and George walked on into the ward.
Nothing she had been told had prepared her for her first sight of her handsome brother. Once tall, broad-shouldered and slender, he was now barely recognisable. Even his face had shrunk; the skin, bruised and discoloured, now stretched across his cheekbones, and bandages still hid the damage the explosion had done to the left side of his face. She could make out the long thin lines of his body under the utilitarian blanket. How many of his mother’s nourishing meals would it take to return Phil to the young man he had been? No matter how many, he would never look as he had looked – for how could an ear be replaced, or an arm? She saw the pyjama sleeve pinned to the chest of his jacket and faced reality.
‘Hello, Rose.’ His voice was a whisper.
She bent down and kissed his undamaged cheek. ‘Dear Phil, I’m sorry I couldn’t get here before.’
‘There’s a war on, love,’ he said, and twisted the stretched skin into what passed for a smile. Bravely she tried to return it.
‘Bit of a shock for you, Rose. Sorry, love.’
She took his hand. ‘No, I’m sorry.’
‘Me too. I really wanted to finish the war an admiral. Our navy has no idea what it’s missed.’
‘’Course it has, Phil.’
‘Our Rose has a Yank for a boyfriend, Phil. What do you think of that?’
Rose was astonished. Had the child George ever met Phil before the war? If he had, it was likely that Phil had chased him off for being cheeky. Here they were now, talking and joking…like brothers.
‘Tell me everything you haven’t told Mum,’ said Phil as he squeezed her hand.
‘George.’
‘I can keep my mouth shut.’
‘He grew up in Washington DC and spent the summers in a place called Cos Cob, which is in Connecticut.’
‘And? George, give Rose a hand to get me sitting up.’
‘Can’t, Phil. The old dragon’s prowling. We’ll have to wait for Mum and Dad Petrie. Here they come – and the dragon’s with them.’
The dragon? Rose smiled. Nothing changed. She had had a teacher whom they called the Dartford Dragon. And now George had created a dragon. She was surprised to see that ‘the dragon’ was a nurse who was no more than five feet in height and with a very pretty face, set off, like a priceless cameo in a perfect frame, by her severely tied-back red hair. She ignored Rose.
‘Let’s get you up for your visitors, Phil. Your sister,’ she said, nodding over at Rose, ‘will give me a hand to lift you. He’s heavier than he looks,’ she said to Rose, ‘and aren’t we all since your mam keeps bringing in these delicious tarts?’
A few minutes later, Phil was sitting up against a bank of blindingly white pillows.
‘Don’t stay too long today, please. I don’t want him disturbed or tired out. We’ve got a very special man coming in to see him; some of the other lads too, of course. He’s called a plastic surgeon and Doctor thinks he’ll be able to help Phil.’ She smiled at Phil and her face softened dramatically. ‘You can tell the family about new strides in medicine, can’t you, Phil?’ She nodded and moved off down the ward.
‘As if I’d exhaust my own son,’ said Flora huffily.
‘What’s this about a surgeon, lad? Haven’t you had all the surgery you need?’
‘This is different, Dad; it’s a bit of a new…well, not exactly new, but there’s been great strides in surgery because of this war. It was the poor air force lads; so many of them got horrifically burned when their planes went down. Some very clever doctor – a New Zealander, I think, but he’s working over here now – Dr Archibald McIndoe, I think, and other doctors have been working out how to repair burned faces…other bits too. The consultant here has asked this man to take a look at my face.’ He saw the expression of hope and joy flash across his mother’s face. ‘Mum, no. He can’t work miracles. Maybe he’ll decide he can’t do anything that’ll make a difference. But maybe he can make me an artificial ear; maybe he can remove some of these bloody awful scars. They graft undamaged skin from other parts of the body, very skilful. That’ll be miracle enough for me.’ He relaxed against the pillows, as if talking so much had tired him, and closed his eyes.
‘Can he make you an arm, Phil?’
Phil opened his eyes and smiled at George. ‘Wouldn’t that be something, George? But no, that’s a miracle too much at the moment, although these docs are working on creating limbs. You’ll see, but in the meantime you’ll have to be my helper.’
‘I will. I’ll be your left hand and your left ear, and maybe I could join the navy and finish your work for you—’
‘Time for a cup of tea, Phil,’ Fred interrupted their conversation as he saw that, although Phil was smiling at the young hero worshipper’s enthusiasm, Flora was becoming upset. ‘Rose, love, why don’t you and Mum go and have a cuppa, and when you come back, me and George’ll go?’
Rose stood up. ‘Great idea, Dad. Are we allowed to bring Phil one?’
‘A beautiful nurse’ll bring me one soon, Rose, and with a slice of Mum’s tart. Go on, you two. The men need to talk football.’
It was obvious that Flora wanted to stay beside her son. ‘Come on, Mum, if we go, we can have Phil all to ourselves when we send Dad and George away.’
‘It should never have happened. My boy, my lovely boy.’
To Rose it seemed that the more casual Phil was about his injuries, the more their mother became concerned. Sam had written to Rose a few weeks after they had heard of Phil’s injury and had told her that Phil was lucky to be alive, so close had he been to the magazine that had exploded.
His injuries are pretty awful, Rose, and it will take a long time for him to recover enough to handle any type of work. But, to be frank, I’m gratefully amazed that he’s alive. The other two sailors near him were blown to bits, poor sods. We’ll try to keep that from Mum.
Rose was more and more of the opinion that it would be far better for her mother to be told of the deaths. Her son was alive. Injured, but alive.
‘I never thought I’d get angry with George,’ Flora admitted when she and Rose were sitting down in the hospital canteen. ‘He was wonderful with my Sam, followed him everywhere like a puppy, fetching and carrying, but Sam has both arms.’
‘So George will be even more help to Phil, Mum.’
‘I’m all the help my son needs. Who’s better to look after a child than his mother? No one.’
‘This tea isn’t too bad.’ Rose looked around the canteen: basic chairs, basic tables, posters on the walls, some concerned with hygiene, but many exhorting people to save food, mend their clothes, and to be especially careful when talking to strangers. Not too unlike any military canteen she had ever been in.
‘What does George want to do, Mum?’ Better perhaps to change the subject.
‘He’s working a few days for us and a day and a half or more on the farm with Alf. Miss Partridge would like him to take some exams. You know she’s been giving him lessons since he left school and she thinks he could get passes in English and arithmetic and stuff. If he got these certificates, she says he could get into a college of some kind.’
‘And what do you and Dad think?’
‘He’s part of our family, Rose, a very special part, and we’ll do our best for him.’
‘You and Dad are absolutely wonderful. Does Miss Partridge think George is clever enough to go to a university?’
‘She wants to help him do something. Seems she wanted to go to a university but her father said that it was too unfeminine. Can you imagine, education unfeminine? I just hope she’s not living her life through George, but if he’s as bright
as she says…Daisy says Tomas could talk to him, or Dr Fischer – if he ever gets to come home. Now we’d best get back, just in case that doctor person comes.’
‘Just a second, Mum. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Brad earlier; there really wasn’t anything to tell. I’m still wondering how I could be in love with someone I hardly ever see. It was so unexpected.’
Flora smiled and it was a really warm Mum smile. ‘That’s what love does, pet, creeps up on you.’
‘You don’t mind that he’s an American, Mum?’
‘’Course I do. I wanted you and Daisy to find nice husbands here in Dartford, but the world is a different place these days.’ Flora looked over at the long counter on which were placed breads, scones, small slices of cheese and carefully measured servings of tart or cake, but they were of no interest to her. ‘This damned, damned war,’ she said. ‘It’s changed everything, and I have to accept the changes. My Ron dead; Sam – well, look at everything that happened to my Sam; and now my Phil is disabled.’
‘He could have been killed, Mum. He was so lucky.’
‘Lucky?’ Flora almost gasped. ‘How can you say that he’s lucky? He’s deaf and has only one arm. The pain my son has suffered.’
‘But two lads who were standing beside him are dead, Mum.’
Flora covered her mouth with both hands, turned and almost ran from the canteen. Rose followed her.
Damn, damn, damn. Why did I say that? Because she should know, because she should be grateful, accept what’s happened – and deal with it.
Fred and George realised that the cup of tea had solved nothing. Painfully aware of that, Rose hoped that Phil had noticed nothing of the troubled atmosphere.
‘Off you go for a nice cup, Fred, George. They have some fairly fresh-looking pieces of fruitcake.’
‘No, thanks, love, don’t fancy hospital baking. George and me are looking forward to our pub meal, isn’t that right, George?’
‘Right,’ agreed George at once.
‘What’s up, you two? You’ve both got faces that would frighten babies.’ The low voice came from the wounded man on the bed.
Flora moved her chair closer to her son and took his hand. ‘Thanks very much, Philip Petrie. Your mum and your sister were just agreeing that we are very lucky to have you back with us. Other families have not been so lucky.’ Her eyes sparkling with held-back tears, Flora tried to smile across the bed to where her daughter sat.
The sharp sound of leather-soled shoes on the corridor floor alerted the family to the arrival of more than one person.
The dragon opened the door and followed a man into the ward.
‘Mr and Mrs Petrie, I’d like to have a look at this young man here.’ The man who spoke was about Rose’s height but, since he had a natural stoop, he seemed shorter. He had very little hair, a large nose and round, friendly eyes. He held out his hand to Flora. ‘Miles Hart,’ he said, ‘I’ll take great care of your lad, Mrs Petrie, if you’d all take a seat in the corridor for a few minutes…Mr Petrie…’ and he shook hands with Fred too.
The family walked to the door and Rose clearly heard, ‘Well, haven’t you got a beautiful sister,’ before the swing door closed behind them.
‘Beautiful,’ said George as he scrutinised his foster sister. ‘Well, I’ve never thought of it, but I suppose he’s right, Rose.’
‘Of course he’s right,’ said Fred, ‘but what’s important is what he’s doing to our Phil.’
‘Just an examination of his injuries, I would think, Dad.’
‘Nice man,’ said Flora. ‘He’s the first one ever to tell me his name, or shake hands with me. What do you think, Fred?’
‘He knows how to put folk at their ease, love. What’s important is – how good is he at his job?’
‘…something in the man reminds you of him.’
‘I’d trust him anywhere,’ said Rose quietly.
Miles Hart did not keep the family waiting long. Less than fifteen minutes later the dragon ushered them back into the ward.
‘We can repair a bit of the damage,’ Mr Hart told them. ‘It will take some time. It’s rather delicate surgery and Phil has some healing to do before we can start, but we’re going to work together, right, Phil?’
Phil held out his hand and the surgeon grasped it. ‘I’d like to have a look at a few other lads in this ward but I’ll be back, Phil. Mr and Mrs Petrie, Miss Petrie, George.’ He nodded to them and, accompanied by the smiling dragon, walked off down the ward to disappear behind some screens around a bed.
‘Repair? What does he mean repair, Phil?’ asked Flora, as George was trying to come to terms with hearing a real live surgeon call him by his name.
‘He didn’t tell me what he can do, Mum; he’s going to talk to another surgeon, maybe even this really famous chap, and he has preparatory work to do. I don’t know what that means but I’m prepared to trust him. The boy in that bed is in a really bad way; he was a pilot. Believe me, I am very lucky compared to him.’
Flora sank back into her chair; when Rose went over and took her hand, Flora held on to her daughter as if to a lifeline.
‘It’ll be a while then, lad?’
‘I think so, Dad.’
‘And if you don’t mind, my patient needs to rest now. He’s had a very busy morning.’
George’s ‘dragon’, as always, had the last word.
TWENTY-TWO
Rose, honey, the 4th Armored Division has arrived. We’ve been waiting for them for some time but now we’ll get moving. Moving, as in going to the place where we can do what we’ve been trained to do. Right now it must seem to the nice people of this very lovely corner of your ‘green and pleasant land’ that the entire military population of the United States is coming to visit. Farmers complain that we requisition their land, and if we don’t do that, they can’t drive a truckload of potatoes or cattle anyplace but ‘those damned Yanks’ hold them up. Can’t say I blame them, but I know they’ll forgive us for ploughing up their fields when…we succeed in what we came to do.
I remember you said you were hoping to visit with your folks for a few days and so I hope that, by now, you’re back in the London area and maybe we can get a few hours together. Surely there must be one day when we can steal a little time, not to stroll in our lovely park – too cold!!! – but maybe to have a meal together, go to a tea dance somewhere. The Ritz? Dad’s back in DC and so we wouldn’t run into him although a big part of me wants to walk right up to their front door and yell, ‘Hey, Mom, Dad, I want you to meet the most beautiful girl in the world.’ One day soon? You haven’t changed your mind? You’re still wearing the ring? Forgive me, but I so envy that little chunk of gold.
I had a call from my folks Christmas Day and I was going to tell them, got myself all primed and then Mom started to sniffle a little and then did that: ‘Oh why isn’t my only child here at home with his mother on Christmas Day?’
I want a picture of you, dearest Rose. I have you in my head and in my heart but it’s nice for a guy to pull out his billfold and see the girl of his dreams in there. That reminds me, Arvizo sends his love. Gladys wrote that she feels she’s too old for him. Threw him for a loop. To be honest, he’s been in love at least ten times since the first day I met him, but Gladys was different. Any thoughts?
He finished by writing the dates when he thought he was free to travel up to London, adding that he hoped Rose would be free on at least one.
Rose made a conscious effort to hear his voice as she read, and so, when she finally folded up the letter and put it away, his deep, soft voice still echoed in her head.
The crushed might of Germany was still trying to prove world superiority and, while on duty, Rose had twice had to take refuge with her passengers in a shelter as the droning of approaching bombers could be heard. Once she was taken completely by surprise.
She was driving a British politician and a Polish army officer to a meeting and no one heard the approaching plane or even the air-raid warning. The car
, a Wolseley, seemed to lift completely off the ground, shuddered a little, and then skidded to a halt, half on, half off the pavement of a side street leading from the King’s Road.
My passengers, was Rose’s first thought. ‘Get down on the floor,’ she shouted, as a hail of bricks and slates rained down on the car, smashing the windscreen. Shattered glass embedded itself everywhere. Some pieces cut through Rose’s driving gloves and stuck in her hands, and she recoiled instinctively as a heavier stone hit her face. She threw open the driver’s door, got out, and pulled open the passenger door. The Polish officer was beside his companion, wiping blood from the politician’s forehead.
‘Are you all right, sir?’
‘A scratch, my dear,’ said the soldier. ‘We should be taking care of you. You are unhurt?’ He saw her face and then her gloves. ‘No, you are not.’ He helped his companion up. ‘Better to leave the car, old chap, in case more of the building falls on us. And you, Miss Driver, let me.’ He took out a clean handkerchief and gently wiped blood away from her cheek. ‘Lucky girl; a glancing blow, I think, and it will hurt for a time, but no real damage. Now let me see your hands. Come on, child. I am an army surgeon. I think I can mend a broken nose,’ he gestured to the politician, ‘and…’
Rose winced as he removed first the glass and then, very gently, what was left of her gloves.
He wrapped her left hand in a clean handkerchief. ‘This one will need a few stitches, but first, see, here is the wonderful Red Cross. Sit down, child, here on the pavement.’
‘My passengers?’
‘Both outrank you.’ The politician, his handkerchief still held to his nose, gestured to Rose to sit beside him on the pavement. ‘This is the first time I’ve been caught up in an…incident. Now I know what it is really like. Thank you. You are a remarkable young woman. My daughter would be in tears.’
