by Ruby Jackson
‘I’m in the ATS, sir,’ said Rose, as if that explained her stoicism.
‘And so will have a little cry later, doctor’s orders.’ The doctor had been talking to the rescue services and had returned with two cups of sweet tea and a blanket that he wrapped around Rose’s shoulders. ‘The building, Deo gratias, was empty, but there are one or two casualties – unfortunate shoppers – and I will help there. No meeting for us today, Charles. The police will take you both home, but our so-clever driver first to a hospital for the little repair.’
Rose said goodbye and, aware that she was now reacting to the shock and emotion, sat quietly beside the politician as they drank the very sweet tea.
‘What will I do about the car?’ she heard herself say.
‘Don’t worry, Miss…what is your name?’
‘Petrie, sir. Corporal Petrie, Rose.’
‘It will be taken back to your base, Rose. I may call you Rose?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The surgeon general and I think you did an absolutely splendid job and we’ll say so. You remained remarkably calm, especially when you found us rolling around on the floor bleeding. I think I’d have laughed. Hope I would have – pillars of the establishment, ends up.’
Rose wanted to smile but her skin hurt. ‘One day, maybe,’ she said.
‘Good girl. Now here’s a nice fellow come to take you to the hospital. Take care of yourself.’
The policeman helped Rose to her feet and, wrapped in her blanket, she was taken to the nearest hospital where her hands were treated. As the Polish doctor had said, only one cut needed a stitch; the others were properly cleaned and bandaged.
‘In a day or two, you may drive if it’s absolutely necessary,’ said the emergency-department doctor, ‘but no fixing engines, changing tyres. All right?’
As Rose thanked him and left, she wondered how she was to get back to base. A car was drawn up at the front of the hospital.
Good Lord, Carter.
The warrant officer strode up to the door. ‘Well, Petrie, another of the Government’s fleet of cars out of action, thanks to your driving. Well, come on, girl, get in the car.’
Rose, tired and still in some pain, was speechless. Of all the knights in shining armour she had conjured up out of her imagination, WO Carter was the last on a long list. She was even more stunned when he opened the door for her. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she managed.
‘My first thought was to tell them to send you home – as far as possible, on the Underground. Nice and safe, that is, the deeper you go down, but we’d still have had to fetch you from the station.’
Still Rose stayed silent.
‘Cheer up, Petrie, I’m only joking. The commander rang us – does that bloke ever sleep, I ask myself – but he said, “Fetch her, Carter; she’s worth the petrol.” You’re not going to be sick on me, are you? You’ve gone all peculiar.’
Rose shook her head.
‘Delayed shock, I expect. A few days in sick bay’ll do you the world of good.’
‘But I—’ Rose began to protest.
‘Doctor’s orders – from the hospital.’
Rose had to admit that lying down in a quiet room for two days was a welcome experience. Girls from her billet were allowed to make short visits and each one came carrying a small gift. Even, on one occasion, Agatha brought a rather wizened orange. ‘I think it’s for marmalade, Rose, so maybe a bit sour. Put some sugar on it.’
But the best offering of all was a postcard from Taunton in Devon.
Hi, honey, checked your schedule yet? Guess what, we just discovered this stuff called ginger beer. I could become addicted – but not as much as I am to you.
As always, B
Rose held the postcard close, so that it touched the place where Brad’s class ring was hidden. From feeling definitely groggy and weak, she became invigorated. What a joy to be loved. She had some suitable dates and she would write to Brad immediately.
What should she wear? It was still winter and so a new spring frock, which she did not have but would enjoy finding, was out of the question. Should she wear her dress uniform? Would Brad be in uniform? She could wear uniform with a civilian coat. Which coat? Certainly not the Teddy Bear. Mum had not needed her coupons to buy clothes for the sprouting George and so she would have plenty for a new coat. For a new coat she would need new shoes.
Rose looked at her face in the mirror. She was pale and her eyes seemed to have sunk deeper into her head, but at least there were no bad cuts or ugly bruises still showing from the accident. She would tell Brad about it when they met; for he would, of course, see her bandaged left hand, the same hand that had been injured in the bombing of the Vickers munitions factory early in the war.
‘I’m feeling so much better, Nurse,’ she told the army nurse who was taking her temperature a few hours later.
‘Good. That’s what we like to hear.’
‘I’m sure I’m perfectly capable of going back on duty. We’re understaffed, Nurse, and there is so much to do.’
The nurse laughed. ‘Take your place at the end of the queue, Rose. We’re all overworked and understaffed. Now, be a good girl and stick to fixing broken-down cars, and I’ll be a good nurse and stick to fixing broken-down ATS girls.’
‘But I really need to buy new shoes. My boyfriend’s coming up to see me in a week or two and I haven’t a thing to wear.’ And then Rose remembered that Brad wanted her to have a photograph taken. How wonderful it would be to have one of him too. She sighed. ‘And do I want to have my picture taken in uniform? I’d love to have a new frock for spring, and he mentioned a tea dance. Is it acceptable to wear uniform to a tea dance?’
‘Considering a stray bomb did its best to kill you, I’m sure soldier-boy won’t care what you’re wearing in the picture. And, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a bloody war on, so anything decent is acceptable – even in posh places like the Ritz.’
Rose looked at the nurse in astonishment. ‘How did you know he’s a soldier?’
‘War, love. Everybody’s boyfriend’s in uniform. I thought RAF for yours.’
‘That’s my twin sister. Brad’s American infantry.’
‘Some people have all the luck. Got any chums, your Yank?’
‘I’m sure he has, but he’s nowhere near London.’
‘But he’s coming to London. Maybe he could bring a friend? Only joking. Besides, my last three afternoons off were cancelled at the last minute. I swear if the commander-in-chief himself was to ask me to lunch, there would be a blinking emergency.’
‘Would you want to have lunch with the C-in-C?’
‘No, I’d be petrified, but I bet the food would be good.’
‘I don’t know when my friend is coming. I have to write to tell him when I’m free, but I’ll ask.’
‘I’m no longer fussy. Male. Yes, that’s about it. Male. Unmarried, preferably.’ She looked at the watch pinned to her blouse. ‘Got to go. Get back into bed and enjoy being waited on. I’ll talk to the doctor about discharge tomorrow.’ She whisked round and was gone.
Rose spent the evening writing letters; the first one was to Brad. She told him about the incident but made light of it, taking more time to tell him about her two passengers.
‘They weren’t at all pompous, Brad,’ she wrote, thinking that was exactly what she had thought about Brad’s own father: ‘not at all pompous’. She told him about Nurse Colner, who had had no leave for weeks because of emergencies and added, ‘Maybe Arvizo is coming to London with you.’ That reminded her that Gladys had not answered her last letter, and so she asked if Arvizo had heard from her, and then she told him about Phil’s progress and filled the rest of the page with telling him how much she missed him and longed to see him.
Writing had cleared her mind too over the question of new clothes. She would write to Cleo and suggest that they meet for shopping and, if London prices were not too prohibitive, she would buy a spring-weight two-piece costume, a pretty blouse and th
e world’s most beautiful shoes – if they were not too expensive.
Agatha popped in on her way to tea later. ‘You look much better, Rose. I wish I could say it was the orange that did it, but what’s the secret? A man? You’ve heard from Brad?’
Rose laughed. ‘Time, I think, Agatha, and being waited on hand and foot. You should try it some time. I wrote some letters, and I made plans to go shopping.’
‘Oxford Street’s the place, if it’s still standing. I haven’t been up to town in ages. Last time I was there, there was so much smoke and dust, I couldn’t see a thing. Grey air always makes me ever so depressed. What’s it like, driving?’
‘There are pros and cons. There’s much less traffic. Hardly any private cars and that’s a blessing; some buses, trams, sometimes a few delivery vans but nothing like it used to be. Some pavements are busy in the city, where there are shops still open for business. Shopkeepers are wonderful, though. Even when the shop’s been damaged, had the windows blown out no matter how well they were taped up, there they are, trying to keep everything clean and tidy. I am so grateful I never saw the aftermath of the Blitz.’
‘I did, and that’s why I can’t bring myself to visit. I went up on a school trip when I was sixteen and I fell in love with London. Glorious buildings, beautiful parks, wide roads, sometimes with beautiful soldiers on beautiful horses, the river running so wide and slow through it, and all those bridges; it has to be, I mean, it was the most beautiful city in the world.’
‘They’ll rebuild it, Agatha. After all, it got burned down once before, didn’t it?’
‘I suppose so. Wish I hadn’t remembered the soldiers. A lot of them will be dead now.’
Rose looked at her friend closely. There were tears sparkling in her eyes, which had dark circles under them. She was pale and looked tired. ‘When did you last have some leave, Agatha? This isn’t like you; it’s exhaustion talking. What can we do to cheer you up?’
Jeremy? Like an arrow from a bow, a thought flew into Rose’s memory – from weeks ago, when Agatha had said that she would not like Warrant Officer Carter to open ‘Jeremy’s’ letters. But that was all she had said and Jeremy had never been mentioned since.
‘I’m sorry, Rose. I knew I was a misery and I thought: I’ll go to see Rose; she’ll cheer me up, and now I’ve depressed both of us. The vicar at the service I went to last Sunday said the end is in sight. Some people started to cry, thinking he meant the end of the world – and sometimes it looks like that, doesn’t it, all the big holes where houses used to be? – but he meant that the war will soon be over. Do you think he’s right, that it will soon be over?’
‘Yes. Look at this bombing; nothing like the Blitz. In Dartford, it was almost every day and night for months. My brother says the enemy has hardly any planes left.’ She smiled, her thoughts turning again to Brad and the other American and Canadian soldiers who were in the country. ‘We’re not alone, Agatha. My sister’s fiancé is a Czechoslovakian pilot and he’s with the RAF, and there are lots of others. My brother’s fiancée, a Land Girl, knows Polish pilots, all fighting with us.’ She blushed. ‘And there are the Americans and Canadians, Australians and New Zealanders. They haven’t invaded us; they’re here to help.’
‘But what are they doing?’
‘I don’t know. Brad doesn’t say and I don’t ask. But we have to trust our Government, Mr Churchill and the others. They won’t let us down, Agatha. You’ll see. I hope they’ll let me go back to work tomorrow, and if they do I’ve got Saturday afternoon off. I plan to meet my friend Cleo. We met in basic training and she works right in London. Come with us. We’ll go shopping and maybe have tea in a restaurant; doesn’t that sound nice?’
‘London isn’t the same, Rose.’
‘Of course it is, under all the dirt. The real London’s still there. Maybe Prue will be free too. We could have a girls’ day out. And when we get back in we can write and tell the lads what fun we’ve had without them. Brad and…Jeremy.’
Agatha put her head down on the rough hospital blanket on Rose’s bed and promptly burst into tears. Rose, who was, sadly, too familiar with loved ones in distress, had never before dealt with someone she did not know well but who was obviously unhappy, patted her back and tried to make soothing noises, until eventually Agatha gulped in air, blew her nose and asked, ‘Who told you about Jeremy?’
‘You mentioned him, don’t you remember, when I told you old Carter was threatening to read my letters? You said—’
Agatha did not let her finish. ‘No, no, I made that up. I wish Jeremy would write loving letters. He’s in North Africa. He hasn’t written for ages and so it’s impossible to know what’s going on. I don’t know where they are, what they’re doing, or what I can do to help him.’
‘Is he your boyfriend, Agatha?’
Agatha laughed, a harsh, horrid sound. ‘No, he’s not my boyfriend; he’s my husband, and he thinks it was all a mistake.’ She put her head down again and started sobbing.
Rose was stunned. He could not mean his marriage was a mistake, or could he?
Before she had a chance to ask, Nurse Colner returned to do her evening checks. She looked at the prostrate Agatha. ‘Oh dear, and what do we have here?’
‘My friend Agatha. She’s a little upset.’
‘Sit up, Agatha. Burying your head in the blanket won’t solve anything. I know what will, though. How about a cup of cocoa, just this once, for you and Rose here?’
‘Thank you, Nurse,’ said Rose over the sobbing Agatha’s supine form.
‘Come on, Agatha, sit up. We’re being treated like princesses here, so show Nurse you appreciate her efforts.’
Agatha gulped, blew her nose very loudly and sat down in the chair beside Rose’s iron bed. ‘I’m sorry, Rose, but I’ve really, really tried.’
‘Can you tell me anything? I have no idea whether or not I can help, but I’ll try. You’re married?’
Agatha sniffed loudly, dried her eyes, and admitted that she had been married for almost a year, and had been with her new husband for only two days of all that time.
‘We had a lovely wedding. Church was bombed out but we still wanted to get married there. We were both baptised there. Fire Brigade said nothing more was going to fall off, if we were quick, and we were. It was me and Jeremy, his mum, my mum and dad, and my cousin Lucy was bridesmaid. Some soldier who was passing was roped in as best man, since Guy, Jeremy’s brother, was posted two days before the wedding.’
‘That’s dreadfully sad, Agatha.’
‘It was lovely in a way. We had candles for light and the vicar’s son played ever so lovely music on his violin. Bach, I think he said it was. Beautiful. Then we went to the hotel and had a meal, and the cake was fabulous. I should show you the pictures; you’d think it cost the earth and a whole town’s coupons, but it was only a little sponge on the bottom, very nice. Everything else was cardboard and rice paper, painted to look like roses and such. The baker was a genius; looked like I’d got three tiers with ever such lovely decorations.’ She was quiet, lost in happy memories, and the nurse chose that moment to walk in with the cocoa.
‘Here you go, girls; it’s Bournville, the real thing, so don’t waste it. Feeling better?’ she finished by asking Agatha, who thanked her for the cocoa and said that she was fine.
Rose waited until the nurse went off on her rounds and then asked Agatha if she wanted to talk about her marriage or go and have her tea.
Agatha needed to talk, to tell someone friendly about how unhappy she was. ‘We had one day together and it was wonderful, and then Jeremy joined his regiment and I went back to my unit. That was what we’d agreed and it was fine for a few months although I missed him terribly. I waited for his letters, and when a letter didn’t come, oh God, Rose you can’t believe what I went through, wondering if he was dead or horribly wounded or captured.’
‘Must have been dreadful.’
‘Oh, an unmarried girl can’t begin to know what it’s like when th
e person you love more than anyone or anything in the world isn’t in touch. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat.’
‘But he has been writing?’
‘Oh, yes, he writes, but it’s weeks and weeks between and they’re so miserable. He says it was wrong for us to marry when he was going off to war. Selfish of him, he says, because he’s tied me up and now he’s worrying about me and before he only had to worry about his mum. What will happen to us if he’s killed, he asks. In his last letter he said it would be worse if he’s terribly injured. He’s seen soldiers with no legs, and blind ones, and oh, I just can’t bear any more.’
Rose was appalled and the worst part was that she had no idea what to say. ‘Does he want to end your marriage, Agatha?’ she managed at last. ‘Drink up Nurse Colner’s lovely cocoa. Goodness, we’ve let it get cold.’
Agatha drank her cocoa and stood up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything…’ She burst into tears again. ‘But I had to tell somebody.’
‘You’ll have to leave, miss. I can’t have you upsetting my patients.’
‘It’s all right, Nurse Colner, really. I’m fine. It’s poor Agatha I’m worried about. Her husband’s having a really hard time.’
‘Everybody’s having a hard time, love, and we all have to make the best of it. Some of us get it worse than others.’
‘Agatha, tell Nurse, maybe she’ll know what you should say to your Jeremy.’
‘I’ve heard most of it already, Rose. How old’s your bloke, pet?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Well, that’s your answer; he’s young. If you want him, tell him you do, no matter how he comes back, just as long as he comes back. He’s scared. Everybody’s scared. Mind you, he sounds like a nice lad, if he feels he shouldn’t have tied you to him while there was a war on.’
‘But I wanted to get married. I love him.’
‘Then sit down and write to tell him that. Tell him you love him, you’re glad every minute of every day that you married him and you’ll wait for him, no matter how long you have to wait till you’re together. Tomorrow, write the same letter, and on the tomorrow after that. Men are little kids really. Go on, go and write a letter and don’t come back tomorrow if you haven’t written it.’