by Nancy Carson
But she could not keep the telegram unopened. It seemed to prickle her fingers, begging her to read it. Finally she plucked up the courage. She fell into a chair, shaking uncontrollably, tears flooding her eyes, a look of fearful apprehension on her face as she thrust her forefinger gingerly under the flap.
At first she could not believe what she read, so she read it again; then yet again. Ben was being sent home. He was alive. Thank God he was alive after all. But for some reason, perhaps because of some strange quirk in her nature, perhaps because of the unexpected joy she felt, the significance of the words ‘wounded in action’ did not have the full impact they might otherwise have had. Perhaps it was because she took it for granted that when he recovered he would be fit and active.
She wondered whether he would have changed after the atrocities he’d seen and suffered. It must have had some effect on him. The stories she heard about the changes in some men returning from the war were alarming, but she knew Ben to be level headed. She could hardly conceive of him being affected too badly.
She set about spring cleaning the house ready for his return. In Brown Street she bought wallpaper, and using paste made from flour and water, hung it on top of the old in their bedroom to brighten it up. She distempered the walls in the scullery so that it all looked fresh and clean, and while she worked her excitement mounted. She scrubbed the table, the red quarry tiled floor in the scullery and the oilcloth in the front room. She relined all the shelves in the cupboard, and at the top of the cellar steps. She begged a couple of Hessian bags from Percy Collins’s corner shop that had been used for storing potatoes. Washed and sewn together they made an ideal backing material for a rag rug, which she podged while the children were in bed.
At last the day arrived when Ben was due back home, and Lizzie told her young family as they sat eating breakfast.
‘Hip hip, hooray,’ Henzey yelled; then poignantly, asked: ‘What does my daddy look like, Mom?’
‘Oh, he’s tall and ever so handsome. You’ll remember him when you see him.’ Lizzie suppressed a tear. She had not considered that the children might have forgotten their father. Often she talked about him, but it had never once crossed her mind they might not be able to recall what he looked like. ‘When you get back from school,’ she continued, ‘I want you to be nice and quiet. No dancing about and making a noise. And no showing off, either. Your daddy’s poorly, that’s why he’s coming home, and we’ve got to make him well again. So he won’t want any noise at all. All right?’
Henzey agreed. ‘What’s the matter with him?’
‘Has one of his legs been shot off?’ Herbert asked, influenced by the type of talk he was used to hearing.
‘No, he’s still got both his legs, I’m sure, but I daresay he’ll have to rest for a week or two. So don’t get bothering him. Come on now, you two. It’s time you were off to school. Marge’ll be here in a minute.’
Marge ’Ardmate called two minutes later to accompany Henzey and Herbert to the Board School. Lizzie kissed them, told them to be good and to keep out of the horse road; she would see them at dinnertime with their father. Then she proceeded to clear away the breakfast things, dress Alice and Maxine, and finish the rest of the chores. Beccy Crump called round and said if there was anything she could do Lizzie only had to ask. She stayed for a cup of tea, then returned home with the curtains Lizzie had washed specially for Ben’s homecoming. Beccy had offered to iron them.
Lizzie couldn’t help looking at the black marble clock every few minutes to check the time. Even though she was in a spin the time seemed to drag. She was apprehensive and nervous. She didn’t know what to expect. Ben had been wounded in action, that was all she knew. She’d prayed and prayed that his wounds would not be too debilitating; that he would soon recover. If he hadn’t lost a limb she would give thanks to God. Yet despite all these fears she was excited, too. She hadn’t seen Ben for three and a half years, and she’d dreamed and fantasised about their reunion. She couldn’t help recalling how they met and fell hopelessly in love. She pondered the first fumbling time they made love, and afforded herself a smile. She recalled the day they married; how overjoyed they both were at the births of their children. And she wondered how soon it might be before another child was on the way, for it was certain that his return would sharpen both their appetites for love. After all, there was so much catching up to do, and Lizzie was looking forward to it with relish. She hoped desperately that it would be like it always used to be.
Shortly after half past ten May called to take Alice and Maxine out of the way and, at ten past eleven, Beccy returned with the curtains freshly ironed. She climbed onto the table with surprising agility to hang them back on their pole in the scullery, then went upstairs with Lizzie to help hang another pair in the bedroom. Lizzie thanked her wholeheartedly and wiped the windows, giving them a last minute buff.
She was satisfied the house was looking clean and fresh for Ben when she heard the steady thrum of a vehicle engine reverberating through the entry. She glanced at the clock again. It was five past twelve. The children would be back from school at any minute. She darted outside and, through the entry, saw the back end of an army truck in the street. Her heart leapt. She rushed down the entry and reached the truck just as the driver was climbing out of the cab.
‘Oh, are you Missus Kite?’ he asked when he saw her.
‘I am.’
‘We’ve brought your husband. We’ll soon have him in the house, my lover. He ain’t too grand, though. We’ll have to be steady with him.’
Another soldier emerged from the other side of the lorry and opened up the back. As they manoeuvred the stretcher and began to draw it out Lizzie could see the two peaks in the blanket made by Ben’s feet. A wave of relief rippled over her that he at least still had both his legs. She moved so she could see the rest of him. He was lying on his back, and all she could see were bandages. As the men began carrying him she saw his head and part of his face was bandaged. Lizzie shuddered. Ben opened his eyes, dull and sunken, but they seemed to light up at the sight of her.
She smiled, tears blurring her vision. ‘Oh, Ben … thank God you’re home.’ She reached out to touch him, but he was just about to be carried through the entry, so she had to wait.
As they reached the back yard the two men tried to turn the stretcher so that they could enter the house with it by the back door. But there wasn’t enough room. Lizzie went in before them and began shifting the chair closest to the door, to clear an access.
‘You’ll never get him up the stairs on that,’ Lizzie informed them.
So the soldiers laid the stretcher on the floor, and lifted Ben from it bodily. Lizzie noticed for the first time that he still had both arms as they hung limp from his shoulders; and indeed both hands. Thank God for that, too. His injuries must only be burns. As they carried him into the house Lizzie caught sight of Henzey, back from school, standing in the yard watching, a look of concern on her pretty young face. Lizzie smiled at her reassuringly.
One of the soldiers said, ‘Easy on, old mate, we’ll have you up them stairs in no time,’
Lizzie turned, opened the stairs door for them, and held it while the men struggled to convey Ben upstairs. She was longing to be alone with him, to hold him, to talk to him after so long. But she must wait. In the bedroom she turned back the crisp, clean sheets of the bed, so that the men could place Ben in it without further ado, and she noticed how he winced with pain as they laid him down.
‘Thank you ever so much,’ Lizzie said sincerely to the driver, while fussing round Ben to make him comfortable.
‘Our pleasure, Missus. He’ll be better off here than where he’s been. If you’d like to come back down to the lorry I’ll hand you the rest of his things.’
Lizzie smiled at her husband lovingly. She told him she’d only be a minute, and lingered reassuringly for a second before she followed the two men out to the truck. ‘Look after your daddy for me for a minute, while I go and get his things,�
� she whispered to Henzey, who had followed them all up the stairs.
Henzey stood and watched as her father, unaware that she was there, lay on top of the bed with his eyes shut. Tentatively, silently, she approached him, peering curiously at his face, trying to remember what he looked like beyond the bandages and the sores. Although she could not remember his face, she remembered how he used to toss her into the air and catch her just as she screamed with excitement, thinking she would hit the floor. It came back to her how he sometimes lifted her up and sat her on the back of Jesse Clancey's huge cart-horse when he brought their milk on a Sunday. She remembered how he used to take her on his bike, and she would have to sit on a cushion on the crossbar and hold onto his arms for dear life while he pedalled and steered. But she could not remember there ever being such a tortured look on his face. He had brought her joy, yet she had almost forgotten. As she got closer she leaned over the bed. For a few seconds she stood there and studied him. Then he shifted his head slightly and opened his eyes. She recoiled, then smiled tentatively as his eyes at once lit up with recognition, brightening his ashen face.
‘Henzey! Oh, my little precious,’ he gasped, and held his hand out to her. ‘God how you've grown.’
‘Daddy?’ she whispered.
She hesitated for just a second then threw her arms about his neck. His arms, once so strong, hugged her in return, and she heard him wheeze alarmingly close to her ear. A faint, sweet smell of hair-oil lingered and it was so familiar, yet she’d forgotten that too. Memories flooded back of how his stubbly beard used to scratch her face, and she expected it now; but there was no stubbly beard this time.
‘You’ll never know just how much I’ve missed you,’ he breathed, taking a good look at her.
She regarded him intently. His eyes were full and watery. He closed them again and a tear rolled down his left cheek.
‘Are you goin’ to get better?’ she asked, ‘so’s you can ride wi’ me on your bike again?’
He opened his eyes again and smiled. ‘You remember that, my pet?’ he murmured hoarsely, and she nodded. ‘Thank God you do.’
Downstairs, Lizzie put Ben’s bags down on the floor. She could sort his stuff out later. As they reached the top of the stairs she heard him talking to Henzey. He spoke with great difficulty, as if the effort was consuming all his breath. Lizzie further discerned how weak he sounded as she presented Herbert to Ben.
‘Hello, my handsome,’ Ben sighed, and reached out for his young son.
Herbert was reticent about going to his father. He did not know him. But Lizzie thrust him gently forward with a nod of encouragement.
‘D’you think they’ve grown, Ben?’
‘Unbelievable.’ He gently touched Herbert’s cheek. Herbert smiled shyly. He had no recollection of his father at all.
‘And you, our Lizzie. You still look beautiful. You’re all slender again, like when we got married.’
‘It’s hardly surprising I’m slender, worrying about you and this brood. It’s been a long three and a half years.’
‘Yes, but it’s over now, my flower.’ He coughed painfully. ‘I’m back home, and I’m going nowhere else … I’ve done my bit.’
Lizzie turned to Henzey. ‘Take Herbert round to your Aunt May’s, my pigeon. Your dinners will be ready. Alice and Maxine are already there. You can come back and see your daddy after. Now, I’m going to make him a nice cup of tea, and see if he wants anything to eat.’
Lizzie waited for the two children to disappear downstairs, then looked into Ben’s blue eyes for a few seconds. She felt her own eyes fill with tears as he held his arms open for her. She embraced him, held him tight, tighter, and started to shake uncontrollably with sobbing. It was such a relief to have him back, but her tears were a mixture of happiness and despair. For three and a half years she’d entertained thoughts, hopes, of a resumption of the life they knew before. In those thoughts she envisaged only a fit man, capable and ready to continue where they’d left off. All the time he was gasping for breath as if perpetually climbing a steep hill, and his skin was covered in those awful, hideous burns. She was not mentally prepared to see him returned in such a poor state. He was a shadow of the man that went away. But by God, she would do her best to help him get better. She owed it to him.
Ben felt her silently weeping as she leaned against him, holding him. He raised his arms and hugged her weakly. It was so good to feel the warmth of her body again; reassuring to see her so emotional for him. But Lizzie’s silent sobs turned into a howl. All at once too many emotions were tormenting her; the relief at having Ben back from the war after too long an absence, the distress of long-suffered loneliness, incessant worrying, despair, the added grief of her mother’s death, and the unassuaged guilt of one night of stolen love with another man.
‘God alone knows how much I’ve missed you, Ben,’ she wailed. ‘Nobody knows.’
‘Oh, Lizzie, my little flower.’ He spoke hoarsely, as if he had a bad chest and was trying not to induce a fit of coughing. ‘I’ve missed you as well. Sometimes, when I was in them trenches … I’d fall asleep and dream I was here with you, comfortable and warm, with the kids playing round us.’ He stopped to cough, and a look of agony twisted his face. ‘Your mother would be reading the paper and whispering every word, like she always did … and the fire would be roaring its head off up the chimney … Then I’d wake up, aching, stinking and soaking wet, with shells exploding all round me … and I’d feel ten times worse than when I fell asleep.’
‘Oh, Ben.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘Try to forget it. You’re home now. I’ll look after you.’
‘You’ve got enough to do, I should think … I won’t take much looking after, though. In a week or two I’ll be up and about … I ain’t one for lying abed.’
Before long all four children came up to see their father. He was growing tired, but he fussed them all, particularly Maxine, whom he had not seen before. He went to sleep during the afternoon, woke up and picked half-heartedly at fish and boiled potatoes with parsley sauce, then slept again.
When Lizzie slipped into bed with him that night there was no lovemaking. She barely slept, thinking about it, but noticed how disturbed Ben’s rest was. At one point he tried to get out of bed and she had to restrain him as he hoarsely tried to shout warnings to imaginary comrades. Then he woke up, fighting for his breath, gulping desperately for air. She calmed him down, fetched a towel to mop up the sweat from his chest and face, and wondered how long this would go on.
Next day, she sent for Donald Clark.
‘So what do you reckon, Donald?’
Donald shook his head gravely, and accepted the cup of tea Lizzie handed him. As he took it she noticed how his hands were shaking.
‘Lizzie, you must remember that Ben’s experienced some traumas while he’s been in the trenches. Mentally he’s as sound as a bell, but don’t expect him to have perfectly restful nights. Not for a long time yet. The war’s had an effect on his mind as well as his body, and it’ll take time to get over it.’
‘What about his injuries? All those burns?’
‘They’re chemical burns, Lizzie. Mustard gas. I’m hopeful they’ll heal satisfactorily, but they’re likely to leave awful scars. But more significantly, his lungs have been irreparably damaged by breathing in the gas. Inside there’ll be blisters similar to those on his face – perhaps even worse. Frankly, I doubt if his poor lungs will ever recover. He might never work again, Lizzie.’
‘Never?’
‘Nor even have the breath to walk more than a few yards at a time. I’m so sorry, Lizzie.’
‘Oh, my God. This is terrible. I can’t believe it.’
She sank into a chair, devastated. First it was one thing, then another. As if she hadn’t had enough to contend with while he’d been away. Now this. Had she been so wicked that God had to punish her like this? And punish Ben, after he’d been so brave? Gassing was something she had never considered. It was inconceivable that the enemy could use must
ard gas on her poor husband.
‘There’s nothing that can be done for him that I know of, except to see that he doesn’t overtax himself. Rest and quiet is what he needs above all, and rest and quiet he must have.’
‘Quiet might be a bit hard to find in this house with four kids, Donald.’
‘I know, Lizzie, and I certainly don’t advocate making the children’s lives a misery by shushing ’em up all the time. They’ll all be at school soon enough. The days’ll be quiet then.’ His cup chinked on the saucer as he replaced it. ‘Nobody can yet tell the long-term effects gassing will have had. Little is known. God knows what an evil weapon it is to inflict on your fellow man. Not only are his lungs ruined, making it difficult and painful to breathe, but he might well suffer from excruciating headaches as well. For all we know he might lose his sight in due course. There’s no sign of it at this stage, though, thank goodness. Trouble is, we just can’t be sure. But we must be prepared. It’s only fair, Lizzie, that I forewarn you of the possibilities.’
This was vastly worse than Lizzie had anticipated. Returning from the war with all his limbs intact was of no use at all if he had no decent lungs to breathe the air God had provided. He might never work again; barely able to walk more than a few yards at a time. Poor, poor Ben. He would be an invalid for the rest of his days if what Donald said was correct. The injustice of it all! After he’d so willingly volunteered for service, to return a spent man, ruined for the sake of his country. It was a sin. He deserved better. He deserved a hero’s welcome. He’d given himself for his country.
