by Rosie Harris
On her nineteenth birthday, when the only card she received was the one left on the kitchen-table by Aunt Julia, she arrived at Bulpitts with a lump in her throat. She knew that when any of the other nurses had a birthday they organized an impromptu party and that she could have done the same. Even though she generally treated both fellow staff and patients with cool reserve, they would have joined in, yet she had said nothing.
New nurses tended to laugh behind her back because she was so reserved. At the same time, they treated her with grudging respect, admiring the way she turned aside invitations and mild flirtations without any of the men resenting her attitude.
Aunt Julia was forever trying to persuade her to have some sort of social life.
‘You don’t suppose Adam refuses to go for a drink in the NAAFI, or mess, or wherever it is they relax, just because you’re not there, do you?’
‘It just doesn’t appeal to me.’ Helen shrugged.
‘There’s no need to become a recluse or a martyr,’ Aunt Julia told her drily. ‘When Adam comes home you want to establish right from the start that you intend keeping your own friends and interests.’ Her face relaxed into a smile. ‘Maybe that’s why I never got married. I couldn’t bring myself to sacrifice my independence. Mind you,’ she added tartly, ‘you might feel the same way yourself when you’ve lived with Adam for two or three years and discovered just how selfish men can be.’ She sighed. ‘Take a lesson from your own parents. If your mother had been firmer with your father over financial matters then you might not have ended up penniless. And,’ she added darkly, ‘I would say you are lucky that it is just penniless and not in debt.’
Helen had quickly changed the subject. She knew she was on dangerous ground. The home she’d grown up in and loved so dearly, was now occupied by strangers. Other children scampered in the garden and people talked about ‘young Dr Peterson’ instead of Dr Price as they had done before.
She was grateful to Aunt Julia for letting her make her home at Willow Cottage, but she yearned for Adam to come home so that they could have a place of their own.
In moments of despondency, when the war news was particularly depressing, or when she hadn’t heard from Adam for several weeks, Helen sometimes wondered if she should have listened to her father and not rushed into marriage. She and Adam had spent so little time together that he was still almost a stranger, and it was daunting to think they would spend the rest of their lives together. Yet how well did you ever know anyone? she thought, sadly.
The picture Aunt Julia had painted of her father, philanthropic to the point of being careless about his own financial welfare, hardly fitted her own memory of him.
Discovering that he had mishandled his affairs so badly that he had been heavily in debt, had come as a great shock. She had always looked up to him and thought him to be a man of great integrity, and she wondered how he would have resolved his problems had he not been killed.
It was only very occasionally Helen found herself dwelling on such matters. Generally she was much too busy. The Allies continued to advance across Europe, war still raged in the Far East, and sick and wounded soldiers constantly arrived at Bulpitts. No sooner was a bed empty than someone else was brought in to fill it.
She kept telling herself that it must all end soon. It was almost a year since D-Day, and the Allies were pushing deeper and deeper into Germany. In March they had taken Cologne, so surely the Germans must know they were beaten and Hitler must realise there was no point in holding out any longer?
It was a beautiful May day. Before sitting down to enter up reports and records in the day book, Helen walked down the ward, opening windows to let in the light spring breeze, that brought with it the scent of lilac and the promise of summer.
‘Helen, it’s over … the war’s over!’
Phyllis Lane, the Ward Sister, face beaming, hazel eyes dancing with excitement, came hurrying up to her.
‘Over … what do you mean?’ Pen poised in mid-air, Helen stared in disbelief.
‘The Germans have surrendered … it’s victory!’
‘Are you quite sure?’ Helen looked doubtful.
‘Of course I’m sure. Winston Churchill made the announcement himself. I heard it on the wireless, and Matron’s had a phone call from Army HQ confirming it.’ She struck a pose and, pitching her voice as low as it would go, announced dramatically, ‘The German war is now at an end …’
‘I can’t believe it …’
‘Neither can I! I wonder how long it will be before they start sending the men home and demobbing them?’
‘If it’s anything like the time when they reached Paris last year, we’ll need a lot of patience. We all thought then that the war was over – and look what happened.’
‘That was just a breakthrough. This time it’s completely over. German forces in Italy, Germany, Holland and Denmark, have all surrendered unconditionally.’
‘In the Far East as well?’
‘No.’ A note of caution crept into Phyllis Lane’s voice. ‘Only in Europe. The Japs are still holding out.’
‘Then our boys might not come straight home. Leastways not all of them,’ Helen said slowly.
Phyllis Lane’s hazel eyes clouded. ‘You think they might send some of them on out to the Far East? Hell, they can’t do that, not after what they’ve gone through in Europe.’
‘I don’t see why not. If they need reinforcements, it makes sense to send troops who are already battle-trained.’
‘My God, you’re a cool one! How long has your Adam been over there?’
‘Almost eighteen months.’
‘And all you can think of is that they might ship him straight out to the Far East!’
‘I may as well be realistic. Not much point getting all excited and then for it to come to nothing, now is there,’ Helen stated, shrugging, her grey eyes hard as flint.
Phyllis Lane looked deflated. ‘I’ll never understand you,’ she said.
Helen bent her head over the day book and started to write. ‘I’ve been disappointed too many times in the past,’ she said, and though her tone was even there was an undercurrent of bitterness in her voice.
‘Well, you may not be ready to celebrate, but I’m going to tell the whole ward – the entire hospital if it comes to that,’ Sister Lane declared. ‘I’m so happy I want to shout it from the roof-tops.’
‘Do you think it’s right to raise their hopes?’
‘Helen, what’s wrong with you! You’re not normal! Of course I’m going to tell them. It will do them more good than all the pills and medicines we keep pushing down their throats. It means they’re one day nearer to getting back home to their families.’
‘Even that won’t do some of them much good,’ Helen retorted bitterly. ‘From what they tell me, most of them have been sacked or are too badly injured to ever work again. So what sort of future will they have being pushed about in a wheelchair, or hobbling around on crutches?’
‘Shut up, Helen, for goodness’ sake. You’re too morbid for words. The war is over – isn’t that enough to make even you rejoice?’
‘It’s not over, not completely,’ Helen argued stubbornly. ‘Until the Japs surrender and all our boys are home from the Far East, it isn’t over.’
Once the news broke, everyone in the hospital seemed to be in celebratory mood. The shortages, the fatigue, the cold and heat, the searing pain, the hours of misery and frustration, of black despair and discomfort, were all forgotten.
Even those soldiers who had been so badly maimed or injured that they could never hope to resume a normal life again, seemed optimistic that everything would soon be back to normal and their harrowing experiences would be just a hazy dream.
By the evening, after hearing on the wireless that the King and Queen, the two princesses, and the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, had appeared on the balcony at Buckingham Palace, to wave to the cheering crowds who thronged the Mall, even Helen felt light-hearted, and laughed and joked as she attended
to routine duties.
The thought of Adam coming back into her life scared her and she wondered just how soon it would be before he was demobbed. Some said it was to be ‘first in, first out’ so there was just the chance that he would be home by midsummer.
Helen had no idea where they would live. She hoped Aunt Julia would let them stay on at Willow Cottage until they found a home of their own.
So much would depend on what sort of job Adam managed to get. Helen had saved every penny of her Army allowance and had even managed to add some of her nursing pay to it, but, even so, it wouldn’t go very far, since they didn’t own a single item of furniture. She supposed she should have kept some of the furniture from her parents’ home, but she hadn’t done so because she wanted to have a completely fresh start.
Chapter 11
Helen read Adam’s letter through twice, unable to believe that he was coming home at last. All the fears and frustrations she had bottled up for so long, came to the fore. She felt choked and tears streamed down her cheeks as a sense of panic swept through her, leaving her weak and trembling.
She wondered if he would think she had changed. Would he even recognise her! She sighed, remembering how young and carefree she’d been in those far-off days. She was no longer the fresh-faced eighteen-year-old with her hair in a plait. Tragedy, heartache and nursing sick men, many of whom had died from their injuries, had matured her. She certainly felt older, and she was sure such traumas had left their mark.
Folding the letter, she slipped it back in its envelope and placed it on top of the bundle in her dressing-table drawer. Leaning forward she studied her face in the mirror and fresh doubts churned in her mind about how Adam would feel when he saw her. She had changed. Frowning, she traced the dark shadows under her grey eyes and the hard, tight lines around her mouth.
I look more like thirty-five than twenty, she thought critically. Even my figure has altered. She was more rounded, more mature. She had never regained her youthful slimness after her miscarriage. At the time she had felt far too depressed to worry about such a triviality. Now, with Adam on his way home, she was aware of how she had neglected herself and was worried in case he was disappointed when they met.
She reread his letter again to check when he was due to arrive. The line ‘probably within a couple of days of this letter’ caught her eye and sent fresh alarm signals pulsing through her. There was no time for even a crash diet!
Opening her wardrobe she riffled through the clothes hanging there, panic mounting as she realised she had nothing special to wear. She spent so much time in uniform that she had bought nothing new for ages, not since Paris was liberated when, believing Adam would be home almost any day, she had spent her carefully hoarded coupons on a new dress. That was now almost two years ago.
She had refused to build her hopes after VE Day, because she half expected Adam to be sent to the Far East. Instead, he had remained with the Rhine Army of Occupation. He was still in Germany the following August when the Allies had dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
The horrifying reports and newspaper pictures of the devastation and suffering had sickened her, even though it had brought an immediate end to the war.
Even after Japan had capitulated, Adam had still not returned home, so Helen had worn her new dress whenever she was off-duty just to cheer herself up.
Although their letters were no longer censored, they never regained their initial warmth. Each time Helen wrote she tried to tell Adam how much she wanted him home, but she could never find the right words and ended up penning her usual bland note. A page of nothingness, the sort of letter she could just as well have written to a cousin or a casual aquaintance.
Adam’s letters to her were just as colourless. She longed desperately for him to tell her how much he wanted to see her and how he was counting the days until he was home with her at last. Each time a letter with BAOR franking on the envelope arrived, she would delay opening it, deluding herself that this time it really would be that sort of letter.
She had even done that with the letter she had just opened. Aunt Julia had brought it upstairs while she was dressing for work. Helen had propped it up on the dressing-table, fantasised about what it would say, then left it there when she had gone down to breakfast. She had gone off to Bulpitts and forgotten all about it, and it was not until she had gone upstairs to put a hot-water bottle in her bed that night, that she had noticed it was still lying there on the dressing-table.
As she slit it open, she expected it to be Adam’s routine note, so at first the words didn’t register. When she checked the postmark, she was filled with a mixture of excitement and panic. It had been written over a week ago, so he could arrive at almost any time.
Where would he sleep? She giggled a little hysterically. Surely Aunt Julia wouldn’t expect him to sleep on his own in the small box room up under the eaves of Willow Cottage? Yet they could hardly share her single bed!
A loud knocking at the front door startled her and she froze momentarily. Then, her heart pounding, she raced to answer it, stumbling and slipping on the narrow twisting stairs in her haste.
‘Adam,’ she whispered to the tall figure standing on the step. ‘Adam is it really you?’
‘Helen!’ He dropped the kit-bag from his shoulder and held out his arms to embrace her. Shuddering, she leant against him, finding comfort against his solid chest and strong arms.
‘Oh Adam, Adam …’ Tears trickled down her cheeks, as a deep feeling of relief flowed through her veins, leaving her weak but happy.
With child-like simplicity she raised her face invitingly. His lips were cool from the night air, firm, yet gentle. As their pressure increased she felt waves of desire burn through her body, from her fingertips to her toes.
Adam’s hold on her tightened and he groaned as he tore himself away, then immediately kissed her again, as if afraid she might vanish.
‘Come on inside,’ she murmured in a dazed whisper.
Keeping one arm around her waist, Adam picked up his kit-bag from the front step and put it inside the hall.
‘You don’t still have blackout do you?’ he asked in surprise as she closed the front door before switching on the hall light.
‘No!’ She laughed nervously. ‘Not for ages now. It’s just habit.’ She led him into the cosy sitting-room where Aunt Julia was sitting in a comfortable armchair by a crackling log fire.
‘Adam!’ she gasped in surprise. ‘I had no idea you were on your way home … welcome back!’
‘Thank you. It’s good to be here.’
‘Have you come far?’
‘From Germany – and I’m ravenous. I couldn’t get anything on the train from London. In fact, I’ve only had a snack since first thing this morning.’
Helen moved quickly towards the door. ‘I’ll get you something to eat. .. you two have a chat.’
‘Nonsense! You’re the ones who have a lot to say to each other,’ Aunt Julia declared. ‘You come and sit down with Adam, and leave the kitchen to me.’
‘All right.’ Helen suddenly felt shy and tongue-tied. In the light of the sitting-room Adam seemed almost a stranger. He had removed his greatcoat and cap and seemed much more powerfully built than she remembered. His long, muscular legs emphasised his slim hips and she noticed how his khaki battledress top strained across his broad shoulders and chest.
She studied his face. His shock of dark hair was as thick as ever and his eyes as intensely blue as she remembered them, but he looked older and there was a leanness that gave his cheek-bones a new prominence.
Adam stood motionless for a few seconds, feasting his eyes on Helen, then, almost roughly, he clasped her to him and held her face between his hands. Burning with passion, his lips fused with hers, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, until she felt she was being sucked into an inferno. Her knees weakened and she leant against him, feeling the heat from his body burn into her. Gently she restrained him, twisting her head sideways so that
his lips slid from her mouth to her ear where they nuzzled the lobe, sending shivers of delight through her. Again she curbed his ardour, holding his face tight between her own hands, the sharpness of stubble under her fingertips making her acutely conscious of his masculinity.
‘Later Adam, later,’ she murmured, as her gaze met his. ‘Aunt Julia will be back in a moment.’
He released her without speaking and sat down on the settee, patting the cushion beside him as Aunt Julia came bustling back with a bowl of hot soup and some sandwiches. While Adam tucked in, Helen made coffee for them all and brought in a plate of home-made cakes.
His hunger eased, Adam began to relate some of his experiences: the months of delay on the south coast when all leave was cancelled and they expected each day to be sent overseas; the build-up to D-Day; the crossing to France and the long summer of fighting. When Paris had been liberated, towards the end of August, he had thought it would soon be over and he would be going home again. Instead, he told them, that was the time when, for him, the war had really begun. As the Army began to advance across Europe it had been every man for himself. Living conditions had been haphazard. They had slept in barns, disused farmhouses, or even in the back of their trucks. Army rations were supplemented by whatever they could find or scrounge.
‘When we liberated villages in Belgium or West Germany we often felt so sorry for the children that we gave them our own rations. To see those kids’ faces light up when you gave them a bar of chocolate, or a tin of fruit, was incredible,’ Adam said, smiling as he reminisced.
On VE Day he had been in Celle and was still there when the Japs capitulated after the Hiroshima bomb was dropped.
‘There were a lot of Americans stationed there, too,’ he told them, ‘and they went absolutely wild with joy. They even packed their kit ready for home! I warned them they were being optimistic and, of course, I was right.’
‘Are you home for good now?’ Aunt Julia asked.
‘Well, no … not exactly.’ Adam moved uncomfortably in his seat, looking apprehensively at Helen.
