‘Perhaps one of our artillery shells has started some sort of a fire!’
Martin’s shouted suggestion lacked conviction and Perys shook his head. Not until figures could be seen scrambling from the Allied trenches and fleeing for their lives did Perys realise what they were seeing.
‘It’s poison gas!’ he shouted.
He remembered hearing a rumour that a soldier taken prisoner by the British had disclosed that the German army intended using poison gas against the Allied armies. This information had been relayed up the line of command to the commander-in-chief, who dismissed it as deliberate scaremongering. He pointed out that the Germans were signatories to an international agreement forbidding the use of such a weapon in war. It would not be used.
Anti-aircraft fire was once more being directed at the BE2c with disturbing accuracy, but Perys banked the plane again in order to obtain a better view of the ominous, drifting cloud now gradually dispersing behind the Allied lines.
He reached a sudden decision. The commander- in-chief and his staff were wrong. What he and Martin were seeing was poison gas. He would land as quickly as possible and report what he had seen to the nearest command post.
* * *
Perys’s opinion of the significance of what he had seen was received with the same scepticism as the information imparted by the German prisoner. Frustrated, he took off again to make his report back at the airfield.
Within an hour it had been tragically confirmed that what Perys and Martin had seen was indeed poison gas. The troops they had seen fleeing were French colonial troops and their terrified abandonment of their position left a whole section of the advance trenches undefended. These were swiftly occupied by German troops, but the extent of their success seemed to have taken them by surprise. They failed to take full advantage of it by bringing up more troops and consolidating their gains immediately.
Nevertheless, it was only the tenacity and outstanding courage of Canadian troops, hastily deployed to contain the German advance, that prevented a far more serious situation develop-ing, despite many of these troops also suffering the effects of poison gas.
Among their number was a small platoon of British soldiers, engaged on an ammunition delivery detail. One of the soldiers in the platoon was Private Jimmy Rowe.
Chapter 43
It took Annie some days to work up the courage to go to the Rowe farm in order to break her news to them. She knew it would not be an easy thing to do and felt miserable about it. She was also aware that it would mean the end of her life-long friendship with Rose, Jimmy’s sister.
But once she had decided exactly what she would say to the Rowes she set out for their farm. Giving her parents no prior warning, she merely put on her coat and left Tregassick.
When her mother called after her to ask where she was going, Annie replied, ‘To the Rowe farm.’
To her mother’s shouted demands for an explanation, Annie would only reply that she would ‘know in due course’.
Walter, coming in from the fields, saw her disappearing along the track and hurried into the farmhouse to find out what was happening.
When Harriet told him, he at first shared her concern. Then, after giving it a few moments’ thought, he said, ‘Annie hasn’t had a letter from young Jimmy for some time. She’ll have been getting worried about him. She’s gone to see if the Rowes have heard from him.’ Smiling at his wife, he said, ‘That’s what our Annie’s up to, Harriet, you mark my words. Things are beginning to work out the way we want them to. I knew she’d come to her senses sooner or later. She’s finally got young Tremayne out of her system.’
Harriet did not share her husband’s confidence. She believed there was some other less acceptable explanation for Annie’s unexpected visit to the Rowe farm, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
* * *
When Annie arrived at the Rowe farm she walked into a household in a state of turmoil. When Winnie Rowe, Jimmy’s mother, saw her, she let out an anguished shriek. ‘Annie! Thank the Lord you’re here! But how did you get here so quickly? Charlie Clemo only set off on his horse to tell you half-an-hour ago.’
Charlie Clemo was a well-known Methodist minister on the local circuit. Puzzled, Annie asked, ‘To tell me what?’
‘Oh my dear soul, of course, you wouldn’t know. It’s our Jimmy.’
Guiltily aware of the reason she had come to the Rowe farmhouse, Annie said, apprehensively ‘Jimmy? He’s not . . . he’s not been killed?’
‘No, but he might well have been, from all accounts. The son of the doctor down at Fowey is in the same regiment. He’s an officer. He telephoned his father last night from London to say he’d been wounded, and to ask the doctor to come up and tell us about our Jimmy. He’s been wounded too - badly wounded. He’s in a hospital in London. The doctor said we were to tell you that Jimmy’s asking after you. He felt it would help him a lot if we was to take you up there to see him.’
This was the worst possible news Annie could have received. There could be no question now of saying what she had come to tell the family. Besides, she had known Jimmy all her life and was genuinely concerned for him. She suddenly felt inextricably trapped by the tragic and unexpected situation which had arisen.
‘You say he’s badly wounded . . . how badly?’
‘The doctor’s son said he’s been gassed. He’s also got shrapnel wounds - one in his head. He said Jimmy can’t see right now, although I don’t know whether or not that’s because he has a bandage covering his eyes, or something. But now you’re here we can go and catch a train right away, Annie. Me and Rose were only waiting for you to arrive. Jimmy’s pa will stay on to look after the farm.’
‘But . . . I can’t go dressed like this. Besides, what about Ma and Pa . . .’ Annie felt a desperate need to think about what was happening.
‘I’ll get word to them. Have a message telephoned through to Polly at Heligan. At such a time as this I’m sure the old housekeeper up there won’t choose to be difficult. Come on now, we’ll take some of Rose’s night-clothes for you. A change of dress, too. You and she are much the same size.’
It was the first time any of the trio from Cornwall had left their native county. Winnie Rowe, in particular, such a positive character at home, found the busy railway terminal at Paddington awesome, and the streets outside the station took her breath away.
Standing by one of the station entrances, they were wondering what to do now they had arrived in the capital city, when a policeman approached them. It was evident they were from the country and thoroughly bemused. He asked if he could be of help.
Winnie, confused by the bustle all about her and becoming increasingly distressed, replied, ‘We’ve come up from Cornwall to see my son. He’s been wounded in the war . . . gassed, He’s in hospital here.’
‘Which hospital, ma’am?’
‘It’s called Saint Thomas’s, but I don’t know exactly where it is.’
‘Don’t you worry about that, ma’am, we all know Saint Thomas’s. I’ll get a taxi-cab for you. The driver will know where to take you.’
Stepping out into the road, the policeman held up his hand. With much squealing of brakes a taxi came to a halt beside the small party. The vehicle had a closed-in section for the passengers, but only a windscreen in front to protect the driver from the elements.
Speaking to the driver, the policeman said, ‘These three ladies are up from the country to see a soldier who’s been gassed in the war. He’s in Saint Thomas’s Hospital.’
‘If you open the door to let ’em in, I’ll have ’em there in no time.’
The policeman opened the door for the three women, but Winnie held back. ‘I can’t ride in that! It was bad enough riding in a train for the first time. I should be frightened nigh to death.’
‘You’ll find nothing to get you there faster, nor safer, missus,’ said the taxi-driver. ‘It’ll take hardly more than ten minutes, then you’ll be able to tell your son all about it - I presume that’s wh
o it is you’re going to see?’
‘That’s right, my Jimmy. This is his sister, Rose, and Annie, the girl he’s going to marry.’
‘I’m sure it’ll do his heart good to see you all. In you get, missus, and we’ll be on our way.’
Trying hard to overcome her misgivings, Winnie climbed inside apprehensively, saying, ‘I don’t know about seeing us. The doctor who told me about him being in there said he’s blind, as well as being gassed, but he’ll be glad to have us there with him for a while. I’m sure of that.’
Annie and Rose followed Winnie into the taxi-cab. Before closing the door behind them, the policeman said, ‘I hope your boy will soon be fit and well again, ma’am.’
There was barely time for Winnie and the others to call out a thank you before, with much crashing of gears, the taxi-cab moved away into the busy street.
None of the three Cornishwomen had experienced anywhere quite like London. The traffic was an alarming and diverse mixture of horse-drawn carts and carriages, steam- and petrol-driven vehicles, and bicycles threading their way in and out of the traffic. As Winnie commented, ‘There’s more folk on the streets than in Bodmin on market day!’ Throughout the journey she was convinced the taxi-cab was in imminent danger of a collision with one or more of the vehicles that weaved about them in all directions.
The driver, a cheerful cockney, was aware of her fear. Sliding open the window that separated him from his passengers, he first questioned her about the extent of Jimmy’s wounds, then began pointing out places of interest along the route.
Winnie was particularly impressed with Buckingham Palace, but wondered why even a king would need as many rooms as they must have in such a huge building.
Eventually, soon after passing the Houses of Parliament, the taxi-cab crossed Westminster Bridge and they arrived at the main entrance to St Thomas’s Hospital. Bringing the vehicle to a halt, the driver helped the three women to the ground, together with the small bundles they were carrying.
It was now that Winnie asked the question which had been causing her increasing concern, as she wondered how much a journey in such a fine and modern vehicle would cost her.
‘That’s all right, missus,’ said the taxi-driver, generously. ‘Use the money to buy something for that brave son of yours. I hope he’s soon well enough to go back to your farm in Cornwall.’
The taxi-cab drove away while Winnie was still trying to find words to thank the driver. She was left saying to her daughter and Annie, ‘Well! Who’d have believed that folk could be so kind - and the driver wasn’t even Cornish!’
While the taxi-driver had been both kind and helpful, the busy hospital staff were less so when they were told the reason for the visit of the three women. One of the hospital receptionists informed Winnie that wounded soldiers were not allowed visitors until they were well enough to leave the hospital and go to convalescent homes.
‘But . . . one of Jimmy’s officers telephoned Cornwall to say he was here. We’ve come all this way specially to see him.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The receptionist refused to be moved by Winnie’s plea. ‘This is not a hospital rule, it’s one that has been imposed upon us by the army.’
The receptionist was aware that the ban on visitors was in place to prevent the public from becoming aware of the scale of casualties and the horrific wounds inflicted upon soldiers of the British army. It was believed it would be detrimental to public morale and so have an effect upon the vital army recruiting campaign currently being waged throughout the British Isles.
Nevertheless, Winnie had come all the way from Cornwall to see her son, and she would not readily accept defeat. Strongly supported by Rose, and to a lesser extent by Annie, she doggedly insisted that she be allowed to see Jimmy.
The conversation had become heated when a nursing sister passing through the reception area glanced in their direction and came to a halt. Looking at Annie uncertainly, she asked the receptionist the cause of the altercation.
‘It’s these people, Sister Tremayne. They say they’ve come up from Cornwall to see one of our patients, a Private Rowe. It seems one of his officers sent word to them to say he’d been wounded and was in our hospital. I’ve told them that soldiers are not allowed visitors, but they refuse to take my word for it. There’s no need for you to become involved though, Sister, you won’t be with us for very much longer . . .’
‘I leave tomorrow,’ Morwenna replied, but she was looking at Annie as she spoke. ‘I remember you. You were one of those who came to see Rupert - Mr Pilkington - and his aeroplane when he came to Heligan.’
‘That’s right, Miss Tremayne. I’m Annie Bray. My father has the farm just by Heligan . . . Tregassick. My brother was coachmans at Heligan until he left to join the Royal Flying Corps.’
‘Is that who is in the hospital?’
‘No, it’s Jimmy Rowe. He’s Mrs Rowe’s son and Rose’s brother.’
‘I see. Well, what the receptionist told you is perfectly true, but what is Private Rowe to you?’
Before Annie could reply, Winnie said, ‘My Jimmy and Annie are to be married. That’s why she’s come to London with me and Rose. After travelling all this way we can’t leave without at least seeing him.’
Morwenna glanced at the receptionist and said, ‘You are quite right of course to point out the rules regarding visitors for wounded soldiers, but I will take full responsibility and personally escort these ladies to the ward.’
‘Well, I’ve done my duty,’ said the receptionist, huffily. ‘If you say they can see him . . .’ She shrugged in offended indifference.
‘I do,’ Morwenna said, brusquely. ‘Now, Annie, if you and the others would like to come with me.’
Winnie hurried after Morwenna gratefully, the others following on behind. As they passed along one of the hospital corridors, Winnie said anxiously, ‘This is very kind of you, Miss Tremayne. I do hope it won’t get you into any trouble.
Morwenna smiled. ‘I don’t think you need concern yourself too much about that. I am only at Saint Thomas’s for one more day before leaving to join the Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service. Besides, Private Rowe is on my ward. We have spoken often of Cornwall . . .’ Suddenly serious, she asked, ‘You do know how badly he is wounded?’
‘I know he’s been gassed,’ Winnie replied, ‘although I don’t know exactly what that means. I’ve also been told he can’t see too well either, but I haven’t been told how long that’s likely to last.’
‘Oh!’ Morwenna came to an abrupt halt and the others stopped too. ‘I think we had better have a little chat before you meet him. He has suffered shrapnel wounds as well as being gassed. The shrapnel struck him in the head and body and a piece would seem to have severed an optic nerve. I don’t know which came first, the gassing or the wounds, but he was probably exposed to the gas for rather a long time. It has seriously damaged his lungs and he has difficulty breathing.’
Horrified, Rose began quietly weeping, and as Winnie struggled to take in the news of Jimmy’s condition, Annie asked, ‘His sight . . . will he ever get it back?’
Morwenna shook her head. ‘I am afraid he is permanently blinded. In fact, with all the wounds he has suffered he is very lucky to be alive at all.’
Bitterly, Annie wondered whether Jimmy thought himself lucky.
‘Oh, my poor, dear soul!’ Winnie was fighting back her own tears. ‘And he was so proud to be going off to be a soldier.’
‘He has every reason to be proud,’ Morwenna said. ‘You should be proud of him too. He and all the others in the ward are brave men who have served their country well . . . but this is the ward. Dry those tears before we go in. It is important to your son and the other soldiers that your visit doesn’t distress them.’
It took a few minutes for Winnie to compose herself, but she eventually said she was ready. Opening the door, Morwenna led the way.
It was a sobering experience for the three women. The ward held some of the most seriously
wounded soldiers, many the victims of German gas attacks. Others had suffered severe and often ghastly wounds. To Annie, walking at the rear of the small visiting party, it seemed the scene might well have been a glimpse into Hell.
Halfway down the overcrowded room, Morwenna paused at one of the beds and glanced at a clip-board attached to the metal frame at its foot. Turning to Winnie, she said, ‘Here he is. This is your son, Mrs Rowe.’
Had the nursing sister not been with them, Annie doubted very much whether they would have known the man lying in the bed was Jimmy. Heavily bandaged around his eyes and upper face, an attempt had been made to leave part of one ear free in order that he might hear. What little they could see of his skin was an unhealthy, almost yellow pallor and his breathing was laboured.
Fighting back her tears, Winnie leaned over him. ‘Jimmy, can you hear me, boy? It’s your ma.’
‘Ma?’ Jimmy clutched at the air until Winnie grasped his hand in hers. ‘Ma! Is it really you? What are you doing here?’
His speech was slow, his voice little more than a whisper.
‘Doctor Martin from down at Fowey came up to the farm to let us know you were here. His son had telephoned him to tell him. So here we are. Me, Rose and Annie.’
‘Annie? Annie’s here?’
His excitement caused him to wheeze, and for some minutes he fought for breath in an alarming fashion. Morwenna moved forward in an attempt to calm him.
When he had recovered she stepped back again and Jimmy reached out once more. ‘Annie . . . where are you?’
Annie took hold of his hand. Gripping it so tightly she winced, he pulled her towards him. ‘Annie . . . you don’t know how glad I am that you’re here. I’ve thought so much about you just lately.’
Annie felt overwhelming pity for the wounded man lying in the hospital bed. At the same time she was embarrassed that he should be paying her attention to the exclusion of his mother and Rose, whose presence he had not even acknowledged.
The Lost Years Page 22
