A Last Goodbye

by Dee Yates

  ‘Iain will be going soon as well,’ Ellen said thoughtfully.

  ‘Aye. He would be gone already if Robert hadn’t taken ill. I suppose it’s something to be thankful for that I have him here for a few extra days.’

  They shared a pot of tea and Ellen had a second slice of cake to give her strength for the long walk back. She rose at last to leave.

  ‘Come and see me again soon,’ Margaret Murdie said. ‘It’ll be lonely without any young blood around the house. Iain’s all we have, never having been blessed with a second… like your poor father, in fact.’ She hugged Ellen warmly and the girl promised that she would pay her another visit.

  The prisoners were still digging when she approached and one or two of them nodded in recognition as she walked along the track between them. A few more rested on their spades and watched her with vacant expressions, as if glad for the chance of a break from their arduous labour. She could not help but feel sorry for them. They looked sad and she thought that maybe the sight of her and Netta brought to mind their wives and families back home. Glancing at them at intervals, it occurred to her that they didn’t really look any different from the men of the neighbourhood… those she had grown up with, the fathers and sons of the farming families all around her. Many of these men and boys – for some of them looked no older than boys – might come from farms themselves. This insight caused her to lift her eyes and smile tentatively at those who were looking in her direction… until she met the gaze of an older man who regarded her stonily with close-set eyes and lips pressed tight together. Then her smile disappeared and she turned her face homeward and quickened her step. No, she was wrong. They were the aggressors… and she would do well to remember it.

  She wrote to Tom that evening, setting aside her earlier irritation and pouring her love and loneliness into the letter. She told him the news about the Murdie farmhouse and the planned flooding of the valley by the Municipal Waterworks. She didn’t mention Iain Murdie’s visit to their farm… and she thought it best not to worry him with news of the hundreds of prisoners of war camped no more than a few hundred yards away on the other side of the valley.

  17

  Her Enemy

  At the brisk command to ‘Down tools’, Josef Kessler stood, leaning on his shovel, panting, a little light-headed. He slowly grew taller, stretching out the aching muscles along his back, took a deep breath and began to cough. After the spasm had passed, he walked slowly to the lorry and threw the shovel into the back. He turned, stumbled, righted himself. Looking along the road, he tried to gauge the time it would take to reach camp, where he could lie down and sleep.

  At a further command, the men lined up and began to walk. Progress was slow. All had been labouring since first light, only allowed half an hour for a meal of bread and cheese. Josef had had no appetite for his and he was still not hungry. His legs were heavy… dead weights. He could hardly drag them along. Tomorrow he must eat, whether he wanted to or not.

  He had noticed before that as soon as the sun sank behind the hills, the temperature in the valley dropped markedly. Tonight was no exception. The sky, darkening to purple, was cloudless and stars already glittered frostily. His hands felt rough as he rubbed them together for warmth. They would look incongruous over the keys of the grand piano at home. The opening bars of his favourite concerto ran through his head, but the music came to an abrupt stop. He had forgotten the next bar. In his mind he began again… but he could get no further than bar twenty. Tears blinded him and he stumbled, almost fell.

  ‘Move along there. We all want to get back to our beds tonight,’ came the gruff voice bringing up the rear.

  ‘You heard what the gentleman said. Get a move on, Music Boy.’ Josef recognised Vogel’s voice but he did not have the energy to turn around and look at him, nor even to reply to his jibe. He screwed his eyes up to try and see the buildings that would indicate that they were approaching camp but could make out nothing in the encroaching darkness.

  In his sleep that night he was transported to a nightmarish world of fiery colour and discordant music, always finishing at bar twenty, and himself carried weightlessly along a tunnel, dark and narrowing, until the brightness in the distance disappeared at a stroke and he was jolted into wakefulness with his pulse racing and sweat cooling on his brow. He hauled himself up, felt around for his boots, and staggered to the opening of the tent.

  Outside, he stood, trying to reassemble his scattered thoughts. From a distance came the sound of trickling water. It reminded him of why he had left the tent. He was thirsty. He would make his way down through the field and drink from the flowing stream… so much nicer than the stale water left over from their evening meal.

  The boggy land bordering the small river anchored his boots and unexpectedly catapulted him forwards. Instinctively, he threw out his arms to break the fall. With a tremendous effort, he pulled himself up and sucked his feet out of the mud, staggering and almost falling again. It had been a foolhardy thing to do, coming down here to drink… but he had almost reached his goal now. Little point in turning back with his thirst unslaked.

  The water was icy cold and tasted delicious. He drank his fill, scooping it in his cupped hands until his skin numbed. Hauling himself back from the water’s edge, he lay on the stony bank and tried to ignore the trembling ache in the muscles of his legs. Overhead, a sky thick with stars a million miles away. Like his home. And just as unattainable.

  *

  When she answered the knock, Ellen was surprised to see the officer in charge of the prisoners standing tall and upright with Kenneth Douglas on the doorstep.

  ‘Can we come in, lassie? There’s something we wanted to ask you,’ Kenneth began.

  ‘Aye. Come away in.’ She stood back to make room for the two men to squeeze past and pushed the door firmly shut against the cold of early winter. For a few seconds she stood with her hand still on the latch, her mind racing as to the meaning of the visit. It was only when she heard her daughter’s frightened cry at the appearance of these strangers that she stirred herself and hurried through to the room. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ she said, rescuing Netta from the floor and settling herself with her daughter on her lap in her father’s chair by the fire.

  ‘This is Captain Cameron-Dyet,’ Kenneth said, turning to the soldier.

  ‘Aye. We’ve met… though I suppose we haven’t been introduced,’ Ellen replied, looking directly at the captain.

  ‘This is Ellen, Captain… Ellen Fairclough.’ The farmer turned back to Ellen. ‘There’s a wee problem in the camp, lassie, and the captain was wondering if you could help out.’ Kenneth sat down heavily in the armchair, glancing at the soldier, who remained standing.

  ‘Forgive my intrusion, miss. The thing is, we had no idea the weather would be this cold this early,’ he said in a tone that made it uncertain whether the comment was an apology or an accusation.

  ‘They’ve nae idea what a Scottish winter is like in these parts,’ Kenneth added smugly.

  ‘We’re putting the men on to building their own huts, so they have better shelter in the winter months.’

  ‘Good. I was thinking that it was no’ right for them to be in those tents all winter,’ Ellen replied, glancing through the window to the encampment.

  The captain cleared his throat. ‘Precisely. The new camp is further up the valley, near to where the reservoir is to be. It will save the walk backwards and forwards each day and there’s more space there for all the buildings needed for so many men.

  ‘Anyway, the reason for my visit is, we’ve had one or two men take ill over the time we’ve been here. Some of them are… how shall I put it? … Not used to hard physical labour.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘For the most part they’ve recovered quickly and are back to work in a few days. But there’s one man giving us cause for concern… not pulling round as quickly as the others have done. He was picked up out of the sea originally. We know he must have swallowed some oil from the boat and it seems to have weakene
d his chest.’

  ‘What he wants to know,’ Kenneth interrupted, impatience seeming to get the better of him, ‘is whether you would be willing to look after him.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes, here,’ replied the soldier. ‘It’s such a long way to go for treatment elsewhere, you see.’ Again the hint of accusation. ‘We’re building a hospital room alongside the huts, but it’s not started yet.’

  ‘But… but isn’t he dangerous?’ Ellen looked scared.

  ‘Well no, miss, not at the moment… in fact, not at all. The thing is…’ He dropped his voice, as though fearing reprimand. ‘Many of the prisoners are cultured, highly educated men… in all likelihood not dangerous at all. Naturally, when he begins to recover, we will take him back straight away. Oh, er, by the way, it goes without saying that we will pay you for his upkeep.’ He paused. ‘Would that be agreeable?’

  Ellen hesitated. What would her father think of the request? But it was her cottage, not his. Hers and Tom's. Besides, she felt sure that her father would welcome the extra money that the arrangement would bring in. If the man was as ill as the captain said, he would pose no risk to Netta. She knew what Tom would say if he were here. He would certainly never agree to a strange man in his house in his absence. But he was absent and the winter months loomed long and dreary so, ‘All right. I agree. I’ll take him,’ she replied.

  *

  There were two things she was not prepared for. The first was the age of the prisoner. The second was the state of his health.

  She had expected an older man. Yet here was a young man, and he was very sick and she had no skill in nursing. He was carried in on a stretcher, barely conscious.

  She had lit the fire in the living room of her father’s side of the cottage, the bedroom being the only room now regularly in use. Kenneth Douglas, with the help of her father, had carried a spare bed up from the farmhouse and Ellen had just time to make it up before her patient arrived.

  The face of the prisoner, apart from a flush of pink high on each cheekbone, was almost as pale as the pillowcase on which they laid him. His eyes remained closed but she noticed how the long lashes curved onto the rim of each cheekbone. From time to time he muttered, strange phrases that she could not understand. She put a hand to his forehead and withdrew it rapidly. He had a high fever.

  Ellen turned to one of the stretcher-bearers. ‘I can’t deal with this,’ she whispered, appalled, though secretly drawn towards the vulnerability and helplessness of the suffering prisoner.

  ‘Sorry, lassie. Captain’s orders were to bring him here. Said you’d agreed to look after him.’

  ‘Aye, but I’d no idea he was this ill.’

  ‘We all have to do our best. Your country needs you, remember! Mind you, you don’t have to try too hard with him. He’s not one of our own lads.’

  ‘No, but he’s somebody’s son,’ Ellen retaliated, surprising herself.

  *

  She set about looking after the prisoner. Several times a day she bathed the burning skin of his face and chest with cool water. She held a cup of water to his lips, but he muttered his strange words and, in his delirium, tried to push her away. On the third evening he grew worse. She sat at the bedside until later into the night, watching helplessly. When at last he quietened, she was panic-stricken that he might die. But when she came close, his breathing was steady and beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.

  When Josef Kessler’s eyes at last began to focus on his surroundings, he could not believe what his senses were telling him. Firelight flickered on the ceiling above his head and logs crackled in the hearth. Beneath him was a proper mattress and his hands traced the soft covering of blankets and silky eiderdown. Through an open door he could hear a woman’s voice and the babble of a child. Better still, the aroma of fresh baking reached his nostrils. It was like being at home. He lay still, bathed in the luxury of the room, too tired to begin to wonder where he was and what he was doing there.

  His sigh of pleasure induced a sharp spasm of coughing and within a couple of seconds a woman was by his side… No, not more than a girl really, though she had a baby on her hip. Taking a basin from the table at the side of his bed, she placed it on the pillow and lifted his head a little with her free hand so he could direct the evil-smelling phlegm into it. Exhausted, he lay back and she wiped his brow and lips with a cloth.

  They regarded each other solemnly. His face creased in a questioning frown. She smiled and spoke to him. Still he looked at her, shrugged, shook his head slowly from side to side, as though not understanding. The baby whimpered. She straightened, turned to go back into the kitchen, but he caught her hand, felt the fingers soft in his roughened skin.

  ‘Vielen Dank,’ he whispered. ‘Thank you.’

  *

  That evening, when she had put Netta to bed, Ellen came back and sat by the prisoner’s side. Aware that they would not be able to communicate, she nevertheless thought that he might like her presence in the room.

  ‘Have you no’ done enough already, lassie?’ Duncan argued. ‘You cannae talk to him. You’ve nursed him back to life. You’ll tire yourself with all this extra.’

  Ellen grinned, aware that her father’s anxiety lay more in a perceived neglect of himself than in the care lavished on their paying guest.

  ‘Don’t worry, Feyther. He’ll be back with them soon enough. I only want to make him feel at home now that he’s turned a corner and is mending. I might even be able to teach him how to speak like us before he goes!’

  Duncan mumbled his doubts and shuffled back to his fireside chair. Ellen scanned the face of the sleeping man. It looked peaceful now and she felt herself begin to relax for the first time since his arrival.

  She had been scared, armed with only a rudimentary knowledge of illnesses and their treatment. She knew better how to treat a sick sheep than she did an ailing person. A dog-eared box at the back of the kitchen cupboard contained all the medicines she used – a sticky bottle of syrup of figs and a tub of evil-smelling liniment, applied to her father’s shoulders after the more gruelling days of wrestling with uncooperative sheep.

  *

  The sailor had been with them for a week and it was only now that he was looking around him with interest. His eyes were pale blue as though faded by constant contact with the salt air. It was impossible to look at them without pondering on the thoughts that lay behind their sad remoteness.

  She had brought him a mug of thin soup and she helped him to sit forward while she banked up the pillows behind him. He sank back against them wearily and smiled.

  ‘Műde.’ He closed his eyes, opened them again, as though illustrating what he meant.

  ‘Tired,’ Ellen said. ‘You mean you’re tired.’ She beamed at him, pleased. ‘Here, I’ve brought you some soup. Let me help you. You need to get strong again.’ She held the mug to his lips and he took a mouthful, swallowed.

  ‘Es schmeckt mir gut.’ He nodded slowly, took another sip and another, before lying back on the pillows. ‘Danke. Genügt.’ He closed his eyes, slept.

  When he woke two hours later, she warmed some milk and he drank gratefully. Pointing to herself, she said, ‘Ellen.’

  ‘Ellen,’ he repeated. ‘Ellen.’ He tapped his chest, ‘Josef.’

  Ellen mimed rocking a baby. ‘Netta,’ she said. ‘Baby.’

  ‘Baby. Ihr Kind… baby.’ Josef smiled.

  Over the coming days these scenes were repeated many times, and his strength began to return, although she could see it would be weeks before he was fit to restart hard physical work.

  A week after he had ‘turned the corner’, as she later described it to the captain, she suggested he should try to sit out of bed for a while. She threw logs on the fire and pulled an easy chair up close. His legs buckled under him as his feet touched the ground but, with her arm around his waist, he made his way slowly to the fireside.

  Late that morning, a second letter arrived from Tom. She sat across the hearth from Jo
sef and, while he dozed, slit open the envelope and began to read.

  Dear Ellen,

  I am in Europe but must keep my whereabouts secret. There has been plenty of fighting and some of my colleagues have been killed, but I am keeping well and we are all in good spirits. The weather is closing in now. If you have nothing else to fill your time, will you knit me some more of those warm socks? The trenches are a bit muddy and it is difficult to keep anything dry.

  Please give my regards to your father. I hope he is managing with all the extra work in my absence. We have been told that we will not be home for Christmas, but they promise that we are next in line for leave. I doubt it will be at the right time or long enough to help with the lambing, but we shall see.

  Give our daughter a big kiss from me and tell her to be good for her daddy.

  Assuring you of my fondest love,

  Tom.

  She folded the letter and sat back in the chair, staring at the sleeping form of Josef. It was incomprehensible that good men such as Tom and this prisoner here should be fighting one another. All the same, she felt a twinge of conscience that the enemy should be enjoying the warmth of her fire while her husband was immersed in the mud of the trenches. Why, it must be almost as bad as that day last winter, when he had gone out in the snow to rescue sheep from the drifts and finished up needing rescue himself. The memory of stripping off his soaked clothing as he warmed himself in front of the fire made her smile.

  ‘Was gibt es denn zu lachen?’ Josef’s smile joined hers, but her face turned serious and she did not reply. He glanced at her letter. ‘Ihr Mann?’

  She nodded slowly. There was no doubting the meaning.

  ‘Entschuldigung.’

  She frowned, not understanding. ‘Time you were back to bed.’ She rose abruptly from the chair, plumped up the pillows of the bed and took his arm. When he was settled, she tossed more logs on the fire, replaced the guard and left the room, slamming the door behind her.