Georgiana stood back, helpless, as Angela buried her head in Theo’s shoulder and wept.
Theo pushed his hand into his pocket, pulled out a telegram wireless message and handed it to Georgiana.
From Michael Downe war correspondent to Dr Theodore Wallace, Lansing Memorial Hospital. Majors Peter Smythe, David Knight, dead. Typhoid Fever. Tell Angela and Georgie. Send love and sorrow.
Chapter Thirty-one
Baghdad Hospital
January 1918
‘You’re not in trouble, any of you.’ Allan looked from Singh to the corporal in charge of the burial party. ‘I just want you to tell me what happened.’
When all the men remained obdurately silent, he turned to Singh. ‘Let’s start with you, Singh. What did you do?’
‘It wasn’t me, sir, it was Major Knight. He ordered me to plug him.’
‘I don’t understand. What do you mean, “plug him?”’
‘Plug his mouth, ears, and nose with dressings, sir.’
‘Was Major Knight delirious?’ Allan asked.
‘I think so.’
‘But you went ahead and did it?’
‘Yes, sir. Major Knight insisted. He said I had to do it so I wouldn’t have to clean up his mess because he was leaking.’
‘And when you finished plugging him?’
‘He stopped breathing, sir. I wrapped him in a sheet and told the orderlies to take him to the corpse room ready for the burial party as they’d done with Major Smythe an hour before.’
Allan looked to two of the orderlies. ‘You took Major Knight’s body to the corpse room?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘He was dead?’
‘He wasn’t breathing or moving sir.’
‘His face was uncovered?’ Allan asked.
‘Sergeant did that when he removed Major Knight’s name tags, sir. The sergeant collects them after we’ve shifted and stacked the bodies in the corpse room, sir. Then he hands the tags to the clerk who makes a note of the deaths for the regimental musters and paymasters, sir.’
Allan turned to the burial party. ‘What happened then?’
‘We went to the corpse room to pick up, sir.’
‘How often do you go there?’
‘About every two to three hours in daylight, sir. We don’t do night pickups, sir. Orders are not to leave bodies unattended in darkness, sir. The Arabs dig our boys up to steal the sheets and blankets they’re wrapped in and any clothes they’re still wearing, sir.’
‘I’m aware of the rampant thieving by the natives.’
‘We don’t just work in this hospital, sir …’
‘Understood, corporal,’ Allan said impatiently. ‘You went to the corpse room and picked up the bodies?’
‘I told the men to leave Major Knight for the next pickup, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘He didn’t look quite right, sir. Dead people look grey, sir. Grey and waxy. Major Knight had too much colour for my liking.’
‘Did you leave any other corpses?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Did you return to the corpse room again that day?’
‘Twice more, sir.’
‘And you left Major Knight both times?’
‘He still didn’t look right to me, sir.’
‘And yesterday? How many times did you come here to pick up bodies?’
‘Four times, sir.’
‘Let me guess: each time you left Major Knight because he didn’t look quite right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What happened this morning?’
‘We were ordered to clear all the bodies, sir, because the corpse room was jammed packed after all the deaths that had occurred in the night. When we lifted Major Knight he opened his eyes.’
‘Has that ever happened before?’ Allan demanded.
‘Never to my knowledge, sir. And I’ve been an orderly for over ten years,’ Singh said proudly.
‘Major Knight?’
‘Is sitting up in bed, sir, drinking tea, but the clerks are not pleased.’ Singh failed to suppress a smile. ‘They say they’ve notified everyone in his family of his death and written out the death certificate. They say he is no longer entitled to pay, sir, and they’ve auctioned off his uniform.’
‘Make enquiries, Singh. Try and find out who bought Major Knight’s effects, and buy them back. Should you need money, see my bearer and ask him to supply you with what you need from petty cash.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
‘Corporal?’
‘Sir.’
‘Should you decide that a corpse doesn’t look “quite right” again, please fetch me. If I’m busy leave a message with my bearer and also ensure that all “not quite right” corpses are left in a separate area – a room might be better – than the corpses who do appear “quite right”.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Off the record: well done, every one of you. You’ve saved the life of a doctor the force could ill afford to lose.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ The corporal in charge of the burial party replied.
‘However, all of you are guilty of breaking military rules and regulations in respect of leaving a corpse unburied for three days. I regret I don’t have sufficient voice left to berate you. All of you please consider yourself admonished for treating military procedure in cavalier fashion. Dismissed.’
Smiling, the men marched out.
‘Singh?’
‘Colonel Allan.’ The orderly stood to attention.
‘Tell the mess orderly to give every man in the burial and corpse disposal party free drinks for the evening on my tab.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ll arrange for a bonus to be added to your pay.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Resume your duties, but return to this office at the end of your shift. In the meantime think hard about what you did so you can tell me exactly what steps you took when you “plugged” Major Knight.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Allan left his office and walked down to the convalescent ward. David Knight was sitting up, lighting a cigarette.
‘Knight.’
‘Sir, you won’t mind if I don’t get up?’
‘Not this once.’ Allan pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘For Lazarus you’re looking pretty good. Want me to telegraph someone for you?’
‘No, sir. Thanks to the efficiency of the army, everyone who knows me will have heard that I’m dead by now. I’ll enjoy surprising them.’
‘You’ll be going downstream to Basra as soon as you’re fit enough to travel. I’ve recommended six months’ convalescence.’
‘That’s good of you, sir.’
‘You’ll continue to receive full pay. By the time you’re fit for duty it’s anyone’s guess what will be happening here. Aside from a little mopping up the war is practically over in Mesopotamia. We’ve pushed the Turks back into Turkey and hopefully put an end to their Ottoman Empire once and for all. But although the soldiers’ war has ended, it’s still going on for us medics. We’re losing more men now from disease than wounds. As for the rest of the world, it’s up to those fighting on the Western Front, but I’d like to believe there are more years of war behind us than ahead.’ There was a wistful note in Colonel Allan’s voice.
‘It will be good to back in England, sir.’
‘Away from this cursed climate. I agree with you, Knight. By the way, the paymaster told me about your change of name. You’ve inherited a country pile and title. Earl isn’t it?’
‘I was hoping to keep it quiet, sir. Not sure what to make of it. This war has really messed up my family.’
‘You won’t be the first second son of a second son to inherit by the time the peace treaties are signed, Knight. Or should I call you the Right Honourable …’
‘Knight is fine, sir,’ David cut in.
‘Good luck to you. You’re the first officially dead man I’ve had a conversation with. Hope to see you downstream soo
n, if not back in England at a reunion when we’re all well out of this.’
Lansing Memorial Hospital
February 1918
Georgie had just finished cutting the last of the necrotised tissue from a Turk’s amputation stump when Theo appeared in the operating theatre.
‘Stop whatever it is you’re doing. I’ll take over.’
‘Why.’
‘Your brother’s here.’
She pulled off her gloves.
‘Take time to clean up. He looks remarkably healthy considering he’s come down from upstream and it would be good if he could stay that way. You don’t want to pass any infections on to the poor man.’
She untied her coat and apron, and scrubbed her hands in the basin kept for the purpose at the door.
Michael was waiting for her in the small hallway at the end of the corridor. She ran down to meet him and hugged him. ‘How wonderful to see you.’
‘You have to come with me.’
‘To where?’
‘I have a carriage waiting …come on, I’m paying the driver by the minute.’
‘Now?’
‘Right now.’
‘I can’t go anywhere. Just look at me …’
‘You look fine,’ he said irritably.
‘My hair’s a bird’s nest. I’m wearing my oldest skirt, blouse, and sweater. My stockings are darned. I’m not fit for the Basra Club.’
‘We’re not going to the Basra Club.’ He pulled her coat and shawl from a peg in the corridor, gave them to her, grabbed her hand before she had a chance to put them on and pulled her after him.
She finally managed to put her coat and throw her shawl around her shoulders when she climbed into the carriage.
‘We’re going to Abdul’s?’ she guessed when the carriage turned down towards the wharf.
‘We are.’
‘Why all the mystery, Michael?’
‘Wait and see.’ He helped her down to the street when the driver stopped the carriage. ‘You know the way to my room?’
‘Of course. I’ve been there, remember,’ she added.
‘Kalla’s ordered lunch. We’re eating in the small dining room at the back.’
‘I’m not hungry, but thank you for the invitation.’ She gave him a backward glance as she went into the coffee shop. She nodded to Abdul walked up the stairs and knocked on Michael’s door.
It opened.
She froze.
‘I’m not a ghost, Georgie. I’m real.’
Tears poured down her face.
David opened his arms. ‘Georgie …’
Michael heard Georgiana cry as he joined Kalla.
‘They may be some time. I think we should go ahead and order – just for ourselves.’
June 1918
Dear John,
Thank you for your letter of condolence. I was deeply moved when I read your heartfelt words about Peter. It is comforting to know that others who knew him also held him in high esteem. I am so sorry for your devastating loss, John. After your letters and speaking to Mariam I feel as though Rebeka was a close friend. Life can be unbelievably cruel to take Rebeka and your unborn child away from you, and Peter from me and his son.
Georgie and I have moved back into the Lansing Mission House. After Peter died I had a week’s notice to vacate our bungalow and although Georgie and I searched Basra, we couldn’t find anywhere large enough to take us, the three children, and the boys’ nurse, so Mrs Butler kindly agreed to take us in.
Theo has given notice to the Lansing and intends to leave for America as soon as hostilities cease which he believes will be before Christmas. His decision has left me several problems. Thanks to the money Charles left Peter and me and the inheritance he bequeathed to Robin, the children and I are financially secure. Theo has asked me to return to America with him and I have agreed to lend him what he needs to buy into a medical practice in New York which is being managed by an old friend of his who was at school with him.
I know that it makes sense for me to accompany Theo back to the States when passenger shipping can once more sail without risk of being sunk by U-boats. The problem is Robin. I cannot bear the thought of leaving him. I love him as dearly as I love my own darling Peter, and then there is Mariam. She was, as you can imagine, heartbroken when I told her that Rebeka had died. Theo has assured me that he will find a home large enough to take all of us, so accommodation is not a problem, but Robin and Mariam sadly are. I have no legal rights over either child. General Reid replied to my letters about Robin and says he wants to meet the boy. I respect him as Robin’s grandfather but Georgie tells me he is over seventy and I can’t help wondering what will happen to Robin if the General dies when Robin is still a child. Georgie has said she and David will look after him, but that would mean Robin growing up in England while I am in America.
I’m sorry, John, please accept my apologies, I should not be burdening you with my concerns when you are hundreds of miles away and have more than enough to cope with in surviving prison life.
You mentioned that you too received a letter from the Portuguese embassy informing you that Maud had died. I am sorry, John. I feel guilty for not trying to help her when she most needed a friend. She was a troubled woman but the one thing I do know from my conversations with her is that she loved you very much and regretted the weakness that prevented her from showing it as she would have wished to.
I so wish I could sit and talk to you, especially about Peter and Rebeka, because I know that you, like me, are bereft. It is so hard to know that the one person you loved most in the world has gone forever. I am sure that you, like me, can’t stop listening for their footstep at the door, and their voice in another room.
Now I have almost run out of paper.
Thank you for being you, John, for being a true and good friend, for understanding exactly how I feel, and corresponding with me, I do so hope that you return to Basra before I go to the States so that I can see you and hug you one last time before I leave Mesopotamia forever.
Georgiana and David are waiting until you to return so you can all sail home together. Georgiana is trying to persuade Michael to sail with you but at the moment he is most insistent that he wants to remain in Basra.
I send you my special love and also Mariam’s love and gratitude because you cared for her sister.
Your friend,
Angela
August 1918
Dear Angela,
Your letters have kept me sane, simply because you recognised my pain as mirroring yours. You know all too well the impotent feeling of emptiness that is perhaps the worse aspect of bereavement. How life loses all meaning and there seems little point in struggling to live another day. I’m not ashamed to admit that I dread the future. I am not a man who ever wanted to live alone. When I married Maud this war was only a rumour of ‘what might happen’, and I dreamed of a large house with an even larger garden in the English countryside where I could live with my wife, children, and animals surrounded by love, warmth, and a peace that bordered on boredom.
You say you don’t want to leave Robin and Mariam. Don’t, Angela. Marry me, we’ll sail to England with David and Georgie, and move into the family home I’ve inherited. I’ll work in the clinic my father founded and come home every night to you.
The one thing I envied Peter was not you, that would have been mean and petty of me, but his close and loving relationship with you. You’re a special woman, Angela. Good, kind, charming, and beautiful, and I promise I’ll bring up young Peter, Robin, and Mariam as if they were my own children. Major Crabbe is going to buy a house close by and I’m sure Georgie and David will visit often, so we won’t lack for friends.
What do you say, Angela? I know I’ll never replace Peter in your affections, but I am confident that in time we could – like the Bedouin who marry ‘unseen’ as Harry did with Furja – learn to love one another – after a fashion.
If it seems too convenient a proposal to you, then perhaps it is, but I�
��m tired. Tired of war, tired of fighting, tired of doctoring dying young men who should have died in their own beds of old age.
What do you say? Could you marry a man, damaged but not entirely broken by war? A man who yearns for peace and a family life who promises to cherish you and our children all the days of our lives? I accept that our relationship will never have the passion of first love, but what I can promise you, Angela, is that I will care for you and respect you as long as I live.
If you are no longer in Basra when I arrive, I’ll take it your answer is no. Or if you haven’t been able to leave because of a shortage of ships, just say ‘no’ when I see you.
You mentioned money; I have enough for both of us and the children I hope to be able to call my own.
John Mason, who has always admired you, and begs to be given the opportunity to learn to love you as you deserved to be loved.
September 1918
Dear John,
The war must be as close to an end as everyone here in Basra insists, as letters are not taking as long to travel between here and Turkey. I even allowed myself the luxury of thinking about your proposal for three days before writing this in answer your letter.
Aside from Peter I cannot think of a man I admire or respect more than you, John. You say you are damaged but not entirely broken by war. Before I received your letter I felt broken. So much so I never wanted to leave my bed. If I hadn’t had the children to care for I believe I would have curled into a corner and wished for death.
You letter has given me hope. For the first time since Theo brought the telegram to tell me that Peter had died I can envisage a future, not only for myself but my three children. Thank you, John. It would be an honour to become your wife.
I send you love from all of us, and if it is not yet the love of a wife for her husband I trust in God that when we are together I will be able to make it so. I will not tell anyone of our plans, not even Georgie or Theo. I will leave that task to you when you return to Basra. If possible I would like to marry as soon as you arrive so we can sail to England as man and wife and make the journey a new beginning for us both.
Angela
October 1918
Dear Angela,
We all know the Armistice is imminent so our Turkish captors, admitting defeat, have released us early. Major Crabbe, Crabbe’s wife Yana, their adopted daughter Hasmik, and I will be travelling to Basra tomorrow morning. In fact we may reach the town before this letter.
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