A Winter Love Song

by Rita Bradshaw

  A movement brought his head turning to the entrance of the tent and there she was. And the next moment she had knelt down beside him, taking his hand and murmuring, ‘Da, Da, Da,’ through her tears.

  He tried to speak but the lump in his throat was choking him. He felt helpless and weak and consumed by shame, totally undone by the love he could see shining out of her face. He didn’t deserve this, he told himself as her arms went gently round his neck and he felt her tears on his face. She should hate him for leaving her and letting her think he was dead. He hated himself.

  It was a little while before either of them spoke, and the officer who had escorted Bonnie back to the tent had left, but not without casting a quizzical glance John’s way. He was clearly as puzzled as the other conscious occupant of the ward who, having had half of his jaw blown away, wasn’t in a position to ask any questions but had raised himself on one elbow and was staring at them.

  ‘I’m sorry, lass. I’m so, so sorry.’ John had kept his eyes shut and now, when she straightened and moved slightly to sit down very carefully on his bed, he opened them to find the love was still there in her face.

  Bonnie stared at her father. For a long time after he had disappeared she’d had dreams in which he appeared. She had run to him and been whisked up into his arms, and she had laughed and cried and he had told her it was all a terrible mistake and of course he wasn’t dead. And she had been so glad, so happy. And then as time had gone on, even when she had dreamed the dream she’d known it was only that, a dream, but she had tried to stay asleep so she could make the most of seeing him again. And eventually the dreams had stopped. But he was here. He was alive. The impossible had become possible. She took one of his hands and stroked the big, gnarled knuckles that she remembered from childhood. ‘I love you,’ she whispered.

  ‘And I love you, me bairn. I always have, you must believe that. After your mam passed away you were the only thing that mattered to me and that’s never changed.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re alive.’ But even as she said it she wondered for how long. He looked so ill. In all the dreams he had been strong and big and brawny. ‘Da, what happened?’ She had to ask, she had to know why he had left her. She would have staked her life on the fact that only death could separate them. ‘Tell me everything.’

  And he told her, beginning from the night he had kissed her and settled her in bed before walking out of her life. And as Bonnie listened, the terrible hurt she’d felt when she had come round in the officers’ mess and known he was alive and hadn’t tried to find her melted away. She could see how it had happened and understood he had thought he was doing the best thing for her, but he had been wrong, so wrong. She wouldn’t tell him that now. Maybe one day in the future if God spared him.

  She stayed quietly by his side, telling him all about her life and Art, her grandma and Franco, Nelly and Thomas, missing out any bits that might distress him and painting a deliberately rosy picture of how life had been after he had gone. ‘When you’re well enough to come home, you’ll live with me and Art,’ she declared firmly. And when he made some protest, she said, ‘Please, Da. I can’t lose you again,’ and he became silent.

  He slept for a little while once or twice, the morphine in his system making him drowsy, and she remained holding his hand tightly, praying for all she was worth that he would get better. He had to.

  Enoch came to find her during one of these periods, and when she explained the situation he promised he would go and find the commanding officer and make sure she became next of kin on any paperwork, and that the army was aware John had a home to go to when he was discharged. ‘That’s the most we can do,’ he whispered as she stared at him with tragic eyes at the thought of leaving. ‘You understand that, don’t you? You can’t stay here with him, Bonnie. I can give you twenty-four hours and you can miss tomorrow’s engagements, but after that we’ll have to continue the programme.’

  ‘I can’t leave him here, Enoch.’

  ‘You’ve no choice, I’m afraid. He’s too ill to be moved – all the men in here are – and the CO wouldn’t let you stay. My hands are tied, I’m sorry. But once we’re back in England I promise you we’ll move heaven and earth to have him shipped back home, all right?’

  ‘But what if he doesn’t make it? He’s so ill.’

  ‘If he is anything like you, he will make it. And don’t forget he has something to fight for now he’s found you. It’ll make all the difference.’

  ‘You don’t really believe that, do you? That he’s going to pull through?’

  ‘Of course I mean it,’ Enoch lied. ‘I know his daughter, remember? And sheer guts and determination are more than half the battle in something like this.’ He had already warned the doctor who was dealing with her father to gloss over the extent of his injuries, after the man had told him it would be a miracle if John survived the next few days. The doctor had agreed to play ball, adding that of course miracles did happen now and then that defied medical science, so there was always hope. Just the tone of the man’s voice had confirmed to Enoch that Bonnie’s father was a goner.

  For the next twenty-four hours, apart from dealing with bodily necessities, Bonnie didn’t leave her father’s side. The officer who had been looking after them found her a wicker chair from somewhere, and she dozed in that when John slept, waking immediately if he began to stir. She sang softly once or twice for him and the patient with the injured face, and when one of the two men lying so still and unresponsive was quietly taken away, it made her pray all the harder for her father. Life seemed so frighteningly fragile in this little tent, so easily snuffed out. This was what war was about and it was madness.

  When John was awake, they tried to fill in the lost years as best they could, each hungry for a picture of the other’s life. John cried twice. Once when he told Bonnie of how he had come into his right mind, only to realize what he had done and that he couldn’t return home because she would be better off without him. And again when he spoke of Robert’s death. His friend had been killed in a booby trap with grenades set by the Japanese. He didn’t go into details, but Bonnie got the impression Robert hadn’t died quickly and cleanly.

  ‘I wrote to his mother, of course,’ John said quietly. ‘I told her Robert died instantly and that he wouldn’t have known anything about it, lies that any mother would want to hear. It’s what Rob would have expected me to do. But I tell you, Bonnie, I still see him when I close my eyes. The British Army forbids booby traps but them devils make the most of them, and of course it scares our lads to death. Which is what the Japs want, I suppose. To create fear and uncertainty and ruin morale. You underestimate them to your cost, that’s for sure.’

  He fought for breath with the effort of saying so much, and Bonnie said quickly, ‘No more talking, Da. Rest a little.’

  ‘I don’t want to rest. You’ll have to go soon and I can rest all I want then.’

  Nevertheless, in spite of himself, he drifted off into one of the morphine-induced slumbers within the next moment or two. Bonnie sat looking at him while he slept, his words about the Japanese ringing in her ears. Before the war, Japan had just been the name of a distant country to her, but not now. It was well known the Japanese held their enemies in overwhelming contempt; their predilection for looting, rape and wanton bombing had been reported on the radio and in the newspapers, along with their cruelty to POWs. She had read what she could about Japan when she knew she was coming to Burma, and the Japanese belief in Yamoto dameshii, the Japanese spirit, that sees death in battle as man’s finest destiny, was so at odds with the Western world that she had realized very quickly there was no meeting point between the two sides. Japanese values were unique to Japan, it was as simple as that, and things like seppuku – ritual self-disembowelling – were alien to the European mind. If the Japanese took over this camp they would kill her father and other injured men without a second thought.

  She felt a moment’s panic, as though it was already happening, and then tol
d herself not to be so silly. But she didn’t want to leave him here, so close to a ruthless enemy and in conditions that would be unthinkable for such an ill man in England. But Enoch had said the doctors had made it quite clear that to move him would kill him, and so she had no choice.

  She wrestled with herself for some minutes before becoming aware that her father was awake and looking at her.

  John stared at his daughter. Her face had always been the window to her soul – she was like Louisa in that way – and he knew she was fearful of leaving him. Nor did he want her to go. If there was any way she could have stayed with him, he would have welcomed it wholeheartedly. But there wasn’t. And so he had to make this as easy for her as he could. Pretend. Lie, and lie well. He reached out his hand and when she took his, he turned it over in his fingers. Her hand wasn’t the hand of a show-business star. It was grimy, the nails dirty, because that’s what happened when you were deep in the Burma jungle, you got grimy and damp and all the niceties of civilization disappeared. No, this hand was the hand of a warrior, someone who had guts and courage enough for ten women, and he couldn’t be more proud of her if he tried.

  ‘It’ll be all right, lass.’ He smiled. ‘I’m not going to meet my Maker for many a year, it’s not my time. I know I’m not going to die, so once you get home you get a bed ready for me, is that a deal? We’ll have Christmas together, I promise.’

  He saw her face lighten a little and it enabled him to lie some more.

  ‘I intend to be around for when you and your Art have a bairn and make me a granda. And if the first one’s a boy then John is as good a name as any, don’t you think? Good strong name, John, and I’m strong, lass. You know that. Always have been. It’ll take more than the Japanese to finish me off before me time. I won’t let them devils win, not me.’

  Bonnie held his hand tighter. ‘I can’t bear to think I might lose you again. I don’t know what I’d do.’

  ‘So don’t think it. Trust in your old da, all right? I have something to get better for now, don’t I?’

  ‘I’d love you to know Art. And Nelly will be pleased that I’ve found you.’ It was the understatement of the year but intentionally so. She had told her father only that Nelly was a widow with a young son because that had seemed the right thing to do. If they met – when they met, she corrected herself – it was up to Nelly how much she said.

  ‘I’m glad Nelly found someone even if they didn’t have long together, and at least she has the lad,’ John said now. ‘She’s a grand woman. And I’m not surprised her family is gentry. She always was a cut above. He’s a nice lad, her Thomas, you say? Looks after his mam. That’s good, that’s good.’

  They talked some more about Nelly and Thomas and other things before John slept again, and all the time Bonnie was aware that time was ticking away.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Bonnie had told herself she wouldn’t cry and John had done the same, but, as it was, they both failed when the parting came. John cursed himself because he had wanted to make it as easy for her as he could, and here he was blubbering like a bairn. Bonnie just fell apart. In a twist of fate more extraordinary than anything she could have imagined she had found her da alive, and now they were being forced apart again. She was angry and frightened and heartbroken, and although she wanted to be strong it was beyond her.

  Enoch had to almost carry her out of the tent and he was at a loss to know what to do, but after a few minutes Bonnie managed to compose herself. ‘I have to go back and see him one last time.’ They were sitting in the truck, ready to go, and when Enoch went to protest, she said, ‘I can’t leave him like that, I just can’t. Give me five minutes, Enoch.’

  When she walked back into the tent John was lying with his eyes closed. The other bed in the ward had been filled during the night and the man in it was moaning in pain like an injured animal. Bonnie swallowed hard. She wanted to scream and shout and cry and rail against the circumstances, but that would do her father no good. He was stuck here for the time being.

  She knelt down beside the bed much as she had done when she had first come to him, and as he opened his eyes, she whispered, ‘I had to come back, Da. Just to say I love you. And thinking about it, I know I was drawn to Burma and was meant to find you. I can’t explain it, but I know it. And I don’t believe God would do that and then let you die. So get well. Get well and come home. All right?’

  John smiled. ‘That’s me girl,’ he whispered as softly as she’d done. ‘That’s me bairn.’

  By the time she left the tent once more, Bonnie was feeling – not exactly better – but more at peace.

  She climbed into the truck and Enoch said nothing but put one of his hands over hers, pretending not to see the tears streaming down her face now she didn’t have to be strong for her father any longer.

  The rain had been pouring down for an hour or more, branches dripping either side of the track they were following, and Bonnie wondered how it could rain so hard and yet bring no relief from the heat and humidity. But at least while it was raining the flies were kept away to some extent. Of all the inconveniences in the jungle, she felt it was the flies and mosquitoes that bothered her the most. While she had been sitting with her father she had fanned them off him as much as possible, but who would do that now? No one.

  She was still thinking of her father when Enoch said, ‘What’s that?’ to their driver, and as she came back to the present she heard what he’d heard.

  ‘It’s the noise of the battle,’ the man said impassively, ‘but don’t worry, you’re not in any danger. In a short while you won’t hear it any more.’

  ‘Right.’ Enoch sounded unconvinced. ‘So we’re pretty near the front line then?’

  ‘Depends how you look at it.’

  Enoch wriggled in his seat. ‘Japanese jumping out in front of us and bombs landing on us was how I was looking at it.’

  The driver smiled. ‘Ninety-nine per cent sure you needn’t worry about that.’

  ‘Right. That leaves one per cent to worry about, though.’

  ‘Hey, what can I say? You’re bang smack in the middle of a war zone. Nothing is a hundred per cent, stuff happens.’

  Enoch was clearly far from reassured, but funnily enough his anxiety made Bonnie feel better. This was normal; she was used to Enoch’s panic attacks and knew her role in them. She patted his arm. ‘It’ll be fine. Listen, You can hardly hear the guns going off now. And look, the rain’s stopping.’

  They bumped and jolted along the road, stopping for over an hour when a couple of wild oxen flatly refused to move out of their path, and being entertained by a woodpecker rattling its beak against a tree trunk as it fed off some ants. When poor Enoch had first heard the sound he’d been sure it was the enemy about to spring out at them. Again, their driver’s comments, spoken in a matter-of-fact voice, did nothing to settle Enoch’s nerves. ‘This is a constant problem in Burma,’ he drawled easily, ‘knowing exactly where the Japs are. We find our maps are unreliable and air photographs are no good in revealing their position. The main method of relaying information is from the local natives but that can be suspect. You never really know who’s on our side. Having said that, I owe my life to a Burman.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Enoch, as the woodpecker continued its tapping and the oxen munched slowly.

  ‘We were seventy-odd miles behind enemy lines in the middle of the night so we couldn’t see a hand in front of us and we were ambushed, not the best scenario. Mules were cantering about throwing their loads, grenades were going off, machine guns firing, men screaming. Chaos. You get the picture? And all the time you’re very aware the enemy are the Japanese who don’t play by the Geneva Convention when it comes to POWs.’

  Enoch glanced nervously around the green walls either side of the road, but Bonnie found that the driver’s story was taking her mind off leaving her father. ‘Go on,’ she murmured.

  ‘It was pitch black as only a tropical night can be, so there was no way to di
stinguish friend or foe. The platoon scattered and before we knew it me and a pal of mine were on our own with Japs all around. At that point we didn’t think we’d got a chance and our only resolve was to take as many Japs down with us as we could. And then this old Burman appeared. I nearly did for him before I realized he wasn’t a Jap. Anyway, he took us to his house which was on stilts and there were his wife and kids and an old grandmother looking every bit as terrified as us, and we stayed there for the night. Worst few hours of my life. Any minute we expected the Japs to storm the place. You wouldn’t believe how many noises there are at night in the jungle.’

  ‘I would. Oh, I would,’ Enoch said with feeling.

  ‘The next morning he fed us and then led us umpteen miles through the jungle to where the platoon had been making for before the Japs had ambushed us. He was one of the good guys all right. We were the only ones who survived that ambush. And you know, we tried to give him some money and he wouldn’t take it. No, he wouldn’t take it,’ he added, as though to himself.

  ‘Did you ever see him again?’ asked Bonnie.

  The driver shook his head. They sat in silence for a while and Bonnie must have dozed off – she’d only had cat naps over the last forty-eight hours or so – because she was suddenly aware of the engine starting again and the oxen had diappeared into the jungle.

  They arrived at the camp where Bonnie was due to perform an evening concert later that day, and after a meal of the inevitable nondescript stew and plain boiled rice, she mounted the makeshift ‘stage’ – a number of planks nailed together on two wooden pallets – and sang as though she didn’t have a care in the world. No one hearing her would have dreamed her heart was some miles back in the jungle in a tent where a man was fighting for his life.