Pattern of Shadows

by Judith Barrow

  As she picked up a kidney bowl full of used dressings, a double thud of gunshots made her jump, dropping the tray with a clatter amongst the other bits and pieces. Mary’s stomach lurched. She peered through the window but could only see confusion as men, guards and prisoners, ran about. ‘That sounded like firing.’

  ‘It did.’ Jean hurried to stand next to Mary at the window. ‘Can you see anything?’

  ‘Not much. Looks like something’s happened though.’

  ‘Well, we’ll soon find out, no doubt,’ Jean said. ‘Do you need help here?’

  ‘No, see to Harald, will you?’ Mary nodded towards the youth, who was moaning loudly. ‘He’s due for his next morphine.’ She pushed the trolley towards the first bed and forced herself to concentrate on the man lying in it. She unwound the dressings around his head and slowly lifted the gauze mask from his face, watching his reaction. ‘Nearly done now,’ she reassured him.

  ‘Dank sei Gott,’ he muttered, his lips pressed tightly together in pain.

  Dropping the soiled bandages into a bin near the sink, Mary washed and dried her hands, glancing out of the window as she walked back to her patient. Across the compound guards were marshalling crowds of prisoners through the wooden door of the mill entrance.

  Dipping the cotton wool into the solution of tannic acid, she smoothed it over the damaged features before replacing fresh gauze.

  Jean came and stood beside her. ‘Sure you don’t want me to take over?’

  ‘Nearly done now. Did you give Harald his pain relief?’

  ‘Yes, he should sleep shortly.’

  ‘Good. We’ll have a cup of tea in a minute.’ Mary wrapped the open weave cotton bandages over the gauze. She stroked back the lock of hair that flopped over the dressings on the man’s forehead. ‘All finished.’

  ‘Danke.’

  She settled the patient into a more comfortable position and straightened up. Outside the ward there were shouts, a scuffle of boots and the doors crashed open. A British orderly staggered backwards carrying one end of a stretcher, two German orderlies following. The first man called over his shoulder. ‘Two more for your ministrations, girls. Where do you want them? There’s been a right to-do out there today. We’ve taken one to the morgue. If you ask me we’re in for trouble.’

  Mary hurried towards him as a second stretcher was brought in. Her tone hid the sickness in her stomach. ‘We didn’t ask you, Mr Hampson, and may I remind you there are poorly men in here. Please keep the noise down. Put the first one there.’ She gestured towards a bed. ‘The other at the end of the ward.’ She spoke quietly to Jean. ‘Nurse, please help here. Let the orderlies do the lifting,’ she warned and then looked back at the man. ‘Would you find the Commandant, say we need at least one of the doctors.’ He left. ‘Can any of you tell me what has happened?’ The German orderlies were prisoners newly allocated to the hospital; they didn’t understand her. Exasperated Mary looked for Jean. ‘All right? Can you find out if Sergeant Strausse is anywhere around yet, instead, please, we need a translator.’ As Jean left, Mary helped to move the man from the first stretcher on to the bed. She recognised him as one of the guards.

  He gave her a weak grin. ‘Busted my leg, I think,’ he muttered. ‘Got soddin’ knocked over in the bloody rush to stop one of the bleeders from getting away. Pardon my French.’

  ‘Get him ready for the doctor, please, Nurse Blackstock,’ Mary said to the other nurse. ‘When he gets here, that is.’ She glanced at the doors as they quietly opened. Jean held on to one of them, the sergeant behind her. They both looked past her.

  ‘What is it?’ Mary turned. At the end of the ward, the man being lifted on to the bed was facing away from her but she saw his hand, the long slender fingers. She felt she was moving in slow motion until she was by his side. He was unconscious. Automatically she noted the blood pumping out of his shoulder, the flesh torn and open. She swallowed hard. ‘Let’s get his shirt off and see what we’re dealing with.’ She deliberately kept her voice impersonal. ‘We can all see that it’s Doctor Schormann, but for now he’s simply a patient.’

  The bullet had gone straight through his shoulder. Mary gestured at the two German orderlies and they lifted him so that she could see the exit wound. ‘Get these wet clothes off him.’ Sergeant Strausse barked an order and they worked quickly.

  ‘We’ll have to wait until Doctor Pensch comes before we know if there is damage to the bone,’ Mary said. ‘There’s a cut on the back of his head as well.’ She saw slivers of bone and grey matter in his hair. ‘Oh God!’ She blanched.

  Jean bent closer. ‘They must be remnants of the skull and brain from the dead prisoner.’ She touched Mary’s back, speaking quietly. ‘Keep calm, Mary, he’s just a patient, remember?’ She raised her voice. ‘But it’s a bad laceration. I can start to clean it up.’

  ‘Thanks Jean, I’m fine.’ Mary’s murmur was appreciative. She stepped away from the bed. ‘No, it’s all right, Nurse Howarth, you see to the guard,’ she said. She turned to the other nurse. ‘Get me some saline, please.’

  Left alone Mary looked around before leaning over the doctor as though examining the grazes on his face. ‘I love you, Peter Schormann,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t you dare die, do you hear me? Don’t you dare.’

  Chapter 44

  ‘Doctor Pensch says he’s out of danger.’ Mary handed the notes to the sister on night duty.

  ‘What happened, do you know?’

  ‘Not exactly. Apparently there has to be an inquest.’

  They’d finished walking from bed to bed discussing each patient. Now they stood in front of Peter.

  ‘We’re keeping him sedated.’ Mary picked up his wrist and studied her fob watch, his skin hot under her fingertips. ‘He’s lost a lot of blood.’

  ‘What’s happening about replacing Doctor Schormann?’

  Mary kept her voice steady. ‘Matron says they’re going through records at other camps. The first two they found were Nazis so, of course, they were ruled out. We’ve enough of those of our own. We’ll have to muddle through until it’s sorted.’ It was all she could do to keep control of herself. She wanted to go home to the safety of her room, yet she felt she couldn’t bear to leave.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Jean appeared with their capes over her arm. ‘At least it’s stopped raining.’

  When they got outside the ward she threaded her hand through Mary’s arm and, merging with the other nurses going off shift, led her to the main entrance. ‘Keep yourself together, love,’ she murmured and, out of sight of anyone, put Mary’s cape around her shoulders and fastened it. ‘Best foot forward now. Remember the sentries.’

  ‘Oh, Jean, I’m so glad Matron let you come back to work. What would I do without you?’ Mary walked with stiff legs along Shaw Road.

  ‘Well, that’s one thing about being at war, love, hospitals need all the help they can get. Including married women.’

  ‘The orderly said it was Frank. He said it was him that did it.’

  ‘So I believe,’ Jean said. ‘But they’re saying it was an accident, that he fired from the west tower overlooking the road while they were doing the count. The sentry I spoke to said one of the prisoners had been playing up all day and finally tried to rush a guard. Doctor Schormann simply got in the way.’ She stopped at the next lamppost pretending to tie her shoelaces. ‘Can I be honest?’ She kept her head down until the last of the nurses had gone past. ‘I know you like the man, Mary, but if you’re not more careful it will look as though there’s been something going on.’ She straightened up, adjusting her gas mask on her shoulder. ‘You know what it’s like, what they’re like.’ She nodded in the direction of the nurses, the pools of dimmed light from their torches growing smaller. ‘There’s always tittle-tattle.’ The silence between them spread out. Eventually Jean moved nearer. ‘Mary?’ Jean clicked her own torch on so she could see her.

  ‘I couldn’t tell you.’ The words were barely audible. ‘We … I didn’t plan to get involv
ed with Peter,’ she said, ‘it just happened.’

  ‘What? What on earth do you mean?’ Jean spoke in a fierce whisper. The bobbing lights had disappeared but the muted chatter of the women still floated through the darkness. ‘Involved? How involved?’ Her head was poked forward, her face only inches away from Mary’s. ‘Are you telling me there really is something going on?’

  Mary could hardly breathe. ‘He’s a good man. He’s gentle, honest.’

  ‘Honest? He’s a bloody German. Hell’s bells, Mary, you’re supposed to be the sensible one in your family.’ Jean faltered to a halt before saying. ‘That time at our house, just after I lost the baby, when you first said you liked him, I was worried but this…’ She held her hands out in bewilderment. ‘Have you completely lost your senses?’ She shook her head and walked away, Mary followed. She felt as though her throat was closing. She tried to swallow but her mouth was dry.

  When Jean spoke again, her voice was deliberately restrained. ‘Remember what happened to Hetty Crabtree from Clarence Street? She was caught fratting with that POW she worked with on Tanner’s Farm. She was prosecuted under that Act. He was sent away. People were vicious; made her and her mother’s life hell, if you remember. None of the shops would serve them. They had horrible words painted all over the walls of their house. She couldn’t even walk down the street without getting things thrown at her. They had to move away in the end.’ She turned so quickly Mary almost fell over her. ‘How could you be so stupid?’

  ‘It was only the once.’ Mary’s skin shone pale in the darkness. ‘And I’ve scarcely seen him since Dad died, let alone…’ She shut up as Jean threw up her hands again.

  ‘It shouldn’t even have been once,’ she hissed, moving closer. ‘You could finish up in prison, your whole life, your career down the lavvy.’ Her eyes suddenly widened. ‘What if you’re pregnant?’

  ‘I’m not. I’ve had my monthly since.’ Mary felt the despair changing to anger and tried to curb it. ‘Peter could die, Jean, so I’m not going to be made to feel guilty for what I feel, what we did. I know you don’t approve.’ She paused. ‘No, it’s more than that … you judge and condemn, just as everybody else would if they knew. You don’t trust me, don’t understand what it’s like, any more than they would.’ She moved round Jean and walked on. They were at the crossroads of Huddersfield Road and Shaw Street before she spoke again. A car approached, its lights muted, and they had to wait until it passed. Standing still, Mary’s legs began to shake so much she couldn’t move and she held on to the wall of the end house. ‘No one needs to know; not unless you decide to report us.’

  Jean whirled round at her. ‘How could you?’ she said, her voice strained. ‘How could you think I’d do that, despite everything.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jean. I had to know. I’m frightened.’

  They stayed in the shadows of the house until both were calmer. Jean was the first to walk on. Gathering her cape around her she said, ‘I don’t approve, you know that. I won’t say anything, course I won’t, but promise me you’ll be careful.’ She blew her nose. ‘This is something I never thought I’d have to deal with. It scares me. It’s too close to home.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jean, it just happened. Sometimes I wish it hadn’t and it frightens me to death, but I can’t help loving Peter and he loves me. I’ve even wished it had worked out with Frank … that he had been different …’

  Jean put her hand over her mouth. ‘Frank? Does he know about Peter?’

  ‘He’s guessed, I think.’ Mary bit her lip.

  ‘My God,’ Jean whispered.

  ‘There’s something else.’ A car came from behind and splashed through a puddle in the road, spraying water over their feet but neither noticed.

  ‘What?’ Jean pressed Mary forward again. ‘Keep walking.’

  ‘It’s Ellen.’ Mary spoke in a rush. She’d let the one secret out she might as well tell Jean the other. ‘She’s written to me. She and Frank … they … made love … just the once and she says the baby’s Frank’s. She thinks he just used her to get at me.’

  ‘Hell’s bells, poor Ellen.’ Jean stared into the dipped low lights of the double-decker bus approaching. She waited until it had droned past. ‘What a bastard. Does he know that as well?’

  ‘Yes. I confronted him about it. Had to.’

  ‘Does Ellen know you’ve told him?’

  ‘No, I know I shouldn’t have. But he’s so bloody arrogant I couldn’t help myself. She’ll probably go mad.’

  They walked on in silence. There was nothing more to say.

  Chapter 45

  Winifred was huddled by the range and the fire was almost out. She didn’t turn round but said in a low voice, ‘There’re two letters on the table for you,’ and pulled her shawl further over her face.

  ‘Mam. You all right?’

  Her mother slowly moved her head up and down and shifted in her chair, knocking over an empty bottle that rolled across the linoleum. Mary stopped it with her foot and picked it up. There were two others by the sink in the scullery. Mary closed her eyes for a second. How much more could she take today? She turned off the tap, which was dripping water on to a jumbled collection of dirty cups and plates. She stretched her neck from side to side, trying to loosen the tightness in her shoulders.

  Walking back into the kitchen, she unclipped her cape, took off her cap and dropped them on to the table. She turned the envelopes over. ‘They’re both from Tom.’ Her mother didn’t answer. ‘I’ll read them to you later. I’m going to have a lie down. It’s been a bit of a bad day.’

  Winifred lifted her shoulders, still didn’t speak.

  Mary crossed to the fire, picked up two pieces of old chair legs from the scuttle and laid them on top of the grey smouldering coal. She waited a moment, watching smoke creeping around the wood. ‘Mam?’ The older woman grimaced but said nothing, just stared into the grate. Mary saw her eyes were red rimmed and puffy. She squeezed her shoulder gently.

  Holding the letters she went slowly upstairs and flung herself on the bed. She pulled Ellen’s pillow to her, smelling her perfume. She hadn’t wanted to wash it, wanted the reminder. Revealing the truth to Frank about the baby was perhaps the most stupid thing she’d ever done, well, next to telling Jean about it all, anyway. Please God she didn’t let it slip to Patrick: then the trouble would really start. Mary groaned and, still in her uniform, dragged the eiderdown over her and slept.

  When she woke one of the envelopes crackled under her cheek. She ripped it open and held it towards the light from the landing. It was just two words.

  Iori died.

  Chapter 46

  March 1945

  ‘Tom must be feeling dreadful, Jean.’ Mary gnawed on the inside of her cheek. ‘They were … were good friends, really good.’

  ‘And he hasn’t replied to your letters?’ They stood back from the rest of the nurses, waiting to be allowed in through the main gates.

  ‘No. I’ve written three times now. I’ve even written to Mrs Griffiths, Iori’s mother, to send my sympathies and ask if she knows what happened, but she hasn’t replied yet.’ Mary pulled her cape tighter around her. ‘And I’ve telephoned the prison. I pretended I wanted a Visiting Order so they had to tell me what’d happened,’ she said. ‘They wouldn’t tell me anything about Iori, of course, because I wasn’t a relative, and all they said about Tom was that he was all right.’

  ‘And Tom said they’d been beaten up?’

  ‘Yes, in the other letter.’ Mary struggled not to cry. ‘He must be in an awful state. He said it was the same group of men that’d been making Iori’s life hell for ages. They’d beaten him badly and Tom lost his temper and took them all on.’

  ‘And the prison said …?’

  ‘They said Tom and Iori’d been in a fight.’ Mary made a small huffing noise through her lips. ‘Honestly, Jean, Iori looked as though he couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag, he was that skinny. I lost my rag with the chap on the phone. I asked him wh
en they intended telling us about Tom. He said, “There is no legal entitlement for us to inform you about such incident.” Snotty bugger.’ Her voice rose. ‘I couldn’t believe it. I asked if I could see Tom and he said no, they’d put him in solitary.’

  She thought of him and Iori sitting so close together the last time she visited. She’d been right to worry. And now Tom would be alone in that god-forsaken place. He must be going mad. It was a nightmare and she could do nothing about it. She felt sick. She needed to see him and she needed to find out what had happened. Surely the prison had to report it, didn’t they? Weren’t they supposed to tell the police? Was it all going to be hushed up? It was ironic that there might be an inquest about the shooting in camp and not into what had happened to Tom and Iori. As soon as the thought occurred to her she felt guilty, but it didn’t seem right that there seemed to be one rule for one set of people and a different one for others. Anyway, it wasn’t Peter she was thinking of; it was the man who’d been killed, the man known to be a troublemaker. And just as quickly it flashed into her mind: perhaps that’s how the authorities at the Scrubs saw Tom, as a troublemaker.

  A sob escaped without warning. One or two of the other nurses looked curiously in their direction. She glared at them until they turned away.

  ‘Move to one side please, girls.’ The guard waved his arms at the group.

  A large black car drove up to the main gates. After a cursory check of the document that the driver pushed through the inch of open window, the sentry waved the vehicle in. Everyone watched as it stopped and then was allowed to drive through the gates of the compound.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Who knows through all that dark glass,’ one of the other girls said.

  ‘Who cares?’ someone else said. ‘Let us through, can’t you?’ she shouted at the guard. ‘We’ll be late.’

  Jean took hold of Mary’s elbow and moved them further away from the others. ‘It’ll be all right. I’ll ask Patrick to telephone. See if he can find out what’s happening.’