‘And what am I supposed to do with this?’ Lady Fitzwilliam demanded, gazing with deep repugnance upon the dead animal.
‘We need a sharp knife,’ said Lucy. ‘A very sharp knife.’
Lady Fitzwilliam shuddered. She stood up quickly. ‘I shall be in the conservatory, if you require me,’ she said.
It was left to Lucy to skin the rabbit, and joint and cook it. That night Kezzie could smell the savoury stew as she opened the back door. She sat down wearily on the steps and pulled her boots off.
‘Something smells delicious,’ she said.
‘I did it all myself,’ said Lucy proudly. ‘Everything. Prepared the food, peeled the vegetables, cooked the stew. All of it.’
‘So we’re going to have a feast,’ said Kezzie.
The doorbell rang as Lady Fitzwilliam was laying the table and setting out the dishes. Kezzie crossed to the small stone sink in the corner to wash up before dinner, and Samuel went to answer the front door. Kezzie was drying her hands on a towel when she noticed that Samuel was standing just inside the doorway leading through to the hall. He stood very still, as though he’d been there some time, she thought. Almost at the same moment Lady Fitzwilliam looked up and saw him.
‘Samuel, you startled me,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see you there.’
‘You have a visitor, ma’am,’ Samuel announced slowly. ‘The Wing Commander from Master William’s squadron is in the drawing room.’
Kezzie realised that the old man was avoiding looking directly at either Lady Fitzwilliam or herself. He was staring stolidly at a point beyond their heads. ‘The gentleman says he would like a word with you,’ said Samuel. ‘In private.’
Lady Fitzwilliam carefully put the plate she was holding onto the table. ‘Kezzie,’ she said, ‘please accompany me.’
‘Missing – believed killed.’
Lady Fitzwilliam repeated the words the Wing Commander had just said. He looked at her anxiously, and then at Kezzie.
‘Some water?’ he suggested.
Lady Fitzwilliam shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No … thank you. Please tell me the details.’
‘He was part of a flight arm escorting a group of RAF bombers on a sortie into France. They crossed the French coast south of Le Touquet and ran into an enemy patrol. There was a brief dogfight. He downed at least one Messerschmitt, before being struck himself. His plane exploded on impact. No one saw him bale out. I am sorry. He was a wonderful young man.’
Lady Fitzwilliam sat in her chair, her back straight, her head erect.
‘Is there no hope?’ she asked. ‘Can you give me no hope? None at all?’
‘It is very unlikely that he has survived,’ said the Wing Commander.
‘But not impossible,’ persisted Lady Fitzwilliam. ‘Not entirely impossible?’
The Wing Commander spread his hands. ‘Not entirely, no,’ he agreed.
‘Then I will continue to wait for my son to come home,’ said Lady Fitzwilliam. Her voice shook.
Kezzie accompanied the officer to the front door. The Wing Commander spoke to her before he left. ‘I have reported that he is “missing in action: believed killed”.’
He looks enormously weary, thought Kezzie. She placed her hand on his arm, touching for a moment the thick gold braid of his sleeve. His eyes met hers, faded grey, with lines of exhaustion etched around the sockets.
But, like William’s mother, she too needed something to cling on to.
‘No,’ said Kezzie. ‘File it only as “missing in action”. Please,’ she added.
He nodded and left. Kezzie gripped the door handle tightly. ‘Women weep and young men die,’ she said as she closed the door behind him.
When Kezzie returned to the drawing room Lady Fitzwilliam was not weeping.
‘Am I a foolish old woman,’ she asked Kezzie, ‘to believe that there may be the merest chance of his surviving?’
Kezzie went and knelt by her chair. ‘If you are, then I am foolish too,’ she said.
Kezzie’s work at the farm finished and the weather hardened into bleak winter. On the 8th of December 1941 the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbour and a week later America was in the war.
CHAPTER 26
1942: The Americans arrive
KEZZIE HAD COLLECTED a parcel at the railway station one morning and was tying it onto the back of her bicycle when a tall tanned solider, with the captain’s stripes of the United States Army on his sleeve, walked casually up to the ticket office. He leaned on the little wooden ledge and called through the glass partition to Mr Penrose.
‘Say, buddy. D’you know anyplace hereabouts I’d get some gas?’
‘Gas?’ said Mr Penrose. He surveyed the young man suspiciously, taking in the strange uniform and the cropped hair, shorn all over so that the scalp gleamed through.
‘Yeah, gas,’ the soldier repeated.
Mr Penrose frowned at him. ‘Are you a Germ—’ he began.
‘Excuse me,’ said Kezzie quickly. ‘I think he means petrol. Don’t you?’ She smiled at the American soldier. ‘Gasoline for your motor car, sorry, automobile,’ she said. ‘We call it petrol over here.’
The officer grinned at her. ‘Sounds fine by me, honey,’ he said. ‘Smile like that, and you can call it anything you please.’
Kezzie blushed as he stared at her boldly. She was suddenly conscious of the long trousers which she now wore on a regular basis. ‘They’re so convenient when cycling,’ she’d told Lady Fitzwilliam. In actual fact she found them an easier way to dress for practically every occasion. However, in order not to upset Lady Fitzwilliam too much, she did still change into a skirt for dinner.
‘I can show you where there’s a garage which sells petrol,’ Kezzie told the American soldier.
In the background Mr Penrose tutted loudly.
Captain Joe Petrowski introduced himself as a surgeon with the American Medical Division, and offered Kezzie a ride back to the manor house. He chatted away as he lifted her bicycle into the back of his jeep and they drove along the country lanes. His accent and easy informal manner reminded her of Ricardo, and she felt suddenly, and quite sharply, homesick. She had thought of returning to Scotland at the beginning of the year. When she had discussed it with Lucy, it had been her little sister who had told her earnestly that they should stay on for a bit.
Yes, Lucy agreed that she too missed Scotland and Aunt Bella. She would like to go back to the little café and see Peg and Ricardo, and the two signoras who had treated her so lovingly. And most especially she wanted to play with Alec, who would now no longer be a baby. ‘But William’s mother needs us so much, Kezzie,’ said Lucy. ‘She is being very brave and not complaining, but she couldn’t cope on her own. She can get through the days, but she wouldn’t manage the nights.’
‘The nights?’ said Kezzie in surprise. ‘What happens at night-time?’
‘Her room is next to mine,’ said Lucy. ‘I hear her walking up and down for hours and hours. Sometimes I go in and pretend I’m frightened and can’t sleep, and then she sings to me. She reads me William’s letters, and shows me old photographs, and I tell her about Grandad and his stories. You know, Kezzie, they would have been great pals,’ said Lucy.
Kezzie gazed at her sister in amazement. ‘You and Lady Fitzwilliam?’ she said. ‘You help her when she is grieving for William?’
‘Aunt Mary,’ Lucy corrected her. ‘She told me I had to stop calling her Lady Fitzwilliam. So you see, Kezzie, she needs to have someone with her.’
Kezzie marvelled at her sister, at her strength and resourcefulness, and at her perception in appreciating the similarity between the older woman and their own grandfather. Indeed, Kezzie realised, the two of them would have got on extremely well together. She could just imagine the terrific arguments and political discussions they would have had. And, Kezzie suspected, it wouldn’t always have been her grandad who would have won the debate. She realised that she couldn’t possibly return to Scotland just yet. It would be an act of cruel
ty to take Lucy away, and deprive William’s mother of possibly the only person who was helping her to struggle through to each lonely dawn.
* * *
They created quite a stir when the jeep skidded to a halt below the front steps of the house. It was almost lunchtime and Lady Fitzwilliam and her helpers were ushering the children onto the trap to be driven home. One of the young mothers nudged Kezzie and whispered, ‘Where did you find him? He’s fabulous, absolutely gorgeous. Introduce us.’
Joe’s American drawl and his charm had an immediate effect. The young woman giggled and, gazing up at him, said, ‘Well, if you’re around here, I, for one, am going to feel a lot safer at night.’
‘That is an opinion not everyone might share,’ Lady Fitzwilliam observed drily. ‘In particular that young woman’s husband,’ she added under her breath to Kezzie.
They invited Joe to stay for lunch and as he came through the house he stared openly at everything. He was fascinated by it all. The wide corridors, the tapestries, the curved stairway and large rooms.
‘Gee, would you look at this.’ He looked around the kitchen, and touched the row of bells which had been used for calling the servants. ‘It’s for real! I thought you only saw these kinda things in the movies.’
Lucy watched him closely throughout the meal. He at once cut all his food up into small pieces. Then he put down his knife and, transferring his fork to his right hand, he began to eat.
Kezzie saw Lady Fitzwilliam raise her eyebrows. Not all the American ways were going to be welcome in Britain, she thought.
She was proved correct. The American soldier’s weekly pay equalled around seven pounds sterling, while the ordinary British private earned not much more than seven shillings. They called their uniforms Government Issue, so the British began calling the soldiers themselves GIs. All of them spoke, and a good many of them looked, like cinema stars. They brought their own supplies and were able to procure fruit, nylon stockings, and chocolate – things which hadn’t been seen in Britain for years. They were hugely popular with lots of young women. Quite understandably, many British men loathed them.
Their presence struck the surrounding area like a multi-coloured firework. Lucy, to Lady Fitzwilliam’s consternation, started using American slang. When she was cooking eggs she enquired if they preferred them ‘overeasy’ or ‘sunny side up’ and she would shout, ‘Got any gum, chum?’ when Joe appeared at the back door.
He became a frequent visitor to the house. He was establishing what he called a back-up base at an old aerodrome a few miles away. The United States Medical Corps was setting up a series of hospital units all over the country. They were located away from the major cities for fear of bomb damage, but near transport lines and railway stations. West Fenton was an ideal place to have one.
‘We’re going to have more and more casualties as the war goes on,’ Joe told them. ‘From bombing missions, from active service units in the major conflicts abroad, and when the big push comes next year or the year after. The first-aid posts in the field can only do so much, and the British hospitals at home won’t be able to cope. We’ll pick up on the more serious cases which will be flown back.’
He was very proud of having his operating theatre in working order so quickly. They’d done one emergency appendectomy on the small son of the owner of the village inn. The appendix had been on the point of bursting and the local doctor let it be known that, but for Joe and his team, the child might have died. After this incident the Americans found that the local people treated them in a more friendly manner.
Not long after, when Joe was having dinner at the house, and he was telling them about some new technical apparatus which had arrived, Kezzie recalled Dr McMath speaking of the same piece of equipment. She commented on this to Joe, and he began to ask her about her work at the pharmacy in Canada.
‘We’ll need more staff if things hot up,’ he said, ‘and I’d like someone who has had practical experience. I could train you just now as a theatre assistant.’
Kezzie’s hands began to shake. She put her knife and fork down carefully. ‘You don’t mean it, do you?’ she asked him. ‘Would you actually take me on?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘We could give it a try.’
CHAPTER 27
US hospital
KEZZIE FOUND THAT the hospital demanded all her energy. It was the most difficult work she had ever undertaken. Not only physically and mentally, but also emotionally.
When the first wounded began to arrive, isolated cases who were casualties from bombing sorties, she found the very youth of the patients distressing. The broken remnants of the young men would have caused the stoutest spirit to falter. It was a strain to be cheerful while nursing a boy, little older than herself, whose leg or arm, or both, had been amputated.
Joe was ruthlessly efficient and demanded the same standard from his staff that he gave himself.
‘We’re gonna be the best,’ he said. ‘That’s the target. Nothing lower.’
He was training her in theatre skills and had bawled her out on several occasions for what he considered sloppy work. She found it hard to reconcile this Joe with the big easy-going guy who loved to clown around with Lucy and the rest of the children at the house. He was full of energy. No matter how hard the week had been at the hospital, the weekend always found him out dancing somewhere. Jitterbugging or waltzing round the floor crooning in her ear, ‘Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me …’
When she wasn’t on duty he plied her with textbooks and medical journals to read. She was learning fast under his direction. Lady Fitzwilliam was enthusiastic about the whole situation.
‘You can apply to take a pre-university entrance exam course in the autumn,’ she told Kezzie. ‘We will write off now and find out what preparation you might have to do.’
And so it seemed to Kezzie that for the time being her life had been settled for her. Lucy was happy, more content than she’d been for a long time, in fact. Lady Fitzwilliam would be bereft if they moved away. And her own future … there was now a real possibility that her dream of becoming a doctor could come true.
While Kezzie worked in the base hospital, Lady Fitzwilliam and Joe were making plans together.
‘This house is under-utilised,’ she’d declared to Kezzie one day.
Kezzie guessed that this was Joe’s influence. He found the enormous empty rooms at odds with his own cramped quarters in what was essentially Nissen hut accommodation.
‘We could have patients to convalesce here,’ said Lady Fitzwilliam.
She’d now almost completely handed over the daily lessons in the house to the children’s parents. There was hope that the local school might reopen after Easter as someone knew of a former teacher who was to be invalided out of the RAF. Joe was keen for the rooms in the house to be freed up. He, more than any of them, realised how many more beds would be needed for the wounded as the war went on.
‘Kezzie, Lucy, Samuel and myself can move up to the attic rooms,’ Lady Fitzwilliam told him. ‘We will store the furniture and then we could adapt the remaining space as an overflow from your unit.’
They discussed ideas, the possibility of converting the dining room into a general ward and making the conservatory into a day room.
Some of Lady Fitzwilliam’s county friends were taken aback by the prospect of her actual involvement with the wounded convalescing in the house.
‘We thought you would have a more supervisory role, Mary,’ was the comment. ‘You’re not thinking of nursing the patients yourself, are you, dear? Do you realise that you may be asked to bathe or change some of these soldiers … male soldiers?’
‘I think they imagined me walking about with a lamp at night and the men kissing my shadow on their pillow as I passed,’ Lady Fitzwilliam said to Kezzie at dinner one evening. ‘I just told them, “If you mean shit and smelly socks, then I’m perfectly capable of dealing with both. I can clean up dung as well as anyone else, don’t you know”.
’
Kezzie choked on her food. ‘You didn’t actually say that, did you?’
‘I certainly did,’ declared Lady Fitzwilliam. ‘I may not be invited to tea at the vicarage again.’
And she was doing it. There was no task that Lady Fitzwilliam considered too menial for her to perform. She had one particular boy who was quite clearly her favourite. He had developed gangrene in both his legs. She emerged from his room one night after cleaning his wound and changing his dressing. She caught Kezzie watching her as she rinsed out the foul bandages.
‘You should take some time off,’ Kezzie suggested. ‘You could exhaust yourself. You do so much.’
Lady Fitzwilliam smiled at her wearily. ‘My only hope is that someone somewhere is taking care of William,’ she said.
Kezzie took the linen out of her hands. ‘Come and have a cup of tea,’ she said.
Kezzie felt quite humbled by the way this woman had coped with the many trials of her life and how well she adapted to the fantastic changes in her world and experience. From oil lamp, through gas, to electric power; from gramophone records to radio links which flashed around the world in seconds. She had stepped from one century to the next, watching an empire, which she and her kind had helped create, now slowly fragmenting and disintegrating. Things would never be the same again. Lady Fitzwilliam herself recognised this fact and had the wisdom to see that some changes were necessary and might perhaps be beneficial.
She talked to Kezzie about the role of women in society.
‘I knew Emmeline Pankhurst slightly,’ she said. ‘I’d always thought …’ Lady Fitzwilliam hesitated, ‘that she made such a dreadful fuss about issues which most women were not the least concerned with. Now, I’m not so sure.’
‘It will be different after this,’ said Kezzie. ‘There are nurseries for children and these will continue. It will give women more freedom.’
Lady Fitzwilliam smiled. ‘I never imagined that I would hear myself say this,’ she said. ‘But, I do hope you’re right, my dear.’
Kezzie at War Page 27
