by Katie Flynn
Auntie Bess had got over her ill humour almost as soon as Eve had rushed from the kitchen clasping a tennis ball in one hand and an ancient tennis racket in the other. The trouble was, today should have been the day of the WI tea, a social gathering which she much enjoyed. It had been Mrs Brown’s turn to host it, at Heathcliff Farm, but she had sent a message round to all the members with one of her sons – she had three, all under ten – to say that she had her old father in bed with a shocking case of influenza and had to cry off because her kitchen was probably positively buzzing with germs.
By the time the message reached Auntie Bess it was too late for her to inform everyone that she would be happy to have the meeting at Drake’s Farm instead, so as a result the one social event which she looked forward to had been cancelled and the large tray of fruitless scones, her contribution to the tea, would go unappreciated except by the inhabitants of Drake’s Farm.
Consequently, her normal good humour had deserted her, and when Chrissie had come barging into the kitchen demanding to be told why a boy calf could not stay on the farm, she had forgotten tact and told him the simple truth: bull calves would spend the rest of their short lives with the other bullocks until the time came for them to be slaughtered and turned into food for the hungry nation.
Chrissie had never thought to wonder where the bullocks went when they were taken off to market, and now that he had been told he was heartbroken.
‘Not my dear little calves,’ he had said pitifully, and when Auntie Bess had explained rather brusquely about food shortages he had first burst into tears and then rushed out of the room. Guilt had been added to Auntie Bess’s irritation, causing her to snap at both Connie and Eve, but by the time a commotion broke out in the farmyard she had recovered her equanimity and simply assumed that the game of French cricket had been spoiled by the rain. She was just thinking it was fortunate that the range had been lit for her baking activities and had actually started to lower the drying rack when the back door burst open and Connie and Bunny shot into the room, pushing Miriam and Chrissie ahead of them.
‘What on earth …’ Auntie Bess began, for all four were talking at once, making it difficult for her to understand just what the panic was about, save that someone had been hurt and might need hospital treatment. She hauled the clothes dryer up to the ceiling again and raised her voice above the tumult. ‘Who’s hurt, and how badly?’ she said briskly. ‘Should I wake Uncle Reg, or is it something I can deal with?’ She smiled comfortably. ‘I’ve a first aid box with all sorts inside. I’m sure I could find something …’
Bunny cut across her. ‘It’s Johnny, Mrs Faversham; we were playing down by the old greenhouses and part of the chimney collapsed on him. I don’t think your first aid box will be enough. I’ve done anatomy at school and I think he’s broken his left leg, because it’s at a funny angle, and he’s probably damaged his ribs as well. Oh, Auntie Bess, if we took a door off its hinges, like they do in books, we could carry him up from the old greenhouses whilst we wait for the ambulance.’
Auntie Bess gave a little shriek. ‘Wake Uncle Reg,’ she ordered Connie tersely. ‘Bunny, go and get Mr Spindlebush and explain what’s happened, and ring for an ambulance while you’re about it.’ She turned to Chrissie. ‘You stay with me, my lad; I’m too old and fat to be much use and you’re too young and skinny. But you can take me down to the old greenhouses and show me just what happened and where. Then we must go up to the main road so we can guide the ambulance to where it’s needed. If Johnny can talk, he can tell us where he’s hurt …’
Johnny lay in darkness without moving, aware something had happened though he could not imagine what, but somewhere quite near someone was banging on a drum which sent reverberations of pain through his aching head. He thought he opened his mouth to ask whoever it was to stop but no sound came out, or no sound that he could hear, at any rate. He tried to move but could not, so he lay still. He was thirsty, but though he was sure there were people around him he realised he had no way of contacting them. His voice did not appear to be working, and when he tried to move his hand it felt like a lead weight and stayed exactly where it was. Then he became aware that the darkness was lit now and then by flashes of light and with an enormous effort he managed to open his eyes. He was lying on something very hard and uncomfortable whilst rain pattered down on his face, and someone, he did not know who, was crying. He wanted to tell whoever it was to bring him a drink, only the words would not come, and trying to force his reluctant body to wake – if it was sleep which gripped him – was too much like hard work. Then, for the first time, he realised that someone was speaking, and though the words did not make much sense he thought that perhaps when the darkness shifted away completely he would be able to understand. But presently the bed on which he lay – only it could not possibly be a bed because it was much too hard – gave a sort of jiggle and the movement hurt Johnny so much that he felt himself collapsing once more into the dark.
Later, he did not know how much, he found that he could hear a voice and make sense of what it was saying.
‘Johnny dear, the ambulance has arrived and the fellows are going to lift you off the door and on to the ambulance bed. The driver says it may hurt you a little but I’m going to do my best to hold you steady. Can you hear me, dear? It’s your Auntie Bess talking and I’m going to come with you in the ambulance to hold you steady, because movement hurts, doesn’t it?’
Johnny opened his eyes and thought he probably nodded whilst saying in a shred of a voice, totally unlike his usual tones: ‘Movement hurts.’
‘It would,’ Auntie Bess’s voice said, clearly trying to be reassuring. ‘The ambulance man says you’ve broken your leg, a real nasty break, but just you lie quiet and remember everyone’s doing their best. There’s a doctor coming to give you a shot of something to help with the pain. The ambulance driver won’t so much as start his engine until the doctor arrives, so just you lie still and before you know it you’ll be nicely plastered up and starting to walk again.’
The voice had been coming from a short distance away but now it moved closer and Johnny opened the only eye which seemed to want to open and saw Auntie Bess’s round pink face only inches away from his own. She was trying to smile but it was a poor effort and in fact it frightened Johnny more than anything else, for Auntie Bess was not one to show emotion and in the short glimpse he had had of her face before his eye closed again he had seen tears glistening on her cheeks. I must be really bad to make Auntie Bess cry. I should try to reassure her, he thought, and was still trying to think of comforting words when there was a sharp pain in his arm, sharper than he could bear. Without at all meaning to do so, he gave a yelp, and even whilst the doctor was assuring him that once the drug started working the pain would ease off Johnny slid, gratefully this time, into pain-free darkness.
He did not return to consciousness until he was ensconced in a hospital bed with Dr Randolph standing beside him and both Auntie Bess and Uncle Reg at the foot of his bed. Auntie Bess was saying in a worried voice that he was an evacuee and his father was serving abroad, but she had already sent a telegram which should bring his mother to her son’s side.
Johnny opened sleepy eyes, the lids so heavy that they might have been made of lead. ‘I’m all right,’ he whispered, ‘but my leg does hurt. I’m sure it’s broken.’
‘It is,’ Uncle Reg said. ‘It’s what I heard one of the nurses call a greenstick fracture.’ He grinned down at Johnny, his usual cheerful grin, and Johnny found it more reassuring than any words.
‘Good,’ he said vaguely. ‘Can I go home soon? My mother was a nurse in the last war and she understands about broken legs and things.’
The doctor smiled down at him. ‘We’ve been more worried by the crack on the head you took,’ he said. ‘At one point … but we won’t go into that. According to your young lady it was a falling brick, and of course you lost quite a lot of blood. But as soon as you recover from that – maybe after the stitches come out �
�� you’ll be able to go back to Drake’s Farm, but not home, because I understand that your mother lives in the heart of London and that’s no place for a lad with a broken head, let alone a broken leg. Do you understand?’
Johnny nodded wearily. Suddenly complete exhaustion had set in. He was hungry but no longer thirsty, so he assumed someone had given him a glass of water at some point. Then he saw the tube leading to his wrist and the bottle of transparent liquid on a hanger beside his bed and realised it must have been feeding water into him whilst he was unconscious.
Now Auntie Bess was leaning over and doing what she had never done before, which was to give him a kiss. ‘You’re a brave lad, Johnny Durrell,’ she said huskily. ‘I’ve not got the whole story out of young Connie yet but she’s stuck to you like glue. She’s in the waiting room now and I know she would like a word, even if it’s only to bid you goodnight. Can I send her in?’
Johnny would have liked to say no, but that would have been rude and ungrateful so he nodded drowsily and presently Auntie Bess’s place was taken by Connie, who fell to her knees beside the bed, the jolting sending arrows of pain through Johnny’s head and leg.
‘Oh, Johnny,’ she wailed. ‘Are you terribly hurt? If only Eve hadn’t made you turn round just as the tower began to topple, none of this might have happened. I wanted to come in the ambulance with you but Auntie Bess came instead. Eve just went back to the farmhouse and started getting everyone’s tea. She must have known she wouldn’t be much use, not with the doctor saying you must be kept quiet.’
Johnny felt her fingers clasp his own and in the back of his mind an unworthy thought arose. Connie was enjoying the drama of the situation. Suddenly it was all too much. He was too weak even to escape the clutch of Connie’s hand. He realised he had no idea what Connie was talking about; even less what the doctor had meant about a brick. Surely no one had been throwing bricks? His eyes closed in sheer exhaustion, and he felt rather than saw Auntie Bess seize Connie’s shoulder, give it a shake, and pull the girl to her feet.
‘Don’t you start filling his mind with your twaddle,’ he heard her say reprovingly. ‘When he’s better he’ll remember what happened of his own accord. As it is, the doctor says he doesn’t want Johnny excited or disturbed, so come along. Uncle Reg has brought the truck round to the front of the hospital and I want to get back to the farm just as soon as I can, else those gannets will have ate all the baking I did today and probably tomorrow’s as well.’
He was aware of Connie leaning over him and giving him a kiss. ‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow. You be good now and get yourself fit and well because we want you back at Drake’s Farm …’
‘Oh, be quiet, Connie,’ he heard Auntie Bess say. ‘Can’t you see that all the lad wants is a nice long sleep? You can come and see him tomorrow evening, if you’ve done your chores and I can spare you. He’ll be feeling better by then.’
Johnny tried to nod, but his head was too heavy. It reminded him of the big pink cabbage rose which grew by the cowshed and had a flower so big that Uncle Reg tied it to a stake every year in order to stop the magnificent bloom from simply breaking off. That was how Johnny felt now, like a head-heavy rose. Slowly he turned his head into the pillow, enjoying the feel of the cool linen on his cheek. Somewhere, a voice was calling him, and then the voice faded away and was replaced by pan pipes. Johnny had no idea what they were doing on a hospital ward but very soon it did not matter. Nothing mattered. Johnny slid into sleep.
Chapter Ten
Johnny’s mother visited him within a couple of days of the accident. Eve did not know quite what to expect, for Johnny had never described Mrs Durrell to her, but she had pictured her as plump and easy-going, regarded by her sons with tolerant affection and playing down her role in the war effort. The reality, however, was very different. Eve was sitting by Johnny’s bed in hospital when his mother arrived and she jumped to her feet at once to fetch an extra chair, surprised to see that Mrs Durrell looked far too young to have two sons in the army, and was dressed in a smart grey suit, shining black shoes, and what looked like black silk stockings. Her fair hair was twisted into a bun on the nape of her neck and she bore very little resemblance to Johnny, though when she smiled and greeted him with a kiss Eve thought she caught a fleeting likeness.
Johnny had been sleeping, but he awoke as his mother’s hand smoothed his rough hay-coloured hair off his forehead and a smile lit up his face.
‘Oh, Ma, I knew you’d come,’ he whispered feebly. ‘This here’s the pal I told you about …’ He tried to hoist himself further up the bed but his mother pushed him gently back against his pillows.
‘It’s all right. Connie and I will chat and get to know one another until you feel like talking.’
‘I’m Eve, Mrs Durrell,’ Eve said shyly. ‘Connie and I take it in turns to visit Johnny – Auntie Bess says he should only have one visitor at a time, because if we were both trying to talk to him we’d tire him out in no time. I’m sure that doesn’t apply to you, though. Has someone told you what happened?’
Mrs Durrell smiled. ‘I had a word with Matron before I came on to the ward and she put me in the picture. I’m sorry I got your name wrong – you’re the one with the little brother, aren’t you? Johnny’s very fond of you both, I know, and of this Connie, of course.’ There was a rattling in the background and a woman in a stained white pinafore entered the ward by bashing the doors with a large trolley. ‘Ah, here comes your tea, young man. Eve, do you think that lovely lady would be very kind and let me have a cup? The train did stop a good many times but I was so afraid it might carry on without me if I joined a queue that I’m dry as dust and could drink a gallon of anything on offer.’
‘I’ll ask her,’ Eve said doubtfully, for her experience with the trolley-pusher was that she regarded the tea and the rather stale-looking sandwiches she dispensed as her own personal property, but Mrs Durrell’s winning smile did the trick and the tea lady handed over a brimming cup without a word of complaint.
When visiting hour was over, Eve led Mrs Durrell to the parking area where she knew Uncle Reg would be waiting with the truck to give them a ride home. He greeted Johnny’s mother warmly, and made haste to offer her the hospitality of Drake’s Farm for as long as she was able to stay.
‘You can sleep in young Johnny’s room,’ he assured her as he started the engine, got the truck into gear and drove cautiously out of the parking lot, ‘so no need to feel you’re taking anyone’s place. You wouldn’t want to share with Miriam – snores louder than this ’ere engine, that one do – still less bunk down in the attic with young Eve and all the rest.’ He turned his head to wink at Eve, causing him to swerve dangerously towards oncoming traffic. Eve gave a moan of protest, reminded yet again that Uncle Reg was more at home driving the pony in the trap than negotiating what little motor traffic there was through the town centre, and swivelled quickly to address Mrs Durrell, sitting by the window on her other side.
‘Auntie Bess used to keep the room where Johnny sleeps for my parents, if they ever wanted to stay over,’ she explained. ‘But Daddy’s in the Navy and often away at sea and Mummy works in the naval offices as a secretary, so they don’t get many chances to come and visit. And Connie’s parents are in Liverpool so really it’s been Johnny’s room since he left Spindlebush Farm. How long will you be able to stay, Mrs Durrell?’
Mrs Durrell had jumped when the truck lurched towards the other side of the road, but she answered Eve’s question with aplomb. ‘Well, as it happens, I was planning to stay for a whole week. I’ve brought my ration card, of course, which I will give to Mrs Faversham so she won’t lose out by having to feed one more.’ She smiled. ‘It’s very good of you, Mr Faversham, and I should be glad to accept your kind offer. I know Johnny is very happy at Drake’s Farm, though I think he still has every intention of joining the air force as soon as he’s able. He was very envious when his pal Robbo was accepted. But that’s still in the future; for now he’s learning about farmi
ng, and loving every minute of it, judging from his letters.’
‘Well, if he changes his mind and decides to stay with the land, we shall be very happy to employ him,’ Uncle Reg said. ‘He’s a grand lad, but like all the young ’uns he won’t listen to advice. I’m telling you, Mrs Durrell, we’ve warned him and warned him that the life of a Spitfire pilot isn’t all glamour and girls.’ He chuckled. ‘Ah well, time will tell. He may change his mind yet. After all, every boy in blue isn’t necessarily even aircrew, let alone a swaggering young fighter pilot.’ He shrugged. ‘If it weren’t for this dratted war he’d start at the bottom in the cookhouse and work his way up. Mebbe he’ll get to be a pilot and mebbe he won’t; we must all wait and see.’
After Johnny’s mother’s departure, Connie made sure she was always first in line to see Johnny. This made Eve cross, and it was particularly galling when Johnny’s memory began to return in great leaps, because the other girl had somehow managed to convince him that the accident had been largely Eve’s fault.
‘I don’t see why he should believe you and not me,’ Eve said one evening as the girls were getting ready for bed. ‘He was quite cold to me this evening and scarcely thanked me when I gave him a copy of that book about the air force he’d said he wanted. I’d like to know just how you can make out that I was responsible for the accident. I was only warning him not to do anything foolish. Miranda was too, weren’t you, Mandy? Do you think it was my fault that he turned round at that particular moment?’
‘Of course not. Johnny’s falling had nothing to do with you.’ Miranda glared at Connie. ‘You’re a troublemaker, you are,’ she said angrily. ‘How could Eve have possibly made the chimney fall on Johnny? I shouted a warning too, remember? Why haven’t you tried to blame me?’
