Heronfield

by Dorinda Balchin

  “Come with me. I’m going to make sure you’re one of the first out of here.”

  He took his coat and laid it across Tony’s shoulders. It threatened to smother him with its great size and weight. He looked like a child dressed up in his father’s clothes, and Bobby wondered how he had ever survived such deprivation. How much longer would he have been able to hold out if the Americans had not come? Indeed, was he strong enough to survive long enough to return home to Sarah? As the living skeleton made his way slowly beside him, dragging an almost useless left leg behind him, Bobby realised that Sarah might yet be his, and he was surprised to find that he did not want to win her that way.

  “Can you manage a few more steps?”

  Tony nodded. He accompanied the American soldier towards a jeep, where a major and captain were deep in conversation. Bobby stopped a few yards short of their objective.

  “Wait here while I go talk to the major.”

  He tidied his uniform, drew himself to attention, took a deep breath then marched over to the two men. Stopping in front to the major he saluted smartly.

  “Permission to speak with you, sir.”

  The two officers turned round, and the captain glowered angrily.

  “What are you doing, soldier? If you have anything of interest for the major, you go through the proper channels. Speak to your lieutenant about it. If he thinks it is important enough, the major will hear about it.”

  Bobby took a deep breath and continued.

  “I’m sorry, sir but this can’t wait. I must speak with the major now.”

  “You insolent…”

  The major held up a hand and cut off his fellow officer in full flow.

  “OK, soldier. Out with it.”

  Relief flooded through Bobby. All he needed was a chance to speak. Once the major heard his story, he could not fail to help.

  “It’s about the prisoner over there, sir.”

  The Major looked at Tony and frowned. He looked no different from any of the other inmates of the camp.

  “What of him?”

  “I know him, sir.”

  The Major’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Know him? How?”

  “I met him in England, sir. We were both in love with the same girl. I heard from her some months ago to say that Tony was missing. He’s a British agent, sir. He was at Dunkirk and has parachuted into France a number of times. He was wounded and also taken prisoner by the SS. They tortured him, but the Resistance got him out. He was flown back to England where he was decorated. He went back to France to help prepare for the invasion, and he disappeared during an attack on the port of Saint Nazaire on D-Day.”

  “And he ended up here.” The officer looked at Tony. “He must be a very brave man.”

  “Yes, sir, I believe he is. I would like to request that he is sent back to England as soon as possible, sir. He deserves to get the best hospital treatment.”

  “I agree, soldier. Get that man to the medics. When they have finished with him, I’ll speak to him.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “By the way, which of you two did the girl choose?”

  Bobby looked at Tony, then back at his commanding officer.

  “She hasn’t said yet, sir. But I know I can’t compete with him.”

  “Yet you’re willing to send him back to her?”

  “Yes, sir. He deserves all the happiness he can get.” Bobby saluted. “Thank you again, sir.”

  The major returned his salute. “That’s all, soldier. Now get him to the medics.”

  As Tony lay beneath the thick woollen blankets, he still wondered if he was dreaming. Bobby took him to the medics, who did what they could for him – cleaning and dressing his ulcers, removing parasites, injecting him against disease. They fed him a meat stew which still sat heavy in his stomach, although he had eaten no more than a child. Finally they had propped him up in a bed, so he could talk to the Major. He listened to his story in amazement and horror, before making a note of Captain Dawson’s name and of Tony’s call sign. He promised to get in touch with England as soon as possible, to arrange for Tony’s journey home. As he floated on the edge of sleep, Tony savoured that word. Home. It held so much for him. Heronfield. His parents. Sarah. As he slowly drifted into sleep his worn and weary features relaxed into the semblance of a smile.

  180

  It took longer than Tony thought it would for the British to be informed of his survival, and for arrangements to be made to get him back to England. Yet he did not worry. He knew he would be going home. Every day he waited, he was able to eat a little more food and regain a little more strength. While he was moved steadily back down the lines, the war in Europe continued towards its inexorable end. He was still in Germany, being carried on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance, when the Russians began their assault on Berlin on the 16th. When the German army on the Rhur surrendered on the 18th, he celebrated with the Americans at one of their field hospitals. During the next week he was moved steadily west and north. On the 25th he crossed over the borders of France as the American and Russian forces met at Tongau on the Elbe. So much seemed to be happening so quickly, yet he was still stuck in Europe, and frustration began to set in. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible now, so he could rest his weary and broken body, and see his family in the flesh once more, not only in dreams which faded on waking. At last on the 29th, as the German forces in Italy capitulated, Tony made his slow unsteady way up the gangplank and onto the hospital ship that was to carry him home to England. He was somewhere on the waters of the English Channel when events in Berlin took the final turn, which presaged the end of the war in Europe. Inside his bunker, Hitler could hear the sound of small arms being fired as the Allies swarmed over his beloved city and knew then that end was in sight. He married his long time mistress, Eva Braun. As Tony’s ship sailed into harbour on the morning of 30th April, the man who had brought so much death and destruction to the world shot himself, too much of a coward to face the Allies, who would have put him on trial for the crimes which he had carried out in the name of Germany. With Eva dead beside him, poisoned by her own hand, petrol was thrown upon the two bodies, which were ignited and consumed by flames. The tyrant of Europe was dead.

  181

  It was a gentle spring morning. Louise Kemshall smiled as she made her way around the garden removing the dead flowers from her daffodils. She always loved this time of year, the bright fresh green of new leaves, the golden daffodils, the promise of new life. She allowed the peace of her surroundings to submerge her, to bury her sorrow beneath the hope of new life which spring always brought. The sound of a vehicle turning into the drive broke into her thoughts. She straightened up to watch the staff car which pulled up in front of the lodge. The driver got out and opened the rear door to allow his passenger to alight. Louise immediately recognised Captain Dawson. Her heart raced and her mind was filled with conflicting emotions. Hope warred with fear as she wondered what the captain was doing here. Had he brought the news that she had prayed for daily, or had they found Tony’s grave at last? She made her way with hesitant steps to confront the man who turned to greet her. At sight of her worried frown, his features broke into a broad grin. Though she did not need to ask, she had to say the words.

  “He is alive?”

  Dawson nodded. “Is your husband home?”

  This time it was Louise’s turn to nod. “Yes. Please come with me.”

  She led the way up the steps and into the house, a lightness to her step that had been missing for so long. She floated on a cloud of happiness as she led the way into the study. Sir Michael looked up, and his face paled as he saw the officer. He knew this was it. If it was bad news, he would never be able to put things right with his son. He would go to his grave regretting the things he had said and done.

  “Captain Dawson?”

  “Sir Michael, it’s good news. Tony is alive.”

  The blood pounded in his ears, and Sir Michael felt as though he could not
breathe. Alive! After all these months! Slowly he regained control of his turbulent emotions. He waved the captain to a chair.

  “Please sit down and tell us all about it.” Unable to sit himself, Sir Michael moved around the desk and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Has he been in a Prisoner of War camp all this time?”

  Dawson shook his head. “No. I received a radio message last night to say he had been in Buchenwald since July.”

  “Buchenwald? Where's that?”

  Dawson’s face was serious.

  “It's a Concentration Camp in Germany which was liberated by the Americans five days ago. I don’t have all the details, but it seems that the conditions were appalling. The prisoners are all ill and weak from hunger.”

  “What about Tony? He will be all right, won’t he?”

  Dawson’s eyes filled with compassion as he looked at Louise.

  “The Americans say he is very weak, and still suffering from some wounds he received when he was captured. He’ll be sent across Europe by ambulance, and then across the Channel in a hospital ship. His condition is not what we could hope for. But they say he should survive the journey, as long as it is steady and they don’t try to rush it.” He looked at Sir Michael, whose renewed fears were reflected in his eyes. “I’m sorry the news could not be better, but at least he is alive and in Allied hands. He should be home in a week or two. Then it will be a matter of nursing him back to health.”

  “What were his injuries?”

  Dawson shook his head. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t know. I must assure you that I'm as concerned as you are. Tony's a friend of mine, as well as a colleague.”

  Sir Michael nodded and smiled. “I understand. It was good of you to come all the way out here to tell us the news. And it's good news. Far better than you led us to hope for. He is alive. That's all we need to know for now.” He held out his hand and shook Captain Dawson’s. “You'll tell us when he’s due back in England?”

  “Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure that you must want to be alone. I must take the good news to Miss Porter up at the hospital.”

  “Goodbye, captain.”

  “Sir Michael.”

  “Yes. Goodbye, captain. And thank you for everything.”

  Dawson smiled. “I’m just glad I could bring you the good news myself.”

  As the officer turned and left the room, Sir Michael turned to his wife. She was smiling, but tears filled her eyes as she rested her head on her husband’s shoulder.

  “He is alive, Michael. I can hardly believe it! Tony is alive. He is coming home!”

  Sir Michael’s arms enfolded the slim figure of his wife. He held her close, his eyes closed as he offered up a silent prayer of gratitude to God. He was to be given another chance after all. This time he would make sure that Tony knew just how much he loved him and wanted him home.

  182

  Sir Michael and Louise Kemshall stood on Southampton dock as the hospital ship moved slowly towards its berth. It seemed an age before the ship was finally stationary, the huge cables tying it to the dock, and even longer before the gangplank was in place and the first of the wounded soldiers brought ashore.

  Captain Dawson had been as good as his word. He informed the Kemshalls of the imminent arrival of the hospital ship, in plenty of time for them to drive down to Southampton to meet it. They were the only civilians there. The relatives of the other wounded servicemen would not know when their men arrived. The first they would know of their loved one’s return home to England would be a letter from the hospital. Sir Michael was profoundly glad that Tony’s superior officer had cared enough to allow them to be here to greet their son, and to have arranged for him to be sent to Heronfield rather than another hospital.

  The couple watched as a steady stream of sick and wounded disembarked. Some were too ill to walk and were carried down the gangplank, bandages shining a brilliant white against the dull grey of the military blankets. Some walked down with their arms in slings, or bandaged heads, or stumbled down with crutches to support their body above shattered limbs. Sir Michael and Louise eagerly scanned the face of each man who came ashore, longing for a glimpse of their son. Some were young, mere boys it seemed to a man who had fought in the trenches of Picardy. Some were old, perhaps old enough to have served with him in that first war to end all wars. Louise’s heart went out to the wounded men, the shattered remnants of a generation which had given its finest and its best in opposition to a tyrannical ruler.

  She watched one old man hobbled down the gangplank, his left leg dragging almost uselessly behind him, his left arm in a sling. The man’s hair was thin and straggly, and he was dressed in a uniform too large for his slender frame. Then she noticed the face. His was not a slender frame, but the body of a man who had been close to starvation, and only just been dragged back from the brink. The cheekbones stood out above hollowed cheeks covered with parchment-like yellow skin. The eyes were sunken with black rings beneath them, reflecting a horror that she did not want to know about.

  With a shudder, Louise tore her gaze away from the pitiful wreck of humanity which limped down the gangplank. She continued to search amongst the hundreds of wounded men for her son. But something about those eyes seemed frighteningly familiar. She found her gaze drawn back, almost against her will, to the man who had now almost reached the bottom of the gangplank. He was looking at her with those sad, weary eyes. Blue eyes. Her eyes widened as she saw the corners of his mouth turn up in a weak smile of welcome. Through the hurt, the sadness, the loss in those eyes, she saw a little boy who had run to her when the world had struck out at him, and who was coming back to her comforting arms. With a stifled cry of alarm, Louise grabbed her husband’s arm, her fingers tight as she communicated her pain. Sir Michael looked down.

  “What is it?”

  “Tony.”

  The word was little more than a whisper, but Sir Michael heard and turned to scan the crowd. Twice his gaze passed over the ragged scarecrow of a man who was limping towards him. Then he realised that was where Louise was staring, and he looked again. Slowly recognition dawned on him. His heart wept at the sight of what this war had done to his son. He crossed the space which separated them with rapid strides, then stopped, unsure what to say in the face of so much suffering. Two pairs of eyes, so similar, locked and searched for what they longed to see. There, in them both, was forgiveness, acceptance and love. Sir Michael opened his arms, and Tony closed his eyes as he stepped into the embrace. His mind raced back to the times when he had sought comfort in his father’s loving arms as a boy. Now he was back there. He was home at last.

  “Oh Tony, I’m so sorry. I should have believed in you instead of hurting you.”

  The feel of his son’s bones protruding through the flesh caused Sir Michaels to weep bitter tears. They fell in warm saltiness on his son’s upturned face. Tony stepped back and smiled.

  “That all happened a long time ago, Dad. I’ve seen and done things which make a few angry words seem insignificant now. I knew you loved me, even when we argued. Those few words are long forgotten. Will you forget them too?”

  Sir Michael nodded.

  “Thank you, son. Now come and say hello to Mamma, then we’ll go home. There’s someone waiting for you.”

  183

  Sarah sat beneath an elm tree beside the gravel drive which led up to Heronfield House. Ever since Captain Dawson had come to see her with the news that Tony was alive, she had been longing to see him again, to hold him in her arms and tell him she had no doubts now. She would spend the rest of her life with him if he would have her. Her joy at the knowledge that he was still alive had been tempered by the cautionary news of his wounds and poor physical state. She was determined to nurse him back to health. The war would soon be over, and she would be able to dedicate every waking moment to making him well.

  The days had passed slowly since she had first spoken to Captain Dawson. Each time she telephoned him, he could do no more than say that T
ony was on his way and would be home soon. Then Sir Michael had come up to the house to tell her that the ship was due in, and to ask if she would like to accompany them to Southampton. Sarah had been touched more than she could say. She knew how desperate the Kemshalls were to see their son again, and they were willing to share that time with a relative stranger. It had been hard for her to say no, but she knew that it was the right thing to do. He deserved time with his family, and she could wait the few extra hours until he was back at Heronfield.

  Now the hours dragged like days as she waited for them to return. They had been gone for so long that she was beginning to wonder if Tony had not been on the hospital ship after all. What if someone had made a mistake? She would hardly be able to bear it if he did not come home now. They had been apart for so long, yet she still remembered everything about him. The soft fair hair that she loved to run her fingers through, the laughing blue eyes, the lips that were always curving into a boyish grin. She remembered his tall slim body, the way he walked, the strength of his arms as he held her close. Every day of the past year was spent in remembering, and now she was to see him again. She stood up and began to pace back and forth. Would the car never come?”

  At last, as afternoon was turning to evening, the sound of a car could be heard. Sarah stood on the grass opposite the steps which led up to the lodge. She waited breathlessly as the car swung through the stone pillars which had once held the gates to the estate. The tyres crunched on the gravel, then slowed and finally stopped. Sir Michael was the first out of the car, his smile of happiness tinged with a strange melancholy and he would not meet her gaze. He helped Louise from the car, and her eyes held a shadow of sadness as they reached out in sympathy towards the young nurse.