‘Glad to hear it,’ Edmond said. He had last spoken to George over a year earlier, when they had both been in hospital after being injured on the Somme. More recently he remembered hearing that George had been wounded in the leg at Passchendaele, not long after his own injury. Eventually he had been sent back to Blighty.
‘He’s had a few days with the family now, but he’s soon going back to his unit.’
‘I must visit him.’
‘We live in Wealdham now, with my aunt,’ Joe said. ‘Mum couldn’t afford to go on renting the house after Dad died.’
‘Sorry, I’m out of touch,’ Edmond said. He had forgotten that the boys’ father had fallen ill and died, and could not remember hearing that the family had moved.
‘No reason why you should know, Sir, you’ve been serving in Flanders.’
‘I’d like to see George while he’s here,’ he went on.
‘He’s got to go back the day after tomorrow, Sir.’
‘I must try to get over to Wealdham.’ He got the address from Joe.
The wind was bitter again and they began their slow progress back to the house. He felt fitter since the weeks at the coast but still tired easily.
‘Joe has a long journey to work now,’ Amy said. ‘I’ve noticed him arriving on his bike once or twice but I didn’t realise he was cycling from Wealdham.’ On his wages, he would not be able to afford to travel by train.
Once inside, Edmond asked his father for a lift to visit George the following day.
‘Does it have to be tomorrow? I’ve promised to take your mother to visit her friend, and Beatrice is invited somewhere too.’
In the end, Pa took them there in the early afternoon after they had spent a relaxing morning. Amy insisted on going with him.
‘I’m not happy you’ll need to come back on the train,’ Pa said as he drove through the countryside, where leaves were blowing off the yellowing trees.
‘It’s a regular service,’ Amy reminded him. Edmond knew she was quite looking forward to an afternoon out.
‘When I last saw George he’d just lost both his old school friends, who he’d joined up with,’ Edmond said. ‘He was at a low ebb but he welcomed the chance to talk.’
‘Whereabouts is Bank Street?’ Pa asked as they reached Wealdham. ‘Which side of the river?’
Edmond gave them the directions from Joe. They found themselves heading for the rundown factory area. Smoke was belching from the chimneys.
‘It’s not a pleasant district,’ Amy faltered.
Edmond had spent enough time mixing with lower ranks in his battalion to realise that he and most of the other officers led very comfortable lives compared with many of the soldiers in the lower ranks.
‘How unfortunate that George’s family are reduced to living here,’ Pa said as he stopped the car. ‘Listen, when you come back be sure to get a cab to the station. I don’t want you walking through this unhealthy area. When you reach Larchbury, phone the house to see if I’m back from collecting Beatrice from her friend’s house. If not, take another cab home.’
He looked reluctant to leave them but Edmond assured him they would be fine.
The afternoon was cold. Just taking the few steps to the dark brick façade of the little house, Edmond had to cough as the smoke assaulted his nostrils. He knocked on the door.
‘Lieutenant and Mrs Derwent – do come in!’ He recognised George’s mother, probably wearing her best Sunday dress. ‘Joe told us you were planning to come.’
She took their coats and showed them into a cramped parlour, with a small coal fire. George stood to greet them, grinning broadly. His aunt, huddled in a brightly coloured crocheted shawl, was sitting in one of the easy chairs.
There were photos of George and Henry, his brother who had been called up, and a picture showing another young man, probably his cousin, who was also away fighting.
‘Please sit down.’ Their hostess indicated the settee. The neat parlour was plainly furnished, and only just large enough for them all. ‘I’ll get Peggy to make the tea.’ She opened the door to the kitchen and spoke to someone Edmond thought must be her daughter.
‘I was shocked to hear of your injuries, Sir,’ George said. ‘Are you making a good recovery now?’
‘Don’t call me Sir – we’re not on parade now. Yes, I’m much better. I won’t be fit enough to fight again but I’m still very aware of the struggles you’re facing. I feel a fraud, wearing my uniform.’ Only one of his two tunics was fit to wear.
‘Of course you should wear it! You’ve been wounded in service!’
Edmond asked after Henry, and gained the impression he was fitting into army life as best he could.
‘Are you keeping well, Mrs Derwent?’ asked George’s mother. ‘How soon is the happy event?’
‘Round about new year.’
Peggy, a young girl with her hair tied back, came in with a tray and served them all with tea and seedcake. It was plain compared with the cakes Cook baked, but they must have used up some of their precious flour and sugar, determined to welcome him and Amy.
‘I believe we should retire to the kitchen to allow George and Lieutenant Derwent to talk in peace,’ George’s mother addressed her sister.
‘I’ll join you, if I may,’ Amy said. ‘I know the men like to talk on their own. I can help you clear the tea things.’
‘Certainly not, in your condition! But there’s a chair for you in the kitchen, if you’d like to come with us.’
‘What was it like out there?’ Edmond asked, offering George a cigarette. They both lit up. ‘Passchendaele looks ghastly in the photographs I’ve seen in the papers.’
‘I’ve never seen mud like it. We struggled to get across it, even where there were duckboards. While I was in the hospital I heard the trees had all gone and there are crump holes everywhere.’
Edmond had only witnessed the beginning of the campaign there. They went on talking for a while longer, discussing the fate of other men from the area who had gone to fight. Two men had been lost when their dugout had collapsed on top of them.
Edmond sensed George’s relief at recounting his experiences to someone familiar with the trenches. He sighed. ‘If this nightmare is ever over, you’ll be extremely welcome to be our gardener again.’
‘Is Joe any good?’
‘He tries. He’s still very young.’
‘It’s hard work, gardening, but now those years with your family in Larchbury seem like paradise.’
Outside it was getting darker, though according to the clock it was little past four: probably grime from the chimneys was obscuring the daylight.
‘I’m afraid we need to go home,’ Edmond said. ‘I tire easily now. Good luck when you’re back with your unit.’ The poor fellow had to return the very next day. ‘We need to get a cab to the station.’
‘A cab? I’m afraid you won’t find one round here.’
Of course he wouldn’t – why hadn’t he thought of that? Even Pa hadn’t realised.
He and Amy said their farewells, thanking the family for the tea and cake. An expression of panic crossed Amy’s face briefly when she realised they would have to walk. As George’s mother opened the front door they could barely see across the road.
George seemed to grasp their predicament. ‘You two shouldn’t have to walk!’ he said. ‘You’d better start out, but I’ll see if I can find anyone with transport to send after you.’
Edmond linked arms with Amy and they set off slowly in the direction of the station, about a mile away. They were both coughing now. As household fires were lit, their smoke was mingling with the fumes from the factories. He could hear the clanking of heavy industry, as well as the sound of goods trains.
They turned off into another street and then hovered, perplexed, as the road forked. The wrong choice now could be disastrous, prolonging their struggles. A large man loomed out of the darkness, almost walking into him.
‘Sorry, mate.’ The man’s glance took in his unifor
m and Amy’s condition. He was able to tell them which way to go.
As they laboured on, Edmond coughed some more and found himself gasping for breath.
Terror showed on Amy’s face. ‘I’m so sorry, dearest,’ she said. ‘We simply must keep going.’
They heard the sound of hooves behind them and a horse and cart appeared.
‘Lieutenant and Mrs Derwent?’ said a lad’s voice. ‘George said you need a lift to the station. Would you like to sit beside me, Mrs Derwent, while your husband goes in the back?’
‘How kind of you – but I’d prefer to sit with him in the back.’
It looked like a costermonger’s cart. Once they were inside, they seemed to be sitting on stray stalks from vegetables.
She tied his scarf loosely across his nose and mouth. ‘How does that feel? Better or worse?’
He tried both, but either way he strained to breathe. The horse plodded ahead but their journey seemed endless.
Amy was coughing too. ‘I think the air’s slightly better here,’ she said as they approached the station. At last they were there. Edmond climbed out clumsily. Amy tried to give some money to the carter, but he refused to take it.
They went into the station and Amy sat him down in the ticket office while she bought their tickets. Then she led him onto the platform. ‘The train’s due in five minutes,’ she told him. ‘Can you breathe any better here?’
He took a couple of deep breaths and then began to cough again. He felt dizzy and weaker than he had done at any time since he first got out of bed after being wounded.
‘Let’s go in the waiting room,’ she said. ‘… No, I can hear the train coming.’
He struggled to remain upright.
‘Here, Sir, lean on me.’ A railway worker had noticed his plight. As the train arrived noisily, he helped Edmond into a carriage and onto a seat. Amy joined him. Her eyes were red from the smoky streets. He sat beside her, his chest heaving, scarcely aware of anything except his own desperate efforts to breathe.
* * *
Amy was appalled to see Edmond in this state. At Larchbury she was thankful when a strong young woman helped the two of them off the train. It was bitterly cold on the platform but the air was fresh. ‘Take some deep breaths,’ she told Edmond.
He tried, but he looked as though he might collapse at any minute. A porter helped him into the ticket office, and on to a chair. Amy asked to use the station telephone and called The Beeches. She was relieved that Pa was home and ready to set out in the car at once. ‘Try not to alarm Ma but get her to phone for Dr Stanhope,’ she said. ‘The fumes from the factories have got into Edmond’s lungs.’ She was coughing herself as she rang off.
The staff found another chair so she could sit beside Edmond. His breathing was still laboured. The everyday travellers shot curious glances in their direction.
How could I let this happen? she asked herself. I knew about those factories. I used to go to work in Wealdham every day and you could smell the fumes from the station if the wind was from that direction.
Pa arrived sooner than she expected. He was visibly shocked as he helped Edmond into the car, then her. Tears filled her eyes. Why didn’t I prevent him taking this outing? she thought. I’m medically trained – I should have known better.
Pa was equally desperate, blaming himself. ‘I should never have let you both visit that area and try to make your way back alone,’ he said as he drove off. ‘I should have made Beatrice wait for me to collect her, or asked her friend’s family to kindly bring her back.’
Edmond was silent with exhaustion. When they got back, Ma and Beatrice were in the hall. ‘I’m taking Edmond upstairs and helping him get straight to bed,’ Pa said. ‘Send up some tea, could you?’
‘Good Heavens!’ Ma reached for her smelling salts. ‘Thank goodness Dr Stanhope should be here soon. Really, after all the progress Edmond’s been making… Why did you allow him to go on this foolish visit?’
As Amy followed the others upstairs, Beatrice’s eyes were open wide and a tear was running down her face. ‘Why didn’t you look after him properly?’ she demanded.
Edmond looked relieved as he settled in bed. ‘I’ll be better now I can lie still,’ he said faintly as Amy sat on the edge, with her arm round him. Then Ma came up with Dr Stanhope.
‘Dear me!’ The grey-haired doctor held his stethoscope to Edmond’s chest. ‘I’d have advised against going to that part of Wealdham if I’d known. It’s at its worst in winter when the smoke from house fires mixes with the factory emissions.’
Edmond had another coughing fit. ‘Try to bring up the mucus,’ the doctor told him. Edmond grew red in the face producing some sputum, which the doctor collected in a cup and examined.
‘Your bronchial tubes are infected, Lieutenant. You’re developing bronchitis, very unfortunate with your lung in such poor shape. I’ll prescribe some medicine to ease your throat and lungs.’
‘We’ve set back his recovery!’ Amy cried, inconsolable.
‘I’ll have the medicine delivered this evening, and I’ll call again tomorrow. Keep Mr Edmond in bed for the time being,’ he told Ma. He turned his attention to Amy. ‘Your eyes are red from the fumes – it wasn’t wise going there in your condition. You should have an early night too.’
It was only when Edmond was drifting off to sleep, his breathing a little less strained, that she went down to the kitchen to ask for some broth and light food to be sent up. Ma and Beatrice had followed her to the kitchen and were still looking at her accusingly.
She dragged herself wearily upstairs and sat beside the bed, waiting for the medicine to arrive. If Edmond began to stir she would administer the broth and the medicine.
In some ways, she was impatient to crawl into bed next to him, but she was not sure she would sleep. It was her fault he had relapsed. Was all the recovery from the sanatorium lost now? And would there be any ill effects on her baby? She realised there had not been much movement inside her recently and was relieved when she felt a definite kick. In one disastrous afternoon she had allowed them all to be imperilled once more.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Larchbury, November 1917
The following morning Pa knocked and came into their room, followed by Ma, just as Amy was opening the window.
‘What are you thinking of?’ demanded Ma. ‘Haven’t you done him enough damage already, encouraging him to visit that awful rundown area?’
‘I’ve just freshened up the air briefly,’ Amy said crossly, closing the window again, exasperated that his mother would not trust her judgement. ‘I haven’t let it get cold in here.’ She was interrupted by a coughing fit. Her own lungs still felt irritated from the hostile atmosphere they had both inhaled. ‘…Edmond needs some very fresh air to help him recover. I don’t suppose he’ll be fit to go outside for a few days.’
‘Go outside! The very idea!’
‘Ma, I’ve been trained in nursing!’
They were interrupted by the arrival of Dr Stanhope. He listened to Edmond’s chest again with his stethoscope and pronounced a slight improvement. Edmond was sitting up in bed and his breathing was a little less forced, though he had frequent coughing fits and was worn out.
The doctor said he should continue taking the medicine and confirmed that he needed fresh air. ‘When he’s rested a few more days he should take a little exercise, outdoors preferably, if it’s warm enough. In the middle of the day, perhaps.’
‘There you are,’ Edmond said. ‘That’s what Amy recommended—’ he broke off, coughing.
‘I’m sorry, Amy.’ Ma managed a rare apology. ‘I should take account of you being a nurse.’
‘If only Edmond could go back to the sanatorium,’ Amy said. She supposed places there were much in demand.
‘It’s less effective in winter because the patients can’t stay outside for long.’
She made an effort not to cry. It seemed they had squandered the benefits of his time there.
Beatrice
came into the room. ‘I’ve written to Peter to tell him Edmond is ill again,’ she said. ‘He’ll be shocked.’
‘I’m sorry I’ve been so foolish,’ Edmond said feebly. ‘Don’t any of you blame Amy.’
* * *
Pa had sent word to Amy’s parents and two days later they came to see them, immediately Father had finished at the school for the day. She welcomed them, thankful they would not be critical. Edmond was eager to get up and join them, though he still looked frail. Ma and Beatrice were installed in the drawing room with a visitor so Edmond proposed they went to the conservatory, which had warmed up during the faint sunshine earlier in the day.
They sat in the wicker chairs, Amy’s parents admiring the potted palms, less well tended than before the war when George looked after them.
‘Edmond’s making some progress now,’ Amy said. He was exhausted after the slightest activity but showed signs of improvement from his wretched state when he had returned from Wealdham. ‘He’s still weak from being wounded and we simply mustn’t have any more setbacks.’
Janet came in with a plate of sliced cake and poured them cups of tea.
‘And the baby?’ Mother asked, touching Amy’s arm anxiously.
‘Reassuringly active!’ she replied. ‘Dr Stanhope couldn’t find anything amiss.’
‘Your uncle Arthur was concerned,’ Father said. ‘I’m to tell you that if ever you need taking out somewhere you’re to telephone him and he’ll take you if he’s not too busy.’
Edmond began to cough. Afterwards, he had to take several deep breaths.
‘How kind of Uncle,’ Amy said, when he was more at ease. Her uncle’s pony and trap might provide useful transport. ‘Perhaps later on, when Edmond’s well enough for me to feel happy leaving him for a couple of hours, I might go into Larchbury to buy a few things I’ll need when the baby comes.’
‘Yes, you must make sure you have everything ready,’ her mother said. There were less than two months to wait now.
‘I’d love you to come with me and help me choose,’ Amy said, to her obvious delight.
Until We Meet Again Page 27