by Annie Murray
It began to drizzle, the wind buffeting their faces with moisture, and they had to hold their hats on. Margaret gave up on using her umbrella, unable to manage it in the wind. But it was only when they were finally close to their destination that they caught their first sight of the sea, a grey, ruffled expanse at the end of a wide road sloping downwards towards it.
‘Oh!’ Margaret said. Both of them were lifted out of their thoughts. ‘Shall we go and have a look – first of all?’
Neither of them had seen the sea before. The street, like so many others, was lined with tall, imposing houses. They tried to hurry, but were battling in the face of the wind which snatched their breath.
Stepping out on to the parade at the end, they were suddenly in the open. Beyond the road, and the stalls selling winkles, the railings and the downward drop to pebbles below, Daisy saw a belt of greyish gold sand. Fussing at its edge came the froth of the endless, pushing waves. And far beyond, the white-flecked blackness of the sea met a watery grey sky. The wind boxed them, exhaustingly.
‘Oh!’ Daisy shouted over it, exhilarated. ‘It’s so . . . wide!’
‘Yes!’ Margaret smiled valiantly, hand pressed to the top of her hat. ‘What a wide, wide world! It’s wonderful – but goodness, it’s exhausting!’
They were relieved to return to some shelter between the hotels and boarding houses.
‘It must be almost visiting time,’ Margaret said. ‘Shall we have a quick cup of tea first?
Daisy realized she wasn’t the only one who wanted to put off the moment when they had to walk into the hospital.
Eastern Terrace was a curve of pale, gracious houses tucked in behind Marine Parade.
‘Goodness,’ Daisy said, forgetting herself for a moment and giggling with nerves. ‘Fancy Den being in there!’
Then the reality of their visit came to her again in a plunge of dread. The two of them stopped at the entrance to number five. Margaret looked up at the long-windowed frontage, clutching her umbrella. Margaret was different in many ways from Annie, and Daisy realized that she found hospitals and the sick and suffering rather difficult.
‘Right.’ Margaret braced her shoulders. ‘Come on then.’
In the wide hallway, a young woman in an overall, showing a glimpse of copper-coloured hair from under a white headscarf, was mopping the tiles. She looked up, her freckled face smiling at them. Another woman seated at a small table nearby said irritably, ‘Do let the visitors past, Josie. I’ve told you not to get in everyone’s way.’
‘Sorry, Miss Perkins, sorry, ma’am,’ the girl said to Margaret.
She sounded Irish. Feeling sorry for her, Daisy rolled her eyes at her sympathetically as she passed and the pretty girl’s eyes lit up with mischief. She looked down to hide her smile.
The irritable middle-aged woman at the table directed them to the staircase.
‘Up on the left – someone will point you in the right direction. Oh, and you may leave your belongings with me if you like? Here – put that behind me. It will be quite safe.’ Obediently, Daisy put the bag down and they left the umbrella.
The someone, at the top of the stairs, was a very young-looking VAD, petite and wiry looking, pale hair taken back under the white kerchief, a large red cross on the front of her apron.
‘Ah,’ she smiled and searched out Daisy. Her deep, well-spoken voice contradicted the childlike frame. ‘Well, this is lucky – I am Lucinda Bailey. It was I that wrote to you, I believe. You are Mr Poole’s fiancé?’
Daisy opened her mouth to reply no, then closed it again without saying anything. How had it become so established a fact when no one had ever asked her? This must be what Den had told her, what he was clinging to in his mind.
‘This is Daisy Tallis, yes,’ Margaret said calmly. ‘How is Mr Poole?’
The VAD’s expression sobered. They were standing on a landing from where, through a doorway, they could see a number of beds. Lucinda Bailey drew them aside, speaking quietly.
‘You may find it a shock when you see him. It’s the bandages – I know it’s not easy. He can’t remember much about how he was wounded. He has had two operations to remove –’ she paused, as if realizing she was about to embark on too much detail – ‘shell damage. One piece went in rather deep.’
‘He already has something in him from the last time,’ Margaret said.
‘So I gather,’ the VAD said. She cleared her throat. ‘The thing is, it appears that he was lying outside for some time, wounded. In the meantime, he received a dose of gas – mustard gas, it seems. I don’t know if you know anything of the effects?’
They both shook their heads. Daisy felt everything inside her tighten with dread and all the more so because the young woman seemed reluctant to enlighten them.
‘Unfortunately, if you are exposed for long and it gets into the clothing, it has a blistering effect. Of course, overall it makes them very ill. You can perhaps imagine.’ She paused. ‘Any part of the body to be in contact with it . . . And the eyes . . .’
Margaret touched the young woman’s arm. ‘I can see this is difficult,’ she said.
The nurse looked startled for a moment, then grateful.
‘Is he blind?’ Daisy whispered.
‘Well . . .’ Lucinda Bailey seemed to have to force herself to look into Daisy’s eyes. ‘For the moment at least, yes.’
The shock deepened in her body. After a second, she reminded herself to start breathing again.
‘And will he . . . will he always be . . . ?’
‘It’s impossible to say yet, I’m afraid. I don’t want to give you false hope, Miss Tallis. Some men do regain their sight. It depends on the extent of the damage.’
Daisy leaned against the wall. It was as if a great heat was sweeping through her and she struggled to unbutton her coat. The white walls seemed strange and too bright, and lights began to flash at the side of her vision until suddenly blackness blotted out everything.
Forty-Eight
She was seated on a chair, leaning forward, and someone was pressing firmly on her shoulders. She felt sick and hazy and wanted nothing but to lie down and go to sleep. She gave a low whimper.
‘Daisy dear?’ Margaret squatted down, trying to see into her face. ‘Can you hear me? Look – here’s a glass of water.’
‘Try and sit up now if you can, Miss Tallis,’ the nurse said. ‘That’s it, there’s a good girl.’
Daisy sipped the water and felt the heat gradually ebb from her to be replaced by a chill. ‘Sorry, Ma,’ she whispered.
‘Not to worry,’ Margaret said. ‘But we should get on and see him now. Can you manage?’
No, she wanted to say. The sweat was cooling on her and she felt shivery. I don’t ever want to see him. But she was full of pity and sorrow as well. Poor, poor Den.
‘I gather he has some family,’ the VAD said.
‘Sisters,’ Margaret said. ‘But dear Lizzie, the eldest, is working hard trying to manage everything for the little ones. It was easier for us to come.’
Daisy handed the glass back to Nurse Bailey and stood up. ‘Let’s go in now,’ she said, feeling she must do it or she might run away.
‘Second on the left,’ Nurse Bailey told them unnecessarily, since she was leading the way.
The room contained seven beds, arranged three along each side and one in the middle, jutting into the passageway.
A couple of the men turned to look at them as they came in and Daisy blushed, wishing to goodness that there was no one else there. How was she to manage this, let alone in front of an audience? Others were lying prone. On the bed second on the left, under a neat, floral bedspread, the figure lying flat with bandages covering every part of him except for his nose and the lower part of his face, was Den.
‘Mr Poole?’ Nurse Bailey said, leaning over him. ‘You have some visitors. Miss Tallis and . . .’ She turned, enquiringly.
‘Mrs Tallis,’ Margaret said.
Den made a small sound and turned his hea
d as if to look, although unable to see anything.
‘I’ll fetch a chair,’ their nurse said. ‘You might have to take it in turns – difficult with space in here.’
Daisy could not move her feet. Flirting with Den had been one thing, responding to his attention, a boy and girl playing with each other, none of it serious . . . But this . . .
‘Den?’ Margaret stepped over and went to take his hand, but realizing they were each swathed in bandages, made an uncertain gesture with her own and withdrew it.
‘Mrs Tallis?’ His voice was hoarse and as soon as he spoke he started coughing, before managing to say, ‘Is Daisy here? Did you bring ’er?’
‘Yes.’ Daisy forced herself forward and Margaret stepped out of the way. ‘Hello, Den. I . . . How are you?’
‘Can’t see,’ he rasped, then coughed again. ‘Can’t see yer. But they say I might be able to . . . soon.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s what the nurse said.’
‘Yeah.’ He paused, then added with bitter feeling, ‘Bastard Hun.’
There was a silence as Den moved his head, as if trying to see out from behind a wall, then stilled again, defeated.
‘Dais?’
She prickled with discomfort – this conversation in front of strangers in the ward, in front of Margaret. It did not seem to matter to Den – he could not see who was there in any case.
‘Yes?’ She leaned closer as if to ask him to speak more quietly, but of course he could not see that either.
‘Give us yer hand?’
‘Won’t it hurt you?’
‘No – s’all right. The bandages pad them. They’re blistered, like, but not too bad.’
Gently, glad he could not see her reluctance now that all this had become so serious, she placed her right hand over his.
‘You have the chair,’ Margaret said, as Nurse Bailey came and placed an upright wooden thing in the space between the beds. ‘I’ll step out of here a moment.’
Still holding Den’s hand, Daisy took a seat. Pity filled her, and sorrow and panic. How had she got herself into this? What could she say to him?
‘Does it hurt, Den?’ she tried.
‘Dais?’ He ignored her question. ‘You’ve come. My Daisy. You’re what keeps me going. Your letters – knowing you’re there . . .’ His voice cracked and she thought he was going to cry, but he must have stopped himself. Possibly it would hurt even more.
‘Oh, Den.’ Her chest ached yet no tears came, just a feeling of utter desperation.
‘They say I might get my eyes back. I’ll be all right, ’part from that. I’m getting better already. Promise me summat.’
‘What?’ she asked faintly.
‘I wouldn’t expect you to marry a blind b—’ He bit back a swear word.
Marriage – how had they got on to marriage? She wanted to backtrack, to contradict, but how could she, to this poor, broken figure in the bed, the man who said that she was everything to him? This man to whom she had somehow promised far more than she realized.
’What good’d I be to yer like that? I wouldn’t do that to you, Daisy. But promise me – if it does come back, if I can see again and I can get through this war in one piece . . .’
‘Oh, Den,’ she said desperately. ‘Of course you will! Aren’t you out of it now, for good?’
She thought of Stephen Ratcliffe then, who at this moment seemed part of another life, and, sitting here now, she could not decide which of these lives was the real one or to which her feelings should direct themselves.
‘If it’s got two arms and legs it goes to the Front. If I get my sight back . . . Oh, they’ll send me back for a third dose all right.’ He coughed, then tried to turn over, before wincing, falling on to his back again. ‘Promise me you’ll be my wife, Daisy? If I’m a whole man again. You’re beautiful, you are, Dais – you’re my life. Promise me, will yer? It’d be everything to me to know you’re waiting for me.’
Margaret said not a word about the visit until they were in the room they were to share in a modest lodging house a few streets away. The window looked on to the houses opposite and inside, apart from the brown linoleum, everything from the eiderdowns to the lampshades was some shade of green.
Daisy put the bag down on the floor and Margaret had just sunk wearily on to the bed and was taking the pin out of her hat, when the cheerful landlady’s voice floated upstairs and across the landing.
‘I expect you’d like a cup of tea, wouldn’t you, Mrs Tallis?’
Margaret raised her eyebrows as if to say, Oh, yes, wouldn’t we? Daisy hurried to the door.
‘Yes, please – that would be very nice,’ she called in the direction of the staircase.
‘Come down to the back here in a few minutes – I’ll have it ready. And a bit of cake.’ Daisy heard receding footsteps.
‘Oh, how lovely – just what I need!’ Margaret groaned. ‘I feel all in. It must be all the new sights and sounds.’
Daisy was bending to reach down for the little case on the floor, when Margaret straightened up.
‘Daisy?’ Her voice was suddenly sharp as if the import of all that had happened that afternoon had just sunk in.
‘Umm?’
‘What’s going on?’
‘How do you mean?’ She looked down, feeling the heat rise in her face.
‘You know what I mean? What did Den say? When I went in to see him he seemed to think . . . Did you lead him to believe that . . . I mean, is it true?’
‘Is what true?’ Daisy asked carefully. She looked up.
‘That you have agreed to marry him?’
Daisy could not read Margaret’s face. She seemed to be struggling with mixed feelings which only aggravated Daisy amid her own confusion.
‘Would that be so terrible?’ She hardened her tone. ‘After all – who else is going to want me?’
Margaret paused, looking away towards the window. Daisy could see her struggling to find an honest answer, as was her way.
‘No-o,’ she said carefully. ‘I mean, if . . .’ She stopped, trying to be tactful.
Daisy looked at her, feeling wounded. Did Margaret not think Den was beneath her – would she not have felt that at one time? But now, of course, everything was different.
‘Well,’ Daisy said, sarcastic now. ‘I suppose you’d say he’s a nice man – all things considered.’
‘Yes. He’s a remarkable man, Daisy, when you think of the start he had. What happened to his father, the state they were living in, then with Mary scraping by. Den’s a good man, and a skilled man now as well. I’m very fond of him – you know I am. I also don’t want to see him hurt – or you.’
There was a pause. Margaret looked up at her. ‘Did you promise him?’
‘He said, if he gets better, gets his sight back – then would I promise?’
‘And did you?’
She hesitated, then whispered, ‘Yes.’
‘Tea’s ready, Mrs Tallis!’ came trilling up the stairs.
‘Coming!’ Margaret called back.
She hauled herself up from the bed and came over to Daisy, putting an arm round her shoulders, her eyes solemn.
‘Well, if you have promised that, then you have promised. All we can do is to wait and see. But Daisy, remember, you have given him something to hope for. You may have been rash – perhaps you were just trying to be kind. But I’d hate to see you break a promise.’
Forty-Nine
‘You all right, Miss Tallis?’
Daisy’s mind was startled back into the workroom, the men all sitting round. She had been standing by the window as the lads got on with their work, looking out at the patch of faded grass beyond. Joe, the red-headed lad with the eye patch, who was close to her, swivelled round in his chair.
‘Yes.’ Her heart was pounding. ‘Of course. How are you getting on, Joe?’
It had been so hard coming back here today. She felt very out of sorts and had not had time to go and find them any sort of model to copy. Instead
she gave them free choice of what they wanted to make. Tommy, delighted to be given free rein, was finally making his aeroplane.
‘Bottom wing’s’re all right,’ he said, sounding disillusioned. ‘Can’t seem to get the top ones right with the supporting bit being so thin.’
‘I did warn you.’
‘No, you dain’t, miss.’ He sounded genuinely affronted.
‘No, perhaps I didn’t. Well, I should have done.’ It was true, she had not had the energy to argue that making a biplane out of clay was going to be a tricky job. She cranked her face into an appeasing smile. ‘That’s the way to find out, though, isn’t it?’
She went to look at the other lads’ work, leaving Stephen until last, putting it off. She had not once looked fully in his direction throughout the class. And of course she had not come in to see him yesterday either.
They had reached Birmingham in the middle of the afternoon on Sunday, she and Margaret both exhausted from all the new experiences and the journey and the emotion of it all.
When they got back, Pa and the others had been all eager to hear about it and Daisy had seen Margaret give Pa one of her looks that said, I’ll tell you about it later, properly.
Over Mrs Flett’s tea of stew, much padded out with barley, they had told the family about the trip. John wanted to know about the trains, Lily about the nurses and about London, and both of them were agog to hear about the underground trains which whisked you along beneath the city.
‘Oh,’ Lily said, wide-eyed. ‘I’d be scared! I’d rather sit on the omnibus and see everything!’
‘And how’s the lad?’ Philip asked, once the first flurry of excitement was over.
Daisy looked at Margaret, imploring with her eyes, Don’t tell them!
‘He’s . . . comfortable,’ Margaret said carefully.