by Ellie Dean
‘Why’s that?’ asked Dolly carefully. ‘I should think Ron would be like a schoolboy trapped in a sweetshop. Isn’t it every man’s dream to live over a pub?’
‘Not if he’s in a wheelchair,’ said Rosie, sinking down into the chair opposite her.
‘So, you know about the paralysis?’
Rosie took a sip of her drink and nodded. ‘The doctor told me eventually – but only after I had to almost bully it out of him.’
‘Men can be so annoying, can’t they?’ said Dolly. ‘Why is it that we have to force things out of them? Do they think we’re too empty-headed and feeble to be told harsh facts?’
Rosie shrugged, took another sip of gin and then gave a sigh. ‘Ron’s just the same, and there have been times when I could have cheerfully throttled him.’
‘I can well imagine,’ murmured Dolly, who’d often had the same urge. ‘Still, it is early days and there is still hope those nerves will recover and he’ll get full use of his legs again.’
‘That’s what I’ve been praying for,’ Rosie admitted. ‘But I have to be realistic, Dolly, and think about the future – however it may turn out.’
Dolly drank the gin, and decided this was the moment to bring up the most delicate subject of all. ‘It will be an uphill struggle for both of you to adapt to a whole new way of life,’ she murmured. ‘Especially if Ron’s paralysis has affected more than just his legs.’
Rosie averted her gaze from Dolly and nodded. ‘That’s something the doctor warned me about last night.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘But sex isn’t everything, is it?’ she said bravely. ‘We’ll be all right.’
Dolly had to admire her courage, but words were easy; it was what was going on in her head and heart that really mattered. ‘I’m sure you will,’ she replied softly. ‘You’re both strong people, and once Ron has come to terms with things, you’ll soldier on as before.’
Rosie gave a soft grunt. ‘Soldiering on seems to be my role in life,’ she said with profound sadness. ‘What with James and now Ron. But, yes, I am strong, Dolly, and I won’t let this beat me.’
‘Good for you. So, what are your plans?’
‘When Ron and I got engaged, we decided I’d sell the Anchor once the war was over and there was a bit of money about, so we could spend more time together. But as that seems to be dragging on endlessly, I’ll have to think about bringing my plan forward into the New Year. This place isn’t at all suitable if he’s confined to a wheelchair, so I thought I’d start looking for a large bungalow.’
Dolly almost choked on her drink. ‘Good grief, Rosie,’ she spluttered. ‘Can you really envisage you and Ron in some bungalow surrounded by a hundred others and full of old people? It would be too ghastly for words.’
Rosie managed a smile. ‘I agree. But if Ron can’t walk, it’s really the only option.’
Dolly put down her glass and sat forward. ‘Look, my dear,’ she said softly, ‘don’t make any rash decisions now. You’re exhausted and frantic with worry, and you might make the most awful blunder by buying something just because it’s convenient.’
‘I know you mean well, Dolly, but I really have little choice.’
‘I do understand, and if the worst comes to the worst, then of course you must be practical about things. I’m just urging you not to be too hasty. Armstrong could be wrong, and although Ron’s feeling very down at the moment, there is still hope those nerves will recover and he’ll be back to his old self.’
‘I am clinging to that hope, Dolly, but as each day passes …’ She drew herself up and regarded Dolly squarely. ‘Ron might be feeling low at the moment, but at heart he’s a fighter – and so am I. Neither of us will give in, regardless of the outcome, I can promise you that.’ To stave off any argument, she took the empty glasses and refilled them.
Dolly offered her cigarette case and lit them both a Lucky Strike before raising her glass. ‘Here’s to you both.’
They drank in silence and Dolly became aware of Rosie surreptitiously admiring her silk blouse and tailored skirt. Rosie had always made the best of herself on what Dolly suspected might be a tight budget, and she wished she’d thought to bring her something to cheer her up – and then remembered the little hat she’d packed. It would suit Rosie perfectly.
She dragged her thoughts back to more practical matters. ‘I wonder, Rosie, if you’d mind very much if I asked you a favour?’
Rosie frowned. ‘What sort of favour?’
‘It’s a bit cheeky, I know, and you must say immediately if it’s not convenient, but you see this visit was very much on the spur of the moment, and now I’ve seen Ron, I’d like to stay on for a couple of days. I was wondering if I could bunk in here on the couch?’
‘But won’t Frank and Pauline expect you to stay with them?’
‘That wouldn’t be a good idea. Pauline’s still very off with me.’ She could see Rosie was hesitant and so hurried on. ‘Don’t worry, Rosie. I’m sure I can find a hotel or B & B for a couple of nights.’
Rosie smiled. ‘Don’t be silly. Of course you can stay – and you won’t have to sleep in here, I have a spare bedroom.’
‘Are you sure?’
Rosie nodded. ‘To be honest, I’ll be glad of the company. This place has been far too quiet lately.’
‘Then I’m glad I asked,’ said Dolly, shooting her a bright smile. ‘It will only be for a couple of nights, but Christmas is no time to spend alone, and as we both care for that infuriating old scallywag, we can work together to buck up his spirits and stop him from being difficult.’
Rosie raised her glass and giggled. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ she said. ‘God help him with both of us on his case – he’ll be running for the hills just to escape us.’
Dolly chuckled. ‘Amen to that,’ she replied.
22
It was New Year’s Eve and Ron was exhausted as well as hopeful. Bill Watson, the sturdily built middle-aged physiotherapist, had just put him through the torturous back exercises and was now working on his legs and feet.
‘I felt that,’ he said gruffly as the man finished massaging his legs and began to manipulate his right knee in an effort to straighten it out.
‘Where did you feel it?’
‘In my knee and up my thigh.’
Watson said nothing and turned his attention to the other leg.
‘Ow! Watch what you’re doing,’ Ron said sharply. ‘That hurts.’
‘But that’s good,’ Watson replied, continuing the manipulation. ‘It means those nerves in your back are starting to recover.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Ron asked, hardly daring to hope. ‘Is that why I’ve suddenly got pins and needles in my feet?’
Watson grinned and nodded. He tested the soles of Ron’s feet, and although the reaction was sluggish, it was still a reaction. ‘Push against my hand as hard as you can.’
Ron concentrated and felt the man’s large hand beneath his foot as he tried to push it away. The movement was minimal, but it was there, and the same thing happened with the other foot.
Bill Watson smiled and drew the sheet back over Ron. ‘That’s splendid,’ he said. ‘Now I want you to practise pushing your feet up and down and pressing your knees into the mattress using your thigh and calf muscles. Do it as many times and as often as you like; it won’t do any harm, but will strengthen those muscles, get the blood flowing properly and help you to walk again.’
‘To be sure, I’ll be working on them every minute from now on.’
‘Good. Because I shall be getting you out of this bed tomorrow and on your feet.’
Ron looked at him in amazement. ‘Really? But I feel as weak as a kitten, and to be sure, these legs will not be holding me up.’
‘You’ll have me to hold onto,’ Watson soothed. ‘You’ll probably feel light-headed and a bit nauseous at first, but now the feeling has come back we need to work hard at getting you mobile.’
He dug his large, soft hands into the pockets of his white coat. ‘If
all goes well over the next day or so, I shall propose you be transferred to the Memorial, where they have special facilities for recuperation from the sort of injuries you’ve sustained.’
‘Aye, I’m aware of that,’ said Ron. ‘A couple of our evacuees were treated there.’
‘So you have some idea of what you’re in for,’ said Watson. ‘They’ll have you up and about in no time – but I warn you, it won’t be a picnic. The army physical training instructor is a hard taskmaster and takes no prisoners.’
Ron grinned and flexed his feet beneath the sheet. ‘Aye, so I’ve been told, but if he gets me walking again, I’ll not be arguing with him.’
He looked up at the other man. ‘Tell me straight, Bill. How long will it all take before I can get this plaster jacket off and go home?’
‘The jacket will have to stay in situ for about three to four months, but you should be walking unaided by then, and able to go home. You’ll have to return to the Memorial for regular physio and check-ups, and then for an X-ray to see if the fracture has healed properly and there are no deformities. If all is well, the jacket will come off then.’
Ron stared at him in shock. ‘Three to four months?’ he gasped.
The other man nodded. ‘These things can’t be hurried. Concentrate on getting back on your feet, and you’ll find the time will pass very quickly.’ He pulled back the curtains surrounding the bed and left the ward.
Ron yanked the sheet off his feet and tried wriggling his toes. They weren’t responding very well, so he attempted to flex his feet up and down. There was definite movement, but far too little for his liking, and as he’d never been a patient man, he felt frustrated by the thought it could be months before he was free of the plaster cast and up and about again.
And then there was the not-so-minor problem of impotency. There was no life down there at all and he was beginning to wonder if there ever would be again. He should have asked Bill when and if he could expect a change, but it was all a bit embarrassing and he hadn’t liked to broach the subject.
Ron passed the rest of the morning doing his exercises and found that his appetite had returned as well as the feeling in his legs. By visiting time he was tired, but the ache in his legs was a pleasant and very satisfying one after not feeling very much at all for almost three weeks.
He watched Rosie and Dolly come through the swing doors and couldn’t help but preen a little in the knowledge they were there to see him, for he knew the other men envied him. They were beautiful and glamorous and certainly brightened up the place as well as the patients, going by the admiring looks they garnered as they came down the ward to his bedside.
He hugged his secret to himself as they kissed him and then told him what they’d been doing that morning – preparing the Anchor for a New Year’s Eve party, which had, of course, involved a trip to Plummer’s to buy a new dress by way of celebration. He listened to their chatter with an indulgent smile, and then, unable to resist any longer, he tugged off the sheet and wriggled his toes and feet.
‘Oh, Ron!’ they gasped in unison.
‘But why didn’t you tell us straight away instead of letting us chatter on?’ Rosie protested. ‘Does this mean you’ll soon be walking again and coming home?’
‘It’s early days,’ he replied. ‘But I’ll soon be up and about, you’ll see.’ He went on to explain about the Memorial and the months it might take before he could be rid of the hated jacket.
‘I know the Memorial can work wonders, Ron,’ said Dolly. ‘But it won’t be easy for Rosie and the others to get up there every day.’
‘I’ll get my car out of storage,’ said Rosie, whose eyes were brimming with happy tears. ‘It will need new tyres and a good service, and of course I’ll have to apply for petrol ration stamps. But if I only use the car to get to the Memorial and back, it shouldn’t be a problem.’
She leaned forward and took his hands. ‘Oh, Ron,’ she breathed excitedly. ‘Just think, we could get married once you’re back on your feet. And April is such a lovely month for a wedding.’
Ron couldn’t meet her eye. ‘Aye, well, don’t be getting ahead of yourself, wee girl. I’ve a long way to go before we can make those sorts of plans.’
‘They’re better than the ones she had before,’ said Dolly dryly. At Ron’s questioning look, she gave a chuckle. ‘Rosie was planning to buy a bungalow.’
Ron looked at them both aghast. ‘A bungalow?’
Rosie and Dolly collapsed into giggles. ‘You sounded just like Lady Bracknell in The Importance of being Ernest,’ spluttered Dolly.
Ron had no idea what she was talking about. ‘To be sure, ’tis no laughing matter,’ he grumbled. ‘I’ll not be living in a bungalow and that’s an end to it.’
‘And you won’t be, my darling,’ soothed Rosie, trying to stifle her giggles. ‘We’ll get married and stay in the Anchor until there’s some money about, and then sell to the highest bidder and find a lovely house somewhere.’ She shot a conspiratorial glance at Dolly. ‘In fact, there is a house I’m interested in, and although we both agree it needs a lot of work, it would be the perfect place to start our new life together.’
Ron didn’t want to upset her, and certainly didn’t have the courage to talk about his intimate problem in the middle of a busy ward to the two women who had been clearly plotting behind his back. But he had to say something to stop them from rushing headlong into things.
‘We’ll not be marrying until I can walk properly and carry you over the threshold,’ he said, taking the sting out of his words by kissing Rosie’s hand. ‘We both have to be patient, my love,’ he murmured.
Rosie blinked as her smile faltered. ‘Yes, of course,’ she managed. ‘I just thought that as … That’s to say …’ She gave a trembling sigh and fell silent.
Ron could tell she was trying not to show her disappointment and felt like an absolute heel. But for her own sake, he couldn’t let her arrange another wedding and have to cancel it. Because he was damned if he’d marry her if he stayed as he was and couldn’t be a proper man for her.
He decided to change the subject and turned to Dolly. ‘I thought you were only staying for a couple of days.’
‘You don’t have to sound so grumpy about it,’ she replied tartly. ‘Rosie very kindly asked me to stay on and I thought you were enjoying my little visits.’
‘To be sure, you’ve bullied and cajoled me until I’m worn to a shred,’ he teased. ‘I hope you haven’t been the same with Pauline.’
‘My daughter is still finding it hard to talk to me, but we’ve mostly kept out of each other’s way over Christmas, and as I’m going home first thing tomorrow, you’ll no doubt both be pleased to see the back of me.’
Ron grinned and took her hand. ‘Ach, Dolly, you were always so easy to rile – you rise to the bait quicker than a leaping salmon. Of course I’ve loved seeing you, and I’m glad you and Rosie got to know each other better. But don’t you have more important things to do than hospital visiting?’
‘I certainly do,’ she retorted. ‘And now you’re on the mend I shall see to them with great pleasure.’
‘Dolly has been wonderful company,’ said Rosie. ‘I shall miss her when she leaves.’
Ron saw the women exchange warm smiles and was delighted that whatever barrier had existed between them had been well and truly broken through this past week.
Peggy hadn’t expected to enjoy Christmas, what with the family scattered, Ron so poorly in hospital and the unsettling news coming out of the Western Front where the Battle of the Bulge was still raging amid bitter winds and thick snow, but the day itself had been a surprisingly jolly one.
Cissy had come for the day and sixteen of them had sat around the table in the dining room that evening to enjoy Peggy’s two roasted chickens which had been sacrificed for the occasion, and as everyone had brought something for the table, they’d had a veritable feast. Perhaps the atmosphere had been helped along by Daisy’s innocent joy, the telephone call from e
veryone in Somerset, and the fact that at last everyone seemed to have heard from their men in the POW camps – they’d ended up singing along to the wireless and then dancing until midnight to records on the old gramophone.
Peggy wrapped herself in her overcoat and thickest scarf, hat and gloves and walked briskly down the hill towards the promenade. Daisy had a cold, so she’d left her at home with Sarah and Rita, and she was finding it quite liberating to be able to walk at her own pace unhampered by a pushchair and enjoy the simple – and quite rare – pleasure of having time to herself.
The weather had closed in during the week, with a bitterly cold wind and a threat of snow in the leaden skies, but now the seafront had been cleared of gun emplacements, barbed wire and mines, it was a huge delight to stride along and then stop for a moment to lean over the railings and simply enjoy the view. These little pleasures had been missing for too long, and although the war was still being fought on the other side of the Channel, there was a definite feeling of expectancy in the air. Things were going the Allies’ way at last, with General Patton relieving Bastogne, and the Soviet troops besieging Budapest, and once the battle in the Ardennes was won, there would be a clear road to Berlin and victory.
Peggy buried her chin in the woollen scarf and dug her gloved hands deeper into the pockets of her overcoat as the icy wind made her eyes water and burned her cheeks. She hardly dared hope that 1945 might at last bring peace, but the evidence that things were changing was everywhere. There had been no air raids for two weeks, some men were coming home having been released from their war duties, the trappings of war, such as the barbed wire and gun emplacements, were gone, the blackout diminished to the point it was almost normal again with street lights and thinner curtains. If only the rationing would become less strict, life would be very much easier, but now the winter was proving to be so harsh, there were rumours flying about that bread and potatoes might soon be rationed for the first time. If these two staples became harder to get, then the British housewife would really struggle to feed the family.