‘Well, I can say this much, Mother, she’s a good cook but she’s not better than you. Anyway, should you hear anything about Robbie, send word straight through.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t hope for that, lass; and I think she’s accepted the fact.’
‘You never know, he could have been picked up.’
‘It’s a fortnight, Aggie, a fortnight. We’d have heard something before now if there had been any survivors. But go on, get yourself away.’
Agnes reached the door, and there, turning, she said, ‘Oh, I should pop in to see the sisters, but will you tell them I’ll look in towards the end of the week? I’ll slip out the back way so I won’t have to pass the shop.’
Immediately she entered the house she knew something was wrong: McCann wasn’t there to greet her, nor were any of the girls. Then, of a sudden, from different quarters of the hall they appeared: Mrs Mitcham came hurrying down the stairs, Rose Pratt came from the kitchen, and Katie Steele from the drawing room, and they all looked perturbed. It was Mrs Mitcham who greeted her with, ‘Oh, I’m glad you’re back, ma’am. Mr Charles has had such a bad turn of coughing. McCann’s with him now. It was the telegram.’
‘What telegram?’
She was pulling off her coat as she hurried towards the foot of the stairs, and when Katie Steele, her face screwed up as if she were about to cry, took it from her, she demanded, ‘What is it? What is it?’
‘It’s Mr Reginald, ma’ am.’
She stopped on the first stair and her hand went to her throat and she whimpered now, ‘No, no; not?’
‘It isn’t fatal, ma’am. It isn’t fatal.’ Mrs Mitcham was patting her arm. ‘He’s been wounded. The telegram came a few minutes after you left and Mr Charles got on to the War Office and then the hospital. He’s been brought home and is somewhere in a hospital in Dover. That’s as far as I understand.’
She was running up the stairs now and into her bedroom, and when McCann turned from the bed she immediately noted the sputum dish in his hand and her heart missed several beats when she saw a red streak in it.
‘It’s all right, ma’am.’ McCann was nodding towards her. ‘It was just a short attack.’
When she held Charles’ hand he gasped and said, ‘They’ve…they’ve told you?’
‘Yes, yes, dear.’
‘But he’ll be all right, he’s…he’s just wounded. I…I got through to the hospital…’
‘Don’t talk, darling, just lie still.’
‘I’m…I’m all right.’ He tossed his head impatiently. ‘He’s…he’s been badly hit…wounded. I’ll have to go down.’
‘No, you won’t! You’re in no fit state to travel. Anyway, they’ll likely transfer him to this end. We must wait and see.’
‘I knew something would happen. That…that last letter was…odd.’
‘Don’t talk, darling, not for a while. We can do nothing until we hear further.’
She watched his head sink into the pillow and his eyes close. This was the first really bad turn he had had since the pneumonia. He’d had bouts of coughing but had never brought up blood. He had said he knew something was going to happen from Reg’s last letter, but what that letter implied to her was not a wound to the body but a wound to the mind, for it had said,
‘Charles,
Everything has changed. It’s all mud again.
After this, I know I’ll be coming home, not just a rest period this time but home. We’ll buy a bull and breed. I’ll be with you shortly.
Reg.’
There were no jokes in that letter, not even an enquiry after Pansy and Basil and Muriel. The letter had worried Charles. He opened his eyes now and said, ‘We must…phone Elaine.’
‘I’ll do that, dear.’
‘And Henry.’
‘Yes, and Henry.’
‘General Dawson, Father’s friend, you remember, if you could get him he’ll…he’ll see to it…about Henry. Oh God! This blasted thing. Why am I like this?’
‘Please, darling, don’t agitate yourself. If you’ll only lie still and be quiet for a day or two.’
‘Day or two! Agnes, this is a time when I should be on my feet. I can’t stay here for a day or two.’
‘You’ll have to stay there a day or two and leave things to me. Now you lie quiet; I’ll be back in a moment or so.’
She went quickly across the room and into the dressing room, where she knew McCann would be and, closing the door after her and her voice low, she said to him, ‘I think we’d better have the doctor, McCann. He won’t stay in bed on our authority, will he?’
‘No, ma’am, I don’t think he will. He’s always been strong-minded, has Mr Charles. Will I telephone for him, ma’am?’
‘If you would, please.’
As McCann turned to go he said, ‘It was the telegram that shocked us all. Poor Mr Reginald. Yet it’s a good thing in a way that he’s alive and out of that business over there.’
Alone for a moment, she stood thinking. Yes, he was alive. But how much alive? Well, that’s one thing she could find out.
When the doctor came he put it firmly to Charles that he must rest for at least a week; if he didn’t, then he would find himself back at Woolley; and, too, there was no question of his travelling anywhere. And when he was leaving the house he put his opinion in his forthright way to Agnes by saying, ‘What a pity, because a year in Switzerland wouldn’t do him any harm either.’ Then suddenly stopping, he looked at her and said, ‘And about Reginald, I shouldn’t trouble to go down all that way; you’ll likely pass him on the road coming north. They transfer them, you know…’
And that’s what General Walker said to her later when he called her after making enquiries. ‘From what I understand,’ he said, ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Farrier is in a pretty bad way. At the present moment he is in a hospital outside Dover, but they are hoping to transfer him as soon as possible. What that actually means I can’t say. Take down the telephone number of the hospital and then you can phone and enquire yourself.’
She had thanked him; and then she had done just that; only to have been asked immediately if she was his wife.
No, she was his sister-in-law.
Who was his nearest relative?
Her husband.
Then she would like to speak to him. If he came on the phone she would put him on to Doctor Nesbitt.
Her husband couldn’t come to the phone, he was in bed ill at the moment.
Oh, well, wait a moment, please.
Doctor Nesbitt’s voice was quiet and polite.
‘You’re enquiring after Lieutenant-Colonel Farrier?’
‘Yes, I am his sister-in-law. My husband, as I’ve already told the nurse, is ill in bed, and I’m enquiring to find our the extent of my brother-in-law’s wounds.’
‘Well, I’m sorry to tell you, Mrs Farrier, that he’s in a very poor state. He has lost an arm and a foot; but that isn’t the worst; he has been very badly burned.’
‘What? Burned?’
‘Yes, that’s what I said, burned, and at the present moment, naturally, his mental state is not lucid.’
‘Well, will he be transferred?’
‘Yes, he will be transferred as near his home as possible.’
‘When?’
‘I cannot say, at least not yet. It will also be a matter of transport and, of course, his condition with regard to travelling.’
‘I’ll have to inform his sister. Could…could she or I come and see him? By the way, his brother is a minister and is on active service.’
‘I understand his brother has been informed. But as for you or his sister coming to see him, I cannot see any point. He would not recognise you at the moment and he would only be distressed. But if you will phone me in two or three days’ time, I shall likely be able to give you further information.’
‘Thank you.’
She hung up the phone, then leant against the wall. An arm and a foot, and burned, and his mind deranged. Oh, Reg. Reg. Reg. Oh, my dear. That h
andsome, beautiful man whose very looks drew women to him.
She pulled herself slowly upwards. She hadn’t asked where he was burned. Pray God it wasn’t his face. A leg and a foot he would be able to manage, and even parts of his body, but not his face. Oh, not his face.
How was she to tell Charles?
As best she could, came the answer from the back of her head, from where these days most answers seemed to come. It was as if there was another partner tucked away up there telling her what she must say and what she must not say. Perhaps her coming into this house had created that other self in her.
She told Charles the news standing by the side of the bed, and without touching him, because if he were to break down in her arms she too would break down and cry for Reg as she had never cried for anyone in her life before.
‘Oh, no, Agnes, not all that, not to Reg.’
‘They…they can make false limbs; they’re doing it all the time. Look at Sergeant Swain, now driving the milk cart. You would never guess he had only one leg. And then there are your friends the Hammonds. Their son Roger, he had only one arm and one eye, but he is running the farm and managing. And you know what a strong character Reg is.’
She hadn’t mentioned the burning part, that must come later. Anyway, she knew little about that.
‘I feel that I should be there with him.’
‘I told you that Doctor Nesbitt said it wouldn’t be any use going down, any of us. And anyway, as I told you, he said I was to telephone in a couple of days or so, and he’d tell me when and where Reg will be transferred. There’s an army hospital for the badly wounded outside Gateshead. That would be quite near.’
‘Oh no, not there; there’s hopeless cases there. Someone referred to it the other day as the loony bin. Oh, don’t say that Reg could be transferred there. That would mean—’ He turned his head away from her, unable to voice what it would mean, and she said, ‘Well, I only meant it was near. There’s a number of hospitals in Newcastle.’
He was again looking at her as he said, ‘Why is this happening to us? My parents, then Nessy, now Reg. It’ll be Henry next, that’s if I don’t go before him.’
‘Don’t talk like that.’
‘It’s true, and you know it’s true. Oh Agnes, don’t stand away from me like that. Come here. Come here, please.’
When they enfolded each other, the restriction in her throat gave way and it was he who had to comfort her.
It was five weeks later when Charles saw Reg, or what remained of him. He had left Agnes in the hospital hallway, because they had been informed that only his brother would be allowed to see him. Charles had passed down a long, broad, white-walled corridor off which were a number of side wards. Some of the doors were closed, but through one of the open ones he had glimpsed two men playing cards: one was in bed, the other was in a wheelchair. But there was no bottom to the wheelchair, at least no legs were showing, and the man in the bed seemed to be encased in plaster, all except one hand. There were varying noises coming from behind other closed doors. At the far end of the corridor the nurse pushed open a door and ushered him into a small room. In it was a narrow hospital bed and in bed was what looked like a mummy, except for two eyes that flickered backwards and forwards in deep sockets. A male orderly turned from a table in the corner of the room and said, ‘Good afternoon.’ And Charles muttered something, he wasn’t quite sure what, for his whole attention was on the mummy in the bed. The nurse said something to the male orderly, then went out. And the man, bringing a chair forward, said, ‘Sit down, sir.’
Charles sat down; then looking at the eyes that were now flickering over him, he brought out on a gulp, ‘Reg. Reg. It’s me, Charlie.’
The bandages round the face moved, at least where the slit was, and a muffled sound that had no connection with Reg’s remembered voice repeated his name, ‘Charlie?’
‘Yes, it’s me.’ He was about to say, ‘How do you feel?’ when a voice in his head screamed at him, Don’t be such a bloody fool!
The muffled voice came again, and Charles bent over and put his head towards the disinfected, bandaged face and thought he heard, ‘Second. Went over…with the…’
Charles turned and looked helplessly at the orderly and he, his voice low, said, ‘He’s telling you about the day he caught it. The second battalion of the Durham Light Infantry; he was in it, you know.’
Charles nodded, and the man went on, ‘They must have been joined by the eleventh Essex, and in a minute he’ll tell you about the tank. Apparently there was a driver still in it and the whole thing was ablaze, and this fella and the Colonel and his sergeant went to pull him out and the lot blew up. The sergeant got his packet, but to my mind this fella got more than his share.’
Looking at the man, Charles said quietly, ‘He’s my brother.’
‘Oh. Oh, sir, I was under the impression he hadn’t anybody. But still, I suppose the doctors have kept you away for a time ’cos, you see, he was pretty high, I mean, raving, when he was transferred a week ago.’
Charles turned from the man and looked into the two dark wells, his voice breaking as he said, ‘Agnes sends her love.’ And that was a damned silly thing to say, wasn’t it?
Yet the slit moved and the sound came through, repeating, ‘Ag…nes. Ag…nes.’
‘She will come and see you later.’
At this, it was as if the body in the bed had been shot, for the whole of it jerked upwards and a yell emanated from the slit. And Charles was being thrust aside by the orderly, who was saying, ‘I would go if I were you, sir, ’cos this is how he starts. And he’ll have to see the doctor and have a jab.’ He pressed a button on the wall to the side of the bed.
Oh dear, dear God! Oh, Father in heaven! He was backing into the middle of the room away from the waving hand of the orderly.
‘Christ! Christ!’
But why was he calling on God? What was wrong with him? Where had his reason gone? To imagine there was anything you could call on named God or Christ or anything else when his brother, his handsome, beautiful brother was being crucified, and in a way that Christ never was, for if he survived he’d have to live with all that. Christ’s crucifixion was over in a few hours. And he’d tell Henry that. Yes. Yes, he would.
He was outside in the corridor now. A female nurse had pushed past him to go into the room. Presently, a man in a white coat went in.
He heard a scream, ear-piercing. But he remained standing where he was as if his feet were glued to the tiled floor.
It was ten minutes later when the doctor came out of the room and looked at him and said, ‘I’m sorry your visit was disturbed. You are his brother?’
‘Yes; I’m…I’m his brother.’
‘Well, we’ve been in touch before on the phone. I am Doctor Willert. I think we’d better have a little talk. Will you come this way? Bitterly cold out.’
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
‘Soon have Christmas back again.’
‘Yes. Yes, we will.’
‘Ah, here we are. Just take a seat.’ He pointed to a comfortable leather chair, then went over to a sideboard, saying, ‘Can I offer you something to drink, apart from tea or coffee, for which you would have to wait? There’s port, whisky or brandy, take your choice.’
‘I won’t have anything at the moment, thank you.’
‘Perhaps you’re right; it’s too early in the day to be indulging. But—’ He now sat down and, nodding his head, said, ‘You…you will understand that some people need to be fortified.’
‘Yes. Yes, I understand.’
‘Your brother is in a very bad way. I suppose you could judge that from his reaction.’
‘What is exactly wrong with his face?’
‘It would be easier to say what isn’t wrong with it. He is badly burned. His neck, jaw, and mouth right to the upper lip and his left cheek, are badly affected. The right cheek was seared but that won’t look too bad; but the rest will have to be built up. And it’s going to take time, quite a long
time, a number of operations. And then, you’ll understand, there are no miracle workers in this field yet, and although they do really remarkable jobs, he will be disfigured. Fortunately his eyes missed it, and most of his nose. One ear was badly shrivelled; but they can do things with the ears. It’s the mouth and jaw that’s going to be the most difficult and noticeable.’
Charles felt sick; he could have actually vomited where he sat. He closed his eyes for a moment, then said, ‘If you don’t mind, doctor, I will have that drink: a little whisky and water.’
He had drunk half the contents of the glass before he asked the next question: ‘And the rest of him?’
‘Well, his left arm is off to the elbow, and the right foot is off to the ankle. You might be surprised when I say it’s as well it happened this way, but his balance will be better when he has false limbs, for then his left foot and his right arm will help steady him. And although there’s nothing wrong internally, his body is badly scarred at the front. Yet I’ve got to say this: body scars are nothing compared with those on the mind, and I’m afraid he’s badly scarred there. Fortunately, though, with time and treatment this could be put right, at least to make him appear normal. And I say appear, because what men such as he have witnessed over the past two years will remain as indelible scars for life.’
‘Where will the surgery be done; I mean, the plastic surgery?’
‘Mostly here; at least somewhere in the North. And you will be able to visit him from time to time. However, in his case, and from the mental point of view, it will be better if he doesn’t have many outside contacts, at least for some time. The orderly tells me this last upset was caused by the mention of a lady’s name.’
The Wingless Bird Page 31