A Place to Call Home

by Tania Crosse

  As it was, Meg and her mother-in-law were both so lost in their own anguish that they barely exchanged a word until they came into London. The ticket man at Tunbridge Wells had advised them to take the Plymouth train from Waterloo rather than the one from Paddington, as it would mean less time trying to travel across London. Also, once past Exeter, the train from Waterloo took a route around the north of Dartmoor and then down its western side, which he felt would probably suffer fewer interruptions than would the train from Paddington which followed the south coast.

  Despite his assurances, Meg lost count of the unscheduled stops along the line and delays in the stations, although she and Mary were glad of the opportunity to nip off to the ladies’. They’d both brought welcome thermos flasks with them and some provisions, but Meg gagged every time she took a bite of her sandwich. Her stomach was aching from hunger, yet churned so viciously that her throat closed up and she had a job to swallow the tiniest morsel. She shook inwardly, and looking across at Mary, her mother-in-law was suffering exactly the same loss of appetite. Their eyes met, and they gave each other a wan, supportive smile.

  It was dark when they finally arrived in Plymouth, and bitingly cold. Groping along unfamiliar pavements in the blackout was a nightmare, but by asking passers-by on the street, they were told how to get to the naval hospital by bus. It seemed that the wartime spirit of comradeship was as strong here as anywhere. After all, Plymouth had suffered as badly as London in the Blitz, and all around, ghostly ruins tottered among acres of rubble that had once been homes, shops and offices.

  Meg was so exhausted she could hardly stand by the time they finally discovered their destination, her head swimming and dazed, and she was sure Mary must feel just as bad. She was Ralph’s wife, but Mary was his mother, and the gruelling journey must have been even harder for her with her advancing years. But they both felt they would be tormented until they knew.

  Their identity cards were checked, of course, when they arrived at the hospital and Meg produced the telegram. It was a massive building, and they were taken along a maze of corridors. Heaven knew how they’d find their way back. But Meg didn’t really care. All she wanted to know was that Ralph was still alive.

  After they’d walked what seemed miles, they were eventually asked to wait in a small, stark, windowless room that boasted no more than a few austerely upholstered chairs. Meg sank onto one of them, her pulse trundling, the silence reverberating in her ears. It felt like a bad dream. Couldn’t be happening. She and Mary sat next to each other, instinctively holding hands as they waited for the news.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Hillier junior and senior, I believe,’ the naval doctor who entered the room a while later greeted them. ‘You must be tired after your long journey. But I’m sure all you want is to know about your husband, son. Well, the good news is that he’s stable.’

  Meg knew that she swooned and she struggled not to sink into the deep chasm that seemed to open up around her. She lost the doctor’s next few words, but she was in control of herself again by the time he’d sat down opposite them, clasping his hands between his spread knees.

  ‘The plane came down a week ago—’

  ‘A week?’

  ‘Yes. It takes time to set the wheels in motion, contact relatives. Not my department, of course. Treating your husband is. All I can tell you is that the plane came down over western Dartmoor, and he was the sole survivor. Now…’ The doctor paused, pulling in his chin and regarding them darkly. ‘He was badly burned. Not his face, I’m happy to say,’ he put in quickly, ‘but one arm from the elbow upwards and across the shoulder. It might’ve been a lot worse, but he had the sense to roll on the wet grass to put out the flames. As it is, provided we can stave off any infection, he should make a full recovery. There’ll be scarring, of course, and possibly some surgery. Skin grafts, that sort of thing. But overall, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t lead a normal life in the future. And he wasn’t in the smoke long enough for it to have affected his lungs at all.’

  Meg didn’t know whether to laugh with relief or burst into tears. In truth, she didn’t know what she felt. She could see Mary’s eyes were glistening, and made an effort to pull herself together. She must be strong for her mum-in-law’s sake.

  ‘Can we… see him?’ she faltered in a small voice.

  ‘Through a window, yes.’ The doctor’s face was still grave. ‘Third-degree burns aren’t as painful as you might imagine. They go deeper than the nerves, you see. But he is mildly sedated, and he’s sleeping just now. We’re barrier nursing him to prevent infection, so it’s not worth you gowning up. So what I’d suggest is that you come back tomorrow. He should be able to talk to you at some point then. So, if you’re ready, come with me.’

  Meg exchanged glances with Mary, and together on wobbly legs they followed the doctor down a corridor. He stopped by an internal window, inclining his head. Meg’s heart was in her mouth. She couldn’t bear to look, and yet she knew she must. Nathaniel’s curse flashed across her mind but she forced it to one side.

  When she brought her eyes to peer through the glass, Ralph just looked asleep, peaceful and calm, a sheet turned down over a blanket across his chest. Over one shoulder Meg could see a dressing the doctor explained was something called tulle gras, but other than that, Ralph appeared perfectly normal. Most importantly, he was alive, and their love would bring them through, Meg was sure.

  ‘D’you have somewhere to stay?’ the Royal Navy nursing sister who took over from the doctor enquired some minutes later.

  ‘No, we don’t,’ Meg told her, suddenly dropping with fatigue. ‘We thought we’d find a boarding house, although we’ve no idea where.’

  ‘We’ve a couple of places we recommend,’ the sister said. ‘We do this often, you see. Wait here while I make a couple of calls, and I’ll give you directions.’

  Meg nodded her thanks, then turned back to gazing at Ralph through the glass. She willed him to get better, pouring every vestige of her strength into his body. He was alive and he was going to stay that way. She was damned well going to make sure he did.

  *

  ‘Meg?’ Ralph’s voice was frail, as if it was taking a massive effort for him to speak.

  Meg could feel her heart breaking, and forced a smile to her face. ‘Yes, it is me under all of this,’ she told him from behind the mask. She wanted so much to touch him, but the doctor had instructed them not to, despite the sterile gloves, gown and cap in which both she and Mary had been dressed. With deep burns, infection was the enemy, they’d been told. There were drugs called prontosil and M and B powders, but prevention was better than cure.

  ‘Your mum’s here, too,’ Meg said gently, watching as Mary came up on his other side.

  ‘Hello, love.’

  Ralph turned his head. ‘Mum?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me. Not exactly glamorous, these outfits, are they?’ Mary tried to be light-hearted. ‘Dad sends his love. He’s got ’flu, so he couldn’t come.’

  ‘Where are we?’ Ralph frowned as if trying to focus his thoughts as well as his glazed eyes.

  ‘Plymouth.’

  ‘Plymouth? And you came all that way?’

  ‘Of course. We didn’t know how you were, so we came straightaway. But they say you’ll be fine. It’ll just take time.’

  Ralph nodded, and then his eyes flew wide open. ‘The agent? Neville?’ he asked in panic.

  Meg held her breath. The doctor had said Ralph was the only survivor, hadn’t he? But surely it wouldn’t do Ralph any good to know, not yet at least.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she lied.

  ‘I don’t remember…’ Ralph screwed up his face in agitation. ‘It’s all a blur. Flames…’

  ‘I think that’s enough for today,’ the doctor interrupted. ‘Say goodbye while I go and write him up some more sedation. And once you’ve ungowned, I’ll have another word with you.’

  ‘Thank you. Hear that, Ralph? We’ll see you again tomorrow, darling.’

  Meg year
ned – how she yearned – to kiss him, hug him. The sister coming in with the medication saved her from breaking down in tears, and a few minutes later, she and Mary were talking to the doctor again.

  ‘I am right that you came all the way from Kent?’ he was asking, to which they both nodded. ‘Well, I’ll see what I can do, but when he’s well enough, I’ll try and have him transferred to the Queen Victoria Hospital in East Grinstead. That’ll be better for you, won’t it? They have a specialist burns unit there. Doing pioneering work with plastic surgery to rebuild men’s faces. Your husband, er, son, might get away without any skin grafting or suchlike, but if he does need anything, he couldn’t be in a better place. But whatever happens, I’m sure they’ll recommend that he’s not returned to active service when he’s recovered.’

  ‘I should think not, too!’ Mary declared.

  ‘Sadly, very often it’s a case of patching them up and sending them back,’ the doctor explained sympathetically. ‘If they don’t have a physical disability, which your son won’t. But his recovery will take many months. I believe he was a very skilled navigator, so perhaps he can return as an instructor rather than flying himself. I reckon he’s done his bit, don’t you? Besides, it’s going to be a long road to recovery, and perhaps the war will be over by then.’

  ‘Pray God it will be,’ Mary agreed fervently. ‘Things do seem to be on the turn, don’t they? In Europe, at least. The Far East’s probably a different matter.’

  Meg clamped her lips. The old bitterness against fate swooped down on her again. They were talking as if they were pretty certain Ralph would survive. She wanted to believe them with all her heart, but she couldn’t rest until he was definitely on the mend. After everything she’d been through in her life, she simply didn’t think she could go on without him.

  Thirty

  ‘You will be all right on your own?’

  Meg looked into Mary’s anxious face and smiled reassuringly as they stood together on the platform. ‘Of course. I’ll write at least once a week to keep you up to date.’

  ‘You take care, then, girl,’ Gabriel nodded. Having recovered from the ’flu, he’d come down to join his wife and daughter-in-law, but now, with Ralph making steady progress, he and Mary were returning home. ‘And make sure that son of ours behaves himself.’

  ‘I’ll do that, all right. Now you get back safely and I hope you don’t have all the delays we did coming down.’

  Mary nodded, and after some brief hugs, the elderly couple climbed into the railway carriage. Meg didn’t see them again as they were swallowed up among the hordes of passengers, even though she walked alongside the train, searching every window, as it puffed forward. Nevertheless, she stood waving at the end of the platform until the train steamed out of sight.

  It was only then that it hit her how alone she felt in this unfamiliar, bombed-out city. It was early morning, and visiting wasn’t officially until the afternoon. So how could Meg spend the intervening time? She took a walk down to Sutton Harbour and the quaint Barbican Quay which dated back nearly four hundred years. She vaguely remembered from her history lessons at school that this was where the Pilgrim Fathers had set sail for America at the start of the seventeenth century. Now Meg tried to imagine how the place would have been as a busy trading port. There were still fishing boats and other vessels as if nothing had changed so much, but just behind the wharves, the winding Elizabethan streets had been devastated by German bombs and would never be the same again.

  With a deep sigh, Meg made her way round to the Hoe where she and Mary had taken several bracing walks in the winter wind that seemed constantly to come off Plymouth Sound. She stood for a while, gazing out over the water. The view across the bay was breath-taking, but the barrage of ack-ack guns everywhere and warships and other naval craft coming to and going out of Devonport base were a bleak reminder of the war. Meg shivered, and continued her brisk walk.

  She eventually turned her back on the sea and dragged herself up through what had once been the centre of the city, but was now a swathe of flattened buildings and devastation. Much had been cleared away since the major Blitz of three years before, but it was still one extensive bomb site with vivid reminders of the past horrors. It brought back cruel memories of the destruction Meg had seen on the trip up to London for Doris’s mum’s funeral when they’d been caught in an air raid. Now the ruins provided eerie monuments to the people who’d been killed or injured. Here in Plymouth, there’d apparently been a few air raids the previous year, Hitler just letting people know he hadn’t forgotten this important naval base, and Meg prayed there wouldn’t be another while Ralph was still here. For who knew what new menace Hitler would come up with to terrorise the people of Britain with again?

  Meg made a mental effort to pull herself together. She mustn’t think like that. They’d suffered so little in the Kent countryside, even though there’d been one or two incidents, and now Ralph should pretty well be out of the conflict. Meg should feel relieved, but uneasiness still churned in her stomach.

  The war was far from over. Tragically, they’d only recently learnt that Wig and Clarrie’s former chauffeur, Vic, had been killed out in North Africa. Whilst at Home Farm, Meg had made sure she didn’t mention it since Mandy’s fiancé had also fought in the tank regiment at El Alamein. He’d only just come home on leave after all that time, and yet he’d already been recalled, to Italy this time, so Mandy had only been reunited with him for a very short period. Poor girl had been distraught when he’d had to go back so soon.

  Meg gritted her teeth and moved on. It was almost noon, and she knew of a little café on her way to the hospital where she could grab a bite. Ralph would be longing to see her, she knew. Boredom and restlessness were the enemies as much as infection now, and physical progress was painfully slow. Time lay heavily on Ralph’s hands, despite his still being kept lightly sedated.

  ‘They told me this morning, about Nev and the agent,’ he couldn’t wait to tell her the instant she arrived, his agitation so great he’d scarcely said hello. ‘And it all came back to me. We were coming back from a night mission to pick up the agent outside St-Brieuc. We were raked by some bullets, but we seemed OK until we’d crossed the south coast. We get back over Britain as quickly as possible, you see. But the engine started spluttering as we flew over Dartmoor. There was no way we’d make it back to Suffolk, so we tried diverting to the nearest airfield, RAF Harrowbeer. But we didn’t make it.’

  He paused, drawing in Meg’s gaze. She didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t want to look at the anguish riven deep in his face. She just wanted to wallow in the joy that he was alive. She’d been through so much horror of her own that she felt saturated with it. But if Ralph needed to unburden himself, she must listen. She must be strong for him even if she didn’t feel it. That was what love meant, wasn’t it? Sharing everything together, everything fate threw at you. Being part of that person just as they were part of you.

  ‘I know, my love—’

  But Ralph hardly seemed to have heard her. ‘We were almost there. Just a few miles. Then there was smoke and we lost height. There wasn’t time to bale out. Nev did his best, but… I must’ve blacked out for a few seconds. I don’t remember crash-landing. When I came to, there were flames in the front cockpit. Nev was unconscious. I tried to drag him out, but his legs were trapped. I couldn’t budge him. Then I realised my arm had caught fire. The flames inside were spreading. I knew it was about to blow. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to leave Nev, but I knew I couldn’t save him. So I saved myself. I got out just in time. The force of the blast knocked me off my feet. I rolled in the grass to put out the fire on my sleeve. I don’t remember any pain, just lying there watching the plane burning with Nev and the agent inside it. I just pray to God they stayed unconscious.’

  His words ended in a desperate sob, and Meg felt her heart rip. It was as if Nathaniel’s curse had been granted but in a different way from the one the devil had meant. Meg knew herself
there was nothing anyone could say to ease Ralph’s pain. It was something you had to fight on your own.

  ‘You did your best,’ she whispered, since she knew that was what you did. Blame yourself.

  ‘I know. There was nothing wrong with our navigation or Nev’s flying. But I feel as if it was my fault. I knew you’d understand. That’s why I had to tell you. I couldn’t save Nev any more than you could save your parents.’

  Meg had averted her gaze as he’d described his own personal horror. But now as she looked back at him, his eyes were glistening, and she realised that tears were trickling down her own cheeks. She’d never felt as close to him as she did now.

  ‘I wish I could hold you,’ she choked. ‘But I’m not allowed to get near, and your getting better is the most important thing now. You owe it to Neville to survive. I never met him, but I know that’s what he’d have wanted.’

  To her utter relief, Ralph sniffed hard and nodded. ‘Yes. One day, when the war’s over, I’ll maybe go and visit his wife when I can. She’s up in Scotland somewhere. And when I’m well enough, I’ll go up on the moor and thank the farmer and his family who came out to help. Pencarrow their name was. Without them, I might’ve died.’

  Yes, Meg could imagine. The day they’d arrived, she and Mary had watched out of the window as the train skirted the north and then the western edge of Dartmoor. Dusk had been closing in, and the moor had taken on a frightening bleakness as it disappeared into total darkness. Now Meg shuddered as she imagined Ralph lying out there, injured, in the bitter January night. If it hadn’t been for the good people at the remote farm, whoever they were, she mightn’t have been sitting at Ralph’s bedside now. Even if they knew the moor like the back of their hands, there must have been some danger for them, trekking over such wild terrain in the pitch black.

  But that was what the war had done; brought together people, strangers, in one united spirit. A spirit Meg had witnessed among the Londoners sheltering from the Blitz down in the underground station. A spirit Adolf Hitler, to say nothing of the Japanese, of course, had yet to break. And Meg had become aware of the growing number of Yankee troops amassing in the area. There was a sense of anticipation slowly building that was almost palpable. She had the distinct impression that the United States had yet to show its mighty power to the full. That, between them, the Allies were planning something tremendous.