Past Remembering

by Catrin Collier

  ‘You’re in a doctor’s house.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘The telephone’s behind you.’

  She turned around sheepishly, staring in horror as she saw the blood-soaked cuff on his pyjama trouser leg. He looked down.

  ‘I guess that’s why it hurt.’

  ‘Stay there. I’ll phone, then I’ll help you up the stairs.’

  ‘This is one hell of a way to get a woman into my bedroom,’ he grinned through pain and gritted teeth. ‘But remind me to remember it. At least it works.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Britain declared war on Germany, Alexander had sincerely believed that it had taken more courage to stand back and proclaim himself a conscientious objector, than it would have to join the foolhardy idiots who had rushed to the nearest recruiting office. But as he sat next to Judy in the closeted darkness of the White Palace, he began to wonder how much longer his pacifist views could survive the war news.

  Wavering film of exhausted British and Commonwealth troops retreating from Greece filled the screen, followed by blurred, hazy shots of Balkan forests and villages being overrun by German divisions. Carefully selected photographic images of the devastation wrought by the Luftwaffe’s blitz on London came next. Magnificent and historic buildings reduced to rubble provided a backdrop to cinematic portraits of ordinary men and women going about their daily tasks.

  The stock caricature was of the white-coated, indomitable, cheery, Cockney milkman who refused to allow Hitler to disrupt his routine, even when he was reduced to leaving milk on doorsteps that had no house behind them. Shops without windows, roofs or doors, that bore hastily chalked signs: ‘More open than usual.’

  ‘They always save the good news until last,’ Judy whispered as the face of Hitler’s deputy, Rudolf Hess, filled the screen followed by pictures of what was left of the aircraft that had carried him from Germany to Scotland, ostensibly to bring an important message to the Duke of Hamilton. Whatever the contents of the secret missive, they obviously weren’t significant enough to bring the war to an end, Alexander reflected grimly, as Hess faded from view.

  A rousing cheer rocked the hall as the German battleship, Bismarck, smoke pouring from her decks, slowly sank beneath turbulent waves. The commentary filled the silence that followed. ‘The Nazis labelled her unsinkable …’

  Alexander scarcely heard a word. The expression in the eyes of the defeated troops retreating from Greece haunted him. He was educated, intelligent, yet he had fooled himself into thinking that he could contribute to the war effort by mining coal. What was the point, when Britain might not even exist as Great Britain a few months from now?

  How much longer before the coal he dug was shipped to the Greater Reich? What would the Germans call the country after they invaded? The province of Britain? The British territories of Greater Germany?

  ‘You can always come back to my house afterwards,’ Judy whispered, bending her head close to his. He could smell the sharp acid tang of her perspiration and the unappealing scent of her vinegary breath. It was easier to pretend he hadn’t heard her than formulate an answer.

  The crowing cockerel signalled the end of the news, and he settled back to watch the main feature. Half-way through the film he realised he hadn’t heard any of the dialogue or taken in a single frame. All he could see was his own face in the queue of defeated men patiently shuffling towards the coast of Greece. Perhaps it was time to bury principles forged in a time when people could afford to think for themselves, and join in the defence of his country while something still remained to defend.

  ‘Actually you may have done yourself a favour.’ Bethan lifted the final layer of dressings from Ronnie’s leg, and cleaned away the mass of clots and pus. ‘Looks like the bang you gave it brought the infection to a head. This blood is fresh.’ She held up a pad of cotton wool stained bright red, as proof. ‘Clean and uncontaminated.’

  ‘Now you tell me bleeding is good,’ he complained.

  ‘And here we have the reason why it took so long to heal.’ Using a pair of tweezers she pulled a crumpled piece of blackened linen from the mess on the bandages. ‘Who cleaned this for you after you were shot?’

  ‘The fellows with me.’

  ‘And what did they use?’

  ‘Torn-up handkerchiefs.’

  ‘First rule of nursing: count the instruments and dressings you push into a wound. They left one in your leg. Doesn’t it feel any easier?’

  ‘To be honest, at the moment I would prefer you to amputate it than clean it.’

  ‘That’s a bit drastic. Stay there.’ She scooped the soiled dressings into one of her bowls. ‘Exactly there,’ she warned as she went to the door, ‘and I’ll prepare a poultice to put on it.’

  ‘Damn, and I was hoping to go dancing.’ He lay back on the pillows, his pyjamas rolled above his knee, his leg exposed in all its torn and bloody glory on a thick wedge composed of newspaper and four of Laura’s oldest towels.

  ‘Good job you came back and found him when you did,’ Bethan said to Diana as she joined her in the kitchen.

  ‘He’s going to be all right?’

  ‘Now. There was a piece of dressing in the wound. From the mess, I think an abscess formed around it. Now it’s finally broken, his leg will probably heal, and not before time. I’ve cleaned the worst away. Once I’ve sterilised and packed the wound he should begin to recover. But if he’d been left in those bandages overnight, there’s no telling what might have happened. If blood poisoning had set in he’d have been in a pretty pickle.’ She scrubbed her hands in the washhouse before going into the pantry and fetching a bag of oatmeal and a small saucepan.

  ‘You’re making porridge?’

  ‘Poultice for his leg. The doctors don’t agree with half the nurses’ practices, but with the shortage of medical supplies, beggars can’t be choosers, and it works as well as mercury salts without the expense, not to mention the risks of skin irritation. Once I’ve packed and dressed the wound, I’ll give him something to make him sleep. You can go home if you like.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Unable to think of a single reason why she should stay, Diana reached for her coat.

  ‘Ronnie said you’ve been here most of the day?’

  ‘Going over books and figures.’

  ‘Then you, Wyn and Alma are making him a partner in your business?’ The telephone rang. ‘You or Ronnie expecting a call?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘Then watch this for me will you.’ Bethan handed the oatmeal and water over to Diana. ‘I left this number at home. Looks like I might be needed elsewhere.’

  Bethan returned just as Diana took the simmering oatmeal from the stove.

  ‘There’s been an accident in the Albion. A miner’s had his arm torn off, and he’s still trapped in machinery.’

  ‘You go, Beth, I’ll see to Ronnie.’

  ‘You sure? I could be gone for hours.’

  ‘I just pack the wound with this?’

  ‘Irrigate it first with iodine. I left a bottle on the dresser upstairs. Dilute it twenty parts to boiled water. And don’t forget to cool the poultice before you use it. A burn on that leg would just about finish off Ronnie.’ Bethan put on her cape.

  ‘Won’t you need the things upstairs?’

  ‘They’ve always got first-aid kits in the collieries. It’s more important I get there quickly. If you get stuck, call the relief nurse.’

  ‘I’ll manage.’ Diana only just succeeded in suppressing a small smile as she walked up the stairs.

  ‘You sure you won’t come in?’

  ‘Quite sure, thank you.’ Alexander laid his hands over Judy’s and lifted them from his shoulders. Tipping his hat he turned and walked back up Leyshon Street towards the Graig Hotel. He hesitated on the corner. Once he was certain the streets were empty he turned back down the hill. He could have found his way to the back stockroom door of Griffiths’ shop blindfolded, let alone on a moonless, blackout night. Five minutes lat
er he was trying the door. It was locked. He knocked softly, but there was no answering sound from upstairs.

  Cursing under his breath, he lobbed a stone at the window. He needed to know exactly why Jenny had pushed him into leaving the Hart with Judy. If she wanted to use Judy as a blind to fool other people, he wouldn’t be happy about it, but at least he would understand her behaviour. If she’d made up her mind to have nothing more to do with him, he wanted to know about it. Now!

  The stone rattled against the glass and fell back into the yard without provoking a response. He looked up at her bedroom window. He had two options. He could either walk around to the front of the shop and bang on her door until she answered, waking the entire neighbourhood in the process, or he could climb the drainpipe in the hope that he’d be able to raise the sash on her window high enough for him to crawl inside.

  Testing the drainpipe to see if it would bear his weight, he began to climb.

  ‘Comfortable?’

  ‘Let’s say you’re less experienced but gentler than Bethan.’

  ‘That’s a backhanded compliment if ever I heard one.’ Diana opened a safety pin and pushed the point carefully through the surface layers of the bandage. Fastening it, she stood back and surveyed her handiwork. ‘The pill Bethan left is next to the glass of water.’

  ‘What is it?’ Ronnie questioned suspiciously, picking it up and holding it between thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Bethan said it will kill the pain.’

  ‘And me probably for the next twenty-four hours.’

  ‘We have to make you rest somehow.’ She gathered the bowls, spare gauze and iodine.

  ‘You’re going?’

  ‘I have to. Wyn and my mother will be wondering if I’ve eloped.’

  ‘That could be arranged.’

  She saw the look in his eyes and the quip she had been about to toss back at him remained unspoken.

  ‘Good God, what’s that!’ he exclaimed at the hammering on the door.

  ‘At a guess I’d say someone trying to get in.’ Diana ran down the stairs and opened it to find the landlord of the Morning Star on the doorstep.

  ‘You’re not Nurse John,’ he complained looking past her.

  ‘She had to go up to the Albion. Is something wrong?’

  ‘Alexander Forbes has fallen from the roof of Griffiths’ shop. We tried telephoning the doctor from the pub, but he’s out on a call, then someone said they’d seen Nurse John’s car outside here.’

  ‘She left half an hour ago. Is Alexander badly hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know. I left the women fussing over him. You’d better come,’ he said, adopting the premise that a nurse’s cousin was better than nothing.

  ‘I’ll just tell Mr Ronconi where I’m going, then I’ll be with you.’

  She ran back up the stairs to Ronnie’s room, leaving the landlord to ponder on the events of the night. He decided that the Powells were quite a family. Between their lodger falling off the roof of their daughter-in-law’s house – and there was only one thing a man would climb on a widow’s roof for – and Diana Rees, Powell that was, in the bedroom of the recently widowed Ronnie Ronconi, the gossips’ tongues would be wagging for years. This was one night that was going to go down in Graig history.

  ‘Where on earth have you been?’ Wyn opened the kitchen door as Diana walked through the porch into the hall.

  ‘If you let me in, I’ll tell you.’

  ‘Here, you’re shivering. You’re not hurt, are you?’

  ‘I’m not, but everyone else is.’

  Megan was sitting, tense and poised on the edge of her seat in front of the fire.

  ‘You all right, Diana?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘I’m fine, Mam.’

  ‘Then I’ll go to bed.’

  ‘No don’t, at least not until I’ve told you what happened.’

  ‘We were worried sick,’ Wyn said. ‘Alice said you came down the shop, and she gave you my message …’

  ‘Yes, and I decided to go back up and spend an hour clearing Ronnie’s kitchen. Bethan ordered him to rest because his leg wasn’t healing, so we worked on figures for the shop all day.’ She took the tea Megan handed her and recounted in as few words as possible the trauma of Ronnie’s leg and Alexander falling from the back of Jenny’s shop: ‘… the landlord of the Morning Star said it was the roof, but it wasn’t. Alexander only got as far as Jenny’s bedroom windowsill.’

  ‘It would have been better if it had been the roof,’ Megan observed cuttingly. ‘That way he might have saved her reputation by pleading cat burglary as a defence.’

  ‘Did you see Jenny?’ Wyn asked.

  ‘She came out to see what all the commotion was about. Once she realised Alexander had only bruised his back, she was furious. He pulled the drainpipe from her wall. It looked a right mess even in torchlight.’

  ‘Poor Jenny.’

  ‘Poor Alexander,’ Diana responded. ‘He got no sympathy at all.’

  ‘Nor should he,’ Megan said harshly. ‘What did he think he was doing bothering a young widow?’

  ‘Rumour has it he’s been getting some encouragement,’ Wyn commented quietly.

  ‘If he had, she would have opened the door to him.’

  ‘They could have had a row,’ Diana suggested.

  ‘No doubt the gossips will have the whole story sorted by tomorrow.’ Megan left her chair. ‘You sure Ronnie is going to be all right?’

  ‘Bethan seemed to think so, but I’d better go back up there tomorrow to check if he needs any more help.’

  ‘Well I’m for bed.’ Megan went to the door.

  ‘I’m sorry I worried you, but I thought I should stay with Jenny until they took Alexander away in the ambulance.’

  ‘As long as you know this husband of yours was half out of his mind. He was just about to go down the police station to post you missing. Good night, both.’

  ‘Good night, Mam. You wouldn’t really have gone to the police station, would you?’ Diana turned to Wyn as her mother closed the door behind her.

  ‘Not without trying Ronnie’s first.’

  ‘Me being in Ronnie’s is no different to you being in Jacobsdal.’

  ‘I know.’ He picked up her empty cup. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better get to bed too. Early start tomorrow.’

  She took the cup from him and carried it into the kitchen. ‘Did you have a good evening with Erik?’

  ‘He beat me at chess, and I lost ten shillings at cards.’

  ‘Expensive night.’

  ‘You know me and cards, I’ll get my revenge. What about you?’

  ‘As you heard, I had a busy evening.’

  ‘The afternoon you spent with Ronnie must have been quiet.’

  ‘It was.’ She looked at him. ‘What are we going to do, Wyn?’

  ‘Go to bed before we both fall asleep on our feet.’

  ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘Go on as we are. What else can we do?’

  ‘Don’t you think next week is a bit soon, Jane?’ Evan asked, as he picked up his snap box from the table.

  ‘No. The doctor says my ribs are as strong as they’ve ever been.’

  ‘Working in munitions is hard,’ Phyllis said doubtfully. ‘All the girls say so.’

  ‘That’s the letterbox.’ Evan went to the door and returned with the mail. ‘You sure you’re fit for work, Alexander?’ he asked as Alexander left the washhouse where he’d been cleaning his teeth.

  ‘I’m sure; just a bit bruised and stiff, that’s all.’

  ‘You didn’t get much sleep.’

  ‘I’ll catch up tonight.’

  ‘Then we’d better get a move on, or we’re going to miss the cage.’

  ‘I’m ready.’ Alexander took his snap box from the table and stowed it in his haversack before pulling his cap down low over his face. Both he and Evan knew the poor attempt at disguise wouldn’t stop him from being ribbed unmercifully by the other miners. Neither doubted for an instant that the
story of his fall would have spread overnight from one end of the Graig to the other.

  ‘Here you are Jane, letter for you -’ Evan handed it over – ‘and a card for us, love, from Haydn.’ He handed it to Phyllis as he pecked her on the cheek before leading the way to the front door.

  ‘You sit and read your letter, Jane. I’ll see to the dishes,’ Phyllis offered, piling a tray with breakfast crockery and carrying it out to the washhouse.

  Jane sat in Evan’s easy chair. Taking a knife from the drawer in the table, she opened the blue and white, airmail letter-envelope carefully, spread out the single sheet that did double duty and began to read.

  Dear Jane, this is the first chance I’ve had to put pen to paper. We’ve been incredibly busy. You simply wouldn’t believe the hours of work we put in. Between travelling and showtimes, we’re sometimes on the go for twenty hours a day. It’s a nightmare just trying to make sure that we don’t lose anyone, or the staging, on the road. We don’t have scenery, it’s considered a luxury in a war zone. You’d be amazed by some of the places we’ve performed and slept in. But everyone is pulling together…

  Jane’s imagination worked overtime imagining just what Haydn meant by ‘pulling together’.

  … and we’re surviving well. Some of the reporters and cameramen following the news from the front have taken a few shots of us entertaining the boys to send back home, but I don’t need to tell you the sort of pictures that are getting published, you must have seen them in the papers. But I do want you to know that I am missing and loving you and Anne more and more with every passing day. When I talk to the soldiers I realise how much we have to be grateful for. At least when this tour is over we’ll be together again, in Pontypridd, for a while. Some of the boys I’ve met haven’t been home since the war broke out. I hate these sheets, I’m running out of room …

  Then you shouldn’t have written so big, she thought, angry with him for considering it necessary to stress that they would only be together in Pontypridd.

  I hope you and Anne are well. I can’t wait to get back and see you both. Remember me to Dad, Phyllis and Brian. All my love as ever,

  Your husband,

  Haydn