by Mary Wood
‘Oh no, dear God! How is Bridget taking it all?’
Sarah froze. Richard! No – please not Richard! ‘Dad, what is it? What’s happened?’
‘Hold on a moment, love. Sorry, Edward, Sarah’s here. She just came into the hall. I need to tell her. Oh, all right, I’ll ring back. Aye, we’re reet. Well, as reet as we can be, that is.’
The ding of the receiver as it was put back on its hook sounded like a death knell to Sarah. Her mouth dried and her body shook. She wanted to scream, Don’t tell me, but no words would come from her.
‘Come and sit down, lass.’
As she followed her dad through to the sitting room, it seemed he’d grown back to the man he’d been before . . . Her mind wouldn’t give her the ‘before’. She’d never been able to think of it or acknowledge it, and she never would. If she did, she would go mad.
Once they were in the room, her dad slumped into the chair. ‘It’s Richard and Mark.’
‘No!’
‘They’re injured. Mark more than Richard. Mark’s in danger of losing his sight. And he . . . he lost an arm.’
The tears that dropped from her dad’s eyes and ran down his cheeks struck a terrible fear into her. She willed him to tell her of Richard.
‘Richard’s burned. His arms and thighs. And he’s bruised, very badly bruised.’
‘Oh, dear God!’ Her utterance was one of relief. They were both alive. Broken, but alive. ‘When did it happen?’
‘Two or three days ago – I’m not certain, I didn’t take it all in. But both on the same day. It beggars belief. Look, lass, we might have a lot more to face. None to top what has happened to us already, but we’ve to be strong. I know I haven’t been, not up till now, but I am now. Megan and Ma would want that of me.’
‘It’s all right, Dad. I know. But yer know, despite it all, the worst that could happen to me hasn’t done. And even though what went on near broke me, it didn’t come near what I would feel if I lost Richard. And that helps me to understand how much more than me you’re going through.’
‘Eeh, lass.’
She was in Jack’s arms, feeling his tears drop into her hair. She knew his words had been bravado and wondered how he’d found the strength to say them. For such a good man to have loved and lost two women: her mam, Cissy, and now Megan. And to have known such tragedy in his life, even as a young man, losing his brother and father to war and his mam to a broken heart. It didn’t seem right.
A shrill ringing intruded on them. For a moment she couldn’t think what it was, then she realized it could be Sally ringing. Sally often rang on a Saturday afternoon, to check up on how she was doing and tell her how much she liked her work, and to talk of Mark’s love for her. How would she tell Sally what had happened?
Picking up the receiver and hearing who it was released some of her tension as Richard’s beloved voice came to her. ‘Sarah?’
‘Oh, Richard, my love. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I am. I wanted to ring you to reassure you. A bit bandaged, and my limbs are painful, but lucky really.’
The catch in his voice caught at her heart. ‘But you’re alive, my darling. And you will heal, thank God. But poor Mark. Oh, Richard . . .’
‘I – I know. It – it’s still touch and go with him.’
‘Where is he? Can we go and see him?’
‘No, he’s still on the hospital ship. Look, I’m getting out of this hospital in the next few days. They need the beds, and I can recuperate at home.’
‘Eeh, that’s good news, love. Will you come up and see us?’
‘I need to be with Mother and Father. It has rocked their world, both of us having been injured at the same time. They lived with the possibility of something happening, of course, but now it is a reality, and Mother in particular has taken it very hard.’
‘I’ll come down. I have to see you.’
‘I want you to so badly, but it isn’t safe. You are so near to having the baby, and the shock of this and the journey will be too much.’
‘I’m fine. I have three weeks to go yet and I have petrol, so I can drive down. They’d class this as an essential journey, wouldn’t they? It’s not like I’m travelling for nowt. Me man has been injured fighting in the Battle of Britain, and I need to be with him.’
‘Oh, Sarah, you called me yours?’
‘Aye, I did, and if you’ll have me, that’s what I am – and have always been – Richard.’
‘Have you? Sarah, I love you with everything that is in me. But I can’t bear anything to happen to you. You must take care and, well . . . not just you. You have to take care of your baby, as he or she, whatever it turns out to be, is precious to me as well. I – I hope you don’t mind me saying that?’
‘Mind? Eeh, Richard, it’s the next best thing to you saying you love me. None of what happened is me babby’s fault, and he or she deserves all the love we can give.’
‘And that’s what will happen. We’ll take care of, and love, the baby together. I’ll always be there for you both, my darling.’
Sarah felt as though her heart would burst, such was the happiness seeping into her. But then Sally came into her mind. ‘Oh, Richard, thank you. You have put me back together again, but, though I don’t want to spoil this moment, my heart bleeds for Sally.’
‘I know, darling. Do you think Mark knows how she feels about him?’
‘Yes, she has written to him.’
‘I’m so glad, as he will have that to hold onto. You know, when something bad happens, you need something. I thought constantly of you, my darling.’
Sarah swallowed hard, as tears threatened.
‘And this will be good news for my parents, too. They’ll be so happy to hear about Sally and Mark. We’d all guessed how Mark felt, but weren’t sure about Sally. I didn’t say anything to them, when you confided in me how Sally had told you of her feelings. I don’t know why. Perhaps because they hadn’t really connected then, but now that Sally has written and Mark knows, I’ll share it with Mum and Dad. It will give them hope that Mark has a lot to fight for, and I know they will do what they can for Sally.’
‘That’s good. I’ll contact her. Maybe she will get leave, on compassionate grounds. We’ll all take care of her. Richard, I have to see you. I’ll set out tomorrow. Will you be home then?’
‘Yes, darling, but please take care.’
As Richard rang off, telling her over and over again how much he loved her, Sarah thought of what he’d also said many times during their conversation. Take care. Yes, she would take care. I’ll take care of the love I’ve been given, and of all those who need me. It’s taking care of folk that’s made me strong again.
In some ways Sarah thought it was wrong to feel this happy, when all around her there was suffering, but she couldn’t help it. And she never wanted to stop feeling this way.
38
Richard & Sarah
Bound by a Tiny Life
Richard winced as he tried to swing his haversack onto his back. Failing to overcome the soreness of the action, he opted to carry it by its straps.
‘Letter for you, Flight Lieutenant.’
‘Oh? Thank you.’ Richard recognized the handwriting – Lucinda! He’d no time to read it. He was cutting it fine as it was to make the train.
Aching in places he didn’t know he could ache, he made it to the station with a few minutes to spare. Around him was the hustle and bustle that the country had become familiar with: men and women in various uniforms – the able-bodied amongst them going about their business with a purpose that gave a false joviality to them. But despite their valiant attempts, he could almost smell their fear. Then there were the walking wounded: bandaged, hobbling on crutches or, in the case of one poor chap, carried on a stretcher. Several youngsters, looking no older than sixteen or so, made an attempt to salute him. An older man came up to him and offered his thanks. ‘Churchill has said we owe you, mate, and I reckon as we do. You take your time getting better.’ His wif
e wiped away a tear as she smiled at him, adding, ‘He did his bit in the last lot, so he knows what you’re going through. Come on, Alf, the lad looks tired. Don’t try to get him talking.’ With that, they were gone.
The ‘last lot’ – in the so-called Great War. How much worse that one had been, even though it hadn’t been fought at home.
In some ways he was lucky. At least he put his feet on English soil every evening. And he could see Sarah whenever he had enough of a break to make the journey. That poor couple had probably spent years apart, as was the fate of so many today.
These thoughts ground his own pain deeper, as emotions of every kind assaulted him. Fear for Mark vied with happiness at the prospect of being with Sarah again – and with that thought came the sense of something having changed in her. He’d detected it in her voice, or had it just been concern for him that had taken her out of herself for a while? Whatever it was, Sarah had told him she loved him and that made his heart sing.
His life should be complete, and would be, if he could rid himself of the guilt that was his constant companion. Guilt that had never left him for the way his selfish taking of a kiss had led to such devastation in Sarah and Jack’s lives. He wore that guilt every day, itching away at him like a hair shirt. Added to that, he felt more guilt over the young men whose lives he’d taken. Oh, he knew he’d had no choice; and he would kill again and again, if asked. But that didn’t assuage the feeling that he was wrong to have caused so much pain to their loved ones. Nor did it sit right with his chosen profession of doctor. He wanted to save lives, not take them. Mark, too, was on his conscience. Lovely, funny, kind-hearted and sometimes irritating, Mark didn’t deserve what had happened. Why had these terrible injuries been inflicted on his brother, while he’d escaped with bruises and burns? But, he knew, this was guilt by association, and he and all young men who survived battles would experience this, as brothers and friends fell.
Finding a seat on the train hadn’t been easy, but then a young man of about seventeen stood up, wearing an oversized army uniform and looking fresh-faced and ready to die for his country. His smile was full of confidence. ‘Have my seat. You look all in. Caught one, did yer, sir?’
‘Thank you. Yes, I did. It brought my aircraft down, but I managed to bail out. Didn’t know much about it after that, though they told me I landed in a tree and had to be rescued from quite a high point. Have you just enlisted?’
‘Aye, I weren’t old enough at first.’
‘Well, good luck. And thanks again for the seat.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Settling back, Richard closed his eyes and hoped, without appearing rude, that this would indicate he didn’t want to engage in conversation. The hard bench seat didn’t aid restfulness, and Lucinda’s letter demanded to be read. He hoped with all his heart that she had finally accepted there was no future for them, as her letters often held hints that she was still available for him; and, to his embarrassment, at times she had added, ‘Even just for the fun we had last time.’ Richard’s face reddened as he remembered, too, how Lucinda had referred to the feelings he had for Sarah, which he had confided to her. ‘It may be that you just feel sorry for the girl,’ she’d written. ‘And that feeling is like a red rag to a bull, where you’re concerned, as you tend to think everything is your fault and that you have to put it right, or be there for everyone. Just be careful, darling, and give yourself time to assess your true feelings.’
Richard smiled as he remembered these lines. Well, I don’t need time. I know my own mind and so does Sarah. I think we always have.
A small dread sat in him as he unfolded the letter and received the usual whiff of perfume. She always wore the same one, and the smell permeated everything she touched. ‘Dear Richard,’ she began – hmm, that was a change from ‘my darling’ or ‘my sweetheart’, her usual form of address to him:
At last I know what you have been trying to tell me! I know because it has happened to me, too.
My dear friend (as that is what I hope you are, and will always be), I now know I am not in love with you. I have fallen in love for real. Yes, truly! The darling man is Winston Fellowes. I know: who’d have thought? He has been out of the country, working for some bank or other, but the war has meant he had to return. Oh, Richard . . .
By the time he’d read all she had written, Richard felt like laughing out loud. The relief was enormous. He just hoped poor Winston felt the same for Lucinda as she felt for him, otherwise he was in for the long haul of trying to disentangle himself.
At last! With a peace he hadn’t known for a long time, he relaxed back into his seat and watched the houses give way to rolling green fields bordered by darker green hedges. Here and there gold-coloured horses, the sun glowing off their backs, grazed on the lush grass. The scene gave truth to the saying that Kent was ‘the garden of England’. And yet this beauty, this tranquillity, was really a carpet of death and destruction, accepting bodies falling from the sky as the battles raged above it.
A niggling backache plagued Sarah as she drove, sometimes peaking to a point where it caught her breath and she had to stop.
But at least these stops served the purpose of cooling the car’s engine a little, and on one of them she’d remembered to top up the petrol from one of the cans. Her dad had put two in the car, each only half-full, so they wouldn’t be too heavy for her. This was just one of the things he’d fussed over, but then she couldn’t blame him.
As she got out of the car the damp air clawed at her, but she stamped her feet and wrapped her arms around herself. She just had to ease this cramp in her side.
The exhaust fumes hung around and nauseated her. Sarah thought of her dad, and how he’d worried so much about her making this journey. Dorothy had helped to settle him. She had a way with her, where Dad was concerned. She liked Dorothy – well, all of the girls, really. What Dad would have done without them, Sarah couldn’t give her mind to, as she’d been no help to him herself. Her world had closed down, and nothing inside her had existed until that day with Hattie at the graveside, when something had happened to make her want to pick up her life again.
How Daisy and Phyllis had coped at the factory whilst she’d been in this trance-like state, she’d never know. Thank God for Aunt Hattie. They were always saying it, just as Aunt Megan had: Hattie was a lifesaver, a solid rock in everyone’s life.
Sarah supposed that seeing others’ need of her had been the trigger, especially catching Hattie looking like a broken woman the day Harry died, when Sarah had come across her in the churchyard. Well, whatever it was that had made the difference in her, she was glad it had happened. Yes, she’d had to let in the pain of everything, as she allowed herself to feel again, but even that had helped her to recover.
I’d better get back on the road . . . Oh God! The pain shot around to the front of her stomach and cramped Sarah’s whole body. My babby. My babby’s coming!
Once the spasm passed, Sarah made it back to the driving seat. She knew she wasn’t far away from Market Harborough, but could she make it the rest of the way? From memory, she felt certain the last village she’d passed through had been Kibworth Harcourt. Funny names they had around here for their villages! She remembered her dad and Aunt Megan giggling over them each time they visited Granny Bridget’s. Happy times, memories to savour. But best I don’t dwell on them for now. It will undo all I’ve achieved, if I do.
At this moment she was glad that the games they’d played with her on the journey, making up funny stories about the places they’d travelled through, had served to plant the route in her mind. With that knowledge, she at least had some idea of where she was, despite all the road signs having been taken down or, as she’d discovered, turned around in some instances, in a ploy intended to confuse in the event that the country was invaded.
As the pain eased, Sarah knew she couldn’t just sit there. She either had to turn around and go back and get help, and maybe find someone who could call Richard, or carry on and
hope she made it. Her decision to carry on coincided with another pain creasing her. Sweat ran from her forehead and trickled down her body as she wound her window down and screamed, ‘HELP ME!’
‘Are you all right, me duck? Can I be of help to you?’
Squinting through the pain brought into focus the kindly face of a man – a working man with a cloth cap on, holding his bicycle with one hand and her window with the other. Somehow she managed to say, ‘I – I’m in lab . . . labour. Help me, help me, please.’
‘Right, you stay there.’
It occurred to her to scream that she had no choice, but he’d pedalled away, leaving her clinging onto the steering wheel as another blast of pain waved in an intense circle around her middle, gripping her stomach as if it would crush it.
‘There you are. A lovely little girl, and your man is downstairs, ducky. Ooh, look, she has red hair. You haven’t, and neither has your man – poor thing, him all bruised and burned. Anyway, it must be a throwback. You get them—’
‘All right, Brenda, give the girl a chance.’
‘Sorry, Nurse, but it ain’t every day a baby is born in me house, not nowadays anyway. There were plenty when I were younger, as you well know.’
‘Yes, you had your share, but all grown now and doing well. So, come on, shift yourself and put the kettle on. This young lady could do with a nice cuppa, after what she’s been through – you should know that. And tell that young man he can come up.’
The nurse smiled and winked as she turned to Sarah. ‘Don’t mind Brenda, me duck. She’s the salt of the earth.’
‘I’ll never be able to thank her. Eeh, to take me in like that and let me give birth on her own bed. And look at the mess I’ve made! I’ll make it up to her, I will.’