by Maggie Holt
Come and see me as soon as you can Mabel. The sight of you is all I need to work wonders for me. Harry.
He was home and waiting for her.
It was a Thursday and she was off duty from one thirty until five. If she went without the midday dinner she could be on the Battersea bus and at Falcon Terrace by half past two or soon after. She trembled with anticipation, although she knew she was about to meet a sick and possibly changed man. Now into her third year of training, Mabel had learned to hide personal emotions, whether of shock, fear, pity or disgust, under a blank mask when confronted with harrowing sights and scenes. And she was prepared to suppress her true feelings on this first meeting with Harry.
Mrs Drover was not particularly welcoming as she opened the front door and led Mabel into the parlour. There was a murmur of ‘Here’s that Miss Court to see yer, son’, and a gaunt, grey-faced man heaved himself up from a sofa.
Mabel’s face at once lit up with a radiant smile: there was no need at all to suppress the upsurge of love that she felt, only to keep her voice calm and her tears under control.
‘Don’t get up, son,’ cautioned his mother, but he was already standing and holding out his arms. Mabel stepped forward and he almost fell against her, enfolding her and saying her name – ‘Mabel, Mabel’ – followed by an incoherent string of words about missing her, needing her, living for the sight of her – as if he could not believe that she was real and present.
‘Harry – oh, Harry, ye’re home, ye’re here, thank God!’
For this shadow of a man was her sweetheart, her young man, her dearest friend. The arms clasped around her were so thin that a remembered phrase came to her mind, ‘a bag of bones’. His skin was cold and papery upon her cheek, and he shivered although there was a fire burning in the grate. He seemed to have physically shrunk and Mabel was aware of a stale, unwholesome smell that reminded her of the wards at Booth Street, the odour of sickness itself. Whatever had he been through?
‘Sit down again, Harry, and I’ll sit beside yer.’ In spite of her efforts to stay calm, her voice shook. His mother stepped forward and the two of them assisted him to settle on the sofa. Mabel lifted his legs – so thin, so light – and his mother arranged the cushions behind his head.
Drawing up a footstool, Mabel sat down beside him, taking his wasted hands in hers and smiling as if nothing was amiss, though her heart ached for him. He gazed at her as if he could not get enough of her, as if she might disappear if he closed his eyes.
‘He’s been very bad with dysentery out there,’ said his mother abruptly, and Mabel nodded.
‘But ye’re home now, Harry, and that’s the main thing,’ she said softly.
Doris Drover stood watching them as they held hands in silence. The parlour had been made into a cosy living-room for the returned soldier and every comfort was provided for him. Except for his greatest need and she was here beside him now.
‘Kiss me, Mabel.’
She lifted her face and touched his cheek with her lips. She caught the sourness on his breath and, far from wanting to draw back, she put her arms round his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Mrs Drover still stood watching them in silence.
‘Again, kiss me, Mabel, kiss me, oh, kiss me!’ he repeated, pulling her down towards him.
She heard the click of the door closing as his mother left the room.
For the next two months Mabel lived in a continuous whirl, forever dashing between her work on the wards and the snatched hours at Falcon Terrace. She learned how dysentery had brought Harry close to death but had also saved his life by removing him from the fighting and on to a hospital ship which took him to the military hospital on Malta.
And it was some time before he was able to talk about the landings or recall the fearful images that returned to his mind – like the eruption of bursting shrapnel that had split open the head of a boy who had trained with him at Aldershot and Cairo.
‘One minute he was there beside me, Mabel, an’ the next he was on the ground, his skull was broken an’ his brains were oozin’ through.’
And there was the unconscious man with blood spurting out of his neck – ’a big man ’e was, Mabel, and there wasn’t a stretcher to carry ’im on. We just had to leave ’im to bleed to death.’
There were the swarms of flies that buzzed over their rations in the midday heat, the grim barrenness of the landscape, the confusion of changing orders from day to day – and the stench of diarrhoea, the dysentery that caused almost as many casualties as enemy action.
‘Them poor New Zealanders an’ Aussies were annihilated, Mabel, simply wiped out – they’d gone in first, and yer never met a finer lot o’ men – it was worse ‘n I ever dreamed of. There’s nothin’ glorious about it, Mabel, it’s just a hideous, stupid, bloody waste o’ good men.’
Never before had she heard him swear, it was a measure of how deeply he had been affected. And there was a question she felt she had to ask.
‘Did yer have to do what yer so much dreaded, Harry? Did yer have to –?’
‘No, Mabel, I didn’t. The dysentery got me before I ever had to kill any o’ them Turks. I was spared that much, thank God.’
He gradually began to regain weight and strength enough to resemble the man he had been before Gallipoli, but the constant pressure of her life began to tell on Mabel. In addition to an increasing turnover of patients, her afternoons and evenings off were taken up with an almost daily dash to catch buses to and from Battersea, and get back to Booth Street on time.
‘I niver see anythin’ o’ ye, Mabel, ye’re always in such a mighty hurry,’ wailed Norah McLoughlin. ‘Sure an’ ye’ll do yeself no good at all, missin’ yer dinners.’
‘I waited a long time for Harry, not knowin’ whether he was dead or alive, an’ now that he needs me, I must get over to see him all I can,’ replied Mabel simply.
The Drovers began to unbend towards the girl who could bring a light to their son’s eyes by her presence. As soon as she entered his room he made an effort to rouse himself and take an interest in his surroundings, to hear local news and stories of the continuing work of the Salvation Army in emergencies like the latest Zeppelin raid. Brother officers dropped in to visit and pray with him, but the only face he truly longed to see was Mabel’s.
‘Yer look tired, Mabel, properly whacked out. Here, lay down on the sofa,’ he said as she rushed in one chilly late autumn afternoon. ‘Come on, kick yer shoes off and have a rest.’
It was too good an opportunity to resist. Mabel took off her cap and sat down to untie her shoelaces, pulling off the stout black shoes and rubbing her feet. She loosened her belt and undid the top two buttons of her grey uniform dress, then with a thankful sigh stretched herself along the sofa beside him. She curled her body against his, her back towards him, and he locked his arms around her, clasping his hands beneath her breasts. She sighed and closed her eyes in the comfort of his embrace – and in less than a minute was fast asleep. Her head was nestled up beneath his chin and he kissed her hair; soon he too was asleep.
Neither of them heard the arrival of his sister with her two little boys.
Mrs Drover knocked softly on the parlour door. ‘Ruby’s here, Harry, with Matthew and Mark. Can they come in?’
There was no answer, so she opened the door and stared in disbelief at the young couple lying together on the sofa, Mabel curled in the curve of Harry’s body, blissfully asleep in his arms. Her hair was unpinned and her stockinged feet were entwined with his; their discarded shoes lay untidily on the floor, and although they were fully clothed, they looked distinctly dishevelled, and the spectacle did not please Mrs Drover. Harry opened his eyes and put a finger to his lips.
‘Ssh, Mother, she’s asleep.’
‘I can see that, son, and a fine sight for yer sister to see, I must say! Ruby, take those dear children out o’ the way,’ ordered his mother, tight-lipped. ‘Get up at once, Miss Court, what d’ye think ye’re doin’?’
Mabel stirred
, opened her eyes, sat up and looked in horror at the clock on the mantelpiece.
‘Heavens, look at the time, and I’m on at five! Yer should’ve woke me, Harry, I’ll be late!’ She sprang to her feet and put on her shoes, lacing them up under Doris Drover’s disapproving eye. She grabbed her hat and coat, nodding apologetically to Ruby.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Drover – Mrs Swayne – I’ll have to run for the bus, I’m sorry – goodbye, Harry – I’ll try to get over tomorrow evenin’ –’
And with a quick kiss on his cheek, she picked up her handbag and rushed from the house, doing up her coat buttons as she went. As she turned into Lavender Hill she saw a bus going down towards the Wandsworth Road and ran to catch it, waving her arms to the driver.
But before she reached it the sky tipped over and the ground shifted to meet it: shops, traffic and pedestrians whirled round her head and disappeared into blackness. Silence.
From a long way off came the sound of footsteps and voices getting nearer. Somewhere she heard the word doctor, the light of day returned, and she opened her eyes to find herself lying on the pavement and looking up into the face of her old family doctor, full of concern.
‘Mabel Court! Mabel, you poor child, you’ve fainted.’
‘Dr Knowles,’ she whispered.
‘Come, my dear, let me help you up. Here, lean on me, I’ve got Stephen’s car over there – can you walk a few steps? Good girl.’
A woman bystander helped him to get her into the passenger seat, where she drooped and closed her eyes, trying to remember where she was and why she was in a hurry to be somewhere else. She suddenly sat up.
‘I must go straight away, Dr Knowles, or I’ll be late back on duty!’ she said urgently.
‘You’re coming home with me, Mabel, to rest and recover – no, don’t argue, you’re not fit to work and I shall make a telephone call to your Matron. Now don’t worry, just sit back and take some deep breaths. When did you last eat?’
Chapter Five
THE KNOWLESES’ HOME in Hillier Road seemed deserted as he led her into the consulting-room, familiar to her since childhood.
‘I’ll see if there’s anybody to make us some tea,’ he said, disappearing down a passageway and calling to a maid in the kitchen. Mabel looked around at the chairs, desk and couch. Not a sound could be heard except for the old long-case clock ticking in the hall: an air of melancholy had descended on a once busy household.
She heard the doctor speaking into the telephone, giving his name and number. ‘Hello, operator. Please connect me with the Booth Street Poor Law Infirmary . . .’
When he joined her he was smiling. ‘I knew Sarah Brewer when she was a probationer at the London – an admirable woman, self-educated but strong and determined. She’s got a thankless job now, but she’s doing it creditably, I’m sure.’
Mabel realised that he was talking about Matron and remembered how he had written a highly commendatory letter when she had applied to train at the Infirmary.
‘Oh, what did she say, Dr Knowles?’
‘You’re to be back at the hostel this evening – I’ll drive you over. And she’ll see you tomorrow in her office. Don’t worry, I’ve put in a very good word!’
Mabel still felt weak and dizzy, and when a maid appeared with tea and buttered toast on a tray, she realised how hungry she was.
‘I’m glad we’ve met again, Mabel, even though it’s happened this way. I’ve thought about you very often. Stephen told me that he’d met you, and I get news from my wife’s dressmaker, a Mrs Davies – her daughter’s a probationer at Booth Street.’
‘Oh, yes, Ethel started when I did,’ said Mabel Between mouthfuls. ‘She told me that Stephen’s at the Front –’ She checked herself quickly, dreading that there might be bad news.
‘Yes, he’s at a base hospital in Boulogne, doing what he can for the injured, but oh, it’s terrible out there, Mabel –’ It was his turn to check himself, thinking of Mabel’s own situation. ‘I heard via Mrs Davies that your friend Captain Drover is in the Gallipoli campaign,’ he continued. ‘May I ask –’
Mabel told him of the circumstances of Harry’s homecoming and he heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Ah, so that explains this rushing to and fro in your off-duty periods when you should be resting. But I’m thankful he’s safe, Mabel. I believe as many have died from dysentery as in the fighting. Young Rupert Brooke is dead of it.’
‘Is he – was he a friend of Stephen’s?’
‘No, my dear, he was a brilliant young poet with everything to live for.’ The doctor sighed. ‘How this war has changed all our lives, Mabel! I should be enjoying a leisurely retirement now, but I’m still in practice because of the shortage of doctors. I’ve actually learned to drive Stephen’s car at sixty-seven!’
Mabel smiled, remembering his visiting rounds in Battersea on a bicycle.
‘And – young Mrs Knowles, how is she?’
‘Ah, poor Phyllis. When Stephen was posted to France she suffered a miscarriage. It was her second.’
Mabel gave a gasp of sympathy. ‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry, Dr Knowles. And is she recovered?’
‘Very sad and moping, my dear,’ he said heavily. ‘And my poor wife simply couldn’t cope with her, not being in the best of health herself and worried to death over Stephen, so Phyllis has gone back to live with her parents in Northampton until better times. But enough of our troubles, Mabel, what about you? Tell me, do you hear from George?’
Mabel told him of George’s scrappy letters and her gratitude to his friend Davy Hoek.
‘I’m so glad to hear that, Mabel. I had many a sleepless night over that poor boy and whether we did the right thing in shunting him off across the Atlantic in the way we did.’
‘I’m sure we were right, Dr Knowles,’ said Mabel with conviction. ‘He wanted to go, didn’t he? He needed to be away, right away from – what had happened.’
Or he might have landed us all in a very awkward situation. The words were unspoken, but Henry Knowles and Mabel Court knew each other’s thoughts.
‘I sometimes wonder how much these emigrant children are followed up, Mabel. There have been some very questionable reports –’
‘Yes, George said that the distribution centre at Calgary was like an army barracks and the man in charge was a brute,’ said Mabel with a shudder. ‘But the Lord sent Davy to look after George and I’ll never be able to thank him enough.’
‘Ah, so you share Captain Drover’s faith in God’s guiding hand in all this, Mabel. I only wish I could. If I thought I could change anything by praying, I’d spend all day on my knees.’ He sighed. ‘How’s that young rapscallion Albert? Still in the navy?’
‘In the merchant service and we – I haven’t seen him for a year. But he writes regularly now because he’s courtin’ a friend o’ mine, Norah – a lovely Irish girl. We never know when he’s goin’ to turn up out o’ the blue.’ She managed a smile and the doctor thought, poor children.
Aloud he said, ‘Thank heaven Captain Drover’s been sent back to you, my dear.’
Refreshed by the food and relaxed by their talk, Mabel exchanged a specially understanding smile with the old doctor she had known all her life and who shared the secret of her parents’ deaths. They had been fellow conspirators, and successful ones at that, for George’s sake.
‘Tell me, Mabel, what happened to that grandmother of yours, Mrs Court, the midwife who lived at Tooting? Didn’t you live with her for a while after the – er –’
Mabel lowered her eyes before replying. ‘Yes, I did, Dr Knowles. She left Tooting in 1913 and nobody seems to know where she went. There are strangers livin’ at her old home.’
‘Forgive me asking, Mabel, but wasn’t there some sort of a scandal? Something about a – a society woman dying after a – an abortion? It was in the papers at the time, about two years ago, but then we heard no more.’
Mabel continued to stare at her hands in her lap, remembering the beautiful Lady Cecilia Stanley who had been so k
ind to her personal maidservant, Maudie Ling. And who had died at the hands of Mabel’s grandmother.
‘Yes, Dr Knowles, there was a police inquiry and my grandmother disappeared. I was taken in for questioning and spent a night in a police cell at Amen Corner.’
‘Mabel! Good God, if only I’d known, I’d have come over and demanded your release!’
‘Harry Drover came and rescued me,’ she said quietly. ‘As soon as Maudie Ling told him where I was. And then Sir Percy Stanley dropped the case to protect his wife’s name and my grandmother came home. She wanted me to stay with her and help with the maternity cases – I never had anythin’ to do with the others, o’ course – but I couldn’t bear to live in that house any longer and went to start me training at Booth Street. She must’ve left Tooting soon after, ’cause I never heard any more.’
‘She was a very devious woman, Mabel.’ He could hardly call her paternal grandmother an evil old hag. ‘And didn’t she have a sister – a gentle soul who gave piano lessons?’
‘Yes, my dear great-aunt Ruth. She went into the Tooting Home and died last year.’
‘The Tooting Home for Aged Poor, you mean? But my dear, haven’t you heard? It’s been turned into a military hospital.’
‘Oh, my goodness! But what about the poor old people?’
‘It’s been a tragedy for them, and thank heaven that your aunt died before it happened. They were all despatched to the Mitcham workhouse and many of them have died there. One poor old chap drowned himself. They have to wear a badge to show they’re from the Tooting Home, but they’re just treated like the other paupers, so I hear.’
‘Oh, Dr Knowles, how awful – and what a blessing that Aunt Ruth never lived to see it!’
He was silent for a while, then asked another question. ‘Mabel, you mentioned Maud Ling. Wasn’t she the poor girl who got sent to the Waifs and Strays home at Dulwich?’