She could never keep company with anybody again, and, in any case, not one of these boys caused the slightest flutter in her heart. Nobody could ever replace her lost love.
Part Two
Chapter Fifteen
1917
David Fullerton was sitting outside on the verandah, the penetrating February wind making him shiver in spite of the sunshine. The doctor had told him this morning that he was fit enough now to go into the town, instead of just walking round the hospital grounds – but he did not feel ready yet. He could not face other people, normal people, with this terrible guilt in his gut. How could he be glad to be alive when his friends and comrades had all been killed, their bodies blown to bits and scattered over a Belgian field?
The horror of the trenches engulfed him again. The filthy, rotting stench filled his nostrils, and the ghostly rats crept round him looking for something to eat; dead human flesh – or the living, if they were not careful. Their own food had to be gulped between bombardments, and sleep also had to be snatched during the lulls. Mud-caked clothing rasped against his skin once more, and his feet ached within the confines of rock-hard, ill-fitting boots. His whole body crawled with lice, and he scratched his head in a vain effort to rid his hair of them. His mind returned to his closest friends, the three young men who had been with him through so much.
They were what had made everything bearable; they had been in it together, till death did them part, but never for one minute believing that such a time would ever come. They had been a happy-go-lucky lot, singing without a care as they marched, if the pipes weren’t playing in front of the column. They had teased each other, told crude jokes, even argued and quarrelled at times, but always there had been the easy feeling of close brotherhood, the knowledge that they were facing danger together. They had helped each other to bear the sarcasm of their NCOs, to obey without question the commands of their officers. Other units were wiped out by the shelling, other men were shot, but it could never happen to them.
And his friends hadn’t known about it, David thought, with some gratitude. They couldn’t have had time to realize what was happening. He, himself, could only remember the terrific explosion close beside him, and being lifted off the ground by it. He discovered later that he had been thrown some feet away from where he had been crouching, and must have lain unconscious for several minutes – or several hours – but he had gradually become aware of screams and groans, the heart-rending noises of men in mortal agony. That was when he had started to search for his friends. It had meant nothing to him when he came across other comrades writhing in the throes of death – they were not his special three – and he had kept looking until he found them.
He shouldn’t think about it. Every doctor he had ever seen had said he should try to forget, to blot it from his mind, but he couldn’t. Even when he was asleep he could see them, the bits of them – arms, legs, broken bodies – in the mud and against the sand-bagged walls of the dug-out. He vaguely remembered scrabbling in the debris then, scouring for someone else who was still alive, and going back to the wounded men he had callously passed before, but the screaming and groaning had stopped. He was the only living person left. It was then that he’d heard a low moaning sound and had lifted his head, hope rising in his breast until it came to him that the sound was issuing from his own throat.
Reliving the horror of Ypres, as he had done every night and day for months, he shivered again. They told him afterwards, those dim faceless figures who had rushed to help him over the last few yards to the base, that he had been crawling on hands and knees when they saw him. Later still, doctors said he had travelled more than five miles, but though he could hear them, he could not tell them what had happened. His mind had been blank for weeks, and he wished now that it had stayed that way, because, by the time he had begun to notice his surroundings, he was in a hospital in England and the nightmares had started. They said he was lucky, but how could he be, when he was the only one of four – the only one of a hundred – still alive? He had shut himself off from the world and wished from the depths of his still-beating heart that he had been killed along with the others.
‘It’ll take time, but you will forget.’ He had heard the useless words from medical men – men who worked out what went on inside the human brain – in Belgium, in England and now in Aberdeen, his home town. It was easy for them to say – how would they have reacted in the same situation? – but it would remain with him for the rest of his days.
David was so deeply involved in his horrific memories that he didn’t hear the nurse approaching. ‘Right, Fullerton,’ she said briskly. ‘Doctor Menzies says you must go into town this afternoon. Walking round the grounds is all right as far as it goes, but you’ve got to try yourself properly.’ The alarm in his eyes made her add, kindly, ‘You can ask somebody to go with you this time, if you’re scared to go on your own.’
‘I’m not scared,’ he protested automatically. He wasn’t scared, he was petrified, panic-stricken, but he knew that he would have to face it one day, and it may as well be now.
They gave him a greatcoat to put over the blue suit he wore as a patient, and money for his fares to and from town, plus a little extra in case he wanted to buy some-thing. Dr Menzies, who knew that the young man dreaded leaving the sanctuary of the hospital, asked, gently, ‘Why don’t you go to see your father?’
David didn’t repeat his reason for not contacting his father – he had told it often enough. How could he go home when his mother’s place had been taken by someone else?
During the long walk to the tram terminus, he wondered for the hundredth time how his father could have married another woman when his wife had been dead for such a short time. The letter had really upset him. They had been back off the line for a respite when he received it and had opened it eagerly. What he read was still imprinted on his mind.
Dear Son,
No doubt you will be surprised to hear I am getting married next week. I met Isabel at Willie Black’s, and I think he meant this to happen, for she was a widow and we were both lonely. We started seeing each other and we get on very well together, so we think we would be happier sharing our lives.
In blind fury, David had ripped up the letter without reading any more. His friends had told him to accept it, that it was his father’s life, not his, but he could never forgive his father, not even after what he had been through himself since.
He sat rigidly all the way into the city, his arms across his body, trying to force his distress out of his mind, but it was still too vivid. Coming off the tram, he walked down Market Street to the harbour where there was always some activity, but when he reached the water his legs felt weak, his head throbbed and he knew he could not go on. It would be best to step off the side of the quay and let himself be swallowed up by the filthy water in the dock ... but someone would be sure to see him and try to save him. Turning, he went slowly back up towards Union Street, doubtful if his strength would hold out long enough for him to reach the top of the hill, but when he came to the Market, he remembered that there was a tearoom inside. A little refreshment might help him to pull himself together.
‘Tea, please,’ he managed to get out to the young waitress who served him, shaking his head when she asked if he wanted anything to eat, and when the cup and saucer were placed in front of him, he watched the pretty, golden-haired girl smiling and joking with people at the other tables. Maybe she had wondered why he had been so unfriendly, but he had never been good at clever repartee, and he never would be. What was more, he did not want anybody feeling sorry for him. Death was what he craved, not pity, and if the only place he was likely to get himself killed was Belgium, he would have to go back there. He returned to the hospital determined to make the doctors discharge him ready for active service again.
He spent most of the next day trying to persuade doctors and consultants that he was sound in mind and body – especially in mind – until at last he was told that he would possibly be released
in two weeks’ time, provided that he had no relapse. Surprisingly, although he was totally exhausted – or perhaps because of it – he had no night-mares that night.
The following morning, Wednesday, he felt better than he had done for a very long time, and when he went out in the afternoon he went directly to the People’s Cafe, sitting down in the same corner and enjoying the bustle and the hum of conversation. The same waitress served him, smiling when she said, ‘What can I get you?’
Making a great effort, he smiled back. ‘A cup of tea and a bun, please. One spoon of sugar.’
She returned in a few minutes with his order. ‘Which hospital is it?’ She gestured to his blues.
‘Oldmill, but I’ll soon be going back to the front.’
She gave a little giggle. ‘Back to the front? That sounds funny, like back to front, but I don’t suppose it’s funny over there.’ She could see that her remark had upset him a little, but there were people waiting for attention and she had to leave him.
As he cut open his bun and spread it with butter from the little dish already on the table, David wished that he could have laughed with her, but he had felt slightly disappointed in her for making light of what he had said, although he knew that she had no idea what it was like at the front. Was he being stupid wanting to go back? Should he tell Doctor Menzies that he had changed his mind? Suddenly remembering why he had wanted to go back to Belgium, a black mood descended on him, and he rose and walked out, leaving tea and bun untasted.
On the tram journey back to Oldmill, he admitted to himself that his emotions were still far from stable. It was best that he went back to the front ... back to front? ... so that his useless life could be ended. What future had he like this?
That night, he awoke screaming because of the renewed nightmares, and refused point blank to go out on Thursday afternoon. Doctor Menzies, having been given a report by the ward sister, came to see him. ‘What’s this I’m hearing about you not wanting to go out today? What’s the problem?’
‘I’m just not wanting to go out,’ David said, his face surly. ‘I bet you don’t do anything you don’t want to.’
The other man smiled. ‘I’ve to do many things I don’t want to, but I thought you wanted to go back on active service, and this is a bit of a setback, you know.’
‘Do you mean I won’t be released?’
‘Not if you go on like this.’
After considering briefly, David mumbled, ‘If I do go out today, will you forget about it?’
‘I might, if your progress gets back to normal.’
‘All right, then, I’ll go. I was feeling a bit ... well, you likely know I had nightmares again last night?’
‘Yes, and you’ll probably keep having them from time to time, but they’ll become less real, I promise, and there will be longer between them. It’s up to you to fight them.’
David knew that he could not fight them, but in his desperation to get back to Belgium he said, ‘I’ll try.’
‘Good lad. Now, off you go, otherwise you’ll be late in getting back for tea, and Matron’ll have your head on the chopping block.’
David was over an hour later than usual when he left the hospital, and had made up his mind not to go to the cafe, but he found himself drawn to the Market opening when he walked down Market Street. He told himself that he should have got off the tram at a different stop, that he should have gone to the beach, anywhere to avoid this place, but he knew that in his heart of hearts he wanted to see the little waitress again. When he went inside the People’s Cafe, however, there was no sign of her, and his spirits sank when a rather busty woman came to serve him. ‘What’s happened to the waitress who usually serves this table?’ he asked.
‘Elspeth? She’s on early shift this week and next, and she finishes at three.’
He ordered only a cup of tea, and left as soon as he had drunk it, but as he walked up Union Street – giving himself a little time to think before he returned to Oldmill – he wondered where the little waitress lived. Elspeth? It was a nice name for such a pretty girl. Could he possibly arrange it so that he would be in the cafe tomorrow when she was going off duty? Would she let him walk a little way with her, so that he could find out more about her? Even though he would soon be leaving Aberdeen, it would be good to have her to remember, to pretend that she was his girl. Just for the little time he had left to live?
‘Do you remember me telling you on Monday about that soldier wi’ the sad eyes?’ Elspeth asked Helen when she went home. ‘He didna come on Tuesday, he was back on Wednesday, though he went out without drinking his tea or anything, and he wasna in the day again. I wonder what’s happened to him.’
‘His leave’s maybe finished.’ Helen gave seventeenmonth-old John another bounce on her leg.
‘He wasn’t on leave, he’s a patient at Oldmill Hospital.’
‘Well, maybe he’s been discharged. Och, John, you’ll have my leg off me. That’s enough the now.’
‘He’d have said yesterday if he was being discharged. He just said he’d be going back to the front soon, and I think I upset him by laughing.’
‘You laughed because he was going back to the front?’
‘No, I was laughing because it sounded so funny. Back to front. Oh, I hope I haven’t annoyed him.’
Lying back in her chair to recover from her exertions, Helen gave the girl a searching look. ‘Were you taken wi’ him? Is that why you’re worried?’
‘No, it’s nothing like that, but I felt that sorry for him on Monday, and he’s a real nice lad.’
‘He’ll maybe come in the morrow.’
‘Aye, maybe. Has John been a good boy the day?’
‘He’s aye a good boy, are you not, my wee lamb?’ Helen ruffled the dark curls beside her chair, and the child looked up, showing his small, even teeth in a wide grin.
Elspeth turned away to fill the kettle. She could see his father in him every time he smiled like that, and it tore at her heart to think he didn’t know she was his mother, but how could she say anything after all this time? She should have made a stand from the very beginning, and Helen would have had to get over losing her own baby, but she had let the opportunity slip away because she’d been sorry for the woman. She had nearly protested the first time she heard John saying ‘Mam-mam’ to her landlady, but Helen had looked so proud that she hadn’t the heart to disillusion her, and maybe it was best to leave things the way they were, Elspeth reflected sadly. At least she knew that John was being cared for lovingly when she was at work, and the boy himself was happy. When he grew old enough to ask about things, to wonder if she was his sister, she would tell him the truth ... if Helen hadn’t done it herself before then.
On Friday, Elspeth was rather disappointed that the sad-eyed soldier did not come in at his usual time, but was pleased to see him when he turned up at ten to three. ‘You didn’t come in yesterday,’ she observed, when she went to his table, then turned pink as she realized that he might think she was prying.
‘I did come,’ David said, thinking how fetching she was when she blushed, ‘but you’d gone home.’
‘Aye, I go off at three this week. Is it just tea the day, or do you want a bun, as well?’
‘Yes, please.’
Elspeth could feel his eyes following her as she walked away, and a warmth stole over her when she realized that he must have asked about her yesterday, otherwise how could he have known she’d gone home? But maybe he’d just guessed she’d gone home when he didn’t see her ... and what did it matter, anyway?
When she took his order to his table, he looked up at her and smiled, which encouraged her to say, ‘Was it France you were wounded?’
‘No, it was Belgium.’ He was too ashamed to tell her that it had been shellshock, not an actual wound.
She moved away to serve other customers, but when he stood up to leave, she turned round and called out, ‘See you the morrow?’ She was glad to see that his eyes brightened as he nodded, because she’d be
en worried by the sadness in them before. Maybe he didn’t want to be cured and have to go back to Belgium, for it must be awful there.
David lay awake for some time that night, thinking about Elspeth, and wishing that he’d had the courage to ask if he could walk home with her. Instead, he’d gulped down the tea and bun and gone out about one minute before she was due to be off duty, but when she’d asked if he was going back the next day, his heart, frozen for so long, had given a tiny skip of pleasure. She wanted to see him again.
‘Two nights running with no nightmares,’ one of the nurses smiled on Saturday morning.
‘No,’ he said proudly, not daring to say that his dreams had been of the little waitress in case the nurse teased him. It was too new an experience for him to joke about it.
All forenoon, he looked forward to seeing the golden-haired girl again, but he felt embarrassed when one of the other patients remarked on his cheerfulness, and he said nothing when Doctor Menzies complimented him on the fight he was putting up.
It was ten to three again when he sat down at the table he had come to regard as his and the subject of his dreams came to take his order. When she brought it to him, she smiled and said, ‘My landlady always says it’s better to know folk’s names if you’re speaking to them. Mine’s Elspeth Gray. What’s yours?’
‘David Fullerton.’ He hesitated for a moment, then added, ‘So you’re in lodgings?’
‘Aye, at Quarry Street. It’s not far from Oldmill.’
He knew that she was probably just making conversation, but the opening was too good to miss. ‘You’ll be finished here in a few minutes, will you not? If ... if you didn’t object, I’d ... I wouldn’t mind going up in the tram with you ... that’s if it’s the same tram and you’re going straight home?’ The brightness had vanished from her face, and he said hastily, ‘It was only an idea, for us both to have company, but it’s all right if you’d rather not.’
Time Shall Reap Page 15