Until We Meet Again

by Margaret Thornton

  ‘Is everything all right, Nurse?’ Sister Berryman appeared at the side of her. ‘I just wanted to check on Billy before I go off duty. Oh dear…’ she whispered as she looked at the motionless figure.

  ‘I’m afraid he must have died during the night,’ said Tilly. ‘I’m so sorry. He must have gone peacefully. I wasn’t aware that anything was wrong.’

  ‘It is quite all right, Nurse Moon,’ said the sister. ‘You are not to blame at all. We knew that Billy was very ill. We did all we could for him, but I’m afraid it was not enough. His injuries were too severe.’ She looked at Tilly’s stricken face and smiled sadly at her.

  ‘When you have seen as many deaths as I have, my dear, you will find you get used to it… No… that is not strictly true,’ she contradicted herself, shaking her head. ‘I don’t think one ever gets used to losing a patient, especially one like Billy, so young and vital with everything to live for. But one learns – regrettably – to become a little more detached. One has to or it would be impossible to cope.’

  ‘Yes, I understand that, Sister,’ said Tilly. ‘I am trying, but it tears me apart sometimes. I have a brother about the same age as Billy – he’s my twin brother, actually – and there’s…my young man as well. They’ll be going overseas soon.’

  ‘We all have someone out there,’ said Sister Berryman, a trifle brusquely, as though she wanted to put an end to the lapse into sentimentality. ‘Off you go now, Nurse, and have your rest. I will see to things here. Go along now; we will take care of Billy.’

  ‘We lost a patient during the night,’ Tilly told Sophie when they returned to their sleeping quarters. ‘Billy – you know, I told you about him, how he was always so cheerful. It was uncanny…’ She went on to tell her friend about the strange feeling she had had and the shadowy image she had seen hovering over the bed. She had intended keeping her night-time vision to herself; it might only have been an illusion conjured up by the mind’s eye on waking suddenly from a brief moment of sleep.

  Sophie did not try to tell her she had imagined it. Instead she nodded understandingly. ‘I’ve heard of this sort of thing before,’ she said. ‘Apparently it’s liable to happen to nurses on night duty. They see shadows and ghostly images, especially if there is a death on the ward.’

  ‘You mean…it might be a departing spirit?’ said Tilly wonderingly. ‘I realised afterwards it must have been at the time that Billy died…that I saw it.’

  ‘Who knows?’ Sophie shook her head. ‘But the dead can’t harm us, can they? Come along; let’s try and get some sleep. All I know is that I shall be glad to get back to the day-time shift at the beginning of next week.’

  ‘So shall I,’ agreed Tilly with feeling.

  Billy’s death was only one of several that she witnessed on the ward – some at night, others during the day – during the months leading up to Christmas. The war news was still grim. As well as the conflict in Europe there was fighting against the Turks at Gallipoli, which had ended in disaster for the Allied armies. This had led to the dropping of Winston Churchill from the War Cabinet, followed by his resignation from the Government. Still on a personal note came the tragic news that Nurse Edith Cavell had been shot as a spy by a firing squad. And the romantic poet, Rupert Brooke, whose poignant poems had brought momentary hope and consolation to thousands of soldiers, had been killed on his way to the Dardanelles.

  Tilly and Sophie were both looking forward to a few days’ leave, sometime around the Christmas period if not on the actual day. It was more than likely that Tommy and Dominic would be home at the same time as Tilly. She and Dominic were still planning to get engaged, knowing, though, that this would be followed by a separation of who could say how long.

  As the days grew shorter and autumn gave way to the start of winter, the two young women made full use of their precious free time to get out and about in the city of Bradford. As it was Sophie’s home town she took the lead, although she confessed that it was the first time she had really thought seriously about the magnificence of the architecture in the city. Residents are often inclined to take for granted the splendours of their own surroundings.

  One of the most splendid buildings was the City Hall with its ornate clock tower soaring 220 feet above the skyline, and modelled on the bell tower of the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence. And rivalling that building in magnificence was the city’s Wool Exchange, where the wool merchants met to bargain over the myriad samples of cloth and yarns. It had been built in the style of the earlier great Flemish cloth halls, symbolising the wealth and importance that Bradford had gained by the mid-nineteenth century through its wool trade.

  Unfortunately, this had not been gained without a great deal of misery and suffering and social unrest in the city. A health inspector who visited the town in 1844 condemned it as the filthiest place he had ever visited. In stark contrast to the magnificent architecture were the appalling conditions in which the poorer folk were forced to live. Many cottages for the mill workers were built with single brick walls with no running water or drainage. The slightly better-off folk lived in back-to-back houses of which there were 40,000 by the end of the nineteenth century. There were 150 beer taverns, many doubling as brothels, and countless filthy lodging houses. Life was indeed grim for the mill workers earning in many cases less than one pound a week, whilst many of the mill owners lived in luxurious mansions outside of the city.

  The most shocking state of affairs had been the way child labour had been exploited in the mills. Children as young as five were forced to work, not only in mills but in the coal mines. Many mill girls worked thirteen hours a day. The statue to Richard Oastler, the factory reformer, with a group of little children surrounding him, which had been erected in Northgate in the centre of the city, was a poignant reminder of those dreadful times.

  Oastler was not the only reformer. Not all the mill owners exploited their workforce. There were other factory owners, such as Titus Salt and John Wood, who were concerned about the well-being of their workers and campaigned to change the system; and educationalists like Margaret McMillan and William Edward Forster, both Bradford folk, who were pioneers in bringing about compulsory education for all children.

  Conditions in the city had gradually improved although the contrast between the living conditions of the poor and the middle classes was still apparent. The start of the war, however, had brought a much-needed boost in production for the mills as the government placed orders for uniforms and blankets.

  The philanthropists of Bradford had seen the need for parks and open spaces where the ordinary people could escape to for a while from their often drab and depressing living conditions. Peel Park, named after Sir Robert Peel, had been opened in 1865 by the Bradford Corporation, a condition being that ‘no intoxicating liquor should be sold and no games played on a Sunday’.

  But on the occasions that they had a free Sunday afternoon, Lister Park was the favourite haunt of Tilly and Sophie. It was in Manningham, quite near to Sophie’s home, and they would go there for tea if time allowed. There was a lake, a botanical garden with a stream running through it, and a miniature reproduction of the Yorkshire waterfall, Thornton Force. And whilst listening to a brass band concert at the ornamental stone bandstand, the two girls almost forgot their anxieties about the terrible state of the world.

  There were numerous places of entertainment in Bradford: concert halls, theatres, music halls and – more recently – cinemas where the new moving pictures were shown. Tilly’s and Sophie’s musical tastes differed somewhat, but during the latter half of 1915 they visited a variety of different venues. At St George’s Hall they heard the Yorkshire Symphony Orchestra performing works by Mozart, Elgar and their own Bradford born Delius. This had been Tilly’s choice, but Sophie enjoyed immensely her first introduction to what she called ‘proper classical music’.

  The Alhambra had opened the previous year, a few months prior to the start of the war. It was a glittering palace with three distinctive domes, and despit
e the outbreak of war it had got off to a good start, becoming a favourite escape from reality and the worries of everyday life. It was at Sophie’s suggestion that they went to a variety show there. The singers, dancers, funny men, ventriloquist and conjuror reminded Tilly of the Pierrots back home. But the star of the show was the famous Vesta Tilley, the male impersonator, who almost brought the house down with her performance of ‘Burlington Bertie’. And both girls laughed till their sides ached at the antics of Charlie Chaplin in the moving picture The Tramp, which they saw at the first cinema to be built in Bradford, the Theatre de Luxe.

  These outings were brief respites from the daily toil at the hospital, which was becoming increasingly arduous and distressing. Several of the soldiers, like young Billy, were too badly injured to survive. For others, whose injuries were less severe, there was the possibility that after a period in a convalescent home they would be sent back overseas. They had lived to fight another day, as the saying went, but Tilly found herself asking, time and again, what was the meaning of it all?

  She was delighted to learn that her short period of leave was to include the important Christmas Day and Boxing Day. What was more, both Dominic and her brother had been granted leave at the same time.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tilly had heard in letters from home – from her mother, Maddy, Jessie and Hetty, who all wrote to her – about the ongoing work at the house in Victoria Avenue. It was hoped that by the spring of 1916 the building work and renovations would be completed and the nursing home ready to open.

  William had listened, quietly and thoughtfully at first, then with more enthusiasm, to his wife’s suggested plans. ‘I think it’s a splendid idea,’ he had told her, after a few moments’ contemplation. ‘Yes…the house next door – Mr and Mrs Whittaker’s place – we can easily raise the money to purchase that. Now, why didn’t I think of it? You are a genius, my dear. I should imagine the price will be quite reasonable; it’s become very rundown over the years. We’d best jump in there quickly before it’s requisitioned by the government. I’m surprised, actually, that that hasn’t happened already…’

  He had visited the estate agency the very next day, which was none other than the business in which Joseph Fraser – Dominic’s father – was a partner with his brother-in-law. The firm of Fortescue and Fraser was well known in the town for fairness and reliability. The two men had a nodding acquaintance with one another, but no mention was made of the fact that some day the two families might have closer contacts. They were both shrewd businessmen with the inherent Yorkshire ability to drive a hard bargain.

  William Moon explained why he wanted to buy the property; how he and his wife wished to open a convalescent home for wounded soldiers recuperating after a spell in hospital.

  ‘I daresay you could get a government grant for that,’ Joseph Fraser told him.

  But William insisted that he and his wife wanted to buy and possess the property in their own right. ‘And then, when this confounded war is over, it will be ours to do as we like with,’ he explained.

  ‘Amen to that,’ replied Mr Fraser. ‘To the war being over, I mean. It’s a great idea you’ve got there. The way things are going we may well need a lot more of those places. But – please God – we pray that neither your son nor mine end up in one.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed William. He was thinking, though, that to end up in a nursing home might well be a blessing when one considered the grim alternative.

  A sum was agreed upon, with Joseph Fraser lowering the price a little as the property would be used for such a worthwhile cause. A government grant was secured for the part of the building work that was necessary for the functioning of the convalescent home, and also for the essential furniture required to equip the place.

  By the time Tilly arrived home on Christmas Eve the work was progressing well. The covered passageway linking the two houses had been completed as had the necessary alterations to the kitchen and dining areas, and an extra bathroom and lavatories had been installed. The requests had been given priority treatment as it was of vital importance to the war effort. Work would stop now for the next couple of days; but in January Faith hoped that the functional iron bedsteads and the utilitarian bedroom furniture would be delivered, in time for the opening early in the spring.

  ‘It has given us all a real sense of purpose,’ Faith told her daughter. ‘Jessie and Maddy and Hetty, they all want to be involved as auxiliary workers; and they’ve promised us some trained nurses and a sister. And we’re hoping that you will be able to join us, Tilly, as a trained nurse. Do you think they will allow you a transfer?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ replied Tilly, but a trifle cagily. She had guessed what might be in her mother’s mind. ‘Perhaps after I’ve been in Bradford for a year. I should have got through my first exams by then… I am very impressed, Mother, by what you’re doing here – what you hope to be doing when you open up, I mean. Believe me, these lads need all the cosseting and comfort they can get after all they’ve been through. They don’t get too much of that in hospital; we’re concerned with making sure they recover from their injuries… if possible.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘But it isn’t always possible.’

  ‘I’ve said that we shall want to take all ranks,’ said Faith. ‘Not just officers; we want to take privates – the ordinary soldiers – as well. Better to keep to just the army, I think.’

  ‘They’re usually kept separate if possible, Mother,’ said Tilly, ‘the officers and ordinary soldiers. Although I agree with you, of course.’

  ‘Well, that’s what I want,’ said Faith decidedly. ‘The bedrooms – or wards, I suppose they’ll call them – could be kept separate; there are two distinct halves, our house and next door. But I shall insist on a communal dining room and sitting room. And the garden area, of course. We shall take down the dividing hedge and that should be a nice big grassy area in the summertime where the men can relax.’

  This conversation was taking place on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. Tilly had arrived home at midday and they were expecting Tommy to arrive towards teatime. And Dominic, too, although he, of course, would go straight home before meeting Tilly that evening. She was in a frenzy of excitement at the thought of seeing Dominic again. She knew, however, that he would not be able to spend all his time with her. His parents would expect, quite rightly, that he should be with them for the all-important Christmas dinner, traditionally a family time. Dominic’s family was not a large one, unlike her own. Their party would consist of Dominic and his parents, and the Fortescue family: Cedric, who was Mrs Fraser’s brother and Joseph’s partner in the business, his wife, Maud, and their unmarried daughter, Priscilla, who was several years older than Dominic.

  ‘Poor Priscilla; she’s an old maid in the making if ever there was one,’ Dominic had told Tilly, when explaining about his lack of relatives. Priscilla worked only on a part-time basis, helping her father and uncle in the office. She stayed at home with her mother the rest of the time, assisting with the household sewing and mending, but for most of the time pursuing ladylike pastimes such as fancy needlework and painting. ‘I can see her several years from now spending all her time looking after her ageing parents. Uncle Cedric and Aunt Maud, they don’t seem to recognise that she’s a person in her own right and that she should have a life of her own.’

  ‘And doesn’t she mind?’ Tilly had asked.

  ‘She doesn’t appear to. I’ve never known her to stick up for herself. There’s not much to choose between her parents and mine for being strait-laced and rigid in their views. It amazes me that my mother and father have accepted you so well, my darling,’ he told her. Then, realising that that might sound rather uncomplimentary, he had gone on to say, ‘But how could they help but take to you, Tilly? You are such a lovely girl. They could never wish for a nicer daughter-in-law, and that’s what you will be, won’t you…before very long, we hope.’

  This conversation had taken place just before Dominic had left
for his training. Tilly wondered how his parents – and hers as well, of course – would take to the news that they were engaged to be married. Dominic had written to her that he had bought a ring, one that he hoped she would like as much as he did.

  ‘I know that, ideally, we should choose it together,’ he had written, ‘but the shops in Scarborough will be closed over the Christmas period, and I do want us to know that we truly belong to one another, darling, before I go overseas.’

  Dominic and Tommy had both completed their officer training and were now second lieutenants. After a short period of leave they would be going with their battalions to join the conflict in Europe. Tilly was trying not to think too much about it at the moment. They had both known that it was inevitable, but they had a few precious days – well, hours, really, considering the claims of their respective families – before they had to say goodbye.

  Dominic arrived at her home in the early evening and the other members of the household, including Mrs Baker, refrained from answering the knock at the door, knowing that Tilly would want a few moments alone with him. He looked more handsome than ever in his new uniform; the officers’ uniforms were of a finer material than the khaki worn by the privates and non-commissioned ranks. Likewise, her brother, Tommy, had looked every inch the professional soldier when he had arrived a few hours earlier.

  Tilly and Dominic clung together, silently, in a fierce embrace, as if they could not bear to let one another go. Then, ‘I have missed you so much, my darling,’ he told her in a voice husky with emotion, before they kissed as passionately as they could allow themselves to at that moment, with Tilly’s family only a few yards away.