Until We Meet Again

by Margaret Thornton

  The sun suddenly disappeared behind a cloud and she shivered. It had been a warm day but a slight breeze had taken a little of the strength from the sun’s rays. How much worse it might have been if it had been raining or windy. As it was she was starting to feel a little chilly. She had dashed out in only her uniform dress without a coat or a cardigan. Her rambling thoughts had kept her occupied during the wait for the ambulance, but now she hoped they would not have to wait much longer.

  A glance at her fob watch told her it was twenty minutes since Simon had gone. He would have returned to the New Moon home and the ambulance would have been called from there, or so she presumed. There was no resident doctor at the home, but a doctor visited from time to time, especially if there was an emergency. If there was a sudden relapse in a patient he might be readmitted to the hospital. No doubt Jack would need to spend some time there before returning to the convalescent home.

  After a wait of another five minutes the sound of a bell told her that an ambulance was on its way. She looked up to see the vehicle arrive, then two stretcher bearers alighted and started to make their way down the slope; as sure-footed as mountain goats they seemed to be and she marvelled at their expertise. She was even more impressed as they secured Jack, still unconscious, to the stretcher, and covered him with a blanket.

  ‘What about you, love?’ one of the men asked her. ‘Can you manage to climb up on your own?’

  ‘I expect so,’ she replied. ‘I managed to get down… I can try.’ In some ways she thought it might be easier to climb up than to descend.

  ‘No, stay where you are,’ he said. ‘We’ll get this young fellow into the ambulance, then I’ll come back and help you up. We don’t want any more accidents, do we?’

  Her legs felt weak and it was a difficult climb, but she made it, determined not to show herself to be a helpless female.

  ‘Well done, love,’ said the ambulance man. ‘You’ve got some guts and no mistake. Now, you’ll come with him, won’t you, in the ambulance, and see him safely into hospital? We’ll need somebody to give his particulars. What’s his name, by the way?’

  ‘Jack,’ she replied. ‘He’s called Jack Smollett, and as you can see he’s lost an arm. Yes, I’d like to come with you. I’ve been looking after him for the last couple of months.’

  ‘Jolly good. Righty-ho then; off we go…’

  She sat in the back of the ambulance regarding her patient anxiously as they were driven to the hospital near to the town centre. Jack had still not come round.

  Priscilla found she was regarded as quite a heroine by all the staff at the home, although she assured them she had done nothing really except look after Jack whilst they waited for the ambulance. Faith, in particular, was full of praise for her and said she had noticed how much she had done to help Jack during his stay with them. Jessie told her how brave she was and said that she, Jessie, would have been terrified at the thought of venturing down the cliffside.

  ‘I’d have been rooted to the spot with fright,’ she told Priscilla. ‘I’ve always been scared of heights.’

  ‘So was I,’ said Priscilla, ‘but you’d have gone down if it was Arthur lying there. It’s amazing what you can do when it’s somebody that you…that you care about.’ She had stopped then, blushing a little as she realised what she was admitting. She didn’t intend anyone to know how she felt about Jack.

  But Jessie had just smiled understandingly. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said. ‘I suppose we all have hidden reserves of strength. And I know how devoted you are to…all the patients.’

  They were all waiting anxiously to hear news from the hospital regarding Jack. They were relieved when Faith had a phone call the following morning to say that he had regained consciousness and did not seem to be suffering any memory loss. The fall had jolted him and had dislocated his shoulder – the right one, the arm that had been amputated at the elbow – but that had been put back in place. The gash on his forehead was only a surface wound, and apart from a few minor bumps and bruises he appeared to have escaped serious injury. They were keeping him in hospital, however, for a couple of days.

  ‘I’m sure one or more of you would like to come and visit him,’ said the nursing sister who was speaking to Faith. ‘He’s very quiet; we can’t get much out of him, but I think he’s rather embarrassed at what has happened. He will probably talk to you more readily than he will to us.’

  ‘Certainly someone will come and see him,’ said Faith. ‘When are your visiting hours?’

  ‘Afternoon and early evening,’ replied the sister. ‘But anytime, really, as far as you are concerned. We’ve always worked well together, haven’t we? I know what a grand job you are all doing at the New Moon home.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Faith, gratified at such praise from the town’s hospital. ‘We try to carry on from where you have left off. We like to think we’re doing a vital service and we’re very distressed at what has happened to Jack. He was having some personal problems – affairs of the heart, we presume – but I’m sure he didn’t really intend to… to harm himself.’

  ‘To commit suicide?’ said the sister, rather more outspokenly. ‘No, maybe not. It could have been much worse. He’s been very lucky, if he can only see it that way.’

  Faith decided that Priscilla would be the best choice as a visitor for Jack. She saw a smile light up the young woman’s face when she told her of Jack’s recovery, and a slight blush coloured her cheeks. She had guessed that Priscilla was becoming rather fond of her patient. Too much fraternising between patients and nursing staff was not to be encouraged, but it did happen from time to time. However, Priscilla was not a nurse, and she did deserve to have a little affection in her life. Faith had seen a great change in her with regard to her friendliness with the staff and all the patients, not just with Jack. She guessed, though, that he had become rather special to her. Faith only hoped it would not end with her being hurt or disappointed.

  ‘Oh, that’s very good news, Mrs Moon,’ said Priscilla. ‘So will he be coming back here?’

  ‘Most probably, in a day or two,’ replied Faith. She told her what she knew of Jack’s condition and asked her if she would like to pay a visit to the hospital that afternoon. ‘I think you are the one he would wish to see, rather than any of the others,’ she said. ‘I know you have taken a special interest in him.’

  ‘Only because of his arm,’ replied Priscilla, rather hurriedly. ‘He wasn’t managing with his left hand as well as some of the other men were doing… Yes, I would like to go and see him, Mrs Moon. Thank you for suggesting that it should be me…although I’m sure he wouldn’t mind who it was.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ said Faith, briskly. ‘I’ll ask Mrs Baker to make up a box of the cakes he likes. I’m not suggesting that they are not well fed in hospital, but I’m sure a little treat would not go amiss.’

  Priscilla cycled to the hospital that afternoon, and was directed to the ward where Jack was recovering. There were several other men in the ward, some lying down and others talking to their visitors. Jack was in the bed furthest away, near to the window, sitting up and reading a newspaper. There was a dressing on his forehead but apart from that he looked pretty much the same.

  He saw her approaching and gave a start of surprise, then an uneasy sort of smile. ‘Priscilla… it’s good to see you. I’m glad you’ve come; it’s very kind of you.’

  She sat down on the chair at the side of his bed. ‘Hello, Jack. It’s good to see that you’re conscious again. How are you feeling?’

  ‘A bit bruised and knocked about,’ he replied. He paused for a moment, then he said, ‘I’ve made rather a bloody fool of myself, haven’t I?’ His look was apologetic, but there was a glimmer of friendship – she did not dare to think of it as affection – in his eyes. ‘If you’ll excuse my French…’ he muttered.

  ‘That’s quite all right, Jack,’ she said, smiling at him. She had heard much worse, and from his lips, too, when she and Simon had encountere
d him on the cliff. ‘We’re all glad that you’re safe and well, and that it didn’t end as badly as it might have done.’

  He continued to regard her steadily. Feeling a mite uncomfortable at his gaze, she held out the cardboard box she had brought. She opened the lid. ‘See, Mrs Baker has sent you some goodies… And everybody sends their love and hope you’ll be back with us very soon.’

  He looked at the selection of Mrs Baker’s speciality cakes; two almond tarts, a large slice of sticky ginger cake, and one of Victoria sponge with raspberry jam oozing from it. ‘That’s very kind of her,’ he said. ‘I don’t deserve it…I don’t deserve any of it.’ He reached out and took hold of her hand. ‘Priscilla…I believe you saved my life.’

  ‘Nonsense! No, of course I didn’t,’ she replied. ‘I just stayed with you till the ambulance arrived, that’s all. We were scared, though, I must admit. We thought you might have fallen all the way down…but you hadn’t. So it wasn’t as bad as it might have been.’

  ‘It would have served me right, though, wouldn’t it?’

  It was a rhetorical question, but she answered anyway. ‘Don’t be silly, Jack, of course not. Nobody thinks that.’

  ‘I’d got myself into a state,’ he went on. ‘A real old muddle. I don’t think I knew what I was doing, really. It all started when Doris came to see me…last Saturday, wasn’t it? I knew then that there was summat wrong, and then when I got her letter… I never meant to do it, you know, to jump off that blasted cliff. But I’d got into such a rage with myself, about Doris, and everything. I’m starting to see things differently now, though…’

  ‘Would you like to tell me about it?’ she ventured. ‘Only if you want to, of course.’

  He released her hand, to her relief. Nice though it was, she felt rather silly sitting there holding hands with him as though she was his lady friend, when they both knew she wasn’t. ‘Yes…I think I would like to tell you,’ he said. ‘You deserve that much, anyway. I’ve behaved badly, I know, upsetting everybody like this.’ She waited whilst he stared into space, seemingly to collect his thoughts.

  Then, abruptly, he said, ‘It’s all over between Doris and me.’

  ‘Yes, I rather gathered that it might be,’ said Priscilla. ‘You said…that you’d lost the thing that was most precious to you.’ She refrained from telling him what she thought about Doris, that she was not right for him and not nearly good enough.

  ‘Did I say that?’ He looked at her in some surprise. ‘Aye, I suppose I might have done. I was feeling sorry for myself and not thinking straight. I’ve realised now that that was not true. I was trying to hang on to something that didn’t exist any longer. I’ve known for some time, but I wouldn’t admit it to myself…

  ‘Anyhow, as you know, she came to see me last Saturday. And I knew then that it was all over between us, although she didn’t tell me, not then. She said in her letter that she intended to tell me, that’s why she’d come, but she lost her nerve. So she took the easy way out and wrote to me… I already knew, though. She’d looked at me as though I was some sort of freak. I’m no oil painting, God knows, especially now I’ve got this ’ere scar on my face, but I didn’t think it was too bad. There are other poor devils with injuries far worse than mine. But I could feel her backing away and cringing when I tried to kiss her. And my arm, an’ all; she seemed really taken aback at that. I realised she didn’t want somebody who was less than perfect. But I didn’t have it out with her like I should have done…

  ‘And then I got her letter. She was sorry, she said, but she thought it was better if we called it a day. After all the years I’ve been waiting for her to make up her bloomin’ mind! I know what it is, though. She’s got somebody else, although she hasn’t had the guts to tell me so. They’ve got a new assistant at the shop – I told you she works at her parents’ ironmongery shop, didn’t I? – and it was all Fred this and Fred that, and what a big help he was being to her father.’

  ‘Shouldn’t he be in the army, whoever he is?’ asked Priscilla.

  ‘That’s what I asked her, but he’s quite a lot older than Doris, from what I gathered; he’s turned forty. And he’s got flat feet! As good an excuse as any, I suppose, for not serving your King and Country. Like I say, I don’t know for certain that he’s the reason, but I’d bet a pound to a penny that it is. I can read her like a book.’

  ‘Well, I know it’s nothing to do with me,’ said Priscilla, ‘but it sounds as though you’re better off without her, Jack. If you’ll forgive me for saying so – it’s really none of my business – but I thought she seemed rather a cold sort of person, not very friendly.’

  He nodded. ‘It was fine at one time, when we started courting. She was quite amorous, she certainly didn’t need any encouraging…but that’s enough said about that.’ He sighed. ‘I was clutching at straws, but I’ve let go now. I’ve come to my senses, and I know I’ll get along very well without her.’

  ‘Of course you will, Jack,’ said Priscilla. ‘You have to look to the future now and think about getting well again. You’ll be going home soon, won’t you? Once you’ve got over this latest little setback.’

  ‘Going home…yes, I suppose I will,’ he replied. ‘But that will be rather a mixed blessing. It will be good to see my parents again; I know they’re looking forward to having me back. But I’ve been happy at the convalescent home. Everybody’s been so kind and I’ve made a lot of good friends… And I hope they’ll continue to be friends after I’ve gone?’ There was an unspoken question in Jack’s eyes as once again he took hold of Priscilla’s hand.

  ‘Yes…we will all miss you, Jack,’ she said. ‘But we can keep in touch…if you would like to?’ His affirmative nod and the look of pleasure on his face spoke volumes; but she told herself again not to read too much into it.

  ‘If I can find someone to write letters as well as you do,’ he smiled. He squeezed her hand and then let go of it.

  She stayed a little while longer, chatting about various matters. It was a good sign that he was interested in other people and not just himself. He enquired about Tilly, who, so far, he had not met; but he knew about her sad loss and that the young man who had been killed was Priscilla’s cousin.

  ‘She’s bearing up quite well,’ Priscilla told him. ‘It has helped her to get back to work, and she’s proving to be a great favourite with the men. You will like her, Jack.’

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ he replied. ‘But there’s not one of ’em that I don’t like, or that hasn’t been kind to me. Not like some of the nurses in the field hospital. One or two of ’em were real battleaxes, I can tell you! But they saw so many horrific sights – beyond belief, really – happen it helped them to appear brusque and not very sympathetic. To start feeling pity might have made them less able to do their job…’

  A rattle of teacups as a nurse appeared with a trolley was the signal that it was time for visitors to leave. Priscilla stood up and said goodbye to Jack. He reached out his hand and she held it again for a brief moment. ‘Bye for now, Jack. Chin up, and keep smiling, and we’ll see you again very soon.’

  ‘Thanks for coming, Priscilla,’ he said. ‘It means a lot to me.’ The warmth of his smile was matched by her own.

  She walked quickly out of the ward. She felt that Jack had turned a corner. Unless she was very much mistaken his black moods might well be at an end. Losing Doris was proving to be far from the set-back it had seemed, and more of a step in the right direction.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Arthur Newsome was a careful and competent driver. He had been driving his father’s car, then his own, from the age of seventeen and did not find it difficult to adapt to ambulance driving. Because he was single-minded and did not lose his nerve in a crisis, he found himself, before very long, in charge of a fleet of ambulances carrying the wounded from the dressing stations near to the battlefields, on to the clearing stations. There, further treatment would be administered; that was for those who were fortunate enough to survive the
first horrendous journey. Many, alas, did not do so. Those who did would eventually be transported to a hospital nearer to the French coast, or sent home to Britain to recuperate… Ready to return for the next onslaught, unless their injuries were severe enough for them to be discharged from further duties.

  It had been said that the present offensive would, hopefully, bring about a speedy end to the war. But Arthur, and thousands more, had heard similar stories before, but still the war went on. When he arrived at the scene he discovered that the chaos, after this offensive on the Somme, was far worse than anything he had experienced before. He had been informed that the enemy machine guns were capable of firing as many as ten thousand rounds of ammunition in a single day, and this was what the British Tommies were facing when they went over the top to cross to the enemy lines. Then there was the obstacle of the barbed wire entanglements to be overcome. Advance parties were sent out at night to destroy as much of it as they could, but it was not always possible to complete the task. When forced to retreat the unfortunate soldiers would be faced with another volley of machine-gun fire. It was rumoured that more than six thousand officers and men had been killed in one day, their bodies often left to lie untended in the mud.

  A poignant sight, to Arthur, and one he would never forget was that of the dead and wounded lying on stretchers in the fields of golden corn, where blood-red poppies waved in the breeze.

  It was on his second trip back to the dressing station that he noticed, lying on one of the stretchers awaiting transportation to the clearing station, a figure who looked familiar. He was covered in mud and although he had been cleaned up as much as possible, there was still blood on his face, which must have poured from the wound on his forehead. His head was bandaged, but beneath the dressing Arthur could make out the features of Bertram Lucas. He recognised his beard, which was longer now, and his moustache, over a wide sensitive mouth. He did not know him very well. Bertram was one of the relations he had acquired when he, Arthur, had married Jessie and had become a member of the somewhat complicated Moon family. Bertram, he recalled, had been a photographer, and had married Hetty, the eldest – and, it had been discovered, illegitimate – daughter of William Moon. They had met on family occasions and Arthur had always found him to be a grand sort of fellow.