‘If I should die, think only this of me,
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England…’
He was not going to die, though. He was convinced of that. He would live to know again the ‘laughter learnt of friends’, and he would find peace again ‘under an English heaven’.
Chapter Twenty-Two
By the middle of August Jack Smollett had recovered sufficiently to be discharged from the convalescent home. There was nothing more that could be done in Scarborough for his arm. The stump had healed well and it was hoped that in due course he would be fitted with an artificial arm and hand at his local hospital in Northumberland.
His mental state had improved considerably as well. He had come to terms with losing Doris. It seemed to Priscilla that he was coming to the conclusion that it was all for the best and that they would never have been happy together. As for his friendship with Priscilla, the situation was pretty much the same. They were still good friends, but he had not made any suggestion that he might want more than companionship. He was no longer quite so dependent upon her for assistance with his dressing and eating. His left hand had become much more mobile with continual usage, and she only helped him with the occasional letter to his parents. He had told them how much he was looking forward to being home again.
His brother came down to Scarborough on the morning of Jack’s departure to assist him with his luggage on the train journey back to Hexham. Most of the staff and several of his fellow patients were gathered outside the home when the cab arrived to take them to the station. There was little time for anything other than a handshake and a brief word of farewell, but he did linger a few seconds longer with Priscilla. He held on to her hand and kissed her gently on the cheek. He had done the same, however with Faith and Tilly. Since joining the staff Tilly had been responsible for any nursing he required.
‘You’ll write to me, won’t you?’ he said quietly to Priscilla. ‘You’ve got my address, and I’d like to keep in touch with you.’
‘Of course I will,’ she replied. ‘Goodbye, Jack, and take care of yourself. It’s been good to know you.’
‘You too,’ he replied.
And with that, she supposed, she must be content. She wondered if she would ever see him again. Whether she did or not, she knew she would never forget him.
Towards the end of August came the news that the Moon family had long been awaiting and dreading. However, it was not quite as bad as it might have been. The telegram stated that Second Lieutenant Thomas Moon was missing in action. The slight ray of hope was that it did not say, ‘believed killed’.
Faith, at first, was dry-eyed. ‘I have to go on believing that he’s alive,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t say that he’s dead. But why has it taken so long to let us know anything at all?’
‘It must be chaos over there,’ William told her. ‘There’ll be all sorts of problems with communications, and no doubt mistakes are made from time to time. But I’m sure they’re doing their best. Don’t raise your hopes too much though, my love,’ he warned her.
Tilly, too, was strangely calm. ‘It would be dreadful if they’d both gone, Dominic and Tommy as well,’ she said. She was gradually coming to terms with her loss, at least so it appeared when she was with other people. And she had to cling to the slight hope that her twin brother might still be alive. ‘I can’t believe they are both dead,’ she said with a quiet conviction.
A fortnight later it proved that she had been right. Faith received a letter from a field hospital near Calais saying that Thomas Moon was alive. He had, however, been severely injured. He had lost an arm and had suffered from concussion. He had been unconscious for quite some time and was now suffering from loss of memory. In time they hoped he would be transferred to a hospital in England.
‘Oh…thank God!’ said Faith, over and over again. ‘And the best thing is that he won’t have to go back.’ The loss of a limb was bad, but, as they had experienced with the men in their care, it did have its credit side; there would be no more fighting.
‘Yes, it’s good news, Mother,’ said Tilly. ‘I knew, somehow, that they couldn’t both have gone.’ She was sad, though, knowing that when – and if – her brother regained his memory he would have to be told that he had lost his best mate.
There was reason for a double celebration when, later that same week, Patrick and Katy announced that they were expecting their first child in six months’ time. They had doubted that it would ever happen as they had been married for seven years.
‘And goodness knows we’ve tried hard enough!’ said Patrick, which brought a blush to Katy’s cheeks.
‘Give over, Patrick!’ said William. ‘You’re embarrassing the lass! But it’s wonderful news. Very well done, Katy. Just think, Faith love, our fourth grandchild. And here’s to many more… God willing,’ he added. All of them – Faith and William, Patrick and Katy, Maddy, Jessie and Hetty, whose husbands were absent, and Tilly – raised their glasses of sherry.
That remains to be seen, mused Tilly. Freddie, Bertram and Arthur, and Samuel as well…would they all return safely? Many families, she knew, had already lost more than one son. Please God, she prayed silently, may it all be over by the time Patrick and Katy’s child is born. That would be the February of 1917, almost three years since the dreadful conflict had started.
In the month of September there were three new admissions to the New Moon home. Three more men, in addition to Jack, had been discharged, leaving room for a few more.
Tilly was assigned to a cheerful-looking young man who had lost a leg, but it did not appear to have done too much to affect his optimistic view of life. She thought he looked vaguely familiar. He had a shock of very fair hair which reminded her, poignantly, of Dominic. He, also, had had fair hair and blue eyes, too, like the young man she had just met. But there the resemblance ended. This young man was of a stockier build with more rugged features than her handsome Dominic.
She glanced at his name tag as she handed him a cup of tea. Sergeant Stephen Ashton… She gave a gasp of astonishment. Could it be…Sophie’s brother? Steve, she had called him. But surely this was too great a coincidence.
‘Have you a sister,’ she enquired, ‘called Sophie?’
‘Indeed I have,’ he replied. ‘Don’t tell me…you must be Tilly!’
‘That’s right; I’m Tilly,’ she smiled.
‘But I thought you were working at St Luke’s with my sister?’
‘So I was until…oh, a couple of months ago. Then…well…my fiancé was killed – in the Somme offensive, like thousands more – and my parents persuaded me to move back here. My mother, Faith Moon, she’s the administrator of the home. Actually it’s our family home as well. We used to live here before the war started; in fact we still do although there have been a lot of changes.’
‘Of course; I remember now,’ said Steve. ‘Sophie told me that your mother had started a convalescent home in Scarborough. I’d forgotten about it till now. Well, this is a very happy coincidence… I’m so sorry, though, to hear about your fiancé.’
‘Yes…thank you,’ she murmured. ‘I wasn’t the only one, though, was I? Not by any means? And it’s still going on. When were you injured, Steve?’
‘Oh, several months ago. Just before the big offensive on the Somme. It was quite a minor skirmish, I suppose, but a lot of our lads copped it. My best mate, Harry, was killed right in front of me. I saw it happen. And I copped for this… I was lucky, I suppose.’
‘Harry…yes. I remember Sophie telling me about Harry. I’m sorry to hear about that. He was her boyfriend, wasn’t he?’
Steve nodded. ‘Sort of, yes, that’s right. Harry was really keen on my sister, but she didn’t want to go steady. Perhaps just as well… I don’t know.’
‘There are all ways of looking at it,’ said Tilly. ‘Dominic and I had been engaged since last Christmas. We intended to get married on his next leave, although we hadn’t told our families.
They thought we were too young, but we knew how we felt about one another. Anyway, it wasn’t to be.’
Stephen’s eyes were full of concern as he regarded her solemnly. ‘I guess you’re a survivor, though, aren’t you, Tilly, same as me?’
‘I’m trying,’ she said. ‘And…this helps.’ She waved her hand towards the other men in the ward. ‘Caring for the wounded soldiers, like yourself. One has to try and keep cheerful.’
‘I joined up with the Bradford Pals, you know,’ he told her, ‘just as soon as I was old enough. I was all for going earlier – lots of ’em went in under age – but my parents wouldn’t hear of it. They didn’t really want me to enlist at all. Perhaps Sophie told you about our family background?’
‘Yes, so she did,’ said Tilly. ‘She said your name was…Ascher, wasn’t it? And you were called Stefan.’
‘That’s right. And my pal, Harry Brown, he was Harald Braun. We felt we were English, though, the pair of us, through and through; that’s why we joined up. Our friends at school were English lads and there’d never been any sort of trouble between us, not until this lot started. Some of the lads, those who had not become naturalised British citizens, were called back into the German army. And I still don’t know to this day if we might have been fighting against some of our former mates.’
‘Yes, I remember Sophie telling me about that,’ said Tilly. She remembered, too, about the Ashton’s butcher’s shop being ransacked at the time of the Somme offensive. She wondered if Steve’s parents had told him about it. She forbore to mention it in case he didn’t know. As he didn’t say anything she assumed that they had thought it better for him to be left in ignorance.
‘Yes, I’ve been lucky, I suppose,’ he went on. ‘I missed the Somme debacle because of this lot.’ He tapped the stump of his left leg, covered by his royal blue uniform trousers. ‘I’d have copped it there, good and proper, I’m sure of that. Our Bradford Pals lost thousands, and what was it all for? Nothing, bloody nothing at all… Sorry, Tilly,’ he added. ‘I shouldn’t go on like this. Especially with you having…’ His voice petered out.
‘It’s all right, Steve,’ she said. ‘As I told you, I have to try to come to terms with it. Actually, we did have some good news this week. My twin brother was missing, and now we’ve heard that he’s in a field hospital near Calais. It was ages before we heard anything at all, and of course my mother was fearing the worst.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ he replied. ‘It was the same with me. My parents didn’t hear for quite some time. Then I was reported missing, like your brother. I was being shunted around from one hospital to another, and communications broke down, I suppose. This is bound to happen from time to time with the vast number of casualties they’re dealing with.’
‘And how is Sophie?’ asked Tilly. ‘I haven’t heard from her recently. I knew she had gone to France, but I’ve only had one letter from her.’
‘She’s well, as far as I know,’ he replied. ‘I don’t suppose she has much time to write, and I’ve never been much of a letter writer. She’ll be pleased to know I’ve met you. I’m going to be in very capable hands, I’m sure.’
‘We all do our best,’ she replied. She was already aware of the glint of admiration and warmth in his bright blue eyes even though he had only just met her. She knew how vulnerable these wounded soldiers could be when they had been starved of female company and affection for so long. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse, me, Stephen, I must carry on with my duties. Give me a call if you want anything. I’ll leave you to get to know your fellow room-mates. They’re a good crowd and you’ll soon settle in.’
And so he did. Stephen Ashton soon became a popular patient, both with his fellow inmates and the staff. He was cheerful and optimistic despite the loss of his leg, and coped very well on his crutches, swinging along speedily around the corridors and communal rooms. He said he was looking forward to returning to Bradford in due course, and being fitted with an artificial limb. Tilly felt that he would not take long to adjust when that happened. He had an indomitable spirit and was proving to be a great comfort and source of encouragement to the patients who might be feeling low or dispirited.
Tilly found that he was a great help to her as well. She enjoyed his company, his ready wit and his positive outlook on life. He had many of his sister, Sophie’s, qualities. She remembered the firm friendship the two of them had shared when they had worked together at St Luke’s. She appreciated being with Stephen and was aware of the developing attachment between them, akin to the one that she and Sophie had shared.
Although he said he was looking forward to his return home, she guessed that he did not want it to be too soon; that he was, in fact, only too happy to stay at the New Moon home as long as was deemed necessary. After leaving hospital he had needed a period of recuperation. As well as the loss of his leg he had suffered a certain amount of damage from the poison gas used by the enemy. Not by any means as much as some of the men had suffered, but there had been some injury to one lung and he was given to bouts of coughing and breathlessness.
Tilly recognised the light of a growing affection in his eyes when he smiled at her, more so as the weeks went by. But for her part she felt there could never be anything but a platonic sort of friendship between them. She was still grieving for Dominic, although the deep anguish she had felt at first was abating a little. But it was too soon, far too soon to be having tender feelings towards another man. She doubted that she ever would.
Word had got around the home that Tilly was a pianist, that she had, in fact, been a music student, intending to go to college, before she had taken up nursing. Very soon she was prevailed upon to play for the sing-songs that the men enjoyed. The piano that had been her pride and joy had taken some hammering from those patients whose touch was not as refined as her own, but it was all in a good cause, she told herself, and it could soon be tuned back to its normal concert pitch.
Maddy, also, was prevailed upon to use her talents as a singer, to the delight of the men. The more sentimental of them were moved to tears on hearing her sing her old favourites that she had once sung at the Pierrot shows. ‘Scarborough Fair’ and the lovely Irish melody, ‘I know Where I’m Going’.
There were more modern songs, too, which had an added poignancy in those uncertain wartime days. The men sang them with gusto but with a sense of yearning too. ‘If You Were the Only Girl in the World’ was a great favourite, and Jerome Kern’s recent song, ‘They Didn’t Believe Me’, which was rapidly gaining in popularity.
‘And when I tell them, and I’m certainly going to tell them,
That I’m the man whose wife one day you’ll be,
They’ll never believe me,
They’ll never believe me
That from this great big world you’ve chosen me.’
The men sang, thinking of their wives and girlfriends at home. The song that affected Tilly the most, though, was ‘Till We Meet Again’, which told of a poignant goodbye between a young soldier and his sweetheart, both praying for the day he when would return to marry her.
Alas, Tilly knew now that wedding bells would never ring for her and Dominic. But still the song haunted her; she could not get it out of her mind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The young man in the hospital bed in the field centre near Calais was desperately trying to come to terms, not only with his injuries, but also with the big gap that existed in his mind. He could remember nothing, at first, apart from the massive explosion, the deafening sound when the earth around him had erupted, and after that, complete and utter darkness.
It was gradually coming back to him now, but very slowly, not nearly fast enough for his liking. He knew that he had been fighting in a war; they had told him so. He remembered, then, the trenches, the discomfort, the mud, the rats, the constant sound of guns firing and shells exploding, and then the last sortie into the unknown…
He knew that he had lost an arm. He felt all lopsided, his weight pulled over to the
right side. At least it was his left arm that had gone. Some innate sense told him it was a good job it hadn’t been his right arm. He recalled, from the dim recesses of his memory, that he had loved to write… But then the remembrance receded, like a dream that you tried to recall on waking but which vanished into the ether.
‘And how are you feeling today, Tommy?’ asked the nurse, the one who seemed to be mainly in charge of him. She was a pretty buxom young woman who, he understood, was called Mabel. That name struck a chord with him; the name of somebody he knew, maybe? But the faint recollection vanished before it could take shape.
He knew that his name was Tommy. Thomas Moon – at least that was what he had been told – and that he lived in a place called Scarborough. Yes…when they told him that he saw a picture in his mind, like the flickering of an image seen on a cinema screen; he remembered going to a cinema. He recalled a wide bay, a castle perched on a high cliff, and he could hear the screeching of seagulls. Then the vision faded.
‘I’m not too bad,’ he replied to the nurse. ‘I’d be better if I could remember who I am, what I am. It’s so frustrating. It’s like looking into a black hole.’ He shook his head in a bewildered manner.
‘Don’t force it, Tommy. It will come back in time, I’m sure,’ said the nurse. ‘I’ve dealt with patients like you before. Your memory might come back all of a sudden; it can happen like that sometimes. But at least we know who you are, don’t we? We’ve written to your parents to tell them that you’re safe and are doing well. I know they’ll be relieved to hear that.’
He understood that he had been unconscious for a long time, suffering from concussion; and also that for some reason he had been reported missing. Yes, he was sure that his parents – of whom as yet he had no recollection – would be pleased to hear that he was no longer missing. It was just his memory that was missing.
Until We Meet Again Page 26