A Last Goodbye

by Dee Yates

  ‘Then you must be more careful this time and rest a little every day.’

  ‘No’ so easy with Netta so energetic.’

  ‘No, I ken that. But I’ll help if you would like me to.’

  ‘Aye, I would that.’

  ‘When will the baby be due?’

  ‘Oh… I don’t know exactly… towards the end of August I think.’

  ‘Celebrating Tom’s arrival home, were you?’ The older woman gave her a sly wink.

  Ellen gave an unconvincing smile.

  ‘Does he know about it?’

  ‘No. I havenae told him yet. I wanted to be sure first and I don’t get to see him often. It's such a difficult journey to the hospital and more than I can easily afford. He didn’t take the news of the last one well. In fact, he’s no’ said much about it at all, so I don’t really ken what he thought.’

  ‘That’s all water under the bridge, hen. He’ll be different this time.’

  ‘Aye, well I hope so.’

  Robert Murdie came in, pulling off his boots at the door. He sat down in his ancient armchair and rubbed cold hands together in front of the fire.

  ‘How are you, Mr Murdie?’

  ‘Mustn’t grumble, hen. It’s no’ been such a bad winter, which is just as well with no Iain here to help us.’

  ‘They say the war may soon be over.’

  ‘Och! They say all sorts. I’ll believe it when it comes.’

  Margaret swung the kettle over the fire to make her husband a cup of tea.

  It was cosy, Ellen thought… Iain’s parents either side of the fire, Netta playing contentedly on the rug with a pile of wooden bricks that had once belonged to Iain.

  Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  ‘Shall I go?’ said Ellen, jumping up.

  ‘Aye, lass. It’ll be Richard from the farm at the end. He promised he’d drop by with some oatmeal.’

  But it wasn’t Richard. It was the postman. He nodded to Ellen and, without saying a word, passed her a brown envelope addressed to Mr and Mrs Robert Murdie. Ellen lingered at the door, fear clutching at her chest, watching the postman cross the rough ground back to the track.

  ‘Is it Richard, hen? Tell him to come in. He’ll need to be paid.’ Robert’s voice reached her, as if in a dream.

  ‘It’s a telegram.’ Ellen walked slowly into the room, carrying the envelope as though it would burn her.

  ‘Here! Give it to me,’ Margaret said, intercepting her husband who had half-risen from his chair.

  Ellen wished that she could wind back time. She handed the envelope to Margaret and turned to the window. Margaret tore open the envelope and began to read aloud:

  Regret to inform you that Corporal Iain Murdie died of wounds on 10th January, 1918. He showed great bravery to the end. I can assure you that his death was immediate and that he did not suffer. May I offer you my sincere condolences on your loss. Yours sincerely, H. C. Morton-Clarke (Captain).

  For a second no one said anything. Ellen was conscious of Netta’s chattering and the clunk of building bricks one on another.

  ‘H. C. Morton-Clarke (Captain),’ Margaret repeated in a monotone. ‘Poor man, to have to write such letters.’

  Robert staggered out of his chair by the fire and came slowly across the room to put an arm round his wife. ‘There, there, lassie. Come and sit down here by the fire.’

  ‘Oh, Robert. Our lad. Our only lad.’ Her body began to shake and tears overflowed down her cheeks. ‘He was everything we had… everything,’ she choked.

  Robert was steering her towards a chair, when, without warning, he uttered a groan of pain and doubled over, clutching his chest. Margaret tried to hold him as he sunk slowly to the floor.

  Ellen, until now transfixed by the impact of the news, came to and ran to help. Together, she and Margaret made him comfortable where he lay. He was only half conscious and his face was ashen.

  ‘It’s his heart again, like last time. The shock has brought on another attack.’ Margaret, her own face drained of colour under the influence of this double blow, stared at Ellen.

  ‘We need to get him to bed,’ Ellen gasped.

  ‘How can we? He’s a big man and heavy.’

  ‘Then I’ll find someone to help us. And I’ll fetch the doctor. Mind Ellen for me while I'm gone.’

  Margaret lifted her head and there was bleakness in her eyes. ‘Last time this happened it was Iain that was here to help,’ she said slowly. ‘What am I going to do without him?’ Her voice rose in a wail.

  *

  The prisoners were still at work at the far end of the reservoir when Ellen approached. One of them saw her and she heard him shout towards his colleagues.

  Several of them laughed at the man’s words.

  ‘It is Josef you are looking for, is it not? He will be very happy,’ the prisoner sneered across the intervening mud. He turned towards his workmates. ‘Music boy! Hier ist ihr Fräulein.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps now we all get some sleep. Every night he wakes us when he goes outside to look for you.’

  Ellen hesitated. She saw an officer approach and reprimand the prisoner, who returned sullenly to his place in the line.

  ‘Mrs Fairclough. Is anything the matter?’

  ‘It’s Mr Murdie. He’s taken a pain in the chest. I think it’s his heart. And there’s no one to help us.’

  ‘Give me a few minutes to gather some help together and I’ll be with you. You get back to the farm.’

  She turned and sped back to the farmhouse.

  ‘How is he?’ she gasped, clattering into the parlour. Margaret was cradling her husband’s head in her lap.

  ‘He’s rallied once or twice and complained of the pain. Have you found anyone to help?’

  ‘Aye, one of the officers. He’s fetching some others.’

  ‘I have medicine left over from his last attack. I wonder if it’s safe to use?’

  Ellen stayed with Robert while his wife went in search of the bottle of medicine. Her thoughts turned to Iain and their conversation when she had last seen him. She remembered the compliments he had paid her, his lingering farewell kiss. They had been good friends but she had never thought of him as more than that. Perhaps if he had given her these compliments before she had met Tom it might have been different. Strange how things turned out. Strange and sad. Now Iain would never have the chance of a wife and family and Robert, if he pulled through, and Margaret would be forever bereft of not only a son but also grandchildren.

  A hammering on the door made her start, and the officer entered with three others – a second army officer and two prisoners. She registered Josef’s face as they came forward to help and the sight of him brought a degree of comfort.

  ‘We need to get him to his bed and we can’t manage on our own,’ Ellen said immediately.

  ‘You’re not to do any lifting in your condition.’ Margaret bustled forward and took charge again. Ellen stood back and watched as the men picked up Robert between them and carried him from the room. Josef gave her a quizzical look as he passed and she stared back, unable to give the explanation that he must have been seeking.

  After they had made Robert comfortable and Margaret had encouraged him to take a spoonful of the medicine, the men went to leave, promising that someone would drive to the village to get the doctor.

  ‘Can we give you a lift home, Mrs Fairclough? After all, it’s on our way,’ one of the officers offered.

  ‘Thank you, but I must stay with Mrs Murdie and make sure she's alright. She’s just had news that her son has been killed in the war, you see.’

  ‘Oh. I’m very sorry, ma’am. I’d not have brought the prisoners if I’d known.’

  Margaret Murdie looked at the group dispassionately. ‘No matter.’ Tears flowed down her cheeks. ‘I dare say the mothers sitting round their fires in Germany are grieving just as much for their sons as I am for mine.’

  *

  Ellen stayed until the doctor had driven away in h
is trap. Night had fallen when she and Netta left the Murdie farmhouse, promising Margaret that she would return the following morning.

  Captain Cameron-Dyet was outside with a horse and wagon. Instinctively Ellen looked at the seat next to his, but it was empty.

  ‘I insist on giving you a lift and won’t listen to any refusal. It’s been an exhausting day for you,’ the captain called down.

  ‘Thank you, Captain. I wouldn’t refuse. I’m very glad to see you.’

  The captain jumped from the wagon and manoeuvred the perambulator into the back. He helped her into the front seat and swung Netta up after her. Ellen gave him a weary smile.

  ‘It’s been a sad day’s work, Mrs Fairclough. Iain Murdie will be a loss as a son and as someone to continue the family farm.’

  ‘It’ll no’ be long before the family farm is under water,’ Ellen muttered, clutching Netta close.

  The captain said nothing.

  ‘How is Josef, Captain?’ Ellen continued after a few minutes’ silence.

  ‘He’s working hard. They are all working hard. They are a good band of men… considering. Of course, there are a few disagreements. They would hardly be human if there were not.’

  ‘They must wish they could have been with their families for Christmas.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And what of your husband, Mrs Fairclough?’

  ‘He came home on sick leave in early December. But his wounded leg got worse instead of better, so he’s back in hospital again at the moment.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I do hope he’s home again soon.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’

  The captain glanced at her and then gave the reins a flick to hurry the horse.

  ‘We haven’t visited the graveyard for some time, Josef and I. Would you care to come with us next week, if the weather stays fine?’

  ‘Oh aye, very much, Captain.’

  If the captain noticed Ellen’s sudden animation, he made no indication of having done so.

  *

  ‘It’s good to see you, Josef. I was worried that you might have got into trouble.’ She glanced at the captain but he was occupied with steering the horse and cart over the small bridge outside her cottage. She took Josef's hand in her own.

  ‘No. No… all is good.' He turned down the corners of his mouth, as if to contradict what he had just said. I am not… found out… Is that how you say it? But you? Are you well? I… I am worrying about you. You are to bear a child. Am I right? Is this what Frau Murdie says?’ he whispered.

  Ellen glanced at the captain, but his eyes were staring ahead through the gloom. ‘Aye. Aye, that’s right.’ She was ill at ease, embarrassed by his questioning.

  ‘I am sorry. You wish not to speak of these things?’ There was a pause. ‘Ellen, I think I do not please you.’

  ‘Oh no. It’s not that. It’s only… my husband has come home.’ Tears glinted in her eyes.

  A long pause. ‘I understand.’

  Ellen heard the dejection in his voice and her heart missed a beat. ‘That’s why I couldn’t meet you. He came back and he was ill and there was no chance for me to leave the farm.’

  ‘And he is better now?’

  ‘No. At least, I’m not sure. He’s in the hospital in Glasgow. He’s had an operation on his knee. I don’t see him often because it’s too far to go.’

  ‘So.’ He hesitated. ‘You wish to meet again as we did? Or maybe you feel that this is wrong?’

  ‘Yes, I do think it’s wrong,’ she said slowly but definitely. But almost immediately, a picture of Clara in her white coat sprang to mind. Drawing a rapid breath, she continued, ‘No. No. Forget what I said. It isn’t wrong… not really. I don’t have many friends… and I have one less now that Iain is dead. Why shouldn’t we talk… at least until my husband is home again?’

  31

  My Country and My People

  Three weeks after receiving the news of his son, Robert Murdie’s heart failed. Ellen was at Margaret’s side when it happened.

  ‘I was sure he was on the mend,’ Margaret said several days later, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘He seemed so much better, did he no’?’

  ‘But the doctor warned us that it would be touch-and-go for the first month.’

  ‘Aye, he did that. I daresay the news of Iain was too much for his weak heart to cope with.’

  ‘What will you do now, Margaret?’ Ellen studied Margaret’s weathered face across the kitchen table.

  ‘Do? What can I do but stay here and run the farm. I’ve nowhere else to go. If I had other sons or daughters…’ She left the sentence unfinished.

  ‘How will you manage?’

  Margaret shrugged. ‘There are the farm workers. I hope they’ll be able to do most things between them. We do have another shepherd, apart from Robert, and we take on extra at lambing time. Of course, we may have to sell off some of the flock in order to cope.’ She sighed. ‘It’s only a matter of time anyway until the land is flooded and I have to move. At least Robert has been spared that… and Iain too. He would have taken over from his father eventually and I think it would have broken his heart to see the farm disappear under water.’

  *

  Robert Murdie’s death meant yet another grave to visit when Ellen went with the captain and Josef to the village. Their visits were less now, for the captain had several times been called to Glasgow for meetings with his superiors and it was imperative that the prisoners continue to work hard on the reservoir for the duration of their stay.

  On the days when the weather was no longer their accomplice, the captain drove the truck. The opportunity for conversation then was limited, for the journey took less time. But as the first hint of spring returned to the valley, he had the horse harnessed up to the wagon and resumed the evening drive.

  ‘You sit here and rest, Liebling. I will tidy the graves.’ Josef indicated the soft new grass that was carpeting the worn-out floor of the graveyard and Ellen sank down gratefully. She was not finding this pregnancy easy and preparations for lambing were taking up everyone’s time and energy. In addition, she had only the day before paid Tom an exhausting visit. He, in contrast, had looked happy and rested.

  ‘The army officers – they say that the war may soon be at an end.’ Josef glanced behind him at the captain who was brushing dead leaves from Oliver’s grave. ‘They say that America help you to win.’ He pulled a bunch of withered flowers from the vase on Janet Tonner’s grave and replaced them with the ones Ellen had brought with her.

  Ellen said nothing.

  ‘There are many U-boats sink now. I think many of my colleagues die.’

  ‘I hope it will soon be over. What’s it all for anyway? So many people killed. Such a waste!’

  ‘You know how it will be when the war ends?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ellen replied, knowing how it would be.

  Josef glanced behind him again but the captain’s attention was on the small stone recently placed on the grave in front of him.

  OLIVER TAUBER 1877-1917. R.I.P.

  Josef lifted Ellen’s hand to his lips and kissed her fingers one by one.

  ‘It will mean…’ He raised his eyes to meet hers. ‘That I return to my country and my people.’

  Ellen turned her face away to hide the tears that were coursing down her cheeks.

  *

  Time was running out. There was nothing they could do about it. In desperation, Ellen resumed her midnight walks to the compound. She had news to tell Josef. She stood up against the wire, yearning to be closer to him, encircle him with a comforting arm. He rubbed her fingers softly.

  ‘Josef.’

  ‘Yes, Liebling. What is it?’

  ‘I went to visit Tom.’

  She felt his fingers tighten on hers.

  ‘Yes? How is he?’

  ‘Much better. They say he can come home soon.’

  ‘And then we will no longer meet?’

  Ellen was silent. Josef r
aised a hand and his fingers touched her cheek, feeling the tears that were making slow progress down her face.

  ‘What can we do?’ His voice was a murmur.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know. I… I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you.’

  Josef stared upwards at the indifferent stars and his voice shook with passion. ‘It is all impossible. You are married to a good man. I must return to Germany. My parents wait there with Marthe, the girl they wish me to marry. When this war ends, we will both still be prisoners.’

  ‘Tom may return to the front if the war does not end soon,’ Ellen said, the words making her feel sick with disloyalty, even as they left her mouth.

  ‘Is he happy that you have the baby?’ Josef asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

  ‘I don’t know. He hasn’t said much about it.’

  ‘And you? Are you happy?’

  ‘About the baby? Yes, very happy.’

  ‘That then is good.’

  Ellen studied his shadowed face. ‘Josef. There is something …’

  ‘What is it?’

  Again, a prolonged pause before she answered his questioning gaze with a sad smile. She put her face to the wire and kissed him. ‘I will never forget you,’ she said simply.

  *

  Tom looked up from the chair, where he was idly perusing the newspaper, to see his wife and child walking towards him. Children were not allowed on the ward but the sister in charge had no option but to let the little girl in with her mother, there being no one else to take care of her.

  ‘Is that you ready for home, Tom?’

  Tom looked his wife up and down. Her hair lacked its usual shining vigour and the skin of her face was colourless. Netta, on the other hand, was bouncing with energy.

  ‘Aye. I was waiting on you bringing my clothes. And how’s my little girl been keeping?’ He snatched Netta up and balanced her on his good knee. ‘There’s someone here wants to meet you.’

  ‘Less noise on the ward, please, Mr Fairclough. I suggest your wife and child wait outside while you get dressed.’ The ward sister turned on her heel and made her way back to the office, shoes squeaking on the polished floor.