by Paul Almond
Jack saluted, turned, and left the room, suffused with relief and, it be must be admitted, no little degree of surprise.
* * *
Amazing the release Jack felt as he strode back through town, as if he were climbed up into the light from an enormous dark cavern. Now, there was nothing that he couldn’t do. He would throw himself into caring for the sick as never before. And to whatever fighting lay ahead.
On his way to the campground, he passed an enclosure where a number of suffering soldiers had been quartered. Under huge tarpaulins stretched between wagons, they were hardly protected from any driving rain or winds. Nothing to lie on but blankets over rough ground. Should he stop? No, first, report to the good Father and see how he was faring. Then look into the matter of the men’s quarters.
Heading from Otter’s HQ to Father O’Leary, who had now been housed in one of the better buildings, Jack passed several more makeshift hospitals, an area he had not visited before. Many of these patients seemed sadly in need of even the most basic medical care. What could he do? He resolved to make enquiries this evening. He also wondered at his not having noticed this before — another example of how one’s own worries so often took precedent over the suffering of others. He castigated himself for that, and swore to do better. Meanwhile, day after day, night after night, the ambulance wagons kept coming back with maimed, mangled, war-broken humanity.
On the other side of this small capital city, he reached the grey stone building, formerly a clubhouse. He climbed the broad outside stairs, entered the first floor, and paused to admire the notice board, which told of past club presidents on small silver plaques, and of riding competitions, and in a line down one side, pictures of their mounts. Amazing what war does to an entire culture, he thought. The panelled walls spoke to him of laughter and gracious banquets, pints of fine ale downed as rosettes were examined and mulled over. But they now held only a plethora of pain from suffering soldiers, on both sides.
Before he could climb the staircase to the second floor where O’Leary lay, he went to the men’s room at the back of the building to relieve himself. Coming out, he passed a sunny ward with a sign: nurses only.
No orderlies? He looked in. Only three cots of the six in the decently appointed room were occupied. He frowned. Women patients!
As he stood uncertainly in the doorway, he heard a weak voice call his name.
He looked across. There in the corner — was that a familiar face? He walked closer.
The long, pale, drawn cheeks, dark circles under the eyes, the damp hair from the fever... Could it be? Two grey distant eyes tried to focus. “Jack?”
Was that the voice of Kelsie? Weak, almost hoarse, it carried the ring of the Hereafter. But still, the sound struck him with the force of a dum-dum bullet.
“I never thought I’d see you again...” she breathed.
Jack’s stomach dropped and the walls of his heart pounded with surging emotions. “Kelsie! Kelsie...” was all he could say.
The two stared at each other, one so stiff, upright, trying to get a grip on his feelings, the other drenched in sweat, trying to focus, squirming slightly.
Jack shook himself, moved quickly to a corner, grabbed a stool, brought it over and sat down beside her. “You’ve been struck by the enteric?”
She nodded.
Jack reached over, and took her fevered hand in both of his. Pull yourself together, he told himself. Don’t show your shock. Give her sympathy... understanding. Deal with your own emotions later. “You’ll soon pull out, you’ll be fine.” He couldn’t think of what else to say. “Father O’Leary, he’s upstairs, it’s been tough going for him too, oh yes, but in the end, you’ll come through. You’ll be fine.” He tried to sound as confident as he could but a small voice within him kept saying, no, Jack, she won’t be.
“No Jack,” the weak voice whispered, as though repeating his thoughts, “I won’t be.”
They sat in silence for a moment, while Jack digested that and tried to decide on the best course of action.
“I see the signs. I’ve nursed enough patients.” She closed her eyes. “I won’t make it.”
“Now Kelsie, you mustn’t say that. Be confident, even when you don’t feel it. That’s how you’ll get well.”
“Tell me Jack, how have you been?” A tremor ran through her weakened tiny frame. She didn’t want to hear empty words of encouragement, he could see that.
How had he been? Oh, just fine — off with another woman, forgetting Kelsie, doing all manner of dreadful things no priest should ever have dreamed of doing. What could he say? Better launch out, he thought, do your best. Take her mind off this predicament. “Well, Kelsie, I was sent back from the front to minister to the wounded at De Aar and at Orange River. The doctor, there, he sent me down to Cape Town to do some errands.”
She brightened. “So you got my note?”
Jack nodded. “You can’t imagine how it made me feel. So full of promise.” Oh-oh, you shouldn’t have said that. He squeezed the tiny fingers between his two large, but gentle, hands. “You didn’t get mine, I suppose?”
She shook her head. “You wrote me?”
“Oh yes. And,” he lied, “with just the same sentiment, even stronger, Kelsie. I told you how much I wanted to see you again.” Well, only half a lie. But what else should he say?
She nodded slightly, and he could see her pain eased a little, and her body relaxed somewhat.
“Well, then I got some missions done, finding food and supplies for our boys. I came back to Orange River...” Should he go on? Why not? “I had to stay, because then, the trains came, full with wounded from Paardeberg. Unbelievable. You see, I missed that battle. I’d been ordered to leave.” Don’t apologise to her, she doesn’t know, he thought. “I was ordered to go to Cape Town, as I said. So imagine! I missed the one battle we Canadians won and which, they all tell me, turned the tide of the war.”
Kelsie nodded. “Our boys fought gloriously.” She eased herself up a bit, and Jack arranged her pillows to help.
“Father O’Leary did a great job, tending the wounded, burying the dead. Fullerton was away, probably on errands for the battalion like me.”
Kelsie nodded to herself. She smoothed her hair back in an effort to look better.
“I’ve more or less just come back. I gave a service on Sunday. You know, I’ve been with the Colonel, who assures me that when the regiment leaves, he’s going to send me out with the troops. No staying here.”
“So you’re going to go?”
Oh dear, he should not have said that. Now how could he answer her? Leave Kelsie like this? No, of course he couldn’t. So how could he stay? By disobeying orders? No, but why not see the Colonel again, ask to be let off? Then what would the men say! What on earth should he do now?
“You’ll be much better by the time we go,” he found himself saying, his instincts rescuing him at the last moment. “It won’t be for a while anyway, I know that.”
That seemed to reassure her.
“Now are you getting proper care?” He felt himself gathering strength for a possible onslaught against the administration.
“Oh yes, Jack.” Her strength seemed to be improving, just by his presence, by his affection flowing into her hands and on through her body — yes, he felt he might almost be helping to heal her.
“We’re treated better than most,” she said. “There are three of us, all nurses. Caught them by surprise, us coming down sick. Put them in a real dither.” She managed a weak smile. “Jack, it’s scandalous how we take care of our boys. There are about a hundred of us, nurses from down under, New Zealand and Australia, from Britain, and yet military regulations forbid us to do our job. We can’t bathe the men. We can’t change them. We can’t even make their beds; we’re supposed to give advice, but what good is that — they don’t have enough orderlies. Jack, there’s not enough doctors around. No medicine, well hardly any, you see, the Boers blew up the railway bridge at Norval’s Pont and supplies h
aven’t been getting through. We’re all run off our feet. I’ve been so worried — you know what the worrier I am — well, there’s been plenty to worry about here, I can tell you.”
“The other three Canadian nurses are here too?”
She nodded. “And doing so well. If I had been able to care a bit less, I might not have succumbed to this. But you see, I was so, so thirsty on the way. And I somehow felt that no disease could touch me. I’m a nurse. So I remember drinking some water from what seemed a clean bucket, and after a rainstorm, too. I think that’s what did it...” She sunk back.
Jack nodded. After the burst of energy, she now seemed tired, and indeed in pain. Her hands went to her stomach and she doubled over.
Jack made as if to rise.
“Wait!” Bravely she tried to ignore her pain. Jack sank back, and waited as the spasm passed. She breathed, “Have you... Have you heard from your family in the Gaspe?”
“Oh yes, I got a letter. I’m going to write back. I’ll tell them that I’ve found my really good friend, and she will come and visit. I’ll have lots of time after this, and you will too, and you’ll come to the Gaspe. If you don’t,” he wagged his finger at her, “then I’ll take the train down to Halifax.”
She sighed. “The only way I’m going to see the Gaspe now is through your words, Jack. You’ll come back tomorrow and tell me more about it. I’ll see it through your eyes, that’s enough. It will have to be...” Her eyes grew moist.
Jack found himself at a loss for words. He did his best not to let the moisture creeping into his eyes flood into them, but her words made it so difficult, emotion taking over his entire being. Kelsie, his Kelsie...
“Jack, I really... would rather not die.” Jack went to interrupt, but she motioned him. “I’m ready,” she said, “but I really would rather not.”
He shook his head, and then bowed it silently, gripping himself. Then he leaned forward. “Kelsie, I’ll let you rest now, and I’ll come back tomorrow. You’ll be better tomorrow, I’m quite sure. I don’t want you to worry.”
Kelsie nodded and closed her eyes. Jack almost felt she was glad he was leaving, so that she would not have to restrain her moaning, her writhing in pain as it attacked her insides.
Jack rose and went out of the room, a very different man from the one who had walked in.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As he walked upstairs to see his next patient, the good Father O’Leary, he wondered if the Lord Above were good, what on earth had He been up to, letting Kelsie get so sick, and sanctioning this war? And what was Jack himself doing here, approving in appearance at least the whole dreadful affair. His mind was seething, and he had a good mind to go to the Colonel and hand in his resignation, if that were possible
But then, the thought struck him as he stepped on to the landing of the second floor: Father O’Leary, why not ask him? Might perk him up to have a knock-down tussle over the ethics of what the two of them were doing. Catholics were much better at seeing things in stark black and white. But was Peter too sick for this type of discussion? No, he decided, it might take his mind from the harsh fever wracking him.
Without further delay, he turned into the small, almost empty ward where the good Father lay in a corner. Jack went straight over to sit beside him, relieved to see that the only other officer there was asleep.
O’Leary opened his eyes as Jack came forward to fetch a stool. They widened as Jack sat down, with furrowed brow and teeth clenched.
Silence fell.
Jack, hunched over, looked at the palms of his hands, trying to decide how to bring up this juggernaut of a problem.
“Something bothering you, Jack?”
“You might say so, Father Peter.”
“Them fellas, I talked to a couple of them, and they heard what Otter said. Now they’re spreading the word that you were only doing your duty.”
“Well, it’s gone beyond that now.” Jack about to launch into his whole problem, and then he remembered his first priority. “Can I get you some water? Or anything else?”
“No thanks. A new young orderly has decided to take special care. I have all I need. Except something to divert the mind, which,” he managed a grin, “you’re about to provide, I can tell.”
“Not sure you’ll like the diversion. But I’ve been wondering, honestly... Just what are we, you and me and Fullerton, doing here? What right have we got to be doing this? I mean, supporting all this fighting and killing?”
“What right?” O’Leary was firm. “We’ve got every right, Jack. This is a just war, and we’re fighting it. Whatever made you think we should not?”
“Nothing much, I guess,” Jack replied truculently. “Just that Our Lord happened to say, ‘Turn the other cheek’, He just happened to make plain that violence was wrong; He just happened to forgive those who crucified him; He just happened —”
“Jack! Jack, that’s got nothin’ to do with it!” O’Leary burst out. “Nothin’ at all. He also said, If a wolf breaks into the sheepfold, you go right ahead and shoot it. He may not have used those words, exactly, but that’s what he meant. Defend yourself! ‘Onward Christian Soldiers,’ ever heard of that hymn?”
“So once a hymn gives the okay, you run out and do it — to hell with what Our Lord says?” Jack’s voice rose angrily, which even surprised himself. They were both slinging around the sarcasm like two veterans; what was coming over them?
“Jack me boy, calm down. If you have a problem, let’s discuss it like two normal people.”
“Just the point, Peter, we’re not normal people. We’re clergymen. We’ve taken our vows to follow the precepts laid down by Our Saviour. And you can be damn sure that in your branch of the church, just like in ours, any killing is plain wrong.”
“Jack, you never read Saint Thomas Aquinas? There are two kinds of war: Just and Unjust. We’re right now fighting a Just War — ”
“How do we know that?”
“Jack, Saint Thomas laid down special criteria. You have to be sanctioned by your ruler, in other words, it’s got to be started by Parliament, in our case. And only to right a wrong, or...”
“Yes?”
“I’m thinking, Jacko... Oh yes, to prevent further injustice. To stop aggression. And then, of course, there’s Saint Augustine in the fourth century, and that pope who authorised the first Crusade, Urban II, they all had things to say.”
“... in justification for killing others?”
“Jack! For going to war. To right a wrong, or to protect your members from harm. That first crusade started out within very strict limits. It was to protect pilgrims going to the Holy Land, and nothing more.”
“Yes but look what happened.”
“Man’s nature, Jack, are we ever going to change that?”
He was about to go on when Jack interrupted, “And just how ‘just’ do you think this war here is?”
“We have right on our side. Don’t forget Saint Thomas also said it’s also got to be fought proper. Once you start a war, you can’t do nothing immoral. No fighting with hatred. No attacking civilians. Being Christians, we just have to make sure our boys are following these sorts of rules. So you’re in the clear Jack, we’re all in the clear,” O’Leary ended emphatically.
“Peter, at college when we got to Saint Thomas Aquinas, my mind slowed into the pace of an ox: it was all kind of boring; so maybe you’re right. But does all that go along with what Our Lord said? I’m damned sure not.”
“Jack, Thomas Aquinas was a saint. Those fellas back then, they studied more than you or me ever will. If they says it’s okay, then okay it is! That’s been drilled into us. That breakaway church of yours, you get no proper training, that’s the damn trouble. No wonder we’re the only religion.”
It was Jack’s turn to look at O’Leary askance. “Now Peter, don’t let’s start making this the C of E against Catholics. We’re both here to do a job, and I came to get some advice, because I’m beginning to think this job we came to do is in no
way justified. It’s driving me crazy.”
O’Leary was taken by a stomach pain and doubled over. Jack immediately felt remorseful. He reached out to touch the old man’s shoulder.
O’Leary finally relaxed and lay back, panting somewhat. “Bloody fever, I wish it would go away.”
“So do I. With all my heart. You’d think those darn bureaucrats or higher-ups would have seen we all had decent water. Specially before going on an attack. Shameful the way our boys have been treated.”
“Aye, shameful it may be, but this is war, Jack. Who knows what their problems are, but you can be sure they got ’em. Supplying thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of troops down one little narra’ gauge railway line, sabotaged half the time by the Boers. And oxen that don’t travel more than a few miles a day. Not easy for the commanders neither. Us, we’ve just got to do or die. Let’s beat the bastards and get ourselves back to Canada as quick as we can. You agree with me on that score, don’t you.”
Jack nodded. He wasn’t sure that he did agree on the other points quite so emphatically. But he could see he wouldn’t be getting a great deal of comfort, nor any of that good old-fashioned homespun wisdom that he had expected. All he was hearing was the doctrine of the Church, which made him even more fed up. He’d just have to make his own accommodation, he’d have to turn the matter over in his own mind and find his own conclusion.
With that, Jack walked out of the ward no more satisfied than when he had entered.
* * *
Jack kept ministering to his many patients and to Kelsie, who was getting worse by the day, and to Father O’Leary, who was taking a long time but seemed on his way to recovery. He’d made inquiries about how these dreadful conditions for the soldiers came about, and what could be done to mend that deficiency. Very little, he found out. So the days became especially long and arduous. Each morning’s visit to Kelsie threw him into a black despair, which he tried not to reveal. And furthermore, he had to say goodbye to one after another of his soldier parishioners, and then pronounce their burial rites the next morning, those men whose hands he had held, whose bodies he had prayed over the night before. These duties at dawn, performed in Quebec and on the Labrador only every month or so, had now become a daily occurrence. He supervised the laying to rest of not only Canadians but those of other colonies and the Old Country, and indeed, even the enemy when their own pastoors were not available.