by June Gadsby
‘Is it t-true …? We’re to m-make a break f-for it soon, s-sir? They’re c-coming to get us?’
‘That’s what I’ve heard,’ Alex said, trying to keep the visit professional by taking the young soldier’s pulse as he listened.
‘In case I d-don’t make it, sir …’ Walter Morgan said, speaking now through clenched teeth and trying desperately to control the terrible trembling that had his whole body in its grip, ‘… tell Mary … I love her … you know … s-sir?’
Alex straightened and looked down upon the supine figure that seemed so solid, yet so vulnerable.
‘Don’t worry, soldier,’ he said, gripping the younger man’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘You’ll get out all right. And then you’ll be able to tell her yourself.’
‘I d-don’t know, sir.’ Walter closed his eyes and squeezed out two fat tears that slowly trickled down his face. ‘Sorry … don’t know what’s wrong with me … c-can’t stop sh-shaking and crying like a b-baby.’
‘Have you taken your medication?’ Alex asked.
‘I swallowed something the nurse gave me and I feel a bit fuzzy.’
‘That’s just a sedative, soldier. It’ll relax you.’
‘She’ll think I’m a c-coward.’
‘Nobody’s going to think that.’
‘She will. They all w-will.’ Walter’s trembling surged with renewed vigour. ‘Look at m-me. Like a blooming j-jelly. I’m s-scared, sir.’
‘We’re all scared, Private Morgan, but our minds and our bodies deal with it in different ways.’
‘Maybe Mary won’t want me any more. I wasn’t much of a fiancé. And I’ve not written to her … I’m not one for writing letters.’
‘Has she written to you?’
‘Aye … yes, sir, but …’
‘Well, then?’
‘She’s changed. It was like getting words from a stranger.’
‘Not everyone can express themselves well on paper, Private Morgan.’
Alex spoke gently, feeling a turmoil of emotions stirring beneath his ribcage. Mary’s vibrant personality had shouted out from the letters he had received. Reading them had been the next best thing to having her there with him in person.
‘If I get back to England,’ Walter continued, his voice strangled as he fought back the tears. ‘If I get back, sir, I’ll be the best damned husband on God’s earth, because I couldn’t bear it if I lost her. I really couldn’t. She’s so special, you see. There’ll never be anybody but Mary for me. Can you understand that, sir?’
‘Oh, yes, Private Morgan,’ Alex said with a tightened jaw. ‘I can understand that very well. Get some rest now. You’re going to need all your strength once we get the word to break camp and head for the beaches.’
‘That’ll be nice,’ Walter said, already sinking into a drug-induced sleep as the sedative kicked in. ‘Always liked the seaside, me … Mam! Mam, where’s me bucket and spade? Got to … got to … build … a castle … for Mary …’
With one final shudder, Walter Morgan fell into a deep sleep. Alex covered him with the blanket that had come adrift. The man had a fifty-fifty chance of being fit enough to join the walking wounded when they eventually did move out. His chances of survival after that were anybody’s guess. Word was coming through all the time now about troops being lifted off the Dunkirk beaches. Apparently, there was a fleet of small boats, as well as the warships, both commandeered by the government and volunteered by their owners. These little craft were darting in and out like minnows in order to save the troops who were trapped along the coastline.
‘We’ve had orders to move out.’ Grace’s voice was gentle beside him and she was handing him the message she had intercepted from their resident signalman. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I thought it might be something I could deal with without bothering you.’
‘That’s all right, Grace,’ Alex scanned the scribbled words. ‘So this is it, at last.’
Grace Forsyth’s eyes met his for an uncomfortable instant, then she cast them down as if her head were too heavy to hold up. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said, already moving away. ‘Excuse me. I have things to do.’
She walked away, calm and erect, with no sign of panic. It was amazing how she coped so efficiently. One day, he hoped, he would find out just exactly what made the woman tick.
‘Bloody suspicious, don’t you think, Captain?’
Alex turned to the orderly who had addressed him. Private Grundy was a wiry little fellow and possibly the most conscientious of all the field hospital staff. A man of few words, he got on with the job without complaint. Alex felt he could always be relied upon, although he wasn’t too popular with the nurses, and was definitely not Sister Forsyth’s favourite person.
‘What’s that, Grundy?’
‘How do the ruddy Jerries know where we are all the time, eh? It’s as if we’re giving off signals.’
‘I suppose it’s just that the Germans have the upper hand at the moment,’ Alex said, but he was frowning thoughtfully into the middle distance.
‘A helping hand, more like, if you ask me.’ Grundy nudged Alex as they took a breath of air together outside the main entrance of the tent hospital. ‘What’s she at, then?’
He indicated, with a jerk of his head, the figure of Sister Grace Forsyth disappearing into the patch of woodland at the far end of the camp. In the shadow of the trees she stopped and looked about her, then seemed to beckon. No one else appeared and, after a moment, the nurse slipped completely from view.
Alex rubbed the back of his neck where he felt the hair rise in a sort of frisson that made him shiver. He told himself not to be foolish. It was nothing more than the cool breeze touching him. Grace Forsyth was a highly valued nursing sister. She regularly performed tasks far beyond her duty. Since his arrival in France, she had worked religiously at his side. He could not fault either her expertise or her courage.
‘It’s probably a case of not wanting to visit the latrines,’ he said to the orderly. ‘Don’t worry, Grundy. Sister Forsyth always has a good reason for everything she does.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of, sir,’ Grundy said.
‘What does that mean?’
Grundy shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t like to say, sir, but I’d keep your eyes and ears open, if I was you. It isn’t the first time I’ve seen her acting peculiar like.’
Alex gave the man an enquiring look, but Grundy was not to be drawn. He gave a brief salute and went back to help clear out the operating-theatre. Alex would join him later to see just how much in the way of medical supplies they could conveniently take with them on the journey to the coast. But first, he would have a word or two with Grace.
She reappeared as he reached the edge of the wood. At first sight of him, she looked taken aback as if he had caught her out doing something forbidden. Then she recovered herself and walked towards him, but her smile was unsteady and her eyes were dull.
‘Did you want something, Captain Craig?’ she asked and he thought that her voice seemed unnaturally high.
‘I’m sorry, Grace,’ he said, the smile forced because of the tightness of his jaw. ‘I saw you go into the wood and wondered if there was anything wrong.’
‘No, nothing wrong. Why should there be?’
‘You seemed to be …’ he hesitated and saw a shadow of anxiety flit over her face like a cloud scudding over the sun. ‘Were you talking to someone?’
Grace blinked furiously and he saw the tip of her tongue run over her lips before she relaxed and gave him his answer.
‘I’m embarrassed to be found out,’ she said, smiling bashfully. ‘Yes, Captain Craig, I was talking to someone … someone I am driven to talk to from time to time. It keeps me sane.’
Alex’s mind was racing on wheels, trying to remember whether he had ever seen Grace fraternizing with any of the soldiers in the unit. Was she indulging in some kind of liaison? He knew so little about her. She wasn’t the kind of woman who spoke of her private life. Affairs were
inevitable for a lot of people, married or single, when they were separated from those whom they loved by a war and the death and destruction that surrounded them. They lived for the moment, in the knowledge that each day might be their last.
‘Oh?’ He regarded her, his head to one side; it obviously disturbed her, for she threw her hands in the air and issued a long, loud sigh.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll confess.’
‘Confess?’ Alex’s stomach lurched. He didn’t think he was going to like what he was about to hear.
‘Yes, Captain … Alex …’ Grace glanced from left to right and then behind her as if checking that nobody was within hearing distance. ‘You may not understand, but … I was talking to God. I talk to him all the time. I have to, you see. I really have to.’
‘Oh, Grace I didn’t mean to pry, but …’ Alex took a step towards her but she held up a hand, warding him off.
‘Captain Craig!’
There was a shout from the hospital tent as a commotion broke out. Alex gave Grace one last apologetic look, then rushed to see what was happening. As he ran through the ward towards a group of patients and nursing staff grappling together in a heaving, grunting, shouting mass, a pistol shot rang out. The group fell apart. Alex pushed through and found a man standing over the young German soldier, his gun still smoking in his hand. There was a spreading red stain in the centre of the boy’s chest.
‘Sergeant Forbes!’ Alex called out, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘Put down your weapon.’
Forbes remained rigid for a moment, then his shoulders hunched and his chest heaved as he tried to control his anger.
‘Drop the gun, man!’ Alex repeated the order and the weapon fell with a dull thud to the ground where a nurse quickly stooped to whisk it away.
‘Dirty Jerry bastard!’ Forbes resisted hands that tried to pull him away.
‘What happened here?’ Alex demanded and there was a stony silence. ‘What?’
Grundy stepped forward and put himself between Alex and the sergeant, giving the man a push so that he was obliged to step back.
‘Anybody see what happened?’ Grundy asked.
‘It was the cigarettes.’ A young nurse with frightened eyes spoke up at last. ‘Sergeant Forbes found the German helping himself to his cigarettes … he accused him of stealing … you know, told him to put them back.’
‘And?’ Alex fixed the girl with a stern eye and she winced as if he had hit her. ‘What then?’
‘Nothing, sir.’ The nurse looked close to tears. ‘The German looked puzzled. He still had the cigarettes in his hand when Forbes shot him. Look …’
They all looked and there was the packet of cigarettes in the dead soldier’s hand. Alex retrieved them, turning them over and over.
‘He nicked them from me!’ Forbes spat out. ‘Rotten thieving Nazi!’
‘The cigarettes, Sergeant, would seem to be German. Since when have the British Army been issued with German cigarettes?’
‘He didn’t have any rights. He shouldn’t have been here among decent folk, nicking things like the filthy bloody pig that he is …’ Forbes surged forward again, but this time was successfully restrained.
Alex stood over him, squeezing the offending packet of cigarettes to a pulp in his hand, wishing it was the fellow’s neck.
‘This man whom you call a Nazi, was a boy of eighteen, serving in the German Army. The war was not of his making. Like all of us, he was hoping to go back home to his family. For Christ’s sake, Forbes, he had no eyes! He couldn’t see.’ With a sound of disgust, Alex threw the remains of the cigarettes in the sergeant’s face. ‘You’re on Standing Orders, Sergeant. Get out of my sight.’
Alex expected him to protest loudly, but Forbes went as meekly as a lamb.
‘What about the German lad, sir?’ Grundy asked.
‘Give him a decent burial, Grundy. Make sure you keep his personal belongings. One day his family will be glad to have them.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right.’ Alex drew himself up, pulled in a gulp of soured air and returned the gaze of the group of patients and medical staff that had assembled around him. ‘We’re moving out at dusk, ready or not. Let’s get sorted out, shall we?’
Mary was worried about Iris. For a few days now she had seemed lethargic and reluctant to chat, which was not at all her usual behaviour. At first, Mary wondered if her friend might be sickening for something. There had been a few cases of gastritis in the camp, probably due to unclean water. Iris, however, claimed that there was nothing wrong with her.
Today, Gaston had brought word that thousands of troops were being lifted off the beaches around Dunkirk. He had spoken briefly to Iris, who was always uneasy in the Frenchman’s presence, then he had strolled over to Mary’s table, now under a canvas awning since the weather had taken an uncharacteristic turn for the worse.
‘Bonjour, Gaston.’ She greeted him with a smile and got a flash of white teeth in return, but then the muscles of his face tensed up again and his eyes regarded her darkly.
‘Comment vas tu, Mary?’
‘Ça va, et toi?’
They often lapsed into French when they were together. Mary couldn’t help wondering whether Iris resented her ability to speak so well in Gaston’s mother-tongue, for it gave them a certain amount of intimacy. Mary’s rapport with the Resistance worker had been good, after the rather shaky start, though she did not personally find him physically attractive. On the other hand, she had caught Iris watching the man when she thought she was not being observed, a faraway expression on her face.
‘I have asked Iris to drive into Rennes with me. It is not far. There are supplies to be found for the camp.’
‘I thought the shops in France were empty these days,’ Mary said, leaning back in her chair and watching the rainwater form a cascade as it ran from the canvas in glistening streams.
‘Ah, oui! But there are ways and means to obtain anything, for a price.’
‘The black market, do you mean? Yes, we have that in England too.’
‘Do you hate the black marketeers for making money while their people starve?’
Mary shook her head uncertainly. ‘I’m not sure what to think about it. We’re all struggling to survive this war the best way we know how. The hardest thing to understand is the selfishness of those who have plenty, but who don’t share it with those in desperate need. But then, it’s too easy to sit in judgement.’
‘That is true. None of us knows what forces people to act the way they do. When I was young …’
He stopped suddenly, glanced at her, then at the rain. Mary knew he had been about to reveal something very personal about himself. She raised her eyebrows and waited, but he just smiled and shrugged and slapped the table between them.
‘It is not important. In a very short time, Mary West, you will be back in England and you will soon forget Gaston Frébus. You … and chère Iris. Does she have a good life waiting for her?’
‘I hope so, Gaston.’ Mary watched him as he got up and stretched; like everyone else he looked tired and old beyond his years. ‘Do you have a family back … wherever you are from?’
He smiled wistfully at her and she thought there was a moist glistening in his eyes, but it could have been a trick of the light.
‘Not any longer. My mother, that’s all. The others …’ He gave a shrug that spoke volumes.
In the circumstances, Mary felt that it would have been indiscreet to probe further. Gaston was a very private man, doing a dangerous job. Death must stalk him routinely, wait for him around every corner.
‘You’re wrong, you know, about us forgetting you,’ she called out after him as he stepped out into the rain. ‘I certainly won’t. And neither will Iris.’
He gave her a weary wave and walked away, his feet being sucked down by the mud at every step. Across the central reservation, where they had danced and sung around a barbecued wild boar only last night, she could see Iris climbing into Phoebe.
She saw how her friend watched Gaston as he approached, and then Mary knew what was troubling her. Iris was in love with the short, grizzly Frenchman, which explained the number of times she had seen them walking together, or talking with heads bowed over a cup of tea.
No fraternizing, indeed. Such an impossible rule. How could any of them put a halt to love once it attacked such a vulnerable organ as the human heart? She was happy for Iris, although a part of her, the sensible part, could not believe that there was any likelihood of the relationship having any kind of ‘happy ever after’ ending.
Mary heard the van’s throaty cough as Iris started the engine, then it was moving off in a cloud of exhaust fumes. She mused on what kind of supplies Gaston and Iris would come back with. Or was it just an excuse to spend some time together away from camp? She didn’t mind. Let them have this small pocket of happiness in the middle of wartime mayhem, she thought.
But Mary’s musings came to an abrupt end when she suddenly saw a group of Polish soldiers heading her way, heads bowed under the beating rain, feet jumping and dodging the puddles as they came for the day’s English lesson.
The small convoy carrying Alex, patients and staff came to an abrupt halt. They were sandwiched between the vehicles of an RACO army field workshop that had come successfully through enemy lines all the way from Belgium. Now, the order to halt was given, even though they were still a few miles from the coast.
Alex, sitting up front in the unit’s only remaining staff car, with Private Grundy and Sister Forsyth, felt the tension growing as it spread down the line. Behind them, ambulances, full of injured soldiers packed like sardines, were queuing up. And not so far behind the straggling column the horizon was a mass of black smoke-clouds with shells going off and gunfire echoing through the evening air, making the ground vibrate beneath them.
In front of them the sky was full of flames, rising high. They could feel the heat, hear the crackle and the occasional dull explosion.