Bowing their heads against the rain, they walked along the canal path. Mary suddenly realised that the water, reflecting the grey sky, was becoming increasingly pockmarked by raindrops: and, as they splashed through leaden puddles, that Frank’s immaculate boots were covered in mud.
‘Sorry about this. I never thought.’ Her own shoes were sodden.
‘Doesn’t matter.’ Frank negotiated a large pool of water. ‘Look, how about going out somewhere tonight?’ He walked backwards in front of her, studying her.
Mary was conscious that the rain had plastered her hair to her scalp and she was wearing no make-up. ‘You’ll fall over if you don’t watch out,’ she said, playing for time yet annoyed with herself. Wasn’t this what she wanted? Was it the conversation they’d just had that was making her hesitate?
Frank spun round and grabbed hold of her hand. ‘So, what do you say?’ he persisted. ‘Just a drink?’
They’d reached the next bridge, the steps at the side led up to the park. Water seeped through the stones and fell, unnoticed, in heavy drips on to them. For a while they watched the line of rain that rippled the surface of the canal outside the shelter of the arch. Mary was conscious of his impatience. He turned her around to face him and held her at arm’s length. ‘Well?’
Uncomfortable under his intent gaze, she looked down as she shifted her feet and, for the first time, noticed they were standing in water. ‘If we stay here much longer we’ll catch our death of cold.’
Frank waited for an answer.
Mary stifled her doubts. He’d been intolerant because of the pain in his knee, and wasn’t that partly her fault, hers and Ellen’s? She laughed in exaggerated exasperation. ‘Yes, all right, I’d love to go out tonight. Just for a drink and only if you promise to go back now. There’s no point in you getting any wetter and I’m nearly home.’ She freed herself. ‘I’ll meet you at the end of our street. Eight o’clock!’
‘Seven.’ Frank said, catching hold of her arm and giving her a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Can’t wait ’til eight. Seven … tonight … and tomorrow … and the day after that.’ Mary laughed, her cheeks flushed.
He let go of her, turned and went back along the path, one arm raised above his head, his hand making circles in the air. ‘… and the day after that …’ Frank let his voice fade away as he walked, but in his mind he still spoke, ‘… and the day after … and the day after …’
Chapter 12
May 1944
‘Kapitän Weiser? Mary leant over the bed of the man whose eyes were covered by bandages.
‘Es ist Zeit?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it is time.’ Doctor Schormann was making his way towards them, stopping at each bed to speak to the patients. Mary was aware how popular he was with the men and, she acknowledged, how easy he was to work with. Much better then Doctor Pensch who dithered over everything, creating confusion in the ward. In contrast the younger doctor was efficient and professional and Mary knew he had gained respect amongst the nurses.
Mary checked the contents of the trolley: Dettol, gloves, gauze, cotton wool, sterilizing bin, waste bin, drop bottle with warm water in it, and the silver nitrate. She pointed to each one, nodding as she listed them.
‘Good Morning, Sister.’
‘Doctor.’ Mary nodded, noticing his glance over the trolley and the faint smile of approval. She was also aware of the pleasure it gave her.
He touched the patient on the arm, ‘Guten Morgen, Herr Kapitän, Vorbereitet? Ready?’.
‘Ja.’ Kapitän Weiser was pale and his skin glistened with sweat. Mary squeezed his shoulder as the doctor gently removed the bandages from the man’s eyes.
‘Beiben Sie ruhig … Stay still,’ he said.
The Kapitän was clutching hold of Mary’s hand now and she moved closer to the bed. The last of the bandages fell away and the doctor lifted the dressing. ‘Lassen Sie die Augen verschlossen. I’ve told him to keep the eyes closed,’ Doctor Schormann said.
Mary gave him a brief smile. There was still a lot of bruising on the man’s face, but the stitches that closed one eyelid were a neat line. Not for the first time she admired the doctor’s dedication.
‘Those can come out today.’
‘Right.’ She smiled openly at him now. ‘I hope you don’t mind my complimenting your work.’
He coloured. ‘Thank you, Sister.’ He leant closer, examining the wound. ‘I too am pleased. Sie wissen schön, Herr Kapitän, daß Ihr linkes Auge ganz geschädigt worden ist, und wir das Auge weggenommen haben..’ Kapitän Weiser’s hand tightened on Mary’s. She stroked his fingers. ‘I’ve explained what we have done, Sister,’ Doctor Schormann said. ‘That the shrapnel badly damaged his left eye, that we had to remove it. Doch hoffen wir daß Sie im rechten Auge noch sehen können. He should still have the sight in the right.’ He glanced up at Mary. ‘Sister?’ She handed him a retractor and he hooked the ends of the instrument over his thumb and middle finger of his left hand and slowly stretched the spring. ‘Bleiben Sie ruhig … stay still.’
The Kapitän flinched as the doctor gently lifted both lids to examine the eye. ‘Gut! Sister.’
Mary dripped the lukewarm water from the drop bottle into his eye. ‘Close again,’ she said.
Peter spoke in German again to the Kapitän, then glanced up at Mary. ‘I’ve told him his sight will be blurred at first, at least until there is adjustment. So he must stay still, he must not panic.’
Kapitän Weiser forced his eyelid open and blinked.
‘Wie geht es jetzt? OK?’
‘Ja!’
Mary noticed the doctor’s hands were shaking slightly as he stripped off his gloves and dropped them on the trolley.
The patient’s eyes flickered and finally settled on Mary. He said a few words to the doctor who smiled.
‘Doctor?’ Mary looked from the man to Peter Schormann.
‘Herr Kapitän says he fell in love with your voice the first time he heard it and now he sees you he is absolutely in love.’
Embarrassed, Mary tugged at the cuffs of her uniform and checked her watch. But when she looked up she smiled. She wagged a finger at the Kapitän. ‘Enough!’
He spoke again. ‘Sie ist ganz schön, glauben Sie nicht, Herr Doktor? Jemand würde sich in sie verlieben.’
From the way Peter Schormann looked at her, Mary knew they were continuing the same conversation. She understood the word ‘verlieben’, Sergeant Strausse had once translated it for her when one of the German prisoners, a submarine officer, if she remembered rightly, made a nuisance of himself by declaring himself in love with one of her nurses. He’d been rapidly transported to Canada. Now she put a finger to her lips. ‘Shush!’ Tucking the sheets tightly around the Kapitän, she said, ‘Schlafen Sie jetzt. Sleep now!’
He settled against the pillows with his eye closed again. ‘Danke schön.’
‘Thank you, Sister,’ Doctor Schormann said. ‘I think we did well this morning.’ He held her gaze.
Such kind eyes. The thought came unbidden. Mary glanced around. Had she said that aloud? But nobody was taking any notice of them. She looked back at him. ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘We did.’
He made a slight gesture with his hand towards her and she thought he was going to speak again. She straightened her shoulders and when she spoke made sure her voice was coolly professional. ‘Was there something else, Doctor Schormann?’
‘No … yes … I am glad we are colleagues, Sister.’
The ward doors swung open again and Matron bustled towards them. ‘Apologies, Doctor. I intended to observe the procedure with Kapitän Weiser this morning, but I was called to Ward Four. Did everything go well?’
‘Yes, Matron. I have asked Sister Howarth to remove the stitches of the left socket. I have prescribed drops of silver nitrate solution twice a day.’
‘Good.’ Matron barely acknowledged the information. ‘I’m sure Sister knows what to do. Doctor Schormann, would you come and look at the patient with the influenza on Wa
rd Four?’ She turned on her heel and spoke over her shoulder. ‘Doctor?’ There was an impatient note in her voice.
Peter Schormann and Mary shared a look.
‘Doctor!’
Peter followed her. Before he let the door swing to, he glanced back at Mary, raised his eyebrows and grinned.
Chapter 13
The sun was not yet at its highest point in the sky as they walked slowly alongside the grim walls of Wormwood Scrubs and it felt chilly in the shade. Winifred gripped Mary’s arm; she was shaking.
‘Are you cold?’ Mary pulled Winifred’s collar up round the back of her neck.
Winifred shook her head.
‘I told you we’d be too soon,’ Mary said. It had been no small triumph to get her mother this far. Mary thought she’d never be able to persuade her, but she’d persisted and this month Winfred had plucked up enough courage to defy her husband.
Now she was staring up at the brick-patterned towers as they walked towards the medieval-looking doors. They cast a long shadow and in the centre of each there were what looked like laurel wreaths. She squinted to see the carvings in the centre. ‘Who do you think they are in the middle of those things?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know.’ There were few people mingling around outside. Mary set her bag down and flexed her fingers. ‘I said we were too early.’
‘I just wanted to get here. I wanted to see where they’re keeping my son,’ Winifred said quietly. ‘I’ve waited a long time to get here, too long, thanks to your father. And now I am here … I’m frightened.’ She looked at Mary and tapped her forehead. ‘In my mind I had this picture of where Tom was. He’s never described it, has he? So I had this picture.’ She looked up at the towers. ‘This is nothing like what I thought … this is … this is … worse.’
‘I know, Mam.’ Mary couldn’t think what else to say. She remembered the first time she’d seen the prison. They stood in silence. Winifred blinked hard. She pulled her chin in and wiped her fingers over her eyes.
‘We’ve still an hour to wait,’ Mary said.’ Do you want to go to a café to get a cup of tea?’
‘I’d rather have a glass of stout, just to settle my stomach,’ Winifred said. ‘I feel awful, Mary.’
‘I’m not going in a pub, especially at this time of day,’ Mary put her arm around Winifred’s waist and hugged her. ‘Anyway you don’t want to go in smelling of ale, do you? You know what Tom thinks of drink.’
‘It’s just that it’s been such a long day already, Mary and I’m gasping.’
‘There’s a little place down one of these streets,’ Mary said. ‘A cup of tea will set you up, Mam.’
They walked out of the shade of the wall to where it was a warm day.
When they got back, an hour later, a queue was haphazardly forming and people were shuffling through a small door in the large gates.
‘You OK, Mam?’
‘All these people, Mary.’ Winifred shook her head. ‘All these people.’
Mary knew the last twenty-four hours had been difficult for her mother. It was a long journey, her first time in London with all the hustle and bustle and their lodgings last night had left a lot to be desired. ‘It’ll move pretty quickly once it gets going. Let’s find the end, shall we?’
They walked past the queue and tagged on at the back. A group of women and children soon joined them and they were jostled and pushed forwards. Mary put her arm around Winifred. ‘All right?’
‘I just want to see my boy.’
‘Our visiting order says we’ve got an hour.’
‘What’s it like, Mary? Will we be able to see him on our own?’
‘No, Mam, we’ll be in a room with all the others.’
‘All this lot?’ Her mother was shocked.
‘Yes.’ Mary said.
‘Do they keep … do they keep the … ones like our Tom … separate?’
‘You mean the COs?’
‘Yes.’
‘No, they lump them all together.’
‘And that’s all right? I mean the … others are all right with them?’
‘Yes.’ For once Mary wasn’t honest with her mother; she’d told no one about her first visit to Tom all that time ago.
She remembered the feeling of being completely overwhelmed by the place, the incessant noise, the smells, the crowds and being knocked from side to side by people pushing past her as she scanned the visiting room, looking for her brother.
‘Come on, ducks, out the way,’ a man said, giving her a sly pinch on her bottom. ‘What’s up? Can’t find who you’ve come to see?’
‘Happen he’s escaped,’ someone else joked, followed by another voice, ‘Fat bloody chance, we’ll be lucky to get out, never mind them.’ The trickle of laughter flowed around Mary as she searched the room for Tom. Her glance passed over him twice before she realised it was him.
She sat down slowly unable to take her eyes away from his face; his eyes were dull slits in the swollen bruised flesh that spread across his face from cheekbone to eyebrow like raw liver. Mary covered her mouth with her palm. ‘Oh my God, Tom, what happened?’
When he spoke, a cut in his lower lip split open and seeped blood. He licked it. ‘You don’t need to know, Sis,’ he said.
Mary was aware that some of the men at the tables around them were watching. One, a thickset young man with a red face and small eyes, waggled his finger in an obscene gesture at her. She flushed and turned away. ‘Who did it?’ she asked.
‘Take your pick,’ Tom said, ‘but don’t worry, I’ll be ready next time.’
‘Report whoever did it,’ she demanded.
‘Who too?’
And then she understood. She stared at the warder who’d smiled at her at the door; he wasn’t smiling now.
‘You mean …’
He bent his head towards the table. ‘Some of them are worse than the prisoners,’ he said, ‘and we have the lot in here: murderers, thieves, gangsters, black market runners.’ He rubbed his face over the backs of his hands. Mary heard someone snigger. ‘I was talking to one of the other COs about how we feel … we were overheard … it’s not encouraged.’
She reached across the table.
‘No touching.’ The shout made her jump.
‘I’ve learned my lesson,’ Tom said.
‘Yes.’ Mary said again, ‘the others are all right with him.’
They moved forward. ‘What about these potato cakes I’ve made. Will they let us take them in?’
‘Well, I’ve brought stuff before and they’ve let me.’ Mary leant towards her. ‘It’s OK. Tom will be over the moon to see you.’
Winifred lowered her head, took a deep breath and tried to smile as they stepped through the small entrance in one of the huge doors.
Inside the prison they were led through the narrow corridors by three wardens to the visiting room. Mary wrinkled her nose; every time she visited this place she was left with the memory of this smell, of sourness, stale sweat, rancid food and cigarettes. Winifred glanced at her, an expression of disgust on her face. ‘My God.’
‘Shush.’ Mary looked across the room and pushed her mother’s elbow. See … Tom, he’s there.’
‘Where? Where? Oh dear God.’ Winifred faltered.
Mary gave her a small shove in the back. ‘Smile, Mam.’
Her mother smiled. She moved slowly towards the table where Tom waited. This time Iori wasn’t by his side; it was another prisoner, who was already quarrelling with his visitor, a weary-looking old man. Mary and Winifred sat at the opposite end. Without looking at them, the old man shifted his chair sideways to make room.
‘Son.’ Winifred’s voice was weak. She put her hand on the surface of the table as though she would try to reach out to him. ‘Son.’ Her fingertips rubbed at the rough wood.
‘Stupid bastard, I asked you for cigarettes,’ the other prisoner shouted.
Winifred glanced at the old man, at Mary, at Tom. She opened her mouth but no sound came out.
‘No Iori today?’ Mary raised her voice.
‘No, he’s … he’s not well.’
‘Oh. How are you Tom?’
A shadow crossed his face. Mary saw the bleakness in his eyes. She smiled, encouraging him to talk, afraid of what he would say.
Winifred blew her nose. ‘I didn’t realise how thin he’d be … that uniform … nothing fitted him … his trousers … halfway up his legs … his sleeves. Did you see how dirty, how filthy that man next to him was?’ Her voice rose in a wail. ‘How grubby most of them were?’
‘Not Tom, though.’ Mary took out her own handkerchief and wiped the tears that traced the folds of her mother’s cheeks.
‘Oh, Mary, what a horrible … That stink was worse than next door’s lavvy. He shouldn’t be in that awful place.’
Mary helped her mother put on her coat. She was angry with herself; she shouldn’t have insisted her mother should come with her.
‘I didn’t think I’d ever say this but I wish to God I’d never come now,’ her mother said. ‘But I’ll tell you something else and all. I’ll never let on to that old bugger at home. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.’ She pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket and blew her nose. She set off walking. ‘Tom wouldn’t be there if they’d given him a proper choice of a job,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t have minded going down the mines. He’d have done that. It would have been better all round. Patrick could have gone into his precious army and Tom would be the one coming home every day.’ She stopped and looked in horror at Mary. ‘I didn’t mean that. I didn’t …’
‘I know,’ Mary said. She caught up with Winifred and took hold of her arm. ‘I know.’ She turned her mother around. ‘We’re going in the wrong direction. The station’s over that way. If we can, we’ll find somewhere to stay nearby so we won’t have so far to walk in the morning.’ She looked anxiously at her mother. ‘OK?’
‘As long as it’s clean, Mary.’ Winifred shuddered. ‘What am I saying? I don’t think I’ll ever feel clean again.’ She stopped walking and put her hat on. ‘Mind, Tom fair bucked up when he was telling us about the chats he has with his friend; that Iori, didn’t he,’ she said, jamming the hatpin firmly into her hair.
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