by Val Wood
He smiled and his eyes crinkled. ‘You’re going the wrong way if you’re heading for Boulogne. You should have asked for a driver who can read a map!’
Corporal Green had managed to turn the lorry round and was chugging back towards them. He turned off the engine and got out of the vehicle and shook his head when he saw them standing so close. He looked Oswald over and saluted. ‘Well, sir,’ he grinned. ‘I hope one day there’ll be somebody willing to chase for miles over a battleground for me.’
Corporal Morris leaned out of the cab of his lorry. ‘Is that you, Private Green? Trust you to find ’best-looking doctor this side of ’Channel.’
Corporal Green strolled over to the lorry, shouting back, ‘Best doctor too from what I’ve heard,’ and then something about his being a corporal now.
Oswald took her hand. ‘Why did you really come, Lucy? Not just because you were going to Boulogne? I’d have found you, you know. I wouldn’t have lost you.’
‘But I was worried,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d go off to another battle.’
He nodded. ‘I perhaps would have done,’ he said softly. ‘But I’ve been recalled to England. That’s why I shot off back to Passchendaele, to see if there was anything else I could do before leaving. There are thousands of injured men, Lucy. Allied and German, and we located so many hidden injuries with this incredible machine; but there’s a technician arriving to take my place and I’m leaving it at the base hospital for him until it’s needed again somewhere else – which it will be,’ he added.
Lucy reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘I’m still glad that I came,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen now just what it was like for our soldiers.’
He took off his hat and bent towards her. ‘I love you, Lucy,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she murmured.
‘Do you know for how long?’
She shook her head.
‘Since that day when I took you to London for your hospital interview and we went out for supper.’ He grinned. ‘And the Italian waiter said—’
‘And for your beautiful wife?’ she laughed. ‘I knew something had changed between us that day.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I didn’t know what, but recently I’ve been thinking about the poetry book you gave me such a long time ago and the poems that you chose – and I wondered if perhaps …’ she hesitated, ‘and then, when you brought Josh in last week and you were so exhausted you didn’t know what you were talking about, you said “the thing is, darling Lucy”…’
He nodded and bent to kiss her lips. ‘That’s how I always think of you,’ he said softly. ‘And the poems reminded me of you. She was a phantom of delight when first she gleaned upon my sight …’ He smiled. ‘But what now, Lucy?’
‘The thing is, darling Oswald, I have to go back to base and you have to go to England,’ Lucy murmured. ‘So, will you wait for me until I return?’
Corporal Green was walking back towards them. It was time for them to move on.
‘I’ve already waited a long time, Lucy,’ he said softly. ‘I’m a very patient man; I can wait a little longer.’
In May of 1918 two former soldiers were walking along Albion Street in Hull. It was the first time they had ventured out alone; at least, they were not quite alone although it felt like it: their first try at independence. Josh, with a very awkward swing to his right leg, had a walking stick in one hand and the other on the shoulder of his companion and former captain, Henry Warrington. Ostensibly, it was Henry who considered he was assisting his friend in their walk, as the injuries and pain in Josh’s leg had been so appalling that it had taken weeks before he could stand; some surgeons had recommended amputation of the limb, but he had insisted that he would put up with the pain for as long as he could. But it was still an option open to him.
Josh, however, considered that he was surreptitiously supporting Henry, by accompanying him to the Hull Blind Institute that was situated in Kingston Square, a mere stone’s throw from Henry’s home.
Walking at a discreet distance behind the two men were two nursing sisters, Sister Morris and Sister Thomas, both of whom, apart from keeping a medical eye on their patients, had personal reasons for being there.
When Edie had first heard of the loss of her brother Stanley she was devastated, and her initial response was to come home immediately to comfort her parents and siblings, especially Ada, who had received confirmation that her husband had been killed in action and would be awarded a small pension; but on reading her mother’s letter for a second time Edie saw that her postscript said that she must keep on doing what she could for them other poor lads who needed her.
Dolly Morris didn’t know then that Josh had been injured, and Edie decided that she would delay her return to English shores until Josh was transferred back for further treatment; and there was Henry to consider. He was being relocated to St Dunstan’s Lodge in Regent’s Park, where he would be rehabilitated as a blind veteran, so she knew she could see them both if she went back to work at St Thomas’s Hospital.
Sister Milly Thomas, having nursed Josh during his initial surgery, had resolved to continue to care for him, especially as she had fallen in love with his humour and his cheeky grin which had survived in spite of his pain, and knew that she would love to be part of the large family that Edie had told her about. Her own brother had been injured, and when he wrote to her to tell her that he had been discharged, he also told her that he had met a young lady and they were going to be married. Hearing what had once been her worst fear, she had heaved a great sigh of relief at the news that she didn’t have to be responsible to him, but was free to live her own life.
‘I don’t want to be confined to basket making,’ Henry was saying to Josh. ‘Not that I’m criticizing it, everybody needs a shopping basket. I just feel that I could do more. At St Dunstan’s it was suggested that I could train as a physical therapist or a reconstruction aide. It’s the kind of treatment that might help you, Josh.’
‘Your father would be pleased about that, wouldn’t he?’ Josh said. ‘What did he say?’
Henry’s father, Dr Warrington, had been very positive, and it was through him that this meeting at the Institute had been arranged now that Henry was home. He had also taken Josh as a patient at the Hull Infirmary. Henry’s mother, however, had gone to pieces on hearing of Henry’s blindness; she was still suffering from the trauma of Elizabeth’s becoming a widow, although Elizabeth herself was proving to be more of a stoic than her mother, and had decided to stay with her husband’s parents so that they might enjoy the company of her fatherless children, unlike her own mother who had said she couldn’t possibly cope with small children in her time of grief.
‘My father says that I’ll manage fine,’ Henry answered. ‘It was St Dunstan’s who recommended that I should begin training as a massage therapist, and when Father came to see me there he agreed with them. They all said that life doesn’t stop after losing your sight and that thousands of soldiers will have to get on with their lives. The aim of the Hull Blind Institute, just like St Dunstan’s, is to get blind people back to work or business. The founder of the Institute, Alderman Lambert, was himself blind. I reckon I’m lucky,’ he said with feeling. ‘I might have blisters – I don’t know, I can’t see them – but my larynx and lungs haven’t been affected. But you know what, old chap?’ He lowered his voice, although the two nurses were out of earshot. ‘I want to become independent before I ask Edie to marry me. Do you think she’ll have me?’
‘Ooh, I don’t know about that. You don’t know our Edie like I do,’ Josh joked. ‘She allus did have a life of her own. I wonder, though,’ he added seriously, ‘will she have to give up nursing if she marries?’
‘I don’t know,’ Henry said. ‘But we won’t have any money worries. I was given an inheritance from my grandfather when I was twenty-one and I haven’t touched it.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of money,’ Josh said bluntly. ‘I was thinking of our Edie and if she’d ever want to give up nursing.’
I’ll not have it, she decided. I’ll find a way round it, though I’ll not live in sin either. Whatever would my mother say? And as for Henry’s mother, she’d die of apoplexy! Even though I think that in spite of not being part of her social circle, she’s relieved that Henry cares for me. She won’t make any objection anyway; not that she can. Henry and I are both of an age when we can do whatever we want without asking anyone’s permission.
She thought too of her mother and father. She was staying with them until she obtained a nursing position, and only a week ago she had answered the door to the postwoman bearing a registered letter. She had signed for it and taken it through to them. Her father had been unwell since the news of Stanley’s death and hadn’t been back to work, spending most of his days hunched by the fire; and although her mother was putting a brave face on their loss, she hadn’t come to terms with it either. They were both relieved to have Edie home in one piece, and Josh, despite the seriousness of his injuries, was much the same as always.
Her mother had taken the letter with trembling fingers. ‘I can’t open it, Edie,’ she’d muttered, ‘though I can’t think there can be any worse news than we’ve had already.’
Edie had offered to read it and pulled out two sheets of paper, one carefully placed between thin cardboard. ‘It’s from a chaplain,’ she’d said, and proceeded to read aloud the message, which explained that the sender had been given the enclosed letter by an orderly who in turn had been given it by a stretcher bearer who had been at Passchendaele.
I took the letter to the authorities, the writer told them, and asked if they would check the details, and then I asked if I might send it to you, the people to whom it was addressed. I hoped that you might find some comfort in the knowledge that he was thinking of you to the end.
Edie had carefully taken out the stained and torn letter and read it. ‘Stanley says he’s fine and looking forward to coming home …’ She couldn’t read any more, her voice was so choked by unshed tears, and she handed the paper to her mother. Josh had just walked into the room and looked from one to another. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What’s happened?’
Edie shook her head. ‘It’s Stanley’s last letter home,’ she said, tears at last beginning to fall. ‘Somebody found it, and ’minister’s sent it on.’
And somehow, she thought now as they turned towards Kingston Square, they had that day all found some peace, a release of emotion that they had all kept firmly sealed, as the minister ended by saying that perhaps a memorial stone could be erected in Stanley’s name so that he would never be forgotten.
I wish Lucy would come home, she thought now. I miss not seeing her, and although I’m very fond of Milly and hope that Josh asks her to marry him, as I know she hopes too, I want to talk to Lucy. We’ve shared so much in our lives. I also want to ask her if she realizes that Oswald loves her, has always loved her but never dared to tell her. She gave a little smile. That significant moment during Lucy’s twenty-first birthday lunch when Mr Thornbury gave a speech. I saw the way Oswald looked at her. If that wasn’t love in his eyes then I don’t know what it was.
They reached the Institute and Henry and Josh, with a companion on either side, negotiated the half dozen or so steps up to the door that stood wide open to welcome them.
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
June 1918
Oswald stood on the Southampton dockside as the troop ship slowly came into berth. He’d been waiting, shivering, for hours. Shivering, not because he was cold – it was a beautiful June morning – but because he was anxious. There was still a danger to shipping and Lucy would be on this ship; German submarines had been seen in United States waters during May just before launching yet a third offensive in France. There had been rumours of an enemy retreat, but most of those who had been in the middle of the conflict viewed that news with some scepticism. They had heard it all before.
It was a full ship; full of injured soldiers and nurses bringing them home, the nurses’ uniforms a bright shining symbol of purity against the soldiers’ khaki. He would, he thought, have difficulty in picking out Lucy in her doctor’s sombre and practical jacket and skirt of grey.
He was tempted to run and give a helping hand to those who were disembarking the gangplank, but he resisted; he didn’t want to miss Lucy in the melee.
But she saw him first; there she was halfway down in the crowd, waving one arm, the other clutching her two bags. He let out a breath and waved back. Thank heavens, he thought. At last! I hope she’s all right.
She was fine, she said, when he greeted her with a hug, but he commented on her looking tired.
‘Been up all night,’ she admitted. ‘There were a lot of serious injuries on board.’ She smiled brightly at him. ‘But now here I am back on English soil …’
She was nervous, apprehensive that he might have changed; that when he had spoken those words of love, it was because of the precarious circumstances and the threat of death and injury hanging over them; and she worried too that she had also changed. It was inevitable. She wasn’t the young girl she had been; she was a woman now who had seen terrible things. This dreadful war had scarred everyone.
‘I’ve missed you, Lucy,’ he murmured. ‘The time you’ve been away has been endless.’
She nodded. ‘It has,’ she agreed. ‘And I’ve missed you too,’ she said softly.
‘How much?’ he asked, catching hold of her by her shoulders.
She looked at him, into the soft grey eyes behind his new spectacles. ‘More than I can say,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve been in my life for ever, and when you’re not there’ – she lifted her shoulders – ‘there’s something missing. It’s taken a war for me to realize that.’
‘And now?’ He was asking the same question he had asked her after Passchendaele.
‘Can we go home?’ Her voice cracked with emotion. ‘It’s been so long.’
He picked up her bags, and with his arm draped around her shoulder they walked away from the quayside towards the rows of coaches, ambulances and cabs waiting to transport travellers to hospital or home. But he steered her away from the public vehicles and led her towards a motor car.
‘What’s this!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is this yours?’
‘No! I’ve hired it,’ he laughed. ‘I’ll drive it to London. I’ve booked a hotel for tonight and I thought we could get the train home to Hull tomorrow, when you’re rested.’
Lucy turned to look at him, a question on her lips.
‘Two rooms.’ He raised his eyebrows and gave a whimsical smile. ‘Suitable for cousins!’
There were few passengers on the morning train and he found an empty carriage so they were able to catch up on news of home without speaking in whispers. Oswald had been back to Hull several times, and he’d seen Henry and Josh and Edie too.
‘Edie’s longing to see you,’ he said. ‘She says she has things to tell you.’ He grinned. ‘I think they’ll be about Henry, who, incidentally, is training to be a physical therapist. Edie says he has wonderfully sensitive hands.’
Lucy smiled and Oswald, raising his voice over the whistle, the shriek of escaping steam and the clatter of wheels, went on, ‘Henry’s asked her to marry him and she wants to, but she doesn’t want to give up nursing.’
Lucy considered that. ‘She could go into private nursing, but maybe she doesn’t want to; she’s very experienced and will want to use her knowledge.’
She thought of the people she had said goodbye to – Dr Lawson, George Rutherford who had wanted to see her again, Major Dobson who had been kind and wise, Corporal Green, intent on doing what he could in spite of his injuries – and wondered what role they would all
play once the war was over. Their lives would undoubtedly be changed.
She asked Oswald what he had been doing since he came home and he told her that he had again refused to work on poison gases or any means of destroying an enemy, but that he had been able to apply his observations after Henry’s respirator mask had slipped to his work on ways of refining them, and that he had also been involved in research into improving medications and testing new ones. He was, he said, intent on choosing a role which would enable lives to be saved and not destroyed.
It was right for him, she thought as she listened. He had always said that he would not kill another man.
‘Lucy.’ His quiet voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I wanted to tell you that Pa said they were going to write to you to tell you something, but I suggested they wait until you get home before they broached the subject.’
‘Oh, what? They’re going to move to Pearson Park, aren’t they?’ Her expression fell. ‘They haven’t gone already?’
‘No, of course not. They wouldn’t without consulting you first, but Pa says that it’s time. That when you come home you might have other plans.’
Lucy put her hands to her face. ‘I can’t bear to think that I’d be going back to an empty house,’ she whispered. ‘I have this memory of once before …’
He took her hands away from her cheeks and held them clasped within his. ‘Lucy,’ he said, ‘you don’t have to be alone. I have told you that I love you. I will never leave your side, but I don’t want to be your cousin or your brother or your companion, I want to be part of your life for ever; to be married to you, but only if you love me too.’
‘But of course I do.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I have never loved anyone but you, Oswald. I cried once when we were children because you wouldn’t play games with me, and—’ She gave a hiccuping laugh. ‘At school a girl once commented on your lovely eyes and I was annoyed because I didn’t want anyone else thinking of you in that way.’