Heronfield

by Dorinda Balchin

  "We're almost on the outskirts of the town! The tanks will go in and try to move out any German heavy armour. As soon as we reach the first buildings, you are to come out from behind the tanks and take cover where you can find it. We’ll have to clear Sourdeval street by street, house by house if necessary, and it won't be a pleasant job. But it has to be done." He smiled encouragingly. "I know you can do it, boys."

  The tank continued to trundle forwards, its great weight breaking up the road surface beneath its huge tracks. Suddenly Bobby realised that the fields on either side of the road had given way to houses. He glanced across at Al, who nodded knowingly, his face grim.

  "I guess this is it."

  The two men crouched low and sprinted to their left, where they dived behind the protective cover of a garden wall as bullets thudded into the brickwork all around them. They crawled along to the end of the wall, where they cautiously rose to their knees and peered over the top. The tanks had stopped their advance, and were firing at three Panzers which blocked their route into town. As the two men watched, the Panzers began to return fire, forcing them to crouch behind the protecting wall once more. The explosions rocked the earth for a few moments. The air was filled with dust, which clogged the throat and caused Bobby to cough dryly. Then there was the sound of moving tanks again. Bobby looked over the wall to see two of the Panzers retreating. The third was a flaming wreck, and Bobby could hear the screams of its trapped crew as they burned alive. Oblivious to what was happening inside the enemy vehicle, the American tanks began to move forward, taking away the corner of the house as they skirted the burning wreck. Bobby breathed deeply, taking a firm hold on his rifle and forcing his fears to the back of his mind. He turned to Al and spoke grimly.

  "It's time we were gone."

  Al nodded and the two men stood. Vaulting the wall they ran along the pavement, bullets spattered into the brickwork above their heads. They turned to fire at the German soldier in the doorway opposite as they ran. Bobby saw him fall, a huge red stain spreading across the front of his uniform, then the two Americans were in the shelter of a shop doorway. Bobby carefully reconnoitred the route ahead. They had lost sight of the tanks now. Every doorway and wall seemed to conceal an American soldier, as the attacking forces made their way slowly but steadily towards the town centre. As Bobby watched, one American soldier on the far side of the street collapsed, his head a fountain of blood. Al laid a hand on his arm.

  "I'm sure that shot came from in here."

  The two Americans moved quietly forwards. Al opened the door and Bobby slipped inside. It was, or had been, a furniture shop. The ravages of war had left it with virtually no stock, and what there was seemed worthless junk to the Americans, who had suffered none of the deprivations of war which had afflicted Europe. There was the sound of movement from the floor above. Bobby inclined his head towards the stairs, and Al nodded. Slowly, silently they approached. Bobby climbed first. A step creaked beneath his foot and he froze, but the sound had not been heard by whoever was concealed above, so he continued his slow ascent to the landing. Peering round, he saw that the second flight of stairs was clear. He waved to Al, who climbed up to join him. Bobby held his rifle at the ready, covering the stairs as Al climbed the second flight. As he reached the top, he saw a partially open door. Someone was moving in the room beyond, but he could not see who. With rifle trained on the door he nodded, and Bobby climbed up to join him. Within seconds the two men were standing side by side. Al looked across at Bobby.

  "Now!"

  Bobby kicked the door open as he spoke and the men charged into the room. The sniper in a German uniform had his back to them and was turning to face the intruders when their bullets ripped into him. The rifle slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. A look of disbelief and fear filled his eyes before they glazed and he saw no more. Bobby stepped forward and gazed down at the inanimate bundle which had so recently been a living, breathing human being.

  "God! He's little more than a boy!"

  The face, relaxed now in death, was clear skinned. A faint downy growth clung to his top lip, as though he had laboured to grow a moustache to prove himself a man. The uniform hung on a body two sizes too small to fit it.

  Al joined his companion and gazed at the pathetic remains, his eyes filled with compassion.

  "Poor kid. The Germans must really be on their last legs if they’re drafting boys as young as this."

  The sound of gunfire from outside finally intruded on their thoughts. Bobby moved over to the window, stepping round the body on the way. As he peered cautiously out, he saw that the battle had moved away from them.

  "Come on, Al, or we'll get left behind!"

  The two Americans raced downstairs and out into the street. Somewhere over to their right they could hear the chatter of a machine gun, and the sound of an explosion, probably a grenade, which silenced it. Crouched low to minimise their targets, the two men ran forwards, guns held out in front of them at the ready. At the next corner they halted and peered cautiously round. In the small square, a group of Americans had taken cover behind an overturned truck. They were firing across the open space at a building which must have held at least one machine gun, for the return fire was fast and furious.

  "Let's move round and try to outflank it."

  Bobby nodded at Al’s suggestion, and the two men moved cautiously off to the right. As they crossed the open corner of the square, the enemy machine gun fired again. Bobby ran to the nearest cover.

  "That was close."

  There was no reply. Bobby looked round to see that Al was no longer with him. Peering back from behind this cover he saw his fellow American lying still in the road. For a moment he thought he was dead, then an arm moved as Al tried to drag himself along. Slinging his rifle onto his back, Bobby took a deep breath and rushed out into the open once more. Within seconds he had his hands under Al’s arms, and he dragged the wounded man back out of the line of fire. Each movement caused Al to scream in agony. Bobby was afraid the sound would draw enemy fire in their direction, but it was just one more noise amidst the din of battle and they made it safely, the enemy only opening fire when it was too late.

  Al lay gasping on the ground, his face pale and creased in agony.

  "How bad is it?" he gasped.

  Bobby looked down. Both of the legs were bathed in blood. He could not see the extent of the damage, but he knew it must be considerable as he watched the blood pump out. He looked back at Al’s face, his eyelids flickering as he fought to remain conscious.

  "Don't worry pal, you'll be fine." Bobby wasn't sure that he believed his own words. He took out his knife and began cutting away Al’s trousers. "I'll just dress these for you, then get a couple of stretcher bearers."

  "Bobby?"

  "Yes?"

  "Will you do something for me?" His voice was weak, and Bobby had to lean close to his face to catch his words. "If I die, will you make sure Jane is OK?"

  "You're not going to die."

  “Please, Bobby."

  Bobby nodded. "Of course, Al. I promise."

  Al relaxed, as though now he knew someone would take care of Jane, he could give in to the pain of his wounds. As he lapsed into merciful unconsciousness, Bobby tore the material away from his legs and looked at the wounds. His left leg had been hit twice, flesh wounds which he thought would heal well. But the right leg was a mass of mangled flesh, with splintered bone protruding at a number of places. Bobby did not know how many of the machine gun bullets had hit the leg, but he knew that there was little chance of recovery for it. Working swiftly, he used the trousers to tie a tourniquet and was relieved to see the flow of blood from the wounds slow and finally stop.

  "Stretcher bearers! Stretcher bearers!"

  He called loudly for assistance as he bandaged the wounds as best he could, praying that help would not be long in coming.

  166

  The gap between the British and American armies at Falise was finally closed on 20th August.
While most of the German army managed to make good their escape, fifty thousand Germans were taken prisoner. The spirit of the French people was high. After four years of occupation, liberation was now at hand, and those people who had been so suppressed by their conquerors were now able to strike a blow towards their own freedom. On 15th August, the Metro workers in Paris went on strike, to be joined later by the police. The Resistance movement began to fight the Germans on the streets of their capital city. Much as the Allies wanted to be seen bringing liberation to the French people, they finally admitted that the Free French, who had fought bravely throughout the war years, deserved the chance to be the first to enter Paris. A French armoured division under Leclerc was sent to the city which they entered on 25th August, followed later that same day by de Gaulle.

  While the people of Paris were celebrating their liberation, Al was lying in a convalescent hospital in Wales. The Forward Dressing Station had tended his wounds, then sent him back down the lines and across the Channel to Britain. He now awaited a ship back to America. He had written to Jane telling her of his wounds, and wondered fearfully what her response would be. He knew that she loved him, but that had been in the past when he had been a whole man. Would he now be able to provide for her and the baby? Would she want him to? He lay in his bed and worried, wondering if his happiness had been destroyed forever in the streets of Sourdeval.

  167

  Sarah was tired after a long night on duty, and made her way gratefully to the room she had shared with Jane for so long. It seemed strange to think of someone else sharing it with her, but she knew that time could not be far away. Jane’s body was swelling with its precious burden. She would soon be giving up work, to move back with her mother until after the birth of the baby.

  She pushed the door open and slipped in quietly not wanting to wake Jane, who was not due on duty for another few hours. She was surprised to see her friend cramming her belongings into a suitcase, her uncombed hair hanging loosely and the tracks of tears on her face.

  "Jane! What's wrong?"

  "It's Al! I have to be with him!"

  Sarah’s heart sank. Not more bad news. Would this war never end? She took Jane gently by the shoulders and turned her around.

  "Sit down, Jane. Calm yourself. Getting worked up like this can't be good for the baby."

  Jane tensed as though to pull away, but then suddenly relaxed and allowed Sarah to lead her across to the bed and sit her down. Sarah knelt on the floor at her feet.

  "Now tell me what this is all about."

  Jane sniffed and wiped her tear-filled eyes on the back of her hand.

  "It's Al. I got a letter from him in the early post."

  Sarah felt relief flooding through her body. If he had written, then things could not be all that bad. She took Jane’s hand gently in hers.

  "What did he say?"

  "He was wounded." Her eyes, full of love and pain, fixed on Sarah’s upturned face. "He's lost a leg, Sarah. My poor Al is crippled." The tears flowed again as she thought of the handsome young GI she had first met and fallen in love with, so tall and straight, so perfect.

  There were tears in Sarah’s eyes too as she sought to comfort her friend.

  "We’ve seen many men like that, Jane. He can be rehabilitated. His life will be different, but he will still have so much to give."

  Jane nodded. "I know that, but Al doesn't. He said in his letter that he didn't know if he could provide for me and the baby. He sounded as though he felt that I might not love him anymore." She managed to smile weakly through her tears. "He's such a fool, isn't he? How could he think I'd ever stop loving him?"

  Sarah looked at the partially packed suitcase. "Are you going to him?"

  Jane nodded.

  "I've spoken to Dr. Millard, and he’s given me immediate compassionate leave. I would have been leaving soon anyway, so I won't be coming back."

  "Where will you go?"

  "To Wales. Al’s there at the moment. When he’s well enough, they’ll ship him back to America and I’ll go with him." She looked across at the mess on her bed. "I'd better finish packing. A taxi is coming for me in half an hour."

  "Come on, then. I'll help you."

  So the two friends worked together, packing away more than four years of memories. They were both tearful as they stood on the steps of Heronfield House half an hour later. The taxi driver put Jane’s belongings into the boot, and Sarah smiled at her friend through her tears.

  "I'm going to miss you, Jane."

  "I'll miss you too."

  "You won't have time. Not with Al and the baby." Sarah’s eyes filled with compassion. "Make sure you take good care of him."

  Jane nodded.

  "I will. And don't you let Bobby slip through your fingers."

  Sarah shook her head sadly. "I don't know Jane. He's a good man, but I'd rather wait for Tony to come home."

  "Hope is a good thing Sarah, but you must be realistic. Don't hope for too much, or you’re going to be hurt again."

  "I'll be careful."

  The two young women stood looking at each other for a moment, then suddenly they were in each other’s arms. Their tears fell as they said goodbye. They had shared so much in the years since the early days of the war - sadness, pain, hard work and much joy and laughter. It was a period of their lives that would live on in their memories and in their hearts as the years of war turned to years of peace. They might never see each other again, but they had grown as close as sisters. In their hearts they would never be apart.

  "Keep in touch."

  Jane pulled back and wiped away her tears.

  "I'll write and let you know my new address as soon as I have it."

  “Goodbye, Jane. And good luck."

  Jane nodded, unable to speak, her heart full. She made her way down the steps and into the waiting taxi. As it drove away, she turned and waved at Sarah, who raised her hand in acknowledgment. It was not the way she had envisioned their goodbye, but as she watched the car go out through the gateway, she thought perhaps it was better this way. It had all happened so quickly that there had been little time for sadness. As she made her way back into the hospital she realised just how strange it was going to be without Jane. She wished her friend all the luck and happiness the world could give.

  The letter from Bobby arrived four days later. He had written as soon as he could after Al had been wounded, in the hope of giving Sarah and Jane fuller information than the authorities usually did. He told how they had fought side by side from the beaches of Normandy, although much had been blacked out by the censors, and explained how Al received his wounds. From that point, the letter changed direction, becoming more personal and full of emotion.

  'It was strange to see Al more concerned for Jane and the baby than for his own wounds. I realised that there’s no-one waiting for me like she’s waiting for him. It made me feel as though my life has been worthless with no one to leave behind, no-one to miss me if I should die, no one to be there to welcome me if I do come home.

  I'm sure you know what I'm trying to say, Sarah. I love you and it would make me feel so good to know that you love me too, and that you’re waiting for me and there is some purpose to my life. Being out here amidst all this fighting makes you concentrate your thoughts more on the meaning of life and I know that my life would be meaningless without you. Say that you love me, Sarah. Say that you will wait for me. Say you will marry me, and come home to America with me when this war is over. I will never hurt you, no matter what.

  All I want to do is to make you happy, and to feel that you want to do the same for me.

  Write soon and say yes.

  All my love.

  Bobby

  Sarah’s face was filled with sadness as she read the words. She could not do the one thing that would make Bobby happy. She knew it was going to be difficult, but there was only one thing she could do. Taking paper and pen, she sat down and began to write. She told Bobby all about Captain Dawson’s visit, and what he h
ad told her about Tony. Putting it all on paper made it all more real to her, as though the act of writing made the deeds. As she wrote as objectively as she could, she realised that the chances of Tony returning were minimal. But she knew she had to wait. It was hard to tell a living man that you could not marry him because you were waiting for someone else who was probably dead. By the time she had finished the letter she felt drained. Drained, but in control of her destiny once more.

  168

  The occupants of Block 17 were seated as usual in the open area behind the building, when an SS guard approached with a group of prison guards who bawled and shouted at them. Moving quickly to avoid a beating, the prisoners lined up and waited sullenly for the SS guard to speak. He perused the ragged scarecrows with disgust.

  "Today your quarantine is over, and you will be moved into the main camp. Tomorrow you will begin to earn your bread."

  He turned and began to walk away. The prisoners followed, encouraged by the camp guards who yelled and struck out at them. Over the weeks, Tony had learnt that these guards were prisoners who had worked their way up to the job, which was considered a privileged position. As far as he was aware, the only criterion for holding the job was that you had to be of a vicious and cruel nature, which revelled in beating those too weak or too afraid to fight back. The column of prisoners shuffled their way along the track, and into the main compound with its rows and rows of huts. The workers had already left for the day so that the only people around were those whose duties kept them in the camp, or those too sick to work, or the Muselmenn, and it was never long before the people of the latter two groups disappeared into a separate part of the camp and were never seen or heard of again.