by Mary Arden
I guessed that the Colonel must be a similar age to my father, and immediately felt at ease with him. He smiled and beckoned to me to come nearer, ‘Thank you for coming; now do tell me something about yourself.’
I told him a little about my family and how we had known Henry since he was a boy and then offered to make him a cup of tea, ‘Tea?’ he said in disgust and shook his head saying, ‘No thank you my dear, its gut-rotting stuff, but I’ll love you forever if you can find where that damn boy, Henry, has hidden his whisky bottle.’
Trying not to laugh and putting on my primmest nurse’s face, I then told him firmly ‘You shouldn’t drink whisky while taking pain killers, it’s one of the first things I learned when training as a nurse!’
‘To hell with that young lady,’ he replied ‘if you want to play Florence Nightingale then you need to learn that at least half a glass of whisky does far more good for a suffering patient than any amount of pain killers.’ He smiled at me again, a rather naughty smile this time, and said that as I’d told him to call me Mary I must call him George, as saying Colonel every time I spoke to him was far too formal when handing him his piss-bottle, ‘Which I need badly now, by the way,’ he added.
Having seen to George’s needs, I now checked the nurse’s chart at the bottom of the bed, which had a note at the end that made me grin; ‘only two drams of whisky with water a day,’ it read. I fetched a fresh glass of water and gave it to my patient with two painkillers. The Colonel winced as he moved.
‘I guessed it must hurt,’ I said sympathetically, ‘Let me get you some tea and then I’ll put on a clean dressing that should ease the pain. All the soldiers in the hospital where I help out say that a clean dressing makes all the difference. It will hurt a bit when I take the old dressing off, but I’ll try my very best to be gentle, and if you’re good, I’ll give you a glass of whisky later.’ George smiled and blew me a kiss. He really was very charming
I found a spare pillow in the airing cupboard and put on a clean pillowcase and then went back into George’s room to put it behind his head. I wasn’t happy about his position, and felt instinctively that I must try to sit him up a little more to prevent his lungs from filling with fluid. The Colonel was a tall man, over six foot I thought, and realising that he would be pretty heavy by the look of him, I decided that I’d better wait for Henry to arrive so that he and Peter could lift him between them.
When I went downstairs I found Peter in the drawing room surrounded by three different piles of records, which he’d got out ready to play. He was delighted with them all saying that they were excellent recordings. I asked him if he’d carry the tea tray upstairs for me, as it looked too heavy for me.
‘Of course,’ he replied, ‘that’s what I’m here for. You’re the nurse and I’m the kitchen maid!’ We both laughed. It was good to have my brother with me.
I went to the larder and poked about in the various cake tins hoping to find some biscuits to have with our tea. What I found instead was a delicious-looking sponge cake with jam in the middle and a sprinkling of icing sugar on the top. I went back into the kitchen, wondering whether I should try to find some fine bone-china teacups, or just use the cups and saucers in the kitchen cupboard. ‘Better use the kitchen stuff,’ I mumbled to myself, ‘I’m bound to break something if it’s precious.’
Peter helped me take the trays upstairs to the Colonel’s room. Pain or no pain, George managed to wolf down a very large slice of Mrs Flower’s cake and drink two cups of tea with three spoons of sugar in each one. The Colonel obviously had a sweet tooth, I thought. After tea I told George it was time to change his dressing.
‘Nurse usually gives me an injection first,’ he said, ‘I suppose you couldn’t do that too?’ I shook my head and said that I hadn’t done that yet and if I attempted it I’d probably get the needle stuck in his bum!
Forgetting his wounded leg for a moment, George nearly fell out of bed as he was laughing so much. Then he fell back with a groan, his leg was obviously very sore.
‘Would you mind if I played the piano quietly while you see to George’s wounds?’ my brother asked, ‘If I hear him bellowing in pain, I’ll put the loud pedal down and then the neighbours won’t hear,’ he joked.
Mr Tom had pointed out an old bucket by the back door, which he said I could put the soiled dressings in, so I went down to get it and then noticed a pile of newspapers beside it. I brought up the bucket and several sheets of the paper, and then went back into the bathroom and scrubbed my hands once more, doing my best to do everything that I’d been taught to avoid spreading infection. I then collected a pile of bath towels, filled a washbowl with hot water and some disinfectant in case the old dressing had stuck to the wound and I needed to soak it off, and then carefully folded the sheet back from George’s feet and laid it over his stomach. The smell that met me almost made me retch, but somehow I managed not to.
‘Would it be alright to have that whisky now?’ poor George begged, as he clutched at the bedclothes in dreaded anticipation of what I was about to do. I went into the hall and leant over the banisters to call out, ‘Peter, will you rummage about in the sideboard to see if you can find a bottle of whisky please?’ and then added, ‘oh and a jug of water too.’
‘Bring the damn whisky and to hell with the water!’ George called out loudly. When the whisky finally arrived George drank it down in one gulp before I had a chance to add any water to it.
The dressing was stuck, so I gently dribbled a bit of water over the wound until I was able to remove it without doing too much damage. The wound needed cleaning, which I thought I should leave to the army nurse to do, as all I’d been told to do was to change the dressing and put on a clean bandage, but I hoped she’d give him a morphine injection before she started.
With the clean lint in place, I then began to bandage from the foot up. The bandaging done, the Colonel begged to have another whisky. I handed the bottle to him and before I could stop him, he’d poured most of what was left into his glass.
‘Well, it was almost empty,’ he said wickedly, ‘You did that dressing better than the army nurse.’
At that moment, I heard footsteps on the landing, and thinking it was Peter, called out that I wouldn’t be a minute. But it was Henry’s voice that called back ‘It’s me,’ and my heart pounded with joy.
‘Phew!’ Henry said as he walked into the room, ‘What a stink! His leg smells worse than his farts!’ I didn’t know whether to be shocked or to laugh. George retorted, ‘And your socks smell of sweat and horse shit.’
I left the two men to swop insults and laughter and went downstairs to see what we could have for supper. About ten minutes later, Henry joined me in the kitchen and I asked him whether he would prefer fish pie or cottage pie.
‘Let’s have the fish pie this evening because by tomorrow it could smell as bad as my cousin’s leg!’
‘I was trying to do my best not to notice the smell, but now I’m not sure that I will be able to eat anything after what you’ve just said!’
‘Thank you for coming Mary,’ Henry then said sincerely. I then asked him how the flying was going. He looked very serious for a moment and then said quietly, ‘Frightening. I have to fly very low to drop off and pick up my passengers in France,’ Suddenly a bellowing voice from above broke the spell: ‘More whisky nurse!’
While Henry went to look for another whisky bottle, I busied myself in the kitchen, reading very carefully the notes on how long and at what temperature to cook the fish pie. Then I managed to find a saucepan for the peas and a Pyrex dish in the larder with halved tomatoes already arranged in the bottom with little knobs of butter on the top and an instruction: ‘a quarter of an hour on the bottom shelf’.
‘Easy-peasy!’ I muttered to myself.
After supper Peter offered to do the washing-up, but when he got to the saucepans, Henry insisted that Peter left them soaking overnight in the sink for Mrs Flower to do in the morning. ‘Enough is enough,’ he said cheerfully
.
When the army nurse arrived later that evening she was pleasantly surprised to see her patient looking comfortable and sitting upright, but not amused when George blew kisses to her and appeared to be a little drunk. She raised an eyebrow and looked at me. I just shrugged. I’d done my best.
Later that evening when Henry was upstairs talking to George, I found out from Peter that the Colonel had been involved in a covert operation blowing up bridges and trains in France, and had caught a bullet in his leg while being chased by a group of German soldiers. The Resistance fighters had looked after him, but it had been several days before he’d been able to fly back to England.
When Henry came down and joined us in the drawing room, Peter decided to go upstairs to have a bath, and suddenly we were alone, ‘Thank you for all your help Mary,’ he said, and then lent forward and gently kissed me on my lips, placing a hand over my breast for a brief moment. I trembled, as he then pulled me closer and started to kiss my neck. He then quickly pulled away and said in a serious tone, ‘Don’t worry if I don’t turn up for a couple of days, it just depends on the weather; it’s my turn to be on duty, you see?’ And then he was gone.
I came back down to earth with bump as I heard George bellow, ‘Mary, I need my bottle – now!’
After I’d settled the Colonel down for the night, I went to bed and started to read the book that I had brought with me, but I didn’t read a word, all I could think about was how nice it had been to feel Henry’s soft lips on my neck.
When Peter came in to say goodnight, he said, ‘Tomorrow we’ll go to our first concert. Goodnight Mary, see you in the morning.’
By the time I was bathed and dressed the following morning, Mrs Flower, Henry’s cook, was already in the kitchen preparing breakfast for the Colonel. I noticed that she had laid a table in the small breakfast room, which I hadn’t even known was there before then. I thanked Mrs Flower for preparing our evening meal and for leaving the helpful notes.
‘What did you put in the fish pie?’ I asked, ‘It was delicious.’
‘When anyone stays at the family home in London, his Lordship sends a fresh salmon, when it’s in season that is, and he always puts in a bit extra for me to take home – a trout or a pheasant – to help out with the rations. He’s a lovely man, just like his son,’ she said smiling.
Just as Peter and I were about to leave for the National Gallery concert, Lavinia, turned up. I was surprised at how unlike her brother she was, and guessed she must take after their French mother. She was exceptionally attractive with an elegant figure, dark hair and blue eyes. After greeting one another, Lavinia told us what a ‘couple of bricks’ we were for coming to the rescue at the last minute.
My brother and I spent the next two days, going to concerts, dropping in on Aunt Beth, and looking after the Colonel. We had our routine down to a tee.
When Henry eventually came back from his latest mission, I noticed that he looked extremely strained and tired, but decided to say nothing, except to suggest that he should lie down on his bed and have a rest while I cooked dinner for us all.
He agreed and I watched him as he walked slowly up the stairs. Guessing that he’d need at least an hour, I delayed cooking the evening meal, and went upstairs to check on my patient, who was dozing. I then had a quick peek into the half-closed door of Henry’s bedroom and saw that he was sleeping like a baby too, his jacket and trousers thrown onto a chair and his shirt on the floor.
I then heard George call out, ‘What’s for dinner tonight, Mary? I’m starving!’ so I walked into his room and said, ‘That’s a good sign you must really be getting better. I’m cooking pork chops tonight.’
‘With apple sauce and gravy I hope?’
‘The apple sauce is no problem, as apples aren’t rationed, but as for gravy—’ I thought for a moment and then said jokingly, ‘I wonder if Sir Henry has anything as common as Bisto in his cupboard?’
‘He has, believe it or not!’ Henry said as he came into the room, ‘Actually Sir Henry loves his Bisto, but Mrs Flower disapproves of using artificial ingredients. Why don’t I come down and help you make it?’
We found the Bisto and a pan and then stood at the stove together giggling like school children making the gravy, adding the juices from the pan the chops had been cooked in, just as I’d been taught at my Finishing School.
After supper, Peter went straight to bed and Henry offered to help me with the dishes. As I stood at the sink, he stood close behind me and started to outline my figure with his hands, so I told him to behave himself or he’d have to do all the washing-up himself. But instead, he kissed first one ear, and then the other, which felt like a bolt of lightning going through my body.
‘Goodnight Goldilocks!’ he said with a radiant smile and then took himself off to bed. After he’d left, it took me a good five minutes to pull myself together, and I felt so flustered that I washed-up everything all over again.
The following morning, the Colonel was picked up very early by the people he must have been working with. I hugged George goodbye at the back door. He thanked me profusely for all that I’d done for him, and then whispered, ‘You’re very fond of Henry, aren’t you?’ When I nodded he said, ‘I’m very glad about that.’ Then he kissed me on both cheeks and hobbled towards the car.
When Peter and I got back to Woking later that evening, my parents wanted to know all about our visit. I was aware that I had to be very careful, and not let the cat out of the bag, by mentioning anything connected with the Colonel. Peter described the concerts we’d been to, and I told Mummy about taking Aunt Beth to a matinee and about the ‘spiv’ I’d bought haberdashery from at the corner of Hans Crescent. She was happy to know that we had fun in London, and to my relief, didn’t ask any more questions.
After we’d been back home for a week or so, I began to wonder whether it had all been a dream, until one morning a letter arrived, addressed to me. It was from Lavinia, inviting me to have lunch with her at her club in London.
‘Who is Lady Lavinia Neville?’ my mother asked, having obviously not connected the name Neville with Henry. Not knowing quite how to answer, I was grateful that Peter was there; he butted in quickly, ‘Oh Henry popped in at Hamish’s one evening and introduced Mary to his sister, Lavinia.’
‘Yes that’s right Mummy,’ I continued, ‘And we got on so well; she said that if I was to be in London any time soon, she’d give me some advice about how to behave when I’m presented at court.’
My mother accepted Lavinia’s invitation on my behalf and even insisted on lending me one of her handbags, and then told me that if I went I would have to wear a hat.
Not wanting me to arrive at the club with dusty shoes, she had given me enough money for a taxi from the station to the club, but as we approached Berkeley Square, I felt myself becoming increasingly nervous, as I’d never been to a London club before. I hoped that I wouldn’t make an embarrassing mistake, such as spilling something down my dress or some other equally gauche faux pas.
Lavinia was waiting just inside the club reception hall to meet me and greeted me with a kiss on my cheek. She then introduced me to her fiancé, Major Crown McFarlane, whom I thought was rather handsome.
‘Call me Arthur please,’ he said, smiling.
I noticed that Lavinia wasn’t wearing a hat because she was in uniform, one I’d never seen before, although it was khaki and obviously had something to do with one of the women’s services.
When we went through to the dining room, I looked at the menu but couldn’t decide what to choose and wondered whether we were going to have three courses or two. To avoid making a decision and guessing that Arthur, like Henry, was a member of the club, I asked him if he would order for me.
The food was excellent, and I became much more relaxed, as I sipped the lovely white wine, that I thought went with the second course of chicken in a tomato and onion sauce.
Arthur and Lavinia talked about the latest Neville family news – much of which was ve
ry amusing – and said how difficult it was proving to make plans for their wedding, ‘We’re both so busy,’ Lavinia said taking her fiancé’s hand across the table, ‘I would like a proper white wedding, if possible, but that requires calling the bans, and if Arthur is suddenly sent overseas we might have to get a special licence instead. Have you met anyone yet that you would like to marry?’ Lavinia asked casually.
‘No!’ I said rather too quickly and immediately started blushing, turning my head away for a moment to hide my embarrassment. I could not believe my eyes when they fell upon the figure of Henry standing in the doorway, scanning the dining room for our table, and when he spotted me, he grinned from ear to ear and started to walk towards us.
The look of joy on my still blushing face must have given away my real feelings for her brother immediately, and when I turned back to look at Lavinia, she smiled at me knowingly and squeezed my hand.
‘Hello gorgeous!’ he said to me as he pulled one of my curls, before bending down to kiss his sister and shake hands with Arthur, ‘Ah, good, I see you’re about to serve the pudding, I’ll have everything on the menu. I’m starving!’
For nearly an hour, I listened with interest to Arthur, Henry and Lavinia discussing plans for the following week. Lavinia then looked at her watch, ‘Gosh, it’s half-past two, we must go. We are both expected back at the War Office before three. What do you two plan to do this afternoon?’ she asked, looking first at me and then at Henry.
Henry replied that as he had the afternoon free, perhaps I’d like to go for a walk in Green Park, and he’d then take me to tea at the Ritz. I thought to myself, that is exactly what I would love to do too.
Lavinia gave me a big hug as she left and said how lovely it was to be getting to know me better. She said that we must keep in touch and when I was next staying with my aunt in London, we must meet up again.
While Henry and I were walking through the park, I asked him to tell me something about his childhood, so he told me how he used to spend a lot of time with his mother in France during the holidays, and how much he missed her. He went silent for a while so I said, ‘We don’t have to go to the Ritz Henry. We could just keep walking.’