“Where are you?” He flattened himself on the ground, grazing his cheek on a rock as someone opened up with a machine gun.
“Over here.” In a slight gully, not far from their dugout, he noticed an arm waving frantically from under a bush.
“Where are you hit?” He rolled the rest of the way until he was brought up against the soldier’s legs, and the man screamed in agony.
“The legs and the arm. That’s why I can’t drag myself back.”
“Are you Australian?”
“No, a New Zealander.”
“What are you doing up here?”
“I got separated from my unit, just sort of ended up here. They’re all dead.” The New Zealander glanced at the body-strewn gully. “I’ve been calling out for hours.” He started shivering, so Danny put the flask to his lips.
“Brandy?”
“Yeah, my own special supply. Don’t drink too much,” he warned. “This is all I’ve got.”
The blood on the New Zealander’s leg had caked and dried. A rough bandage had somehow managed to soak up the blood from his arm wound, staunching the worst of the bleeding.
“I’ll carry you back.”
“Too dangerous now. Why get yourself killed? You don’t even know me.”
“There’s a stretcher-bearer mate of mine in our dugout.” Danny nibbled his lip. “He can get you back to the first aid station. Can you walk at all?”
“I don’t know.”
“See if you can stand.” Before the soldier had even got to his feet, they hit the ground to avoid a murderous barrage of bullets.
“Put your good arm around my neck. We’ll make a dash for it. If we stay out here much longer, we’re both dead. There’s a sniper close by.”
During a momentary lull, he pulled the New Zealander to his feet. Half carrying, half dragging him, he dashed out into the open, expecting at any moment to feel a bullet thudding into his flesh. Those few yards seemed like a mile, but somehow they made it. Jim helped them into the dugout and checked the New Zealander, who had blacked out.
“He’ll survive if I can get him back. You all right?”
“Course I am.” Danny clenched his hands behind his back so his friend would not see them shaking. When the next lull in the firing came, Jim climbed out. Even Ernie pulled himself together enough to help hoist the unconscious soldier onto Jim’s shoulders.
“Good luck, keep a look out for Wally.” Jim took off at a trot.
After Jim left, Danny, squatting down on his haunches, rubbed at the nervous sweat beading his forehead.
“Jeez, you’ve got guts,” Ernie said in awe. “They ought to give you a medal.”
“Yeah, I should get a medal. Laurie would like that.”
They both started laughing. Suddenly there was a scream of agony. Danny turned his head to find Ernie with a gaping wound in his chest, clawing frantically at the air. He sank to his knees then fell face down on the ground. He rolled his friend over and Ernie’s blood pumped all over him. Within seconds he lay dead.
“Bastards.” In a blind rage, screaming his hatred, he started out of the trench. He charged towards the enemy lines, but before he had gone more than a few yards, Turkish bullets mowed him down.
And another young soldier lay dead.
*
The announcement of a landing at Gallipoli in the Dardanelles was splashed across every newspaper in the country. The ANZACs, as the Australian and New Zealanders were now being called, landed on the twenty-fifth of April, 1915. This place called Gallipoli, a place most of the population had never before heard of, hovered on everyone’s lips.
Laurie could not help it. After the first few days, she read the casualty lists like thousands of others. The number of dead and wounded on that fateful day was in the hundreds, but as the days went by, the casualties mounted to a horrific number. There were thousands of names.
*
It was a dull morning, the sky hung heavy with sullen clouds, and Laurie felt a sense of foreboding. Some instinct warned her that after today she would never be quite the same again. She was in the kitchen preparing afternoon tea when her father walked in, pale and agitated.
“Sit down, Laurie, I’ve got bad news. Danny has been killed in action. The government notified Alf. I’m sorry.”
“No. It isn’t true.” She sank to her knees and began rocking backwards and forwards, her grief so deep she couldn’t even cry. All she could do was moan like a tortured animal. A piece of her heart had suddenly died. Danny had promised to come back and they were going to get married. Now he was gone. Her dreams were shattered. Her innocence destroyed by three little words. Killed In Action. She was left with nothing but memories, and regret for what might have been.
Finally she staggered to her feet. “I’m going for a walk,” she whispered, touching her father’s hand to reassure him when she read the fear in his eyes. “I’ll be all right, Dad, I won’t do anything foolish but I have to be alone for a while.”
She left the shop, stumbling up the street, shoulders hunched. At the bridge she stood staring into the water with tear-filled eyes. Danny, her laughing young soldier, was dead.
*
A few days later, a military letter arrived, postmarked from Alexandria. She stared at it in puzzlement. The bold, black handwriting didn’t belong to Danny. The letter, when she opened it, was dated March 1915.
Dear Laurie,
I was very pleased to receive your letter, and hope you will be able to spare me a few lines now and again. I have still received no word from Helen and hope she is well. After writing numerous letters, none of which were answered, I am afraid I have reached the conclusion that her feelings for me are not as strong as mine are for her.
It gets freezing here in the desert at night, Laurie, just thinking of Helen comforts and warms me. I’ve never been an outgoing sort of chap, and my existence, before meeting Helen was solitary and rather dull. I shall never be as bright or social as she is, but they say opposites attract, which is certainly the case with me.
You will have to forgive these incoherent ravings of mine, but you seem such a compassionate young lady, and it is a relief to be able to pour my troubles out to someone. Danny probably told you we met up shortly after my arrival in Egypt. He was in high spirits, burned black as a native. You know, he was laughing when we parted company, just the way he did that night in Melbourne before we left for overseas, in what feels like another lifetime.
I must close now, and hope this finds you well. If you do see Helen, please give her my best wishes.
I am yours sincerely,
Blair Sinclair.”
That night, as she retired, her sad thoughts strayed to Blair Sinclair. She would continue writing to him, not only because Danny had suggested it and she wanted to honor his memory by doing as he’d asked, not only because Blair was someone who remembered Danny as a proud and laughing soldier like she did, but because she wanted to reach out to his loneliness.
*
A few weeks later, another letter arrived from the Captain.
Dear Laurie,
I wish I did not have to write to you with such sad tidings, but by now you will have heard that Danny has been killed in action on Gallipoli. I was sorry to hear of his death, and unfortunately, I have no details to give you.
I do not know when this letter will reach you, as I am giving it to a Staff Officer to mail for me. We are getting ready to move out any time now. Casualties have been so high, Command have asked for volunteers from the Light Horse to go as infantry men, so we are exchanging our gaiters and spurs for cloth puttees and guns.
My kindest regards, and condolences, Blair Sinclair
Every fortnight she wrote to the Captain, newsy letters that she hoped might cheer him up. She hoped he did not read between the lines, prayed that her heartache and bitterness were not transposed into print.
She had changed now. Her father and all their friends said so. Her impetuous, bubbling happiness was gone, snatched away
in one swift, cruel blow, by the words Killed in Action. They were burned like a brand into her soul. No wonder she didn’t laugh any more. She doubted whether she would ever be happy again.
She wasn’t the only person to have lost someone dear. Hardly a household in the country escaped the grim tidings conveyed in the casualty lists, and a visit from the local clergy had turned into a thing of dread.
She scoured the newspapers each day, hoping for a miracle. Perhaps there had been a mistake and Danny wasn’t dead, only wounded, or a prisoner of war.
One August morning, a headline caught her eye. On the seventh of August 1915, un-mounted men from the Australian Light Horse had charged across a narrow ridge on the Gallipoli peninsula at a place called the Nek. They suffered heavy casualties, and she worried about Blair.
*
A few days later, his name appeared on the casualty lists as being wounded in action. Would Helen now regret having deserted him? Probably not. She was too selfish to think of anyone but herself. Laurie waited a few days before writing to Uncle Richard who, as it transpired, knew nothing about Blair’s wounds, either.
Was he badly wounded? She felt wretched and helpless? There would be no dashing young men left soon, only widows and girls like herself to mourn their fallen heroes, to grieve for the broken bodies and ruined lives of the shattered soldiers who did return home.
She threw herself into the war effort now, volunteering at the Red Cross to help pack parcels for the troops. Most of them contained tobacco, cigarettes, sweets, as well as needles, thread, safety pins and other articles to make life a little easier in the trenches.
A letter from Gallipoli, dated June 1915, had been written before Blair got wounded.
Dear Laurie,
I have received five letters so far. It is good of you to bother writing, and I am grateful. If you should see Helen, I hope you will give her my fondest regards.
As you will probably have read in the papers back home, casualties have been high, and life is rather grim. All our supplies have to be brought in by ship and then organized and distributed under fire, and the wounded go out the same way.
The noise is unbearable sometimes, but on the 24th May, an Armistice was called for about nine hours to bury the dead, and the silence somehow seemed worse. I sometimes feel this place is the end of the world. Its rocky cliffs are almost unscaleable in some places, and one would really have to be a mountain goat to live here comfortably.
A rather marvelous thing happened the other day. I was walking along the beach after having a swim in the Aegean, and I stopped to have a smoke, when who should I run into but one of the chaps I went to school with. Haven’t seen him in years. He is an Army doctor, so we had quite a long chat and reminisced about the old days. It is almost uncanny the way one runs into people here.
I heard of a case the other day where a man lay wounded on the beach, and he turned his head to find his brother lying right next to him.
I hope you are keeping well. Yes, it is a good thing to be involved in the war effort. The parcels you ladies send are much appreciated. I will close now.
With best wishes,
Blair Sinclair
How cruel to think that even now he lay wounded in an army hospital, fighting for his life, while Helen flitted around Sydney like an exotic butterfly. If Helen walked through the door at this very moment, Laurie would be hard pressed not to physically attack her.
Why she felt so enraged about her cousin’s desertion of Blair remained a mystery. It’s because I like him. He was a decent man who didn’t deserve to be treated in such a callous fashion.
Chapter Five
Nine months had passed since Danny’s death. The pain of losing him still festered like an open wound that would not heal.
One evening, Laurie arrived home tired and dispirited from spending a whole day with a young woman who had received word her husband had been killed in action. She stayed with the widow, helping bathe, feed and generally mind the two small children while the distraught woman packed a case so they could go and stay with relatives. She drove the family to the train, which would take them on to Wangaratta where they would be cared for until their future was decided.
“Laurie, I’ve got a letter from the army.” Her father met her at the door of the shop. Could it be about Danny? She grasped it eagerly, rushing inside to read its contents by lamplight.
The letter came from a chaplain attached to the Military Convalescent Hospital in Melbourne. It was dated 4th February 1916.
Dear Miss Cunningham,
I am writing to you regarding Captain Blair Sinclair, who came to us here after being invalided to Australia from a military hospital in Egypt. Your letters were found in his personal effects, and I thought you might care to visit him, as he appears to have no family.
The Captain has quite a serious leg wound, which is slowly healing. Unfortunately he is suffering from shell shock, also, and seems very confused, and parts of his memory are blank. The doctors feel this is only a temporary state. I know you are a brave young woman, reading between the lines I feel this, and I am afraid you will need all your strength, as tragically he has also been blinded.
Blinded? Oh, Blair, how awful! Tears welled in her eyes, but she kept on reading.
The doctors can find no real damage to the eyes themselves, although there is shrapnel embedded in his forehead.
Would you be able to come down to see him, Miss Cunningham? I think he needs you very badly. A visit from one such as you would do him no end of good.
I am yours sincerely,
John McNaughton. Chaplain
Poor Blair! She felt ill. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. What did Danny once say? “I would rather be killed than come back maimed.” She wouldn’t have cared, just so long as he came back to her.
“Dad, read this.” She waited while her father skimmed through the contents. “They want me to go down to visit him.”
“Helen is the one who should go to him. I understood they were engaged.”
“They were supposed to be, but once Blair left for the war she never even bothered answering his letters. She’s cruel and selfish.”
“Laurie.”
“She called Danny a lout.” Laurie stamped her foot.
“Danny’s gone, he’s not coming back, and you have to resign yourself to the fact. You’re young. You might not believe this now, but you’ll find someone else one day.”
“I’ll always love him,” she vowed fiercely.
“All right.” Matthew patted her shoulder. “Don’t upset yourself. I think you should go down and see if you can help Captain Sinclair. You could stay with Richard. Catch the morning train, there’s no need to write. They’ll be happy to have you.”
“You want me to go down to Melbourne?” She couldn’t believe the words coming out of her father’s mouth.
“Yes, you might be able to help him.”
“I would? What if Danny comes back? He’d come here first.”
“Laurie, Laurie.” He picked up one of her hands and clasped it between his own. “He won’t be back. Like thousands of others, he’s dead. He’s gone. Blair Sinclair is alive and wounded. Danny would want you to help him.”
“You didn’t want me to go down to Melbourne before. Danny always said you thought he wasn’t good enough for me. You wouldn’t let me go to him, yet you’re encouraging me to visit a virtual stranger.”
“Please, Laurie. I wasn’t desperate before,” his voice broke, and she was shocked into silence. He looked old and drawn, he eyes sad and fearful. Did he think she might try to follow Danny to the grave? She had been too engulfed in her own misery to notice her father’s anguish.
“Dad, I’m sorry.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ve been selfish, thinking only of my own loss. All right, I’ll go. If I can help Blair, I will.”
*
The train to Melbourne was late and Laurie, now she had made up her mind, wanted to be off. She pa
ced up and down the platform dodging around luggage trolleys, mail bags, milk cans and an assortment of other items awaiting transportation to other stations along the line.
“What a nuisance, Dad. Imagine the train being late today. I hate waiting around.”
“Don’t upset yourself, dear. It will come in due course.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m proud of you for going down to Melbourne like this. It’s a Christian act.”
After what seemed like another couple of hours but was in reality only a few minutes, the train steamed in to the platform.
“Goodbye, dear, take care.” He followed her into the carriage, so he could put her case in the overhead luggage rack. “I’m not happy about you traveling alone, but…”
“I’ll be all right.” She smiled. “Hope you can manage the store without me.”
“I’ll survive. In this heat who would want to shop anyway?” He mopped his damp brow with a white handkerchief.
To please her father she wore a pretty white frock and a straw hat trimmed with green ribbon.
“Goodbye, Dad.” She kissed him three times in quick succession. Then she stepped to the open window and leaned out, watching him walk up the platform towards her.
“I’ll write as soon as I arrive, don’t worry,” she called out. She didn’t stop waving until the train took a bend in the line and the station disappeared.
She took off her hat the moment she got seated then glanced around the carriage to see who the other occupants were. A young woman sat opposite, holding hands with a soldier. Laurie bit her lip on noticing that one of his sleeves hung empty. He was not the first soldier she had seen without a limb and wouldn’t be the last, either. God, why don’t you stop this wicked war before it kills or maims all our young men?
She closed her eyes for a moment, deliberately forcing out the vision of Danny. I have to go on living. Dad’s right, he’s dead. I’m alive, and he wouldn’t want me to mourn forever but I’ll never forget him.
Her thoughts strayed to Christmas. It had passed without the usual lighthearted festivities; too many homes had loved ones absent now. To please her father she had forced herself to attend the annual Christmas Eve dance.
Lauren's Dilemma Page 6