Primrose Square

by Anne Douglas

  ‘Where did you fight?’ men who’d survived the war might be asked, and if they answered, ‘the Battle of the Somme’, no more need be said, for everyone had heard of the Somme, everyone knew that it was the British version of Verdun, even though French troops were part of it, and went on almost as long. And everyone knew how many had perished. Oh, if you’d survived the Somme, you were a lucky man indeed.

  How can we still be lucky? Elinor pondered, reading the casualty lists. How can we expect Corrie to come back, and Tam and Stephen? As with Loos, it seemed almost every regiment was involved; there could be no escape, and nothing was being done by the politicians to end the fighting.

  ‘I feel we’re in one great black nightmare,’ she said once to Hessie. ‘Why isn’t someone doing something to bring it to an end?’

  ‘If you’re expecting the governments to do something, think again,’ her mother said wearily. ‘This war never was about anything that mattered. Mrs Elder and me were just saying that very thing when she popped up for a cup of tea.’

  ‘It’s nice she’s turned out to be such a friend,’ Elinor commented, who had been pleased to find the new tenant of the downstairs shop so agreeable. ‘Could have had some bossy person who’d no’ let us call our souls our own.’

  ‘Aye, Freda’s really easy-going and such a beautiful needlewoman – her lassie’s the same. I’m thinking of getting Freda to make me something, in fact, when I feel like going out again. She doesn’t charge much.’

  Elinor, studying her mother, gave a smile. ‘You all right these days, Ma?’ she asked quietly. ‘I mean, apart from worrying about Corrie?’

  ‘Aye, maybe I am. I do miss your dad, trouble though he was, but I’ll have to admit it’s easier, eh?’ Hessie’s own smile was rueful. ‘Doing as you like, it’s no’ bad.’

  ‘No’ bad at all,’ Elinor agreed.

  It was November before the Battle of the Somme dragged itself to an end, with the loss of thousands of men and a gain of only six miles into German territory. No victory, then, though the French had claimed some degree of success at Verdun, which finished in December.

  There was no doubt that 1916 had been a terrible year, even though for Elinor, Hessie, and Brenda there had been good news. Corrie was safe, Tam was safe with no repeat of his breakdown, and Stephen had also come through, if with a bullet in his knee, as Tam had heard. How was he, really? Elinor wondered. Still seeing his lady ambulance driver? Oh, stop it, she told herself. Think of something else. Work, perhaps. Always helped, having to work.

  Still, she was cheered, along with her mother, when Corrie arrived home for a short leave in November. He didn’t look too bad, either, which they could scarcely believe, knowing the sort of thing he must have experienced.

  ‘Oh, it’s just so grand to see you,’ Hessie said fondly. ‘You’re really here, Corrie, and looking so well!’

  ‘How d’you do it?’ asked Elinor. ‘What’s your secret?’

  ‘I switch off,’ he answered calmly. ‘No’ when I’m there, of course, canna switch off then, but when I’m away, I close my mind to it. The way I used to do with Dad sometimes. When he was going on, I used to get worked up, but when he wasn’t around, I tried no’ to think about how he could be.’

  ‘Fancy,’ Hessie commented wonderingly. ‘You put the war out of your mind, the way you did with your dad?’

  ‘Ah, I’m no’ comparing Dad with the war,’ Corrie said hastily. ‘I’m just telling you how I learned to switch off.’

  ‘No need for it now,’ sighed Hessie.

  ‘Except for the war,’ said Elinor.

  In December a new patient from Musselburgh’s hospital for the limbless arrived at the Primrose.

  ‘Why he’s coming here?’ Elinor asked a QA when she was making up a bed for him the day he was due. ‘Musselburgh’s the place for helping amputees.’

  ‘Yes, but this chap lost a leg on the Somme and is severely depressed. The usual story – needs to learn to accept.’

  ‘What a shame.’

  ‘Yes, used to play football, and can’t believe that’s all gone.’

  Pausing with her hands on the sheet she was smoothing, Elinor looked up.

  ‘A footballer?’ Her heart was beating fast, which was ridiculous. How many men played football? ‘A professional?’

  ‘Don’t think so. Just for a local team.’

  A local team. Elinor finished making the bed and wondered when the new patient would arrive.

  ‘They’re bringing him over by ambulance. He’s got crutches but will need one of our wheelchairs. Now, let me see, what’s his name?’ The nurse consulted a paper and read aloud, ‘Corporal Howat, Royal Scots.’ And Elinor turned white.

  Fifty-Three

  She knew she would have to see him some time, but as soon as she saw the ambulance arrive at the front entrance, she felt like flattening herself against a wall and turning invisible. Barry Howat here, at the Primrose? And she would have to help in caring for him? Desperately sorry for him though she was, and feeling guilty that he had fallen from her thoughts, she couldn’t imagine how they would get on after the way they’d parted. Of all the things she’d dreaded, this was one she’d never expected to come about, but now that it had, she must somehow face up to it. Find the courage to see Barry again, do what she could to help. It couldn’t be much.

  Keeping out of the way, she didn’t see him taken up in the crazy old lift to the room he was to share with a quiet young man from a Highland regiment. One who gave no trouble, except when he decided to wander, for he never slept. Most patients had problems there.

  First, Barry would have to be seen by one of the doctors, an examination arranged, treatment for his depression discussed, then one of the QAs would have a word, and finally a nursing aide would look in, to check he had everything he needed. And that should be me, Elinor decided. Go on – get it over with!

  Wearing a blue hospital suit, he was sitting in an armchair by the window, looking out at the light fading over the square. Already street lamps were being lit, for the December afternoon was closing in. His case was by his bed, waiting to be unpacked; a pair of crutches was propped by his chair and in a corner of the room stood a wheelchair.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Elinor, at the doorway, whispered to herself. ‘Oh, no, there’s the wheelchair!’

  A memory came to her of Barry flying up and down the field at that first football match where they’d met again, his feet moving so fast it was no wonder Corrie had called him ‘Twinkle-Toes’. She felt like crying.

  ‘Hello, Barry,’ she said quietly, but he’d already turned his head and was peering through the dusk of his room.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘It’s Elinor.’

  ‘Elinor?’ He sat up in his chair and as she switched on the light and he saw her standing there, so slim and straight in her grey uniform, her dark eyes so apprehensively fixed on him, he shook his head as though he were dreaming.

  ‘Elinor Rae – here? Still working here? Have I gone back in time, or what?’

  She came forward to stand by his chair, looking down at him, and with that closer look, she saw, as with Tam during his illness, that Barry had changed. At one time, she’d believed that nothing would have changed him. As with Tam, he was the sort to take life in his stride, to take whatever came along and still come up smiling. But the war had changed Tam, until his recovery, and it had changed Barry, who had not yet recovered, for though he appeared no older, he somehow seemed like a man who’d endured a lifetime. The hazel eyes were no longer clear, the curly hair had vanished into a flattened army short back and sides, the mouth that had always been ready to smile was now one straight, grim line.

  ‘I still work here,’ she told him, ‘but it’s to help the nurses now – I’m what they call a nurses’ aide.’

  ‘Your war work, eh?’ He shrugged. ‘Glad you can do it. You can see what’s happened to me. My war’s probably over.’

  ‘Don’t say that. You can stil
l do useful work.’

  ‘Spare me all that rehabilitation rubbish.’ He straightened himself in his chair. ‘Look, what d’you want with me, then? I’ve seen a doctor, I’ve seen a nurse, what the hell do I have to see you for? No’ planning to wash me, I hope? No’ cleaning my teeth? I’ve still got hands, you know. I’ve only lost one leg.’

  ‘I just have to check you have all you need,’ she answered evenly, trying not to show her dismay at the change in him. ‘Unpack your case and so on. Don’t worry, I do it for everybody, whether they’ve got hands or not.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said after a moment. ‘That’s me these days, eh? Jumping down everybody’s throats.’

  ‘It’s all right, Barry, I understand.’

  ‘No, Elinor, you don’t.’ He slumped back. ‘Look, you just do what you have to do. But I’ve got all I need. Musselburgh Limbless gave me the lot. Even a dressing gown. Posh, eh?’

  ‘I’ll unpack your case, then.’

  As she moved about, putting away his things in his share of the chest of drawers, hanging his outdoor coat and the hospital dressing gown on pegs, she was aware of his eyes following her and was relieved when she’d finished her task.

  ‘How about a cup of tea?’ she asked brightly. ‘Did the nurse say you’d be all right to come down to join the others? There’s tea and cake in the recreation room.’

  ‘She said there’d be somebody to show me where to go. I suppose that’d be you.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Her eyes slid to his crutches and away again. ‘Shall we go, then?’

  ‘I’m no’ sure I can face it.’

  ‘’Course you can! Everybody’s in the same boat here, they’ll make you welcome, I promise.’

  ‘Everybody’s lost a leg? Doesn’t seem likely.’ He slowly rose from his chair, balancing on his remaining leg, and for the first time, she saw the material of his hospital suit neatly folded over his missing limb and felt compassion rise like a great lump in her throat.

  ‘I mean, everyone’s got some problem, that’s all. Now – do you want your crutches, or would it be easier if you took the wheelchair? There’s a lift.’

  ‘I know there’s a bloody lift.’ He tossed his head, straightened his shoulders. ‘Och, let’s go for the crutches. They might as well see me at my worst.’

  She brought him the crutches and with a heave of his body he settled them under his armpits, turning to her when he was ready, so that she could lead the way, and slowly they made their way together to the lift.

  ‘No’ much room in it,’ she said with a laugh, when she’d brought it up, but he made no reply.

  At one time, he would probably have been like some of the recovering patients, bringing himself as close as he dared to his nurse, and grinning or making silly remarks. ‘What are you doing tonight, sweetheart? How about meeting for a fish supper, eh?’ But he was like the silent shell-shocked men, who scarcely noticed their attendants, never thought of chatting them up, never wanted a fish supper. Again, Elinor felt great compassion rise for Barry and prayed that someone could do something to help him. Major Henderson, maybe? But no one could give him back his leg.

  There were artificial limbs, of course, but there were so many wounded soldiers needing them now, the waiting lists were lengthy. It was said that since the war, great improvements were being made in manufacture, but what was the good of that if you never got to the top of the list? As they entered the recreation room, Elinor resolved to ask Barry about his prospects for a false leg. It might make all the difference to his attitude.

  For new patients, meeting the old ones was always a bit of an ordeal. Like the first day at school, when everybody seemed to know everybody else, except you. Now, the crowd round Brenda at the tea urn all turned to look at Barry humping himself in, and though some smiled, others only turned aside. No one spoke, except for a QA – Sister Warren – who called out, ‘Now listen all – this is Barry Howat, just arrived from Musselburgh. Make way and let him sit down.’

  ‘I don’t need to sit down,’ Barry muttered.

  ‘Yes, you do. How are you going to hold your cup, then?’ Pulling forward a chair, Sister Warren made Barry sit down, ordered Elinor to take his crutches and Brenda to give him tea and a piece of slab cake, then rushed out like a whirlwind, which was her way. There was some laughter and one or two men came forward to speak to Barry, asking where he’d lost the leg. ‘The Somme? Aye, lot o’ fellows lost more than that there, eh?’

  ‘I know that,’ Barry snapped. ‘I know I should be grateful.’

  ‘Oh, we’re all grateful!’ someone muttered.

  ‘Barry, do you see what’s in the corner?’ Elinor whispered a little later. ‘A piano. It would be nice if you could play for us.’

  ‘I don’t play these days.’

  ‘Why not? You could.’

  ‘True, I don’t need two legs to play the piano.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t be so sharp. I’m only trying to help.’

  ‘Sorry. I told you what I was like. Fact is, I’ve no interest in playing now. There are no tunes in my head any more.’

  ‘Oh, Barry!’

  ‘Am I allowed to go back to my room? I’m feeling pretty done in.’

  ‘I’ll take you back. Give me your cup.’

  ‘You needn’t come, I know the way.’

  ‘I‘d like to. I want to ask you something.’

  After Elinor had returned his cup to Brenda, who gave her a sympathetic smile, they made their slow journey back to Barry’s room, where his room mate was lying on his bed, smoking.

  ‘No smoking in the bedrooms, Donald,’ Elinor told him. ‘You know that very well. Now why aren’t you downstairs having tea and cake?’

  ‘No tea and cake,’ answered young Donald, who was so thin he looked as though he never had tea and cake.

  ‘Well, say hello to Barry Howat, then – he’s just arrived from Musselburgh.’

  ‘Hello, Barry.’

  ‘Hello, Donald.’

  Propping his crutches nearby, Barry swung himself on to the bed and lay stretched out, his hazel eyes on Elinor.

  ‘What did you want to speak to me about?’

  ‘I just wanted to ask you if you’d thought about getting an artificial leg.’

  ‘Have I thought about it? Elinor, I think about nothing else. But at the rate they’re being supplied, I’ll no’ get one till about 1935. By which time I’ll be a goner.’

  ‘That’s nonsense!’ Elinor hesitated. ‘But we’ll talk later. I have to go now. Don’t forget, supper’s at seven. Donald, you take Barry down, will you?’

  ‘Where are you going, then?’ asked Barry, sitting up.

  ‘Off duty. Early night for me.’

  ‘Will you be in tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh, yes, but you’ll be very busy tomorrow. Starting treatment.’

  ‘But you’ll be in, though?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be in. Goodnight, Barry. Goodnight, Donald. Someone’ll be in to check you’re all right, Barry.’

  ‘Aye, there’s always someone coming in,’ said Donald. ‘Frightened we’ll disappear if they don’t keep opening the door.’

  ‘Goodnight, Elinor,’ said Barry quietly. ‘And thanks.’

  She smiled, and went out, still feeling that lump in her throat, still feeling she might cry, but managing to hold back the tears.

  Fifty-Four

  Next morning, when she could catch him, Elinor asked Major Henderson if he could spare her a moment.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t ask, really – these things are confidential – but I was wondering how you’d found Corporal Howat today? I know him, you see – we were at the same school. That’s why I’m interested.’

  She knew none of the other doctors would have given her any information at all, but had hopes that the major, who was very sympathetic, would tell her something of Barry’s case. He seemed pleased, anyway, to hear that she was someone Barry knew.

  ‘You’re a friend of his, Elinor? That could be very useful.’ Hi
s look was gentle. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t give you more than general information – these interviews are, as you say, confidential.’

  ‘It’s just that I feel so sorry for him, remembering how he used to be.’

  ‘Of course. Well, he is certainly very deeply depressed. Most people are, when they lose a limb, but some cope better than others. Barry is one who can’t reconcile himself to a different life from the one he’s always known. Football, active interests, independence – these he can’t see himself living without. In fact, he told me . . .’ The major suddenly stopped himself. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you any more. All I’d better say is that it’s going to be a long job.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Why, yes, I think there might be. If you’re a friend, perhaps you could take him out, in his wheelchair? I think he needs to be in the city, see people, feel he’s still in the world, even if handicapped. And maybe you could talk to him, too, and persuade him that he still has a useful life to live. Would you be able to do that?’

  ‘Yes, I think I could. I’d like to help, anyway.’

  Major Henderson hesitated. ‘The only thing is – it sometimes happens – he might become too attached to you. You might have to watch out for that.’

  ‘It wouldn’t happen with Barry and me,’ Elinor said tightly. ‘I know that for sure.’

  ‘How can you?’ he asked, smiling. ‘We can never be sure how other people will react.’

  ‘With Barry I just know.’

  And at the look in her dark eyes and the tightening of her lips, Major Henderson decided it was better not to press the point.

  ‘It’s interesting, though, that you knew him as he used to be,’ he murmured. ‘We don’t often get that sort of insight. What was he like, then?’

  She paused, her mouth relaxing into a smile.

  ‘He was one of the most cheerful people you could wish to meet. Everyone knew him for that. Nothing bothered him, everything was easy. Sunny, I think, is the way I’d describe him.’