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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Belgium, 1917. At a military hospital in Poperinge, close to the horrors of the front line, Sister Helen Chalmers strives tirelessly to save the many injured soldiers brought in from battle. The hardships of war and the need for comfort throws Helen into the arms of the eminent surgeon Captain Richard Carson - although she knows a romance with a married man will never last. It's not long before Helen is swept off her feet by Captain James Havers, a man with whom she can see a future. When James is injured in the fighting, he is sent back to Britain to recover. But it's soon clear his injuries are more than just physical; the violence of warfare has left him a changed man. Helen must summon what strength she can to help the man she loves overcome the lasting and devastating effects of war.
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Seitenzahl: 452
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
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An Uncertain Heart
JUNE TATE
For my dear cousin Margaret McVickers with love
Contents
Chapter One
Belgium. July, 1917
It was just after dawn at the base hospital at Poperinghe, a few miles from the front line. Wards were made out of wooden huts and tents to house the many patients who had been brought in from the front. A place that was a mud bath underfoot after the heaviest rainfall in thirty years, where drainage systems had all but been destroyed by preliminary bombardments. Where troops faced the enemy, ankle-deep in mud, where the duckboards now failed to give the men a solid footage and where rats scuttled round their feet as the troops stood waiting for the order to go over the top, many of them knowing they might never return to the safety of the trenches.
Gunfire sounded in the far distance as Sister Helen Chalmers climbed out of her camp bed, and washed in a small tin bowl with cold water before donning her uniform and hat. She quickly checked her reflection in the cracked mirror, hanging from a nail in the tent pole, before pulling on a pair of boots and swishing her cape around her shoulders. Taking an extra pair of shoes, she opened the flap of the tent and, lifting her skirts, made her way through the mud, eyes down allowing her to pick her way through the ruts and deep puddles. The sky was grey without a hint of sunlight to follow.
She walked into the large tent that was the operating theatre, took off the boots and changed into her shoes. There were three tables awaiting the injured, with surgeons and staff standing ready, scrubbed up, preparing for another long day of surgery, knowing that soon, ambulances would be arriving, full of injured soldiers in desperate need of their skill. Then the first patient was brought in.
Hours later, Helen looked over her face mask at Captain Richard Carson, the surgeon with whom she worked, as she handed him a scalpel. This was their sixth operation of the day and yet another brave soldier was to go under the knife. As the battle raged on at Ypres, more and more casualties arrived. They were attended to by the medical orderlies and nurses, assessing which patient necessitated the urgent attention of the surgeon, who could wait and who was beyond medical help. It was a desperate choice to have to make, but the medical staff remained as stoic as possible under the strain. Those who could wait were taken to their beds, their uniforms, caked with mud, blood and crawling with lice, were removed and the men given blanket baths.
In the operating theatre, one of the nurses leant forward and wiped the sweat from the surgeon’s brow. He nodded his thanks and continued. The day wore on. Limbs were amputated, shrapnel removed from chests, blistering from mustard gas treated, hoping to stave off infection from bacteria. Lives were saved and lives were lost on the operating tables. Bodies removed, the next patient brought in.
Eventually, other medical teams took over, giving those who’d worked time for a break and a meal. They made their way through the lines of washed sheets, pillowcases and bandages hanging out to dry.
Richard Carson lowered his aching body onto a bench at the table in the mess. He stretched his back and let out a deep sigh. Looking across at Helen, he smiled ruefully.
‘At least we didn’t lose many today.’
‘No,’ she agreed, ‘it could have been so much worse.’
They ate in silence, lost in their own thoughts, almost too weary to make conversation.
‘I’m going to get my head down for a couple of hours,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you back in the theatre later. Perhaps after dinner you would like to come to my tent and have a well-earned glass?’
She nodded, rose to her feet and made her way to her own room. Stripping off her uniform, she set her alarm clock and climbed into bed.
Later that night, after completing their second shift, Richard and Helen made their way from the mess to Richard’s tent. She sat on the bed whilst the surgeon poured two glasses of whisky, and handing one to her he sat in a chair. ‘Bottoms up!’
She smiled and drank, closing her eyes, enjoying the heat from the liquor as it slid down her throat. Her back was painful, her legs ached and she longed to soak in a hot bath with water up to her neck as she lay back, but it wouldn’t be until she was on leave that this luxury would be on offer. She rose wearily from the bed.
‘I’m off to grab some sleep.’
Richard got to his feet and gathered her into his arms and kissed her.
‘God! I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.’
‘Your job – that’s why you’re here, like the rest of us.’
She kissed him quickly and walked out of the tent, deliberately ignoring the picture of his wife, placed upon his desk.
Alone in her own tent, she undressed. She could still feel the imprint of Richard’s mouth on hers and cursed the war. War messed with people’s lives. How else would she have become a mistress of such an eminent man and who was married? They had worked together under the most difficult conditions, had faced gunfire, sometimes escaping with their lives by a hair’s breadth whilst moving from one hospital to another. Facing death brought people together, lowered the barriers that should have kept them apart and now she was involved with a man who belonged to another!
At the end of July, Sir Douglas Haig ordered another attack on Passchendaele. The infantry attack churned the clay soil and smashed even more of the remaining drainage systems. The mud was now a quagmire, clogging rifles and immobilising tanks. In some parts the mud was so deep that men and horses drowned – and the hospital was full to overloading.
Outside of the hospital, lines of injured men lay on stretchers, waiting to be attended. The death list grew, and in the theatre surgeons and nurses worked non-stop for hours on end. Wards were full of lines of iron beds, moved close together to take as many patients as possible. During the day, the side flaps of the tents were lifted to allow air to flow through the inside, giving at least a modicum of comfort.
Those in pain called out and nurses would scurry over to them to try and relieve their suffering, bathe their fevered brow, try to calm them and give them comfort.
‘I ain’t never going back to that hellhole again, Nurse!’ cried one young soldier to the nurse attending him.
‘Indeed you won’t, Corporal Greene,’ she said with conviction, knowing that the young man had lost a limb and that, due to his fever, he was as yet unaware of this. ‘You’ll be going home as soon as you’re fit enough. Now, be a good lad and try and get some sleep.’
She moved on to the next bed, taking the temperature of the patient, checking his chart, having a few words of cheer, offering a sip of water, then on to the next man to change his dressing, still thinking of her first patient, hoping she wouldn’t be the one to eventually tell the poor boy he’d lost a leg. She’d had to do it too many times and had to cope with the distress, sometimes hysteria, other times silence – then shock, followed by the realisation among the married men that they’d be unable to return to their jobs and make a living for their families.
At the front it was strangely quiet, both sides had stopped firing at each other. Tinned mugs, full of tea, were gratefully received, cigarettes were lit, men perched wherever they could or leant against the stacked sacks that made the high wall between them and the enemy. Where the ladders rested, waiting for the men to climb up and over the top at the next excursion in an attempt to gain territory.
It was a soulless scene between the lines. Rolls of barbed wire crossed the landscape, now obliterated by the rain. There were no green fields here, only mud and potholes made by the bombs that had been dropped and holes made from heavy cannon fire. There was no birdsong – no birds. Any trees had been obliterated or left stripped of leaves like wooden sentinels. Battle-worn, like the troops on either side.
Yet there was black humour despite everything. The indomitable spirit surfaced at the oddest moments, a half-buried, raised hand sticking out of the mud. One of the soldiers took off his tin hat to take a rest. He hung it on the fingers of the hand.
‘Here, hold this a minute, mate, will you?’
‘Should have brought my bloody mother-in-law with me,’ said another. ‘She’d have frightened the Hun to death with just one look!’
Captain James Havers walked among his men, stopping to chat to them as he made his rounds. He had been sent to the Fifth Army immediately after getting his commission. It had been a baptism of fire in every way, but he was a good officer, mentally attuned to what needed to be done and had a good rapport with his men. He had a natural air of authority about him and his men would have followed him anywhere.
His batman, Bert Higgins, handed him a mug of strong tea.
‘Here you are, sir, bet you could murder this right now.’
‘Thanks, Higgins. We all needed this break.’
‘How long before we go over the top again?’
‘I’m just waiting for my orders. Let’s hope it’s not too soon.’
Higgins walked away and lighting a cigarette muttered to himself, ‘Anytime is too bloody soon for me.’ He took from a pocket in his uniform a creased picture of his wife and baby. He stared at it, wondering if he’d ever see them again, and fervently prayed that he would.
The orders came through, and a few minutes later James blew his whistle. The men climbed the ladders to go over the top and advance on the enemy once again. Immediately, the opposing guns opened fire, the air full of screams as men were cut down. Cries of ‘Medic!’ carried in the air.
James crouched low as he advanced. His heart was beating so hard he thought it might burst through his chest. Bullets whizzed past him and every moment he thought would be his last, but he called out encouragement to his men as they advanced.
‘Keep down. Stay low!’ He and several others dived for cover into a large crater and sank in the mud, water up to their knees. One of the men carried a green canvas bag holding Mills bombs.
‘How’s your aim, Jenkins?’ James asked.
‘Played cricket for my county, sir. Was the best bowler on the team.’
‘Right, think you can hit that machine-gun post over there?’
‘No problem, sir.’ The man took out a bomb, lifted his head to quickly glance over the top of the crater to find his target and tossed it towards the enemy lines. Everybody ducked. The sound of the explosion filled the air. They waited … the machine gun was silenced.
James shouted his order and they climbed out of the crater, running towards the enemy, but gunfire opened from other positions and James saw Jenkins fall, a look of surprise on his face. He stopped, bent down and shook the man.
‘Jenkins! Come on, man, speak to me.’
But there was no expression in the eyes that were still open. No sign of life. Just a bullet hole in his forehead, showing what had transpired. Another man fell beside them, his blood splattering James, but he was still alive.
‘Medic!’ James called. ‘Over here!’ But he had to move on.
The onslaught was relentless. Cries of pain could be heard as men were injured. Body parts were strewn over the ground as the troops were battered by gunfire and brought down by flying pieces of shrapnel. The company did their best, but eventually James had no choice but to order a retreat, beaten once again by the strength of the enemy.
He climbed down the ladder with the others, relieved that they were still alive. James waited for all his men that were left to return, the injured carried away on stretchers, then he went to his quarters and poured a hefty measure of Scotch. He was shaking so much he could hardly hold the glass.
Months passed. Several attempts were made to win back ground but little was achieved except for the cost of more lives of the gallant troops and it wasn’t until November that what remained of Passchendaele was captured by British and Canadian troops, fighting together. It had taken this long and many lives to cover five miles.
During the following weeks, the hospital was made redundant and moved. All staff were deployed elsewhere and at last given leave. They were driven to a hotel way behind the lines, where the hotel manager was delighted to still be in business making money from the British government for catering to the troops.
Helen Chalmers leant back in the bath, resting her head on the rim, water up to her neck as she’d dreamt of back in the days, near the fighting. She let out a deep sigh and relaxed, squeezing the soapy water out of the sponge over her arms, watching the water trickle, pondering as to how such a simple thing could mean so much. But then a lump of stale bread given to a starving person would seem like a feast, she mused. She closed her eyes. For the following three days there would be none of the blood and gore of the operating theatre. No smell of ether or stench of rotting flesh. She could rest, eat in the dining room, drink at the bar and feel like a human being once again and at night she could lay in the arms of her lover. His wife could have him back when they returned to England but for now, he was hers.
She reluctantly climbed out of the bath and dressed in a long skirt and a white blouse. It was a joy to wear civilian clothes, a dash of perfume and make-up. Brushing her hair, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, then made her way downstairs to the dining room. Richard was already eating his breakfast. He rose from his seat as she approached.
‘Good morning. Sleep well?’
She smiled softly, knowing that he’d shared her bed, and after they’d made love they’d slept entwined in each other’s arms until the early hours, when he’d returned to his own room.
‘Like a baby,’ she answered as she sat down.
She helped herself to a couple of croissants and spread marmalade over one as a waiter came over with a fresh pot of coffee for her.
‘Being here, you can almost forget the war,’ she remarked and bit into her pastry.
‘Fancy a walk round the grounds after?’
‘Why not, but not until I’ve finished eating everything and emptied the coffee pot. It’s been so long without such luxuries, it’s made me greedy.’
He looked across the table at her and softly said, ‘Not only for food, darling.’
She felt her cheeks flush. It was true, away from the battlefront and the hospital, the long hours, which sapped every ounce of her energy, she felt renewed and couldn’t get enough of Richard. It was like being on a honeymoon.
‘Are you complaining?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! I’d happily stay in your bed all day and send for room service when we wanted nourishment and a rest.’
Helen started laughing, which made some of the others in the room look over to see what had amused her so. ‘You are outrageous.’
‘No, darling, just being truthful.’ He sipped his coffee, staring at her over the rim of his cup, his eyes twinkling.
Looking at her lover, Helen was pleased to see that he’d lost the drawn look that so many hours in the operating theatre had caused. His skin was no longer sallow and he was relaxed. She wondered just how much longer they could have carried on without a break.
Drinking the last of her coffee she looked at him.
‘Ready for that walk?’
‘Indeed I am, let’s get some fresh air in our lungs. I’ll get my coat.’
An army lorry pulled up outside the hotel and Captain James Havers stepped out, pulling his haversack after him. He thanked the driver and walked into the hotel and up to the reception desk where he was greeted warmly by the owner.
‘Good morning, sir, what can I do for you?’
James smiled warmly. ‘I’m hoping you have a room free for a few days.’
‘I have, sir, once it’s been cleaned. Somebody signed out this morning. Let me take you to the dining room for some breakfast while you wait. Leave your bag with me.’
The young captain was only too happy to oblige. He’d been travelling for thirty-six hours and was thirsty and starving – a bath could wait.
Pouring a cup of steaming coffee, James lifted it and breathed in the strong aroma. God! How long had it been since he’d had a decent coffee? He eyed the continental breakfast placed before him. He’d have given anything for bacon and eggs, but nevertheless, he was glad of anything right now. His stomach was empty and he was ready for a welcome break, accepting anything that was on offer. After breakfast he would have a bath and sleep. The thought of a proper bed with clean sheets was now uppermost in his mind and he hoped that his room would soon be ready.
He looked around at the other diners; everyone looked worn out. Not surprising. The battlefront was relentless. Ground won and lost, so many deaths for so little. He knew how lucky he was to still be in one piece and alive.
As he finished his breakfast, the manager walked over to his table and handed him a key. ‘Your room is ready now, sir,’ he said.
James thanked him, gulped down the last of the coffee, picked up the key and made his way to his room on the first floor. As he took off his uniform jacket, he gazed out of the window overlooking the gardens. Here everything was green – the grass, the many shrubs and some trees – unlike the mud-laden fields he’d so recently left. He ran a bath, soaked in it until the water cooled, then dried himself and climbed into bed after closing the curtains. He lay for a second and listened. It was quiet, strange, no sound of gunfire. He shut his eyes and within minutes was asleep.
Helen and Richard pulled their coats around them as they strolled through the gardens. There was a bitter wind but the skies were clear and the air fresh. They found a bench seat beneath a cedar tree and sat, chatting. Soon they’d receive their orders and Richard was wondering where they’d be sent.
Helen snuggled closer. ‘Let’s leave the war behind whilst we’re here,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m so sick of it, I want to forget it until we leave.’
Catching hold of her hand, he apologised. ‘Sorry, darling, just thinking aloud. Perhaps on our next leave we can pull a few strings and get a few days somewhere really nice.’
They chatted about the possibility and what they’d like to do if it were possible. They walked further around the grounds until, driven by the cold, they returned to the comfort of the hotel lounge, where they both sat writing letters to their folk back home. Helen, writing to her mother, tried to shut out the fact that Richard would be writing to his wife.
James Havers eventually woke from his sleep and stretched languidly before climbing out of bed. He wandered into the bathroom, swilled his face in cold water to help him wake up, then shaved. He felt like a different man. He dressed and, leaving his room, headed to the bar, where he perched on a stool and ordered a Scotch and soda.
In the lounge, Helen had finished her letters and, seeing Richard was still writing, quietly left her seat and wandered off to the bar. She knew it was wrong of her but she was feeling peeved, knowing to whom Richard was writing. There was a lone figure sitting at the counter. He smiled at her.
‘Hello. I hate drinking alone, so can I buy you a drink?’
Helen looked at the young captain and smiled. ‘That’s a great idea. Thanks.’ She held out her hand. ‘Helen Chalmers.’
He placed his hand in hers. ‘James Havers. What are you doing here?’
‘I’m on leave, I’m one of Queen Alexandra’s nursing sisters.’
‘So what’s your poison?’ he asked.
‘A gin and tonic would go down very well at this moment.’
She studied the stranger whilst he ordered her drink. His blonde hair, worn short as was required by the military, his blue eyes, wide apart, and a full, sensuous mouth, which parted to smile at her, showing perfect white teeth. Far too good-looking for his own good, she mused, but as he chatted to her, there was no arrogance in his tone. He had a quiet but sharp sense of humour and he soon had her laughing.
Grinning at her he said, ‘You are the first woman I’ve seen in a very long time. I’ve been surrounded by men and mud for an age, I began to wonder if I was really human! There wasn’t anything to enjoy at Passchendaele.’
‘I can believe it. We dealt with so many of your casualties. I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like.’
For a moment a frown creased his brow and his smile faded and Helen saw behind the eyes, a brief memory of a man who had been in the midst of the war. Then he smiled again. ‘Let’s not talk about the war. Where is your home in Blighty?’
‘I live in the Cotswolds in the Vale of Evesham – and you?’
‘Would you believe, Cheltenham?’ He began to laugh. ‘I have to come all this way to meet a near neighbour.’
They spent the next half an hour talking about home, the places they both knew and how wonderful it would be to get back to civilisation.
Richard entered the bar and seeing her, walked over. ‘So here you are.’
‘Richard, this is Captain James Havers, he’s also on leave. James this is Captain Richard Carson, the surgeon I work with.’
The two men shook hands.
‘He lives in Cheltenham, would you believe? Imagine that!’ she said.
With a broad grin, James looked at Richard. ‘Small world, isn’t it?’
Richard and Helen spent a relaxing day in the hotel, sitting reading, having lunch, neither wanting to do anything but recharge their batteries. They drank cocktails at the bar before dinner and went to bed early, enjoying the fact they could make love leisurely without the fear of interruption or discovery.
Helen stretched, arms above her head, and let out a deep sigh.
‘It’s easy to forget the war here,’ she said. ‘No sound of gunfire, a comfortable bed. Log fires in the lounge, a bar, food served on proper plates, not tin ones.’
Richard swung his legs over the side of the bed and lit a cigarette. ‘I can’t see it going on for much longer,’ he said. ‘The number of casualties and deaths alone weaken the forces on both sides. Something has to give.’
‘Imagine, Richard, being able to go home. To return to normality. Will you go back to the hospital in London?’
‘Yes, fortunately for me I do have a job waiting.’ He turned to her, his hand caressing her bare breast. ‘You could be my theatre sister there too, if you want. I can fix it for you.’
She frowned. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
He looked surprised. ‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because things will be different. You’ll be back with your wife, leading a normal life. It would be awkward after our relationship.’
His hand slipped to her inner thighs. ‘That doesn’t have to change,’ he said.
Helen caught hold of his hand and pushed it away. ‘I can’t believe you said that!’ She sat up, pulling the sheet around her.
‘I don’t understand,’ he exclaimed, ‘you knew I was married, I never pretended to be anything else.’
‘True. But when we do go home, I’m certainly not playing the part of your mistress, waiting for you to spare a few hours when you can. Let’s face it, it was only the war that brought us together. Had we met and worked back at home, it wouldn’t have happened – but it did. Be honest, we both knew it wasn’t going to last.’
‘God, that sounds so cold! Is that all I mean to you?’
‘No, of course not,’ she said softly. ‘If you were free, then it would be wonderful.’ She paused. ‘Let me ask you a question and I want you to promise to give me an honest answer.’
He looked at her and saw she was deadly serious. ‘I promise.’
‘Are you prepared to divorce your wife for me?’
He didn’t answer but continued to look at her.
‘There, your silence speaks volumes.’
He rose to his feet. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you tonight.’
Helen turned back the covers on her side and, getting out of bed, put on a dressing gown. ‘Let’s face it, Richard, in the hospital, surrounded by death and war, we clung together for comfort, affection, mutual respect and desire, but sometime we’ll have to face up to the future. I realised that one day you would no longer be in my life. I’d got so used to you – to us – and there is no us … only now.’
Richard dressed hurriedly. ‘I can’t cope with you in this mood; I’m going to the bar for a nightcap.’
She watched him dress and walk out of the room, then wandered over to the French windows, opened them and walked outside, lit a cigarette and gazed out over the garden now bathed in moonlight. Men! She couldn’t believe that Richard thought they could continue their relationship when they returned home. What was he thinking? Of course they couldn’t! In wartime it was different. Things happened. Men and women found comfort where they could, not knowing if every day would be their last. That was acceptable in a strange way, but after … well that was a different thing entirely. You had to try to return to normality. Perhaps it was time to prepare for the future – without Richard.
Chapter Two
When Helen walked into the dining room the following morning, the waiter told her that Captain Carson had already eaten. She was somewhat relieved. After their confrontation the previous night she hadn’t been looking forward to facing him. She sat at a table set for two just as James Havers walked into the room. Seeing her sitting alone, he wandered over to her.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Not at all. Please, sit down.’
The waiter came over with two pots of coffee. They both immediately poured a cup of the steaming liquid with great haste.
James chuckled. ‘It’s easy to see just how long we’ve been without the real stuff, isn’t it?’
She smiled as she said, ‘I know. I’ve learnt to enjoy coffee even more than tea. Perhaps it’s the tin mugs that change the taste? Served in a cup, tea tastes differently.’
‘You know, my men used to chat about the things they were looking forward to when they got home. Food was one of the main things. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding was the favourite, as I recall, and an English breakfast was a close second – or fish and chips.’
‘Mine was a hot bath with water up to the waste pipe, followed by roast pork with lots of crackling and a glass of champagne,’ Helen volunteered.
He thought for a moment. ‘Yes, I wanted a good meal and a bath, but even more I wanted to ride out among the English countryside on my beloved horse, Cleo.’
She looked amused. ‘Cleo?’
‘Short for Cleopatra because she’s a bit of a strumpet with a mind of her own.’
‘Where do you keep her?’
He reached for some toast. ‘At home. We have stables as my parents ride. I started off with a small pony when I was four. Do you ride, Helen?’
‘No, I’ve never had the opportunity.’
He beamed at her. ‘Then when we eventually return home, I’ll teach you … that’s if you want to?’
‘I’d like that, although it would have to be on a horse that was gentle, because I’m sure I’d be somewhat nervous.’
He looked steadily at her. ‘Don’t worry, I’d take care of you, make sure you came to no harm.’
She stared back at him. Although there was a strength about his bearing, there was also a gentleness in his expression, and she felt with him she would be safe should they ever keep that appointment. She became curious about the stranger.
‘Surely you must have a girlfriend waiting for you back in Cheltenham?’
‘Not much time for courting, I’m afraid. I was training for the army, taking exams, working for my commission. Besides, in wartime anything can happen, it didn’t seem right to ask anyone to wait, unless you were married, of course. What about you? After all, Helen, you are a very attractive woman. I can’t imagine you are without your admirers?’
She laughed. ‘I’ve had my moments, but that’s about it.’ She poured another coffee thinking that Richard was indeed her moment, but James didn’t need to know that.
They eventually finished their breakfast and James suggested they walk down to the village together.
‘I’ve no idea what it’s like or if there is anything standing. But looking at this building, perhaps they missed being a victim of the fighting. Want to go and find out?’
‘Why not? I’ll go and get my coat. I’ll meet you in the foyer in ten minutes.’
When she returned, James greeted her. ‘Can you ride a bike?’ he asked.
‘Yes – well, I used to. I haven’t done so in a while. Why?’
He led her outside. Leaning against the wall were two bicycles.
‘I borrowed them from the staff. Come on, let’s give it a go. It’ll save walking. Look, try it out on the drive first.’
Helen climbed on the bike and started pedalling. At first she was a bit unbalanced but was soon back in control and they set off, laughing like a couple of teenagers on an adventure.
Cycling along the country lane, they saw only a few signs of the war. Some fields had been torn up by what they imagined might have been artillery fire, and one or two houses were in ruins, but on the whole this little corner seemed to have escaped the destruction of war and soon they came to the main street where there were signs of life. Among the houses was a parade of shops that were open. They parked their bikes and wandered around.
A couple of food shops were poorly stocked, they noticed, a small cafe was open with a few elderly gentlemen inside playing cards and drinking coffee, small glasses of alcohol beside them. There was another shop selling fancy goods and Helen saw a beautiful turquoise silk scarf displayed in the window.
‘Oh, that’s just lovely!’ she exclaimed.
James took her hand. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go in and I’ll buy it for you.’
‘No, I’ll buy it myself,’ she argued.
He wouldn’t hear of it and insisted it was a gift from him to repay her for her company. He wouldn’t let the girl wrap it and picking it up, he put it round Helen’s neck.
‘There. It brings out the colour of your eyes,’ he said and stood back to admire her.
She put her hand to feel the softness of it and the assistant held up a mirror so she could see for herself just how it looked.
‘Thank you, James, it’s really beautiful.’
He looked pleased. ‘My pleasure entirely.’
They made their way to the coffee shop where they ordered a coffee and liqueur, sitting quietly at a corner table.
James picked up his glass. ‘Cheers, Helen. May this be the first of our many meetings.’
Picking up her glass she touched his with it. ‘Cheers.’
It was easy to forget about the war and what they’d both been through, sitting quietly in the shop with the only noises made by the chatter from the other customers. They sat talking, getting to know one another. Their conversation flowed easily as they laughed and enjoyed each other’s company, but eventually they had to return to reality.
‘Have you any idea where you are to be sent?’ James asked.
‘No, Richard and I are waiting for our orders. We should hear today as our leave is up tomorrow. How about you?’
‘I’m waiting too. I’m being seconded to another regiment but as yet I don’t know which. No doubt in some war zone or other.’
‘Surely it can’t go on for much longer,’ she said, a note of desperation in her voice. ‘The losses have been horrendous – and the casualties.’
He saw the sadness in her eyes. ‘Yes, you’ve seen as much death as I have. We just have to do our best until the end and then try and put it to the back of our minds when it’s over.’
Thinking of her patients, Helen said, ‘I don’t have to tell you, that’s not going to be easy, and for some, they’ll live with the aftermath all their lives.’
He reached for her hand. ‘We have to be strong for those who can’t be. We are both in a position where we have no choice.’ He ordered another liqueur. ‘Let’s drink to the day when we can go home and I take you riding.’
Shortly after, they climbed on the borrowed bikes and rode back to the hotel. They parked them against the hotel wall and entered the foyer. Richard was there, waiting.
‘Where on earth have you been?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’
‘Morning!’ James greeted him.
Richard ignored him. ‘Our orders have come through. A car is coming for us in an hour’s time to take us to the General Hospital number 10 at Rouen. At least we’ll have a proper hospital to work in with better facilities – at last! You’d better get your stuff together, we’ve a long drive ahead of us.’ He nodded to James and walked to the reception desk.
James smiled wryly. ‘Not exactly a bundle of laughs, is he? Go and pack and I’ll wait here and see you on your way.’
It was with great sadness that Helen changed back into her uniform and packed her case. It had been a wonderful few days and she knew it would be some time before she’d enjoy such luxury again. She’d be sorry to say goodbye to James, he’d been so much fun, and she did hope that she’d see him again back in her beloved Cotswolds. Taking one last look around the room, she picked up her case and made her way to reception.
James came over immediately. ‘As soon as I know where I’m to be posted, I’ll write to you. I’d like to keep in touch, if that’s alright?’
‘Yes, of course it’s alright but I don’t know the address,’ she protested.
‘Your boss said it was the General Hospital number 10 in Rouen. I’ll find out.’ He smiled at her. ‘I must say you look very efficient in your uniform, Sister!’
‘You make sure you keep your head down wherever you’re sent. I don’t want to find you being carried into the hospital on a stretcher.’
Before he could answer, Richard arrived. ‘The car is here,’ he said. ‘We must be on our way.’ Turning to James he said, ‘Good luck,’ and walked outside.
James carried Helen’s case for her and handed it to the driver, then he held her gently by the shoulders. ‘You keep out of trouble, because I’m determined to see you again.’ He pulled her nearer and kissed her. It was much more than a kiss from an acquaintance, it was more a kiss with a promise – and when he released her, he stared into her eyes and said softly, ‘Keep safe.’
‘You too,’ she answered, feeling unexpectedly emotional, then she climbed into the car. As it drove away, she waved to the solitary figure standing on the steps of the hotel.
During the drive, Helen sat in the back of the car, looking out of the window at the passing scenery. Richard was sitting in the front, chatting to the driver. The journey was not without its problems: damaged roadways; tanks that had become useless, bogged down in the mud; troops on the move, walking slowly, too tired and weary to march in a smart military fashion, some wearing bandages around their heads, beneath their caps, others with arms in slings, some on crutches, others propped up on horse-driven carts. Her heart went out to them, but what really upset her was seeing the bloated, rotting remains of the horses that had perished. Those brave animals, ridden during gunfire and with an ignominious ending. James would hate to see this, she thought, then realised he probably had done so.
The journey seemed endless. They stayed overnight in an army camp, ate a quick breakfast to sustain them and hours later they reached their destination and were ushered into the office of the chief medical officer. He greeted them warmly.
‘Please sit down. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’re here. We are inundated with casualties, as you can imagine, and are greatly in need of another surgeon and theatre sister. I’ll send you quickly round the hospital to familiarise yourself with the layout before you have a rest and a meal, but you will be on duty in the morning.’ He rose to his feet and shook hands with them both. ‘My sergeant will show you round,’ he said and pressed a bell on his desk. There was a knock on the door and a sergeant entered.
‘Take Captain Carson and Sister Chalmers around the wards and the theatre, will you? But first make them a cup of tea, I’m sure they need it after their journey.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he replied. Turning to Richard and Helen he said, ‘If you’ll follow me, please.’ In the outer office, Helen and Richard drank the tea, needing the comfort of the beverage after such a long time in the car, and then made their way, following their guide.
They toured the wards, talking to the matron and one of the surgeons in each one, being appraised of the patients’ treatment, who were all dressed in their ‘convalescent blues’, as their hospital wear had been christened. Richard nodded to the soldier in each bed, picked up the chart at the end of some to check on their recovery, asked a question now and then and talked to one or two of the casualties.
Helen glanced across the ward and saw a soldier sitting on the side of his bed. She saw that he was distressed and walked over, picked up the chart at the end and read it. He was suffering from facial burns from an explosion, she noted. Returning the chart, she sat beside him.
‘Hello, Private Barnes, how are you feeling?’
As the young man turned to her, she saw the dreadful puckered and burnt skin on his face and she reached out and held his hand as she saw the tears gather in his eyes.
‘Look at me, Sister. No woman is going to fancy a man who looks like this. I’m nineteen and my life is over.’
‘It may seem that way now, Barnes, but in time the scars will fade a lot and yes, you will never be the same physically when you see your reflection, but believe me, your life isn’t over. I’m not saying there won’t be women who will reject you, because life and people can be cruel, but you have to have the courage to rise above such ignorance. One day, one young lady will come along and see beyond your battle scars, see the man behind them. You just have to be patient.’
‘What do you see when you look at me, tell me that!’
‘I see someone who is suffering at the moment. I see a man who has lived through hell, but has come through it, albeit with injuries, but I see a man with nice eyes, a kind heart – and a life ahead of him. A life that won’t be without its difficulties, but a life that could be fulfilled as long as you don’t become bitter. Look around you, Private. Look at those who’ve lost their limbs, some that will leave the hospital in a body bag, who won’t have a future at all.’
He looked around the ward as he thought of her words, then back at her.
‘Do you honestly think I stand a chance?’
She smiled softly. ‘That’s mainly up to you and how you handle your situation, but yes, I do believe you have every chance.’
She rose from the bed. ‘I’ll look in on you again and see how you’re doing.’
‘Thank you, Sister,’ he said. ‘It was kind of you to take the trouble.’
‘I can assure you it was no trouble at all. I’ll see you soon.’
Helen rejoined Richard and the matron on their rounds. Several patients were on the road to recovery, others would be in the hospital for some time and a few wouldn’t make it. Eventually they were taken to one of the operating theatres, which was empty. Both Richard and Helen were pleased with the facilities.
‘It will be a joy working here after the base hospital,’ he said to her. ‘Thank God for that!’ It was the first time he’d spoken to her since they’d left the hotel.
She agreed. ‘It will be better for the patients, that’s for sure,’ she said.
The sergeant showed them the mess hall and said dinner would be served in half an hour, then he took them to their quarters where their bags were already installed.
‘I’ll meet you in the mess after you’ve unpacked,’ Richard said and walked away.
Nurse Jenny Palmer had watched them leave the ward. Good-looking man, she thought as she gazed at Richard’s retreating figure. She’d been pleased to see the sister stop and talk to Private Barnes, one of her favourite patients. The boy needed encouragement and it was obvious, watching the two of them, that the sister had been a help. She picked up several dressings and walked over to her next patient, an army sergeant who had lost his left leg just below the knee.
‘Right, Sergeant, are you ready? I have to change your dressing.’ She knew this caused her patient a lot of pain but the man was brave and seldom complained. He covered his discomfort with humour.
‘You know, Nurse, if anyone looked at you, they’d think you were a gentle young lady – they would have no idea that you could be a past mistress of torture!’
She grinned broadly at him. ‘Honestly! You go on like that, you’ll ruin my chances of meeting a nice young man. You’ll scare them all away.’ She started removing the bloodstained dressings as gently as she could but she felt him flinch beneath her fingers.
‘Nearly finished,’ she said softly.
She bathed the stump with a carbolic lotion, then after soaking clean gauzes in the same solution, she dressed his wound, pleased to see that it was clean, without infection, but it would be a while before the man would be well enough to go home.
‘There you go,’ she said as she finished binding the leg. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’
‘Got a minute for a chat, Nurse?’
Jenny was surprised at the request as the sergeant had not said a lot to her other than to chide her over her treatment.
‘I’ve always got time for my patients,’ she said as she sat beside the bed. ‘What’s on your mind, Sergeant?’
He lowered his voice. ‘How’s my wife going to react to my stump, Nurse Palmer? I mean, imagine when we get into bed together and I get undressed and my injury is there in front of her. Won’t she find it gruesome? Won’t she go off me as a man?’
Jenny took hold of his hand. ‘Does your wife love you, Sergeant?’
He looked embarrassed. ‘Well, yes, she does. We don’t often put it into words, like, but yes … as I do her.’
‘Have you written and told her about your injury?’
Frowning, he said, ‘Well, I’ve told her I was injured and had to have an operation but, no – not exactly.’ His voice chocked in his throat. ‘I couldn’t find the words.’
‘You have to write and tell her; you can’t suddenly turn up without giving her a warning of what to expect.’ Her heart ached at his expression as he faced the fact.
‘I can’t bring myself to do it, Nurse.’ His eyes filled with tears, which made her feel even worse, seeing this strong individual trying to cope with his dilemma.
‘Would you like me to write to her and put her in the picture?’
She would never forget the look of relief on the man’s face.
‘Would you, Nurse? Would you really do this for me?’
‘Of course. If you give me her address I’ll write tonight when I’m off duty. You see, Sergeant, when you get home she’ll be more prepared, and loving you as she does, you’ll work it out together, I’m sure.’
‘If I wasn’t a married man I’d kiss you, Nurse Palmer!’
Laughing, Jenny got to her feet. ‘Now that would ruin my reputation. Write the address and I’ll come and collect it before I go off duty.’
He clasped her hand and said very quietly, ‘Thank you.’
Giving his hand a quick squeeze, she walked away, battling with her own emotions after their conversation, cursing the war that had affected so many lives and messed with their future, which would never be the same and which would produce so many problems. She would try and prepare the sergeant’s wife for his homecoming and advise her how to manage him until they worked out their own routine. It was the least she could do for such a brave man. After that, it would be up to the couple to find their own way, which she hoped fervently they would be able to do. At least she wasn’t having to write and inform the family that their son or husband had passed away; others had that task. Those were the hardest letters to write.
Chapter Three
Helen made her way to her quarters and was grateful for a proper room as opposed to a tent and eyed the bed with pleasure. A camp bed hadn’t been the most comfortable of places to try and sleep after a heavy day in the theatre, and there was also a wardrobe for her clothes.
Walking over to the small hand basin she turned on the tap. The water was hot! No more washing in a tin bowl of cold water, and there was a shared bathroom where she’d be able to immerse herself in hot water. But as she told herself, those days near the battlefield made her more appreciative of what was now on offer.
Once unpacked, she made her way to the mess hall. It was a fair size and busy. She saw Richard standing in the queue for food, he waved and called her over, handing her a tray.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving and I have to say the food smells appetising.’
They were served a healthy portion of beef stew, mashed potatoes, various vegetables and a portion of sponge pudding and custard, which they carried over to a table after helping themselves to cutlery. On the table was a jug of water and glasses. They sat down.
Richard tasted the beef. ‘It’s alright,’ he said. ‘Thank goodness for some decent cooks. By the way, in my room is the list for the morning,’ he told her. ‘We start at eight-thirty and tonight we meet the rest of my team. The break was good, but now we must get back to business.’
‘Well, at least we’ve had a rest and lived like a human again, even if it was only for a few days,’ she said.
‘You seemed to enjoy yourself with Captain Havers. That scene as we left was very touching.’
The irony in his voice didn’t escape her, but she ignored it. ‘Yes, it was ages since I’d ridden a bike and the village was quite picturesque, without much damage.’
‘Will you be seeing him again?’
‘I’ve no idea, he’s being seconded to another regiment, but after the war – if we are spared – yes, I’ll probably see him when I get home. He lives in Cheltenham.’
‘Yes, so you said. Very convenient!’
‘Stop this, Richard! You haven’t the right to be jealous, and certainly not over my meeting a young officer I might never see again.’
He looked disgruntled. ‘If you say so,’ he snapped.
The meal was finished in silence.
After they’d eaten he explained to her where his office was situated and told her to be there in an hour’s time.
‘The rest of the team will be there and we can run through tomorrow’s list together.’
She caught hold of his arm. ‘Richard, we have to work together, so please, don’t let there be any bad feeling between us.’
‘Of course not. We are both professionals and we have a job to do. I’ll see you in my office.’
The nurses and an orderly sat with Helen and Richard in his office shortly afterwards, and after introducing themselves they set about planning the following day’s list. They seemed a friendly bunch, all looking a bit jaded, in need of a break, but mindful of what lay before them, and when they’d left, Richard said they seemed well trained, which was a great relief to him as he was a stickler for precision in his theatre.
The following weeks soon fell into a routine as the team coped with the influx of patients and the rounds in the wards after, checking on their patients’ recovery. It wasn’t always easy when recovery meant a return home because an injury meant the man was no longer fit for duty, but could return to his family. For some it meant facing hardship, perhaps because of a loss of a limb, and that was a cause for concern as to how they would be able to earn a living. Despite this, it was a great relief for the men, knowing that at least they wouldn’t have to return to the fighting.
Some of the patients suffered from shell shock. Their road to recovery would take much longer and, with others, they would never be the same again and despite being professional, Helen was deeply moved by their predicament, which sometimes caused her many sleepless nights. She visited Private Barnes regularly and was pleased to see he seemed to be recovering mentally and was beginning to cope with his injuries.
‘I’ve written to my mum,’ he told her. ‘Thought it best to warn her what I look like, otherwise it would be too much of a shock.’
‘That’s very wise of you,’ Helen said. ‘Expect tears, Private, you know what mothers are like, then after, she’ll be making such a fuss of you, you won’t be able to breathe.’
He smiled. ‘That sounds like heaven to me, Sister.’
A month later, to her delight, Helen received a letter from James. She sat in her room reading it. He had been sent to Cambrai where there had been fighting, but he was fine. He wrote of their time together and the trip to the village, he told her stories about his troops that were hilarious and made her smile. She was pleased that he’d retained his sense of humour, but was aware he’d written nothing about the fighting.
Write to me, Helen. You know how important letters are to us poor soldiers. If I thought I could end up in your hospital, I could feign an injury so you could take care of me, but I’ll just have to wait until we get home.
