‘Pips –’ Brigitta came into the tent where she was tending a patient after his operation to remove his leg. ‘There’s a young boy asking for you.’
Pips straightened up. ‘Me? By name?’
Brigitta nodded. ‘Yes. He asked, “Is Alice or Miss Pips here?” Alice is still assisting Robert – I can’t ask her to leave what she’s doing just now.’
‘Is it someone who’s been wounded before?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ll come as soon as I’ve finished here. Where is he?’
‘He’s just been brought in from near Gommecourt. He was found by one of the Lincolns who risked his life to fetch him from no-man’s-land. There was another soldier with him, but he was dead – shot through the head. At midnight the front line of platoons from the Lincolns moved forward to try to reach some soldiers in the Sherwoods who were trapped in enemy trenches. The boy’s in a bad way, Pips. He has an abdominal wound and he’s lost his left foot. I don’t think . . .’ Her voice trailed away into silence, but Pips understood.
‘But why’s he been brought all this way? I know it’s not that far away, but if you’re badly injured it’s far enough. Why wasn’t he taken to a first-aid post nearer to where he was wounded?’
‘Because he was asking for you or Alice and one of the Lincolns knew you were with Dr Hazelwood’s ambulance corps.’
As soon as she could, Pips went in search of the soldier. They were overwhelmed with casualties arriving every few minutes by any means of transport that could be utilized. Lorries, cars, horse-drawn carts. Some were even being carried all the way from the trenches by their comrades as well as by the official stretcher bearers. They lay in rows awaiting attention from the nurses or doctors. Pips hurried along the lines, looking for a face she recognized. And then she caught her breath as she saw William squatting down beside a stretcher on the ground. She swallowed hard as she moved forward, almost afraid to see who was lying there, and when she recognized him, she almost cried out aloud. He was the last person she’d expected to see in this awful place.
Jake halted the pony and trap outside the Dawsons’ cottage and helped Henrietta to climb down.
‘Morning, Mrs Maitland.’ From her seat outside the door, which she occupied for most of the day during the warm weather, Ma greeted their visitor.
‘Good morning, Mrs Dawson. May I sit beside you?’
The old woman nodded and shifted along the bench seat a little.
‘I’ll tek the pony to Mester Dawson,’ Jake said. ‘He needs shoeing.’
‘That’s all right, Jake,’ Henrietta said. ‘I’ll walk back to the hall. You come back when you’re ready.’
The boy touched his forelock and clicked to the pony to make it move on. The two women’s gaze followed him along the road.
‘He’s a good lad. What’d’ve become of him if you hadn’t taken him in, ma’am, I don’t know.’
‘He’s turned out very nicely.’
‘How old is he? Will he be called up soon, d’you reckon?’
Henrietta laughed. ‘No one’s quite sure of his age – least of all Jake – but we think he’s about sixteen now, so, hopefully, not yet.’
‘Have you had any news?’ Ma asked quietly.
‘Not recently.’
‘We haven’t heard from Alice for a while.’
‘As far as I know, she’s fine,’ Henrietta said and was bold enough to add in a low voice, ‘William too.’
‘Thank you,’ Ma whispered as Norah appeared round the corner of the house carrying two cups of tea.
‘I saw you arrive, ma’am. I thought you might like a drink.’
‘That’s most welcome. Thank you, Norah. How are you?’
‘I’ve been better, Mrs Maitland, to tell you the truth. It’s the worry about our boys – and Alice, though I don’t expect she’s in real danger. Not like the other three.’
Henrietta pursed her lips. Still no reference to William. It annoyed her, but she kept silent, though it was hard when she guessed that the ambulance corps was in just as much danger.
‘But the constant anxiety just eats away at you,’ Norah went on. ‘I’ve lost weight because I can’t eat properly and I’m not sleeping well either. But it’s the same for anyone who’s got loved ones away fighting. I mustn’t grumble.’
‘Have there been any more telegrams delivered in the village?’
‘One yesterday to the Dixon family. Their son has been wounded. He’s got what the lads call a “Blighty” wound.’
‘Ah,’ Henrietta said, ‘so he’ll be on his way home.’
‘If he makes it,’ Ma murmured.
For a moment the three women fell silent.
‘Any news of Samuel Nuttall?’ Henrietta asked.
‘His mam had a letter yesterday. He writes regularly.’ Norah sniffed contemptuously. ‘Which is more than can be said for our lads, though we did hear from Bernard last week. He said that they’re going to a place called Somme.’
Gently, Henrietta said, ‘It’s a river, Norah. The River Somme. There’s a battle going on in that area. It started yesterday.’ She bit her lip, stopping herself from saying more. Edwin had heard from Rosemary Fieldsend that the early accounts of the huge offensive weren’t good – there had been huge British losses on the first day – but it seemed that the news had not yet reached the village. Maybe that was just as well, Henrietta thought.
Norah nodded. ‘Oh, I see. Well, at least him and Roy are still together. I’m glad about that. They can look out for each other.’
Henrietta felt a stab of fear for the two brothers, but she tried to be positive. ‘I know just how you feel about letters. We don’t hear very often, but Edwin says we have to think that “no news is good news”.’
There was another silence between them and then Norah jumped up. ‘We’ve got a stack of things for you to send out, Mrs Maitland. They’re all packed up in boxes. I don’t expect gloves and balaclavas will be needed out there in the summer, though I expect they’ll all need socks.’
‘We’ll send everything out in readiness for winter. It’ll come soon enough.’
‘I’ll see Jake and get him to bring them all to the hall when he comes back,’ Norah said. She stood for a moment looking down at her mother-in-law and Henrietta. ‘When’s it all going to end, Mrs Maitland? When are our lads coming home?’
Henrietta’s reply was heartfelt. ‘I only wish I knew, Norah.’
Pips moved forward slowly. Young Harold Dawson – ‘Boy’, as his family had always called him – was lying on the stretcher, his face glistening with sweat, his features twisted in agony. There was no blanket and his uniform had been torn aside to reveal his wound; his intestines were spilling out of the gaping opening in his abdomen and his foot was a mangled mess. Brigitta had been right; there was nothing that could be done here in these primitive conditions to help him. Perhaps they could keep some of the pain at bay, but he would die an agonizing death. Pips prayed it would be quick. He was hanging onto William’s hand as if he would never let it go. And perhaps he wouldn’t, Pips thought. Maybe they should release William from his duties and allow him to stay by his brother’s side until—
‘Miss Pips. That nurse said she was here. I want to see Miss Pips,’ Harold was moaning, though his eyes were closed.
‘Brigitta, fetch Alice at once,’ Pips whispered. ‘Tell her it’s her brother – the one they call Boy.’ She squatted down beside William. ‘I’m here, Harold.’
For a moment the boy thrashed his head from side to side and sweat ran down the side of his face. ‘Miss Pips – you must tell them – tell them back home – that William is a hero. He’s braver than any of us. I’m sorry for what we did. Tell William, Miss Pips. Tell him I’m so sorry.’
‘He’s here beside you, Harold. He’s holding your hand and he’s hearing what you say.’
‘Is he?’ His eyes, dark pools of suffering, opened and he tried to focus on the man beside him. But then he cried out. ‘I can’t see him, Miss Pips. I can’t see – anything. It’s so dark – and – and cold.’
‘I’m here, Harold. I’m here,’ William said hoarsely at last. ‘I’m with you.’
‘I’m sorry, Will, so very sorry. We shouldn’t have treated you the way we did. You’re a braver man than the rest of us put together.’ A small smile quivered on his mouth. ‘As Ma would say.’
‘Listen, Harold,’ William said urgently, leaning towards him. ‘You’ve got to hang on. You’ve got to get home. Peggy has had your baby. A little boy. She’s called him Luke Harold Cooper.’
For a long moment, Harold didn’t speak and they wondered if he had understood, but at last he whispered, ‘I’ve got a son?’
‘Yes, you have and you must get home to see him.’
Harold winced as pain overwhelmed him again, but he pulled in a deep breath. ‘Poor Peggy. I didn’t mean to shame her, Will. Tell them that. I wouldn’t have hurt her. I’d’ve married her, if only I could have got home.’
Alice arrived beside them, her hand over her mouth when she saw her young brother and in time to hear William say, ‘You’ll get home. Master Robert will help you. Just hang on, Harold.’
The boy’s eyes closed, but then they flickered open and, with a glimmer of hope, he asked, ‘You’ve heard from them then? Have they written to you?’
William glanced at Pips, silently asking how he should answer such a question, but she took the decision – and the burden – from him. ‘Yes, Harold,’ she said firmly. ‘Your mother’s written to William and told him about Peggy.’ She stroked his brow gently. ‘Don’t you worry any more. We’ll get you home and you can tell them yourself how brave your brother is.’
He let out a long, deep sigh. They watched him for a moment and then Pips gently closed the boy’s staring eyes. ‘He’s gone, William. I’m so sorry.’
William bowed his head and pressed his brother’s hand to his forehead. Pips put her hand on his shoulder and stayed with him until William raised his head again and murmured, ‘’Tis for the best, Pips. He’s out of pain now. There was no hope with an injury like that, was there?’
‘No, William,’ Pips whispered. ‘There wasn’t.’
She rose and put her arms around Alice, who was weeping openly now.
‘We’ll see to him, Alice.’
‘I’m sorry, I just can’t do it. Not this time, Pips. Not my brother.’
Together Pips and William tended him and when he had been carefully carried away for burial, William said, ‘Pips, I don’t think I’ve ever known you tell a lie before.’
Pips sighed. ‘Not before coming here, no, I don’t think I have – not even when I was little. I always owned up to things, but now . . .’ She paused and her voice broke a little as she added, ‘That wasn’t the first untruth I’ve told in the last few weeks, but I think I’ll be forgiven. It’s best that these poor boys go peacefully. Harold needed to believe that you and your family were in touch again and, who knows, maybe one day, you will be.’
William looked sceptical, but he just gave a brief nod and turned away. Even though he’d just lost his brother, there was work to do. There was always work to do. He could do nothing more for Harold, but there were plenty more wounded he could help.