It had been bad enough missing the grand opening day of the War Weapons Week, but Arnie had understood that Aunty Poll was sad about Mrs Fairchild and hadn’t felt like enjoying herself. But there were things a boy could not forgive; things that made him almost change his mind about being a pilot. Dropping bombs on Hitler might not be such a bad thing after all, he thought malevolently. Because it was his fault; all because of Hitler that many a small boy’s world had been ruined for ever.
Sweets, that’s what. Sweets rationed. Terrible, wash-your-mouth-out words. Rationed to two ounces a week and two ounces wasn’t worth walking to the shop for! Eight caramels, or two gob-stoppers or two ounces of dolly mixtures or two ounces of jelly babies. Whichever way you said it, it was still only two ounces.
‘Not such a bad thing, really,’ Aunty Poll had said. ‘Sweets take sugar and we’re desperate short of sugar. And sweets give you bad teeth, and toothache.’
Toothache. The Drill. Arnie considered it was a risk small boys must take. The decision should be theirs alone.
‘And fair shares for all,’ she’d added, well satisfied that fair shares would stop milady from Hull bringing any more bags of black market humbugs – if ever they were to set eyes on her again, that was.
‘I suppose you wouldn’t do a deal, Aunty Poll? If I was to swop my soap coupons for your sweetie coupons …’
But she had turned his proposition down flat, remarking that all he’d be getting was a clip around the ear for his cheek!
Then she had smiled and said that maybe, just maybe, mind, if he were prepared to black his boots every night, fill the log basket without being asked and clean his teeth regular, twice a day, she just might let him have her own ration, as well.
Arnie had brightened considerably. Four gob-stoppers made more sense; sixteen caramels sounded a whole lot better than eight. Good old Aunty Poll. There were days when she was really very nice.
The breeding sow had done well, Kath considered, counting the pink and pretty piglets that squealed and nudged at the full, fat teats. Newly born pigs were engaging little creatures. Pity they would grow up fat and ugly like their mother – given the chance, of course. ‘Sad that they’ll end up as bacon,’ she sighed, emptying swill into the trough.
‘Mm. But please don’t say that word – not for a while?’ Even to think of bacon sizzling and snapping in a pan did things to Roz’s inside.
‘The swallows are low.’ Kath regarded the swooping, screeching birds with a countrywoman’s eye. ‘Rain, would you think?’
Without knowing why, she thought back to April and her swallow-wish and the first cuckoo-call: the lucky one. ‘I haven’t heard any cuckoos, these last few days, Roz. Don’t they call when it’s going to rain?’
‘You won’t hear them a lot, now. They’re getting ready to leave. They’ll all be gone by the end of the month. Polly says they bring summer and they take it away …’
‘They’ll be taking my wish with them, then. But it could never have come true.’
‘Never is a long time, Kath, and wishes can come true.’
Sometimes. But not for Roz Fairchild. No Paul. No happy ever after. Just a dull pain inside her that sharpened to a stab whenever she thought of him. She had wanted to weep at Jonty’s goodness; she would have, had there been any tears inside her. But she was right not to say yes. To marry him would have been wrong, however easy a solution. It was as Polly said, ‘When in doubt, do nowt,’ and doubts she’d had in plenty.
She hadn’t told Kath about it – not all of it; just that everything was all right again between them, and that they’d agreed to be friends.
And think of angels, for there was Jonty, now; coming into the yard with the tractor and taking Kath’s suitcase from the trailer, waving.
‘Looks as if the rest of your belongings have arrived from Peacock. Do you mind, Kath, leaving the hostel and the girls?’
‘No. I like it here, too.’ Jonty was holding something up. ‘I think there must have been a letter for me, as well.’
She picked up the empty buckets and hurried to where he waited, wondering about the buff-coloured envelope and why, all at once, there should be this feeling of apprehension.
‘For you, Kath. One from His Majesty.’ Jonty smiled.
She took it, frowning. On His Majesty’s Service, the postmark pale and indecipherable. ‘Now what on earth …’
The address at the top of the letter was Shilton House Hospital, Shilton, Yorkshire. It was signed by the Sister-in-Charge, Ward 3A and it told her that her husband had been admitted to the above military hospital and that telephone enquiries could be made at any time between the hours of 0800 and 2000 hours.
Barney was home. He was here, Somewhere in England. And far sooner than she had ever thought.
‘Read this.’ She pushed the letter at Roz. ‘Barney’s in England, but I don’t know where. Somewhere not too far away, though.’
‘Shilton House. It rings a bell.’
‘I’ll phone. They’ll tell me where, exactly.’ Her heart thudded dully. She should have been glad and was ashamed that she wasn’t. ‘I mean – Yorkshire is nearer than Scotland …’
‘Or somewhere in deepest Devon. Y’know, I’m sure there’s a Shilton about three miles the other side of York. How much nearer could you get?’
‘I’ll have to tell Mat. I’ll have to go there …’ Oh, dear sweet heaven, why did she feel like this?
‘Ring them first. I might be wrong, Kath.’
‘Wrong. Yes …’
‘What is it? You’ve gone as white as a sheet.’
‘I don’t know. Didn’t expect it, I suppose; not just yet.’
Shock, was it? Apprehension? She began to shake. God – what was she to do?
‘Well, don’t look so miserable. We’ll ring at dinner-break. There mightn’t be any delay on a call to Shilton – if it’s where I think it is. And Kath – pull yourself together. It’s Barney you’ll be going to see – your husband, not the Gestapo.’
It proved surprisingly easy to make the call. Sooner than she had expected – had wanted – Kath was speaking to the Sister in charge of Ward 3A.
‘Shilton? Yes – a few miles east of York. There’s a bus will get you here. On the hour every hour from outside York station. And you are …?’
‘Allen. Mrs Allen.’ She ran her tongue round her lips. ‘I’m Barney –’
‘Mrs Kathleen Allen? Driver Allen’s next of kin, of course.’ Her voice was bright and no-nonsense and Kath tried to make a mental picture of her, but couldn’t. ‘Will you be able to visit him, Mrs Allen? A visit helps such a lot.’
‘Yes. I’m quite near. I’ll come. Maybe tomorrow. It’s almost certain I can get time off. Is it – can I – I don’t suppose I could speak to my husband?’
‘Well – we don’t normally encourage it. And they’re all out in the garden at the moment, getting some sunshine. I’m afraid it would take quite a time to get him here … But I’ll tell him you phoned, of course, and that you’ll be coming.’
‘Sister? How is he? How badly is –’
‘Perhaps tomorrow? And when you do come, Mrs Allen, can you first speak to me, or to the duty nurse? Perhaps then we could have a little chat. Do you have a telephone number I can reach you on? Just in case of emergencies – which hardly ever happen, of course.’
‘Yes. I’m at Helpsley 181 – but I go out to work, so you’d have to keep trying,’ Kath volunteered, realizing she was to be told nothing on the phone. ‘I suppose my husband couldn’t ring me?’
‘Now that, I’m afraid, wouldn’t be possible. We’re a house, you see, not really a hospital, and there are only two lines. I’m sorry, but rules, you know. I will tell your husband you phoned, though, and that you’ll be visiting.’
‘Those nurses,’ Kath said, putting down the phone. ‘They just won’t tell you anything. All I know is that I can get to Shilton on the bus; every hour, on the hour. I asked her how he was and all I could get out of her was that he was out in the garden getting some sunshine and that she’ll tell him I rang.’
‘Bossy, was she?’
‘N-no. She sounded very cheerful.’ Though she’d told her nothing she had really wanted to hear. But nurses were taught to be like that, weren’t they – dead-pan and non-committal?
‘I’m going to tell Mat,’ she said. ‘Now.’
Shilton House stood at the far end of a pretty village not very much bigger than Alderby St Mary. The on-the-hour bus stopped outside the post office and the postmistress told Kath cheerily that if she turned to her left outside and walked down the little path between the churchyard and the vicarage, she would come out at the back gates of Shilton House and save herself a long, winding walk down the drive. She had smiled at the pretty landgirl and felt pleased that some poor wounded soldier would feel all the better for having his hand held by so bonny a lass.
Kath pulled in her breath then let it go with a whoosh. She did it three times, but it didn’t do anything to calm the turmoil inside her. She wished now that she hadn’t worn her uniform, but Roz had said she ought to; that Barney had to see her in it one day so why not now? And anyway, she had said, it would be easier to thumb a lift in her uniform. Drivers always stopped for a uniform – had she considered that?
So she had worn her walking-out clothes, set her hat at a too-jaunty angle and borrowed Roz’s bicycle for the three-mile ride to Helpsley Halt. And please God let everything be all right; all right about her uniform and about the way she felt and oh, about everything. And please don’t let Barney read anything in her eyes because she didn’t want to hurt him; she really didn’t.
There was bright purple clematis and sweet-scented honeysuckle hanging over the wall of the vicarage and normally they would have pleased her. After her brick-walls and chimney-stacks life, just to see any flower growing in sweet-smelling profusion made Kath happy. But today was different. Soon she would meet Barney; after more than two years of growing apart they would suddenly be face to face and she didn’t know what she should say or do. Her cheeks burned, her heart thumped uncomfortably and she wondered if it was the same for him, too.
But Barney wouldn’t know she was coming. He’d have got her message, but he wouldn’t know about today – not for certain.
She looked up from her brooding and saw the big house ahead of her; saw the outbuildings and stables through two large wooden gates, standing wide open, and on them a neatly-painted notice: Hospital. No parking outside these gates. She walked through without thought. Somewhere to her right, around the side of the house, would be the front entrance. There, she could ask for the Sister from Barney’s ward and then they would have their little talk. Why was she still shaking and why had her mouth gone so dry?
‘’Allo there, sweetheart! Got lost, have you?’
A soldier on crutches, wearing the uniform of the wounded, smiling cheerfully and doubtless glad to be out of the war for a little while. ‘Come visiting, have you?’ He swung along beside her.
‘Yes. Driver Allen, though I’m looking for the front entrance, really.’
‘Barney, is he called? Came a couple of days ago, didn’t he? Last time I saw him he was sitting outside. Come on, then – I’ll show you. His girlfriend, are you?’
‘His wife. But shouldn’t I let them know I’m here?’
‘’S all right. I’ll tell Sister you’ve come. Over there, see? Under that big tree.’ He leaned on one crutch and pointed with the other. ‘Go on, girl. Be a devil, surprise him!’
‘Yes – I will.’ She smiled her thanks. ‘If you’d tell Sister, I’d be grateful.’
‘I’m on my way. All the best …’
She stood quite still, breathing deeply. Just a few steps more across the grass, though which one of the talking, laughing group was Barney she couldn’t be sure, for they were all dressed alike; all wearing trousers and jackets in the colour that had come to be known as hospital blue. And soft-collared white shirts and bright red ties.
He’s your husband. As Roz said, he wasn’t the Gestapo and he wouldn’t, couldn’t, make a fuss about her uniform in front of all the other soldiers.
She looked about her. The house – she could see the front of it now – was very beautiful. Exactly the place a battle-scarred soldier could get well. Old, tall trees and sweeps of lawn; flowers in surprisingly well-kept beds. Peaceful and green, away from war and wounding.
Go on, then. Go to him. Nothing to be afraid of. You can milk a cow, and drive a tractor. You’re not the wife he left behind him.
Straightening her shoulders, tilting her chin, she began to walk slowly to the big tree under which he sat.
‘Barney?’ Still a way off, she called his name. The talking and laughing stopped, heads turned. There came a long-drawn-out wolf whistle and then more good-natured laughter.
She stopped walking, because there was Barney, looking at her; a thinner-faced, sun-browned Barney and not looking at her, but through her. She shouldn’t have worn her uniform because he was frowning and turning his head away.
‘Mrs Allen!’ She spun round to answer to her name and saw a nurse, skirts flying, running across the grass. ‘Mrs Allen – a minute?’ A hand gripped her arm and she knew she was looking at the Sister in charge of Ward 3A. ‘I asked you to call and see me first. I wanted to tell you …’
Barney was standing up. Blue didn’t suit him, Kath thought wildly, and he’d shaved off his Clark Gable moustache. She took a step nearer and all the time the sister’s hand gripped her arm tightly. Barney turned, then bent to pick up the stick at the side of his chair. It was then that she wanted to cry out, but her reaction was anticipated and the hand on her arm tightened like a warning.
‘Kath?’ He was pointing with his stick; his white stick. ‘Is it Kath?’
Oh, God, God, God. Not blind? Oh, please not blind?
‘Speak to him,’ Sister said softly.
‘It’s Kath …’
‘We’re here. Over here.’ Sister’s voice was a brisk command and Barney walked slowly toward them, his stick moving from side to side. ‘That’s right …’ Her voice guided him, her hand left Kath’s arm.
Like a woman sleep-walking Kath moved to meet him, stepping to his side to avoid the probing stick. He was staring ahead, eyes unblinking and she took his left arm.
‘Barney – it’s all right.’ She wanted to be sick.
‘There now,’ Sister said comfortably. ‘You’ll both have a lot to talk about.’ She nodded toward a wooden bench on the wide, paved path in front of the house. ‘Take it easy. Off you go.’
Eyes that met Kath’s asked if she were all right and Kath nodded, pulling her husband’s arm into the crook of her own.
‘I’ve got you. You’re all right.’ Out of compassion she touched his cheek gently with her lips and she felt the stiffening of his body.
Pity. That had been wrong. He didn’t want pity. It was the last thing the Barney she once knew would have wanted.
‘My, but it’s a fine mess you’ve got yourself into.’ She said it lightly, testing his mood, but teasing was not what he wanted, either, though not two minutes ago she had heard his laughter.
‘Yes. A bloody fine mess. Have you got that uniform on?’
‘No, Barney.’ She closed her eyes as the lie slipped from her lips. ‘And here’s the seat.’ She put her hands on his shoulders, easing him nearer the bench. He reached out with his stick, tapped it, then sat down carefully.
‘Imagine – you coming to a hospital so near?’
‘Imagine.’ His voice was dry with sarcasm. ‘That’s all I can do. You tell me what it’s like. Beautiful, didn’t you say it was, in these parts?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it was a – a coincidence. Barney, please, please forgive me? I didn’t know, you see. It was a shock – you didn’t tell me. In your letter from Hafiif the nurse didn’t say …’
‘She wrote what I told her to.’
‘I know. I know! Don’t let’s quarrel. We haven’t seen each other for ages and –’
‘Two years, Kath. We’re strangers, aren’t we?’
‘And so might a lot of other couples be. Just give me time, Barney. Can you bear to talk about it? Tell me what happened. Were you on a long convoy?’
‘No.’ He dipped into his pocket for cigarettes.
‘Shall I light it for you?’ She said it too eagerly and again she felt his withdrawal.
‘I can manage. They show you how and anyway, you only burn yourself once.’ He lit the cigarette slowly, carefully, then took a small, round box from his other pocket and slipping open the lid, placed the spent match inside it. ‘And they teach you how to smoke without setting the place on fire. I don’t shave, yet …’
He’d said don’t shave, Kath noticed at once, not can’t.
‘I think I like you better without your ’tache,’ she offered.
‘Well I don’t. Some damned stupid orderly took half of it off; an accident, he said …’
There was a long, awkward silence. From beneath the big tree came the sound of laughter again, and beside them on the path a small brown bird searched, chirping, for crumbs.
‘A sparrow,’ Kath said.
Barney tapped his stick sharply against the seat and the bird flew away.
‘I’m having another operation,’ he offered, eventually. ‘I don’t know a lot about it. Sister’ll tell you.’
‘Good.’ She was afraid, almost, to speak.
‘That’s why I came back to Blighty. No one out there could do it.’
‘You’ve already had one operation? At Hafiif, was it? Barney – please tell me what happened?’
‘We were on convoy duty – carrying supplies. Going from Port Said to somewhere out Tobruk way. We’d made a stop – a bivouac, sort of – and the bloke walking in front of me stepped on a land-mine. Blew him to pieces, poor sod. I just got the blast from it. Not a mark on me. Might have been better, if there had been. My eyes copped the lot.’
‘And then?’ She reached for his hand and held it tightly, defying him to pull it away.
‘Oh, they stuck me in the back of one of the lorries and dropped me off at the nearest hospital – at Hafiif – and the rest you know.’
‘I thought they would send you back, Barney, but not quite yet. I thought it would have taken longer to get here.’
‘It would have, by sea. But there were five of us in that hospital, all in need of urgent surgery so they flew us home, with a nursing sister to look after us. The Air Force transport planes often go back empty, so they put us on one of those …’
‘Are you in pain?’ She was still holding his hand.
‘No. Just bloody blind.’
‘Don’t? Please don’t? There’s the operation – they wouldn’t operate if there wasn’t a chance.’
Her heart had started thudding again and she clung more tightly to his hand to stop the trembling of her own. This was a nightmare. Not just seeing him so helpless though that was awful enough. The terrible thing had been to come upon it with such suddenness, so unprepared for the enormity of it.
She still felt sick; still felt as if some great fist had crashed into her abdomen and left her retching with pain and shock. She wondered how it had been for him; how they had told him; how he’d taken it. Had Barney wanted to be sick, too?
A young, pretty woman walked along the path toward them. She wore the uniform of a Red Cross nurse and she smiled gently.
‘Sister says if you’d like to stay for lunch, Mrs Allen, you’re very welcome. Nothing posh; just pot-luck and army rations. But if you can’t, will you call in and see her before you leave?’
‘Thank you. I’d like to stay. Just as long as I can catch the half-past two bus back from the village. I’ll miss my connection at York if I don’t and there are only three trains a day to where I live.’
‘And you mustn’t miss your train, Kath. Whatever would the cows and sheep and pigs do without you, if you did?’
‘Barney – don’t!’ Her cheeks flushed red and she closed her eyes, shaking her head despairingly.
‘Now that wasn’t very nice, was it, soldier?’ the nurse admonished.
‘It’s all right,’ Kath whispered. ‘He didn’t mean to hurt – I know he didn’t.’
But her defence of him was futile, because he had meant to hurt her, she knew it; knew, too, that he would never accept the loss of his sight – of his manhood, it would seem to him. Until he learned to live with so enormous a tragedy, he would be dependent on those around him, especially on the wife whose responsibility he would become.
She smiled at the nurse and thanked her again, then watched as she walked away.
‘Barney?’ She must break through his anger; through the barrier of resentment he’d built around himself. They would both have to learn to accept this; find some way of carrying on. ‘I’ll be writing to Aunt Min when I get home tonight. What do you want me to tell her?’
But he merely answered her with a shrugging of his shoulders as he stared fixedly ahead. She knew she had made another mistake. When I get home, she had said.
Oh, God, help me to be more careful? she prayed silently.
‘Gave you a bad time, did he?’ Sister Ward 3A demanded, handing the teacup to Kath.
‘Awful. If only I’d seen you first. But someone told me about the short cut. My own fault …’
‘He’s very bitter, you know.’
‘Yes, but he was big and strong and afraid of nothing once. I don’t think he’ll ever accept it. But he’s to have an operation – another one, he said.’
‘Very soon. They did emergency surgery in the Cairo hospital, but he’ll be going to Edinburgh tomorrow – with two more men. There’s a very fine surgeon there and a first-class unit – very well equipped.’
‘Edinburgh? It’s a long way away.’
‘I know. And it’s sad that you probably won’t be able to visit. But it’s his only chance. The army nurse who flew over with him will be going up there with them. She’s having a few days’ leave, at the moment, but she’ll be back tonight. When you say goodbye to your husband, try to cheer him up a bit? Reassure him, Mrs Allen. Let him know that whatever happens, you’ll always be there? So much is going to depend upon you, if – if –’
She left her words hanging on the air. She didn’t have to say it; say ‘If the operation isn’t a success. If he’s blind for the rest of his life …’
‘I’ll try. I know how awful it must be for him. When will they know, Sister – if –’
‘If it’s been successful? Not for several days. Perhaps, when the dressings are removed, if he can distinguish between light and dark they’ll begin to hope. But either way, good or bad, he’ll be coming back here to convalesce and you’ll be able to visit again.
‘You must never give up hope. Just tell yourself that your husband will be getting one of the finest surgeons in the country. He’ll be in good hands.’ She opened her drawer and took out a small cigarette box. ‘I don’t use these – they make me cough – but I think you could do with one,’ she smiled. ‘And maybe another cup of tea? Don’t give up hope, my dear. Never stop hoping.’
‘It was awful.’ Kath sat at the kitchen table, hands clenched into tight fists, glad to be home, to be away from the nightmare. ‘He was bitter – so very bitter. It wasn’t the Barney I knew. He was so helpless. He’s leaving Shilton tomorrow; going to Edinburgh for an operation. The Sister said there’s hope, but they always say that. Barney just sat there, staring. He asked me if I had my uniform on and I said I hadn’t. Just think – lying to a blind man. We didn’t talk, not really. Oh, I’m just going on and on. I don’t know what I’m saying, I’m sorry …’
‘Marco knows, Kath. He asked where you were, and Mat told him. Are you sure you don’t want something to eat? There are some eggs in the pantry – I could boil one.’
‘No, thanks. Just another cup of tea and a cigarette. Oh, God, Roz – what am I to do? All this is my fault. I wanted to leave him and that lot up there thought, “Oh, yes? We’ll see about that!” How do you leave a blind man, will you tell me? How can you? And had you thought? If he doesn’t get his sight back he’ll be invalided out of the army and back to Birmingham …’
‘And you’ll have to ask for your release from the Land Army, on compassionate grounds,’ Roz finished dully, her voice a whisper.
‘Yes. It’s my own fault and I deserve it, but I’m so miserable I don’t know what to do.’
‘Then join the club, old love.’ Roz reached out for her friend’s hands and held them tightly. ‘Misery Farm we’ll have to call this place. Do you believe in God, Kath?’
‘Yes – oh, I don’t know. Why?’
‘Well, I think all we can do now is pray. For you and for Barney, for me and Sprog. And for Marco, too, I suppose. Do you know what Polly once said? She said that when you reach rock bottom there’s only one place left to go – and that’s upwards.’
‘I don’t want to go back to Aunt Min,’ Kath whispered, closing her eyes tightly against the tears.
‘I don’t want you to. What say we go out and get raging drunk?’
‘Good idea. Wouldn’t do Sprog a lot of good, though. And I suppose that since we’ve both of us hit rock bottom –’
‘You’re right. We’ll both have to stick together – well, for as long as we can. But oh, Kath, I wish I could weep. I’d give anything to be able to weep. But I can’t …’