15. Alf Arkwright

Early one Saturday morning Gracie and Zelda drove over to Mary Vale Farm to pick up Farmer Arkwright as usual. They arrived to find crates and punnets of market produce neatly stacked outside the barn but no sign of Alf himself. Zelda and Gracie (who were now on first-name terms with the farmer) cast about the farmyard hoping to catch sight of him.

‘Odd,’ said Gracie. ‘He’s usually outside waiting for us.’

Though well into her pregnancy, Gracie lightly hopped out of the van and ran over to the farmhouse to knock on the front door. A few minutes later Alf appeared with a stricken expression on his face.

‘We’re just loading up,’ Gracie said pleasantly. ‘Will you be long?’

Arkwright shook his head. ‘I won’t be going to market today, pet.’

Gracie couldn’t stop herself asking, ‘Is everything all right? You don’t look yourself.’

‘It’s not me, it’s my son, Frank,’ Alf replied. ‘He’s been badly wounded. The Army’s sending him home – I just heard. I’m staying put at home in case any more news arrives.’

‘I’m so sorry, Alf,’ Gracie said softly.

The farmer gave her a brief smile, then patted her hand. ‘Best get on your way, eh? You mustn’t be late setting up your stall in the marketplace.’

Upset at the thought of leaving poor Alf on his own, Gracie hung back. ‘Do you want any company?’ she asked softly. ‘I could put the kettle on for a cuppa if you like?’

Seeing her sweet young face clouded with anxiety, Alf shook his head. ‘Nay, lass, be on your way,’ he urged.

‘I’ll drop by later with your earnings,’ Gracie promised, before she hurried back to Zelda waiting for her in the van.

After a busy market day Zelda and Gracie returned the farmer’s crates to the barn, then dropped his earnings through his letter-box. ‘I don’t want to disturb him again,’ Gracie told Zelda, as they drove back to Mary Vale, where they were just in time to catch a supper of spam fritters and salad served up by devoted Sister Mary Paul.

‘Farmer Arkwright didn’t come to market with us today,’ Gracie said, ravenously digging into another salty spam fritter.

‘He told Gracie that he’d had some bad news,’ Zelda added.

After setting down a plate of bread and butter, Sister Mary Paul sighed heavily. ‘His only son’s been discharged from the Army.’ Dropping her voice to a whisper, she added, ‘The lad got shot in the head and has lost the sight in his right eye.’

On hearing the dreadful news, the colour completely drained from Zelda’s face; whenever she heard of wrong done by one of her countrymen she was filled with both guilt and fear. Yet again here was another German casualty, but this one had landed right on their own doorstep.

Though Zelda and Gracie continued to take Farmer Arkwright’s produce to market every Saturday morning, Zelda, once she heard that Alf’s son was now home, stayed firmly in the van, leaving Gracie to communicate with Alf.

‘You’re being silly,’ Gracie chided.

Zelda went white. ‘Please do not say that, Gracie,’ she implored. ‘Alf’s son was shot by a German. He will not want to meet another German. Don’t you see? I am his enemy.’

Seeing poor Zelda so pale and frightened, Gracie tried to comfort her. ‘I’d have a word or two to say to anybody who upset you, lovie.’

Zelda smiled weakly. ‘You are a good friend,’ she answered quietly, but Gracie’s staunch words of support did nothing to assuage her mounting anxiety.

Zelda’s worst fears were confirmed a few weeks later when she was busy in her garden harvesting her herbs: basil, thyme, mint, marjoram, oregano and lavender. Smelling the neatly tied bundles, which she planned to dry out over winter, Zelda gave a sigh of satisfaction. In the peace of her teeming garden, with wildflowers and herbs growing alongside her summer vegetables, Zelda loosened the turban that she wore to cover her head and let her long curly red hair fly free. With the sun on her face and a soft breeze caressing her softly tanned cheeks speckled with golden freckles, she felt a surge of happiness that she could never have even imagined a few months ago. Her joy was suddenly shattered, and she jumped in fear as a loud, angry voice rang out from behind the drystone wall that adjoined Farmer Arkwright’s field.

‘Bastards, bloody bastards, all of them!’

On hearing the rage in the man’s voice, Zelda dropped to her knees behind her tomato plants to avoid any possibility of being seen. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Farmer Arkwright calling across the field.

‘Frank, lad! Where are you?’

Zelda’s heart beat so loudly that she was sure the men over the wall would hear it.

‘Just checking on’t sheep, Dad.’

‘I heard some shouting – is something wrong, son?’

‘No, just me, yelling at sheep.’

It was clear from the proximity of the farmer’s voice that Alf was standing close to his son.

‘What’s troubling you?’ he asked tenderly.

Frank replied in a harsh, bitter voice, ‘Apart from the fact that I’m half blind there’s nothing much troubling me, Father.’ Clearly ashamed of his cruel words, he faltered, ‘Sorry, Dad, one of those days.’

‘It will get better, lad,’ Alf gently assured him.

‘Good! Because it can’t get any bloody worse. I hate the Germans that did this to me. I could shoot the bloody lot of them!’ Frank growled moodily.

With her body half hidden by overhanging foliage, Zelda held her breath until she heard their voices receding across the field. Scrambling to her feet, Zelda wiped the dust from her face, then, rising to her feet, she walked slowly back to her garden shed, where she reran Frank Arkwright’s furious words through her mind.

‘I hate the bloody Germans … I could shoot the lot of them!’

What would he do when he found out that a German woman was living right next door to him? Take a gun to her too? Though she felt dreadfully sorry for Frank Arkwright, she would be mortified (not to mention terrified) if she were ever to find herself alone in his company. From now on, Zelda decided, she would be wise to avoid him at all costs.

In his desperation to speed up his son’s recovery, Farmer Arkwright visited Mary Vale to have a chat with Sister Dale.

‘It’s not just his eye that’s been damaged: the skin on the right-hand side of his face is badly burnt and weeping pus.’

Ada’s smooth brow crinkled in concern. ‘It sounds like the wound might be infected,’ she said knowingly.

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ the old man blurted out. ‘It’s bad enough Frank losing his sight in one eye but being scarred for life is quite another matter.’

‘I thought he was under the care of the hospital in Lancaster?’ Ada enquired.

‘Aye, he is, but he can’t always make the journey there,’ Alf sighed. ‘To speak the truth, Sister, he’s ashamed of his looks and hates going out in public, which is why I wondered if you might be able to keep an eye on him? You’re only across the field from us, that’s got to be an advantage.’

Ada gave him one of her brightest smiles. ‘Bring Frank along to Dr Reid’s morning surgery tomorrow,’ she suggested.

Alf gave her an embarrassed look. ‘Sorry, Sister,’ he apologized. ‘He won’t want to be seen waiting with the lasses; he’s proper embarrassed of his looks these days.’

Ada gave an understanding nod. ‘I understand, Alf,’ she said. ‘Tell him to come after eleven o’clock – the doctor will have seen the residents by then and he’ll be able to give Frank a bit of private time.’

Alf looked like a weight had been rolled off his shoulders. ‘That’s right kind of you, Sister,’ he said, as he put the weather-beaten cap he had doffed back on his head. ‘We’ll see you a bit after eleven tomorrow, then.’

The following morning Zelda, who’d been the last patient on the list to see Dr Reid, got the shock of her life when she walked slap-bang into the man she was determined to avoid. Leaving the surgery, lost in her own thoughts, she cannoned straight into tall, dark, scowling Frank, who was accompanied by his father.

‘Oh, mein Gott!’ she had cried out in alarm.

Gasping, Zelda clutched her very large tummy, which had taken the brunt of the impact. Feeling Frank’s brooding dark eye burning into her, Zelda turned to go, but Farmer Arkwright stopped her. ‘Are you all right, lassie? Did you hurt yerself?’ he asked in a concerned voice.

Desperate to get away, Zelda shook her head, still clutching her tummy, and all but ran up the corridor, leaving glowering Frank staring after her retreating figure.

‘She just spoke German,’ he muttered.

‘She is German, lad,’ his father told him.

‘What the hell is she doing here?’ Frank snapped.

‘Waiting for her baby to be born like all t’other lasses in the Home,’ Alf patiently explained.

‘Why didn’t she stay in her own damned country to give birth?’

Alf came closer to his son in order to whisper, ‘Because the Nazis shot her husband and then they came after her – she’s a Jew.’

Frank took a step back from his father. ‘A Jew?’

Alf nodded. ‘The Mary Vale nuns took Zelda in – she pays her way, mind, and she grows fruit and veg for the Home.’ He smiled fondly before adding, ‘She’s a brave little lass.’

Frank remained unimpressed. ‘I thought I’d seen the back of Germans when I got discharged.’

Alf gave him a hard stare. ‘We’re talking about a woman on her own, Frank. On paper she might be the enemy; here at Mary Vale she’s just Zelda. Leave her be, lad, or you’ll have me to answer to.’

After examining Frank’s wounds James assured him that he would do what he could.

‘I’m more than happy to take care of you, though I’m not a burns specialist.’

As Jamie and Ada treated the livid raw scar tissue on Frank’s face, Jamie asked his patient how the attack had happened.

‘We were in a Sherman tank in northern France, being chased by the Hun – everything suddenly went quiet and my senior officer instructed me to open the hatch and take a look outside. When I did a sniper shot me in the head – the bullet went through my right eye and out the other side,’ he said grimly.

‘My God!’ Ada gasped. ‘It’s a wonder you survived at all.’

Farmer Arkwright, who had stayed with his son throughout the examination, nodded. ‘Nothing short of a blessed miracle.’

‘Believe it or not I was lucky,’ Frank continued. ‘The enemy lobbed a grenade into the Sherman, which exploded into flames. I was thrown clear but all my mates in the tank were blown to smithereens. I landed in a ditch where I lay semi-conscious, half dead, in fact, until a French peasant woman found me and helped me to hide in a barn.’

Sensing that his question about the attack might have sent his patient’s heart rate sky-high, Jamie brought the conversation back to the ordinary by asking Frank how he spent his time now that he was back home.

‘I try to do some work on the farm,’ Frank replied. ‘But I miscalculate distances and walk into the furniture all the time – it drives me mad,’ he confessed.

‘I tell him not to fret himself,’ Arkwright protested. ‘It will get easier.’

Ada, who was feeling increasingly sorry for Frank, suggested a course of physiotherapy. ‘I’m sure Dora and I can spare a few hours a week to help you,’ she volunteered.

‘I’d like that very much,’ Frank immediately replied.

After he finished cleaning and bandaging his patient’s wound, Jamie said, ‘I’ll need to see you regularly to replace the dressing – we need to keep it fresh and clean to prevent infection.’

‘I’m grateful for your help, Doctor, and yours too, Sister Dale,’ Frank replied. ‘See you next week.’

A combination of Jamie’s treatment and regular bouts of physiotherapy slowly helped Frank to improve over the next few weeks. Without fail he regularly attended his appointments and worked hard alongside Ada or Dora, practising his walking, improving his balance and working muscles that had become weak due to protracted bedrest. The curious female residents talked about him over their meals in the dining room.

‘I bet he were a right bonny before he copped it,’ one girl said.

‘He’s got lovely dark hair,’ another girl enthused.

Sister Mary Paul, who was clearing away the dirty dishes, clucked her tongue in disapproval. ‘Leave the lad be,’ she chided. ‘He’s got enough on his plate right now; the last thing he needs is lots of girls fussing over him.’

‘You’re right, Sister,’ one of the girls agreed. ‘Anyway, who in their right mind would ever fancy a seven-month pregnant woman with swollen ankles and varicose veins?’

Gracie protested loudly. ‘You can be bonny and pregnant!’ she declared. ‘As soon as I’ve had this baby I’m determined to get back to my original weight, seven and a half stone; then I’ll start back at the shipyard and build warships to beat the bloody Germans!’ she announced with passionate determination.

Zelda’s face fell as she listened to Gracie. Did Gracie and Frank and the rest of the world want to kill her mother, sister, brother, aunt, uncle? She could not blame them, but neither could she live with the thought of always being the enemy. Catching sight of Zelda’s flushed, embarrassed face, Gracie clutched at her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart,’ she murmured guiltily. ‘You know that I don’t mean you.’

Saying nothing of her real feelings, Zelda squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘Don’t worry, Gracie,’ she lied. ‘I understand.’