Chapter 16

30 October, 1916

“Here is our lieutenant. You are looking so well, Robert, so very well with those rosy cheeks.” Mrs. Clarke had stridden to the front gate as soon as I rounded the corner off Scarborough Road as if she had been lying in wait for some time. Perhaps she had. “Give us a hug!”

More of a command than a gesture, I obliged, managing to squeeze free after a bit.

Mrs. Clarke stood back, giving some distance as she appraised me. “My, what a handsome young man you have become, all grown up since I last saw you as a sixteen-year-old going off to a new world. And now look at you in your smart uniform!”

I couldn’t help beaming, standing there on display. “Yes, I am feeling rather well, Mrs. Clarke. The hospital offered me wonderful rest. It is so good to be in the city and so good of you to put me up until I return to the Continent.” I explained that I was to stand before a medical board on 25 November, which meant I would be staying for a few weeks.

Mrs. Clarke seemed to take delight in that. Reaching up to pinch my cheek, she retorted, “Nonsense, Robert! You’re like a son to me. Your mama, my dear Annie, must be so worried about you fighting overseas. Oh dear, how is she?”

“I’m sure she is well. Papa would have said otherwise in his letters. They are now calling me Bob, not Robert anymore.”

“Oh, Bob, you will always be Robert to me. However, if it must be Bob, then Bob it will be. Bob, Bob, Bob.”

After settling my few effects in the bedroom, we spoke for over an hour about the past year. I was reticent to explain too much about the war in western France, as I had found many British civilians preferred to shun the conversation, yet she needed to understand the horror if she was to understand my shell shock.

Although determined to be the strong soldier I wanted Mrs. Clarke to see, I found that talking about battlefield experiences with her elicited deep emotions in me. She reminded me that she had nurtured me since I was born and told me not to hold back. I explained exactly what had occurred and described the symptoms. She surprised me with her understanding.

“You have gone through hell and are to return to hell. You know, that braided wound stripe on your sleeve sets you aside as a warrior who survived.”

“I had no idea—”

“Some civilians do understand a bit of what you have experienced, even if we cannot fully comprehend. Wear that stripe proudly.”

I felt safe enough with Mrs. Clarke that I cried; actually, I sobbed with relief at what she said. I had held back so much at the hospital in my desire to prove I was well, that I was worthy of again wearing an officer’s uniform. My recuperation at the hospital was necessary, but it was that moment when I realized every single one of us was fighting for all of England, and that all of mankind was fighting for civility and freedom. I felt I had come through the hell and could return to the front with courage.

I was relieved when Mrs. Clarke finally served supper, as that gave me a chance to change the conversation. Through the meal she hinted at some financial concerns, and although this was a deeply personal issue, I probed carefully.

“Well, I’ve managed to hold on to this house. It’s a struggle to make ends meet after so much was lost during the financial crisis. When Mr. Clarke died earlier that year, I was left quite sound, with savings and, of course, the life insurance proceeds. He cared for me very well.”

“What happened then?”

“On the advice of my bank manager at Coutts, I was to diversify, putting a little bit here and investing a little bit there. ‘Safe bets,’ I was told, although at the time I did not think about the word bet; rather, I felt secure with the regular income coming in. Oh, Bob, everything was good until that nasty Bosnian murdered the poor Archduke.”

“Did things change as suddenly as that?”

“Yes, it happened quickly. Banks were closed for a while, but even when they opened again, withdrawals were restricted. In spite of the losses, I’ll be all right as long as I continue my clerical work at the post office. I daresay male labor shortages have helped me to make ends meet.”

“Indeed, but surely that will halt when the lads come home. Are you worried you will be set aside in favor of soldier re-employment?”

“We will have to wait and see what happens then, but for now I will carry on. I am so much better off than you lot who are saving our civilization, you who are giving your lives. We will never forget that.”

Over the next days I settled in to a pretty good routine: going for walks to familiar haunts such as Walthamstow while Mrs. Clarke was at work, helping her prepare supper, and trying to locate friends who weren’t serving overseas.

Returning from a walk one morning, a neighbor greeted me on the sidewalk with an urgent message, handing me a slip with the telephone number. For an instant I wondered, but realized that although most homes had telephones, the line itself was shared between two or more neighbors. No name was provided, so I wondered if it might be the medical board.

A male voice answered that I instantly recognized as Cousin Eric, my caution turning to excitement. We chatted for a few minutes, then agreed to meet at the Strand Palace on Tuesday, 14 November, where he had already arranged to meet some friends. I was eager to soon link up.

I sent word to both Sam and Minnie about the night out and urged them to join. I knew Sam was training in the London area, so was looking forward to seeing him again. As the only contact I had for Minnie was at Bristol, it was unlikely he would make it, but I was hopeful.