Rainbow's End (43 page)

And now, just three years since he had first joined up, he was a seasoned soldier, and sometimes he thought ruefully that if it hadn’t been for the little photograph of Maggie which had been taken on that day trip to Booterstown three years before, and which he kept in the breast pocket of his battledress, he might not even be able to remember the look of her face. Sometimes, when he heard other men talking about their girl-friends he felt a terrible guilty stab – had he ever really been in love with Maggie, or had it been because she was near and she loved him that he had first begun to think about marriage? He couldn’t help remembering that his interest in her had not awakened until another feller had begun to notice her, and her urge to get married had always been much stronger than his. But it was no good wondering because he’d never know, better to acknowledge his loss and simply slog on through the war and tell himself that when it was over he’d begin a real life again.

The photograph wasn’t quite the only thing he had of Maggie’s though. When he’d gone round to Mrs Collins to talk to her about what had happened she had given him the picture. ‘Maggie was mortal fond of this little old picture,’ she had said, ‘You’d better have it, Liam, or perhaps you might give it to your mam.’

But Liam had kept the picture – it would have been a betrayal, so it would, to give it to Mammy after what had happened – and in a way it reminded him of Maggie even more than the photo did. He remembered from the very first moment she had come to live with them how she had loved it and how, gradually, he had grown to be fond of it as well. So now, although it was a little tatty, it was shoved in his knapsack and he kept it with him wherever he went.

These weren’t the best of thoughts, though, so Liam sat up and nudged Steve. Steve was his best friend, a tough, cynical Liverpudlian with a great sense of humour. They had joined up together and stayed together ever since. Tomorrow they would . . .

‘Hey, Steve, how much longer?’

Steve had his father’s pocket watch and even if he couldn’t hear what Liam was saying he must have guessed. He fished out the watch and held it so that Liam could see the face and Liam, reading it, suddenly realised that dawn had broken. The eastern sky was growing lighter, the stars overhead were paling and even as he leaned nearer to Steve, the noise stopped abruptly. The sudden silence was almost as shattering as the bombardment had been and Liam shivered and hugged his greatcoat round him.

‘I suppose they expect the Boches to come out of their bolt-holes and stand around chatting, so that they can be flattened by the next lot,’ Steve said. ‘I’m going to get some shut-eye whilst its quiet.’

He rolled over on to his side and after a moment Liam followed suit. He didn’t expect to sleep because it was getting steadily colder as the light strengthened, but presently he began to hear noises again – the creak of a knapsack settling as a man moved his weight against it; a clatter as someone cautiously turned over; and suddenly, cows lowing in the far distance. It was a soothing, gentle sound. Liam lay back and listened, gazing up at the fading stars. He knew he wouldn’t sleep . . .

He woke with someone shaking him. It was Steve. ‘Come on old fellow – rise and shine! Any moment now . . .’ The crash of the bombardment starting again drowned his voice, but Liam had got the message. All round him men were stirring, standing, picking up various pieces of equipment, generally preparing themselves for what lay ahead. He reached for his Lee-Enfield and got stiffly to his feet, shuffling towards the ladder, feeling his guts begin to knot with fear. But once they were up and over it would pass. The queue shuffled forward and Liam put his foot on the bottom rung. Any moment . . .

It was still raining. It had rained throughout the advance, retreat and advance of the previous day and it was only now the stretcher bearers had been sent out to fetch in the wounded. Tolly, Chris, George and Snowy flogged through the deepest mud Tolly thought they had ever experienced. Normally two men could manage a stretcher easily, but now because of the depth of the mud and the appalling weather, they had been sent out in fours with other men standing by to help if necessary. Bomb craters were everywhere – enormous holes filled with water into which a man could easily fall with fatal results. And it was so difficult to see with this fine rain blowing into their faces all the time. Tolly, however, was feeling relatively cheerful. When he came off this shift he would be off duty for a couple of days. Behind the lines there would be dry clothes, he thought longingly, and a decent meal, perhaps even a hot bath.

‘That’s it, Tolly, there’s bodies ahead, keep goin’,’ George shouted. Tolly could see that the ground in front of him was treacherous to say the least, with great holes and hillocks alternately, and with the wounded men that they had come to fetch now beginning to be visible through the increasingly heavy rain. They were going to have to take great care.

‘Something moved to our left,’ called Snowy. ‘Can you wheel in that direction, Tolly?’ The stretcher party all wheeled to the left and saw the man whom Snowy had pointed out. They drew alongside him and two of them lifted the groaning man on to the mud-speckled stretcher, while the other two held it, unable to stand it down because of the mud.

‘Let’s get him back to the ambulance,’ gasped Chris. ‘Come on! Back!’ They moved round, their feet slipping in the thick mud. Tolly, in spite of the heavy hobnailed boots he wore, suddenly felt something firm beneath his foot. Thank God for the occasional stone he thought, treading heavily. The next moment there was a tremendous explosion, a searing pain in his right foot and Tolly felt himself cartwheeling through the air to land in a huddled heap in the thickness of the mud.

‘Docherty, oh, Docherty!’

Ellen turned as Sister Rose bore down on her. ‘Ah, Docherty, I’m glad to have found you. There are some stretcher bearers in the reception area. I understand you’re friendly with one of them – that young Salvationist chappie,’ the Sister called out.

‘Why thank you, Sister,’ Ellen replied. ‘I’m off duty in ten minutes; I’ll pop along and see them.’

Tolly often accompanied casualties and Ellen tried to take these opportunities for a chat, for although she had realised, during the long year spent confronting the harsh realities of war, that what she had thought to be enduring and abiding love was nothing more than an infatuation for the first young man she had known, she was still fonder of Tolly than anyone else she had yet met. And knowing that the wounded from the latest battle at Ypres were being brought in she had been half expecting him to turn up.

Ellen walked sedately down to the reception area, for the Sister was very cross with nurses she caught running, and went up to the group of stretcher bearers who were having a quick cup of tea. ‘Hallo, you lot,’ she said amiably. ‘Pretty bad out there, is it?’ She looked round. ‘Where’s Tolly then – Sister said you’ve a message from him – he hasn’t gone off without waiting for me, has he?’

The men looked uncomfortably from one to another and the oldest spoke. ‘We know he’s a friend of yours, nurse. Didn’t Sister tell you that . . . that he’s a casualty?’

‘A casualty?’ Ellen felt her heatbeat quicken. Even though she knew now they would never become lovers, Tolly would always be one of her dearest friends. He was a good companion and she prayed that he had only received a flesh wound. She heard her voice shake as she asked: ‘What’s happened?’

‘We don’t rightly know, but I reckon he may have copped a Blighty one. It seems that one of the chaps trod on a land mine or an unexploded bomb or something like that. There were three of them injured out of the four and they already had a casualty with them on the stretcher I believe, so they were all brought into the casualty clearing station together. It seems Tolly’s injuries were bad enough for him to be shipped off to hospital as soon as he was well enough to be moved.’

Ellen shivered. ‘Oh, dear God! Did anyone say how badly he was wounded?’

The man shook his head. ‘No, just that he was one of the injured. You know what the gossip is like and how it travels around, so he may not be too bad – we only heard he was one of them today and apparently it happened over a week ago.’

‘Which hospital has he gone to?’ asked Ellen. ‘Do you know?’

‘St Omer, we heard,’ said the man.

‘Thanks for letting me know,’ Ellen said gratefully. ‘I’ll have a word with Sister and perhaps she’ll let me have some time off to go and see him. I’m sure she’ll understand.’

Although the wounded were still coming in from the dressing stations the nurses were coping well. The third battle of Ypres had, like all the others, brought in a steadily mounting number of wounded men, but there were fewer each day now. If Tolly had been hurt at the beginning of the battle he’d probably have been at the hospital for some days, so she would do her best to get to St Omer as soon as she could.

She thanked the men and hurried back to the ward to find Sister Rose writing up her notes. Sister looked up as Ellen drew level with her desk. ‘Ah, Docherty. Did you see your friend?’

‘No, Sister, because he’s in hospital – that was what the chaps came to tell me. It seems he’s been taken to No.7 General Hospital near St Omer. Tolly’s been like a brother to me for years – he’s an orphan, you know – so I was hoping that I might have some time off to go and see him.’

‘You’re in luck,’ Sister Rose said pleasantly. ‘We’re evacuating some of the patients to St Omer early tomorrow morning to make room for the casualties coming in. There will be two ambulances and Nurse Bly was going with them, but in the circumstances I’ll ask her to change with you. It’s not too busy, is it? There’s not too much still to be done?’

‘Oh no, Sister, and there are plenty of nurses here at the moment. Thank you very much – I’ll be ready for an early start tomorrow morning.’

Tolly lay very still in his bed with his eyes focused upon the white hump of the cage which covered him from the knees down, although he was not seeing it. He was trying to assimilate what the doctor had told him earlier in the day. A nurse had drawn the screens round his bed and then the doctor, with a couple of nurses in attendance, had come in and stood by his bed whilst one of the nurses stripped the bedcovers and removed the cage. It was no good being brave. Tolly closed his eyes and waited while bandages were undone, the dressing removed and the wound revealed. He didn’t open them again until the doctor addressed him.

‘Looking good, Tolliver,’ the doctor said genially, ‘If you go on at this rate you’ll be home before Christmas.’ He laughed, although Tolly didn’t consider the remark particularly amusing. ‘In fact, my boy, I’m going to recommend that you’re sent back to Blighty. You’re obviously not going to be able to do any sort of work here. I suppose you must have realised that?’

Tolly nodded. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

‘Well, do you want to know what the future holds for you, young man?’ the doctor asked.

Again Tolly nodded. ‘Yes, sir,’ he repeated.

‘Nurse, renew the dressings,’ the doctor said and moved to one side as the nurses took over.

Tolly continued to fix his eyes on the doctor’s face. ‘Sir?’ he said.

‘Yes, yes, yes, let me think. It’ll be probably another fortnight before you go down to Etaples and from there you’ll be shipped back to Blighty as soon as they can find room for you. Of course, you won’t be able to go straight home, it’ll be at least a further couple of weeks in an English hospital for you, to settle you down and make sure your stump isn’t going to play up. You’ll be having an artificial leg fitted in due course but that won’t be for a while yet – maybe six months. Roehampton have their work cut out to find beds right now, so in the meanwhile, my lad, as soon as the hospital in Blighty thinks you’re fit, you’ll be able to go home.’ He raised a quizzical brow. ‘Better than hospital, what?’

‘Yes sir, much better,’ Tolly said. ‘Which hospital will I be in?’

‘Can’t tell you that, my lad. Where do you come from?’

‘Liverpool, sir, Everton.’

‘Well, we’ll see if we can get you in somewhere that way,’ the doctor said easily. ‘Somewhere near your family, eh?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Tolly said. Not for the world would he have admitted to the doctor that there was no family. ‘Thank you, sir.’

The doctor nodded and the nurses removed the screens from round his bed, leaving Tolly a prey to various emotions, the chief of which was worry about where he would go. It was all very well to dismiss him from hospital and tell him to go home but, strictly speaking, he didn’t have a home. Lodgings, yes, but what landlady, however well intentioned, would take him into a lodging house with only one leg? The responsibility would deter most women, he thought.

The Salvationists would be good to him, of course they would. There were many members of the Army who had helped him in the past and would undoubtedly help him again. But he didn’t want that sort of help, he didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. What he wanted was . . .

He groaned to himself: he didn’t know what he wanted. If only he had a family of his own, a mam and a dad to turn to, but he didn’t, so there was no point in wishing. There was only the Ragged Boys Home and good though they’d been to him they didn’t have the facilities to look after a wounded man.

For an hour after the doctor had left him Tolly fretted, but then tiredness and misery overcame him and he closed his eyes. He was gently on his way to sleep when he became aware that someone was standing by the bed. He opened his eyes and glanced to the left. A nurse stood there . . . and then he began to smile as he recognised her. ‘Ellen!’

He tried to struggle into a sitting position but Ellen waved him back and leant over the bed and kissed his forehead gently.

‘Tolly, you poor boy. The nurse told me that you’ve lost your . . . that you’ve had your foot blown off and they’ve had to tidy you up a bit.’

Tolly laughed a trifle bitterly. ‘Tidy me up! They’ve taken my leg off, just below the knee.’