Until We Meet Again (24 page)

‘I could have been married,’ Samuel said. ‘Many would say that I ought to have been…and I know now that I lost a young woman who meant a great deal to me, through my own selfishness and stupidity.’ He paused, and Andrew waited quietly for him to continue.

‘She was pregnant,’ Samuel went on. ‘My fault entirely. All I was concerned about was my own selfish pleasure.’

Andrew smiled. ‘It does take two, you know, so don’t feel you have to carry all the blame. Unless you forced yourself on her, and I’m sure you didn’t; you’re too much of a gentleman for that, I feel sure.’

‘No, it was a mutual thing, something we both wanted. But it was very selfish not to think of what the consequences might be. We’d been going out together for quite a while and she was a very loving sort of girl. As I’ve said, I’m sorry now that I’ve lost her.’

‘And why was that? Didn’t you feel able to face up to your responsibilities?’ asked Andrew, but not in a condemnatory manner.

‘I would have done the right thing, I suppose,’ said Samuel. ‘But by the time I knew of her condition we were no longer seeing one another. She had no desire at all to marry me, and who could blame her? I’d been playing around and Henrietta – that’s her name but she’s usually called Hetty – she had met another young man who wanted to marry her. I confess, to my shame, that I was rather relieved at the time. But I’m realising now just how much I’ve lost.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Andrew. ‘It’s a sad story. But it sounds to me as though you’re regretting your past…indiscretions. Maybe it took you a little longer to settle down than it does with some young men. But there will be someone else for you, Samuel, I feel sure, when this is all over, as we keep saying. And what about Henrietta? Did she marry the young man, do you know? And is she happy?’

‘Oh yes, she’s very happy,’ replied Samuel. ‘The little girl, Angela, is seven years old now. She calls me Uncle Sam,’ he said with an ironic grin. ‘I can’t avoid seeing them now and again because Hetty’s a sort of connection of mine through marriage; too complicated to explain fully. And Bertram, the man she married, he’s a grand fellow. Angie thinks he’s her father, which is only as it should be. Yes, it’s a good marriage…

‘He’s over here, somewhere, is Bertram. And I hope he comes through it all safely. I really do mean that, very sincerely.’

‘I’m sure you do, Samuel,’ said Andrew. ‘None of us are free from sin, you know; wrongdoing is perhaps a more acceptable word than sin. Try to remember that. We’ve all fallen short of God’s standards, and our own standards sometimes. We all have things in our past that we have cause to feel ashamed about. “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God…” That’s what the Bible says, St Paul to be exact, although I don’t believe in a great deal of sermonising.’

‘I’ve a lot of catching up to do when the war’s over,’ said Samuel. ‘With my mother, more than with anyone. She’s a wonderful woman; she’s never shown me anything but love and understanding. And I know there are times when she must have been disappointed in me.’

‘She’ll be thinking about you even now,’ Andrew told him, ‘and saying a prayer for you, just as I know my mother will be doing for me.’

‘Yes, she’s a very special person. She’s in charge of a convalescent home in Scarborough…’ Samuel went on to tell his new friend about the work that his mother and other members of his family were doing.

‘That’s good,’ said Andrew. ‘We all serve in different ways. I’m trying to do what I believe
God is calling me to do. I must confess, though, Samuel, that I have a great admiration for the Roman Catholic priests who are serving as chaplains over here. I may not agree with their doctrine; according to my faith it’s not necessary to give what they call the “last rites” to a dying person. It’s possible to get into heaven without that, and in the final analysis God is the judge. But, as I say, I do respect what they are doing. I’ve seen Roman Catholic priests go onto the battlefield with guns being fired all around, to give what they call Extreme Unction to the dying. And that is what I consider real bravery.’

‘It is indeed,’ agreed Samuel. ‘But don’t underestimate what you are doing. You have already helped me a great deal, and lots more of the men, I’m sure.’

Since that first meeting the two men had become good friends. Samuel was alone in the dugout for a little while one evening at the height of summer. There was a momentary lull in the fighting and the noise from the battlefield had ceased. In the area outside of the trench the corn in the fields was golden, almost ready for harvesting, and scarlet poppies, which already were becoming a symbol of the war and a sign of hope to the thousands of soldiers engaged in the endless conflict, fluttered in the gentle breeze.

Samuel thought about the enemy troops across the stretch of terrain known as ‘no man’s land’, who, like the British Tommies, were no doubt relieved at the brief respite from the fighting. He recalled a story he had heard – whether it was true or apocryphal no one was really sure – about the first Christmas of the war. How, on Christmas Eve, the British and the German soldiers had left their trenches and met in no man’s land, shaking hands, exchanging cigarettes, chatting and laughing together as well as they could despite the language barrier, forgetting for a few hours that they were enemies. And, maybe, thinking about Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, whose birth was being celebrated in many Christian countries. How sad Jesus must have felt at the sin and the violation of the world He had come to save.

Why, Samuel pondered, why couldn’t the men of both sides put down their arms, even now, and say, ‘No more’? He had never gone along, fully, with the tales of the atrocities committed by the ‘Hun’. Some, maybe, had the lust for brutality and depravity; but no doubt the same tendencies were there in some of our own race. But on the whole he felt sure that the majority of the German soldiers had, like the British men, been drawn into the conflict despite their personal feelings; and their wish now must be for an end to it all; to go home
and pick up the threads of family life again.

As for Samuel, he could not foretell what the future might hold for him. It seemed that he had forfeited any hope he might have had for a family life, at any rate, with the woman he had loved and lost. His thoughts strayed to little Angela, his own daughter, although it was doubtful that she would ever know the truth. His heart had been stirred a little the last time he had seen her. A bonny little girl with the brown eyes of her mother and the dark hair that was the legacy of both himself and Hetty. She was by no means a shy child; she had chatted to him in a very friendly manner. One might almost call her precocious, a ‘chip off the old block’, he mused, smiling a little to himself. He had felt a faint desire then, as he did now, that he might be rather more than an uncle to her. But Bertram had been a loving and caring father. Despite his regrets, Samuel hoped that Bertram would survive the war.

He thought about his younger brother, Tommy, as well, and Dominic and Freddie. He did not know the other two as well as he might have done, but they were all over here, somewhere. He said a silent prayer for them all, something which, to his surprise, he had found himself doing quite a lot lately.

He turned to a book of poetry that his mother
had sent him, something else that he formerly had not had much time for, but it was a solace to him now. He read again the now familiar words…

He was not going to die, though. He was convinced of that. He would live to know again the ‘laughter learnt of friends’, and he would find peace again ‘under an English heaven’.

Chapter Twenty-Two

B
y the middle of August Jack Smollett had recovered sufficiently to be discharged from the convalescent home. There was nothing more that could be done in Scarborough for his arm. The stump had healed well and it was hoped that in due course he would be fitted with an artificial arm and hand at his local hospital in Northumberland.

His mental state had improved considerably as well. He had come to terms with losing Doris. It seemed to Priscilla that he was coming to the conclusion that it was all for the best and that they would never have been happy together. As for his friendship with Priscilla, the situation was pretty much the same. They were still good friends, but he had not made any suggestion that he might want more than companionship.
He was no longer quite so dependent upon her for assistance with his dressing and eating. His left hand had become much more mobile with continual usage, and she only helped him with the occasional letter to his parents. He had told them how much he was looking forward to being home again.

His brother came down to Scarborough on the morning of Jack’s departure to assist him with his luggage on the train journey back to Hexham. Most of the staff and several of his fellow patients were gathered outside the home when the cab arrived to take them to the station. There was little time for anything other than a handshake and a brief word of farewell, but he did linger a few seconds longer with Priscilla. He held on to her hand and kissed her gently on the cheek. He had done the same, however with Faith and Tilly. Since joining the staff Tilly had been responsible for any nursing he required.

‘You’ll write to me, won’t you?’ he said quietly to Priscilla. ‘You’ve got my address, and I’d like to keep in touch with you.’

‘Of course I will,’ she replied. ‘Goodbye, Jack, and take care of yourself. It’s been good to know you.’

‘You too,’ he replied.

And with that, she supposed, she must be
content. She wondered if she would ever see him again. Whether she did or not, she knew she would never forget him.

Towards the end of August came the news that the Moon family had long been awaiting and dreading. However, it was not quite as bad as it might have been. The telegram stated that Second Lieutenant Thomas Moon was missing in action. The slight ray of hope was that it did not say, ‘believed killed’.

Faith, at first, was dry-eyed. ‘I have to go on believing that he’s alive,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t say that he’s dead. But why has it taken so long to let us know anything at all?’

‘It must be chaos over there,’ William told her. ‘There’ll be all sorts of problems with communications, and no doubt mistakes are made from time to time. But I’m sure they’re doing their best. Don’t raise your hopes too much though, my love,’ he warned her.

Tilly, too, was strangely calm. ‘It would be dreadful if they’d both gone, Dominic and Tommy as well,’ she said. She was gradually coming to terms with her loss, at least so it appeared when she was with other people. And she had to cling to the slight hope that her twin brother might still be alive. ‘I can’t believe they are both dead,’
she said with a quiet conviction.

A fortnight later it proved that she had been right. Faith received a letter from a field hospital near Calais saying that Thomas Moon was alive. He had, however, been severely injured. He had lost an arm and had suffered from concussion. He had been unconscious for quite some time and was now suffering from loss of memory. In time they hoped he would be transferred to a hospital in England.

‘Oh…thank God!’ said Faith, over and over again. ‘And the best thing is that he won’t have to go back.’ The loss of a limb was bad, but, as they had experienced with the men in their care, it did have its credit side; there would be no more fighting.

‘Yes, it’s good news, Mother,’ said Tilly. ‘I knew, somehow, that they couldn’t both have gone.’ She was sad, though, knowing that when – and if – her brother regained his memory he would have to be told that he had lost his best mate.

There was reason for a double celebration when, later that same week, Patrick and Katy announced that they were expecting their first child in six months’ time. They had doubted that it would ever happen as they had been married for seven years.

‘And goodness knows we’ve tried hard enough!’
said Patrick, which brought a blush to Katy’s cheeks.

‘Give over, Patrick!’ said William. ‘You’re embarrassing the lass! But it’s wonderful news. Very well done, Katy. Just think, Faith love, our fourth grandchild. And here’s to many more… God willing,’ he added. All of them – Faith and William, Patrick and Katy, Maddy, Jessie and Hetty, whose husbands were absent, and Tilly – raised their glasses of sherry.

That remains to be seen, mused Tilly. Freddie, Bertram and Arthur, and Samuel as well…would they all return safely? Many families, she knew, had already lost more than one son. Please God, she prayed silently, may it all be over by the time Patrick and Katy’s child is born. That would be the February of 1917, almost three years since the dreadful conflict had started.

In the month of September there were three new admissions to the New Moon home. Three more men, in addition to Jack, had been discharged, leaving room for a few more.

Tilly was assigned to a cheerful-looking young man who had lost a leg, but it did not appear to have done too much to affect his optimistic view of life. She thought he looked vaguely familiar. He had a shock of very fair hair which reminded her,
poignantly, of Dominic. He, also, had had fair hair and blue eyes, too, like the young man she had just met. But there the resemblance ended. This young man was of a stockier build with more rugged features than her handsome Dominic.

She glanced at his name tag as she handed him a cup of tea. Sergeant Stephen Ashton… She gave a gasp of astonishment. Could it be…Sophie’s brother? Steve, she had called him. But surely this was too great a coincidence.

‘Have you a sister,’ she enquired, ‘called Sophie?’

‘Indeed I have,’ he replied. ‘Don’t tell me…you must be Tilly!’

‘That’s right; I’m Tilly,’ she smiled.

‘But I thought you were working at St Luke’s with my sister?’

‘So I was until…oh, a couple of months ago. Then…well…my fiancé was killed – in the Somme offensive, like thousands more – and my parents persuaded me to move back here. My mother, Faith Moon, she’s the administrator of the home. Actually it’s our family home as well. We used to live here before the war started; in fact we still do although there have been a lot of changes.’

‘Of course; I remember now,’ said Steve. ‘Sophie told me that your mother had started a convalescent home in Scarborough. I’d forgotten
about it till now. Well, this is a very happy coincidence… I’m so sorry, though, to hear about your fiancé.’

‘Yes…thank you,’ she murmured. ‘I wasn’t the only one, though, was I? Not by any means? And it’s still going on. When were you injured, Steve?’

‘Oh, several months ago. Just before the big offensive on the Somme. It was quite a minor skirmish, I suppose, but a lot of our lads copped it. My best mate, Harry, was killed right in front of me. I saw it happen. And I copped for this… I was lucky, I suppose.’

‘Harry…yes. I remember Sophie telling me about Harry. I’m sorry to hear about that. He was her boyfriend, wasn’t he?’

Steve nodded. ‘Sort of, yes, that’s right. Harry was really keen on my sister, but she didn’t want to go steady. Perhaps just as well… I don’t know.’

‘There are all ways of looking at it,’ said Tilly. ‘Dominic and I had been engaged since last Christmas. We intended to get married on his next leave, although we hadn’t told our families. They thought we were too young, but we knew how we felt about one another. Anyway, it wasn’t to be.’

Stephen’s eyes were full of concern as he regarded her solemnly. ‘I guess you’re a survivor, though, aren’t you, Tilly, same as me?’

‘I’m trying,’ she said. ‘And…this helps.’ She
waved her hand towards the other men in the ward. ‘Caring for the wounded soldiers, like yourself. One has to try and keep cheerful.’

‘I joined up with the Bradford Pals, you know,’ he told her, ‘just as soon as I was old enough. I was all for going earlier – lots of ’em went in under age – but my parents wouldn’t hear of it. They didn’t really want me to enlist at all. Perhaps Sophie told you about our family background?’

‘Yes, so she did,’ said Tilly. ‘She said your name was…Ascher, wasn’t it? And you were called Stefan.’

‘That’s right. And my pal, Harry Brown, he was Harald Braun. We felt we were English, though, the pair of us, through and through; that’s why we joined up. Our friends at school were English lads and there’d never been any sort of trouble between us, not until this lot started. Some of the lads, those who had not become naturalised British citizens, were called back into the German army. And I still don’t know to this day if we might have been fighting against some of our former mates.’

‘Yes, I remember Sophie telling me about that,’ said Tilly. She remembered, too, about the Ashton’s butcher’s shop being ransacked at the time of the Somme offensive. She wondered if Steve’s parents had told him about it. She forbore to mention it in case he didn’t know. As he didn’t say anything
she assumed that they had thought it better for him to be left in ignorance.

‘Yes, I’ve been lucky, I suppose,’ he went on. ‘I missed the Somme debacle because of this lot.’ He tapped the stump of his left leg, covered by his royal blue uniform trousers. ‘I’d have copped it there, good and proper, I’m sure of that. Our Bradford Pals lost thousands, and what was it all for? Nothing, bloody nothing at all… Sorry, Tilly,’ he added. ‘I shouldn’t go on like this. Especially with you having…’ His voice petered out.

‘It’s all right, Steve,’ she said. ‘As I told you, I have to try to come to terms with it. Actually, we did have some good news this week. My twin brother was missing, and now we’ve heard that he’s in a field hospital near Calais. It was ages before we heard anything at all, and of course my mother was fearing the worst.’

‘Well, that’s good,’ he replied. ‘It was the same with me. My parents didn’t hear for quite some time. Then I was reported missing, like your brother. I was being shunted around from one hospital to another, and communications broke down, I suppose. This is bound to happen from time to time with the vast number of casualties they’re dealing with.’

‘And how is Sophie?’ asked Tilly. ‘I haven’t heard from her recently. I knew she had gone to
France, but I’ve only had one letter from her.’

‘She’s well, as far as I know,’ he replied. ‘I don’t suppose she has much time to write, and I’ve never been much of a letter writer. She’ll be pleased to know I’ve met you. I’m going to be in very capable hands, I’m sure.’

‘We all do our best,’ she replied. She was already aware of the glint of admiration and warmth in his bright blue eyes even though he had only just met her. She knew how vulnerable these wounded soldiers could be when they had been starved of female company and affection for so long. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse, me, Stephen, I must carry on with my duties. Give me a call if you want anything. I’ll leave you to get to know your fellow room-mates. They’re a good crowd and you’ll soon settle in.’

And so he did. Stephen Ashton soon became a popular patient, both with his fellow inmates and the staff. He was cheerful and optimistic despite the loss of his leg, and coped very well on his crutches, swinging along speedily around the corridors and communal rooms. He said he was looking forward to returning to Bradford in due course, and being fitted with an artificial limb. Tilly felt that he would not take long to adjust when that happened. He had an indomitable spirit and was proving to be a great comfort and source
of encouragement to the patients who might be feeling low or dispirited.

Tilly found that he was a great help to her as well. She enjoyed his company, his ready wit and his positive outlook on life. He had many of his sister, Sophie’s, qualities. She remembered the firm friendship the two of them had shared when they had worked together at St Luke’s. She appreciated being with Stephen and was aware of the developing attachment between them, akin to the one that she and Sophie had shared.

Although he said he was looking forward to his return home, she guessed that he did not want it to be too soon; that he was, in fact, only too happy to stay at the New Moon home as long as was deemed necessary. After leaving hospital he had needed a period of recuperation. As well as the loss of his leg he had suffered a certain amount of damage from the poison gas used by the enemy. Not by any means as much as some of the men had suffered, but there had been some injury to one lung and he was given to bouts of coughing and breathlessness.

Tilly recognised the light of a growing affection in his eyes when he smiled at her, more so as the weeks went by. But for her part she felt there could never be anything but a platonic sort of friendship between them. She was still grieving
for Dominic, although the deep anguish she had felt at first was abating a little. But it was too soon, far too soon to be having tender feelings towards another man. She doubted that she ever would.