The Promise (45 page)

Yet even though Belle felt sad she couldn’t bring the old Jimmy back, at least she had succeeded in getting Mog accepted back into the community, because Mrs Forbes-Alton had done exactly what she had insisted upon. An apology had appeared in the
Chronicle
which said that the reporter Mr Blessard had wilfully exploited Mrs Forbes-Alton’s grief following the tragic death of her daughter and had made claims about her friend Mrs Belle Reilly that were unfounded.

It went on to report that Jimmy had been seriously wounded in action, and that the newspaper was very sorry to have added to the family’s distress at such a difficult time. The final statement was that Mr Blessard had been dismissed.

The article was on the inside of the paper, so well tucked away that not everyone would have spotted it. But regardless of how many people saw it, Mrs Forbes-Alton must have been frightened enough by Belle to make certain that the story got round the village, and she immediately included Mog in several fund-raising teas she had organized. One such tea was in her own house and Mog had come back from it incandescent with delight that she was no longer being snubbed.

Belle felt she had triumphed over the woman, but she had never told Mog anything other than that she’d spoken to Mrs Forbes-Alton about Miranda. Then a few weeks after the piece in the
Chronicle
, PC Broadhead called in at the Railway to say that Blessard had been arrested for throwing a brick through the newspaper office window while drunk. Blessard claimed he’d been unable to find another job and had lost his home as he couldn’t pay his rent. The police had shown no sympathy, instead telling him he should enlist immediately which would solve his problems.

There was no doubt that the army needed more men, even weasels like Blessard. They had raised the age limit for conscription to fifty-one, and Garth, who had only recently passed that milestone, joked that he’d never been so glad to admit his true age. The Americans had finally arrived in large numbers in France and gone into battle, and although they were inexperienced they had given Britain a surge of real hope that victory was possible.

Belle had received a letter from Vera saying that Etaples had been bombed, though fortunately the shells missed the hospital. But she said other hospitals nearer the front had been hit, power lines had gone down and operations had to be done by oil lamps. There were so many wounded coming in that in one four-day period 273 operations were carried out, the doctors and nurses starting work at eight in the morning and carrying on till one the following morning. With so many American doctors and nurses moving to the new American hospitals, the staff that remained were all overworked, sometimes with just one nurse on duty alone at night in a big ward.

At the end of March Germany’s Big Bertha gun shelled Paris from seventy miles away. Vera said it made everyone fear the gun could be turned on them next, as if it wasn’t already bad enough with enemy planes flying overhead nightly.

None of this alarming news was being reported in the newspapers, but they made much of the Red Baron, Germany’s famous ace pilot who had finally been shot down. Perhaps the press felt it was important to raise morale with some good news, as everyone was so weary and despondent.

The government had put up posters urging everyone to ‘Set their Teeth and See it Through’, and that was all anyone could do. People were afraid of the Zeppelins and bombers and struggled with prices that kept on rising, with food shortages, rationing and long queues just for a loaf of bread or half a pound of sugar. In every town and city there were many men out on the streets with missing limbs, blinded or with other serious injuries. Hospitals, nursing and convalescent homes were full to capacity, yet still more wounded were brought back daily and the death toll rose remorselessly.

Shell shock was something people hadn’t heard of until the battle of the Somme, and then it was generally thought to be an excuse for cowardice. Back then, thanks to the glorification of the war by the press, few people fully appreciated the horrors men at the front had to endure. But that view had begun to change as wounded men revealed the true nature of war. Many women had observed a husband, brother or son home on leave who shouted out involuntarily at sudden loud noises, had nightmares or was withdrawn, and now the public were becoming far more sympathetic.

Yet sympathy alone couldn’t help the worst affected. Many would never be able to hold down a job again, some became violent, others turned to drink or even suicide. Still more would languish in mental asylums and would never recover.

Likewise, at the start of the war most people thought that all deserters were cowards and should be shot. But the tide had turned there too, for even though courage was still applauded and cowardice despised, the vast majority of people thought it wrong to execute someone who ran in a moment of pure terror.

Belle could see the war had changed so many things. On 6 February women over thirty had been finally granted the vote. This was something Mog was thrilled about, but which Garth viewed with anxiety. Some of the social niceties that Belle and Mog had to learn when they first came to Blackheath were virtually extinct. Class distinctions were less marked now as people were drawn together in grief at the loss of loved ones. Society women mixed with working-class girls for the war effort; officers often became indebted to the men they commanded.

Chaperones were a thing of the past; young couples seized the moment, never knowing if it would be the last. Women had risen to the challenges of wartime and had not only taken over traditional male jobs, but were excelling at them. No one was surprised any more to see female conductors on the trams and omnibuses and there were many female ambulance drivers in London. Factories, farms, shops and offices all over England had as many women on their staff as men, and women could even go into a public house now without eyebrows being raised.

Garth had finally set aside his long-held prejudice on this, though it was more to do with economics than a true change of heart. If he didn’t let a soldier on leave bring his wife or sweetheart in, they’d go elsewhere. Mog helped him serve most nights, and Belle too at the weekends, but only because their help came free.

Yet the change Belle had really hoped for had not materialized in Jimmy. He might talk a little more and help Garth by doing the accounts, but he was making no attempt to help himself. He was fitted for an artificial leg, but he wouldn’t persevere and practise walking with it. Dr Towle had tried to persuade him to see a psychiatrist friend of his to get him out of his dejected state of mind, but he refused. As for lovemaking, Belle had tried every sensual trick she’d ever learned to get him interested in it again, but he had set his mind against it, and often called her a whore for trying to please him. Even if she just cuddled up to him, he stiffened, and she couldn’t remember when he’d last kissed her. Now she rarely even tried any more, it was just too hurtful to be rejected.

There were many nights when she lay awake sadly remembering the man who could barely wait to get her into the bedroom. Sometimes they had made love the whole night, only falling asleep at daybreak, and back then he’d worshipped every inch of her.

She never undressed in front of him now. On past occasions when she had, he’d claimed she had no shame. She had raged at him, but all that did was create an atmosphere which permeated the whole house. He wouldn’t talk about it, he refused to get help, and Belle had finally accepted that this was the way it was going to be for ever.

Keeping busy was her way of getting through each day. She altered clothes for neighbours, she made a few hats for a dress shop in Lewisham, and she’d taken over cleaning the house and bar so Mog had more freedom. But there were times when she despaired. Seeing couples walking hand in hand, mothers laughing as they chased toddlers up on the heath, and families having picnics in Greenwich Park were reminders of what might have been if Jimmy hadn’t been wounded.

She told herself that thousands of other women accepted the cards they’d been dealt, and that she was lucky she and Jimmy had a home with Garth and Mog. But even though she could accept all the limitations that came with a disabled man, she resented Jimmy wallowing in self-pity. And she was afraid that one day she would crumple under the weight of responsibility for him.

‘Will you help me organize the cake stall?’

Mog’s question brought Belle back to the present.

‘Of course I will,’ she replied. Whatever else was wrong in her life it was good to see Mog bubbly and happy again.

‘I thought maybe you could paint a nice banner for above the stall,’ Mog said. ‘With cakes and things, really jolly and eye-catching.’

Garth came into the kitchen with a letter in his hand. ‘That bloke in the hardware shop just brought this in,’ he said, handing it to Jimmy. ‘It was addressed wrong. Looks like it’s from France.’

‘Yes, I could do a banner,’ Belle said, but her attention was on Jimmy rather than Mog. Despite saying he was going to write to some of his army friends, he hadn’t done so. She just hoped this letter wouldn’t be bad news and make him even grumpier.

‘Who’s it from then, Jimmy?’ Mog asked.

‘Bin,’ Jimmy said as he pulled out the letter from the envelope. ‘Well, his real name was Jack Cash, but we called him “Bin” because he was always saying he’d “bin there”. He’s the only one of the mates I made when I was at Etaples training that’s survived.’

Jimmy carried on reading, while Belle and Mog discussed the cake stall.

‘Bloody hell!’

Jimmy’s exclamation made both Belle and Mog look at him. ‘What is it?’ Belle asked.

‘He’s only gone and found out about the Frog that rescued me,’ Jimmy said. ‘Seems he’s a real hero, been awarded the top award, Croix de Guerre, that’s like our VC.’

‘I always thought he was a hero for saving you,’ Belle laughed. ‘But I didn’t know the French gave medals out for that!’

Jimmy smirked wryly. ‘He didn’t do me any favours, did he? He should’ve shot me and put me out of my misery.’

‘Don’t say that!’ Mog looked horrified.

‘He would’ve been put on a charge for leaving his men and returning to his lines. But according to Bin, he dropped me off and went right back into the fray. Singlehandedly he took out a Boche machine-gun emplacement, then shooting like a madman he found his men and took them on to that day’s objective. Bin reckons his actions saved dozens of Frogs, and they took over fifty prisoners.’

‘How wonderfully brave,’ Belle said. ‘Sounds like he really deserved a medal.’

‘But the strangest thing is that Bin claims it was a man we’d met before,’ Jimmy said. ‘We were sent down to Verdun back in 1916, to pick up a couple of our men suspected of desertion who’d been picked up by the Frogs. We stopped at this
estaminet
to get directions for the HQ and this bloke helped us and bought us a drink. He spoke perfect English, never got his name, but we talked for some time. Bin reckons that’s why he rescued me, he recognized me by my red hair.’

‘Fancy that!’ Mog exclaimed. ‘So there is some advantage to having red hair.’

Belle thought this story was amazing, but more importantly to her it was good to see Jimmy animated about something for a change.

‘Bin said that too.’ Jimmy managed a little chuckle. ‘He said, “And we all thought red hair was a curse, now we all want it.” He says the story has become one of the legends of Ypres. He said he was intending to find this Sergeant Carrera to thank him personally. But he’s gone west now too.’

Belle almost gasped aloud at the name but she checked herself just in time. ‘He got killed too?’ she asked.

‘That’s what he says. So I didn’t imagine he’d called me by my name. He did know me.’

Jimmy had told Belle back in the hospital in France that he thought the man who rescued him had called him by his name. But because of the pain he had been in at the time, he didn’t know if he’d imagined it.

Belle had to turn away from Jimmy so he wouldn’t see the horror and guilt which she was sure must be etched on her face.

Surely it couldn’t be Etienne? It was far more likely to be just another Frenchman with the same surname. Yet somehow she knew it was him. And now he was dead.

She took up the iron again, putting it back on the stove to heat up, and busied herself by folding a pillowcase neatly. But Mog was caught up in the story and wanted to know more.

‘So you’d met this man before? What was he like?’

‘I can’t remember that much now. He was older than me, tough looking, he said he’d learned English in London years before the war. That day we mostly talked about the fighting and stuff. I liked him, well, we all did. But another little mystery has been solved now. You see, I was told he gave my name when he took me in. I thought that was because he’d just looked on my tag. But maybe it wasn’t, because that day at Verdun, Bin and the other lads were calling me Little Red Reilly, and he asked me if I’d just got the nickname since coming to France and what my real name was.’

Belle’s legs were turning to jelly and she felt queasy. When she tried to pick the flat iron up again she was shaking so much she almost dropped it.

‘Isn’t that a wonderful story?’ Mog said. ‘What’s up, Belle? You’ve gone very pale.’

‘I could do with some fresh air,’ she said hastily. ‘It’s very stuffy in here.’

‘I’ll carry on with that ironing,’ Mog said. ‘Go on up and have a lie down. You never seem to sit down for five minutes these days.’

Belle did retreat to the bedroom, and fell on to her bed sobbing. In the forefront of her mind was a picture of Etienne kissing her goodbye that last time outside the hospital and telling her that it would all work out and one day they’d be together.

She had lost all hope of that when she heard Jimmy was wounded, and although a day hadn’t passed since then that she didn’t think about Etienne, she had prided herself on doing the right thing.

But it wasn’t right that he was dead. Not killed out on that battlefield, buried in a mass grave. Her strong, brave Etienne who meant more to her than she could ever adequately explain, even to herself.