Twisted Strands (34 page)

Bridie grinned at the matron. ‘Ya right there, missis,’ she quipped, deliberately accentuating her own dialect.

‘However,’ Dulcie went on, ‘they’re sending him here, hoping that in familiar surroundings his memory might improve. And this is where you come in. They want a careful
watch kept on him. They want someone to monitor him closely, to see if he writes letters, sends messages, receives visitors, and so on. At the same time that person must try to draw him out, try
– very subtly – to prod his memory. The doctors think that, with rest and care, there is no reason why he shouldn’t recover fully.’ Dulcie looked up at her. ‘I would
like you to undertake this, Bridie. You’re not only becoming a very good nurse, but you’re bright and intelligent. And you’ll be able to talk to him – as none of us can
– in his own language. Use all the Lincolnshire sayings. You know?’

Bridie’s eyes shone and she nodded, unable to speak for excitement. She was thrilled to be trusted with such an undertaking.

‘Is he injured in any other way?’ she asked.

Dulcie consulted the patient’s notes again and shook her head. ‘No, no other physical injury apart from the effects of being in the sea for some hours.’ She looked up again.
‘There is another way of looking at it, of course, and the authorities are fully aware of that too.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That he’s swinging the lead to get out of being sent back to the war when he’s physically fit again. If that is the case, then it is your duty to catch him out, Bridie.
That’s the hard part. Can you do it?’

Bridie was silent for a moment, pondering now the full extent of what was expected of her. Slowly she said, ‘I didn’t agree with the war from the very first. I didn’t want
Andrew, or Uncle Richard, to volunteer but they did and now I feel as if I’m doing my bit too.’ She stared straight into Dulcie’s kind and knowledgeable eyes. ‘It – it
might sound silly, but I feel that if I do everything I can that’s asked of me then – then I’m helping to bring them safely home. I’ve always believed that Andrew is still
alive. That – like this sailor – he’s lost his memory or – or been taken prisoner.’

Dulcie reached out and touched her in a rare moment of an outward show of emotion. ‘My dear girl, I do understand. And, yes, you
could
be right.’ She laid great emphasis on
the word ‘could’. ‘And I hope fervently that you are. It does happen. We are going to see that for ourselves. But, my dear,’ her tone was soft and gentle, ‘it is a
rare occurrence.’

‘I know.’ Bridie nodded. ‘But until someone can give me proof that Andrew is dead, I will go on believing – and hoping – that he is alive.’

‘And if he isn’t? If he really isn’t? What then?’

The girl raised her chin defiantly. ‘Then I’ll cope with it.’

Dulcie patted her hand. ‘Good girl,’ she said briskly and turned the conversation back to plans for their expected patient. ‘We’ll put him in that smaller bedroom over
the hallway. There’s only room for two beds in there and we’ll have to pick his roommate very carefully.’

‘There’s Joe Horton. He’s from Grantham.’

The home, though originally for Nottingham soldiers, also took in a few whose homes were in the neighbourhood. Grantham was only a few miles away and Fairfield House was an ideal location for
their families to visit. As for the soldiers’ families from Nottingham, Brinsley Stokes had organized omnibus outings on Saturdays and Sundays to the home.

‘We can’t have folks like poor Mrs Hyde not being able to visit their boys,’ he said.

Dulcie nodded now in answer to Bridie’s suggestion. ‘That’s a good idea. Ask Joe if he minds being moved. Tell him only that we think he could help this poor man who has lost
his memory.’

‘We can’t tell him everything, can we?’

‘No, we can’t. There’s only you and I who know the full story.’

The mysterious patient arrived the following day. He had been given a new sailor’s uniform – his own had been spoilt by sea water. His cap – which might have
borne the name of his ship – had been missing, so there had been no clue there.

He was of medium height and thin. He had brown eyes and close-cropped brown hair. A full beard hid the lower part of his face and the visible skin was weather-beaten to a deep tan. And, Bridie
suffered a pang at the realization, he was about Andrew’s age.

‘This is your room,’ she announced, flinging open the door and trying hard to put all thoughts of Andrew out of her mind and to concentrate on helping the newcomer. ‘And this
is Joe. He’ll be sharing the room with you.’ She turned towards the man already sitting in a chair by the window. ‘Joe, this is . . .’ She turned back, as if innocently, to
say, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

‘Neither do I, lass,’ the man said, sitting on the edge of the single bed and bouncing on it a little as if to test its comfort. Then he tapped the side of his head with his
forefinger. ‘Can’t remember owt.’

‘So,’ Bridie asked, ‘what would you like us to call you?’

The man shrugged and said morosely, ‘Dunno. Some bright spark christened me “Nelson” at the last hospital. Clever devil.’

Bridie could see from his expression that the nickname hadn’t pleased him.

‘Well, how about you think of a name and that’s what we’ll call you here,’ she suggested.

‘Surname an’ all?’

Bridie spread her hands. ‘Whatever you like. Doesn’t matter. Just one name will do. Just so we have something to call you.’

‘Bloody nuisance, more than likely.’

‘Oi.’ Joe spoke up from his chair by the window for the first time. ‘None o’ that sort o’ language in ’ere, mate. Not in front of this lass any road, else you
an’ me is going to fall out afore we’ve even got to know each other.’

The newcomer seemed to take no notice of Joe. He was staring at Bridie now, his glance taking in her young, lithe body, then coming back to rest on her face. He frowned
slightly. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Bridie. Bridie Singleton.’

The frown deepened and he repeated her name. Then he shrugged. ‘No, it dun’t mean owt to me. Pity. I thought for a minute you looked familiar.’

He closed his eyes and lay back, swinging his feet up to stretch out full length on the bed. Bridie stood a moment, watching him. His breathing became regular and she could see that he had
immediately fallen asleep. She turned, smiled at Joe and put her fingers to her lips. ‘He’s had a long journey,’ she whispered. ‘Let him rest.’

Joe nodded and turned back to looking out of the window.

The newcomer did not mix easily with the rest of the patients, not even with Joe, his room mate. It was not that he was unfriendly or snobbish, merely that he had little to talk about. No
memories of his previous life, of his family, of his home, not even of his recent experiences.

‘Maybe that’s a blessing in disguise,’ Dulcie remarked in one of their private conversations when Bridie reported on the progress of her special patient – or rather the
lack of it, ‘if he’s lost all his shipmates. Does he talk at all?’

‘He asks a lot of questions, but the others just get sick of answering him all the time. They don’t want to be reminded of what happened to them at the Front. And they don’t
want to talk too much about their families. It just reminds them that they’re still separated from them, even those that have regular visitors.’

‘Is he asking anything that the authorities might regard as suspicious?’

‘I’m not sure I know what that is,’ Bridie admitted.

‘Well, if he wants details of what regiment, battalion, company the men belonged to. If he wants detailed information of where they were on the front line. The name of their commanding
officer. That sort of detail.’

Bridie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Yes, he asks how they got wounded and I suppose he might ask where it happened, but as far as I can tell he doesn’t do anything with
the information.’ She ticked off the points on her fingers. ‘He doesn’t have any visitors. He doesn’t write letters or receive any. How can he? He doesn’t know who he
is. Or at least he’s not supposed to know.’

‘Have you any doubts about his loss of memory.’

Bridie frowned. ‘I’ve never known anyone before who’d lost their memory, so it’s difficult.’

‘Well, I have to admit that, in all my nursing life, neither have I,’ Dulcie was quick to say too.

‘But if he is having us on,’ Bridie said slowly, ‘then all I can say is he’s a very good actor.’

‘I’ve had enough of him,’ Joe Horton said after only two weeks of sharing a room with Walter, as the mysterious patient had decided he wanted to be called.
‘He dun’t give a damn about owt. He’s forever flirting with the nurses.’ He cast a shrewd glance at Bridie. ‘Dun’t you be teken in by him, lass, will
ya?’

Bridie laughed as she plumped Joe’s pillows. ‘I won’t.’

‘There’s a few here,’ the man said gently, ‘who’d like you to be their girl. And there’s one or two ya’d be safe wi’, but not him.’

‘I’m quite safe. I’m waiting for someone to come back, you see.’

Joe glanced at her but said nothing. He’d heard the rumour that this poor lass’s feller had been posted missing but that she refused to believe it.

‘Anyway,’ Joe went on, ‘this Walter, or whatever his name is, he’s a devil with the girls, if you ask me.’

‘Now how would you know that, Corporal Horton?’ Bridie asked him archly. ‘And you a married man.’

Joe chuckled. ‘I’ve ’ad me moments in me time, lass, I’ve ’ad me moments. Afore I met the wife, that is,’ he added comically. ‘I’d sooner be back
in the trenches than face my Milly if she found out I’d been flirting with you nurses.’

‘What do you make of him then?’ She couldn’t tell Joe her real reason for asking, but perhaps, unwittingly, he could help her in the task she had been given. ‘Do you
think he still remembers nothing?’

Joe shrugged. ‘Far as I can tell, though there was something the other day.’

‘What?’

‘Well, we went for a walk. Him not being hurt – physically, that is – and me with only me shoulder.’

Only his shoulder! Bridie thought. Poor Joe’s shoulder had been badly wounded. There was still a piece of shrapnel embedded somewhere in it, yet here he was making light of his injury.

‘And?’ Bridie prompted.

Joe’s forehead furrowed. ‘It was funny. He seemed to know his way about the place. “We’ll go up the hill to the village,” he said. Now how did he know there was a
village up the hill?’

‘You can see the church at the top. Perhaps he just realized that where there’s a church there must be a village.’

‘Aye, I suppose so. But then, coming back, he brought me back through the fields, through the covert and down to the beck. He seemed to know his way about, if you know what I mean. Mind
you, then he stood near the water gazing down at it for so long I got a bit worried.’

‘Why?’

‘I thought – well, I thought he might be thinking of doing summat. You know?’

For a moment Bridie stared at him, then understanding dawned. ‘You – you don’t mean you thought he might try to – to drown himself?’

‘It crossed me mind, lass. I’ve heard of some of the lads who’ve come back from the war, maimed for life, haven’t been able to face up to the future. Sad, ain’t it,
to think they survived the trenches and then are driven to doing that?’

Bridie nodded. ‘But you don’t think Walter’s like that, do you?’

‘No,’ Joe said firmly now. ‘Know why lass?’ When Bridie shook her head, he said drily, ‘Cos he thinks too much of hissen, that’s why.’

In the September of 1917 Bridie was sixteen. She thought that the most that might be done to celebrate her birthday would be tea at Pear Tree Farm or perhaps a day in
Nottingham with her aunt – if Eveleen could spare the time. So she was disappointed that by the time she awoke on the morning of the birthday, no invitation from anyone had been
forthcoming.

There were no cards or letters in the morning post for her either, but she plastered a cheery smile on her face and went about her work, trying to forget what day it was.

At three-thirty in the afternoon she was surprised to see all the patients disappearing into the sitting room that had been turned into the patients’ recreation room. Those who could walk
were helping those who could not.

‘What’s going on?’ Bridie asked Nurse Collier.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ the nurse said vaguely. ‘I expect they’re having a meeting or something. Look, could you do me a huge favour? There’s some sheets need
mangling in the wash-house in the yard. The girl who comes from the village didn’t show up this morning. Be an angel and do them for us.’

Bridie sighed inwardly, but replied, ‘Of course. Do you want them hanging out on the line?’

‘Er – well, yes, whatever you like. It’s a bit late in the day, but they might dry.’

‘I’ll ask Jack to put the line up.’ Jack Morton, Micky’s younger brother, now worked at Fairfield House.

‘I don’t think he’s here,’ came the swift reply. ‘Just mangle them for now, Bridie. We’ll hang ’em out in the morning.’

Bridie shrugged and went down the stone passages towards the back door. As she passed the kitchen, the door slammed shut and beyond it she heard the two young kitchenmaids giggling.

She was tempted to open it and poke her head round to see what they were doing, but then she heard the cook’s sharp voice. ‘Behave, you two. She’ll hear you.’

Bridie smiled. Matron’s authority even extended into the cook’s domain.

She had finished mangling the sheets and, with little else that needed her immediate attention, she slipped out of the gate from the yard leading into the field and walked down the slope towards
the beck, rippling and gurgling in the warm September sunshine. She sat down on a boulder at the edge of the water and slipped off her boots and stockings. Pulling her skirts up to her knees, she
dangled her feet in the rushing water. It was cold, but the feel of it soothed her aching feet. She had been rushing around since early morning without a moment to herself. It was such a lovely,
peaceful place, she thought, her gaze drifting over the fields. She should bring Walter to this spot. Perhaps its tranquillity would help him. Then she remembered what Joe had told her. Perhaps it
would be safer to keep poor Walter away. It was a strange coincidence, she thought, that the name the man had chosen to be called was the same as Bridie’s grandfather, who had died here in
the beck. She didn’t want to risk something similar happening to him.