The story below is my small tribute to the men and women who served in WW1. My own father being one of them. This is not his story except for one small aspect of it. The rest is the fantasy of my imagination.
The journey
Major James Robertson-Willerby sat back and relaxed. The train started to get up a head of steam, and soon the guard blew the whistle. Much to his delight, James had the carriage to himself, which was a rare occurrence in these days. The war had caused far more people to be mobile, and travel was not always a comfortable experience.
The train had just started to move when the door was flung open and a young lady literally fell into the carriage. James was quite used to young women, both literally and metaphorically, swooning at his feet, but all rather more delicately and purposeful than this clumsy young woman.
Although feeling rather frustrated that his journey was to be shared, but remembering that he was an officer and a gentleman, James quickly got out of his seat to assist her. In fact he stood just in time to catch her before she fell to the floor, then he almost lifted her into the seat opposite his. Next he retrieved her case which she had flung in ahead of her, he mentally noted that it looked much travelled, then placed it neatly on the luggage rack above her head, hoping that now he could get back to an uninterrupted journey, he returned to his seat.
As James settled back into his seat, the girl was busy straightening her skirt, and adjusting her hat which had ended up at a very peculiar angle.
Suddenly she looked at him and said in a soft lilting Scottish accent, which for some reason took him by surprise, “I apologise for my inelegant entrance, but I dare not miss this train. Thank you for helping me”
For the first time James really looked at her, and found himself gazing into the most beautiful deep blue eyes he had ever seen. But it was more than their colour that gave then there beauty, they seemed to sparkle and laugh even though she herself was being extremely serious.
“Perfectly all right” James hesitated, he had no desire to get into a conversation, this was his thinking time, time adjust to the fact that he was going back to a world that this young woman could not know anything of. A world of which was beyond description to the uninitiated. But politeness made him continue, “I hope you did not hurt yourself”
The girl laughed, “no, only my dignity”. Her laugh had the same effect on him as her eyes. It was not the silly giggle of some of the girls his mother was always trying to match make him with, but made him think of a fast flowing stream of clear water.
Would she laugh like that if she saw the sights and heard the sounds that he had lived with for past two years he wondered?
Even the noises from the train merged with those in his head. The constant noise of the guns, the cries of the wounded men lying in shell holes in no man’s land, cold, and their wounds covered in mud and putrid water, with only dead friends and enemies for company.
He had tried to be light hearted during this brief leave home, joining in games of tennis and even accompanying his sister to a country house dance, but it was like a thin veneer covering what he was sure was a heart that had died alongside the fallen men under his command.
Thankfully the girl seemed to have no more desire to continue the conversation than he did. But strangely her presence gave him a feeling of peacefulness.
The journey drew to its conclusion and both prepared to leave the carriage. As one last gesture of gallantry, James lifted down the girl’s case, and could not help noticing that it was engraved with the name E.J. McDonald.
Apart from a brief “Thank you”, she took her case and was gone, and soon was lost to sight in the crowed now thronging the platform. For a moment James had a strange feeling of desolation, and then he remembered the last moment their eye’s met before she hurried off. It was as if they were conveying a message to him; a message of hope, a message that there was still beauty in the world. But then what could she know of the horrors of war. He shrugged his shoulders, then straightened them, and walked forward like an officer and a gentleman, to face whatever this futile war may throw at him.
The ‘whatever’ came sooner than he expected in the form of a sniper’s bullet. Nothing too serious; the bullet had not lodged in his arm. “Just a glancing blow sir” declared Corporal Bates his batman, as he skilful bandaged up James’s arm. But for once Bates was wrong. Infection set into the wound, and although James tried to ignore it, the pain got worse, his arm felt on fire and he started to shiver. He had had influence once, but this was ten times worse. But he had to carry on for the sake of his men
James had no memory of when he collapsed, or the bumpy journey in the field ambulance; thankfully neither did he hear the remark “don’t look like this one is going to make it” made by one of the stretcher bearers.
James was confused, where was he? The noises were different to the trenches. He still heard men give cries of pain, but then there were calm voices that stilled those cries, and stranger still they were female voices.
Someone was speaking, was it to him? He tried to focus his eyes. He managed to make out a tall man who was looking down at him. That was when he realised he was in a bed; a hospital bed. “So your back with us young man, we thought you were not going to make it. The man’s voice was crisp and efficient; he did not waste time on introductions. “Best chance you had was for me to amputate, but by the time you got here you were too ill.” Then his voice softened “well truth to tell I thought you would not make it, but Sister here was convinced we could clear the infection” as he spoke he moved aside and James saw that someone was standing behind the man who he now assumed was a doctor. “Yes Sister has nursed you for the last 48 hours; she must be dead on her feet”.
The figure still was blurred to James, but he was aware of colour, mainly grey with a short scarlet cape on her shoulders. “Oh no doctor I’m just fine” the soft lilting Scottish accent brought James’s vision into sharp focus. His eyes travelled to her face and he found himself sinking deep into the beautiful blue eyes of Sister Emily Jane McDonald of the Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service.
T
