D Chapter 4 . Hospital (3200 words)



    "Kate... Kate..." Her smile flashed before him, laughing, then melting away as her golden hair turned into the iron-grey whiskers on his father's scowling face. The burning sensation, the fire in his head made him cry out in pain. Then he was cold, shivering and wet and the hurt in his arm grew in strength from a dull ache to a searing, stabbing pain spreading through his body into his chest and down into his legs as he tossed and turned, thrashing the bed.
    "Kate... Kate..." she was back again, there in front of him, dancing, her hair flashing in the sunlight. What sunlight? Was that sunlight there? No, not now... the dark came, the black humidity engulfed him, where did she go? The burning, the floating, the blackness...

    "Kate eh?" said the nurse, wiping his forehead tenderly with a cold wet cloth. "Is that your sweetheart?" She wrang the cloth out in the earthenware bowl and gently wiped his forehead again. She had been doing this for days on end. Surely, the climax would come soon, she thought. Perhaps he'd die. She spoke out loud, "You get better soldier boy. You get better for your Kate."
    He sank into a fitful sleep, his head moving slowly from side to side. The nurse left the cloth, damp on his forehead and looked round the ward. It was time to turn down the lamps for the night. Most of the men were already snoring. Some quietly chugging, others roaring like lions. The ones who were awake nodded or smiled in silence to her as she walked past . The reflections in the polished floor faded as she stopped every few yards to turn down the flickering gaslights. Once finished, she returned to James and replaced the cloth on his forehead. The burning seemed to have abated; he was cooler and right before her as she watched, his contorted expression dissolved into peacefulness. She looked at him with alarm, her eyes going straight to his chest and her fingers to his wrist. But his breathing was deep and rhythmic, his pulse regular and strong.
The fever had broken; he had slipped into a deep, healing sleep.

                                                    ***

A shaft of sunlight carved its way through the gloom in Sister Ashfield's office. Her ginger hair glowed, turning to orange flame peaking from beneath her white bonnet. She had a hawkish nose and hard masculine features that belied her soft voice and caring nature. The light bounced from the papers on her desk, washing her freckles away and making her features even harder.
    "I'm sorry to tell you that your son is unconscious."
The Grandfather clock in the corner clunked on, filling the silence with apprehension.
Ellen Tandey's face was taut; her eyebrows were heavy and her shoulders set high. Eliza held her mother's hand tightly as they faced the Sister across her desk.
    "Please sit down," she said bringing another chair into the centre of the room from a corner. "The fever is over and his life isn't in danger now. He seems balanced and sound, though we cannot say when he will awake. Would you like some tea? Your journey must have tired you."
        "Yes please. You are very kind. May I see him first?" said Ellen.
Sister Ashfield picked up a small brass bell and gave it a shake. "Yes of course, but let me tell you about him before I take you through." A young, fresh-faced nurse appeared in the doorway. "Some tea please Nurse." The girl bobbed and scurried away.
    "His arm and leg will heal. His skull will mend but we don't know how his brain will be affected. He may be fine in all respects; we just don't know. My biggest concern is about his consciousness and when or if he will come back to us."
Ellen's eyes filled with tears and her head dropped down. Eliza moved nearer and placed an arm round her mother's shoulders drawing her closer.
    "You mean he may never even regain consciousness?" said Ellen quietly.
    "We just don't know. I'm sorry. We will of course contact you by special messenger
should there be any change in his condition."
    "May I go to him please?"
    "Yes of course, this way."
They left the office, passing the Nurse with the tea tray. Eliza held her mother closely
as they walked along the short corridor. The strong smell of lavender greeted them as  they entered the ward.
    "Morning ladies; Sister," said a on-armed, man with a bandage over one eye.
    "Good morning Sergeant Downing," said Sister Ashfield. Ellen and Eliza nodded briefly before turning away at the site of his injury. "Here we are Mrs Tandey."
    Ellen had been stealing herself for this moment all the way from Leamington. She had spent the morning on a stagecoach, followed by a trip in a handsome cab, dreading what she would find. The letter from the hospital had explained James' injuries calmly, without emotion and no mention of consequences, but her mind had painted a terrible picture. The worst letter was from Colonel Cox. He had explained what had happened in precise detail and the image of James tumbling over the ground with the horses riding over him had been hard to take.
    Ellen was relieved at the picture in front of her. It didn't match up to the horror of the one she had painted for herself. He looked so peaceful. His right arm and left leg were in splints and the angry, purple, blotches around his eyes had faded to yellow. His face shone, his hair was neatly combed, his nightshirt was clean and starched and both arms were outside the bedclothes. Ellen walked along one side of the bed, Eliza the other; Sister Ashfield remained at the foot.
    "Oh James... James..." Ellen whispered, stroking his forehead lightly. Eliza picked up his left arm and held his hand gently to her face without speaking.
    "I'll leave you for a moment," said Sister Ashfield. "Come back to my office in a
moment and have your tea."
    "Yes..." said Ellen, unable to check the tears flowing down her cheeks, "shortly..."

                                                        ***
    The faint sound of a hundred horses beating the ground, in the circular rhythm of a steady cantor, grew louder and louder until it demanded James' attention. It drummed into his mind reaching frenzy, then like a herd stampeding over a hill, it peaked and faded into the distance. Then the voices came. Through a tunnel at first, echoing and rolling round his head until they ceased and the muffled words melted into clarity.
    "King, Queen and Jack! I win! It's my pot!"
    "You have the luck of the devil John Parfitt!"
    "Yes. There must be nearly sixpence in there. That will do for a few pints of Ale."

    James' eyes flickered open. The gaslights were stars surrounded by rainbow halos and bright enough to hurt his eyes, making him close them immediately. He could make out light and shade through his eyelids and after a moment or two, listening to the voices, he slowly, opened his eyes again. The blurred stars grew smaller, the rainbows shrunk, light and gloom became clearer and gradually, his eyes focused and the picture became clear before him.
    A group of men, in dressing gowns, were seated at a small table a few feet away playing cards. He watched and listened, his mind blank, waiting for his brain to engage and tell him what was happening. There was something familiar and something unfamiliar about them. They had a free-and-easy way with each other. Their joshing manner, the way they sat at ease in each other's company, it was all so
familiar. Yet the surroundings were foreign, alien even. He moved his head, through
the pain, very slowly, from side to side. He was in a long room with lots of beds and a pale green floor with a shine like he had never seen. Almost in a blinding flash, it came back to him. The Army. Saracen. The Charge. Then nothing.
    He tested his good arm, gradually lifting it up in the air. He managed, but he was so weak, it felt heavy and awkward and he had to let it fall back to the bed; and there was a constant, dull, throbbing ache in his head.
    "Did you see that? He's just moved his arm!" said one of the men. "Nurse! He's just moved his arm!" he shouted. The group of men walked over to him.
    "Look he's awake!" said another man. "Can you hear me soldier?"
    "Out of the way! Let me through," said the Nurse. "Private Tandey! Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"
His throat was dry and his voice croaked, "Hospital?"
    "Here. Have this," she gave him a drink. Now away you go you lot. Go on... give him some air! Heavens but this is good news! Good fortune has prevailed, I doubted we'd ever see you awake again!"
    The men smiled and nodded as they made their way back to their table and sat down, though instead of resuming their card game, they sat there, watching the nurse.
    "You've been in a bad tumble Private Tandey. Do you remember what happened?"
He sipped at the water slowly. It soothed his throat and made the saliva flow. He spoke hesitantly, "Yes I think so. I remember the Charge. I must have come off."
    The nurse gave him a full account of what had happened, explaining how he was injured and how long he had been unconscious. She finished by telling him she was going for the Sister. The thing that surprised him most, was learning he had been unconscious for some weeks.
    Sister Ashfield marched into the ward, her skirts rustling with each step. "This is wonderful Private Tandey," she said. "Your Mother will be delighted. She has been to see you several times of course, but there was nothing she could do. There was nothing any of us could do, except wait."
    "I'll always be grateful," his voice was trembling and his head hurting.
    "I'll send a special messenger to your Mother right away."
    "No! No! Please don't!" It was an effort for him to speak so sharply.
    "Why ever not?"
    His first thought was of Kate and how he wanted to get to her before his father knew he had regained consciousness. "I want to go home and surprise my family."
    "But you won't be fit to travel for some time. You're too weak. You'll have to build yourself up, revitalise, exercise and so on. It could be months."
    "I don't care! Please...! Please... do as I say!" he stumbled over the words. "I'll exercise... and get myself strong again... then I'll go and see them. It will be a wonderful surprise for them."
    "I cannot agree to this Private Tandey. I made a promise to let your mother know if anything happened. She has a right to know."
He was too weak to argue.

    A few days later, he tasted the summer air in the hospital gardens. Slow at first, as his broken bones healed, he progressed from a wheel chair to walking sticks. His young body began the fight back to health and after a few weeks he was walking unaided. He filled in some of the long hours by writing to Kate and watched the Nurse anxiously each day for a reply.
    "I'm sorry Private Tandey," she said habitually, as she handed out letters to the other men. She came over to him one morning after the ritual, to offer some words of encouragement. "You are making good progress."
    "I can feel myself getting a little stronger each day. I just wish these pains in my head would ease."
    "Yes I know. Well there is something to lift your spirits today. You have a visitor waiting to see you."
His face lit up. Surely it couldn't be Kate? Or was it someone from the family?
    "Oh," he said, "Who is it?"
    "A Corporal Hooper. Shall I send him to you?"
    "Yes please!" The brief disappointment was quickly replaced with pleasure at the prospect of seeing the Corporal again.
She left the room and returned with Hooper moments later.
    "Good lad!" said Hooper. "Glad to see you're on the mend!" He threw a small bag onto James" bed and perched on the edge of the mattress. "There's a few shillings in there. We didn't pass the hat round earlier in case you died," he laughed. "Just heard you came round a few days ago."
    "That's good of them," smiled James. "How did you know?"
    "Surgeon Watson told us. He keeps in touch with this place, apparently he knows them."
    "That's very good of him."
    "Yes."
    "How's Saracen?"
    "I had to put him down. I'm sorry."
    "Damn!" he whispered, his head was down and he twisted a corner of the blanket in his hands. "He was a fine horse."
    "Yes... yes he was. Still, you won't be getting attached to another will you?"
    "No I am to be discharged. I may be already. I'll have to sort a few things out."
    "Lucky bugger. What will you do?"
    "Join my Father in the family business I suppose. That is if he'll have me."
    "Why shouldn't he?"
    "Oh, family problems... you wouldn't be interested."
    "Why not?"
    "Family... private. You know what I mean..."
    "Sorry Tandey, didn't mean to pry."
There was an awkwardness between them. Something needed to be said but they couldn't find the words. Hooper broke the silence. "You would have made a good soldier Tandey. Pity it didn't finish. I... I wish you well."
They shook hands. "Yes..." said James, "and you too. Give my best to Jack and Seth. Tell Seth to watch the rum."
    "Yes. I er... I just wanted to bring the money for you." Hooper tugged at his tunic and looked round the ward.
    "Yes... yes of course. Say thanks to the men for me." James turned in his bed as a shaft of pain scorched through his skull; it was all he could do not to cry out. His top lip trembled as he fought the wave of nausea.
    "Sorry... head's hurting a bit," he said. Hooper could see his eyes watering but pretended not to notice.
    "It"s hardly surprising is it? You try to get some rest now." He stood and fiddled with his buttons nervously. "I'd better be...
    "Yes of course," said James through gritted teeth.
    "Bye then."
    ""Bye Corp'l."
    James waited until Hooper had left the ward, wrapped a pillow round the back of his head and buried his face in another pillow... then clenched and unclenched his fist in rhythm with the throbbing pain.

                                                            *

    "I have had a letter from your Father, Mr Tandey," said Sister Ashfield. "He is sending you to a relative's home in Midhurst in Sussex just as soon as you are well enough to travel."
    "I'm not going anywhere."
    "I'm sorry but you can't stay here much longer. This is a military hospital and you are no longer a soldier. You are nearly fit to travel. You must convalesce and build yourself up elsewhere."
    "Then I'll go home."
    "I am sorry, I must follow your father's wishes."
    "Damn him! He rules me even when I am unwell! If I was strong enough I would disobey him."
    "I will make the arrangements." Sister Ashfield returned to her office.

                                                        *** 

    The journey was agonising. The Oxford stagecoach bounced and lurched, sending shots of pain through James' head. His travelling companions were of no help in passing the time, for they had nothing in common. They were two old ladies and a pug-faced girl in a black bonnet, who kept smiling at him, forcing him to spend the journey in silence, his neck twisted, looking out the window at the passing green fields. Eventually, after what seemed an age, the stage pulled into a coaching house in Oxford where he replenished himself with bread and ale. It was a two-hour wait for the Winchester coach and he spent it on wooden bench in the Alehouse, dozing, with his feet up. At Winchester he hired a private cab for the last leg of the journey to Midhurst.

    His spirits lifted as he looked out over the rolling countryside of Southern England. He began to work out a plan for recovery, a plan that would build his strength and retrieve his purpose, so he could face his father refreshed and ready for anything. But what of Kate? She still hadn't answered his letters. Was she waiting for him, or had she found another?
    The cab trotted along a path by the River through golden trees and swaying branches and the site of the flowing water raised his mood. He would be able to swim again. James loved to swim, he had spent many hours swimming in the River Leam as a child and the site of this river, flowing as fast as his trotting cab, brought a feeling of familiarity and hope. His thoughts returned to his plan. He would carry on walking until he felt strong enough to run. Building his strength, he would run each day, gradually increasing the distance until he was running miles and strong enough to go for a short swim. He would be careful and respect this river, it was a new challenge to master. At home, he knew every eddy and under-current; he could gauge the Leam's strength by the recent rainfall. But here, in unknown waters, he would have to study and be careful until he gained knowledge, strength and confidence.
    "Here we are sir!" shouted the driver. "That's one shilling please sir."
James threw his case out of the coach and a cloud of dust burst into the air as it hit the dirt path. He flipped a coin up to the driver who caught it expertly and touched his cap. "Here," said James sending a halfpenny spinning up to him, "Thank you."
    "I'm obliged to you sir!" said the driver.
James turned to face the thatched cottage as the driver wheeled the horse round and trotted back down the dirt road, dust stirring from the cab's wheels. Hoisting his bag onto his shoulder, he walked slowly along the path to the front door, brushing the faded peonies, their heads hanging heavy over the edge of the path. The door swung open before he reached it.
    "Master James, you have made good time," said Aunt Maude. "I have some stew ready and your bed is aired. Would you like to eat or rest? It's up to you." She had a round face and her grey hair was scraped back in a bun. The welcoming smile was warm and open. "There is some tea in the pot and I have made you some of your favourite fruitcake. At least it was your favourite when you were a child."
    "Thank you Aunt. I'm not hungry. Perhaps a rest, I'm still a little weak."
    "Yes of course. My but you are so tall now." She stood to one side and beckoned him into the small hallway. Aunt Maude had never married and had children and she was looking forward to James' stay. "Your mother has written. You must rest and take care. Go to the top of the stairs, your room is the second door along the landing on the left. I will bring you some tea."
    "Thank you. Tell me Aunt Maude, what is the name of the River? I can't remember."
    "It's the River Rother. Why do you ask?"
    "Oh just curious. No reason really." He walked through the hallway to the narrow staircase. "You know Aunt Maude, I think I'll change my mind. I have spent so much time seated today, I feel in need of a walk. I'll unpack my things later, perhaps a walk along the river would do me good."