Keep the Home Fires Burning (22 page)

‘Maybe if you told me it could help relieve the burden. It’d be better than bottling it up.’

Bill knew he could never share the horrors of Dunkirk with Marion, especially when she knew
that, once fit, he might be returning to similar horrors. ‘This is something I need to cope with on my own,’ he insisted. ‘I’m sure that the dreams will calm down in a day or two.’

Marion had to be content with that. She didn’t feel she should press Bill to say any more than he wanted to, though she often saw shadows flit across his eyes.

However, the memories festering in Bill’s brain were increasingly disturbing. He had been home just over a week when he woke in the early hours with a primeval scream and shot up in the bed.

Marion, struggling from sleep, was alarmed. She got out of bed and turned on the light to see Bill still in the midst of some inner torment. He was still threshing his arms about and the eyes he turned to her were wild. She had the feeling he was not seeing her but something very sinister.

‘Bill, oh my darling, what is it?’ she cried leaping back into bed and holding his shuddering body tight.

The sobs came then, controlled weeping but gut-wrenching sobs that shook Bill’s whole body. His torment was so immeasurably sad that Marion wept too while she rocked him gently in an effort to bring him some comfort.

When he was eventually calmer and he lay back down, Marion wiped her eyes and went to see the children, knowing the girls at least would have heard the scream and be worried. The twins were lying either side of their big sister, their eyes were full of fear.

‘It’s all right,’ Marion told them. ‘Your daddy had a nightmare but he’s better now and almost asleep again.’

They all sighed with relief. They understood nightmares; they had all had those at one time or another.

‘So you settle down now too,’ Marion said, tucking them in solicitously, ‘or we will all be like chewed rags in the morning.’

The girls lay down easily enough, for they were still tired, and Marion went down to the boys, but they were still fast asleep and obviously had heard nothing. She was hesitant to visit the lodgers and so she returned to bed.

‘Telling me might help banish the fears,’ she said to Bill. ‘That’s what I’ve always told the children if they’ve had nightmares.’

‘There’s nothing to say,’ Bill answered brusquely. ‘I just had a bad dream, that’s all.’ It had shaken him, though, for it was reminiscent of the ones he used to have when he was recovering at Ramsgate and he dreaded going back to those again.

‘All right,’ Marion said. ‘Just thought something might be bothering you, that’s all.’

‘No, I’m fine now,’ Bill told her.

She lay wide-eyed long after Bill’s even breathing told her he had fallen asleep and she noted that even in slumber his face was contorted and drawn and there was tension in every line of his body. Her heart ached for him, but if he wouldn’t share his troubles then she couldn’t force him, and she
eventually turned off the light and snuggled in beside him.

The next day Bill slept in late, so when Peggy and Violet asked about the disturbed night Marion was able to discuss it with them.

‘It isn’t to be wondered at,’ Peggy said. ‘Those Dunkirk survivors would have seen some sights. Sam had nightmares like that to start with.’

‘Bill insisted it was
just
a nightmare, but I know it was much more than that,’ Marion confided.

‘What about Pat?’ Peggy said. ‘Would he be someone Bill could share his fears with?’

Marion made a face, because Pat’s lackadaisical attitude still irritated her at times. Pat saw the funny side of most situations too, and she didn’t know whether he was the right person for Bill to confide in. On the other hand, he had come every evening to see Bill, who looked forward to his company.

Anyway, there was nobody else, and Marion was sure that if Bill didn’t unburden himself to someone he would never fully recover. ‘He has always got on with Pat,’ she said to the two girls, ‘but the man is such a fool at times.’

‘Only when it doesn’t matter,’ Peggy pointed out.

‘Yeah, he just tries to lighten the load a bit,’ Violet said. ‘I’m pretty certain he can be serious when he needs to be. I’m sure he would be able to help.’

‘I agree with Violet,’ Peggy said, ‘but if Bill doesn’t want you to hear about his experiences, then he’s not going to say anything to Pat when you or one of the children might overhear.’

‘You’re right, of course,’ Marion said. ‘I think he’s walking well enough to go out for a pint with Pat now. It will do him good to get out of the house, anyway. I think I’ll pop round to Polly’s in a minute and she can have a word with Pat when he comes in.’

Pat wasn’t at all surprised with what Marion had told his Polly about Bill. Pat had sometimes glimpsed desolation in Bill’s eyes and seen the strain inside him like a coiled spring.

‘So Marion actually wants me to take Bill for a pint,’ he laughed that evening. ‘God, that’s a turn up for the book, that is.’

‘Give over, Pat,’ Polly said, though she was laughing too. ‘Our Marion has been a lot better with you these last months. Bill won’t share his troubles with her, and she thinks he may well talk to you.’

‘I hope he does,’ Pat said. ‘He can’t deal with all that bad stuff on his own. Anyone with half an eye can see how the man is suffering.’

Pat decided to take Bill to the Victoria Inn, which was only at the end of Albert Road. Bill said nothing when Pat suggested it, but he seemed happy to be out. The pub was a fairly noisy place, which smelled of beer, and the smoke from
cigarettes and pipes hung in the air like a blue fug. Pat was well known at the pub, and he was greeted by many of the men grouped around the bar. Pat had told them all about his brother-in-law injured at Dunkirk, and more than a few pumped Bill’s hand and remarked on how well he was doing.

Pat ordered two pints from the buxom barmaid and then, as he handed one to Bill, he said to the others, ‘Must excuse us. Spot of business to discuss.’ He led the way to the very back of the pub where he found a table.

Bill sat down heavily and took a sip of his pint, and then he began to tell Pat of the nightmare he had had the previous night.

‘Woke up screaming and threshing out like a mad man,’ he said. ‘Scared the living daylights out of Marion, of course, and the kids, ‘cos the twins asked me about it this morning.’

Pat nodded. ‘Marion came and told Polly about that this morning. She said she’d not only been scared, she’d felt helpless as well.’

‘I know,’ Bill said. ‘In my mind I was grappling with the German who’d appeared from nowhere as we were trying to reach the Dunkirk beaches. He’d just sliced my mate Charley clean in half with a bayonet he had fixed to his rifle. I was a little bit behind him and semi-hidden in the undergrowth, so he probably thought that Charley was on his own. I didn’t want to load that on Marion. She was upset enough at the state I was in.’

‘No,’ Pat agreed. ‘Some aspects of war are not for women’s ears, especially when they know that their men are going out to face the same again. What happened to the scout?’

‘I killed him,’ Bill said, and he gave a sad little grimace. ‘At least he died quick. As for Charley … Oh Christ, Pat, he just lay there, his guts spilled out beside him, and he was covered in blood. There was a massive gash in his head, but he wasn’t dead. He was screaming in agony. If he had been a horse or a dog I would have put my gun to his head and put him out of his misery. I wanted to do the same for him, but I just couldn’t pull the trigger, though he was begging me to. His tortured screams will live with me always as I ploughed my way forward and hoped and prayed he would die soon.’

He turned anguished eyes to Pat. ‘There were so many dead, or nearly dead, in that débâcle, friends and comrades. There was so much blood the stink of it lodges in my brain still, and the acrid smells of cordite and fear that clothed every one of us. The whole Dunkirk thing was a mess, and a gigantic defeat, whichever way you look at it.’

Pat didn’t speak for he guessed Bill hadn’t finished. Suddenly the words were tumbling from his lips as he tried to convey the bloodbath the road to Dunkirk became and the total carnage enacted on the beaches. Pat, watching his eyes as he spoke, realised Bill wasn’t just telling him the
way it was, he was reliving it all again. Christ, he thought as he signed for more drinks, no wonder the poor sod has nightmares.

Bill was now telling Pat of the armada of little boats that appeared from nowhere to ferry the men to the naval ships anchored in deeper water, and the helpless wretchedness he had felt when he saw a fair few of those ships, filled with rescued soldiers, bombed out of the water.

‘The Government called Operation Dynamo a triumph,’ Bill said. ‘It was anything but. Many of us were in despair, for we all knew, with the best will in the world, not everyone could be rescued in time. The rumour was that the Germans were taking few prisoners. Many would never leave those beaches and a great number of those soldiers there were not long out of boyhood.

‘I had befriended one of them; I suppose he reminded me of our Richard. John Barlow was his name and he was such a joker, always with a smile on his face. He’d lied about his age to enlist and was just eighteen before we set off on that ill-fated jaunt across the Channel. I could see he was scared when he realised what we were up against when we were given orders to retreat, though he didn’t speak of his fear. None of us did that. But he did ask me if I thought we would make it. I had no idea, of course, but he was little more than a lad and so I said that of course we would and that the Allies would have some plan to rescue us.’

He gave a sudden bitter smile. ‘I even said when we were back in Blighty I would stand him a pint now that he was legally old enough to have one.’ Bill stopped and his eyes filled with tears.

Pat waited while he fought for composure and then said gently, ‘And what happened to him?’

‘I passed him in a hollow in the sands as I was making my way to the pier head we’d erected.’ Bill said. ‘He had both his legs blown off and he lay in a puddle of blood that was draining from him and seeping into the sand. He wasn’t dead either, and he turned to look at me as I passed. Ah, dear Christ, when I saw who it was I was completely devastated. I had to turn away from the look in his pain-glazed eyes. Ah, Pat you have no idea …’

‘No,’ Pat agreed. ‘I haven’t, and I can’t share any of the things you experienced, but I am more than prepared to listen. In fact I consider it a privilege that you have confided in me.’

Bill sighed. ‘No, I must thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ve had to keep so much in so as not to upset those at home. I told Richard and Sarah a little at the hospital when Richard was seeing only the glory of war. I didn’t want him to approach it like that – I’ve seen too many recruits thinking that way – but even then I didn’t go into the gory details. Marion knows nothing. I haven’t even told her I would have been one of the wounded left behind in Dunkirk if Churchill had got his way.’

‘How come?’

Bill gave a shrug. ‘He gave orders to leave the wounded behind and take only the able-bodied. I heard two officers talking about it and they sounded quite scandalised. Anyway, they chose to ignore those orders.’

‘Glad they did,’ Pat said heatedly. ‘Why did he say that?’

‘Something about the injured taking up too much space in the smaller boats,’ Bill said. ‘Some undoubtedly did, but how can a civilised country have a policy of leaving injured soldiers to the mercy of the enemy?’

It was beyond Pat’s understanding, and he went to get more drinks in with his head reeling.

He was surprised at how tipsy Bill was when he tried to stand at closing time, for he hadn’t drunk that much, but then he was probably not used to it any more. Anyway, he couldn’t really feel sorry about it either, because the drink had likely loosened his tongue and he’d said things that had to be said.

And so Pat helped Bill home, expecting a tirade from Marion, but he didn’t get one.

‘Shall I get him up the stairs for you?’ he said when she opened the door.

‘If you would,’ she said.

When the two of them had dealt with Bill, Pat said, ‘Don’t go for him, will you? He hasn’t drunk that much really. It’s just that he’s not used to it.’

‘Well, he wouldn’t be, would he?’ Marion said.
‘I won’t go for him, never fear, but did it do any good? Did he open up for you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Pat, ‘and I think that it’s probably helped him.’

‘Then thank you, Pat,’ Marion said. ‘And what odds if he has taken a drop too much?’

‘None at all.’ Pat added with a grin, ‘Though I would not like to have his head in the morning.’

Marion answered his smile as she agreed, ‘No, nor me.’

The next morning a hundred hammers were banging in Bill’s head and his mouth was as dry as dust. However, despite that, he felt as if a load had been lifted from between his shoulders making him lighter somehow. He got to his feet gingerly and dressed, ready to face the music.

Marion was in the kitchen and she glanced round as he came to stand beside her. ‘I didn’t think you would be up so early.’

Bill didn’t comment on that. Instead he said, ‘I’m sorry, Marion.’

But Marion wasn’t sorry because his eyes looked less haunted and she couldn’t be anything but pleased about that, and grateful to Pat. So she just kissed Bill lightly on the cheek and said, ‘Nothing to be sorry about, Bill.’

‘Yes, but …’

‘Not another word about it,’ Marion said firmly. ‘Now sit up to the table and I’ll have some porridge ready directly.’

Bill was surprised and pleased at Marion’s understanding. Glancing round, he said, ‘Where is everybody?’

‘Well, Sarah is at the shop as she is every Saturday morning, and Richard, Violet and Peggy are at work too. Remember I told you overtime is almost compulsory? The twins have gone round to Polly’s because I didn’t know what state you would be in this morning.’

Bill had the grace to look sheepish. ‘What about Tony?’ he asked.

‘He and Jack have gone down the allotment,’ Marion said. ‘In fact, if you are up to it maybe you could take some sandwiches and drinks down for them later?’