White Feathers (13 page)

‘Well?’ Sonny demanded.

‘Well what?’ said Joseph.

‘Me and Eru was having a bet with everyone. We got five bob on you and that Erin girl. Are we rich then?’

‘A bet on what?’

‘You know. What us fellas would all pay fifty quid for right now, eh?’

Eru sat up in protest, flipped his bedcover off and reached for his crutches. ‘No, no, you
fool
, that wasn’t it! Jeez!’ He got up and hobbled across to Joseph’s bed and parked his bum on the end of it. ‘We was betting sooner or later that one of yous’d get round to telling the other one that yous fancied each other.’ He took in Lofty, Henry and Noah with a sweep of his arm. ‘Them others said nah, but me and Sonny, eh, we seen it.’

‘Is it that obvious?’ asked Joseph, startled.

‘Like a dog’s balls,’ Henry called laconically from his bed by the window. ‘’Cept we didn’t think you’d do anything about it. That was the bet, that you would or you wouldn’t.’

‘And did yous?’ persisted Sonny.

Joseph considered for a moment, then decided he had no right to spoil their speculation. ‘We came to an agreement, yes.’

‘
Aaaah
!’ crowed Eru gleefully. ‘Come on, yous jokers, cough up!’

There was much muttering and groaning as the losers reluctantly handed over their money to a jubilant Sonny, who had also got out of bed and was hopping around the room with an empty teacup collecting the winnings.

At that moment Doctor Birch walked in and raised his eyebrows enquiringly. ‘Fundraising, are we? Good, I could do with a new shaving kit,’ he remarked as he sauntered over to Joseph’s bed. ‘Morning, Sergeant Deane. Good news.
I
,’ he said with a flourish, ‘in my capacity as quite possibly one of the finest orthopaedic surgeons to serve in this miserable war, have decided that today is the day for you to have a go on crutches. Only up and down the corridor, mind, and certainly not outside, but you can get up whenever you want. I’ll get someone to bring you a set, shall I?’

‘Nah, hang on,’ interjected Eru, offering Joseph his pair. ‘I aren’t rushing off any where. Have a go on mine, mate!’

Oh God, thought Joseph, whose strength hadn’t yet quite returned after his performance in the bathroom. He swung his legs
over the side of the bed and grasped Eru’s crutches, settled them under his armpits and gingerly put his left leg on the ground. Then, as Birch moved over to steady him if necessary, he stood slowly, experiencing a momentary but disconcerting rush of dizziness, and leant his weight on the sticks, testing the strength of his leg before he took a few tiny, hesitant steps forwards. He looked up and grinned, astounded at the altered perspective his newly regained height gave to the room. Shuffling carefully, he moved to the end of the bed then, after a brief reconnoitre of the obstacles he would have to negotiate, headed towards the doorway for the second time that morning.

‘Don’t you go out without your slippers!’ admonished Lofty.

As he reached the door, Birch hovering behind him like a father with an anxious eye on a child just learning to walk, his roommates burst into applause. Joseph raised a crutch to acknowledge their support, and came close to losing his balance.

‘Steady now,’ said Birch solicitously, grasping Joseph’s arm. ‘Now, up and down the corridor a couple of times, all right? Then have a rest. We don’t want to put too much pressure on that leg just yet.’

Joseph hobbled from one end of the corridor to the other twice, hoping that Erin would appear and see how well he was doing, but when she didn’t he went back and almost collapsed on his bed, shocked at how weak he felt. He spent the rest of the morning dozing, but woke up feeling a lot better and went for another walk, this time with Eru and Sonny. He did find Erin this time, and she smiled delightedly at his new mobility, tucking her arm under his in the pretence that he might need some support. Eru and Sonny winked knowingly at each other, but said nothing.

They wandered back to the ward together and found that mail had been delivered. For Joseph there was a letter from Tamar, as well as one from his father. He had received several cheerful and morale-boosting notes from Keely in Cairo since he had been at
Port Said, but these would be the first letters from his parents since he was carted off Gallipoli. As he was deciding which one to open first Sister Griffin appeared, striding purposefully down the ward, her ample and powerful buttocks flicking the back of her skirt out as she walked.

‘Nurse McRae? A word if you please?’ she said. She wasn’t smiling.

Erin followed her out into the corridor apprehensively, half guessing what this might be about.

‘Nurse McRae,’ began the sister brusquely. Then she stopped, looked over her shoulder at the open doorway, took Erin’s arm and steered her further down the corridor. She lowered her voice. ‘Look, there’s no discreet way for me to broach this matter. It has come to my notice that you assisted Sergeant Deane with his ablutions this morning.’

Erin blinked. ‘Yes, Sister, I did.’

‘But you’re not on this ward today. What did you think you were doing?’

Erin said nothing.

‘It’s rumoured that you and Sergeant Deane have developed some sort of an understanding. Is that true?’

‘We’re cousins, yes.’

‘That’s not what I mean. People talk, Erin, and you know it’s absolutely forbidden for nurses to fraternise with the patients. Were you?’

‘What?’

‘
Fraternising
!’

Erin gazed at the sister’s stern face and decided she had better tell the truth, or at least most of the truth. ‘We did have something we needed to sort out, yes.’

‘And what was that?’

Erin suddenly didn’t want to confess that she and Joseph had
discovered, gloriously and ecstatically, that they loved each other; it sounded so childish and unprofessional, standing here now in front of Sister Griffin in a corridor that smelled of disinfectant and boiled greens from the midday meal. But she blurted it out anyway. ‘I love him.’

Sister Griffin sighed wearily and blew her cheeks out, her breath smelling faintly of tea and cigarettes. ‘For God’s sake, girl, do you realise what will happen if Matron hears about this?’ Erin nodded but she went on regardless. ‘You’ll be bundled onto the next ship home before you even know what’s happening, that’s what, in complete disgrace and with your career in tatters. Did you not listen to anything during your selection interviews? The need for the strictest of moral codes, the highest standards of professionalism and all the rest of it?’

‘Yes, I did listen. But it’s not like that.’

‘Oh, no, it never is, is it?’

Sister Griffin rubbed her hand over her face; she didn’t want to lose this young woman — Erin McRae was a highly competent and compassionate nurse and God knew they were short of those at the moment.

‘Look,’ she went on, ‘believe it or not, I do understand, Erin. Just between you and me, the same thing happened to me during my service in South Africa. You develop feelings for the young men, especially when they’re lying there hurt and confused. They’re lonely and frightened and some of them cry out for their mothers, and I don’t know about you but that
always
touches me,’ she said, tapping her ample breast. ‘But there’s only so much you can do for them. You can tend their wounds, feed them, comfort them by talking to them, but you
can’t
fix them, my girl. That’s someone else’s job, not yours. And yes, I’m sure they’d all perk up if you gave yourself to each of them, and I’ll speak plainly here — every man wants the comfort of a woman’s arms when he’s feeling afraid
and miserable — but let’s face it, you’d never get any work done, would you? Leave that side of things to the women who do that for a living.
You
are a nurse, a dispenser of medical care, and a very good one, I might add, but that’s all.’

‘But it’s isn’t
like
that, Sister! This was something that started well before the war. I didn’t know he was going to turn up here!’

‘Well, that’s as may be, and I can’t say I blame you if that is the case — he’s a very attractive man, Sergeant Deane — but it doesn’t change anything. He’ll be sent on to England shortly for convalescence, and then home, and you’ll be left behind here because you’ve got a job to do. A very important one. Yes, you could plead nervous exhaustion or something and go running back after him, but somehow I doubt you’d do that, would you?’

‘No, I certainly wouldn’t.’

‘Right, so where does that leave you? God knows how long this war will go on — you could be apart for years. What future is there for either of you? Be practical about this, Erin. Think about it.’

‘I am thinking about it, Sister. I’ve done nothing else since he arrived.’

‘Good, and there’s something else you need to think about too, now. We’ve been warned to be ready to move at short notice.’

‘The hospital?’

‘Yes. I don’t know where we’re going but wherever it is, it will be soon. Lemnos perhaps, no one’s sure yet.’

‘And we’ll all be going?’

‘As far as I’m aware, yes. Orderlies, doctors, nurses, everyone. So you wouldn’t have had your young man for much longer any way, which is just as well as far as your career’s concerned, if nothing else. But until we do go, Erin, for God’s sake please watch your step. I don’t want to have to be talking to Matron about you, all right?’

Erin nodded; she would indeed watch her step. ‘Yes, Sister. Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me, dear. All I ask is that you heed me. You’ve a lot at stake here.’ Sister Griffin looked at the watch pinned to her apron. ‘Good God, is that the time? One more question. What sort of cousins are you?’ she asked curiously.

‘Not incestuous ones, if that’s what you mean. Joseph is the illegitimate son of the woman who married my mother’s brother.’

‘Oh, well, that’s all right then,’ replied the sister, looking relieved, if slightly confused.

As she turned and hurried off, Erin called out after her, ‘Sister, may I ask what happened to your young man?’

There was a brief silence as Sister Griffin turned back, and when she finally spoke, her voice cracked with long-suppressed feeling. ‘He was declared fit for duty again, and he died on the veldt a month later.’

Joseph read the letter from Kepa first. His father had received an official telegram advising him that his son had been wounded but there had been no details, which had been very worrying. Then a message had come from Tamar saying Erin McRae had wired that Joseph had lost his leg but was expected to survive and would be coming home soon. It was terrible news but how was he feeling now and when did he think he’d be sent home? Joseph gathered from this that his father, and therefore Tamar, had not yet received his letters. His father then offered a long list of occupations, mostly involving politics and the law, that he believed a highly educated and intelligent young man with one leg could successfully master in civilian life. Joseph shook his head in disbelief — would his father never give up trying to manage his life?

There was also news about the imminent arrival of Kepa’s first grandchild, expected within the month, and his campaign to get
Huriana and her husband to move back to Napier so he could have more to do with the baby, as was his traditional right. So far he was not having much success, but he had not given up yet. Haimona was still at sea, and safe as far his father was aware. Parehuia had not been well of late and he had taken her to some Pakeha specialist doctor who diagnosed that her heart was under some strain and had advised her to lose a significant amount of weight. Parehuia had not been at all pleased to hear this and had refused to discuss the matter since. Joseph’s grandfather, Te Roroa, was failing fast and not expected to see the year out. The shipping business was doing moderately well, although in Kepa’s opinion its days were numbered as a result of the extension of the railway, and if that were the case he would have to find some other way of financing Parehuia’s shopping trips. After that came snippets of news about Joseph’s various cousins and aunties and uncles, and a mention that he had bumped into Joseph’s mother in Napier the other day and that she was looking extremely well, as usual. Joseph smiled at this: in his opinion his father had never quite been able to let go of his feelings for Tamar.

His mother’s letter was in a similar vein. She too had been desperately worried about his condition after receiving Erin’s communication, and hoped that he would be home soon. And, like Kepa, she offered advice on the type of thing Joseph might want to do once he had fully recovered, except that her proposition was infinitely more appealing. She suggested he might like to take up a position at Kenmore if he decided not to look for work beyond Hawke’s Bay; he was an experienced drover and God knew they needed more young men on the station these days. She hadn’t heard from James for quite some time and they’d read in the papers that the Gallipoli campaign wasn’t going well. She and Andrew were both worried about him, as was Lucy. It was for Thomas, however, that they were most concerned.

He has only a month or so to go at Otago before he finishes his degree, then we expect he might come back up here, for a short while at least. He has asked Catherine to marry him and she’s accepted, and we’re delighted about that and hope they’ll have the wedding here, although there is her family to consider too, of course.

All that’s excellent news, but what’s been worrying us is the fact that he’s apparently received several white feathers in the mail. He rang the other night and told us, rather casually in passing, I might add, as if he wasn’t too bothered by it. Well, he might not be, but I am! This whole white feather business nauseates me, it really does. It makes me feel ashamed to be a New Zealander.

Joseph’s eyebrows went up: this was the first time he had ever heard Tamar refer to herself as a New Zealander. Usually she staunchly insisted on calling herself a Cornishwoman, despite the fact she’d been settled in New Zealand for over thirty years. She must really be annoyed.

This insistent need to persecute is a nasty, poisonous little disease worming its way through our communities, and women are almost entirely responsible for it. The feathers, as far as I can gather, come from the women whose menfolk have already gone away. I can understand that they might be upset about being left without husbands, sons and brothers, but the death and maiming of even more men surely won’t remedy that! I have two sons and a daughter over seas and I certainly don’t feel the need to persecute anyone! This war really is bringing out the worst in people and ‘shirker-hunting’ seems to have become a national pastime. I’m not saying that there aren’t men going to some lengths to avoid service, but really, must every man be shamed into volunteering?