Until We Meet Again (28 page)

‘No, I know you wouldn’t, my darling,’ said Faith. ‘I can’t quite take it in at the moment. Our little Tommy… And we were waiting for him to get his memory back.’

‘So it was really Dominic who had lost his memory?’ said Tilly. ‘And now he’s remembered who he is and the truth has come to light. Is that it?’

‘It must be,’ said William. ‘It’s a sad state of affairs all round; tragic, but understandable, I suppose. Another example of the mayhem caused by this dreadful war.’

‘I think I always knew,’ said Tilly slowly, drying her eyes and holding tightly to her mother’s hand. Faith’s tears, too, were subsiding now. ‘About Tommy, I mean. Deep down, I always had the feeling that something had happened to Tommy. You remember when you came to Bradford to tell me about Dominic?’ Her mother nodded. ‘Well, I was convinced then that you would be bringing bad news about Tommy.’

‘Why was that, dear?’ asked her mother.

‘I’m not sure… But we are – were – twins, of course. We had always been very close to one another. We shared a womb, didn’t we? So there was bound to be an affinity between us that ordinary brothers and sisters don’t share. Then when we heard that he was alive, I came to the conclusion that I must have been wrong.’

‘But you were right after all, Tilly, my dear,’ said William. ‘And I remember how you kept insisting that Dominic couldn’t be dead, because it didn’t feel right.’

‘No, it never felt right,’ said Tilly. ‘There again, though, I realised that I had to face facts. Everything pointed to the fact that Dominic was
dead. But in my heart of hearts…I don’t think I ever accepted it.’

‘I’m overwhelmed by it all just now,’ said Faith. ‘So dreadfully sad…and disbelieving, too, just like you were about Dominic, my dear. But it’s no more than thousands of women have already had to bear…’ She paused. ‘Let’s hope and pray that Samuel is still safe and well, and Freddie, and Bertram, and Arthur. And we must thank God that Dominic has been spared.’ She smiled sadly through her tears. ‘We will survive…and one day, please God, it will all be over.’

Chapter Twenty-Five

I
t was to be two long years, however, before the war would come to an end.

The Moon family had no alternative but to pull themselves together and continue as well as they could with their work at the New Moon home. They owed it to the young men in their care. The established routine went on as before. Those who were well enough were allowed to return to their homes – or were sent back to the conflict; and new patients suffering from physical or mental wounds were admitted as places became vacant. The wards were always full and there was no let-up in the duties carried out by the nursing and the auxiliary staff. As Faith had remarked on hearing the news about Tommy, it was no more than thousands of families had already suffered, and would continue to suffer
before a state of peace returned to the land.

Tilly, despite her grief over her brother, was delighted at long last to receive letters from Dominic. His first letter, though, was tinged with sadness as he had recently been told that he had lost his best friend.

‘I’m so sorry, Tilly, my darling,’ he wrote, ‘about the loss of your beloved twin brother, and my best mate. We tried to look out for one another, as we had promised, but in the end we mucked it up good and proper, didn’t we? Ending up with the wrong uniforms and causing no end of trouble for the top brass! It was Tommy’s fault, the silly chump! He was so keen to go and do his bit that he grabbed the wrong tunic – that was Tommy all over! I could imagine him having a good laugh about it, if it wasn’t so tragic…’

In November Dominic was well enough to make the journey to a hospital near Dover. His parents and Tilly went down to see him and there was a joyful reunion. Mr and Mrs Fraser, with a show of tactfulness that surprised Tilly, left the young couple on their own for a little while. They kissed and embraced fondly, but not as ardently as they might have wished, Dominic being in a ward with several other men. Tilly thought he looked well, considering his loss of an arm and the trauma he
had suffered with not knowing who he was for so long. He told her what had brought about the return of his memory.

‘I was listening to a Chopin nocturne,’ he said, ‘and suddenly…you were there with me, Tilly. And it all came back to me. Oh, my darling, I’ve been missing you so much since I realised who I am. But I’ll be home soon, I hope. A few weeks in your convalescent home would do me no end of good. Especially with you nursing me…’

But it was decided just before 1916 came to an end that Dominic was well enough to return straight to his own home, provided he kept in touch with his family doctor. And arrangements would be made in due course for him to be fitted with an artificial arm.

Dominic’s return to England coincided very nearly with the return of Bertram Lucas. Hetty had heard a couple of months previously that he was safe, but quite badly injured. She had already heard from Jessie, who had received a letter from Arthur, about their meeting on the battlefield. Now, after lengthy spells in hospitals in France and the south of England, he was considered well enough to be transferred, in December, to the New Moon home, much to Hetty’s delight. He was still in quite a bad way; he had lost a leg and
had suffered from the effects of poison gas, but it was believed that being amongst his own family members and friends might help him to recover more quickly.

William and Hetty both went down to Folkestone to assist him on the journey back to Yorkshire. Hetty was forced to hide her anguish on first seeing him. He appeared to have aged twenty years. His hair had turned grey, he had lost a considerable amount of weight, and the deep lines scoring his face and the dark shadows around his eyes told of the pain he was still suffering. His smile, though, when he saw her, was as cheerful as he could muster.

‘Grand to see you, Hetty love. I shall get well now I’m back home with you, never fear.’ But his words were followed by a bout of coughing and he was forced to rest a few moments to regain his breath.

‘Of course you will, Bertram,’ she said, as she kissed his ravaged cheek and hugged him. She was aware of his slight wince of pain, and she tried to keep back her tears, both of joy at seeing him, and of anxiety at his condition.

‘You’re a lucky so-and-so,’ William told him. ‘Going to your own family’s convalescent home. How did you wangle that, eh?’

‘I don’t know,’ gasped Bertram. ‘I only know
that I’m damned glad to be away from it all. No one would believe what it’s like over there. I’ve been to Hell and back, William, to Hell and back…’

And that was the only time he was to speak at all about what he must have suffered.

There seemed to be no let-up in the fighting on the Western Front. In December David Lloyd George was appointed Prime Minister, replacing Herbert Henry Asquith. And there were signs that the USA were seen to be increasingly supportive of the Allies, President Wilson declaring that they might be prepared to fight for a just cause.

Christmas, 1916, was a time of both joy and sadness for the family at the New Moon home. Bertram was confined to the ward for most of the time, but he was allowed to join them on Christmas Day for their family meal. They raised their glasses in a toast to their King and Country and the gallant soldiers, and to peace – hopefully – in the not too distant future. But Tommy was never very far from any of their thoughts. Samuel, Freddie, and Arthur, too, still playing their parts in the endless war.

Tilly was invited for tea on Christmas Day at the Fraser family home. The young couple were planning a summer wedding. Even though the war
was still going on there was no reason now for them to wait any longer. They had not wanted to make plans any sooner, however, with the family still mourning for Tommy. They would continue to grieve, of course, but in a few months’ time the pain might have subsided a little.

Dominic was chafing at the bit. ‘I feel so damned useless,’ he said to Tilly, not for the first time. ‘What earthly use is a fellow with one arm?’

‘Quite a lot of use, I would say,’ replied Tilly brightly, as she snuggled closer to him. They were sitting on the settee, Dominic’s right arm tightly around her, a distance away from the other family members who, as usual on such occasions, were playing whist. Dominic’s aunt and uncle, and Priscilla, too, had all been there for the Christmas tea, but Priscilla had departed later – quite cheerfully it had to be said – to do her evening shift at the convalescent home. All the staff had agreed that Tilly should be given the whole day off so that she could spend time with her fiancé.

Tilly leant across and kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘Don’t be such an old grump! It isn’t exactly hindering us, is it, you having only one arm?’ She laughed, then, very daringly, she kissed him more thoroughly; his relations were too absorbed in their game to be taking notice of what the
young ones were up to. Indeed, they kissed and embraced with a renewed passion whenever they were able – as she had pointed out, the lack of one arm made no difference – although they both knew that anything further must wait until they were married.

Tilly was able to speak light-heartedly and honestly to him whenever he grumbled because she knew that his grousing was always of short duration. Dominic was too positive a person to remain pessimistic for long; but he had always been such an active, go-ahead sort of young man that his incapacity was bound to frustrate him to a certain extent.

‘You’re right, of course,’ he said, responding to her kiss. ‘What would I do without you, Tilly, my love? You are a constant inspiration and comfort to me.’

‘And you are able to read and write,’ she went on. ‘You have the use of your right hand, and the sight of your eyes. You are writing again, aren’t you? Did you manage to pick up from where you left off before…well, before all this lot overtook us all?’

‘Yes, so I did. You’re right; I must be thankful, of course, that it was not my right arm. And I can type as well. Not very quickly with one hand, but I’m getting better. I had almost forgotten what I
had written, but it all came back to me and it’s coming along quite nicely now. Whether it will ever be published remains to be seen…’

‘Of course it will be,’ said Tilly, who always gave him all the encouragement she could, in everything.

‘Yes, well, we’ll see… But I find it’s – what’s the word? – cathartic. It helps me to forget about my worries for a while. I lose myself in the story and in the characters; they’re becoming very real to me now I’ve got back to them. I had to get to know them all over again.’

‘What is it about?’ asked Tilly. ‘You’ve never said. Am I allowed to ask?’

‘Of course you are,’ he grinned. ‘But I wouldn’t divulge it to anyone else, and I shan’t let you read it, not until it’s finished. It’s a happy, romantic story; whimsical, I suppose you might say. Not unlike
Under the Greenwood Tree
in a way.’ One of the less serious novels, Tilly knew, of the writer he esteemed so highly, Thomas Hardy.

‘Not that I’m comparing myself with the great man,’ he continued, ‘and I don’t want to be accused of plagiarism; but I’ve tried to emulate his touch of lightness in that book, compared with the starkness of some of his works. The last thing I want to write about just now is tragedy and the horrors of death and war.’ He looked stricken for
a moment as he stared into space. But his bout of gruesome memory, which Tilly supposed it to be, was of short duration.

‘I’m trying hard to forget it all,’ he said, smiling apologetically at her. ‘That’s odd, isn’t it? I was in a state of forgetfulness for so long, and it wasn’t pleasant, I can tell you. But now there are things I wish to God I wasn’t able to recall. And it comes over me when I’m least expecting it.’

‘It will get easier, Dominic,’ Tilly told him, although she knew from nursing the wounded soldiers here, and in the hospital in Bradford, how these periods of lucidity could come upon the patients without warning, often in the middle of the night in vivid dreams which would cause them to wake up and cry out in alarm. ‘You’re home and you’re safe and getting better, and the great thing is that you don’t have to go back.’

‘I’m thankful for that,’ he sighed. ‘And then I think…is that cowardly of me when thousands of poor blighters are still going through hell over there?’

‘Of course it isn’t cowardly,’ she insisted. ‘You came about your injuries honourably; it isn’t as if you’ve given yourself a Blighty wound.’ She had heard about soldiers who had purposely shot themselves in the foot so that they might be sent back home to ‘Blighty’. And who could prove
whether or not it was genuine?

‘Yes, that’s true,’ he replied, ‘but who could blame them for taking the easy way out?’

Dominic seldom talked about what it had been like ‘over there’, and Tilly knew she must discourage him from doing so now, on Christmas Day of all days.

‘We must thing about fixing a date for our wedding very soon,’ she remarked. ‘We were thinking of sometime in June, weren’t we, but it would be as well to settle on a definite date.’

Impromptu weddings took place frequently; couples were anxious to tie the knot when the young soldier was home on leave, or prior to his initial call-up, before events might prevent them from doing so. But Tilly and Dominic were now able to choose their time. They were still very young, both twenty years of age, but it was what they both wanted so much. Their parents, too, were not raising any objections. They knew that the young couple had planned to get married during Dominic’s next leave. So why not now, after the trauma they had suffered over Dominic’s supposed death, and the joy that was theirs on finding one another again?

‘And we must find somewhere to live,’ added Dominic. It was something to which, as yet, they had not given a great deal of thought. It was
sufficient for them to be together again. ‘Actually…I have an idea in mind,’ he went on. ‘It’s what you might call a childhood dream of mine, and I think it might be possible to make it come true – that is if you agree with it, Tilly love.’

‘Do tell me,’ she said. ‘It sounds intriguing.’ She was relieved that his earlier attack of brooding melancholia had now vanished.

‘I must admit I have felt pretty useless just lately, and this doesn’t make it any easier.’ He touched the stump of his left arm where his jacket sleeve hung loose and empty. ‘It’s having no job of work to do. I’ve never really worked, have I? I went straight from the sixth form into the army, and as far as university is concerned…well, it seems to have lost its appeal now.’

‘Yes, I understand that,’ agreed Tilly. It was the same for her. They had already talked about the plans they had made in those – what seemed now to be – far-away days; Tilly’s aspirations for a career in music, and Dominic’s hope of gaining a degree as a stepping-stone to a glittering future as a novelist, after, maybe, teaching for a while. It would still be possible, of course, for them to continue with their plans as before, but now the situation had altered. What they wanted above all else was to be together and never to have to part. Besides, Tilly now had her nursing career;
she had become more dedicated to that than she would ever have believed possible, and she intended to continue with it for as long as it was necessary.