Here is my story:
THE END IS THE BEGINNING
It was over. The war was over. Daphne glanced down through the grimy window
on to the celebrations taking place below.
Dancing in the streets. Smiles on
faces. You could taste the euphoria. Daphne realised it wouldn't last. They thought all their problems would now go
away. She knew differently. She turned back to her patients, tending to
their needs. These poor soldiers,
sailors, airmen their lives would always be different. They would have to make new lives for
themselves, new beginnings, a fresh start but all free to live without
oppression.
George tried to take in his
surroundings. What he could see through
the slit in the bandages covering most of his face was very limited. He remembered bits and pieces, the screams,
the pain, the agony all around him. He
felt his mind slip away into a dark recess, it was the only way he could
cope. Now it seems he was away from the
fighting. Away from the noise, the
smells, the bitterness and grief that wafted through the air and permeated into
every pore of his skin. Now he was warm,
not able to move very much, still hungry, still thirsty and still afraid.
The next thing George knew was
the voice of an angel asking him if he would like a cup of tea. He tried to laugh. He’d rather have a pint of best bitter, he
didn’t care what the time was. His
upbringing and manners took over as he replied in a croaky voice that yes, he
would very much like a cup of tea.
Strong, capable arms positioned
themselves under his arms, as they lifted him to a seating position in the bed.
A waft of perfume consumed his
senses. His nostrils would remember that
smell forever. It took away the stench
of the battlefield, the stink of the latrines, the iron smelling blood that
seeped into his clothing.
Daphne held a spouted cup to
George’s mouth as he drew in a mouthful of tea.
His eyes focused on her hands as he managed to drink half the cup of liquid. It had obviously been stewed over several
hours but it was wet and, bliss of bliss, sweet on his taste buds.
Daphne sat by his bedside and
introduced herself to him. ‘I know your
name is George,’ she said, smiling at him.
‘You are probably wondering why you are here. I'm afraid you suffered severe burns to most
of your body but you are recovering very well.
It was touch and go to begin with. You are strong, a fighter and a very
brave man, along with all your colleagues here and elsewhere.’
George nodded. He had many questions but for now just
drinking that cup of tea had worn him out.
His eyes started to close against his will, he wanted to keep listening
to Daphne. He could listen to that
voice all day long and what he could see of her was lovely if rather
blurry. He wondered if his eyesight had
been affected. He wondered about the
rest of his unit.
Daphne patted his arm as she rose
to leave him. ‘Your commanding officer
is coming by tomorrow. He’ll tell you
everything you want to know. Just rest
now and I’ll be along a little later to get you settled.’
**********
Daphne returned to work after a
few days leave. Her heart started
thumping as she realised a different man was incumbent in the bed George should
be in. Sister came up to her and went
through the notes. Keeping her
expression professional Daphne waited, her shoulders relaxed as Sister’s
monotone described George’s move to a convalescent home nearer to his parents.
The London hospital closed its
doors six months later and Daphne transferred to the Cottage Hospital in
Suffolk. She had to keep nursing, it was
her vocation. Many people needed her
care. As she nursed her patients she
often thought of George. She didn’t
even know where he lived. There was
something about that man that wouldn't leave her. Many times she tried to shrug off the feeling
that she should make an effort to try and find him. There was little or no hope of her being able
to do that. The War Office wouldn't pass
any information to her as she wasn’t a relative.
A couple of men had asked her out
to the pictures or the village dance but she always declined. It wouldn't be fair on them as she was still
holding a candle for George albeit she’d only known him for maybe a week. That week was all it had taken. There was no way she could have let him know
how she felt, she was his nurse and he was a patient. It would have been unethical to show even the
slightest hint that she had feelings for him.
George walked down the High
Street. He kept his head down with his
hat pulled low over his forehead. It
shouldn't matter that his face was scarred, everybody had been so kind to him
since he’d been discharged from the hospital and returned to his family
home. Now all he had to do was find a
job. They were scarce but he would take
anything in an office. Physically he
couldn't do manual work because of his gammy leg and many other men needed
those jobs more than he did. Financially
he was solvent with the inheritance from his grandparents to keep him afloat
but he needed a mental stimulus or he would die of boredom.
Then he heard it. Then he smelt it. He knew that voice of an angel. He knew that perfume. He looked around and there she was. His angel, helping an old lady cross the
road. He wanted to call out. He whispered her name, Daphne.
Daphne heard a whisper on the
wind. She turned her head as she reached
the pavement. It was George. She smiled at him as her heart sang out in
joy.