The Long Road to Baghdad (2011) Read online

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’ Mrs Hale set down the photograph album she’d been studying. ‘You’ve been such a help. I couldn’t have managed without you.’

  ‘You would have, and admirably. You’re the strongest person I know. Colonel Hale knew what he was doing when he chose you to be his wife.’

  ‘We did have a wonderful life together. It’s only now I’m beginning to realise it’s over and I’ll never see India again. This will be my last voyage home.’ Mrs Hale picked up the album again. ‘This is our wedding photograph. We married on Christmas Day in Poona in ’90. I’d come out to India to visit my brother after mother died. I met the colonel, captain as he was then, on the ship. To the horror of my chaperone we became engaged before we left the Mediterranean.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t have to explain to you what it was like. Captain Mason told Percy he only met you a month before you married.’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘The war won’t last forever. Here –’ She pressed a jewel case into Maud’s hand. ‘Take them, my dear. Take them with my blessing, and when you wear them think of the colonel and me.’

  Maud opened the case. ‘I couldn’t, not your pearls. The colonel only gave them to you last month.’

  ‘He always promised to buy me a pearl necklace for our silver wedding anniversary. Perhaps he sensed he wouldn’t live to see it. Take them,’ she pleaded. ‘It would make an old woman happy to think of you wearing them when you dine in the officers’ mess with Captain Mason.’ Mrs Hale blotted her eyes with a handkerchief and turned to a pile of underclothes. Folding them between sheets of tissue paper, she stowed them in the drawers of her wardrobe trunk. ‘I’ve no one else to give them to. All our children are buried in India. I hoped that Johnny … He was 16 when he died of cholera. The colonel and I found his death the hardest to bear. The others all died before their fifth birthday. It would have been a lovely family. Four boys and two girls, but it wasn’t to be. I’ll have my sister’s girls to fuss over when I reach Eastbourne. She has five. All married, so my sister will be glad to have me. Her husband died two years ago and since then she’s found life lonely, but Beatie always did want others to entertain her.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you give the pearls to one of your nieces?’

  ‘They wouldn’t appreciate them the way you would. You’re an army wife and daughter. You know what it is to lose someone you love to this cruel land. Percy used to say that having you living with us was like having a daughter of our own again; and now he and your dear mother are lying in the same ground. You remind me of myself at your age. Take a little advice from an old woman, my dear. Make the most of the time you have with Captain Mason. Not just because of the war but because life is so very, very precious.’

  Maud clasped Mrs Hale in her arms.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse a sentimental old woman.’ Mrs Hale extricated herself from Maud’s arms and picked up her album. Wrapping it in a shawl, she laid it in a drawer of her cabin trunk. ‘I might want it on voyage.’

  ‘Would you like me to hang your evening gowns in your wardrobe trunk?’

  ‘No, thank you, dear; they’ll not be wanted on voyage. Another piece of advice, dear, about the Lansing. It’s such hard work, and now the hot weather is upon us there’s so much sickness. They’ll wear you to a shadow, particularly as you’re moving into the mission. You’ll be called out all hours.’

  ‘I need something to keep me busy until John gets here.’

  ‘I don’t think the Lansing is right for you,’ Mrs Hale persisted. ‘You’re not as strong as you think. Still, Captain Mason shouldn’t be long now Amara’s fallen. Major Chalmers told me when he paid his respects this afternoon that once we’ve secured the Basra Wilyat we’ll consolidate and hold our position. The campaign’s almost at an end. I dare say he’ll get a posting to Basra, now the colonel’s – the hospital’s short of doctors. They need a good man in charge. Percy thought a great deal of your husband. As does everyone in command.’

  ‘Do you really think John will be posted here?’ Maud questioned.

  ‘I’m sure of it, my dear, all he has to do is ask. There –’ Mrs Hale folded the last of her winter underclothes into her cabin trunk. ‘I can manage on my own now, dear.’ She looked around and Maud sensed she wanted to be alone to say goodbye to the last home she had shared with her beloved Percy.

  ‘I’d like to see you off at the wharf tomorrow.’

  ‘Four o’clock is very early.’

  ‘If I pack my trunks ready for the sepoys to pick up, I can go straight from the wharf to the mission.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t mind getting out of bed at the crack of dawn, I’d love to have you there.’

  ‘I’ll call you for breakfast.’

  ‘I wish the brigadier wasn’t moving in here. I don’t like the thought of you living with Americans. They’re not like us.’

  ‘Mrs Butler and Angela are very kind.’

  ‘Doctor Wallace isn’t, he works you far too hard.’

  ‘It’s only temporary. When John returns we’ll find rooms elsewhere.’

  Maud kissed Mrs Hale and left for her own room. Her trunks lay bound, sealed and locked, surrounded by hatboxes and valises. Her overnight bag stood empty alongside them. Tomorrow she’d pack her nightdress and toiletries. Then there would be nothing left that was hers. Already the room had the deserted look of quarters waiting for someone else.

  She wondered if the brigadier had family with him who would stand photographs on the bedside table as she’d done. How many more rooms would she sleep in before she could live her life the way she’d meant to when she’d married John?

  She picked up his last letter. It had been written months ago. She should have followed him out here when the Expeditionary Force had taken Basra. The contempt in Charles’s eyes after they’d made love had woken her to the fact that sex wasn’t love. She’d only ever cared for John. Miguel and Geoffrey had only been bodies to use when she’d been lonely.

  Geoffrey – the principal emotion she’d felt when she’d seen his name gazetted amongst the fallen had been relief he was no longer able to pester her about leaving John.

  A knock at the front door sent her racing into the passage. Mrs Hale was trembling in the doorway of her room. Maud knew what she was thinking; many couriers had ridden into Basra late at night carrying lists of the dead.

  Mrs Hale recovered her composure first. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Package for Mrs Mason from Captain Mason. I promised the captain I’d deliver it personally.’

  Mrs Hale threw back the bolts and opened the door. A travel-stained subaltern held out a small parcel. Mrs Hale took it and handed it to Maud.

  ‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’ Maud finally found her voice.

  ‘Don’t mention it, Mrs Mason. Good night, ladies.’ He was halfway down the veranda before Maud remembered her manners.

  ‘Can I get you anything, Lieutenant?’

  ‘No, thank you, Mrs Mason, I’ve a bed and a bath waiting in my quarters.’

  ‘How was my husband?’

  ‘As well as could be expected, Mrs Mason.’

  ‘Does that mean he was worn out, Lieutenant?’

  ‘He did say he was glad he was in the medical corps because he was never bored, but I’m sure he’ll be in Basra soon. There were a lot of sick in Colonel Dunlop’s column. They’ll be looking for doctors to travel down river with them.’

  ‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Maud, I’m pleased for you.’ Mrs Hale locked and bolted the door. ‘Pleasant dreams.’

  ‘You too, Mrs Hale.’ Maud returned to her room and examined the package. She tore a fingernail undoing the complicated knots in the string – knots John had tied. Her address written in John’s hand was on one side of the package, on the back, his name, rank, and serial number. She peeled off the outer covering. A bundle of papers fell out. Filthy, mud-stained, brittle. Beneath them was a photograph of her. She’d written on it herself, To darling Geoffrey. All my love, Maud.
/>   She searched frantically through the papers. They were all letters she’d written to Geoffrey, except for the top one, which was a letter he’d written to her. There was nothing from John except what was pencilled on the package.

  Effects of Lieutenant Geoffrey Brooke killed in action at Ahwaz. John Mason.

  The officers’ mess, Amara, Monday 14th June 1915

  ‘To friendship and Clyneswood. Knight, you’ll have to take our word it’s a beautiful place.’

  ‘I will, Reid,’ Knight concurred.

  ‘Way there!’ Bowditch charged close with Grace on his back, followed by Smythe with Amey on his.

  ‘Navy versus the cavalry,’ Smythe shouted.

  ‘Your jockey’s about to fall off.’ Harry ducked when Amey crashed into the side buffet.

  ‘The Turks were here.’ Crabbe grabbed the salt.

  ‘Crabbe’s routing the Turks again,’ Harry warned.

  ‘Time to check on my patients.’ Knight rose unsteadily.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No.’ Knight pressed John into his chair. ‘You’re resting, remember.’

  ‘I remember you and everyone else in this man’s army telling me to.’

  ‘Comes to something when a war makes a man forget how to relax.’ Charles refilled their glasses from a bottle he’d secreted beneath his chair.

  ‘No danger of that happening to you, Charles.’ Harry eyed John, who was edging past happy into aggressive drunk.

  ‘Relaxation is the most important thing after victory.’ Charles lifted his glass. ‘To relaxation and all sections of the Expeditionary Force. Even political officers.’

  ‘Sit down before I put you down.’

  ‘Acting Lieutenant-Colonel’s showing his rank.’ Knight watched the race.

  ‘Cavalry’s unhorsed.’ Charles gazed glassy-eyed at the bundle of arms and legs writhing on the floor that was Amey and Smythe.

  ‘The navy’s sunk.’ Harry spotted Grace and Bowditch rolling under a table. John filched Charles’s bottle and refilled his glass.

  ‘Major Reid.’ An orderly hovered before Charles. ‘The general’s compliments, sir. Would you join him for a drink at the top table?’

  ‘That’s what you get for having a general for a father.’ Harry had spotted George Perry leaving his seat. He hoped Maud’s father would have enough sense to stay away. In John’s present mood, it was anyone’s guess as to how he’d react if his father-in-law approached him.

  Charles straightened his collar. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen?’

  ‘And me.’ Knight finished his drink. ‘See you in the morning, Mason. Not early, you could do with a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Is that a medical opinion?’

  ‘Take it from a superior,’ Knight replied.

  ‘Not any longer,’ Harry interrupted. ‘John was gazetted major this afternoon.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll have the hospital ready for your inspection tomorrow afternoon, Major.’ Knight saluted before weaving out of the mess.

  Harry took three cigars from his pocket. He handed one to John and laid one next to Charles’s glass. ‘Have you put in for a transfer to Basra?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m leaving at four in the morning.’ Harry struck a match on his boot.

  ‘For the Euphrates?’

  ‘Basra. I hope to wangle a week’s leave before I move on.’

  ‘Furja?’

  ‘Shalan doesn’t like me visiting, but I’m prepared to risk his wrath. I can’t help feeling something’s wrong. You haven’t forgotten your promise?’

  ‘No.’ John lit the cigar.

  ‘Downe, I’m glad to see a former officer of my command doing so well for himself.’ Perry sat in the chair Charles had vacated.

  ‘Thank you, Colonel Perry.’ Harry forced himself to be polite.

  ‘I had a letter from Maud,’ Perry turned to John. ‘She said she hadn’t heard from you for some time.’

  ‘I sent her a bundle of letters from the Kerkha by courier.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  ‘Most wives are concerned if their husbands are in the front line,’ Harry commented.

  ‘Come, come, Downe, when have doctors been in the front line?’ Perry sniped.

  ‘When they set up field hospitals. Our casualties at Ahwaz would have been far higher if John and Knight hadn’t worked under fire.’

  ‘Really?’ Perry picked up the cigar Harry had left for Charles and rolled it between his finger and thumb. ‘I must make a point of inspecting these “field hospitals” some time, Mason.’

  ‘You’d be welcome to view the facilities any time.’

  ‘Am I to take that to mean you’d like to see me as a patient?’

  ‘John meant no such thing.’ Harry kicked back his chair and faced Perry square on. He hadn’t forgotten the beating he’d had at the hands of Sergeant Mullins, or the shadowy figure in the background. Neither had he forgotten the shooting at Shaiba. He’d never tracked down the officer who’d given the order to fire on Mitkhal and himself.

  ‘Are you afraid to let me speak for myself, Harry?’ Sweat poured down John’s face.

  ‘Shall we have a drink?’ Harry grabbed Charles’s bottle, praying it wasn’t too late to diffuse the scene he sensed brewing.

  John swept his forearm across the table. His glass fell, shattering on the tiled floor. ‘I’d sooner drink with a Turk.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know a bloody Turk if you saw one.’

  The mess fell silent when chair legs scraped over tiles. Harry looked up, Charles was walking towards them.

  ‘I demand an apology,’ Perry bawled.

  ‘I think the insults stand about equal,’ Harry murmured.

  ‘But they won’t once you start, will they, Downe? You and this jackass made bloody sure my daughter would turn against me.’

  John tried and failed to rise from his seat. Lunging forward, he slid full length on to the glass-spattered floor.

  ‘The man’s a nincompoop,’ Perry railed. ‘He’s not fit to be an officer. He’s a common drunk. He can’t even behave like a gentleman in the mess.’

  Harry bent over his friend’s inert body. ‘Would someone get a doctor?’ he called. ‘Major Mason is burning with fever.’

  Perry was forgotten in the confusion that followed. Charles sent for Knight. Amey and Smythe lifted John out of the broken glass and on to a bench. But when Harry was sponging John’s face with ice from a bucket on the table, he caught sight of Perry.

  The colonel was trembling, his face livid as he stared with undisguised loathing at John. He downed a brandy someone handed him and Harry noticed a dark patch, too damp for sweat, around his crotch.

  The general had said Perry was a good officer and a good man to have under fire. Maybe. But whatever kind of soldier he was when sober, he was clearly insane when drunk.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Amara, Monday 14th June 1915

  Charles sobered rapidly while he and Harry waited outside the cubicle Knight found for John. Enough of his fellow officers had died here and on the Western Front for him to realise no one was immortal, but for all that, his vision of life after the war included John and Harry. He wasn’t sure how he’d cope if they didn’t make it. He’d be left with nothing. Emily gone; friends gone …

  Knight appeared, pale and serious. ‘The fever’s bad but I’ve seen worse. He has some vicious cuts but the glass hit nothing vital. However, he has no reserves. The fool pushes himself the way sepoys push army mules and I’ve seen them drop dead in harness. He’s skin and bone. He needs care, rest …’

  ‘Basra.’

  ‘He wouldn’t survive the journey, Harry.’

  ‘It’s less than 24 hours. There’s a boat leaving at four. If I lay him under a canvas shelter on deck, he’ll be no worse off than he is here. In fact, he might be cooler with the river beneath him.’

  ‘Can we see him?’ Charles asked.

  ‘He won’t recognise you,’ Knight w
arned.

  Harry pushed the door open. John lay on a truckle bed, his face and hands bandaged. What little skin could be seen was red and damp. ‘I’ll be back for him in two hours.’

  ‘I won’t take responsibility for moving him,’ Knight said.

  ‘Then I will. Let’s see if Maud can sort him out.’

  Charles followed Harry outside. When he’d arrived in Mesopotamia, he’d had visions of the three of them fighting side by side. Now Harry and John were off to Basra. Was that how their lives were going to be from now on? Snatched glimpses as they travelled in opposite directions; occasional drunken binges in temporary mess halls, then goodbye until next time. ‘And by the way, don’t get killed if you can help it.’

  ‘You look as though you could do with a night’s sleep, Charles.’

  ‘And you.’

  ‘I’ll get my kit and horses on board. I’d have slept on a boat locker but I’ll have to make other arrangements for John.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll make it?’ Charles wanted reassurance.

  ‘I intend to host a reunion dinner in Clyneswood when this damned show is over and he’ll be there.’

  Charles opened the door to his room. His bearer had set out two sleeping pallets beside his bed. They made John’s absence all the harder to bear.

  ‘Do you mind if I take both of these?’ Harry picked up his saddlebag.

  ‘Help yourself.’ Charles glanced at the bag. ‘I’ve never known anyone carry so little kit. That looks too small to hold a change of clothes.’

  ‘It is.’ Unbuckling the bag Harry tipped it out. ‘A Turkish razor, a Solingen knife, a pack of dried dates and a bag of gold sovereigns dated 1872, part of a hoard we paid to the French. There’s nothing here a German officer or wealthy Arab wouldn’t carry.’

  ‘John told me you go out without your ID discs.’

  ‘The last thing I need is a couple of tags hanging around my neck to announce I’m a British officer.’

  ‘The Turks shoot Arabs who are friendly to the British. They wouldn’t dare shoot a British officer.’

  ‘You fight this war your way, I’ll fight it mine.’