Making a resigned gesture, she said, ‘It’s not as though it’s been a marriage in the real sense of the word, Polly. Not like yours is, even with Martin being in a prisoner-of-war camp. All I could do was try to take care of Jimmy - and I did try because he and I had been very good friends since we were both small.’ She shrugged. ‘No matter what I did, it was never enough for his mother.’
‘Will you go back to live at Tregassick now?’ Polly asked.
‘No,’ Annie replied. ‘Sooner or later Winnie will realise how difficult it is to take care of Jimmy and she might not be able to cope. This is still his home. It will be here if ever he needs it.’
Chapter 68
‘They downed Tim Miller today.’
A weary Perys gave the news to Rupert as he walked stiffly into the commanding officer’s office and slumped into a chair. He had been in the air for three sorties on a long August day. Only the onset of dusk had brought the day’s operations to an end.
Miller was the ex-navy pilot who had been one of the squadron’s flight commanders and with whom Perys had formed a particular friendship.
‘That leaves me the only surviving pilot of your original squadron, Rupert.’
Neither man dwelled on the death of the popular navy pilot. There had been too many like him. Talking of those who had been lost made a pilot feel vulnerable.
Rupert looked at Perys anxiously. ‘If it were possible I would take you off flying duties for a while, Perys, but we need every pilot we can put in the air right now. You, in particular, are indispensable.’
The Royal Flying Corps was now defunct, the Royal Naval Air Service and the RFC having been merged into a single force - the Royal Air Force. With the change, the tactics of putting aircraft into the air in ever larger formations had been further extended. Perys, now a brevet-major, had led a full squadron into action and had proved a very successful leader.
‘I am aware of the need to get everyone possible in the air, Rupert, but I wish we could pull a few more experienced pilots out of the hat. The youngsters we’re getting are as keen as ever, but they’re not lasting long enough to prove themselves.’
When Rupert made no immediate reply, Perys asked, ‘How long do you think we’ll need to carry on pushing our pilots this hard?’
‘Until the end, I’m afraid, Perys. The Germans can see the writing on the wall. They’ve lost the war and they know it. All they can do is to throw everything they have at us in the hope they can retain some bargaining power when the end comes, and not be forced to accept the humiliation of an unconditional surrender.’
Perys nodded, grimly. ‘That’s much the way I thought it was. In the meantime good men like Tim Miller will die unnecessarily, all in the cause of politics. It’s a crazy world, Rupert.’
Perys’s own war came to an end the very next day. Escorting a squadron of bomber aircraft en route to attack strategic bridges behind the German lines, his squadron was set upon by a German fighter group that had once been led by Baron von Richthofen. Under its new commander, Herman Goering, it was still a force to be reckoned with.
For fifteen minutes the sky above the lines was filled with so many aircraft it resembled the flies to be found about a carcass on the plains of Africa. This was no test of the skills of individual combat. British and German pilots threw their aeroplanes about the skies in a bid to shake off an attacker, and in the hope that by so doing they would find themselves with an enemy momentarily in their sights.
Perys brought his confirmed ‘kills’ to thirty- three this day, but when he was bearing down on his thirty-fourth, his aeroplane suddenly juddered under the impact of a hail of machine-gun bullets. A moment later he was thrown forward in the cockpit as though punched in the back by a heavyweight boxer. Then he lost control of his aeroplane, which began spiralling earthwards.
He fought the fall, bringing to bear all the skill he had first learned from Nick Malloch. Miraculously, he regained a degree of control of the aeroplane and began a shallow dive that would take him over the British lines - and now he became aware that he was not alone.
Three of his squadron were with him, protecting him against any German bid to finish him off.
Perys had control of his ailing aeroplane, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the task that lay ahead of him - that of setting the aircraft safely on the ground. It was as though he was in a fitful dream, alternately dozing and waking, never quite certain which was fantasy and which was reality.
Suddenly, he realised there were trees ahead of him - much too close. Automatically, he pulled the control column back and only the aeroplane’s undercarriage clipped the topmost branches.
When the plane dropped once more he knew he was about to crash. He cut the engine in the hope that this would prevent the petrol from igniting.
A split second later the aeroplane smashed into the ground with an impact that sent an agonising pain shooting through the muscles of his wounded back.
Then, mercifully, all went blank and he knew no more.
* * *
Perys became aware of voices before he regained full consciousness, but it took a few minutes of confusion to clear his mind and recognise that the voices he could hear were talking in French.
At the same time, he found he needed to make a conscious effort to breathe - and to keep breathing.
He opened his eyes. Even in his present state he recognised the concern on the face of the nurse who was looking down at him. He tried to smile, but was aware the expression would probably not be recognised for what it was.
‘Where am I?’ he croaked, in French. It was an unnecessary question. He was being cared for in some form of hospital.
‘You are in the Amiens hospital. You were brought here when you crashed in your aeroplane because you needed urgent attention. The doctor thinks there is a bullet inside you, close to a lung. You will be going to the operating theatre in a short while. We have the facilities here . . .’
They were the last words Perys would hear for two days. When he woke again he was lying on his side. He tried to move but it felt as though someone was twisting a knife in his back. He was also unable to move his left leg. On the verge of panic, he suddenly realised it was encased in a heavy plaster cast from hip to ankle.
‘Welcome to the world once more, Major Tremayne.’
The words were in French and had been spoken by a man with a stethoscope dangling from his neck. He was surrounded by a group of young doctors and nurses.
‘The pain in my back . . . A nurse said I had a bullet there.’
‘It is there no more.’ The French doctor picked something up from the top of Perys’s bedside cabinet. ‘There was a bullet, lodged dangerously close to your spine, and it had touched your lung. It is here, a souvenir for you. Fortunately, I was able to remove it without causing any permanent damage to anything important. Unfortunately, you also have a badly smashed leg. However, you were lucky to have been brought to me and not taken to your surgeons in a field unit. Had they seen you first they would undoubtedly have amputated your leg. I had rather more time to work on you.’
‘Thank God for that!’ Perys said, fervently.
‘No, Major,’ the surgeon said, ‘you must thank me. I believe very strongly that amputation should be a last resort. In fifty per cent of the cases who have passed through my hands I have been correct. You are one of those fifty per cent.’
Perys realised he was speaking to an exceptional surgeon and he said, in French, ‘I thank you most sincerely, sir. I think I would rather die than lose a leg.’
‘That may yet be your fate,’ declared the French surgeon, without emotion. ‘But I think not. We will be keeping you here until we are certain you are on the mend. Then you will be handed over to your own medical services.’
Before moving away, the surgeon said, ‘I see you are a flier, Major. I greatly admire men such as yourself. I often think that had I not taken up medicine I would have liked to be a pilot - although I doubt whether I would have emulated men such as yourself. But for you the war is over, Major. Your leg will heal and you will be able to walk, but you will never again be able to fly. It is regrettable, Major. Very regrettable, but when this war ends you will be a live hero and not just a name carved on a memorial. For that you should be thankful.’
Chapter 69
While Perys was in the French hospital he was visited regularly by Rupert, occasionally by pilots from his squadron, and once, to his great surprise, by Gabrielle from the Restaurant Eugenie.
After greeting him with a warm kiss, she produced fruit, confectionery - and a bottle of cognac which she slipped into his bedside cabinet, saying, ‘Doctors and nurses do not always know what is best for a man. They tend his injuries, but forget the things that will make him happy.’
‘How did you know I was here?’ Perys asked.
‘Some of your pilots came to the Restaurant Eugenie. They told me you had been shot down and brought here. I thought you had not come to the restaurant because you did not want to see me after the last night we were together, but when I heard you were hurt so badly . . .‘ She shrugged. ‘I have a soft heart, especially for handsome men. Besides, the Boche are being pushed back to Germany so fast there will soon be no British officers left to visit the Restaurant Eugenie. I will be singing only to men of Amiens, who come to the restaurant merely to talk business with each other. They would not notice if I stripped off all my clothes and began dancing instead of singing.’
Perys was amused by the imagery she painted and he laughed. It was the first time he had laughed for a long time. Although it hurt his lung, he felt better for it.
‘What is it you want of me, Gabrielle?’
He felt that she was not telling him the whole truth about the reason for her visit.
‘I want nothing, Perys . . . except, perhaps, one day I will come to London to sing and become famous. You would like to see me there? Perhaps I might stay with you for a while. It would be fun, I think.’
‘I will certainly give you the address of someone who will know where to find me, Gabrielle, but I don’t know where I will be living. Wouldn’t your colonel be able to put you up? The one who saw you on to the train at Victoria station when we first met.’
He added the details when she looked at him blankly.
‘Ah! You are talking of Colonel Harry!’ She grimaced. ‘He would help me, of course, but it would be possible only if his wife were not in London.’
Perys had realised soon after their first meeting that Gabrielle was quite amoral, but he could not help liking her. However, she had a husband.
When he spoke of him, she looked genuinely unhappy. ‘He cannot live for very long, Perys. Indeed, although he eats and drinks, he is not really alive. When he dies I do not think his mother will allow me to sing at the Restaurant Eugenie for very long. She does not approve of me.’
Gabrielle stayed talking to Perys for almost half-an-hour. Before she left he gave her Aunt Maude’s address as somewhere she could write to him.
When she had gone he wondered how Aunt Maude would cope if Gabrielle turned up on her doorstep one day, instead of writing. He decided she would be able to cope quite adequately with such an eventuality.
* * *
Gabrielle had promised Perys she would visit him again, but it was a promise she did not keep.
After a five-week stay in the Amiens hospital, he was conveyed to an ambulance train that took him and some three hundred soldiers to Le Havre. There he was put on a hospital ship for passage to England.
As the ship set sail, Perys was aware that this was the route taken by Grace on the ill-fated S.S. Sultan. He could not rid himself of the thought that he might soon be passing over the very spot where she shared a watery grave with so many of those for whom she had been caring when she died.
Lying in the hospital ship cot, rocked by a gentle swell, he said a silent prayer for the girl he had hoped one day to marry.
On arrival in England, Perys was sent to a hospital in Portsmouth where his ultimate recovery was set back when he developed an infection in the lung which had been damaged by a German machine-gun bullet. He remained there for seven weeks, towards the end of which time he received an unexpected visit from Rupert and Morwenna.
Rupert was now a full colonel and had returned to England for a short but well-deserved period of leave before taking up an appointment with the Air Staff in London. He had motored to Cornwall and after spending a few days with Morwenna who was the senior nursing sister at Heligan, they stayed for a few days with Rupert’s parents at their Devon home. They were now on their way to London where they would spend a few days together before resuming their respective duties.
‘I believe you will soon be discharged from hospital,’ Morwenna said, after the greetings were over. ‘I spoke to the sister in charge of your ward. She says your lung is healing well, but it will be some time before you are able to walk without the aid of crutches.’
‘I am much better than I was,’ Perys agreed, ‘but they tell me I must have a period of convalescence before I am declared fit for whatever the future has in store for me.’
‘Yes, that is what the sister said. You will, of course, come to Heligan so I can keep an eye on you, Perys?’
‘I haven’t really thought that far ahead, Morwenna,’ he replied, cautiously.
‘It is not that far ahead. I will be returning to Heligan in four days’ time.’ She smiled at Rupert. ‘I shall be driving there. Rupert has promised to buy me a small car. What is it to be, Rupert?’
‘It’s a super little Crossley two-seater, Perys. You’ll love it when you see it.’
‘I didn’t know you were able to driven Morwenna.’ Perys was impressed.
Morwenna gave him a scornful look. ‘I could drive before I left England and would occasionally drive an ambulance while I was in France.’
‘Morwenna drove the Rolls for part of the way here,’ Rupert said, proudly. ‘She’s probably a better driver than I am. When I pick up speed in a car I keep waiting for it to leave the ground.’