Coming Home by Roy E. Stolworthy

Author:Roy E. Stolworthy
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: FICTION / War and Military
ISBN: 9781781599761
Publisher: Claymore Press
Published: 2012-10-14T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

London

“I don’t want him under my roof again, and that’s final,” Mrs Tuttle rasped, patting her chest and coughing. “He’s a dirty little sod, that’s what he is.”

Dilly held her breath certain that at any moment the tortured chair would at last succumb to one final assault.

“Oh, Ma, you don’t mean it. He’s come all that way, the least you can do is give him a room. He’s been fighting in the war, he might even have another medal. We can’t just turn him away, what will the neighbours say?”

“Neighbours? Them bleeders have said enough already. Brought shame on the household, you have. You’ll have to dig him a trench in the back garden, he’ll feel at home there.”

Dilly tossed her head, covered her mouth with her hands and gave a muffled shriek of laughter. “Ma, that’s a horrible thing to say! Let him stay just one night until he finds another room. Give us both time to sort things out. We can’t ignore him, can we? Under the circumstances, I’m surprised he even wants to talk to me.”

Mrs Tuttle’s dark eyes scrutinised her daughter.

“One night, that’s all, and then he’s on his way. What time are you meeting him?” she finally relented.

“Half-past-one it said in his letter, under the big clock. I hope he’s not late, I hate Victoria Station, always full of dirty-mouthed soldiers.”

“Well you better get a move on girl, it’s after twelve now.”

Thomas didn’t mind waiting. He’d purposely arrived twenty minutes early, he didn’t want to be late because he wasn’t certain if pregnant women possessed the stamina to stand for long periods of time without sitting down. He knew little or nothing about women having babies, apart from how they were made and where they came from. After almost six months, perhaps she might already have given birth to the child. He should have asked Moses – he knew the answers to most things – now he would have to play it by ear. The visit to the gents for a refreshing wash and brush-up had raised his spirits. He’d dampened his hair, parted it in the middle and slicked it down with his comb. Pensively he glanced around at his surroundings.

The station was much the same as before: fresh batches of soldiers reluctantly going out in their hundreds to replace the poor shuffling hulks covered in bandages making their way along the crowded platforms. Occasionally some stopped by the wooden-built bank offering to change francs and centimes into pounds and shillings. Foreign money bought nothing in the churlish side streets of London. As ever, always on hand in a crisis, the nurses assisted wherever needed and the Salvation Army handed out free cups of tea and currant cakes to those short of a few pennies. He’d seen the Salvation Army on the front many times, situated just behind the trenches – brave bunch they were, and the troops loved them for their kindness. He fingered the pocket watch and thought of Catherine and her mother.

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