Time for Silence

I looked forward to every day now. I found I was not thinking of Marcus all the time. It was only occasionally that some memory would come back to me with its little pangs of disappointment…of humiliation and longing.

I was anxious because when Robert recovered fully it was very likely that he would have to go to war again. But I learned to live for each day as it came along, which was not easy but which I knew was wise. To think of the future when we could not know what would happen, could result in fearful apprehension. In wartime there was a feeling of fatality. I guessed, from Robert’s attitude, that he had acquired the skill of living in the present, and talking to him of the life out there on the battlefields of France and Belgium, I caught it from him.

So…I was happy during those days with Robert.

He had changed a little. Such experiences as he had had must change anyone. He was more serious than he had been; there was also a certain recklessness—an odd term to apply to Robert. What I mean is that I sensed a determination to savor the pleasures of the moment.

He described his experiences so vividly that I could almost hear the gunfire, see the shells exploding around him; I could feel the claustrophobic atmosphere of trench warfare…the horror of going “over the top”…the monotony of eating canned food.

“I was lucky in a way,” he said. “A lot of my work was done in the field. It was this Morse thing. I didn’t really understand it, but by some fluke I could receive and transmit at a greater speed than most. It was just a knack…some odd method of my own for connecting the dots and dashes with certain landmarks. I won’t attempt to explain, because it is quite dotty. But they thought I was this Morse genius. So my job was to go out with my mechanic, who would fix up the telephone. Then I would spy out the land with my binoculars, discover where the enemy was massing…or where they had set up their guns…and send the message back to our lines. It was quite easy…quite simple. Jim, my mechanic, did all the hard work.”

“You always denigrate yourself, Robert. You are not a bit like most people.”

“Really, it was nothing, Lucinda. Quite easy. I was the lucky one…just because by chance I had this formula.”

“It was very clever of you to work it out.”

“I didn’t work it out. It just came. However, that was what I was doing when I was hit.”

“You might have been left out there.”

“Oh, it wasn’t all that bad. I was able to wait for the advance, and then I was taken back to base. After that…home. Your Uncle Gerald came to see me in the hospital. He said, ‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t go to Marchlands.’ I can tell you, Lucinda, it was like saying I was going to Heaven.”

“Oh…don’t say that.”

“Heaven on earth,” he corrected.

“Robert, how bad is your leg?”

“It’s getting better. I don’t suppose I shall ever walk as I did before, though.”

“Then…you couldn’t go back.”

“Not at the moment certainly.”

“Not ever, Robert,” I said. “I just could not bear it. You’ve told me so much about it. You’ve made me see it. I shall pray that your leg gets better…but slowly and that it is not really well until this wretched war is over.”

“Dear Lucinda,” he said. “What a nice thing to say.”

There was great excitement in the hospital when the news came. Robert had won the Military Cross. Nobody was more astonished than Robert himself. He showed the letter to my mother, who called me at once.

“Just listen to this,” she cried. “Robert is a hero. He’s got the Military Cross.”

“Really!”

“He was out in what they call no-man’s-land, and sending messages back as to the enemy’s whereabouts. He was wounded and for that reason could have returned to base, but he did not do so. He remained at his post and continued sending messages, which were so vital that the guns that otherwise would have been destroyed by the enemy were saved. That’s the gist of it. Robert is being decorated for his bravery.”

I embraced him, kissed him and wept over him.

“There wasn’t anything else I could have done,” said Robert. “I just went on…that was all.”

“Stop it, Robert,” I commanded. “You were wonderful. You’re a hero. You’ll go to Buckingham Palace and have a medal pinned on you by the King.”

There were celebrations throughout the hospital.

Robert was embarrassed. “Too much fuss,” he said. “It might be a mistake. Really, I was just sending back those messages….”

“And saving the guns!” I cried. “Shut up, Robert. You’re a hero and we are going to see that everyone knows it.”

I think he was more pleased about our delight than he was about his own success.

Aunt Belinda arrived at Marchlands with Annabelinda. They were both exuberant.

“Isn’t it wonderful? Fancy, Robert…” cried Annabelinda.

Aunt Belinda said, “We shall go to Buckingham Palace. Big Robert will come up for the occasion. We’re so proud of him.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said.

“You look better, Lucinda,” said Annabelinda.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve got lots to tell you.”

“What have you been doing?”

“We’re going to have a long talk…alone.”