Chapter 28

An Uncertain Farewell

A rchie propped the door wide open as a group of lads jostled by with three of the new recruits as chaperones. ‘Off to the pub, boys?’ He grinned as they strolled along, linking arms with beautiful girls who seemed to have eyes only for them. The air thrummed with energy, like Spitfires raring for the off.

‘ How did you guess, Maestro? Care to join us?’ an airman asked.

‘I’d love to, but I’m afraid there’s work to be done. Another time, lads.’ Archie smiled. No doubt the girls would boost their confidence a treat. He’d told Blackie it was a cracking idea, even if it had appeared to be a little mad. Trawling the West End. Goodness knows what people must have thought. There had been some raised eyebrows, whisperings, and disapproving looks. He smirked. Two older men chatting up young women.

Of course, Blackie had faltered about the quest and quite rightly so. But, as Archie had explained, it was all in aid of a good cause. Besides, the lads would feel more comfortable accompanied by beautiful girls rather than nurses.

He glanced around and spotted Mac slouched on his bed, squeezing the devil out of a therapy ball. ‘Morning, Mac. How are you?’

‘Couldn’t be better, doc.’

‘And how’s Stella?’

‘Swell. I asked her to marry me.’ He flashed a broad grin.

‘And?’ Archie’s eyes widened.

‘She said yes, of course.’ Mac laughed.

‘Well done. Congratulations. So, when’s the big day?’

‘Oh, we haven’t talked about it yet, but we will just as soon as I get out of here.’

Archie slapped him on the back. Another success story. Some of the boys had dates. One or two others were going to be married. Obviously whatever he was doing here was working. A warm glow spread inside him. ‘Well, I expect an invitation.’

‘Really? You’d come?’

‘Try stopping me.’ A smile tugged at his mouth. ‘Well, I’d best have a look at you if you’re in a hurry to escape.’ Although the last operation had been a success and Mac had more hand function than before, a degree of stiffness persisted in the fingers. If only the results had been a little better. Of course, he’d known Mac was never going to have perfect hands, though he’d hoped for a slightly better result than this. He heaved out a sigh, then pursed his lips.

His own surgery had been a success, thankfully. He’d been lucky. He examined Mac’s face; the new skin graft had taken well. He’d used a piece of undamaged skin from the underside of the other arm this time. ‘The face is looking far better, healing very well, and we’ve managed to remove most of the thicker scar tissue.’

‘Will I still be badly scarred?’

‘Oh yes, but it’s a marvellous improvement.’

Mac’s smile faded and his brow furrowed as he dragged a hand through his hair.

‘I’m pleased with it. Excellent progress.’ Archie patted Mac’s shoulder and nodded. ‘Keep applying the cream. It helps the skin to heal and reduces the scarring a little.’ Archie scanned the medical notes. ‘Let’s take a look.’ He took Mac’s outstretched hands and examined them in detail. ‘Grip my hands, as hard as you can.’

Mac gripped them, a look of concentration on his face.

‘Steady on! I see you’ve been working hard. By Jove, you must be squeezing the heck out of that ball.’ Archie chuckled. ‘Now, you’ll remember that I mentioned the need for further surgery. The good news is, I don’t think that we have to do anything right now, although in time you’ll require more work on those hands.’

‘Thanks, doc.’ Mac grinned, his eyes crinkling at the edges. ‘I guess I can abandon the splints now.’

‘Oh, yes. They’ve done their job. Well then, there doesn’t seem to be much keeping you here. I don’t suppose you’d care to reconsider?’ Archie studied him; his eyebrows raised.

‘Reconsider? Oh, you mean, will I change my mind?’

‘Well, you could have a successful and rewarding career down here on earth, and I hear that even the Mighty Eighth is short of good fellows to keep everything running smoothly. Why don’t you give it some more thought?’ Of course, Archie realised it was hopeless. A flyer didn’t want to do anything else, and wings burned in the boy’s heart.

‘I hear what you’re saying, Maestro, only the thing is, I owe it to my crew to get back on the horse, and I never finished my tour.’ Intensity flared in Mac’s eyes.

‘The problem is, Mac, that no matter what you do, your hands will never be as dexterous as before. You might think you can manage one of those heavy bomber’s you boys fly, but once you’re up, there’s no going back. All you can do is get on with it and when the going gets tough, well, I can’t vouch for what comes next.’

Richard Hillary slipped into his mind, drawing with him an icy chill. Archie wasn’t confident that Mac was up to flying those heavy bombers, in truth, and all he could do was hope that the MO made the right decision.

‘I understand. I won’t take any risks, doc. I’ll make sure I can handle the ship before they pack me off on a mission. Besides, I’ll have a co-pilot, and eight crew.’

Archie studied him for a moment. He often pondered over the act of fixing these boys up, only to send them back to war. Richard Hillary had been unfortunate and had persevered to the point of despair. It didn’t help that the Allied Forces kept the pressure up, demanding the return of their men as soon as possible, if they were fit enough. Yes, good men were in short supply these days. A hollowness crept into Archie’s stomach. ‘Mac, just make me one promise. Don’t struggle or suffer in silence. Any problems, no matter how small, telephone me right away. Is it a deal?’

‘Sure, doc. It’s a deal.’

Archie slapped him on the back. ‘Right, well I’ll write to your commanding officer. You’ll need to see the MO, of course, and pass a medical, and then it’s in their hands, but I wish you the best of luck. If you stay on until tomorrow, you’ll be able to catch the morning train to London and then change for Cambridge. I’ll telephone the base, so they know to expect you.’ Archie reached out to shake Mac’s hand.

‘Thanks, Archie. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and Stella.’

‘Yes, well, just take care of yourself, and that young lady of yours. And if you have any further problems at all while you’re still in England, remember, my door’s always open. You only need to ask.’

Archie stood up to leave and paused. ‘Keep in touch, Mac. Drop me a line here and there and let me know how you’re getting on, and remember, keep the gloves on, always.’ He pointed skyward, flashing a smile.

Leaving another patient, sending him back to a normal life, would ordinarily offer him such satisfaction. But now, in the midst of war, such farewells provided a mere taste of that and quickly soured. It felt hopeless in a sense, especially knowing they were never fully healed, least of all mentally. He had no doubt the American military would welcome Mac with open arms.

***

Archie strode into the meeting room in the town hall in East Grinstead and marched past occupied seats, glancing left and right at the people who filled them. The hubbub of voices gradually faded. It was a full house, and he smiled to himself. Mr Donaldson, the local councillor, stood beaming.

‘Good evening, Mr McIndoe.’

‘Hello. Excellent turnout. Well, I’d best get started.’ Archie spun around to face the crowd of locals, flicking his gaze briefly at the clock that hung on the wall above the open fireplace. Six thirty. The drift of cigarette smoke filled the stale, humid air. He coughed to clear his throat.

‘Hello. I recognise some faces among you here tonight, but for those who don’t know me, I’m Archie McIndoe. I run the plastic surgery unit here at the local hospital, and I care for many servicemen who have been severely burned and disfigured.’

A couple of people who had been chatting in the back row suddenly ceased and looked up. Good, he had their attention too. Beads of sweat formed at the nape of his neck and above his top lip, and he flicked his tongue over it and savoured the tang of salt. He glanced at the half-open window as a slight breeze whispered a breath of fresh air, and he inhaled it greedily.

‘A man disfigured in battle fights that battle for the rest of his life. Now, the treatment these boys require is often complex and takes place over many months and years. The majority of them are not sick, which means they’re often frustrated and left with nothing to do between surgical procedures. This is where I hope you will come in.’

Men, women, and children in the audience gazed at him with wide eyes, some open-mouthed, and some with raised eyebrows, clearly puzzled.

An elderly woman raised her hand and rose from her seat. ‘But what is it that you want us to do?’

‘I’m glad you asked. Well, firstly, we always need willing volunteers to come into the ward and read or write letters for the boys. Many of them don’t receive visitors so it’s good for them to see people from the outside world.’

Faces in the audience nodded and smiled. He had their full attention, and they were clearly considering his request.

‘What I aim to do is to show these boys how to live again. That may sound odd, but you must realise that the scars from their injuries are more than skin deep. They need to know that they can come out among you without being met with rejection, jibes, and stares. I believe people should be judged on their character and their actions, not on appearances or their social status. All I ask is that you look them in the eye and say hello. That’s it. And if you feel like striking up a conversation, by all means, only don’t ignore them. Even a smile speaks volumes. And though their appearance may seem unfamiliar or different, remember that beneath the scars, they remain the same person they’ve always been. What they need most is your understanding and support.’

‘Are they all British?’ a man asked.

‘No, they’re a mix from the Allied Forces. Some are British, some are French, Belgium, Australian, American, and so on.’ Archie pushed his spectacles higher up on his nose.

‘My uncle lives in America,’ a young boy with curly red hair called out, only to be admonished by the woman he was with, presumably his mother. ‘Well, he does,’ he protested. A muffled wave of laughter erupted around the room.

Archie suppressed a chuckle. ‘You’ve all heard about the ‘friendly invasion’ and now that our American friends have joined us, households around the country have been asked to take GIs into their homes for tea and suchlike. This is just the same, the only difference is that these lads are burned and disfigured. They’ve sacrificed so much, and they really are lucky to be alive, however, they’ll be even luckier if you make them welcome and put them at their ease. It’s such a small step for you, but if you’re willing to take it, you’ll be moving mountains for them, and they’ll appreciate your support. Think of it as doing your bit for the war effort.’ Archie looked around the room at each of them, nodding his head as he did so, planting seeds, and he noted the reaction on their faces and in their eyes as he connected with them.

‘One last note. If anyone would like to volunteer to be a visitor, then you can either sign up here tonight or contact the ward directly and leave your details with Sister. With your help, we can embrace a plan of holistic care and help these boys to live full lives once again.’

As Archie made his way to the local pub, a radiant glow flowed through him. He was forever breaching barriers, tonight being no exception. Educating the locals was working a treat, and this evening’s talk had been a useful mission. Aside from being a plastic surgeon, running around after a large number of airmen, and giving talks in the community, there was a fair amount of wining and dining to take care of; after all, he needed people on side should the need arise. Whatever was required for the ward and the boys, he liked to ensure he had the means to procure it. Nothing was too much trouble. Why shouldn’t people be useful? If certain things were within their power, then they ought to be put to good use. The number of favours he’d requested was stacking up and he smiled to himself, well aware of his sheer audacity.

The pub was crowded, and Archie strode into a smog of tobacco.

‘Over here, Maestro.’ Dickie waved. He was sitting at the piano, as usual. ‘Tom, get a pint for the Maestro.’

‘Ah, Archie. Just the chap.’ John Hunter slapped him on the back.

‘You made it. Well, let’s see if we can’t drink this rabble under the table. What do you say, John?’

‘You’re on. They don’t stand a chance, poor chaps.’ He chuckled, his laugh deep and jovial, eyes twinkling.