A Telegram, a Train, and a Hospital- June 1917
A telegram was a feared thing in those days, no one ever received a telegram with good news. It always relayed a tragedy, particularly the ones from the War Office which invariably informed a family that their father or son had been killed somewhere in France. So when a heavily pregnant Martha answered the door that June morning she rushed into Master Craven's sitting room as quickly as she could. Her face was deathly pale when she entered. Mr. Craven stood up painfully and Mary turned with a look of fear in her eyes. Martha choked out "Sir, there's been a telegram, it's from the War Office."
Archibald sunk into his chair, unable to move or speak. Mary got up and took the telegram from Martha. The room was silent as she read "We deeply regret to inform you that Private Colin Craven Infantry is officially reported as severely wounded in action June 7. He will be returned to England. More to follow."
Mary breathed a sigh of relief although tears still stung her eyes. "He's alive, it says he was wounded. Over a week ago! They're sending him home." She went over and knelt before her uncle clasping his hand. "Did you hear that, Uncle Archie? Colin's alive, he's coming home, everything will be all right!" Archibald looked at her sadly. "I wish I could share your confidence, but they would not have sent a telegram like this unless his wounds were..." He couldn't seem to bring himself to say the words. "There's no telling what happened to him out there. They aren't sending men home to recover from cuts and bruises in this war. If they're sending him home it means they don't think they will be able to make him well enough to go back to fighting in the trenches. We must still prepare for the worst."
Plans were made quickly, Archie's London flat was made ready, a lady's maid was hired for Mary, as Martha could no longer travel, and a nurse was arranged for when Colin was released from the hospital. They waited in a state of quiet torment for further news.
Four days later another telegram came which read "Private Craven has arrived at King George's Military Hospital located in Stamford Street, London." Archibald and Mary got train tickets that same day and made arrangements to stay at Archie's flat in London. The train ride was tense and silent. Despite the warm day Mary had donned a dark traveling suit but was now rather regretting the decision. When they finally got to London they had their bags sent on to the flat and took a cab directly to King George's Hospital in Stamford Street. The building was large and foreboding, there were two ambulances parked outside and soldiers and nurses milled around the stone steps . Mary looked in horror as she saw that some of the men were missing arms or legs. Still others had bandages covering their faces. Mary shuddered as she thought of the possibility that Colin could look like that when she next laid eyes on him. Another wave of horror hit her as she thought of Dickon still at the front, a moment away from becoming like these broken men, or even worse. She averted her eyes from the soldiers as she and uncle Archibald climbed the large stone steps and entered the hospital's dark wood paneled entrance hall.
Archibald went up to the front desk where a harangued nurse stood shuffling papers. "We've come to see Private Craven, West Yorkshire Regiment. He should have come in in the past few days."
"Are you family?" she said, not really paying attention.
"Yes, I'm his father, the telegram said he would be on the wards already."
She finished with her papers, looked for Colin's file and when she found it, came out from behind her desk.
"Follow me, please" she said, gesturing to a flight of stairs down the hall. They ascended the foreboding wooden staircase and as they passed by the first two floors, Mary cringed as she heard the screams and whimpers of young men and saw the awful equipment left in the hallways. There were men in those halls too, lying on litters or cots. Most were covered in a foul mixture of mud and blood and were still in their uniforms, waiting to be moved into the wards. They, like Colin, had probably come directly from field hospitals behind the front lines in France or Belgium, though some came from as far away as North Africa. The room which they were led to was neat and clean, although plain and oddly dark despite its large windows. The walls were painted white above the same elegant wood paneling Mary had seen in the entry. This room was smaller than the other wards they had passed, there were only a dozen or so beds and most of the young men were still and silent. Several of the men were encased in plaster from the hips up. Two nurses walked around the room checking patients and a doctor was examining a boy with black hair. It was Colin.
There was a bandage on his forehead and his eyes were closed, his face was bruised and battered, he was pale as a ghost, his dark lashes making half moons on his cheeks. "Colin!" Mary exclaimed under her breath, tears stung her eyes. He looked so small lying there. Nothing of the strong lad who believed in magic and ran about the moors could be seen in his pale face. Archibald was almost as pale as his son. His hand shook as he raised it over his mouth. There was a great and terrible sadness in his eyes.
Slowly Archie advanced to the foot of his son's bed and said to the doctor "I'm his father" then again softly "I'm his father." The doctor turned to him his face grim, "I am Dr. Hawthorne, I'll be looking after your son" he shook Lord Craven's hand, but Archie looked hard at him, shaking his head slightly. "Please, just tell me." The doctor took out his chart and took Archibald aside, then speaking to Mary. "You can sit with him if you like, Miss. Mr. Craven, if you could follow me please."
Mary found a stiff backed chair and pulled it over to Colin's bed. She recalled that night nearly a decade earlier when she had sat beside the large four poster bed hung with brocade, and sung a soft Hindustani song to help him sleep. How much had changed... The world was turned upside down, descended into a pit of madness. She took his hand and held it close to her heart. He didn't wake, he didn't even stir "Oh, Colin, how could we have let you go?" Once again, she murmured the soft Hindustani song to the sleeping boy, with black hair.