Patrick barely slept that night. The uneven, sun-baked ground which the tent was pitched on hurt his back and he could not get comfortable. When he finally dropped off, his dreams were plagued by sights and sounds which he had not experienced for many years. He suddenly jolted awake and sat bolt upright. He gasped for breath and beads of sweat ran down his face. The first rays of dawn were permeating the canvas walls just enough for him to see the hands on his watch, which told him it was just before 5 am. He knew trying to go back to sleep now was futile, so he pulled a sweater on over his pyjamas, found his shoes and his Henleys and crept out of the tent.
He paced up and down the length of the field a few times, smoking to try to calm his nerves and shake the nightmare from his head. He decided a cup of tea would help, so reached into the tent to where they had put the mugs, tea and milk the night before and then fired up the camping stove and filled up a saucepan from the stream. It was then that he spotted a rounded, raised, grassy section in the opposite bank of the stream. It looked inviting, and the stream, although fairly deep, was narrow, so Patrick, taking care not to spill the tea he had just made, took a small hop and landed safely on the other side. He sat, cross-legged on the mound, lit another Henley and drank his tea, watching the sun rise up further over the hills and trees which framed the field in which they were camping. He thought about the nightmare he had, wondering what it meant.
"Am I doing the right thing?" he said aloud. His heart knew that he was, but, sat there, alone, his head was not entirely convinced.
He got through another three Henleys before he heard a rustle from the tent. Shelagh popped her head out. She had obviously just woken, she did not have her glasses on yet and her eyes looked hazy, her hair was a tangled mess, and her nightdress was slipping off one shoulder. She spotted Patrick and then went back into the tent, re-emerging seconds later wearing her glasses, shoes and one of Patrick's cardigans. She walked over to the stream and with delicate poise, jumped the stream and landed gently at Patrick's side.
"There you are," she said, sitting down next to him. "You gave me such a fright; I thought something had happened to you."
Shelagh put her arms round his middle and leant into him, but flinched as she touched him.
"Oh Patrick, you're cold. How long have you been out here?"
"About two hours," he replied, "you missed a beautiful sunrise."
"Why are you out here?" she asked. "I'm sure you weren't just watching the sunrise."
"I had, a, erm, a, er, a nightmare," Patrick stammered after a moment. He felt his cheeks flush. "Only children have nightmares," he thought. "It was nothing, nothing at all," he finished aloud, not daring to look at Shelagh. He was suddenly aware that his heart was racing and he was trembling slightly.
Shelagh hugged him tighter, also aware that he was trembling.
"Do you want to tell me about it?"
"I, I, I do, but, but…"
"Trust me Patrick."
Patrick took several deep breaths.
"It was like I was back there again, here, like it was the first time." He clenched his fists. "The noise, the men, the smell…" His voice trailed off, a tear rolled down his cheek. "It's because I've come back."
"Patrick, I know why we are here." Patrick looked at her, a fearful look in his eye. "And I want you to know that I think that, by having the courage to do what you are doing, you are the bravest man in the world. You have lived through terrible things, and carry great burdens, and I can only begin to imagine how hard it is for you. But, I want to thank you, for letting me help you shoulder your burdens."
Patrick's eyes sparkled with tears, but he did not cry. He squeezed Shelagh tighter to him and kissed her hair. Unable to think of anything else to say or do, he let go of Shelagh, stood up, and then pulled her to her feet, saying,
"Let's start breakfast. We have a long way to go today, especially if I get us lost again."
By 9 am, they were packed up and on the road again. The shop-keeper's directions put them back on the right course and Patrick soon found he was recognising place names. He then recognised an odd-shaped junction and instinctively took a left. He slowed the car down, scanning the scenery for something he recognised. He noticed a dense wood, set back from the road. And then he saw it. It was really still there.
"Right we are here," he said, pulling the car into a gateway.
"Where's here?" Timothy asked.
"Where I used to work."
"But there's just a barn, in a field."
"It is now, actually it was not much more than a barn then, but twenty years ago it was a hospital. It was the least structurally stable part of the base, but now it's the only bit left. It's quite ironic really!"
They climbed out of the car and slipped through a gap in the fence. They began to wander over to the former hospital.
"The officer's quarters were there," Patrick said, waving his arm to his right, "and the rest of the barracks were there," pointing straight ahead, and "the mess hall was over there somewhere," pointing to his left.
They reached the doorway of what was the field hospital. Large chunks of its roof were missing, no glass remained at the windows and the wooden doors were hanging rotten on rusty hinges. They crept in.
"This was the medical storeroom," he said, walking through the first doorway. "And through there," he pointed through another, partially collapsed doorway "was where we had to do operations."
"People had operations in here?" Timothy gasped.
"Yes Tim," he said, walking back into the main corridor "and down there were the wards, and that doorway there was the duty medic's office."
They wondered round the remains of the building for another few minutes, and turned to leave. Shelagh and Timothy, who was carrying his sister, began walking back towards the car. But Patrick stood stock still, looking round the field and towards the woodland which formed its backdrop.
"Patrick!" Shelagh called when she realised that he had not followed them.
When he did not respond, Shelagh called Timothy and they walked back to where Patrick stood. She saw that he was shaking.
"What happened here?" Shelagh said, holding Patrick.
Patrick's knees seemed to give way under his weight, he sat on the ground. Shelagh and Timothy joined him.
"This whole area was a, a, a British a-army camp. One night we were a-a-attacked by the Germans. I had to f-f-fight for my life. I k-k-k-killed four men. The survivors, we hid…" he pointed behind him, his arm shaking "…in those woods until morning."
He broke down in tears; he drew his knees up to his chest, and rested his head on them. Shelagh held him tighter. She tried to say something, but words failed her.
"Please don't hate me. I had to do what I did."
Patrick looked at his wife. She was unable to conjure up anything to say. They sat in silence, before Timothy said.
"Well we know what we need to do now, don't we?"
His parents looked at him with puzzled expressions on their faces.
"Bad stuff happened to Dad here, but he must have brought us here for a good reason. The bad stuff is part of him, part of his past, so he can't completely forget it, but he wants to try to rectify, is that the right word?" He paused and looked at his father for reassurance. Patrick nodded. Timothy continued "…the wrongs that happened, the things that hurt him. And that is why he brought his family here. So what we need to do is make this place a happier place for Dad. We are the only ones who can. That way he won't think of the bad things that happened here, only the good. Right, we'll give you to a count of fifty to go and hide."
Patrick and Shelagh sat staring dumbstruck at Timothy, shocked not only by their son's perception, but also his request.
"Well, go and hide," Timothy repeated.
"What do you mean Timothy?" Shelagh asked.
"Dad said that he and his friends had to hide from the Germans who were trying to find them, which is bad, obviously. We could rectify that by playing hide-and-seek, which is good and makes people happy, as long as no-one cheats. So go and hide."
Patrick's face lit up. "How clever my son is," he thought. He jumped up and hugged Timothy as tightly as he could.
"Timothy you wonderful boy, you've always made me happy, happier than anything else in the world."
"And Dad you will always be my hero, and none of us could ever hate you. Please don't think that," Timothy said before wriggling out his father's embrace. "One, two, three…" he began.
"Alright we're going!" Patrick and Shelagh said, jumping to their feet.
"Four, five, six…"
Looking at each other and smiling, Shelagh and Patrick ran off in the direction of the woods.
That night as he laid in his sleeping bag staring at the roof of the tent, reflecting upon the day that he had had, the steps he had made, Patrick pondered his son's choice of word. "Rectify" he thought, "fixing things, curing ailments, remedying problems, doing precisely what a Doctor should do."
He knew now for certain what to do, and silently thanked both his children for showing him the way.