This is a story that involves sex between males. If such a story is offensive, or illegal for you to read where you live, then do not continue, go and surf elsewhere.
This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. If there is any similarity to any real persons or events it is entirely coincidental.
The work is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
My thanks to John and Michael who have read this through and made a number of corrections and suggestions. Any remaining errors , grammatical, spelling or historical or whatever are entirely my fault.
I am trying to use terms that were used by us who were young in the UK at that time, and not to use anachronistic terms, like gay, blow job, wank, and cum. It is surprising how difficult it is. There is some more cockney rhyming slang [CRS] in this chapter.
If you want to comment on the story then do contact me on Jeffyrks@hotmail.com. I aim to reply to all messages.
Two Jubilees and One Spitfire.
Resume:- Trevor, a Londoner, is doing his National Service in Korea. He has been wounded in the leg, and his army friend, Eric, killed.
Part 17
Trevor endured the next few days as a blur of pain, movement, and sorrow. He came in and out of consciousness. Each return to consciousness brought an awareness of medical attention, and an injection.
Eventually there was a more complete return.
A voice beside him spoke loudly, "I think he's awake now, Sister."
There was a movement, and a form in white with a nurse's head gear, and a small scarlet cape on her shoulders came into view. The woman took his hand. "I am Sister MacKenzie, and you have just come round after an operation."
"Where am I?" asked Trevor.
"You're in a Military Hospital in Japan. You were wounded in your thigh, do you remember?"
Trevor nodded, and tears came into his eyes.
"You leg was broken. You were taken down to a Field Hospital, and because of the nature of your injury you were immediately flown over here. You have been operated on, and the wound has been cleaned up, and the broken bone set. Your leg is in splints, and you must try to keep it as still as possible. We want to put it in plaster,
but we cannot until we know the wound is well on the way to healing. That will be a few days. Until then you must eat, and drink and sleep as much as possible. An officer will be round to ask you what you remember of what happened."
Tears again came into Trevor's eyes.
"The chaplain too will be along to see you. But for now I want to get some liquid into you. There's a drink here, can I help you?"
Trevor nodded.
Sister MacKenzie's right arm came under his shoulders, and he was lifted slightly. With her left hand she put a container rather like a small tea pot of sweet tasting liquid to his lips. Trevor drank. He was also conscious of the closeness of the Sister,
and her bosom pressed against him.
"Thanks."
She lowered him gently. He was soon asleep again.
When he awoke the ward was almost dark. He was immediately conscious of a need to pass water. He waved a hand. A male nurse came immediately.
"Wake again, Mate. What do you want?"
"I need a piss, desperate."
"Hold on a mo." The nurse left, and was soon back. The sheet and blanket were removed, and Trevor felt a hand on his cock, and a bottle placed against it. "Okay mate, fire away."
The nurse held his cock as he relieved himself. "That feels better."
"Good. Want a drink?"
"Please."
This time the male nurse raised him, and gave him the drink.
"You R.A.M.C? asked Trevor. [Royal Army Medical Corps]
"Yes."
"What's the Sister in?" asked Trevor.
"She a QUARANC." [Queen Alexandra's Royal Army Nursing Corps] "She's great. One of the best."
He lowered Trevor again and he was soon asleep.
He woke as the ward came to life. This time he was handed bottle, and he managed himself. He looked around and saw that he was in a long ward with beds on each side. He was near the entrance, where there was a desk in the middle of the floor looking down the ward. He watched the coming and going.
Then in bustled Sister MacKenzie. She looked around. She gave an order to one of the male nurses, and came across to Trevor. "Sleep well, Russell?"
"Yes, Sister."
"Good. Drinking a lot?"
"Some."
"Good. Sorry it can't be beer until this evening."
She moved off.
Trevor was propped up in the bed with a load of pillows behind him, and given his breakfast. He realised that he was extremely hungry. He ate, and then began to wonder how he would manage to pass it at the other end. So the day progressed. He saw that, apart from the Sister and one other woman, the staff was all male. He managed with some help to shave himself, but a male nurse came to wash him all over. Trevor was embarrassed when it came to washing his cock and balls.
"Don't worry, Mate. Most of ver guys get a 'ard on. It shows your 'ackney [CRS Hackney Wick - prick] is in good working order. Another few inches and your matrimonial prospects would've been paid for."
Trevor smiled. "You from London?"
"Yea, Canning Town."
"I was born in Limehouse," said Trevor.
"Small world."
"So you knows what a 'Ackney is then?"
"Yea. Though I tended to call it my Brighton."
"It's a good piece of rock," said the male nurse, giving Trevor's cock a squeeze. "It seems to like that treatment," he added as Trevor's cock hardened slightly. "Must get ver M.O. [Medical Officer] to prescribe some more."
The ward was cleaned, and everything got ready for the Matron's inspection. A tall woman, with even more scarlet, and a mass of campaign ribbons, came into the ward. She walked round the ward, looked around, made comments to Sister MacKenzie, and spoke to some of the men.
Half an hour later Sister MacKenzie came in with a man in a suit. "Russell, this is Mr Nash. He operated on your leg."
Mr Nash then told Russell what he had done. "Your wound has got you a Blighty."
"Blighty?" asked Trevor.
"Sorry, I was in the first lot. [World War 1] and on the Western Front a Blighty was an injury that got a man back to Britain. In three or four weeks you will be put on a ship and taken back to the U.K."
"What's the prognosis, Mr Nash?"
Mr Nash looked intently for a moment. Prognosis was not normally in the vocabulary of a private soldier. "Your prognosis is good. I have cleaned up where the bullet was, and got it out. I've got it here. You might like to keep it." He handed a small brown envelope over to Trevor. "You have a broken femur, or thigh bone. I've set the bone. Fortunately the break was clean, and the bone was not shattered. If it had then there would be real problems. I don't think the bullet caused the broken leg. The bullet wound is high on your inner thigh, above the broken bone. I don't know which came first the break or the bullet. I don't think we will ever know that. I also think the bullet was a ricochet. If it had been a direct shot it would have almost certainly gone straight through your leg. Also when you look at the bullet you will see that it has hit something hard, and that was not your femur. The first thing is for the wound to heal. Then when we know it isn't going to cause any trouble we will set your leg in plaster. That will eventually be taken off and you will have to learn to walk again. You're strong, healthy, and young. You should make a complete recovery; walking, running, like any man of your age. Might take a good twelve months to get fully back. But that will be largely up to you. You might have some twinges in the leg in forty or fifty years time, but nothing serious."
On that first day Trevor had a further conversation with Sister MacKenzie.
"Sister, may I ask a personal question? Do you know a Doctor MacKenzie of Strontian in the Highlands?"
"Och aye," her broad Scottish accent coming over strongly. "He's my brother. You know him."
"Aye, quite well. I have stayed with my Guardian in your old home then. I am a friend of Fergus's. He has stayed with me in London."
"Well, well! I am writing home this evening I will tell them that I've met you."
In the evening much to Trevor's surprise he was handed a bottle of Guinness by the cockney male nurse. "Its to keep your roller open."
"Roller?" asked Trevor.
"Roller towels - bowels. I vought you knew 'ow to speak cockney. It also 'elps you to sleep. I 'ear they're sending you 'ome."
"Yea."
"We may be on the same boat. I am down to fifty six days and an early breakfast, so I should be going back on the next one."
Trevor spent a large part of the first couple of days dozing. He was interrupted by the Chaplain who listened to his account of what happened, and to what he felt about Eric's death. That helped Trevor - for a while. Another officer came and wanted Trevor's account, and for some reason he found that more difficult, although the officer did compliment Trevor on his going out of the trench to get to the bren gun.
"Your parents will be notified of your injury, and told where you are," said the officer.
"I have no parents."
"I presume you have a next of kin."
"I have a guardian."
"Then he will be informed."
It was on the third day in hospital that Trevor had enough strength to attempt to write to Isaac. This he found difficult, but he managed.
Dear Isaac, I expect you have heard by now that I got in the way of a Chink bullet. My leg is broken, and I am in hospital in Japan. The medics say that I will be shipped home, so I hope to be seeing you sooner than expected. Don't worry, I am alright. Love Trevor. PS Will write more when I feel more up to it.
Isaac did not find out about Trevor's wound by the official channel; he was in Scotland.
Isaac had been called up to Scotland again by another phone call from Doctor MacKenzie. "More bad news, I'm afraid. It's Miss Mary this time. She had a seizure, but by the time the ambulance could get out to her from Fort William she was dead."
"How's Flora taking it?" asked Isaac.
"Surprisingly well. She has summoned her solicitor from Fort William. Miss Mary had left instructions for her funeral. My mother is staying with her for the time being. I am afraid we are at the point where the big decisions that we have been putting off now have to be made."
"I will come north as soon as I can," promised Isaac.
He had travelled again on the overnight sleeper. Again Doctor MacKenzie met him at Corran Ferry.
"This is becoming a bit of a habit," said Isaac.
"I'm afraid so."
"I suppose we need to find somewhere for Nanny Flora?"
"Yes. There is a good place in Fort William, and I have heard good reports of a place in Oban."
"It'll break her heart to move away."
Isaac was caught up in further funeral arranging. He met the solicitor, but was not present at his meeting with Nanny Flora.
It took a lot to persuade Nanny Flora that she needed to be looked after.
"I have talked it over with Dr MacKenzie and he agrees. And there is no way we would be able to get someone to come out here to look after you. It is a full time job. There is nothing to do on a day off, like the films or shopping even."
Reluctantly Nanny Flora agreed. "I don't want to be a trouble to anyone."
Miss Mary's funeral took place. The next day Isaac borrowed Doctor Mackenzie's car to drive Flora to see over the old people's home in Fort William. Fortunately it met with her approval.
Nanny Flora got very tired and went up to bed early each evening. Isaac used to sit with her. Sometimes they talked, and sometimes he read to her.
On the evening of Thursday 27th March 1952 they were talking in Nanny Flora's bedroom. "I remember reading to you and your brothers and sisters," she said. "Sometimes I read in German, but your father liked me to read in English. Alice in Wonderland, Wind in the Willows, and even Oscar Wilde's Children's Stories." There was a long silence. "I think my work is done. I am ready to go now. Pity I've got to leave my home. My big work was with all you children in Vienna. I enjoyed it. Your parents were so good to me."
"And you were good to us," muttered Isaac. He gave her hand a slight squeeze.
"Then when I came home to Scotland, I saw that I had to look after Millie and Mary. I have done that. They've passed over now. With the good Lord, the Good Shepherd. I hope it will not be long before I join them." There was another long silence, and Isaac thought she had dropped off to sleep. He was about to leave the room, when the old familiar voice spoke again. "I think your great work has been Trevor. You have worked a miracle there. He has turned out such a nice young man, so well mannered, and so clever. All due to you. You can be proud of what you've done, Isaac. I didn't think any good would come of it. But I was wrong. Glad I was wrong."
"I owe a lot to him, Nanny. He's given me a lot."
"I'm sure. I pray for his safety, and that he'll be brave, each morning and evening." There was another silence. "Given you a purpose. To love and be loved. I'm proud of you, Isaac, what you've done with Trevor." She drifted off to sleep, and Isaac crept from the room. He went down stairs, and continued to sort through masses of papers. Then he read for an hour, before going up to bed.
Isaac rose early in the morning. He went down stairs, and made a pot of tea, and carried it upstairs. He poured out two cups of tea, and knocked on Nanny Flora's bedroom door. There was no answer, so he knocked louder. Still no answer he quietly opened the door. Nanny Flora was curled up in bed.
"Nanny. Good morning. Cup of tea?"
There was no movement, so he repeated himself more loudly. He put the tea down, and with great reluctance placed his hand on Nanny Flora's brow. It was cold.
It was the early morning of Friday 28th March 1952.
Isaac had another funeral to arrange, and many things to sort out before he could return to London.
The post arrived in Strontian in the middle of the afternoon. Isaac was alone at the White House going through things. When a house has been lived in by one particular family for a great number of years, and been the precious home of three elderly ladies it is usually full of their valued possessions. Isaac had not got time to go through everything. He went through the sisters' papers, and there were a lot of them Every odd scrap of paper had to be examined. The clothes had to be sorted. The furniture, and goods and chattels would have to wait until he had more time. Isaac felt an intruder, going through the private things of the ladies. He found the task both sad and depressing.
At four o'clock there was a knock at the front door. He wondered who it could be, as this was most unusual. He hurried downstairs. A very out of breath Mrs MacKenzie stood at the door.
"It's Trevor. He's been wounded. We've had a letter from Anna, our daughter." She thrust an airmail letter into Isaac's hands. He read:- Dear Mum and Dad, It is a small world. You will never guess who I have got as a patient on my ward. Private Trevor Russell, who I believe has stayed with you, and is a close friend of Fergus. Trevor was wounded in Korea. Not life threatening, a flesh wound in his thigh, and a broken leg. His leg was set yesterday and the bullet removed, so he was still under the weather today. But when he found out my name he asked if I knew you! I think his injuries might well get him back to England. He will not be fit enough to fight again before his National Service time is over.
The rest of the letter was personal and Isaac did not read it. His face had gone ashen, and he looked at Mrs MacKenzie.
"I think you'd better pack up here, and come home with me, and have a good hot cup of tea."
That was how Isaac found out about Trevor.
Each day Trevor's wound was inspected by a doctor. He healed quickly. Mr Nash came round and gave orders for a plaster to be put on the leg.
"You can then have some more mobility. Get you out of bed. It will be a crutches job for nearly two months. But a healthy young man will soon learn to get around."
Trevor was surprised at what he was able to do. The one thing that proved impossible was to do anything to his left foot, whether it was putting on a sock, or keeping it clean. He longed to have a shower or a bath, but he knew that he would have do without for two months.
He wrote to Isaac a fuller letter, and he borrowed some books from the hospital library. He read Daphne du Maurier's 'Rebecca' and enjoyed it so much he promptly read it a second time. He savoured the excellent writing and story telling, and marvelled at the way the whole book was dominated by Rebecca, who never appeared in the story. Trevor's plaster was removed so that there could be a final inspection of the wound. All was healing well. "You will be on the next ship home," said Mr Nash. A fresh plaster was put back on.
Four days later Trevor was transferred to the ship, and in the early morning they set sail, and began the long journey back to England, back to Blighty.
Trevor was allotted a bottom bunk in the sick bay. There were forty sick or wounded soldiers returning home. He could get in and out of it without assistance. Also on board was the cockney RAMC medic.
"So I've got to look after you, mate?" said the medic.
"Yea, looks like it."
In the middle of the second night out Trevor woke with a dream. He knew he had been dreaming but could not remember it. He just had the feeling that it was a disturbing dream. He decided to go to the heads and relieve himself. On his way he met the cockney medic. "So Limehouse, on your way for a hit?"
"Yes Canning Town," replied Trevor, understanding the rhyming slang, 'hit and miss - piss'.
"Make sure you don't empty your cobblers [CRS Cobblers awls -balls] while you're there."
Trevor made his way to the heads. On the way back he stopped to talk again.
"So you're on night duty then, Canning Town?"
"Yea. I volunteered. Most of ver time no one to order you around. I shall be on nights till we get 'ome."
Trevor woke again a couple of nights later, when they were well down into the South China Sea. This time the sea was running high and the ship was pitching and tossing around. Trevor found the plaster cast on his leg made it difficult to make his way to relieve himself. The cockney medic stood by to help him.
"I think you need a 'and, Limehouse."
"Thanks. What's your name, I can't keep calling you Canning Town."
"Private Frank Sunley at your command."
"What you want then, Frank? or Sunley?"
"Frank anytime. You're Russell. Russ or what?"
"Trevor or Trev."
"Okay Trev. So you want another that and this?"
"Yea."
"I'd better 'ang on to you. We don't want you slipping and breaking something else." Frank supported Trevor as the boat pitched and tossed around.
Trevor stood at the urinal, with Frank close behind holding him. Three and a half good legs were better that one and a half. He emptied his bladder.
"That were a good that and this. Are you going to make some Harry now?" As he said this Frank reached round to hold Trevor's penis.
"Harry?"
"Harry Monk - spunk."
"Your hand there makes it look as though you want me to?" said Trevor with a slight giggle.
Frank hand began to work up and down on Trevor hardening cock.
"That feels good, Frank. Why does another guy's hand feel so much better than your own?" Trevor reached round to grope at Frank groin. Through the material of his trousers he could feel the hard cock. "Seems you were expecting this?"
"I vought you would like a bit of 'elp like this."
"Why?"
"I 'ad to wash a lot of men when on ver ward. Some just try to wash themselves round vere. Others are totally embarrassed, as you was to begin wiv. But when I took 'old of your Brighton [Brighton Rock - cock] you relaxed a bit. You obvious enjoyed my 'and there. So I says to myself, 'This 'ere private Russell likes a bit of man to man, we'll 'ave to see what we can do."
Trevor had by now worked his way into Frank's trousers, and had his hand round a thick though not particularly long cock. "It thicker than a bottle of Guinness," muttered Trevor.
"Glad you approve. Yours ain't just a midget."
Trevor was beginning to feel the familiar mounting sensation in his groin. "Hold tight, Frank."
"Not too tight! Shoot away."
Trevor's load shot out into the urinal. "Your turn now, Frank,"
They shuffled round so Trevor could get his hand properly to Frank. He too did not take long.
"Well, Trev, any night you want some fun relieving yourself. Night times are very quiet. There are just a couple of medications I have to give, and be available for any emergency like 'elping soldiers wiv veir legs in plaster 'ave a pee."
A couple of nights later Trevor was disturbed by another dream. Again he could not recall it. Again he decided to relieve his bladder, more as something to do, rather than just to lie in bed trying to sleep. Though the sea was calm Frank offered to help.
"I might need a hand again."
It was really a repeat run of what had happened a couple of nights before.
"I'm not really into cottaging," said Frank.
"Nor I."
"There must be somewhere more pleasant." Frank thought for a moment. "I know. 'Cause I'm on nights, I 'ave a little cabin of me own, so I can sleep during ver day. It is one of ver perks of doing night duty as a medic. I can lock ver door so no one comes in and wakes me. If I leave it unlocked, and on condition no one sees you come in, I reckon we can 'ave some nice uninterrupted time together."
"Sounds good to me," replied Trevor.
They arranged a time, and Frank told Trevor how to find his cabin. On most days Trevor spent an hour or so with Frank. A full leg plaster that almost reached up to Trevor's groin made restrictions on what they could do. The restricted space of the small cabin did not help. They found they could suck each other off, and they both enjoyed that to the full, but though they tried, any anal penetration proved impossible. It was a purely sexual relationship. What they gave to each other gave them both something pleasant on a long and rather boring voyage.
The atmosphere on the troop ship was totally different to that on the voyage out. On the voyage out discipline had to be maintained, all were conscious that they would probably being seeing action. Every effort had been made to keep the men fit. But of the voyage back everything was more relaxed. Most of the men were returning to be demobbed, and all were desperately looking forward to resuming their interrupted lives. The forty men in the sick bay, especially the wounded ones, were especially looked after. The ordinary soldiers cared for them in many ways, often giving Woodbines to the men in hospital blue who were able to get around the ship. [Footnote 1]. There were minimal inspections, just ensuring that the quarters were kept reasonably clean. Everything was more relaxed though it would only be a slight exaggeration to say that there was a holiday atmosphere on board.
The troop ship made its way south to Singapore. Those in sick bay were not allowed to land, and in any case Trevor did not fancy any lengthy use of crutches. Then up the Strait of Malacca and across the south of the Bay of Bengal to Colombo, where the ship refuelled; then across the Arabian Sea to Aden. The worst part of the journey was up the Red Sea, which seemed endless in the great heat. The went through the Suez Canal watching the activities on the shore, then across the Mediterranean with refuelling stops at both Malta and Gibraltar. Then the final stretch for those in the sick bay. The ship put into Portsmouth briefly so that the sick and wounded could be unloaded and taken to hospital. For the rest on board the final destination was Hull.
Trevor had written to Isaac from each port of call, but he had received no letters from Isaac because he had been on the move since a letter which he received in hospital dated a fortnight before he had been wounded.
The final destination for the sick and wounded was the Royal Victoria Hospital at Netley on Southampton Water. It had been built towards the end of the Nineteenth Century. It was an imposing structure, with a frontage onto Southampton Water of nearly half a mile. It was rumoured that at the time of its planning, there were two Military Hospitals on the drawing board, one for India and the other for Netley. It was thought that the plans got mixed, and what was meant for India got built in England, and the one for England got built somewhere in India. It was a three story building [ground floor and two others] Most of the frontage was windows, with a long corridor running the whole length. During the war the Americans had used it as a Military hospital, and rumour had it that they had a jeep on each floor. [See Footnote 2]
Trevor arrived back in England on Tuesday 10th June. It was a bright sunny day. Everywhere looked bright and clean. The trees in the hospital grounds had not yet lost their springtime freshness for their summer tiredness. There were flowers in the hedgerows and gardens. It was good to be back.
The day after his arrival Trevor had the plaster removed. His leg looked white and thin. The wound in his upper thigh had healed well. An elderly M.O. examined him thoroughly.
"Well son, it looks as though the rest is going to be up to you. You will be on crutches for a while, and then two sticks, one stick and finally none. You will have plenty of physiotherapy. When you get rid of your crutches we will send you home on leave, on condition you do all your exercises at home. When you are off all use of sticks you will be discharged from the army as medically unfit for service. They'll probably even give you a small pension."
Physiotherapy consisted of exercises to enable him to bend the knee properly, to strengthen muscles and to learn to walk again. Trevor wanted to recover fully as quickly as possible.
Three days after his arrival back in England Trevor and those who were also back from Korea were told at the midmorning break that there were free for the rest of the day. They were also told to stay either in their ward or outside at the front of the hospital. The men wondered what it was all about. Trevor and several others made their way to the front of hospital. He was getting used to using his crutches for longer distances. There was a lawn between the hospital building and Southampton Water. There was a small jetty that stuck out into the water. It was to this jetty that the wounded from France had been brought in the two World Wars. He went out on to the jetty and as he stood there with a group of his mates they watched the Queen Mary pass down the water on its way to New York.
When the liner had disappeared they turned to make their way up the short jetty. They saw a group of people, men and women in civilian attire walking along. For a moment they wondered who they were.
Then one of the men shouted out, "There's my Mum," and ran off.
Then Trevor saw Isaac walking along and looking around. "Isaac!" he called and waved a crutch. Isaac saw him, and ran forward, and Trevor got up maximum speed on his crutches. When they met there was a short pause as they looked at each other, and then they fell into each others arms.
There were many emotional reunions in that area in front of the Royal Victoria Hospital, and many eyes were moist, even the eyes of proud fathers and hardened soldiers.
Trevor and Isaac found a seat in the warm summer sunshine that looked out over the water. They did not know where to begin. The seat was too much in public to show the affection they wished to show. All that they did was to sit fairly close, with Isaac's arm along the back of the seat.
"The M.O. says I'll get some leave as soon as I can discard these crutches and walk reasonably on a couple of sticks."
"How long will that be, do you think?"
"I hope a week or ten days. They get you walking between parallel bars, and I am getting better each day."
"Good. I can't wait to have you home," said Isaac.
"And in bed," whispered Trevor, with the cheeky grin that had not changed.
"Yes, and in bed; unless you've grown out of that sort of thing."
"Not at all." said Trevor in horror at the thought.
"Tell me how it happened?"
Trevor told Isaac in more detail about the events on Hill 226. He also told him all about Eric. All that was something new to Isaac.
"He saved your life?"
"Yes. He saved my life, and lost his own in doing it. Isaac, I feel so bad about it." The tears of grief returned.
Isaac put his arm more firmly round Trevor's shoulders. "Eric was a brave man, a good man. You cannot undo what has happened. You can be eternally grateful, and determine not to waste the life his sacrifice has given you."
"He wasn't very bright, but he was such a nice, good, ordinary chap. He would never have set the Thames on fire, but he was so thoroughly decent. He would have led a good life. Good not to himself but being good to those around him." Trevor mopped his eyes with his handkerchief. "Thanks Isaac. I feel a bit better having said all that."
"When did you last receive a letter from me?" asked Isaac.
"A fortnight before I was wounded. Sometime mid March."
"Then I am afraid I have got some more sad news for you." Isaac told him about the deaths of Mary and Flora MacClean.
Trevor listened sadly, but there were no further tears. "Why am I not crying at that news?" he asked. "I knew them well, and loved them too."
"Because you are grieving more for poor Eric, cut down in his prime. Flora and Mary were old and full of years. Their life was done. On Nanny Flora's last evening I sat with her in her bedroom. She talked about what she saw as her life work. First and foremost was being Nanny to all us Rosenbaum children in Vienna. Then when she came back to Scotland caring for Millie and Mary. She said my life work was you, and that I ought to be proud of the way you have turned out."
"She was a good woman."
"Yes, and she prayed for your safety and that you would have courage every morning and evening."
"And she died on the 27th March, and I was wounded on the 28th." Trevor sat in silence for a minute or two. Then he added very softly, "The officer who came to see me in hospital said that I had shown great courage in going out of the trench to retrieve that bren gun."
Isaac pressed Trevor closer to him. "And I am proud of you, son."
Trevor turned to Isaac. "I think that is the first time you have said that.
You have often said that we are like a father and a son. But you've never used the vocative before and called me, 'son', Dad!" There was another cheeky grin.
"I'm getting hungry," said Isaac, afraid that emotion was going to the better of him. "I gather there's free food for us in the NAAFI."
"Good. Then let's go." Trevor gathered his crutches, and stood up. He looked down on Isaac's head. "You've got some grey hairs, Isaac! You're getting old!"
"The grey hairs are all the worry I've had with you, young man. And I am not so old that my natural force has abated." Isaac looked up at Trevor with a broad smile on his face.
Trevor got the reference. [Footnote 3] "But Moses was really old. But does it really mean what I think you're saying?" asked Trevor with a note of incredulity in his voice.
"I gather so." Isaac stood up, and whispered in Trevor's ear, "It means that Moses was still capable of a good fuck! And so am I."
They both laughed and made their way to the NAAFI.
Footnote:
-
Woodbines, a cheap brand of cigarette, widely smoked in the army. Sick and wounded soldiers wore a blue uniform and not the usual khaki.
-
In my own singularly undistinguished National Service I was at the Royal Victoria Hospital Netley. It has now been pulled down. I am not sure as to the exact length of the frontage. Otherwise details are accurate.
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Deuteronomy 34v7 AV/KJV.