Remembering the Ghost of You

April 21st, 1944

I hate England with passion. It’s cold and raining and in complete ruins. No matter how close I stood to the fire I couldn’t get warm. I was perpetually soaked to the bone. Most of the soldiers in my camp were new arrivals who were helping run the makeshift hospital here in Dover. The air here smelt of rot, death, and smoke. I had met guys from Canada, England, Ireland, and Scotland who were all eager to see action. I wasn’t thrilled at the thought. In the hospital, as I dressed and redressed wounds and tended to the ill I heard stories of all the London bombings. Everything I saw was ruins or makeshift tents. We were tending to civilians and soldiers alike. Word was something big was being planned. The thought made me sick to my stomach.
I looked sullenly at my tin bowl filled with stale bread covered in a watery bean glop. Two days and I was already tired of the shit food. “Your face will freeze like that here if you keep that up,” Bob said as he took a seat next to me by the fire. His comment couldn’t wipe the disgust off my face though. I reluctantly ate before it got any colder.
“How’ve you been?” I asked. I had only seen him once since arriving.
“Seen better days, but then haven’t we all?” he asked and I shrugged. No use in stating the obvious. “The guys Jameson and Wallace have whiskey. Want me to snag you some?”
“Sure,” I said hoping it would warm the cold in my bones. When he returned he tossed me a flask. I savored the burn in my throat as I took a gulp.
“So are you on hospital rounds or what tonight?” he asked.
“I was in the hospital for the last sixteen hours. I get to sleep until five and then I’ve got a two hour watch and then back to the hospital,” I grunted. Part of me envied all the soldiers who didn’t spend their days trapped in a stuffy tent or room that smelled like sweat and sickness, but I’d also hate to be on watch for hours unable to do anything but think. I was doing my best to keep my mind busy.
“Yeah I’ve got to go back soon,” Bob said. “Have you seen Ray?” I shook my head. He had been dragged away to attend to more serious patients. Bob was working in the hospital because he’d been going to med school before joining the army and I had worked as a volunteer in the hospital back home. They needed extra hands and we were the perfect candidates.
When we finished our dinner Bob headed back and I crawled into my tent that was shared with four others; Bob, Wallace, Victor, and Smith. I didn’t know Smith’s first name. I’d only seen him once since arrival but he was one of those eager to shot Nazi types. Victor asked about Rebecca when I saw him and although it hurt to talk about her it was better then the silence and sound of the pouring rain. Wallace was a man from New York and third in his family to go off to war. His brother died in the early days of the war, and when he turned eighteen he knew it was his turn to avenge his brother’s death.
I tried to fall asleep but I was frozen to the bone, my clothes were all damp, and the blankets were hardly thick enough. I grabbed Bob’s and threw it around me. I wanted warmer weather to get here, but I had heard that England was always cold and dreary. When I shut my eyes I could still see my mother and Mikey clutching each other and crying as I left. That image tended to keep me awake and plague my dreams. Seeing my mother cry so easily made me long for Mikey to not be leaving her as well.
“You asleep Way?” Wallace asked, poking his head into the tent.
“No,” I said without opening my eyes.
“Someone named Mrs. Gardner passed away and left you this,” he said and I opened my eyes to see him holding an envelope out to me. She was a middle aged woman who had been in the hospital for burns received in a fire. Her family had died in the Blitz and now she’d gone to join them. I didn’t speak to her much, but I did make a point to check on her since I knew no one else would.
My eyes watered as I opened the envelope. “You shouldn’t get attached to the patients. More will die then survive,” he said to me like he knew what it was like. Wallace washed and bleached bandages. He wasn’t in there with the people. They were human beings just like us.
“I wasn’t attached. I’ve seen death before,” I muttered and rolled over to read the letter. It was a short letter thanking me for going out of my way to see her. She also included a golden cross she’d been wearing. She was planning to give it to her granddaughter, but she was gone as well. So she left it to me. It was her only belonging. I willed myself not to cry as I tucked the letter away and fastened the cross around my neck.
I then pulled a small notebook from my breast pocket. I was using it to document what happened here in the war. After writing of Mrs. Gardner’s passing I picked up some paper to write a letter to my mother. I made sure to tell her that I was warm and dry and that I was going to be okay. I’d rather not have her worry. Even if I am to die I want her to think that I’m okay and safe until the very end. She doesn’t need the grim details of the reality I’m trapped in.