Paths of Glory

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It all began when Sgt. Davies told me that we had a problem…

“I’m going to recommend that you are discharged in the next few days, Mallory, and sent back to Blighty until you’re fully recovered.”

“Thanks, doc,” said George cheerfully.

“Don’t thank me, old fellow, frankly I need the bed. By the time you’re ready to come back, with a bit of luck this damn war will be over.”

“Let’s hope so,” said George, looking around the field tent, full of brave men whose lives would never be the same again.

“By the way,” the doctor added, “a Private Rodgers dropped by this morning. Thought this might be yours.”

“It certainly is,” said George, taking the photograph of Ruth he’d thought he’d never see again.

“She’s quite a looker,” mused the doctor.

“Not you as well,” said George with a grin.

“Oh, and you’ve got a visitor. Do you feel up to it?”

“Yes, I’d be delighted to see Rodgers,” said George.

“No, it’s not Rodgers, it’s a Captain Geoffrey Young.”

“Oh, I’m not sure I’m up to that,” said George, a huge smile appearing on his face.

A nurse plumped up George’s pillow and placed it behind his back as he waited for his climbing leader. He could never think of Geoffrey Young as anything else. But the welcoming smile on his lips turned to a frown as Young limped into the tent.

“My dear George,” Young said, “I came the moment I heard. One of the advantages of being in the Ambulance Auxiliary Service is that you get to know where everyone is and what they’re up to.” Young pulled up a small wooden chair that must have previously been used in a French classroom and sat down beside George’s bed. “So much news, I don’t know where to begin.”

“Why not start with Ruth. Did you get the chance to visit her when you were last on leave?”

“Yes. I dropped in to The Holt on my way back to Dover.”

“And how is she?” asked George, trying not to sound impatient.

“As beautiful as ever, and seems to have fully recovered.”

“Fully recovered?” said George anxiously.

“Following the birth of your second child,” said Young.

“My second child?” said George.

“You mean to say that nobody’s told you that you’re the proud father of…” He paused. “I think it was a girl.”

George offered up a silent prayer to a God he didn’t believe in. “And how is she?” he demanded.

“Seemed fine to me,” said Young. “But then, to be honest, I can never tell one baby from another.”

“What color are her eyes?”

“I’ve no idea, old chap.”

“And is her hair fair or dark?”

“Sort of in between, I think, although I could be wrong.”