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Updated: May 19, 2025
But his real intelligence seems to be far away. Then there are the wounds. Did Dr. Howson tell you about them? 'He said there were bad wounds. The Sister threw up her hands. 'How he ever managed to do the walking he must have done to get through the lines is a mystery to us all. What he must have endured! The wounds must have been dressed to begin with in a German field-hospital.
She was accompanied by a Manchester friend, a young doctor, Howson by name, who had known the sisters before Nelly's marriage. He had come to Ambleside in charge of a patient that morning, and was going back on the morrow, and then to France. Bridget had stumbled on him in Ambleside, and finding he had a free evening had invited him to come and sup with them.
The scene was like some bright and delicate illumination on the dark. 'I shall have to take you a bit further on, said the major to Bridget, as the two young nurses waved farewell. 'We've got a room in the hotel for you. And Dr. Howson will come for you in the morning. He thought that would be more satisfactory both for you and the patient than that you should go to the hospital to-night.
This kind of loss is harder to bear physically than death straight out. I've promised her' he turned to Bridget 'to make all the enquiries I can. She asked me that at once. After supper, just as Howson was departing, Farrell appeared, having driven himself over through the long May evening, ostensibly to take Cicely home, but really for the joy of an hour in Nelly's company.
Howson described the breathless waiting of himself and another doctor, and then the slow coming of the words: 'My name is George Sarratt, Lieutenant, 21st Lanchesters. But why ? A look of bewilderment at nurses and doctors, and then again sleep. 'The next time he spoke, it was quite distinctly and of his own accord.
But Howson has heard something, through some people near Cassel has he told you? 'Yes but don't try to remember. He smiled at her. How strange the old sweetness on these grey lips! 'Have you missed me dreadfully? Poor little Nelly! You're very pale a little shadow! Darling! I would like to live! And at that at last the eyes of both, as they gazed at each other, filled with tears.
Howson, Dean of Chester, wrote thus in his diary: "One good bit that the emptying Christianity of dogma would perish it, like Charlemagne's face when exhumed." It was a striking simile, and if well worked out by a rhetorician, say of Dr. Liddon's type, it might have powerfully clinched some great argument for the necessary place of dogma in Christian theology.
Then as they stepped on land, perception sharpened in a moment. A tall man in khaki whom she recognised as Dr. Howson came eagerly forward. 'Mrs. Sarratt! I hope you're not too tired. Would you rather get some food here, in the town, or push on at once? 'At once, please. How is he? A pair of kind grey eyes looked down upon her sadly. 'Very ill, -very ill! but quite sensible.
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