The coffee arrived, she tipped the waiter, and then she poured two cups. “Wake up, sleepy head!” she called to Delilah. “It’s time to have fun in the sun!”
For the next four days – rain or shine – Poppy and her friends packed as much activity into their trip as possible. Days were spent at the pool or playing badminton. Poppy borrowed one of Delilah’s tennis frocks – a Suzanne Lenglen inspired creation – and the two of them partnered up and played doubles with the Spencer boys. Unlike her three friends who were born into money, Poppy had never played the sports of the upper classes, but she was a strong woman, and what she lacked in skill she made up for in stamina.
Even Aunt Dot had a go at some of the deck games, and Poppy partnered her aunt in a game of shuffleboard. Aunt Dot was having a whale of a time on the cruise. Clearly she was in her social element – catching up with old friends and making new ones – and Poppy had not seen her this happy since before her dear friend Grace had been sent to prison. Poppy knew that her aunt still wept for her friend, and in unguarded moments a shadow might still pass over her face; but like her niece, Miss Denby Snr had made up her mind to wring as much joy out of the holiday as she could. She spent time talking books with a lady who told her she was a writer. Her name was Dorothy Leigh Sayers. Poppy had never heard of her, but Aunt Dot assured her that once she was published she was going to be the next Agatha Christie. Miss Sayers was going on a short holiday to New York.
Another new friend of Aunt Dot’s was a Swiss gentleman whom Poppy had indeed heard of: Carl Gustav Jung. The large, physically imposing man with the fine moustache and round spectacles was the world-renowned psychiatrist – or, what was the name? Oh it was on the tip of Poppy’s tongue… oh yes, the psycho-analyst. Jung had lived in London for a while and the Globe had a Jazz File on him. Most notable in it was his very public fall-out with the other leading psychiatrist of the day, Sigmund Freud. Jung was going to New York to present an academic paper on what he referred to as the different personality types. “Oh, it’s fascinating!” declared Aunt Dot. “According to Carl I’m an extroverted, intuitive feeler! That man has such insight! He says I’m a rare combination.”
“Not that rare,” observed Miss King. “He didn’t say that rare.”
Aunt Dot bristled at the criticism. “Quite rare, he said. Quite rare. You can ask him yourself. Oh! There he is! Oh Carl! Carl! I’d like you to meet my niece…”
Fortunately for Poppy, who did not feel like being bogged down in a long conversation about something she only barely understood, she was saved by Rollo who was only too delighted to meet the famous “head doctor” and interview him for The New York Times. “Nothing wrong with getting a head start,” he muttered to Poppy before offering to buy Dr Jung a drink.
Most evenings were spent with the Spencers; Aunt Dot and Amelia got on like a house on fire and Rollo and Theo enjoyed recounting their days of high jinx on Long Island. Rollo had never mentioned his family before but Poppy learned he had one older brother, a banker, who still lived on the island and who had inherited the estate when their father died. Their mother was still alive and living on the estate. Poppy thought she saw a cloud come over the editor’s face when Theo mentioned her.
“So, old sport, when was the last time you saw the old bird?”
“It’s been a while,” said Rollo and took a swig of his whisky.
After dinner each evening Toby and Miles laid claim to Poppy and Delilah as their primary dance partners. The dancing started sedately, with waltzes and one-steps. But as the evening progressed and the older guests retired, the band leader loosened his bow tie, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and led his fellow musicians in covers of the latest jazz numbers from Tin Pan Alley. Most of the songs were new to Poppy as they hadn’t yet made it across the Atlantic and into Delilah’s extensive gramophone collection. She’d heard one or two of them when she saw the Original Dixieland Jazz Band play at Oscar’s the previous summer, but songs like “Margie”, “Ain’t We Got Fun”, and “Mama! He’s Making Eyes at Me” were new to her. But it was the raucous “Home Again Blues” that really shook the dance floor, and the guests called for encore after encore. Delilah, as usual, led the way, teaching everyone the latest dance steps – some of which Poppy was convinced she’d just made up on the spot.
It was after the fourth rendition of “Home Again Blues”, as Poppy and Toby twirled around the dance floor, that she spotted Captain Williams, accompanied by a flustered steward, heading towards them.
“Sorry to interrupt your evening, Dr Spencer, but would you mind awfully coming with us? There’s been an…” the captain cleared his throat and steadied his voice, “… a terrible accident.”
Toby and Poppy came to a stop. Poppy felt Toby’s arm stiffen at the small of her back. “Of course, Captain. Is the ship’s doctor not available?”
“He’s already in attendance. He asked me to get you. Apparently it’s within your area of expertise.”
“Righto!” Then to the steward: “Fetch my medical bag from my cabin, will you. It’s on the floor in the wardrobe, on the right-hand side. There’s a good man.” He turned to Poppy. “My apologies, Miz Denby. Will you excuse me?”
“Of course!” said Poppy. But Poppy’s curiosity was piqued. What kind of accident was it? Why couldn’t the ship’s doctor handle it on his own? What was Toby’s “area of expertise”?
“Actually, I’ll come with you,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miss Denby,” said the captain sternly. “It’s quite a distressing sight.”
Poppy straightened her back and looked up at the captain. “I worked in a hospital during the war. There’s very little I haven’t seen, Captain Williams.”
Toby appraised her for a moment then said emphatically: “Let her come, Captain. She may be able to help.”
Captain Williams didn’t look convinced, but there was no time to argue. He led them to the elevator at the back of the dance hall. “We’re going to the engine room,” he explained.
A few minutes later and they exited the lift on the lowest passenger deck, followed the captain through a door that said “crew only”, and then descended a flight of metal steps. At the bottom of the steps the captain opened another door and they were hit by a wall of heat and the roar of engines. “Sorry for the noise!” the captain shouted.
Toby and Poppy followed the captain through the maze of metal and machinery. Poppy gagged on the smell of diesel and engine grease, but she swallowed her bile and braced herself for whatever sight she was about to see. As they rounded a bank of pistons, shunting up and down, they came across a group of men huddled on the floor.
“Keep pressure on it,” said one of them as he stood to greet the newcomers, wiping bloodied hands on his trousers. He looked with disapproval at Poppy, but didn’t comment.
Behind him, Poppy saw two other men leaning over the prostrate body of a third. The man on the floor was lying, torso outwards, with the lower part of his body trapped in the innards of a machine. At first, Poppy could not see exactly what had happened, but judging by the amount of blood, it looked serious. And then she caught a glimpse of a cavernous wound, exposed right down to the bone. Poppy gagged. For a second, she regretted her decision to come. But then the trapped man moaned. He must be in desperate pain. We need to get him out of there! She looked at Toby and the gravity of the situation was etched all over his face. No, she would not be leaving.
“Right leg caught in the gears,” said the ship’s doctor. “Can’t get it out.”
Toby nodded, took off his jacket and gave it to Poppy, then knelt down and examined the patient. He had a quick look at the trapped limb and checked the man’s pulse. He looked up at the ship’s doctor. “You thinking amputation?”
The older man nodded. “I can’t see an alternative. Can you?”
Toby grunted and examined the trapped leg again. He shook his head. “Unfortunately not.”
As the steward arrived with his medical case, Toby
gave a further list of equipment he needed: freshly laundered sheets, pillows, carbolic soap, three buckets of boiling water, two empty buckets, a nail brush, and a bottle of whisky. While he was waiting for it all to arrive, he checked with the ship’s doctor regarding what pain medication had been administered, then opened his case and extracted a syringe and vial. “Morphine,” he said to Poppy.
Although the man was unconscious Poppy was not sure how far under he really was as he twitched and moaned intermittently. Within a few minutes of the morphine being administered the patient’s distress appeared to ease. Poppy was praying silently through the whole procedure, and offered a word of thanks that the man’s pain was subsiding.
The steward arrived with the items on Toby’s inventory. He ordered the pillows to be positioned around the man like sandbags while he laid out one of the sheets and unpacked surgical instruments from his case: a saw, scalpels, and clamps. He then thoroughly washed his hands with carbolic soap before dipping each of his instruments in hot water. They were then placed on a new clean sheet.
“You can administer the chloroform and ether now,” he said to the ship’s doctor, who held some gauze over the man’s nose and mouth while Toby monitored the man’s breathing and heart rate.
When the patient was suitably anaesthetized, Toby picked up a scalpel, looked up at Poppy, and said gruffly, “Wish me luck.”
“Have you done this sort of surgery before?” asked Poppy, worried but curious in equal measure.
“I have,” said Toby, “but not under these conditions. I usually have the most modern conveniences of an operating theatre at my disposal. We’re lucky that at least I have the basics with me,” he said, nodding at his instruments.
The ship’s doctor nodded grimly. “It is. And we’re lucky Dr Spencer was on board. This sort of surgery is way out of my league.”
Out of his league or not, the doctor ably assisted Toby over the next hour, clamping and suturing as the surgeon sawed through what was left of the crushed leg. Poppy was kept busy soaking bandages and dressings in iodine, something she had done during the war. The acrid smell masked the stench of blood and bodily emissions.
The captain stood by and watched. However, when the limb was severed – and what could be extracted from the gears of the machine placed in a bucket – he paled and swayed.
Toby noticed. “Give him some whisky, Poppy.”
So that’s what that’s for, thought Poppy. She’d initially thought the alcohol was going to be given to the patient to further sedate him – or perhaps the surgeon to steady his nerves – but she was glad that such primitive methods were not needed.
Toby leaned back on his heels and wiped the sweat from his brow. The operation was over. The ship’s doctor and his assistant gently edged the man away from the machine and onto a stretcher. He groaned and Toby administered another dose of morphine. Then he checked his vital signs again. Satisfied, he nodded to the other medics and told them to take him straight to the infirmary.
“I’ll be up to check on him when he’s settled.”
Toby placed the last of his surgical implements into a bucket and instructed one of the crewmen to have them washed and sterilized in the ship’s infirmary. Then he washed his hands and buckled his case shut. He turned to Poppy and smiled, wanly, his shirt front red with blood. “You were a tremendous help, Poppy. Thank you.”
“I hardly did a thing!” objected Poppy.
“You remained calm, didn’t faint, and passed me what I needed. I thought you were splendid.”
Poppy flushed, pleased at the compliment, but as was her want, immediately deflected it. “Will he be all right, Toby? That poor man?”
Toby offered Poppy his arm and they followed the bucket-carrying crewman to the stairwell. “The sooner he gets into a proper hospital the better. Lucky for him we’re docking in New York tomorrow. I don’t think he would have survived a longer trip.”
“But will he survive this?” Poppy pressed.
A cloud came over Toby’s face. “We’ve done the best we can under the circumstances. Still… I honestly don’t know.”
CHAPTER 10
The lady stood silhouetted against the sunset, as if her copper torch radiated the sun itself. The passengers of the Olympic crammed onto the decks of the luxury liner as she edged her way into New York harbour, trying to get the best view possible of their entry into the New World. As the Statue of Liberty was spotted, a roar reverberated through the ship, starting with the steerage passengers and ending with Poppy and her friends on the first-class deck.
Then Aunt Dot’s theatrical voice rang out:
“Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.”
Her recitation of the first stanza of the famous poem was rewarded by a round of applause. She soaked it up with pride. Poppy squeezed her aunt’s shoulder and sighed. What lay before them in this new city? What adventures might they have? She listened again to a second roar from steerage, this time not echoed by the upper-class decks. For them, she reminded herself, this was more than a three-month jaunt. It was to be the start of an entirely new life.
Rollo, standing next to Poppy, seemed to be thinking the same thing, as he muttered under his breath:
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
“Good luck to the poor beggars,” he grumbled.
“Yes indeed,” said Poppy. “Good luck to them.”
Rollo grunted at this, then turned on his heel and walked away, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed.
What’s up with him? wondered Poppy. But before she could ponder her editor’s strange demeanour further, a glass of champagne was thrust into her hand, and she raised it along with Aunt Dot, Miss King, the Spencers, and Delilah.
“To the Lady Liberty!” cried Delilah.
“To Liberty!” they all replied.
The sun had set by the time the Olympic berthed on the southwest tip of Manhattan Island, which projected like an index finger into Hudson Bay. To the west was the squat digit of New Jersey, and to the east the Brooklyn thumb. But whatever their eventual destination, all passengers had to disembark in Manhattan. As it was nearly seven o’clock by the time the liner docked, the passengers needed to wait until morning for the customs officials to arrive. It was a minor annoyance, as most of the passengers were expecting to get off straightaway, but nothing could change the working hours of the United States Department of Immigration.
The next morning, the first- and second-class guests were requested to gather in their respective dining rooms, where they were treated to a buffet breakfast while they awaited processing by the US Immigration Service. The well-to-do passengers were afforded the honour of the immigration officials coming to them, while the third-class passengers had to alight from the ship, board a ferry, and be taken to Ellis Island. Poppy wondered what happened on the famous island, and had been disappointed to hear that she would not be going.
“Not unless they find a problem with you or your papers,” said Theodore Spencer, between puffs on his cigar. “And I doubt, Miz Denby, anyone will find a problem with you.” He winked at his son who, to Poppy’s mild annoyance, seemed to have taken a proprietorial air towards her since their adventure in the engine room.
Which reminded her: “Will that poor sailor… what was his name…?”
“Seaman Jones,” offered Toby.
“Has he got off the ship
all right?”
Toby straightened his day suit jacket and brushed a stray hair from his trousers. “He has. They let him off last night – as a special case. I helped them get him to the ambulance. I’ll check in on him tomorrow. They’re taking him to my hospital. I got the captain to telegraph ahead and have given instructions to my team.”
“What actually happened there?” asked Delilah.
“We’re not really sure,” said Toby. “The man was a steward in third class. He also worked as a registration clerk, I believe. He wasn’t a mechanic, so there was no need for him to be in the engine room. The captain will no doubt have some questions for him when – if – he wakes up… before the return journey to Southampton.”
There was a flurry of activity as the team from the US Department of Immigration arrived to set up shop. The passengers were split into two groups: those with US citizenship and those without. Rollo and the Spencers were in one group, Poppy, Aunt Dot, Delilah, and Miss King in the other. Alongside them were also Carl Jung and the writer Dorothy Leigh Sayers.
The passengers were called forward, one at a time, as they appeared on the ship’s manifest – which was filled in by registration clerks upon their embarkation in Southampton. There were the usual details about age, gender, height, hair and eye colour, marital status, place of birth, and purpose of visit to the United States. In addition one had to declare whether or not one had $50 upon one’s person. Poppy did not, but Rollo had told her to just say yes, as he would provide her with the cash as an advance on her salary for the next three months. More puzzling, though, were the questions about whether or not she was a polygamist or an anarchist, and whether she intended to overthrow the government of the United States by violent means. Golly, thought Poppy, if I were any of those things, would I tell them?
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