When the Dawn Breaks

by Emma Fraser

  The men, mostly not quite twenty, had to be blanket-bathed before their wounds could be cleaned and bandaged. Her first patient, a young Frenchman, cried with shame when he realised he’d soiled himself.

  ‘Hush,’ Jessie whispered, as she washed him, exposing only a small area of his body at a time. ‘Everything will be fine. You mustn’t worry.’ She knew he probably couldn’t understand what she was saying, but she hoped her tone would soothe him. One of the orderlies popped her head around the screens and blushed when she saw that Jessie was washing the young soldier’s private parts. Jessie hid a smile. They would have to get used to the sight of naked men.

  While the nurses saw to the patients, the orderlies were kept busy bringing cups of tea, cigarettes and urine bottles. In a break Jessie looked up to see Lady Dorothea holding a bedpan at arm’s length, looking aghast but resolute.

  The hours flew by, and by evening all the men were bathed and their wounds dressed. Those who could were sitting up in bed drinking beef tea or smoking while others, too weakened by dysentery, were being given sips of water by the orderlies. Jessie looked around with satisfaction. Her fellow sisters were walking the ward, checking the patients and setting the orderlies scrubbing again.

  It was a beginning. Of course, at the moment, there were almost too many nurses for the number of patients, but everyone had coped well. No one had fainted, no one had run away and, most importantly, no one had died. She only hoped the same could be said for the other wards.

  From then on they received patients in increasing numbers. And as Dr Ludlow had decided that they should fetch the patients with their own ambulances, five of the orderlies, including Lady Dorothea, had been appointed chauffeurs – or shovers, as they called themselves. The remaining orderlies were shared out between the wards, and as most of them were put on night duty, Jessie and her fellow sisters were kept busy.

  Soon the unit was taking patients directly from Creil station and had to deal with men who had stomach-churning wounds, the like of which none of the staff had ever seen before. The chauffeurs brought back indignant reports of the conditions at the station, where wounded men had to lie on straw in a draughty building for as long as twenty-four hours before they were allocated to a hospital.

  The wards were kept spotless. When they weren’t seeing to patients they were scrubbing, but thankfully the orderlies were in charge of fumigating the lice-infested uniforms.

  The doctors had decided that the best way to deal with frostbite, caused by the men having to stand knee-deep in mud for days at a time, was to swathe the feet in cotton wool and flannel. But this seemed to make things worse: more often than not, the feet turned black after a few days and had to be amputated.

  Jessie was frustrated: they were going about it all wrong. One winter when the snow had come, she and Mam had been in the MacKinnons’ kitchen when the father and sons had come down from the hills. Their feet were red lumps of frozen meat, but when they had gone to warm them over the open fire, Mam had stopped them. Instead she had massaged their feet with a solution of alcohol and herbs and they had got better. Jessie had done the same in the poorhouse more than once and it had been effective there too. But when she’d suggested to the matron that they try this, she had looked at her as if she was soft in the head.

  ‘I tried it in my last position, Matron, and it seemed to help. Let me try it on my ward. Half of the men can have the usual treatment, and half can have mine. That way you can see for yourself that it works.’ Jessie held her breath. It wasn’t usual for a nurse to question a matron and certainly never the doctors.

  Matron looked thoughtful. ‘It’s worth a try. It can’t make the men’s feet any worse. I’ll give you four days. If there’s no improvement, you’ll have to go back to the old method. Are we clear?’

  ‘Yes, Matron.’

  It would be more work in an already busy day, but Jessie set the orderly on her ward to the task immediately and, to her delight and satisfaction – she had had no doubt her treatment was the right one but had wondered if the men’s frostbite was too advanced – it had worked. Around a third of her patients went on to need amputations, but the rest got better. Soon all the nurses were using Jessie’s method. It hadn’t hurt her reputation either: some of the nurses had looked down on her before, but now they often asked her advice.

  She was learning all the time. She became adept at cleaning pus-filled injuries, and had learned to harden her heart when she, with the other women, had to hold down a patient to clean his wounds. But often in the night she would lie sleepless, thinking about the frightened eyes of men who were no more than boys and cried out for their mothers, wives and sisters.

  She prayed that if Tommy were still alive someone was caring for him, too.

  Chapter 29

  The Gare du Nord was chaotic.

  Isabel stepped onto the platform and stretched to ease the stiffness from her body. More than a week had passed since she’d left Edinburgh and the journey had melted into a blur. The train to London, the long wait at Victoria station, surrounded by pale-faced women saying goodbye to their loved ones, the nightmarish voyage across the Channel, which had taken three times as long as it should have done as the captain had woven his way to avoid the German U-boats, had been exhausting.

  Even before the ship had sailed into port, and despite the thick mist that shrouded the coast, the marquees of the British Army had appeared on the coastline, like a vast, haphazard city. As she’d stood on deck with the other passengers and surveyed the scene with dismay, the true enormity of what she was doing had sunk in. But at last she was here. Her tiredness and trepidation vanished. In a few days she’d be with the unit in Serbia, playing her part.

  Seeing there was no chance of a porter, she picked up her bag. In addition to French and British soldiers, the station was mobbed with refugees, and women in every type of uniform it was possible to imagine.

  ‘Isabel! Over here!’ a familiar voice shouted over the din. All she could see above the heads on the crowded platform was a hand, but when the crowd parted briefly, there was Andrew.

  She dropped her bag and ran towards him. Her brother enveloped her in a hug so tight she couldn’t breathe. When he released her, she stood back to study him. He was wearing the dress uniform of an officer of the Royal Flying Corps and it suited him. She doubted there were many women who wouldn’t find Andrew handsome in his peaked cap and polished leather boots, although she cared less for the pencil-thin moustache he now sported.

  She hugged him again. ‘How long do you have?’ she asked.

  ‘Four hours. Then I have to report back to base.’

  ‘Only four hours? I thought you’d have a couple of days at least.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sis. I hoped we’d have more time too, but they need every pilot they can get their hands on at the moment.’ He grinned. ‘It’s so cheering to see you. How’s Mama?’

  ‘Desperately worried about you. She sent you a new scarf and some tea, and Mrs Walker insisted I bring you some socks she knitted.’

  Andrew picked up her bag. ‘Simon’s waiting in the motor-car. He used his charm to requisition one for the weekend. He managed to get himself some time off too.’ He looked down at her, his brown eyes anxious. ‘You don’t mind, do you? He doesn’t have anyone else to spend his leave with since Dorothea doesn’t get much time off to see him. Did you know she’s with the Scottish Women's Hospitals too? She’s working as an orderly in an abbey barely twenty miles from here?’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind Simon joining us.’ Isabel squeezed Andrew’s arm. She’d expected that Simon would be with him but she was still disappointed. She’d hoped for some time on her own with Andrew.

  But the news that Dorothea was in France with the Scottish Women’s Hospital was worse. The abbey Andrew referred to had to be Royaumont and that was where Jessie had been sent.

  The day after Jessie had turned up in her kitchen Isabel had taken her to the headquarters of the Scottish Women’s Hospital and in
troduced her to the recruiting officer. They’d been delighted to secure a nurse with experience, especially one with Isabel’s personal recommendation. She’d received a short note a few days later from Jessie to say she’d been taken on and was going out with the first unit to Royaumont Abbey near Paris. Dear Lord, Lady Dorothea and Jessie would be working and living together. Did either woman know who the other was?

  It wasn’t difficult to spot Simon. Even with his hat on, his red hair was like a beacon. He vaulted over the door of the car and came to greet her with a smile. ‘Andrew’s been like a cat on hot bricks waiting for you to arrive.’ Taking her bag from Andrew, he threw it into the back seat. ‘You climb in beside me, Isabel. Andrew will manage in the back.’

  Within minutes they were winding their way through streets crowded with soldiers and nurses of every description. There were the FANYs in their beautifully tailored uniforms, finished off with brightly coloured silk scarves, and VADs in their blue dresses and white aprons. In fact, every possible nursing uniform was represented. Among them, the French soldiers, some in scarlet breeches, some in blue, strutted with a casual arrogance.

  Andrew nodded in their direction. ‘Someone should tell them that their red breeches make them into targets for the Germans. If we can spot them easily from our planes, the Huns must be able to see them from miles away too.’

  Isabel had to hold onto her hat with one hand and the door with the other to stop herself being flung around like a sack of peat as Simon careered past the Arc de Triomphe.

  ‘I tried to book you into the Hôtel Claridge,’ Simon said, ‘but it’s being used as a hospital by the Women’s Hospital Corps. All the rest of the hotels – even the Ritz, would you believe? – have been requisitioned for army use. Had to use my father’s name to get you a room in a small hotel off the Champs-Élysées. Not quite the ticket, I know, but the best I could do in the circumstances.’

  ‘Using his papa’s influence and a pile of money,’ Andrew corrected, with a smile. ‘There’s practically not a bed to be found anywhere in Paris, Is.’

  ‘You must let me pay for my room,’ Isabel protested. The thought of being beholden to the Maxwells horrified her.

  Simon shook his head. ‘Let a lady pay for herself? Not as long as I live and breathe.’

  A liveried doorman came to take their bags as soon as they pulled up outside the hotel, and Simon tossed him the keys to the motor-car.

  With Simon on one side and Andrew on the other, Isabel ran up the steps into the cool, calm interior of the hotel.

  ‘What do you say to a spot of lunch, Is?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘I say yes, but I have to freshen up first. I’m covered with dust.’

  ‘Go on, then, but don’t be long. Simon and I will wait for you in the foyer.’

  By the time she returned, they were holding drinks. She stood for a moment, watching them as they chinked together their glasses of brandy. They looked frozen in time, two confident young men who had the rest of their lives in front of them. Isabel swallowed the lump in her throat and pasted on a smile. She had only a few hours with Andrew and she was determined not to waste a precious moment in worrying about the future. She did, however, want to get him alone so she could talk to him about Charles – but how?

  Time rushed past as they chatted over lunch, and for short periods Isabel was able to forget that Simon was Charles’s brother and that there was a war on.

  They were drinking coffee when Simon saw someone he recognised across the street and, with a quick ‘Would you excuse me for a moment?’, he left them alone.

  ‘Are you truly all right?’ Isabel asked Andrew.

  He raised an eyebrow and smiled, but not before Isabel saw something in his eyes that made her shiver. ‘Don’t worry about me.’ He looked off into the distance. ‘We don’t do much, really. Fly over the enemy lines and report back on their position, mainly. To be honest, the life of an airman is luxury compared to the PBI.’

  ‘The PBI?’

  ‘The Poor Bloody Infantry. At least when we tootle home at the end of a day’s flying it’s to a warm bed and decent food.’ He leaned forward. ‘It’s rum up there in the clouds. One feels like the king of the castle – hardly aware that there’s a war on unless some Hun takes a potshot at us.’

  ‘They shoot at you? Oh, Andrew.’

  ‘Don’t worry, their aim is as bad as ours.’ He frowned. ‘This war isn’t what any of us expected. But I doubt Papa, if he were still alive, would be happy to know you’re here. I can’t imagine what George was thinking about, letting you come.’

  ‘George didn’t let me come, Andrew. If he’d had his way, I’d be safe at home in Heriot Row doing embroidery or at most rolling bandages. Fortunately, I still had some money from what Papa left me. Not much, but enough to pay my way here. I couldn’t not come. Don’t you see? There’ll never be another chance like this for women doctors.’

  ‘You think you’ve seen it all, my dear sister, but…’ Andrew paused. ‘Look, never mind about that. As you say, you’re here and I can tell you’re determined to stay.’ He took her hand. ‘Just promise me you’ll stay safe and away from the fighting.’

  ‘Oh, Andrew, that’s where we’re going to be. As close to the front line as possible. It’s where we’re needed most.’

  Andrew sighed and released her hand. ‘Just be careful, Is.’

  Isabel glanced to where Simon was talking animatedly to a woman in FANY uniform. She had to speak to Andrew about Charles now, before Simon returned.

  ‘Andrew, do you remember the evening when you first brought Simon and the baron to dinner at Heriot Row?’

  ‘Yes. What of it?’ His beautiful face darkened. ‘I wonder where Maximilian is. This damned war makes enemies of us all.’

  Isabel started. ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘No. And if I did, I’d probably have to blow his head off.’

  ‘You wouldn’t!’

  ‘Most likely he’d blow mine off too, if he wasn’t a doctor. Let’s hope we don’t meet again until this is over.’ He raised his cup to his lips and sipped. ‘Let’s not talk of that. What were you saying about Maximilian and the night I introduced him? Did you come to care for him very much?’

  Isabel was surprised. Andrew had never mentioned Maximilian’s name in relation to hers before.

  ‘I know Mama hoped you would marry,’ Andrew continued. ‘I suspect she thought that by marrying him you would restore the family’s rank by becoming a baroness. But I’m glad it came to naught. If you’d married him, you’d be the enemy.’

  ‘There was no hope of us marrying,’ Isabel said. ‘Once, I might have thought…’ she lowered her eyes, ‘…but in the end, he and I were not suited.’

  ‘He didn’t mislead you? Because if he did…’

  ‘No, he only ever treated me with courtesy. Maximilian is an honourable man. You were not mistaken in your friendship with him.’

  Andrew looked at her quizzically, but before he could probe further Isabel pressed on. ‘Andrew, there’s something…’ She had to tell him what Charles had tried to do to her, even if he despised her for saying nothing before – but he was distracted, looking over her shoulder. She turned to see that Simon had finished talking to his companion and was walking back to them.

  ‘What is it, Isabel?’ But Andrew wasn’t really listening. He stood up and thumped Simon on the back. ‘Who was that beauty, my friend? Couldn’t you have introduced us? Or did you want to keep her all to yourself?’

  ‘That beauty happened to be Lady Millicent, one of Dorothea’s friends,’ Simon said, taking his seat. He leaned back and hooked his arms behind his head. ‘They travelled over together, but went their separate ways after that.’

  As Simon ordered more coffee, it seemed her opportunity to tell him about Charles had gone. Perhaps it was for the best. Why worry Andrew when soon he’d be going back into battle? It wouldn’t be fair.

  All too soon it was time for the men to return to their base. Her heart ached
. This might be the last time she saw her brother.

  When they were outside the hotel, Andrew ran into a fellow officer, leaving her alone with Simon.

  ‘Look after him, won’t you?’ she whispered.

  Simon held her gaze. ‘I’d trade my life if it meant saving his.’ He glanced at Andrew, who was giving the doorman some money, and the adoration in his eyes made her reel.

  So that was how it was. She’d heard about men like him. People whispered about them in drawing rooms, but no one ever acknowledged it aloud.

  ‘Does he know how you feel?’ she asked, trying to keep the shock from her face.

  ‘No. And he must never find out.’ Simon gripped her wrist so tightly she almost cried out. ‘Promise me, Isabel, that you’ll never breathe a word. If he guesses and the rest of the squadron comes to suspect … For God’s sake, promise me you won’t tell.’ He looked at her with desperate eyes. Andrew was walking back to them. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe it was the brandy – or because you’re his sister and love him too. Perhaps it’s because I don’t know how long I’ll survive this bloody awful war—’

  He stopped as Andrew joined them. There was only time for Isabel to give Simon a slight nod. Of course she wouldn’t betray his secret: she was too used to keeping one of her own.

  A flurry of kisses and hugs, a final toot of the horn, and they were gone.

  Chapter 30

  The following day, after Isabel had breakfasted on pastries and French coffee, she decided to explore Paris. She hadn’t been to the French capital before and was eager to see a little of it before she had to leave. Her train to Rimini wasn’t until six that evening. From there she would take a boat to Salonika and another train north to Kragujevatz where she was to join the unit.

  She strolled along the Champs-Élysées towards the Arc de Triomphe. The wide boulevards, trimmed with elegant apartment buildings, were swarming with carriages and street vendors hawking their wares. People ambled down the busy streets, stopping to admire the shop displays as if they didn’t have a care in the world. From a glance in the café windows, many still found time to enjoy coffee or lunch. Apart from the sandbags protecting homes and businesses, it was hard to imagine that, only weeks earlier, the German Army had been on the city’s doorstep, causing the French government to decamp south.