by Annie Groves
The hasty surgery had dealt with the worst of this woman’s injuries but not the minor ones, and Alice did her best to stop the loss of blood from the many deep cuts. She squeezed her eyes shut in an effort not to imagine the flying glass that must have caused them, pushing away the terror of being caught in a blast so strong it would shatter all the windows around. She couldn’t let herself become mired in such a nightmare. If she let herself think about the bombers returning, flying over the hospital, then she could do no useful work at all. So she steeled herself to continue, swabbing and bandaging, all the while murmuring words of comfort without knowing if the woman could hear her.
This was the pattern for the next few hours; she scarcely had time to think, let alone build up a calming rapport with each patient. She was thankful that her training kicked in and she rarely had to ask what the next step would be; the most difficult thing was to remember where everything was kept, and her temporary colleagues’ names. The familiar routine of assessing each patient, deciding what best to do and then doing it was the greatest help in simply keeping going.
It was the same for Edith over in the children’s ward, which had seemed fairly quiet to begin with, and several beds had stood empty. That was not the case for long. Edith flew from small patient to small patient, comforting where she could, reassuring them that they were in the best place. Some cried pitifully for their mothers and Edith could only hope that the families had not been destroyed. The job of reuniting the children with their parents would fall to someone else, and she could not let herself even think about that as she fastened bandages, fetched soft toys to distract the youngest ones, and made careful notes about everything she did. The effects of the bombing raid had been indiscriminate and the children were suffering injuries as horrific as those of the adults, and Edith knew that for many this would be the first of a long series of nights in a hospital.
In all of this she had absolutely no time to think about Harry and the whirlwind of emotions that had assailed her earlier in the day. In a funny way, this was the best remedy to stave off worry about his future – knowing she had to get on with the job in hand, that she must do everything correctly and accurately but at top speed. There was no let-up whatsoever. If she had stopped she would have dropped with exhaustion, and so she did not stop. She barely had time to meet her fellow nurses, pausing only to ask, ‘where’s the witch hazel?’ or ‘can we give this child water if he wakes?’
None of the regular nurses had time to express surprise at a stranger in their midst, as they were just glad of another and obviously highly competent pair of hands. Occasionally one would frown at Edith’s questions and then apologise, forgetting in the heat of the moment that the newcomer would not know some of the details of the ward. There was simply no time for the usual getting to know each other and all of the minor disagreements that might crop up. The hospital was stretched to its limits and everything else could wait.
Dawn was breaking over the ravaged city and its dim light filtered through the makeshift blinds – spare sheets pinned over a draughty window at one end of the large store room. Alice and Edith, along with several other temporary nurses, had been given this space to bed down in for a few hours. Edith stretched and her hands collided with the edge of a cupboard. It took her some moments to remember where she was. She had fallen asleep in her borrowed uniform, her pillow the cardigan she had chosen with such care just in case Harry had been in any state to see what she looked like. Now it was rolled up any old how under her head. She was lying under a scratchy hospital blanket, and all her limbs ached. She didn’t care. The previous day was coming back to her. She had seen Harry and he had recognised her voice. She and Alice had narrowly avoided becoming caught up in the raid that had devastated Portsmouth station and more besides, and then they had worked themselves beyond what she would have believed possible until directly ordered by the matron to stop and catch a few hours’ sleep.
Carefully, so as not to wake the others, she crept to the door, clutching her frock and shoes. She tried to remember where the bathroom was, found it and hurriedly washed her face in cold water to try to fully wake up. Then she washed all over as best she could with the rough pink carbolic soap. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and sighed. While they had carefully packed their bags with extra food and drink, they had not thought to bring hairbrushes. She scraped her fingers through her dark curls to try to bring them into some semblance of order.
Back in the would-be dormitory, everyone else was awake and a new matron had arrived. ‘We cannot thank you enough,’ she was saying. ‘Now you will want to return to your own hospitals or places of work. Miss Lake, Miss Gillespie, there’s a van leaving the front gate at eight thirty which will be taking supplies up to central London. I suggest you avail yourselves of that, as from what I hear there will be little chance of trains. There is also the complication that the West End was bombed last night, and so you might find transport at that end a little tricky too. Still, you have shown yourselves to be enterprising young women so I’m sure you’ll think of something.’ With that she swept out, leaving Alice and Edith open-mouthed.
‘The West End,’ Edith said with dread. ‘I wonder what happened – how many were hurt. I hope they haven’t damaged Lewis’s. I was counting on them to have something wonderful for when Harry wakes up properly.’
‘I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,’ said Alice soberly. ‘Come on, we’ve got to return those uniforms to be cleaned.’
‘There must be a cafeteria somewhere; I’m starving.’ It suddenly hit Edith that – apart from their extra sandwiches – she had eaten nothing since leaving the train, which seemed like another lifetime ago.
‘There is, I got the tea from there yesterday. I’ll show you,’ Alice said. ‘I could do with something myself.’
Edith grinned as an idea struck her. ‘Do you think we could go past Harry’s ward?’
Alice frowned. ‘It isn’t exactly visiting hours, you know.’
Edith shrugged. ‘Yes, but I’m not a visitor now, am I? I’m staff. Anyway, I bet after last night they won’t say no. It wouldn’t have to be for long.’
Alice nodded. ‘All right. Tell you what, we’ll see if there’s anything for breakfast then you persuade whoever’s on shift to let you in to see Harry. Meanwhile, I’ll try to find a telephone to call Victory Walk. I don’t know if they’ll have heard about what has happened here. If they haven’t, they’ll be worried about where we are, but if they have it’ll be even worse.’
Edith’s face fell. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Yes, that’s a good idea. Then we’ll still be ready for this mysterious van at eight thirty. Good job it isn’t a limo. I’m not sure either of us look the part.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Alice, and she turned to head for the canteen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Gladys had come in to help with breakfast at the nurses’ home even though Sunday was meant to be her day off. She could have stayed away but there would be no peace in her house and she wanted to catch up on reading the Queen’s Nurses’ Magazine. She still found it hard to make out the longer words and felt that she was far too slow, but she was determined to persevere. Once her sister reached her next birthday, Gladys had decided she should formally sign up for the civil Nursing Reserve and do more to help the war effort that way. Making porridge for the district nurses no longer felt like enough.
She heard the telephone ringing but, before she could run up the stairs to the hallway, somebody else answered it, so she returned to the article she was painstakingly making her way through. Now and again she became stuck but refused to give up, skipping a very difficult word if she had to. It was frustrating, but she had to try to get to the end. She had promised herself that she would. ‘Otherwise I might as well have stayed in bed,’ she muttered under her breath.
A noise from the service room startled her and she looked up. It was one of the Irish nurses. Although they had their own kitchen next door, they usually c
ame over to the main building for breakfast, but sometimes they sorted themselves out at the weekend.
‘Hello – it’s Gladys, isn’t it?’
Gladys nodded. ‘And you’re Bridget, aren’t you?’
Bridget smiled. ‘You remembered. It must be hard, keeping up with all of us coming and going. I bet you’ve met lots of nurses as they pass through this place.’
Gladys shrugged. ‘It’s not that many. I’ve got a good memory, or so me ma says.’ She had to, she thought privately. It was how she had coped until recently, memorising whatever anyone said to her, as she knew she wouldn’t be able to write it down.
‘What have you got there?’ Bridget craned her neck to see. ‘Oh, it’s the magazine. Stuffy old things, aren’t they? I know I’m meant to read it, but somehow I don’t have the time.’ She settled herself on a stool beside the younger woman.
Gladys disagreed. ‘No, you probably don’t need to read it much because you’re out on the district and practise all the time. But I like to read up about everything and then when you all come in talking about what you were doing, I can understand a bit better.’
Bridget nodded, impressed. ‘That’s showing initiative, that is. So you want to be a nurse one day, then?’
Gladys blushed to the roots of her lank hair. She rarely admitted her ambition, and only then to people she knew very well. Now here was this new nurse just coming straight out with it. Gladys hung her head. ‘I suppose so. Yes, maybe one day. When my sister’s old enough to look after the younger ones. That won’t be for a little while yet, so I got to keep studying when I have a moment to spare.’
‘What’s that article about, then?’ Bridget was at the wrong angle to read the page.
Gladys blushed still more furiously. She was struggling with the name of the condition. The word made no sense to her. ‘It’s about this,’ she said, turning the page around, well used to dodging such questions, after years of not wanting to admit she couldn’t read.
‘Oh.’ Bridget’s face fell. ‘I see. Giving injections when a patient has diabetes.’
Gladys looked up, relieved to hear the word spoken aloud. Now it all made sense. ‘Yes, that’s it. Do you have to do that much?’ She was surprised to see the nurse turn away a little, as if something was wrong. Maybe she had overstepped the mark somehow. She hastened to put that right. ‘I know it isn’t something that I would be doing. I’m not qualified to do much more than roll up bandages. I go to the first-aid lectures and everything, but I wouldn’t assume that meant I could give anyone an injection,’ she assured the other woman hurriedly.
Bridget briefly squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. ‘No,’ she said slowly, ‘but we don’t know what’s around the corner, do we? I’m just after coming back from early mass, and they’re saying that a bomb just got dropped near the Barbican – that’s not too far from here, is it? So I believe it’s coming closer.’
‘Oh no.’ Gladys’s dismay was evident. ‘And there was one down at Bethnal Green. I saw my neighbour first thing and he was coming in from fire-watching.’ She shuddered. ‘That’s a bit too close for comfort, isn’t it?’
‘Then who knows what we’ll all need to do?’ Bridget said, not really sure how near those places were or what it might mean. She pushed her flicker of fear away and strove to be practical. ‘It’s good that you go to those lectures. You might wind up somewhere when you’re the only person who knows how to step in and look after a casualty.’
‘I hope not,’ Gladys said vehemently. ‘I don’t mind helping out, but that’s all I could manage, I’m not a proper nurse.’
Bridget drummed her fingers on the countertop. ‘Tell you what, Gladys. Would you like to help me with something? Just you and me?’
Gladys looked at her in confusion. ‘What could I help you with? You’re all trained up and everything, and I don’t know much at all.’
Bridget took a deep breath. ‘Well now, you see, when you asked if I had to inject patients with diabetes, you caught me out a bit. Sure I have to do it, we all do, and there’s a lady patient I’ve had to look after recently. She’s very kind and no trouble at all, it’s not that. But, and promise me you’ll tell nobody,’ she dropped her voice and Gladys nodded, although now rather alarmed, ‘it’s the worst bit of the job for me. By a mile. By a thousand miles. I don’t know why. I’ve done it scores of times and yet every time feels like the first.’
‘Blimey, miss.’ Gladys was dumbfounded. She had assumed that once you were trained, that was it, everything fell into place. Now Bridget was telling her it did not always turn out like that.
‘I know. Silly, isn’t it?’ Bridget’s voice shook with nervous laughter. ‘There’s no rhyme or reason to it. I couldn’t tell any of the others, and certainly not Fiona or Gwen. They might think I wasn’t up to the job.’
‘Oh no, miss.’ Gladys was certain of this. ‘They wouldn’t. They’re ever so fair. They been ever so good to me, letting me finish early sometimes to go to the lectures. And besides, you done all the exams, like I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do.’
Bridget shrugged her shoulders. ‘I did, and yet I still come over all peculiar when I have to use a syringe. So what I wondered is, if I practised with somebody, then it might help.’
Gladys drew away. ‘What, give me injections? Sorry, miss, I don’t like that idea—’
‘No, no.’ Bridget saw the girl had got the wrong end of the stick. ‘I should have said, practised alongside. When we began as trainees, we’d use a piece of fruit, but I don’t suppose there’s much spare nowadays.’
‘No there ain’t,’ said Gladys, who was daily faced with finding enough ingredients for the nurses’ meals. ‘Hard enough to keep you all fed, without keeping some of it back to pretend it’s someone’s arm or whatnot.’
‘Hmmm. Well, there must be something we could use instead.’ Bridget paused to consider, casting her eyes around the small service room, with its rows of cupboards, counter and kettle. ‘It needs to be something quite soft, with a bit of give in it.’
‘What about a kiddie’s ball?’ Gladys suggested. ‘My little brothers and sisters have got several, they won’t miss one. They’re all spongey. I bet that would do.’
‘That’s a really good idea.’ Bridget’s eyes brightened, and then she stopped abruptly as someone could be heard approaching the door. ‘Not a word now,’ she hissed.
Gladys blinked in acknowledgement as Gwen came in, almost running, which would have been to break one of her strictest rules.
‘Ah, Gladys. I’m so pleased I found you here. I wonder if you could run a rather unusual errand for me?’
‘Of course.’ Gladys never had to be asked twice.
‘We’ve had a phone call. Nurses Gillespie and Lake are safe and on their way back to London via road. Could you cycle over to inform the Banham family? They will want to know.’
‘Of course, miss.’ Gladys was forever grateful to those nurses in particular, who had been the first to help with her reading. She could see how urgent it was from Gwen’s face, which hardly ever revealed her feelings, but was very close to doing so now. She would ask why later. ‘I’ll go right away.’
As she turned, Bridget tapped her nose and gave a small smile. Gladys could tell that their short conversation had somehow meant a lot to this new nurse, and it had come as a complete surprise to her as well. She would think about the whys and wherefores of that later too. But for now she had an urgent message to deliver.
Flo and Stan sat either side of their unlit fire, the blackout blind drawn and the gas lamp lit. Now that she knew everyone was safe, Flo was back to her old self. Hearing about their adventure direct from Edith and Alice had put her mind at rest and warmed her spirits.
‘Such lucky girls,’ she breathed, remembering that if they hadn’t had a cup of tea after seeing Harry, they might have been right in the path of the Luftwaffe raid on the station. ‘And brave with it. It must have taken some gumption to turn around and work a shift aft
er all that.’
Stan nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, but it’s what you expect of them.’
‘And to think it meant Edie got more time to spend with Harry.’ Flo’s eyes misted over. ‘We have to work out how to go and see him, Stan. If he’s responding to familiar voices we could help him get better. He’ll know it’s us, of course he will. It will do him good to hear us.’
Stan ran a finger around his shirt collar, one button of which was undone because of the warmth of the evening. ‘And it’s got nothing to do with you wanting to see him for yourself, of course.’
‘Well …’ Flo rubbed her hands, reddened by tonight’s washing up. Alice and Edith had come over as soon as they had recovered from their return journey, which had involved them sitting on packing cases in the back of the van, and the driver having to take detours because of the overnight bombing of the capital. They had caught a few hours’ sleep back at Victory Walk and then come straight over to Jeeves Street. Flo had been baking ever since Gladys’s visit earlier in the day, bringing out her precious saved rations to produce a proper Sunday tea. Sausage sandwiches had been followed by scones and the luxury of a choice of jam, and a moist cake made with grated carrot. Flo had been doubtful about the recipe, recommended by The Kitchen Front on the wireless, but she had been pleasantly surprised.
Mattie had offered to wash the dishes but Flo had refused flat out. ‘You can hardly reach the taps, you have to stand so far from the sink with that bump,’ she pointed out. ‘Go up and have a decent night’s sleep. Time enough for all that once you’ve had the baby.’
Mattie had agreed, knowing her mother was right. Besides, her ankles were swollen worse than ever and her back ached. Truly, that baby could not arrive soon enough.