A Hospital Summer

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘He was here two days ago ‒ and, what do you know ‒ he’s got a third pip.’ She smiled wearily. ‘I was rather pleased. I got very fond of Joe during that rush. I must say he surprised me. I never thought he’d turn into a proper doctor before my very eyes, but he did. He worked so hard ‒ and looked like death. But I suppose he must be all right, or he wouldn’t have got another pip. He’s shifted from the Ob. Block too. He’s now M.O. in Acute Surgical. There’s a new boy in the Ob. Block. Serious youth called Peters who never drinks anything but coffee.’

  ‘That’ll make life tricky there. At least Joe was happy with the dregs. What’s happened to Thanet? Where did she go?’

  ‘Hospital ship. Don’t know which one or where, except it was obviously foreign parts, as she had to get tropical kit. She went three days after you, and some dear old girl ‒ the old Mother Smith type ‒ was hauled out of some small hospital and shoved into Reserve uniform. I quite liked what I saw of her. Fat, untidy, but jolly kind to the men. Joe said he thought she was a pretty fine nurse of the old type.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘She clucked over the men and called them “son” and told them to be “good boys and do this or that.” They loved it. I think she reminded them of their mums.’

  Sergeant Stevens pushed open the bathroom door as far as it would go, which was not far. ‘Well, I never! You have got a crush in here! Come along, Nurses, tea’s growing cold. It’s nearly six.’

  We were still making the beds when we noticed it was growing dark. I looked at the curtainless windows. ‘What do we use for black-outs?’

  Mary went downstairs to investigate, and returned with a load of Army blankets. ‘Sarge says these.’ She made a face. ‘And do they smell!’

  Agatha sniffed the blankets. ‘Horse.’ She beamed at us. ‘I say, girls, maybe we’re going to take troops after all. That’s why they’ve sent us horse blankets.’

  Mary dropped them intentionally on the floor. ‘Think these’ll make the troopers feel less homesick, now they’re mechanized?’ She experimented with one blanket against the window, tucking it along the empty curtain rail. It promptly fell down.

  I picked it up. ‘Whatever the reason, our nice clean rooms are going to smell like stables.’ My casual remark christened the A.T.S. hospital. For as long as it remained in use, the place was known as ‘The Stables’; the name became so well known that later many people thought it had been the original name of the first house.

  Next day we scrubbed and organized the second house. Miss Moreby-Aspin arrived while we were having more belated tea. Mary offered her a cup. ‘No, thanks, Frantly-Gibbs, m’dear; haven’t the time. There’s a war on, m’dear. I’ve just come to check your surgical stores for Matron, and to tell you that three new members have been posted here. They’ll arrive at the end of the week. Put them into that room next to yours and Carter’s.’

  Mary protested, ‘It’s pretty tiny, Madam. It only just takes two beds as it is.’

  Miss Moreby-Aspin slapped Mary’s shoulder heartily. ‘Don’t fret about little things like that, Frantly-Gibbs, m’dear! The new members will have to get used to roughing it!’ Agatha, Mary, and I held our breaths expectantly, and to our great joy Madam boomed, ‘They’ve come to take men’s places. They’ve got to expect to live hard, like men.’

  Mary went off to check the stores with Madam, and Sergeant Stevens promptly turned on her subordinates. ‘Hear that, you two? And you thinking that the nurses have a soft life! Soft! They know what work is if anyone does!’

  The Sarge gave us V.A.D.s a vast amount of pleasure. We invented a third sex for her benefit: men, women, and nurses. She obviously no more considered us women than our Commandant did; women joined the A.T.S., men the Army. She tolerated us kindly, and scolded us when necessary. Mostly she humoured us, and held the firm theory ‒ which made it sad to remember that she had never worked with Joe ‒ that no member of the medical or nursing profession can exist for more than half an hour without being refreshed by a large cup of tea.

  Once the Stables were clean and ready for patients the enforced holiday that followed irritated the three of us. We wandered round the empty beds like lost souls and even Mary was put out. ‘If we don’t have any patients soon,’ she said one evening, as we rolled sufficient cotton-wool balls to plug the wounds of a division, ‘I’ll go out with a machine-gun and bring ’em in that way. This sitting here with nothing to do is giving me the willies.’

  Agatha said she was so bored she could scream. ‘Sarge was narking about her back this morning. I did my best to persuade her she might have anything from a damaged spine to renal trouble, and ought to come into one of our beds, but she wasn’t having any. She said she’d do nicely with a couple of aspirins, thank you kindly, Nurse, and would I like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Tea!’ I groaned. ‘Ugh. I’m awash to the back teeth with the stuff.’

  Mary smiled faintly. ‘Just as well you never took to Joe Slaney, dear. If you had you might have spent the rest of your life drinking tea.’

  ‘Which, if I had no other reason, would stop my marrying him.’

  Agatha was intrigued. ‘What’s all this? Did Joe Slaney have a yen for Clare?’

  ‘Anything but,’ I told her. ‘He and I were like red rags to a bull to each other. Until the big flap started when everyone buried hatchets all over the place. And he was,’ I had to add, ‘very decent about Father. He really was sweet that evening.’ Mary said we were all very young and stupid and she was very old and wise.

  ‘Joe Slaney always gave you the old green light, Clare. I noticed it dozens of times in the Ob. Block.’

  ‘Then why did he never do anything about it? He and I have been around the same camp for months.’

  ‘Didn’t he try to date you a couple of times?’

  ‘Once because we were having a fight and, being an Irishman, he couldn’t resist the pleasure of going on fighting. The other was just an odd gesture when he was bored. You can scarcely call that ardent passion.’

  Agatha said she thought Joe could probably be madly ardent. ‘The Irish always are. Joe always looks pale and haggard and far-far-awayish, as if he’s planning a private war of his own. And he has the most fascinating eyes in the camp! Really, Clare, it’s too bad of you!’

  ‘What have I done wrong now?’ I asked in surprise.

  ‘You’ve let Joe Slaney get away!’ She seemed genuinely annoyed. ‘Monstrous waste of a good man.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call Joe that. A good waste of time, maybe; a splendid tea-drinker. But I am sick of tea.’

  Mary gave me my second surprise in a few seconds by saying calmly, ‘I think Agatha’s right, Clare. I think Joe is a good man. I’ve always thought it a pity that you held him off the way you did.’

  ‘I didn’t hold him off. I didn’t do anything. There was never any need to repel boarders when Joe was about. He made no attempt to board.’

  Mary and Agatha exchanged resigned glances. ‘Clare,’ said Agatha, ‘hasn’t anyone ever told you that unless a girl shows willing no normal man ever makes a pass?’

  ‘Nurses!’ Blakney, pink and breathless, burst into the room. ‘Sarge said to tell you to come and see quick! Come out front and see what’s coming in!’ She leant against the lintel of the door and sighed ecstatically. ‘Ever such lovely boys! Thousands of ’em! All with ever such queer hats! Sarge says as they must be Aussies!’

  ‘Wow!’ Agatha leapt from her chair, scattering cotton-wool balls all over the floor, and raced after Blakney out of that back room, across the hall to the front door, Mary and I followed rapidly, ignoring the snowfall of swabs around us. Our arrival in the garden was greeted by a magnificent cheer from the men, who marched in a leisurely fashion along the road in front of the line of houses. The cheer left us unabashed after our months in the camp; we smiled and waved at the men. Mary, leaning on the front gate, called, ‘Are you Australians?’

  ‘Too right, Sister!’ they roared back. ‘The Aussies are here now to help the Old Country, and that’
s dinkum! The War’ll soon be over now, girls. Good to see you!’

  As the next contingent drew level with our gate the young officer marching with his company saluted; the N.C.O.s and the men copied him. Agatha said shakily, ‘I think I want to cry.’

  I glanced at Mary. Large, unchecked tears were rolling down her cheeks; I knew my own face was wet. I could not have explained why I was weeping. I was only aware that the sight of those ranks of young men with fair, tanned faces, easily swinging arms, their casual self-confidence and air of supreme gaiety, touched me beyond expression.

  Two days later I was sent back to the Ob. Block and found it already occupied by members of the A.I.F., who appeared to suffer from N.D.K.s and P.U.O.s quite as frequently as did our own Army.

  We loved all those tough Australian fighters; their advent as patients lightened the hospital. They were so gay, so delighted to be in hospital, and consequently among women again; so uniformly correct in their attitude to us. ‘Our dads told us to treat you gals real good, sport. What do you say, Sister? Will you marry me?’

  Proposing marriage was their favourite pastime. I collected four proposals in my first week back in the Block, and was feeling very pleased about my new-found sex-appeal, when Sister, who was twice my age at least, confided that she had had seven. ‘The dear naughty boys! I can remember nursing their fathers when I was your age, my dear. We did have fun with them. There was no knowing the pranks they’d get up to!’

  Our new patients taught us a great deal in a short time. They taught us all the words of Waltzing Matilda, that Sydney Harbour was worth looking at, that the fall of France was ‘a fair cow,’ that ‘bloody’ is an Australian term of endearment; how to play ‘two-up’ directly the M.O.’s round was over; how to laugh when you least felt like laughing; and how the only possible way in which to keep an Anzac in his bed, if he was not dying, was to remove his blues and pyjama trousers.

  I was very pleased to be back in the Block, but I missed Mary badly, and although Mrs Yates was a kind woman and a good nurse, I missed Miss Thanet’s streamlined efficiency, and the fact that, as we belonged to the same generation, we had the same sense of humour. What surprised me most about my return was how I missed Joe. I saw him occasionally in the square; once he stopped to say he was glad I was back, and must drop into the Ob. Block some time for a cup of tea. If he did drop in it was when I was off-duty. I never saw him in our Block again, and I could not avoid a certain wry amusement in contrasting his real attitude towards me with the ideas expressed by Mary and Agatha. I decided to cycle along to the Stables on my next half-day to tell the girls how mistaken they had been, and how lucky they were to have left the main hospital, and been spared working more than a few days with our new M.O., Mr Peters. Mr Peters was a serious young man who suffered from acne and an inflated ego. He clearly considered V.A.D.s were lowly creatures who existed only to open doors for him or serve him coffee. He reprimanded me sternly about the latter. ‘Do you call this stuff coffee? It’s far too weak ‒ and you must have left out the salt!’

  I dwelt lovingly on Joe’s habit of drinking tea-dregs as I answered. ‘I’m so sorry. Coffee-making is not one of my virtues ‒ or duties. I think in future you had better make it yourself. Failing that, you’re welcome to the men’s tea. Captain Slaney found that quite satisfactory.’

  When my half-day arrived Sister gave me the morning instead of the afternoon free. Kirsty Forbes, the girl who now occupied Mary’s bed in the Drawing-room, was also free that day, and we lay in luxury watching our colleagues get up early.

  Kirsty had only been with us for two weeks, and this was her first half-day. She sat up and stretched her arms. ‘This is sheer heaven, Clare. Do we often get mornings off?’

  ‘If your home is too far to reach in an evening, yes; the afternoon halves are saved for girls who live near.’

  She said she was delighted she lived in Scotland. ‘I’ll get us both a cup of tea. That’s allowed, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You can help yourself to breakfast, and bring it back if you like. Madam’s very good about things like that.’

  She climbed slowly out of bed, strolled over to one of the open french windows, and stood sunning herself. She wore a grey chiffon nightdress that was transparent as a summer cloud. She had a beautiful body, and looked quite lovely.

  The morning air was as usual filled with the noise of aeroplane engines; Spits from the fighter station that had replaced the Training School at Upper Weigh; an occasional bomber returning off-course to the bomber station thirty miles west. Kirsty, being still new, watched the sky curiously. ‘I say, Clare,’ she called mildly a few seconds later, ‘what does a ’plane with big black crosses on it mean? There’s one coming awfully low, and it must have a silencer on it or something, as it’s not making any noise. It’s going to come down in the garden if it isn’t careful.’

  I had already bounced out of bed. I hurled her body away from the window just as she finished speaking. ‘It’s a Jerry, you idiot!’ We fell together behind one of the beds and began to laugh. We were still on the floor and still laughing when we heard the crash. We stopped laughing, and went back to the window. We could see what was left of that German bomber quite clearly. It had missed the tennis-court and crashed into the open field on the other side of the road. There was a new encampment at the far end of that large field; the men poured out of their tents like brown ants from an ant-hill; then, like us, they stood poised, watching. As we watched the petrol tanks suddenly exploded and the wrecked ’plane was hidden behind a white sheet of flame.

  I sat down on the bed nearest the window. Kirsty remained standing. ‘That might have been a close thing!’ she announced cheerfully. She looked round. ‘I say ‒ you’ve gone green. No need to panic now. Nothing’s happened.’

  I looked at the white flame. ‘There must be men in that.’

  ‘A few Jerries less,’ she retorted simply. ‘What do you care?’

  I said, ‘They may have wives ‒ girl friends ‒ and they’re burning to death in front of us.’

  She came and sat by me. ‘Now look here, Clare,’ she said reasonably, as if I were a difficult child, ‘we’re supposed to be fighting a war. Those are our enemies. Get that? If you hadn’t pulled me away from the window they’d have thought nothing of knocking me off for a lark. You’ve got to think of things that way. You’ll go bats if you don’t.’

  ‘No, I won’t. And I think that after you’ve been here a little while you’ll think like I do.’ She shook her head. ‘You will,’ I insisted, ‘I’m certain. You can’t stay dispassionate and stay a nurse. You’ll find people are people ‒ and they matter ‒ no matter what language they talk. You’ll find you can’t help thinking of them, as not soldiers but men ‒ ordinary men ‒ with wives and kids ‒ and you won’t be able to help wondering what those wives and kids will feel when they hear about something like this. It isn’t only the sight of men being turned into lumps of charcoal that makes me feel sick ‒ although God knows that’s sickening enough! It’s the thought of their families ‒ parents ‒ and the hell it’ll be for them to-morrow or the day after, when they hear about this.’ I retched suddenly, remembered Joe’s advice, and put my head between my knees. I kept it there for a while. When I sat up Kirsty was staring at me as if I was quite mad.

  ‘You really mustn’t work yourself up like this over half a dozen dead Jerries, Clare. Take a grip. I’ll go for that tea.’

  She returned with the tea, wearing a patient expression to show she was going to humour me because I could not take it. She was right; I could not take it then, and never could. It often struck me that I spent three-quarters of my nursing life holding patients’ heads while they vomited or wept, and the remaining quarter doing both those things in some ablutions annexe or sluice-room myself.

  I met Joe as I went on duty at one. He said he had been talking to Kirsty. ‘She says you saved her life to-day?’

  ‘Moot point. Those Jerries were too busy for target practice
.’

  He tapped his leg with his cane. He was becoming much smarter these days; at times he really looked like a soldier. ‘She said those chaps bought it at the bottom of your garden.’

  ‘Not quite. In the field opposite.’

  ‘We heard the crash from here.’ He looked at me keenly. ‘You saw it happen.’

  ‘Once it was down.’

  ‘How did you feel about it?’

  ‘Sick.’

  He nodded. ‘I know. Gets one in the stomach. Poor bastards. One thing ‒ it must have been damned quick for them.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘Where’s the sun gone? It was a grand morning.’

  ‘The sun’s on my side. It knows I’ve got to work all afternoon, so it’s hidden itself tactfully behind those clouds. Looks rather like rain.’ I sniffed the air. ‘Doesn’t smell like rain. I wish it would rain. I’m sick of fine weather.’

  ‘Selfish young woman, aren’t you! It’s my half-day. First I’ve had for ages. I was hoping to get out of camp for once. I’ve a drop of petrol, and thought I’d get myself a pass and some fresh air. After spending the last week in the theatre, solid, I need air that’s not tainted with anaesthetic. And I’m sick of the sick and the War. I want to go and look at some birds.’

  ‘Do you like looking at birds?’ I was interested. ‘Charles was nuts on bird-watching when we were growing up. He used to drag me along with him and make me disguise myself as a bush.’

  ‘Hell of a skinny bush you must have been. Yes, I like it. And why wouldn’t I, being the only son of my old man?’

  ‘Your father a bird-watcher?’ My brain gave an almost audible click. ‘Are you that Slaney? Or rather, the son of that Slaney? The Survey of British Birds?’

  He smiled. ‘You’re not going to tell me you’re educated, Clare? What would you know of my old man’s book?’

  ‘Only that it nearly broke me, because I gave it to Charles for his seventeenth birthday.’

  ‘Did you now?’ He seemed very pleased, and I was very pleased to see his obvious pride in his father’s work. ‘This is quite something. I was beginning to give up. I was afraid we had nothing in common. What time are you off to-night?’