‘So you think we’ll be full up again soon?’ Grace asked, glancing at the three empty beds on the ward.
‘Definitely. And we’ll have to hurry these present patients on, too, I shouldn’t wonder. Most of them have come to terms with their disability and I think can probably go home. And if last summer is anything to go by, we might have to squeeze in a few more beds besides.’
Grace nodded and closed her lips softly. The injuries, mainly amputations, of all the patients she had tended so far had been partially healed, but with the number of casualties soaring, it seemed obvious to her that they might well receive men whose wounds – to say nothing of their mental trauma – were far fresher. ‘Well, when they come, let’s hope there aren’t too many as bad as the patients on Happiness Ward,’ she sighed. ‘I know it’s amazing what Dr Franfield’s doing, but it would be better if they weren’t like that in the first place.’
‘Amen to that. His work there interests you, doesn’t it?’
‘Very much so. When we came to visit Martin and we saw some of them, it was what struck me most and made me want to be a VAD.’
‘Well, you certainly have a very sensible head on your shoulders for your age. I’ll ask Dr Franfield if you can spend some time on Happiness Ward. It would have to be in your spare time, mind. I really couldn’t spare you from your duties here.’
‘Would you?’ Grace replied with enthusiasm ‘I would be grateful.’
‘I don’t see why not. I’ll ask him next time I have a chance.’
‘Oh, thank you, Sister!’ And a little bud of excitement blossomed inside her.
‘They’ll be arriving any minute,’ Elliott Franfield announced, his steady, green-blue eyes moving along the rows of faces so that each member of staff felt that he was addressing them personally. ‘As you know, they will all be suffering either from shell-shock in one form or another, or will have some new disability thrust upon them which we have got to help them come to terms with as well as assist in their physical recovery. It isn’t going to be easy, and many of you are inexperienced. But I expect every one of you to conduct yourself in a calm and professional manner. Reassure your patients and treat them with dignity. I’ve been informed there are some head injuries, and we all know that can lead to confusion, aggression and offensive language. But remember, these men have been through hell, and many of them won’t have come from the privileged backgrounds that most of you have. So, good luck, and remember that I and the senior nursing staff are here to help you.’
Grace wet her lips, feeling the rush of apprehension coursing around her body. She was, of course, among the least experienced, and they wouldn’t know exactly what they were dealing with until the casualties arrived. And now, through the open doors, she could hear the thrumming of an engine, and when it was turned off, the plod of horses’ hoofs coming up the drive as the motley agglomeration of whatever transport could be rustled up arrived from the railway station.
Grace felt Selina squeeze her hand, and, as she glanced at her companion, she saw the girl was staring ahead, white as a sheet. Oh, Lord. Then Grace caught Sister Guscott’s eye, and the older woman gave that beaming, apple-dumpling smile. Grace’s gaze snapped back to Dr Franfield, tall, confident, his thinning hair fading to a silvery grey that spoke of maturity and experience. And Mrs Franfield, too, composed and calm. And Grace knew that she could trust either one of them as the couple led their staff outside to welcome the new arrivals.
The peaceful tranquillity of the old house was instantly shattered. For the next half hour, the chaos was tangible as weary soldiers, their faces either still etched with fear or sagging with relief, were assisted into the great hall. Some of them were carried in on stretchers and laid on the floor, and Grace stood for several seconds, overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. There must be approaching forty of them altogether. There were two, she noticed, curled up in balls, their bodies convulsed in twisted tremors, one of them jabbering senselessly. Severe shell shock and destined for Happiness Ward, no doubt.
Grace and Selina worked together as they had been instructed, helping, with the other two VADs on Sunshine Ward, to settle in the patients who were allocated to them. They had squeezed in two extra beds, making ten, so however were they to cope? Three of the men had their heads bandaged, one of whom was only semi-conscious and was brought in by stretcher, while another had an empty sleeve as well. All the others, too, were amputees of one sort or another, so it was obvious Dr Franfield would regularly be present in the room. Grace gritted her teeth. Dear God, what had she let herself in for? What had Larry let her in for? But she had wanted desperately to be of use to these poor, broken victims, and must get on with it.
She and Selina approached their next patient, little more than a boy, with the sparse stubble of adolescence on his chin. He had been left sitting up on the bed, a weak smile scarcely moving his pale lips as the two young nurses came up to him. Already in hospital blues, he could do nothing to remove the shapeless jacket and red tie. Both his sleeves were empty.
Grace had to take a firm hold on her emotions. Poor sod, she could hear Larry’s voice in her head. That was what he had said when she had told him of Martha’s son Stanley who had lost an arm, and this young lad had lost both. At that moment, Grace didn’t know whether to curse or bless Larry for enabling her to be there to help, since just now she would rather have been a million miles away. But she had two good arms and two good legs and must thank her lucky stars.
She began to unbutton the poor fellow’s jacket with an encouraging smile. ‘I’m Nurse Dannings,’ she introduced herself, ‘and this is Nurse Palmer. We’ll help you into some pyjamas so you can get into bed and have a good rest. You must be exhausted after such a long day. Now, Private Fletcher, isn’t it? Are you in any pain?’
The boy nodded bravely. ‘Bit,’ he managed to mumble.
‘I’ll tell Sister and she’ll give you something, but let’s get you comfortable first. Let’s take off this jacket. There. And now your shirt if you can just sit forward a little.’
She bobbed her head at Selina as together they slid the shirt from his shoulders – and had to clamp her jaw tightly. The stump of one arm ended below the elbow. It was the least healed she had witnessed, but there would be the chance of having a prosthetic limb of some sort in the future. But on the other side, oh, good God Almighty, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was a shoulder amputation and it was horrendous. The boy had been lucky to have survived. Or perhaps he had been unlucky.
Grace instantly swallowed down her shock. She mustn’t let her own anguish show. But as she glanced across at Selina, she saw that her colleague’s face had turned grey, and the next instant the other girl had slumped over the pillows behind their patient.
‘Can someone help, please?’ Grace called, thankful that young Private Fletcher couldn’t see what was going on behind his back. A second later, Grace was inundated with relief when one of the other VADs took Selina’s place and Sister Guscott led Selina away, waving a tiny flask of sal volatile under her nose.
‘Take her upstairs, would you, Nurse Dannings?’ Sister instructed a few minutes later when the young soldier had been settled in bed and Selina was sitting in Sister’s chair, her face still ashen. ‘Treat her for mild shock, and come back as quickly as you possibly can. Goodness knows we could do without this.’
‘Yes, Sister,’ Grace answered, pulling Selina to her feet.
She half dragged her through the still crowded great hall and up the staircase to the dormitory. Selina moaned without actually saying anything intelligible as Grace deposited her on the bed, removing her starched collar and tightly tied apron, and then unfastening the front of her uniform.
‘Thanks, Grace,’ Selina mumbled. ‘Oh, God, I feel sick.’
‘Head between your knees, then. And, here, have a little water.’
She waited while her friend took the glass in a shaking hand and drank a few sips before handing it back. Grace could feel her fingers itching, cros
s at her own frustration. She should be back on the ward, and yet she didn’t want to leave Selina. She filled with relief when at last Selina lifted her head and rolled herself onto the bed.
‘I’ll prop the bottom of the bed up,’ Grace said, remembering what she had learnt and searching for something with which to do so. Ah, Selina’s trunk was stored underneath. Well, at least it had been of some use in the end!
‘Will you be all right now, do you think?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Selina croaked. ‘Go on. They need you far more than I do.’
Their eyes met. They both knew that she was right, much as she would have preferred Grace to stay with her. Grace nodded, paused for a second to gird up her courage, and then hurried out of the room.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GRACE WAS SURPRISED to discover the great hall to be empty of all the newcomers by the time she returned. The staff had certainly been busy allocating places to the new patients and so Grace went straight to Sunshine Ward. She glanced swiftly about the room. All the patients had been helped out of their uniforms and into bed and were now resting after the long hours of uncomfortable travelling. A large tea-urn had been rolled in on a trolley, the two other VADs handing out much needed cups of the hot brew, and Grace made to go and help them.
‘Is Nurse Palmer all right now?’ Sister Guscott asked in a low voice as Grace passed her desk. ‘I’m not sure the poor girl is really up to it. The whole idea is to help these poor lads come to terms with their injuries, not to faint at the sight of them. Perhaps it would have been better if she’d gone on a VAD training course first, and she’d have realized she wasn’t suitable before she started. Pity, though. She’s such a nice girl. But it means we’ll be extra busy. And for you, Nurse Dannings,’ she winked, ‘I have a particularly interesting case. Total identity loss.’
Grace tipped her head, intrigued, as she followed Sister Guscott down the ward. ‘You mean the patient doesn’t know who he is?’
‘Exactly so,’ she confirmed, stopping at the foot of a bed whose occupant was the semi-conscious man with his head heavily bandaged who Grace recognized from earlier. ‘Must have been caught in the blast from an exploding shell. Had shrapnel wounds to his head and upper body. Unconscious for at least twenty-four hours as far as anyone can tell, and not completely lucid even now. And so far, he doesn’t remember anything about himself at all.’
‘No identity-tag?’ Grace questioned.
‘Red one’s missing, so someone must have thought he was dead and removed it. So some poor soul somewhere is going to get a telegram.’ Sister gave a compassionate sigh. ‘And the green one was destroyed by one of the pieces of shrapnel that entered his chest. Can you believe that for bad luck? The only fragment that’s left is almost illegible. All we have are the letters SMI. So he’s very likely somebody Smith.’
‘Good Lord. And presumably nobody’s recognized him?’
Sister Guscott shook her head. ‘No. But can you wonder at it? It must be chaos out there. Battalions and regiments all muddled up, men getting separated from their units. And when your head’s swathed in bandages, well … Doesn’t mean his memory won’t come back in time, mind. And that’s where conversation with an intelligent girl like you comes in. Not that he’s up to much conversation yet, as you see.’
‘Well, when he is, I’ll do my best,’ Grace promised. ‘He’s an officer, mind. A lieutenant. Look at the stripes on his uniform. Martin explained about those to me.’
‘Good girl.’ Sister Guscott gave an appraising smile. ‘And I can trust you not to faint over the young laddie Nurse Palmer did, I hope?’
‘Yes, Sister. Especially now I’ve seen his injuries once, I’ll know what to expect.’
‘Good. Fortunately I don’t think the poor boy was aware of what happened. Now, Dr Franfield will be here soon on his initial rounds, and I want you to give him the first report on our mystery man here.’
Grace felt her heart bounce in her chest. ‘M-me?’ she stammered.
‘I know it’s not usual procedure, but you’re showing exceptional talent, and I’ll be there to make sure you don’t miss anything. And Dr Franfield won’t bite. He must be the loveliest doctor I’ve ever worked with, and I’m certain he’ll agree you’re one of the most promising VADs we’ve come across. When the war’s over, you should consider training as a nurse proper. Need to be totally dedicated, mind. So, no young man in your life, a pretty girl like you?’
Grace was aware of a rash of heat flushing into her face, a mix of pride and excitement but also of uncertainty. The thought had never crossed her mind. She was there because there was a war on and her heart had gone out to the victims she had seen at the hospital – and because she was doing it for Stephen and for Martin. But the idea that she should become a professional nurse after the war had never come into it. But if that war had never started, she would still have been a housemaid at the Snells’ farm.
A million thoughts were suddenly racing about in her head. Might it be possible for her to have a career of which she could be thoroughly proud? It was something she had never dreamt of. And it would all be because of dear Larry.
‘No,’ she answered with happy conviction, confidence blooming inside her. ‘There’s no one in my life like that.’
‘Then you must think about it,’ Sister smiled back.
‘Excellent, Nurse Dannings.’ Dr Franfield raised an impressed eyebrow. ‘Now, what observations should we be making?’
‘Pulse, heart-rate and respiration. General levels of consciousness, and most importantly, pupil reaction.’ Grace bit her lip anxiously as she searched the good doctor’s face.
‘Anything else?’
‘Oh, er, colour,’ she mumbled, cross with herself for forgetting.
‘Very good. Our patient should be out of the danger period now. This must have happened a good week ago, but he’s still drifting in and out of consciousness, so best to keep up the observations. Personally, I wouldn’t have moved him yet, but I imagine conditions are pretty desperate at the clearing hospitals for them to be shipping the wounded home so quickly. So, perhaps you’d like to remove the bandages from his head, then, Nurse?’
‘I … need to wash my hands first,’ Grace faltered awkwardly, for surely Dr Franfield knew that.
To her surprise, he gave a light chuckle. ‘Passed my little test. You have her well trained, Sister. Well, go and wash your hands, and we’ll see what’s what.’
Grace did as she was instructed, her heart knocking against her ribs. The day had thrown so much at her that her hands shook slightly as she unwound the bandages, rolling them up as she went. Despite his head having been half covered, she had made a vague mental note that her patient was quite an attractive chap, a little older than Larry, she judged by the faint lines radiating from his eyes, so possibly about thirty years of age. It saddened her to see that a deep laceration from the side of his nose across his cheek, doubtless from another piece of shrapnel, marred his pleasing looks, but she was gratified that it had been neatly stitched to minimize scarring. So some caring medic somewhere had taken time over it, despite being under terrible pressure.
It took Grace utterly unawares when the eyelids suddenly sprang open and two incredibly deep blue eyes seemed to pierce into her own. The patient sat bolt upright and gripped her wrist so fiercely that she could have squealed from the pain of it. His movement was so swift that nobody had time to react and come to Grace’s aid.
Instinct forced the sweetest smile to her face, though her heartbeat thundered in her breast.
‘Good afternoon, Lieutenant,’ she said steadily, even though she was mentally holding her breath. ‘Now you mustn’t worry. You’re in hospital, safely back in England.’
The gentian blue eyes blinked at her, swivelled round the other faces at the bedside and then returned to Grace almost like a drowning man clutching onto a lifeline. Then his gaze dropped to his hand painfully grasping her wrist.
‘Oh,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m so sorry
. I thought you were a Jerry.’
‘No, there’s no Jerries here,’ Grace answered gently as he released his hold. ‘But Dr Franfield needs to examine your wounds.’
The patient gave a visible sigh and then allowed Grace to finish unwinding the bandages from his head. Engrossed in her work, Grace was unaware of the glance exchanged between Elliott Franfield and Sister Guscott. A natural, this one, it said appreciatively. And her soothing words as she unfastened the soldier’s pyjamas so that his other wounds could be inspected were no less professional.
‘About time those stitches came out,’ Dr Franfield announced. ‘The degree of healing proves you were wounded over a week ago,’ he went on, addressing the patient. ‘Your head must have taken quite a blow in one way or the other, what with the shrapnel lacerations and possibly the blast as well. But not to worry, old chap. I’m sure everything will right itself in time. Sister will take the stitches out for you later, and then you’ll be more comfortable. Just make it every other one on that larger wound across the chest, though, Sister. The rest can come out in a couple more days.’
‘Yes, Dr Franfield.’
‘I’ll see you again tomorrow,’ the doctor told the anonymous man. ‘You’re in good hands. So, then, Nurse, what can you tell me about your next patient?’
‘Before I forget, Doctor,’ Sister Guscott put in. ‘Nurse Dannings would like to observe some of your work on Happiness Ward. In her off-duty time, of course.’
‘Would she, by Jove? Well I think that could be arranged. Not the hypnosis sessions, I’m afraid, but you’d be most welcome to visit the ward.’ He gave such a broad smile that it made Grace’s heart soar.
Wheels of Grace Page 17