Wheels of Grace

by Crosse, Tania

  ‘Well done, Lieutenant,’ Sister Guscott beamed as she dropped the last stitch into the kidney bowl. ‘You were very brave. Nurse, will you finish tidying up here, and then our patient can have a well deserved rest?’

  Grace watched the sister walk off down the ward. It was the first time she had been given the opportunity to see stitches being removed and had observed with avid interest. Sister Guscott had shown her how to curve the thread carefully as it was teased out so that it caused the least discomfort. Their patient had been understandably tense and the process took some time with so many stitches to be removed from his head and upper torso, but Grace had found it so natural to encourage him, enquiring when he felt he needed a rest. And in her turn, Sister Guscott was giving Grace nods of approval at the way she was talking to the patient.

  Now Grace collected up all the instruments and used sterile swabs from where a few of the stitch holes had oozed a spot of blood, and put them all in the kidney bowl.

  ‘You don’t want to keep the stitches, do you?’

  The man’s taut face tightened further. ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘Apparently some patients like to keep them as souvenirs, although personally I don’t see the attraction,’ Grace answered gently. ‘I can dispose of these, then? And Sister was right. You were very brave. It can’t have been pleasant having so many taken out. But I imagine not as bad as having them put in.’

  The soldier gave an ironic grunt. ‘As I can’t remember a damned thing about it, I couldn’t say. But thank you for being so kind. Am I … right in thinking that you’re in training?’

  ‘Well, when the war’s over, I’d like to train as a proper nurse. For now, I’m just a VAD. That’s Voluntary Aid Detachment.’

  ‘Yes.’ The fellow’s frown deepened. ‘I remember that. I can remember lots of things. Why we went to war, all the different battles. I can remember being there, in the trenches. All the noise, being scared and yet not wanting to let it show, because we all felt the same. I was there back in the winter, I’m sure of it. We’re in summer now, aren’t we? I can remember the cold and the mud, even if it is all a blur. But I can’t remember any facts. Exactly where I was. Who I was with, not even which regiment I’m part of, let alone my battalion or company. Everything about me is a complete blank, and it’s absolutely horrendous not knowing who I am.’

  His voice had risen on a crest of frustration, and Grace squeezed his arm. ‘It’s bound to come back in time. Dr Franfield thinks so. You already seem better than when you arrived here just a few hours ago. And in the meantime, we’ll call you Lieutenant Smith.’

  ‘Lieutenant? Why does everyone keep calling me that?’

  ‘The stripes on your uniform. The rips and bloodstains correspond exactly with your injuries, so we know it’s yours. And this is what’s left of your identity-tag.’ Grace reached to the narrow, army-issue cabinet at the side of the bed, and handed over what remained of the lozenge of green, fibrous material. ‘You can just make out SMI and the first digit of your roll number.’

  ‘Huh, not a lot of help, is it?’

  ‘You never know. It might trigger something. But you need to rest. It’s been a long day for you.’

  He nodded, and as Grace turned from the bed, she noticed his eyes lower to the scrap of bloodstained material in his palm before his fingers closed tightly about it.

  ‘Oh, Selina, I’m really sorry you’re leaving. We could have been such good friends.’

  ‘I sincerely hope we already have been!’ Selina grinned. ‘I wouldn’t have got this far if it hadn’t been for you. I only came because my father had been on at me to do something useful for the war. But you …’ She broke off, taking Grace’s hands in hers. ‘You’re a natural. I know you’re thinking about training properly when this horrible war is over. But if that’s what you want to do, and you can find a way to do it, then I really think you should.’

  Grace arched a rueful eyebrow. ‘As you say, if I can find a way. But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. The war could go on for years yet.’

  ‘Hopefully not. Not now the Americans have actually started fighting at last.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope it makes a difference and we can beat the Boche and then start getting back to normal. But … Oh, I’ll miss you, Nurse Palmer.’

  ‘And I’ll miss you! And it’s not Nurse any more, thank God. Oh, come here and give me a hug. And you will keep in touch, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ Grace promised as they laced their arms around each other. ‘And good luck with whatever you end up doing!’

  ‘Well, I must go.’ Selina broke away. ‘My trunk’s already been taken to the station by the carrier, and I’d better not miss my train. Look after yourself!’

  ‘I will. And you, too!’

  Grace watched as the other girl opened one of the glass doors to the vestibule, turned to give one last wave, and disappeared out through the portico. Grace shook her head. Selina had been like a whirlwind, a breath of fresh air. But Grace had the feeling that, despite all her promises, she would never hear of her again.

  ‘Good morning, Nurse Dannings,’ the sister in the dark blue uniform greeted Grace as they met on the galleried landing. ‘I was told you’d be coming. You’ll find this ward very different from your own, so I do hope you won’t be overwhelmed. Our patients’ nervous systems are in such a state that it manifests itself in physical ways. But I believe that is what interests you?’

  Grace met the direct look in Sister Freeman’s eyes and nodded. ‘Yes, Sister,’ she replied, although she had to admit to herself that she suddenly felt somewhat daunted. But she had asked to visit the ward and wasn’t going to change her mind now. ‘That’s why I’m here in my off-duty time. I’d love to be able to help.’

  ‘Well, you’re very welcome. Just as on your own ward, understanding is the key. Sunshine Ward assesses how well a patient is coping mentally with a new disability, but here, few of our patients have physical wounds.’ She paused, almost as if she were summing Grace up merely by looking shrewdly at her. ‘You know how other patients here undo their trauma through peace and quiet and working in the gardens or doing carpentry, basket weaving or whatever. But on Happiness, our patients don’t even have the physical ability to do that. Their limbs and their hands simply won’t do what their brains tell them. Well.’ Her fingers closed about the handle of the door to what Grace knew had originally been the opulent master bedroom of the house. ‘I’ll introduce you to Nurses Miles and Trembath who are on duty today. You’re very young for this type of work, but I’m told you have a mature head on your shoulders.’

  Sister Freeman then gave a warm smile as if her introductory lecture was over, and led Grace through into the ward. It was a beautiful, spacious room with three large windows set in a semi-circular bay that echoed the shape of the great hall below. There was a spectacular view down over the sloping grounds and across the valley, and the room was flooded with sunlight, so Grace could appreciate at once why it had been chosen to soothe the souls of these most wounded of men. She noted that none of the eight patients was in bed. Some were seated in chairs attempting exercises, while others were struggling manfully to move about on twisted limbs that refused to behave normally. Two were on the floor in the wide bay that had obviously been cleared for them, their bodies writhing like slithering snakes.

  ‘I have some paperwork to do,’ Sister Freeman said, ‘but Nurses Miles and Trembath will show you the ropes.’

  ‘Of course, Sister. I’m Nurse Miles. Vera.’ The taller of the two middle-aged VAD nurses introduced herself, her face creased in welcome. ‘I see your attention’s been drawn by our two prostrate patients. If you watch, you’ll see they’re actually playing tag. A game gives them some focus, you see. When they arrived here only three days ago, neither of them could move a muscle. At least, not in the way they want to. All they’ve had so far is one hypnotherapy session with Dr Franfield, so you can see the improvement already. One of them couldn’t speak
at all, but now he can make himself understood, at least.’

  ‘That’s amazing,’ Grace replied, certainly impressed since she had indeed noticed the men when they had arrived. ‘So, what can I do to help?’

  ‘You could help me with Private Wicks,’ the other nurse smiled. ‘That would be a good place to start. Both his arms are contracted up, and we’re giving him massage to try to relax the muscles. Come and I’ll show you. Tresca Trembath, by the way. Right, here we are, Private. We have a helper on the ward today.’

  Grace nodded a greeting to the young man who was curled up in an easy-chair in a defensive ball, arms crossed tensely across his chest and his hands like stiff sticks. His eyes, though, seemed to light up like stars when he spied the pretty young nurse and he presented her with a lopsided smile. For a few seconds, Grace felt a little uneasy, but as she joined Nurse Trembath in rolling up the fellow’s pyjama sleeves, her nervousness fled and her heart filled with sympathy as she took in the poor man’s condition.

  ‘We rub on a little oil to make it more comfortable, don’t we, Private Wicks?’ Tresca Trembath explained to Grace, giving an encouraging smile to the patient. ‘Then we gently but firmly stroke down the arms like so. The idea is to stretch out the muscles but without hurting the patient. Doesn’t hurt the way we do it, does it, Private?’

  ‘Specially not when I’s got someone like this here maid to do it,’ the young fellow slurred.

  Grace tried not to blush as she concentrated on copying the older nurse’s example. Her fingers tingled at the unfamiliar sensation of doing little more than caressing the stranger’s limbs. She had learnt to dress partially healed wounds and amputation stumps, and had helped men in and out of bed, and to wash and shave. But the majority of the patients at Mount Tavy Hospital were over the worst of their injuries and no longer required frontline nursing. It really was their minds that were being given the chance to heal. And so for Grace it was the first time she had experienced such close intimacy with any of the soldiers, her touch directly on a man’s skin in an almost sensual way, and it set her heart pounding as she worked on the tensed limb. Miraculously, however, she could feel the muscle begin to relax beneath her hands, and the satisfaction made her feel more at ease as well.

  ‘Why don’t you close your eyes and imagine you’re somewhere you love?’ she heard herself say as if her tongue had suddenly found a life of its own. ‘In the countryside, perhaps? It’s a lovely sunny day, so quiet and still all you can hear is the humming of a bee. It’s so peaceful that you can feel something good blossoming inside you.’

  Her voice had taken on a gentle, sing-song lilt, and she could feel her own mind drifting away. She was standing on the top of Peek Hill, her favourite spot on the moor, and there were Stephen and Martin and Larry….

  ‘I doesn’t need to imagine that.’ The young soldier’s chuckle made her jump sky high. ‘I reckons I’s already dead and gone to heaven with an angel like you tending to my needs.’

  Grace felt the colour spreading into her cheeks and was supremely grateful when Tresca Trembath came to her rescue.

  ‘Cheeky so-and-so,’ the older woman chided mildly. ‘But I can see we’ll need to have Nurse Dannings here more often. I can feel you’re more relaxed today, Private. At this rate, we’ll have you back on your feet in no time.’

  ‘Not too quickly, I hopes,’ Private Wicks answered, winking surreptitiously at Grace.

  ‘Now do be quiet and concentrate on relaxing, you naughty boy.’

  ‘Spoil sport!’ the fellow retorted with a mock grimace. But he held his tongue as they continued with the massage, working down his arms to his stiff hands. As Grace gently kneaded his fingers, she began to feel she was enjoying herself, so engrossed in her achievement that she found herself humming quietly. No one told her to stop, and she actually felt disappointed when Nurse Trembath declared the session to be over.

  ‘Corporal Jenkins’s turn now,’ she announced.

  ‘Lucky devil,’ Private Wicks grumbled. ‘But if you hums a bit louder like, I can still hear you.’

  Grace couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth curving upwards. ‘Perhaps we can all join in a song?’ she suggested. ‘They have the piano downstairs, after all. Just because you can’t get down there when it’s being played doesn’t mean to say you shouldn’t enjoy some singing, does it? In fact,’ she went on, excitement burgeoning inside her, ‘maybe we could put on a concert? Get all the men and staff involved who want to be. And not just music. Poetry readings, comic sketches. What do you think, Nurse Trembath?’

  ‘Well, there’s been talk of it before. But no one’s actually come forward to organize it. It’s not up to me, of course, but I reckon Dr Franfield and Matron would agree if you think you could take it on.’

  ‘Tell you what, mind,’ Private Wicks put in, his frail, slurred voice becoming stronger each time he spoke. ‘I feels better already. Concert sounds a grand idea to me. Clever cheel, you. Be a lucky bugger what catches you as his wife, I can tell you!’

  ‘Language, Private Wicks!’ Nurse Trembath chastised him with a grin.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  GRACE LIFTED HER head from the papers she had been poring over on Sister Guscott’s desk. It was the third consecutive night she had been left in entire charge of the ward, but with strict instructions to wake Sister in her room if she considered it necessary. Grace was becoming accustomed to the strange atmosphere during the hours of darkness. The old house never slept in complete silence. Floorboards creaked as the night-duty staff in other wards moved about to check on patients, and there were periods of heavy snoring or mutterings, groans as men turned over in their sleep.

  Grace did a round every hour and then logged her observations in the book by the light from the dim electric bulb in the desk lamp. It was one of many wonders at Mount Tavy, brightening the darkness at the flick of a switch. There was hot and cold running water, a sewerage system and even one of those telephone contraptions so that Dr Franfield could be summoned instantly from his home or the civilian cottage hospital. And the house was apparently heated by a system of hot water pipes which would soon be put into use now autumn was approaching. For Grace, it was a fascinating experience just living there, let alone all she had been seeing and learning on the wards.

  Now, though, the sound that rumbled through the shadows was more than the usual mumblings of the sleeping men. Someone was having a nightmare. The unravelling of a tortured mind, Dr Franfield had explained. It was a healing process, and unless the patient was particularly distressed or appeared in physical discomfort, he was probably best left undisturbed. But every case should be investigated, so Grace got to her feet.

  It was probably poor young Private Fletcher. He was devastated by his injuries, even more so now that his painkilling drugs had been withdrawn and his awareness had returned to normal. He had dictated a letter to Grace for his parents who lived at the opposite side of the county. They had replied in a short, not too literate note that they could not afford the fare to visit him. Ling Franfield had at once sent them a postal order, and they were expected any day. But in the meantime, their son was suffering such violent nightmares that he had been prescribed a sleeping draught that night. Even so, he wasn’t enjoying a peaceful slumber, poor boy.

  When Grace reached his bed, however, she found that the medicine had indeed worked. It was Lieutenant Smith who was moaning in his sleep, the incomprehensible sounds growing in intensity as he thrashed from side to side until he cried out in anguish. Grace bit her lower lip. Was he reaching the stage when she should wake him? Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, his face twitching restlessly. And then his eyes jerked open and he sat bolt upright.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Grace soothed. ‘You were just dreaming.’

  She heard him draw a rasping breath and hold it for several seconds before releasing it in a strangling sigh. He blinked his frightened eyes wide open and then, focusing on Grace’s face, fell back heavily onto the pillow.


  ‘Nurse Dannings,’ he whispered into the gloom.

  ‘Yes. You’re safe, remember. Now try to go back to sleep.’

  She smiled down at him and saw him nod as he turned onto his side. Satisfied, Grace returned to the desk, noted his nightmare and went back to the concert schedule she had been contemplating. It was surprising the ideas the men were coming up with, whether or not they possessed any talent to perform. That was beside the point. The thing was that so many of them had found their spirits lifted. Arts and crafts were provided in the conservatory, basket-weaving and woodwork went on in the rooms in the coach-house, there were cards and other board-games provided in the great hall as well as an occasional sing-song, and a library of books in the study. But now groups of patients were taking themselves off to various locations to rehearse in private, and those who weren’t involved were looking forward immensely to the performance.

  ‘I’ve seen such an improvement in so many of the men as a result of this forthcoming event,’ Dr Franfield had observed. ‘And all down to you, Nurse Dannings. Thank you so much for taking on the organization of it.’

  Grace had gloried in his praise, even though, together with her work, her studies and the time she spent on Happiness Ward, it meant she had no time for herself. She hadn’t written to Larry for ages and felt guilty since his letters arrived regularly, but surely helping these damaged soldiers was more important.

  Goodness, time for her next round already. She crept from bed to bed, pleased that each man was now sleeping soundly. Apart from Lieutenant Smith who was lying on his back, hands clasped behind his head as his alert eyes stared at the ceiling.

  ‘Can’t sleep?’ she whispered.

  He breathed in deeply through his nostrils. ‘It was all so vivid, my dream. I was there again, in the trenches. We’d gone over the top. Noise, explosions all around. Shouting, smoke. The confusion. I even saw a shell land in front of me. I don’t know if it was the one, or whether I was just imagining it.’