by Maggie Holt
‘Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves –
Britons never, never, never shall be – er –
Mar-ri-ed to a mer-ma-id at the bottom o’ the deep blue sea!’
‘Oh, Mabel, d’ye think he’ll be safe?’ whispered Norah as they watched him turn and wave once more before disappearing round the corner. ‘Sure an’ I’ll never miss Mass agin, not if I have to get up at crack o’ dawn.’
Mabel wordlessly put her arm around her friend. It seemed so unfair that as soon as Albert had found himself a girl as sweet as Norah, they should have to be parted.
The girls’ contact with the outside world soon became even more curtailed when they were put on night duty, and Mabel thought she’d never been so tired in her life. She was one of three probationer nurses in charge of two thirty-bed wards, Women’s I, medical, and Women’s II, surgical. A Night Sister was in overall charge of six wards and made regular rounds during the night, but the actual nursing care was carried out by the probationers. On Women’s II they had to deal with accident cases from the street or home, broken bones, burns and scalds. The operation cases included removal of cancers from various parts of the body, and other obstructions like gallstones and appendicitis; some had the dreaded ‘women’s trouble’, and were in for removal of the womb. Most were in a weakened state by the time operation was decided upon as a last resort and many did not recover. The girls got used to ‘laying-out’ by the light of a flickering lamp to avoid putting on the overhead electric lights. On the medical wards there were the routine four-hourly toilet rounds for the bed-bound, helpless bodies to be turned, soiled sheets to be changed; and at any time there might be a sudden emergency admission to deal with, an operation to relieve a stoppage, to try to save an injured limb or eye. These usually had to be prepared for theatre and received back after success or failure – which might mean another laying-out.
Off duty at last, they stumbled to their room, drew the curtains, undressed, washed and collapsed into bed. Exhausted though they were, sleep did not come easily. Unless the windows were shut, rendering the room airless, the noise of traffic, trolleys and bins hammered at their ears all day. Inside the hostel voices called, doors banged and footsteps clattered up and down uncarpeted stairs; when one of them had to get up and pad down the corridor to the lavatory, she disturbed the others. They would take it in turns to creep out to the gas ring to make a pot of tea at around three or four o’clock, which was heaven for the wakeful but hard luck on the girl who had just dropped off to sleep.
‘Holy Mother o’ God, I don’t know how I’m goin’ to get through the next twelve hours,’ Nurse McLoughlin would groan as they went down to the dining-room at eight o’clock for bread, soup, cold meat or cheese before going to their wards at eight thirty. ‘Me head feels as if it’s turned to a block o’ wood to carry around all night.’
And tomorrow night, thought Mabel, and the next and the next and the next until they lost count of the nights and the days, and discovered that it was a week later.
She had promised to meet Harry on her first night off, and was fast asleep when Nurse Tasker came and woke her at six that evening with a cup of tea.
‘Come on, Court, wake up! Ye’re meetin’ yer young man at seven.’
Mabel yawned and opened one bleary eye. ‘Oh, yes, so I am. Thanks, Betty, ye’re a pal.’ She gratefully took the cup and breathed in the steam to clear her head. ‘Mm-mm! I just can’t believe I haven’t got to go on duty tonight.’
‘No, yer got somethin’ better on, yer lucky thing – and he ain’t got to go to the Front,’ replied Betty, her smile fading a little. The unexpected setbacks at Liège and Namur, and the retreat from Mons with its long casualty lists had dampened the first surge of war fever and a note of doubt had crept in, that this war might turn out to be longer and bloodier than at first thought.
‘We’re goin’ to get a whole lot o’ patients from the Stepney an’ Poplar Infirmary, so’s they can take in wounded soldiers,’ said Betty. ‘Coo, I don’t half wish I was there, don’t you?’
‘Oh, no, I’d be so nervous o’ hurtin’ them,’ shuddered Mabel, looking up over her teacup.
‘Just give me the chance to look after some nice young fellas! Be a change from these poor, smelly ol’ things we got here – an’ they say we’re gettin’ more kids an’ all. Anyway, enjoy yer evenin’, Court – don’t do anythin’ I wouldn’t!’
Chance would be a fine thing, thought Mabel, with nowhere to go but the Salvation Army Citadel. Her head ached and she felt as if she could sleep for a week.
Harry’s eyes lit up when she emerged from the hostel, but he was shocked by her haggard appearance. ‘Dearest Mabel, yer look whacked out! What’ve they been doin’ to yer?’
She forced a smile. ‘It’s called night nurse’s face, Harry. A little fresh air’ll work wonders.’
He took her arm and they walked up to Lambeth Bridge. It was getting dark and she suddenly felt that she could not go another step.
‘Harry, I’m so tired.’ Her voice trembled and tears welled up in her reddened eyes. ‘Let’s find a seat and just be quiet for a bit.’
He was immediately all concern. ‘Look, Mabel, shall we get on a bus and go to Falcon Terrace? It’s warm there an’ yer can rest. My mother’ll get us somethin’ –’
‘No, Harry, no, I couldn’t go anywhere – I just want to rest now.’
He led her slowly down to the Albert Embankment and found a seat overlooking the river. Mabel sank down on it and he sat beside her. Behind them the seven turreted blocks of St Thomas’s Hospital cut them off from the noise of the streets, and straight across the water the Houses of Parliament rose up like a picture in the sunset.
Mabel laid her head on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Harry, but all I want is to be quiet. It sounds silly, I know, but let’s just stay here and not say anything at all,’ she begged, her voice shaky. ‘Please, Harry.’
He put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Tell me, Mabel,’ he said very gently. ‘Are yer in need o’ prayer? The Lord knows all our –’
‘Oh, no, it’s nothin’ like that,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It’s just that I haven’t had a proper sleep for over a week, an’ I’m worn out, that’s all. I’m sorry, but –’
Her voice trailed off and she lay against his shoulder in silence. It was a clear evening and a light breeze blew in off the river, ruffling the ribbon on Mabel’s hat and lifting the wide collar of her jacket. Her eyelids drooped and the tension of her mouth relaxed.
Within minutes she was fast asleep, encircled in his arm. A few passing strollers glanced at them in amusement or disapproval, for such public displays of intimacy had become more common since the declaration of war. Harry felt his arm turning numb, and his thighs and buttocks ached from staying in the same position on the hard seat, but he would not move a muscle in case he disturbed her. If she woke she might ask him to take her back to the hostel and he wanted to feel her warm body beside him for as long as possible.
And so they remained motionless on the seat until darkness fell and the air began to chill. When at last she stirred, he kissed her and she sleepily responded: he put both arms around her. Her face was very pale, her eyes dark hollows in the lamplight.
He gently disengaged himself, stood up, stretched and hauled her to her feet. ‘Come on, Mabel, me love, ye’re gettin’ cold. It’s time I took yer home – back to that place.’
Her sleep that night was deep and dreamless, but Harry Drover lay awake in his back bedroom at number 8 Falcon Terrace, staring up into the darkness and oppressed by fears and imaginings to which he could give no name. At some point in the night he suddenly started up in terror.
‘Mabel! Mabel, are yer there?’
Had he spoken the words aloud? There was no answer in the silence of the house, only a sense of inexplicable loss.
Chapter Three
IMPOSSIBLE AS IT might have seemed at first, the second-year probationers became adjusted to the upside-down world
of nights and slept for longer periods during the day. As autumn advanced and the temperature cooled, the hostel became less stuffy. One of the Night Sisters gave Mabel a good piece of advice, which was to go for a walk and get some fresh air before going to bed in the mornings. At first she felt unable to make the effort, but Norah McLoughlin offered to come with her, and sure enough the walk up the Lambeth Road cleared their lungs of the smell of the wards and soothed their jangled nerves; they certainly slept better for it.
‘Me head belongs to me agin, Mabel – we must get them others to come out wid us as well!’
And it was while walking out one morning with Ethel Davies that Mabel learned that Mrs Davies was dressmaker to two Mrs Knowles, a mother and daughter-in-law, both wives of doctors.
‘Oh, I know them, Ethel!’ cried Mabel. ‘At least, I know their husbands. Old Dr Knowles was our panel doctor in Battersea and the best friend we ever had – and his son Stephen got married this year.’
‘Yes, Mum worked on her weddin’ dress, all white lace with real flowers sewn to the veil.’
‘What’s she like, did yer mother say?’ asked Mabel curiously.
‘Oh, she’s a real lady, as delicate as a piece o’ fine bone china, me mum says – and he worships the ground she walks on. They’re livin’ at Hillier Road with his parents for the time bein’, ’cause he could be called up any day now, what with all these wounded.’
Mabel frowned. There was worsening news from the Front, as everybody was now calling the lines of battle drawn up against the advancing Germans.
‘An’ me mum reckons she’s expectin’,’ added Ethel with a significant look. ‘Wouldn’t it be awful if he got called up an’ went out there an’ got killed, Mabel?’
Mabel’s heart lurched. ‘Don’t say it, Ethel, don’t even think o’ such a thing!’ she exclaimed in horror, for as always her thoughts flew to Harry. Suppose he had to go to the Front and risk his life? And Albert, somewhere at sea, though heaven only knew where, because there had been no word from him, and Norah McLoughlin asked her daily if she had heard any news. If he was doing convoy duty in home waters, carrying troops and horses, cargoes of equipment and foodstuffs, surely he would have let her know? Or was he transporting food across the vast Atlantic to Britain from the United States and Canada?
As always, Harry tried to reassure her.
‘No news is good news, Mabel. If there was any – yer know – they’d’ve sent a telegram.’
Mabel shivered. Christmas was approaching and, far from being ‘all over’, the news from France got steadily worse. The mounting numbers of dead and wounded had turned the early euphoria into shocked disbelief and as injured men arrived home in huge numbers, stories began to circulate about the terrible conditions at the Front. The relentless rain in the marshy land around a place with the unpronounceable name of Ypres had caused a sea of mud to fill the trenches and shell-holes, where men stood with soaking, freezing feet and lice-ridden clothes, enduring the noise of shells exploding around them day and night. A man might see a friend killed in an instant, his body falling to the bottom of the trench to rot in filthy water.
And so many had died at the Front. Curtains were drawn in the houses along whole streets where sons, brothers and friends had all joined up together in ‘pals’ battalions’ and gone out on the same wave of new arrivals at the Front, only to be mown down together; women were known to faint at the very sight of a telegraph boy coming up the path. So many pale women in black with stricken faces – mothers, sisters, young wives newly wed and newly widowed: so many men dead . . .
And it was at this time that Harry came to her with the news they had been dreading: he was to be sent to Aldershot for training in the New Year.
‘Can’t yer volunteer as a stretcher-bearer, Harry? Lots of other Salvation Army officers have,’ pleaded Mabel, but he shook his head.
‘No, Mabel, the Lord’s made it clear to me that He wants me to go as a soldier, alongside o’ me brothers out there.’
She clung to his arm as they walked beside the park railings. ‘Ye’ve always said that it’s against God’s will to take another man’s life, Harry.’
‘Yes, Mabel, an’ it’s what burdens me most – bless yer for understandin’.’
She made herself say it. ‘But ye’d have to do that very thing, Harry.’
‘If the Lord wants me to go to the Front, Mabel, He’ll show me what I must do.’
To this there seemed to be no answer, though she wondered whether any of the Germans would have the same scruples. She knew how deeply this dread of killing preyed upon his mind, in addition to the natural fears of a young man for his own life and safety. And yet there was nothing she could say or do to reassure him.
Cards, letters and little gifts arrived from Belhampton, with the news that Alice was being courted by a young officer, Gerald Westhouse of the new Royal Flying Corps, which made Mabel think of Maudie’s young man. She also got another letter from George, now fifteen and getting quite tall, he told her. Davy was talking of moving on to Vancouver and George was willing to go as long as they stayed together.
‘Meeting him was the best bit of Luck I ever had and its a new Life for me here,’ he had scrawled. ‘I shall remember you Mabel but I wud not go back to England now. Thanks for all you did and Merry Christmas.’
She clutched at the short message, thankful that her younger brother seemed well settled but sad at the loss of him, for now she felt sure they would not meet again. In a strange way it felt like justice, knowing what they both knew. Had he told Davy? Yes, he must have done – and in so doing, had embraced his new life and left the past behind him for ever.
And Christmas brought something else, an unexpected but very welcome surprise: a postcard with a picture of Port Said. Albert was on a minesweeper.
‘You ourt to see me now Mabel. We got the sun we got the sea we got the beer we got the lot. I dont need the girls I got two at home Mabel and my little Irish Nora. Love from Albert xxx.’
Laughing and crying, she lost no time in showing it to Norah and was astonished when with many blushes Norah shyly produced her own card from Albert. It showed two pink hearts pierced by an arrow, with a printed message about sweethearts being always in each other’s thoughts.
‘He’s given me an address where the ship’ll be callin’, in case I’d like to write a letter,’ she confessed, her blue eyes shining.
‘Well, tell him to write more often, then, to save us worryin’!’ Mabel tried to speak lightly, but she felt a little uneasy; Norah was so transparently innocent, and having never known the love of family, she was especially vulnerable to any attention paid to her of a romantic nature. Albert would not knowingly cause her any hurt, but he might not realise how intensely she had responded to his sentimental card.
‘Albert’s a scamp, Norah, and ye’d better not take too much notice of him!’
But Norah’s fate was already sealed; she yearned over the card, kissing it every night before she tucked it under her pillow and prayed to the Sacred Heart for Seaman Court’s safe return.
‘Thank ye, Blessed Lord Jesus, for hearin’ me prayers an’ sendin’ me a man to love – and his sister to be me friend. If Ye’ll send him back to me from the sea, I’ll never trouble Ye for another thing as long as I live, so.’ Crossing herself quickly, she would mutter, ‘Father, Son an’ Holy Spirit, Amen.’
Harry’s parents, sister and brother-in-law went to see him off at Waterloo Station on a cold January morning. Mabel could not get away from the Infirmary and they said their farewells the evening before, embracing in the shadows of Booth Street.
‘Remember dancin’ in Battersea Park the night o’ the Coronation, Harry? “Goodbye, Dolly Gray” – little did we know then it was goin’ to be true again –’
His arms gripped her so fiercely that she could scarcely breathe and her words were stifled by his long, fervent kiss. He paused only to whisper urgently in her ear, ‘God bless yer, my own dearest girl, an’ take care o’
yer. I’ll need yer more than ever before.’
‘I’ll be waitin’ to hear from yer, Harry.’
‘God help me, I love yer, Mabel, since I first set eyes on yer. I’ll always love yer.’
‘I know, I know. And I love you, too.’ The words sounded so inadequate, like something out of a cheap magazine, and snatched kisses were not enough to say all that was in their hearts – or the longing of their young bodies. Her arms tightened round his neck, but there was nothing left to say except goodbye.
Two days later Ethel Davies reported that Dr Stephen Knowles had been posted to a base hospital in France and that his young wife was absolutely devastated.
As always, work was Mabel’s best remedy. As soon as she came off nights she was sent to work in the operating theatre where she quickly had to learn the principles of sterilisation, the boiling of instruments and the baking of dry dressings and towels. She soon became skilful at setting trolleys for operations, but assisting with the giving of anaesthetics could be harrowing. Open ether and chloroform were in use, and fire precautions had to be strict. The smell made Mabel’s head ache and her eyes watered while she held the hands of patients with terror in their eyes as they faced ‘going under’ into unconsciousness.
On the wards the work grew harder then ever. As the stream of wounded men filled other hospitals and infirmaries, Booth Street was now taking double the number of civilian cases displaced from elsewhere, and patients were being discharged earlier, often before they were sufficiently recovered, to make room for the next lot of admissions. The number of child patients also grew, but not the staff to look after them, and the elderly suffered as a consequence. Yet who could deny a bed to a soldier injured in the service of his country?
Every day Mabel looked out for Harry’s letters from Aldershot with their accounts of route-marching, ‘square-bashing’, cookhouse training and endless boot-polishing and whitening. Much more sinister was the time he had to spend learning to handle the horrible weapons of death. Rifle practice was bad enough, but bayonets were worse, and nothing in his Salvation Army training had prepared him for this obscenity. By contrast he was not bothered by coarse language and the lack of privacy in barrack life.