A Nurse's Courage

by Maggie Holt

  So then another thought came to her: did Harry do the same? Was that what he actually meant when he wrote, ‘That’s when your closest to me my own dear girl’?

  She was certain that this was exactly what he meant. Yet she could hardly tell him in a letter that she had shared the experience. Guardian angels were not allowed habits, especially that kind.

  Before that May was over, another shock was in store for Londoners. Out of the blue came the first Zeppelin raid on their city, causing widespread panic and rumours of destruction and many deaths. In fact, four deaths resulted from the bombs dropped by the airship which damaged a row of houses and some shops, but the fear of further raids at any time had a serious effect on civilians. For the first time in history the English no longer felt protected by the sea, and every night nervous ears listened for unfamiliar noises, the ominous grinding that warned of the approach of the sinister cigar-shaped raiders, long and silvery in the night sky. It added an extra dimension of fear to the dimly lit wards of the Infirmary at night, yet it also drew the nurses and their patients closer in a shared danger.

  News of reorganisations at Stepney and Poplar Infirmary filtered through to Booth Street. Army doctors and nurses had complained about inadequate facilities and demanded more staff and better equipment for nursing wounded men. Eager but untrained young women from better-class homes came forward in large numbers to offer their services in the Voluntary Aid Detachment and First Aid Nursing Yeomanry.

  ‘It just ain’t fair, here’s us sloggin’ our guts for all we’re worth while them posh girls who’ve never even seen a man’s yer-know-what, they walk straight into nice new done-up wards to look after the boys,’ grumbled Nurse Tasker.

  But grim accounts of nursing the wounded men began to spread from hospitals taken over by the military: stories of foul-smelling, putrefying wounds that refused to heal, of burned and blinded faces, of limbs torn away. Nights that were seared by howls like animals in pain, of strong men weeping and calling for their mothers. Mabel could hardly bear to listen, and despised herself for not sharing Betty Tasker’s eagerness to nurse these men. Every one of them, she knew, would be Harry to her, and the very thought was terrifying.

  And then came the news of the Gallipoli landings and a long silence from Harry. No letters, no word came from any quarter as the weeks dragged by. The newspapers cautiously reported ‘heavy losses’ among the Australian and New Zealand men, but the full extent of the disastrous campaign did not become known until the end of the year. Wives, mothers, sisters and sweethearts waited endlessly, at one with the families of the men serving in France. The popular song of the day was ‘Keep the home fires burning’, meant to inspire the women left at home to be brave and do their duty by their menfolk.

  . . . though your hearts are yearning,

  Though the lads are far away, they dream of home . . .

  It was sung everywhere, at concerts and music halls, at all kinds of social gatherings and was whistled in the streets. It began to get on Mabel’s nerves.

  ‘At least you haven’t had a telegram, Court,’ said her friends, but Mabel knew that she was not entitled to a telegram in the event of Harry being killed or missing; it would go to his parents in Falcon Terrace. To find out what they knew, if anything, Mabel attended a Sunday evening meeting at the Clapham Citadel, where she duly sought out the Drovers at the end of the hour of prayer and hymn-singing.

  ‘We’ve heard nothin’ since the landin’s began,’ said Harry’s father bluntly. ‘We pray that our boy’s life’ll be spared, just as other parents pray, but if it’s the Lord’s will that he – if he be promoted to glory, then we’ll have to accept it and so must you, Miss Court.’

  Mrs Drover looked pale and strained; her manner towards Mabel was cold.

  ‘It was our Harry’s dearest wish that ye’d answer the Lord’s call straight away, Miss Court, an’ it would’ve made a big difference if yer had. Are yer tellin’ us ye’ve had a change o’ heart?’

  ‘I’ve got to get me nursin’ trainin’ done, Mrs Drover,’ pleaded Mabel. ‘But that doesn’t stop me wanting to know about Har— Captain Drover.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got no news. Ye’re not the only one waitin’ an’ watchin’ out for every post. We’re ’is own flesh an’ blood, remember.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Drover, I know, and I do have some idea o’ what ye’re going through,’ Mabel answered with pity in her voice. ‘Only will yer let me know if there’s any news? Anythin’ at all?’

  Mrs Drover turned away, biting her lip and trying to hide her tears. Her husband answered briefly. ‘If we hear anythin’, we’ll send word to yer at that Infirmary,’ he conceded. ‘And we’ll pray that yer heart be opened to the Lord.’

  They resented her intrusion on their desperate anxiety and Mabel could not blame them. She knew she could draw closer to them by joining the Salvation Army straight away, but first she simply had to complete her nursing training.

  She found an unexpected source of understanding in Maudie Ling, who occasionally turned up at Booth Street and took Mabel out to a dark little tea shop in Brook Street, where she would listen endlessly to Mabel’s fears about Harry. Like Norah, she urged her friend not to lose hope as long as there had been no news and she understood only too well about the coolness of the Drovers.

  ‘Same wiv me, Mabel! Alex wants me to kiss an’ make up wiv ’is ma an’ pa, seein’ as ’e’s riskin’ ’is neck on these Channel flights aht over the Jerry guns in France an’ Belgium – an’ yer never know if ’e’s comin’ back.’ She touched Mabel’s hand. ‘So I’m ready an’ willin’ to be friends wiv Mr an’ Mrs Redfern, I mean I’d do anyfing for Alex, kiss their arses if ’e wanted me to, but –’ She paused and rolled up her eyes. ‘It ain’t that easy.’

  ‘But why, Maudie? What’s stoppin’ yer?’ asked Mabel.

  ‘It’s ’er, she don’t fink I’m good enough for ’im, she finks I’m common, an’ well, maybe I am, Mabel. ’E’s an officer, y’see, a Flight Lieutenant already, an’ ’obnobs wiv a rare bunch o’ toffs dahn on Salisbury Plain. But we love each ovver, Mabel, I mean we really do, an’ ’e wants to marry me when it’s all over.’

  ‘Me sister Alice is courtin’ an officer in the Royal Flyin’ Corps, Maudie, name o’ Westhouse,’ Mabel remarked. ‘She’s a proper little lady these days, ye’d never know her.’

  Maud laughed. ‘Always was a bit stuck-up, wa’n’t she, Alice, though she wasn’t no better ‘n the rest o’ yer – not ’alf as good as you an’ Albert. But fancy ’er walkin’ aht wiv an officer, eh?’

  ‘Fancy you! But Maudie, yer really ought to try to get on with the Redferns. I mean, it’s like the Drovers, they’re just as worried sick over the boys as we are.’

  ‘I know.’ Maudie sighed and beckoned to the waitress. ‘The ol’ man ’ud be all right, it’s just ’er. Ever since she caught us ’avin’ a bit o’ – yer know, the ovver – oh, what the ’ell, let’s go to the pictures an’ see ol’ Charlie Chaplin in The Tramp, ev’rybody says it’s ’is best! C’mon!’

  At midsummer Mabel was due for her week’s annual holiday and there was only one place to spend it: she had hardly seen her sister Daisy for the past year, only on occasional snatched visits. Aunt Kate renewed her invitation for Mabel to stay at Pinehurst, saying that it would be quieter than with the Somertons, and reading the letter Mabel realised how tired she was, as much from worry as from work. A week in the country was inviting, though she had misgivings about being away from London if there was any news of Harry. She sent a note to his parents giving her aunt’s address and told Norah McLoughlin to save any letter that arrived for her at the Infirmary.

  Both aunts and both sisters were there to meet her at Belhampton station, and could hardly conceal their shock at her worn appearance, the dowdy navy-blue jacket and skirt, the frayed silk ribbon wound round her hat. The aunts promptly decided to take her shopping for new clothes and shoes, and Daisy was awkwardly silent as Mabel embraced her.

  ‘Oh, D
aisy, dear, yer haven’t forgot yer big sister, have yer? I know it’s been a long, long time,’ apologised poor Mabel, trying to hide her hurt. The truth was that for a split second Daisy had seen her dead mother in the thin, tired-looking woman who stepped down from the train and it had momentarily shaken her. Alice hung back, clearly dismayed at the sight of her elder sister: how on earth could Mabel go about looking such a frump!

  ‘Alice! Oh, how beautiful ye’ve become!’ cried Mabel, reaching out to her above Daisy’s dark head. For Alice at eighteen had quite dramatically changed from a pretty girl to a truly lovely young woman. Her figure had filled out into soft curves beneath her simple white dress and every movement showed her young body off to advantage. With a plain straw hat tied over her shining black hair, she gave an impression of unaffected natural beauty. Which was exactly the picture she wanted to present.

  ‘Mum would’ve been that proud o’ yer both!’ Mabel told them, putting an arm round the shoulder of each, at which they both stiffened, Alice with embarrassment and Daisy with shyness and something she did not quite understand. She had been counting the days to Mabel’s arrival – dear Mabel, the sister she loved more than anybody else in the world – but now there was this horrible war and Mabel was part of it in some way: she brought a touch of its fear and danger with her, just as she brought echoes of a past that Daisy was not encouraged to remember.

  ‘Have yer heard from Harry yet, Mabel?’ she asked, and Mabel’s face fell.

  ‘No, dear, not yet – but there’s bound to be some news soon,’ she said with a brightness that did not quite ring true.

  That evening Mabel confided in her aunts about her fears for Harry and the total lack of information. Like her friends at the hospital they pointed out that no news was better than – well, a telegram with the worst news, but there was little they could say that was of any real comfort.

  ‘You must have a good rest while you’re here, Mabel, and eat plenty of nourishing country fare,’ insisted Aunt Kate. ‘And we must all put our trust in God and pray that your, er – Captain Drover will be spared.’

  The next day was Sunday and Mabel walked to church with Aunt Kate between fields of ripening corn. The Somertons were waiting for them in the porch and, prompted by Aunt Nell, Daisy came forward to greet her sister with a kiss that warmed Mabel’s heart. She noticed how young men’s eyes strayed towards Alice who appeared oblivious of their glances, though Mabel detected a tell-tale sparkle in her sister’s dark eyes and an upward curve to her rosy lips when a tall, well-dressed man in his late twenties approached their party on leaving the church. He would have overlooked Mabel if Aunt Nell had not drawn her forward to be introduced.

  ‘Miss Alice’s sister? I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Court,’ he said, holding out his hand and giving a polite bow.

  ‘This is Mr Westhouse, Mabel,’ prompted Aunt Nell.

  ‘Pleased to meet yer, Mr Westhouse,’ replied Mabel, taking his hand in her cotton-gloved fingers and wondering if she should bow in return. Was there just the faintest touch of surprise in his handsome face? If so it was quickly hidden by a smile as he turned to Thomas Somerton, catching Alice’s eye before she lowered her face beneath her wide straw hat.

  ‘I shall be going over to Farnborough Common this afternoon, Mr Somerton,’ he said, nodding in the direction of a new motor car in the lane. ‘I was wondering if Miss Alice might be spared to accompany me to see some flying. The Army biplanes will be taking off and showing what they can do.’

  ‘Will there be any other ladies present?’ asked Uncle Thomas, aware of Alice’s silently pleading eyes.

  ‘Why certainly, Mr Somerton, Lady Savage and her daughters will be there to see Guy – he’s in the Officers’ Training Corps camped out on the Common. It should be quite a good show.’

  The mere mention of the Savage family of Houghton Hall was enough to secure the Somertons’ immediate consent and Mr Westhouse arranged to call for Alice at two o’clock.

  ‘D’ye like him, Aunt Nell?’ Mabel asked as they walked up the lane to Pear Tree Cottage for Sunday dinner, Daisy clinging to her arm.

  ‘My dear, Gerald Westhouse is from a very good family on the other side of Belhampton, a junior partner in his father’s law firm until he enlisted as an army officer,’ answered Mrs Somerton, lowering her voice and giving a significant nod towards Alice’s slender back as she walked ahead with Aunt Kate and Uncle Thomas. ‘Only now he’s in training at the Central Flying School at Upavon.’

  ‘Isn’t Alice a bit young to be courtin’? And he’s much older ‘n her, and – and way above the Courts,’ protested Mabel, frowning.

  Aunt Nell raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Above the Courts, perhaps, Mabel, but the Chalcotts can hold their own in Belhampton circles just as well as the Westhouses,’ she said with the faintest trace of a rebuke. ‘Your poor mother married beneath her, it’s true, but there’s no reason why Alice should not do better if a gentleman makes her a proposal – and at eighteen she’s certainly not too young. Many a girl is married by then.’

  Mabel blushed scarlet. ‘I’m so sorry, Aunt Nell, I didn’t mean – I never thought –’

  Nell smiled. ‘It’s early days yet, Mabel. Let’s wait and see how things go.’

  They did not have to wait long. When dinner was finished Mr Westhouse arrived to collect Alice, and the talk turned to the new army division, the Royal Flying Corps, and the fascination it held for men like himself and young Sir Guy Savage, just down from Oxford, who wanted to learn to fly the amazing machines that defied the laws of gravity and travelled at unheard-of speeds through the air. Since the outbreak of war there had been enormous strides in their development and manufacture, not to mention their use in warfare, especially on spying missions over the German lines and attacking their gun emplacements.

  ‘Yer remember me friend Maudie Ling, Alice?’ Mabel cut in, smiling. ‘Well, she’s walkin’ out with an officer in the RFC, name o’ Redfern.’

  Alice coloured with embarrassment and Gerald stared in surprise.

  ‘Alex Redfern? I know that name – he’s making quite a name for himself as a flyer.’

  ‘He’s been out bombin’ their guns an’ all,’ added Mabel. ‘Maudie’s ever so proud of him.’

  ‘Come along, Gerald, we don’t want to miss any of the flying,’ Alice said quickly, taking his arm before Mabel could say any more about those awful Londoners.

  ‘Would you like me to take you and Daisy over to Farnborough this afternoon, Mabel?’ Uncle Thomas offered, but Mabel saw the alarm in Alice’s eyes and firmly declined. Maudie had been only too right about her pretty sister: like Ada Hodges she had forgotten her humble origins and now considered herself far above them.

  By the time Mabel returned to London, physically rested and carrying a suitcase of well-chosen new clothes and two serviceable pairs of shoes, Alice had become engaged to Gerald Westhouse. There was to be no official announcement until the war was over, but Aunts Kate and Nell were jubilant.

  ‘You and Alice will draw closer together, Mabel, now that you both have young men serving in the defence of their country.’ Mrs Somerton smiled, but Mabel was sadly aware that she and Alice now inhabited worlds so far apart that they had almost nothing to say to each other. It had been well and truly impressed upon her that Gerald Westhouse was an officer, while Harry Drover’s captaincy in the Salvation Army meant nothing at all to her sister.

  Boarding the London train, she hugged Daisy close and kissed her aunts and uncle.

  ‘Goodbye, Alice,’ she whispered as the girl held out a cool cheek for her to kiss. ‘I’ll pray for Gerald every day, same as I pray for my Harry.’

  ‘Thank you, Mabel. Try not to work too hard,’ Alice replied with conventional politeness but no real interest in her sister’s life at Booth Street. On the contrary, she was revolted by it.

  Seated in the compartment after waving goodbye to them all, Mabel’s eyes were blurred with tears, yet she felt a definite sense of relief at returni
ng to her life at the Infirmary. It was where she now most truly belonged.

  ‘There’s a letter came for ye, Mabel, darlin’, but that ol’ crow Mrs Bullock wouldn’t part wid it,’ reported Norah McLoughlin. ‘Ye’d better go an’ get it off her.’

  ‘Oh, my God – please let it be –’ Mabel gasped as she ran to the housekeeper’s room.

  The note from the Drovers was brief.

  We have word that our son is in hospital in Malta. He has been very ill. They will let us know when he is sent back to England.

  Mabel swayed slightly and clasped her hands together in thankfulness. Harry was alive and safe and coming home! A great burden was instantly lifted and she went about her duties with an unaccustomed sense of lightness. Norah and all her friends shared in her rejoicing, and even the patients remarked on her improved looks.

  ‘Got a nice young man, Nurse Court?’

  ‘Yes, er – thank yer, yes, I have – an’ he’s comin’ home!’

  Another month was to pass before Harry returned, and September brought another and more terrifying Zeppelin raid on London. Bombs were dropped between Euston and Tower Bridge, narrowly missing the Bank of England and starting huge fires in warehouses near to the river. Almost forty people were killed and the effect on morale was devastating. Nobody knew where the next bomb would fall, so nowhere was safe. Ethel Davies was so nervous that she squeezed herself into Mabel’s narrow bed, which prevented them both from sleeping.

  Mabel was curiously fatalistic about the bombing; all she cared about was seeing Harry again, though she did not receive word of his arrival until a scribbled note was delivered to the Infirmary.