The Poppy Field

by Deborah Carr

  “This tent is leaking again,” Mary said, picking up her towel and drying several spots next to the small mirror on her trunk. She brushed her hair and checked her handkerchief-style cap. “Wouldn’t it be a dream if we could have a chest of drawers for our clothes, instead of keeping everything in these,” she said slapping the top of her trunk.

  “We wouldn’t fit one inside this tent, though, would we?” Alice pinned back her hair and tied up the laces on her sensible shoes.

  “When I get home,” Mary said, picking up her hand mirror to check her teeth. “I’m going to find a man who can buy me a proper dressing table. I fancy one of made of walnut. What about you?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it,” Alice said, glancing at her watch before pinning it to her uniform. “Come along, we need to get a move on if we want to avoid a reprimand from Matron.”

  They walked quickly along the dusty pathway that months before had been covered in grass. Alice yearned to return to her uncomfortable bed in their cramped tent. She was used to the long days and nights on shift but knew only too well that she had at least another ten hours until she could lie down and close her eyes again.

  “There she is,” Alice whispered, indicating Matron Bleasdale who was waiting for them, hands clasped in front of her apron as she stood at the helm of the other over-tired nurses.

  “Did I tell you about the letter I received from my aunt yesterday?”

  Alice shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Mary straightened one of her sleeves as they walked. “She wrote to tell me that the Black Tom Island munitions plant in the States, you know, it’s in Jersey City where my cousin works, well it was destroyed by an explosion.”

  Alice gasped, covering her hand over her mouth when a couple of the other volunteers turned to see what had shocked her. “That’s horrible. Is he alright?” she asked, finding it strangely unnerving hearing the familiar name of Jersey being mentioned and relieved her friend wasn’t talking about her home island.

  “He was, thankfully. Absent from work with a fever of some sort, my aunt says. Apparently, German saboteurs are suspected of bombing the place. She also wrote that the Statue of Liberty was damaged by shrapnel from the explosion. Shocking, isn’t it?”

  Alice thought it strange that the Hun had caused damage so far away from Europe. The notion made her uneasy. “Poor people.”

  “I know. It shook my aunt up a fair bit, I can tell you.” Mary slowed her pace slightly. “I forget we’re not the only ones dealing with injured people.”

  Alice did, too. “I always feel sorry for the families of these poor men,” she said matching her friend’s speed. “I’m relieved I don’t have a sweetheart at the Front, or anywhere else,” she said. It was the one thing she was certain about. “The worry of him ending up like some of our poor patients would be too dreadful.”

  They reached the group of nurses and other VADs at the ten-minute deadline. Both stood silently at the back of the line on the walkway behind Matron, who raised her watch, staring at its face for a few seconds before lowering it and studying the group before her, eyes narrowed. “Nurse Le Breton, your uniform is incorrect.”

  Embarrassed, Alice patted her head to check her cap was straight. She mentally worked through her outfit, mortified to note that she had forgotten to tie her apron. She quickly did so, smoothing down the skirt and clearing her throat. “Sorry, Matron,” she said before giving Mary a sideways glance.

  “You four,” Matron said, pointing to Alice, Mary and two nurses next to them. “Go and ensure all necessary trolleys are readied. I want all free beds made up. Go,” she shouted when they didn’t move the instant her order was out of her mouth.

  They had all perfected the art of hurrying without breaking into a run. Matron loathed running. As they reached the wards, two went to help make up beds, while Alice and Mary kept going to the supplies hut.

  “That was your fault,” Alice teased, grabbing several packets of dressings from the shelf in front of her. “Telling me things about your cousin.”

  Mary took several more. “I thought you’d be interested.”

  “I was,” Alice admitted, not wishing to fall out with someone with whom she shared a small tent. “Sorry, I’m tired, that’s all.”

  “Apology accepted,” Mary smiled, throwing a pack of dressings at her.

  Outside, they waited silently in the uneasy calmness. The only sound interrupting the quiet orderly grounds being the occasional burst of shell fire from the Front. Alice wondered if she would ever get used to the noise. The worst was when she felt the earth shudder beneath her feet. The closeness of those explosions never failed to give her a fright. Mary had told her countless times to try to ignore it, but how was she to do that when each explosion almost certainly meant the death or mutilation of at least one soldier, usually many.

  A bugle sounded, jarring Alice out of her reverie as it signalled the arrival of the convoy.

  “Let the nightmare begin,” she whispered to Mary.

  Mary grimaced. “I hate this bit most of all.”

  Alice didn’t. The bit she dreaded most was nursing a soldier as he screamed in an agony she could only imagine, unable to lessen his pain. And the fear some of them showed, her heart ached at the thought. It was something she knew she would never get used to, no matter how long this damn war continued.

  The sound of motor ambulances arriving over the hardened summer ground increased as they neared. Horses whinnied as they pulled ambulances to the rear of the convoy.

  “There are so many,” Alice said nervously, as the vehicles drew up in front of the casualty clearing station and parked long enough to unload their damaged passengers. Orderlies ran to take stretchers from the vehicles. “There must have been another big push.”

  Cries and agonised pleading for help rang through the early evening air. Alice braced herself for what was to come.

  “Do we know how many?” One of the sisters asked as the first driver opened the back of his vehicle.

  “At least seven, maybe eight ambulances,” he said. “These are all from the fighting going on near Pozières. I was hoping the worst of it was over, but it just goes on and on.”

  “It does seem to.”

  “All of these are full. We’ll be going back for more later. By the looks of things, you’re going to have around two hundred wounded brought here over the next few hours.”

  Alice wondered how many more patients they could take, or how many soldiers there were still left to injure in the battles being fought in various areas across the Western Front. She waited for stretchers to be lifted from the vehicles. Matron read their tags to check injuries and the severity of damage to the new patients. Some didn’t need checking, even Alice could see from where she waited for Matron’s instructions, that they were horribly injured.

  “Nurse Le Breton, Nurse Jones,” she called waving over Alice and Mary. There’s a pile of bandages at the back of the tent there,” she said pointing. “Take them to be burnt and get back here straight after.”

  Alice was carrying a pile of soiled dressings, trying not to get blood on her clean apron, when a smirking patient stood in front of her on the boardwalk dragging on a cigarette.

  “Excuse me,” she said, trying to side-step the man. When he didn’t move, she stepped to the right to pass him, only for him to block her route once more. Not wishing to get into an unnecessary argument with him, she glared at him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Doctor Sullivan bellowed coming up to them. “Move aside and let the volunteer nurse pass, now.”

  The patient did as he was told. He doesn’t look nearly as full of himself now, she realised, amused.

  “Thank you, Doctor Sullivan,” she said hurrying off, hearing the doctor scolding the patient. Having thrown the revolting mess into the fire, Alice washed her hands in the sluice room and returned to wait near Matron.

  As she walked, she thought of the doctor and his eighteen-hour long shifts ba
ttling to save patients. Alice didn’t know how he and the other surgeons carried on working, day after day. They rarely had a day off, or at least, that was how it seemed to her.

  A loud uproar alerted her to a disturbance outside the ward. Without hesitating, Alice grabbed the string of a large jar containing a lit candle and ran outside to help.

  More ambulances had arrived. The crying and groaning increased. Matron, the front of her beige uniform bloodied, pointed for Alice to go and assist with the ambulance next to where she was standing. Doctor Sullivan and two other surgeons ran from the direction of their huts to the theatre wards.

  Three men were lifted out of the first ambulance, all of whom were conscious. Alice noticed that there was a further patient. This one was still, and she had to take his pulse to be certain he was still alive. He was. Just. “Take these men to Ward Five,” she said. “Please, hurry. There are nurses in there who’ll tell you which bed to put them in,” she said, as the fourth man’s stretcher was slowly pulled back from the vehicle.

  Holding up her lantern, she narrowed her eyes and studied the patient. He was covered in dried earth and lice, but then so many of the men were. She lifted the tag attached to his uniform jacket and saw that he had received a shrapnel wound to his head and a bullet had grazed his hip.

  “Bring him with me,” she said, covering him up to his neck with the brown blanket. “This way.”

  They followed her to Ward Five. Inside, she scanned the tent for a free bed. He would need one as far away from the door as possible, she decided. He needed to be kept warm and Alice was relieved to discover a bed at the other end of the ward. Hurrying over, she carefully passed nurses stripping, cleaning and tending to wounds on the new patients.

  “Here,” she said. They placed him down on the bed and left her to it.

  The poor man was very cold, despite the warm day. Much colder than the other soldiers she had come across that evening. Alice didn’t like to think how low his body temperature must have fallen. He groaned and winced as she undid his uniform jacket.

  “You’re safe now,” she said. “My name is Nurse Le Breton. I’m going to wash and change you. A doctor will be here to check on you as soon as he can.”

  When she moved his head slightly, blood covered her hand. Alice saw Mary finishing with a nearby patient and waved her over.

  “Can you help me, please?” she asked and Mary hurried over. Alice held the patient up by his shoulders while Mary removed the clothes from his torso. Carefully resting him down again, they both removed his trousers and underclothes. Keeping him covered as much as possible, they quickly washed him before cleaning and redressing his hip wound. “Fetch an extra blanket,” she said quietly to a passing probationer. “Be as quick as you can.”

  Alice was aware that she should not move his head any more than was necessary, but his bandage was filthy and soaked with blood. “We need to change this,” she said, waiting for Mary to raise his head slightly, so she would remove the dirty dressing. Cleaning the wound as best she could, Alice pressed two new dressings against it before bandaging it.

  “That’s better,” Mary said, lowering his head gently onto the pillow. “I’ll make up his records, while you let Matron know his situation.”

  “Thank you,” Alice said. “He’s,” she checked his tag again. “Captain Edgar Woodhall.”

  Alice spotted Nurse Haines returning to the ward and took the extra blanket from her. Lying it over the Captain, she took his temperature, once again. “We need to bring his body temperature up, slowly, but surely,” she said to Mary. Alice knew her friend was as aware as she, what needed to be done for the patient, but could not help herself.

  Mary gave her one of her, bugger-off-and-leave-me-to-get-on, looks. Alice took a deep breath. “Sorry, I’ll go to speak to Matron.”

  She went to Matron’s office but couldn’t find her there. Alice assumed she was still frantically working with her nurses on the new patients. They all knew that the sooner the men were cleaned, settled and their records were taken, the sooner they could be given the correct treatment for their injuries and start to recover.

  Alice was diverted from her ministrations by cries of pain emanating from the surgery tent. She shivered, imagining the surgeons battling to save lives. Slipping and almost falling on the wooden pathway, Alice righted herself and spotted Matron coming out of one of the furthest wards.

  “What is it, Nurse Le Breton?” she said in hushed irritation. “Oughtn’t you be busy elsewhere?”

  Indignant at the other woman’s accusatory tone, Alice had to contain herself from answering back. Her mother always criticised her for being too sure of herself.

  “I was looking for you.” Alice explained.

  “I can see that, but why?”

  Alice explained about Captain Woodhall’s low body temperature. “He’s not responding much and seems very cold.”

  Matron’s expression changed from one of annoyance, to concern. “I gather he was stranded overnight in No Man’s Land.” She glanced in the direction of the ward. “I’m surprised he survived,” she added, her voice lower, so as not to be overheard. “What with his injuries and the night being one of the coldest we’ve experienced for weeks.”

  “He’s lucky he’s made it this far,” Alice said almost to herself.

  “What was that, Nurse Le Breton?” Matron asked as they hurried to the ward.

  “Only that he must be strong,” Alice said, without thinking.

  “And lucky,” Matron said. “to be found by a casualty dog. It stayed with him until stretcher-bearers could reach him.”

  Alice had heard about the dogs, who were trained to take medical supplies to injured soldiers. She recalled hearing a patient say how the dogs carried first aid packs to wounded soldiers on the battlefield and that if the soldier was unconscious, the dog would snuggle up keeping him warm.

  The thought of Captain Woodhall being kept alive by a little dog brought a lump to Alice’s throat. There were so many cruel and unnecessary acts being performed every day. At times she wondered if she was ever going to feel real joy again. Discovering that a small dog could make the difference between life and death made her heart swell. It reminded her that every small, seemingly insignificant job she undertook helped one of these men.

  “Now nurse, unless you have anything you wish to ask me, I suggest you return to the ward and keep a closer eye on Captain Woodhall. He must be observed at all times. Or, at least until his body temperature returns to within the normal parameters.”

  “Yes, Matron.” Alice turned and hurried to the ward. It was a relief to find the captain sleeping and Mary checking his temperature.

  “Don’t look so concerned,” Mary said, her voice barely above a whisper in the now relatively quiet tent. “He’s slowly warming up. I’ve put two extra blankets on him and Sister has just checked his vital signs.”

  Alice drew up a stool and sat next to his bed. “Matron wants me to stay with him.”

  “Then you’d better do as she wishes,” Sister Brown snapped.

  Mary opened her mouth to speak, when a cry from another injured patient pierced the air. “I’ll go see to him,” she said and left Alice alone.

  Alice watched the captain sleep. She could see his eyes moving under his closed eyelids. He must be dreaming, she thought. He looked so handsome now that the dust and caked blood had been washed from his face and his head wound freshly bandaged. She couldn’t help wondering if he was going to make it. She hoped so.

  She didn’t think his head wound was too deep. She did, however, know from experience that it was deaths brought about through infection that came as more of a shock, especially when it had stemmed from a minor injury. Alice had been here a year and knew not to assume that those with lesser injuries would definitely survive. She had learned to expect the unexpected. It made sense not to allow herself to get too close to any of the patients, the heartache when they were discharged, or died, would be too hard to stand.

 
; She felt the captain’s forehead with the back of her hand, and he sighed as her skin came in contact with his. Alice thought of the more severely injured patients she had been surprised to see make incredible recoveries, and how floored she had been by two seemingly healthy men dying unexpectedly on her shift. This was a place of miracles and heartache.

  “How is he doing?” Matron asked a couple of hours later.

  “He’s not very responsive. He’s been asleep most of the time.”

  She watched Matron examine him. “We’ll do our best for him,” Matron said, making a note on the captain’s records. “I’m not holding much hope, I’m afraid,” she whispered so quietly that Alice barely heard what she said.

  She studied the captain’s tanned face, his lashes fanned on his scratched cheek. She willed him to survive. Surely, he must have a wife, or sweetheart waiting to hear from him back in England somewhere?

  “I’ll send someone to take over from you,” Matron said, resting a cool hand on Alice’s shoulder.

  “I’m fine, Matron,” she said, not ready to leave him. “I don’t mind staying.”

  “You’ve been here long enough,” the older woman said quietly. Her voice didn’t invite argument. “We must take care not to become attached to any of the patients, Nurse Le Breton. However handsome they might be.”

  Alice went to argue but thought the better of it. “Yes, Matron,” she said, mortified. Had her thoughts about the captain been that obvious, she wondered?

  Chapter 4

  Gemma

  2018

  Gemma finished reading the note about Captain Woodhall on the back of Alice’s letter. Alice seemed to be developing a soft spot for him and Gemma couldn’t help hoping he survived. Knowing what she did about his condition, she couldn’t help fearing the worst for the poor Captain, especially as the nursing staff at the casualty clearing station must have been pushed to their limits. How did they find the time to focus on the more fragile patients?