War Nurse

by Sue Reid

  “Nurse Mason’s nickname’s Titch,” one of them said.

  “Maybe that will bring her down to size,” another voice said, giggling.

  “Oh, don’t be so unkind. She’s not that bad,” I heard someone burst out suddenly. Me! They looked round, surprised.

  “It’s Nurse Mason’s roommate,” I heard one of them whisper as I stalked off.

  It’s true, I don’t dislike Nurse Mason, I just feel I don’t know her any better than when we came. She’s very reserved. Whenever I try to talk to her all I get is “yes” or “no”.

  Later I asked Bunty if she’s got a nickname yet. She went pink, but she won’t say.

  Sunday 1 October

  My first whole day’s leave – I spent it at home! I caught the train and Mother met me at the other end. Fell off the train into her arms. I gave her a huge hug – I was so pleased to see her. She held me away from her for a moment.

  “Darling, you’re so thin!” she said, sounding horrified. I told her I was fine but I ate every morsel at lunch. Seconds too. Roast beef and Yorkshire pud, trifle to follow. Delish! We’re not badly fed at the hospital but the food’s very dull and I’m always hungry.

  The house seemed awfully quiet without Father and Peter. Peter’s still training with his unit. And Father?

  “He couldn’t get any time off,” said Mother sadly. She said he’s not allowed to tell her anything about his work for the government – it’s top secret. Poor Mother. I think she gets pretty lonely, and now Cook’s been talking about joining up. So Mother’s wondering whether she should join up too.

  We listened to Mr Churchill, one of the government ministers, on the wireless. The news is awful. Poland’s finally fallen to the enemy.

  We British just stood by and watched while our ally, Poland, was invaded. Now the country’s being divided up between Germany and Soviet Russia. I think we should be ashamed that we allowed it to happen.

  Afterwards, Mother and I went for a brisk walk. We didn’t talk any more about the War. She asked me about my work but I quickly changed the subject. For those few precious hours I wanted to forget all about the War – and the hospital.

  I felt sad as we drove away from the house. I knew it might be a long time before I could come home again.

  When Mother dropped me off at the station, she handed me a bulky package.

  “It’s a surprise,” she smiled. “Open it when you get back.”

  As soon as I was alone in my room, I opened Mother’s parcel. Cake, biscuits, chocolate, fruit tumbled out on to the bed. I felt a bit tearful as I looked at it lying there. Mother’s so good to me. Then Nurse Mason walked in and just stared at it all. It did look awful – all that food strewn over my bed – and suddenly I felt very embarrassed. Timidly I asked her to help herself, and eventually she took one biscuit, but she did so very reluctantly. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. My roommate is such a puzzle still. But at least she’s told me her first name now. It’s Jean.

  Friday 6 October

  There are two good things about all the cleaning we have to do. Firstly, it helps keep our patients free of infection. That makes us very proud. And it’s when I go round the beds each day, pulling them out, scrubbing and tidying the lockers, polishing the bedsteads, that I can lean over and talk to my patients. For me this is the best thing about being a VAD.

  Underneath all their cheek I’ve come to realize that our patients are just awfully homesick. For most of them it’s their first time ever away from home. I want to help them, and I hope that I do, even if it’s just little things like this and not the proper nursing I long to do. And as soon as they’re well, they’re back to their regiments – and danger. I never let myself forget that.

  Saturday 7 October

  The big day today – and my busiest yet on Ward B. We’re short-staffed, as Molly’s off sick with her bad hand, and now Nurse Winter’s gone down with flu. I don’t know how we got all the work done this morning and, to make matters worse, every time I looked up I saw Sister Rook’s eyes clamped on me. As the afternoon drew on I was feeling more and more excited. I glanced at the ward clock. Quarter to five. In just fifteen minutes I’d go off duty – so long as Sister didn’t want me to do anything else. I tiptoed past her office into the ward kitchen, to make a cup of tea for one of the patients, hoping she wouldn’t notice me. I was just tiptoeing back on to the ward again when she shot out of her room. I was so startled that I nearly dropped the cup.

  “Nurse Langley, I’d like you to do something for me,” she said, as though she was doing me a huge favour.

  “Yes, Sister,” I said, wondering what she wanted me to do. Was she beginning to trust me at last?

  “I need someone to do Private Morris’s pressure points. We don’t want him to get any bedsores, do we?”

  Ugh! Bedsores are one of Sister’s Big Things and now I had to listen to her on the subject again. Out of the corner of one eye I saw the hands of the ward clock reach five. Sister was still talking.

  “None of my patients ever gets a bedsore!” she said, giving me one of her beady looks.

  “Yes, Sister,” I said obediently.

  It’s a horrible job – and it takes ages. When at last I was allowed off duty it was getting on for six and I was dog-tired. I raced off for a bath. I was yearning for a good long soak, but you can’t, not in the shallow bath we’re allowed here – five inches deep at most. Anyway, I didn’t have time now. I leaned back in the tub, watching the steam fill the cubicle, and then I closed my eyes.

  Half an hour later I heard someone bang on the bathroom door. I’d nodded off! Still damp from my bath, I belted back to my room. My clothes were laid out ready on the bed, cap freshly made up, but I was in such a hurry by now that I put my heel through my last good pair of stockings. Proper silk ones too! Bunty came to my aid and we did a hasty repair job – dabbing mascara on the pink bits that showed. We raced up to the bus, greatcoats flapping round our shoulders. The driver tooted his horn. We climbed on board just as the bus was pulling out. I had to do my make-up in the back as the bus lurched off down the drive.

  The dance was jolly good fun. There was a real band: it was thumping away as we entered – a bit shyly. We VADs were awfully popular, we soon discovered, as there were at least twice the number of men to girls, but after only a couple of dances my feet were killing me and I had to turn down several partners.

  Then a Second Lieutenant came up and asked me to dance. I was about to turn him down too, when he blurted out: “We’re going to France.” He looked excited – and so heartbreakingly young. I felt I had to dance with him then.

  “My brother’s unit will be out there soon too,” I told him, trying to stop my voice from wobbling.

  “Jolly good show,” he said approvingly, and he held out his hand to swing me in to the dance.

  As soon as we’d arrived Bunty had vanished into the hot, smoky room, but when my dance was over she suddenly appeared at my shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” I said, annoyed, as she hauled me away from the dance floor.

  “Your heels,” she hissed. I looked down. Great gaping pink bits! In both of them!

  “Oh, Bunty,” I wailed.

  “Never mind. We’ll soon fix it,” she said, fishing mascara out of her handbag.

  She looked over my shoulder. “Wait a jif! That officer’s coming back.” I pulled a face.

  “What’s wrong?” she said. “He looks nice.” Then she smiled. “Of course. Silly me. It’s Giles, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” I said, blushing.

  “You’ve heard from him, haven’t you?” she said, eyes twinkling.

  I nodded, face scarlet now.

  “I’ll get rid of him,” she whispered.

  The officer had reached us now. Bunty turned and smiled at him. “Would you be very kind and fetch me a drink?” she s
aid, batting her eyelashes at him. Bunty’s eyelashes are so long, I sometimes wonder if they’re real. The officer swallowed and I saw a tide of colour flood his face. Bunty winked at me as he disappeared back into the throng crowding the bar. Then she slipped into the crowd behind him.

  I giggled. Bunty’s a real friend.

  At the end of the evening the band played “We’ll Meet Again” and then someone began to sing “Auld Lang Syne” and one by one we all joined in. I had a lump in my throat and some of the girls were a bit tearful as they said goodbye. The regiment leaves in a week.

  I didn’t see Bunty again until we were back on the bus. She fell asleep, head on my shoulder. She had a big smile on her face.

  Sunday 8 October

  Half day this morning. Slept and slept and slept. Jean told me the girls popped by to see me, but she wouldn’t let them wake me. There’s a kind streak in Jean Mason.

  I think one of the patients quite likes me. Anyway, he blushed when I took him his supper this evening. And that made me blush. It’s that young Private – Private Morris. It’s drummed into us that we mustn’t have favourites amongst the patients, and I do try to treat them all the same. So when I went back to take away his dirty plate I was a bit brisker with him. He gave me such a sad look and I just felt mean. So I gave him a big smile when I said goodnight and he smiled back, all pink again. Oh dear, I just don’t know how to treat him.

  As I walked past the dorm this evening, Molly saw me. She pounced. “I want to hear all about the dance – Bunty won’t tell me anything!” she cried.

  Spent the rest of the evening in the dorm, gossiping. Molly told me she thinks Bunty’s got a new flame – I think I know who it is!

  Tuesday 10 October

  Went on the ward today to find that screens have been placed round Private Morris’s bed. Private Morris has been here the longest of all our patients now.

  Our MO was an awfully long time in there with him this morning and his face looked very grave when he came out again. Matron was with him. He had a long murmured conversation with her as they stood outside the screens.

  I took Private Morris his lunch. It’s not hard to see why the doctors are so worried about him. He’s awfully thin and frail.

  I sat down next to his bed. I’d cut up his food into little pieces and now I tried to persuade him to eat it. It was awful – after only one mouthful he was sick. He looked up at me shamefacedly.

  “I’m sorry, miss, really sorry,” he said.

  He was sorry! I was almost in tears as I mopped up. I wish there was something more I could do for him. I wish he’d get better.

  Wednesday 11 October

  I had a bit of a shock when I reported for duty this morning. Private Morris’s bed was empty. He’s been transferred to another hospital.

  I know it’s the right decision. I know that there he’ll get the specialist care he needs, but I did feel upset. I’d not even been able to say goodbye.

  Molly’s hand is better now, and after work I cycled into town with her and Bunty. I cheered up a bit then. We stopped at a hotel for drinks because Bunty said she was hot and needed a long drink before cycling back.

  She went very red as she said it, and she blushed each time the hotel doors swung open. I felt sure that she was expecting someone, even though she pretended she wasn’t. Anyway, whoever it was, they didn’t show, and she was quite grumpy on the way back. I asked her what was wrong. She said it was nothing. Nothing! I cycled on ahead. I felt very put out. Why wouldn’t she tell me what was going on? I thought she was my friend! And on top of everything else now we were going to be late for Roll Call. Afterwards, I stomped up to my room on my own and spent the next hour writing letters. I tore up my letter to Giles. I can’t write to him again. I’ve got to wait to hear from him first. Anyway, I don’t know what to say to him. I got into bed to write my diary, still feeling all cross and bothered.

  Sunday 15 October

  Yesterday I got a scribbled note from Peter. I turned over the envelope and looked at the date. It was two weeks old.

  “This is it, Sis,” he’d written hastily in pencil. “The lads are off – by the time you get this I’ll be in France. Tell Mater not to worry, won’t you? Better still, be a love and pop over to see her if you can.” That was the gist of it – Peter’s not one for letter-writing.

  I felt sure that Mother was worried. I was worried – terribly worried – and it was that which drove me to go to church. It was a long time since I’d been, but today I felt I simply had to go.

  As I walked up to the church something felt wrong. Slowly it dawned on me what it was. The church bells weren’t ringing. And they won’t ring again until the War’s over, unless it’s to warn us that the country’s been invaded. All the church bells will ring then. Just thinking about that made me feel a whole lot worse.

  I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard before. I prayed for Peter – and then I prayed for that regiment. They’ll be in France too by now. And then I prayed for Giles. I don’t know what to think about Giles. I’ve still not heard from him. Has something awful happened to him? Or is it simply that he doesn’t care any more? I know I shouldn’t feel cross – especially not in church – but I did. I just don’t know whether I should be worrying about him or not.

  Jean was in church too. I saw her, two rows in front of me, when I sat down in my pew again. After the sermon, when we stood for the hymn, she stayed in her seat, head bowed, as though she’d forgotten where she was. And as soon as the service was over she rushed straight out. She looked as if she wanted to be on her own, so I didn’t try to catch up with her. I found myself wondering if she has someone close – a brother maybe – out in France too.

  Spent the evening writing to Anne and Peter and then I went to the VADs’ mess to listen to the news on the wireless. Bunty was there. She flushed, and I saw her tuck something hastily away in a pad of paper. She looked up at me and smiled, but it wasn’t much of a smile.

  I sat down next to her.

  “What’s wrong, Bunty?” I asked straightaway.

  She flushed a deeper shade of pink.

  “Come on, Bunty, ’fess,” I wheedled.

  She looked down at her lap. “Sorry, Kitten, I just – I. . .”

  “It’s that Lieutenant, isn’t it?” I said abruptly. “The Lieutenant we met at the dance. You like him, don’t you?”

  She nodded. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap. “Kitten, I meant to tell you, really I did. But . . . oh, Kitten, I do like him, but I don’t know what he thinks. . . I’d hoped to see him before he left. I did see him once, and he said he’d try and see me again, but he didn’t, and now I don’t know what he feels. . . If he feels. . .” her voice trailed away again.

  “Oh Bunty, I’m sure he wanted to see you!” I burst out. “He’d have had a lot to do before going out to France.” I sort of mumbled the last words, for Bunty’s face was crumpling again. She blinked her eyes very fast and I felt my eyes prick too. I can’t bear thinking about them all out in France.

  “How’s Giles?” Bunty asked suddenly.

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “He hasn’t answered my last letter. Oh Bunty, I don’t know what to think any more.”

  “Maybe he’s just very busy too,” said Bunty. “Or maybe he never even got your letter.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “Maybe,” I said.

  I got up and turned up the wireless and we pulled our chairs up close to the set. Jean came in then. I saw her hesitate when she saw us sitting there so cosily together, so I told her to pull up a chair.

  That gloomy newsreader was on again. The news is bad. One of our battleships, The Royal Oak, was torpedoed and sunk by a German U-boat in Scapa Flow early yesterday morning. About 700 men drowned – the ship’s commander amongst them. I hadn’t a clue where Scapa Flow was – neither did Bunty – until Jean told us that it’s betwe
en the Orkney Islands and the north coast of Scotland. Jean really does know the most extraordinary things.

  I think we all felt very down after that, so Jean went down to the kitchen and returned with mugs of steaming cocoa. That cheered us all wonderfully – even Bunty perked up a bit.

  Monday 23 October

  Today Sister ordered me to help Nurse Winter with a dressing – a kaolin poultice for one of our patients who’s got a bad chest.

  I was thrilled. After nearly two months here, they’d learn that I did know something.

  “We’re a bit short of kaolin,” Nurse Winter told me, scrubbing her hands thoroughly as she talked, “so we’ll have to heat up the old poultice again.”

  I watched as she inserted the poultice – a piece of lint wrapped round kaolin clay – between two pan lids over boiling water. She talked me through everything she was doing – step by step. I listened obediently, but I was longing to tell her that I’d done this myself before, during my Red Cross training.

  I stood by the gleaming dressing tray and watched as Nurse Winter placed the warm poultice in position. She’d asked me to test it first on the back of my hand to make sure it wasn’t too hot for our patient’s skin. Then she looked up at me. I smiled – I knew what she was going to ask. I moved eagerly round to the far side of the bed.

  “Nurse Langley, I need your help again.”

  “Yes,” I said happily.

  “We’re going to wrap this bandage back around the Corporal to hold the poultice in place. It’s called a many-tail bandage.”

  I know that! I nearly burst out then.

  “You did that very nicely, Nurse Langley,” Nurse Winter said when we’d finished. She sounded very pleased. I told myself to try and be content with that.