Song of Songs

by Song of Songs (retail) (epub)

  When I got back to the hospital that evening Juno told me she was not signing on for another three months. ‘I can’t stand being perpetually harried by these viragos, Hellie – and Mother’s got a scheme for taking a canteen over to France to feed the soldiers – it sounds a lot more fun. Besides, I’ll go mad if I don’t get the stink of this place out of my nostrils.’

  I knew Matron would be calling me in next and I did not know what to do. I was getting through the days somehow and I was no longer permanently sick with tiredness, but the thought of another three months filled me with revulsion. I was still undecided when I received Matron’s summons. ‘Now, Nurse Girvan, I’ve no doubt you’re longing to get out to France to nurse our brave boys, but remember you’re still far too young to go – so wouldn’t it be better to stay here and gain more experience?’ I hesitated. Her heavy body creaked forward a fraction. ‘Suppose I send you to Foldus Ward for the next three months? It’s a men’s surgical – and it has taken in some wounded soldiers so you will gain the best experience there.’ She bared her strong teeth and held out the pen; weakly, I took it. As I signed I wondered how on earth I would manage without Juno to commiserate with.

  But on Foldus Ward I was kept so busy there was scarcely time to notice her absence. Yet, busy though we were, the harassed frenzy of the first months was not repeated here. Sister Foldus was an organizer. Every minute of every probationer’s day was allocated, so we knew precisely what we had to do and when, and we were never called away from one incomplete task to start another. Sister sat in the centre of her ward like a great squat spider spinning the web of her daily routine, a web which was perfectly formed and strong.

  The wounded soldiers were Belgians and one of them had lost a leg. I felt sick the first time I had to hold the stump for Staff to dress – he was a young, good-looking chap and it seemed such a terrible mutilation, the slim hips and strong muscular thigh ending abruptly – in nothing. But Staff Nurse’s fingers moved as skilfully as ever. She spoke sweetly to the man, whilst I translated in my halting, schoolroom French, and when we had finished we all exchanged comradely smiles of relief.

  I learnt to trust Sister Foldus – she was kind to the men and patient with us probationers. At last I began to gain a little confidence, and to feel that I was really nursing. Sister Foldus was a good teacher. Her heavy body would waddle to the side of a bed, her pudgy hands would move swiftly and surely and her gravelly voice explain. ‘Now you do it, Nurse.’ She would watch patiently, tireless in her corrections or praises. She had a collection of dog-eared nursing textbooks in her sitting room and she sent each pro off with a chapter to read every day, and next morning we probationers were examined in turn. At last the twice-weekly lectures which I had been nodding through in a haze of exhaustion began to make sense.

  Four of the Belgian soldiers lay paralysed in one corner of the ward. To Sister Foldus they were not young men to be pitied – they had fought for their country, they had been unlucky, she wasted no time on emotion – now the care of these men was a challenge to her nurses. We must learn to tend them: to feed them, to cleanse them, to shave them and, when necessary, to wash out their bladders and empty their bowels for them.

  One of them had had an operation on his throat and he could not swallow so Sister Foldus showed me how to oil india rubber tubing and ease it up through his nostril and down into his stomach. Then I carefully poured the beaten eggs and milk and brandy into the glass funnel until he was fed. One day the man next to him closed his mouth against the feeding cup and turned his face away. Sister pursed her lips and sent me for the rubber tube again, but this man resisted and she had to hold him firmly still with her fat capable hands as I fed the life-sustaining liquid down the funnel into the broken body. He looked up at me, and his eyes were resentful and despairing, and for a moment I questioned the morality of what we were doing – but only for a moment; Sister Foldus’ square face brooked no doubts – her patients must live, whether they wished to or not.

  Now Juno had left, I often found it difficult to obtain a daily paper so most of my war news came from the patients. The French were making gains and the Russians were fighting around Warsaw – though news from the Eastern Front filtered through very slowly. In the third week in December we heard that the Germans had attacked at Ypres again, and there had been fierce fighting to hold them off. I waited in fear for my next letter from Gerald, but it came – he was still safe. Then we heard the shocking, unbelievable news that five enemy battle cruisers had bombarded the coast of England itself – Hartlepool, Scarborough and Whitby had all been attacked in turn; hundreds of civilians had been killed and many more injured. We talked in whispers that day, and looked at each other apprehensively – how could the enemy ships have so easily given ours the slip? Was our navy no longer invincible? Our men were fighting in France and Flanders to keep us safe on our island – but now it seemed our island was safe no longer. That evening I took out all Gerald’s letters and read them yet again – and took comfort from his cheerful confidence.

  The twins wrote regularly: they told me that Letty had given her governess the slip at Hatton, caught the train to London on her own and persuaded Papa to agree to her going away to boarding school. Mother was furious with her, but my sister had apparently insisted that she wanted to go up to Cambridge, and so needed better teaching. I remembered myself at fourteen and was awed by her daring.

  Miss Ling wrote to tell me that her invalid mother had died – and her small annuity with her – so my old governess had had to find a new position. We drank tea together in the Nurses’ Home before she left London, and reminisced about the old days at Hatton. Back on duty I collected a Higginson’s syringe and a bowl of soapy water and went to give an enema to one of the paralysed Belgians. ‘Soon have you comfortable, old man.’ I began to oil the rubber catheter. I was grateful to Sister Foldus – it was she who had tipped me off about filling my fingernails with soap before passing the tube into a patient’s backside, and it really was much pleasanter like that.

  By the beginning of January I had read all Sister Foldus’ textbooks, so in my off-duty time I ventured along the Strand to Southampton Row to buy one of my own from the Scientific Press there. I moved along the shelf in the nursing section, taking down each book in turn and flicking through the pages, until the next book fell open at a drawing of a baby – a beautiful, perfect baby. It was curled up with its arms and legs neatly crossed and its round head pointing downward. I stared at the picture in fascination and then I suddenly realized that this was a baby waiting to be born, still cosily nestling in its mother’s body. I slid my hand down over my flat stomach and pressed it against my belly, and thought of a baby growing there. An assistant moved towards me and I shut the book hastily and seized two others off the shelf, put them on top of it and began to search for my purse with shaking hands.

  Nobody was in at Cadogan Place. I ran upstairs to my bedroom, threw myself down on the bed and began frantically to rip open the brown paper parcel to release my midwifery textbook. As I turned over the pages of small round bodies curled up in their mothers’ wombs I felt an aching longing grow in the pit of my belly. I looked up at my photo of Gerald, so tall and stern and strong in his breastplate and tunic – and knew that I wanted him. I wanted him to take hold of me and thrust himself forcefully into the softness deep inside me, and plant his seed there, so that my womb could slowly swell and grow and become heavy with child.

  As I sat trembling before his picture I heard quick strong footsteps running up the stairs and banging the book shut I looked round desperately for a hiding place, but Guy had already tapped on the door and burst in. ‘Cooper said you were at home, Hellie – I’ve just heard – I’ve been gazetted, I’ve got my company.’

  ‘Oh Guy – congratulations, I’m so pleased!’ But then I realized what this meant.

  ‘I’m going out again next Friday.’ He dropped suddenly down on to the bed beside me, his face taut. ‘I’ve just seen Eileen, but she won�
��t budge – still on about her blasted figure.’

  ‘But, Guy, she can’t…’ Then I remembered my book and with a telltale exclamation of guilt I tried to push it underneath my skirt.

  ‘What’s that you’re trying to hide, Hellie?’ He reached across and caught at my hand. I tried to wriggle away from him but he clamped me firmly to his chest with one arm and began to tug the book from my grasp with the other hand. After a short tussle the prize was his, and I pulled away from him, my cheeks flooding crimson as he flipped over the spine and began to laugh. ‘Well, well, little Helena – and I thought you were supposed to be nursing wounded soldiers!’ He opened the book and began to turn over the pages; I stood up and walked over to the dressing table and fiddled with my hair brushes. There was silence behind me.

  At last I heard the book slam shut. ‘Damn and blast Eileen – damn her.’ I turned round; my brother’s face was brick-red. We looked at each other until at last he burst out, ‘But that’s what a woman’s figure’s for! Hellie – if – when Gerald comes home on leave…’ He stopped and watched my face, then he said, ‘But I don’t need to tell you, do I, little sister?’

  I said, ‘No, Guy, you don’t.’ He stood up and pulled me tightly against him for a moment, then he quickly kissed my cheek and we went downstairs together.

  The next morning Sister kept me back after prayers and told me that the junior night probationer on Foldus Ward had reported sick with a septic throat. ‘I have spoken to Matron, Nurse Girvan, and she has agreed to let you take her place. You may go off duty at midday and report to the night nurses’ corridor after lunch.’

  I was apprehensive, but I also felt a stirring of pride. Sister had asked for me – she trusted me on her precious ward at night – I must not let her down. Besides, on night duty I would be sure of free time every morning so I would be able to spend it with Guy at Cadogan Place until he left for the Front again.

  I scarcely slept that afternoon, so the first night passed in a fog of exhaustion; but Bowers, the night senior, was steady and efficient – somehow she prodded me through the routine tasks until at last it was nine the next morning and Sister Foldus’ hoarse voice was dismissing us.

  I chewed my way mechanically through the meal then tied on my bonnet and cloak and headed for the main gate. The porter whistled me a cab and I sat slumped into the corner, my eyes aching. Guy had only just finished his breakfast when I arrived at Cadogan Place. He poured me a cup of coffee and I sat hunched over it while he read me the latest war news from the paper. There were dark circles under his eyes and he kept yawning. ‘Lord, I’m tired, Hellie.’

  I muttered resentfully, ‘Anyone would think you were the one who’d been up all night.’

  ‘I was – I didn’t get home till after five.’

  I exclaimed, ‘Surely Eileen’s mother…’

  He grimaced. ‘I escorted Eileen home before midnight, like a good little boy – you’d best not ask me how I spent the rest of the night, Hellie. Still, she was the one who wouldn’t get married.’ He shrugged, his face bitter. ‘So what’s a man supposed to do when he’s about to go back to the front line? Eat, drink and be merry – there may not be a tomorrow.’

  I was so weak with tiredness I could not hold back the tears. Guy looked up from his paper. ‘Poor old Hellie – I’m not being very tactful this morning, am I? Come on, tie the ribbons of that awful bonnet and I’ll take you back to your front line. You’ll feel better when you’ve had a sleep.’

  I wept on his shoulder all the way to Aldgate, then he handed me his own handkerchief. ‘Mop up, Hellie, and let’s have “a nice big blow”, as Nanny would say.’ He half-lifted me out of the cab at the hospital entrance. ‘I’ll be better company tomorrow, Hellie, I promise.’ He patted me on the shoulder and I staggered across the courtyard to the Nurses’ Home.

  Yet after a few days I got used to my topsy-turvy life: breakfast at night and dinner in the morning seemed normal now, and on the day I said goodbye again to Guy I was grateful for the crushing tiredness which closed my eyes and transported me instantly into the oblivion of exhaustion.

  Some nights were very busy, but I found Bowers easy to work with; she never lost her temper however rushed we were – and when I heard the irregular breathing of the most badly wounded Belgian slow and stop, and the uncanny silence which followed, I was thankful she was there beside me, calm and capable. As soon as the houseman had been she took me behind the screens and began to instruct me on the performance of the last offices. Together we removed the pillows and laid the wasted body flat. Together we undressed him and straightened the thin limbs and closed the staring eyes. Low voiced, she told me how to tie up the dropped jaw with a slit for the chin so that in death his mouth would look almost life-like - though no relatives would see poor Leopold to be comforted by our carefulness. Then we plugged the openings of his body with cotton wool, covered him with a sheet and left him for an hour. As I packed dressings for the sterilizer my eyes veered again and again to the screened bed, but Bowers’ round face was composed and steady.

  At last she lifted her watch and nodded, and we filled bowls of warm water and for the last time washed the emaciated body and packed and rebandaged the familiar wounds. His jaw was fixed now, and as Bowers bared his face it looked for a frightening moment as if he were about to open his mouth and address us in his halting, guttural French – but of course he was quite dead. We walked either side of the bier to the ward door as the porter wheeled him away, but as I heard the rattle of the lift gates outside I turned on my heels and ran straight to the sink room and vomited into the bed-pan sink. When I had finished I flushed it all away and cleaned the white surface with disinfectant and walked on trembling legs back to the ward. Bowers glanced up and said, ‘You can start cutting the bread now, Girvan.’ I dipped my head in acknowledgement, made my way silently to the kitchen and began to saw at the loaf. I had found cutting bread very difficult when I had first come to the East London – now I did it easily, automatically. I wondered if the day would come when I would lay out dead bodies automatically, too. I supposed it would, if we did not win the war soon.

  After a month the regular junior had recovered, and I was allowed a day off before going back on days, so I travelled down to spend it at The Pines – Pansy had written and begged me to come. I shrank from going because I knew she would weep for Lance and I did not know how to comfort her. But as we sat together before lunch and Pansy cried softly, talking of her brother, my embarrassment eased and I searched my memory and told her of everything Lance had ever said to me, and found myself crying too and sharing her grief.

  Later she took me to visit the soldiers in their hospital. She looked very pretty in her VAD uniform, but she told me her mother would not allow her into the wards to nurse – ‘But I help with the washing up, Helena, every day. Do you help to wash up at the East London?’

  ‘Yes, yes I do.’ She seemed satisfied with my answer, so I did not tell her any more. She asked me to sing to the patients, so I sang ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ and ‘Home, Sweet Home’, and they all clapped vigorously before a corporal with a strong Scots accent thanked me on their behalf. The men were mostly convalescent and the double row of beds neatly laid out in Mrs Benson’s gilded ballroom seemed a far cry from Foldus Ward.

  I caught the underground from Victoria, came up into the street at Aldgate and made my way to the bus stop. Snow had begun to fall and a thin layer of dirty slush was already coating the pavements, so that I was glad to be wearing my stout nurses’ shoes. Once upon a time I had never stepped outside our house in London without my maid to escort me; now I was alone at night in the slums with the snow falling silently around me. My life had changed so much over these last few months.

  On my next day off, a month later, I went up to Cadogan Place. Juno’s sister, Julia, dined with us; her body was already swollen with child. Up in my bedroom I could not look at the drawer where I had hidden my book of babies. I made myself think instead of Juno and Lady M
aud – ‘somewhere in France’ – serving endless cups of tea to tired soldiers. When I was calmer I knelt and prayed for Gerald’s safety, as I always did.

  Hugh and Conan were posted a fortnight later. I had a half-day off due, so I managed to dine up at Cadogan Place during their embarkation leave. Alice was unusually subdued, and Hugh kept looking at her with the face of a child who finds himself unexpectedly on the wrong side of the pastry-cook’s window. But Conan came in like a whirlwind: he rushed up to Mother, caught her round the waist, and danced her round the drawing room, humming a waltz. She was flushed and smiling when he deposited her back on the sofa. ‘Now it’s your turn, Hellie.’ I protested, but he pulled me up and twirled me round like a dervish until I was panting and begging for mercy.

  I had to leave before the dessert to get back to the Nurses’ Home on time. Conan jumped up with me and said he would take me in a cab. He seized my cloak from Cooper and wound it round and round until I was cocooned and helpless, then ran laughing out to the taxi as I struggled free.

  He stopped the cab before the hospital and walked with me down the darkened street. Before we reached the gates he pulled me to him. ‘I’m off to the wars, Hellie, so you must kiss me goodbye.’

  I protested, ‘But I’m engaged to Gerald.’

  ‘Oh, Gerald won’t mind – I am your cousin after all.’ His voice became coaxing. ‘Come on Hellie, be a sport.’ I exclaimed, ‘Oh, Conan – I can’t!’ But I saw his shoulders slump a little in the gloom, and suddenly the endless black printed lists swam before my eyes and I reached out to him and we clung together – and it was I who found his lips and opened mine beneath them. I was panting a little when at last we drew apart.