He looked up to see tears in Dotty’s eyes as she reached across to take his hand, hardly able to believe her luck. This dear man was asking her to be his wife.
‘You, Robert Brabinger, are the most wonderful, kindest man I have ever met and I would be honoured to be your wife.’
‘What? Do you really mean it?’ he asked incredulously, and when she nodded, he slipped the ring onto her finger and kissed it tenderly, heedless of the glances they were attracting.
‘Perhaps sir would like me to pour some more champagne,’ the waiter who was standing at the side of the table with a tray of coffee asked with a broad smile. ‘It appears that a celebration is in order. May I be the first to offer my congratulations?’
‘You certainly may,’ Robert answered as he leaned across the table to give Dotty a smacking kiss on the lips, and when a cheer went up from the other diners he beamed like a Cheshire cat while Dotty blushed to the roots of her hair.
Everyone raised a toast to them as Dotty stared at the magnificent ring on her finger and wondered if she was dreaming. Finally she would have someone to call her own. Sadly, she had thought the same when she discovered her mother – but that had not been meant to be. Surely with Robert it would be different?
In the cab back to Laura’s, Robert spoke excitedly about their wedding.
‘Of course you’ll want a church wedding, won’t you?’ he assumed. ‘I believe every girl dreams of that, and you can have whatever you want just as soon as you want.’
She tapped her plaster. ‘Actually, I’d quite like to have this off first.’ And then she shocked him when she went on, ‘And to be honest I’d much prefer a very quiet affair. It is wartime, after all and . . . Well, I suppose finding my mother and losing her all in one night made me realise just how fragile life is for everyone at the moment. And as neither of us have any close family there wouldn’t be much point in a big do. Why don’t we just go to the Register Office and have Laura and Paul as witnesses?’
‘But what about Annabelle and Lucy?’ he asked. ‘I know how much you think of them. Surely you’d want them to be there?’
‘I’d love them to be there,’ she said. ‘But with Annabelle so busy at Haslar and Lucy working in the munitions factory, it wouldn’t be easy for them to get time off and I wouldn’t want them to feel pressured.’
He nodded understandingly. ‘Then if that’s how you want it, that’s how it shall be,’ he promised. ‘Although I think you may have a bit of a battle on your hands when we tell Laura. She’s a sucker for a white wedding and she won’t approve of a Register Office do at all, if I know her.’
‘You just leave Laura to me,’ Dotty said as she snuggled into his side feeling like the happiest girl in the world.
Robert’s remark proved to be correct when they marched into Laura’s front parlour a short time later and broke the happy news to her.
‘Oh, this is wonderful,’ she declared, clapping her hands with delight, then: ‘Paul, let’s open that bottle of champagne we’ve been saving for a special occasion, shall we, darling? They don’t get more special than this.’ She picked up Dotty’s hand then to admire her ring.
‘It was Robert’s mother’s,’ Dotty told her and Laura nodded.
‘Yes – I never saw her without it on her finger whilst she was alive, God rest her soul. But I know she would have fully approved of Robert’s choice of a wife and would have been thrilled to know that you will be wearing it from now on. We must all go out tomorrow evening to celebrate your engagement properly, or better still we could go on New Year’s Eve and make it a double celebration. I have a wonderful dress that you could borrow, Dotty – it would look just lovely on you. And of course, we must start to make some plans. When were you thinking of? June is always a lovely time for a wedding and that would give us time to book the church and a venue for the reception. Oh, and of course we shall have to start to look around for your wedding dress straight away. And there are the flowers and the photographer to organise, and—’
‘Whoa!’ Dotty held up her hand to stop her flow. ‘To be honest, Laura, Robert and I were thinking of getting married within the next few weeks – just as soon as I can get this plaster off, in fact. And then we’re going to have a very quiet affair. I’ve never been one for a lot of fuss and palaver, and what with the war and everything . . . it just doesn’t seem right to go overboard when people are having it so hard.’
‘Oh!’ Laura seemed to deflate like a balloon, but then as Paul came back into the room on his crutches, the champagne tucked under one arm, she brightened again. She hadn’t entirely given up on getting her own way – not yet.
‘Well, we have plenty of time to talk about the arrangements,’ she declared warmly as she fetched some glasses from the cocktail cabinet and Paul popped the cork noisily. ‘For now let’s just celebrate your engagement. I really couldn’t be happier. I’m sure you two were made for each other, although over the last months I did sometimes wonder if either of you would ever acknowledge it.’ She gave them a mock-stern glance. ‘I don’t mind admitting there were times when I felt like banging your heads together. You couldn’t seem to see what was staring you straight in the eye. Still, all’s well that ends well. Here’s to you both, wishing you a long and happy future together with lots of squalling babies and lots of love.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Robert answered as he raised his glass and pulled Dotty into his side. Surely things couldn’t get much better than this?
They never did get to go out and celebrate New Year’s Eve because the city was targeted yet again, and they all had to hasten down into Laura’s cellar to take shelter in their finery as the sirens wailed.
‘That’s it!’ Laura said crossly as she ushered them all ahead of her, Mrs Wiggins included. The woman had come to babysit and there was no way Laura was going to allow her to walk home until the raid was over. ‘I am going to get one of those Morrison shelters and put it in the drawing room. We could use it as a table for the children to play on during the day, and at least then when the sirens go we can stay upstairs in the warm. It’s so damp and dismal down here. And it would be much easier for Paul than struggling down these stairs.’
‘Whatever you think best, darling,’ Paul answered indulgently as Lizzie and Simon clambered onto his lap. The children had been down to the cellar so many times during the air raids that they didn’t even cry about it any more and took it all in their stride.
During the long night that followed, over ten thousand incendiary bombs were dropped and one historic building after another was razed to the ground.
As the New Year dawned, people finally crept from their shelters to scenes of hell on earth. Buildings that only the day before had formed landmarks were now no more than smouldering piles of rubbish, and all across the city fires raged out of control as a pall of smoke blocked out the sky. What a horrendous beginning to the new year. Would life as they had known it ever be the same again?
For the people of Coventry, the Christmas holidays had passed blissfully peacefully, with no air raids and nothing to spoil the religious festivities. People wondered if they had been spared because of the atrocious weather conditions, or if it was because Hitler had renewed his attacks on London. They certainly didn’t believe that the Führer would respect the religious holiday. But whatever the reasons, they were grateful for the respite.
Dotty had rung Miranda late on Christmas Day, to pass on the happy news of her engagement and as Annabelle and Lucy were there, she had been able to talk to them too. Of course, they were both thrilled for her, although disappointed that they wouldn’t be able to attend her wedding. However, they assured her that they would be there in spirit and looked forward to seeing her as soon as possible.
Dotty and Robert had decided that they wanted to get married in February. Dotty’s plaster would be off her arm by then and the couple saw no point in waiting. After all, who knew how long any of them might have? It was whispered that Hitler was going to intensify his attac
ks, and they wanted to spend every second they could together as husband and wife, just in case. No one was safe in these dangerous times, as Dotty had discovered to her cost. She was still suffering from terrible nightmares about the time she had spent trapped in the cellar with her mother, and would wake up at night in a cold sweat as she relived those long, terrifying hours.
Laura wasn’t too thrilled with the speed of the plans but already she had found that Dotty could be very stubborn when she wanted to be, so she had resigned herself to seeing the pair married in a Register Office, although she was still trying to talk Dotty into having a conventional white wedding gown.
‘You’ll regret it in years to come when you look back on your wedding photographs,’ she had warned, but Dotty had just grinned and told her that she would be happy to marry Robert dressed in a brown paper bag. As far as she was concerned, being with the man she loved was more important than pomp and ceremony – and put like that, Laura didn’t have much of an argument; deep down, she knew that this was just as it should be.
Chapter Thirty-Four
After Christmas the people began to view their brief respite as the calm before the storm as Hitler’s Luftwaffe renewed their attacks on all the major cities. London, Coventry, Plymouth, Birmingham, Gosport all came under fire. The sea battles also increased, which meant Annabelle and the staff at Haslar were working round the clock. Even the hospitals were being targeted now, which meant that the underground theatres were in continual use with each influx of injured men.
Every time the air-raid siren sounded, it was part of the VADs’ job to get the patients that could be moved down to the safety of the cellars until the all-clear sounded. Those who were too sick to be moved had to remain on the wards. Annabelle hated leaving them there so vulnerable, but the majority of the men were extremely brave and would tell her and the other nurses, ‘We’re all right, loves. You just do what you have to do.’ And so the young women did, because they really didn’t have any other choice.
Within a week of being back at work after Christmas the staff at Haslar were exhausted, but as Madam continually pointed out to them, ‘These are brave men who have landed here: they have sustained their injuries fighting for our king and country, so it is our duty to do our best for them at all times – whether we are tired or not. Do I make myself clear? Second-best just will not do.’
And so the weary staff carried on doing the best they could, although often by the time the patients were delivered to them it was too late to do anything other than draw a white sheet across their pale faces and wheel them down to the morgue or hold their hands and offer what comfort they could until the men drew their last breath. At first, Annabelle found it soul-destroying to see young men killed in their prime, but eventually she began to accept it. What other option did she have?
The rest of the VADs and also some of the QUARNNs now regularly took the ‘floating bridge’ across the harbour from Gosport into old Portsmouth in the spare time they did have. From there it was only a mile into Southsea and they would go to dances at the Savoy, which was close to the South Parade Pier. It was popular with sailors and soldiers alike as it had many top acts playing there, including Vera Lynn, Tommy Trinder, Gracie Fields and Joe Loss. But up to now Annabelle had preferred to stay in the dormitory and read, and eventually the other girls, some of whom had formed close friendships, stopped inviting her along and she gained the reputation of being ‘a bit of a loner’.
It was during such a night, when she was looking forward to going to bed early, that a senior QUARNN suddenly stuck her head round the door and asked, ‘I know it’s your night off, Smythe, but we’ve just been put on standby for another influx of patients. You couldn’t come and help us out, could you?’
Annabelle’s hopes of a cosy night tucked up in bed flew out of the window. ‘I suppose so,’ she said wearily. ‘I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve got back into my uniform.’ She cursed as she quickly got dressed again. Perhaps she should have gone with the other girls, after all. But it was no use mithering about it now, so she set off for the front door where she knew the new intake would be brought. They began to arrive almost instantly, some of them supported by nurses, others on stretchers and trolleys, and she began to list their names, checking the dog tags of the men who were unconscious or unable to tell her their name.
Looks like it’s going to be a very long night, she thought to herself as the next injured soldier was wheeled towards her – and then her heart missed a beat as she stared down into a face that she had often seen in her dreams. The young soldier was unconscious and covered in blood from his wounds but she would have known him anywhere, even after all this time.
‘Is there a problem, Smythe?’
Madam’s sharp voice sliced into her shock, and flustered she answered, ‘N-no, Madam.’
The woman swept across to her. ‘Ah, I see he isn’t wearing his dog tag.’
‘His name is Joel. Joel Ford,’ Annabelle answered before she could stop herself.
Madam raised an eyebrow as she looked at the sheet attached to the end of his trolley listing his injuries. ‘And do you know this young man?’
‘Slightly. He is my friend’s brother,’ Annabelle answered, keeping her eyes downcast to hide her reddened cheeks.
‘Well, whoever he is, he needs to go to surgery immediately,’ Madam told her efficiently. ‘Take him straight down to theatre, Smythe, and inform the surgeons that he is an emergency case, then report back here. By the look of this lot we may be here all night.’
‘Yes, Madam.’ Annabelle quickly grasped the trolley and headed for the cellars, and all the way she was silently praying, ‘Please don’t die, Joel.’ It would be just too cruel if Lucy were to lose her brother so soon after losing her little sister and her mother.
Once she had entrusted Joel to the theatre nurses who would prepare him for surgery, she hurried back upstairs to muck in, and the rest of the night passed in a blur as she and the other VADs registered the new intake of casualties. There was little time to wonder if Joel had survived until at last, early the next morning, Madam told the exhausted girls, ‘Go to your rooms now and rest for a while. None of you are any good to me if you are too tired to work. But be back down here for lunchtime. I fear we have a very busy few days ahead of us.’
The girls trudged away, stifling their yawns, and then Annabelle finally had time to think of Joel again. She had glanced at his notes on the way down to theatre and three words had jumped out at her. Possible leg amputation? She hoped with all her heart that the surgeons had managed to save his leg. She had seen hundreds of amputations during her time at Haslar. Indeed, sometimes the theatres had been so busy that the amputated limbs had had to be piled outside the theatre doors until the porters had time to wheel them away to be incinerated. It was a terrible sight, and the first time she had witnessed it, Annabelle was ashamed to admit that she had vomited. The stench of rotting flesh and blood had been too much for her, but it was yet another sight that she had been forced to get used to. But somehow, knowing that one of those limbs had belonged to someone you knew personally, made it a thousand times worse.
She wondered if she should try and find out which ward Joel had been transferred to, but then decided against it for now. Madam and the Ward Sisters were very strict about there being no fraternising between the staff and the patients, and she was sensible enough to realise that she stood more chance of seeing Joel if she played their friendship down. And so she returned to her dormitory along with the other girls who had also pitched in to help when they got back from their night out. She was ready to drop, and yet even when she was tucked in bed, sleep refused to come as pictures of Joel’s pale face kept flashing before her eyes.
Later that day, after making discreet enquiries of the other girls, she discovered which ward Joel was on and also that the surgeons had managed to save his leg, although it would never be the same again.
‘That poor bugger won’t be seein’ service again,’ Sandra Pri
tchard, one of her roommates, told her in a matter-of-fact voice. Annabelle felt torn between sympathy for Joel and relief. He might be maimed but at least he was still alive, which was a lot more than could be said for many of the men who had arrived the night before and who were now lying in the hospital morgue. During the next couple of days, telegrams would be going to their nearest and dearest informing them of their deaths, and yet more families would be devastated. It all seemed such a terrible waste of life. But as the VADs had learned early in their training, it wasn’t their job to dwell on the fate of the departed. There was nothing that anyone could do for them. Their job was to do their best for the survivors, with a cheerful word or a shoulder to cry on when the men were feeling down.
Sometimes Annabelle thought that this was one of the most important aspects of their job, although had anyone asked her if she was capable of doing such a thing just a short while ago, she would have scoffed at them. Why would Annabelle Smythe, the girl who had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and who had been pampered and spoiled all her life, demean herself to such a low level? But as she was now painfully aware, that girl no longer existed. Had never existed really, and so she just got on with the job she had chosen to do as she tried to work out who she was now.
Two days later, Annabelle found herself on duty in the ward to which Joel had been admitted, and she had to force herself not to rush over to him as she worked her way down the row of beds seeing to the patients’ needs. Madam had set up a new rota, and she was no longer required in the theatre for the time being. And then at last she was standing next to him. He was lying very still with one arm in a sling and his leg suspended from a pulley in the ceiling.
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