by Janet Tanner
‘I don’t want to go.’
He turned, surprised. She was standing with her hands clenched into tight fists. ‘I don’t want to go,’ she said again. ‘I’d rather stay here in the hospital. I could help. I’m not a trained nurse, I know, but I’m learning. And there are so many jobs to be done …’ she broke off.
‘That’s true, but …’ He shrugged his shoulders wearily. ‘ I don’t have the authority to take on staff. And you’re not a VA, are you?
The dimples tightened a fraction, blue fire flashed in her eyes.
‘Nobody stopped to ask if I was a VA when they left me to look after that man with his eye blown away. Or when I gave blood to Alys.’
‘No, but then …’
‘I’ve learned a lot in the last few days,’ she went on. ‘I could have taken to my bed and stayed there – the Lord only knows I felt like it often enough! But I haven’t, only to rest for a little while. I’ve done all the odd jobs around here and the nurses have been glad enough to let me. They’ve been under pressure enough. I’ve learned to change dressings and make beds the way they like them done. I’ve sterilized bed pans and made tea. Oh, not very skilled jobs, I admit, but somebody has to do them. And I’ve been glad to do it. So couldn’t you please put in a word for me?’
Richard passed a hand across his aching eyes. Why anyone, a girl in particular, should be so anxious to remain in this hell hole he could not imagine, yet here were two of them and neither of them wanted to leave. In a way, he could understand Alys’reluctance to go. She had been working for the Red Cross for months now, since before he had been posted to Darwin himself and he could imagine her feeling that she was deserting her post. But Tara … why on earth should Tara be so anxious to remain in the Territory? Did she have some pressing personal reason? He looked at her intently now trying to read what lay behind those sparkling blue eyes. But they gave him no clue. Perhaps I am wrong, he thought. Perhaps she simply does want to help. Certainly she had worked as hard as anyone on the day of the raid, tackling one unpleasant task after another until she had been forced to stop while her blood count recovered, and he had to admit her pert good looks and her personality had been good for the morale of the patients. Despite all this, could he take her on? She had no qualifications, not even the First Aid and Home Nursing Certificates that were asked of a girl who wanted to enlist as a VA. But he had the feeling that this was shortly to be waived. The services were desperate for as many women as they could get to release men for the front.
‘Well …’ he began.
Her face brightened and the dimples played in her cheeks.
‘Oh, you can fix it for me! If anyone can fix it, it’s you!’
He smiled, tiredness forgotten. Perhaps if the redoubtable Sylvia Crawford were still here – and he suspected she would stay to the last – she might be able to help. After all, the Red Cross was represented on the Joint Council. I’ll see what I can do,’ he promised.
The Manunda sailed that night and Alys Peterson was aboard her. She lay in her bunk, weak and dizzy after the performance of having been moved by stretcher and ambulance and stretcher again, feeling far removed from the bustle about her.
A nursing sister paused by her bunk, leaning over to neaten her blankets.
‘What is happening?’ Alys asked. ‘Have we started moving?’
Her voice, though weak, was taut. The sister smoothed a strand of red-gold hair away from the ashen face. ‘Don’t worry about a thing. You’re going to be fine. You are on your way home now.’
Home. On the way home. The words echoed in her ears repeated by the lapping of the waves. But there was no comfort in them. She did not want to go home. Darwin was where she belonged now. Aunt Sylvia was still here in spite of the raids, hanging on to the last because she hated the idea of abandoning her responsibilities and was determined to fight for them, although Uncle James had been forced to go to ensure safe passage of the bank’s cash reserves and records. Everything she had come to care about was here. Not to mention the rather attractive Dr Allingham. Whilst Melbourne …
At the thought of it Alys felt as if sinewy fingers had tightened around her heart and all the bitter memories came flooding in to swamp her. And not only the more recent ones, either. The claustrophobic boredom of growing up there was as vivid now in her mind as the pain of Race’s death, and the fear of finding herself once more under the domination of her mother pressed like a weight on her chest. Already, she could imagine Frances’ cautionary tones: ‘I knew something like this was inevitable. If only you had taken notice of me, Alys, and come home as I asked none of this would have happened. I only hope it will have taught you a lesson.’
A lump rose in Alys’ throat.
‘We are on our way,’ the sister said. ‘Try to get some sleep now.’
Alys could not reply. She turned her face into the pillow and felt the weak tears trickle down her nose.
Tara closed the door of Matron Swift’s office behind her and stood with her back pressed against it, eyes half closed, drinking in deep breaths of pure air. It was a trick she had used when she had been a singer, a way of steadying herself after a performance and what she had just given, she thought, was the performance of her life. ‘Well – and how did it go?’
At the sound of his voice her eyes flew open and she jerked upright.
‘Captain Allingham! I didn’t hear you coming.’
‘It’s these damned gumboots we have to wear.’ He glanced ruefully at his rubber shod feet amply splashed with red mud. ‘But you haven’t answered my question. How did you get on at your interview?’
‘All right, I think,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But we’d better not talk here. These doors aren’t very thick.’
He smiled. ‘You’re right – this place is Jerry built. Come on, we’ll find somewhere a bit more private.’
He turned to walk along the corridor with long even strides and she followed feeling her heart pump strangely the way it did every time she looked at him.
Oh, but he was handsome – the handsomest man she had ever met. And a gentleman too, that was obvious from the way he spoke and the easy grace with which he wore his uniform. Even in gumboots he still managed to look well-bred. And that was not all. Tara felt a quirk of excitement as she remembered the cool way he had taken charge on the day of the raids and the skill and compassion she had seen repeated day after day in his work since then. The pace of life in the hospital had been hectic, every facility stretched to breaking point. In addition to the casualties who had come to them direct, the entire RAAF hospital had been evacuated to 138 AGH, as had part of the civil hospital, and many of the staff were cracking up under the strain. But not Richard Allingham. He remained as cool and efficient as ever, managing to carry on with apparently effortless ease.
He even remembered it was my interview today, Tara thought, gratified, though of course his remembering probably had more to do with the fact that he had arranged it for her than it did with any real interest in the outcome …
Richard threw open the door of one of the vacant offices and stood back for Tara to enter.
‘That’s better. No one will be able to eavesdrop now. So, how did it go?’
Tara perched herself against the edge of the desk. ‘All right, I think. But it was nerve racking! There were two of them …’
‘Matron Swift and Sylvia Crawford.’
‘Is that who they were? They were both rather large …’ Tara broke off picturing again the two women who had faced her across Matron’s big oak desk. Perhaps it was the fact that they both wore uniforms that had made them so daunting – Matron in her cesarine, crisp and fresh in spite of the humid conditions, Mrs Crawford smart in the dress of an officer of the Red Cross – while Tara could manage only a blouse and skirt borrowed from Sister Kate Harris for the occasion, since all her own clothes had been lost in the raid.
It could simply have been that it was so very important to Tara that they should consider her suitable to become a Vo
luntary Aid that had made her so nervous. Waiting to go in for the interview, willing her knees not to knock, she had realized just how much it mattered. If they took her on it meant she had a place to stay – somewhere Red was very unlikely ever to think of looking for her, if not, she would be forced to move on – but where? She did not know. And besides …
Perhaps hiding from Red was only part of her reason for wanting to stay. Perhaps it also had something to do with Captain Richard Allingham.
‘What did they ask you?’ he enquired now.
Tara raised her eyes to heaven. ‘What didn’t they ask! They wanted to know just about everything about me.’
‘And they were satisfied with what you told them?’
‘Oh, I think so.’ She did not add that the answers she had given bore very litle resemblance to the truth. ‘It was funny really. Matron put the fear of God into me, but the other lady Mrs Crawford did you say her name was? – I would have quite liked her if I hadn’t been so darned scared!’
‘Yes, she’s quite a lady.’ Richard’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly. ‘She is Alys Peterson’s aunt, of course Alys has been living with her while working for the Red Cross.’
Tara noticed, but was determined to ignore, the change in Richard’s tone. Alys had gone now, shipped south on the Manunda and she had no intention of worrying about a rival who was far away.
‘Maybe that’s why she wasn’t so bad to me,’ she said. ‘Maybe she thinks she ought to do something for me, seeing I saved her niece’s life.’
Richard dug his hands deep into the pockets of his white coat. ‘So what was the final outcome?’ he asked.
Tara grinned mischievously. ‘I think I got the thumbs-up, though they did say the final decision lay with the CO.’
‘Colonel Adamson,’ Richard said thoughtfully. ‘ Have you got to see him?’
Tara looked alarmed. ‘ They didn’t say so. Do you think …?’
‘I shouldn’t worry, I expect he will rubber stamp their decision. He’s too busy personally to vet every VA and orderly in 138, whatever he may like to pretend to the contrary.’
‘That’s true enough. Besides he’s a man.’ Some of Tara’s natural ebullience was returning. ‘If I can get past two old biddies, I’m quite sure I can get past a man.’
The moment the words were out she regretted them. She glanced quickly at Richard wondering if he had noticed what she had said, but if he had he was too much of a gentleman to remark upon it.
‘Well, I should imagine we shall soon be taking on a new addition to our voluntary staff,’ he said dryly. ‘ So hoping I’m not being too premature – welcome!’ He extended his hand and she took it, going weak inside again as those strong deft fingers wrapped around hers.
‘Thank you, Captain Allingham.’
The corners of his mouth lifted; those blue eyes looked directly into hers. ‘ I’d much rather you called me Richard,’ he said.
Chapter Six
Tara pushed the trolley into the clean room, rammed it into a vacant corner and sank down onto the single upright chair, spreading her elbows outwards on the small scrubbed wood table and laying her head on her arms.
Tired, tired – she could not remember a time when she had been so tired. Even her days of working for Dimitri Savalis seemed like a holiday compared with this. Her legs were leaden with exhaustion, her eyes stung and burned with it, every muscle in her body ached and she felt faintly nauseous.
Why in the world did I let myself in for this? Tara wondered. I must have been mad. But her brain was too furred by exhaustion even to begin to answer the question. All she could think of, all she wanted in the world, was to fall onto the narrow bunk in the quarters she shared with the AANS and masseuses and sleep. But that was out of the question. It was only half-past eleven in the morning and Tara’s working day stretched endlessly on towards evening. At eight, if she was lucky, she would be relieved. Last night she had not been lucky. An aborigine woman had been admitted in labour late in the afternoon and there had been no other female auxiliary staff on duty to cover the room that was used for deliveries. Every time she was left alone the woman set up a hollering that echoed through the concrete and tin blocks, upsetting all the patients and setting the nurses’ nerves jangling, but the sisters could not spare the time to do more than to make regular checks on her progress and the male orderlies, mostly rough stockmen who had enlisted to become soldiers and were disgusted to find themselves detailed for hospital work, were hardly the best choice to look after a woman in labour. So Tara had been asked to remain on duty.
The birth had proved to be a difficult one. It was almost two when the baby finally put in an appearance. Then, on her way back to her quarters, Tara had been waylaid by Sister Kate Harris. The seaman she had brought in on the day of the raid had taken a turn for the worse. She thought Tara would like to know. For a moment Tara had wrestled with the ridiculous sense of responsibility she felt for the man, then she had submitted. She had sat with him until he died two hours later and when she eventually fell exhausted into her bed she was quite unable to sleep. Now though …
A strident voice in the corridor outside brought her awake sharply. Sister Anastasia Bottomley – coming this way. Tara had no desire to be caught by her sleeping on the clean room table.
Of all the AANS sisters at 138 AGH, Bottomley was the one Tara liked the least. Some, like Kate Harris, had been helpful and tolerant, teaching her to take temperatures and blood pressures and how to make a bed with hospital corners. Others had been impatient, taking pleasure in handing her the most menial jobs and expecting her to work tirelessly. Tara had done so without complaint, knowing it was the price she had to pay for remaining with the hospital. But Anastasia Bottomley was the one person who could make Tara feel she would prefer to take her chances with Red rather than stand her unpleasantness for another single day. She was a sharp-featured woman with a manner to match, tall as a man, with thin shapeless legs which Tara privately described as ‘gum sticks’ and strawlike hair cut short and square.
The door swung open and Anastasia Bottomley came in.
‘Ah, Kelly, what are you doing in here?’ she did not wait for a reply. ‘There is no time for idling, we have a great deal to do. I’ve just been informed that we are on the move.’
There had been rumours ever since the raid that the hospital would be pulled back away from the vulnerable Darwin to a site deep in the wilds of Northern Territory, but Tara had not expected it to be so soon.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘Adelaide River. It’s ridiculous if you ask me, leaving new purpose-built accommodation for tent wards on the banks of a river. Some people will run scared from everything. Take the day of the raids when the authorities freed the prisoners from Fanny Bay Gaol – some of the girls were scared stiff of being raped in their beds. I’d like to see the prisoner – or the Jap – who thought he could rape me!’
Tara hid a smile. Personally, she could feel nothing but relief at the prospect of being pulled back out of the danger zone. But one thing was nagging at her – when she had fled Dimitri and the Savalis’ house she had left her cruficix hanging on the wall over her bed and she hated the thought of leaving Darwin without it. For all she knew the house might not have survived the raid, but if it had … the crucifix had belonged to Mammy and meant a great deal to Tara.
‘Do you think there might be a chance of me getting into Darwin?’ Tara asked.
‘I really couldn’t say. Depends when we go, I suppose. And I expect we shall be the last to know when that will be. Now, we have wasted enough time in chit chat, Kelly. We have work to do …’
‘Yes, Sister,’ Tara said obediently.
Three days later Tara was in the small store room at the end of the ward sweltering in the afternoon’s heat as she packed box after box of sterile dressings into crates ready for transportation. Now that the decision had been made to move the AGH no time was to be wasted; the first convoy of patients and staff was t
o leave the following day and Tara was glad she was to go with it. Frequent alarms were fraying her nerves and an afternoon raid on the RAAF building, Daly Street and Myrilly Point had been the last straw.
She still regretted, however, that she had been unable to get into Darwin to retrieve her crucifix. She had tried without success to find a way but ten miles might as well be a hundred when she had no transport. Now it seemed likely that she would have to decamp for the Adelaide River leaving it behind.
‘Hey – nursie!’ The low whisper came from the open window. Tara spun round to see a cheery face topped by a mass of curly hair. ‘Word on the grapevine is that you’ve been looking for a ride into Darwin.’
It was Private Maxwell, one of the soldiers employed on general duties at the AGH and well known as a Mr Fixit. Besides his official chores Maxie organized card schools, ran a book on anything that moved and managed to come up with an unending supply of black market goods to defy the shortages.
‘Oh I am, Maxie. It’s just one little thing I want to do before we leave. Can you help?’
‘I might be able to. Charlie and me are going in tonight. Just two conditions. One – keep quiet about it. Two – you’ve got to be ready to come back when we are. We can’t hang about. Got it?’ He tapped the side of his nose meaningfully.
Tara nodded. This trip was strictly unofficial but that was probably just as well. She wasn’t at all sure Sister Bottomley would sanction her going if she were to ask permission. And nervous as she was about venturing into town under the present conditions she did so want her crucifix.
‘Where will you pick me up?’ she asked.
‘Nine o’ clock – camp gates. Are you sure you want to risk it now? Darwin is full of looters, they say. And you never know, there could be another raid.’
‘Oh, stop it! You’re the cheery one, aren’t you? If you can go, so can I!’
‘All right then. Suit yourself. We’ll see you later.’ Maxie’s face disappeared from the window and Tara went on with her packing.