Summer in Greece

by Patricia Wilson

  Harry gave a sigh and rubbed his eyes, then cupped her chin and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘Thank you.’ She could feel he was trembling, or perhaps it was her.

  ‘Don’t worry about things you can’t change,’ she said gently. ‘I swear to do all I can for him, and you can thank Gertie for making the tapes, she probably saved his life. Please, go inside and check what’s happening. I’d like to know before I leave.’

  *

  In the air ambulance, Shelly removed the catheter, placed a lump of cotton wool over the tiny wound, and bent her elbow.

  ‘O positive, you said,’ the medic queried before sticking the transfusion needle into Elias’s arm.

  She nodded. ‘Same as me.’

  ‘What you did was very unorthodox, and certainly not recommended, but I’m quite sure you saved this young man’s life with your quick thinking.’

  ‘He’ll survive then?’

  ‘Well, we’ll do our best, but it’s a bad bleed.’

  Still feeling lightheaded, Shelly wondered what was going on in the dive bell. It sounded like a heart attack, but there was nothing she could do about it under the circumstances. Shortly, they landed on the hospital heliport and Elias was stretchered straight to A&E. Shelly confessed to feeling lightheaded and followed with one of the medics.

  *

  At ten o’clock that evening, Harry joined her at the hospital. She felt his rich brown eyes probing into her troubled soul wanting to see what was going on in there.

  ‘Has anyone told you, Elias’s going to be all right?’ he asked.

  With that information came a rush of relief, and her moment to fall apart arrived. ‘Thank God!’ She turned towards him. He slipped his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace, giving her permission to let the tension go. She cried onto his shoulder for a minute, then gathered her strength and sat up straight. ‘Thank you, I needed that,’ she said, taking his handkerchief and blowing her nose. ‘Such a relief.’

  ‘You risked your life to save his, so it’s me who’s thanking you; and Elias too. Apologies for bitching,’ he said. ‘From now on, you can do anything you want as far as my son’s concerned.’

  Shelly laughed limply. ‘That’s good. He’s no longer angry with me for monopolising his father then?’

  Harry lowered his eyes. ‘I am really sorry for the way he treated you.’

  ‘Believe me, I know all about conflicting loyalties.’ There was a ring of bitterness in her voice. ‘Sorry, it’s just that I have been loyal to David since I was sixteen years old. It’s so difficult to let go, and the awful thing is, I can’t even talk about it.’

  ‘Poor Shelly.’ He placed his arm around her shoulders. ‘I knew something wasn’t right, and that you were in a lot of emotional pain. When you’re ready to tell me, we can work through it together. No judgement, no worries. I’m here for you.’ It was his hand upon her shoulder, the realisation, at last, she was not alone with her problems that gave her strength.

  ‘Thank you. Is it that obvious?’

  ‘Not at all, but you cry in your sleep, sometimes.’

  ‘Gosh, how embarrassing. I promise, I’ll tell all when we get back to Kea.’

  CHAPTER 44

  GERTIE

  Dover, 1917.

  MY FATHER FACED BONIFACE AND the mob fearlessly.

  ‘The press might not lie, but sometimes by not telling the whole truth, the more gullible may jump to the wrong conclusions. My daughter almost drowned when HMHS Britannic went down. Nevertheless, she risked her own life to save the life of a British soldier, one of our very own boys. Corporal Perkins of the Royal Engineers. The people of Dover should be very proud of her – I am! You should be praising her bravery with a medal – not coming here frightening my wife by behaving like Luddites!’ He stood taller and spoke over Boniface’s head. ‘You don’t know the full story, people. Go home and let me do my job.’ The distant clanging of the police bell rang out. ‘Go back to your families now, before you get into more trouble.’

  Once it was clear they were dispersing, my father called through the letterbox. ‘Let me in, Gertie.’ The first thing he noticed, as I had, was my mother, pale with fright. She huddled in the armchair with a blanket over her. Mrs Cooper held her hand while staring at us.

  ‘Mrs Smith’s taken a turn for the worse, Doctor,’ she said. ‘She’s had nothing to eat all day, just a cup of beef tea. I put some oil of camphor on her chest to help her breathing, and goose fat and brown paper on her back, but she’s still sickly.’

  My father sighed, I knew what he thought of these remedies, yet he was too polite to reprimand Mrs Cooper for doing her best. He produced his stethoscope and listened to my mother’s chest. After straightening he said, ‘We must get you to bed, dearest. Now Gertie’s here to look after you, we’ll soon have you well again. I hear from the Matron our daughter’s going to make a fine nurse.’

  Oh! My father had never said anything so kind about me in my whole life, at least not that I’d heard. Although worried about my mother, I felt myself glowing with pleasure.

  He turned to our three-day-domestic. ‘Thank you, Mrs Cooper. After all your hard work, you may take a little time off now that my daughter’s home.’

  Mrs Cooper nodded at my father, then at me. I was not too sure that she was pleased, until father said she would still be paid, then a smile lifted her apple cheeks.

  ‘Thank you, Doctor. I’ll just help Miss Gertie get Mrs Smith into bed, then I’ll be off.’ She spoke to my father with such reverence, I thought she was going to curtsy.

  *

  I let Mrs Cooper out at nine o’clock. I had been into town for some supplies, and was pleased to see several acquaintances, but they treated me like a stranger. They were the same people I had left only six months before, yet it seemed their lives had moved on in my absence. Was I foolish to imagine the world would have waited, unchanged, for my return? Before I left, excited friends would rush to embrace me and chatter excitedly about the minutiae of their lives. Now, they were distant. This left me with a peculiar, yet intense, feeling of loneliness. That evening, my back ached and I was bone tired. I found Father in his armchair, reading.

  ‘I’m going to bed, Father. I can’t keep my eyes open.’ I kissed his cheek.

  ‘Wait, Gertie. Pour me a brandy, and a small one for yourself.’

  ‘Me? Father! I don’t think that’s appropriate.’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense. This is 1917. I do believe young people partake occasionally. Besides, I want to talk and there is nothing like a good cognac for loosening the tongue.’

  I poured him a drink, and a small one for me too. This personal moment with my father strengthened my morale. For the first time, I realised he no longer considered me an irresponsible child. I found it difficult, even after all that had happened, not to grin like the organ-grinder’s monkey.

  ‘Matron told me she’s very pleased with your progress, Gertie.’

  ‘She’s a marvellous woman and I wish to model my future on her. As I said in my letter, she promoted me to the theatre and though I’m not as yet a qualified theatre nurse, I’ve learned various sutures and it seems to have become my job to take care of the outer sutures, to close a wound after surgery and also apply the dressings. This leaves the surgeon free to move on to the next case. Through this recent work, I have discovered where my aspirations lie.’ I stopped and took a breath. ‘Can I tell you my dream, Father?’

  ‘You can tell me anything at all, child,’ he said, swirling his drink, then lifting his head to stare at me.

  ‘I want to be a surgeon.’ There, I’d said it.

  ‘Ha!’ he exclaimed. ‘Don’t look like that, Gertie! You’ve no idea what being a surgeon involves. When people die in your hands—’

  ‘Excuse me interrupting, Father. I’ve assisted at one hundred and sixty-seven operations. Twenty-nine of our patients died on the table, but this was simply because their wounds were too catastrophic, or they had lost too much blood.’ I put do
wn my drink, turned my hand over, and pushed my sleeve above the small scars in my arm. ‘Look, I’ve given direct blood transfusions, via the glass tube, to five patients, four of whom survived. The first one of those patients was in the lifeboat, and the procedure saved the man’s life.’

  Father lifted his eyebrows. ‘Really? Well, I’m shocked. And you still want to be a surgeon?’

  ‘More than anything in the world.’

  ‘Then I’m proud of you, and relieved that you’re home, safe. You have my total support, Gertie.’

  This was not the response I expected. ‘But there are no women surgeons. Where would I start?’

  ‘Exactly where you are now, in the field hospitals. Do everything you can, show you are not afraid. Offer to take over. Most importantly, prove that you can lead a team of medics, because you cannot do the job alone. Get organised, get a reputation, and get all the knowledge you can absorb. Make people remember you because – and this is important for you to understand, Gertie – this war will not last forever! There will always be a shortage of good surgeons. This is an exciting time for women. An opportunity to prove yourselves. Be brave and rise to the challenge.’ He went to the bookcase, pulled out a thick volume and handed it to me. ‘Start with Matron’s book, then this. Learn it cover to cover. I’ll test you every evening over supper.’ He handed me his wine-coloured tome. ‘Gray’s Anatomy of the Human Body.’

  I went to sleep feeling relieved. Did my father believe the newspapers? Did he believe I had opened the portholes? Merriberry must have guessed it was me, although it could have been any one of the patients while I was in the sluice room. Had she told my father? I got the impression they had spent time together. Not one person had asked me straight out if I had opened the portholes.

  Memories of the mob outside the cottage concerned me. Clearly, they believed everything in the papers? Poor Mr Boniface, to lose his youngest son. I couldn’t even remember seeing the boy.

  *

  I was having breakfast when the mob returned. The sound of hammering on the front door made me jump. ‘Who is it?’ I asked through the letterbox.

  ‘The Morning Standard, miss. Can I ask you a few questions?’

  ‘What? What about?’

  ‘Were you on the Britannic, miss?’

  Clattering from the fist-shaped brass knocker had woken Father. He appeared in his smoking jacket over his striped pyjamas. ‘What’s happening, Gertie?’

  ‘There’s a newspaper reporter outside, Father. He wants to come in and ask a few questions.’

  Father opened the letterbox and called, ‘We have nothing to say. Remove yourselves before I summon the constable.’

  Mrs Cooper came in the back door. ‘Here, there’s a crowd outside again, Doctor. What’s going on?’ She placed the newspapers on the table.

  Father groaned as he scanned the headlines. ‘This is what’s wrong!’ He waved the paper, then dropped it onto the table and picked up a second tabloid. ‘More headlines, and even more condemning than yesterday’s. DOVER GIRL RESPONSIBLE FOR SINKING THE BRITANNIC?’ He stared at me for a moment, then went on to the next one. ‘NURSE CAUSES DEATH OF THIRTY MILITARY PERSONNEL, AND MAIMS FORTY MORE.’ He glared at me again. ‘What on earth did you tell them in that tribunal, Gertie?’

  ‘Father, I told them I couldn’t remember what happened before I was rescued from the sea. I said it was all a blank.’

  He stared at the broadsheets again. ‘Well, you might as well know, both Matron Merriberry and I have guessed what happened, but it is better if those words are never said aloud. You don’t remember anything at all, you understand? Nothing will be changed by encouraging more problems.’

  I turned my eyes away. ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘Your mother has taken a turn for the worse and all this excitement is doing her no good at all.’

  There was another knock on the door.

  ‘Hello! London Tribune here. Dr Smith? Could we have a word with your daughter?’

  Although Father directed his words at me, clearly, he was rationalising with himself. ‘The best way to put an end to this speculation and harassment would be to make a statement to the press.’

  He turned back to the door, placed his foot six inches from the jamb, and opened it. There was a crowd, jostling, voices all at once. ‘Dr Smith!’ ‘A word, please, sir?’ ‘Is your daughter here?’

  ‘Gentlemen, please step back and I will come out to talk to you.’

  Then I saw my father do something I’d never seen before; one of the most important lessons he ever gave me. He paused before acting. I saw his chest expand and shoulders rise as he took in a long, deep breath. After a moment, he closed his eyes and let it out slowly. Then he stepped around the door and closed it behind himself.

  I hurried forward and pressed my ear against the centre panel. Father’s voice came through clearly.

  ‘Each of you may ask one question. If anyone harasses me, you will all have to leave. Yes, you at the back with the trilby, what would you like to ask?’

  ‘Sunday Herald. Was your daughter responsible for the sinking of the Britannic, sir?’

  ‘No, she was not. At this moment, it is unclear if it was a mine or a torpedo that put a hole in the ship’s belly.’

  A different voice. ‘Brighton Times. Why did your daughter take so long to return to England, sir? Is it true she refused to come back?’

  ‘No, it is not true. My daughter and one other crew member contracted influenza on the island of Kea. They were put into quarantine for two weeks, thereby missing the original inquiry and passage returning to Britain. My daughter did not take her due leave, she went on to nurse our fine boys near the Dardanelles. I’m very proud of her, and so should you be.’

  ‘The Express. Does Gertie Smith remember seeing the open portholes, either from inside the ship, or from the lifeboat?’

  ‘My daughter has some amnesia covering the time before she was pulled out of the water. She almost drowned, and such a thing often causes loss of memory.’

  ‘News of the World. Is it true your daughter was rescued by a dolphin, sir?’

  ‘Yes, she was. There were several witnesses including the ship’s chaplain.’

  ‘People Newspaper. Who was the soldier that Miss Smith rescued, Doctor?’

  ‘I believe his name was Corporal Johnathan Perkins. She saved his life by bravely giving him some of her own blood. I wonder how many of you have demonstrated that sort of courage?’

  Once Father had answered a question from each reporter, he ended the exchange. ‘Now, gentlemen, I’ll thank you all to leave, apart from The Express.’

  I ventured over to the window and peeped through the drapes. The mob dispersed hurriedly, leaving on horseback, in motor vehicles, and one on a motorised bicycle. I could imagine the queue for the telephone in town. My father was talking earnestly with a heavily whiskered gentleman. After a moment, they shook hands and he also left.

  Father knocked on the door and I quickly let him in. He leaned his back against it and I noticed how his hand trembled as he pushed it across his brow.

  ‘Sorry, Father. It wasn’t my intention to make so much trouble for you.’

  ‘Intention or not, we have to deal with it. I think we should play on the positive. Let’s get the young man you saved to come here and talk to the newspaper reporters with us. Where will I find him?’

  ‘I don’t exactly know, Father.’ Then I remembered Victoria Pimlet’s letter, didn’t she say she had seen him? Also, I considered perhaps Josephine, or even Merriberry would know his address. ‘I can probably find out.’ In the back of my mind was the nagging question, would he remember that it was I who opened the portholes?

  When the mob had gone, I withdrew into the garden, embracing the breeze. I stood with my back pressed against the oak tree, feeling its strength, its support, and likening it to my strong-minded sister.

  I stared out over the restless English Channel and remembered the sparkling, turquoise water of Kea. How I lo
nged for my beautiful Manno again. He filled my dreams, and thoughts of our last meeting constantly interrupted my waking hours. He had asked me to be his wife, and now I feared I was carrying his child.

  ‘I believe as one soul leaves another arrives, Gertie. Take strength in that,’ my father had said after Sissy’s funeral. ‘For every death, there is a child born.’ He would not be so comforted if he knew that child might be growing inside his daughter’s belly.

  I had not received a reply from my letters to Manno and although this still perturbed me a little, I felt confident he would write if he could. I returned to Mother’s bureau and penned another correspondence. I didn’t mention my fears in case I had misdiagnosed myself and it was simply my worrying that had upset my physiology. However, if I was wrong, having a child out of wedlock would destroy my father’s reputation. I’d have to go away before my condition became apparent. If the truth emerged about the Britannic’s portholes, I could be in prison for deliberately going against orders . . . mutiny, which held the death penalty. Perhaps I should go back to Greece, run away and never return. But Father would be devastated if he and my mother were the sole survivors of our family. If I gave him a grandson his delight would be immeasurable, a small compensation for the losses he had suffered.

  Before any of that, I needed a husband, and quickly!

  Father came across the lawn and sat beside me under the tree.

  ‘I thought you would be interested to know that your Corporal Perkins is coming for tea, tomorrow afternoon, Gertie. I have also invited Matron Merriberry, your friend the nurse, and the reporter. I hope to persuade the Corporal to speak to the press about your gallantry in the lifeboat.’

  CHAPTER 45

  SHELLY

  Dover, present day.

  BACK HOME IN DOVER, LIFE settled down to a new normal. Harry phoned most days. DJ came over most weekends. Shelly spent quality time revising with DJ on the run-up to his exams. Gordon stopped trying to set Shelly up with the postman, and a huge branch broke off the oak tree and blocked most of the road.