‘A nuisance, more like,’ Grace muttered. ‘I don’t know why they bother warning us, when we’re not expected to evacuate or anything.’
‘Do you think they’ll come close this time?’ Vivienne Marchant went to open the curtains, but Grace said, ‘No, don’t. Keep them closed.’
‘But I want to look outside. I do love a good air raid.’
‘You might, but the men don’t.’ Grace looked down the ward, where the patients were starting to grow agitated.
‘But it’s such a thrilling sight when all those bombers pass overhead.’
‘Then go down to Monaghan and open their curtains!’ Grace snapped.
Vivienne Marchant flounced off, leaving Grace to walk the length of the ward with her lamp held high, checking on all the men and trying to calm them down.
Then she reached Corporal Frost’s bed and realised it was empty.
‘“It’s a long way to Tipperary, it’s a long way to go …”’
The faint sound, half singing, half whimpering, came from under the bed.
Sadie bent down and found herself staring into a pair of frightened eyes.
‘Are you all right, Corporal Frost?’ He nodded. ‘Why don’t you get back into bed? You’d be a lot more comfortable.’
No sooner had she said the words than the boom of the anti-aircraft guns in Victoria Park shook the windows. This was followed by another, and another, making the glasses rattle on the bedside lockers.
Corporal Frost flinched and covered his head with his arms. ‘“It’s a long way to Tipperary, it’s a long way to go …”’ his muffled voice sang.
‘Can’t you shut him up?’ Edward complained from the next bed.
‘You should have taken that sedative, shouldn’t you? I warned you the nights could be lively,’ Grace snapped back.
There was another boom from the anti-aircraft guns, making the metal bed frames rattle.
Grace got down on her hands and knees. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘They’re on our side.’
She wasn’t sure if Corporal Frost heard her or not, he was trembling so much.
‘“It’s a long … It’s a long … It’s …”’ Grace saw his Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively as he fought to find the words. But he had lost the thread of his song, and she could see his fragile self-control unravelling with it.
She slid under the bed beside him and reached for his hand. His long, bony fingers were slick with sweat.
‘“It’s a long way to Tipperary,”’ she sang out. ‘“It’s a long way to go …”’
He stared at her with wide, terrified eyes. His mouth moved along with the words, but no sound came out.
‘Come on, Corporal,’ Grace urged. ‘“It’s a long way to Tipperary …”’
‘Doesn’t he know another song?’ Edward grumbled from somewhere above her.
‘Stop complaining, you miserable bugger!’ Albie shouted back. ‘Come on, lads, let’s have a sing-song.’
There weren’t many who joined in. Only a few could remember the words, but others clapped along. In the end even Edward joined in. Soon they were all singing and clapping, drowning out the sound of the bombs and the anti-aircraft guns.
Grace looked at Corporal Frost. He was singing too, tears streaming down his face.
Then, gradually, the men stopped singing, their voices fading.
‘What have you stopped for?’ Grace called out. ‘Come on, keep singing!’
She stuck her head out from under the bed to see what was going on, only to find herself staring at a pair of highly polished black shoes. Her gaze moved slowly upwards, past long, pinstripe legs, to settle far above on a bespectacled face looking down at her.
‘Hello, Nurse,’ Dr Logan said. ‘Would you mind telling me what you’re doing?’
Grace tried to extricate herself but Corporal Frost gripped her hand tighter, holding her fast.
‘I’m singing, Doctor,’ she replied.
She saw his features tighten and knew it was the wrong thing to say.
‘I heard that, Nurse. You have managed to drown out the noise of the air raid.’
‘That was the point, Sir.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Corporal Frost is finding the air raid quite difficult, Sir.’ He was clutching her hand so tightly now, she could feel his nails piercing her skin. ‘I thought if we sang, we could drown out the sound of the guns.’
‘So you have, Nurse. In fact, you’ve drowned them out so effectively you’ve failed to notice they stopped several minutes ago.’
Grace paused to listen. There was only the deep, ringing silence that followed a raid.
‘He’s right,’ she whispered to Corporal Frost. ‘We can come out now, it’s quite safe.’
Grace clambered out from under the bed, painfully conscious that Dr Logan was watching her every move, and also that she was as ungainly as a newborn colt.
She helped Corporal Frost back into bed and pulled the covers around him.
‘I’ll make you a nice cup of tea,’ she promised. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
Corporal Frost nodded. He had the covers pulled up to his chin so that only his wide eyes and the ruffled top of his head were visible.
Grace made her way to the kitchen, Dr Logan striding behind her. She was in trouble, and she knew it. But for once she didn’t really care.
Dr Logan stood in the doorway, watching her as she put the kettle on.
‘How often does Corporal Frost end up under his bed?’ he asked.
‘Every time there’s an air raid.’
‘And you always get under the bed with him?’
‘Sometimes. If he’s particularly nervous.’
‘And the singing?’
‘Mostly he sings by himself, and that’s enough to calm him down. But if he’s very nervous he forgets the words, and then he gets in a terrible state. I was just helping him.’
She banged the kettle down on the hob. If he was going to give her a dressing down, she wished he would get on with it.
‘Why “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary”?’
‘Why not?’ Grace turned to face him. ‘It’s a jolly tune and Corporal Frost seems to like it. I did try “Keep the Home Fires Burning” once, but it seemed to make him rather agitated.’
‘I see.’ Dr Logan looked thoughtful for a moment, as if Grace had said something incredibly wise. Then he nodded and said, ‘Good work, Nurse. Carry on.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
And then he was gone. Grace stared, mystified, at the now empty kitchen doorway. She couldn’t quite believe she had escaped another telling-off.
She listened to his footsteps echoing down the ward. He was humming softly to himself, she could hear the faintest sound under his echoing footsteps.
‘“It’s a long way to Tipperary, it’s a long way to go …”’
Grace smiled to herself and went back to making the tea.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Oh, Lord, not again!
Sam Trevelyan saw Nurse Moore heading purposefully down the ward towards him, pushing her trolley, and his heart sank. In the past three weeks, Dulcie Moore had decided to single him out as her pet. She lavished all kinds of unwanted attention on him, bringing him books and newspapers he never read, offering him cups of tea and trying to pester him into conversation when he plainly did not want to talk.
He had tried ignoring her and being offhand with her, but she would not go away.
‘Good morning, Sergeant Trevelyan,’ she greeted him with that fixed smile of hers. ‘How are we this morning?’
‘I don’t know about you,’ he growled back, ‘but I’m still stuck in this bed with a hole in my side and a pair of near-useless arms.’
‘That’s why I’m here. I’m doing your therapeutic massage today.’
Sam watched in dismay as Dulcie set out her cloths and a bottle of oil. ‘Nurse Beck usually does the massage.’
‘Well, you’ve got me for a change.’ Her
smile brightened. ‘And I’ve brought your newspaper.’
‘How many more times do I have to tell you, I don’t read them?’
Dulcie ignored him, setting the folded paper down on his bedside locker. ‘Right, let’s make a start, shall we?’
Sam grudgingly allowed her to help him off with his hospital gown. ‘I wish you’d pick on someone else,’ he grumbled.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I know why you’re doing this. You’re trying to impress Sister so she lets you move to the shell shock ward.’
She blushed, but didn’t try to deny it.
‘I suppose you want to be closer to Dr Logan?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘I can’t think of any other reason why you’d want to go there. And frankly, I don’t really care. Now why don’t you go and minister to McCray or Bennett? I’m sure they’d appreciate it more.’
‘Perhaps they would, but it has to be you, I’m afraid.’ Nurse Moore poured oil into her palms and rubbed her hands together briskly. ‘Sister has particular concerns about you, you see. She thinks you need drawing out.’
He had to admire her honesty, if nothing else.
‘And what if I don’t want to be drawn out?’
‘Oh, I don’t think you have any choice in the matter. Now, sit up, please.’
Nurse Moore’s massage technique left a lot to be desired.
‘Ow!’ Sam yelped in pain. ‘Do you have to be so rough?’
‘Do you have to be such a baby?’ she shot back. ‘Sit forward a bit more, I can’t reach your shoulder properly.’
As Sam leaned forward, he spotted something on the bottom of the trolley, half hidden by a cloth.
‘Is that a magazine?’
Nurse Moore ducked guiltily, covering it with the cloth. ‘Don’t tell Sister, will you? One of the VADs brought it in. It’s got some pictures I want to cut out.’
‘Pictures?’
‘Just clothes and hats and things.’
‘Can I have a look?’
She pulled a face. ‘I thought you didn’t like to read?’
‘I don’t like to read newspapers. Besides, I only want to look at the pictures.’
He held out his hand. Nurse Moore bent down and retrieved the magazine, then handed it to him.
‘I suppose you just want to make fun,’ she mumbled.
Sam flicked through the pages of Vogue magazine. It was full of colourful pages showing slender, aloof women in exotic-looking fashions, alongside advertisements for jewellery from Asprey and handbags from Harrod’s.
The prices made him whistle. ‘I didn’t know nurses were so well paid,’ he said.
‘Oh, I can’t afford them now,’ Nurse Moore said. ‘But I will when I’m married.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘When someone asks me.’
He tried not to smile as he looked at the magazine. ‘You’re going to marry a rich man, then?’
‘Of course.’ She gave a little shrug, as if it was a foregone conclusion.
‘Dr Logan?’
Nurse Moore smiled and carried on with her massaging. Sam flinched as her tensed fingers dug into his shoulder muscles.
‘So you’re choosing your trousseau before you’ve chosen your husband?’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Something like that.’
‘You know what you want, don’t you?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’
Now it was Sam’s turn to smile. She was so sure of herself, he couldn’t help envying her.
‘You think it’s funny?’ Nurse Moore said sharply.
‘Not at all. I’m just wondering what you’ll do if you end up accidentally falling in love with someone penniless.’
‘I won’t.’
‘You can’t help who you fall in love with.’
Nurse Moore gave a harsh laugh. ‘Goodness, Sergeant, what a romantic you are! I would never have thought it. You sound like Nurse Trott. She’s always reading her penny novels and going on about true love, too.’ She shook her head. ‘Of course you can help it. You can choose who you fall in love with, just as you can choose what shoes to put on in the morning or what hat to wear.’
There speaks someone who’s never been in love, he thought. A picture of Philippa filled his mind, and he braced himself for the familiar jab of pain.
He looked back at the magazine in his hands. ‘So this is the kind of life you want, is it?’
‘Why not?’ Nurse Moore sounded defensive. ‘What’s wrong with wanting to better yourself?’ She glanced over his shoulder at the magazine. ‘I want to live in London, and to be able to go to the music hall and the picture house whenever I please – and to sit in a box, not in the stalls, with opera glasses and violet creams from Fortnum’s.’ Her words tumbled out in a rush, a faraway look in her eyes. ‘And I want to take taxis everywhere, and go into Selfridge’s and Harrod’s and have the commissionaire open the door for me, and greet me by name. And I want a house overlooking Kensington Gardens, with a girl to do all the fetching and carrying—’ She stopped herself, pressing her lips together.
Sam broke the silence. ‘It all sounds very grand.’
Nurse Moore dropped her gaze, her cheeks flushing. ‘I just want someone who can look after me.’
‘You don’t need a box at the theatre or an account at Harrod’s to love someone,’ he said quietly.
‘Now you sound like my mother!’ Nurse Moore paused, pouring more oil into her palms. ‘She always says she married my father for love. Much good it did her.’
The bitterness in her voice made Sam turn and stare at her. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, she doesn’t have an easy life. My father works as a farm labourer, so they’re forever moving from place to place, taking whatever jobs he can get. And when he can’t find work, she has to take in washing and sewing to make ends meet. It’s such a hard, horrible life for her.’
‘Is she unhappy?’
‘Oh, no, she seems quite content. At least, she says she is. But I don’t see how she can be, when they’re living hand to mouth.’ Nurse Moore was pummelling away at his shoulder, taking out all her pent-up anger on his muscles. ‘The point is, she could have done better for herself. She was a vicar’s daughter, very well brought up. She could have married a curate and been living in a comfortable rectory now, instead of the muddy, stinking little hovels my father provides for her.’
‘And you want better than that for yourself?’
‘Of course. Who wouldn’t?’ Nurse Moore shook her head. ‘I’m not going to make the same mistakes she did, that’s for sure.’
They both fell silent for a while. While Nurse Moore continued her massage, Sam fought an inner battle with himself.
Don’t say anything. He had promised himself he wouldn’t reveal anything about himself, he wouldn’t be like the other men, handing round photographs of their loved ones and sharing their letters from home. The less anyone knew about him, the better.
And yet, the words bubbled inside him, fighting to get out.
‘My wife was like your mother,’ he said finally. ‘She was a teacher at the local village school when I met her. I suppose she thought she would marry someone with an education, who would bring her up in the world. But she met me.’
‘You’re married?’ Nurse Moore said.
‘I was. She died a year before I was called up.’
‘Did you have any children?’
Sam paused for a long time. He had already given away far too much about himself.
‘Three,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Two boys and a girl. Have you finished yet?’ he demanded impatiently, before she had a chance to ask any more questions. He couldn’t talk about his children. Even thinking about them was painful enough. If he had to say their names …
Nurse Moore looked taken aback. ‘Yes, I have.’
Sam watched her in silence as she gathered up her towels and oil, and helped him back into his gown.
Nurse Moore looked down at the magazine he was holding out to her. She hesitated for a moment, then snatched it out of his hand, covered it with a cloth and put it on the trolley.
He watched her walking away and smiled to himself. You had to admire Dulcie Moore’s determination, if nothing else.
Poor Dr Logan, thought Sam. He had no idea what was about to hit him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
On Christmas Eve, Edward received official notification that he was to go before a Medical Board the following week.
The letter seemed to bring out all his old fears, making him jittery and nervous.
‘We knew it was going to happen sometime,’ Anna tried to console him. ‘And Dr French has already said he’s recommending you for light duties. They’ll probably just give you a desk job somewhere.’
‘Yes, but it’s not that simple, is it?’ Edward snapped. His thumb worked at a scar on his knuckle, rubbing away at the reddened skin. ‘What if they decide to keep me in here?’ He looked around him. ‘I’m not sure I could stand it much longer, locked away with all the lunatics!’
Anna darted a quick look around her, hoping Miss Parker had not heard. ‘They won’t,’ she said. ‘You’re making good progress, aren’t you?’
‘So they say.’
‘And you haven’t had any more nightmares?’
‘Not that I can remember.’ He scraped at his knuckle with his thumbnail.
‘Well, then. They have no reason not to discharge you.’
‘I hope not.’ He looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time. ‘We’re supposed to be getting married this time next week.’
‘And we will,’ Anna said.
‘Yes, but—’
‘Edward Stanning, I’m marrying you next week even if we have to do it right here!’
He smiled reluctantly. ‘I can just see you walking down the ward in a white dress!’
‘I might ask Dr Logan to give me away!’
He sent her a cautious look. ‘You’d really do that?’
‘What, ask Dr Logan to walk me down the aisle?’
‘No! I mean – you’d marry me here? In the hospital?’
‘If I had to.’ Anna reached for his hand. ‘I let you get away from me once, Edward. I’m not letting it happen again.’
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