by Milly Adams
‘In the other ambulance and just being taken off. A bit of a problem with his breathing and his leg. His son’s with him,’ said one of the two ambulance men, swinging himself up to check their pulses. The other one slammed the back doors shut, ran to the cab and set off. ‘Call me Bert,’ said the medic. ’We’re heading west, away from the path of the rockets – with a bit of luck.’
As they swung round a bend, the girls began to relax, and the pain broke through in a way it hadn’t in amongst and beneath all the bricks, dust and grime. It was now that they heard a massive explosion.
‘The gas?’ breathed Polly. Sylvia grabbed at the ambulance man’s sleeve. ‘Steve?’
‘Just relax,’ the man said. ‘He’ll be fine.’
‘You’ve X-ray eyes, then,’ snapped Verity.
The man looked at her and replied gently. ‘No, just hope. You need it a lot in our game.’
As Sylvia jolted in the ambulance, the pain grew worse, and the guilt too. Had Steve been taken because of her? It was his voice she had listened to, his face she remembered while she was buried, unable to move. Yes, and the feel of his hand when she had fallen backwards into the water when he had helped her to her feet, and those eyes, so kind, that had looked into hers, and her prayers had been woven in amongst all that.
So there it was, Sylvia Simpson. After a lifetime of care in the convent orphanage it was not only her God she’d needed, but a red-haired fireman called Steve she barely knew, so what did that say about her?
The blackness came again, and she was glad.
Chapter 7
Hospital and visitors
Sylvia woke, tasting dust. She could feel sharp bricks and there was light behind her eyelids. Was it Steve’s torch? She listened. Just clatter and low murmurs, and a smell which wasn’t dust, or gas. She ached when she turned to try and see through the rubble, scared of disturbing the joists. She lay still and there was such a sadness in her heart. But why?
There was something cool on her wrist, and she opened her eyes to see a nun standing there. Was she a child, back in the convent? Had being buried all been a dream? She looked down at her arm: it lay on white sheets, and pale smooth fingers moved lightly on her pulse. She had had such strange dreams of hard hands, a red-haired man called Steve. And she had dreamed too of girls and boats, and bangs and someone calling ‘chop chop’.
She must be in the sick bay. She checked to see which nun was looking after her, Sister Maria? Sister Cecilia, or perhaps Sister Augustine? No, it wouldn’t be her, she was in charge of the orphanage. Sylvia blinked, and realised it wasn’t a nun, but a nurse, with a navy uniform, a white starched apron and a white veil.
Sylvia said, ‘I thought you were a nun.’ There was no dust clogging her throat but it was still sore, and her voice was ragged.
The young nurse laughed. ‘Hardly. I think Sister would have something to say about that remark, after she caught me climbing in the window after midnight. I’ve been gated.’
Sylvia heard a laugh, then a posh voice. ‘A girl after my own heart.’ But it wasn’t a real laugh and it mirrored Sylvia’s sadness. Ah, Verity, of course. And Polly, and Dog. ‘Where’s Polly?’
‘Here.’ Polly’s voice was weak and tired.
Sylvia looked to the left. Verity lay propped up on pillows, her blonde hair washed. Her face was scratched and cut, with one cut stitched along her cheekbone, and her arm was bandaged and in a sling.
‘You’re clean?’ Sylvia muttered.
Verity smiled. ‘And so are you, sweet pea. I couldn’t work out what the smell was when I woke, and that’s because it wasn’t dirt.’
The nurse, straightening Sylvia’s bed before moving to Polly, murmured, ‘Not dirt, rubble.’
Polly, Sylvia and Verity said as one, ‘Boat dirt, we meant.’
The nurse tidied up the beds of the other two girls. ‘You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a couple of days, believe it or not, during which time you’ve been stitched, bandaged, bathed, hair-washed and bedpanned. Your next of kin have also been informed, it seems, after someone notified the depot, whatever that is. We know because a Mrs Holmes telephoned the hospital, probably your esteemed mother, Miss Polly Holmes, and pointed out to our administrator that visiting hours were only for those living locally, and couldn’t possibly apply to those coming from the West Country.’
Polly grinned at the girls, her chestnut curls almost back to being bouncy. But the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She asked, ‘Is there news from the site?’ She paused, and Sylvia clenched her jaw. Don’t ask, she wanted to shout. I don’t want to know because I left him there, and he can’t be gone, not with his smile, his copper hair, his … Polly was speaking again. ‘There was an explosion as we left.’
Sylvia listened as the attractive Nurse Annie Newsome, or so it said on the label pinned to her dress, shook her head. ‘No, no news but perhaps your parents can find out for you. It’s chaos, you know, the damned V2s are having a high old time, that’s why you were brought over west. They’ve evacuated a lot of the vulnerable hospitals.’
With that, she moved on to the other beds in the ward. Sylvia called after her, ‘There was another person with us, Solly Fisher, how is he?’
‘Causing mayhem in the Men’s Ward.’ The nurse’s laugh was cut short as a sister swept through the double doors into the ward; they swung backwards and forwards in her wake, her shoes squeaking on the pristine floor. ‘We do not allow shouting in the ward, Nurse Newsome, do we, so let’s keep the noise level at a dull murmur, shall we?’
Nurse Annie Newsome did a sort of bob and busied herself pouring a drink of water from the jug on a patient’s bedside cabinet further down the ward.
Sylvia’s bed was between Verity’s and Polly’s. The three girls looked at one another. Verity muttered, ‘Oh Lordy, another Bet.’
Polly simply said, ‘He didn’t deserve to die. It’s not fair.’
Sylvia felt his hand leading her to the opening, his smile, the tiredness, his calmness, the rope rasping against her armpits as she was hauled up, and away from him. She stopped, looked from Polly to Verity. ‘But who has Dog?’
The other two stared. Verity said, ‘Just what I was beginning to wonder. But, look, after we heard her bark the men must have taken her away so they could get on. But where?’
As they lay back on their pillows, trying to gather their thoughts, Polly shouted, ‘I know—' The sister at her desk in the centre of the ward looked up. ‘Sorry, Sister,’ Polly almost whispered. She beckoned the other two to come closer, which made them roll their eyes. ‘Don’t be absurd, darling,’ muttered Verity. ‘We’re prisoners in the beds and my legs feel like water, or did when I was helped to the lav, having said no to the bedpan, so spell it out.’
‘Bet was there, so she’ll have taken Dog on. She’ll have had to get Evelyn and Mabel back, and probably took them all on Marigold and Horizon, or even slogged along on Hillview. But it’s Steve I feel so terribly sad about. We owe him our lives and now he’s …’ She fell silent.
Sylvia lay back on her pillows again, remembering Steve’s voice, his hand as he helped her up, and a sob escaped. Her heart was so heavy she thought it would never recover.
Polly called, ‘We’ve all cried, Sylvia. Let it go, just give in.’ But Polly’s voice was fading, and Sylvia’s eyelids were heavy.
In the afternoon, the clatter woke them, and above that, the crisp tones of Mrs Holmes, Polly’s mother. ‘I quite understand your concerns, Nurse Newsome, but our girls need us, and I have already discussed an out of hours visit with your administrator and matron.’
Polly stared down the ward, torn between groaning and laughing as she watched her mother lead the charge past Nurse Newsome, Lady Pamela Clement, Verity’s mother, following, with a bit of a blush to her cheeks. Polly wasn’t surprised, her mother had that effect sometimes, but then everyone fell in love with her. Polly waved, checking that the other two were awake. ‘Prepare to receive boarders, my hearties.’
Sylvia muttered, ‘The thing is, can we ever raise our heads in this ward again?’
Verity was waving to her mother, Lady Pamela, but replied, ‘I doubt it, and what’s more we’ll pay with enemas all round the moment they’ve gone, from the look on Nurse Newsome’s face.’
The three girls groaned, but when the two women arrived, and showered them with hugs and kisses, and loads of fuss, it was all forgotten. Lady Pamela sat between Verity and Sylvia, and Mrs Holmes between Sylvia and Polly. ‘To share ourselves equally between all three of our girls,’ Lady Pamela said, clasping both her daughter, and Sylvia’s hand.
Mrs Holmes was digging in her voluminous brown handbag, and drew out three woollen hats she had knitted, in an interesting combination of stripes. ‘You will have discarded your old ones, or perhaps they’re still in the rubble.’ Her voice broke, but only for a moment, because it wouldn’t dare to let her down at a time like this.
Lady Pamela said, ‘We have contacted Lady McDonald, you know the mother of the IW trainee you dragged out of the lock a few months ago, girls. She’s insisted her husband, he who seems to know a lot of people if you remember, ferret about to find out about Tom and Saul. You will be pleased to hear that they are together after Saul’s lorry was hit whilst supplying the front line.’ At the look of alarm from all three girls she shook her head. ‘Calm down, it was empty, so no supplies were lost.’
Verity shouted, to a ‘hush’ from Nurse Newsome, ‘Mother, it’s Saul we’re concerned with, not the ruddy supplies.’
Mrs Holmes and Lady Pamela shared a grin. ‘Just our little joke we cooked up on the train journey here,’ Verity’s mother said. ‘You owe me a bob, Joyce, it was Verity who wailed first. You see, girls, you’ve led us into bad habits and we seem to bet on most things these days. Anyway, Saul was seconded to Tom’s company, and it seems he is now part of the PBI, which means—’
All three girls interrupted, ‘The Poor Bloody Infantry.’
Polly grumbled, ‘Why should that make me feel better? At least when he was driving a lorry he was in and out, not in the midst of things.’
Verity’s mother said, ‘Unlike you girls.’ This time it was her voice that wavered.
As they all turned towards her, there was yet again a kerfuffle at the swing doors, and in glided Sister Augustine. Mrs Holmes sniffed and said, ‘Nurse Newsome won’t even attempt to stand in the way of the heavenly brigade.’
Polly hushed her. ‘I think perhaps that’s sacrilegious. What do you think, Sylvia?’
But before Sylvia could even consider the question Sister Augustine was upon them and had obviously heard. ‘I’m not sure whether it is or not, Polly; it is Polly, isn’t it? But it has to be said, a religious habit works well to open closed doors at times, so one just has to use what one has.’ Her smile was broad as she stopped by Sylvia’s bed, then stooped and kissed her forehead. Lady Pamela moved to the chair on Verity’s left, and Sister Augustine sat in her place, as though on a throne.
Well, thought Polly, here we all are, like starlings on a telephone wire. She was feeling exhausted suddenly, but pleased to see the mothers, and the orphanage nun. Was Sylvia pleased to see Sister Augustine, though? The poor girl felt a pressure whenever the orphanage, or indeed the convent, was mentioned, and who wouldn’t, if you were in her shoes and thought you might have been ‘called’. Polly couldn’t imagine what that was like, but quite honestly, she wondered if it wasn’t a sense of imaginary obligation, really, just as Sister Augustine had suggested to their poor conflicted friend, not helped by that Harriet, who sounded a manipulative kettle of fish.
There was silence around the beds but yet again this was broken by a man in a wheelchair being pushed through the doors into the ward. It was Solly Fisher and his son. Solly was waving his walking stick at Nurse Newsome, saying, ‘The doctor said I could, didn’t he, Jacob?’
Jacob nodded. ‘Well, yes, but you did waggle your stick at him.’
Even Sister Askwell, who had followed them in, laughed, and so did the rest of the ward. One woman said to her neighbour, ‘Wonder who’s coming in next, it’s like bleedin’ Piccadilly, ain’t it, and it’s not even visiting hours. All down to these bleedin’ rockets, it is.’
‘Quite so,’ said her posh neighbour. ‘But one day it will stop.’
Solly had reached their bed. Jacob smiled at them all, and said, ‘You look like a panel about to sit in judgment on a criminal. That would be you, Dad.’
The ice was broken, and everyone laughed as Jacob made the introductions. Sister Augustine’s wimple shook as the giggles overtook her. Solly Fisher looked at her then said, ‘We’re on opposite sides of the fence, you and me – yer ’ave yer church, I ’ave my synagogue, but we both love these girls, don’t we?’
Sister Augustine smiled. ‘Indeed we do, Mr Fisher, and the fence isn’t high, you know. What’s more, the girls do a grand job on the canals.’
Jacob said, ‘They do a reasonable job under the rubble too. We just hope that the fireman got out as well, because I gather there was an explosion.’
The girls fell silent, and left it to Jacob to explain to the women, whose distress was soon a mirror of the girls’. Again a silence fell, but not for long because a doctor called from the swing doors, ‘I said one minute, Mr Fisher, and there’ll be no stick waggling this time, if you please. I’m waiting.’
Jacob was already busy trying to turn his father’s wheelchair round, and Solly attempted to help by issuing navigation instructions. Finally, Jacob, looking hot and bothered, shouted, ‘Dad, shut up.’
Again there was laughter, and Sister Askwell didn’t even try to hush them, because the whole ward was a party to the jollity. Solly said, over the laughter, ‘I just wanted to say our time in the cellar wasn’t a pleasure, but it would have been bloody awful without you three, and thank the Lord, yours and mine, for yer dog, girls. He’s the one who found us. And God bless our fireman, and our eternal thanks to the lot of them. I’m to go and live with me boy, in Golders Green, but I know where to find you girls. The Bull’s Bridge Depot, eh?’
Polly asked, ‘Oh, it was you then, who phoned the office?’
Mr Fisher shook his head. ‘Not me, doll, but me boy asked around about the boaters, and we know where the orders are given out now, so yer can’t disappear into the ether cos yer’ll be back at work soon as yer can. Types like you always is.’
He waved as he was pushed away, but there was a logjam at the double doors, as Polly saw Bet trying to squeeze past. They heard her say, ‘I should have brought my horn, then you’d have known to wait.’
Solly’s reply was rude, their mutual laughter loud. Bet marched down the ward. Sister Askwell just shook her head, then returned to her reports, leaving Nurse Newsome to lead the way to the girls.
Sylvia called, as Bet reached them, ‘Oh Bet, you reached the depot safely. We wondered who let the parents know.’
Bet stood at the foot of her bed. ‘Not me, I told the coppernob to do it if you made it out in one piece, and not to if you hadn’t. The message got through before I could find a phone box to check myself.’
Bet looked tired, but who wouldn’t, shepherding trainees about, Sylvia thought, as she hid her despair at the mention of Coppernob. She stared ahead, not at either of the girls, who were doing the same, trying not to cry. She took a deep breath and finally forced herself to show interest and asked Bet, ‘So what’s happened to your boats?’
‘I’m running Marigold and Horizon while they sort it out.’
Polly asked, ‘Still with Evelyn and Mabel, or have they thought better of it all?’
Bet smiled, ‘They’re good girls, and happy to start for Birmingham when I get back from here. The rockets can’t go on for ever, and we’ll make damn sure we’ll get in and out of Limehouse like a dose of sa––’
Verity had been nodding, and she interrupted, ‘And Dog, is she missing us?’
Bet seemed to falter for a moment and lose her smile. ‘She’s with Fran,’ she s
aid, ‘out of the danger area. Ma Mercy took her up, on their way to Tyseley Wharf. But let’s get back to you. The doctor says you’ll all be ready for duty in a couple of weeks.’
The mothers and Sister Augustine looked shocked. ‘Back at work?’ queried Mrs Holmes. ‘I rather think not. They’ve done their bit.’
Bet stared at Mrs Holmes, then at the girls. ‘What say you?’
Sylvia said, ‘Two weeks should do it, and of course we haven’t done our bit, Mrs Holmes.’ Verity added, The war is still going on. We’re needed, or I am at least.’
Polly reared up on her pillows. ‘You’re needed? You’re a ruddy nuisance on the cut, steering this way and that, and throwing your fag stubs wherever you please, leaving someone else to stamp them out on the deck.’
Sylvia nodded. No matter how bloody everything got, the three of them were a team, and because of that, they were an unbeatable threesome. Yes, there was a war on, work to be done and no excuses, if you please. Just one foot in front of the other, until it was over. She said, ‘I haven’t trained, put up with these two day after day, Mrs Holmes, just to walk away. Good heavens above, yes, two weeks should do it. Besides, what would Dog do without us?’
The mothers and the nun looked at one another, silenced. Bet was biting her lip. The girls hadn’t seen their trainer so downcast, ever. Polly said, ‘What’s up, Bet? Surely you don’t want us back sooner, that really might be pushing it.’
Lady Pamela seemed to shake herself. ‘Two weeks, Bet and not a day earlier, but they’re to come to Howard House until then. Henry said he will drive up for you. Sister Askwell is happy to release them in two days, and so are the doctors. They need the space, sadly, because the injured from the rockets are increasing daily.’
Verity smiled at her mother. ‘We’ll come by train, because we don’t want to stretch Dad’s petrol coupons. It’ll do us good to get back to normality.’
The mothers protested while the girls agreed with Verity.
Sylvia lay back on the pillows, thinking visitors were lovely but exhausting. Sister Augustine was chatting across her bed to Polly, and Lady Pamela and Mrs Holmes were laughing with Verity when there was a round of applause from the rest of the ward and someone called, ‘’Ere comes another one, girls, and ‘e’s a bit of all right, ‘e is.’
