The Girls in Blue

by Fenella J Miller

  The car could safely seat four but there were six inside when he set out. ‘None of you blighters smoke whilst you’re in my car. Can’t bear the smell.’

  Roy was in the passenger seat and swung round to speak to the blokes squashed on the back seat. ‘It’s not the smell I’m bothered about, it’s being set fire to.’

  The drive from Catterick to Harrogate was about thirty miles but it was worth the effort as there were plenty of decent pubs, a couple of cinemas, Harrogate Theatre, and even a rather seedy nightclub. There was also the YMCA if you were looking for a bit of feminine company. The main hotels had been commandeered by the government for use as relocated London offices and training bases.

  As they approached the outskirts of the city they had to pass Pannal Ash where WAAF recruits were now being trained. They already had a handful of girls at Catterick and there were likely to be many more as soon as the very basic accommodation was completed. He didn’t envy the girls who would be unlucky enough to spend the winter in a Nissen hut, which was all they were going to get.

  When he turned onto the main road a body of smartly turned out WAAF were marching towards him on the other side of the road. His companions immediately wound down the windows and wolf-whistled and cheered.

  Not a head turned – every girl kept in step, eyes front. He decelerated as the road was wet and he didn’t want to splash the girls marching closest to the oncoming traffic. Then a huge brown and white dog jumped out of a garden the column was passing and launched itself into the girls.

  The ranks disintegrated. The well-ordered group were in chaos. Several girls were on the ground and others were screaming and pushing those closest to them in order to get away. Thank God he’d already slammed on the brakes and was almost stationary when one of the girls fell beneath his wheels.

  He was out of the car in seconds, heart thudding, expecting the worst as he dropped to his knees by the girl spreadeagled on the tarmac. Her eyes were closed; blood trickled from a gash on the side of her head.

  The wheels were touching but hadn’t actually run over her. He closed his eyes for a second, sending up a brief prayer of thanks to anyone who might be listening.

  Roy knelt on the other side. ‘I’ll see if she’s broken anything. You check her vitals.’

  Oscar put two fingers at the junction of her chin and her jaw. A definite steady pulse, but a bit weaker than it should be. ‘We need to stop the bleeding. Make a pad with your handkerchief and I’ll use my tie to keep it in place.’

  Both of them had taken the St John Ambulance course and knew enough to deal with the situation until a medic arrived. His fingers were red by the time the temporary bandage was in place.

  One of the other blokes was crouching beside him, his face pale. ‘There’s so much blood. Is she going to die?’

  ‘Head wounds often look worse than they are because of the bleeding. Her pulse is steady – she’s concussed but hopefully no worse than that.’

  The others were out of the car and four greatcoats were handed down to him. The racket from the column of WAAF had subsided. He couldn’t hear the dog snarling. Bloody animal should be put down.

  He and Roy carefully tucked the coats under and over the unconscious girl. Where the hell was the woman in charge? Had someone found a house with a telephone to call the ambulance? Probably the base was where the closest telephone was.

  ‘Freddie, stay with her.’

  Satisfied he’d done as much as he could for the patient he stood up and turned to see if he and Roy could be any help to anyone else. Even limited medical knowledge was better than none in the circumstances.

  ‘Jesus wept – this is worse than I thought.’

  There were two seriously injured girls; these must be the ones the dog had mauled first, and they too were cocooned in greatcoats waiting for the ambulances to arrive. There were also half a dozen walking wounded being comforted as they sat on the kerb or leaned against the wall in tears, nursing their cuts and bruises.

  He looked ahead and saw those who were unharmed marching briskly through the gates of the base. ‘I’ve got first-aid training,’ he said to the sergeant kneeling by one of the injured girls. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘No, sir, I carried a first-aid kit in my pack and we’ve done what we can. What about the girl under your car?’

  ‘Concussion and a head wound but not critical. What happened to the dog?’

  ‘One of the girls found a large stick and beat it off. It ran away, thank God.’

  He leaned down and patted her on the shoulder and then returned to the patient he considered his concern.

  6

  From a distance Jane heard voices. She was cold. Her head hurt. Why was she lying in the road? With some difficulty she opened her eyes to see a face peering down at her.

  ‘I’m Oscar Stanton. I almost ran over you. Keep still, help is on the way.’

  Initially her vision had been blurred but slowly it cleared. She blinked a few times. The young man was a pilot, had strange blue-grey eyes and a mop of almost white curls.

  ‘You look like an angel. I hope that’s not a sign.’ She managed a lopsided smile.

  ‘Absolutely not. You’re concussed, will need a few stitches in your cut, but nothing worse as far as we can see.’

  His use of the plural made her move her eyes – moving her head wasn’t feasible – it hurt too much. Not one, but six RAF airmen were surrounding her. She couldn’t quite remember how she’d come to fall underneath the car but no doubt her memory would return when she didn’t have such a shocking headache.

  Had she told him her name? For some reason this seemed important. She couldn’t remember it – but she did know her number. ‘472… 374.’ Speaking was becoming more difficult. The light was hurting her eyes. She closed them and blackness swirled over her for a second time.

  *

  When she awoke, she was in an unfamiliar bed. It was far more comfortable than the one she’d used for the past two weeks. Where was she? She was about to open her eyes when a wave of nausea overwhelmed her. Unseen hands held a cold receptacle for her.

  Eventually she came around without vomiting and her head, although painful, was no longer such agony. She desperately needed a pee. She daren’t risk opening her eyes.

  ‘Here you are. I’m going to slip a bedpan under your bottom.’

  It arrived just in time to avoid an embarrassing accident.

  ‘There, you’ll feel better now. Lie still and then someone will come and give you a bed bath. You’ll perk up no end after that.’

  Jane would much rather have a cup of tea and some toast but didn’t like to say so. At least she now knew she was in hospital. How long had she been there? More importantly, why couldn’t she remember what had happened to cause her accident?

  What she did know was that she was ACW 472374 – Jane Hadley. She thought she’d only been a WAAF for two weeks and already had required medical attention twice. First, she’d reacted badly to the inoculations and then had been run over. Why couldn’t she remember how this second incident had occurred?

  She opened her eyes and slowly turned her head, pleased it didn’t send a shaft of agony through her any more. She was on her own in a small room. The curtains were drawn but she wasn’t sure if this was to stop the light or because it was night-time.

  As she dozed she recalled the face of a handsome young man – she couldn’t remember his name but she was almost sure he’d told her what it was – he had wonderful, almost white curls and lovely blue-grey eyes. She thought she might have told him that he looked like an angel.

  Then the image changed and that man glowered at her, his lips thin and his expression cruel. The stranger’s face had metamorphosed into that man’s. She jerked awake, forcing the unpleasant thoughts aside. Most men were the same and whatever her rescuer had looked like, he wasn’t to be trusted.

  A far too jolly nursing assistant rushed in carrying an enamel basin and plonked it down noisily beside her. �
�I’ve come to give you your bed bath.’

  ‘No thank you, I don’t want one. I’m perfectly clean as I had a bath yesterday.’

  The nurse shook her head. ‘You didn’t – it’s not on your notes. If someone had given you a bed bath it would be written down here on the chart at the end of your bed.’

  ‘How long have I been in hospital?’

  ‘Three days. The accident was Monday and today’s Thursday.’

  ‘I’d no idea I’d been here so long. I suppose you’d better get on with it then.’

  The flannel was hot in the middle and cold around the edges – quite horrid. The nurse was enthusiastic but inefficient and by the time she’d finished Jane was shivering and fearful she would get the dreaded bronchitis.

  The nurse who’d arranged this torture bustled in, crisp white apron crackling as she walked. She didn’t need to ask if Jane felt better for the experience. ‘Good Lord, what did the wretched girl do this time? I’ll fetch hot water bottles and extra blankets.’

  Through chattering teeth Jane managed to speak. ‘I’d love a cup of tea as well.’

  It took an hour, three hot water bottles and two cups of tea for her to recover and feel warm again. She was just enjoying a slice of hot buttered toast when two porters came in.

  ‘You carry on, love, we’ve come to move you to the ward. You’ll be better in there, more cheerful like,’ one of them said as he grabbed the end of the bed.

  Still munching her toast – she wasn’t giving that up for anyone – she was wheeled from the isolation room into the main ward. There were eight beds down each side of the long room, and a nurses’ table at the far end and the sister’s room behind that.

  Her bed was pushed into an empty space halfway down the left-hand side. Immediately a nurse arrived at her side. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Hadley, I have to confiscate your toast. The consultant will be making his round at any moment and wouldn’t be impressed to find you eating toast at this time of the day.’ She reached out to take the plate but Jane hastily moved it under the covers.

  ‘I’ve not eaten for three days and I’m jolly well going to finish my toast. If the doctors don’t like it then that’s just too bad.’ As soon as she’d spoken, she regretted it. What was happening to her? Her heart pounded but she didn’t give up her precious toast.

  *

  Oscar couldn’t get Aircraft Woman 472374, previously known as Miss Jane Hadley, out of his mind. There was something about her that appealed to him but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Was it her vulnerability? She had an unloved air, too thin, and a haunted expression in her eyes. She was a girl who needed taking care of and he’d always been a sucker for a lame duck.

  By the time the ambulance had arrived the six of them had decided to abandon their trip and return to base. Since then he’d enquired at the hospital and had been told that the patient was unconscious but stable.

  He was determined to visit as soon as he was allowed to. He’d suffered from merciless teasing all his life for his ridiculous curls but she’d thought he’d looked like an angel. No one had ever compared him to a heavenly messenger and he was intrigued by her comment and wished to get to know her better.

  Chamberlain had declared war on Germany weeks ago but so far nothing had changed – no marauding Luftwaffe had come to bomb Britain and people were carrying on pretty much as usual. The only action so far had been in the Atlantic and the Royal Oak had been sunk in Scapa Flow by U-boats a couple of weeks ago. There had also been an air attack, the first of the war, in Scotland but nobody had been hurt.

  The only sorties his squadron had undertaken had been rehearsals for the real thing. They were all experienced flyers so would be ready when needed. His Hurricane wasn’t as fast as a Spitfire but he loved it. He’d flown both and like everyone else preferred the Spit but was happy with his lot. The Hurricanes would be the workhorses when it came to a fight and the Spitfires would be the racehorses. Fast, but not as dependable.

  Four days after the accident he had a free day as his kite was in for maintenance – landing gear wasn’t working as it should – so he decided to drive over and visit the girl he couldn’t stop thinking about. He’d not seen her at her best and wasn’t even sure she was particularly attractive, more a ‘plain Jane’, but he was definitely intrigued.

  The drive took him an hour as he’d got caught behind a convoy of army lorries. He enquired at reception for the ward Jane was in.

  ‘It’s not visiting time, sir, so you’ll have to come back at two o’clock. Sister Reynolds won’t countenance visitors outside of the designated times.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll come back then.’ He walked out but doubled back as soon as the woman was answering the telephone. He wasn’t hanging about until then. He needed to be back before dark as driving in the blackout would be impossible. He’d not yet covered his headlights so the required pinprick of light was all that would be seen.

  As he approached the ward he heard raised voices and increased his pace. He stopped in the entrance and his mouth curved. There were two nurses attempting to remove something from Jane’s bed but she wasn’t cooperating.

  He moved swiftly to her side trying not to laugh. ‘Can I be of assistance, Miss Hadley?’

  ‘They want my toast but they’re not having it. I’ve not eaten for days and I’m starving.’

  The nurse in blue, obviously the woman in charge, released her grip on the blue bedspread and turned to glare at him. ‘This isn’t visiting time. What are you doing in my ward?’

  ‘I’ve come to see Miss Hadley. I heard the racket down the corridor. I don’t think your consultant will be impressed.’

  The sister’s nostrils flared but she understood. ‘Nurse Bennett, return to your duties.’

  The other nurse reluctantly let go of the opposite side of the bedspread and slunk off, glaring over her shoulder at Jane, who was unrepentant.

  ‘Thank you, whoever you are. I’ll get on with my toast now.’ Then without apparent embarrassment to be the centre of attention she pulled out a plate and tucked into the toast with enjoyment. There were no chairs – presumably visitors had to fetch their own and he wasn’t going to push his luck by asking for one.

  He was already persona non grata so might as well sit on the bed, which even he knew was frowned upon. ‘I’m Oscar Stanton. I almost ran you over a few days ago.’

  She looked up and smiled. Even with a bandage around her head, and bruising down the side of her face, that smile changed everything. How could he have thought her plain? She was quite beautiful when she smiled. Her hair, a deep chestnut, was loose around her shoulders and despite being too thin and knocked about, she looked like a film star from a Hollywood poster.

  ‘I’m sorry, I did know who you were. I’m not comfortable talking to… to men of any sort. You shouldn’t be in here – they already hate me and now my life will be even worse.’

  ‘As you rightly say the damage is already done so there’s no point in me leaving immediately.’

  She looked down at her empty plate and frowned. ‘If you really want to be useful, Mr Stanton, you would go and find me something else to eat and a cup of tea. There must be a canteen or café somewhere close by.’

  ‘It’s Flying Officer Stanton – didn’t you notice my stripes?’ He grinned and she nodded.

  ‘Of course I did. In which case, I’ll rephrase that. Would you be kind enough, sir, to fetch me some more toast and some tea.’ She then sat bolt upright and saluted smartly.

  He got to his feet and smiled down at her. ‘ACW 472374, I should be delighted to go in search of your requirements.’

  As he was strolling out of the ward he almost collided with a phalanx of white-coated doctors. ‘Good God, is that you, young Oscar? I didn’t know you were posted to Catterick.’

  The speaker was his uncle, his mother’s brother, whom he’d not seen for several years. ‘Uncle Edward, I didn’t know you were working here. Last time my mother spoke about you, you were at St Thomas’s
in London.’

  They shook hands enthusiastically. ‘Quite so, my boy, but this place is expanding rapidly to accommodate military personnel when necessary. I transferred here under duress, I can assure you. Now, explain yourself. What are you doing in my hospital?’

  *

  Jane’s bravado had evaporated. It was quite unlike her to make a fuss as doing so always brought severe punishment from that man. She wished she’d not refused to give up her breakfast and that she hadn’t antagonised the nursing staff as they could make her life a misery.

  Maybe she could discharge herself and get away from any unpleasantness? The nurse had rushed to her bed and quickly straightened the counterpane and taken away her empty plate. There were voices outside. The consultant must be coming in.

  She was tempted to pretend to be asleep but decided against it. She wanted to know when she could leave and rejoin her unit. A consultant was God around here and if she hoped to escape then she had to convince him she was well enough to go.

  A small army of doctors as well the woman in charge of the ward, and an even more formidable lady who was probably the matron, approached the first bed. Curtains were drawn around the patient. If she hadn’t been so terrified she would have laughed. There were so many in the small space that the curtains around the bed bulged alarmingly.

  The same process was repeated twice more before the group arrived at her side. She braced herself.

  ‘Ah, Miss Hadley, I must say that you look a lot better than you did last time I saw you. My nephew has told me what happened and the nurse is making you some tea and toast. I can’t have my patients fading away from lack of sustenance.’

  The consultant didn’t look anything like Flying Officer Stanton but she assumed he was referring to him. Why didn’t doctors introduce themselves? They had an unfair advantage knowing everything about the patient and the patient knowing nothing about them.

  ‘I’m feeling much better, thank you. I want to get back to my unit. I’ve only been in the WAAF for two weeks and am missing out on crucial training by being in here.’