On a Turning Tide

by Ellie Dean

  ‘Don’t try and move him,’ warned Danuta. ‘His back must be injured and we could damage his spinal cord.’

  The men cleared a hasty path through the dirt and she hurried to him. The concrete slab was heavy and it took two men to remove it.

  ‘He is alive, but his pulse is very weak,’ she said. ‘We must get him to hospital. Call for ambulance, Mr Hicks. It’s urgent.’

  ‘No ambulance can get anywhere near this place, and my radio has no signal from here. We’ll have to carry him out ourselves.’

  Danuta thought for a second and then nodded. She’d been in a situation like this before when an escape tunnel had collapsed on the group of French partisans she’d been hiding with. ‘Okay. We make his back safe first.’ She looked round and grabbed a long, thin sheet of flat iron cladding.

  Frank was kneeling beside his father, and Harvey was next to him, quiet now he knew Ron was being looked after. ‘What are you going to do with that?’

  ‘Protect his back when we put him on stretcher,’ she replied, digging in her medical bag for bandages. ‘You have first-aid box, Mr Hicks?’ At his nod, she continued. ‘Please, you have something to brace his neck? He should also have a little water to wet his lips and wash his face and eyes, and he needs oxygen.’

  Danuta made a makeshift neck-brace with wads of cotton wool and yards of crepe bandage and fastened it firmly with a nappy pin. Ron didn’t stir as Frank held the oxygen mask over his face, so she checked his pulse again and felt his forehead. He was cold and clammy and his mouth was tinged blue despite the fresh oxygen being pumped into him. She would have to hurry and get him out of here.

  She didn’t attempt to remove the many layers of clothes, but injected a shot of morphine into the back of his hand and then quickly tied his ankles tightly together.

  ‘What are you doing that for?’ asked Frank.

  ‘To stop him moving his legs,’ she muttered. ‘Now you help me put iron sheet under him to stabilise his spine.’

  The firemen brought the stretcher, and with the help of Robert, took a corner each of the sheet of iron, and under Danuta’s precise instructions, carefully slid it beneath Ron’s belly and lifted him onto the stretcher.

  ‘Leave iron in place. It will keep him flat and not sink in middle,’ Danuta said, tying him firmly to the sheeting by winding yet more crepe bandage around him. Satisfied he was being held as fast as possible, she stepped back. ‘Now we go.’

  They carried Ron back the way they’d come, thankful for the clear path they’d made earlier, and the bright torchlights, but all too aware that if one of then slipped or jolted the stretcher, they could cause further damage to a badly injured and far too silent Ron.

  Harvey was clearly suffering from exhaustion and the lack of oxygen, so Alf lifted him up and settled him across his broad shoulders.

  When they came to the motorbike and fire truck they stopped.

  ‘Put stretcher in back of truck on floor,’ said Danuta. ‘Have you got radio signal yet, Mr Hicks?’

  John nodded and pressed the button to speak to Andy back at the station. ‘We’re on our way. Have the hospital on standby, and call the vet. Ron has suspected back and neck injury, and he and Harvey have been exposed to gas. Oh, and tell Rosie, will you? She’ll be out of her mind with worry by now.’

  Danuta clambered into the back of the truck and Alf eased Harvey from his shoulders so the faithful dog could lie beside Ron.

  Danuta was very businesslike as she took charge of the oxygen bottle and mask. ‘Frank, you will sit there and hold your father very evenly – no, I mean firmly – by the shoulders so he is not rolled about when we move. Robert and Fred, you are to hold his legs to keep him very still.’

  Rita kicked her motorbike into life as the others climbed wearily into the fire truck and jeep, and they set off very slowly over the rough ground. They held onto Ron and kept him from being rolled around or jerked as the truck carefully negotiated the dips and rises and then could relax a little as they reached the smooth main road.

  With the bell ringing urgently, they raced into Cliffehaven and turned into the hospital forecourt where the medics were waiting alongside Rosie and the entire Beach View household.

  It was now one in the morning, and once Danuta had given the doctor in charge her report on Ron, she quietly stood by as Rosie and the others swarmed towards the stretcher and followed its passage into the emergency department. Harvey, she noticed, had found a new lease of life after a dose of fresh oxygen, and the second the vet finished treating him, he’d shot off to join the others.

  Danuta gave a weary sigh of satisfaction. Ron would be safe now in the hands of the real experts, and whatever the outcome, she was glad to have been able to repay him – albeit in a very minor way – for all the love and care he’d shown her from the moment she’d arrived at Beach View.

  17

  Rosie was almost on the point of complete collapse when the call had come through from Andy to say the rescue party was on its way to the hospital. He hadn’t explained what had happened or where Ron had been found, but it was clear he’d been badly injured.

  She’d sent Peggy to wake Cordelia and Daisy, telephoned Beach View with instructions to let the others know what was happening, and then quickly changed into slacks and a warm sweater. She was all fingers and thumbs, her pulse racing so fast she could scarcely breathe.

  Without waiting for the others, she’d pulled on her coat and raced to the hospital just in time to hear the urgent ring of the fire engine bells and the roar of a motorbike and jeep approaching from the distance.

  She was quickly joined by everyone else, including Gloria, April and Ruby, and her heart was in her mouth as she stood in the hospital forecourt watching the filthy, rag-tag assembly of rescuers clamber wearily down from their vehicles and the medics rushing to lift the metal-lined stretcher from the back of the truck. She couldn’t begin to imagine what had happened, but the sight of Ron lying so still on that rusting bit of metal made her feel quite ill.

  Now, as she followed the stretcher into the examination cubicle, her whole focus was on the beloved man who lay there, silently praying over and over that he would pull through.

  ‘You’ll have to wait outside,’ said the resident doctor.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she retorted. ‘We’re getting married tomorrow.’

  The doctor rolled his eyes as the ties were cut and the four nurses and two orderlies carefully lifted Ron from the metal sheet onto the examination bed. ‘I doubt that very much,’ he said brusquely. ‘Stay if you must but keep out of the way – and if you are going to have hysterics, have them outside.’

  Stunned by his rudeness, Rosie edged into a corner, out of the way of the nurses who were working on Ron. She watched as his filthy clothes were cut from him, lines of tubing were inserted into his arms, and he was hooked up to a fresh oxygen supply.

  He looked so vulnerable lying there, with half his face covered by the mask and the base of his spine cruelly bruised, but at least he finally seemed to be coming round. She managed to stem her tears, but her legs were trembling as she watched the doctor examine Ron’s spine. This elicited a deep groan from Ron, and she very much feared she might faint, for the doctor’s expression didn’t bode well.

  He muttered to one of the nurses to fetch Ron’s medical notes and inform Mr Armstrong of the situation, and then ordered the others to turn him onto his back, being very careful not to bend him in any way.

  Once Ron was on his back, the doctor ran a pencil along the soles and outer edges of his feet, and having seen a slight reflex in his toes, continued across the top of them and over his shins, up to his knees. Getting only a minor reflex reaction, he fixed the stethoscope into his ears and listened to Ron’s heart. When he finally turned to Rosie, he was unsmiling.

  ‘This man needs urgent surgery,’ he said. ‘I’ve sent for Mr Armstrong, our consultant orthopaedic surgeon, to come and examine him. Is there any medical history we should know about be
fore we operate?’

  ‘He’s got a shard of shrapnel in his back from the trenches,’ Rosie replied, determined to keep her wits about her. ‘Apart from that he’s extremely fit and strong for a man in his sixties, with no history of heart or lung problems.’

  She swallowed her nervousness. ‘Has he damaged his spine? Is that why you have to operate?’

  ‘We’ll know more once Mr Armstrong has examined him and we have a chance to X-ray the area. Until then, I suggest you join the others in the waiting room.’

  ‘I want to stay with him,’ she said stubbornly.

  ‘He’s been heavily sedated and won’t know you’re here,’ he replied, clearly not used to being disobeyed.

  ‘I don’t care,’ she retorted. ‘I’m staying.’

  The doctor muttered something under his breath that Rosie suspected was rather rude, and swept out of the cubicle.

  Ignoring the shocked expressions on the nurses’ faces as they began to sponge away the muck clinging to Ron, Rosie stepped forward to take his hand. ‘It’s all right, my love,’ she murmured against his grubby, bristled cheek. ‘I’m here with you. You’re safe now.’ She doubted he could hear her, or even knew she was there, but it made her feel a little better to be able to touch him at last.

  Mr Armstrong arrived like a potentate prince, followed by his entourage of scurrying nurses and stately Matron. Tall, silver-haired and imposing, he swept in, ignoring Rosie, and focused on Ron.

  There was a deathly hush and Rosie could hardly breathe as she studiously ignored Matron’s furious glare of disapproval and waited for the consultant’s verdict.

  He finally stepped back from the examination table and held out his hand for Ron’s medical notes, which a little nurse quickly provided. Having read them, he turned to Matron. ‘Take him to X-ray immediately and have my theatre prepared. See to it that the most experienced theatre nurses are available. This will be a long, complicated operation requiring the highest standards, and I shall probably need a second team of nurses standing by to take over should it go on too long.’

  ‘Sister Goodyear is available,’ said Matron, ‘but as she shares a house with the patient, I don’t believe it would be ethical for her to participate in the operation.’

  ‘That is a nuisance,’ said the consultant. ‘Have her on standby anyway. We’ve a long morning ahead of us.’

  ‘Is it the shrapnel?’ Rosie dared ask.

  He looked startled to see her there, and regarded her from his great height, his grey eyes gleaming with what looked suspiciously like relish. ‘It very well could be. But I think the X-rays will confirm my suspicion that the patient has suffered two crushed lower vertebrae, and if the shrapnel has embedded itself there, it will require ground-breaking surgery to remove it.’

  Rosie’s heart hammered with fear. ‘Will he come through?’

  ‘That is something I cannot tell you until I’ve opened him up,’ he replied with rather too much enthusiasm for Rosie. ‘Spinal injuries are always tricky and can lead to complications with the kidneys, and even paralysis if the spinal cord is damaged. It depends entirely upon what the X-rays show.’

  ‘And if the cord has been damaged?’ Rosie persisted.

  ‘Then there is every chance Mr Reilly might not walk again.’

  ‘Oh, God, no,’ she whispered through her fingers.

  His smile softened his expression. ‘But it seems that Sister Danuta has done extremely well in stabilising his spine, so there is some hope. Medical advances have greatly increased since the First World War, and as long as any fracture is stable and the kidneys function, he has a chance of surviving.’

  Rosie felt her legs buckle, and she had to steady herself against the examination bed. ‘You mean he might die?’ she managed.

  ‘Had this happened ten years ago, then that would have been my prognosis,’ he said darkly. ‘However, Mr Reilly is otherwise supremely healthy, and as I am confident in my skills as a surgeon, we do stand a small chance of getting him through – although he may be confined to a wheelchair.’

  Rosie almost sagged with relief at this tiny spark of hope. She didn’t care if he ended up in a wheelchair, she just wanted him alive. ‘Thank you,’ she breathed.

  ‘Don’t thank me yet,’ he replied. ‘We have a long day to get through first, and so I suggest you go home and rest.’

  Rosie had no intention of going anywhere. ‘How long will the operation take?’

  ‘How long is a piece of string?’ he replied. ‘It’s impossible to gauge.’

  She found herself being gently but firmly steered out of the cubicle by Matron, closely followed by Armstrong and his entourage. She would have liked to have kissed Ron again, but he was already being wheeled away – still silent and far too inert.

  Rosie left the emergency department and found the others filling the waiting area. Peggy embraced her immediately and Rosie saw that everyone from Beach View was there, as well as Gloria, Ruby, April and Doris. The men from the search party were there too, looking as grubby, damp and exhausted as Rita and Danuta, and Harvey was slumped in a soggy, muddy heap beneath the line of chairs.

  Inundated by questions she couldn’t really answer, she sank down in a chair next to Peggy and gratefully accepted a cup of stewed hospital tea which she sipped as she tried to absorb the doctor’s prognosis and then tell them what was happening to Ron.

  ‘He’d be better off dead than left a cripple,’ muttered Gloria, who never knew when to keep her mouth shut. ‘A man like Ron could never cope with that.’

  ‘I know you mean well, Glo,’ said Rosie, ‘but that’s really not what I need to hear right this minute.’

  ‘That surgeon sounds a bit pompous,’ said Frank. ‘Jim had the same op in India to get the last bit of shrapnel out of his back, so it’s not ground-breaking as that man put it.’

  ‘I think it very much depends on where it is and what other damage has been done,’ said Rosie fearfully.

  ‘What shrapnel?’ Peggy asked sharply.

  Frank reddened and earned a dig in the ribs from his wife Pauline. ‘Sorry, Peg,’ he said. ‘I thought you knew.’

  ‘Knew what?’ she demanded.

  ‘Jim got some shrapnel in his back and most of it was removed at the field hospital, but he went down with a fever and had to wait until he was flown out to India for the doctor there to retrieve the rest.’

  ‘I’m sorry to put a dampener on things,’ said Fran who was now in her nursing uniform and ready to go on duty. ‘But it will depend entirely on how close to Ron’s spine the shrapnel is, as well as the size of it. Mr Armstrong is the best surgeon there is, but if the shard is small and has been embedded in Ron’s spine, it will take ground-breaking surgery to get it out.’

  ‘We mustn’t give up hope,’ breathed Rosie, gripping Peggy’s hand for comfort. She regarded Frank, who seemed so sure of himself. ‘Jim’s pulled through all right, hasn’t he? And if he’s well enough to go back to his regiment, then there’s a real chance Ron will recover fully as well.’

  ‘That’s what I believe,’ said Frank firmly. ‘We Reillys are a tough, stubborn lot. A bit of shrapnel doesn’t stand a chance of beating us.’

  Rosie could only pray that was so. ‘What happened out there, Frank?’ she asked. ‘Where did you find him?’

  Frank looked shifty, and the other men moved about uncomfortably in their chairs. ‘I can’t rightly say,’ Frank replied. ‘We can only speculate that when that Lancaster came down it must have shaken the ground and made some sort of sinkhole and Da fell into it.’

  ‘But that Lancaster came down at about four in the morning,’ Rosie protested. ‘What on earth was he doing up there at that time?’

  Frank shrugged. ‘Who knows? Da’s always up to something or other. We’re just thankful we got him out.’

  Rosie had a lot more questions, but Matron bustled into the room at that moment and brought the conversation to an end. She looked askance at the mess from the muddy boots and dripping coats on he
r floor – and the presence of a damp, filthy dog in her waiting room.

  ‘I suggest you men go home, take that animal with you, and clean up,’ she said sternly. ‘I dread to think of the germs you’ve been trailing into my hospital.’

  Her gaze swept to Danuta and Rita. ‘You did very well tonight, Sister, and probably prevented further damage to Mr Reilly’s spine; but I believe you have to be back on your district rounds soon. You should both have a bath and see to your other duties, rather than sitting about here risking pneumonia and spreading germs.’

  She marched off and began issuing orders to the nurses to clean up the mess and see to it that the dog was immediately removed from the premises.

  ‘Well,’ muttered Rita, ‘that’s told us. But she’s right. We’re both due on duty and I don’t know about Danuta, but I’m so cold I can hardly feel my feet.’

  ‘Aye, and poor old Harvey needs a scrub-down too,’ muttered Alf. ‘I’ll take him home with me and keep him for as long as needed.’

  ‘I’ll look after Monty, if you’d like, Rosie,’ said Fred the Fish. ‘The boys will love having him, so he’ll be no bother.’

  The men shuffled about, clearly loath to leave, but aware they too needed hot baths and to get on with their day.

  Rosie realised it was up to her to send them on their way. ‘I want to thank you all for rescuing Ron, and for being so kind in taking on the dogs,’ she said. ‘But Ron could be in theatre for hours, and although I really appreciate your love and support, it’s probably best if you all go home. You have work to do, shops to open and a pub to run. I promise I’ll keep everyone posted the minute I hear anything.’

  One by one they hugged Rosie and took their leave, Harvey reluctantly being led away by Alf on a length of string, until only Peggy, Doris and Cordelia remained, along with Daisy who was dozing in her pushchair.

  An hour passed, and then another before Fran came in to tell them Ron was out of X-ray and was about to go into theatre.

  They sat in silence and watched the clock tick away another two hours.