Our Last Goodbye: An absolutely gripping and emotional World War 2 historical novel

by Shirley Dickson

  Things improved in the canteen when May was instructed to dish out the food, then clear dirty dishes from tables. She kept busy but didn’t eat breakfast, as the very thought of food made her feel nauseous. When the shift finally finished, there were no farewells, as no one knew May wasn’t coming back to work at the factory.

  * * *

  As it was too early to report to the hospital, and with nowhere else to go, May put her small suitcase on the pannier at the back of her bike and, securing it with a spring bracket, cycled to the seafront.

  There was no one around at that time of morning, so she left her bike leaning against the bandstand wall and went for a bracing walk in the sea air. And when the sun began to rise, May looked out over the sands, past the rolls of barbed wire to miniature ships that sailed on a hazy horizon.

  Instead of the solace she expected, May experienced a nervous restlessness that didn’t allow her any peace. She couldn’t stop thinking of all the people she’d loved and lost.

  Gazing into the awakening sky, she began to weep, not for herself but for Billy, for all that might have been ahead in his life.

  Sniffing and wiping her eyes, May put personal problems and hurtful memories aside. For today, she reminded herself, was the beginning of something special – a new start in her life that she mustn’t jeopardise.

  * * *

  As May walked up the path from the main gate of the hospital, she looked at the imposing red brick building ahead and, apart from a stint in nursing school, her home for the next three years. The small brown suitcase she was carrying contained all her worldly possessions: a black and white photograph of Mam and Derek, one of Billy in uniform, toiletries, trinkets of jewellery, Mam’s favourite cardigan that still had a remnant of her smell. There were the essentials she needed for Preliminary Training School too: exercise books, pens, pencils and a cotton drawstring laundry bag onto which May had stitched her name.

  The building looked more like a grand house than a hospital, with its peaked portico, lawns and imposing grounds. To the left along a pathway was a low building with trolleys outside carrying laundry bags. To the right was a cluster of grim-looking stone buildings and May presumed these must be part of the old workhouse.

  Entering the main building, she walked along the busy corridor and, finding the sewing room, she rapped on the door. Her nerves fraught after a night of no sleep, panic seized her and she was overcome with the compulsion to run away.

  May took deep calming breaths. She was not going to allow nerves or grief to spoil her life’s dream.

  She entered the cramped and cluttered sewing room. Two middle-aged women sitting in front of sewing machines looked up, bored expressions on their faces.

  May smiled at a grey-haired lady who wore a tweed skirt and white blouse with Peter Pan collar.

  ‘Nurse Robinson?’ The woman pushed back her chair and stood.

  May nodded.

  ‘I’m Mrs Harrison.’ She gave a brief smile. ‘You’re the last to arrive. If you go into the cubicle, you’ll find your uniform dress on the chair.’

  As May changed clothes, Mrs Harrison talked non-stop from the other side of the curtain about absolutely nothing that May could relate to; her family, the state of her flat as she was a working wife, her good-for-nothing husband who listened to war news on the wireless for most of the day. May was too polite to interrupt.

  When she emerged from behind the cubicle curtain, dressed in a purple and white striped short-sleeved dress with starched cuffs and collar and waistband that fastened with a stud, the other machinist rolled her eyes, as if to say she had to endure this perpetual talking all day.

  ‘Now dear’ – Mrs Harrison became surprisingly officious – ‘this is your apron and headwear. It’s tricky to make but you’ll soon get the hang of it.’ Two starched cloths were placed in May’s hand. ‘Have you got a watch, dear, and scissors? Good. Put them in your top pocket.’ May did as she was bid. ‘You’ll find a spare uniform piled on your bed when you get to your room at Preliminary Training School. Oh, and make sure the seams of your stockings are straight. Matron is a stickler. And, before I forget, take this.’ She took a black, coarse woollen cape from the back of a chair. ‘I’d keep an eye on it if I were you; capes are like gold dust and more often than not go missing. Now, off you go, dear, to Matron’s office.’

  * * *

  ‘Come in,’ called an assured voice.

  May straightened her back and entered Matron’s office. Four girls, whom May recognised from the entrance exam, stood in a line before Matron’s large desk, which was piled high with neatly stacked papers.

  Matron’s eyes travelled along the line. ‘Welcome, nurses. You are in the same set.’ Standing poker straight behind the desk, Matron clasped her hands behind her back and cut an imposing figure. Face impassive, she explained what was expected of a probationer nurse. They were never to address a Sister by name; they were always to report to Sister when both going on and off duty and they must present themselves in an exemplary fashion on all occasions, especially outdoors, where they must walk in pairs.

  She finished, ‘The requisite is that you obey the rules. Because blunders can do Jerry’s job for him and cost patients’ lives.’ She pinned each nurse with an unnerving stare. ‘Are you all sworn to follow hospital rules?’

  ‘Yes, Matron,’ they chorused.

  ‘Always remember that the uniform you wear represents Edgemoor Hospital. From now on your behaviour must be beyond reproach.’ A hint of a smile touched her lips. ‘Only your best is good enough… don’t let us down.’

  Matron told them to find the switchboard at the main hospital entrance where a head porter would see they were shown to Preliminary Training School.

  Pride mingled with fear surged through May. She didn’t know the first thing about tending the sick and, for all she knew, she might panic at the first sign of blood, or worse, be paralysed with fright in an emergency. What use had she been when Mam had tripped and fallen to her death? May’s confidence plummeted.

  But then, as she filed out of Matron’s office, the thought hit her that she was starting out on a dream come true.

  ‘Life is what you make it, our May,’ Mam’s voice said in her head.

  May made a vow. From this day on, not only would she be dedicated to her vocation but she would also provide for Derek, so that he’d never want for anything. And one day, she didn’t know when, or how, they would be together.

  Feeling conspicuously new and awkward in her uniform, she followed the rest of her set to the switchboard and to the start of a new life.

  * * *

  Edgemoor General Hospital had been built in the countryside on the southern edge of the town. It was once known as the ‘workhouse’, and had been home to some twelve hundred paupers (men, women and children), excluding those unfortunates who were sent to the ‘lunatic block’. May had heard tales of the harsh and cruel conditions towards inmates. The site had only become ‘Edgemoor Institution and General Hospital’ in the early thirties.

  As she followed the others along the corridor she marvelled at the bustle of the hospital, the smells – beeswax polish mingled with medical odours she couldn’t define – and thought it only right and proper that the extensive site, after its detestable past, should now be a centre for the injured and infirm.

  John, the head porter, a man with a perpetual frown and the look of a man who didn’t take his responsibilities lightly, was in charge of porters and orderlies.

  He told the probationer nurses, ‘I’d put yer cloaks on if I was you, it’s perishing outside.’

  He then hailed a porter who was passing in the corridor. ‘Richard, escort these nurses to Parklands, if you would.’

  May followed Richard, who wore a brown overall over his clothes and had a no-nonsense attitude and an intelligent gleam in his brown eyes. He led the women out of the hospital gates over the road, down a street opposite, then over a main road.

  One of the set, a tall girl who lo
oked younger than May, with legs that appeared to go up to her armpits and transparent baby-blue eyes, pulled an approving face as she followed him.

  ‘He’s a smasher,’ she mouthed to the others.

  Richard, tall and slim, with expressive eyes, was rather handsome. But May would die of embarrassment if the fellow turned and saw them all eyeing him up and down.

  He came to a halt outside an impressive detached house on a corner of Dunlop Road. The red brick, three-storey house with peaked roof and attic windows that gazed out over the rooftops, stood in its own grounds.

  ‘This is it, then.’ The porter nodded goodbye to them and, with long strides, he was gone.

  As May went through the front porch and into the large lounge, she was glad to see a fire burning merrily in the hearth – a welcome sight on this perishing December morning. Through a window she could see a walled garden. The house, May decided, with its traditional charm and homely wood-burning smell, was much more comfortable than she’d anticipated.

  The five girls who stood in the lounge looked awkwardly at one another, as if each of them were willing someone else to be the first to speak.

  ‘I’m Valerie Purvis.’ Baby-blue-eyes took up the challenge. ‘I’ve joined the nursin’ profession to be out of me house. It’s filled chock o’ block with me brothers and sisters… I’m the bloody eldest and just a dogsbody.’

  She laughed, and before the others had a chance to introduce themselves, Sister Chilvers, whom they’d met before at the entrance test, came into the room.

  ‘Welcome to Parklands,’ Sister’s soft, though no-nonsense, voice greeted them. ‘Follow me. I’m here to give you a guided tour.’

  * * *

  The thing that struck May most about Parklands was the size of the place. There was a huge kitchen with sparkling pans hanging from hooks on the walls and utensils in jugs. A smaller room was, according to Sister, used for the purpose of practising cooking patient meals. Off the corridor were doors leading to a practical room, classroom and dining room, whose long table was set for six people.

  May was shown to a draughty bedroom off the first-floor landing, with three beds. Her roommates were to be Valerie and a rather plump redhead with enormous freckles peppering her face.

  She smiled at May. ‘Maureen Gardener,’ she said, as she looked around the sparse room. ‘This basic accommodation will do me nicely.’

  She spoke with a refined voice.

  ‘Not me. I had in mind a bit more comfort.’ Valerie dumped her case on the end bed facing the window that had a spectacular view of the garden. She checked the uniform piled on the bed. ‘This is mine.’ Gazing around the room, with its large wardrobe and chest of drawers and a locker by each bed, Valerie frowned. ‘They haven’t gone to town on furniture, have they? And wouldn’t you think they’d give us a dressing table rather than just a mirror on the wall?’

  ‘I doubt if we’ll have time to dress up and go anywhere,’ Maureen said.

  Valerie sniffed. ‘Speak for yersel’. There again, on thirty shillings a month, I suppose you’re right. I practically earned that hairdressing.’

  ‘I think the pay’s fair,’ May piped up. Then she wished she hadn’t when she saw the derogatory stare Valerie gave her, as if she’d just crawled out of the drains. Hesitantly, May went on, ‘Considering we get free food and lodgings… besides our uniform.’

  May could have added that at this stage in life she was only too glad to have a roof over her head.

  The threesome made their way down to the lounge and joined the other two student nurses, who huddled by the fire.

  The thin, pasty-faced girl introduced herself as Jennifer – Jenny for short. The other nurse, with black hair and alert eyes behind round spectacles, said that her name was Eileen.

  There was a rustle at the doorway and Sister Chilvers came in. ‘Nurses, pay attention. I’m here to inform you of hospital rules.’ Her expression was business-like. ‘The first lesson you must learn is to stand when any Sister enters the room.’

  Collectively, the five of them stood to attention.

  ‘You may sit. You will gather in the classroom at eight-thirty sharp.’ Sister Chilvers’ gaze sought each nurse in turn. ‘Classes are till one, then an hour for dinner and you will finish at six. During your three-month preliminary period, you will study courses in anatomy, physiology, sociology, hygiene and practical nursing. All your meals will be served in the dining room. If you are late you will miss a meal.’ She pinned each nurse with a stare. ‘To work at Edgemoor Hospital, we expect our nurses to be dedicated and of sturdy character. Your patients and your profession must come first in your life. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, Sister,’ they chanted.

  ‘After your preliminary training period you must pass a class certificate. If you fail you will not receive a second chance.’

  Was May the only one to go pale at the thought of failure?

  Sister’s face softened. ‘Study hard and the exams won’t be a problem. I’m here to help you pass… we’re in great need of nurses.’ She sobered. ‘But I must tell you that in my experience some of you won’t have the commitment or ability it takes to complete the training.’

  May glanced at the others and wondered if they felt the same hysteria at the enormity of what was expected that she did. For a start, she’d have to look up physiology and sociology in a medical dictionary in the library, as she hadn’t a clue what the words meant.

  Sister handed out a timetable and instructions that included laundry rules, a ten o’clock curfew, and lights out ten-thirty.

  As May took hers, she thrust out her chin. She would do whatever it took to pass the exams.

  * * *

  That night as she lay in the single bed, the blackout curtains closed and the dark pressing in on her, the terrible truth loomed large in her mind. Billy was dead and she’d lost her best friend.

  Suffocating with insecurities, all of a sudden she didn’t feel so self-assured.

  * * *

  Life at Parklands was an eye-opener. On the practical side, May was taught, amongst many other things, bed-making, how to cook light patient meals and wash bedpans. On the medical side, she learned how to take a temperature and pulse, set medical trays and take patient notes. At night after supper she tackled the ever-increasing studying.

  The set of five nurses was a diverse lot but May soon got to know the others well, so intensely were they living and working together. Though living in such close proximity brought its own problems. Rows started and tempers flared, but, in the main, except for Valerie (who at times seemed to be looking for an argument), everyone got along, and if things got too heated there was always Home Sister – Sister Chilvers – to rely on for impartiality.

  One morning at breakfast, prayers over, Sister Chilvers declared, ‘Excuse me, nurses, but I’ve a streaming cold and won’t be joining you for breakfast. I have a special treat in my quarters. An orange, would you believe? I’m hoping the vitamin C will do me good. I’ll be with you later to tell you which ward you’ll be allotted.’

  Because of food rationing – two ounces of butter, one ounce of cheese, one egg, meat, sugar, jam, and the list went on – food was never far away from May’s mind. Today’s breakfast of bread, margarine that came in a block and a foul concoction of dried egg mixture, didn’t hit the spot, and despite her hunger she toyed with her food. She gazed out of the window where Jack Frost had been out, leaving his ice designs.

  ‘I hope I’m not on a children’s ward… not when I’ve just escaped our lot.’ Valerie sighed a sigh of the damned.

  ‘Valerie, I can’t help feeling worried about you. I’m not so sure you want to be a nurse,’ May replied with the honesty the others would learn to take for granted.

  ‘Huh!’ Valerie glowered at May. Knife clattering to the plate, she scraped back her chair and flounced from the room.

  The others exchanged glances.

  ‘I hope her mood improves when she reaches the ward… or
else she’ll be for it,’ Maureen remarked dryly.

  * * *

  Later that morning, Sister Chilvers, eyes watering and nose red, informed them which ward they’d be on. May, when she learned she was on the men’s orthopaedic ward, felt panicked as she’d no idea what to expect. But that was what she was here for, she remonstrated with herself, to learn.

  ‘Report to John, the head porter,’ Sister told them, her blocked nose making her voice thick. ‘He’ll tell you how to find your ward.’

  The five of them, capes wrapped around their shoulders, made their way to the hospital where John stood inside the porter’s lodge and peered at them through the window.

  ‘I’ll do better than that,’ he said putting down the telephone. He caught the eye of a passing porter. ‘Richard… look sharpish. Show this set of nurses to their wards.’

  Richard didn’t show any sign that he’d met them before as he led the way. May, being the last, was taken through Outpatients outside, down a ramp and over a pathway to a tall red-brick building. Opening the door, the porter stood back and nodded in a solemn way. His gorgeous, shining brown eyes looked at her earnestly.

  ‘Sister Jordan runs the men’s orthopaedic ward.’ His voice was deep and mellow.

  As May entered the corridor with its faded green, chipped paint, she got a blast of a meaty smell. The ward must be near the kitchens, she thought.

  Richard led the way along the corridor and then inclined his head towards the double doors that led to the ward. ‘Sister Jordan’s a stickler for discipline but she’s fair with it.’

  ‘Blimey, my first day on a ward. I could do without a hard taskmaster.’

  Richard was tall, she noticed, and sinewy, with surprisingly broad shoulders, though sometimes his expression changed from impartial to that of guarded. He didn’t answer, his lips clamped firmly shut. Giving a shrug, he left.