‘I can do without it, thanks. It isn’t fair to disturb the cockroaches in the middle of their meal. They’re probably keeping their fingers crossed like we are, that no large feet will come and trample in their midst. Not that you’ve got large feet, Dillon,’ she added politely, ‘but only because any foot that can squash the life out of a dozen of its fellows must strike a cockroach as large.’
Miss Best laughed. ‘Mac, I do believe you like those monsters!’
‘Like them, nothing! I just have a fellow-feeling with them. We’re all in the same boat ‒ three million cockroaches and us three. Can we have a meal in peace? Can we get through our night undisturbed? Will some tiresome giant come and knock our heads in? Our problems are identical.’ She glanced at me. She was being much more approachable to-night, and I guessed I had Joe to thank for it. My relationship with Joe had admitted me to the closed circle of Sisters, M.O.s, and M.O.s’ wives and young women. ‘With the addition of your unusual problem, Dillon, I really am very sorry to hear about Joe Slaney. I’m not an old pal of his or anything, but I was in the Theatre Block when he was there. Immediately before I came on nights here. I didn’t see much of him, but he seemed a pleasant type, and I liked the way he took his work seriously. He really cared about the men. I like doctors who care about their patients.’ She put her tray on the floor beside her and stretched her arms. ‘Oh, I am so tired! Roll on my nights off. I’m going to sleep and sleep.’ She swept her great cape over the back of her chair and relaxed comfortably. ‘This is sheer bliss. You make good coffee, Dillon.’ She smiled at me as she spoke. ‘What’s the matter? What are you listening to? One of my babes crying?’
‘No, Sister. Listen’ ‒ I held up a hand ‒ ‘can you hear what I hear?’
We could all hear the same sound now. Miss Mackenzie stood up. ‘I thought it was too good to last! The spell is broken. Here we go, girls ‒ and there goes the sleep of my poor mums. Thank the Lord, the babes will sleep through anything.’
Miss Best pulled off her cap and took her tin hat from its peg on the office wall. ‘Would this be an exercise or ‒’ Her question was lost in the sudden bark of gunfire. The noise of that first gun was immediately followed by the rising chorus of the camp air-raid sirens. ‘It would be.’ Miss Best answered herself. ‘And my tired ladies downstairs only got to sleep just before I came up.’ She slapped her hat on her head. ‘See you in the shelter, Dillon. Enjoy yourself, Mac. What do you bet you have both babies?’
‘I never bet on a certainty,’ replied Mackenzie with dignity. She had removed her own cap, but held her tin hat in her hand. The light shone on her neat hair and made it shine like spun glass. ‘Get your helmet on, Dillon, then cope with the babes. Have you got your routine taped? Good girl. Get on with it. This may only be a false alarm, but it doesn’t sound like it.’
I put on my hat as instructed, slung my respirator case over my back like a school satchel, and went swiftly to the nursery.
The feeding-bottles filled with glucose-water that I prepared each night for just such an emergency as this were waiting on a white enamel tray by the babies’ sterilizer. The whole tray was covered by a clean white towel, over which was laid a soft white blanket to keep in the heat. In the centre of the nursery each night I stood one of the large stretcher trolleys. Beneath the trolley was an unlit hurricane lamp; on the trolley was a box of matches. Every night at ten Miss Mackenzie checked the nursery to see that all the P.A.D. preparations for the newborn babies were complete.
The sirens were still screaming as I pocketed the matches and fixed the hurricane lamp on to one of the end-poles of the trolley; gunfire was now almost continuous, and behind the guns I could hear the noise of aeroplane engines. The babies all slept soundly. They did not wake at the noise, or when I lifted each in turn from a cot, rolled him or her in many shawls, and tucked them down, side by side and end to end on the trolley. Mackenzie had shown me how to load fourteen babies at a time on that trolley; the nursery held twenty-four cots; twenty of them were occupied that night. Mackenzie had told me always to take the maximum number. ‘You can’t be certain of getting back for the rest, Dillon. Take out as many as you can at once.’
I stopped momentarily to look back at the six babies I had to leave behind. ‘I’ll come back just as soon as I can, sweeties,’ I said apologetically. The small, trusting little creatures slept on peacefully, the only people in the camp, perhaps, who were undisturbed by the hideous noise that was shattering the calm summer night.
The babies had priority in the lift; all the women who could be moved to the basement shelter used the stairs until all the babies were safely below ground. The shelter was well constructed, and as safe as any place could be from anything but a direct hit. The floor was lined with mattresses; piles of pillows, blankets, and magazines stood in heaps on the floor. There were no windows, but long ventilating shafts had been cut in the inside walls, and there were two doors. When I reached the shelter with my first trolley-load Best was there attending to her patients; wrapping shawls round their shoulders, blankets over their knees, and propping pillows behind their backs as they leant against the walls. Once she had moved all the patients that could be moved she returned to her wards to stay with those women who could not be moved. For convenience’s sake ‒ and for company ‒ all these women were always warded in beds on the first ground-floor ward. Mackenzie never left the top floor at all. ‘You are O.C. shelter, Dillon,’ she had said, when she taught me the precautionary routine, ‘and that’s not a hard job. The women are good and sensible; we’ve never had anyone lose her head yet. They sit and knit and swap ghastly stories about their innards and their husbands and make a positive mothers’ meeting of it.’
The raid did not last long that night. We could hear the aeroplanes, and the camp guns firing, but we never heard a bomb that sounded close. An hour later all the babies, still sleeping, were back in their cots; the women were drinking hot drinks in their beds; and I was causing havoc among the cockroaches in the kitchen, as I brewed more tea, cocoa, and reheated our supper coffee.
For several nights those minor raids continued, and we became thoroughly annoyed with the Germans. ‘It’s not that I’ve anything against Jerry,’ explained Best, ‘but my poor women are getting exhausted. How can they get well? They never get a proper night’s sleep!’
Mackenzie yawned. ‘What’s the moon doing?’
‘On the wane, Sister.’
‘Oh, no! That does it! When the moon goes in the ’planes come out. Haven’t you noticed? Major Scott was saying that only last night ‒ and that reminds me, Dillon ‒ I’ve asked him twice about Joe Slaney and he hasn’t heard a thing. In fact, I gave him the news. He’s promised to keep an ear to the ground and let me know if he hears anything.’
I thanked her, a little wearily. I was feeling very tired myself that night. I had stopped sleeping like the dead in the daytime; I now slept very badly indeed, and the agony of trying to sleep in the day was near to the agony of trying to keep awake at night. I never dared sit down on my own for one moment during the night. If I did my head instantly began to drop as the demanding waves of sleep enveloped me, and the effort of forcing myself to rise above those waves and stay awake was growing beyond my power. So I stayed on my feet.
Mackenzie, who looked as tired as I felt, noticed what I was holding. ‘What do you think you are doing carrying a cup and saucer without a tray, Dillon? Go and get a tray at once! Never let me see you carrying anything like that again. I will not have it!’
I went back to the kitchen for the tray, feeling very peeved with life and more than a little sorry for myself. What did a tray matter? Oddly enough, I discovered the answer in a few minutes. The young woman to whom I took the now reheated cup of milk was a newly delivered mother. She snuggled against her pillows contentedly. ‘Sister said as she’d ask you to fetch me a drop of milk, Nurse. It does look nice on that pretty little tray! Like as I was having my baby in a posh nursing-home. You nurses are so good to us ‒
the trouble you take! It makes ever such a difference, dear.’
After which I felt hideously ashamed, and vowed inwardly that I would never move without a tray, and if possible a lace doily, for the rest of the War.
Next morning I rang Mary to ask if her Army strings had been any good.
‘I’ve got my father-in-law working on it, dear. He may be able to come up with something.’
After ringing her I wrote to Uncle Michael. I was not hopeful now; lack of sleep was making me very depressed; but I was happier writing letters than trying to sleep through the heat of the day when the sun on the roof directly above my room turned the attic into an oven. That night the moon had gone, and, as Mackenzie had forecast, the bombers came out. At eleven the sirens began; the raid was mercifully short, and the women and babies were back in bed before midnight. They had not been in their beds one hour before the alert sounded again.
I groaned aloud to the baby I was feeding. ‘You’ve had your chips, love. Back to the basement.’ I put down his bottle, and he roared in protest. ‘It’s no good, son.’ I held him against my shoulder, and patted his back to comfort him. ‘Dinner’s adjourned.’ With the baby boy still in my arms, I pulled off my cap, slapped on my tin hat, which I had left on the napkin cupboard, removed my respirator from the nursery door-handle, and slung it over my shoulder. ‘You and I have got to make tracks, son, so just you stay on that trolley like a good boy, while I collect your little pals.’
The baby disapproved of this interruption loudly, and I did not blame him at all. I only longed to be able to open my mouth and bellow as he was bellowing. He did not stop shouting until I began wheeling the loaded trolley to the lift, then he gave a contented little murmur as if to say he approved of nocturnal pram rides.
Best’s women were already busy knitting when we reached the shelter. ‘What a life, eh, Nurse? Still, I’ll get the heel of me sock turned if nothing else!’
When I went up for the second lot of babies Best stopped the lift at the first floor. ‘Keep an extra eye on my women for me, will you, Dillon? I won’t be able to go down to them at all. That first raid nearly gave my poor Mrs Sinclair another coronary. She’s quite blue, and I’ve fixed up the oxygen for her. I daren’t leave her for more than a few seconds. Are my women all right? I had to bundle them down on their own, and they swore they could cope, but I hated doing it.’
‘They’ve settled themselves, Sister. I thought you must have seem to them. They’re all knitting.’
‘Thank God for whoever invented knitting-needles! I’ll be with Mrs Sinclair and the others. Remember,’ she added calmly, ‘if anyone wants to know, there are seven of us in that first ward.’
‘Right, Sister. I’ll tell them.’ I closed the lift doors and went upward to the top floor. When I arrived at the midder floor one of the mothers walked unsteadily out of the ward. ‘The Sister told us to come out to you, Nurse. She said to tell you she can’t leave Mrs Ellis, and you’ll tell us where to go. Do we go down in the lift?’
I hesitated. She did not look strong enough to use the stairs. A bomb shook the building as I looked at her. ‘That’s right, dear,’ I said, as the noise of the crash subsided. ‘Are there any more of you to come?’
‘Five more, Nurse.’ Her voice shook slightly, as the building had done. ‘Here they come.’
None of them looked fit to face the stairs. I took the law into my own hands, helped them into the lift, closed the gates, and pushed the button, having asked them to be sure to close the lift gates when they reached the basement. ‘Wait for me down there,’ I called, as the lift disappeared, then pushed my trolley at the double along to the nursery to collect the rest of the babies.
When we were all in the shelter the women discussed the raid. They were convinced there would be another to-night. ‘Bound to go in threes, it is! Listen to that!’ The noise was muffled by the building over our heads and the thick walls around us, but it could not be hidden. It was the noisiest raid I had ever heard. The women agreed with me. ‘Someone’s catching it to-night, Nurse. Did you hear that? That was a near one!’
I looked at their faces; they were all sick women; they would not have been in hospital when beds were so precious had they not been ill; their faces were pale only with illness and fatigue. No one screamed; no one cried; no one looked scared. They were so busy knitting and exchanging recipes. ‘You want to beat the eggs first dear, then let them stand while you work the paste. But it’s the beating that ‒’ The speaker had to stop as another bomb crashed close at hand; she took a deep breath, and continued as soon as she could be heard. ‘As I was saying, dear, it’s the beating that makes all the difference. That’s my secret.’
One of the babies began to cry. I picked her up and sat down on the mattress-covered floor to feed her. The woman next to me had not yet had her baby. She bent over the small girl in my arms. ‘Isn’t that Mrs Brown’s June? Lovely baby, isn’t she, Nurse! Can I feed her for you?’
I saw the expression in her eyes. I handed her June Brown. ‘That is kind of you, Mrs Jay. Thank you.’
Mrs Jay started something. In a few minutes my trolley was clear of babies; shortly after that, the babies lying side by side on their shared mattress were also moved. The babies snuggled down in the women’s arms, as babies do snuggle when they feel they are being loved, and the women bent over them with the gentle expressions women reserve for new babies. I heard snatches of whispered conversations: ‘There, there, lovey ‒ I’ll hold you for your mum.’
‘There’s a fine little lad. Got a smile for Aunty, have you? I won’t say it’s the wind either!’
‘That’s it, girlie, you have a nice little snooze. That’s right. I’ll rock you to sleep.’ And rock and croon they did, as if they were all in their own private nurseries, while all round us and above us all hell was let loose.
All hell and three bells ringing sharply. The shelter bell indicator jangled urgently, the red flap marking the Labour Ward swung violently.
The women asked, ‘Sister ringing for you, Nurse, dear?’
I jumped up unwillingly, not reluctant to answer that ring, but to leave them. ‘I’ll have to go to Sister. Will you ladies mind? I’ll be back as soon as I can. Will you just all stay in here whatever happens until one of the staff gets down to you? It’s a very good shelter. You’ll be all right ‒ so long as you stay in here.’
They said I was not to give them another thought. ‘We’re all nice and comfortable, dear, and we’ll look after your babies for you. You’re not to worry about us ‒ but we don’t like to think of you and the poor Sisters upstairs.’
‘Bless you.’ I took the box of matches from my pocket and gave them to an A.T.S. sergeant who was one of Miss Best’s patients. ‘These are for this.’ I moved the hurricane lamp by her. ‘If the lights go out can you light it, Sergeant?’
‘I can. O.K.’ She had to move carefully, because she still had stitches in. ‘I’ll keep an eye on things,’ she murmured more quietly. ‘Good luck, Nurse.’
‘You too.’ We smiled at each other. ‘Thanks.’
I ran along the basement corridor and up the three flights of stairs as fast as I could. Mackenzie looked up as I pushed open the double doors of the Labour ward.
‘Take that wretched tin hat off, Dillon,’ she said quietly, ‘or you may drop it on Junior. The mask jar is by your right hand. Put on a clean mask, wash your hands, and come here.’ When I had obeyed her she said, ‘Put your hands on top of mine in the same position as mine are. I must be free to move. That’s it.’
As she slipped her hands from beneath mine a bomb whistled over the roof. Mackenzie glanced at me momentarily; she did not duck, she merely took a fresh grip on the baby’s head. As she remained upright I did also, despite the fact that every instinct I possessed was demanding that I get under something quickly. The sound of the bomb exploding was a glorious relief to me, but the terrified young mother screamed with terror and began to twist her body on the flat bed.
Macken
zie muttered, ‘Blast the b—s!’ Then called aloud, ‘Take it easy, my dear, you’re doing very well! That’s it ‒ just a little longer ‒ that’s it, good girl ‒ another pain coming ‒ that’s it ‒ you’re being so good ‒ you won’t have to stand much more ‒ here we are ‒’ Her voice rose, partly in triumph, and partly to be heard above the barrage of anti-aircraft fire. ‘It’s a girl! A nice little girl!’ She tied the cord twice and reached for her scissors. ‘A honey of a baby with black curly hair! Masses of hair, and all complete! Aren’t you a clever young mum to have produced such a fine little daughter!’
The mother opened her eyes and her mouth. She was smiling, and she seemed to be talking, but we could not hear what she was saying, because a second near explosion, even louder than the first, was shaking the hospital and making the Labour Ward rattle as if it were a toy being rattled by an irate child. The bottles on the white china shelves that had survived until now jangled like bells, then crashed and spilt their contents on the floor. The light above the delivery bed swayed as if we were on a rolling ship at sea, and the light folding cradle that was standing open and waiting by the bed slipped a couple of feet on the polished floor.
Mackenzie hitched it forward with her foot. ‘Don’t move your hands until I say so, Dillon,’ she said, and went on with what she was doing.
The girl on the bed was now oblivious to the raid. She smiled and smiled; her flushed face, was illuminated with sheer radiance. ‘Did you say a girl, Sister?’ she asked in the next lull. ‘Oh, Sister, I am glad. Her dad will be too. We wanted a girl. Thank you so much.’
Mackenzie’s blue eyes were anything but cold as she smiled back. ‘Always happy to oblige, Mrs Ellis. All part of the service.’ She held the naked little baby up in her arms. ‘Come along young woman. What have you got to say for yourself?’
The baby replied with a magnificent squawk that bore no resemblance to the faint wail I had been expecting as all that a new-born baby could produce. The squawk altered to an outraged yell. Mackenzie rolled her in a towel and then a blanket, and laughed. ‘I don’t blame you at all, ducks,’ she said, carrying the infant to the mother, ‘I’d yell blue murder if anyone hauled me into the world on a night like this. Now meet your brave mum. Here, my dear’ ‒ she tucked the baby into her mother’s open arms ‒ ‘meet your little daughter.’
A Hospital Summer Page 18
