A Hospital Summer

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘Not off-hand. I might be able to wangle a forty-eight on top of my nights off when I finish this spell.’

  ‘But you’ll want to use some of that visiting the sick?’

  ‘Yes, I will. Thank you,’ I said gratefully, ‘for being so understanding. Will you explain to Mother?’

  ‘I will. She knows most of this already. You don’t mind that?’

  ‘Of course not. Listen, Uncle, will you tell her something else?’ I told him my ideas about training. ‘Do you think it a good idea?’

  ‘I think it the best idea you’ve had in your life. You go ahead, lass, and if you want to use my name as a reference use it any time you like.’ He chuckled deeply. ‘As I’m your mother’s brother, we’ve got different surnames, so they won’t twig our relationship. But to be serious, if you really need a string to pull to get you in I’m fairly sure Lomax would pull it for you. He said he thought your father one of the best men and soundest physicians he had ever met. That’s something to be proud of, Clare. Lomax is considered an authority on medicine. So you let me know what you want me to do ‒ and when you see this fellow Slaney you can tell him from me that he may as well give in gracefully. Or did he ask you to marry him before he knew what he had got?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that.’

  ‘You mean you two are not unofficially engaged?’

  ‘No, Uncle. We’re not. Only ‒’

  ‘Only you feel the time has come to put that little matter right?’

  ‘Well ‒ yes. Sort of.’

  ‘You’ll do it,’ he said cheerfully, ‘you’ll do it. I suppose you feel you may as well train during the waiting years and then get married?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Then the poor fellow has as much chance of stopping you as of holding up a panzer division single-handed. I know you, lass, once you make up your mind. You’re like your father. You’ve a grip like the teeth of a bulldog. I ‒ er ‒ presume he’s a decent fellow?’

  I said, ‘Yes. Yes. He’s decent. He’s the son of the Survey of British Birds.’

  ‘That Slaney? Your father would have been interested to know that. Would your father have liked him?’

  I hesitated. ‘As he was when I first met him ‒ no. Then, he changed; he changed a lot this summer. I think Father would have liked him as he was when we were last together.’

  ‘Well,’ said my Uncle Michael, ‘we’ve all been young fools in our time. Your particular generation have undoubtedly been extraordinarily foolish, possibly because you had so little time for folly. I cannot call any of you foolish now. Look after yourself, lass. Your mother worries about you a lot. Always let me know if there is anything I can do for you.’

  I rushed up to Mary as if I were walking on air. ‘He was so sweet, Mary! I don’t know what’s come over him. He never had much time for girls when we were growing up. He always made a fuss of the boys. Not me.’

  ‘Has he any children of his own?’

  ‘He’s never married.’

  ‘Maybe he regrets that now. And maybe he’s touched that you wrote to him for help. People love being asked for their help. It makes them feel wanted.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s it. Oh, Mary!’ I swung her round. ‘Isn’t life glorious! I can go and see Joe!’

  She smiled. ‘There’s just the little question of leave, dear! And the other little matter of the War.’

  ‘To hell with the War! It’s growing like the weather and becoming a bore! I refuse to let it worry me any more. I’ve got far too much to think of. And first I’ve got to think what reason I can give Madam to persuade her that I must have at least a thirty-six. Or do you think I can travel two hundred and twenty miles in a twenty-four? I’m not bothered about missing sleep; but the raids or the invasion business might hold up the trains.’

  She lay back on my bed and rocked with laughter. ‘They might, dear,’ she spluttered, ‘but you wouldn’t let them stop you. You’ve got a bike.’

  ‘Mary, that part of the world’s awfully hilly. I don’t think I could ride all ‒’ I realized that she was laughing at me, and I laughed with her.

  ‘All right. I’ll try for a forty-eight and work down. And if she doesn’t give me anything I’ll go A.W.O.L. and be the first V.A.D. in history to be put on a charge. The War will have to get on without me just long enough for me to go and visit Joe. I refuse to waste time in getting it, either. I’ve wasted quite enough as it is.’

  She was still laughing. ‘Clare! Being in love certainly gives you the strength of ten! I’ve never known you so determined ‒’

  ‘It’s not that.’ I broke off. ‘Perhaps it is. But ‒ what has suddenly got me, Mary, is the thought that there may not be any time left. Those idiots have got the range of this camp now and are bound to keep on with their raids. If some miserable Jerry gets a direct hit on Families to-night I shall be absolutely livid! And it’s all so pointless ‒ such a waste of bombs.’ I brushed my hair violently to let off steam. ‘What good can it do them to blow up a collection of sick and newly delivered mothers and a nursery of new-born babies?’

  She stopped laughing. ‘All obvious cracks aside, dear, if they do blow up Families they’ll blow up more than they’re bargaining for. You, being buried among the women and kids, can’t know the feeling that’s flying round about Families having such a close shave last week. If one of those bombers had crashed-landed in the camp that night a regiment of M.P.s wouldn’t have saved the crews from lynching.’ She looked at me soberly. ‘I’ve never known the troops in such an ugly mood before. Ugly is the only word for it. Did you realize that night how close you girls were to the Pearly Gates?’

  ‘No. I didn’t realize until I went on the following night and saw how near the craters were to our building. I was too tired to notice anything properly on the morning after that bad raid, I was upset about Joe, fed up with cockroaches, and plain blue. I didn’t have time to take it in or to be frightened during the raid.’ I explained in detail why. ‘The War just became something tedious in the background.’

  She said she supposed she could understand that. ‘I think they ought to shift out all those women and babies, all the same.’

  ‘The sick women were going to-day ‒ I haven’t a notion to where. The midder floor is moving to the ground floor and staying open for the time being, and there was some talk of making a nursery out of the shelter. I think it’ll remain talk because of the business of fresh air; there’s not enough down there for new-born babies, if they’re going to stay-put day in and day out. Mackenzie told us the G.O.C. himself went round Families yesterday and talked with the women.’ I told her about the faulty Labour Ward black-out. ‘I wonder if the G.O.C. heard the hell one of his stooges gave us that night? In retrospect, I can’t help feeling sorry for that wretched major. He was only doing his job ‒ and he got a ghastly time from us. I wish you could have heard Mackenzie! She’s normally civility itself with the men ‒ and she let her hair down with a wham!’ I noticed the time, and began to dress hastily. ‘Mary, if you don’t mind, I’m going to fly. I want to see Madam before we have supper. I know I won’t get that forty-eight unless I create like mad, so the sooner I start creating the better.’

  Mary cycled to the day Mess with me. ‘Good luck with your creating, dear. If Madam fails you try Matron; if Matron’s no good go and see the C.O.’

  I got off my bicycle. ‘Do you think I’ll have to go as high as that?’

  ‘Possibly.’ She smiled. ‘If he turns you down give me a shout. I was at school with the G.O.C.’s wife. She’s a nice woman. She might be able to get you an interview with him, and as one of the little heroines from Families’ ‒ she bowed to me as she rode in a circle ‒ ‘I’m sure you rate at least a forty-eight from him.’

  ‘Mary, you’re an angel! Thank goodness for your strings. I’ll shout for you all right, if need be. First, I’d better tackle Madam. What do you think she’ll say? That I’m a rat to think of leaving the sinking ship even for a forty-eight?’

/>   ‘Beat her to it with all the world loving a lover.’ She made another circle round me. ‘Clinch it with discretion being the better part of valour. Use the lot on her, dear. You’ve always been splendid at platitudes. And, Clare ‒ good luck for to-night. If those idiots, as you call them, drop a direct hit on Families to-night I shall be absolutely ‒ livid, too. And so will poor Joe.’

  ‘Him! Huh! Mary, do get off ‒ you’re making me dizzy. I want to ask you something.’

  She stopped her bicycle and came towards me pushing it. ‘What now? I thought you were in a hurry?’

  ‘I am. But I want to know something, and you are always right. Tell me, please. Do you honestly think he’s in love with me? Or do you think this is all something I’ve worked up in my imagination? Tell me,’ I insisted, ‘please?’

  She did not answer for a few moments. ‘If I tell you what I honestly think is the truth, will you promise to do something for me?’

  I nodded. ‘It’s a deal.’

  ‘Right. I think,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘that Joe does love you. I think he loves you so much that he would rather hurt himself than hurt you. You may think that kind of love is common, Clare. I assure you it isn’t. This is what I want you to do for me. It isn’t much. I just want you to remember when you see Joe what you’ve just been saying about time running short. And I want you to forget all the rubbish you’ve ever been taught about suitable behaviour for young ladies and waiting for the man to speak first and so on. To-morrow may be another day; let’s hope it is; we’d be fools to bank on it. I’m pretty certain you’ll be sensible about this, without my good advice, but I feel I’d like to hand it on, all the same. Now do hurry in, dear, or you may miss Madam.’

  Miss Moreby-Aspin was obviously disturbed by my request. ‘I would like to help you, Dillon, m’dear, but I must remind you there is a war on. We need all hands to the pump. Matron’s very pressed for time. I doubt if she can spare you an interview.’

  I said, ‘Will you ask her, Madam? Or shall I?’

  She clicked her teeth. ‘I’ll put in a word when I can, m’dear. Matron’s a busy woman. She doesn’t spare herself. Frankly, I do not see how she can spare you at this juncture. I think you would be wise to wait until you come off nights.’

  There was no question of my being able to see Matron that night; I appreciated that, and went on duty in a slightly mutinous frame of mind. I found Families a changed place. Miss Best and her patients had vanished; Mackenzie and I were alone with the maternity patients and the babies who were now all on the ground floor. We took our supper in the kitchen despite the cockroaches, as the office was officially out of bounds. Over supper I asked Mackenzie if she thought I could persuade Matron at least to see me.

  ‘She can’t not see you.’ She swept three cockroaches off the table as she spoke. ‘No matron can refuse to see one of her nurses with a genuine reason for an interview. You’ll just have to bypass your Commandant and go straight to Matron’s office in the morning and demand an interview. I’m quite sure she won’t refuse your interview or request if she can possibly grant it. Matron only looks terrifying; she’s tolerably human underneath. Your Commandant may be a little scared of her; she possibly hasn’t trained, and isn’t used to matrons. Sit still.’ She brushed an insect from my cap. ‘Inquisitive little horrors, aren’t they? That chap’ ‒ she nodded amicably at the fallen cockroach, who was now lying on his back waving his legs ‒ ‘was admiring your red cross.’

  I shuddered. ‘Sister, how can you stand them?’

  ‘I can’t. I’m terrified of them,’ she added calmly. ‘I just force myself to be academic about them as I’ve got to live with them. It doesn’t stop my being terrified, but it does help me maintain some self-respect. It’s a mistake to let that go. Asking for trouble.’

  ‘Did you,’ I asked curiously, ‘learn that sort of thing for yourself, or were you taught it when you were training?’

  ‘Probably a bit of both. In a good training school they bring that kind of thing out. Why?’

  I told her that I was seriously considering training as a nurse.

  She said, ‘I’ve been wondering why you haven’t done that before. Of course you must go and train. And of course you must go to Matthew and Mark’s.’

  I smiled at her tone. ‘I had intended applying there. You think it the best hospital, Sister?’

  She smiled back. ‘My good girl, it is the only hospital. There are others ‒ I believe. To a Matthew and Mark’s nurse, the others exist in the Dark Ages.’ She laughed with me. ‘I appreciate how I must sound, but I can’t help it. I love my hospital, Dillon; I hope one day you’ll love it too.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Fifteen minutes before we need start work, so let’s rough out your letter of application now. I’ll tell you what to say. Then if there’s time later ‒ Jerry permitting ‒ you can copy it out neatly. Oh, get out of the way, you revolting creatures!’ More cockroaches were swept to the floor. ‘Pass me my case. I’ve got some paper in there ‒ oh, no!’ The alert instead of the cockroaches had upset her this time. ‘Never mind. We’ll write it after the all-clear. At least we’ve finished our supper. Jerry’s getting positively considerate.’

  I did not have to confront either the C.O. or the G.O.C. with my demand for forty-eight hours’ leave. Matron, as Mackenzie anticipated, granted me an interview on request.

  When I had explained why I had asked to see her she said, ‘You have had no nights off duty during your period in the Families Hospital, Miss Dillon?’

  ‘No, Matron.’

  ‘And you have never requested compassionate leave previously? The occasion of your father’s death does not concern us now. Leave was granted you then without your requesting it. You have had no other request?’

  ‘No, Matron.’

  She considered me, then consulted a list on her desk. ‘You have three nights owing to you at this moment. One for each week you have worked on night duty. In two days’ time you will have completed your fourth week. Normally you would then be returning to day duty, but under present circumstances, as you are acquainted with the work in Families, I would like you to continue there until we are able to transfer all our remaining maternity cases. We are hoping to have that scheme completed in another two weeks.’ My hopes, which had soared, now fell as quickly. Two weeks. Anything could happen in two weeks. She might as well have talked of two hundred weeks, or two hundred years.

  She looked up at me keenly. ‘Are you sleeping well, Miss Dillon?’

  I hesitated, wondering even if she was being ironical. ‘I’m sorry, Matron? I’m afraid I don’t quite understand?’

  ‘I asked if you were sleeping well, Miss Dillon. In the daytime? You appear very tired. Are you finding it difficult to train yourself to sleep by day?’

  ‘A little difficult, Matron,’ was all I dared admit. I wondered if the stout and faintly formidable lady with rows of medal ribbons who was regarding me shrewdly realized I had just made the understatement of the year.

  Apparently she did. ‘I well remember the trouble I had with my sleep when I was a probationer. I was in my third year before I was able to sleep as well by day as by night. Consequently, I can appreciate how exhausting young nurses like yourself do find night duty. Nor do I discount the added strain under which we are all working. I think you will do better work, Miss Dillon, if you have a couple of nights in bed. So,’ she tapped her desk with the third finger of her right hand, ‘I am going to allow you to take two nights off duty, starting from to-night. I will speak to Miss Moreby-Aspin about a temporary replacement for you immediately.’

  I could not believe this was true. ‘Matron, thank you very much.’

  ‘You must understand, Miss Dillon,’ she said gravely, ‘that my principal reason for granting you this leave is because I recognize that you need sleep. As you are on leave, you will naturally be free to leave the hospital and the camp, so long as you return at the appointed time. But remember, I am trusting you to ensure that, wherever you may go, y
ou do have two full nights in bed. I do not wish to hear that you have returned to duty looking as tired as you are this morning.’

  I cycled back to the day Mess as if I were on a dirt-track. When I arrived I found Madam looking slightly annoyed and Polly beaming. Polly told me Miss Moreby-Aspin had already heard the news and had rung the Company Office about my travel warrant. ‘She’s not annoyed about you. The poor old girl’s heartbroken. She’s just heard that this place is turning into a C.C.S. and not a base hospital for sure by the end of this month.’

  ‘What’s going to happen to everyone?’

  ‘Heaven knows. Most of us’ll be posted; and this house will close down or be taken over for troops.’

  ‘Is Madam going to stay?’

  ‘She doesn’t know. That’s what’s eating her most. Are you going to sleep at all to-day, Dillon?’

  ‘I’ll sleep in the train. I’m not going to waste time in bed this morning. I’ll be in bed to-night.’

  ‘Where are you going? Has your mother evacuated? That why you’re going west instead of east?’

  ‘No. She’s still on the coast. I’m going to visit a friend.’ I was not more specific, because I had no idea where I was going to stay, or where I would find the bed in which I had promised Matron to get two good nights’ sleep. ‘I’ll go back to the night house now, Polly, and bath and change. By the time I’m back here Madam should have my warrant and pass lined up ‒ I hope.’

  ‘She’s going up to the office in a few minutes. I’ve got to go up to the hospital myself; if you like I’ll ride up with her and bring yours back. You won’t want to go all the way back to the hospital, and if you want to get off this morning you may be held up, as Madam seldom gets back from the office before twelve. With luck I’ll be back here at half-past nine.’

  I had not been able to hug Matron, much as I had wanted to.

  I could and did hug Polly. ‘Heaven will reward you, my love, even if I don’t. I’ll see you then.’