by June Tate
During the drive, Helen sat in the back of the car, looking out of the window at the passing scenery. Richard was sitting in the front, chatting to the driver. The journey was not without its problems: damaged roadways; tanks that had become useless, bogged down in the mud; troops on the move, walking slowly, too tired and weary to march in a smart military fashion, some wearing bandages around their heads, beneath their caps, others with arms in slings, some on crutches, others propped up on horse-driven carts. Her heart went out to them, but what really upset her was seeing the bloated, rotting remains of the horses that had perished. Those brave animals, ridden during gunfire and with an ignominious ending. James would hate to see this, she thought, then realised he probably had done so.
The journey seemed endless. They stayed overnight in an army camp, ate a quick breakfast to sustain them and hours later they reached their destination and were ushered into the office of the chief medical officer. He greeted them warmly.
‘Please sit down. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’re here. We are inundated with casualties, as you can imagine, and are greatly in need of another surgeon and theatre sister. I’ll send you quickly round the hospital to familiarise yourself with the layout before you have a rest and a meal, but you will be on duty in the morning.’ He rose to his feet and shook hands with them both. ‘My sergeant will show you round,’ he said and pressed a bell on his desk. There was a knock on the door and a sergeant entered.
‘Take Captain Carson and Sister Chalmers around the wards and the theatre, will you? But first make them a cup of tea, I’m sure they need it after their journey.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he replied. Turning to Richard and Helen he said, ‘If you’ll follow me, please.’ In the outer office, Helen and Richard drank the tea, needing the comfort of the beverage after such a long time in the car, and then made their way, following their guide.
They toured the wards, talking to the matron and one of the surgeons in each one, being appraised of the patients’ treatment, who were all dressed in their ‘convalescent blues’, as their hospital wear had been christened. Richard nodded to the soldier in each bed, picked up the chart at the end of some to check on their recovery, asked a question now and then and talked to one or two of the casualties.
Helen glanced across the ward and saw a soldier sitting on the side of his bed. She saw that he was distressed and walked over, picked up the chart at the end and read it. He was suffering from facial burns from an explosion, she noted. Returning the chart, she sat beside him.
‘Hello, Private Barnes, how are you feeling?’
As the young man turned to her, she saw the dreadful puckered and burnt skin on his face and she reached out and held his hand as she saw the tears gather in his eyes.
‘Look at me, Sister. No woman is going to fancy a man who looks like this. I’m nineteen and my life is over.’
‘It may seem that way now, Barnes, but in time the scars will fade a lot and yes, you will never be the same physically when you see your reflection, but believe me, your life isn’t over. I’m not saying there won’t be women who will reject you, because life and people can be cruel, but you have to have the courage to rise above such ignorance. One day, one young lady will come along and see beyond your battle scars, see the man behind them. You just have to be patient.’
‘What do you see when you look at me, tell me that!’
‘I see someone who is suffering at the moment. I see a man who has lived through hell, but has come through it, albeit with injuries, but I see a man with nice eyes, a kind heart – and a life ahead of him. A life that won’t be without its difficulties, but a life that could be fulfilled as long as you don’t become bitter. Look around you, Private. Look at those who’ve lost their limbs, some that will leave the hospital in a body bag, who won’t have a future at all.’
He looked around the ward as he thought of her words, then back at her.
‘Do you honestly think I stand a chance?’
She smiled softly. ‘That’s mainly up to you and how you handle your situation, but yes, I do believe you have every chance.’
She rose from the bed. ‘I’ll look in on you again and see how you’re doing.’
‘Thank you, Sister,’ he said. ‘It was kind of you to take the trouble.’
‘I can assure you it was no trouble at all. I’ll see you soon.’
Helen rejoined Richard and the matron on their rounds. Several patients were on the road to recovery, others would be in the hospital for some time and a few wouldn’t make it. Eventually they were taken to one of the operating theatres, which was empty. Both Richard and Helen were pleased with the facilities.
‘It will be a joy working here after the base hospital,’ he said to her. ‘Thank God for that!’ It was the first time he’d spoken to her since they’d left the hotel.
She agreed. ‘It will be better for the patients, that’s for sure,’ she said.
The sergeant showed them the mess hall and said dinner would be served in half an hour, then he took them to their quarters where their bags were already installed.
‘I’ll meet you in the mess after you’ve unpacked,’ Richard said and walked away.
Nurse Jenny Palmer had watched them leave the ward. Good-looking man, she thought as she gazed at Richard’s retreating figure. She’d been pleased to see the sister stop and talk to Private Barnes, one of her favourite patients. The boy needed encouragement and it was obvious, watching the two of them, that the sister had been a help. She picked up several dressings and walked over to her next patient, an army sergeant who had lost his left leg just below the knee.
‘Right, Sergeant, are you ready? I have to change your dressing.’ She knew this caused her patient a lot of pain but the man was brave and seldom complained. He covered his discomfort with humour.
‘You know, Nurse, if anyone looked at you, they’d think you were a gentle young lady – they would have no idea that you could be a past mistress of torture!’
She grinned broadly at him. ‘Honestly! You go on like that, you’ll ruin my chances of meeting a nice young man. You’ll scare them all away.’ She started removing the bloodstained dressings as gently as she could but she felt him flinch beneath her fingers.
‘Nearly finished,’ she said softly.
She bathed the stump with a carbolic lotion, then after soaking clean gauzes in the same solution, she dressed his wound, pleased to see that it was clean, without infection, but it would be a while before the man would be well enough to go home.
‘There you go,’ she said as she finished binding the leg. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’
‘Got a minute for a chat, Nurse?’
Jenny was surprised at the request as the sergeant had not said a lot to her other than to chide her over her treatment.
‘I’ve always got time for my patients,’ she said as she sat beside the bed. ‘What’s on your mind, Sergeant?’
He lowered his voice. ‘How’s my wife going to react to my stump, Nurse Palmer? I mean, imagine when we get into bed together and I get undressed and my injury is there in front of her. Won’t she find it gruesome? Won’t she go off me as a man?’
Jenny took hold of his hand. ‘Does your wife love you, Sergeant?’
He looked embarrassed. ‘Well, yes, she does. We don’t often put it into words, like, but yes … as I do her.’
‘Have you written and told her about your injury?’
Frowning, he said, ‘Well, I’ve told her I was injured and had to have an operation but, no – not exactly.’ His voice chocked in his throat. ‘I couldn’t find the words.’
‘You have to write and tell her; you can’t suddenly turn up without giving her a warning of what to expect.’ Her heart ached at his expression as he faced the fact.
‘I can’t bring myself to do it, Nurse.’ His eyes filled with tears, which made her feel even worse, seeing this strong individual trying to cope with his dilemma.
‘Would you like me to writ
e to her and put her in the picture?’
She would never forget the look of relief on the man’s face.
‘Would you, Nurse? Would you really do this for me?’
‘Of course. If you give me her address I’ll write tonight when I’m off duty. You see, Sergeant, when you get home she’ll be more prepared, and loving you as she does, you’ll work it out together, I’m sure.’
‘If I wasn’t a married man I’d kiss you, Nurse Palmer!’
Laughing, Jenny got to her feet. ‘Now that would ruin my reputation. Write the address and I’ll come and collect it before I go off duty.’
He clasped her hand and said very quietly, ‘Thank you.’
Giving his hand a quick squeeze, she walked away, battling with her own emotions after their conversation, cursing the war that had affected so many lives and messed with their future, which would never be the same and which would produce so many problems. She would try and prepare the sergeant’s wife for his homecoming and advise her how to manage him until they worked out their own routine. It was the least she could do for such a brave man. After that, it would be up to the couple to find their own way, which she hoped fervently they would be able to do. At least she wasn’t having to write and inform the family that their son or husband had passed away; others had that task. Those were the hardest letters to write.
Chapter Three
Helen made her way to her quarters and was grateful for a proper room as opposed to a tent and eyed the bed with pleasure. A camp bed hadn’t been the most comfortable of places to try and sleep after a heavy day in the theatre, and there was also a wardrobe for her clothes.
Walking over to the small hand basin she turned on the tap. The water was hot! No more washing in a tin bowl of cold water, and there was a shared bathroom where she’d be able to immerse herself in hot water. But as she told herself, those days near the battlefield made her more appreciative of what was now on offer.
Once unpacked, she made her way to the mess hall. It was a fair size and busy. She saw Richard standing in the queue for food, he waved and called her over, handing her a tray.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving and I have to say the food smells appetising.’
They were served a healthy portion of beef stew, mashed potatoes, various vegetables and a portion of sponge pudding and custard, which they carried over to a table after helping themselves to cutlery. On the table was a jug of water and glasses. They sat down.
Richard tasted the beef. ‘It’s alright,’ he said. ‘Thank goodness for some decent cooks. By the way, in my room is the list for the morning,’ he told her. ‘We start at eight-thirty and tonight we meet the rest of my team. The break was good, but now we must get back to business.’
‘Well, at least we’ve had a rest and lived like a human again, even if it was only for a few days,’ she said.
‘You seemed to enjoy yourself with Captain Havers. That scene as we left was very touching.’
The irony in his voice didn’t escape her, but she ignored it. ‘Yes, it was ages since I’d ridden a bike and the village was quite picturesque, without much damage.’
‘Will you be seeing him again?’
‘I’ve no idea, he’s being seconded to another regiment, but after the war – if we are spared – yes, I’ll probably see him when I get home. He lives in Cheltenham.’
‘Yes, so you said. Very convenient!’
‘Stop this, Richard! You haven’t the right to be jealous, and certainly not over my meeting a young officer I might never see again.’
He looked disgruntled. ‘If you say so,’ he snapped.
The meal was finished in silence.
After they’d eaten he explained to her where his office was situated and told her to be there in an hour’s time.
‘The rest of the team will be there and we can run through tomorrow’s list together.’
She caught hold of his arm. ‘Richard, we have to work together, so please, don’t let there be any bad feeling between us.’
‘Of course not. We are both professionals and we have a job to do. I’ll see you in my office.’
The nurses and an orderly sat with Helen and Richard in his office shortly afterwards, and after introducing themselves they set about planning the following day’s list. They seemed a friendly bunch, all looking a bit jaded, in need of a break, but mindful of what lay before them, and when they’d left, Richard said they seemed well trained, which was a great relief to him as he was a stickler for precision in his theatre.
The following weeks soon fell into a routine as the team coped with the influx of patients and the rounds in the wards after, checking on their patients’ recovery. It wasn’t always easy when recovery meant a return home because an injury meant the man was no longer fit for duty, but could return to his family. For some it meant facing hardship, perhaps because of a loss of a limb, and that was a cause for concern as to how they would be able to earn a living. Despite this, it was a great relief for the men, knowing that at least they wouldn’t have to return to the fighting.
Some of the patients suffered from shell shock. Their road to recovery would take much longer and, with others, they would never be the same again and despite being professional, Helen was deeply moved by their predicament, which sometimes caused her many sleepless nights. She visited Private Barnes regularly and was pleased to see he seemed to be recovering mentally and was beginning to cope with his injuries.
‘I’ve written to my mum,’ he told her. ‘Thought it best to warn her what I look like, otherwise it would be too much of a shock.’
‘That’s very wise of you,’ Helen said. ‘Expect tears, Private, you know what mothers are like, then after, she’ll be making such a fuss of you, you won’t be able to breathe.’
He smiled. ‘That sounds like heaven to me, Sister.’
A month later, to her delight, Helen received a letter from James. She sat in her room reading it. He had been sent to Cambrai where there had been fighting, but he was fine. He wrote of their time together and the trip to the village, he told her stories about his troops that were hilarious and made her smile. She was pleased that he’d retained his sense of humour, but was aware he’d written nothing about the fighting.
Write to me, Helen. You know how important letters are to us poor soldiers. If I thought I could end up in your hospital, I could feign an injury so you could take care of me, but I’ll just have to wait until we get home.
I hope that old misery isn’t working you too hard! You tell him I said he’ll have me to answer to if he doesn’t look after you.
Take care, keep safe and write soon.
Love,
James
She got out her writing pad and answered his letter immediately.
It was almost Christmas and the hospital staff had managed to purchase decorations for the wards in an effort to cheer the troops. Paper chains were being hung. Helen had climbed a stepladder and was trying to pin the end of a paper chain to the ceiling. One of the patients was holding the bottom of the ladder so it wouldn’t slip, one leg in plaster, a crutch under his free arm.
‘You be careful up there, Sister,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you falling off the ladder, you might break my other leg, then where would I be?’
She looked down and grinned at him. ‘Back in bed and at my mercy!’
‘Can’t I be at your mercy, anyway, without any more injuries?’
‘You, Private Ellis, are far too cheeky for your own good.’
‘Well, I’ve been told that before,’ he said, laughing.
She climbed down and looked at him, eyes twinkling. ‘I don’t doubt that for a minute. Now away with you before I decide to give you an injection for your cheek.’
Someone had found a phonograph on which to play records, and after someone wound it up Christmas carols filled the air. It certainly lifted the atmosphere. Some of the patients joined in, taking their mind away from their injuries and pain.
‘Make s
ure Father Christmas stops at my bed, Sister,’ called one. ‘I didn’t send him a letter this year.’
‘Don’t you worry, young man, he has a list of all the patients,’ she said as she left the ward.
That evening after dinner, she and Richard were in his office going over the plans for the morrow and, after they’d finished, Helen was saying how the Christmas spirit was helping the patients. He agreed with her.
‘Yes, I noticed that when I made my rounds. I must say the place does look very festive, it helps us all to feel cheerful. Fancy a drink?’ He poured two glasses of whisky.
‘Thanks,’ said Helen. She looked across the desk at him. They hadn’t slept together ever since they’d moved into the hospital, or had any physical contact. It was as if James Havers had come between them despite not being in the vicinity. Yet they had maintained their closeness professionally in the theatre.
Richard returned her gaze. ‘I miss you, you know,’ he said quietly.
Completely surprised by his comment she asked, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Do I really have to spell it out, Helen? We have been lovers for a long time until we moved here and I miss that closeness. Don’t you?’
She thought for a moment and had to admit that she did. ‘Yes, I suppose I do. It was always comforting to have a cuddle after a bad day in the theatre, we both needed that, I believe.’
‘Is that all?’ There was a definite challenge in his voice and his eyes.
Despite everything – his wife, James – there had always been a chemistry between her and Richard from the moment they’d met and as she looked at him now and saw the invitation in his eyes, she knew it hadn’t entirely diminished. They had been close for so long and he had been an important part of her life despite their recent differences and she could still feel that affinity.
‘No, that’s not all.’
He gave an enigmatic smile. ‘I can’t tell you how happy that makes me, Helen. God, there have been times these past weeks when I’ve ached for you so much, I’ve wanted to drag you off to my quarters!’
