Cecilia shoved Poppy under the nearest bed. Another explosion rocked the hospital. Enormous rocks fell through the roof, crashing into the ward and bouncing off the beds. The aftershock knocked Cecilia off her feet, sending her hurtling across the ward. She crashed into the wall and crumpled to the floor, where she lay motionless.
‘Mama,’ screamed Poppy, ‘are you all right?’
There was no answer. Poppy felt her heart stop, a sob welling up in her throat. Could she be dead? Could my beautiful mother be dead? Please, God, don’t let her die.
Poppy scrabbled across the floor on all fours, heedless of the falling masonry and debris, to her mother’s inert body.
‘Mama?’ Poppy whispered, gently touching her mother’s shoulder.
Cecilia moaned and shuddered, eyelids fluttering. Poppy flung her arms around her mother protectively and kissed her cheek.‘Thank God, you’re all right!’
Cecilia rubbed her head and winced, glancing around. ‘Oh, the bombs. Poppy, get back under the bed.’
‘Not without you,’ Poppy replied. They scuttled back across the rubble-strewn floor to the makeshift shelter under the bed.
Cecilia and Poppy huddled together until the dust cleared. Slowly, painfully, they crawled out, checking all the patients. No one seemed to be hurt beneath their mattress protection.
Cecilia limped out, followed by Poppy, and headed next door to another ward. Here, they set to work getting as many patients out of the building as possible. Strangely, Poppy no longer felt afraid – she was too busy lifting, pulling, coaxing and running.
There were two patients, barely mobile, who were trying to help each other shuffle outside. A quick glance around the ward showed that all the patients in this room had either been evacuated or moved under the beds.
‘Come on, lads,’ said Cecilia with a smile. ‘Would you like a hand?’
Cecilia slipped her arm under the soldier’s elbow, taking his weight.
‘Thanks, Sister,’ he replied. ‘I think we might be better off outside, don’t you?’
Poppy ran to his companion’s side and offered her arm, which was already aching from lifting the heavy men. Her legs were trembling as well, but she dug deep inside for strength.
‘I don’t know about that, sir,’ replied Poppy, smiling, remembering her mother’s advice. ‘They sound really close.’
‘Strike me fat! Look at you, missy – not much more’n a tot. What’re you doing here in a war zone?’
‘Same as you, sir – dodging Japanese bombs,’ Poppy joked weakly.
They hobbled outside and stopped. To the west, they had a perfect view of Darwin Harbour. Poppy could see wave after wave of planes darkening the sky overhead, dropping whistling silver bombs. There seemed to be nearly two hundred planes, at a guess.
The scene in the harbour was chaos. Dozens of ships were crowded together, attempting to flee. Black smoke. Roaring flames. Thundering explosions. Men jumped from the shattered wharf into the oil-slicked water. Ships were being dive-bombed, the explosions splitting them in half. The very water of the harbour was on fire.
Halfway along the path, there was another explosion close to the hospital building. Poppy, Cecilia and the two patients were thrown to the ground. Debris and shrapnel hurtled through the air, as dangerous as the bomb itself. Poppy checked that all her limbs were intact, then scrambled to her feet, helping up the wounded patients. She wiped her face which was slick with sweat, and her palm came away coated in crimson.
The Japanese bomber wheeled around, as though to check the damage he’d caused. The pilot spied the group of four standing on the lawn and headed back straight towards them.
‘Run!’ Cecilia yelled.
Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.
Poppy looked up. She could see the emblem of the rising sun clearly painted on the underside of the wings. She could even see the Japanese pilot – impossibly young – looking at her. He smiled and waved, then brought his plane into a low swoop, hurtling towards them.
Cecilia yanked Poppy by the hand, dragging her forward. Fear and adrenaline drove the two patients and together the four raced across the lawns, stumbling down the steep path to the base of the cliffs. The bomber opened fire again with his machine-gun, and they were chased by a hail of bullets until they took cover in the thick scrub at the base of the cliff. Dozens of patients were already huddled there in various states of undress, with crutches, bandages and even intravenous drips.
The bomber wheeled away and strafed the hospital building with machine-gun fire.
Cecilia helped the two patients as they collapsed down in the sand, then realised Poppy was bleeding profusely. She examined Poppy frantically. In addition to the cut on her forehead, Poppy had a deep, jagged laceration down her left arm, caused by flying shrapnel.
Cecilia borrowed a medical bag from one of the doctors, which was packed with emergency first-aid supplies.
‘Sorry, darling,’ Cecilia apologised, ‘this is going to hurt.’
Poppy bit her lip to stop from screaming out loud as Cecilia poured alcohol over the open wound to cleanse it. She carefully dabbed at Poppy’s wounds, then bandaged her arm with gauze and an elastic bandage.
When she was finished, Cecilia hugged her daughter to her chest. ‘Darling girl,’ she whispered, her voice shaking. ‘I know it must hurt, but it’s just a flesh wound. Thank God you’re all right. Have you seen Daddy?’
Poppy shook her head, her mind suppressing thoughts of bombs, falling rocks, shattered glass and machine-gun bullets. Cecilia and Poppy took shelter with the other doctors and nurses among the rocks and held each other in a tight embrace.
At last, the sound of bombs ceased and the drone of aeroplane engines faded.
The all-clear siren sounded from the township. Patients, doctors and nurses crawled out of hiding onto the beach, stretching and chattering, grateful to be alive. Poppy checked her watch. It was nearly eleven; the morning raid had lasted just under an hour. It had seemed like a lifetime. She hurt all over, especially her bandaged arm, but struggled stiffly to her feet.
‘Don’t go too far,’ suggested the patient who had been evacuated from Koepang. ‘My guess is that they’ll be back for another attack before too long. You might want to change out of those uniforms, too. You sisters are a beacon that the Japanese could spy a mile away. The white gives them something to aim at!’
Poppy shuddered, glancing at her mother’s uniform, which had been crisp and pristine earlier this morning. It was now crushed, blood-stained and smudged with dirt.
‘You’re probably right,’ Cecilia nodded in agreement, ‘but the nurses can’t stay here in hiding – we’ll have work to do. There’ll be lots of injured people.’
Cecilia kissed the top of Poppy’s head. ‘All right, sweetie,’ she continued, ‘you stay here under the cliffs with the patients in case there’s another attack. I’m going back to help. You can cheer up the patients and tell them some stories. Whatever you do, stay under cover. You saw what they’ll do if they see you in the open.’
Poppy nodded, her hands shaking.
‘Look after my daughter now, lads, won’t you?’ Cecilia asked the gathered men. There were a number of grunts and calls in the affirmative. Cecilia headed up the steep cliff path to the hospital above. Poppy waited a few minutes, took a deep breath and followed – she couldn’t bear to wait under the bushes while her parents were possibly in danger.
‘Missy, your ma wants you to stay here,’ called one of the patients.
Poppy glanced back and smiled. ‘They need as much help as they can get up there.’
‘God bless you.’
At the top of the cliff she checked the hospital. The pristine white buildings, only completed a few days before, were now battered and scorched, but mostly still standing. The lawn was littered with chunks of concrete
, twisted metal and fallen rubble. She picked her way over the wreckage.
Back inside, she leant for a moment against the wall, overcome with shock and pain.
‘Poppy, what in the hell are you doing here?’ called her father’s familiar voice, raised in panic. ‘You’re hurt. Are you all right? Where’s your mother?’
Poppy collapsed against him. His white coat, usually crisp and clean, was rumpled and smeared with blood.
‘I’ve been helping Mama evacuate the patients.’ Poppy’s voice was husky against his shoulder. ‘Then we took shelter down under the cliffs. I was hit by some shrapnel, but Mum says it’s only a flesh wound.’
Mark searched her face anxiously, then checked her expertly bandaged arm.
‘Go back down to the beach, darling,’ Mark ordered. ‘The Japs will probably come back. It’s not safe for you here.’
Poppy nodded and reluctantly turned to leave.
‘Poppet, I have to go back into the operating theatre,’ Mark continued, his voice softer. ‘Dozens of men are arriving seriously wounded. We don’t have enough doctors or nurses or drugs or blood – or anything – to treat them. I want you to get under cover and stay out of harm’s way.’ Mark held Poppy by each shoulder.
Poppy nodded again and stepped away. Mark kissed her quickly on the forehead and was gone.
Poppy walked slowly back outside. The air seemed eerily silent after the deafening thunder of the raid. Plumes of toxic black smoke billowed up into the sky. In the harbour, the once-proud ships were scattered and sinking. Columns of smoke rose from the shattered buildings of the town.
A huge explosion sounded from the harbour as the ammunition in one of the ships detonated, tossing debris hundreds of metres into the air. Poppy could see distant bodies flailing in the black water and men in rowboats floundering to rescue them.
A car raced up the driveway and stopped near the door. A man jumped out, his face half-shaved and the other side white with soap lather. He wore a steel helmet, singlet and underpants, with boots on his feet, the laces undone.
‘Oi, miss,’ he yelled to Poppy, opening the back door. ‘Give us a hand – I’ve got a mate here who needs urgent attention.’
In the back seat, Poppy could see a man doubled over and covered in blood. The bottom half of his leg was missing, ending in a crimson stump. Poppy glanced at the path to the beach, then ran to the back of the car.
She smiled at the wounded man in what she hoped was a reassuring way.
‘Come along now, sir. We’ll have you inside in a jiffy.’
The driver helped carry the wounded man in through the door, where a makeshift emergency area had been set up. Cecilia and Sister Scott were assessing the wounded people who streamed through the door. They sutured, swabbed and bandaged the minor cuts and abrasions, gave tetanus injections and checked for fractures. The more serious cases were directed through to the doctors, who were operating among the dust and debris of the damaged hospital.
‘Poppy, what are you doing back here?’ Cecilia said, astonished. ‘I told you . . . Oh, never mind. We’re out of sterile swabs. For goodness sake, can you find some? Also antiseptic . . . Now sir, let me help you through to the surgical ward. We’ll fix you up in no time at all.’
Poppy didn’t wait for her mother to change her mind. She ran through the wide corridors of the hospital, which were now crowded with patients sitting, lying and moaning on the floor. Nurses bustled among the wounded, washing wounds, dressing burns with sterile bandages and dispensing morphia for pain.
In the first ward, the store cupboard was destroyed, the precious medical supplies smashed on the floor. Poppy ran to the next ward, where she found a supply of swabs, surgical tools and bottles of antiseptic solution. She found a doctor’s jacket hanging on a hook and filled it with anything she thought might be useful.
‘What’s happening, miss?’ asked a voice from under a bed, inside a fortress of mattresses. ‘Has the bombing stopped? Can I come out now?’
‘Yes, sir, the bombing has stopped for now, but they might come back – you’d better stay where you are for a while,’ Poppy suggested. Hoisting her sack of supplies over her shoulder, she ran back to her mother’s station.
Cecilia was swabbing a man with a jagged, bloody gash down his arm.
‘Good girl – can you lay them out on the trolley for me, please?’
Poppy rushed to obey. She had seen her mother do it for her father many times, the instruments, swabs, bandages and bottles laid out in precise rows.
‘Sister Trehearne, do you have any sterile instruments over there?’ called Sister Scott. ‘I’m all out.’ She held a bloody pair of tweezers that she had been using to pick shrapnel from a man’s face.
Cecilia thrust a bucket of bloody instruments towards Poppy. ‘Darling, can you go to the kitchen and scrub these, then boil them up to sterilise them? The sterilising unit was damaged during the bombing. Remember to boil them for at least ten minutes – it’s really important.’
‘Sure, Mama,’ Poppy said, eagerly taking the bucket and darting once more among the bodies of the wounded. Bewildered men called out as she passed, begging for pain relief or a drink or simply a word of acknowledgement. She smiled and said hello but kept running.
She recognised a patient who had been bedridden this morning. He was mopping the floor of the hallway. Other patients worked to help those who were worse off. Near the kitchens she had to jump over a pile of rubble. Dad will be distraught, thought Poppy. The beautiful new hospital has only been open for seventeen days, and now it’s been devastated.
Coming towards Poppy from the other direction was a handcart piled high with bodies, pushed by two men. Most of them were black with burns. The stench of burnt flesh and fuel filled the corridor.
Poppy averted her eyes and tried not to breathe, her stomach heaving.
‘Sorry, miss – excuse us, miss,’ apologised one of the men.
Focus, Poppy told herself, fighting back the nausea. I have to sterilise these instruments so the nurses can keep doing their work.
In the kitchens she found two more patients who were boiling saucepans of water on primus stoves that they had commandeered from somewhere.
‘Hello, love,’ one of the men greeted her. ‘Need a hand there?’
Together they scrubbed the blood from the equipment and boiled it for ten minutes. Poppy loaded the hot instruments into a sterile container and raced back the way she had come.
The emergency clearing room was more crowded than ever.
The door burst open and two men struggled in, carrying a stretcher. The body on the stretcher, black with oil, writhed in agony.
‘We’ve got another truckload of wounded from the harbour,’ the lead stretcher bearer told Cecilia. ‘Many of them are badly burnt, but they’re lucky to be alive.’
‘Okay, put him here,’ ordered Cecilia. ‘How many do you have?’
Cecilia took the wounded man’s pulse and examined his body, checking the extent of the burns.
‘We got thirty-odd in this load but there’re hundreds of them coming in. Hundreds been killed, too. The town’s destroyed. The post office took a direct hit, too, and ten of the workers were killed in the slit trench.’
‘The workers?’ asked Cecilia, stopping for a moment. ‘Do you know who?’
The stretcher bearer rubbed his forehead, which was smeared with oil and dirt.
‘Six women. The whole Bald family. The Mullens sisters. Mrs Young and Freda Stasinowsky. Their bodies have just been brought to the hospital morgue.’
Poppy reeled in shock. The whole Bald family? she thought in horror. Gorgeous Iris – Phoebe and Edward’s friend? And her mother and father? How could that lovely, vibrant girl be dead? She thought back to the last time she’d seen Iris just a few days ago when she’d told Poppy that the Administra
tor had once again urged the women to leave their jobs and escape south.
Cecilia swallowed but completed her examination of the patient. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ she said. ‘All right. This man needs to go through to the surgical ward now. Poppy, can you please show these men where to go? Then perhaps you could check the operating theatre – they might need help topping up supplies.’
Poppy ran from emergency station to ward to operating theatre to kitchens, fetching supplies, directing stretcher bearers, sterilising instruments. The doctors and nurses, volunteers and orderlies worked tirelessly as patients poured in from the harbour, the town and the bases with wounds ranging from gunshots, burns, lacerations, broken bones and blindness.
In the kitchens, two of the patients made hot drinks and food on the primus stoves for the patients and staff.
Around midday, the air-raid sirens sounded again, heralding the return of the Japanese bombers. This time the target seemed to be further south near the RAAF airfields.
Once again, Poppy and her parents took shelter down under the cliffs of Kahlin Bay, together with the mobile patients. The hot sun beat upon their heads, blistering in its intensity. Poppy’s throat was parched with thirst. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had a drink. They huddled together at the base of the cliffs for over an hour, which stretched out like an eternity.
As soon as the all-clear finally sounded, it was back to the operating stations.
14
The Aftermath
‘This is not good, love,’ one of the orderlies told Poppy. ‘They say this is the softening up by air before a land invasion. The Nips have wiped out all our defences and most of the planes were destroyed at the airfields. They say they’ll be landing tomorrow and we’ll be outnumbered twenty to one. I, for one, am heading south before they get here.’
Poppy’s gut twisted in fear. It couldn’t be true.
As Poppy delivered another container of sterilised instruments to her mother, Mark dashed in.
The Forgotten Pearl Page 12
