The Nightingale Nurses

by Donna Douglas

  A crash shook the pavement under her feet, briefly silencing the crowd. Dora cowered, terrified a bomb had been dropped. But then one of the children called down from his lamp-post look out, ‘They just pulled a lorry over on its side!’

  But no sooner had a cheer gone up than someone else called out, ‘Watch it! The police are coming.’ Dora looked over her shoulder, just in time to see a dark tide swarming towards them over the barricades, policemen on foot and on horseback, pushing their way into the crowd. She saw bricks, bottles, lumps of wood and concrete flying through the air, truncheons raised, horses’ hooves pawing the air, coming down on the crowd, followed by screams and roars of outrage.

  ‘Bloody coppers! Let ’em have it!’

  The next moment hell rained from the skies. The women were hanging out of the upper windows, throwing jars, bottles, tin cans and anything they could find down on the policemen. The air was suddenly filled with the stench of vinegar, pickles and a lot worse.

  Dora dodged into a doorway, just in time to avoid a chamberpot smashing at her feet.

  ‘Watch it!’ someone laughed. ‘Don’t hit us, we’re on your side!’

  She inched her way along the street, dodging the scuffling crowd that surged around her. She got to the the hardware shop just as the owner was boarding up his windows. He gave her the carbolic and refused payment.

  ‘It’s good of you and the doctor to help us,’ he said, pressing the brown paper package into her hands.

  She was on her way back up Cable Street when she saw a man, slumped down an alleyway just off the main street. Blood poured from a gash in his head. A little girl in a green coat stood beside him, whimpering.

  ‘It’s all right, love, I’ll see to him.’ Dora crouched down beside the man. ‘Hello?’ she said. ‘Can you hear me?’ He groaned a response. ‘I’m going to get you somewhere safe. Put your arm around me . . . do you think you can walk?’ She turned to the little girl. ‘You come with me too, ducks. It’s not safe for you round here.’

  The man was a dead weight. No matter how hard she tried, Dora couldn’t shift him. She was still struggling to get him upright when a voice behind her said, ‘Here, let me.’

  She looked around. There was her brother, a coat slung over his black shirt.

  ‘Pete! What are you doing here?’

  ‘I could ask you the same question.’ His face was grim. ‘You never know when to stay out of trouble, do you?’

  Dora looked him up and down. ‘But why are you—’

  ‘Let’s just say I thought better of it. Come on, let’s get this bloke moved before the police really move in.’ He slung the man’s limp arm around his own shoulders, lifting him easily. ‘Which way?’

  ‘Down here. On the next corner.’ Dora directed him through the crowd to the bakery where Dr Adler had set up his surgery. A small crowd had already gathered there, waiting for attention. Dr Adler was cleaning a cut on a woman’s arm, his white coat smeared with blood.

  ‘Thank God you’re here, I was beginning to—’ He glanced over his shoulder and saw Peter, helping the man into a chair. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘I think he’s come to help,’ Dora said.

  ‘We don’t need help from the likes of him.’ He shouted over to Peter, ‘You’re in the wrong place. Shouldn’t you be up at Victoria Park, polishing Mosley’s boots?’

  Peter didn’t reply. ‘Surely we can put him to some use?’ Dora pleaded. ‘He’s a porter, so he’s used to lifting patients.’

  ‘Dora?’ Peter called to her. ‘This bloke we’ve just brought in . . . I think he’s lost someone. He keeps calling out for Anna.’

  Dora went over to him. ‘Who’s Anna, mate? Your missus?’

  ‘Tochter . . .’

  ‘He’s asking for his daughter,’ Dr Adler translated.

  Dora and Peter looked at each other. ‘There was a little girl with him,’ Dora said. ‘I told her to come with us . . .’

  ‘I didn’t see her.’ Peter frowned. ‘She must have run away.’

  ‘Probably saw that black shirt of yours,’ Dr Adler muttered.

  The man started to get agitated. ‘Anna,’ he pleaded, looking from one to the other of them desperately. ‘My Anna . . .’

  ‘I’ll fetch her, love, don’t you worry.’

  Dora headed for the door, but Peter barred her way. ‘You’re not going out there again.’

  ‘I’ve got to find that kid. She’s out there by herself, I can’t leave her.’

  ‘Let me go, then.’

  ‘You don’t know what she looks like.’ Dora glanced back at Dr Adler. ‘You stay here and help the doctor.’

  Dr Adler and Peter glared at each other. ‘Do you know anything about putting on a bandage?’ the doctor asked.

  Peter’s chin lifted. ‘A bit. Our Dora’s practised on me a few times.’

  ‘Then make yourself useful.’ Dr Adler tossed him a dressing. ‘That’s if you don’t mind putting your hands on a dirty Jew?’ he added.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  THE POLICE HAD broken through the barricades and were tearing through the crowds, charging them with truncheons raised. Horses thundered past, so close Dora could feel the heat coming off their flanks. Everywhere she looked there were running battles, people fighting hand to hand with the police, blood running down faces.

  A young policeman lay injured in a doorway, nursing his leg. As Dora watched, a man dashed out of the crowd towards him, a blood-stained lump of brick in his hand.

  ‘No!’ She flung herself on him, pushing him away. ‘For God’s sake, what do you think you’re doing? Leave him be, or you’ll be no better than those bloody Blackshirts!’

  She helped the policeman to his feet. ‘Can you walk?’

  ‘A bit.’ He put his weight on his leg and cursed in pain.

  ‘Let me help you. Put your arm around me.’

  Together they struggled the length of the street almost to the door of the bakery. ‘Go in there,’ Dora said. ‘The doctor will sort you out.’

  She left him and turned back into the mêlée. The police were closing around her on all sides now, charging and thumping and kicking and punching out at anyone who came near them. The protesters were giving as good as they got, while rubbish still rained down on all of them from above.

  She plunged into the crowd, head down, looking for the little girl.

  ‘Anna!’ she called out, but her voice was lost in the roar of the crowd.

  And then, by some miracle, she caught a flash of green out of the corner of her eye. She swung round. The little girl was cowering in a shop doorway near where Dora had found her father.

  ‘Anna?’ Dora started across the road towards her, pushing her way through the crowd. But just as she reached her, a lump of wood came down from an upstairs window, hitting Dora on the shoulder and sending her sprawling across the road. Next moment, a huge grey police horse plunged out of the crowd towards her, its eyes wild, nostrils flaring.

  ‘No!’ She heard a roar as the massive beast reared up, casting its shadow over her. She saw its iron-shod hooves pawing the air, and instinctively curled up to protect herself, moments before they came crashing down.

  Suddenly she felt strong arms around her, pulling her up, snatching her out of the way as the horses’ hooves descended.

  ‘Jesus, Dora!’

  She breathed in the familiar scent of him before she dared to open her eyes and found herself crushed against Nick Riley’s rapidly pounding chest.

  ‘Thank God,’ he whispered, over and over again. ‘When I saw you lying there . . . I thought I’d lost you.’

  Dora clung to him, not wanting to let him go, even as the crowds surged around them, pushing them this way and that.

  Finally he released her, his hands moving up to cup her face. His was only inches away, closer than he had dared to be in so long, and for the first time in months Dora didn’t try to fight it.

  ‘You could never lose me,’ she whispered.

  The rio
t around them ceased to exist for a moment as she drank in every detail of his face: the tears glistening on his thick black lashes, the flecks of navy in his blue eyes, the beautiful long curve of his upper lip . . . moments before his mouth came down to claim hers.

  Joe Armstrong clambered over the barricade, raised his stick above his head and lashed out left, right and centre, blindly striking down anyone in his path. On either side of him a wall of uniforms was advancing, pushing forward into the crowd. Ahead of them was an unruly mass of people, waving flags and jeering. He could see their mouths moving, but their angry taunts were lost in a deafening chorus of police whistles, ambulance bells, horses’ hooves and chanting.

  ‘Oi, copper! Over here!’ He turned around just as a woman took aim and pelted him with a rotten apple. It exploded as it hit the side of his face, rotten mushy flesh dripping down his cheek.

  A young man laughed. Joe spun round, blinded by rage.

  ‘You think that’s funny, do you?’ He picked up the boy with both hands and hurled him through an ironmonger’s window, splintering the glass.

  ‘Careful, mate.’ Tommy sent him an uneasy sidelong look.

  ‘We’ve got our orders, ain’t we? Hold the line and get rid of anyone who stands in our way. That’s what the sergeant said.’

  ‘Yeah, but you don’t have to be violent, do you?’

  ‘Have you seen what they’re doing to us?’ Joe dodged a brick as it flew through the air. ‘We’re allowed to defend ourselves, ain’t we?’

  ‘You weren’t defending yourself when you threw that kid through the window. You looked like – well, like you were enjoying it.’

  Joe shot him a dirty look. ‘You get on with your job, mate, and I’ll get on with mine.’

  Truth be told, he was enjoying it. All the shouting and the fighting had got his blood raging. He didn’t really care who he lashed out at. Just like being in the ring, he’d taken a few blows but he’d delivered a damn sight more. And so what if they hadn’t all been in self-defence? Those bastards shouldn’t have been on the streets if they didn’t want trouble.

  And then he saw them.

  For a moment he thought he must be dreaming. But when he looked again, there they were, Dora and Nick, standing on the side of the road, kissing.

  Blood roared in his ears, deafening him. A missile came out of nowhere, knocking his helmet sideways, but he barely noticed as he stood stock still, staring at them.

  ‘Hold the line!’ their sergeant urged them on. Joe saw them, still locked in an embrace as the police surged past, pushing back the crowd, a relentless wall of blue uniforms. Still he couldn’t take his eyes off them, looking back, picking out Dora’s red curls in the crowd.

  And then, suddenly, he couldn’t stand it any longer.

  ‘Joe!’ he heard Tom calling to him. ‘Come back! We’ve got to keep going.’

  But Joe had already disappeared, clambering over the broken furniture strewn in his path, smashing his way through the crowd, oblivious to the missiles that whizzed past his ears.

  ‘Anna!’ Dora broke away from Nick, suddenly remembering why she’d come. She turned round, and heaved a sigh of relief. The little girl was still there, hiding in the doorway.

  ‘Thank God.’ She reached for the child’s hand. ‘I’ve got to take her back to her dad,’ she explained to Nick. ‘He’s worried sick about her.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No, you should go.’

  ‘And leave you?’ He shook his head. ‘If you think I’m letting you out of my sight for a second, you’re wrong.’

  He bent down and picked up a broken piece of chair leg.

  ‘What’s that for?’ Dora asked.

  His mouth lifted at one corner. ‘Well, I ain’t going to sit on it, am I?’ he said, testing the weight of it in his hands.

  ‘I don’t want any rough stuff, Nick.’

  He glanced around him. ‘Bit late for that, ain’t it?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘It’s only for protection.’ He saw her expression and dropped the stick with a clatter. ‘All right, have it your way. I’ll just have to fight them off with my bare hands, won’t I?’

  ‘No one’s going to be fighting anyone,’ Dora said firmly. ‘We’re taking this little one back to her dad, and then we’re going to . . .’ Suddenly she caught a flash of dark blue and silver, running out of the crowd towards them. She saw Joe’s face, contorted with fury, arm raised above his head. ‘No!’

  Nick turned round, and in that split second Joe struck. His arm came down with massive force, striking Nick a single blow between his shoulderblades.

  ‘Run, Dora!’ she heard Nick cry as Joe launched himself, raining down blow after blow.

  ‘Joe!’ she screamed out, but he was like a madman, demented by rage, bringing his fists down again and again.

  ‘Go Anna. Run to the baker’s shop.’

  Dora released the little girl’s hand and ran back to Nick. ‘Leave him!’ She tried to drag Joe off, but he was too strong for her, and batted her off with a jerk of his arm.

  She spotted the chair leg Nick had thrown down, and made a grab for it. Without stopping to think, she swung it with all her might at Joe. It caught him on the shoulder and sent him flying sideways where he lay, clutching his arm and howling in pain.

  ‘Nick!’ Dora dropped to Nick’s side. He lay silent on the pavement.

  ‘They’re turning back! The marchers are turning back!’ someone shouted. Within seconds the cry had been taken up all along Cable Street.

  ‘They shall not pass! We’ve done it! Down with Mosley and his fascist mob!’ People cheered, hugging each other and slapping each other’s backs.

  But none of it meant anything to the girl who sat crying in the middle of the street, cradling a young man’s broken body in her arms.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  DORA COULD HARDLY bring herself to look at Nick as she busied herself arranging towels and blankets around him in the back of the ambulance.

  ‘Do I look that bad?’ he whispered hoarsely.

  ‘I’ve seen worse.’ She forced herself to smile. She had seen a lot worse – his face was almost untouched, just a graze across his cheekbone. But it was what was going on under his blood-stained shirt that worried her. ‘Your movie career might be finished, though.’

  ‘And my ballet career, I reckon.’ He tried to shift his weight, cursing at the pain.

  ‘Don’t try to move,’ Dora said.

  ‘I couldn’t if I tried.’ He shifted again, gritting his teeth against the pain. ‘I can hardly feel my legs . . .’

  Dora glanced at her brother Peter, sitting beside her in the ambulance. His expression was grave.

  ‘Just keep still until we get you to hospital,’ she begged, reaching up to stroke a dark curl off Nick’s face. His skin felt clammy and cold.

  She moved her hand down to his neck, searching for his pulse. It skipped lightly under her fingers, missed a few beats, then skipped again.

  Nick’s eyes followed her every move. ‘I’m not dead, then?’

  ‘Not yet.’ She pulled the blankets up to his chin, tucking them around him.

  ‘That’s the last time I take on one of your jealous boyfriends. If he hadn’t jumped me from behind . . .’

  ‘Don’t.’ Dora shuddered. ‘Don’t talk about it.’ She couldn’t get the picture out of her head: Joe, his face contorted with rage, raining blows on Nick’s helpless body.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it, mate. Our Dora gave him what for!’ Peter grinned. ‘Set about him with an old chair leg, she did. He’s in one of the other ambulances now, nursing a broken shoulder!’

  ‘An old chair leg, eh?’ Nick turned his gaze towards her, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. ‘What happened to no rough stuff?’

  ‘I didn’t know what else to do. I thought he was going to kill you.’

  Dora gulped in a breath to steady herself. But she couldn’t stop a single tear from escaping.<
br />
  ‘There now.’ Nick put his hand up, brushing it off her freckled cheek with his thumb. ‘You should know by now, you don’t get rid of me that easily,’ he whispered.

  At the hospital, he was rushed straight into Casualty. Dora wanted to follow him, but Sister Percival blocked her way.

  ‘You can’t go through there, you should know that,’ she warned.

  Dora craned her neck, watching as the door to the consulting room swung shut behind him. ‘I want to stay with him,’ she pleaded. ‘He needs me . . .’

  ‘Are you his next-of-kin?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Then you need to give us their name and address.’ Sister Percival sent Dora a disapproving glance as she handed her a piece of paper. ‘And then, if I were you, I’d go and clean yourself up,’ she added, looking askance at the girl’s crumpled, blood-spattered dress. ‘And stay well away from him, if you know what’s good for you,’ she whispered.

  But Dora didn’t know what was good for her. As soon as she had changed, she hurried back to the Casualty department. The rows of benches were filled with walking wounded from the protest; every time the double doors opened, more people came stumbling in, nursing bleeding faces and broken limbs.

  Behind the counter, Penny Willard was taking names as quickly as patients arrived. Dora wondered where Joe might be. She hoped for everyone’s sake he had been taken to another hospital. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she came face to face with him again.

  The double doors swung open and Ruby came in, followed by Lettie. Dora sat still as she strutted up to the counter, heels tapping. She saw Ruby talking to Penny Willard, then Penny pointed her pen in Dora’s direction.

  Lettie turned around, her scowl deepening. She stamped over, Ruby following her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Lettie demanded.