Ardnish Was Home

by Angus MacDonald

  The Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service, to give it its full name, had been a select group of nurses who had to be at least twenty-five years old, but it had been agreed that the numbers be raised to several thousand to cope with the huge demand on the medical services. The matrons were still all upper-class, however.

  Sally, one of the trainee nurses, was caught bringing a soldier back to the nurses’ quarters. You have never heard anything like it – the soldier in his underwear being chased down the corridor by Matron, with her shrieking like a lunatic. She caught him as he tried to escape through the pantry window. Twice her size, he was shaking like a leaf, as she berated him for twenty minutes until the Military Police came. Sally was given extra duties for months and confined to the hospital. We giggled about it for ages, and no one ever tried to smuggle a man into the quarters again.

  Colonel Tommy had a real twinkle in his eye, and when Matron wasn’t around he was always telling us stories and teasing us. Now and again, the laughter was heard by Matron, and as she stormed in he would half rise from his seat in apology like a boy caught doing something wrong.

  ‘Staff Nurse Rees, bed pan duty in the Cardigan ward,’ she would bark. And then, giving an admonishing glance to the colonel, she would march off.

  We were the lowest of the low in the hospital; in fact, the caterers and cleaners had a much better life.

  Friday was my day off, but only if we weren’t too busy. My friends Madge and Prissie and I would dress up to the nines and head off into Piccadilly and the bars to try and find some officers to take us to dinner or a show.

  Madge was beautiful, with long red hair and an elegant figure. She was a surefire way of getting men to join us when we went out, and was seeing a captain in the Hussars who had been a patient. Prissie and I were sure that they were going to get married, although Madge always played it cool with him.

  Prissie was petite and very lively, a wonderful character, with sparkly eyes; always playing tricks on everyone. Her hair was jet black and she had naturally dark skin. She hated to go to bed before dawn, and we often ended up dragging her away from dance halls only a couple of hours before we were on duty again.

  We had a great time together. There was the fat Frenchman who was far too fresh and who we pushed into the fountain in Trafalgar Square, or the time we ran away from the Military Police and hid behind some bins while all the soldiers were herded into trucks at one particularly rowdy club.

  Christmas Eve, and we had nearly finished our training. The three of us were at a bar with a tremendous crowd all around. The band were playing all the favourites, we had danced ourselves half to death, and each of us had a beau. I didn’t think life could get much better.

  Madge rushed across in great excitement. ‘You’ll never guess what,’ she gasped. ‘Matron and Colonel Tommy are here having dinner – just the two of them!’

  We moved through the crowd for a closer look, and as we did they got up to dance, passing quite close to us. Matron went right by and didn’t see us. Colonel Tommy caught my eye, and I winked at him. He winked back. They danced closely, with me almost cannoning into them once. Matron must have seen us, but she never once looked our way.

  The next day we worked awkwardly in her company and nothing was said. The news spread like wildfire, though, and by that night everyone in the hospital knew of their affair.

  If only Mam and the rest knew what fun could be had. Mam knew no life outside the Valleys, and that often made me sad.

  But the Valleys weren’t in my mind that much. We worked from dawn to dusk, night shift every second week; and during our time off we either slept or were with friends. I got letters from Mam the whole time, telling me how the village had been excused conscription because coal was needed for the war, that Dad was poorly, but he got her to read my letters to her over and over again.

  I’d been at her to come up to London for a few days and had saved the money for her train ticket, but she said Dad wasn’t well enough and someone had to be there for Owen and the others. I was due to finish my training in February, and I got her to promise to come up then. We were to have a presentation of our Queen Alexandra cap badges and a few days off before our postings.

  I got a letter from Mam. Dad had collapsed in the welfare club and been rushed to hospital. He had been coughing up blood in the last few days, although he had tried to hide it. She asked if I could get time off to go and see him, saying he’d asked for me. I steeled myself to ask permission. Matron was surprisingly nice about it.

  ‘Of course you can go,’ she said. ‘Take two days. I’ll see if I can get you a warrant for the train.’

  I nearly burst into tears, she was so kind.

  She only remembered to be tough as I went out the door. ‘Don’t forget to learn up on limb injuries on the train,’ she called out. ‘The exam is only three weeks off.’

  The exam was all-important. If we passed we would wear the lovely red-and-grey uniform and be respected by everyone; if we failed we would be auxiliaries, doing the menial tasks.

  I rushed to get the train to Newport . . .

  It took almost seven hours to get there. It would have been a long journey by oneself, but there was plenty of good company.

  *

  I look closely at DP’s face. Not a flicker of acknowledgement that I might be referring to our first encounter. It was so vivid to me, how could he not remember? What I want to say, but can’t bring myself to, is this:

  The train was packed with a crowd of Highland soldiers off to Brecon for their training. The banter was great, with half a dozen Scouts, as they described themselves, packed into five seats – all full of chat about why the Highlands was the best place to live and how they were off to a posting in the Dardanelles in a month. One of the Jocks was twenty or so, gawky, red-haired and shy; he said it was his first time out of the Highlands. He was a piper; the best there was, the others agreed. As the journey wore on, the others drifted off to sleep or chatted among themselves, and the piper and I had a great blether. He seemed a very kind man. I knew from the start he was special, and I never forgot him.

  He told me of the unusual night sky, the northern lights, that he saw at his home. How his dad would wake him before dawn on a cold crisp winter’s night and lead him outside, where they would lie side by side on a bank wrapped in a blanket. He described the most extraordinary light show. The sky was lit up with blues and greens and a multitude of colours that swirled and changed, his first recognition of what real beauty was.

  It was you, DP, and now I have found you again.

  *

  I pause, hoping for a reaction, some recognition, but there is none. I tell him I left the train at Newport and took a bus up to Abergavenny . . . I put special stress on ‘Abergavenny’, still reading DP’s face closely. Obviously, the bandages disguise a lot of expression, but, to my intense disappointment, there is still no sign that he remembers once meeting me.

  I can’t believe he has no recollection. Can he be concealing it? Maybe he’s lost his memory since being captured by the Turks. With a heavy sigh, I carry on with my story . . .

  *

  Mam was in the ward when I got there, dressed in her green cleaner’s overalls. I was horrified by how she looked – like a sixty-year-old, with grey unkempt hair, stooped shoulders and a lined face.

  Dad was lying on his front, ashen, with a wooden bucket beside him. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he flopped his arm to welcome me, but he didn’t say anything. I leaned over to give him a kiss. He smelled curious – a sweet unpleasant smell – not like Dad. Anyway, that set him off coughing.

  I’d forgotten how bad it was. The fit went on for longer than you could hold your breath for, and it was obviously painful as his whole body coiled and uncoiled in physical exertion.

  ‘It will kill him this time,’ Mam said and rushed off to get a nurse.

  I tried to hold him to me, but he broke free, and it was a good ten minutes before he lay back, dripping in
sweat, without an ounce of strength left.

  ‘He’s worse,’ Mam said, tear-streaked and distraught. ‘It won’t be long now. Thank God you could make it.’

  We both knelt down to pray in the corridor outside his ward. Mam has always been religious. Then we heard Dad starting up again and we returned to his side. My aunt had brought Owen along that afternoon, but Thomas couldn’t get off work.

  Dad died that night. Mam had left the two us alone while she went to lie down; she’d been sitting up with him for two solid days and nights. I talked to him for ages. I felt I made peace with him. He died in the middle of a coughing fit, his face a look of agony that stayed with him even after the last breath had left his body. I pulled the sheet over his face and wept.

  Mam and I got the first bus home in the darkness of the morning.

  ‘It was a year of hell he gave me at the end,’ she said, ‘but we had twenty great years before that, and it will be those that I will remember.’

  The odd thing about a long and painful illness is that death is a relief. My mother seemed to have a weight lifted from her, and the talk was about what she would do now rather than what they had done.

  It was great to see the others. Owen was short and solid, always smiling and happy. Mam said Dad was just like that when he was young. Thomas was settled in the mining job and had made some good friends. Mam was so pleased he had been excused conscription, being a miner and all. Don’t forget to get a different job after the war, Thomas, she would say every time she saw him. Daffie jumped up and down all over me, but he was Owen’s now, I could tell. I loved to see that little dog, though, and it was good for him and Owen to have each other. A weight was lifted from my shoulders, just as it had been from my mother’s.

  We talked about the future that night. The mining company would want the house empty within a month, now Dad had gone. We would move to Abergavenny, which would get us out of the Valleys and nearer to Mam’s work at the hospital. The school was better there, too. Owen wouldn’t have to go down the pit – maybe he could even get to university.

  ‘Don’t ever come back, Louise, you promise?’ Mam said. ‘Marry a farmer or a rich man and live an easier life.’

  Mam always felt that a farmer’s wife was the best thing: plenty of food, land for the wee ones to run around on, and everyone healthy. Miners died so young and painfully; their wives then lost the house and they never had enough money to live on.

  Mam asked if I’d met a boy. Was there anyone that had caught my eye? I told her that on nights out with the girls in London there were always men making passes at me, but none was right for me.

  ‘There was an awfully nice soldier on the train on the way here though,’ I confessed. ‘He’s called Donald and he’s from the Highlands of Scotland. He’s tall with soft red hair and freckles and smiles the whole time. We talked for hours. He told me about the northern lights. He said that, now and again, when the sky is clear and it’s a cold winter’s night, you can see bright greenish-blue clouds, and the sky lights up. He said his father used to wake him and his brothers and sisters up and take them outside to lie on the beach and look at them. So romantic. He said he wanted to show them to me.’

  At least Mam and Thomas had jobs. Mam and I talked about my life in London; she couldn’t hear enough about it. She would still come to London when I got qualified, she said. She needed to get away.

  I left before the funeral. I had my exam to pass and I was worried about how strict Matron would be about my extended absence. I slept all the way back to London. The exams came and went, and the only one of us to fail was Madge. Too much time thinking about her soldier and not enough work, we thought. Madge would be all right, though, she always was.

  *

  I want to tell DP that I chose Gallipoli as my posting, because that’s where the Scouts had gone. I want to tell him how much I had wanted to meet him again, though meeting him as a patient and one so close to death had not been my plan. With over 100,000 troops down here and a significant number passing through the medical service, it was a miracle we had met at all.

  *

  Prissie went for the Dardanelles, too, so we would be together. The Queen Alexandra’s was recruiting very heavily; they had two hospital ships to find nurses for, no doubt we would be on one of them.

  Mam came down for the presentation ceremony. It was the first time she had been out of Wales. We were all as smart as pins in our new uniforms. As we walked along the streets to the Royal Hospital where the ceremony was to happen we enjoyed the admiring glances. Colonel Tommy presented those of us from the King Edward with our cap badges and gave a speech. Two hundred very proud girls that day.

  That night we went dancing with our families and friends. It was a wonderful evening. Mam said she felt ten years younger. She had her hair combed back in a bun, and was wearing a pretty dress borrowed from a friend at the hospital. One of the men at the dance had three turns with her that night and we teased her for it. She loved it.

  The war had been going on for almost a year by then. Because of the distance back to England, hospitals were set up miles behind our lines, and it was here that almost all the patients who were treatable were looked after. On the Western Front, it was field hospitals – normally commandeered big houses – but in Gallipoli it was hospital ships. The work involved at the Front was harrowing; patients were coming in with limbs blown off, gangrene, gas poisoning. Or dysentery, which was becoming a major problem.

  The newspapers were writing full-page stories about the Gallipoli campaign. There had been a lot about the poor medical back-up, how few doctors there were, and how our men at the Front were suffering as a result. It emerged that small boats – lighters – ferried the badly injured men to the ships, going from ship to ship, and a shout would come down, ‘All full here’. It broke my heart to hear it. We were desperate to get out there to do our bit.

  We were all very nervous, and when my papers arrived a couple of days later confirming not only my destination of the Dardanelles but also the day of sailing in two days’ time I felt sick with fear. I can remember it clearly, lying in bed reading page after page of what to take, where to collect my kit, and who to report to and where. Despite stories of the terrible casualties, the disease and lack of water, how the Turks were stopping our men from advancing much beyond the beach, I never regretted signing up.

  Matron, who had become like an over-protective mother to us, gave us a talk on the eve of our departure about the temptations of men and the dangers of falling for one of our patients. We laughed it off.

  Prissie and I climbed on board a Gibraltar-bound store ship, crewed by a coarse lot from the East End of London. A mutual dislike soon built up. They had a vocabulary so base that my mother’s Wesleyan ears would have been burning had she heard them. In return, they thought us prim and stuck up. With us were another seventy passengers, almost all nurses heading down to the war, and a civilian doctor seconded to the army, a Dr Sheridan from London.

  We suspected that Dr Sheridan was not a qualified doctor, and wasn’t going to the war to help the injured. He couldn’t look you in the eye, had a shifty demeanour, and showed no respect for or interest in the soldiers we were going out to treat. He brought with him an enormous quantity of medicine, which he intended to sell to the suffering in Gallipoli: recipes of his own devising, to treat fevers, pneumonia and many other ailments. He showed us his letters of recommendation from all sorts of eminent Harley Street doctors, but neither Prissie nor I believed him.

  The very first evening, at tea, a conversation about basic medical practice came up, and that is when I really began to suspect him. Dysentery was the biggest problem in Gallipoli, and we had undergone a considerable amount of training so that we could treat it. Dr Sheridan dismissed it as malingering by men who wanted to get off the front line, and said that in any case, he had just the powder to treat it. We quizzed him about it, but he wouldn’t discuss the ingredients, kept saying it was confidential, his own personal mix. Wha
t sort of doctor would try to make money out of other people’s misfortune? I was horrified by what he was saying and became determined to keep an eye on him, hoping he would perhaps reveal himself to the other passengers as an imposter.

  Prissie thought I was exaggerating but agreed we should find out. We planned to set a trap, and sat up late working out a scheme.

  One of the other passengers, a Mr Bustin, was an engineer who was going out to advise the army on tunnelling under enemy trenches. He was a very friendly and kind man, and he took a shine to Prissie. We decided to tell him of our suspicions about Dr Sheridan.

  We were due to pick up further provisions the next morning in Le Havre. That evening, Mr Bustin wrote a letter to two of the Harley Street doctors who had allegedly provided endorsements to Dr Sheridan, asking them to confirm them or otherwise to the British Medical Authorities in the Dardanelles. We docked in Le Havre at dawn, and Mr Bustin put the letters in the first post.

  Over the next two weeks, we constantly challenged Dr Sheridan, to such a stage that he must have suspected something. In fact, he reacted very aggressively to Mr Bustin one night for suggesting that Prissie and I might know more about pneumonia than the doctor himself. By the end of the trip, Prissie was in no doubt of the danger that this impostor posed to the injured soldiers. For instance, what would happen if a severely dehydrated man were to be given one of his pills? He could be so weakened that the slightest negative effects could kill him. It was this background that had made us so suspicious, and when we were in the clearing centre on the beach I hated knowing that he was meant to be treating gravely ill men.