Poppy's War

by Lily Baxter

Poppy enjoyed being at the hospital anyway. She was not thrilled by the repetitive nature of scrubbing and cleaning, but she derived a great deal of satisfaction from a job well done, and she took comfort from the thought that in a small way she was helping people recover from their illnesses and injuries. She liked the people she worked with; or most of them anyway. The exception was Sister McNally, who everyone agreed was a dragon masquerading in a starched white cap and apron. If the woman had breathed flames Poppy would not have been at all surprised. When Sister McNally was on duty there was a subdued hush on the wards. Probationer nurses trembled at the sight of her and she had been known to make a houseman cry. It was rumoured that her acid tongue could strip paint, but it would have been a brave or suicidal soul who dared to say it to her face.

  It was late when Poppy finished her shift. She had stayed behind to tidy the broom cupboard in case Sister McNally became bored in the night and decided to do a few spot checks. She was just putting on her coat when the air raid siren sounded. For a moment she froze, wondering whether to leave or stay and help with the air raid drill in which all staff had been trained. The decision was taken out of her hands when one of the probationer nurses rushed into the changing room and grabbed her by the arm. ‘Come on; don’t stand there like an idiot. We’ve got to get the patients to safety in the basement.’

  A loud explosion rocked the building, the lights flickered and the aftershock went on like a volcanic eruption. Poppy and the nurse were flung to the floor, where they lay covering their ears with their hands. In quick succession there was another crump and they were in complete darkness. The building seemed to be collapsing around them.

  Chapter Twelve

  FOR ONE TERRIBLE moment Poppy thought she was going to die. It was pitch dark and the dreadful noise seemed to go on forever. Then she realised that she was still clutching the nurse’s hand. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I think so, but I can’t see a bloody thing.’

  There was a dull buzzing sound as the hospital generator cut in and the lights came on. Poppy scrambled to her feet. ‘Are you hurt?’

  The young nurse shook her head, sending a shower of plaster dust onto the floor. ‘I don’t think so. Are you okay?’

  Poppy nodded. She was shocked and her head was ringing with the percussive sound of the bomb blast, but as far as she could tell she was unharmed. She moved shakily towards the door, which was hanging on one hinge. She pushed it open, and as she stepped outside into the corridor she was aware of shouts, screams and cries for help. The air was thick with dust and acrid smoke but this part of the building at least seemed relatively intact.

  The nurse pushed past her. ‘I can’t remember the air raid drill,’ she muttered. ‘My mind’s gone blank.’

  ‘Evacuate the patients,’ Poppy said hoarsely. ‘Take the ones who can walk down to the basement.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it.’ Straightening her cap, the girl hurried off, leaving Poppy alone and undecided. She was officially off duty but she could not walk away and leave people in pain and possible danger. She hurried towards the casualty department but came up against a wall of rubble. She turned and made her way towards the main entrance. A woman patient staggered out of a doorway, looking dazed and pale with shock.

  ‘What happened?’ she murmured. ‘I thought the place was coming down around my ears.’

  Poppy took her arm and hooked it around her shoulders. ‘Let’s get you somewhere safer.’

  A scene of chaos met her eyes in the main corridor. Nurses and orderlies were pushing patients in wheelchairs, on hospital trolleys and even on their beds away from the damaged area of the hospital to a place of safety. Poppy helped the woman to the top of the stairs where a porter was assisting an elderly man in his descent to the basement.

  ‘Can you take this lady as well?’ Poppy asked anxiously. ‘I’ll go and see if there’s anything else I can do.’

  He nodded, giving the woman a cheerful grin. ‘Okay, come on, love. Let’s get you downstairs to the first class lounge. Tea and biscuits for all.’

  Poppy left them and was threading her way through the crowd, not knowing quite where she was heading, when she saw Sister McNally marching purposefully towards her.

  ‘You there.’ Sister McNally pointed a finger at Poppy. ‘Come with me.’

  Poppy followed her tall figure as almost miraculously the beds, wheelchairs and trolleys moved aside to allow them to pass. Sister McNally had an air of authority that must be obeyed no matter what the situation. She appeared to have been untouched by the bomb blast. Everyone else bore marks of the disaster with bits of plaster stuck in their hair, blackened faces or uniforms covered in dust, but Sister McNally was immaculate as ever. Her starched white cap with its goffered frill was on straight and her uniform spotless. It was like walking in the footsteps of an avenging angel as Poppy followed her to the ward that was being used to treat the casualties.

  Sister McNally pulled back the curtains around a bed where a young man lay looking deathly pale with one arm covered in a blood-stained gauze dressing. Lifting the corner she glanced at the wound. ‘This will need stitching.’ She turned to Poppy, eyeing the uniform that denoted her as a cleaner. ‘Are you trained in first aid?’

  ‘I’m a Red Cross cadet, Sister. I’ve done basic first aid.’

  ‘This wound needs several stitches. It’s very straightforward.’ Sister McNally pointed to a sterile pack on the locker. ‘You’ll find everything you need there. You do know how to sew up a wound?’

  ‘I’ve seen it done,’ Poppy whispered, gazing anxiously at the pale-faced young man who looked as though he was going to pass out at any moment.

  ‘You look like a capable girl,’ Sister McNally said, filling a hypodermic syringe with local anaesthetic. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Poppy Brown, Sister.’

  ‘Watch and learn, Brown.’ Sister McNally rubbed the afflicted area with cotton wool soaked in alcohol. ‘This won’t hurt,’ she told the patient firmly and rammed the needle home.

  His eyelids fluttered and he fainted.

  ‘There’s nothing to it. Simple interrupted sutures are all that’s needed here. Carry on, Brown.’ Sister McNally marched off to the next bed and had disappeared behind the curtains before Poppy had a chance to argue.

  Taking care to scrub her hands first, Poppy gritted her teeth and prayed that the young man would not come round until she had finished stitching the ugly gash on his arm caused presumably by flying glass. She shut her ears to the sounds around her and concentrated on remembering everything she had learned in first aid classes. She had practised suturing on the arm of a rag doll donated for the purpose but this was quite different. She was sweating by the time she had finished and she looked up to find the patient staring at her. She managed a tight little smile. ‘All done. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Okay. I think.’

  Sister McNally appeared as if from nowhere, leaning over to inspect Poppy’s handiwork. ‘That’s very good work, Brown. Dress the wound and then report to me.’ She slipped behind the curtains once again, leaving Poppy to finish off her work.

  Feeling more confident now, she dressed the wound and bandaged the arm, which was something she had practised many times in class. ‘Can I get you anything?’ She heard the rattle of teacups, and pulling back the curtain she saw Florrie, one of the other cleaners, pushing the tea trolley into the ward.

  ‘I could murder a cuppa,’ the young man said with feeling. ‘I was just walking past the hospital on me way home from work when there was this bloody great crump and next thing I knew I was on the ground covered in broken glass. I never even had time to get to an air raid shelter.’

  Poppy signalled to Florrie. ‘One tea here, please. Two sugars.’

  ‘Make that three, love,’ the young man said, raising himself on his good arm. ‘I’m in shock don’t forget.’

  ‘Come here, Brown.’

  Sister McNally’s command made Poppy jump to attention. ‘Yes, Sister.’r />
  ‘I’ve another task for you.’

  ‘Coming, Sister.’ Poppy smiled at her patient. ‘Florrie will bring your tea. I hope you feel better soon.’

  ‘Ta, nurse.’ The young man grinned up at her. ‘You done a good job on me arm.’

  It was daylight when Poppy finally left the hospital and she realised that it was Monday morning. People were already hurrying on their way to work; some stopping to look at the devastation caused by the German bomb which had razed the casualty department to the ground, and others seemingly oblivious to their surroundings, or perhaps they were getting used to seeing bomb sites even this far from the East End. Poppy was bone tired and every part of her body ached. She had worked alongside the doctors and nurses until she was almost too exhausted to stand. She had comforted distressed patients, handed out cups of tea, dressed wounds and plucked fragments of glass out of human flesh. She was almost too weary to put one foot in front of the other, but she was happy to have done something important for once in her life. She had been needed and felt appreciated for the first time since she had been forced to leave home almost sixteen months previously. If Mum and Dad were up there looking down on her, she was sure they would be pleased that she had not let the side down. Dad and Joe were great ones for playing fair. Grandad had always instilled in her that it did not matter whether you won or lost, it was how you played the game. She had believed him wholeheartedly and she knew that she had performed well and to the best of her ability. She could hear Grandma saying, ‘You can’t do any more than your best, Poppy.’

  Someone was repeating her name and it was not Gran. She stopped, peering up at the man driving the brewer’s dray. Her heart sank as she recognised Dennis, Joe’s friend with the wandering hands. ‘Oh, hello.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ Dennis peered down at her, his smile fading. ‘You look done in.’

  ‘I’ve been up all night. The hospital suffered a direct hit.’

  ‘I heard.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s really bad. Many hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know, but there seemed to be lots.’

  ‘Hop on board, kid. I’ll take you home.’

  Poppy hesitated. ‘I don’t want to take you out of your way.’

  He grinned. ‘Don’t worry about that. I make me own rules. Climb aboard.’ Leaning down, he held his hand out to her. It was a large hand with capable square-tipped fingers and when he smiled his dark eyes twinkled with humour.

  Too tired to argue, Poppy accepted his offer. He might not be tall, and she had noticed at the wedding that he walked with a distinct limp, but he was thickset and she discovered that he was much stronger than he looked when he hoisted her onto the driver’s seat. ‘So how’ve you been getting along?’ He spoke as if they had just met at a social gathering rather than in a street covered with rubble and broken glass. ‘Walk on.’ He flicked the whip expertly just above the horse’s ear and the animal lumbered forward at a sedate walk.

  Despite her reservations about Dennis Chapman, Poppy found herself telling him everything that had happened during and after the bombing raid. She found that he was a surprisingly good listener and in no time at all they were pulling up outside the house in South Road. Before Poppy had a chance to alight from the driver’s seat, the front door opened and Mabel ran down the front path, red-faced and breathing heavily. She was still wearing her dressing gown and slippers and had a scarf tied turban-style around her head with curlers poking out at the front. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demanded angrily. ‘What sort of time do you call this to bring a young girl home, Dennis? What’s she doing with you anyway?’

  Poppy scrambled down from the dray, catching Mabel’s arm as she shook her fist at Dennis. ‘It’s not what you think.’

  ‘Oh, ain’t it?’ Mabel took a deep breath. ‘He had his eye on you at the wedding. Any fool could see that.’

  Dennis climbed down from the driver’s seat with surprising agility. ‘Put a sock in it, Mabel. Give the poor kid a chance to explain.’

  Arms akimbo, Mabel glared at him. ‘She’s only fourteen and she’s been out all night and now she comes home with you, looking like something the cat dragged in. I’ve got eyes in me head, Den.’

  ‘But no brains if you ask me.’ He grinned, exposing a row of even white teeth in startling contrast to his tanned and weathered skin. ‘She’s a heroine, that’s what young Poppy is, so you shut up and give her a chance to speak.’

  Mabel recoiled at the sharp tone in his voice, turning to Poppy with her eyebrows raised. ‘Well? I’m listening.’

  ‘The hospital took a direct hit,’ Poppy said tiredly. ‘I was just leaving but I had to stay and help out. I’m sorry if you were worried, Mabel.’

  ‘A handsome apology and one you don’t deserve.’ Dennis put his arm around Mabel’s plump shoulders and gave her a hug. ‘Now instead of giving a show for the neighbours, how about you asking me in and putting the kettle on, Mabel, love?’

  A reluctant smile curved Mabel’s full lips. ‘Oh, you are a one, Den. You’ll get the sack from the brewery one day, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘They can’t afford to lose me. There ain’t too many strong men left who can heave barrels of beer around. Even a one leg wonder like me has his uses.’ He hooked a nosebag over his horse’s head and patted him on the neck. ‘Good lad, Napoleon. Enjoy your breakfast, old chap.’

  Poppy hesitated as she was about to follow them into the house. ‘What about your horse? Will he be all right on his own?’

  ‘He’s not going anywhere without me. We’re a team, old Napoleon and me. Come indoors out of the cold, ducks. You’re the one who needs looking after.’

  The small kitchen seemed filled by Dennis’s presence. Poppy accepted a cup of tea gratefully. She was exhausted and all she wanted was to go to bed and sleep, but it seemed rude to leave him after he had gone out of his way to help her, and his concern for her wellbeing had made her feel warm inside; all gooey like melted chocolate. Anyway, Mabel was firing questions at her as if she were interrogating a spy and Poppy could hear Mrs Tanner stirring in the dining room, where she now slept in a narrow bed next to the Morrison shelter.

  At last Mabel was satisfied with Poppy’s account of the happenings during the night, and she was generous with her praise, but then she remembered that she was doing an early shift and she hurried upstairs to dress and do her hair.

  ‘And I’d best be on me way too,’ Dennis said, placing his empty cup in the Belfast sink. ‘Are you okay now, Poppy?’

  ‘I’m fine. Thank you for giving me a lift, Dennis.’

  He paused in the doorway, eyeing her speculatively. ‘How about going to the flicks tonight, kid? Goodbye, Mr Chips is on at the Majestic. You know, Robert Donat and Greer Garson. What d’you say?’

  ‘I–I don’t know about that.’

  ‘Not on duty, are you?’

  ‘No, but …’

  His cocky smile faded. ‘Look, Poppy. I know we got off on the wrong foot, but Joe’s my best mate. I wouldn’t do anything that’d upset him, or you for that matter. I know you’re just a kid, and I’d treat you just the same as if you was me little sister.’ He held up his hands, twisting his face into a comical parody of sadness. ‘Anyway, you can run faster than me with me gammy leg.’

  Poppy covered her mouth with her hand in an effort to suppress a chuckle. ‘What’s wrong with your leg? I didn’t like to ask until you mentioned it.’

  ‘Polio, love, had it when I was five. Me sister, Joan, died but I was a tough little bugger and got over it, except for having one leg a couple of inches shorter than the other. That’s why they won’t have me in the forces. I’m a bit of a freak.’

  ‘No, don’t say that,’ Poppy said, moved almost to tears by his admission. ‘I’d love to go to the pictures with you, Dennis. I haven’t seen a film since I was evacuated to the country. It would be a real treat.’

  The trip to the cinema exceeded Poppy’s expectations and was just the thing to take her mind off the hor
rors of the Blitz, if only for a couple of hours. It was wonderful to step into the glitzy world of make-believe; purple carpets, gilded plasterwork on the walls and ceilings and the warm fug of cigarette smoke and damp overcoats as people packed into the auditorium under the surveillance of a commissionaire wearing more gold braid on his peaked cap than an admiral of the fleet.

  Dennis bought her Rowntree’s Dairy Box chocolates, which was an absolute luxury, and they sat side by side in the dark watching the heart-warming love story of the shy schoolmaster who fell in love with a beautiful young woman while on holiday. The stuffy schoolmasters at the public school were astounded when dull old Mr Chips turned up with a charming young bride, and it should, in Poppy’s opinion, have had a happy ending and she sobbed into her handkerchief when Greer Garson died in childbirth. She consoled herself with the fact that Mr Chips went on to lead a worthy life and was much loved by everyone, but she could not quite get over the tragedy of his lost love. When the lights went up in the interval Dennis bought her a tub of Eldorado ice cream, and he sat and smoked Woodbines while she licked the creamy vanilla ice off the tiny wooden spatula. Pathé News followed and then the atmosphere lightened with a series of Mickey Mouse cartoons. Dennis walked her home and left her at the garden gate, thanking her for her company and saying they must do it again some time. Poppy watched him shamble off with his awkward gait and the glow of his cigarette was the last thing she saw before he was enveloped by darkness. Mabel had waited up for her, with the excuse that she had come downstairs for a cup of cocoa, but Poppy suspected that her sister-in-law was simply making certain that Dennis kept his word and behaved like a gentleman. She was able to reassure Mabel on that score, and they huddled round the dying embers of the fire in the front room sipping cocoa while Poppy described the scenario in detail.

  When she finally went to bed she dreamed that Guy was Mr Chips, but now the schoolmaster was a dashing RAF officer, and it was she herself who was playing Greer Garson’s role and not Amy who was conveniently absent, presumably living in style half a world away. In the morning she was still Poppy Brown and the reality was walking to work in the rain, clambering over piles of debris to get into the hospital, and pitching in to restore cleanliness to the undamaged departments and wards.