Breakfast – not scrambled eggs but particularly odorous and therefore odious bloaters – was half over before Chick, looking decidedly ruffled, came bursting in. Night Sister looked at her with the sort of horrified disgust normally reserved for child murderers and Chick muttered about the unreliability of her alarm clock and slid into the last available place at the table adjoining Robin’s.
She tried to get Robin’s attention, only to incur Night Sister’s further wrath and when the night staff finally filed out of the dining room on their way to their wards and departments, looking for all the world like a flock of white seagulls, Chick hurried to catch up, but she didn’t manage to get through the chattering clusters of nurses until they had reached the big double doors that led to Casualty.
‘Robin!’ Chick said urgently. ‘Must tell you – ’
Staff Nurse Meek appeared behind them like the evil fairy in the pantomime, and said loudly, ‘What are you two hanging around out here for? You’re here to work, believe it or not. Come along at once!’ and pushed open the doors and perforce they followed her into a department as hectic as they had ever seen it.
Sister Priestland was already there and bustling about in her usual frenetic fashion and Chick and Robin looked at each other and grimaced and got down to it. There was nothing else they could do. But Chick did manage to hiss at Robin, ‘See you at break – the oddest thing to tell you –’ before they were both swallowed into their assigned cubicles.
It was, surprisingly, not the effects of raids that had Casualty busy tonight. It was the usual sort of work that the department was accustomed to do in peacetime; accidental injuries in women trying to cook and clean in cramped, ill-lit and worse-heated rooms; deliberate injuries inflicted on men who got themselves into fights in and around pubs; even a couple of attempted suicides who had filled their stomachs with aspirin. Robin had both of those to deal with and the effort it took to wash out the stomachs of two recalcitrant and very agitated people left her drenched with saline – and worse – and very much the worse for wear. Sister Priestland, spotting her as she cleaned her cubicle yet again, told her crisply to go to the Nurses’ Home at once and get herself changed, and Robin escaped gratefully.
By the time she came back it was just gone midnight and there had been a lull in Casualty. The raids tonight, it seemed, were clustered further away than usual, in the docks, and the resulting casualties were being taken to Mile End Hospital. ‘Even then, we’ll probably get the overflow,’ Sister Priestland told her grimly. ‘So go to your supper the minute the others get back, Nurse. I don’t want anyone hanging about. Just in case – ’
Chick had already gone to first supper and as soon as she returned and appeared in the doorway with Nurse Dollis and Nurse Jenner in tow, Robin obediently reached for her cape, ready to go and eat and passed Chick in the doorway.
‘Listen, go to the loo as soon as you get back,’ Chick hissed. ‘I’ll see you there. I don’t suppose it’s that important, but I think you should know – ’
‘Nurse Chester!’ Sister Priestland cried. ‘Don’t waste time gossiping! If you’ve nothing better to do you can come and clean this trolley for me. Hurry along now!’ And Chick hurried.
Robin ate quickly, grateful for the simplicity of a vegetable pie, and chose not to wait to finish her legitimate half-hour break; she had no idea what Chick wanted to tell her, but she was curious now. It would be worth getting back early so that they could at least have a minute or two to talk, and she wrapped her cape around herself, waved a comprehensive goodbye to the other nurses at second supper, and made her way back down the silent stairs towards the ground floor and the bright lights of the Casualty department.
Around her the hospital was quiet and dim beneath well-shrouded lamps. The windows, blank and shuttered to contain any trace of light that might attract a bomber, seemed to swallow up the sound of her footsteps as she went past them and, ahead of her, the corridor, a particularly long one, looked, she told herself, like one of those illustrations in children’s comics, where country roads are shown dwindling away into the distance. A silly conceit, she told herself firmly and hurried on, suddenly alarmed, without knowing quite why.
She became aware then of the sound, a long low uneven buzzing and somewhere at the back of her mind the thought came up as clearly as words on a blackboard. ‘Bombers – theirs – close. No sirens –’ and she began to hurry, not quite sure why she was doing so, but clearly aware of danger.
And then it all happened at once; the sirens leapt into swooping ear-assaulting life, seeming almost above her head they were so close, and echoing dreadfully in the long empty corridor as the sound of the planes got thicker and even louder. She was running now, which she’d been taught nurses must never do – except in the case of fire or haemorrhage – and ahead of her the doors into Casualty swung wide as someone came out, pushing an empty trolley. She got a glimpse of the well-lit waiting room beyond and tried to run even faster, feeling illogically that would be a safe place to shelter, and then as the trolley-pusher began to move from a patch of darkness to light the noise became unbearable and her ears seemed to burst, and her body to be punched by a huge fist, and she was lying flat on her back and trying to breathe through a thick cloud of dust that seemed to fill her nose and mouth.
She started to cough and splutter then, and at last the worst of the clogging stuff burst out of her nose and she could breathe, and she tried to reach up to wipe her face and mouth; but her arms were caught in her cape and she had to struggle.
‘Easy, easy does it.’ The voice seemed to be coming from a long way away and she bent her head forwards, feeling that there were spaces there to let her see, though it was as black as pitch, and thought muzzily – I imagined that! Or it was me? – and again began to struggle to free her arms from the constrictions of her cape.
The voice came louder. ‘Easy! You’ll have the whole lot down on us!’ and at once she stopped moving and tried to peer into the blackness.
‘Who’s that? What happened?’
‘What happened? A direct hit, you daft creature, that’s what happened. Are you all right?’
‘I don’t know!’ She was suddenly very angry. ‘Who are you calling daft? Who is it? And I can’t tell what’s happened – ’
‘Move your legs. Wriggle about a little, only gently, or you’ll cause a fall of more rubble. Does it hurt?’
She had obeyed automatically, and this time, her arms managed to get free at least to one elbow and she was able to tug the rest of the fabric clear. And moved her hands forwards gingerly to see what was around her.
‘Who is it?’ she said again, even though really she knew perfectly well who it was; but her head felt muzzy and her eyes were beginning to smart as sandy tears ran down her cheeks. She felt the wetness of them and put out her tongue to catch them and it was a blessed taste, that saltiness. It seemed to ease away some of the dust that still coated her tongue and filled her nostrils.
‘Hamish,’ he said. ‘Did you no’ see me? I was coming down the corridor towards you when it happened – ’
‘I couldn’t see it was you,’ she said and then blinked. ‘Hold on. I can see a bit now – ’
There was a gleam ahead of her in the darkness and she reached towards it, and her hand touched an arm and she pulled back as though she’d been stung.
‘It’s all right.’ He sounded a little sardonic. ‘I’m in no state to bite you, you know.’
She was embarrassed suddenly, an absurd way to feel under the circumstances. ‘Are you all right? I’m sorry I didn’t ask – ’
‘All right? Well, it’s a relative term, you’ll agree. I’ve no broken bones, I can say that much.’
‘Nor me. Well, then, we’d better get ourselves out – I can still see that light.’
He seemed to move beside her in the blackness and she thought – I feel like a cat. I can’t see and yet I can. She was aware of his shape and bulk now, and it was a good thing to feel beside her. He was war
m, too. She could feel his body heat enwrapping her.
‘It’s a searcher,’ he said then and seemed to take a deeper breath. ‘It’s a torch, see? It’s gone – now it’s back. Hold on – I’ll shout – ’
And shout he did, in a way that made Robin need to reach for her ears. And she held them there as he bawled lustily and tried to use her new ability to see in the dark to work out where they were.
As far as she could tell, they were huddled close together beneath something, and she reached up one hand, risking the roar of Hamish’s strong voice in her ear, and touched it, and felt metal and then fabric and knew what it was. The trolley Hamish had been pushing. Somehow they were beneath it, and she reached out again, this time sweeping her hand from side to side in a rather gingerly fashion, and felt something else, battered and bent, but undoubtedly a wheel.
She sighed gratefully. These casualty trolleys were made of the heaviest steel; often the porters complained of their weight, and so had she and other nurses. Well, she never would again; the metal surface of the thing was clearly holding up the rubble overhead and was therefore a literal lifesaver, and she felt a great wash of gratitude to it, as though it were a sentient creature; and absurdly, patted the wheel with real affection.
Hamish had stopped bawling and was listening hard and then she felt him relax, just as she did herself, for there was a sound which got louder.
‘Okay, mate – we’ve got you! Sit tight, and we’ll be there in two ticks. Just hold on tight there – ’
She couldn’t help it. She giggled; and then laughed harder and more tears rolled down her face and she could actually feel them making a channel in the dust there.
‘As if we were going anywhere!’ she spluttered. ‘Sit tight! What the hell else does he think we’re going to do?’
‘I’d like it a deal better if we could do something else,’ he said and began to reach out towards the rubble beyond the wheels. There was an ominous sound of a movement and another cloud of dust filled Robin’s nose and she managed to shout, ‘Leave it alone, you ass! You’ll have the whole lot in on us!’ And she reached down and managed to grab his arm and slid her fingers down it till she reached his hand, and held on tightly.
He kept his fingers very still and then convulsively held on and she said, ‘It’s all right, Hamish! No need to be scared – ’
‘I’m no’ scared,’ he said and suddenly his Scottish accent sounded thicker than it ever had. ‘I’m no’ in the least scared – ’
‘Well, I am,’ she said, though in fact the first wave of alarm had quite subsided now. She was more irritated than frightened, irritated at the tight crush under the trolley and the difficulty of getting comfortable with her legs curled under her as they were; there was no way she could stretch them out, not without risking a further fall of rubble that could eventually do some more damage, and that wasn’t worth considering. Nothing was broken and she didn’t think she had any cuts – though she was aware of feeling bruised in places – so there was no longer any need for alarm, especially as now she could hear the cries of the men above and beyond them trying to get down to them, as flickering lights appeared and vanished along the line of rubble ahead.
‘Aye, well mebbe –’ he said and she felt him pull away from her and pull his arms around him, and a little chilled, she pulled her hand back and tucked it under her other arm. It was the easiest way to sit.
‘Call again!’ a voice shouted ahead and above and together they shouted. And then, when they were out of breath stopped and listened, and the voice came down to them, muffled but fully comprehensible.
‘Okay, then. We can see where you are. No problem then. Just a bit of rubble to clear. Hold on there and we’ll be in in no time. How many of you?’
‘Two!’ shouted Robin and the voice above called encouragingly back and then there was just the sound of pickaxes and the rattle of shovels on broken bricks.
She sat there in the blackness, trying out her cat’s eyes, but she could see no more than she had from the start. Just that flickering torchlight from time to time. But she could still feel him beside her and she said as cheerfully as she could, ‘Well, here we are then! How long d’you think they’ll take to get us out?’
There was a little silence and then he said shortly, ‘I’ve no way of knowing.’
He sounded irritable and she thought crossly – selfish devil. He’s not the only one cooped up here. Why be so sour about it?
And she said sharply, ‘Well, try a guess! Half an hour? Or an hour or more? Or the end of the night? At least we won’t be going back on duty after this – ’
‘Oh, will ye be quiet, woman!’ he snapped and she caught her breath in amazement.
‘Well, you miserable old –’ she began and then stopped. Her newly found extra sense had realized something and she sat there, her head up in the darkness, staring with her eyes turned towards where she knew he was, and then slowly, put out one hand and reached for him. His arm beneath her fingers was as tight and knotted as though he were lifting weights, and after a moment she let her hand slide upwards, this time to reach for his face.
It was wet, not just moist with sweat, but pouring with it and she held her hand there for a moment and then without stopping to think let her nursing training take over; and slid her hand away from his cheek, down to his chin and then under his neck until she could reach the pulse in his throat.
He tried to pull his head away from her and she said firmly, ‘Keep still!’ and amazingly he obeyed.
His pulse, when she found it, was bounding, full and rapid, so rapid that she could hardly count it and she tried to work out how fast it was; and then remembering her own normal pulse was around sixty, put her other hand up to her own throat and checked its rate. It was its usual steady self and she held her fingers against his pulse and compared the count with the speed of her own, and then got it. It was at least twice as fast, maybe faster and she thought – a hundred and twenty a minute. That’s very fast for a strong man who does manual work. She could almost hear the voice of the cardiologist who’d taught them when they did their medical lectures.
‘Active people have a slower pulse than sedentary ones. An athlete can have a pulse as slow as thirty, at rest, and be a healthy man. Healthier indeed than those of so-called normal pulse of seventy who do not take adequate exercise.’
After a while she let go of her own pulse, but she kept her hand on his and said gently, ‘What is it, Hamish? Are you hurt and not wanting to tell me? Please do – I could help – if you’re bleeding somewhere at least try and show me, and I’ll put some pressure on. They’ll be here soon, I’m sure they will. Hear them? They’re getting much closer –’ And indeed the sounds of diggers getting closer were increasing steadily.
‘No,’ he said and his voice was husky. ‘I’m no’ bleeding –’ and then she felt him start to shake, and she let go of his pulse and slid her hand down to get it around his shoulders, and he eased forwards a little to let her and she thought anxiously – he is hurt – but he isn’t – and couldn’t understand her own reaction.
‘So long as you’re sure you’re not bleeding,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t feel like a thready pulse, the sort you’d get with haemorrhage, but it is fast – ’
He managed a little gasp that was almost a sigh. ‘I’m sure it is! It generally is when – ’
‘This has happened before?’ Her anxiety sharpened again. Had he some sort of heart condition? She wished she’d learned all the stuff she was supposed to about heart disease, but what with the raids and the rest of the work pressure she’d put if off over and over again. If he were to have some sort of heart attack –
‘It’s not my heart,’ he said. ‘And don’t get anxious about me, for God’s sake. Bad enough it is as it is – ’
‘Well, of course I’m anxious! If you have a high pulse and you’re sweating the way you are, you must be ill – ’
He seemed to groan and she felt him bend his head forwards on his chest. ‘P
lease,’ he said and it came out breathlessly. ‘Please, leave me alone.’
‘I’d be glad to,’ she said tartly. ‘Only I can’t exactly get up and walk away, can I?’
And again he managed that almost-laugh. ‘Oh, for God’s sake – ’
‘You’ll be better off telling me,’ she said and again held him tightly round his shoulders. To feel the shaking in him was pitiful; he was like a terrified child and she felt a great warmth for him at the thought. ‘Come on,’ she said, almost wheedling. ‘Do tell me –’ And this time he really did manage to laugh.
‘Oh, God,’ he said and he sounded a little hoarse. But his voice was stronger. ‘Do I seem as childish as that? How really awful – ’
‘Oh, damn,’ she said and again held his shoulders more tightly in a sort of hug. ‘I didn’t mean to sound as though I were talking to a child. I just want to help, that’s all. And I can’t if you don’t tell me – ’
He drew a deep shuddering breath. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, will ye stop your naggin’, woman? I’m claustrophobic, if you must know. I’m always like this in enclosed spaces. And I can’t do a damned thing about it – ’
15
They were helped out of their trolley nest just an hour and a half after the bomb fell, to find Sister Priestland waiting for them with a bottle of brandy in one hand and two of the cups from her own coffee tray dangling from the other.
‘Ah, there you are,’ she said, as they came stumbling out into the bright lights of the rescue workers, as casually as if they’d dropped in for tea. ‘You’ll be needing this. Now take it and then away to the department to make sure you’ve no treatable injuries.’ And she poured out the brandy skilfully and generously and pushed it at them as the rescue workers began to clear up their gear and make way for the hospital staff who were trying to remove the worst of the mess so the way through Casualty from the main hospital was possible again.
Blitz - Book 4 of the Poppy Chronicles Page 15
