by Mary Hooper
‘Once you begin nursing there must be no slacking, no laziness, no grumbling about following orders,’ said Sister Malcolm. ‘The men who are dependent on us have all suffered on our behalf. We mustn’t let them down.’
After some more details about afternoons off and annual leave, the girls put on their outer coats and walked down to the station in crocodile formation, two by two.
‘Like good little girls on a school trip,’ Poppy said to Matthews.
‘But we’re not. We’re real VADs!’ said Matthews.
On their way to the station they drew many looks and some applause. Holding their heads high, swishing their skirts, they tried not to look too pleased about it.
Jameson, who was walking directly behind them, said in a loud whisper, ‘Do you know what the Tommies call us VADs?’
‘No. Do tell!’ said Poppy.
‘Very Adorable Darlings,’ Jameson whispered.
Poppy and Matthews laughed.
‘I do hope some good-looking chap falls madly in love with me,’ Matthews said. ‘A captain, ideally.’
The military hospital at Netley was Britain’s principal reception hospital for the huge numbers of war casualties arriving from France, and a branch of the railway had been constructed to convey troops directly from ship to hospital. This way, the injured men only had to limp, stagger or be stretchered a few final feet from the train into bed.
Netley was an attractive building but far too large to be practical, consisting of 138 wards and stretching a full quarter-mile. VADs running errands for ward sisters found themselves covering miles over a day. The girls, used to the small cottage hospitals, were amazed to see it.
‘Look at the size of it! We’ll get in there and never find our way out again,’ Poppy said as they approached the mighty building.
‘We’ll have to tie the end of a piece of string to the door handle and unroll it as we go,’ Matthews replied.
‘I don’t think that would be a very good idea – people could trip up,’ Jameson said seriously, and Poppy and Matthews stifled giggles.
When the girls were allocated their wards, Poppy found that she was to be working under a fully qualified nurse, Sister Kay, in Hut 59, a surgical ward mostly holding ordinary servicemen who had lost one or more of their limbs as well as having supplementary injuries. Matthews was based on a convalescent ward, and Jameson, who spoke German, was told she would be looking after German prisoners of war who needed hospital treatment. She was rather indignant at this, for, as she complained to Sister Malcolm, she’d volunteered specifically to nurse British officers.
‘Perhaps you have,’ Sister said, ‘but if your brother was badly injured and taken prisoner by the German army, wouldn’t you like to know that he was being tended by someone who spoke his language?’
The new VADs were taken on a tour of the main hospital building so they could start to learn where the various kitchens, operating theatres, storerooms, linen rooms, training areas and chapels were located.
Afterwards, Poppy made her way to Hut 59, which was a sturdy wooden hut in a huge open field containing over two hundred similar huts.
She hung up her coat and hat in the annexe, feeling scared of what might be expected of her. It fell as if she was about to act in a starring role at the theatre, but hadn’t yet learned her lines.
She edged into the ward and stared about her. This was her ward, she thought, and these were the boys she was going to look after. It was a long room with a row of beds running down each side of it, each with a dark wool blanket tucked in tightly, a blue counterpane with its top folded down and a linen sheet as white and crisp as an envelope over that. Most of the beds had occupants; a few were empty. Right down the middle of the room was a long dining table bearing pots of ferns, and this was flanked by dining chairs. Pinned all over the walls were maps, framed photographs of the King and Queen, cartoons, sheet music and some articles cut out of newspapers. Let them have it! Poppy read. Not long now, boys! and The little women at home!
She stood unseen for a moment, feeling shy and awkward, then went towards the sister in charge, who was sitting at a desk at the top of the ward.
Sister Kay was middle-aged, gaunt, with long grey hair which was braided around her head in an old-fashioned style. She also, to Poppy’s eyes, looked stern and rather terrifying.
‘Sister Kay?’
The sister sighed. ‘I suppose you must be the new VAD.’
Poppy nodded. ‘Poppy Pearson.’
‘I can only hope that you turn out to be more capable than the last one.’
Poppy didn’t answer this, having no knowledge of who this might have been.
Sister Kay looked Poppy up and down carefully, checked that her skirts didn’t show a glimpse of ankle and that the Red Cross band was on the proper arm, then introduced her to Nurse Gallagher, an attractive and experienced nurse in her thirties, who, it turned out, had been working at Netley since before the war. Also on Ward 59 for part of the time was Smithers, a male orderly who was there to do the heavy lifting and carry out some of the men’s more intimate tasks, and another VAD who, happily, turned out to be Moffat, whose bath water had been stolen by Jameson. Poppy, who’d come to like Moffat, was immensely reassured to see her there.
‘Be prepared to work harder than you’ve ever worked before,’ Moffat said by way of greeting. ‘But also be prepared to love every minute of it.’
‘I’m not scared of hard work – just of doing something daft.’
‘Well, let’s get you going,’ Moffat said. She looked at her watch. ‘You’ve missed the morning dressings round, but you’re just in time for the dinner trays.’
Poppy looked at her blankly.
‘Every mealtime – breakfast, dinner and tea – you have to take round the trays laid ready for the boys’ meals,’ she said. She nodded towards the door. ‘Come with me and I’ll show you.’
Poppy obediently followed her from the hut into a small kitchen in the annexe. It was lined with shelves and contained a sink and gas ring as well as a few basic items of kitchen equipment, a pile of tin trays, plates, cutlery and condiments.
‘There are forty-odd trays to lay up, each with knife, fork and spoon, salt and pepper pots,’ said Moffat. ‘You give each man a tray first – he’ll tell you if he’s eating in bed, or at the table – then wait for the soup to arrive. You ladle out eight bowlfuls at a time, put them on the trolley and bring them round. And no larger portions for the ones you like the look of. No favouritism!’
Poppy, rather startled at this, said, ‘Favouritism? I’ve hardly even seen any men yet!’
‘Ah, they’re a lovely bunch,’ Moffat said. ‘Sweet as sweet can be! They’re regular Tommies either waiting for surgery or getting over it. They’ve had a hard time and are just pleased to be back home tucked up in bed.’
Poppy smiled in sympathy at this.
‘Oh, they’ll lead you a dance sometimes and you will have your favourites, but don’t let Sister Kay find out or she’ll run you out of here quicker than a rat along a drainpipe. That’s what happened to our last VAD.’
‘She got run out?’
Moffat nodded. ‘She was a flirty little thing, but the boys liked her well enough and she liked them. A little too much, judging by what went on in the linen cupboard.’
‘Goodness,’ said Poppy, and would have liked to have heard more, but Moffat had gone back to the ward.
Poppy loaded up the trolley with trays and took them out, to be greeted by a chorus of wolf whistles. (‘Just as if I’d been a ballet dancer making an entrance!’ she told Matthews later.)
‘They’ve just been told that you’re our new VAD,’ Moffat said to the flustered Poppy. ‘Take no notice. They like to make a girl blush.’
There were some more whistles, calls of ‘Over here, nurse!’ and ‘I’m going to need some help with my soup!’ In the end Sister Kay stood up and merely looked at the boys she perceived to be the main culprits. It was a look that did the trick.
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br /> Back in the little kitchen in the annexe, soup and bread had arrived from one of the hospital’s main kitchens. Poppy ladled out portions, loaded up the trolley as quickly as she could and wheeled it into the ward.
She kept her head down as she moved along the ward delivering trays to table and bed, partly from shyness and partly – remembering the troop train – in case she saw anything too disturbing. There was one bed which had screens placed right round it and Poppy, who’d been regarding this with some anxiety, was happy to comply with Sister Kay’s order not to disturb the man sleeping within.
After the soup, a tray of meat pie, plus pans full of stewed carrots and greens were delivered, and Smithers the orderly helped Poppy distribute them to the men at some speed, so that they wouldn’t get cold. After this came stewed apples and custard.
Poppy dashed about, going backwards and forwards from ward to kitchen several times for items she’d forgotten. While all this was going on, Moffat and Smithers cut up the meat for those boys who only had one arm, fed those who had no use of their arms at all, and helped a man lying flat who could only take his nourishment with the aid of a feeding cup.
At the end of the meal, Poppy had a few moments to familiarise herself and look around the ward before she collected the dirty plates. As she did so, she realised that the eyes of everyone there were upon her, as if they were waiting for something.
Suddenly the boy in the bed closest to her flung his one leg out from the covers and, leaning on a chair for balance, sang, ‘Say goodbye to Tommy Atkins, He’s the chap you’re going to miss, Wave a hand to Tommy Atkins . . .’
‘Private Wilson!’ Sister Kay’s voice boomed down the ward.
‘. . . Though he’d much prefer a kiss!’
‘That’s quite enough, thank you,’ Sister said. ‘This is a hospital ward, not a music hall.’
The singer gave a deep bow in Poppy’s direction and, to cheers from his fellow patients, got back into bed. Poppy, scarlet-faced, scurried to the relative safety of the little kitchen and composed herself before taking round mugs of tea.
After the food came the washing-up – seemingly as much as they used to have at Airey House after a party, Poppy thought, although then she’d had Molly and a little girl from the village to help her. Following tea, every boy there had his hot-water bottle refilled for afternoon rest, and following that, the beds were tidied and smoothed ready for visiting time. The visitors were mostly, if the patient came from nearby, the boys’ families. However, there was also an occasional fiancée and several ‘Good Eggs’, as Sister called them – middle-aged ladies who didn’t know the boys personally, but, perhaps not having sons of their own, wanted to give them little treats.
It was teatime before Poppy knew it: egg and cress sandwiches, Victoria sponge and more mugs of tea. Then came the reapplication of some bandages, the taking round of bedpans and painkillers (‘We’ve hardly got any drugs – they’ve all gone to the front,’ Moffat confided) and yet more tidying of beds before the night staff came on. Their arrival signalled that Poppy’s shift was over. Yawning profusely, she dragged herself home, wondering how on earth the previous ‘flirty little thing’ had ever had the energy to entertain boys in the linen cupboard.
Back at the hostel, she found a letter propped up on her pillow and, seeing it in the dim light, thought it might be a letter from Freddie. She was deeply disappointed to find that it was from her brother.
Pte William Pearson,
8903 D Company
Hi Sis,
Just a quick note to say my regiment will be passing through southampton, from the station to the docks to catch a troopship late afternoon on 12th September.
This is not common knowledge and we dont no the name of the ship we are going on but my mate Ron found out because his girl works as a clerk in the war office and always looks to see whose going where. Matey says its good we no, as we can get stocked up with ciggies and so on. I am letting you no too in case you can come down to the docks and wave me of. Youll be right proud and you can tell our ma of it.
We are really looking forward to knocking it to ’em. We have started a contest to see who gets the most jerries the prize is a jug of beer in the Flying Duck at home.
Your brother,
William.
PS I am mostly called William now as someone said that Billy is a kids name.
Poppy read the letter again and then put it away. She would certainly ask Sister Kay if she could go and wave him off, but not yet, for she didn’t quite feel up to asking favours. She would see how the next few days in Hut 59 went . . .
Chapter Thirteen
‘Nurse!’
It was only Poppy’s second day at Netley and, not feeling a bit like a nurse, she didn’t respond to the call. The previous day had been alarming, a chaotic mixture of tasks performed (not terribly well, she’d thought) one after the other at the command of Sister Kay, with not a break between nor space to draw breath. The caller couldn’t want her, she thought; as it was quite impossible that she could be mistaken for a real nurse.
‘Nurse!’ The call came again, more urgently, echoing down one of the corridors of the main hospital.
Poppy turned to see a young man, wearing the buff jacket of an orderly, waving to her.
‘Oh, sorry!’ she said, going towards him. ‘I didn’t think you meant me. I’m not really a nurse.’
‘You’re dressed like one,’ he said.
‘Well, I’m a nursing VAD, but I’ve only just started here.’ She stared at the young man, who was pale and worried-looking, with beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. ‘Are you all right?’
He shook his head, panting slightly. ‘No . . . It’s my first day and I was just lifting someone and . . .’
‘You’ve seen something disturbing, haven’t you?’ Poppy said.
‘I don’t . . .’
‘Do you feel sick? Faint?’ Poppy asked swiftly. ‘You ought to sit down.’ She put her hand under his arm and guided him to a bench, keen to put what she knew about first aid into operation. ‘You need to put your head between your legs and –’
‘Wait!’ The young man struggled to sit up, but Poppy pushed his head down again.
‘Just stay like that for a moment. You know, I saw someone disfigured on the troop train and had just the same reaction as you. It’s terribly embarrassing but perfectly understandable.’
‘No! Nurse, or whoever you are . . .’
‘I’m called Pearson,’ Poppy said.
He jerked his head up and shrugged off her hand from the back of his neck. ‘Well, Pearson, if you’ll just give me a moment to explain. I was lifting a man from a stretcher into bed and when I looked round the group I was with had gone. I’ve been dashing about everywhere trying to find them.’
‘The group?’ Poppy said uncertainly.
He nodded. ‘I’m with Doctor Armstrong’s team, training to be a field doctor. I’m going out to help patch up battle wounds.’
‘Oh,’ Poppy said. ‘You’re a doctor . . .’ She felt herself beginning to turn red.
‘Almost,’ he said. ‘I’m awaiting confirmation.’
‘But you’re wearing an orderly’s jacket,’ she said weakly.
‘Yes, and you’re wearing a nurse’s outfit.’ He stood up. ‘If you must know, I dressed the wound of someone who was bleeding badly and stained my own jacket, so an orderly lent me his spare one. I could hardly go round the place looking like a . . . a . . .’
‘An axe murderer?’ Poppy finished.
He smiled suddenly, a wide smile that lit up his face. ‘I didn’t think I looked like an axe murderer, but thank you for that, Pearson. Anyway, as I was saying, I was with a group of student doctors on a tour of the building and got left behind. I’ve been going up and down corridors looking for them ever since.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Poppy said. Doctors and surgeons were regarded as minor gods by everyone from the matron downward, so it was mortifying to think that she’d grabbed hol
d of one and tried to force his head between his knees. ‘Really sorry,’ she repeated.
‘Never mind that now.’ He sighed. ‘Now, Pearson, have you any idea where the haematology lab really is? Everyone I’ve asked has sent me off in a different direction.’
Poppy nodded. ‘I know exactly. I had to go there yesterday and it’s very near the hut I’ve been assigned to.’ She pointed. ‘Along this way, across the corridor and through the swing doors on the right.’
He set off at a brisk pace. ‘I’m much obliged to you, Pearson,’ he called over his shoulder.
She glanced after him. A doctor! And quite charming, she thought, with his grey eyes and his wide smile. But the hundred and one demands of the day soon took over her thoughts.
All was strangely quiet in Hut 59 when Poppy went in. She said a cheerful good morning to the other staff and was given a raised-eyebrow sort of look from Moffat. When she went into the annexe to begin preparing the breakfast trays, the other VAD came in after her.
‘Just to let you know that we’re all a little subdued today – we had a man die in the night,’ Moffat said in a low voice. ‘Really nice chap. Sister Kay was very fond of him.’
‘Oh dear. I’m so sorry,’ Poppy said. She hesitated. ‘Who was it? The man behind the screen?’
Moffat shook her head. ‘No, a nice regular army sergeant who never gave anyone any trouble. He died just when we all thought he was safe. Nothing directly to do with his injury – the doctors think delayed shock led to his having a heart attack.’ She sighed. ‘When I got here this morning I saw the stretcher being taken out of the ward with a Union Jack covering it.’
Poppy saw tears in the other girl’s eyes and felt her own well up in sympathy. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said again, feeling inadequate.
‘I’m afraid it sometimes happens like that,’ Moffat said, sniffing. ‘You get a chap in, you patch him up and sort him out, and then he goes and dies. Mind you,’ she went on after a moment, ‘he was due to have his other leg off today.’
