by Deborah Carr
“When did you come here, Alice?” she whispered, aware that she would have died of fright should anyone reply. Had she just visited and hidden her letters, or had she lived here? She hoped Alice had been happy here at the farm.
Eventually, Gemma contemplated getting out of bed and going down to the living room to read more of Alice’s letters. She tried to fight against getting up but, unable to sleep, threw back the covers and slipped her feet into her trainers. She pulled on her dressing gown, grabbed the blanket from her bed and carried it over her shoulder.
She was going to look like hell in the morning, she thought, tying the fleecy belt as she walked down the stairs. She made a tea, added a few sticks of wood to the fire, with a larger log on top and turned on the light. Opening the black tin box, she gazed at the two batches of letters inside. She was tempted to go to the last one and read it, she never had much in the way of patience, but these letters were too fascinating to read them out of order.
Sitting down, she made herself comfortable and read the next letter.
Chapter 5
Alice
1916
“Nurse! Nurse, come quickly.”
Alice heard the frantic tone of the patient lying in the bed next to Captain Woodhall’s. She hurried over to see what was wrong.
“He was havin’ a fit, Nurse,” The young private said, his eyes wide with fear.
Lifting the captain’s wrist, Alice took his pulse, flinching at a loud explosion she estimated to be only a couple of miles away. Taking a calming breath, Alice felt the captain’s forehead. He was running a temperature and she knew it could be the reason for the convulsion, although her instinct told her he wasn’t in immediate danger.
“He’s fine, Private Allen,” she soothed, pushing him gently back against his pillows and straightening his sheet. “Try to relax. I’ll look after Captain Woodhall.”
The private grimaced and waved her closer. “I would, Nurse, but I’ve wet me bed,” he whispered, glancing from side to side to check no one else had overheard. “I’m sorry. Those loud bangs, they frighten me silly they do.”
“Leave it with me,” she soothed. “We’ll sort you out in no time.”
She waved over one of the probationers. “I think it’s near enough time for the men to have some refreshment, don’t you?” She gave a pointed glance in the private’s direction.
“I’ll see to it right now, Nurse Le Breton,” the young girl said.
Alice pulled a screen around the private’s bed and helped him out. “Change out of those things and I’ll bring you some clean pyjamas.”
She was back a couple of minutes later with fresh clothes and bedlinen. Alice hated seeing the poor boy so embarrassed. She understood how terrifying the nearby explosions were to some of the men. Hadn’t she nearly jumped out of her skin many times on hearing them? And she hadn’t spent months sleeping on a fire step in a muddy trench with explosions going off all around her.
She helped him to wash quickly and change. “You do up your jacket and I’ll change this bed. You’ll be back in it in a jiffy.” She smiled at the volunteer nurse. “It’s Nurse Jenkins isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “I arrived last week. Still haven’t quite found my footing here.”
“You’re doing fine.
The bed changed, Alice left the young private to be settled by Nurse Jenkins and turned her attention to Captain Woodhall. She gave him a thorough check to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. Determining to try and reduce his temperature, she dipped a flannel in a bowl of cool water, rung it out and placed it over his hot forehead. His eyes flickered briefly, then opened. He took a while to focus before gazing up at her.
“Where am I?” he asked, his voice croaky from lack of use.
Alice poured a little water into a glass and raising his head gently, held the drink to his lips. He took a few sips. Looking exhausted from the effort, he closed his eyes again.
She lowered his head and sat down on the chair next to his bed, waiting for him to gather the strength to address her again.
“Is this a casualty clearing station? No,” he answered without opening his eyes. “It can’t be, I didn’t think there were VADs at a CCS.”
“We’re welcome in many more places than we were a couple of years ago,” she said, straightening his sheet. “You have a bit of a fever.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Three days.”
His eyes scanned the room. He went to sit up, wincing in pain, before collapsing back on his bed.
Alice could see the panic on his face. She was used to men reacting in this way when they recovered consciousness. Their first reaction, once discovering that they were in a medical unit, was often wanting to ascertain why they were there and what damage had been done to their bodies.
“Rest, now,” she said calmly.
“What happened to me?” He went to sit up again, then must have thought the better of it and closed his eyes. “Everything hurts. Please, what are my injuries?”
Aware he would fret until he knew, Alice answered with as much reassurance as possible, “You’ve received a shrapnel wound to the side of your head,” she said. “You were lucky, it wasn’t very deep. You’ve also been shot in your side, near your hip. Again, you should be fine.” He visibly relaxed. Alice stood up. “That’s enough for now. You need to get as much rest as possible. You can ask more questions in the morning.”
“Thank you, Nurse,” he said, calmer. He opened his eyes. and Alice saw that they were the colour of dark chocolate. A kindness emanated from them, she liked him immediately. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Nurse Le Breton,” she said, smiling at him.
“You don’t sound French,” he murmured.
“I’m not,” she said, amused that he was so inquisitive, despite being drowsy and in pain. She was intrigued that his focus had gone from worrying about his injuries to her home. “I’m from Jersey.” He opened his mouth to speak again and she shook her head. “No more questions. You need your rest. Now, sleep.”
He closed his eyes again and she saw him relax slightly. But as Alice began walking away a bugle call sounded and her heart plummeted. Another convoy of broken men on their way for treatment. She looked around the tent, crammed with occupied beds. How were they supposed to fit in any more wounded?
She hurried outside to wait with the others for Matron to give her orders. Ambulance, after ambulance rolled into the dusty yard. How was it possible for these poor men to keep coming in? Soon there would be none left to fight at this rate.
“Nurse Le Breton, Nurse Fielding, you take the second ambulance over by Sister Brown.”
They hurried over to it, arriving as the driver opened the door. Several orderlies appeared to help carry the injured men. Alice took Sister Brown’s lantern, lifting it so she could inspect the soldier’s tag attached to his uniform jacket.
“Take him to Ward Two,” Sister instructed the orderlies. Lowering her voice so the semi-conscious soldier couldn’t hear, she added to Alice, “He needs to be away from the door, in one of the quieter beds. I’m not sure he’s going to make it.”
She nodded, handed Sister Brown’s lantern to Mary and followed the stretcher to the ward.
The following two soldiers weren’t as close to death as the first one, but both had bloody bandages around stumps on their legs.
“These men are to be taken to the Theatre Ward, as soon as possible. “The surgeon can check them and decide what he wants to do.”
The final stretcher was pulled from the back of the dusty ambulance. Alice forced a calm smile on her face when she gazed into his dirty, panic-stricken face. The bandage covering half his face was thick with layers of dressing, but still the blood was oozing through. She read his tag, but his face was the only injured part of him mentioned.
“Ward Seven?”
Sister Brown looked at her and nodded.
Of all the wards, Ward Seven was the one th
at Alice found the most difficult to deal with. She wasn’t sure why. After all, the men who had lost limbs were going to find it difficult to integrate into the outside world, too. Somehow though, the men with damaged faces, found it harder to cope than those who’d lost limbs. Alice supposed it was because people found it hard to look in the mirror and not recognise the person staring back.
She couldn’t help hoping their loved ones would put aside any misgivings about these men’s new physical situation to support them. It upset all the nursing staff when they heard of a fiancée calling off an engagement after seeing the result hot shrapnel had done to their loved one’s face.
The night was long and filled with the usual cries of pain, panic and horror, but Alice didn’t mind being on night duty, especially after a new influx of injured came to the station. The time flew by as she moved from bed to bed, assisting the sisters, or Matron.
Just after two in the morning, Alice was finishing redressing a leg wound. She enjoyed having established recognition from Matron Bleasdale and being allowed to carry out tasks usually only permitted to be done by qualified nurses.
“Nurse Le Breton,” one of the younger volunteers shouted, breathless from running to find her. “Doctor Sullivan needs you to assist in Theatre Two immediately.”
Alice stood up. Ordinarily she would never pass on work to a probationer, but this was an emergency. “This is nearly done,” she said handing over the bandage carefully. “You’ll need to finish it for me.”
Excitement coursed through Alice. Ever since joining the VADs she had dreamt of assisting during a surgery. This, though, was the first time she had been called to do so. She arrived at the theatre tent moments later, trying not to show her nervousness.
“Wash your hands in there,” Matron Bleasdale instructed, removing a blood-stained apron. “Hurry, now. The surgeon needs you to relieve the current nurse, she’s unwell.” She left Alice to prepare.
Alice quickly scrubbed and dried her hands. Pulling her apron straps over each shoulder she crossed them, fumbling with the material as she tied them in a bow at her back, before rushing in to the theatre.
“What kept you,” the surgeon barked, his black eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “I called for you long ago.”
She didn’t care to argue. “Sorry, Sir,” she said.
Alice had noticed how strained the surgeons seemed recently. The continuing arrival of patients increased the relentless surgeries each man had to perform. Alice was exhausted, with every muscle aching, but she could only imagine how they must be feeling. If only more tents and beds could be brought to the station, as well as more surgeons and nursing staff, she thought. Surely, they would be falling ill soon themselves, if they didn’t get some relief from the endless work.
“Hand me that clamp,” he said indicating the instrument he wanted. He then looked down on the operating table at the soldier, his chest opened on one side. “Blast. Another, now.”
Trying not to panic, Alice did as he asked. “Call another nurse to assist. We’re going to need more hands here.”
Alice went to leave and do as instructed.
“Bloody shout from the door. We don’t have time for you to fetch people. They’ll come to you.”
Alice nodded and went to the opening. Pulling back the canvas flap she called for someone to help.
Matron spun on her heels, glaring at her. “Nurse Le Breton, what is the meaning of this?”
Alice hadn’t seen her. “Doctor Sullivan’s, instructions,” she explained. “We need assistance here, now.”
Matron pointed to another nurse and waved her over. Alice didn’t wait to hear what was being said, but dropping the canvas returned to the operating table. She knew Matron might be a bit of a tyrant, but she was brilliant in an emergency. Seconds later, another nurse ran into the side room.
“I’m washing my hands, I’ll be there in a moment,” she called.
“Wadding,” the surgeon bellowed, ignoring her. “Lots of it.”
Alice grabbed a handful of the wadding, handing it to him.
“Hold it there.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it against the boy’s open wound.
She did as she was told, wondering if there was any chance the bleeding in the boy’s side could be stemmed. “It’s not stopping, Doctor,” she said, without thinking what she was doing.
“I can see that for myself, Nurse.” He continued working on the boy, concentration etched on his perspiring brow.
The patient began to convulse on the operating table and Alice held her breath. She wasn’t sure what to do and almost sighed with relief when they were joined by the other nurse.
“Where the hell have you been?” the doctor growled. “Here,” he said pointing for them to place their hands over the side of the open wound. “Hold him there. I need to think.”
They did as he said, not daring to look at him or each other. Alice wondered if the other nurse was shaking as much as she was right now. The soldier convulsed, once again and Alice’s bloodied hands slipped away from his side.
“I said hold it,” the surgeon roared, grabbing Alice’s wrists and pushing her hands against the torn bloody side. “Damn, this isn’t doing anything.”
He took her hands away and reaching inside the man’s wound, groaned. “Quick, the smallest clamp.”
Scrambling around on the metal tray to find the correct implement, Alice grabbed it, handing it to him. The two nurses watched in awe as the surgeon took a deep breath, visibly calmed down and closed his eyes, his two hands lost inside the bloody mess of the soldier’s side as he worked.
Finally, he withdrew his hands. “Yes, that’s it. We’ve managed to stem the bleeding.”
She wasn’t sure she had managed to do anything of the sort but was delighted to be included in his congratulatory delight.
“Can he be left like this?” she asked, relieved enough to forget herself.
“What? No, of course not,” the surgeon, looked shocked at her ridiculous question. “I’ve just bought the boy time, that’s all. We must clean up this mess inside him. I need to see the damage before I can close him up.”
Alice couldn’t see how that was possible. However, she had witnessed many miraculous actions by Doctor Sullivan, so trusted that he’d manage it somehow. She did as he instructed, giving the handsome surgeon an occasional side glance. He glowered back in concentration and she realised he was addressing her. “Sorry, Sir?”
He exhaled sharply. “Pay bloody attention. Apply the dressing, Nurse Le Breton. See to it that he is kept sedated for at least the next twelve hours. He needs fluids and must be kept still at all times. We do not need him back in surgery to stem a haemorrhage.”
“Yes, Sir.” Alice did as he asked. He left the theatre and she could hear him washing in the canvas room next door.
“You lucky bugger,” Mary whispered as she and Alice crossed paths later. “I heard you assisted Doctor Sullivan today.” She lowered her voice further. “I think he’s sweet on you.”
“Hush, Mary.” Alice frowned at her cheeky friend. “Don’t talk nonsense.”
She marched into the ward her face red with fury and embarrassment. What did Mary think she was doing, saying such things? She could start all sorts of unnecessary rumours. Alice couldn’t imagine the doctor even noticed her, beyond her skills as a nurse. She was glad of it, too.
She thought of Dr Sullivan’s deep voice and how she had cringed the first time she’d heard him addressing a patient. She had been shocked when he didn’t use a gentler approach. But having seen his expertise achieve almost the impossible, her feelings towards him had softened over the past year. Alice smiled; she had seen the other two surgeons deal with patients at the station, and neither had the harshness of Doctor Sullivan, nor his brilliance.
They barely had time to catch up with their ministrations when Matron announced that another convoy of injured men was on its way.
“Not again,” Mary groaned. “I don’t know how much more of thi
s my poor feet will take.”
“Come along,” Alice said, thinking of how impressed she’d been by Doctor Sullivan’s dedication. “We can do this.”
“Once the beds and trolleys are ready for the new intake of men, I suggest you all find yourselves something to eat and have a cup of tea,” Matron took a deep breath. “I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”
Alice and Mary returned to their ward to help move beds even closer together as more space was needed to allow further beds to be brought into the ward. Having made up the new beds and replenished the trolleys with implements, disinfectants and dressings, they went to the dining room for lunch.
“I heard one of the orderlies talking about a village — Guillemont, I think he said was the name,” Mary said quietly, as they poured strong tea into their cups. “He said a battle has been raging there for the last couple of days. I think these men could be the injured from there,” she said taking a sip of her steaming drink.
“I can’t imagine ever sleeping without hearing men’s screams in my dreams,” Alice admitted rubbing her eyes. “Sometimes I wish I could stay awake all night. Then I remember that I need my sleep to do what I must each day.”
Mary put down her cup and rubbed Alice’s forearm. “It is relentless, but it’s got to end sometime.”
They stared at each other. Both reading panic in the other’s eyes that they might be wrong.
Alice closed her eyes briefly, then opening them, forced a smile. “It will. You never know, maybe it’ll all end sooner than we expect.”
“Yes, it just might,” Mary said.
Alice knew they were fooling themselves, but if they remained positive then they were better placed to help the patients. “I wish they didn’t discharge them straight back to the trenches as soon as they were well.”
