by Deborah Carr
She was finishing tidying up the nurses’ station at the back of the ward, when the sound of a plane’s engine disturbed her. Alice was used to hearing bombardments, even the ground trembling beneath her feet, but planes didn’t often come overhead like this one sounded as if it was about to do.
She noticed Edgar signalling her over to him. She reached the side of his bed when an ear-perforating bomb exploded nearby, shaking the ground. Pots in the ward rattled, men cried out. Then silence for a split second before a second bomb crashed through one of the closer huts.
“Take cover,” Doctor Sullivan bellowed from the walkway to anyone listening.
Alice wasn’t sure where to go. Hearing the scream of a third bomb as it descended towards them and unsure what else to do, she determined to protect at least one of the patients. Captain Woodhall was closest to her, so she threw herself across his upper body, shielding him with her own.
Instinctively, he grabbed hold of her, turning, so that Alice’s body was half under his torso. Stunned by his actions, she held her breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
A white flash then an ear-splitting thud. Splinters of wood flew from the tent poles like bullets. Fragments of the exploding bomb hit pots, sending jugs and phials crashing from shelves and tipping trolleys over their contents smashing onto the floor.
Seconds passed. Captain Woodhall tensed, the heat from his chest and arms filtered through Alice’s uniform, forming a comfort blanket around her, as she gathered her wits. The world around them appeared to have stopped.
“Are you all right?” he whispered moments later, his voice shaken.
Alice breathed in his warm soapy smell, relishing the few seconds she was in his arms, the pressure of his body on hers. She felt safe lying under him. Screams diverted her attention back to her surroundings. She took a deep breath and pushed him gently away. Standing up, she smoothed the skirt of her uniform and straightened her apron.
“Yes, thank you Captain,” she assured him, as she straightened her cap. “I’m fine. You are unhurt, I hope?”
“Only a little scratch, I believe,” he said.
Their eyes locked. Alice struggled to tear herself away from his gaze.
“Let me have a look”, she said forcing herself to focus.
He shook his head. “I’m sure it’s fine. Please, go and see to the other patients.”
“If you insist,” she said, hurrying away, not looking back.
She scanned the ward looking from one patient to the other. They seemed unharmed, which was nothing short of a miracle, she thought with relief.
She calmed one of the younger patients, who was trembling violently in a corner bed.
“You’re safe, now Lieutenant,” she said, smiling at him and straightening his sheets. “Please try to relax a little.”
Happy that none of the patients seemed badly injured, she tidied up the obvious damage and then ran outside to see what she could do to help.
Doctors, orderlies and nurses were carrying beds out of the next ward. Doctor Sullivan pointed over to the lawn area in front of Ward 3 where Alice had just been. “Line the beds up there and we’ll take stock of the situation.”
Seeing flames rising along the side of the next ward, Alice followed the others inside to rescue more patients. Two men hobbled out, each with an arm over the other’s shoulders. She manoeuvred passed them to see what she could do to help. Noticing that the orderlies were busy carrying beds with patients still inside, she noticed the flames closing in on a part of the canvas wall where an unconscious patient lay.
Seeing one of the younger volunteer nurses standing doing nothing, Alice shouted at her. “Come here, quickly,” she said, waving her over. “This way.” The nurse followed Alice in to the depths of the ward. “This bed over here. We have to move it, before the flames reach him.” She saw two more patients, struggling to move. “Do your best to get out,” she said. “There will be others to come and help soon.”
They each took one end of the bed between them. Alice would have preferred to carry the patient out on a stretcher — the combination of the unconscious man and the metal bed was heavy — but with adrenaline pumping through her body, Alice managed to lift her end. But they had only walked a few steps before they had had to put the bed down.
“It’s no use,” the younger nurse cried. “It’s too heavy.”
Doctor Sullivan ran over to them. “You two take that end,” he shouted, looking to his left. “Quickly, the fire is taking hold.”
They did as he said and with his help were soon able to reach the outside. As they continued carrying the bed to where the others had been placed, he called out to several orderlies. “Inside, quickly, more men need help.”
Alice left the bed and followed the doctor and orderlies inside. Assisting one of the last patients out of the burning ward, she helped him sit on the edge of the wooden walkway where there was space.
“Wait here,” she said. “Someone will soon settle you in one of the other wards,” she said before running back to help in the damaged ward.
“All out, Nurse,” the doctor said coming out to join her, his face streaked with soot. “You did an excellent job in there.”
It was high praise indeed and after her telling off from Sister Brown earlier, Alice could not help feeling a little better having received it.
“You’re all right?” he asked.
Grateful for his concern, she nodded. “You?”
Doctor Sullivan smiled. “Don’t you worry about me,” he said. “I’m fine.”
She looked around, realising she hadn’t seen Mary since the bombing raid. Praying silently, she hoped her friend was safe.
“Here, help me,” an orderly shouted, waiving Alice to go with him. Realising that he wanted her to go into the nurses’ station at the back of the ward closest to the fire, Alice followed reluctantly “What are we doing here?” she shouted above the noise of exploding bottles and burning canvas. He didn’t answer. Alice wasn’t sure whether to keep going. Nervously, she looked around to see if anyone else was near them. She lost sight of Peter as he crouched down behind a desk. What was he doing, she wondered? Alice stepped closer with trepidation, gasping when she spotted Helen, one of the other VADs, unconscious on the floor bleeding from her head.
“I saw her come in here, but not leave,” he explained. “She’s bleeding heavily. We need to stop it if we can.”
Alice could see blood pooling around Helen’s head. Lifting her head carefully, she assumed the volunteer must have been lying there since the bomb landed. Alice looked around for dressings on the bare shelves. “There,” she said, indicating a pile on the floor. “Bring me those, quick as you can.”
As she knelt, her arm began to feel hot as the ferocity of the fire increased. She looked up to see it was moving rapidly towards them. Alice quickly took the dressing from the orderly’s hand.
“Unwrap the bandage,” she said, pressing the dressing against Helen’s blood-soaked blonde head. “Right, now pass it to me.” She carefully wove the bandage around the girl’s head, securing it with a pin.
The orderly yelled, leaping back from her as pieces of burning canvas began to break away from the tent roof and land near them. “We have to go. Now,” he shouted. “Move away from her. I’ll carry her outside.”
Alice stood carefully, holding Helen’s head between her hands to keep it as still as possible, as the orderly lifted her. “Right, let’s go,” she said.
They stepped carefully over fallen packets and instruments, both sighing with relief as they made it to the outside. Alice wished Helen would regain consciousness.
“I think we should take her to find a spare bed. She can’t be left outside in this condition.”
“Take her to my office,” Matron Bleasdale said from nearby. “I’ll get one of the other orderlies to bring a bed through for you to make up for her. I’ll ask one of the doctors to come and examine her.”
Alice nodded and accompanied Peter into
Matron’s office, passing shocked patients and medical staff busily settling them, as they worked to regain a semblance of order.
She realised for the first time how close to danger she had come. Alice focused on keeping Helen’s bloodied head still as a bed was brought in for them to lie her on opposite Matron’s desk. She settled her colleague down and covered her with a blanket. Alice could not help wondering whether any of them would manage to witness the ending of the war. How many of us will have the chance to return to a normal life back at home? She wondered?
Chapter 8
Gemma
2018
It took Gemma a few days to get used to having no one to talk to. She didn’t mind her own company; for most of her life she had enjoyed a solitary existence. But she was missing Tom. She’d become used to hearing him singing as he worked and eating lunch with him. She even missed their companionable silences, as she sneaked glances at his muscular torso when he was concentrating on something.
She leant against her front door frame, sweater sleeves pushed up to her elbows despite the dreary day outside and her coffee in hand as she stared out at the messy front garden. Tom would be back, and she should use this time putting her issues with her ex into perspective. He might not have been the person she believed him to be, but how could you resent someone who was dead? It was pointless.
She had only known Tom a few weeks, and despite him being closed off about his past, she still felt like she didn’t have to be the guarded person she usually was. Feeling comfortable enough to open up to someone was a new experience. She even held back with her parents, having learnt from an early age that they were more interested in their careers than their ‘ruddy great surprise.’
She had seven weeks before Tom returned and she’d planned to do as much painting of the inside of the house as she could in that time. Before she knew it, April would be here, and Tom would be back.
So far Gemma was relieved to have decorated her bedroom and started work on the spare room. She had been so tired at the end of the day that she had not given any time or thought to Alice’s letters. After a week decorating, Gemma was beginning to think that she was losing the power of speech. It was time to put on clothes other than her paint covered dungarees and go into the village for some shopping.
Washed and changed, Gemma walked along the peaceful road. It amused her to think that only a year ago, socialising to her had meant joining in the occasional get-together with her workmates at a bar. She even managed a meal with them when she couldn’t think of a plausible reason to excuse herself. How surprised they would be now to discover her here, she mused. Then again, maybe they would think it perfectly understandable that she had ended up alone renovating an empty farmhouse.
“Bonjour,” she said, walking into the small café opposite the market. “Un café au lait, et une tarte à la crème,” she said relishing the thought of eating one of Marie’s delicious custard tarts that Tom had introduced her to a couple of weeks before.
Gemma paid Marie and noticing two ladies getting up from one a window table, went and sat down. She looked forward to the weather warming up enough to be able to sit outside. Watching people going about their business in the village was something Gemma had enjoyed on the brief occasions she had had the chance to do it. Maybe she could invite some of the villagers for a few drinks and nibbles, once the house was renovated? The idea appealed to her.
For now, though, she had to press on with the decoration work. She had to remember the reason she had come here in the first place.
Marie brought over her drink and a plate and small fork with the appealing looking tart.
“Merci,” Gemma said, lifting the plate to breathe in the sweet, creamy smell. She realised that Marie was waiting for her to taste the confection and picking up her fork, dug it slowly into the creaminess, before popping a piece into her mouth. Gemma closed her eyes as the gentle vanilla taste filled her mouth. Swallowing, she smiled. “Délicieux.”
“Bien,” Marie said, resting her hand lightly on Gemma’s right shoulder for a second before returning to serve the next customer.
Gemma wasn’t used to cafés having such a personal touch. She presumed it was this extra dedication that was behind the cakes being so exquisite. She finished eating her food and sat quietly drinking her coffee, noticing for the first time a sticker on the window advertising free WiFi.
Gemma withdrew her phone from her coat pocket. Maybe it was time to check on the outside world, just for a moment, or two. She pressed on her mobile and connected to the internet. Immediately emails, Facebook notifications and missed calls alerts pinged up on her phone. The other customers turned to see who was disturbing their morning’s coffee, so she hurriedly switched her phone to silent.
“Pardon,” she said, hoping to placate them and Marie.
Her father had sent two emails.
Just a quick email to see if the work is coming along to schedule. What schedule was that, Gemma wondered, reading on. I’ve decided that, if possible, I’d like to put the farm on the market sometime in May.
May? Impossible, thought Gemma, upset at the thought of the project, and her association with Tom, ending that soon. She closed his email and opened the following one from him.
Hope you’re coping and not finding it all too difficult over there. Dad
“Very matter of fact, as usual, Dad,” she murmured, quickly typing a reply.
Hi Dad, I still haven’t had a chance to change my phone to a French sim card and I don’t want to run up huge roaming charges. I’m fine and the renovations are coming along well. I have contracted a reliable decorator and am enjoying the work. A May deadline is impossible, suggest July, maybe August. Please give my love to Mum, I hope you’re both well and not working too hard, Gemma. x
There, she thought, hoping he would leave her to know best when the right time would be to put the farm on the market.
Gemma doubted her father would reply any time soon, so hurriedly switched off her mobile and dropped it into her coat pocket feeling free, once again.
“Good, that’s done,” she said, picking up her cup to finish her tepid coffee.
Gemma stood up to leave, giving Marie a smile and a wave before leaving the café. Her next stop was the hardware store.
“Bonjour, Marcel,” she said pointing to the paint section. “Deux—” she couldn’t think of the word for pots, but he appeared to understand what she meant. Picking up two five litre pots of white paint, Gemma placed them on the counter to pay for them.
She was pushing the change into her pocket when the brass bell jangled on the shop door alerting them to the arrival of another customer.
“Gemma,” Tom cheered. “Good to see you.” He walked over to her and nodded a hello to Marcel. “I dropped by the farm, but you were out. Now, I know why,” he smiled.
“Hi, Tom,” Gemma said, surprised at how fiercely her heart was pounding to see him so unexpectedly. “I thought you still have several more weeks to go at your current situation?”
“I do,” he said, raking his hair through his sun kissed shorter hair. “But I needed to make an urgent call to another client. She lives nearby, so I thought I’d pop in and see how you were getting on.”
Gemma couldn’t help smiling. It was good to know he had thought of her. “Well, I’m glad you caught me here.” She looked pointedly at his hair. “Someone’s had a haircut, I see. Suits you.”
“Thanks. I was sick of my mother nagging me to get it tidied up. Now it’s been done I can see what she means,” he laughed. “It was a mess before.”
“It was a little,” she teased, enjoying the easy rapport with him and realising how much she’d missed him. “This shorter style suits you.”
“Enough about my hair,” he laughed. “If you’ve finished here, I can give you a lift back.”
Gemma wince. “I’d love a lift, those things are heavy,” she admitted. “But I still have to do food shopping. I’ve pretty much run out of things to eat and dri
nk.”
He feigned horror. “Can’t have that happening,” he said. “I’ll take these to the pick-up, it’s only parked in front of the boulangerie, and I’ll wait for you there.”
“If you’re sure? That’ll be wonderful.”
She thanked Marcel and hurried off to the small supermarché. Grabbing a packet of chocolate digestives, she knew Tom enjoyed, she added them to the other items in her basket and went to the counter.
Joining him minutes later, Gemma got into the pick-up and closed the door.
“That was quick,” Tom said, taking her shopping bag and lifting it over their seats to place in the back of the truck. “It’s good to see you again, Gemma,” he said.
“Thank you, it was a lovely surprise to see you at Marcel’s, too.”
They drove back to the farmhouse, catching up on the small amount of decorating Gemma had done.
“Marcel was telling me about the field at your farm earlier.” Tom said, changing gear. “Apparently in the summer the field is filled with poppies.”
“I’ve read about fields of poppies, like from those First World War poems, but I’ve never seen one,” she said.
“I’ve seen a few,” he said. “Marcel said that if you sit at the top of the field and look down across the poppies as the ground slants downward, it looks like a sea of scarlet.”
Gemma visualised the scene. “That sounds incredible. I can’t wait to experience it.”
“It does sound amazing, doesn’t it?” He slowed down and indicated to turn into the farm entrance.
“I stopped off at Marie’s café,” she said, wanting him to know that she was trying to cultivate a few friendships with the locals. “I practically breathed in one of those custardy cream tarts you bought the other week.”
“I don’t blame you, they’re delicious.”
She nodded. “I also noticed she had free WiFi. I’ve enjoyed being disconnected with my old life while I’ve been here but was beginning to feel a bit guilty. So, I dared to turn on my phone.”
