Nightingales at War

by Donna Douglas

  ‘That really isn’t your concern,’ Dora said. ‘You’re here to follow orders. Besides, there’s enough work to be done on the ward without you sneaking off, leaving it to everyone else.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have to sneak off if I was allowed to special him.’

  Dora stared at her, and for a moment she wondered if she’d heard correctly. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I was thinking – perhaps I should be allowed to help nurse him? He obviously likes me, and—’

  ‘Only qualified nurses are allowed to special private patients,’ Dora cut her off.

  ‘Yes, but I could learn, couldn’t I?’

  There was no faulting the girl’s confidence, Dora thought. ‘You really think you could do the job of a trained nurse?’

  Jennifer stared straight back at her. ‘I’m sure I could if someone taught me,’ she said.

  If she hadn’t looked so insolent Dora might not have done what she did next.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Since you’re so keen to learn, you can start by helping me to change Mr Chandler’s dressings. Please prepare the trolley.’

  That shook her. Jennifer’s mouth fell open. ‘Me, Staff?’

  ‘Yes, you, Caldwell. You seem to think you’re capable of doing some real nursing, so let’s see, shall we?’

  Dora saw the look of panic in Jennifer’s eyes, and felt a brief moment of triumph. That would teach her, she thought.

  But then Jennifer squared her shoulders and lifted her head up. ‘Right away, Staff,’ she said.

  Now it was Dora’s turn to be open-mouthed as she watched the girl walk off down the ward. What had she done? All she’d wanted was to shake her a little, take away some of her overconfidence. VADs weren’t supposed to change dressings. Especially not for the likes of Philip Chandler. His injuries were so horrific, even some of the trained nurses quailed at the prospect.

  But Dora couldn’t back down now, and she suspected Jennifer wouldn’t either. It was as if they were locked in a terrible game of dare, and neither of them wanted to be the first to admit defeat.

  Jennifer was shaking as she pushed the trolley towards Philip Chandler’s room.

  You’ve done it now, my girl, she thought. You and your big mouth. Why had she had to answer Nurse Riley back like that? She was right, Jennifer had no business being in Philip Chandler’s room. She had been defiant, and she should be punished.

  She’d only gone in because she felt sorry for him. The other nurses all passed him by. They didn’t think it hurt him, but Jennifer knew it did.

  She couldn’t imagine what gory horrors lay under those bandages, and she didn’t want to know. But now, thanks to her own stupidity and cheek, she was going to find out.

  Nurse Riley was waiting for her outside Philip Chandler’s room. For a moment, Jennifer thought she was going to say it was all a trick and Jennifer didn’t have to do it after all. But all Nurse Riley said was, ‘You took your time.’

  ‘Sorry, Sister.’

  Jennifer met her eye. She could tell Nurse Riley was waiting for her to back down, to say she couldn’t do it. All she had to do was say the words. But she was determined not to give Nurse Riley the satisfaction of seeing how terrified she was.

  They entered the room together, Jennifer pushing the trolley. As she took her place beside Nurse Riley, Philip Chandler’s head turned towards her.

  ‘Evening in Paris,’ he murmured.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Nurse Riley said.

  ‘Jen— Miss Caldwell’s perfume.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Nurse Riley’s eyebrows rose. ‘Miss Caldwell should know better than to wear scent on the ward,’ she said sternly.

  ‘Sorry, Staff,’ Jennifer mumbled.

  ‘I like it,’ Mr Chandler defended her. ‘It’s how I know she’s close by.’

  Jennifer blushed, feeling the hardness of Nurse Riley’s stare. It seemed to bore right into the side of her head.

  ‘We have come to change your dressings, Mr Chandler,’ Nurse Riley told him.

  ‘Both of you?’

  ‘Miss Caldwell is going to assist me.’

  Jennifer couldn’t see the airman’s face under the bandages, but she could sense his panic. ‘I don’t want her to see me,’ he said.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ Jennifer reassured him, ignoring the stony look Nurse Riley sent her.

  All the same, she had to steel herself as the staff nurse started to peel away the dressings. The last bandages came away, and Jennifer forced herself not to cry out at the sight of the hideous mass of swollen, burned flesh that had once been one side of Philip’s face. Bile rose in her throat and she wanted to turn away, but she knew if she did she would never find the courage to look at him again. So she forced herself to stare unblinking as she passed the instruments to Nurse Riley.

  ‘You’ve gone very quiet. Is it that bad?’ He was trying to sound light-hearted, but she could sense the desperation behind his words.

  ‘I’ve seen worse,’ she said, hoping she sounded just as light-hearted. She knew his sight hadn’t recovered enough for him to see her, but she also knew he was sensitive enough to read the slightest quaver in her voice. All the time her knees were pressed tight together to stop herself from swaying.

  ‘That’s a relief. I thought you’d fainted.’ He addressed himself to Nurse Riley. ‘She must have a strong stomach, eh, Nurse?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nurse Riley replied. ‘Yes, I suppose she must.’ Then, just as Jennifer was feeling proud of herself, she snapped, ‘The tulle-grass dressing, if you please, Caldwell.’

  It took about twenty minutes to change Mr Chandler’s dressings, although it seemed like a lifetime to Jennifer. But at last it was over, and Nurse Riley told her to clear up the trolley.

  ‘And then make a cup of tea for both of us and bring it to the office,’ she added. ‘I think you’ve earned it, don’t you?’

  That was it. There was no praise, no thank you for the twenty minutes of gut-churning terror Jennifer had endured. But she still found herself smiling with pride as she headed for the kitchen.

  If it was a test, she had a feeling she might have passed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  IT WAS A quiet Thursday morning in the Casualty Hall, and Eve and Cissy had been left in charge. Sister Dawson was in the Treatment Room, helping Dr McKay stitch up a man who’d fallen off his bicycle, while Nurse Kowalski was in Outpatients with Mr Cooper.

  Thankfully, everyone seemed to be too busy enjoying the warm late July weather to come in with their various aches and pains. The rows of wooden benches were empty, except for a middle-aged man dozing in the corner. Eve sat at a table, checking a pile of surgical gloves for holes, while Cissy perched behind the booking-in desk, telling her all about a film she and Jennifer had been to see the previous night.

  ‘It’s about a woman who marries a mysterious widower and goes to live in his big house in the country,’ she said. ‘But there’s a horrible old housekeeper who wants to get rid of her, because she’s obsessed with his first wife.’

  ‘What happens then?’ Eve asked, blowing into a glove and holding it up.

  ‘Oh, all sorts of things. The housekeeper – Mrs Danvers – makes the girl’s life an utter misery, and the poor wretch just takes it. If it was me, I would have told the old witch to pack her bags and get out the minute I arrived – oh, look, here’s the conchie,’ Cissy groaned. ‘What does he want, I wonder?’

  Eve glanced up to see Oliver making his way towards them.

  ‘I’m looking for Dr Jameson,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you won’t find him here.’

  ‘Do you know where he is? I have a message for him.’

  ‘How should I know? I’m not his social secretary.’

  Eve cleared her throat. ‘I think he’s doing his rounds,’ she said quietly. ‘He should be back in the next half an hour.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Oliver shot Cissy a dirty look then left, slamming the door behind him.

  ‘You didn’
t have to be so rude to him,’ Eve protested mildly.

  Cissy shrugged. ‘I’ve got no time for cowards.’

  ‘You don’t know he’s a coward.’

  ‘Then why isn’t he fighting with the rest of our boys?’

  Eve was silent. She’d been reading up about conscientious objectors in the library, and even though she knew now there was more to it than cowardice, she didn’t want to start debating it with Cissy. Eve didn’t want to antagonise her, especially when she probably wouldn’t listen anyway.

  ‘I hope you’re not sticking up for him?’ Cissy’s eyes narrowed accusingly.

  ‘Of course not,’ Eve mumbled.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Because I’m not sure I could be friends with someone who sticks up for his sort.’

  Eve picked up the next glove. The truth was, she felt desperately sorry for Oliver. He always looked so forlorn, and she knew from listening to Cissy that he was having a hard time settling in at the hospital. Eve of all people knew how hard it was to be an outsider.

  But at the same time, she couldn’t risk her own position. Cissy might not be her friend, but she was the closest Eve had ever had to one, and she didn’t want to risk that. Even if it did make her uneasy to see Oliver treated so badly.

  ‘Anyway,’ Cissy continued, ‘as I was saying, about this film. It turns out the so-called perfect first wife was actually . . .’

  Eve never found out, because at that moment a roar went up from the far side of the Casualty Hall. The man in the corner went suddenly rigid, shot to his feet, then promptly collapsed into a heap on the floor.

  Cissy let out a scream. By the time Eve had got to him, he was jerking and twitching like a puppet tugged by invisible strings. His eyes were rolling in their sockets, and flecks of spittle were forming at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘He’s having a fit,’ she said to Cissy, who hovered anxiously over her.

  ‘What shall we do?’

  Eve unfastened the collar stud at his throat, trying to remember what they’d learned at their First Aid class. ‘Fetch a pencil or something,’ she said. ‘We need to stop him biting his tongue.’

  Cissy handed her a pencil, and Eve jammed it between the man’s teeth.

  ‘Go and get help,’ she ordered. Cissy didn’t move. She stood over them, her hands clasped in front of her ashen face, rigid with anxiety. ‘Now!’ Eve shouted.

  The sound of her voice was enough to shock Cissy out of her stupor. She jerked into life and rushed off.

  By the time she had returned a few minutes later with Dr McKay, the man had stopped twitching and fallen into a deep sleep. It was so deep, Eve feared he might be dead. But when she slipped her hand against his chest she could feel the steady thud of his heart under his shirt.

  Dr McKay kneeled down to examine him. As he worked, he asked Eve lots of questions about what had happened.

  ‘How long did the fit last?’

  ‘A couple of minutes.’ But it had felt like a lot longer. Almost a lifetime.

  ‘Did he go completely rigid, or twitch? Was it all over his body?’

  Eve tried to think clearly. ‘It was mainly his legs,’ she recalled slowly.

  ‘And he cried out,’ Cissy put in, still standing at a safe distance. ‘Really frightened us, it did.’

  ‘I’m sure it must have been a very nasty shock.’ Dr McKay finished examining him and strung his stethoscope around his neck. ‘We’ll have him admitted and see what we can find. Can you sort out the paperwork?’ he asked Cissy.

  Eve stared down at the man and chewed her lip. Now the emergency had passed, delayed shock began to settle in as she realised what she’d done.

  Dr McKay seemed to guess her thoughts. ‘You did the right thing, Miss Ainsley,’ he said. ‘Your prompt action may have helped save his life.’

  Sister Dawson said something similar to her when she found out about it later. Eve was still in a state of trembling nerves as she tried to go about her duties, but Sister Dawson called her into her office and made her a cup of tea. Eve was so overwhelmed she could barely manage to drink it.

  ‘Dr McKay tells me your quick thinking saved the day,’ she said. ‘Tell me, how did you know what to do?’

  ‘We learned it at the First Aid class,’ Eve said. Although she had never imagined putting her knowledge to any use.

  ‘You clearly have an aptitude for it. And I’ve noticed you’re very good with the patients, too.’ Sister Dawson put down her teacup. ‘I wonder, have you ever considered training as a nurse?’

  Eve blinked at her. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand—’

  ‘I think you should consider studying for the State Examination,’ Helen Dawson said. ‘Matron has just announced that official training is going to start again at the hospital, and I would like to recommend you as a student. It would mean joining us full-time and training for three years, but I believe it would be worth it. You have the makings of an excellent nurse, just the kind of girl the Nightingale needs. I could talk to Matron about it, if you’d like?’

  Eve stared at her, dazed. She had never dared to imagine that anyone would offer her such a chance. It was like a dream come true. ‘I – I don’t know what to say,’ she murmured.

  ‘You like working here, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ More than she had ever thought possible. She looked forward to the three days a week she could escape from her aunt’s shop and come to work at the hospital. She enjoyed the work and loved meeting the people there so much, it was even worth all the extra hours she had to put in slaving over her sewing in the workshop. The idea of being allowed to come every day, of actually training and passing exams, was almost too wonderful to contemplate. It was as if someone had suddenly taken all her dearest wishes, wrapped them up in a parcel and presented them to her with a big bow on top.

  But even in her joy, Eve could picture her aunt, sour as a crab apple, grasping fingers reaching out to snatch her wonderful gift away from her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sister,’ she said. ‘I can’t. My aunt needs me at the shop.’

  Sister Dawson frowned. ‘But surely she could find someone else to help her? I can’t imagine she would refuse you the chance to better yourself.’

  There was no point even asking Aunt Freda if she could train. Freda Ainsley would never have been able to countenance the idea of her niece pursuing anything that gave her pleasure.

  But even Aunt Freda couldn’t spoil the fact that Sister Dawson had thought Eve worthy of anything.

  Have you ever considered training as a nurse . . . you’re just the kind of girl the Nightingale needs.

  The words reached deep inside her, warming a frozen part of Eve’s heart. It was rare that anyone ever called her anything but hopeless, shameful or useless, and it was all she could do not to cry.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  EVERY MORNING ON the Male Acute ward was the same. Sister Holmes would come on duty at eight o’clock and carry out her inspection, with Nurse Riley at her side and Jennifer and Daisy Bushell bringing up the rear.

  At the end of each bed, Sister would stop and greet each patient with the same words.

  ‘Good morning. How are we feeling today?’

  To which the patient would dutifully reply, ‘Very well, thank you, Sister,’ or sometimes, ‘Not too bad, thank you.’ They all knew better than to complain.

  Sometimes Sister would fire a question at Nurse Riley about what kind of night a patient had spent, or what they’d eaten for breakfast, or something to do with their bowels. And Nurse Riley would always have an answer for her, without even consulting the patient’s notes. Jennifer had no idea how she did it. She must have a magical memory, she decided.

  By the time they had finished touring the ward, the porter would have brought up the morning post, and Sister Holmes would hand it out. The soldiers always received their letters gratefully, and there was much laughter and chatter around the ward, and a few sniffed back tears as they read their messages from home an
d opened their gifts.

  This August morning there was one letter left in Sister’s hand when she’d finished going round the ward.

  ‘This is for Mr Chandler.’ She handed it to Jennifer. ‘Take it to him, if you please, Caldwell.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  Delivering Mr Chandler’s post and cleaning his room were tasks Jennifer had been given ever since that day she had watched Nurse Riley change the airman’s dressings. It wasn’t exactly the special nursing she’d hoped for, but it was a gesture at least. And it gave her the chance to pass the time of day with him.

  Not that anyone else envied her the job.

  ‘Rather you than me,’ Daisy Bushell whispered as she made her way down to Philip Chandler’s room. Daisy still couldn’t bring herself to look at him, especially now his dressings had been removed.

  As far as Jennifer was concerned, Mr Chandler was looking a great deal better. She had grown used to seeing his swollen, misshapen face, covered in shiny pink skin, and what was left of his blurred, blunt features. Only his eyes were swathed in dressings as his sight still hadn’t returned.

  But his other senses more than made up for it. As usual, his head turned towards Jennifer as she entered the room. ‘Ah, Evening in Paris.’ He breathed in and then let out a sigh of satisfaction.

  ‘Shh, don’t let on. I’ve already had a telling-off from Sister about wearing perfume. Besides,’ she added, ‘I do have a name, you know.’

  ‘Would you rather I called you Caldwell?’ He imitated Sister Holmes’s stern tone.

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘So is this a social visit?’ he asked.

  ‘As a matter of fact, Sister sent me,’ Jennifer said. ‘You have a letter and I’m to read it to you.’

  ‘A letter, eh? I suppose it’s another one from my mother. Honestly, I’m sure she does nothing but write letters all day.’

  Jennifer smiled. Eileen Chandler was certainly prolific with her pen. Scarcely a day went by without another letter arriving for her ‘darling Phil’. After reading all their news aloud to him, Jennifer almost felt as if she knew the family. She had actually started to look forward to finding out about Mrs Chandler’s latest spat with her fellow members of the WVS, and how Philip’s younger sister had got on in her tennis tournament.