The claxon overhead ceased. Tabitha’s ears still rang from its harsh blare, but she sighed in relief as the order went round, “Secure lifeboats! Secure lifeboats!”
The danger was over.
From the rails of the Arabic, Tabitha watched the docks of Liverpool drawing closer. She and her fellow shipmates exchanged sighs and shy glances, mutual expressions of relief, of freely drawn breaths and slowing heart rates.
Tabitha sucked in the tangy salt air and blew it out. I do not care to repeat such a scare, Lord.
Thirty minutes later, they docked and passengers began to line up to disembark.
“Goodbye, dearie.” Mrs. Patch patted Tabitha’s arm and padded off toward the gangplank, her suitcase in hand. Tabitha soon lost sight of her.
Down on the docks, Tabitha clutched her own suitcase and handbag and looked about for the bus service her instructions promised. She knew those instructions by heart: She was to take a bus from her port of entry to the rail yards. There she would board the next train to London’s Victoria station. From Victoria station she was to catch the Brighton line to Surrey.
Tabitha felt in her pocket for the folded paper that identified her as a VAD for the nursing service. She need only to show the letter on the bus or train to be given a ticket.
From the docks to the rail yards, Tabitha looked about her with wide eyes. The bustle was much like what she had seen in New York, but something about the people was different: They carried themselves with grim determination and rushed at their duties or raced to their destinations with dogged haste.
War, Tabitha comprehended with a shiver. They are at war. How many here have already lost son or husband, brother or cousin?
Despite her instructions, Tabitha lost her way in Victoria station and had to ask for directions to the Brighton line. After she reached the right platform and boarded the train, she settled herself in the compartment and watched the green of the countryside chug by.
The trip was not long; the clock in the station where she disembarked read 2 p.m. She passed vendors in the street, many selling foods.
I am starving, Tabitha realized when her stomach lurched. I have not eaten today!
Fumbling for the British money in her purse she approached a vendor selling pastries. “What are those, please?”
“Meat pasty,” the vendor answered. He cocked his head at her. “You a Yank?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yank. American.”
“Oh. Yes.” She pointed at a steaming pie the size of her palm. “I’ll take one, please.”
He wrapped the pie in a piece of brown paper. “That’ll be twelve pence.”
Tabitha opened her palm and studied the coins there. “I apologize. I am new here. Could you help me?”
He stirred the coins in her palm and picked out one. “Shilling. Same as twelve pence.” he slapped the coin on the counter, pointed to it, and then studied her a moment, puzzled. “Not many tourists knockin’ down th’ door t’ Merry Old England these days.”
She shrugged. “I am not a tourist, actually. I am a nurse. I’ll be reporting to the QAIMNS today as a volunteer.”
“Cor! A VAD? From America?” He seemed astounded.
Tabitha shrugged again. “Yes.”
He looked away and then pushed the shilling toward her. “Pie’s on me t’day, miss. And thank ye fer yer service.”
Tabitha hesitated before she picked up the coin. “You are most kind.”
“Bloody war. Lost m’ baby brother in France last fall,” he muttered. He looked away again, but not before Tabitha saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes.
“I shall do my best here,” she whispered. “God bless you.”
~~**~~
Chapter 21
That evening Tabitha was given a bed in a VAD dormitory. She was exhausted and did not pay much attention to her surroundings. In the morning, however, she awoke with fresh eyes and ears.
Around her three nurses of a Volunteer Aid Detachment (she had heard the man at the lunch counter yesterday call her a “VAD,” pronouncing each letter) readied themselves for their shift at the nearby hospital. They eyed Tabitha, and she listened to their chatter, but they did not speak to her. Tabitha, for her part, had difficulty understanding them, so broad and strange were their accents and many of their words or phrases.
The three VADs were clad in simple blue-gray dresses, immaculate aprons, and typical white nursing hats, each sporting a small red cross. The girls tugged on white oversleeves designed to protect their dress sleeves, and each girl wore a single white armband with a red cross upon it.
The three VADs were nearly ready to depart as a group when Tabitha asked, “Pardon me. I am new here. Before you go, could you please tell me where I am to report?”
They had watched her, curious but silent—until she opened her mouth.
“Blimey! She’s a Yank!” one expostulated.
“You daft? You never seen a Yank?” another jeered.
That girl, sandy haired and bright-eyed, pointed her chin toward the window behind Tabitha. “Report t’ matron ’cross th’ yard, Yank. She’ll put you right. And chivvy along. She runs peevish midmorning.”
“Um, thank you kindly,” Tabitha replied, not following half of what the girl said.
“Ooo! So posh, is she,” the first girl commented with a little sneer.
“Oh, budge up, Nancy, and let me at th’ sink. We’re late as is.”
The three VADs at last clattered down the stairs leaving Tabitha alone. She peered out the window and noted her destination, the official-looking row of buildings on the far side of the grass.
Tabitha took extra care with her toilet that morning and made certain not one strand of her flaming hair escaped the severe knot she pinned at her neck. She gathered her handbag and made sure she had the envelope she had picked up at the pier in New York. It contained the letter identifying her as an incoming VAD. She patted her pocket: Her handkerchief and its precious corner piece were secure.
She marched up the steps to the building and introduced herself to the receptionist typing away inside. “Good morning. My name is Tabitha Hale. I am here to report for intake.”
She handed the letter to the woman, who examined it and nodded. “One moment, please.” She was back in another moment. “Please go right in.”
Tabitha slipped through the door the receptionist indicated. There she found two other women, one behind a sizable desk, the other standing close to it.
“Good morning, Miss Hale. I am Lady Perth–Lyon, assistant to the Matron-in-Chief. This is Sister Alistair. I take it your crossing was uneventful?” Lady Perth-Lyon was a mature woman with pleasant features. Her head bore a crown of graying braids.
Tabitha thought of the Arabic’s near disaster with the U-boat but did not mention it. Instead she nodded. “Thank you, yes.”
Lady Perth-Lyon set her head to one side and studied Tabitha. Tabitha realized both women were examining her. She remained placid under their scrutiny.
Finally Lady Perth-Lyon broke the silence. “We are in a bit of a quandary about you, Miss Hale.”
Tabitha raised her brows. “I beg your pardon?”
“Yes. Quite . . .” The gray-haired woman tapped her pen on her desk pad and bent a questioning eye on Sister Alistair.
Sister Alistair wore a pale blue-gray dress similar to the VADs Tabitha had met in her dormitory but, at present, no apron. Tabitha noted two inch-wide bands of scarlet set upon her sleeves just above the white cuffs. Around her shoulders and under a stiff white collar she wore a short cape—its color a darker blue than her dress—trimmed with a wide band of scarlet.
An oblong medal at the end of a short ribbon hung from the nurse’s cape just over her breast. Tabitha recognized the medal as the symbol of the QAIMNS. And rather than a nurse’s cap, Sister Alistair’s head was bound in a simple white wimple with a veil that hung down in the back just past her shoulders.
Lady Perth-Lyon smiled a little. “You see,
Miss Hale, Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service belongs to the army and has very strict standards of admission. QAIMNS nurses must, first of all, be British—and you are not British, of course.”
Tabitha nodded her understanding. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Our nurses must also be ladies of good social standing and have completed a rigorous course of training—three years at an approved hospital, in the main.”
Tabitha nodded again. “Yes, ma’am. I am aware.”
“Our VADs, on the other hand, come to us primarily from the ranks of the less educated. They are not trained nurses, nor are they necessarily of good social or, er, moral standing. Many of our volunteers are simple, rough, frequently coarse, and without proper qualifications—except that they are willing. They often serve, not in any nurse’s aide capacity, but as cooks, kitchen maids, laundresses, and clerks.”
Lady Perth-Lyon sighed and studied the papers on the desk before her. “However, you, Miss Hale, have been very well trained and have nursing specialties we covet. We normally do not interview our VADs. They are recruited elsewhere and sent on to us through the British Red Cross. But you . . .”
She turned that discerning eye upon Tabitha again. “Until we could meet with you personally, we could not form an opinion regarding your character or professionalism. What we observe at present seems to confirm the glowing recommendation of—” she looked down again, “One Emilia Gunderson, Dean of Nursing at the school you attended in Boulder, Colorado, and from which you graduated . . . with honors.”
Sister Alistair stirred. “You see, Miss Hale, we cannot place you in the QAIMNS where by training and character you belong. We cannot even enroll you in the QAIMNS Reserves. Times are changing and the need is great, but the standards have not yet shifted to meet the need. And yet, you are far too qualified to be wasted in the ranks of the VADs. This is the quandary of which we spoke.”
“I see,” Tabitha murmured.
Well, Lord? she inquired. She waited for the two women to decide her fate.
Lady Perth-Lyon looked again at the papers on her desk. “It says here that you were proctor to the incoming freshman class in your school? What can you tell me about your responsibilities in that role?”
Tabitha raised her brows in surprise. I do not wish to discuss my problems at school and how Nurse Rasmussen sabotaged my graduation—that would only lead to more questions.
Instead she answered simply, “Mine was a new and somewhat unique position, ma’am. I had to leave school in my freshman year to address a family emergency, thus delaying my graduation.”
She swallowed hard and pushed ahead into safer topics. “In my last year at school, I needed only to complete my required core nursing hours. However, it was then that Deans Wellan and Gunderson offered me the position of Head Proctor. I held office hours, mentored struggling students, and helped them to address particular needs when they arose. During my last year I also took two specialty courses, one in infectious diseases and one in traumatic wound care.”
“Yes, both courses are of interest to us,” Sister Alistair murmured, “as is your experience as Head Proctor.”
Lady Perth-Lyon folded her hands and stared at Tabitha. “Tell me, Miss Hale. Why are you here?”
Tabitha thought for a moment. “I am here to serve, ma’am.”
“But in what capacity?” Sister Alistair insisted.
Tabitha turned toward her. “Ma’am, I hope to be of service where I can best be used, but I am not afraid of hard work. Wherever the need is, I am willing.”
Lord, wherever you need me, she pledged silently.
The two women opposite her exchanged glances, and Sister Alistair nodded.
Lady Perth-Lyon pursed her lips and replied. “Very well, Miss Hale. We thank you in advance for your service. We are sending you to Colchester Military Hospital as a VAD. Colchester is an army hospital in Essex, not far from here. Sister Alistair is also posted there and you may see her occasionally.
“Understand that wounded soldiers are treated first at casualty clearing stations and then field hospitals. Those who require ongoing surgeries, hospitalization, and convalescence are sent home to military hospitals such as Colchester. You will see every kind of injury possible at this posting, and they are quite in need of skilled nurses. We may, later on, have something more suitable for you.”
She signed some paperwork, folded and sealed it into an envelope, and extended the envelope to Tabitha. “Please report to Matron Edwynna Stiles, chief nurse of the hospital. Give her this letter. The receptionist outside my office will provide you with directions.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Tabitha answered.
A young volunteer put Tabitha aboard a bus later that morning, and Tabitha arrived at Colchester Military Hospital late in the afternoon. The hospital lay within an army troop and cavalry station. Army administration buildings and a myriad of tents, stables, and parade grounds formed a labyrinth. The hospital itself was an imposing collection of three-story brick buildings, a few topped by crenelated battlements and towers.
Tabitha, after asking directions several times, presented herself to the matron’s office. Her interview with Matron Stiles went much as her meeting with Lady Perth-Lyon and Sister Alistair had gone.
After perusing the letter from Lady Perth-Lyon, the matron asked, “Are you willing to undertake the same duties as any other VAD?” Matron Stiles was a stern woman, but something about the set of her mouth gave Tabitha hope that she was also a fair one.
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“You will call me Matron, Hale. QAIMNS nursing sisters in charge of hospitals are addressed as Matron. Other nursing sisters are addressed as Sister. VADs are addressed by their surnames, although patients often call them ‘nurse.’ I dare say many things are different here than where you trained. Please make an effort to adapt yourself.”
“I will, Matron,” Tabitha answered.
“Draw your uniforms from the supply window. My clerk will assign you to a dormitory and a ward. Good day, Hale,” Matron Stiles dismissed her.
That evening Tabitha again slept in a dormitory of VADs. Ten young women in total occupied the top floor of a brick building poorly illuminated by dormer windows. As Tabitha introduced herself, the girls, all of whom were younger than her, had the same reactions as the VADs in Surrey.
“You American, then?” one asked.
“Yes, I am,” Tabitha answered.
They silently took Tabitha’s measure, and several of the girls whispered together. In the end, they offered to show her where to pick up her uniforms and where to take her meals.
Tabitha received a cap, two uniform dresses (with admonitions to wash one each day), four aprons, and four sets of oversleeves that afternoon. She was told to report to her ward promptly at seven the following morning.
After dinner she ironed and hung her uniforms. As she undressed for bed, her fingers touched the hanky and puzzle piece pinned inside her pocket. Tabitha unpinned them and held them in her hand a long moment.
Then she tucked them into the corner of her suitcase.
“VAD Hale reporting, Sister,” Tabitha said in a quiet voice, but she was staring down the long ward at the rows of beds all filled with men. Wounded men. Every patient an amputee.
The collective groaning, murmuring, and sighing of the patients was, in itself, indicative of the level of pain they were suffering.
The harried nursing sister who oversaw the ward looked up from her charts and sighed. “Another new one, eh? And likely you canna even make a proper bed.” She waved for one of the VADs Tabitha roomed with to come over. “Darby, be showin’ Hale here about and have her follow you today.”
“This way,” Darby motioned. Away from the sister, Darby frowned. “Look lively, Yank. I will tell and show you something but one time.”
“Got it.” Tabitha ground her teeth to bite back a smart retort.
I am here to serve as you wish, Lord. Please help me to do so humbly and t
o have and keep a meek heart.
Then she had a disconcerting realization: My trials at school taught me how to exercise control over my temper and acid tongue. She chuckled inwardly. That self-control should serve me well here.
Darby pulled a stack of linens from a deep closet. “We keep clean linens here. Dirty ones go in that bin. Night shift feeds the patients breakfast at six; we come on and clear away the remains, after which we change all the linens in the ward.”
Tabitha noticed the other two VADs stacking dishes and collecting trays.
“Pay attention.” Darby thumped the stack of linens into Tabitha’s arms and retrieved another stack from the closet. “Our patients are not amb’latory—that means they cannot get out of bed on their own—so changin’ linens is a trick. We work two nurses to a bed to shift the boys while we remove the soiled sheets and replace them with clean.”
She leaned toward Tabitha, her brows pulled down. “They’s already in pain enow. Have a care you don’t hurt them more, eh?”
Darby motioned Tabitha to the other side of a bed. “Stand over yon.” She gripped her side of the bottom sheet.
To the legless patient she said in a bright voice, “Good morning, love,” and rolled the man toward Tabitha.
Of course, Tabitha knew what to do. She and Darby changed the patient’s linens, rearranged his pillow, and disposed of the soiled sheets in less than two minutes.
“Ye’ve done this b’fore, I wager.” Darby waved an accusing finger under Tabitha’s nose.
“I wager.” Tabitha’s response was dry.
“S’ you’re not a green VAD?” She considered Tabitha with a glimmer of respect.
Tabitha lifted one shoulder. “Never said I was.”
“Ha!” Darby grinned and they moved to the next bed. The ward had twelve patients down each side of the room. Tabitha and Darby, working more and more as a well-oiled team, changed the linens of the entire ward in less than an hour.
As they finished, Tabitha noticed the Sister checking their work. The nurse nodded in approval. “Well done, Darby, Hale.”
“That’s high praise, I’d say,” Darby whispered.
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