She instructed the VADs in basic sanitation rules and expectations. The volunteers learned the importance of personal and nursing hygiene. They practiced cleaning and sterilizing instruments using boiling water, chemicals, and the autoclave. She emphasized sanitary processes to prevent necrotic and bacterial gangrene, other bacterial infections, or infectious disease.
“A hospital is the perfect breeding ground for contagion,” Tabitha insisted to her students. “Our cleanliness—the care we take in washing our hands, wearing clean garments, and using only sterile fields and instruments—can prevent infection or disease. Think of our patients! They are vulnerable and we are their guardians. We must not be sloppy or inattentive to our duty.”
Then Tabitha moved on to the differing care for their patients’ many and varied injuries: Shell-shock, amputations, gas inhalation, brain trauma, burns, bullet wounds, and internal injuries.
The gas inhalation cases that came to them from the field hospitals of the Western Front were beyond horrible to treat. The patients often developed pneumonia or emphysema and, despite the hospital’s best efforts, died horrible, suffocating deaths. The pitifully few men who survived suffered scarred lungs and a lifetime of illness and disability.
Tabitha reminded her students that the majority of gas cases died immediately when the heavy chlorine gasses sank to the bottom of the soldiers’ trenches. Worse, those soldiers who survived but had inhaled lethal doses died only days later.
Tabitha taught the VADs how to write letters for the soldiers. She taught them to suggest salutations and letter closures, how to identify themselves as the letter writer, how to best describe the soldier’s wounds and treatment to his family, and how to include cheerful tidbits. She also taught them how to write to a deceased patient’s family. She demonstrated how kind, well-chosen words could provide comfort.
Tabitha stressed proper conversation while treating patients; she instructed the VADs in appropriate responses to inappropriate comments or behaviors and, above all, how to maintain a professional attitude at all times.
The most difficult task to train was how to bathe patients who were bedbound.
“Nursing sisters and orderlies will not always be available to perform this task. Given the shortage of nurses and the overflow of the wounded returning from the war zone, this situation is likely to worsen. We must, therefore, be prepared to take up this routine duty.
“If you have never seen a man’s unclothed body before, this task will, initially, seem difficult,” Tabitha told them, not mincing words. “We will practice in groups of two until you can perform this task well and without qualms.”
She began scheduling the groups of two when she could be present to instruct, and made sure that the first students scheduled were not squeamish on the idea. She began in Sister McDonald’s amputee ward with Darby and the other proctor, Hensley.
“When you have become proficient at this task,” Tabitha informed the two women, “you will assist me in training the others of your cohorts.”
Sister McDonald looked on as Tabitha demonstrated how to position the screens around a patient’s bed and perform the bath.
“May I assist you, Nurse Hale?” the sister asked.
“I would be honored, Sister,” Tabitha replied.
It took four weeks for every VAD to complete the training. Afterward, with the permission of Sister McDonald, she assigned her proctors to oversee the regular bathing of patients in her ward until the VADs were deemed able to perform the task without supervision.
Then Tabitha moved her proctors to another ward and repeated the process. Slowly, the VADs began to assume the responsibility for bathing patients.
Between class times, Tabitha visited wards and monitored her students, lending her hands, modeling correct habits and, when needed, applying discipline.
Discipline, she discovered, was an ongoing problem. A few of the patients were incorrigible flirts—and some of the VADs flirted back. When Tabitha first witnessed one of her VADs flirting, she called the girl into the hall and did not mince words.
“VADs and nurses do not fraternize with patients, Edwards, nor do they, at any time, behave unprofessionally in the wards—regardless of a patient’s manner. Do you understand me?”
Edwards, a sulky young woman, pursed her mouth and did not answer.
“I asked you a question, Edwards.”
“Yes, I understand,” the girl ground out.
“You will address me correctly and with a proper attitude or I shall assign corrective measures.” Tabitha’s tone was icy.
“Yes, I understand, Nurse Hale,” Edwards whispered, but underneath she was still defiant.
Tabitha stared with cold disdain until the young woman’s eyes dropped to her shoes.
“You have a good touch, Edwards,” Tabitha murmured, “and can make something of yourself without flirting. Do not make the mistake of thinking a worthy young man will respect a girl with loose manners.”
She softened her tone further. “If you wish to have respect for yourself at the end of the day, do not sell yourself cheap. Rather, give yourself and our profession the honor and attention they deserve. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Nurse Hale. Thank you.”
The chastened girl returned to her work and Tabitha was gratified to see her attitude improve. As for the young man who was the other half of the problem . . .
Tabitha inquired of the nursing sister on that ward who pointed out the soldier at the heart of the issue.
“Sister, may I have your permission to speak to your patient regarding his behavior toward the VADs?” Tabitha asked.
“You have my permission, Nurse Hale. Corporal Perkins needs a good set-down.” Sister Ingram chewed her lip a moment. “I believe I shall enjoy watching you administer it.”
“Thank you, Sister.”
Tabitha strode into the ward and, without hurry, walked from bed to bed until she had made her way toward the loud offender. His leg was splinted and held in traction; other than that, he seemed in good health. Certainly he was in good spirits: He told loud, animated, off-color jokes and generally enjoyed being the center of the other patients’ attention.
For their part, his fellows seemed to have tired of the corporal’s boisterous manner, but he seemed to take no notice.
Tabitha walked to his bed and stood by his side, her hands clasped in front of her apron. “Good morning. It is Corporal Perkins, is it?”
“Blimey! Aren’t you the Very Adorable Darling! Hair like a fiery sunset, wot? Hey, Red! Come give us a closer look.”
Some patients had redefined the VAD acronym to stand for “Very Adorable Darlings.” It was the first time a patient had called Tabitha so. She thought it a sweet toast to the volunteers who worked so hard to care for the war wounded—but only when kept in proper bounds.
As for Corporal Perkins calling her ‘Red’? Tabitha’s fingers hurt as she clasped them tighter and commanded herself to remain cool and calm.
Tabitha was also well aware that Sister Ingram was observing the scene and that the four VADs on the ward—including VAD Edwards—had stilled, waiting to see what the Head VAD was doing.
Tabitha stared, unblinking, at the young man until the noise in the ward died down—until the other patients recognized the drama about to unfold. Until Corporal Perkins himself appreciated that he was the center of attention.
The wrong kind of attention.
“Wot?”
Tabitha continued to look at him until he started to fidget. His head swiveled side-to-side, and he saw that the entire ward was focused on him—and on the beautiful but stern VAD standing before him.
He flushed and licked his lips. “Ah, beg your pardon, miss.”
“You will address me as Nurse Hale, Corporal,” Tabitha said with quiet firmness.
His mouth opened a little.
“Nurse Hale,” Tabitha repeated.
“I, uh, I beg your pardon, Nurse Hale,” he muttered.
“I
cannot hear you, Corporal.”
He flushed again, irritated, but he growled, “I beg your pardon, Nurse Hale.”
“Edwards, come here,” Tabitha commanded.
Her chastened and embarrassed VAD scrambled to Tabitha’s side. “Yes, Nurse Hale?”
“Corporal, do you see this volunteer?”
“Yeah.”
“You will address me correctly, soldier,” Tabitha snapped.
“Yessir! I mean, yes, Nurse Hale!”
A titter went around the other patients’ beds, and the unlucky Corporal Perkins blushed a darker red.
“Corporal Perkins, I am Head of the Volunteer Aid Detachment for this hospital. As such, I am responsible for VAD training and behavior. My VADs are not your ‘darlings,’ Corporal. They are honorable servants of the Crown and of England. You will not flirt with them. You will not disrespect them. You will treat them with the deference their profession demands. Do I make myself clear?”
He swallowed, glanced around at the nodding, approving glares of his fellow soldiers. He huffed and capitulated. “Yes, Nurse Hale.” He swallowed again and, while staring at his coverlet, mumbled to Edwards, “I beg your pardon, miss.”
Tabitha waited a long—a very long—moment more, then swiveled on her heel and addressed the patient in the bed next to Perkins. “And how are you today, Private?”
A collective sigh rippled through the ward as the tension eased.
Corporal Perkins, Sister Ingram reported to Tabitha later, was subdued and docile the remainder of the day. “VAD Edwards, also,” she added with an approving slant of her eyes toward Tabitha.
As rushed off her feet as Tabitha had been since she arrived at Colchester, she hardly realized that five weeks had passed. In one respect, she felt she had been in England for months. In another, the weeks had flown by.
In all regards, Tabitha was busier in her new position than she had ever been in the Emergency Services ward in Denver. Even so, the mantle of responsibility for the VADs was something she loved from the outset. And Matron Stiles and Sister Alistair, with few words but many favorable nods, told her she was making satisfactory progress with her trainees.
I love these women, Lord, Tabitha admitted. I love this work . . . and I am good at it.
But as she crawled into bed that night, it dawned on her that Carpenter had not replied to her letter. O Lord, surely he has received my message. Could it be that he is upset with me? That he is angry that I left the safety of Denver and am here near the war zone?
No, she assured herself as she drifted to sleep. But it is also not like him not to respond. I am certain a letter is coming. It will be here soon.
She thought of the three-day pass she had hoped to earn so she could visit his air base. With reluctance, she admitted how unlikely it was that Matron would grant her one in the foreseeable future.
When, with my new duties, will I ever be free to take time off?
Her responsibilities seemed to have no end. As geographically near as Mason’s posting was to hers (comparatively speaking), would either of them ever have time to visit the other?
She was writing a letter in the ward for convalescing officers when the Sister in charge whispered in her ear, “Nurse Hale, a message from Matron’s office has arrived. Please report to Matron as soon as possible.”
Tabitha nodded. “Thank you, Sister. Please excuse me, Captain, but I have been called away. Perhaps Norwich will finish composing your letter?” She beckoned for the VAD to come and take her place.
It was mid-August. The sea breeze that reached the town by way of the Colne River was fresh and did much to alleviate the heat and smoke of the city’s factories and wool mills. Tabitha stretched her legs as she walked from the hospital to the administration buildings and closed her eyes momentarily to rest them.
I am tired, Lord, but such a good tired. Thank you for bringing me here, for letting me serve in a meaningful manner.
She tripped up the steps to the matron’s offices, a light bounce in her step. “Good morning, Miss Thompson. Matron asked for me?”
Miss Thompson smiled and Tabitha wondered at the glow on her cheeks. “Um, yes. Good morning! Nurse Hale, Matron has granted you a half-day pass. Please be back for dinner.”
“Sorry. I do not understand.” Tabitha shook her head in confusion, but Miss Thompson giggled a little, lifted a languid hand, and pointed behind Tabitha, to her left. Tabitha followed the direction of Miss Thompson’s finger.
“Hello, Nurse Hale.”
The air left Tabitha’s lungs and her heart tripped. “Mason?”
He crossed the room to her, and their hands met, twined, and clung together. Tabitha could not tear her eyes from his face. “Oh, Mason!”
Miss Thompson coughed a tiny cough behind them. “Do have a lovely afternoon,” she murmured. She smothered another giggle before it left her mouth.
Mason drew her toward the door and they walked outside together. He said nothing, but kept leading her away until they reached a shady grove of trees. He led her within the sheltering branches of a willow—then he pulled her into his arms and stared into her face as though trying to commit every part of it to memory.
“Tabitha. My darling girl.”
Tabitha did not realize she was crying until he swiped a tear from her cheek. “Mason! How did you get here?”
“Never mind that now. I want to kiss you, Tabitha. May I kiss you?”
She nodded and he drew her closer until their lips met. Tabitha tasted mint and a freshness she could not characterize. She wanted to melt into his strength and remain there, but all too soon their lips drew apart. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed.
“Mason.”
“Yes, darling?”
“Mmm.” She nuzzled her face into his neck.
“Oh, I completely agree.”
After Tabitha changed out of her uniform, Carpenter took her to a pub for lunch. When they saw how dark and smoky the pub was, Carpenter asked the barman to pack them a lunch.
“Can we get to the Colne River from here?”
The barman looked them over. “For a nice bite on th’ grassy, eh? Rec’mmend Castle Park, I do. Nice bit o’ th’ river flowin’ through. A mill with a weir ’crossin’ th’ river. Perfect for sweethearts, eh?”
Tabitha blushed, but Mason grinned like a mad man. “Thanks, mate.”
With a bound paper package in one hand and Tabitha on his opposite arm, Mason followed the barman’s directions. They caught a bus to the park and wandered toward a grassy knoll that sloped down to the river’s edge.
“This is lovely,” Tabitha murmured.
He squeezed her hand and they found a spot not far from the slow-moving water. There they spread their ploughman’s lunch on the brown paper they carried it in—crusty bread, cheeses, chutney, pickles and pickled onions, a fruit tart, and two bottles of lemonade.
“What a beautiful old town,” Carpenter commented.
“Would you believe it? I have not been off hospital grounds since I arrived,” Tabitha admitted.
“Speaking of hospital grounds, Miss Hale, I have neglected to tell you how very angry I am with you.”
Tabitha ducked her head. It was softly spoken and partly in jest, but enough of the truth bled through. “Are you so very angry, Mason?” She looked at him with adoring eyes and he shook his head.
“You, my darling, are incorrigible. When I opened your letter, my heart fell through my shoes to the ground. Do you know how many ships the German U-boats have sunk?”
Tabitha thought it imprudent to mention the Arabic’s close call. “I arrived safely, as did you when you crossed over. And the work I am doing is so important, Mason!”
He listened as she described her position in the hospital and her role to better train the VADs.
“Already I can see such changes in these women. They are beginning to take pride in their service and are eager to learn and to grow their skills.”
Mason shook his head. “You are a n
atural leader, Tabitha. I am so proud of you.”
She smiled in shy delight. “Thank you. And what of your pursuits? How is your friend, Mr. St. Alban?”
“Cliff? He is well, thank you. I shall tell him you asked after him. He and I work long hours every day with our pilots, primarily in the two-seater B.E.2 model aeroplane. It is a stable craft, quite suitable for reconnaissance runs. Our pilots fly over the enemy positions while their passengers take photographs and radio back German troop movements.
“The problem we face is that German aeroplanes can outmaneuver the B.E. The Huns now have the Fokker, a new model aeroplane that employs a machine gun. With this plane, the Germans dominate the sky. We lose planes and pilots daily because of the Fokker.”
He was quiet a moment and Tabitha realized how painful those losses were to him. He sighed and added, “Thankfully, the RFC is rethinking the role of aeroplanes in this war. The French have paved the way with newer, better models of aeroplanes that are as good as the Germans’. So now the British are scrambling to manufacture new models, too—or order them from America—and I am glad.”
He said, as much to himself as to Tabitha, “This war will be fought and won in the air, not merely on the ground. When the British understand this and provide us with better planes, then Cliff and I will need to learn to fly them in order to train our pilots on them.”
“How long will you stay and help the British, Mason?” Tabitha asked. She thought she knew his answer, but needed to hear his response in his own words.
“I will answer you, dearest, but you must answer the same question for me. How long will you stay to nurse the war wounded?”
They faced each other and saw the truth in each other’s eyes.
“Until they do not need me,” Tabitha replied with a shrug to her shoulders. “Surely this war cannot go on much longer. A year, perhaps?”
He looked away. “I wonder. Initially, we thought weeks. And then months. Now?” He shook his head. “I, too, will stay and see it through, but we may both be surprised and dismayed at how long this war lasts.”
Tabitha Page 25
