Summer in Greece

by Patricia Wilson

  I gasped, clasped my hand over my mouth, and stared at Matron.

  ‘Miss Smith, is there something you wish to say?’

  ‘No, Matron, yes, Matron, my sister was there. I’m trying . . . in her footsteps . . . to help my parents get over their loss.’

  Matron paused, unravelling my nervous words, and after staring at the floor for a second, she nodded and continued. ‘The island is home to major medical facilities and supported by hundreds of Australian nurses in their own field hospital, as well as our British force and facilities. More than a hundred thousand casualties were transported out of Mudros last time I was there. Thousands of soldiers are receiving medical care there now, and waiting to be shipped back to Britain. Numbers are rising by the hour.’

  There was a stunned silence, for who could imagine that many soldiers? I glanced at our six patients. One of them caught my eye and winked. I turned my attention back to Matron, but still felt a blush burn into my cheeks. I feared I had been naïve to hope the soldiers wouldn’t give me trouble, but Matron was ahead of me. She turned towards our six patients and raised her voice.

  ‘Gentlemen, welcome to our fine hospital ship, the Britannic. These excellent nurses will take good care of you until we reach Mudros. However, I warn you; we have a certain amount of ice on board and I’m eager to demonstrate the procedure for an ice bath. This painful technique is known to cure certain afflictions, sometimes permanently. The slightest misbehaviour, from any of you, will give me my first subject. Is that understood?’ She glared at each in turn.

  Their smiles fell.

  *

  HMHS Britannic left port, but the sea rose again tossing the great vessel from side to side. I hugged myself, head spinning, saliva rushing into my mouth. My first experience of mal de mare.

  The promenade deck became unsafe. We secured everything that moved on E deck. Nevertheless, the area became an obstacle course. Patients threw up in their beds, and I discovered changing linen was impossible in a rolling vessel. The sea crashed across the deck from port to starboard as we pitched and tossed. In one hazardous exercise, everything not welded to the floor was brought in and lashed down by the crew.

  In the salon we squealed, clutching each other in horror when we saw one poor fellow outside lifted clean off his feet, somersaulting on the crest of a wave across the deck until he was dragged to a halt by his lifeline. Those brave men clung on as they worked in the most perilous conditions.

  The next morning, at six thirty, I took my usual swift walk around deck after a hurried breakfast, before going on duty at seven. A brilliant blue sky reflected on a flat, millpond sea. At last, the Greece I had imagined! I sensed the magic of this amazing country that both Sissy and Arthur had described. The warm, silky air stroked my skin. I knew I’d be swimming in the turquoise Aegean sea at the first opportunity. Distant islands broke the horizon, the scene wonderfully calm and beautiful. One would never guess there was a war going on. Lost in the beauty of it all, I was brought back to now by the first of six tolls from the ship’s bell. I peered up at the crow’s nest from where the sounds rang, then I checked Sissy’s beautiful silver watch; yes, it was just coming up to seven o’clock. I raced to the ward.

  The vice-captain had completed the inspection and the night staff, gone for breakfast. The day shift, plus the doctors and surgeons, joined those tired nurses for an early morning meeting on the procedure once we arrived at Lemnos.

  I, the least important person, found myself in charge of the ward for thirty minutes. Determined, I threw my shoulders back and proceeded to complete my chores. But my elation faded, as it always did. While training, I’d listened to the experiences of other nurses, afraid to think of what might lay ahead. I hadn’t foreseen work that involved the basic, bodily functions end of nursing when I signed up as a VAD. Mopping brows and changing bandages, I’d thought. Smiles from grateful soldiers. ‘Get used to it,’ Barbara had said. ‘It’s only composted food after all.’ That thought helped me a lot.

  ‘Sluice duty, Smith,’ Staff Nurse ordered. The stink of excrement raced up my nostrils like a slippery worm and made me shudder. ‘Then irrigate Corporal Perkins’s dressing.’

  I glanced at the handsome Corporal and caught his mischievous wink.

  ‘What if something happens while everyone’s away?’ I asked. ‘Shall I come and get you?’ Even I knew this was an imprudent thing to say, begging for catastrophe to pounce the moment I was left alone.

  ‘No. Don’t come interrupting the meeting. Use your initiative, Smith,’ she replied brusquely. ‘You’ll be fine. What can possibly go wrong with six invalids who are hardly at death’s door and half a dozen bedpans, in half an hour?’

  My thoughts went to the island of Lemnos where, we’d been told, four thousand casualties awaited our arrival at the port of Mudros. We would arrive later today. I couldn’t imagine that number of injured men. Where would Matron put them all? The Britannic only had three and a half thousand cots in her wards.

  I would be up to my elbows in bedpans.

  I called on our Sissy for strength, knowing my responsibilities were a test. In the back of my mind, I could hear her bold voice. Come on, Gertie, you’re my sister; dig deep and find your courage. Don’t let the side down, for God’s sake! How can we claim equal pay and equal respect as women if we can’t even deal with a little stink or unpleasantness? There are plenty of eighteen-year-old soldiers suffering far more for their king and country!

  Then, I found myself alone with the six male patients. My heart thumped as though I was surrounded by a threatening gang. They would know, of course, that I was a fraud. I was no more a nurse than I was a twenty-three-year-old. I felt their eyes on me, like crows around a chicken carcass. Don’t look at them. Sweat drenched my armpits. Their eyes scrutinised my body whichever way I turned.

  I heard Sissy’s voice: Collect the bedpans and hide away in the sluice room, Gertie.

  The men made the most of my naïvety.

  ‘Nurse, I have a terrific swelling, could you take a look?’ one cried, which brought much laughter, but left me mortified. Every time I bent down to collect a pan, they clucked or whistled. I was desperate to get out of that ward. I’d just stacked the ward’s porcelain pots by the door when Perkins called.

  ‘Nurse, my dressing’s drying up!’ My face was already in flames, and I was in such a state by that point, it wouldn’t have taken much to set my tears off. The sandy-haired engineer who’d called me over had suffered a damaged arm when a jack failed and a wheel hub crashed down on his humerus.

  ‘Don’t let them get to you, nurse,’ he whispered. ‘Just think of them as naughty children. You’re doing fine and the other nurses will be back in fifteen minutes.’ He smiled in such a lovely way. ‘Now, open the screw at the base of that bottle of hypochlorite of soda, above the bed, and allow it to run down the tube and into my dressing. It’s going to kill any germs that are still hanging around.’

  ‘Thank you, it’s my first time,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m a little nervous.’

  He smiled, glancing around at the other soldiers. ‘The best way to deal with the other patients is to be just as cocky back. Make sure they understand that you’re in charge.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said quietly, then in a louder voice, ‘There, you’ll be fine, Corporal.’ He was an incorrigible flirt and had a wicked twinkle in his eye. The truth was, I found him to be quite adorable. According to his chart, the Corporal was twenty-three. A hint of freckles and boyish good looks made him appear much younger.

  ‘Will you call me Johnny, nurse?’ he said quietly, then winked. He glanced at my name badge. ‘You’re real pretty, Gertie Smith. Is there a boyfriend back home?’

  ‘Behave, you’re too bold, soldier. You’ll get me into trouble.’ My heart fluttered whenever our eyes met.

  ‘Why, what will you do, chain me to the bed like one of them suffragettes? Oh dear, you’re blushing again, nurse. We’ll have to overcome that little weakness or the other p
atients will never give you any peace.’ His gentle smile exposed even white teeth that showed no sign of him being a smoker. He frowned. ‘Cor, miss, I’m not one to complain, but it ain’t half stinky in here.’

  ‘It’s that lot,’ I said, nodding at the white porcelain tower by the door. ‘I was about to take care of them when you distracted me.’

  A shudder rumbled through the ship with such violence, I had to grab a bedrail to stay upright. The bedpan tower toppled, their contents spilling onto the ward’s floor.

  ‘What on earth was that?’ I cried. ‘Good Lord, look at the mess. Matron will be furious!’

  ‘Boilerhouse problems by the sound of it,’ Perkins replied. ‘Don’t worry, the Britannic’s guaranteed unsinkable.’

  ‘Didn’t they say that about the Titanic? Look where that got them.’ I stared at the floor, wondering what had rattled the ship with such violence.

  Perkins’s neighbour pleaded, ‘What a pong! Can’t you open the portholes?’

  ‘No, it’s forbidden. What if a big wave came in and soaked all the bedding? Where would we be then?’

  Andrews, the ship’s painter with a broken leg, piped up. ‘Look outside, nurse. Flat as glass it is. Besides, they’re twenty-five feet above the water line, I know, I was painting around the portholes below us when the cradle tipped and dropped me onto the quayside.’ He pointed to his leg strapped into one of our new Thomas splints.

  ‘What’s the point of portholes if not to ventilate the deck?’ Perkins said. ‘Just open them for ten minutes. Let in some fresh air.’

  ‘Go on, nurse! Do us all a favour,’ another patient cried. ‘Ten minutes won’t hurt. Worse than mustard gas, that stench is.’

  They all joined in, bullying and teasing and doing their best to embarrass me.

  ‘Stop it! All right, that’s enough now! Just while I’m in the sluicing room.’ I rushed the length of the ward, turning hefty bronze pivots and swinging the portholes open. For a moment I was Sissy: in control, in charge, doing the job and being competent . . . and it felt wonderful!

  The men clapped and cheered. Still blushing, but soaking up the glory, I scurried off to the sluice room, returning with a mop, bucket, and hand shovel, when repeated short blasts followed by a long blast on the foghorn reverberated through the ward.

  ‘Of all the times to have a muster-stations drill! Right, I’m going to give you all your lifesavers, try and get them on yourselves. I have to mop up this mess and close the portholes before Staff Nurse returns or I’ll be for it!’

  I had hardly started when the corridor filled with rushing nurses. Gloria, a fellow VAD, rushed into the ward first, skidded on the slurry, and with a loud squeal, landed on her bottom in the mess.

  Staff Nurse followed. ‘Heavens above!’ she bellowed almost slipping over too. ‘What bedlam is this?’

  I tried to explain while, in a great flurry of activity, the other nurses helped patients into their lifesavers.

  ‘It’s not a drill, this is the real thing, Gertie,’ Staff Nurse snapped. ‘Hurry, fetch your lifesaver, papers and valuables and return to your muster station immediately. Quick as you can now!’

  CHAPTER 11

  SHELLY

  Dover, present day.

  SHELLY HAD MADE HERSELF LATE by dragging the trunk to the top of the stairs, but how would she get it down? She barged into the kitchen with the toothbrush sticking out of her mouth, stabbed the kettle switch to on, and was about to race back to the bathroom when she realised her father and the postman were sitting at the table. Relieved that she’d pulled her robe over her underwear, she bid them good morning.

  ‘Malcolm’s brought the post, Shelly, so I invited him in for a cuppa. Would you like to take the weight off your feet while I make you a brew?’ Gordon said.

  Shelly stared at him. ‘What?’ This was a first, Dad offering to make her a mug of tea! Then the penny dropped. He was trying to fix her up with Malcolm. As if she hadn’t got enough to deal with. ‘You’re both very kind, but I’m running late.’

  ‘Our Shelly’s very conscientious, Malcolm; it’s a wonder she hasn’t got herself wed to some lucky fella by now.’

  Shelly pointed her toothbrush at her father. ‘Dad! Cut it out.’ She turned to Malcolm. ‘Sorry I don’t have time this morning, Malcolm. Thanks for bringing the post, but you could have dropped it into the surgery, saved yourself the bike ride.’

  ‘No trouble. Any time I can be of use, vet, just let me know.’

  She nodded at him, glanced at the clock, hurried towards the stairs, then swung around. ‘Actually, there is something, Malcolm. Would you come upstairs with me?’

  Dad blew a raspberry into his tea, choking and spluttering.

  ‘Dad! I’m warning you!’ She turned to Malcolm. ‘Take no notice of my father, clearly he’s lost the plot. I’m about to have him certified. The thing is, Malcolm, I’ve got a trunk of my grandmother’s things at the top of the stairs and it’s too heavy for me or my father. Do you think you can manage to get it down?’

  ‘Glad to help,’ he said, squaring his shoulders. He hauled the dusty leather trunk down the stairs.

  ‘How on earth did they manage a thing this size without wheels? It must weigh a ton.’

  ‘I guess, if you could afford this much luggage, then you could afford a porter,’ Malcolm said, dragging it into the kitchen.

  ‘That’s great, Malcolm, thanks.’ She pulled on her coat and grabbed her bag. ‘Bye, Dad!’

  *

  That evening, she mopped a thick covering of dust off the trunk. ‘Goodness knows how long it’s been up there, Dad. I wonder what’s inside. It was always locked when I was a kid on a Christmas present search. I never did manage to find the key. Do you know where it is?’

  He chuckled. ‘Did you think we didn’t know what you were up to? It’s hanging on the back of the tallboy door in the loft.’

  Shelly laughed. ‘What? But how did you know?’

  ‘Believe it or not, we were young ourselves once, and we both searched the house for presents whenever we had the chance, too.’

  ‘I’m quite excited.’ She dragged the case between two armchairs. ‘I’ll dish up the dinner first, then put the next cassette on. What do you say, Dad?’

  ‘Fine by me. ’Ere, what do you think of that Malcolm? He’s real sweet on you, told me so himself.’

  ‘Dad, please. I don’t need a matchmaker. What were you thinking asking him in without me knowing? What if I’d come down in my underwear, or just a towel? I’d have been mortified.’

  He blinked at her, clearly confused. ‘I was just thinking it’s about time you got yourself a husband and a couple of kids, you’re not getting any younger, and I won’t be around forever, Shelly love. I’m afraid you’ll be all by yourself here.’

  ‘Aww, you’re worried I’ll end up a lonely old spinster? Dad, you’re really sweet. But times have changed. There’s nothing wrong with not marrying, or living alone. Us women are in control of our lives and careers these days.’

  ‘But what about . . .’ He appeared to be struggling for the right word.

  She smiled. ‘If I want company, Dad, I can go into any pub and snap my fingers. Honestly, you don’t have to worry about me.’

  He stared at her, processing what he’d heard. ‘I think you’ve done a wonderful job getting yourself through university, taking care of me and setting up the surgery. Your mother would be as proud as I am.’ Then, he blurted as an afterthought, ‘But what about me grandchildren? I’m not blind to the fact that time’s running out.’

  They stared at each other for a moment, both saddened and confused by the series of thoughts, words, and memories that lunged from the past. Shelly’s anger rose and she had to turn away from him before she said something she knew she would always regret. How could he forget? It was his fault he didn’t have grandchildren around! She stared out of the window lost in her rising feelings. ‘Dad . . .’

  ‘No, wait, Shelly love, I’ve got to say
this. I think about it every day and it’s been too many years. But I could never get the words said. Help me out by keeping your back turned, and don’t speak till I’ve finished.’

  There was a sickening silence while she sensed his emotional struggle. She heard him sigh, then realised she could see his reflection quite clearly in the glass.

  ‘Shelly, what I did after your mother died was wrong. I want to say, I’m really sorry, and I’ve regretted it for decades. My only excuse is that I think I had some kind of breakdown.’

  She watched his reflection. He dragged a big white handkerchief from his pocket and dried his face before he continued. ‘What I did, making you give DJ up after your mother died, well, I could have handled it better. I want to say how sorry I am for all the hurt I caused you . . . and I’ve been trying lately, you know, to be nicer.’ He blew his nose noisily. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She couldn’t speak. In some fairy-tale fantasy, she would hug him and forgive him, of course, and life would go on with his burden, and her burden, lightened. But this was the real world. The terrible pain he had inflicted on her almost twenty years ago, had been deliberate and vicious. She stared at his reflection, too numb to speak, and afraid that whatever she said would be wrong.

  ‘I’ll put another Gran Gertie tape on while we eat, OK?’ she said.

  He nodded glumly and she hoped the tape would contain a little humour. They both needed a smile.

  In her mind, she heard her great-grandmother’s voice whisper:

  Forgive him, Shelly. Your father’s just a lonely old man doing his best. He simply struggled along from day to day in those terrible days after your mother died, blaming the world and dealing with the injustice while trying to hide his confusion and pain. And being a man, he would never ask for help.

  She had never thought about it like that before. Poor devil. But then again, she was little more than a child, desperate for the support of the only parent she had left.