They heard them before they saw them. Their screams, moans and rasping coughs echoed up the long corridor.
Grace looked across at Anna. Her face was white, bloodless lips pressed together. She looked as if she might be sick.
‘What do we have to do, Nurse?’ a trembling voice beside her asked. Grace turned to see Eliza Parrish, the newest VAD. She had only started on the ward the previous day, fresh from her Red Cross training. She was terribly young, and very afraid, by the look of her. The poor girl had probably joined the Voluntary Aid Detachment imagining she would be doing nothing more than fetching bedpans, making beds and reading the men’s letters from home.
This must look like hell to her, Grace thought.
‘We have to get their uniforms off, get them washed and dress their wounds, and generally make them as comfortable as we can,’ she said, picking her way over the line of stretchers waiting in the passageway outside the ward. Then, seeing the young girl’s apprehensive look, she smiled and said, ‘Stay with me, I’ll help you.’
Grace showed her how to bundle up the filthy uniforms for the orderlies to take away and burn. She also showed her how to cut off the men’s field tickets, the labels bearing their names and their injuries.
It wasn’t an easy job. The wounded were in a dreadful state, their uniforms crusted with days of dirt and blood, and crawling with lice. Dulcie would be pleased, Grace thought. They screamed and cursed as she and Eliza carefully peeled them off and washed their wounds. Grace could feel the young VAD shaking with nerves beside her, but to the girl’s credit she carried on doggedly.
Some of the injuries were truly dreadful. Most were from artillery shell damage, as usual, but there were also gunshot and bayonet wounds, skin blistered from mustard gas, and the persistent, hacking cough of trench fever.
One of the young men swore and tried to lash out at Grace as she peeled the bandages off his feet.
‘Don’t mind him, he doesn’t know what he’s saying,’ she said to Eliza, whose round blue eyes had filled with tears. She was obviously a well brought up young lady, not used to such language.
‘I bloody do!’ The young man let fly with another stream of obscenities, some of which even Grace hadn’t heard before.
As she peeled off the last of the filthy bandages, she heard Eliza Parrish gasp with horror.
‘Sod off if you don’t want to look!’ the young man snarled.
‘Why don’t you go into the ward and ask Sister if there’s anything she wants you to do?’ Grace nodded towards the double doors. Eliza fled gratefully.
Grace turned back to the young man. ‘Now then, let’s see what we can do with these feet of yours, shall we?’ she said bracingly. But even she could scarcely bring herself to look at them. They hardly seemed like feet at all, more like swollen, misshapen lumps, the skin blackened and blistered, half the toes already rotted away. And the smell … That awful, sweet, decaying smell that came from trench foot.
Eliza was still trembling when Grace went to check on her later in the scullery. She was bundling up the last of the uniforms, ready for burning.
‘I don’t understand why they’re so angry,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘You’d think they’d be pleased to be safe …’
‘They don’t realise they are,’ Grace said. ‘They’ve spent so long in the trenches, feeling very afraid, expecting to die at any moment. They’ve seen some awful things – things we couldn’t even imagine. It’s going to take a long time for their minds to accept that they’re not in danger any more.’
Eliza Parrish stared back at her with wide, frightened eyes. Grace understood that, like the men, the VAD had also seen some things today that she couldn’t possibly have imagined.
‘I don’t like it when they cry,’ Eliza said slowly. ‘And the ones who stare at you, as if they don’t know where they are. –’
‘Shell shock,’ Grace said.
‘It just seems – unmanly to be like that, don’t you think?’
Grace stared at the girl’s pert, pretty little face, and it was all she could do not to take Eliza Parrish by the shoulders and shake her.
She decided to walk away before her temper got the better of her. As she went, Eliza said, ‘What will happen to him?’
‘Who?’
‘That boy … The one with the trench feet?’
‘We’ll have to see what the doctor says. But I expect they’ll have to amputate.’
‘So he’ll never walk again?’
Eliza’s face crumpled and she started to sob. Grace glanced nervously over her shoulder, then quickly took a handkerchief out of her pocket and stuffed it into the girl’s hand.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘You’d better not let Sister see you crying. She can’t bear tears on the ward.’
Finally, when all the men were clean and comfortable, they were seen by the doctors who assessed their injuries and sent them up to the various wards.
Grace and Anna brought eight patients back to Monaghan ward with them, with another three to follow after surgery. Once in bed, the men were offered a cup of tea and a cigarette. Most were relaxed and smiling now, but some still kept their backs to Grace, ignoring her as she put their teacups down on their bedside locker. She knew they wouldn’t turn around until she had gone.
Later on, the orderlies started bringing back the men after their operations. They were still groggy from the anaesthetic, and each was assigned a nurse whose job it was to sit with them until they regained consciousness.
Grace’s patient was in a particularly bad way. He had taken an artillery shell blast that had blown a huge hole in his torso.
Roger Wallace came up with him. He was the junior surgical registrar, and had assisted with the long and complex operation.
‘We’ve done our best with him, but I shouldn’t think he’ll live,’ he told Grace matter-of-factly. ‘Frankly, I’m amazed he’s even made it this long. There aren’t many men who’d survive the journey back from France in that condition, let alone the operation.’
‘Sergeant Samuel Trevelyan.’ Grace read the name on his notes. ‘You never know, he might survive. He’s obviously a fighter.’
Roger shook his head. ‘I doubt it. But sit with him anyway, just until—’
He stopped speaking abruptly, his gaze fixed beyond Grace’s shoulder. Turning round, she saw Dulcie standing a few feet away from them.
‘Hello, Roger,’ she said.
Roger cleared his throat nervously. ‘Nurse Moore.’ His voice came out as a high-pitched squeak.
Grace looked from one to the other, her heart sinking. It was inevitable they would come face-to-face sooner or later. She willed Dulcie not to say anything that would land her in trouble with Sister.
For a moment no one spoke, and Grace could feel tension sizzling in the air. Then Dulcie said, ‘Sister wondered if you’d come and look at one of the post-op patients, since you’re here? She’s worried his breathing is rather shallow.’
‘Right. Yes, of course.’ Roger hurried off, looking flustered.
‘Doctor?’ Dulcie called after him.
Roger stopped. ‘Yes?’
‘Don’t you want to know which patient?’
‘Oh. Yes, of course.’ A deep blush crept up from beneath his collar. ‘Um – where is he?’
‘Bed three, Doctor.’
‘Thank you.’
They watched him hurrying away, his head down. Then Dulcie giggled.
‘Someone seems a bit flustered!’
‘Can you blame him? Poor man.’
‘Poor man, indeed!’ Dulcie looked back over her shoulder, then whispered. ‘Did you notice the way he looked at me?’
Grace had noticed, but she didn’t want to say anything encouraging. ‘He looked terrified,’ she said. ‘I daresay he thought you were going to slap his face.’
‘No, it was more than that.’ Dulcie looked thoughtful. ‘He still likes me, I can tell.’
‘But he’s engaged!’
‘I can’t he
lp that, can I?’
Grace eyed her warily. ‘You’re not going to – do anything, are you?’ she said.
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ Dulcie said. But her face told a different story.
‘Yes, you do. Oh, Moore, please tell me you’re not going to try to get him back?’
‘As I said, I can’t help it if he likes me.’ Dulcie shrugged carelessly.
‘But he’s engaged to Sylvia.’
‘He was nearly engaged to me before she stole him from me. I’d only be taking back what’s rightfully mine.’ Dulcie sent her a pitying look. ‘Oh, don’t look so horrified, Duffield. You saw the way he looked at me. He’s still in love with me, I’m sure of it. He just needs a little … nudge in the right direction, that’s all.’
‘Well, I don’t want any part of it,’ Grace said.
‘I’m not asking you to help me. I can manage very well by myself, thank you very much,’ Dulcie said pertly.
And with that she was gone. Grace turned to watch her as she strutted down the ward, her head held high, a new spring in her step. As Grace turned back, she caught the edge of an enamel kidney dish with her elbow and sent it clattering to the floor.
‘Duffield! Is that you making a racket again?’ Sister’s voice rang out down the ward.
CHAPTER SIX
‘Dear Mother, Please excuse the poor handwriting. My fingers are still a bit sore from where a calf stood on my hand this morning. I don’t think there are any bones broken but I have a nasty bruise …’
Anna grinned as she read aloud from her sister’s letter. ‘Trust Liesel!’ she said. ‘What on earth was she doing to have a calf stand on her hand, I wonder? I can’t imagine it.’
It was a bitterly cold Saturday afternoon, and since Anna had the rare luxury of a day off, she was spending it with her mother. Saturday was half-day closing at the bakery, and Anna could hear Mrs Church bustling about in the shop, clearing the shelves and sweeping the floor before she locked up for the day.
Outside, the October weather had turned fiercely cold, but the crackling fire suffused the cosy sitting room with a welcoming warmth.
Anna went back to reading the letter. ‘But at least the calf was friendly. Not like last week, when I was chased by an old sow who took a dislike to me as I was hauling a sack of potatoes up the field.’ Anna paused again, trying to picture it. Just the thought of her sister trying to out-run a pig was enough to make her giggle.
‘Of course, I ran away as fast as I could, but she kept up with me until I backed through a hedge. I managed to get away, but I tore my trousers on a piece of barbed wire. It was very embarrassing, having to walk all the way back down the lane with my bloomers on show …’
Anna let the letter drop into her lap. She was laughing so much she could hardly read the words. Tears streamed down her face.
‘Oh, Mother, did you ever hear anything so funny?’
Her mother looked up from her knitting and smiled. But there was something strained about her expression, as if she hadn’t been listening at all.
Anna picked up Liesel’s letter and read on. ‘Anyway, I had the last laugh in the end. Yesterday I went to the market with the farmer and his wife, and they sold the animal for nine pounds ten shillings. I hope by the time you read this that horrible old sow has ended up in Mr Hudson’s shop …’
‘At least she seems to be enjoying herself,’ Dorothy commented absently.
‘When she’s not being trampled by cows and chased by pigs!’ Anna shook her head. ‘Honestly, I never thought I’d see the day Liesel went to work on a farm. She’s never liked getting her hands dirty. But I suppose that’s this wretched war for you. It’s changed everything, hasn’t it?’
Dorothy lowered her knitting and looked up. ‘Anna—’
‘What else does she say?’ Anna scanned the letter again. ‘She thanks you for the socks and the cake you sent her … oh, and she goes on about her latest day out with Davy.’ Her mouth curled over the name. It seemed to crop up more and more in her sister’s letters. ‘She’s seeing rather a lot of him, isn’t she?’
‘They’re courting, I suppose. He seems like a decent enough young man.’
‘If he’s that decent, why hasn’t he enlisted?’
‘He’s in a reserved occupation.’
Anna said nothing as she folded up her sister’s letter and slipped it back into the envelope. She understood that there were certain jobs that required men to be spared from going to war, but it seemed unfair that Liesel’s young man should be free to drive a train while Edward was away, risking his life for his country.
She looked across at her mother. Dorothy Beck was staring into the fire, a faraway look on her face. Seeing her expression gave Anna an uneasy feeling.
‘Are you all right, Mother?’ she asked.
She expected her mother to smile and say she was fine, just tired. But when Dorothy raised her eyes to hers, Anna saw an intent expression in them that gave her a surge of sudden panic.
‘Anna,’ her mother’s voice was gentle, ‘I need to talk to you.’
She jumped to her feet. ‘I’ll just close the curtains first. There’s a draught blowing in from somewhere.’
‘Anna—’
She went to the window. ‘The weather’s so cold now, isn’t it?’ She put her hand to the icy glass. ‘I knew it. There’s cold air blowing in here. The last raid must have shaken the pane loose. We’ll need to get that fixed before the winter sets in …’
‘Anna, please. Come and sit down.’
She stared out of the window at the street below. Next door, Mr Hudson was pulling down the shutters of his shop, stopping to exchange a few words with Mrs Church as she locked up. Mr Hudson said something, and she heard Mrs Church’s shrill laughter. A horse pulling a coal cart clopped slowly down the middle of the street, the coalman muffled so deep inside layers of scarves and coats that only his long nose could be seen poking out under the brim of his hat.
Anna stayed still, watching them, her hands curled around the thick chenille curtains. If I just stand here, she thought. If I stand here and don’t turn around, then Mother won’t say anything, and nothing bad will happen.
‘Anna, there’s something I need to tell you.’
She pulled the curtains, shutting out the ordinary world, then took a deep breath and turned to face her mother.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
Anna bent double in the armchair, her arms wrapped protectively around herself. She felt winded, as if someone had punched her in the pit of her stomach.
Her mother was still speaking, but Anna couldn’t take in the words.
‘I wanted to tell you … I know I should have said something sooner … I didn’t want you to be upset,’ she was saying softly. ‘Anna, I’m so sorry.’
‘But I don’t understand. Isn’t it bad enough that they’ve locked him up all these years, without sending him back to Germany?’
‘It’s the Government’s decision.’ In the dim glow of the firelight, Anna could see tears shimmering in her mother’s eyes.
Anger flared inside her, pushing out the pain. ‘But Papa hasn’t set foot in Germany for thirty years! It’s not his home anymore. He’s lived in England longer than he ever lived there.’
‘I know, my dear. But that’s what the authorities have decided. They’re repatriating the whole of your father’s camp, so they can turn it into a military hospital.’
‘But there must be something we can do about it? Surely there’s someone we can write to? Our Member of Parliament, or the newspapers …’
‘Don’t you think I’ve tried?’ Dorothy’s mother’s voice was short. ‘I’ve written letters, begging everyone I can think of for help. But they all say there’s nothing they can do. And as for the newspapers – do you really think they’d take up the case of a German?’
Anna thought about the newspapers that were delivered to the men on the ward. How they gleefully described the atrocities the Germans had carried o
ut on the brave British, and declared: ‘The only Good Hun is a Dead Hun.’
‘We have to face the fact, your father isn’t welcome here anymore,’ Dorothy said quietly.
Anna wanted to scream at the unfairness of it, but she could see her mother was already upset enough. Flying into a rage wouldn’t help anyone.
Her gaze fell on the envelope lying on the hearth. ‘Does Liesel know?’
Dorothy shook her head. ‘Not yet. I wanted to go and see her, to tell her myself.’
‘When is he leaving?’
‘Next month.’
Anna looked up sharply. ‘Before Christmas?’
‘I think so.’
Anna looked around the sitting room. It no longer seemed cosy or welcoming. It suddenly felt too hot and stuffy to breathe. The walls appeared to be closing in on her, the heat from the fire scorching her face.
She couldn’t cope with it. So much in her life had changed: her father going away, then Edward, then nearly losing their home, then Tom leaving, even Liesel … Anna wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Every little change, every departure, seemed to take a piece of her with it, until she hardly knew who she was anymore.
‘Papa must be heartbroken,’ she whispered. ‘He loved this place so much. He always said the East End was his real home.’ Then another thought occurred to her, and she turned to her mother. ‘Will you go with him?’
Dorothy looked away. ‘Your father thinks I should stay here, with you and Liesel.’
Yes, Anna wanted to cry out. Stay with us. Let me keep one fragment of my life, please.
But then she saw her mother’s forlorn expression and realised how selfish she was being.
‘You want to go, don’t you?’
‘I don’t want to leave you.’ Her mother turned back to her, her eyes pleading for understanding. ‘But my place is with your father …’
Anna nodded. ‘You can’t let him go by himself, it wouldn’t be right.’ She could only imagine how scared and alone he would feel, going back to his home country after all these years. He should not have to face that alone. ‘Perhaps we could go with you?’ she said.
Nightingale Wedding Bells Page 4
