Authors: Maggie Hope
Karen felt she ought to make some small-talk, but what could she say to a priest? He was a great mystery to her. She knew nothing much about Catholicism or priests, coming as she did from a strict, Non-Conformist background. She had met priests often in the hospital, of course, but it was different here without her stiffly starched apron and cap …
‘Going to the hospital, are you?’
They were rolling along nicely now with the lantern on the front bobbing merrily. The priest relaxed and turned his attention to Karen.
‘No, not tonight, Father.’ The title sounded strange in her ears, she had used it so rarely before. But why should she call this man Father? she wondered abstractedly. She called her priest Mister …
‘Been up to London, have you, Sister?’ he asked.
‘Yes, that’s right. I’ve been up to see my brother, he’s home on leave from France. Well, not home, exactly, I mean he’s in England. He’s with the ANZACs.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, he emigrated to Australia before the war. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since then. Oh, I’ve had a grand time this evening, it was lovely to see him again.’
‘I’m pleased for you,’ he said.
They were entering the village now and Karen realized she had been chattering about herself without asking him what he was doing out so late.
‘Are you going to the hospital now?’ she asked, thinking it was not a good time of night to be called out.
‘Yes. I’m often needed in the small hours, as you know. That’s usually where I see you.’
There was no need to amplify this to Karen, she nodded simply. They both knew why he was called out during the night. The small hours, she thought, when despair pounced.
Father Murphy drew the pony to a halt by the gate of the cottage and jumped lightly down to assist Karen’s descent.
‘Thank you.’
Her voice was almost inaudible for as she felt his hands on her, a sudden tingling shot through her body. It made her feel awkward, gauche even; she didn’t know how she felt. He stood in silence, looking down at her, a strange expression on his face, lit now by the moon which had come fully out. For one magical moment she thought he was going to bend down and kiss her; unconsciously she lifted her face nearer. But abruptly he dropped his hands and turned back to the trap.
‘Well …’ said Karen. ‘Goodnight, and thank you for the lift.’
‘Goodnight.’
The spell was broken. He gave a stiff wave as he drove off without even looking at her and she felt bereft. She stood for a short while, gazing after him, before letting herself into the cottage.
‘I was getting a bit anxious about you,’ said Annie. She was waiting up and Karen felt a pang of guilt.
‘I’m sorry I’m so late, Annie.’
‘Never mind. Praise God, you’re here now. You never know though, it’s not safe up in London with those Zeppelins flying about.’
‘Oh, Annie, there weren’t any Zeppelins,’ Karen chuckled. Annie was a right worrit, as Gran would say. ‘I met Father Murphy on the road,’ she continued, sitting down in the chair opposite Annie’s. ‘He gave me a lift, he was on his way up to the hospital. Oh, Annie, I’ve had a grand time, I have, but it’s lovely to be back
here
in the warm. It is a very cold night, I think there’ll be a storm.’
‘Father Murphy, eh? Isn’t he the one who took over from Father Brown? Is he nice? As good as the rector with those poor boys?’
‘Oh, yes, a nice man.’
Yes, a nice man, thought Karen dreamily as she sat before the fire letting the warmth seep into her while Annie bustled about making cocoa.
Once in bed, Karen’s mind ranged over the evening, remembering the show and Vesta Tilley and the laughter shared with Joe. And she had been so proud of her bronzed, handsome brother as they had walked down the street arm in arm. Joe was – well, Joe was Joe and she loved him.
Even though she was tired, she was still too excited to sleep, her mind still active. She turned over on to her back and put her hands under her head. Joe had reminded her of so many good times at home and for the first time in ages Karen was homesick for the North-East and her family. It was a pity Joe hadn’t time to go home before he went to France this time. By, Da would be like a dog with two tails if he saw Joe, and Mam would be too.
Through the curtains, Karen heard the patter of rain on the window and the howling of the wind as it rose. The threatened storm had arrived then.
At last, she allowed herself to think of Dave, feeling a twinge of sadness for what might have been. But it was only a twinge. She had done her mourning with a bitter yearning long ago, when he had deserted her. Now it felt as though her short marriage had happened to someone else.
Chapter Eight
‘HELP! HE …’
The cry was cut short as Karen pushed open the front door of the old house. She sighed. Oh dear, she thought, not another night like last night. She hung her cloak on the hall stand and glanced into the mirror to check her cap was on straight, smiling wryly at her reflection. This wasn’t the attitude she should start the night with, she told herself. She really must be ready for a night off. Shrugging, she headed for Ward 1, the ward the cry had come from.
Opening the door of the ward, she ducked with practised ease as she saw the missile flung from the soldier’s hand and fast coming her way. She managed to evade the urine bottle; it went whizzing past her ear to crash against the end wall. Obviously a near miss for the young VAD too, she saw. The nurse was trembling with shock as she stood in the doorway of the makeshift sluice.
‘Oh, Sister!’
The relief on Nurse Jennings’s face was heartfelt as she rushed into explanations of what was happening. ‘It’s the new one in the end bed, Private Harvey. He … he …’ Her voice was rising and she stuttered in her urgency to tell Night Sister and be relieved of the responsibility.
‘Pull yourself together, Nurse,’ snapped Karen in her best imitation of Matron. ‘Do you want the whole ward disturbed? Come with me, this instant.’
Karen strode into the ward, the converted drawing room of the old house, Nurse Jennings at her heels.
‘Keep away! I’m telling you, I’m not going back, I’m not! I’m
going
home. I’m English, not bloody French. I’m not going back to France, I tell you.’
The young soldier, hardly old enough to be in the army by the look of him, crouched high on his pillow at the head of the bed, glaring at the two nurses. His hazel eyes were dark with determination, his light brown hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. Undeterred, Karen strode towards him.
‘Now, lad,’ she began, but halted in her tracks as he grabbed a bottle of lemonade from his locker top with his one good hand and raised it threateningly. Yet she could see he was trembling and unsure of himself, and his wide eyes reflected the horror of some awful nightmare.
She held up a warning hand to Nurse Jennings to stop her also.
‘Hush, now, lad,’ she said softly. The boy in the bed stopped shouting and looked warily at her. Pushing Nurse Jennings back towards the door of the ward, she spoke quietly to her, trying to instill calm and convey urgency at the same time.
‘Go to the supper room, find a doctor and a porter and bring them back. Your senior nurse, too.’
Nurse Jennings was still trembling with fright but nevertheless was unwilling to leave the slightly built sister with a ‘loony’, as she privately thought of the soldiers suffering from shell-shock. She looked dubiously at Karen.
‘Go on now!’
The VAD flushed and rushed off to the annexe in the grounds where the supper room was located. Karen heard the ward door swing closed and the bang of the front door a few seconds later without taking her eyes off the soldier. Experience had taught her never to do that. Quickly she went over in her mind which of the staff might be available to help. If Doctor Clarke was in the supper room and they could get hold of the night porter … Why, oh why, did this sort of thing always happen when staff levels were at their lowest?
None of this showed on her face. She smiled sunnily at the boy crouched on the bed. Private Harvey, the girl had said, hadn’t she? This was Karen’s late starting night, she had had an extra couple of hours off, coming on duty at ten instead of eight, and she hadn’t yet had time to read the report, let alone the notes on the new patients. And now that would have to wait until this one was settled down.
‘Howay, lad,’ she coaxed, for she had recognized his accent as soon as he had spoken. He had to be from the North-East, somewhere close to her own home, though maybe a little further north. Deliberately she thickened her accent, allowing it to turn into a pronounced Northumbrian burr. Smiling steadily, she walked slowly up to him and held out her hand for the bottle of lemonade.
‘Why, hinny, what’re you going to do wi’ that? You’re surely not going to hit a little body like me? Let me have it now.’ The soldier didn’t move though he lowered the bottle slightly.
‘You’ll never get better if you don’t sleep, you know, now will you? Eeh, lad, you’ve been dreaming that’s all, you’ve had a nightmare. Howay man, you’re all right now, you’re fine you are. You’re back in England now, no fighting allowed here, eh? You got a “Blighty” one, they can’t send you back. It’s home for you, lad, just as soon as you’re well enough to travel, so the more sleep you get the sooner that will be. Where is it now, Hexham mebbe?’
Karen let the sing-song cadences of the North-East soothe the agitated boy. He stared at her suspiciously without answering at first, but allowed her to take the lemonade bottle from him and help him back under the blankets. Quiet now, he lay back, watching her steadily.
‘I’ll tuck you up nice and cosy, shall I?’ Karen deftly adjusted his pillows and straightened his sheets, all the while talking to him softly. ‘You’re not from Newcastle, are you? I can tell that, like. Where did you say you were from?’
‘Tynedale,’ he said at last.
‘What’s your name, lad? Your first name, I mean?’
‘Nick.’
‘Good God! Are we ever going to get any peace this night?’
The voice was an irritated whine and Karen knew it immediately.
‘Go back to sleep, Corporal, everything’s fine now.’
She glanced over at the man who had complained. Why do some patients get irritable the moment they begin to get better? she wondered. They could be more trouble than when they were seriously ill, and this particular corporal had been complaining for days now. It was high time he went on his way. He stared back at her before grunting and turning over on to his other side so that his back was to her.
Karen forgot him and gave all her attention to Private Harvey. Feeling his brow, she judged it was only slightly hotter than normal. Surreptitiously she looked at the bandaged stump where his right forearm and hand should have been. No seepage there. So far so good. She studied his face. His eyes were closing now as he drifted off to sleep. Oh, well, she needn’t have sent for any help. He looked so young, lying there, so vulnerable, almost like a child. How old was he? Seventeen? Or even younger? No doubt a volunteer for the army, she thought wearily.
His breathing became regular and Karen moved off to do a ward round, noiseless in her rubber-soled shoes. Most of the men in the ward were well on the way to recovery, thank goodness. Private Harvey was the only new patient.
The opening of the ward door brought her swiftly back down the ward. Nurse Jennings was back with Doctor Clarke and someone else, not a porter though. She peered round the doctor to see who it was. They certainly could do without a visitor at this time of the night, or was it morning? Time was getting on. But no, it was Father Murphy. Nurse Jennings must have asked for his help when she couldn’t find the night porter.
‘I’m sorry we disturbed you, Doctor,’ Karen apologized to the duty houseman. ‘I thought we would need assistance with Private Harvey. He was very distraught – a nightmare, I think.’
‘No trouble, Sister,’ Doctor Clarke replied. ‘I was still up as it happens. Father Murphy and I were with Private O’Donnel on Ward 3. He kindly offered any assistance he could give.’
Karen looked past him at the priest. ‘Hallo, Father Murphy,’ she said as though she had only just noticed him.
‘Evening, Sister,’ he answered, and their eyes met for a moment before she turned back to Doctor Clarke.
‘Is something wrong with Private O’Donnel?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t had time to read the report yet, I was busy with Private Harvey from the minute I came on duty.’
In her thoughts she hurriedly reviewed Private O’Donnel’s case. Oh, yes, he was one of a batch of men from last month’s intake, all of them blinded at Ypres.
‘Nothing physical, Sister, apart from his eyes, of course.’ The doctor sighed.
All three of them moved aside for Nurse Jennings who eased herself past the group. She was calmer now that she had the reassurance of having her seniors with her. Someone had called out softly at the end of the ward and Nurse Jennings hurried to answer.
Disaster struck as she passed the dressings trolley, already laid for the morning’s dressing round and covered in a sterile dressing towel. Her apron brushed against the covering cloth, bringing it off the trolley, and with it an enamel kidney dish, filled with instruments. The clatter reverberated in the ward as the dish bounced and forceps and probes skidded across the floor, waking up all the men and Private Harvey especially.
‘Help me! Help me! She’s brought them in, the bitch! They’ll force me …’
Private Harvey screamed with rage as he saw the two men in
the
doorway with Karen in his first hunted glance and came to his own conclusions.
‘Quiet there! Quiet, I say,’ bellowed the corporal, sitting up in bed and glaring at Private Harvey. But he was not to be intimidated, he was past that. In a single movement he was out of his bed and shaking awake the man on his other side.
‘What? What?’ The poor man shaken awake so rudely tried to free himself from the boy’s demented grasp but Harvey hung on in desperation.
‘Help me, man. Howay, they’ll take us all back over there. We have to fight now, we have to stop them,’ Harvey cried. He cast a fearful glance at the men in the doorway who were mixing with his dreams and lending them a horrible reality.