War Nurse (4 page)

I had a bit of a grumble to Molly about Sister today and . . . and . . . well, about
everything
. Like all the silly rules, that clicking of heels, and that to-do about how the patients lay in bed when the Colonel did his inspection. It seemed all wrong to me. “Their comfort should come first,” I said to Molly vehemently.

And lastly, I aired my favourite grumble – when when when would I get the chance to do some proper nursing?

“When I can trust you, Nurse Langley,” I thought I heard someone say. A moment later I saw Sister sail past us. Was that her voice in my ear, or just a tiny voice inside my head? It’s been puzzling me all afternoon, and I just don’t know the answer.

I got my first-ever letter from Giles today. I was so pleased when I saw it waiting for me – raced off straightaway to read it – but now I just feel miserable.

It was all about the planes he’s learning to fly – lots of technical stuff that’s too boring to write here. It wasn’t what I’d been expecting at all. Then at the end he wrote: “Ripping that you said you’d write to me. Please write back – soon.” He sounded a bit lonely – and suddenly I felt sorry for him. But I don’t want to feel
sorry
for him – not if he’s to be my boyfriend. Oh bother, I don’t know what I feel – or what he feels about me! I wish there was someone I could talk to about Giles – someone who really knows him.

I’d been so looking forward to hearing from him. And I know I must write back soon, but now I just don’t know what to say to him.

Weekly gas drill this morning. For half an hour we had to do the chores with our gas masks and tin hats on. I always want to giggle when I see Sister Rook in hers – today I did, and then my mask misted up and I tripped up over Private Baker’s boots. I made a grab for the bedpost and righted myself just in time. Luckily Sister didn’t notice, or I’d have been in trouble again.

It’s a week now since I had my letter from Giles but I only sat down to answer it today. My first attempt was awfully stilted – all about my work on the wards. It was quite as dull as his. So I tried again. I told myself to forget the awfully unsatisfactory letter I’d got from him and just think about the boy I’d met and how much I’d liked him. That made it much easier and I got on swimmingly. I feel a lot happier now. What does one silly letter matter anyway?

This evening I saw a bunch of VADs clustered round the notice board in the mess. I couldn’t get close enough to see what the fuss was all about, but Molly saw me and called me over.

“We’ve been asked to a regimental dance,” she said excitedly, waving a finger at the board.

I’m thrilled! I’ve never been to a regimental dance before! Bunty’s already planning to go into town first to get her hair done. I don’t know how she thinks she’ll find the time. Marjorie’s going round with a long face. Poor Marjorie. She’s just started on night duty and so will miss all the fun.

Molly and I are so envious of Nurse Mason! She’s won Sister’s trust – the first of us three to do so. So now she’s being allowed to take the patients’ temperature, pulse and respiration – a very responsible job. (Doing the TPRs we call this.) And it’s all thanks to Molly’s infected hand.

We were in the annexe today, putting away the cleaning things, when I heard Nurse Mason exclaim: “Nurse Smythe – your hand!” She sounded really shocked. Molly looked down at it and tucked it out of sight at once, but Nurse Mason asked if she could have a look. Slowly Molly held out her hand and Nurse Mason took it in hers and turned it over. It was very inflamed and sore-looking. As Nurse Mason was inspecting it, I noticed
her
hands too. I was startled. They look as soft and white as Sister’s, yet Nurse Mason spends just as much time cleaning as Molly and me.

“You need to get that treated,” she said at last, putting Molly’s hand down gently. Then she had a look at Molly’s other hand. It, too, was all red and cracked. I clasped my own roughened hands behind my back, feeling rather ashamed of them.

“Make sure you put plenty of cream on that hand,” she told Molly firmly. “Germs can get into the cracks. You don’t want it to get infected, do you?”

Molly looked awfully sheepish, but before she could say anything Sister’s voice cut in.

“Nurse Smythe, Nurse Mason, I’d like a word with you.” We all jumped – even Nurse Mason! I wish Sister wouldn’t creep up on us like that.

Poor Molly! When Sister Rook saw her hands she gave her such a wigging. Afterwards she shooed her into the treatment room and then she beckoned Nurse Mason over. I thought she was going to get a telling off too – for talking – but Sister Rook was smiling now. I wondered what Sister was saying to her.

Later this morning I found out. Nurse Mason walked up to a patient, a thermometer in her hand. She popped it into his mouth. I thought I’d drop through the floor! Then she put a finger on her patient’s pulse to check that that was normal too and looked carefully at him to check his breathing.

Nurse Mason was doing the TPRs! I looked at her face. I thought she’d be thrilled, but she looked just the same as she always does.

As for me, I was still in shock. But I’m not surprised that she’s won Sister’s trust. Nurse Mason
is
a jolly good VAD.

She’s not popular amongst the VADs though. This evening when we left Ward B I heard some VADs giggling about her in the corridor.

“Nurse Mason’s nickname’s Titch,” one of them said.

“Maybe that will bring her down to size,” another voice said, giggling.

“Oh, don’t be so unkind. She’s not that bad,” I heard someone burst out suddenly. Me! They looked round, surprised.

“It’s Nurse Mason’s roommate,” I heard one of them whisper as I stalked off.

It’s true, I don’t dislike Nurse Mason, I just feel I don’t know her any better than when we came. She’s very reserved. Whenever I try to talk to her all I get is “yes” or “no”.

Later I asked Bunty if
she’s
got a nickname yet. She went pink, but she won’t say.

My first whole day’s leave – I spent it at home! I caught the train and Mother met me at the other end. Fell off the train into her arms. I gave her a huge hug – I was so pleased to see her. She held me away from her for a moment.

“Darling, you’re so thin!” she said, sounding horrified. I told her I was fine but I ate every morsel at lunch. Seconds too. Roast beef and Yorkshire pud, trifle to follow. Delish! We’re not badly fed at the hospital but the food’s very dull and I’m always hungry.

The house seemed awfully quiet without Father and Peter. Peter’s still training with his unit. And Father?

“He couldn’t get any time off,” said Mother sadly. She said he’s not allowed to tell her anything about his work for the government – it’s top secret. Poor Mother. I think she gets pretty lonely, and now Cook’s been talking about joining up. So Mother’s wondering whether she should join up too.

We listened to Mr Churchill, one of the government ministers, on the wireless. The news is awful. Poland’s finally fallen to the enemy.

We British just stood by and watched while our ally, Poland, was invaded. Now the country’s being divided up between Germany and Soviet Russia. I think we should be ashamed that we allowed it to happen.

Afterwards, Mother and I went for a brisk walk. We didn’t talk any more about the War. She asked me about my work but I quickly changed the subject. For those few precious hours I wanted to forget all about the War – and the hospital.

I felt sad as we drove away from the house. I knew it might be a long time before I could come home again.

When Mother dropped me off at the station, she handed me a bulky package.

“It’s a surprise,” she smiled. “Open it when you get back.”

As soon as I was alone in my room, I opened Mother’s parcel. Cake, biscuits, chocolate, fruit tumbled out on to the bed. I felt a bit tearful as I looked at it lying there. Mother’s so good to me. Then Nurse Mason walked in and just stared at it all. It did look awful – all that food strewn over my bed – and suddenly I felt very embarrassed. Timidly I asked her to help herself, and eventually she took one biscuit, but she did so very reluctantly. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. My roommate is
such
a puzzle still. But at least she’s told me her first name now. It’s Jean.

There are two good things about all the cleaning we have to do. Firstly, it helps keep our patients free of infection. That makes us very proud. And it’s when I go round the beds each day, pulling them out, scrubbing and tidying the lockers, polishing the bedsteads, that I can lean over and talk to my patients. For me this is the best thing about being a VAD.

Underneath all their cheek I’ve come to realize that our patients are just awfully homesick. For most of them it’s their first time ever away from home. I want to help them, and I hope that I do, even if it’s just little things like this and not the proper nursing I long to do. And as soon as they’re well, they’re back to their regiments – and danger. I never let myself forget that.

The big day today – and my busiest yet on Ward B. We’re short-staffed, as Molly’s off sick with her bad hand, and now Nurse Winter’s gone down with flu. I don’t know how we got all the work done this morning and, to make matters worse, every time I looked up I saw Sister Rook’s eyes clamped on me. As the afternoon drew on I was feeling more and more excited. I glanced at the ward clock. Quarter to five. In just fifteen minutes I’d go off duty – so long as Sister didn’t want me to do anything else. I tiptoed past her office into the ward kitchen, to make a cup of tea for one of the patients, hoping she wouldn’t notice me. I was just tiptoeing back on to the ward again when she shot out of her room. I was so startled that I nearly dropped the cup.

“Nurse Langley, I’d like you to do something for me,” she said, as though she was doing me a huge favour.

“Yes, Sister,” I said, wondering what she wanted me to do. Was she beginning to trust me at last?

“I need someone to do Private Morris’s pressure points. We don’t want him to get any bedsores, do we?”

Ugh! Bedsores are one of Sister’s Big Things and now I had to listen to her on the subject again. Out of the corner of one eye I saw the hands of the ward clock reach five. Sister was still talking.

“None of my patients ever gets a bedsore!” she said, giving me one of her beady looks.

“Yes, Sister,” I said obediently.

It’s a horrible job – and it takes ages. When at last I was allowed off duty it was getting on for six and I was dog-tired. I raced off for a bath. I was yearning for a good long soak, but you can’t, not in the shallow bath we’re allowed here – five inches deep at most. Anyway, I didn’t have time now. I leaned back in the tub, watching the steam fill the cubicle, and then I closed my eyes.

Half an hour later I heard someone bang on the bathroom door. I’d nodded off! Still damp from my bath, I belted back to my room. My clothes were laid out ready on the bed, cap freshly made up, but I was in such a hurry by now that I put my heel through my last good pair of stockings. Proper silk ones too! Bunty came to my aid and we did a hasty repair job – dabbing mascara on the pink bits that showed. We raced up to the bus, greatcoats flapping round our shoulders. The driver tooted his horn. We climbed on board just as the bus was pulling out. I had to do my make-up in the back as the bus lurched off down the drive.

The dance was jolly good fun. There was a real band: it was thumping away as we entered – a bit shyly. We VADs were awfully popular, we soon discovered, as there were at least twice the number of men to girls, but after only a couple of dances my feet were killing me and I had to turn down several partners.

Then a Second Lieutenant came up and asked me to dance. I was about to turn him down too, when he blurted out: “We’re going to France.” He looked excited – and so heartbreakingly young. I felt I
had
to dance with him then.

“My brother’s unit will be out there soon too,” I told him, trying to stop my voice from wobbling.

“Jolly good show,” he said approvingly, and he held out his hand to swing me in to the dance.

As soon as we’d arrived Bunty had vanished into the hot, smoky room, but when my dance was over she suddenly appeared at my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” I said, annoyed, as she hauled me away from the dance floor.

“Your heels,” she hissed. I looked down. Great gaping pink bits! In
both
of them!

“Oh, Bunty,” I wailed.

“Never mind. We’ll soon fix it,” she said, fishing mascara out of her handbag.

She looked over my shoulder. “Wait a jif! That officer’s coming back.” I pulled a face.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “He looks nice.” Then she smiled. “Of course. Silly me. It’s Giles, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” I said, blushing.

“You’ve heard from him, haven’t you?” she said, eyes twinkling.

I nodded, face scarlet now.

“I’ll get rid of him,” she whispered.

The officer had reached us now. Bunty turned and smiled at him. “Would you be very kind and fetch me a drink?” she said, batting her eyelashes at him. Bunty’s eyelashes are so long, I sometimes wonder if they’re real. The officer swallowed and I saw a tide of colour flood his face. Bunty winked at me as he disappeared back into the throng crowding the bar. Then she slipped into the crowd behind him.

I giggled. Bunty’s a real friend.

At the end of the evening the band played “We’ll Meet Again” and then someone began to sing “Auld Lang Syne” and one by one we all joined in. I had a lump in my throat and some of the girls were a bit tearful as they said goodbye. The regiment leaves in a week.

I didn’t see Bunty again until we were back on the bus. She fell asleep, head on my shoulder. She had a big smile on her face.