Amy (22 page)

Helen, to her shock and surprise, was assigned to the German ward. ‘Germans?’ she said, unable to hide her reluctance.

‘They are patients,’ Matron said sharply, ‘just like everyone else, and most of them are very ill. You will treat them the same as our own men.’

‘Of course,’ Helen said quietly. ‘Of course I will.’ Later on, in their hut, she was still disappointed. ‘The German Ward! Really!’

‘We had Germans in Paris,’ Amy said.

Helen sighed. ‘Not a whole ward full.’

They are just men, Amy thought, caught up in this mess like
everyone
else. The propaganda about the Germans had been relentless. They were accused of doing appalling things, murdering prisoners,
murdering
woman and babies, looting and raping. Some of it might well be true. Hatred, she thought, is a powerful tool. Hatred of the enemy and patriotism and love of one’s country were weapons more powerful than the guns. Why else would any man go through this? ‘Even if what we’re told is true,’ she said, ‘they won’t be in any condition to do anything.’

‘I suppose not,’ Helen said, ‘but I’ll be on my guard.’

Amy reported to theatre and was given her duties. She was appalled by what she saw, injuries and wounds more dreadful than anyone could imagine, rows and rows of men in the huts and tents, waiting patiently for their turn, blood everywhere, pus-soaked bandages, a bin in theatre almost full of body parts.

She and Helen fell into bed that night, exhausted. ‘How was it?’ Amy asked.

Helen sighed, ‘Just what Matron said. They’re all too ill to speak. One of them died today. He was only nineteen.’ She paused for a moment. ‘How was theatre?’

‘Dreadful. The men are so patient, waiting and waiting their turn. There just aren’t enough surgeons.’

‘There isn’t enough anything.’

‘There’s a proper X-ray department,’ Amy said. ‘A permanent one. That’s a real boon.’ The X-ray department had been a very pleasant surprise. She was also delighted to see that blood transfusion was being used quite commonly. ‘They’re giving blood transfusions too,’ she said. ‘Using citrated blood.’

‘What’s that?’ Helen said sleepily.

‘The citrate stops the blood clotting,’ Amy said. ‘So they can store it for a little while and transport it. It means the donor doesn’t actually have to be there.’

‘I don’t know how you know all these things,’ Helen said. Then her voice brightened. ‘I went to see Matron again. She says that I can meet Peter, seeing that we are engaged. She says we can meet at the mess hut for a cup of tea, but she wants you to be there as chaperon.’

‘Chaperon?’ Amy said. ‘I thought those days had gone.’

‘Not here,’ Helen said. ‘She’s very strict. No hanky-panky.’ She paused. ‘I expect he’ll bring Dan if he can.’

Amy laughed. ‘Captain Fielding, you mean,’ she said. ‘We’re strictly on official terms in theatre. Absolutely no first names. It’s supposed to give a bad impression to the patients.’

‘Captain Fielding, then.’ Helen turned over and yawned. ‘Got to sleep. Good night.’

Amy woke early the next day. She had been dreaming about Johnny, about flying with him over the peaceful fields of England. It seemed a million miles away.

She had known since they arrived that she would be seeing Dan. She realized that Helen was right and she would have to tell him about Johnny, but how? He had never actually made an approach to her. It would be presumptuous of her to assume that he ever would. It could be very embarrassing for them both. Helen seemed to be convinced that he cared for her, but she might well be wrong.

Over dinner with Helen she said, ‘How am I going to tell Dan about Johnny? I can’t just blurt it out, “Oh by the way, Dan, I’m involved with someone else”. It might be dreadfully embarrassing. He might have someone else himself.’

‘I know how to do it,’ Helen said. ‘Why don’t you just wear your sweetheart brooch. He’s bound to see it, and then he would know.’

‘It’s an idea,’ Amy said. ‘I’ll think about it.’

Their tea took place a few days later. Helen put up her hair with great care and pinched her cheeks to give them some colour.

Amy laughed. ‘You look as if you’re getting ready for a deb’s ball.’

‘I do my best,’ Helen said. ‘I haven’t seen him for weeks.’

Amy opened the little jeweller’s box. She took out the brooch and looked at it for a few moments. Then she pinned it to her uniform. It seemed the best way.

They walked to the mess hut, skirting the puddles. There was no one else in the hut. Peter arrived first. Helen blushed pink and threw her arms around him. Amy smiled and sat down at the far end of the hut, giving them as much privacy as she could.

Dan arrived soon afterwards. He smiled broadly when he saw her and came to sit next to her. He took her hand. ‘Hello, Amy,’ he said. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’

‘And you, Dan,’ she said. He was looking at her with eyes full of
unmistakable pleasure and affection. He pressed her hand gently.

A stray ray of sunshine came through the window and caught her brooch and the diamond must have gleamed. Dan looked down and stared at it for a moment, his face puzzled and shocked. ‘Sweetheart wings?’ he stammered. He let go of her hand.

Amy looked at him directly, desperately not wanting to hurt him, but knowing now that it couldn’t be avoided.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I have a friend in the Flying Corps.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘I see,’ he said at last. ‘I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me.’ He looked away, out of the window. ‘Are you engaged to him, Amy?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not exactly.’

He looked back at her. She could see in his face the conscious effort he was making to hide his feelings, to suppress his disappointment. ‘I’m glad you have someone … to care for you,’ he said.

She wanted to touch him, to tell him she was sorry, that she had never meant to hurt him, that he was a good man and a good friend.

His face closed down to a normal friendly expression. ‘How are you getting on here?’

‘I’m working in theatre again,’ she said.

‘I shall be seeing you now and again then.’ He looked across the room to where Helen and Peter were murmuring together. ‘Your friend. What is his name?’

‘Johnny Maddox,’ she said.

‘How did you meet?’

‘He was one of the wounded that I picked up in the ambulance, and then he was a patient at the hospital.’

‘I see.’ He got up. ‘Must get back to work. I expect I’ll see you about. I’m glad about Helen and Peter.’ He walked away and left the hut.

She sat alone, looking out of the window. She knew now that she had underestimated his feelings and she was unhappy that she had hurt him. It was the last thing she wanted. But she was glad she had told him the truth. She was so tired of secrets. She would tell Johnny everything as soon as she possibly could. She wanted her life to be open and free again.

The Battle of the Somme ground on. The chaos was uncontained. The wounded poured in; through September and November there was no respite. Helen, to her relief, was transferred to one of the British
surgical wards where they were desperate for staff. Sometimes they worked for several weeks without even a half-day’s rest. The rain became almost constant and the mud almost ankle deep. ‘God,’ Helen said, ‘it’s like treacle.’ The war seemed to have produced a special kind of mud, sucking and cloying. The wounded staggered in, coated from head to foot, feet rotting from standing in trenches half filled with water. Their stories were dreadful, of wounded men drowning in mud and filthy water in shell holes. Men lay in beds or on the floor in huts and tents waiting for surgery. Their patience broke Amy’s heart. The surgeons, exhausted, moved from one operating table to another, often from one theatre to another. The patient would be anaesthetized and prepared so as not to waste time, and the surgeon would rush in, scrub up again, and perform the next surgery. Sometimes, by the time they got there, it was already too late.

Amy saw Dan frequently. They met in theatre with time only to nod to each other. He never sought her out at any other time. If ever they met by chance apart from work he was carefully polite and distant. He looked as all of them did, ready to drop, often unshaven and wearing crumpled clothes he might have slept in. The work was relentless. All of them worked doggedly on, snatching meals or a cup of tea or a few hours’ sleep whenever they could. The surgeons often worked sixteen or seventeen hours a day, snatched a meal and slept. Sometimes it was even longer.

Amy was given more and more work in theatre; there could never be enough staff to deal with the endless tide of the wounded. Each time there was another push on the Somme the road was crammed and the noise of lorries and ambulances never ceased, night or day.

Even after the Somme offensive stopped in the middle of November, there was no respite. Christmas came, and poor and hopeless efforts to celebrate. The news came in. There had been more than 400,000 British casualties, and all for nothing. There was still stalemate.

Amy found herself becoming more and more tense. She felt like a volcano that was about to erupt. She would stand beside the operating table with Sister, waiting for the surgeon to arrive, knowing that men were often dying simply because they had to wait; that while they were waiting they bled to death. Every day she could feel more and more that a violent rage was rising within her, a rage that it was almost impossible to contain. The waste of her skills and training seemed like
a crime against humanity, a crime against these dying men. She knew that one day it would overcome her. One day it would come to a head.

On Christmas Eve she stood beside Sister in theatre. The patient, anaesthetized, lay on the table between them. They were expecting Dan at any moment. On the table, the man’s abdomen was split open. Covered with a loose, wet dressing, a piece of shattered small intestine protruded from the wound, leaking blood and body fluids. He was deathly pale with blood loss and shock. The seconds ticked by. In the theatre there was a tense, anxious silence. Somewhere outside they could hear a few voices singing ‘Silent Night’.

‘Where’s Captain Fielding?’ Sister said unhappily.

An orderly put his head around the door. ‘The doctor’s been delayed a bit,’ he said. ‘He’ll be a minute or two.’

‘He’s going to die,’ Sister said. ‘It can’t wait any longer.’

Quite suddenly Amy was filled with an extraordinary calm. It was as if a light had been turned on inside her. Her rage and frustration fled away. She knew now what she would do.

‘Sister,’ she said. She looked her in the eye. ‘I haven’t told you or anyone here the truth. I am a doctor, a surgeon. I can’t explain it all to you now but I am going to do this surgery, at once. If I don’t, he is going to die.’ She reached over to the sister’s tray and took the clamps. She placed them carefully over the intact ends of the shattered
intestine
.

For a moment Sister seemed too astonished to move, her eyes wide behind her mask. Then she gave a wail. ‘No, Miss Osborne. Stop at once! Whatever are you doing? Don’t touch him!’

Amy ignored her. She took a scalpel and cut out the shreds of
intestine
, clipping off the bleeding vessels, and dropped the bits of intestine into a dish. Amy didn’t look at her, concentrating on what she was doing. ‘I’ve told you, Sister. I am a surgeon. I know what I’m doing and I’ve done this before. If you try to stop me you’ll be responsible for his death.’ The anaesthetist was staring at her, his eyes also wide with astonishment.

Amy held out her hand. ‘Hand me a suture,’ she said firmly. ‘Now. There is no time to lose.’

Sister hesitated for a moment, obviously not knowing what to do, but she picked up the suture. Amy took it from her. She began to stitch one side of the two ends of gut together. Sister watched her, hovering
and undecided, but she seemed to realize that Amy really did know what she was doing. She seemed to make up her mind and held the retractors to expose the gut. Silently Amy stitched the ends of the gut together. The door opened suddenly and Dan came in.

‘Captain Fielding….’ Sister began, her voice uncertain.

Dan came to the table and stood beside her. ‘What on earth?’ he said. ‘Miss Osborne, what on earth do you think you are doing?’

‘Repairing the gut,’ Amy said quietly. ‘As I have done before. Otherwise he would have died.’ She could feel him beside her, tense and undecided, not knowing what to do. She went on with the surgery. He could hardly fight her over the patient. He couldn’t snatch her hand away as she was stitching. She began to stitch the other side of the gut. She glanced at him and he was watching her intently. ‘I am not Amy Osborne, Dan, I mean, Captain,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I’ve had to deceive you. I am Amy Richmond. Perhaps you will understand now.’

‘A
MY
Richmond?’ Dan sounded utterly puzzled. She glanced at him briefly. He was looking at her as if she were crazy.

She finished stitching the gut. She could feel Dan standing beside her tensely, hands hovering, ready to take over at any moment. The anastomosis looked neat and secure. ‘I think that will do,’ she said. She quickly examined the rest of the abdomen for any further injuries. All the other organs seemed to be intact. ‘I think we can close up now.’

‘Amy Richmond?’ Dan said slowly, as if a light were slowly
dawning
.

‘Doctor Amy Richmond,’ Amy said.

‘You mean you were the doctor who was—?’

‘Yes,’ She interrupted him hurriedly, concentrating on what she was doing. ‘That’s me. Perhaps I can just finish this before he suffers any more shock. I’ll explain later.’ Sister and the anaesthetist were silent, but the atmosphere crackled with their curiosity.

‘Yes,’ Dan said. ‘It looks fine. Close him up.’

Carefully, and in silence, Amy closed up the peritoneum, leaving in a drain to remove any infected fluids that might gather inside. She closed the abdominal muscles and then the skin. She put on a dressing, then at last she turned and looked at Dan. He was still staring at her, still looking almost unbelieving.

He seemed to collect himself and turned to Sister. ‘He can go back to the ward now, Sister. Fluids only by mouth.’ He turned back to Amy. ‘You did a good job, Miss Osborne,’ he said. ‘But I think I’d better take
over now. We’ll get on with the rest of the list, Sister. Let’s have the next patient.’

Amy went back to her normal duties, her mind in a turmoil. She fetched and carried for him and for Sister, but now and again Dan asked for her assistance, holding a retractor to expose the operation site, or clipping off a bleeding vessel. The hours wore on and as she worked she had time to think about what she had done. She began to feel a kind of deflation, as if all her energy and determination had left her. She had revealed herself and performed active surgery. She had broken the rules. She had no doubt that it would be all over the
hospitals
the next day and no doubt would get back to the General Medical Council sooner or later. Sister, for one, looked as if she couldn’t wait to pass on the news. What would happen then? She thought she knew.

They finished their shift. ‘Would you wait for me, Miss Osborne?’ Dan said. ‘I would like to speak to you.’

She waited for him outside the theatre. The night was cold and clear and the stars were brilliant overhead. She leant against the wooden wall of the hut. I don’t regret it, she thought. Not for a moment. I
couldn’t
just watch him die. It would be inhuman.

Dan came out. ‘Let’s walk a bit, Amy,’ he said. ‘I think you’d better tell me what happened. I must say you put on a good act. You certainly had me fooled.’ He sounded not annoyed exactly, more disappointed and hurt.

‘I’m really sorry, Dan,’ she said, ‘but there didn’t seem to be anything else that I could do.’ She told him everything, about Bulford and his prejudices and his nauseating sexual advances, about her
helplessness
to defend herself, about her determination to get her licence back.

He listened in silence until she had finished. ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this before?’ he said.

‘I was afraid I’d be sent back. I didn’t think the hospital would keep anyone with that kind of reputation. I couldn’t bear the thought of doing nothing when there is so much death and suffering. I would have gone mad.’

She could see his face in the dim lights from the huts. She couldn’t read his expression, except that he looked serious and thoughtful. They could hear more singing coming from the wards, more homesick Christmas carols.

‘You could have trusted me,’ he said at last.

‘Dan.’ She turned to face him and put her hand on his arm. ‘I haven’t told anyone. Not even Helen. I was so afraid of being sent away.’ She very carefully didn’t mention Johnny.

‘I see,’ he said quietly. ‘Well, everyone will know now.’

Tears rose in Amy’s eyes and she brushed them away. ‘I know. What will happen to me? I suppose I’ll have to go.’

‘Amy,’ he said, ‘I’ve known you a long time now. I think I know you fairly well and I believe you, especially now I’ve seen you actually working. I believe what you said about Bulford. I’ve met men like him before, men who are fanatical about keeping women out of the
profession
. And I meant it, Amy, you probably saved that man’s life. You did a good job.’

Her tears began to fall. ‘I hope so. It might be the last one I ever do.’

‘I’ll speak to you in the morning,’ he said gently. ‘Now go to bed and try and get some sleep.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t be seen
lurking
about together in the dark. Someone might get the wrong idea.’

He looked down at her in the dim light. He raised his hand and brushed away a tear from her cheek. Then he leant towards her slowly and kissed her gently on the mouth. ‘It’s Christmas Day tomorrow.’ He walked away into the night.

He kissed me, she thought, surprised. The kiss had been light and gentle and without passion. Christmas Day tomorrow. What a farce. Everything was a disaster, her own life and the far greater horrors of the war. But amazingly, Dan had kissed her, and it had been
surprisingly
comforting.

When she got to the hut Helen was in bed but still awake. She sat up. ‘Amy,’ she said. ‘You’ve been crying. What’s happened?’

Amy sat down on her bed. ‘Helen, I’ve got something to tell you. I should have told you ages ago.’

Helen listened, her eyes getting wider and wider. ‘I always thought there was something,’ she said. ‘I always wondered why you knew all that medical stuff. Why didn’t you tell me before?’

‘I didn’t want to tell anyone. I was frightened I might be kicked out. And if you knew about it you might have been kicked out too.’

‘I think it’s terrible.’ Helen was highly indignant. ‘It’s just another example of women being suppressed and abused. That surgeon should be the one who’s struck off.’

‘Well, I’ve ruined it now. I’ll almost certainly be sent away
tomorrow
.’

‘Surely they can’t do that.’ Helen was even more indignant. ‘You saved the man’s life.’

‘I broke the rules. I was told not to practise. That’s all they’ll care about.’ She put her hands up to her face and rubbed her temples. ‘It’s all such a mess.’

Helen was silent for a moment and then she said, ‘Have you told all this to Johnny?’

Amy shook her head. ‘No. That’s another thing. Absolutely no one knows about it except my father. Johnny doesn’t know anything about it. There never seemed to be the right moment. I tried to tell him when I saw him in England but somehow it didn’t happen.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t think it would go down very well in that family.’

‘You’ve got to tell him now,’ Helen said. ‘He’d find out anyway.’

‘I know.’

‘He’d be such a support to you, Amy. I know Peter would back me up with anything.’

‘I don’t know.’

Amy undressed and got into bed, lying on her back, staring at the roof. She felt utterly despondent and yet she knew that she could not have acted differently. After all, she thought, what did she matter? What mattered were all the men outside, patiently waiting, and patiently dying.

‘It might be all right.’ Helen said. ‘They might overlook it.’

‘Unlikely,’ Amy said. Frustrated tears slipped down her cheeks. She wasn’t crying for herself any more, but for the whole, horrified and horrifying world.

‘It might be,’ Helen said firmly. ‘Don’t give up, Amy.’

The next morning a runner came with a note. She was requested to meet Major Barnes, the acting DADMS at ten a.m. in his office.

‘Who’s that?’ Helen said.

Amy gave a grim smile. ‘The executioner. The acting Deputy Assistant Director of Medical Services. He’s about to give me my marching orders.’

She arrived at the office and was shown in. Matron and Dan were already there, Matron looking as if she were about to burst with curiosity.
Major Barnes was intimidating, steel grey hair and sharp clear blue eyes. He was sitting behind his desk.

‘Sit down, Miss Osborne,’ he said. ‘I think we should continue with that name for the time being.’ Amy sat down on a hard chair in front of his desk. It was horribly reminiscent. It’s happening again, she thought. All over again. He was the judge and jury. He looked at her sternly. ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself?’

She looked back at him defiantly. I’ve got nothing to lose now, she thought. I can say what I think. ‘I’ve spent two years,’ she said, ‘
watching
wounded men coming and going and dying because the medical services are overwhelmed. I’ve spent two years knowing that if I tried to help them I would never be able to practise medicine again. Well, I just couldn’t take it any more. I couldn’t just watch that man die and do nothing. I took the Hippocratic oath and I don’t care what Sir William Bulford says, or the GMC. They’re not here, are they? They’ve no conception of what’s really going on. I’m not sorry for what I did. I’m glad I did it.’

There was a long silence.

He looked at her, unsmiling. ‘I suppose we all knew about you at the time,’ he said. ‘about you being struck off the Register. I’m sure you realize that given the evidence they had at the time, the GMC had no alternative.’ He paused, looking stern. ‘I can’t say that I knew the details then. We were all too busy to concern ourselves with it. It would perhaps have caused more of a stir if there hadn’t been other things to worry about.’

‘You don’t know the truth,’ she said.

He rolled his pen between his fingers. ‘I know Sir William Bulford,’ he said.

She gave a short, cynical laugh. ‘I’m sure you do.’ She was quite reckless now. ‘You all stick together, don’t you?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Captain Fielding has filled me in on the details, as you gave them.’ She carefully didn’t look at Dan. ‘I did some training with Bulford,’ Major Barnes went on. He stopped rolling his pen and smiled, a grim smile. ‘I’m quite prepared to believe what you say. He is a most objectionable man, a total misogynist.’ He paused again, and frowned. ‘Except in certain areas. There was some trouble with a nurse, as I recall. All suppressed, of course.’

Amy stared at him, her mouth dropping open a little. She had
certainly not expected this.

He got up and walked to the window and stood beside it, looking out. He was tall and held himself very straight, but she could sense the tension in his body, in his stiff shoulders and clenched fingers. ‘How much are you prepared to risk, Miss Osborne?’ he said.

She was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

He continued to look out of the window. ‘I mean that the General Medical Council might very well decide never to reinstate you.’

‘It was only once,’ she said defiantly. ‘I only did the surgery once, and in extreme circumstances. Surely they could see that, if they have any idea of what’s going on here.’

‘Would you come here?’ he said.

Puzzled, she got up and stood beside him by the window.

‘Look out there,’ he said. ‘What do you see?’

She looked out at the appalling, unchanging scene, at men slipping and staggering and crawling, falling in the mud, blinded men being led by their mates, exhausted men carrying stretchers, streams of
ambulances
unloading.

‘What do you see?’ he said again.

Her voice caught in her throat. ‘Hell,’ she said. ‘Armageddon.’

‘Are you prepared to risk it?’ He looked down at her and she met his eyes. ‘Are you prepared to risk never being able to go back,’ he went on, ‘never being reinstated? They might forgive you one occasion, but they couldn’t overlook it if you continued to do it.’ She was even more puzzled.

‘We need surgeons, Miss Osborne,’ he said. ‘We particularly need abdominal surgeons. I believe that is your field, and Captain Fielding tells me that he believes you to be very competent.’

Her heart leapt. ‘Major Barnes,’ she said, ‘what are you saying? Are you asking me to do the surgery?’

He smiled and nodded. ‘If you’ll take the risk. I promise you that when the war is over and if you do the work well, I will do whatever I can to help you with the GMC. I would, of course, ask Captain Fielding to monitor you for a while, to make sure that your standards are
consistently
acceptable.’

She could hardly breathe. ‘They will be. Of course I’ll do it.’

He held out his hand and she shook it heartily. ‘Welcome aboard,’ he said. ‘Happy Christmas.’

She shook hands with Matron and with Dan.

‘I’ll see you out,’ Dan said.

They went out into the cold, damp air. ‘Dan,’ she said, ‘How can I possibly thank you. You can’t imagine what this means to me.’

‘Don’t thank me, we need you,’ he said. ‘You are quite sure? You know what a risk you are taking about your future.’

One of the stretcher-bearers slipped in the mud and nearly dropped his burden. The wounded man gave a muffled cry.

‘I don’t care about the future any more,’ she said. ‘I want to do what I can now. God knows, we might not be alive tomorrow.’

He looked down at her for a moment. ‘I’m sorry about last night.’

‘What do you mean?’ she said.

‘I’m sorry I kissed you. I shouldn’t have done that.’ He smiled. ‘Or perhaps I should have done it a long time ago.’

She flushed a little. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mind.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Report to theatre as soon as you can. They’ll be expecting you.’

Amy walked back to the hut on air. She felt that she was redeemed, that her life now had a real purpose, whatever happened to her after the war – if the end ever came.

Helen was in the hut, preparing to go to an early lunch.

‘What happened?’ she said. ‘Everybody’s talking about it.’ She grinned. ‘Especially the soldier you operated on. He’s something of a celebrity.’

‘You won’t believe it,’ Amy said. ‘I can hardly believe it myself. They’ve asked me to go on doing surgery. They are going to try and put it right with the GMC after the war.’