Far From Home (17 page)

He and his assistant exchanged glances then meekly clambered into the front cab of the ambulance. With a defiant clang of his bell, the driver clashed the gears and drove away at speed.

‘Well done, you,’ said Polly. ‘It’s ridiculous not to take more than one patient at a time. I’m sure that’s not really in their rule book.’

Danuta shrugged, gratefully took a cup from Peggy’s tray and drank it down. ‘I must go to work now. Matron will be very angry, and I do not wish to lose my position, even though it is poor.’

‘If you wait until I get washed and changed, I’ll come with you,’ said Polly.

‘I will be too late,’ she replied, her little face screwed up with anxiety. ‘I cannot wait, Polly. I am sorry.’ With that, she finished the last dregs of her tea, snatched up two sandwiches, and ran down Camden Road, her gas-mask box bouncing against her hip.

Polly quickly found someone who was happy to take in the elderly woman, who seemed much calmer now, and hurried back to Beach View. She felt very guilty about leaving Peggy in all the mess, but she would be needed at the hospital if they were inundated with casualties. And she needed to see Adam – to reassure herself that he was all right. Then, before going on her ward, she would check on Danuta to make sure Matron hadn’t vented her spleen over her lateness.

As she quickly washed and changed into her uniform, she came to the conclusion that Danuta might be a tough, battle-hardened little thing, but she was vulnerable to women like Miss Billings, and would need someone to help stand up to her.

Polly had met women like Matron before. Like most bullies, she no doubt always picked on the ones who couldn’t defend themselves, and Polly was determined to make sure that didn’t happen to Danuta. Prickly she might be, resentful at not being able to nurse, certainly – but Polly suspected Danuta was using that tough facade to hide the bewilderment and homesickness she must be experiencing.

‘Lord knows,’ breathed Polly as she eyed her reflection in the mirror, ‘it’s hard enough for me to be so far from home and family. Poor Danuta has no one.’

Spurred on by this thought, she quickly secured the starched cap over the thick knot of hair she’d twisted low on her nape, picked up the heavy woollen cape that was far too warm for such weather, and hurried downstairs.

She found Peggy in the kitchen, surrounded by chattering, tearful women and a pile of unwashed china. There were dark shadows of weariness under her eyes, but her smile remained determinedly bright as she bustled round the room and tried to bring some order.

‘I’m so sorry, Peggy, but I need to be at the hospital. With so many casualties …’

‘You go, dear,’ interrupted Peggy. ‘I’ve got all day to sort things out here, and Cissy will help when she turns up. Once Jim and Ron get back, they can make a start on the door and windows.’

Polly shot her a grateful smile. ‘Don’t worry about our room,’ she said. ‘We can clean up when we get back.’ She hurried into the hall, picked her way through the debris and down the steps. It was only seven-thirty in the morning, but it already felt as if she’d been awake for a week.

The walking wounded were waiting patiently on the rows of extra chairs that had been placed outside the Accident and Emergency Department. Ambulances arrived with clanging bells to disgorge their injured passengers, and nurses were scurrying back and forth trying to get everyone where they should be as porters pushed laden trolleys to X-ray and the theatres.

Polly could see that her services would indeed be needed but, at the moment, her only priority was Adam. She hurried to Men’s Surgical and peeked through the circular windows in the double doors, hoping that Matron was elsewhere and that Mary was on duty. With a sigh of relief, she spotted her down by Adam’s bed and hurried on to the ward.

Adam looked exactly the same as he had the night before, and she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or saddened.

‘I didn’t think it would be long before you appeared,’ teased Mary as she finished taking his temperature. ‘There’s no change. I’m sorry.’

Polly could see the darkness beneath the other woman’s eyes, and the weariness in the droop of her shoulders. ‘Have you been here all night?’

Mary nodded. ‘The sirens went off just as I was about to leave, so of course I stayed. It’s quite a palaver getting these patients down to the shelter, even if we are on the ground floor, let me tell you.’

‘But I thought Adam couldn’t be moved?’

Mary stifled a yawn. ‘Neither he nor Freddie in the next bed can be moved, but once all the shutters were over the windows, I stayed and kept an eye out for them.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘The conversation was a little lacking in content as they’re both out cold, but we were nice and safe behind the shuttered windows, and I actually managed to read a whole newspaper without interruption.’

Polly took Adam’s lifeless hand from the blanket and held it to her cheek. He felt warmer today, and there was a bit of colour in what she could see of his face. ‘Thank you for looking after him, Mary.’

‘It’s my job,’ she replied, ‘just as you knew you would be needed here this morning.’ She glanced at the watch pinned to her starched apron-bib. ‘You’d better make yourself scarce,’ she warned. ‘Matron’s due to do her rounds.’

‘Thanks, Mary. Will I see you later?’

‘I’ll be here until my opposite number comes to relieve me, so I doubt I’ll see you again today.’ Her smile was warm as she patted Polly’s free hand. ‘But Sister Warner’s a good sort and hates Matron as much as we do. I’ll warn her you might be in at lunchtime.’

‘I’d better go,’ murmured Polly. She kissed Adam’s hand and, with a sigh, prepared to leave. ‘Perhaps we could get together for a cup of tea sometime?’ she said hopefully. ‘It would be nice to get to know one another better.’

‘That would be lovely. Come in and see me tomorrow evening and we can sort something out.’

Polly left the ward and just managed to avoid being seen by Matron by darting round a corner. She weaved her way through the milling people in the vast reception area, and headed down the steps to the basement laundry.

The smell of wet linen and wool assailed her and she walked into a steam-filled room that seemed to vibrate with the heavy drumbeat of machinery. There were at least twenty women and four men working here, and she received some curious looks as she tried to find Danuta.

Polly finally spotted her, standing at one of the many sinks, wrestling with the mangle as another girl helped to guide the sodden sheet through the rubber rollers and into a wooden tub. Her expression was grim, her chin set in a defiant square as the sweat poured down her face and darkened the brown dress. Then she seemed to realise she was being watched, and her dark, angry eyes found Polly. ‘What you do here?’

‘I came to see whether you managed to avoid Matron,’ said Polly, determined not to be put off by the other girl’s rudeness.

‘She speak to me. I tell her why I am late. She not believe me and tell me I must work one extra hour.’ She carried on turning the handle on the mangle. ‘You go now, please. I will be in trouble again if she catch you here.’

‘Let’s meet for lunch,’ said Polly. ‘In the canteen at twelve?’

‘I will see.’ The anger suddenly went from Danuta’s eyes and, as if she’d realised how curt she’d been, a hint of colour touched her cheek. ‘Thank you, Polly,’ she said. ‘I will try.’

Polly left her to it. She ran back up the stairs and had just reached the reception area when she saw Matron bearing down on her. There was no avoiding her this time.

‘Staff Nurse Brown,’ boomed Matron. ‘Thank you for coming in. It is always gratifying to know that my nurses have a sense of duty. I understand there was an incident close to your billet this morning?’

The old bitch was testing Danuta’s story. ‘There certainly was,’ she replied. ‘Our billet suffered some damage, and Miss Danuta and I had to deal with several casualties and wait for the ambulance, which is why she was rather late.’

Matron sniffed. ‘It seems Miss Chimpsky has an excuse for being late every day.’

Polly gritted her teeth as she forced a smile. ‘The Polish names are impossible to pronounce, aren’t they?’ she said with a lightness she didn’t feel. ‘They’re quite a mouthful, and I’ve come to the conclusion it might be easier and quicker for everyone if we all called her Miss Danuta. What do you think, Matron?’

Matron held her gaze for several beats of silence as she tried to work out whether Polly was being insubordinate or practical. ‘It would certainly save time,’ she agreed with clear reluctance. ‘Now hurry along, Staff Nurse. Women’s Surgical needs you.’

Polly bit down on a smile as the woman swept past. ‘Round one to me, I think,’ she murmured.

PEGGY HAD MANAGED
to get the other women to help clear the washing-up while she swept away the debris in the hall and wrestled the ruined door outside. Now the women were calmer, she felt easier about sending them back home to clear up their own mess. She worked better on her own, when she didn’t have to keep stopping to tell people where things were or how she liked the chores done.

The three nurses rushed in shortly after the women had left, and within twenty minutes they had cleaned off their make-up, changed out of their pretty dresses and were running back down the street to the hospital fresh-faced in their uniforms. They had told Peggy they’d spent the night in a public shelter and, by the sound of it, it had turned into quite a party, with bottles of beer and gin being passed round and music coming from a wind-up gramophone someone had brought in with a stack of records.

The warden in charge of the shelter had tried to enforce the rules about alcohol and riotous behaviour, but he’d been outnumbered, and they’d danced to the music of Glenn Miller and his band, and sung all their favourite songs while the raid went on overhead. Peggy had listened to all this and envied them their energy – she felt like a wrung-out dishcloth.

She and Mrs Finch tied on their wrap-round aprons and covered their hair with knotted scarves to ward off the worst of the dust and soot. Once the glass had been cleared from the dining room rug, and the tattered, filthy curtains unhooked from the pole above the window and chucked into the back garden, Peggy used a brush to get the worst of the soot from where it lay on the picture rails, grate, floor and mantelpiece. When this was done, Mrs Finch wielded the Hoover back and forth until the floor and the rug were passably clean.

The rug would need taking up and giving a good thrashing, Peggy realised, but it was a heavy old thing, so it would have to wait until Jim and Ron came back. The floor would need a good scrub as well, she thought with a weary sigh as she looked at her watch. It was mid-morning and still there was no sight of them or Cissy.

As if her thoughts had winged their way to her youngest daughter, Cissy appeared in the dining room shortly afterwards, out of breath. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late, Mum,’ she panted. ‘But there was an unexploded bomb down on the seafront, and none of us were allowed to leave the theatre. I tried to ring, but the telephone lines are down again, so we just had to wait it out.’

‘Thank goodness you’re safe,’ breathed Peggy, taking her into her arms. ‘I was getting awfully worried.’

Cissy kissed her cheek and gave her a hug. ‘You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t worried, Mum,’ she said fondly. She swept back her blonde hair and slung her gas-mask box and handbag on to a dusty chair. ‘I saw what happened down the road. Was anyone hurt?’

‘A couple of minor injuries,’ replied Peggy. ‘We were all very lucky.’

‘Mmm. There was quite a bit of damage in the town as well, and it looks like this old place has taken a bit of a bashing too,’ she murmured. ‘What can I do to help?’

‘Don’t you have rehearsals this afternoon?’

Cissy shook her head, her gaze still on the damage. ‘They decided we’d rehearsed enough. I don’t have to go back until just before six.’

‘In that case, you can help me roll up this rug, sweep the rest of the soot from the floor and cover everything with dust sheets, so we can begin to clear up the rest of the mess.’

Peggy sighed as she looked at the ruinous streaks of black on her lovely wallpaper, and the dark rim of it that still powdered the picture rail, dado and the ornate plaster rose in the centre of the ceiling. ‘It will take forever,’ she sighed, ‘but if the three of us use a bit of elbow grease, we’re bound to get rid of the worst of it.’

Cissy went to change into trousers and shirt then fetched an apron, headscarf and a pair of rubber gloves to protect her pretty hands and nails. Once the rug was rolled out into the hall they swept the floor and mopped it clean, then laid the big dust sheets. Having pushed the furniture to the other end of the room, they set to work with scrubbing brushes and cloths.

Mrs Finch couldn’t get on to her knees, so she brushed down the upholstered chairs and polished the tables before she got a wet cloth and enthusiastically cleaned the window sill, dado rail and mantelpiece. ‘I always had a girl come in to do the rough work,’ she trilled, ‘but this is rather fun.’ She rubbed at a spot on the window frame, discovered it was where the paint was chipped and moved on to the next bit. ‘Mind you,’ she continued, ‘I don’t think I could do this every day.’

‘Neither could I,’ said Cissy with a grimace. ‘It’s lethal on the hands and nails, and I dread to think what all this soot is doing to my complexion.’