Twisted Strands (31 page)

To the left on the brow of the hill she could see the spire of Bernby church, where her beloved father was buried. What, indeed, would he think to all this? She shuddered inwardly, knowing
instinctively that he would not be proud of the way she had helped to bring about Stephen Dunsmore’s downfall. He would not condone spiteful revenge. She even doubted he would have approved
of the greater issue of the war, which had all of them caught up in a national fervour of retaliation.

She turned and walked to the gate to lean upon it and look westwards towards the ramparts of Belvoir Castle, standing proudly on the distant hill. ‘But you would approve of the role that
Fairfield House is going to play in the future wouldn’t you, Dad?’

So clearly, in her mind’s eye, she saw his face, and he was smiling at her.

‘Can I go and nurse the soldiers, Auntie Evie? Oh, can I?’

Bridie had been back home in Nottingham for a few weeks, working in the inspection room and keeping Eveleen company. But when she heard of her aunt’s plans she begged to be involved.

‘I like caring for people,’ she said. ‘I really enjoyed looking after Great-Gran. I think I’d like to be a nurse when I’m older. Wouldn’t that be a good place
to start?’

Eveleen regarded the girl standing in front of her. In the last few months Bridie had grown in stature and matured in character. Before her stood no longer a child, but a girl on the threshold
of womanhood. At almost fifteen she had filled out, her figure was now nicely rounded and her face was captivating. Her eyes were her best feature. Dark blue, they shone with enthusiasm and
determination.

‘Please say you’ll let me go.’

Eveleen sighed, reluctant to lose Bridie’s company again, and yet there was sense in what the girl said.

‘It might mean you living back at Pear Tree Farm again. I don’t think your gran will agree to you sleeping in at Fairfield House.’ She smiled. ‘Not with all those
soldiers there.’

Bridie laughed, but saw the truth in Eveleen’s statement. ‘Maybe it would be best, anyway. I can help a bit at home, around the farm.’ Her face sobered as she added quietly,
‘And I might be glad to get away from time to time. There’ll be some dreadful sights.’

They were both silent, each thinking about the wounded they had seen around the streets of the city, some even reduced to begging.

‘There’ll be no shortage of takers for the places,’ Eveleen murmured. Briskly she went on, ‘I tell you what, you can sit in with me on the interviews next week. I’m
appointing a matron first and after that all the nurses we shall need. The doctor at Bernby has already agreed to help. We’ll go on Sunday and stay at Pear Tree Farm.’

‘Why don’t we stay at Fairfield House?’ Bridie asked innocently.

Turning away so that she did not have to meet the girl’s questioning gaze, Eveleen said swiftly, ‘No, no, I don’t want to stay there.’

There was great excitement at Fairfield House. The legalities had all been completed in a surprisingly short time. The new staff had all been appointed and had been in
residence for three weeks in their sleeping quarters on the second floor, where domestic staff traditionally slept. But now there were nurses to accommodate as well. Even the attics had been
cleared out and made into bedrooms. Bridie, too, was to sleep in with the other nurses. The house had been cleaned from attic to cellar and had been transformed from a shabby and neglected house
into a comfortable hospital cum convalescent home. Now, at the beginning of August, Fairfield House was ready to receive its first patients.

Dulcie Barton, who had been appointed matron, took Brinsley and Eveleen on a tour of inspection. ‘The dining room and, of course, the kitchens will remain as such and the drawing room will
be the patients’ sitting room and recreation room,’ she explained, throwing open the door to each one. In the corner of the newly styled recreation room stood a gramophone with a huge
horn and nearby was a piano, complete with sheet music for the patriotic songs of the day.

‘Do you think they’ll want that sort of music?’ Eveleen said doubtfully. ‘I would have thought they’d want to forget all about the war.’

‘You’d be surprised,’ Dulcie said. ‘Some of them will still want to cling on to their happier memories, the camaraderie. They’ll want to remember their pals.’
She turned to Brinsley. ‘It was very thoughtful of you to provide the piano and especially the gramophone. It will be a blessing for those who can’t make their own entertainment. So
many will be confined to bath chairs or blinded.’

Brinsley nodded and cleared his throat. ‘Don’t mention it, my dear, and if there’s anything else you can think of, let me know.’

‘The library, too, will stay just as it is,’ Dulcie continued with the tour. ‘It will be a peaceful, quiet room for them.’

‘We must make sure there are some more suitable books,’ Eveleen remarked. ‘I can’t imagine these dusty tomes being of interest to the soldiers.’

‘The morning room,’ the matron went on, ‘has been changed into a room for staff use, whilst the study is now my office. The small sitting room, which I expect the “lady
of the house” used, has been changed into a treatment room and a surgery for when the doctors visit. No operations will be done here, but we may well receive quite severe cases. Now
upstairs.’ She led the way up the wide staircase. ‘On the first floor the large rooms have been turned into small dormitories holding three or four beds and the smaller rooms hold two
or sometimes only a single bed. We shall use these for very sick patients who need constant attention and may disturb the others.’

The whole place still reeked of fresh paint, but all the rooms seemed light and airy. The new single beds with clean white sheets, plump pillows and grey blankets awaited their patients.

‘I’m very impressed,’ Brinsley said. ‘And the grounds are lovely. They’ll find peace here, Eveleen, my dear. I’m really proud of you and so will Richard be
when he hears.’

Eveleen quelled the feeling of guilt, but she suspected that her perceptive husband would see through her ulterior motive. She was regretting now, not what she had done in acquiring a beautiful
rest home for soldiers, but the way she had done it.

‘I’ve some news for you too,’ Brinsley was saying, oblivious to Eveleen’s guilty feelings. ‘As you know, some of my contacts are connected with the War Office and
various other government departments. It seems, my dear, that the authorities would be only too pleased to treat our little venture as additional accommodation for the military hospitals closest to
us.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘It seems they are under a great deal of pressure.’

‘But – but we wanted to take the wounded from the city streets. Those who are not bad enough to be hospitalized but who are not fit enough to find work.’

‘I know, I know, my dear. And we will, we will. But the seriously injured must come first. Don’t you agree?’

‘I – suppose so, yes,’

‘So,’ Brinsley went on, ‘the good thing is that we have already appointed properly qualified staff and the local doctor has agreed to visit daily, calling in colleagues when
necessary. And now . . .’ Brinsley put his hand on her arm and suddenly his tone was diffident and there was longing in his face. ‘Do you think, I might be permitted to see you mother
whilst I’m here?’

Bridie had found her vocation. There was only one cloud on her horizon, which was never far away from her thoughts: Andrew. She still believed fervently that he was alive
somewhere and that one day he would come home to her. In the meantime she threw herself into her work at Fairfield House.

Dulcie Barton was a single woman in her forties. She had a pleasant face with calm, grey eyes, but when she smiled her whole face seemed to light up. Her wonderful smile had heartened many a
desperately ill patient and given them hope. She had devoted her life to nursing and, whilst she was a strict disciplinarian and kept a necessary remoteness between herself and the nurses under
her, she was nevertheless friendly and always approachable. She had taken a particular liking to Bridie, for she saw in the girl a genuine gift for caring for others and she took it upon herself to
encourage her to look upon nursing as a career.

Dulcie was adept at handling the nurses with a firm yet understanding hand. So many of them were grieving privately for loved ones snatched from them by this dreadful war, but with her guidance
these young women left their personal tragedies behind when they put on their nursing uniforms.

‘You can wear a uniform just like the qualified nurses, Bridie,’ Dulcie had explained to her. ‘A long white apron with a bib, and a neat frilled cap, but your dress will have
to be a different colour to show that you are a trainee. Now, I think red and white striped cotton would be most suitable. It will be different from the colours the others wear.’ She smiled.
‘At least here, in a private establishment, we’ve been able to choose our own colour scheme.’

The sisters, who had been appointed each wore a navy blue dress with a white triangular shaped headdress, starched white collar and cuffs. The nurses wore dark grey dresses and both the sisters
and the nurses wore long white aprons. Only Dulcie as matron wore the navy blue dress with no apron.

‘Bridie won’t accept Andrew’s death,’ Eveleen had explained to Miss Barton in confidence. ‘I don’t think she will until the war is over and – and he
still doesn’t come home.’

She felt the matron watching her. There was such a depth of understanding in Dulcie Barton’s eyes, she experienced life’s tragedies every day. Her voice was low and soothing, like
soft velvet. ‘It’s very hard for a girl to come to terms with death and to accept that it can happen to someone she loves. What is the relationship between them?’

Eveleen explained. ‘I think Andrew thought of her as his daughter, but as for Bridie . . .’ She sighed and smiled sadly. ‘She idolized him and
not
as a
father.’

‘I see.’ Miss Barton was thoughtful and Eveleen felt she was watching her, almost calculating. ‘Mrs Stokes, may I be frank with you?’

‘Of course.’

‘You already speak of Andrew in the past tense.’

Eveleen nodded.

Gently the matron went on. ‘You have obviously accepted the War Office’s assumption that he has been killed.’

Again Eveleen agreed silently.

‘But Bridie has not.’

‘She just refuses to. She’s adamant he’s alive. She – she says she would know, would feel it . . .’

Miss Barton nodded. ‘You may think this strange, Mrs Stokes, but it might be best to allow her to think that, for the present. Oh, I don’t mean to encourage it, to foster false hope,
but just to let her come to the truth – if indeed it is the truth – in her own time and in her own way. At the moment – and this may sound a little callous to you – it may
be in her best interests to allow her to believe he is still alive.’

All her life Eveleen had always faced up to the truth of a situation and been strong enough to deal with it. Even the things she had done wrong and regretted. Now she frowned, unable to
comprehend that anything but the truth, however cruel, was best.

Dulcie went on. ‘Bridie is going to be caring for young men, many not much older than herself. She will be called upon to carry out very – intimate tasks for them in the course of
that nursing. Many men,’ Dulcie smiled, ‘whatever their age, imagine themselves in love with their nurses.’

Understanding began to dawn in Eveleen. She had wondered why most of the nurses that the matron had chosen were older rather than younger.

‘So,’ the matron continued, ‘it might be safer – for all concerned – if Bridie’s heart is engaged elsewhere. I know it might sound unfeeling, calculating
perhaps,’ Dulcie hurried on, ‘but, believe me, I’m thinking of Bridie as much as my patients.’

Eveleen nodded. ‘I do see your point.’

‘This is just between you and me?’ Dulcie asked once more.

‘Of course.’

Richard’s letters told of a quiet time in his corner of the war.

It was not so quiet on other war fronts. On 1 July a combined British and French offensive had begun near the Somme. By the end of the first day, nearly twenty thousand British soldiers had been
massacred by enemy artillery and machine guns and twice as many had been wounded. The more serious casualties were patched up in field hospitals and then sent home to Blighty. By August, when
Fairfield House opened, some of the wounded from the Somme had found their way to the Midlands and a few were brought to Bernby.

It was the first time Bridie had seen raw flesh wounds, men blinded by shrapnel, their eyes swathed in bandages. Some had terrible internal injuries, others missing limbs. And then there were
those who suffered the effects of the terrible gas. But Bridie kept her feelings severely in check and, taking her cue from the older nurses, greeted them all with a welcoming smile and a cheery,
bantering word. There was one lad – not much older than Bridie – who was crying out in pain as he was carried up the stairs and into one of the smaller rooms with only two beds.

‘Put me in wi’ ’im. I’ll look after ’im,’ an older man with both legs broken and a wound in his thigh said to an orderly.

‘You’ll ’ave to go where you’m put, soldier,’ the orderly said cheerfully.

‘But ’ee’s me mate. We’ve bin together from since we joined up. I look out for ’im, see’

Bridie, walking behind the two stretchers being carried, said quietly. ‘It’ll be all right. Put them together . . .’ She hurried ahead and opened the door. ‘In here. Room
Number Four. If Sister Jones wants them moved, we can do it later.’

‘Ta, luv.’ The older man grinned at her as he was carried in through the door and deposited on the nearest bed. He grimaced but made no sound of complaint and at once looked across
to where his companion was still groaning and curling himself into a ball. Bridie stood beside the boy, biting her lip. She was anxious to help, but did not know how.