War Nurse (12 page)

Letter from Anne today. “It sounds simply awful down there,” she wrote. “Poor Kitten, I do feel so worried about you and all our friends. Please write soon and let me know that you’re all right.”

“You know that transfer I’ve been trying to get? Well, you’ll never guess what the wretched army’s gone and done now! It’s posting me still further away – to a sick bay attached to a barracks in some deserted spot.”

“It’s not fair! Here I am, hockey stick at the ready, desperate to come and help you defend our island against the Jerries. Ah well . . . write soon?”

“PS: I hope you’re writing your diary, as promised. I am! But then, I have precious little else to do in my off-duty time. I don’t suppose you’ve been having much of that.”

I feel sad to think that Anne won’t be transferring here. I feel a bit guilty, too. I haven’t been keeping up my diary as I should. I haven’t felt like writing at all. Oh, Anne, I hope you’ll forgive me.

I went down to the station this morning. It was my first whole day off in a very long time and I was planning to spend it at home. I was in heaven at the prospect of getting right away from the hospital, even if it was just for a day.

I stood on the platform and waited. At last the train came – a whole hour late! When we chugged into the station at last, I knew I’d have to hurry to catch my connection – and I tore across the platform. As I leaped down the stairs two at a time, I saw the train pull out of the station. There wasn’t another train for a very long time, so all I could do was wait and catch the next train back to the hospital. I felt so upset. I’d been looking forward to going home. Mother had written that Peter was home on leave. And for once Father would be at home, too. I haven’t seen any of them since New Year.

I scrounged a lift back up to the hospital. Then I went to find the others. Molly was off duty too, and we cycled out into the countryside together. We rode up and down country lanes, and then we stopped at a pub and I blew nearly a whole week’s wages on the best meal I’d had since New Year.

It was nearly dark when we climbed back on to our bicycles and we had to cycle really slowly. It’s easy to get lost now, as there are no streetlights to guide you, and all the signposts have been taken down to confuse the enemy.

Suddenly Molly clutched my arm and we both wobbled and nearly fell off our bikes. In a loud whisper she told me she’d heard a noise – a sort of rustling in one of the hedges.

“It’s probably just a rabbit or a mouse,” I told her, sounding braver than I felt. Then Molly started to tell me about the Jerry spies who’ve been seen parachuting into southern England. Feeling really scared now, I asked her how she knew. Well, then she told me that they’ve been seen in the town – disguised as nuns! I felt so relieved that I began to laugh. There have been a lot of invasion scares and rumours, but this was just
too
silly. Molly, I think, felt a bit peeved but then she saw the funny side too. Our laughter sounded most peculiar out there in the dark, so we got hastily back on our bikes and cycled on.

It was late when at last we crept up to the hospital, wheeling our bikes. The door was locked but we squeezed in through a ground-floor window that someone had forgotten to close. We couldn’t stop giggling as we tiptoed down the darkened corridors and up the stairs. What a day!

Hitler’s offered to make peace with Britain! We won’t have any of it of course. Peace would mean surrendering all we’ve been fighting for. We’re fighting on.

A trunk call was put through from Mother today. The line was crackling badly, but she managed to ask how I was. I told her I was fine. The crackles got worse. “What did you say?” I asked. I was practically bawling into the phone now. It was something about the enemy bombing the coastal towns. Even through the crackles I could hear the panic in her voice. The town has been hit, but I didn’t tell her. Hitler’s planes are attacking our shipping, too. I told her not to worry about me, and then I asked how she was, and Father and Peter. It was a while before I realized that the line had gone dead.

I had the oddest dream yesterday. I dreamed that a plane flew down low – so low that I could even see the pilot’s face. It was Giles. I called to him but he couldn’t hear me. He could see me though. He smiled and waved. Three times he circled the hospital, each time his plane getting higher and higher. Then off he flew into the clouds, with me still calling vainly after him, the way you do in dreams.

When I woke up I felt very out of sorts. I told myself that it had just been a dream, that probably there’d been planes flying past as I’d slept. But I couldn’t stop worrying and I told myself I’d write to Giles as soon as I finished my shift. I didn’t though. I was so tired when I came off duty this morning – I’m back on nights again now – that I just collapsed into bed. Tomorrow though I
will
write to Giles. I haven’t heard from him since he wrote to me about Dunkirk. I must write back and tell him that I understand better now.

Peter scooted over to see me today. I can’t think how he managed to wangle the petrol for the trip. It was wonderful to see him. He told me he felt he had to keep an eye on me – he thought I’d spun a story about the train! We rode out into the countryside, me clinging tightly to his back. It was a bit of a squash. I looked a fright when we arrived at the inn – my hair stuck up all over the place.

After we’d finished our meal he asked me about my work. “You were in the thick of it, weren’t you, Sis?”

I doodled with the spoon in my saucer before answering. I knew that he was thinking about Dunkirk but I didn’t want to talk about it. “Yes,” I said shortly. “But most of the time I was too busy to think about it.”

“I know,” he said, staring straight ahead of him. “It was a bit like that for me. But now – now I wish I could forget.” His eyes looked very far away – as if he was back on the beaches at Dunkirk. Why was I spared? Why me when so many weren’t? I could see the thought plain on his face. I tried to bring him back.

“We all have to find our own way through this,” I said. “We have to show them we’re not beaten. We can’t give up, or they’ve won.”

Peter didn’t say anything for a long time. He still seemed very far away. And then he told me how one night they’d made their way down to the beach and waded out to sea. How they’d stood in the icy water, hoping to get picked up by one of the little ships bobbing up and down in the waves – each man for himself. I stopped him then.

“What little ships?” And then dimly I remembered that Mother had said something about the little ships when she told me how Peter had got back to England, and hadn’t the Prime Minister also said something about them in his broadcast to us?

Peter looked very surprised. “Didn’t you know?” he asked.

“Tell me,” I said.

Peter drew in breath. “Everyone who owned a boat on the south-east coast was asked to take it over to France. There were all sorts,” he said. “Some quite small – even fishing boats. The troop carriers couldn’t get in near enough to pick us up. There was nowhere for them to berth, as all the piers that were any use had been destroyed by Jerry bombers. So the little boats had to ferry us between the beaches and the ships. They made trip after trip.” He shook his head wonderingly. “Those chaps were amazing. We’d never have got away without them. Even then, it was a bit of a scramble.” His face darkened again.

I imagined the pushing and shoving, as the men fought for a seat in one of the little boats – their only passport to safety. I shuddered.

“All the time there were those silver wings wheeling and diving overhead. They weren’t seagulls, Kitty,” Peter said, giving a lopsided smile. “They were planes – Jerry planes. We were sitting ducks,” he added. “The night I got out – think it was night. Hard to tell – there was a big, black smoky cloud over everything much of the time – we were being bombed all the time, you see. Anyway, when I got out, Dunkirk was blazing so Jerry could see us beautifully, even at night. Picked men out of the sea like fishes. Rat-a-tat-tat,” he said, imitating the noise of the planes’ guns as they fired on the men. He stopped again, lost in the memory.

“How’s Giles?” he said suddenly. There was a touch of bitterness in his voice. RAF pilots, it seemed to say, easy ride
they
had. I remembered what Giles had written in his last letter. I wanted to tell Peter, but there was such anger in his face that I just didn’t know if he’d believe me. And I didn’t want to row about it and spoil the evening.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly, answering his question. “I don’t really care any more, but I don’t know how to tell him.”

Peter nodded thoughtfully. “Probably best not to – at least not right now,” he said. He stood up. “You’re on duty tonight, aren’t you? I’d better get you back.”

After he’d dropped me off, I hugged him tightly. “Take care of yourself, Pete,” I whispered. He had one foot already on the pedal. He flashed a smile up at me.

“You know, we haven’t quarrelled this evening – not once,” he said. “Must be a record.” I felt relieved that I’d not brought up the subject of the RAF’s role at Dunkirk.

The twins wanted to know who Peter was. I’d seen them hanging out of the window as we rode back up to the hospital. I told them he was my brother, but I don’t think they believed me.

“He’s awfully handsome,” sighed Mollie.

Handsome? Peter? ’Course, he is. He’s my brother.

The town was bombed again last night. The sky glowed red for hours, like a ghastly wound. Tip-and-run raiders, someone said grimly. The German planes nip across the Channel, drop their fearsome cargo and shoot off back home again before our fighters can catch up with them.

Shelters are being dug in the hospital grounds and there are sandbags piled up around all the buildings. We’ve got a guard, too. He’s only got a stick – as we’re a hospital, he’s not allowed to have a gun. One man, armed only with a stick! How will that help us? At Dunkirk, the Germans blew up hospital ships in the Channel, so they won’t take any notice of this, I feel sure. But then isn’t this the
right
thing for us to do – and isn’t that what this war is all about? It’s no use – I cannot get this straight in my head.

In the afternoon I saw little specks appear in the sky again. I shielded my eyes to see them better, but they were too far away. Even when the drones got louder, I couldn’t see the planes properly. I haven’t seen a dogfight yet, but here in the hospital we see many of their victims.

Giles is dead! I feel simply terrible – but I can’t cry. I learned what happened in a letter from his best friend at the station. They think that Giles was shot down over the sea. It happened on 23 July – that was the day I had my strange dream. For a long time I just sat and stared at the letter in my hand. I felt sick. In my heart I know it was a coincidence, but that doesn’t help. Worse, I feel as if I let Giles down.

His friend said that Giles was a brave and gallant officer and that he knew he’d cared a lot about me. I wished he hadn’t written that. Then he apologized for not writing sooner.

He apologized to
me
! I should be apologizing to him – and to Giles. Now I can’t even do that. I didn’t give Giles the support he needed. I never told him that I was proud of the part he took in rescuing the BEF at Dunkirk. I couldn’t even be bothered to write.

Jean found me in the linen store in floods of tears today. I couldn’t talk, just waved the letter at her. She sat with me until I’d calmed down, and then we went for a walk together. She thinks I’m upset because I cared about Giles. I couldn’t tell her the truth – I can’t tell
anyone
. I didn’t care about Giles, not in the way they all think. And they’re being so sweet to me – especially Bunty. It makes me feel so guilty.

Sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without my diary. At least
here
I can confess how I really feel.

A plane was shot down over the town late yesterday afternoon. All the crew managed to bail out. One – the pilot – had gunshot wounds and was rushed into Theatre as soon as he arrived. The rear gunner broke his wrist trying to get out of the plane. No one was badly burned. We’ve heard terrible things – the enemy has begun bombing our airfields. Our pilots do their best to get the planes up into the air before they can be destroyed, but they can’t always get them up in time, and runways and airbases are being badly damaged. If the enemy manages to do the job well enough, there’ll be nothing to stop them from invading.

At night, the stretcher bearers rushed on to the ward again. Another plane had been shot down nearby. While another VAD made up the bed, I went to fill a hot-water bottle. When I came back she was expertly cutting off the pilot’s uniform.

It was a German one.

I looked at the man on the stretcher. His face was very pale and he was sweating. He didn’t look any different from any other young pilot. I thought I’d hate him, but I didn’t.

I wrote to Giles’s mother as soon as I came off duty this morning. After I’d sealed up the envelope, I burst into tears. I sat there, head in my arms, and I cried and cried. I thought about Giles – and about that German pilot. So many people’s lives are being wrecked by this terrible war. Will it
ever
end?

I was mooching around in the gardens yesterday afternoon when the Assistant Commandant marched up to me. Told me off for not having my tin hat and gas mask with me. “Nurse, what will you do if there’s a raid?” She sounded really exasperated and I fled to fetch them. I’d just got to the door when Lieutenant Venables came out, still in his white coat. He didn’t see me at first, even though I nearly walked right into him. Then he stopped, looked down at me and smiled. It was such a nice smile – as if he was pleased to see me, and suddenly I felt very pleased to see
him
. It seemed an age since I’d seen him – the day he stopped to mend my puncture.

I watched him lope off down the lawn and then he stopped and stared out to sea, shielding his eyes in the sunlight. I found myself wondering if
he’d
lost anyone close to him.

There was a raid today – a really big one we heard. We saw the planes fly over, so many of them. We heard the guns booming from the ships patrolling the coast.

I’ve had that dream again – I’ve had it again and again since Giles was killed. Giles’s plane is flying seawards. A German fighter plane is on his tail. Then the pilot opens fire and Giles’s plane spirals through the sky and bursts into flames as it hits the sea. All the time I’m screaming after him, “Look behind you! Look behind you!” It’s no use. He never hears me. And the ending’s always the same. The sea’s always on fire.