War Nurse (13 page)

My first day back on day duty – and such an exciting one too. Dr McIndoe was visiting the hospital! Bunty rushed over to tell me. She’s working on the Surgical ward now.

I’ve heard a lot about this surgeon and what he can do for burns patients. We have a new treatment for burns now – our wards are full of men, their legs and arms encased in bags of saline. But this doctor can actually take skin from an unburnt part of a man’s body and use it to rebuild the burnt part – their face or hands maybe.

At ten o’clock this morning the great man came. I liked his face at once. He didn’t waste any time, but went straight over to the bed of one of our sickest patients, a badly burned airman, who was shot down over the Channel yesterday. Aircraft fuel supposedly burns its victims very rapidly. It’s all to the good that he landed in the sea, apparently, as the salt water is good for burns, though you wouldn’t think so from looking at this poor boy. We’re hoping that the doctor will take him away to be treated at his special burns unit at the Queen Victoria hospital in East Grinstead. The poor airman can hardly move his lips but after Dr McIndoe had left his bedside and gone to speak to Matron, I could see real hope in his eyes for the first time.

Everyone here – even the MOs – talks about Dr McIndoe as if he were God. And I can understand why, if he really can help people like this poor pilot. He gives a burned man his life back – a far better one than he’d have without his help, anyway.

I’m writing this sitting up in bed. I’m in a side room, off the main ward. My hands are still painful but I can write slowly now. Molly smuggled some sheets of writing paper into the ward when she came to see me earlier today. I didn’t tell her or the others the reason I wanted them – to write my diary. Sister would have a fit if she saw me. But I must tell how I came to be lying here – a patient – while the memory is still fresh in my mind.

It happened nearly two weeks ago. I didn’t feel particularly frightened when the air-raid alert sounded. Just weary. We’d had so many air-raid warnings before – all of them false.

It’s always a frantic rush when the alert goes. This day it was no different. Off went our two newest VADs to the shelters, helping those patients able to walk. Sister, Bunty and I stayed behind to look after our other patients. Sister put up the blackout boards. This protects the patients from glass if the windows shatter. Bunty and I pulled the beds away from the walls and windows. We helped our patients put on their gas masks and tin hats, and then we put all those patients we could under their beds. The men always put a brave face on it, but I know that moving hurts them and I always hate doing this.

There were some patients we couldn’t move, so we pulled mattresses up near their beds. In an attack these get heaved on top of the beds to protect the men from anything that might fall on them – like falling plaster or shattered glass. Then Bunty was sent off to look after a patient in one of the side rooms. Sister and I pulled on our tin hats and gas masks, too, and crawled under two of the empty beds.

High above us I heard the drone of the planes as they passed by. It sounded as though they were directly overhead. My heart was thumping. Would it be us this time? I was thinking over and over. Then I heard a single drone. It stopped. I saw Sister crawl out from under a bed, and I watched as she struggled to heave a mattress on top of our sickest patient.

In that instant I knew – it wasn’t a false alarm.

Everything happened so fast after that. Almost at once there was an awful whistling noise and a huge crump. As soon as I dared I looked up. I gasped. There was an enormous gaping hole where one of the windows had been, and glass and plaster were sprayed all over the place.

It was quiet again. The barrage had stopped – for now. A huge cloud of choking dust billowed through the gaping hole into the room. I began to crawl out from under the bed, knocking my head as I did so. I knew I had to get the patients out.

Suddenly there was a screaming sound and the building shook again. I flung myself to the floor and felt the ground shake under me.

When the plaster and dust had settled I sat up again. There was a strange sort of ringing in my ears. I couldn’t see Sister anywhere. I could barely see a thing through the dense dark smoke. And then I did see something – a flash of angry orange.

One of the beds was on fire
.

There was a patient in that bed.
My heart pounding I staggered to my feet. I grabbed some blankets and ran to the bed. No time to waste. Now I could see it clearly – an orange tongue curling round the foot of the bed. The flames leaped higher, grabbing at the mattress with greedy fingers. I flung the blankets on top of the flames. A sharp, searing pain shot up my hands and arms. I pressed down hard, smothering the flames under my hands, ignoring the groans from the bed and the pain in my hands. I kept doing it, again and again until I was sure that the fire was out. I looked at my patient – tiny smoky tendrils smouldered from the bedding. Hastily I pulled it off and wrapped him gently in another blanket.

I could hear sounds in the room now – as if people were moving around – but I could barely see anything at all as the cloud of dust swirled through the room and up to the doors.

Voices – my patients calling. “Jerry got us that time.” Groans from other beds. Who else had been hurt? I had to get help – fast.

I felt my way towards the ward doors, calling to any patients who could to make their way out quickly. I felt pain leap up my hands again as I pushed open the doors. I wanted to cry out but I choked back my tears as I fell forward into the dark. A huge dirty cloud had swallowed up the corridor. I stood there for a minute, helplessly. I didn’t know what to do. Then I remembered the side room. Bunty was in there. She’d help me. I felt my way along the corridor and into the little room. Every time I touched anything with my hands it hurt but I pressed on. I could hear voices – but they sounded muffled, as if they were far away.

In the side room, a window had been torn out, but there wasn’t any other damage so far as I could tell.

Carefully I made my way over to the bed. I could see that our patient hadn’t been hurt. I crouched down and peered underneath the bed. Bunty was still there, her head wrapped in her arms. As I reached in, I could feel her body shaking. I pulled at her arm. She didn’t move.

“Bunty,” I croaked through my mask. “Are you all right?” She didn’t answer. “Bunty,” I tried again, desperately. I saw her curl more tightly into herself. “Oh, Bunty,” I said sadly.

Leaving her there, I stood up and made my way back into the main corridor. The voices I’d heard earlier were louder now. I leaned back against the wall and called. Through my mask my voice sounded so feeble. They’ll
never
hear me, I thought despairingly.

“My patient,” I heard my voice say dully, over and over. “Oh, please. Someone . . . you’ve got to help him! He’s been burnt.”

And then there were all the others. Please! I felt someone pull at my arm. It hurt.

“It’s all right, I’ve got you,” a voice said gently. The voice sounded very familiar. And then I felt myself lifted up and all at once, like a curtain falling fast, darkness blotted everything out.

It was still dark when I woke, but now I was in bed and my hands and arms were in bags of saline and they hurt. I heard someone cry out – it seemed to be me. A nurse sitting next to my bed leaned close. “Are you all right?” she asked anxiously. I nodded, fighting back the tears that were trying to slide down my cheeks, biting my lips with the pain. I remembered all the burned airmen, and injured soldiers I’d nursed. Their injuries were much more serious than mine. They’d not cried, and neither would I.

Lots of people came to see me while I was in bed. Jean, of course, and Marjorie and Molly – even Sister Rook! The Commandant came too one day. They all made such a fuss of me – you’d think I’d be pleased but actually it was very embarrassing.

Then one day I heard the door open, and I looked up to see who it was this time. I was hoping it would be Bunty. She hadn’t been to see me – not once. Marjorie had told me she felt too guilty, but I wanted to see her. I missed her.

It wasn’t Bunty.

It was Matron!

“Well done, Nurse Langley,” she said crisply. “We’re all very proud of you.” She told me that my quick response had saved a patient’s life – probably several more lives, too. I asked her if Sister was all right. Matron just looked at me. I felt my lips tremble and for a while I couldn’t speak. Then I told her what Sister had done. How she’d put her patients first. She was the heroine – not me.

“You were both very brave,” said Matron quietly. “You’re a credit to our profession.”

She had a great many more things to say, but I can’t write them down. I feel embarrassed just thinking about them. I don’t think I’ve been particularly brave. I just happened to be there. Matron asked if I’d thought of training as a professional nurse. “You have the makings of a fine nurse,” she said. She told me she’d write in support of any application I made.

I felt my heart swell inside my chest, and after she’d gone I had a bit of a cry – quietly, into my pillow.

I’ve had plenty of time to think about Matron’s words, but I still haven’t decided what to do. I don’t know what I want – not yet.

It’s getting easier to write now. Sister says I’ll be allowed up tomorrow!

There was a tremendous air battle over southern Britain yesterday. I knew something big was happening – from my bed I could hear the drones of countless planes and then an angry barrage – our anti-aircraft guns answering back. Was I scared! I crossed my fingers and prayed we wouldn’t be hit again.

In the evening there was another barrage – shouts and catcalls and cheers from the main ward. Sister popped in to tell me about it – a huge smile on her face. Later, the “up” patients came to tell me, too.

“Nurse, Jerry’s on the run. Nurse, the RAF’s clipped Jerry’s wings. Hundreds and hundreds of Jerry’s planes have been shot down.” The enemy was bombing London too, of course, but just then all anyone could think about was our victory in the skies.

In the end, Sister came in to shoo them away and the ward grew quiet again.

So much still depends on the RAF. If they carry on fighting like this, maybe the invasion will be delayed. Maybe it will never happen at all. Suddenly I found myself thinking about Giles. Whenever I think about our pilots I remember Giles and I feel so sad. And I know how much he’d have loved to be up there with them.

I’m writing this on the train. I’m on my way home to convalesce – I’ll be staying there until my hands and arms are completely better.

Earlier, Jean helped me pack my case. We were chatting and laughing together when I heard a knock on the door.

It was Bunty. Jean slipped out and left us together. It was the first time I’d seen Bunty since the day the bomb dropped.

“Molly told me you’re going home today,” she said.

I nodded.

“Can I do anything for you?” she asked. I could see she was trying not to look at my hands.

I shook my head. “It’s all right, I can manage,” I said. I hesitated. “They tell me that they’ll soon be as good as new.”

Bunty’s face crumpled. “In spite of me,” she whispered.

“Oh, Bunty, don’t,” I said, distressed. “It wasn’t your fault.”

I could see that she was making a big effort to pull herself together. My mind went back to another day, when I’d told her to take courage.

“I’m resigning,” she said suddenly.

I was flabbergasted. “Why?” I asked at last.

Bunty turned and looked at me. “I failed you, and not just you, I failed everyone,” she said. I was about to say something but she interrupted. “I’m just not cut out to be a nurse,” she said. “I knew that long ago.”

“Oh, Bunty,” I said sadly.

“I . . . I just can’t cope.” She went over to the window and stared out of it.

“I’ll miss you so much,” I said miserably.

“Oh, Kitten,” she said. “I’m so sorry I let you down.” I couldn’t see her face, but I knew that she was crying. I went over to her and put my hand on her shoulder. There were tears in my eyes, too. Then suddenly she stopped crying, and I saw the old Bunty in the smile she flashed at me. “What did Matron say?” she asked, almost mischievously.

“Oh, nothing much,” I said, embarrassed.

“You’re a good nurse,” said Bunty. “Stick to it.”

She stretched and turned to go, and then she turned back and we hugged each other tight.

I was dashing around later saying my farewells when I saw Lieutenant Venables. Was I better? he asked. In answer, I held out my hands. He looked at them for a long time. He’d been to see me when I was ill – not long after the air raid. I’d still been in shock and all I could remember was how pale his face had looked. Now I remembered something else. It was he who’d carried me away from the fire to safety. I couldn’t even remember if I’d thanked him for it. I thanked him now. He looked rather embarrassed.

We walked outside together.

“What are you going to do when your hands are better?” he asked me.

“I don’t know,” I said.

And then he told me that he was leaving the hospital.

It was a shock. “Why?” I said. I was almost crying. I hoped he couldn’t tell.

He said that he was going to work in one of the big London teaching hospitals. “They need all the help they can get now,” he said grimly.

Suddenly I felt so frightened. German bombers attack the city nearly every night now.

“Why don’t you come too?” he said suddenly. I felt something flutter in my chest. It felt odd but it was nice too.

“Why don’t you?” he said again, seriously. “You could train as a nurse – a real one.”

The fluttering stopped suddenly.

He didn’t understand. To me, I was a real nurse already.

“Oh no,” he said hastily, seeing the expression on my face. “You are a real nurse. I mean. . . You . . . you’re a marvellous nurse.” He swallowed. “I just wondered – why don’t you make nursing your career?” His eyes looked very blue.

“I don’t know,” I said again. I’d seen so much suffering already. Could I bear to make nursing my career?

I told him I’d think about it and then I watched him walk away, hands thrust deep in his pockets, white coat flapping in the warm September breeze. I was smiling. He’d given me his address. It was on a bit of paper in my pocket.

In the afternoon I was driven down to the station. As we left, I looked back at the hospital. The damage to the Surgical wing was being repaired. A lot of the patients had had to be evacuated, of course, but the damage wasn’t as bad as had been feared. Soon, I feel sure, the hospital will be as good as new.

I stood on the platform, waiting for the train, my luggage heaped about me. I looked down at it, at the hockey stick and tennis racket propped against my case. I remembered the day I’d arrived. I’d felt like a schoolgirl then. I didn’t now.

Just before the train was due a lorry screeched to a halt in the station forecourt. I heard the sound of boots as soldiers jumped down and ran on to the platform. A Sergeant saw me and saluted smartly.

As the train pulled up he was at my side in a jiffy. “We’ll help you with that,” he said. I wondered if he’d noticed my hands. I watched as the soldiers fought for the right to carry my luggage on to the train.

“Get a move on, lads,” the Sergeant barked. He saluted again as I thanked him. “It’s nothing, miss,” he said. “We’d do anything for you nurses.”

He turned quickly away. I looked at him, at the khaki-clad men hoisting themselves up on to the train, and then suddenly I didn’t see them any more. I saw all those others – row upon row of wounded men – as clear as if I was still in the hospital. And I knew then what I was going to do. I was staying – here, where I was needed most.

“I’ll be back,” I promised as I clambered on to the train.