Читать книгу The Poppy Field: A gripping and emotional historical romance - Deborah Carr - Страница 10

“Nurse! Nurse, come quickly.”

Alice heard the frantic tone of the patient lying in the bed next to Captain Woodhall’s. She hurried over to see what was wrong.

“He was havin’ a fit, Nurse,” The young private said, his eyes wide with fear.

Lifting the captain’s wrist, Alice took his pulse, flinching at a loud explosion she estimated to be only a couple of miles away. Taking a calming breath, Alice felt the captain’s forehead. He was running a temperature and she knew it could be the reason for the convulsion, although her instinct told her he wasn’t in immediate danger.

“He’s fine, Private Allen,” she soothed, pushing him gently back against his pillows and straightening his sheet. “Try to relax. I’ll look after Captain Woodhall.”

The private grimaced and waved her closer. “I would, Nurse, but I’ve wet me bed,” he whispered, glancing from side to side to check no one else had overheard. “I’m sorry. Those loud bangs, they frighten me silly they do.”

“Leave it with me,” she soothed. “We’ll sort you out in no time.”

She waved over one of the probationers. “I think it’s near enough time for the men to have some refreshment, don’t you?” She gave a pointed glance in the private’s direction.

“I’ll see to it right now, Nurse Le Breton,” the young girl said.

Alice pulled a screen around the private’s bed and helped him out. “Change out of those things and I’ll bring you some clean pyjamas.”

She was back a couple of minutes later with fresh clothes and bedlinen. Alice hated seeing the poor boy so embarrassed. She understood how terrifying the nearby explosions were to some of the men. Hadn’t she nearly jumped out of her skin many times on hearing them? And she hadn’t spent months sleeping on a fire step in a muddy trench with explosions going off all around her.

She helped him to wash quickly and change. “You do up your jacket and I’ll change this bed. You’ll be back in it in a jiffy.” She smiled at the volunteer nurse. “It’s Nurse Jenkins isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “I arrived last week. Still haven’t quite found my footing here.”

“You’re doing fine.”

The bed changed, Alice left the young private to be settled by Nurse Jenkins and turned her attention to Captain Woodhall. She gave him a thorough check to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. Determining to try and reduce his temperature, she dipped a flannel in a bowl of cool water, rung it out and placed it over his hot forehead. His eyes flickered briefly, then opened. He took a while to focus before gazing up at her.

“Where am I?” he asked, his voice croaky from lack of use.

Alice poured a little water into a glass and raising his head gently, held the drink to his lips. He took a few sips. Looking exhausted from the effort, he closed his eyes again.

She lowered his head and sat down on the chair next to his bed, waiting for him to gather the strength to address her again.

“Is this a casualty clearing station? No,” he answered without opening his eyes. “It can’t be, I didn’t think there were VADs at a CCS.”

“We’re welcome in many more places than we were a couple of years ago,” she said, straightening his sheet. “You have a bit of a fever.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Three days.”

His eyes scanned the room. He went to sit up, wincing in pain, before collapsing back on his bed.

Alice could see the panic on his face. She was used to men reacting in this way when they recovered consciousness. Their first reaction, once discovering that they were in a medical unit, was often wanting to ascertain why they were there and what damage had been done to their bodies.

“Rest, now,” she said calmly.

“What happened to me?” He went to sit up again, then must have thought the better of it and closed his eyes. “Everything hurts. Please, what are my injuries?”

Aware he would fret until he knew, Alice answered with as much reassurance as possible, “You’ve received a shrapnel wound to the side of your head,” she said. “You were lucky, it wasn’t very deep. You’ve also been shot in your side, near your hip. Again, you should be fine.” He visibly relaxed. Alice stood up. “That’s enough for now. You need to get as much rest as possible. You can ask more questions in the morning.”

“Thank you, Nurse,” he said, calmer. He opened his eyes. and Alice saw that they were the colour of dark chocolate. A kindness emanated from them, she liked him immediately. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Nurse Le Breton,” she said, smiling at him.

“You don’t sound French,” he murmured.

“I’m not,” she said, amused that he was so inquisitive, despite being drowsy and in pain. She was intrigued that his focus had gone from worrying about his injuries to her home. “I’m from Jersey.” He opened his mouth to speak again and she shook her head. “No more questions. You need your rest. Now, sleep.”

He closed his eyes again and she saw him relax slightly. But as Alice began walking away a bugle call sounded and her heart plummeted. Another convoy of broken men on their way for treatment. She looked around the tent, crammed with occupied beds. How were they supposed to fit in any more wounded?

She hurried outside to wait with the others for Matron to give her orders. Ambulance, after ambulance rolled into the dusty yard. How was it possible for these poor men to keep coming in? Soon there would be none left to fight at this rate.

“Nurse Le Breton, Nurse Fielding, you take the second ambulance over by Sister Brown.”

They hurried over to it, arriving as the driver opened the door. Several orderlies appeared to help carry the injured men. Alice took Sister Brown’s lantern, lifting it so she could inspect the soldier’s tag attached to his uniform jacket.

“Take him to Ward Two,” Sister instructed the orderlies. Lowering her voice so the semi-conscious soldier couldn’t hear, she added to Alice, “He needs to be away from the door, in one of the quieter beds. I’m not sure he’s going to make it.”

She nodded, handed Sister Brown’s lantern to Mary and followed the stretcher to the ward.

The following two soldiers weren’t as close to death as the first one, but both had bloody bandages around stumps on their legs.

“These men are to be taken to the Theatre Ward, as soon as possible. “The surgeon can check them and decide what he wants to do.”

The final stretcher was pulled from the back of the dusty ambulance. Alice forced a calm smile on her face when she gazed into his dirty, panic-stricken face. The bandage covering half his face was thick with layers of dressing, but still the blood was oozing through. She read his tag, but his face was the only injured part of him mentioned.

“Ward Seven?”

Sister Brown looked at her and nodded.

Of all the wards, Ward Seven was the one that Alice found the most difficult to deal with. She wasn’t sure why. After all, the men who had lost limbs were going to find it difficult to integrate into the outside world, too. Somehow though, the men with damaged faces, found it harder to cope than those who’d lost limbs. Alice supposed it was because people found it hard to look in the mirror and not recognise the person staring back.

She couldn’t help hoping their loved ones would put aside any misgivings about these men’s new physical situation to support them. It upset all the nursing staff when they heard of a fiancée calling off an engagement after seeing the result hot shrapnel had done to their loved one’s face.

The night was long and filled with the usual cries of pain, panic and horror, but Alice didn’t mind being on night duty, especially after a new influx of injured came to the station. The time flew by as she moved from bed to bed, assisting the sisters, or Matron.

Just after two in the morning, Alice was finishing redressing a leg wound. She enjoyed having established recognition from Matron Bleasdale and being allowed to carry out tasks usually only permitted to be done by qualified nurses.

“Nurse Le Breton,” one of the younger volunteers shouted, breathless from running to find her. “Doctor Sullivan needs you to assist in Theatre Two immediately.”

Alice stood up. Ordinarily she would never pass on work to a probationer, but this was an emergency. “This is nearly done,” she said handing over the bandage carefully. “You’ll need to finish it for me.”

Excitement coursed through Alice. Ever since joining the VADs she had dreamt of assisting during a surgery. This, though, was the first time she had been called to do so. She arrived at the theatre tent moments later, trying not to show her nervousness.

“Wash your hands in there,” Matron Bleasdale instructed, removing a blood-stained apron. “Hurry, now. The surgeon needs you to relieve the current nurse, she’s unwell.” She left Alice to prepare.

Alice quickly scrubbed and dried her hands. Pulling her apron straps over each shoulder she crossed them, fumbling with the material as she tied them in a bow at her back, before rushing in to the theatre.

“What kept you,” the surgeon barked, his black eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “I called for you long ago.”

She didn’t care to argue. “Sorry, Sir,” she said.

Alice had noticed how strained the surgeons seemed recently. The continuing arrival of patients increased the relentless surgeries each man had to perform. Alice was exhausted, with every muscle aching, but she could only imagine how they must be feeling. If only more tents and beds could be brought to the station, as well as more surgeons and nursing staff, she thought. Surely, they would be falling ill soon themselves, if they didn’t get some relief from the endless work.

“Hand me that clamp,” he said indicating the instrument he wanted. He then looked down on the operating table at the soldier, his chest opened on one side. “Blast. Another, now.”

Trying not to panic, Alice did as he asked. “Call another nurse to assist. We’re going to need more hands here.”

Alice went to leave and do as instructed.

“Bloody shout from the door. We don’t have time for you to fetch people. They’ll come to you.”

Alice nodded and went to the opening. Pulling back the canvas flap she called for someone to help.

Matron spun on her heels, glaring at her. “Nurse Le Breton, what is the meaning of this?”

Alice hadn’t seen her. “Doctor Sullivan’s, instructions,” she explained. “We need assistance here, now.”

Matron pointed to another nurse and waved her over. Alice didn’t wait to hear what was being said, but dropping the canvas returned to the operating table. She knew Matron might be a bit of a tyrant, but she was brilliant in an emergency. Seconds later, another nurse ran into the side room.

“I’m washing my hands, I’ll be there in a moment,” she called.

“Wadding,” the surgeon bellowed, ignoring her. “Lots of it.”

Alice grabbed a handful of the wadding, handing it to him.

“Hold it there.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it against the boy’s open wound.

She did as she was told, wondering if there was any chance the bleeding in the boy’s side could be stemmed. “It’s not stopping, Doctor,” she said, without thinking what she was doing.

“I can see that for myself, Nurse.” He continued working on the boy, concentration etched on his perspiring brow.

The patient began to convulse on the operating table and Alice held her breath. She wasn’t sure what to do and almost sighed with relief when they were joined by the other nurse.

“Where the hell have you been?” the doctor growled. “Here,” he said pointing for them to place their hands over the side of the open wound. “Hold him there. I need to think.”

They did as he said, not daring to look at him or each other. Alice wondered if the other nurse was shaking as much as she was right now. The soldier convulsed, once again and Alice’s bloodied hands slipped away from his side.

“I said hold it,” the surgeon roared, grabbing Alice’s wrists and pushing her hands against the torn bloody side. “Damn, this isn’t doing anything.”

He took her hands away and reaching inside the man’s wound, groaned. “Quick, the smallest clamp.”

Scrambling around on the metal tray to find the correct implement, Alice grabbed it, handing it to him. The two nurses watched in awe as the surgeon took a deep breath, visibly calmed down and closed his eyes, his two hands lost inside the bloody mess of the soldier’s side as he worked.

Finally, he withdrew his hands. “Yes, that’s it. We’ve managed to stem the bleeding.”

She wasn’t sure she had managed to do anything of the sort but was delighted to be included in his congratulatory delight.

“Can he be left like this?” she asked, relieved enough to forget herself.

“What? No, of course not,” the surgeon, looked shocked at her ridiculous question. “I’ve just bought the boy time, that’s all. We must clean up this mess inside him. I need to see the damage before I can close him up.”

Alice couldn’t see how that was possible. However, she had witnessed many miraculous actions by Doctor Sullivan, so trusted that he’d manage it somehow. She did as he instructed, giving the handsome surgeon an occasional side glance. He glowered back in concentration and she realised he was addressing her. “Sorry, Sir?”

He exhaled sharply. “Pay bloody attention. Apply the dressing, Nurse Le Breton. See to it that he is kept sedated for at least the next twelve hours. He needs fluids and must be kept still at all times. We do not need him back in surgery to stem a haemorrhage.”

“Yes, Sir.” Alice did as he asked. He left the theatre and she could hear him washing in the canvas room next door.

“You lucky bugger,” Mary whispered as she and Alice crossed paths later. “I heard you assisted Doctor Sullivan today.” She lowered her voice further. “I think he’s sweet on you.”

“Hush, Mary.” Alice frowned at her cheeky friend. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

She marched into the ward her face red with fury and embarrassment. What did Mary think she was doing, saying such things? She could start all sorts of unnecessary rumours. Alice couldn’t imagine the doctor even noticed her, beyond her skills as a nurse. She was glad of it, too.

She thought of Dr Sullivan’s deep voice and how she had cringed the first time she’d heard him addressing a patient. She had been shocked when he didn’t use a gentler approach. But having seen his expertise achieve almost the impossible, her feelings towards him had softened over the past year. Alice smiled; she had seen the other two surgeons deal with patients at the station, and neither had the harshness of Doctor Sullivan, nor his brilliance.

They barely had time to catch up with their ministrations when Matron announced that another convoy of injured men was on its way.

“Not again,” Mary groaned. “I don’t know how much more of this my poor feet will take.”

“Come along,” Alice said, thinking of how impressed she’d been by Doctor Sullivan’s dedication. “We can do this.”

“Once the beds and trolleys are ready for the new intake of men, I suggest you all find yourselves something to eat and have a cup of tea,” Matron took a deep breath. “I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

Alice and Mary returned to their ward to help move beds even closer together as more space was needed to allow further beds to be brought into the ward. Having made up the new beds and replenished the trolleys with implements, disinfectants and dressings, they went to the dining room for lunch.

“I heard one of the orderlies talking about a village — Guillemont, I think he said was the name,” Mary said quietly, as they poured strong tea into their cups. “He said a battle has been raging there for the last couple of days. I think these men could be the injured from there,” she said taking a sip of her steaming drink.

“I can’t imagine ever sleeping without hearing men’s screams in my dreams,” Alice admitted rubbing her eyes. “Sometimes I wish I could stay awake all night. Then I remember that I need my sleep to do what I must each day.”

Mary put down her cup and rubbed Alice’s forearm. “It is relentless, but it’s got to end sometime.”

They stared at each other. Both reading panic in the other’s eyes that they might be wrong.

Alice closed her eyes briefly, then opening them, forced a smile. “It will. You never know, maybe it’ll all end sooner than we expect.”

“Yes, it just might,” Mary said.

Alice knew they were fooling themselves, but if they remained positive then they were better placed to help the patients. “I wish they didn’t discharge them straight back to the trenches as soon as they were well.”

Mary didn’t reply immediately. She drank the remainder of her tea. “I can’t help wondering at the fruitlessness of it all.”

“That’s enough of that,” Matron snapped from behind them making them both jump and Mary spill her tea. “No feeble talk from my nurses,” she said. “I want you back at your ward now. The convoy will be here shortly.”

They stood up and cleared their plates and cups.

Alice waited for Matron to leave the room before exhaling. “I hate being caught out like that,” she said, embarrassed.

“Don’t you think she feels the same as us sometimes?”

Alice looked at Mary and shrugged. “I imagine so, but the difference between her and us is that she’d never allow her feelings to show.”

And neither should she, Alice decided. She was here to do a job and bleating about it wasn’t going to help anyone. She needed to buck up her ideas.

Reaching the other nurses and orderlies waiting on the wooden walkway, Alice heard the bugle announcing the arrival of the ambulances. First Matron stepped forward, followed by two nurses and two orderlies. Once they had been told which ward in which to take the initial casualty, Matron checked the next man, and so on, until it was Alice’s turn.

“Ward Four,” she said. Alice looked down at the conscious man who winced in pain as the orderlies lifted his stretcher from the back of the ambulance. She accompanied him across the wooden boards to the ward.

“We’re in here,” she said, aware she was stating the obvious, but not sure what else to say until she had discovered what his injuries were exactly.

Indicating the vacant bed next to Captain Woodhall, Alice checked the tag on the man’s jacket. “Corporal William Healy?”

“Yes, Nurse, that’s me,” he said, in a gentle southern Irish accent. He gazed around him.

He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was pale, thin, and, like most of the men who came here after spending months in the discomfort of the trenches, utterly exhausted.

“You have a gunshot wound to the right foot, I see,” she said, waiting while the orderlies lifted him carefully from the stretcher onto the bed.

“Yes, and stings something dreadful, it does.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She unbuttoned his dust encased jacket. “Let me help you off with this filthy uniform,” she said. “Then I can wash you and help you change into your pyjamas. You’ll be more comfortable then.”

“Thanks, nurse,” he said, gritting his teeth as she slowly worked his trousers down past his bandaged foot. He looked to his right and nodded at the captain in the next bed.

“Welcome to The Haven,” the captain said, smiling up at Alice. “Most of our nurses here are angels.” He lowered his voice. “Matron can be a bit of a tyrant, but I’ve noticed that her heart is in the right place.”

Alice was relieved to see the captain had improved dramatically since she’d last seen him. She went to speak to him, but two more injured soldiers were carried in to the large tent, diverting her attention. One was writhing in pain and Alice noticed Mary assisting a sister as she attempted to calm him. The two men next to her stopped talking, as both stared anxiously at the weeping casualty.

Alice emptied the corporal’s pockets and placed a photo, wallet and letters onto the small chair by his bed that he’d be sharing with Captain Woodhall. She dropped the trousers and jacket in a heap that a probationer would take away with a mound of other dirty uniforms.

“Poor sod,” the corporal said. “He was in my battalion. I wondered what had happened to him.”

“He’s here now,” Alice said, trying to sooth their concerns. “We’ll ask Sister to give him something for his pain shortly.”

“There’s far worse than that arriving,” Captain Woodhall said quietly.

“Thank you, Captain,” she shook her head. “I need to clean Corporal Healy. You can impart your survival tips afterwards.”

Alice washed and partially changed the corporal into pyjamas.

“I’m going to have to change this dressing,” she explained, concerned that the heat in his damaged foot indicated an infection might have set in to the gunshot wound. “If you lie back,” she said taking him gently by the shoulders and pushing against the freshly plumped pillow. “Then I can have a proper look.”

Taking a pair of large tweezers, Alice held her breath, nervous at what she would find. She gently pulled back the filthy dressing, relieved it didn’t stick to the wound. Dropping the once white gauze into a metal bowl, she began meticulously cleaning the area with hydrogen peroxide.

“Hell, that stings,” Corporal Healy grimaced, his eyes watering from the pain.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she said hating having to inflict more pain on him. “I’m afraid it’s necessary.”

“How is it looking Nurse?” he asked, moments later.

She suspected the pain of his wound must be intense. She moved his foot to the right, hearing him wince. “Sorry, Corporal. I think the bullet exited through your foot cleanly.”

“Don’t you worry Nurse,” he said. “You do what you must.”

Alice fixed a smile on her face. She was determined not to show how saddened she was that her suspicions were right. Infection had begun to swell the damaged area on that side. “I’m going to ask Doctor Sullivan to have a look at this,” she said, trying to instil positivity in him. “We need to ensure no fragments of bone are left in there that might hinder healing.”

Satisfied she had done all she could for now, Alice carefully placed clean gauze on his foot and finished dressing him.

“There you go,” she said returning his smile. “Try to rest. You must be exhausted after what you’ve been through.” Alice smoothed down her skirt. “I’ll leave you now. Tea should be here shortly.”

“Thanks, Nurse—”

“She’s Nurse Le Breton,” Captain Woodhall said, giving Alice a shy smile.

“I’ll leave you two to become acquainted,” she said, hoping her face wasn’t as red as she suspected it might be. Alice wished the rules about becoming too close to any of the patients wasn’t so absolute. She knew the captain would be discharged at some point, but she daren’t risk ruining any chance she might have of training to become a fully qualified nurse after this war ended.

She helped Mary wash and change her patient who had calmed down a little after receiving a morphine injection. These new arrivals always unsettled the patients, thought Alice. It was upsetting to witness those that had found comfort in the security of the hospital, to be reminded of what they would probably return to.

She glanced over at one patient, relieved to see one of the sisters soothing him. The recent amputation of his lower leg meant he had to be kept as still as possible. The last thing they needed was for him to haemorrhage. Alice doubted most of these men would ever come to terms with what they had experienced.

“Were you at Guillemont?” she heard the captain quietly ask Corporal Healy. “I heard it was particularly bad there.”

“Yes,” he hesitated. “It was a nightmare. We’ve been there since the third of September. That’s where I got this hole in my foot. Some bloody Hun caught me in the village, just as I was running for cover behind a wall.”

The captain frowned. “Many men down?”

The corporal shook his head and cleared his throat, his voice cracking as he answered. “Far too many. It was a bloodbath. Men were being mown down in their droves. I wonder if, in a hundred years, anyone will remember all the Irish blokes who lost their lives there this week?”

“I think about that often,” the captain admitted. “All of us cannon fodder. I can’t help thinking about all the families that will never be. Will future generations commemorate what we’ve done, or do their best to forget us?”

Alice wondered the same thing. She had never heard the captain speaking so frankly before, but he voiced what most of them must be thinking. It was only September and the war had been dragging on for over two years now. Unable to bear seeing the endless columns of names of the missing and fallen, Alice had stopped reading the papers months ago.

“How about you?” the corporal asked Captain Woodhall. “What brought you to this place?”

He touched the bandage on his head. “Thankfully, this is more of a graze than anything,” he said. “Could have been far worse.” They both looked over at two men on the other side of the ward, both with thick dressings covering one side of their faces and heads. “Also, a bullet sliced through my side, near my right hip.”

“I’m hoping this is a Blighty one,” Corporal Healy whispered. “My wife’s struggling to cope at home with the kids.”

“How many have you got?”

“Six. Five boys and a little girl,” he smiled, groaning as he reached to lift up a photo from his small selection of personal items. “My daughter, Kathleen’s only nineteen months old.”

Hearing the corporal talk about his children chilled Alice. What if he was to lose his leg to infection? She had heard about it happening too many times to count, men with families losing the ability to obtain gainful employment after losing a limb. Her concern for how these injured men and their families would survive after the war ended, kept her awake at night.

She hoped the corporal wouldn’t be one of them, not with such a large family relying on his earnings. She’d speak to the surgeon as soon as she finished helping Mary. Sister Brown would be furious if she discovered Alice had over-stepped her authority, but she couldn’t take a chance that his infection might be missed. If he needed surgery as soon as possible, and she was almost certain he did, she needed to speak up. She had seen how rapidly and uncontrollably infection could spread through these weakened men’s systems once it took hold.

“You got any kids?” She heard the corporal ask and glanced over at the two men again.

Captain Woodhall shook his head. “No. No kids.”

“Married?”

There was a hesitation before Alice heard him answer, “No. No wife, either.”

Alice looked at him then and their eyes met for a few seconds, before he turned away to answer another of the corporal’s questions. Something had happened to him, she could tell. But what? Had his fiancée called off their engagement, like she had done?

Spotting Matron standing in the entrance, Alice finished redressing a wound on another patient when a particularly loud bombardment exploded nearby. Alice’s heart pounded heavily and a few of the newer patients stared at her, their eyes wide with concern.

“It probably sounds closer because of the wind direction,” she said, recalling how this explanation had calmed her on her arrival. “We’re perfectly safe here.”

She was interrupted by shouting outside the ward. Alice walked as quickly as she could to find out the cause of the commotion. Two of the orderlies were restraining a young patient in the middle of a grand mal episode on the wooden walkway. Alice returned to the ward, grabbed a blanket and pillow and went back to help. She carefully raised the patient’s head and placed the pillow underneath. She didn’t want him banging his head, causing himself even more damage. His contorted body finally relaxed, but the man seemed barely conscious. She covered him with a blanket to keep him warm and glanced at the closest orderly.