Читать книгу An Orphan’s War - Molly Green - Страница 11

September 1940

If it hadn’t been for Anna’s kindness, making sure she wasn’t left alone on her time off, and cheering her up with her impersonations of some of the senior staff, Maxine didn’t think she would have made it through those first difficult weeks grieving for Johnny and feeling guilty for leaving her parents. But Anna, it seemed, refused to let anything get her down – not the notorious Sister Dawson who did her best to make the second-year nurses’ lives as miserable as she possibly could, nor the complaining patients, nor the horrific injuries they were constantly faced with. And after her first month, with Anna’s support, Maxine began to feel she might be a very small but worthy cog in the very large wheel that was St Thomas’.

At the start of the month she was sent to Female Chronic where the patients were mostly grannies who’d been put in cot-beds until they died. There was little to amuse them – they only lived for their sons’ and daughters’ visits that were all too brief, the grown-up children needing to get back to their own families before the blackout. Maxine felt sorry for the elderly patients, as many of them were having one-sided conversations with long-departed relatives. Most days Mrs Jason conversed happily with her son who’d fallen in Flanders. Afterwards she would dissolve in tears and Maxine would sit with her and hold her hand, letting her ramble on, even though she knew she would be reprimanded for wasting time if Staff Nurse walked in. The old lady’s only other bright moment was her nightly Ovaltine.

One evening Maxine was making Mrs Jason a cup, and one for herself and Bennett, the other night nurse, when she heard the distant throb of engines and at the same time the sirens went off. Her hand shook as though with the vibration and some of the liquid slopped over from Bennett’s cup.

‘German,’ Maxine breathed.

‘How can you tell?’

Even though it was almost dark, Maxine could see Bennett’s face had grown pale.

‘By the way the hum isn’t one continuous sound,’ Maxine answered, putting the cup down. As she did so there was the most tremendous bang, followed by the sound of an explosion and what sounded like the shattering of a thousand windows. Dear God, this was close. Her hand trembling, she banged the kettle down.

Elderly patients in their dressing gowns and slippers were wandering in from the ward next door, looking dazed. One man shouted, ‘We’ve been hit!’

What should she do? If another bomb fell a fraction closer, it could wipe out the whole ward. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead under her cap, and Maxine raised her hand to wipe them away. Her heart beat madly.

‘Stay here, Nurse Taylor, and keep the patients calm.’ It was Sister Mason. ‘I’m going to see where the damage is.’

Ovaltine forgotten, Maxine and Bennett briskly did the rounds of those patients who were still in bed, helpless as babies as they lay in their cots. Just as Maxine was trying to comfort an agitated Mrs Jason, the Home Sister stuck her head in the doorway.

‘I’m afraid the Nurses’ Wing has been hit.’ Her usual kindly expression was replaced by shock. ‘I’m just going to let the other wards know.’ She disappeared.

Maxine froze. Dear God, the Nurses’ Wing. Anna! She would be sleeping in their room – not on duty until the morning. Oh, Anna, please be safe. And the others.

‘Bennett, will you wait here in the ward while I go and see.’ Maxine was galvanised into action as she tossed the words over her shoulder. Against all the rules, she flew down the unlit corridors, where a wall of dust greeted her, and managed to catch up with a crowd of hospital workers as they were speeding towards the West Wing.

‘There may be people trapped,’ one of the doctors said. ‘We must be prepared for the worst.’

Smoke filled Maxine’s throat as they came upon a scene of horror. The Nurses’ Wing was a heap of bricks. She couldn’t see over the top of the pile to what had been the far wall. There was no sign of life, no shouts or moans – nothing. Everyone stood, eyes wide, trying to take it in. Some of the women were crying. The stench of something burning which she dared not … could not name … filled her nostrils. Anna! She screamed her friend’s name but no sound came from her lips, only the taste of dust on her tongue.

‘They didn’t stand a bloody chance,’ one man finally broke the eerie silence, anger coating his words.

‘Must have been a really high explosive to do so much damage,’ said another.

Muffled explosions now barely registered, Maxine’s head was so blocked with fear for Anna. In one of the corners where they were standing was a heap of fallen timbers, sparking and flaring even as she watched momentarily before she came to her senses and grabbed the nearest man’s arm. She pointed, fear and dust choking her as she stuttered, ‘Fire!’

‘I believe someone’s gone to call the fire department,’ he said grimly, turning to her, ‘but until they come we need to be sure there’s no one still alive.’ He lifted his chin. ‘ANYBODY HERE?’ he roared, his words bouncing on the rubble. ‘ANYBODY HERE?’

To Maxine’s joy, she heard female voices.

‘Here! Please help! We’re here!’ They were calling from all directions.

It was as though a nerve force suddenly held everyone together, giving them a purpose. Maxine rushed forward with the crowd, tearing bricks and mortar away to get under and behind the ruin the explosion had left. Anna, hold on. Hold tight. We’re coming to get you. Don’t give up, please, Anna. I’m here.

As if they’d heard her shout the words aloud, the others began calling, ‘Hold on, there. We’ll get you out.’

Minutes later the first nurse stumbled out to a tremendous cheer, but this girl was too tall to be Anna. One by one the nurses worked their way through a gap which had been blocked by a huge storage cupboard. Surely Anna would be the next nurse. But no matter how Maxine peered, the thick black dust made the nurses almost unrecognisable. Blood stained their pyjamas and faces and hands. One girl, who she’d thought for a wonderful moment was Anna, was bleeding from her arm, but all of them shook their heads, warding off any concern.

‘There are two nurses still left – they’re in a bad way,’ another nurse said, her short hair matted with blood. ‘Please help them.’

‘Have you seen Anna Redding?’ Maxine pleaded, strangling a sob and coughing as the dust caught in her throat.

The nurse shook her head.

‘They’ll be on the other side of the gap.’ A porter Maxine recognised sprang forward with two other men. She started to rush after them, but another man dragged her back.

‘You’ll only be in the way,’ he said not unkindly. ‘You’ll be needed when they’re all found.’

Maxine heard the pounding of feet. Men’s voices. Oh, thank God, the firemen were here.

‘Stand back,’ one of them ordered. ‘Clear some space.’

After what seemed like hours to Maxine, desperately trying to quell the nausea which threatened, the rescuers emerged carrying the two injured nurses between them. No sound came from the limp bodies. Neither of them was Anna.

‘Redding.’ Maxine’s eyes swam in frightened tears as she shook the arm of a plump-faced girl. ‘Anna Redding. Have you seen her?’

‘I wouldn’t know her.’

‘There are others still missing besides Redding,’ one girl with a gash on her forehead hissed.

Tears poured down Maxine’s cheeks. The worst, it seemed, had happened.

Matron made an official announcement the following morning.

‘Out of the thirty-two nurses who were sleeping in the West Wing last night when the bomb made a direct hit, I am thankful to announce that only four girls died, and one, Lois Jenkins, who is seriously injured but stable, and we are optimistic for her full recovery. That doesn’t decry the sacrifice those girls made, but it could have been even worse. We could have lost all or many more of our wonderful nurses.’ She paused. ‘Here are the names of those who died.’

Maxine held her breath while Matron adjusted her glasses.

‘Patricia Cooper, Jane Deveraux and Sally Grimshaw and Belinda Brown.’

Maxine stood alert, her nerves taut. Anna wasn’t on the list. Why? Where was she? A flicker of hope died at Matron’s next words.

‘Unfortunately, we haven’t found Anna Redding. We can only presume she died, as several of the nurses confirmed she was in the quarters with the others at the time the bomb went off. I will inform you when I hear of any further news. In the meantime, in case the Germans decide to have another shot at us tonight, I have asked the cleaners to prepare the basement. All of us, the whole hospital – except those on duty – and I mean doctors, nurses, cleaners, cooks, servicemen, and everyone in between – is to sleep down there tonight. I will inform you if there are to be any further changes.’

It wasn’t until the afternoon that Anna was pulled out of the rubble. Like the other four nurses, she’d been buried alive. Maxine swallowed the bile that kept coming up into her throat before she fled to the toilet and vomited until her stomach had nothing left to bring up. And then she wept. She wept for Anna and she wept for Johnny. Two wasted young lives within months of one another.

‘I’ll never forget either of you,’ she whispered, her hands folded together in prayer.

Maxine lay still, wondering why every bone ached. She stretched out her legs, grimacing as pain shot through them. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Her mouth felt gritty, dusty, stale. Where was she? What was that strange odour? Something rancid. So strong it turned her stomach.

She opened her eyes and lifted her neck, twisting it this way and that, hardly taking in the sight that met her stare. Fully dressed bodies were lying inches away from her, still sleeping, some of them actually snoring. Of course. She was in the basement of the hospital. Matron had ordered everyone to spend the night here, leaving only a skeletal staff above.

Maxine managed to raise herself to a sitting position and took in the incredible scene. Surgeons were pressed up against tea ladies and maids; Dr Shaw, who always barked his orders and was often rude to the nurses, had his head on the shoulder of the young trainee nurse in her ward. She wondered what he’d think when he woke up and realised who he’d slept with last night. Maybe he’d get the message that he wasn’t quite as important as he liked to make out. She couldn’t help the smile which hovered over her lips … that is, until she remembered poor Anna. Her dear friend. How she was going to miss her.

It was still early but several people were stirring and Maxine struggled to her feet.

‘What a night,’ John, one of the porters said, flexing his arms above his head and yawning.

‘Not the most comfortable, I have to say,’ someone else said. ‘But we’re the lucky ones.’

‘You can say that again.’

More staff were scrambling to their feet, giving one another wan smiles, probably feeling as foolish as Maxine that they’d spent the night in such proximity with one another, and now it was over they needed to get on with their normal duties.

And she needed to go back to her patients.

Two nights later, wailing sirens sent cold shivers down Maxine’s back as she desperately tried to help the patients to safety before terrifying explosions wiped out two whole blocks of the hospital. Wards were totally destroyed and Matron ordered everyone to transfer what seemed like the whole hospital to the basement.

Everyone had to work at top speed with the blackout still in strict force, even in the basement. Carrying a pile of linen, Maxine had almost careered into a wall.

‘It was those painted animals that saved me from a nasty collision,’ she told Bennett at breakfast next morning. ‘They certainly showed up in the dark.’

‘Oh, you’ve spotted the White Rabbits,’ Bennett laughed. ‘Bloody ingenious, if you ask me. Some chap, I think it was, painted them on the wall for just that reason – to save us all smashing into it.’ She swallowed a spoonful of porridge. ‘I see you’re down for the children’s ward for the next month – rather you than me. I hear the Staff Nurse is awful.’

‘I particularly asked for the transfer.’ Maxine smiled at Bennett’s raised eyebrows. The children’s ward was always the least favourite among the nurses, mainly because of the children’s distress caused by their parents either coming on visiting days and stirring them up, or not appearing at all. She didn’t bother to explain that she’d always wanted to work with children.

Staff Nurse Mayfield ordered Maxine to bath the children who were able to get out of bed. Her first patient was a scruffy, undernourished waif who had just been admitted with a body full of scabs, looking suspiciously like the results of chickenpox. If it was, at least now the spots were scabs he wouldn’t still be infectious. She would show them to Sister Mayfield after his bath.

‘You’re a girl and not s’posed to see my willy,’ the child shouted when she pulled his filthy underpants down.

‘I’m a nurse, so it doesn’t count,’ Maxine told him, biting her lip to hide a smile.

‘Why doesn’t it?’ His round blue eyes regarded her.

‘Because we’re trained especially to help children to get better.’

‘I don’t wanna go in the water. Mum never makes me. I don’t like it.’ His eyes were wide with fear.

‘We have to clean those nasty scabs or they’ll get worse and start itching and spreading.’

She quickly lifted him into the bath, and taking no notice of his screams, she soaped and rinsed him.

‘I can get out myself,’ he said, his face contorted as he struggled to put his thin legs over the side of the bath.

‘Well, you’re a big boy.’ Maxine smiled as she dried him. ‘And you’ve done well.’ She dabbed his tears away. ‘Can you tell me your name?’

‘Course I can,’ he said scornfully. ‘It’s John Smiff – but Mum calls me Johnny.’

Her eyes filled as she heard the little lad’s name and a tear rolled down her cheek. Quickly, she brushed it away.

‘Why are you crying, Miss?’ Johnny looked up at her, his eyes still wet. ‘Have they said you’ve got to have a bath now?’