Nightingales at War (17 page)

KATHLEEN FOX WAS
in her office the following afternoon when the Germans launched their Blitzkrieg over London.

The first siren went off just before four o’clock, while she was having a meeting with the Clerk of Works about replacing the boiler in the nurses’ home.

‘Not again!’ Mr Philips sighed. ‘This is getting to be a blessed nuisance, isn’t it?’

‘It is indeed.’ Over the past week or so, they had become used to the drone of the sirens as the evening approached, followed by the distant sound of aircraft and even a few explosions.

‘I expect the south coast is due for another battering,’ Mr Philips went on. ‘Poor devils. Still, I daresay they’re used to it by now.’

Outside in the courtyard Kathleen heard the sound of the nurses going through their evacuation procedure, spurred on by the booming tones of Miss Hanley. All the patients who were well enough took refuge on mattresses under their beds, while those who were very poorly were shifted, bed and all, into an underground passage beneath the office block. It was a tiresome business, especially when the All Clear usually sounded just moments after the last bed had been wheeled into place.

‘I’d better go and inspect the wards, make sure everything is all right.’ She started to get up, but Mr Philips stopped her.

‘We’ve got a bit of time, surely?’ he said, helping himself to another biscuit. ‘Might as well finish our meeting, since we’re here.’ He smiled benignly. ‘My dear Matron, don’t look so worried. We’re as safe as houses here.’

No sooner had he said the words than there came the enormous roar of engines overhead.

‘They’re closer than usual, I think.’ Kathleen got up and went to the window to look.

It was a fine September day, and there, high in the cloudless sky, were hundreds of glistening specks. As they drew closer, Kathleen realised they were planes, flying in formation, bombers hemmed in by fighters like bees around their queen.

Mr Philips came up behind her. He let out a low whistle. ‘Bless my soul,’ he murmured.

There was a tremendous crash, and the next thing Kathleen knew she was prostrate on the floor, Mr Philips lying over her, crushing her beneath his considerable weight.

‘Perhaps we should put our meeting off until later,’ he said, clambering to his feet and brushing himself down while he tried to cling to his last shred of dignity. ‘Bit close for comfort, if you ask me.’

He was right. It was as if the bombers were aiming straight for them. Crash after crash shook the building around her as Kathleen toured the wards to make sure everyone was safe. The nurses and VADs were doing their best to keep up the patients’ spirits, smoothing down beds and serving tea, wearing their tin hats over their caps.

Even Sister Holmes seemed slightly rattled as she went between the beds, checking everything was in place.

‘All present and correct, Matron,’ she reported briskly.

‘Very good, Sister.’ Kathleen checked her watch. ‘And no ill effects on the patients?’

‘Not at all, Matron. Between you and me, I think some of them are quite enjoying the excitement.’ Sister Holmes flinched slightly as a crash overhead showered her immaculate uniform with plaster dust.

Mr Cooper caught up with Kathleen as she made her way down to Casualty.

‘Grim, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘Very,’ she agreed. ‘Let’s hope we get the All Clear soon.’

‘I’m not sure we will, Matron.’ He looked apprehensive. ‘Have you seen what’s happening out there?’

‘I haven’t had the chance to take a good look yet. Is it as bad as it sounds?’

‘It’s horrendous. There are fires burning all over the East End. They must have been aiming for the docks, but they’ve destroyed everything in their path. It’s like hell out there.’

Kathleen shuddered. ‘I’m on my way to Casualty now to see what needs to be done.’

‘I’ll walk over with you. By the way, I’ve asked for volunteers, and a dozen students are coming in to help. They’re prepared to stay all night, if need be. They might as well. I shouldn’t think anyone will sleep through this,’ he added grimly.

In Casualty some of the medical students had already arrived, most of them in a state of high excitement, as if they were in the middle of a great adventure.

‘I’ve heard they’ve had to send for pumps from the rest of London, to try and put out the East End fires,’ one said.

‘Did you notice that awful smell? I thought it was a gas attack until I realised it was a paint store burning at the docks,’ another put in.

‘They’ve got it worse in Silvertown, so I hear. It’s gone up like a rocket.’

Mr Meredith had come from a cricket match, still in his whites. ‘It’s too bad,’ he complained. ‘Just as I was coming in to bat, too.’

Ambulances were already lining up in the yard, having battled their way through the blazing streets. In Casualty Sister Dawson looked dazed but calm among the chaos as she and her nurses worked their way through the patients, assessing their injuries and sending them off to be treated. The benches were filled with shocked, blackened faces; people sat huddled in blankets, with bandaged heads and crudely splinted limbs.

Dr McKay emerged from his consulting room and went over to speak to Helen Dawson. Kathleen saw the look that passed between them, and the way his hand brushed hers in a quick, tender gesture of reassurance.

She didn’t begrudge them their little secret. She only wished she had someone to hold her hand, too. Looking around her, she felt the terrible weight of responsibility weighing down her shoulders.

After she’d talked to Helen and satisfied herself that all was well, she headed up to the roof.

Mr Cooper was right, it was quite a sight. The river seemed to be on fire, turned to a crimson ribbon by the reflection of the countless fires that blazed along its banks. To the east, the jagged remnants of buildings were illuminated horribly against the red glow of the sky, and the air was filled with thick smoke and the endless jangling of fire bells. It was like a vision of hell.

She spotted a familiar figure on the other side of the roof, her tall, solid build silhouetted against the fierce, bright sky. Miss Hanley stood to attention, her tin hat planted squarely on her head, armed with her stirrup pump as she scanned the horizon.

She had been on fire-watching duties every night for the past week. Even on the nights when there was no sign of a bomber in the sky, Miss Hanley had insisted on coming up to the roof to watch out for incendiaries.

‘It’s my duty, Matron,’ she’d said stolidly when Kathleen tried to persuade her to come down. ‘I can’t desert my post.’

She had plenty to keep her busy tonight, Kathleen thought. It seemed as if the whole world was on fire.

She left without speaking to Miss Hanley, and went back downstairs to the operating theatre, where Mr Cooper and Dr Jameson were already busy. Matron caught Sister Theatre as she skimmed past with a tray of dressings.

‘How are you getting on?’ she asked.

Poor Sister Theatre looked as if she might collapse. ‘It would go a great deal faster if we had some help,’ she admitted frankly. ‘We could use the third operating theatre if we had another scrub nurse. But the ones I’ve been sent don’t have the experience.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Kathleen offered promptly.

‘Oh, Matron, would you? It would be such a help.’ Sister Theatre looked anxious. ‘But won’t you be needed elsewhere?’

‘Not at the moment. Everyone seems to be coping very well.’ In truth, she was beginning to feel rather useless, wandering from place to place when everyone else was so busy. ‘It’s been a while since I worked in Theatre, but if I can be of any use to you . . .’

‘I’ll get one of the VADs to sort you out with a cap and gown,’ Sister Theatre said promptly.

For the next few hours, Kathleen assisted Mr Cooper as he treated crushed limbs, set bones and stitched up gaping wounds. They worked quickly and steadily until sometime after midnight, when there was a sudden crump sound over their heads and everything went black.

Everyone froze. In the darkness, Kathleen heard Mr Cooper’s voice, muffled behind his mask. ‘What the devil is going on?’

‘I think we must have been hit, sir,’ Mr Jessop the anaesthetist replied. ‘It’s taken out the electricity cable.’

‘Well, I hope they sort it out soon, before I stitch this abdomen up the wrong way,’ Mr Cooper replied calmly.

A moment later, a VAD arrived bearing two hurricane lamps. Across the operating table, Kathleen caught Mr Cooper’s blue eyes twinkling over his mask.

‘Candlelight, eh?’ he remarked dryly. ‘How romantic.’

By half past four the following morning, thankfully the bombing had abated and the final All Clear sounded.

Kathleen was shaking and exhausted as she made her way back to her office to be greeted by Miss Hanley, looking entirely unruffled and none the worse for spending the whole night on the roof in the middle of an inferno.

‘Good morning, Matron,’ she greeted her. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, please.’ Kathleen sank down behind her desk. The inkwell lay on its side and papers were scattered all over the floor. Was it really only a few hours ago she and Mr Philips had been calmly discussing the new boilers? It felt as if the whole world had changed since then.

‘It sounds as though Jerry’s decided to go home,’ Miss Hanley remarked, as she poured them each a cup.

‘And not a moment too soon,’ Kathleen agreed.

‘Fortunately we don’t seem to have sustained a great deal of damage apart from the loss of electricity,’ Miss Hanley said. ‘And at least the emergency generator is working now.’

Another explosion crashed in the distance and it was all Kathleen could do not to fling herself under her desk. But Miss Hanley didn’t spill a drop of tea.

The woman has nerves of steel, Kathleen thought.

‘I shall have a meeting with Mr Philips today, and see what can be done,’ Kathleen said. ‘Let’s hope we can get everything back in order soon.’

‘Until the next time,’ Miss Hanley said darkly.

Kathleen frowned. ‘Don’t you think we’ve seen the last of it?’ she asked.

Miss Hanley sent her a wise, weary look over the rim of her cup.

‘Oh, Matron, I don’t think it’s even begun,’ she said.

AS DAWN BROKE
and the bombing subsided, Dora was waking up with her family in the public shelter in Victoria Park.

Not that she had been allowed a wink of sleep. The shelter was crammed with people, so many there wasn’t room for everyone to lie down or even sit. Dora had been lucky enough to find a small space for her and the twins to settle in, but other poor souls had been forced to stand all night, crushed up against each other as the bombs came down around them. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the brick walls oozed damp, and some places were ankle deep in dank, cold water. Added to that the overpowering stench of unwashed bodies, and the overflowing buckets behind a thin curtain that served as the only toilet, and it was a miracle any of them had survived the night.

Dora had tried not to show her own fear for Danny’s sake, hiding her nerves and trying not to flinch as the planes came lower and louder, and each crump of bombs seemed to come nearer and nearer. But the twins had picked up on her underlying terror. They clung to her, whimpering and fractious, and nothing she could do would settle them. Danny, meanwhile, sat hunched, his arms wrapped around his knees, face buried, quivering like a nervous racehorse and humming the same song, ‘You Are My Sunshine’, over and over again to comfort himself.

‘Bloody hell, don’t you know any other songs?’ exclaimed an irritable man beside them.

‘You leave him alone!’ Dora snapped back. ‘Can’t you see he’s frightened?’

‘We’re all bloody frightened,’ the man grumbled, but he didn’t say any more. It was just as well. The mood Dora was in, she would have gone for him. Fear and sleeplessness had made her nerves as taut as piano wire.

And she wasn’t the only one either. Around her, all she could hear was ill-tempered bickering.

It was a huge relief when the All Clear sounded, and they tumbled out of the shelter into the pale dawn light.

‘Right, that’s it,’ Nanna declared, wincing as she stretched her cramped limbs. ‘I ain’t spending another night in that place. If my time’s up, I want to go in the comfort of my own bed.’

‘That’s if you’ve got a bed any more,’ someone said. ‘From the sound of what was coming down all night, I reckon we’ll be lucky if there’s anything left.’

Danny whimpered, and Dora put her arm around him. ‘Come on, Dan, it ain’t going to be that bad,’ she said, even though her heart was in her mouth at the thought of what they might find waiting for them.

Little Alfie was indignant. ‘What about Octavius? What if he’s been blown up?’

‘Let’s go and see what’s what before we start getting ourselves in a state, shall we?’ Rose Doyle said.

Dora hardly recognised the landscape around her as they trudged back to Griffin Street. The dawn light barely penetrated the thick, choking fog of smoke, ash and dust from the fallen houses. It was as if she’d found herself tipped into a strange, ruined land, full of shattered buildings. People walked in disbelief among the piles of rubble that had once been homes. Even the firemen and the ARP wardens looked stunned and exhausted. On the corner of Brigg Street, two First Aid workers were searching the ruins of a collapsed house, grimly dragging oilcloth bags.

‘Wh-what are they looking for?’ Danny asked.

‘They’re rescuing people, I expect,’ Little Alfie said wisely.

‘That’s right, ducks. They’re rescuing people,’ Dora said. No need to upset anyone with the truth, she decided.

They turned the corner on to Griffin Street and Dora let out the breath she’d been holding all the way from Victoria Park.

‘There, what did I tell you?’ she said to Danny. ‘All safe and sound.’

‘Not all,’ Nanna said grimly. ‘Looks like the Prossers have caught it.’

The Prossers’ house had taken the force of a blast. It was as if one wall had been ripped away by a giant claw, leaving the patterned wallpaper on the remaining wall exposed and vulnerable.

‘Oh, those poor people!’ Dora’s mother was instantly sympathetic. ‘As if they haven’t already suffered enough, losing their son.’

‘It’s cruel,’ Nanna agreed, shaking her head.

For a moment they were all silent in their sympathy for their neighbours. But they were interrupted when Little Alfie, who had been rummaging in their backyard, gave a joyful cry.

‘Octavius is safe! Look, the tin bath landed over him.’

‘Oh, well, that’s something to be thankful for, ain’t it?’ Nanna muttered under her breath. ‘Poor Mr and Mrs Prosser ain’t got a home to go to, but at least the bleeding rabbit is all right!’

On the other side of the street, Mr and Mrs Prosser were in the middle of an argument with an ARP warden.

‘I’m telling you, you can’t go near it. It ain’t safe,’ he was telling them.

‘But all my belongings are in there!’ Mrs Prosser was trying to be brave, but tears were etching tracks down her grimy face. ‘Everything I have, all my memories . . .’

‘There’s nothing I can do about that,’ the warden insisted. ‘You’ve got to clear off.’

‘Clear off where?’ Mr Prosser said. ‘This is our home.’

‘You’ll have to call into the relief office,’ the ARP warden said. He reminded Dora of Mr Hopkins the Nightingale’s Head Porter with his stern, officious manner. ‘They’ll tell you where the nearest rest centre is.’

‘I ain’t interested in any rest centre!’ Mrs Prosser plonked herself down on an upturned dustbin, her arms folded. ‘I’ve told you, I ain’t leaving here.’

‘We’ll have to do as he says, love.’ Mr Prosser spoke gently to his wife. ‘Don’t look like we’ve got much choice.’

‘But all my memories are in that house.’ Mrs Prosser looked up at her husband, tears shimmering in her eyes. ‘All the photos of our boy . . .’

‘Come in and have a cup of tea,’ Rose Doyle offered. ‘You look like you could do with one. Then we can sort out what you’re going to do next.’

Mr Prosser nodded. ‘Thanks, Rose.’

As they traipsed into the house, Nanna turned to Dora and said, ‘I suppose this means we’ll have to make room for two more waifs and strays.’

‘I reckon you’re right,’ Dora agreed. Her mum could never turn her back on anyone in trouble, whoever they were.

But looking at Mrs Prosser’s tearful face, it seemed it would take more than tea and sympathy, or even a bed for the night, to make up for everything she’d lost.

After they’d had their tea and she’d made sure Danny and the twins were settled, Dora prepared to go to work.

Nanna was outraged. ‘You mean to tell me you’re going out after what’s happened?’

‘They’ll be expecting me.’

‘But half the East End’s in ruins!’

‘All the more reason why I should go, ain’t it?’ Dora said. ‘There are bound to be some casualties, after last night.’

‘She’s right,’ her mother put in. ‘I reckon they’ll need her at that hospital.’

‘And we need her here!’ Nanna insisted. ‘What if they start dropping bombs again? What are we going to do then?’

‘They won’t,’ Dora said. ‘I reckon they’ve done all the damage they’re going to do.’

‘Well, I don’t think much to it.’ Nanna folded her arms across her chest, a sure sign of her disapproval. ‘A family should be together at a time like this. Blood’s thicker than water, so they say. I don’t know what you’d do if anything happened to us and you weren’t here,’ she said darkly.

‘Nothing’s going to happen to us, Mum,’ Rose Doyle said. ‘You get yourself off to work, love, and take no notice of your nan.’

‘Oh, no, don’t take any notice of me,’ Nanna grumbled. ‘I’ve only been on the earth seventy years. What do I know?’

All the beds in the Male Acute ward were occupied again, but Dora was met at the doors by Sister Holmes, who told her to report to Casualty.

‘I’m not saying we couldn’t do with you, but their need is greater than ours at the moment,’ she said.

She was right, too. As Dora crossed the yard, there was a line of ambulances waiting outside the Casualty Hall. Inside, the rows of wooden benches were filled with people nursing various wounds, or huddled under blankets. Women from the WVS moved around them, handing out cups of tea and sandwiches.

Dora found Helen propped against the door to one of the consulting rooms. She looked as shell-shocked and weary as the patients in the waiting room, her brown eyes circled by purple rings of exhaustion. The lacy strings of her bonnet drooped loosely under her chin.

She managed a smile when she saw Dora. ‘Goodness, you’re a sight for sore eyes! How was your night?’

‘Better than yours, by the look of it.’ Dora’s gaze fell to her friend’s blood-spattered apron. ‘Have you slept at all?’

‘I think I dropped off for half an hour just after dawn, but I can’t remember.’ She rubbed her face. ‘Oh, Dora, you wouldn’t believe it. It’s been utter chaos here. They’ve had three theatres on the go, and they’ve all been working flat out all night.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Dora said. ‘Hitler’s taken a right old chunk out of the East End. Whole streets have just gone.’

Helen shuddered. ‘Those poor people.’

They were interrupted by one of the VADs, a pert-looking blonde. In contrast to everyone else’s bedraggled appearance she looked as if she’d enjoyed a good night of beauty sleep with her fresh face and platinum curls tucked under her cap.

‘Excuse me, Sister, but Ainsley hasn’t reported for duty,’ she said.

Helen frowned. ‘Hasn’t she? That isn’t like her.’ She looked at Dora. ‘Oh,God, I do hope nothing’s happened to her.’

‘Where does she live?’

‘Down by the docks, I think.’

Dora’s heart sank. ‘In that case, I’m afraid something might well have happened,’ she said.