A Liverpool Lass (37 page)

‘I’d love a wash,’ she admitted. ‘I just hope I don’t fall asleep on you!’

‘Who cares?’ Maggie said, smiling as she picked up the empty feeding cup. ‘Nurse McDowell, I think you’re on the road to recovery!’

It was another week before Nellie was able to eat an ordinary meal and stay awake for more than an hour, but by then she was so much better that Sister decided to move her out of the small side-ward.

‘You can’t go back to your billet, but you can go into Ward Five, where the other nurses have been put,’ she said. ‘You’ll recover quicker with people around you.’

Emma had been moved out two days before, but Lucy was still very ill. She had periods when she was conscious and knew where and who she was, but then she would plunge back into feverish dreams once more, her temperature would soar and nothing the nurses did seemed to give her any relief.

‘What about Lucy, Sister?’ Nellie asked anxiously. ‘Isn’t it better that I’m here? If she needs help I can either call out or fetch someone.’

Sister shook her head.

‘Lucy is fighting a battle which only she can win,’ she said soberly. ‘We will do our best, but ... ’

‘Then I really should stay,’ Nellie argued. ‘Surely I can be of some help?’

But Sister’s word was final. Nellie was moved to Ward Five and within twenty-four hours she was told that Sister had been struck down.

‘She’s forty, and she’s been nursing all her life. She’s tough,’ some of the nurses said, but others feared for the woman who had kept them – and many wounded men – going for so long.

Maggie, who seemed immune to the infection, came to and from the small ward with news of her patients. She was sanguine about Lucy’s chances, but clearly deeply worried over Sister. Nellie, feeling better with every day that passed, was talking about going onto the wards again and hoping to be able to help Maggie out, but Matron still insisted that she have her full convalescence first.

‘I don’t mind, in a way,’ Nellie said to Emma as they sat together, sewing. They had been given heaps of sheets and told to sew shrouds, for the men were still dying of the Spanish ’flu, though not in such great numbers as at first. ‘Did you know I was hurrying back to the hospital when I was first taken ill because I’d had a worrying letter about my sister? Our aunt had died and the landlord was making trouble for Lilac. Well, I’ve had another letter since. She’s gone into service with some wonderful people, they’re letting her continue her education but she’s safer with them than she could possibly be at home. So I’m not too anxious about her. But since I am here, I feel I ought to be nursing, not just sitting around getting better.’

‘And sewing shrouds,’ Emma said gloomily. ‘Honestly, what a thing to ask us to do! You can’t help thinking ... well, you know what I mean.’

‘I do. I’m just jolly thankful I’m sewing them and not wearing one,’ Nellie said frankly. Because it was a cold day they were sitting round the wood fire, toes held out to the flames, whilst outside the snow tapped on the panes. Christmas had passed whilst Nellie was delirious; she had not missed it, had not given it a
thought and now January was more than half over. She put down her work and picked up another log from the basket, then lay it on the glowing embers. ‘Just think, Em, in another five days Sister Francis says we may wrap up warmly and go as far as the canteen and have a proper meal, sitting at a proper table.’

‘It’ll be nice,’ Emma said. She put down her sewing and rubbed her eyes. ‘You think you’re so much better, you want to do more and more, and then you sew one seam and you start to ache again.’

‘I know. I wrote a letter to Stuart and then kept crying,’ Nellie said, genuinely puzzled. ‘But he’s on his way home, I expect, at least he’s much safer than before, so why on earth should I cry?’ She finished her seam, oversewed it and laid the work aside. ‘Look, I’m going up to Ward Five to have a word with Maggie, see how Lucy is. She must have turned the corner by now.’

‘Didn’t you know?’ Another girl leaned forward, laying down her own work for a moment. ‘Maggie’s ill. She’s probably got the ’flu too.’

‘Oh no, not Maggie! Why, she was marvellous with us ... she’s nursed so much ’flu I’d have thought she was immune.’

‘Well, it may not be ’flu, it may just be exhaustion, but she’s in bed and she’s in the side ward where Lucy is. Melissa Brown was moved out of there early this morning; she said it was to make room for Maggie Netherwood.’

Nellie got to her feet.

‘I’m going up there,’ she said firmly. ‘Poor Maggie ... she worked like a slave over us.’

‘I’ll come too,’ Emma said. ‘Wait for me!’

The two of them hurried up the room. Most of the other patients were up for at least part of each day here, but they were all lethargic still, slow-moving, easily
tired. Several girls spoke to the two as they hurried along and everyone wanted to be remembered to Maggie, who had nursed most of them at some stage or other.

They reached the long ward; soldiers sat up on their elbows and called out to them.

‘Sister, you look much better!’ ‘You comin’ back soon, Sister?’ ‘Oh, Nurse, we ’aven’t ’alf missed ya!’

The two girls replied in kind, then went to have a word with Sister Francis, taking temperatures down the end of the ward. She was happy for them to visit the side ward, particularly as she was temporarily without a nurse.

‘Nurse Abbott has gone to fetch today’s milk,’ she said. ‘They forgot to deliver my usual supply. I miss Nurse Netherwood very much, she really has a way with fever patients.’

‘That’s very true,’ Nellie said feelingly. ‘She did wonders for all of us. We’ll come back for a word when we’ve seen them, then, Sister.’

The two girls walked back along the ward and into the corridor, then slipped into the smaller side ward.

Lucy lay on her back, propped up by pillows. She was sleeping, breathing heavily, the breath almost rattling in her throat. Nellie noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the yellowy skin, but she only patted the bed lightly as she passed it. She was anxious about Maggie.

The other girl lay as Lucy had, her head sideways so that her cheek rested on the pillow. A tube led from a blood-bottle on the stand down into her wrist. They were giving her a transfusion, evidently. Nellie knew that in cases of extreme weakness a blood transfusion sometimes helped.

‘Maggie? You poor dear, that you should get it when
you worked so hard to get us well again! Is there anything you want?’ Maggie’s eyes flickered open. Her cheeks were waxy but Nellie could feel the heat of her from a foot away.

‘What ... oh, Nellie!’

‘Would you like a little drink?’ Nellie said, immensely heartened by the other girl’s response. ‘Sister’s on the main ward, but she said we could give her a hand just for a minute.’

‘Drink?’ Maggie said vaguely. ‘Well, there’s always lemonade.’

‘I’ll get some,’ Nellie said eagerly. She turned to Emma, smiling broadly. ‘She must be better ... I’ll just run up the ward and ask Sister if she’s got any lemonade made up. If not I’ll squeeze the lemons myself. I remember how I enjoyed the lemonade when I began to improve.’

‘No, I’ll go,’ Emma said. ‘Nellie, love, I don’t think Lucy’s so good. Stay and have a talk to her – see if you can get her to agree to some lemonade too. She’s been sick a long time.’

Nellie swung round at once and went and knelt by Lucy’s bed.

‘Lucy? Lu, my dear, it’s Nellie. Would you like a drink of lemonade? Emma’s just gone to get some.’

Lucy’s heavy lids lifted slowly. Her dark eyes were lustreless, still dry from the fever. She licked pale lips.

‘Nell? Is that you?’

‘Yes, it’s me, love. Don’t you recognise me?’

‘I ... I can’t see you; it’s so dark and ... and thick,’ Lucy said in a tiny, painfully hoarse whisper. ‘Where’s Maggie? She’s been so good.’

‘She’s not here right now – she’s off duty. But I’m come to look after you instead,’ Nellie said. She tried to keep her voice steady but Lucy’s words had shaken
her. She stroked the heavy hair off Lucy’s thin, yellowy forehead with a hand that trembled suddenly. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon be well again.’

‘Nellie, when you go home, will you see Mother and Father for me?’

‘You’ll be coming with me, when I go,’ Nellie said robustly. ‘You’re going to get better, our Lu!’

‘And you’ll write to Sid? I liked him ever so much, Nell, but it was hard, because of Johnnie.’

‘Of course I’ll write to him, but you’ll be writing yourself in a few ... ’

Her voice trailed off. Lucy’s lids had slowly drooped over her eyes and her mouth had slackened. She’s asleep, Nellie thought gladly; poor soul, she needed her sleep, she had fought this dreadful fever longer than any of them, she needed all the rest she could get.

She patted the thin hand, then stopped. She looked closer. Oh God, she could see no movement of Lucy’s breast, that hoarse, uneven breathing ... it had stopped!

She flew across the little room and out into the corridor. The door crashed noisily shut behind her. Sister, emerging from the main ward, looked at her in surprise, her eyebrows rising sharply.

‘What’s happened, nurse? As you know, we like to keep our patients as quiet and serene as possible ... ’

‘Oh Sister, come quick! I think Lucy ... Nurse Bignold ... oh please come!’

Emma, returning with a jug of lemonade, followed them into the small side ward. Sister leapt at Lucy, trying to sit her up further, snapping orders at the others. Fetch the oxygen cylinder over, call for Doctor Simmonds, get me a saline drip!

The flurry lasted seconds, then Sister lay Lucy down on the bed again, adroitly removing all the extra pillows.

‘She’s gone,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think she could recover, she’d fought so long and hard. But it’s always a dreadful shock when a girl you’ve worked with and nursed with all your skill passes on.’

Nellie stood at the foot of the bed whilst Emma dragged the screens around and Sister pulled the sheet up over Lucy’s head. Her last glimpse of her friend was of a face like a colourless mask, with no hint of the lively, brave young woman she had known and grown to love.

‘Peace at last,’ Sister said quietly. She took the chart off the end of the bed and there was a finality about it which underlined what had just happened in Nellie’s mind. ‘She fought so hard, like a little tiger, but she was tired, as we all are, and couldn’t win. She’s gone to her reward.’

Nellie, who had been staring blindly at the bed, turned to face the older woman. She found she was trembling with useless anger, her cheeks hot with it, her hands shaking.

‘Her reward? My God, how can you talk like that? She was the brightest, most hardworking girl I’ve ever known, and the reward for her courage and self-sacrifice is to be
death
? Talk like that makes me sick to my stomach!’

Emma stood the jug of lemonade and the two feeding cups down. She looked frightened but she looked angry, too.

‘She’s right! Poor Lu lost so much – her husband, her hopes for their life together, but she’d met someone else, she was happy ... now he’ll be heartbroken and Lu – Lu won’t be anything!’

Sister took Emma’s hand, then reached out and took Nellie’s, too.

‘I’m sorry, it just seemed better to say it the
conventional way, but I was wrong, you know too much, have seen too much. I’ve said it so often lately, to grieving widows, weeping mothers ... it’s a comfort to them, you see, to think of their loved ones going on, being happy. You are like me, like all of us. There’s no comfort in death.’

She spoke drearily, leading them out of the side ward and back into the corridor.

‘I’m sorry I yelled at you, Sister, it weren’t your fault,’ Nellie said, painful tears beginning to run down her cheeks. Her own illness was too recent to allow her to hide her feelings. ‘You feel like we do, I know that. And it isn’t as if you let anyone go without a fight; you fought harder than anyone to bring ’em back, Sister dear.’

Sister pressed Nellie’s hand, pausing at the doorway of her tiny office.

‘Bless you, Nellie. I’ll ring for the porters to come ... could you be the wonderful nurses I know you are, and go back and talk to Maggie for ten minutes, just in case ... ? The death of another patient always affects those on the same ward, but when the other patient is a dear friend, someone you’ve laughed with and teased and, at the end, nursed ... it can do great harm. Try to keep it from her, but if she knows, make it easier for her to accept.’

The two girls returned to the side ward, keeping their eyes resolutely away from the closed screens. Maggie seemed to be drowsing, but she opened her eyes and looked at Nellie very straight.

‘She’s gone, then? Poor little Lucy. Nell, I did try, but it wasn’t any good, I could see her sliding away no matter how hard I worked! She had drips and a blood transfusion, oxygen ... But it was too late, she’d struggled for too long, she was too weak. Earlier in the
day I thought she’d gone, but she dragged herself back. I reckon she was waiting for something. Or someone. I reckon she couldn’t go until she’d spoken to you, Nell.’

‘That can’t be so,’ Nellie said uneasily. ‘All she did was to ask me to visit her mother and father and write to ... ’

Her voice faded. Of course, that was why Lucy had hung on! She had always been thoughtful of others, eager to help. She knew how they would grieve, her parents and the man she loved. She had wanted to ease their grief as much as possible.

‘And you’ll do it, she knew that,’ Maggie said quietly. ‘I’ll have a drink now please, Emma.’

She sipped at the lemonade and presently the porters came and took the body away on a stretcher and Nurse Abbott returned from her errand.

‘We’d better go; Maggie will be all right,’ Emma whispered at last. ‘Sister Francis is putting Anna Barlow in here to keep Maggie company. We’ll only be in the way soon.’

The two girls returned to their own convalescent ward and presently Nellie and Emma began to work on the shrouds once more; their work would be needed soon.

Lucy was buried in the big war cemetery not far from the hospital. It had been suggested that her body should be taken home, but the nurses knew better.

‘She nursed here; many of her friends and patients lie here. Lucy wouldn’t want to leave,’ Nellie said. ‘Her parents are old; this grave will probably be tended long after a grave in an English churchyard had been forgotten. She’s amongst friends here.’