Nightingales Under the Mistletoe (9 page)

BOOK: Nightingales Under the Mistletoe
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Grace had been assigned to the Military Ward, on the top floor of the building. The patients were having their breakfast when she arrived, and the smell of fried bacon was mixed with the strong scent of disinfectant. Most of the men were sitting up in bed with trays, but some were seated around the big table in the middle of the ward. A couple of the fitter men were busy pushing a trolley and handing out cups of tea. Young and old, big and small, all the men wore identical striped hospital-issue pyjamas.

When Grace entered through the double doors, the murmur of conversation ceased and every face turned to look at her. Her heart jumped into her mouth, and it was all she could do not to turn tail and flee.

A woman came down the ward to greet her. She was wearing a sister's grey uniform, with a linen bonnet tied in a bow under her pointed chin. She was in her forties, slim and attractive, with dark hair and a smile that made her brown eyes sparkle.

‘You must be Maynard?' she greeted Grace with relief. ‘We were told we were getting a new VAD. I'm Miss Wallace, the ward sister.'

She seemed friendly enough, but Grace remembered her sister's warning.

‘How do you do, Sister?' she said warily.

‘All the better for seeing you, I must say! There's only Nurse Freeman and myself on the ward at present, so as you can imagine we're quite busy. We could certainly do with some help.'

‘What would you like me to do first, Sister?'

Miss Wallace's smile widened. ‘That's what I like to see, someone who's ready to get straight to work! Go and put your apron on, then you can wash up the breakfast dishes and put them away.'

It was a relief for Grace to be able to hide away in the kitchen, even if she did have a mountain of greasy plates and cups to wash up.

‘Oh, dear, bad luck!' Nurse Freeman said as she pushed a trolley laden with dirty dishes into the kitchen. ‘You've only been here five minutes, and you're already up to your elbows in hot water.'

‘I don't mind,' Grace said. ‘I like to keep busy.'

‘Oh, I expect you'll enjoy it here, then,' Nurse Freeman said. ‘We'll keep you very busy!'

And she was right. After she'd dried up and put away all the dishes, Miss Wallace set Grace to cleaning the ward. She got stuck in, pleased to be doing something she was familiar with. Starting from the top of the room, as she'd been taught in service, she took down the light fittings and washed them, then damp dusted all the surfaces and the bedsprings, washed down the lockers, sprinkled tea leaves on the floor to settle the dust, then swept and polished every inch.

She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the wheels of the beds with a wire brush, when a cheeky voice said, ‘I've got a good view from here!'

Grace looked over her shoulder at the young man sitting in the bed above her. His left leg was dressed and propped up with a drain tube coming from it, and he was leaning over to eye her rear end appreciatively.

She held up the brush. ‘Do you want me to wash your mouth out with this?'

The man in the next bed laughed. ‘Take no notice of him, Nurse. He only arrived last night and he's already making a nuisance of himself. Too cocky for his own good, if you ask me.'

‘No one is asking you, are they?' the young man replied. He was just a kid, no more than eighteen. ‘They're just jealous of my good looks and charm,' he said to Grace.

She regarded him, his shorn hair sticking up at angles around his lively, freckled face, and tried not to laugh.

‘My name's Terry Thompson, but my mates call me Tommo. What's yours?' he asked.

‘None of your business,' Grace replied, going back to her scrubbing.

‘Ooh, playing hard to get, eh? I like that in a girl.' He leaned back against his pillows, hands behind his head. ‘Not a very lively lot here, are they? Most of' em look half dead to me.'

‘That's why we're in hospital, you daft git,' the man in the next bed retorted.

Tommo nodded towards the curtains surrounding the bed on his other side. ‘Psst, Nurse,' he hissed to Grace. ‘Who's in there?'

She glanced at the screens. ‘I'm not sure,' she said. ‘It's my first day too.'

‘His name's Alan Jones,' Tommo's other neighbour explained. ‘Young Welsh lad. Got shot up bad in North Africa, he did. Terrible head injury.' He ran his hand down the side of his face to indicate the damage.

‘Sounds as if he's lucky to be alive,' Grace said.

‘I dunno about lucky, Nurse,' the man said grimly. ‘You should hear him scream at night. During the day too, sometimes. The slightest thing sets him off, and then he's crying for hours, unless someone manages to calm him down.' He shook his head. ‘Horrible to listen to him, it is. I'll tell you what, I wouldn't like to know what goes on in that poor beggar's head.'

Grace stared at the screens. She couldn't imagine what Alan Jones must look like, but she hoped she wouldn't have to come face-to-face with him too soon.

‘Want to know why I'm in here?' Tommo piped up, not to be outdone. ‘I was shot in the leg. Blasted away half the muscle, so the doctor said. You can't imagine the mess—'

‘I'm sure Maynard has no wish to hear about your war wound, Mr Thompson.' Grace heard Miss Wallace's voice just as a pair of well-polished black shoes appeared in front of her. ‘She has quite enough to do, so please stop bothering her.'

Afraid Miss Wallace might think she was slacking, Grace scrambled to her feet and said, ‘I've finished, Sister.'

‘Have you? That was quick.' Miss Wallace's brows arched. ‘Let's see what you've done, shall we?'

Grace was nervous as she followed Miss Wallace down the ward. She kept her fingers crossed in the folds of her dress, praying silently that the ward sister wouldn't find a speck of dust as she ran her hand along the bed rails and round the light fittings.

Finally, Miss Wallace said, ‘Well, that all seems to be perfectly in order. Well done, Maynard. You've worked very hard.'

Grace felt the blush rising up from under her starched collar. ‘Thank you, Miss – I mean, Sister.'

‘Run along and take your dinner break now, and then come back at twelve and help Nurse Freeman serve the patients.'

Grace was so happy she almost skipped down to the dining room. Her first morning was over, and Sister had actually praised her. Wait until Daisy heard about it!

The dining room was on the ground floor, a vast room the size of a tennis court, laid out with rows of long tables. Grace spotted Daisy at a table on the far side of the room. She was sitting with two other nurses, a tall, slender girl with curly hair and a smaller, sharp-featured girl. Grace was about to go over and join them when she caught her sister's eye and suddenly remembered what Daisy had told her about not mixing. She veered off to the right instead and joined a table of other VADs.

By the time she'd hurried through her meal and got back to the ward, the patients' food had been delivered from the kitchen on big trolleys. Miss Wallace dished it out on to plates, and Grace and Nurse Freeman handed them out one by one to the patients. Most of them needed a bed tray, but some gathered around the central table again.

Some of the men were on particular diets and Miss Wallace had ordered special food, like plain boiled fish or a milk pudding, to be sent up for them. Grace marvelled at how the ward sister managed to remember all the men and what they needed. She even took the time to dress up some of the trays with lace cloths and tiny buds of flowers taken from the vases on the table.

‘For the men who've lost their appetites,' Alice Freeman explained to Grace. ‘Sister says if the food looks appetising, they're more likely to eat it.'

Grace was given the job of delivering Tommo's meal to him. She reached the young man's bed, but there was no sign of him. Grace stared at the empty bed. ‘Where is he?' she asked his neighbour.

‘Dunno, Nurse,' he shrugged.

‘That's odd. I'm sure he's not supposed to move with that leg—'

Suddenly she felt something shoot out from under the bed and grab her ankle. She screamed in panic, the tray went up in the air and landed with a crash. Kidney pudding, gravy and mashed potatoes went everywhere, all over the bedclothes and her clean floor, so beautifully polished that morning.

Tommo's face appeared from under the bed, his hand still circling her ankle. ‘Gave you a proper fright, didn't I?'

Grace was just about reply when an ear-splitting scream rang out from behind the screens around the next bed. It seemed to go on for ever, getting louder and louder like the ghastly wail of an air-raid siren.

Suddenly everyone was hurrying towards her. Nurse Freeman dumped the tray she'd been holding and pushed her way behind the screens, with Miss Wallace following. Several of the men also got up from the table and stood around on the other side of the curtains, watching anxiously.

‘That's torn it,' Tommo said, hauling himself out from under the bed.

‘I expect the noise of that tray crashing down brought on one of his nightmares.' The man on Tommo's other side stared at him accusingly.

‘I wasn't to know, was I?' he grumbled. ‘It was only a bit of fun.'

The screams slowly subsided into heart-rending sobs. Grace had just started to pick up the fragments of smashed crockery from the floor when the screens parted and Miss Wallace appeared.

‘What's happened here?' she demanded.

Tommo started to speak, but Grace got in first. ‘It's my fault, Sister,' she said. ‘I dropped the tray.'

‘Well, that was very clumsy of you, I must say.' It was the mildest of rebukes, but it still stung like a barb. ‘Get it cleared up, then clean the floor and strip this bed. And please try to be more careful in future,' she sighed. ‘We're busy enough without you making extra work for us.'

‘You didn't have to take the blame, you know,' Tommo whispered when Miss Wallace had gone.

‘I didn't. I only told the truth. I dropped the tray, not you.'

‘Only because I frightened you.' Tommo looked uncomfortable. ‘Cheers, anyway,' he said. ‘I reckon I'm in enough trouble with this lot, without getting into any more.'

‘Perhaps this will teach you a lesson?' Grace said, collecting up the last of the pieces. But as she stood up and saw the mischievous glint in his eye, she wasn't sure it would.

Chapter Ten

‘
WHEN CAN I
go home, Nurse?'

Jess paused, the spoonful of rice pudding halfway to Mrs Briggs's mouth. She didn't know why the patient continued to ask the question when the answer was always the same.

‘You know what the doctor said, Mrs B,' she explained patiently. ‘You have to have complete rest.'

‘Yes, but how long for?'

‘Until your heart recovers.'

‘Well, I ain't going to be here at Christmas, that's for sure!' Mrs Briggs declared.

Jess sighed. Nursing Elsie Briggs was proving to be a real trial. She was a salt of the earth cockney and a lovely woman, but stubborn with it. With her serious heart condition, she was supposed to rest in bed and refrain from exerting herself. But bed rest didn't come naturally to a woman who had brought up five kids.

Jess didn't blame her. No mother wanted to be apart from her children, especially at this time of year.

‘I'm not spending Christmas away from my kids, bad heart or no bad heart!' Mrs Briggs repeated. ‘I'm going back to London, even if it's the last thing I do.'

It probably will be!
Jess bit back the retort. ‘Look, Mrs B, you've got to understand your heart is very weak,' she explained. ‘You've seen how we have to feed and wash you? That's because you're not allowed to do anything for yourself. How do you think you'll manage in London? The journey alone could kill you.'

Mrs Briggs was silent for a moment. ‘All the same, I want to go,' she said, her mouth set in a tight line.

Jess looked at her, doing her best not to cry, and felt a surge of pity.

She discussed it with Daisy later as they made the beds.

‘She's very difficult, isn't she?' Daisy agreed. ‘I caught her trying to get out of bed the other day.' She shook her head. ‘Sister was furious with her.'

‘Sister's always furious with someone. Except Miss Pomfrey,' Jess added.

‘Perhaps Mrs Briggs's family will come to visit today?' Daisy suggested.

‘I doubt it. Hardly any of the London patients get visitors.'

At least Hilda Reynolds was getting a visit today. She was so excited when Jess went to tidy her up.

‘That's it, love. Make me look nice. Don't want to give my Jean a scare, do I?' She smiled weakly.

‘You'll look a picture, Mrs Reynolds,' Jess promised. She'd given Hilda a good wash and dressed her in a freshly laundered nightdress for her daughter's visit, knowing how much Hilda was looking forward to it.

But in spite of her outward smile, inside Jess's heart ached. She knew the old lady didn't have very long left. The pernicious anaemia was killing her slowly but surely. Her skin was a waxy yellow, speckled here and there with ugly brown patches over her emaciated body.

Even her cockney spirit seemed to be deserting her. She was too fatigued to do anything but sleep most of the time, although she was trying to rally herself for her daughter's impending visit.

Jess hoped Jean's visit would cheer Hilda up. There was no hope for her, but Jess desperately wanted her to have some happy memories for her last days.

‘Do you think Jean will bring your grandkids?' she asked, as she carefully arranged Hilda's hair in fine white strands over her bony shoulders.

‘I hope so, love. I'd like to see them once more before …' Her voice trailed off. ‘But it's a long way for them to come. I told Jean not to come herself, but she would insist …'

BOOK: Nightingales Under the Mistletoe
3.08Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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