Under the Apple Tree (26 page)

some building when it collapsed. They can’t have been

killed,’ she added swiftly. ‘They can’t, can they, or they

wouldn’t have been taken to hospital. But that’s all I’ve

heard. I’m sorry.’

Cissie felt as if all her surroundings - the hall full of

people, the noise, the clatter of kettles and teacups - had

fallen away from her, leaving her swinging giddily over a

yawning abyss. For a moment she was aware of nothing but

a deadly fear, a horror of the roaring darkness that rushed in

upon her. Then hands gripped her and she felt herself

guided to a chair and her head pressed gently between her

knees. Someone put a cup to her lips and she tasted cold

water. She spluttered and swallowed, and gradually the

sickness receded and she was aware once more of the clatter

in the hall, the hubbub of voices. Slowly, she lifted her

head. Annie was crouching beside her.

‘I’m ever so sorry, Cis,’ she said again. ‘All we heard was

that they’d gone to hospital - we don’t know which one it

was ourselves. They’ll let us know later, but it was such a

bad night, everything’s just an awful muddle.’

Cissie nodded. ‘What am I going to do?’ she asked

bleakly. ‘I don’t know where to go first. Someone said there

was hundreds killed in the Royal. I’ve got to find out what’s

happened to Dick. But if Judy’s been hurt — and our Poll and

they might be in QA or St James’s …’ A fresh thought

struck her. ‘St James’s! That’s the mental hospital! Does that

mean—?’

‘It just means they were taking casualties there,’ Annie

said firmly. ‘It doesn’t mean anything else at all. Cis, I don’t know what to tell you. We can’t even ring up - the

telephones are mostly out of action again, and what lines

there are they need for the emergency services. It’s like a

madhouse out there.’ She bit her lip, obviously regretting

that choice of phrase, and turned as someone called her.

‘Look, I’m sorry, Cis, I’ll have to go. You can see how we’re

placed here. Tell you what I think, you might as well go to

the Royal first, since it’s nearest, and then when you’ve

made sure your Dick’s all right, you could go on up to St

James’s or QA. But why not pop in home first, because they

might be back by then. A lot of people who aren’t hurt bad

are being sent home, and I dare say that’s what’s happened

to your two.’

Cissie nodded and stood up. She handed the cup back to

one of the other volunteers and made her way out of the

hall, not hearing the anxious enquiries from those who had

let her through. They looked at her stricken face and shook

their heads sadly. ‘Shame, poor soul,’ the whisper ran, but

Cissie heard nothing. She ran blindly through the streets,

seeing nothing of the damage, anxiety beating at her mind

like a bird with broken wings. Dick - Polly - Judy - what

had happened to them all? And she was gripped by a dark

certainty that they were all dead.

The Royal Hospital had been hit by a mine. It had blown

the Casualty Ward apart, and the entrance where patients

were being brought by ambulance. Everyone in the reception

area was killed. There’d been several ambulances

arriving at the time but most of the drivers had been outside

and blown clear. Those who had been hurt had been taken

to St James’s.

‘But what about my hubby?’ Cissie asked desperately. She

didn’t know where to go. The hospital forecourt was a mass

of rubble and splintered wood and glass, and there were

soldiers, sailors and ARP men pulling at it, trying both to

clear the forecourt and to find anyone who might have been

buried. Their faces were set and Cissie saw to her horror

that there was already a row of objects lying on the ground

nearby, humped under torn and bloody blankets. Bodies,

she thought, and panic edged her voice.

One of the ARP men looked up. His face was grimed with

dust and his eyes were red and sore-looking. He rubbed the

back of his hand across his face and said, ‘What’s up, love?

Who’re you looking for?’

‘My husband. He’s in hospital here.’ She glanced

fearfully at the row of bodies. ‘How can I find out if he’s all right?’

‘Brought in last night, was he?’

She shook her head. ‘No, he’s been here for weeks now.

He had pneumonia. I don’t know where to go.’

‘He’ll have been took down the basements,’ the man said.

‘He wouldn’t have been up here. You’ll have to go and ask.’

He turned away. ‘Sorry, love, but we’re busy here, you can

see.’ Someone called out and he went across to help a small

knot of men who were carefully lifting a beam away from a

heap of smashed bricks. Cissie made to follow him, then

stopped abruptly as she caught sight of red, bloodstained

flesh, the jagged end of a bone and a fragment of the blue

serge worn by sailors.

Sickened, she turned away. Picking her way through the

rubble, avoiding the bodies, she eventually reached a door

where a crowd of people were gathering, all seeking

information about friends and relatives who were patients.

Three or four nurses were sitting at makeshift desks with

lists in front of them, looking harassed. Cissie joined the

queue, listening anxiously.

‘No, nobody in that ward was hurt. All the patients from

that part of the hospital who could walk went down to the

basements. There were several people in the reception area

when the mine hit, and they were all killed - a doctor, some

nurses, some new patients coming in and a sailor who was

helping on one of the ambulances. Yes, there were some

women ambulance drivers as well, they were taken to St

James’s.’ The nurse looked up as Cissie reached the head of

the queue. ‘Men’s Medical? If he was able to walk he’d have

gone to the basement. They took quite a lot of bed patients

there too, before the hospital was struck. Oh, a chest patient…’ She consulted her list, then turned to the nurse sitting beside her. ‘Where did chest patients go, Morrison?

Weren’t they going through the hallway on their way to the

shelter?’

The other nurse nodded. ‘They’d just gone through.

Nobody was hurt,’ she added quickly, seeing Cissie’s face,

‘but some were affected by the dust. The worst patients it

could happen to,’ she murmured to the first nurse, and then

looked up at Cissie again. ‘Go down that corridor and

through the double doors at the end. Someone there will

help you.’-

Cissie thanked them both and set off, walking as quickly

as she could and wishing she dared break into a run.

Affected by dust - the worst patients it could happen to …

Oh Dick, she thought, please don’t get pneumonia all over

again. Please don’t suffer any more.

Through the double doors, things were quieter. The

hubbub of the crowd’s anxious questions and the noise of

people working outside was shut out, and Cissie’s footsteps

sounded suddenly loud. A Sister put her head out of a door

and looked at her, frowning. Cissie stopped.

‘I’ve come to find out about my husband. He’s been in

with pneumonia. I was worried after the raid.’

‘Name?’ the Sister asked briskly.

‘Dick Taylor. Richard Taylor. He was a chest patient.’

The woman gave her a look as if to say she knew that a

man with pneumonia was likely to be a chest patient, and

Cissie felt herself blush. But when the Sister spoke again her

voice was kind. ‘He’ll be in there. It was unfortunate that

they were rather close to the area affected by the bomb, but

nobody was hurt. You can slip in and see him, but please

don’t stay long. It isn’t visiting time, you know.’

‘I know. But I just had to find out if he was all right.’

Cissie’s voice wobbled. ‘I’ve got to try to find my sister too, she was driving an ambulance last night - and my daughter.

She didn’t come home either.’ A sob caught in her throat

and she turned away hastily. ‘I won’t stay long, just to see

he’s all right.’

The Sister touched her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry too much.

It was such a bad raid, they’re probably still helping

somewhere. There must be hundreds of people who haven’t

managed to get home yet.’ She gave Cissie a brief smile and

then turned away as a man pushing a trolley thrust his way

through the doors and hastened towards them. There was a

small girl on the trolley, her face covered in blood and her

legs bent at an unnatural angle.

Cissie pushed through the ward door, tears running down

her cheeks. So many people hurt and killed, so many almost

out of their minds with worry. Just inside the ward, she

stood for a moment looking this way and that, trying to

make sense of the turmoil of beds hastily squashed in

together, the hurrying nurses and the paraphernalia of drips,

bedpans and trolleys.

A nurse came up to her, obviously about to order her out,

but Cissie forestalled her. ‘I’ve come to see my husband.

The Sister outside said I could, just for a few minutes, just

to make sure he’s all right.’

The nurse looked as if this was highly irregular but for

once Cissie stood her ground. She hadn’t come this far to be

balked now. The woman obviously read this in her face, for

she shrugged and said, ‘Well, just for a minute or two, then.

What’s his name?’

‘Taylor. Richard Taylor.’

‘Oh yes, he’s over there.’ She pointed to a corner. ‘He’s

rather poorly, I’m afraid. Only a minute, mind,’ she added

as Cissie started forwards. ‘We’re very busy.’

Rather poorly. Cissie barely heard the nurse’s last words.

She almost ran across to the bed in the corner and stared

down at her husband. ‘Dick! Dick, whatever’s happened to

you?’

The figure in the bed stared up at her. ‘Cis? Is that you?’

His voice was as rough as sandpaper.

‘Yes, of course it is.’ She fell on her knees, gripping his

thin hands. ‘What’s wrong? What’s the matter with you?

They said no one was hurt.’

‘I wasn’t.’ He could manage only a few words at a time.

‘Got a faceful of dust and muck. Breathed it in. Felt like

sandpaper, it did. Been coughing all night.’ He coughed

again, painfully, as if to demonstrate. ‘Reckon I’ve still got

some in me lungs. It could turn to pneumonia again, Cis.’

He clung to her hand. ‘I was coming home tomorrow.

Coming home.’

‘I know.’ She gazed at him in distress. ‘Oh Dick.’

‘Want to come home,’ he wheezed. ‘Take me home, Cis. I

don’t want to be here any more.’

‘Dick, I can’t. If you discharge yourself, they won’t take

you back again. And if you do get pneumonia …’

He fixed his eyes on her pleadingly and she stared back in

despair. The ward was full of noise. It smelt of urine and

faeces and blood, of disinfectant and medicines - the

‘hospital’ smell that all the wards seemed to share. Nurses

were hurrying to and fro, their shoes clattering on the

linoleum floor. Voices called out, some demanding, some

filled with pain, some in obvious delirium. I wouldn’t want

to be here either, Cissie thought.

‘I’ll take you home the first minute I can,’ she promised.

‘But you’ll have to wait for the doctor to say so. I’m sorry,

love.’

He looked at her and then turned his head away and stared

at the wall. Cissie stroked his hand desperately. ‘Dick. Dick,

don’t look like that. I can’t take you home now. You might be

ill again - you could die.’ Her voice rose in anguish. ‘Dick, I’d take you this minute if I could, but—’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go.’ An authoritative voice broke

in and she turned quickly to find a tall, weary-looking man

standing beside her. Hastily, Cissie let go of Dick’s hand

and scrambled to her feet. The man looked at her severely.

‘I don’t know who let you in now, but you’ll have to come

back at visiting time. That’s three o’clock this afternoon.’

‘I know, thank you. I’ve been coming in for the past three

weeks.’ Cissie looked back towards the bed. ‘My husband — is he …’

‘I haven’t examined him yet,’ the doctor stated. ‘Sister

will give you any information this afternoon. Now, if you’d

please go.’

‘Yes,’ Cissie muttered, defeated. She turned back to Dick

and felt for his hand once more. ‘Bye now, love. I’ll be back

this afternoon. You’ll be all right - I’m sure you’ll be all

right.’ She caught the doctor’s eye again, dropped his hand

and moved away, walking uncertainly out of the ward. At

the door she stopped again. The doctor was bent over Dick,

his stethoscope placed on the thin chest. Blinded by tears,

Cissie turned away.

‘Three o’clock this afternoon. I’ll be back, she promised

Dick silently.

But before then, she had to find out what had happened

to Judy and Polly.

The noise as the front of the building fell into the courtyard

had been the worst explosion Judy had ever heard. It had

reverberated around the tall, narrow space between the

other buildings, blasting her eardrums and filling her head