‘Hedging my bets,’ she said, shoving me out of the way so she could see out of the window.
‘Nurse Watson and Nurse Malone?’
We both stood to attention as Matron appeared in the doorway. ‘Nice to see you here so early. Do you have some time before your shifts begin?’
‘We do,’ I said, nodding.
‘Then could you go down to the huts please? The patients are arriving and the beds aren’t yet made. It’s all hands on deck to get things ready.’
‘Of course,’ I said as Nelly added: ‘Absolutely.’
‘Thank you.’ She gave us both a small smile as we passed her in the doorway. ‘Airmen,’ she said. ‘There was a bomb at Biggin Hill.’
‘Lord, was it bad?’
Matron nodded. ‘Quite a few killed as far as I know. We mostly have the walking wounded though.’
I felt dizzy for a second thinking about the loss of those lives. Men cut down before they even got started living. I steadied myself on the doorframe and Nelly, bless her, obviously realising how I felt, took my arm and hurried me down the corridor.
‘Airmen,’ she said, as we went, fanning herself with her hand.
‘Nelly Malone, you are incorrigible.’ But I was laughing. I was so grateful to her for being there and letting me lean on her – physically and mentally.
‘They’ll be fun to have around.’
‘They’re injured, Nelly.’
‘Ah didn’t Matron say they were the walking wounded? They’ll be up for some fun, I’ve no doubt.’
She was right. The airmen were arriving as we were makingthe beds, tossing pillows and sheets to each other in well-practised fashion. They were battered and bruised, there was no doubt. I heard someone say they’d been dug out from under the rubble and it was clear they’d been through the wringer. Some of them were on crutches, some had broken limbs – quite a few had both arms broken. A few were quiet and still, lying on trolleys outside the hut while they waited for their beds to be ready. They were accompanied by a handful of Red Cross nurses who were efficient and jolly and who, they assured us, would be looking after this bit of the hospital.
As Nelly had predicted, most of the patients were in good spirits. Shouting support as we threw bundles of bedding to each other and spread sheets smooth, and making cheeky comments whenever one of us bent over.
‘We’ll have none of that, thank you,’ said one of the Red Cross nurses firmly, removing a wandering hand from her behind. ‘You behave as though we were all your mothers or your sisters, or we’ll turf you out on the streets and see how well you fare left to your own devices.’
‘Sorry,’ the airman muttered, looking suitably chastened. I felt a bit sorry for him. He was so young, and one side of his face was in shreds – bandaged but clearly causing him a lot of pain.
‘Here, your bed’s ready,’ I said, pulling back the sheets and helping him up. The whole side of his body was bandaged but I could see blood seeping through. I caught the eye of the Red Cross matron and she gave me a little nod to show she knew.
‘Thanks, Nurse,’ the airman said. I plumped up the pillow behind him and resisted the urge to pull him into a hug. These lads had given so much. Just like my Billy. And they may have been in good spirits now, giddy with the adrenaline of being survivors. But I knew that when darkness fell the nightmares would come. Or the guilt of having made it out alive when so many others – so many of their friends – hadn’t. So I didn’t hug the lad, but I smiled at him and he smiled back.
‘Did you write to those kids?’ Nelly asked me as we moved on to making up the next bed.
‘I did. I’ll post it on the way home tomorrow morning.’
‘That’s a good thing you’ve done there,’ she said, shaking out a sheet and deftly folding it under the end of the bed. ‘Getting that message will mean so much to them.’
‘Did you send someone a message?’ asked the cheeky airman. ‘Could you send one for me?’
‘You can send your own, you lazy oaf,’ I said.
‘Ican’t,’ another airman said. He was being helped into bed by one of the Red Cross nurses. He had both arms in plaster and one leg was bandaged too. ‘Is that what you do? You write messages for people?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I did it for one patient who needed to let her kids know where she was.’
‘But you could do it for me?’ he said. ‘Just a quick note for my mum? They’ll have told her about the bomb and she’ll be so worried.’ He had a nice face, this chap. Warm and friendly, with furrows between his brows. ‘My uncle was killed, you see? Her brother. Last time round. She’ll be thinking the worst.’
I felt myself soften at the thought of his poor mother worrying, so I checked my watch. ‘I can’t do it now because my shift is about to start,’ I said. ‘But you’ll be here a while, I assume? I’ll come back and you can tell me what to write.’
