‘When I was here before, some of you shared some memories and stuff with me.’ I caught Harry’s eye and gave him a little smile. ‘And some of you said you’d like to write messages for your loved ones, in case … well, in case you don’t make it back.’
The quiet in the ward grew more intense for a moment as the men all considered my words.
‘Apparently during the last war, some nurses kept books of memories for their patients,’ I went on. ‘And I thought it was a lovely idea. So I’m going to do the same.’
‘A book of last letters,’ said Eric.
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘But not only last letters. Anything at all. I’m going to leave this notebook here with you and you can just write whatever you feel like. Anything at all.’
‘What did you say your name was?’ one airman shouted.
‘Nurse Watson.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Dear Nurse Watson,’ he began, and the other men all groaned and laughed. I smiled too, enjoying their good spirits.
‘Like I said, just write or draw whatever you want. You can write about your experiences at Biggin Hill, or what it feels like to fly.’ I saw Harry give a little nod and I was glad. ‘Write letters home if you want, or notes to your sweethearts, or draw a picture or two. Messages, poems, Bible verses, tributes to friends you’ve lost …’ I looked round at them all. ‘Writing is a good way to get your thoughts in order.’
‘Anything at all?’ said a boy who was studying the newspaper though he barely looked old enough to know how to read.
‘Anything at all.’ I smiled at them all.
‘And if we write messages, you’ll pass them on, will you?’ said another airman, his brows drawing together.
‘Of course – if you want me to. Or if you don’t want to, that’s fine too. You don’t even have to put your name to what you write if you don’t want to. It’s up to you.’
There was a ripple of conversation and I put my hand up to quieten them.
‘I’ve got to go now. Can I trust you to look after the book?’
The men all murmured their agreement. ‘Good. And please help each other to write if there’s anyone who’s unable to hold the pencil.’ I glanced at Harry again and he grinned at me and I felt a little flicker of something, deep down inside me. ‘I’ll come and collect it in the morning.’
‘Thanks, Nurse,’ said Eric. ‘This is a really good thing you’re doing.’
My eyes felt hot with tears suddenly, and I blinked them away. ‘Who’s first?’ I said.
The newspaper-reading lad raised his hand politely and I went to him and gave him the notebook and pencils.
He opened the pad to a clean page and tapped it with his fingertips. ‘Now I just have to decide what to write,’ he said, picking up a pencil.
‘Good luck,’ I said. ‘Pass it round and I’ll come back and get it tomorrow.’
I left them all chatting, pleased that the notebook had received such a positive response. As I walked along the ward, I noticed that the bed I’d helped one of the more injured airmen into – the lad with the shredded face – was empty.
‘What happened to the chap in bed 2?’ I asked Judith as I made my way to the door of the ward.
She screwed her nose up. ‘Vinny? He didn’t make it.’
I put my hand over my mouth, shocked even though I saw death every day.
‘Poor lad. Sepsis it was. Takes them quick.’
I shuddered. ‘Such a shame.’
Judith nodded. ‘Thanks for bringing the notebook for them. I’ll make sure they don’t write anything too bawdy.’
I glanced over my shoulder over to where the men were laughing uproariously about something. ‘Good luck with that,’ I said.
*
