‘Take care of each other,’ Dot called out as the two friends ascended the gangplank.
Tilly turned around and waved wildly to Dot and Amelia on the quay. She was wrapped from head to toe in the warmest clothes she could find, anticipating that the weather could only get worse. She wore her dungarees, her thermal underwear and as many layers of clothing as she could fit under her greatcoat. Not the most flattering of outfits, but practical. Her small suitcase held only the essentials. They were told to travel light.
‘Well, this is it. How’s your French?’ asked Tilly, as the ship moved off its moorings.
‘I’ve been preparing myself with a few important phrases like “Un verre du vin” and “Ou sont les toilettes?”,’ Fliss replied.
‘I notice you put the request for wine at the top of the list.’ Tilly smiled. ‘When do you expect to have time for socialising?’
‘Well, you never know,’ Fliss replied. ‘They tell me that Frenchmen can be very passionate and flirtatious. I thought about packing a dress for all those evenings off that I will have to spend in a French bar, sipping red wine and making friends with the locals.’
Tilly suspected that Fliss’s light-hearted banter was as much to do with her nervousness as anything. Neither of them knew what to expect. They had orders to join the first battalion of the Royal Scots who would be travelling on the same ship to Calais and from there, provide them with a military escort to a field hospital in Lecelle on the Maginot Line. They put up with the usual banter from the troops as they sailed, just letting it all wash over them. But when they’d had enough of comments like, ‘You can change my groin dressing any day of the week, Nurse,’ Tilly bit back.
‘Just let me know if you need a hand if your carburettor is blocked and I’ll sort you out. I’m just as handy with a screwdriver as an enema,’ she said, grinning.
That usually stopped them.
When they arrived in Calais, they disembarked and were escorted to their destination in Lecelle. The nurse in charge of the field hospital introduced herself and took Tilly and Fliss on a tour of the encampment.
‘I’m Sister Lydia Parsons. It’s a relief that you two have arrived. Our last ambulance driver’s vehicle took a direct hit and I’m afraid the driver was killed. The ambulance burst into flames and she didn’t get out.’
‘I’m not the driver, thank God. She is,’ Fliss said, pointing at Tilly.
‘The assistant nurse on board was badly injured too. So, don’t think you’ll escape the action,’ Sister said.
‘You didn’t tell me that I might be asked to go out with you,’ Fliss said, a little perturbed.
‘Would you have come with me, if I had?’ Tilly asked.
‘Probably not,’ Fliss replied.
‘Oh! Wonderful,’ Tilly said.
Tilly thought this a rather harsh introduction to the work she would be doing here, but realised that the realities could not be glossed over. They were several miles from enemy lines, but could still be ambushed by fighter aircraft or tank bombardment.
‘Stow your belongings in that tent over there, for the meantime,’ they were told. ‘We’re a bit short of accommodation, so you’ll probably end up sleeping in the ambulance with the other drivers and nurses. Yvette is our local nurse who helps with translation when French soldiers arrive. Our French nurses are essential to help with communicating with the wounded. How’s your French?’
‘A bit basic,’ Tilly replied. ‘But it will improve; perhaps Yvette can help me.’
‘I doubt you’ll have time for French lessons. We work pretty long hours here,’ Sister replied. ‘Now, let me show you our operating theatre and staff,’ she continued.
The surgical team were not actually operating on anyone at the time Tilly and Fliss arrived, so she was able to meet them.
‘This is our surgical team,’ Sister said. ‘Dr Martinez and Dr Handsworth. They will be patching up the men you deliver to them and get them back to the front as soon as possible. This is Nurse Tilly Truscott and Nurse Felicity Macheson.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ Dr Handsworth said in his impeccable English accent. ‘Call me Ralph.’
‘Hi there, I’m Jed,’ Dr Martinez, an American, said. ‘Always pleased to see more pretty faces around here.’
‘Not just pretty faces,’ Sister snapped. ‘Our nurses are well trained and Nurse Truscott, here, is a woman of many talents.’
‘And what might those be?’ Jed teased. ‘Perhaps we’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Be warned,’ Sister cautioned the two friends. ‘Dr Martinez has built himself quite a reputation among the nurses. Now, Dr Martinez, do you think you could finish with the introductions? We have an induction session to get started on.’
‘Right you are, Sister. That’s what you Brits say, isn’t it? You have so many quaint expressions. I’m learning some of them. You are standing in the operating theatre, Tilly. It’s about as well equipped as it gets and that’s fairly basic. Luckily, it’s been fairly quiet as yet; we’ve not seen much action so far. If this war goes on too long, then no doubt we will see essential medical supplies dwindle but at the moment we have all we need to get these fighting men back on their feet. How are you with amputations? Some of our nurses find that the most difficult operation to assist with. They have too great an imagination and think about the change of quality of life once those soldiers come around. Men who have amputations are shipped back home. They won’t see active service again.’
‘I’m not a surgical nurse,’ Tilly replied. ‘I’m here as an ambulance driver.’
