Nursing Fox

2-2

‘Righto, sir. Do you have any particular men in mind?’ John asked. After serving in the trenches with the CO throughout the Gallipoli fiasco, John knew exactly what he thought about base-based wallahs, particularly the senior officers who issued orders for attacks that were impossible to achieve. Then there were the support troops who failed to supply the right equipment when it was needed. He knew it wasn’t always their fault, and so did the CO, but it had been hard to forgive when the Turks had been making life difficult.

This sounded just up his street and it had to be better than whatever the rest of the battalion would be doing.

‘You know the men better than I do, Mitchell. I’m not interested in their parade ground ability, but choose men you can rely on. I don’t want any nervous Nellies getting trigger-happy. I suggest some of the men who were with us at Gallipoli. By the time you have them together and organised there’ll be a meal ready for you, but time is of the essence. I want you back here with your men in forty-five minutes for your written orders and travel passes. You can collect the ammunition at the same time. I’ve organised one hundred rounds for each man. Your train is scheduled to leave in an hour. Any questions?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Good man. I have no idea where we’ll be when you get back, but you’ll find us. I’ll leave instructions. Away you go.’

Bloody hell, nursemaid to a mob of nurses. This was a real turn up, John thought as he hurried back to the company area. How lucky to land a job like this. He made a mental list of the men he’d take. It wouldn’t be a good idea to tell them what’s involved, or he’d be swamped with volunteers.

Marseilles, Saturday, 1 April 1916

Lucy leant on the rail of the Braemar Castle, examining the quay as the ship approached it, her skirt fluttering round her legs, her nurse’s hat clutched in her hand. She huddled in her cape as the cold wind fretted at a few strands of hair that had come loose from her bun. Absentmindedly she brushed them from her face.

‘Marseilles,’ she breathed the word quietly and slowly. ‘So this is France.’

The Braemar Castle crept towards the quay, aiming for a gap between a lighter and a dirty cargo ship. Now that the engines were stopped the deck was free of vibrations for the first time since they’d left Egypt, but the ship moved so slowly that Lucy wondered if it had sufficient momentum to carry it to the quay.

Vicky, leaning on the rail at her side, said, ‘At last. I thought it would be exotic, but it’s filthy. It’s as dirty as Alexandria.’

‘What did you expect? It’s the docks. They’re never exotic and it won’t be exotic where we’re going either,’ Lucy said. She paused, thinking about the work ahead. ‘I wonder what the hospitals will be like.’

‘Goodness knows. Big tents, I guess, if Egypt is anything to judge by.’

‘I suppose that’ll be right. Big tents, full of wounded soldiers, all needing nursing.’ Lucy thought back to the khamsins. At least they wouldn’t have those hot winds and dust, but she wondered about tented wards in European weather. ‘That will be bearable in summer, but what will it be like in winter?’

Vicky shrugged. ‘Whatever it’s like, I expect we’ll be busy.’

Lucy examined the dock. Five horse-drawn wagons were lined up at the far side of the quay, the first being loaded with sacks that were lowered in nets from an opening high in a warehouse wall. Other wagons passed along the dockside in both directions. Three men, one of them dark skinned, rolled barrels towards the lighter tied up ahead of the space that the Braemar Castle was slipping into. Ahead of the lighter a team of men, stripped to the waist, balanced wicker baskets of coal on their shoulders as they hurried up a gangway of another ship. Their torsos were black with coal dust, and they reminded her of a stream of ants. Once the men had emptied their baskets they turned, ran down a second gangway and across the quay, where they disappeared into a wide doorway. From the other side of the doorway another stream of men appeared with full baskets to join the line at the up gangway.

‘What’s that stench?’ Vicky asked. ‘It’s revolting, worse than gangrene.’ She shuddered and pointed down. ‘I hadn’t expected that.’

Lucy looked to where Vicky pointed. The water between the dock and the Braemar Castle was thick with flotsam, and directly below she saw the bloated carcass of a dog.

The reek of putrid flesh was strong, and seemed to intensify as she stared at the carcass. For a moment she thought she was going to retch, but she looked away and the feeling passed. The flash of a light line caught her attention as it flew across the void between the ship’s bow and the quay, where a soldier grabbed it. Four companions joined him and they began to haul it, and the hawser it was tied to, across the gap. As soon as they’d dropped the eye splice of the hawser over a bollard, the deck party on the Braemar Castle’s foredeck drew in the slack and made the hawser fast. The officer in charge turned to the bridge and raised his hand. Lucy heard the ring of the engine room telegraph and at once the ship began to throb. A surge of water boiled at the stern to swirl forward along the ship’s sides. The rush of water forced the flotsam towards the bow, sweeping the dog’s carcass clear. The hawser became taut and the gap between the ship and the dockside narrowed as the ship began to creep backwards. Less than a minute later, after another ring of the telegraph, the engines stopped and the vibrations came to an end.

The Braemar Castle drifted backwards and the stern moved in towards the quay. Lucy glanced up at the bridge, only a few feet ahead, where she could see the captain on the wing, watching the gap. He moved back to the centre of the bridge and after another ring, the propellers churned water again, which this time surged out astern, but the engines stopped after a few seconds and the ship became stationary. It was just inches from the stone wall of the quay and the party at the stern deck lowered another hawser to the wharf. Other crewmembers dangled rope fenders in the gap between the dockside and the ship. She watched the crew work quickly to secure two more hawsers, one leading from the ship’s stern to a bollard on the quay near the bow, the second from the bow towards a bollard near the stern.

Lucy glanced back to the bridge where the captain stood looking pleased with himself. He should be pleased, she thought. He’s just berthed a six thousand-ton hospital ship as gently as a mother placing her new born in a cradle. She thought back to the trip from Australia to Egypt and the trouble they’d experienced with the docking at Trincomalee, even with two tugs helping to manoeuvre the ship alongside.

‘I wonder what France will be like. I’m looking forward to seeing the country. All that time in Egypt and I never got to see the Pyramids,’ Vicky said. ‘We were so close, but we may as well have been on the moon.’

‘From what Matron Kenny told us I think we’ll be far too busy coping with the wounded to see much of France,’ Lucy said.

‘How does Tubs know that?’

‘She wouldn’t make it up,’ Lucy said with a shrug. ‘She’s probably been told things in confidence. All she told me was that the fighting has been heavy.’

‘You’re probably right, but it can’t be worse than Egypt. I’m not sorry to leave all that sand.’ Vicky pulled a face. ‘The weather got me down.’

‘That’s two of us,’ Lucy said. ‘And all those flies. Up your nose so you couldn’t breathe, in your eyes, and when you went to dress a wound…’ She suppressed a shudder. ‘It was revolting. I wonder the wounds healed at all.’

‘I think you had it easy,’ Alex Spence said.

Lucy turned to the plump nurse who had joined them at the rail. Like Lucy and Vicky she clutched her hat in her hand. ‘Hello, Lex. You’re not still rabbiting on about how bad things were for you.’

‘But it’s true. We had it much worse in Salonica. The insects, millions of them. Millipedes, scorpions, you name it we had it. Spiders, some as big as a fist.’ Alex wrinkled her nose. ‘It was awful. Pour a drink and a thousand flies would be vying for a place on the rim of the cup. Before you knew what was happening you had a cup full of fly corpses. Even though last winter was so cold the insects were just as thick.’

‘Don’t start again. You’ve told us already, Lex,’ Vicky said. ‘Many times.’

‘But it’s true, and it was so hot in summer. I’ve never experienced anything like it.’ Alex pulled her cape tighter round her shoulders.

‘That’s because you come from Melbourne,’ Lucy said and laughed. ‘Forget it. It’s all behind us now. Say g’day to France.’

‘France. I’ve read so much about Paris, I wonder if I’ll get to see it.’ Alex was on Lucy’s left, drumming her fingers on the rail as if she was impatient.

Lucy turned to her, trying to keep her amusement from her features. ‘See Paris? You’ll be lucky. In case you’ve forgotten, there’s a war on.’

‘But we’ll have to go through Paris as we go north. I’ve checked it out. Surely we’ll be able to see something of the city. I would like to see the Eiffel Tower.’ Alex became thoughtful, then in a quiet voice she said, ‘And I might be able to see Len.’

‘Who’s Len?’ Vicky asked.

‘My fiancé.’

‘You’re a dark horse, Lex. I didn’t know you were engaged. What unit is he with?’ Vicky asked, then added, ‘He is an officer?’

‘What’s his rank got to do with anything?’ Alex said.

‘If he’s not an officer and the matron finds out, you’ll be in trouble. You know we’re not allowed to fraternise with the other ranks.’

Alex looked up, her eyes flashing with anger. ‘How do they think regulations are going to stop someone falling in love? He’s a private, so I’m not going to take any notice. Anyway, we were engaged before we volunteered. I’m sure Tubs wouldn’t say anything.’

‘Perhaps not, but the Moron would,’ Vicky said. ‘You be careful.’

Thank goodness she didn’t have that complication, Lucy thought. ‘I agree with Lex.’

‘But we’re officers,’ Vicky said. ‘We can’t walk out with just anyone.’

‘Why not, for goodness sake? Who decided about these regulations? How dare they dictate with whom we should make friends? It’s as if they have a breeding programme. That’s what Dad does on the station. He selects the cows he wants to mate with the pedigree bulls, but I’m not a cow. It stinks of the British class system to think the officers are better than the other ranks,’ Lucy said.

‘But they’re gentlemen,’ Vicky said.

‘Balderdash,’ Lucy said with scorn. ‘There’s no correlation between rank and being a gentleman. I’ll choose my own friends. I’m not going to take any notice of rubbish dreamt up by a mob of old fogies.’

‘That’s what I think too,’ Alex said. ‘And if I get the chance for leave I’ll see Len. I don’t care about stupid regulations.’

‘Don’t get your hopes up about leave, Lex, and I don’t think we’ll be going through Paris. From what I’ve heard Fritz is knocking at the gates. They’ll probably take us round to the west,’ Vicky said.

‘Where did you hear that?’ Lucy asked.

‘Everyone’s talking about it.’

‘That’s news to me. I’ll bet it’s just another rumour. The last I heard was that they were attacking Verdun, but they’d come unstuck, and the French are hitting back,’ Lucy said.

‘Where’s Verdun?’ Alex asked.

‘Way to the east. It must be well over one hundred miles from Paris,’ Lucy said. She was about to comment at Alex’s ignorance, but checked herself. Both Alex and Vicky had gone to state schools and left at fourteen. She’d been so lucky to have a private tutor. She smiled, remembering Mr Brunton.

He’d been the tutor to Lord Barter’s son in England, and because Grandfather had been the estate steward, Lord Barter had permitted Dad to share his lessons. When Lord Barter died the tutor had lost his cottage, as had many estate workers, including her grandparents, and Dad had brought Mr Brunton and his wife, Marie-Louise, out to be her tutor and governess at Aughton Park. Mr Brunton was a gentle old man who was sixty-two when he arrived and saw no reason to adapt his lessons, so had taught her the subjects he would have taught a boy, concentrating on maths, science, Latin and the classics. Marie-Louise was French and had taught her European geography and French. The usual girls’ subjects—sewing, embroidery and household tasks—had been left to Grandmother. Lucy had been thirteen when Mr Brunton had contracted Blackwater fever and Dad had sent him to Adelaide to recover, but he died.

Marie-Louise gained a teaching position at the prestigious St Peter’s Girls School in North Adelaide, and suggested that Lucy was enrolled to complete her schooling. Charlie bought a house on Kingston Terrace, a short walk away, and Marie-Louise cared for Lucy for the next three years while she attended the school. It was this education, possibly more than her good results during her nurse’s training, that resulted in the place at medical school.

‘But they’ve been shelling…’

‘Why aren’t you nurses wearing your hats?’ The authoritarian voice came from behind them.

They turned and Lucy saw Matron Morgan looking furious. ‘It’s too windy, Matron. We’d lose them.’

‘Oh, it’s you again, Paignton-Fox. I should have guessed you’d be involved.’ She glared as she examined Lucy from head to toe, as if trying to find more faults with her appearance. ‘You all know the regulations about being properly dressed in public. If it’s too windy get back below at once or I’ll have to discipline you all.’

‘We just wanted to see what France was like,’ Alex said. ‘It’s all new.’

‘This isn’t a holiday jaunt, Sister Spence. We’re here to do a job, not to be idle sightseers. Now do as you’re told and get below at once.’ Matron Morgan glared at the three nurses, then stormed off.

‘Why is the Moron always so miserable?’ Alex asked as they made their way to the nurses’ lounge. ‘I’ve not come across that sort of attitude since I was in training. Thank goodness Matron Kenny is in charge and not her.’

‘That’s why she’s miserable,’ Vicky said. ‘I was talking to a Medical Corps sergeant in the registry before we left Heliopolis, and he told me that the Moron had applied to be the senior matron. She thought that with her experience she’d be automatically put in charge, but Matron Kenny got the job. The Moron’s forty-two, you know, a lot older than Tubs. I think she’s venting her anger on us.’

‘But she’s all right with some of the nurses,’ Alex said.

‘She has her favourites. The ones who suc—’

Lucy interrupted, ‘Look at the time. We’ll have to get our skates on or we’ll be late at our disembarkation station. That’ll really give the Moron something to whinge about.’