An Orphan’s War

One evening Maxine was making Mrs Jason a cup, and one for herself and Bennett, the other night nurse, when she heard the distant throb of engines and at the same time the sirens went off. Her hand shook as though with the vibration and some of the liquid slopped over from Bennett’s cup.

‘German,’ Maxine breathed.

‘How can you tell?’

Even though it was almost dark, Maxine could see Bennett’s face had grown pale.

‘By the way the hum isn’t one continuous sound,’ Maxine answered, putting the cup down. As she did so there was the most tremendous bang, followed by the sound of an explosion and what sounded like the shattering of a thousand windows. Dear God, this was close. Her hand trembling, she banged the kettle down.

Elderly patients in their dressing gowns and slippers were wandering in from the ward next door, looking dazed. One man shouted, ‘We’ve been hit!’

What should she do? If another bomb fell a fraction closer, it could wipe out the whole ward. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead under her cap, and Maxine raised her hand to wipe them away. Her heart beat madly.

‘Stay here, Nurse Taylor, and keep the patients calm.’ It was Sister Mason. ‘I’m going to see where the damage is.’

Ovaltine forgotten, Maxine and Bennett briskly did the rounds of those patients who were still in bed, helpless as babies as they lay in their cots. Just as Maxine was trying to comfort an agitated Mrs Jason, the Home Sister stuck her head in the doorway.

‘I’m afraid the Nurses’ Wing has been hit.’ Her usual kindly expression was replaced by shock. ‘I’m just going to let the other wards know.’ She disappeared.

Maxine froze. Dear God, the Nurses’ Wing. Anna! She would be sleeping in their room – not on duty until the morning. Oh, Anna, please be safe. And the others.

‘Bennett, will you wait here in the ward while I go and see.’ Maxine was galvanised into action as she tossed the words over her shoulder. Against all the rules, she flew down the unlit corridors, where a wall of dust greeted her, and managed to catch up with a crowd of hospital workers as they were speeding towards the West Wing.

‘There may be people trapped,’ one of the doctors said. ‘We must be prepared for the worst.’

Smoke filled Maxine’s throat as they came upon a scene of horror. The Nurses’ Wing was a heap of bricks. She couldn’t see over the top of the pile to what had been the far wall. There was no sign of life, no shouts or moans – nothing. Everyone stood, eyes wide, trying to take it in. Some of the women were crying. The stench of something burning which she dared not … could not name … filled her nostrils. Anna! She screamed her friend’s name but no sound came from her lips, only the taste of dust on her tongue.

‘They didn’t stand a bloody chance,’ one man finally broke the eerie silence, anger coating his words.

‘Must have been a really high explosive to do so much damage,’ said another.

Muffled explosions now barely registered, Maxine’s head was so blocked with fear for Anna. In one of the corners where they were standing was a heap of fallen timbers, sparking and flaring even as she watched momentarily before she came to her senses and grabbed the nearest man’s arm. She pointed, fear and dust choking her as she stuttered, ‘Fire!’

‘I believe someone’s gone to call the fire department,’ he said grimly, turning to her, ‘but until they come we need to be sure there’s no one still alive.’ He lifted his chin. ‘ANYBODY HERE?’ he roared, his words bouncing on the rubble. ‘ANYBODY HERE?’

To Maxine’s joy, she heard female voices.

‘Here! Please help! We’re here!’ They were calling from all directions.

It was as though a nerve force suddenly held everyone together, giving them a purpose. Maxine rushed forward with the crowd, tearing bricks and mortar away to get under and behind the ruin the explosion had left. Anna, hold on. Hold tight. We’re coming to get you. Don’t give up, please, Anna. I’m here.

As if they’d heard her shout the words aloud, the others began calling, ‘Hold on, there. We’ll get you out.’

Minutes later the first nurse stumbled out to a tremendous cheer, but this girl was too tall to be Anna. One by one the nurses worked their way through a gap which had been blocked by a huge storage cupboard. Surely Anna would be the next nurse. But no matter how Maxine peered, the thick black dust made the nurses almost unrecognisable. Blood stained their pyjamas and faces and hands. One girl, who she’d thought for a wonderful moment was Anna, was bleeding from her arm, but all of them shook their heads, warding off any concern.

‘There are two nurses still left – they’re in a bad way,’ another nurse said, her short hair matted with blood. ‘Please help them.’

‘Have you seen Anna Redding?’ Maxine pleaded, strangling a sob and coughing as the dust caught in her throat.

The nurse shook her head.

‘They’ll be on the other side of the gap.’ A porter Maxine recognised sprang forward with two other men. She started to rush after them, but another man dragged her back.

‘You’ll only be in the way,’ he said not unkindly. ‘You’ll be needed when they’re all found.’

Maxine heard the pounding of feet. Men’s voices. Oh, thank God, the firemen were here.

‘Stand back,’ one of them ordered. ‘Clear some space.’

After what seemed like hours to Maxine, desperately trying to quell the nausea which threatened, the rescuers emerged carrying the two injured nurses between them. No sound came from the limp bodies. Neither of them was Anna.

‘Redding.’ Maxine’s eyes swam in frightened tears as she shook the arm of a plump-faced girl. ‘Anna Redding. Have you seen her?’

‘I wouldn’t know her.’

‘There are others still missing besides Redding,’ one girl with a gash on her forehead hissed.

Tears poured down Maxine’s cheeks. The worst, it seemed, had happened.

Matron made an official announcement the following morning.

‘Out of the thirty-two nurses who were sleeping in the West Wing last night when the bomb made a direct hit, I am thankful to announce that only four girls died, and one, Lois Jenkins, who is seriously injured but stable, and we are optimistic for her full recovery. That doesn’t decry the sacrifice those girls made, but it could have been even worse. We could have lost all or many more of our wonderful nurses.’ She paused. ‘Here are the names of those who died.’

Maxine held her breath while Matron adjusted her glasses.

‘Patricia Cooper, Jane Deveraux and Sally Grimshaw and Belinda Brown.’

Maxine stood alert, her nerves taut. Anna wasn’t on the list. Why? Where was she? A flicker of hope died at Matron’s next words.

‘Unfortunately, we haven’t found Anna Redding. We can only presume she died, as several of the nurses confirmed she was in the quarters with the others at the time the bomb went off. I will inform you when I hear of any further news. In the meantime, in case the Germans decide to have another shot at us tonight, I have asked the cleaners to prepare the basement. All of us, the whole hospital – except those on duty – and I mean doctors, nurses, cleaners, cooks, servicemen, and everyone in between – is to sleep down there tonight. I will inform you if there are to be any further changes.’

It wasn’t until the afternoon that Anna was pulled out of the rubble. Like the other four nurses, she’d been buried alive. Maxine swallowed the bile that kept coming up into her throat before she fled to the toilet and vomited until her stomach had nothing left to bring up. And then she wept. She wept for Anna and she wept for Johnny. Two wasted young lives within months of one another.

‘I’ll never forget either of you,’ she whispered, her hands folded together in prayer.

Maxine lay still, wondering why every bone ached. She stretched out her legs, grimacing as pain shot through them. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Her mouth felt gritty, dusty, stale. Where was she? What was that strange odour? Something rancid. So strong it turned her stomach.

She opened her eyes and lifted her neck, twisting it this way and that, hardly taking in the sight that met her stare. Fully dressed bodies were lying inches away from her, still sleeping, some of them actually snoring. Of course. She was in the basement of the hospital. Matron had ordered everyone to spend the night here, leaving only a skeletal staff above.

Maxine managed to raise herself to a sitting position and took in the incredible scene. Surgeons were pressed up against tea ladies and maids; Dr Shaw, who always barked his orders and was often rude to the nurses, had his head on the shoulder of the young trainee nurse in her ward. She wondered what he’d think when he woke up and realised who he’d slept with last night. Maybe he’d get the message that he wasn’t quite as important as he liked to make out. She couldn’t help the smile which hovered over her lips … that is, until she remembered poor Anna. Her dear friend. How she was going to miss her.

It was still early but several people were stirring and Maxine struggled to her feet.

‘What a night,’ John, one of the porters said, flexing his arms above his head and yawning.

‘Not the most comfortable, I have to say,’ someone else said. ‘But we’re the lucky ones.’

‘You can say that again.’

More staff were scrambling to their feet, giving one another wan smiles, probably feeling as foolish as Maxine that they’d spent the night in such proximity with one another, and now it was over they needed to get on with their normal duties.

And she needed to go back to her patients.

Two nights later, wailing sirens sent cold shivers down Maxine’s back as she desperately tried to help the patients to safety before terrifying explosions wiped out two whole blocks of the hospital. Wards were totally destroyed and Matron ordered everyone to transfer what seemed like the whole hospital to the basement.

Everyone had to work at top speed with the blackout still in strict force, even in the basement. Carrying a pile of linen, Maxine had almost careered into a wall.

‘It was those painted animals that saved me from a nasty collision,’ she told Bennett at breakfast next morning. ‘They certainly showed up in the dark.’

‘Oh, you’ve spotted the White Rabbits,’ Bennett laughed. ‘Bloody ingenious, if you ask me. Some chap, I think it was, painted them on the wall for just that reason – to save us all smashing into it.’ She swallowed a spoonful of porridge. ‘I see you’re down for the children’s ward for the next month – rather you than me. I hear the Staff Nurse is awful.’

‘I particularly asked for the transfer.’ Maxine smiled at Bennett’s raised eyebrows. The children’s ward was always the least favourite among the nurses, mainly because of the children’s distress caused by their parents either coming on visiting days and stirring them up, or not appearing at all. She didn’t bother to explain that she’d always wanted to work with children.

Staff Nurse Mayfield ordered Maxine to bath the children who were able to get out of bed. Her first patient was a scruffy, undernourished waif who had just been admitted with a body full of scabs, looking suspiciously like the results of chickenpox. If it was, at least now the spots were scabs he wouldn’t still be infectious. She would show them to Sister Mayfield after his bath.

‘You’re a girl and not s’posed to see my willy,’ the child shouted when she pulled his filthy underpants down.

‘I’m a nurse, so it doesn’t count,’ Maxine told him, biting her lip to hide a smile.

‘Why doesn’t it?’ His round blue eyes regarded her.

‘Because we’re trained especially to help children to get better.’

‘I don’t wanna go in the water. Mum never makes me. I don’t like it.’ His eyes were wide with fear.

‘We have to clean those nasty scabs or they’ll get worse and start itching and spreading.’

She quickly lifted him into the bath, and taking no notice of his screams, she soaped and rinsed him.

‘I can get out myself,’ he said, his face contorted as he struggled to put his thin legs over the side of the bath.

‘Well, you’re a big boy.’ Maxine smiled as she dried him. ‘And you’ve done well.’ She dabbed his tears away. ‘Can you tell me your name?’

‘Course I can,’ he said scornfully. ‘It’s John Smiff – but Mum calls me Johnny.’

Her eyes filled as she heard the little lad’s name and a tear rolled down her cheek. Quickly, she brushed it away.

‘Why are you crying, Miss?’ Johnny looked up at her, his eyes still wet. ‘Have they said you’ve got to have a bath now?’

Chapter Seven

September 1941

When Mr Churchill had announced at the end of May that the Blitz was over, and the Luftwaffe no longer pounded London and the Docklands every night, Maxine had a desperately needed reprieve. She’d been working twelve-hour shifts, covering for a nurse on sick leave as well as doing her own duties, with little time off in between – not enough to do much more than write letters home, keep up her laundry, and occasionally go to the pictures with one or more of the nurses she’d come to know in other wards. A pleasant Scot called Gillian was now in the next bed but kept herself to herself and Maxine was grateful. It would be a very long time before she’d open her heart to anyone else.

Going through the Blitz with the constant bombing which had caused further destruction at the hospital, the strain of always showing a calm exterior so as not to unsettle the patients every time they heard the siren, and without Anna’s cheerful approach to life, Maxine sometimes found the days difficult to get through.

Nevertheless, she’d looked forward to her few days off with her parents. They’d seemed pleased to have her home, but she could tell by her mother’s glances to her father that she was still puzzled their daughter had left them to fend for themselves.

Feeling she was letting them down, but thankful her father was no worse, Maxine was glad to get back to London.

‘Good to have you back, Taylor,’ Bennett said, immediately she set eyes on Maxine. ‘We’ve missed you with so few of us left.’

Maxine noticed the deep circles under the nurse’s eyes and felt a pang of guilt. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Bennett, I shouldn’t have gone – there was no emergency or anything at home.’

‘Don’t be daft. If anyone needed a break, you did.’ She looked at Maxine under her lashes. ‘Bit of a stir going on since you left.’

‘Oh, what?’ Maxine straightened her cap, barely summoning a grain of curiosity.

Bennett grinned. ‘I expect you’ll see soon enough.’

An hour later Maxine was chatting to Tom Jansen, a soldier who’d been badly wounded in the leg and had had to have it amputated. He’d been incredibly brave, keeping up her spirits every bit as much as she did his, and she was always impressed with his optimism.

‘Enough of the chit-chat, nurse. This is a hospital, not a social club.’

She jumped. Spun round. Looked up to a powerful jaw, hard mouth, and straight into granite-coloured eyes. Strong nose. Dark auburn hair was brushed back from his forehead. A face that meant business.

‘Excuse me, but—’ Maxine began.

‘Nurse was just—’ Tom interrupted, struggling to sit further up in his bed. Maxine automatically went to help him. ‘I’m all right, Nurse – honestly.’

The doctor whom she’d never seen before didn’t give the boy a glance. As if he’d never spoken. Instead, the steely eyes alighted on Maxine.

‘No excuses – there’s work to do, so get on with it.’ He swung away.

Maxine stared after his departing figure marching along the basement corridor, burning with fury. Even Matron never spoke to her so rudely. Where was Matron this morning anyway? She knew, if anyone did, that Maxine barely wasted a minute. What an overbearing … She couldn’t think of a strong enough word to describe him. Who did he think he was?

She tried to carry on with her normal duties but her heart quickened with annoyance every time she thought of the auburn-haired doctor. He obviously had no respect for nurses whatsoever, no bedside manner, no understanding that a little human contact which made them feel special and individual played a crucial part in a patient’s recovery. She needed to find out if he’d been temporarily transferred to her ward or, God help them, was going to be there permanently. If so … She didn’t want to think further, except that if he was, she was in for an even greater daily challenge.

But to Maxine’s surprise, not everyone thought the same way about the new addition to the department.

‘Isn’t he a dreamboat?’ Bennett’s eyes danced mischievously as she was about to take temperatures. She looked at Maxine. ‘You have met him, haven’t you?’

‘Met who?’ Maxine replied innocently, though she knew perfectly well now who Bennett was talking about.

‘Red.’

‘Red?’

‘You know. The new doctor.’ Bennett looked surprised Maxine didn’t seem to know who she was referring to.

‘It’s Mr Blake, as it happens,’ Sister admonished as she swept past to supervise the new probationers.

The two young women grinned at one another.

‘A surgeon, no less,’ Bennett said, her hand to her mouth to stifle the ready laugh. ‘Even better.’

‘No wonder he’s on his high horse,’ Maxine commented.

‘What makes you say that?’ Curiosity flickered across her colleague’s face.

‘He told me off for chatting to Tom. And when Tom tried to stick up for me he completely ignored him and carried on at me in a most arrogant manner. I thought he was horrible.’

‘Mmm.’ Bennett shot a look at her watch. ‘We need to continue this conversation this evening when we have some privacy.’

The buzz in the temporary canteen the Red Cross had organised after the bombings was even greater than usual. Maxine caught the name ‘Red’ several times from some giggling trainees at the next table.

‘Wonder if he’s as red hot as his name.’ A girl with bright golden curls escaping her cap laughed and gave a huge wink to her colleague opposite.

Maxine glared at them before burying her head in her book at the same time as eating her stew and dumplings, though it was difficult to concentrate with the volume of noise around her.

‘Is this seat taken?’

It was a deep voice, educated, richly coating the few words.

‘No, please … She barely looked up beyond the white coat buttoned to the neck, recognising his voice. She dropped her eyes to her book again, hoping he would leave her in peace.

‘Oh, didn’t I meet you earlier … in the men’s ward, wasn’t it?’ He set his tray on the table, removed the plate and cutlery, and propped the tray up against the table as he sat down, his piercing grey eyes fixed firmly upon her.

Damn. The arrogant surgeon. She was tempted to tell him it was the exact opposite of ‘wasting time’ that he’d accused her of, but she raised her head a few inches and looked directly at him.

‘I believe you spoke to me when I was with Mr Jansen.’ Ice dripped from the words as she made a pretence of dropping her eyes back to her book.

‘And your name?’

What a rude man. She bit her tongue to stop herself from giving him a sharp reply. She must never do anything, say anything, to get in the way of her Nightingale Badge. Be polite. However he tries to get your goat.

She placed her finger on the paragraph she was reading to let him know this was only going to be a brief interruption. ‘I’m Nurse Taylor.’ Immediately the image of Johnny sprang to her mind. She blinked.

‘Christian name?’ he practically barked.

Her hands made a fist underneath the table. ‘Maxine.’

‘Maxine,’ he repeated and jerked his head towards her book. ‘What are you reading?’

She looked across at him, irritation bubbling to the surface. ‘Out of Africa.’

‘Oh, Isak Dinesen’s memoir. How do you find it?’

He would know Karen Blixen’s Danish name. Try as she might, she could never recall it.

‘I like to read about a determined woman who is doing what she loves most against all odds,’ she returned coolly.

‘Is that what you are? A determined woman?’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling, then caught her eye and smiled in a self-satisfied way. ‘Are you working at St Thomas’ against all odds?’

How dare he?

‘I don’t think there’s any comparison between a nurse in a hospital and Karen Blixen running her farm single-handedly.’ She deliberately looked down at her book again.

Why doesn’t he go away and leave me alone?

‘Impossible to concentrate, I should say, in this madhouse.’ He gazed towards the heaving tables.

The annoying thing was that this time he was right. She snapped her book closed.

‘By the way, I’m Edwin Blake.’

If he thought she was going to curl up in deference to his godly presence, he was wrong. She hid a smile. She’d have a little game with him.

‘How do you do, Dr Blake.’

Quick as a flash he answered, ‘It’s Mr Blake, actually.’

Maxine’s hand flew to her mouth in mock dismay. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

If Anna had been with her at that moment and caught her eye they would not have dared look at each other for fear of breaking into giggles for pulling the great man down a few pegs. She looked innocently at him.

There was a moment’s pause. Her heart beat a little too rapidly. Have I gone too far?

‘I suppose I deserved that.’ A smile hovered, softening the hard line of his lips.

She picked up her knife and fork again and made a pretence of finishing her meal, but each swallow stuck in her throat. This was awful. She wasn’t enjoying the stew at all with him staring at her, while he hadn’t even touched his food.

‘You may begin, Mr Blake,’ she emphasised, tackling a piece of brownish potato. She looked up and smiled. ‘Sorry, but you were staring.’

Her remark seemed to draw him back an inch or two. Then what looked like a flicker of respect passed across his face. ‘Was I really? I didn’t mean to.’

He began to eat, grimacing every so often and inspecting the contents of his fork before continuing. He broke the awkward silence.

‘How long have you been at St Thomas’?’

Oh, no. He wanted to keep up a conversation. Surely her message was clear that she wasn’t at all interested. He was just doing it to annoy her.

‘A year. When it was a whole building.’ She placed her knife and fork neatly together and made a great play of looking at her watch, ‘Oh, it’s later than I thought.’ She jumped to her feet and tucked her book under her arm.

He immediately sprang up. ‘But you haven’t finished your—’

‘I wouldn’t want to be accused of wasting time again.’ She threw him a cold glance. ‘Good day, Mr Blake.’ With that she turned and made her way through the narrow spaces between the other tables, inwardly seething.

Pompous prig. She thought of more words for Mr Edwin Blake as she tidied her hair in the small mottled mirror over the washbasin in the cloakroom before she felt ready to face her patients again.

‘A word with you, please, Nurse Taylor.’

Sister Crook put her head round the tiny kitchen as Maxine was preparing the drinks on her ward. She immediately put down the cloth and followed Sister into her room.

‘Sit down, please.’ Sister Crook took her place on the opposite side of the desk. ‘I’m most surprised,’ the older woman began, ‘to find that although you have not actually been rude to one of your superiors, you have nevertheless not acted in the required deferential manner to an eminent surgeon. So what do you have to say for yourself?’

A flush of anger rushed to Maxine’s cheeks. ‘I imagine you’re referring to Mr Blake,’ she said, barely trusting herself to speak.