With the news coming out of Malaya, and Hong Kong having fallen to the Japs, the talk was of the danger to Singapore. Rosie was beside herself with worry. The last letter from her ma told of how she’d heard nothing of Billy, but to keep strong, as they would surely hear if something terrible happened.
Poor Ma, she was coping well. How Rosie longed to go to her, but time off was at a premium and the hospital was busier than ever with all the returning wounded, and most rest periods were taken in the nurses’ quarters, so as to be on hand if they were needed.
Rosie had long since given up badgering the powers-that-be to allow her to serve abroad. The last letter she had received from her superiors had told her that, with her sisters already abroad, they didn’t think it prudent to send the last girl of the family into a danger zone.
Rosie now let out a long and anguished sigh.
‘That was a deep one, Rosie. You fed up then?’
Rosie looked up at her friend, who had just come off-duty. ‘Naw, Freda. I were having a to-do in me brain.’
Freda laughed. ‘If I know you for a hundred years, Rosie, I’ll never cease to find you funny. It’s your sayings. A “to-do” in your brain? What’s that, when it’s at home?’
Rosie laughed, too. ‘You knaw: when you’re trying to solve a problem and you knaw you should do one thing, but you really want to do another.’
‘Yes, I know. Is this over you wanting to serve abroad?’
‘Aye.’
‘Rosie, it isn’t all that’s bothering you, is it?’
‘Don’t ask, Freda. I’m trying me best to ignore that part of me.’
‘It’s Albie, isn’t it? The German POW brought in with appendicitis. I know how you feel. I’ve known these last months, since he first came in when his plane ditched in the sea.’
‘Did it show?’
‘Not to anyone else, but since we have become closer, I could see what was happening, where Albie was concerned. Meeting him struck you like a bullet. Look, if it helps, he’s being moved from surgical to medical, so you’ll be caring for him. Though prepare yourself, as he isn’t well.’
‘What? Why?’
‘His appendix burst and he has peritonitis. He’ll probably be in your high-dependency beds when you get back from your break.’
‘Eeh, naw.’
‘Look, Rosie, take some advice from me, and try your hardest not to show how you feel.’
‘I don’t have to be told, Freda. I’m well aware of how folk look on fraternizing. I’ll get back now, but I don’t mind telling you, I hope I’m assigned to give Albrecht special care. I can’t bear to think of anyone but me doing it. Not that I don’t trust them to give him the best of care, but things have changed a bit since the beginning, when the German pilots were first brought in. A lot of folk have lost brothers and sons, husbands and fiancés, and there was that bomb in the town. Attitudes towards the Germans around here are changing.’
‘You’re right, they are – and you can’t blame people. Most of us knew the girl who was blown to smithereens a couple of weeks ago. And then there’s that pilot who is terrifying everyone. He flew as low as three hundred feet the other day. Mrs Davis was hanging out her washing and she saw his face as clear as day. She thought he was going to shoot her, but he just stuck his tongue out at her. Pig!’
Rosie sighed. If someone as lovely and caring as her dear friend Freda could take such an attitude towards the Germans, then there was no hope for them. Not that she wanted there to be. She wanted to hate them herself, and in general she did. But Albie? No, she could never hate him. I could love him, though.
Shaking this thought away, she hurried back to the ward. Sister Jones met her, with the instruction she most wanted to hear. ‘Nurse, come into my office.’
Closing the door behind her, Rosie waited until the sister sat down behind her desk. ‘Is sommat wrong, Sister?’
‘No, nothing wrong. We have a German POW on our ward.’ The sister went on to instruct Rosie that she was to do what she most wished to: be the nurse responsible for Albie’s care.
Going through his notes with the sister put fear into Rosie. Albie truly was very ill, and it was touch and go for him. Trying to control her feelings, Rosie sent up a silent prayer: Please, God, let Albie survive this.
‘Right, I want you to go and get some rest now, Rosie. As you know, we are very short-staffed, but the ward is quiet at the moment, and Nurse Blowen is coping. She has finished the bedpan round, and we have a young Red Cross student working as an orderly, so she is taking tea around. Nurse Rawlings is taking care of our POW, but I want you with him overnight, and I don’t know when I will be able to relieve you.’
Rosie wanted to scream that the POW had a name; that he was a person, not a thing to be called by an acronym. And that she wanted to go to him now. What if Albie died this afternoon and she’d had no time with him? But she just took her leave politely and made her way to the nurses’ quarters.
Once there, she couldn’t sleep. Or even rest. She alternated between praying for her sisters and brothers – begging God to keep Daisy, Florrie and Billy safe – and almost screaming at Him to make Albie better and make it possible for them to be together one day. After a while she knew that trying to sleep was useless, and decided to take a long soak in the bath – a luxury not often afforded to her, as dozens of other girls needed their turn in the bathroom.
Lying back in the hot water, Rosie allowed her tears to flow. But they didn’t bring her any release from the anguish that was her constant companion. She tried to think of something; anything rather than fear for her brother and sisters. The letter she’d had from Sibbie came to mind, but it didn’t help. Oh, how she missed everyone.
Sibbie didn’t give any details about the mysterious posting she and Marjella had talked about, when they’d all seen Daisy and Florrie off. She simply wrote:
Me and Marjella are now settled in new posts and are very happy about them. I won’t be able to write much, if at all, as my work will be intense, and I’ll be based deep in the countryside. But when I can, I will; and, as everyone is saying these days, no news is good news, so don’t worry about me.
Rosie pondered just what Sibbie and Marjie could possibly be doing deep in the countryside that would mean they had no time to write letters. But she couldn’t come up with anything other than deciphering intercepted messages that were in German or French.
How did life change so much? They’d all been so happy, as children.
Drying herself, Rosie checked her watch for the umpteenth time. Still only four o’clock. Sister had said not to go on duty until seven. Donning her dressing gown, she walked to the window and looked out over the stark, late-January winter scene. The trees in the hospital grounds were bare of leaves, and their branches and the normally lush grassed areas were clothed in last night’s frost, which had not yet thawed. It was a pretty scene that did nothing to lift Rosie’s spirits. This ‘not knowing’ is awful. And although I know that for those actively fighting this war there must be a lot of fear to contend with, for those of us left holding the fort, there is both fear and deep anxiety.
The door being flung open brought Rosie out of her thoughts. ‘Here you are! I went to your ward to see you, but they said you were off-duty. How did that happen?’
Freda looked flushed, giving Rosie the feeling that something was amiss. She told her of Sister’s plan.
‘Well, why aren’t you asleep? You’ll be dead on your feet before the night’s done.’
‘I knaw, but so much is going around me head.’
‘Look, I’m off now, and Jeannie is, too. She’s on her way, but you know Jeannie – she had to stop off at the canteen to see if there was anything she could snack on. Anyway, why don’t the three of us go for a walk and have a cuppa in the tea shop. It might help you to forget your troubles for a while.’
Even when they wrapped up in their nursing capes, the freezing air bit into their bodies. The familiar sound of the clanging of the doorbell as they opened the tea-shop door was very welcome. They hurried inside and closed the door before Kath could shout at them, as she stood by her counter and turned round with that look on her face.
‘Ha! We beat you to it, Kath. I tell you, if ever you close this place, you should get a job as a doorman – you’d enjoy that. Then you could open and close doors to your heart’s content.’
‘None of your cheek, Jeannie, or I won’t be serving you any of the scones that are just about to come out of the oven; and you like them while they’re still hot.’
Jeannie laughed. ‘If you don’t serve me, who are you going to serve? You’re not exactly rushed off your feet, Kath.’
‘Don’t remind me. This weather’s keeping everyone inside. I’m glad to see the three of you. Sit down and I’ll bring your usual.’
‘Phew, Jeannie, I thought for a mo that you’d cooked your goose with Kath. I’ve known her to throw people out who’ve riled her.’
‘Not if they eat like me, she wouldn’t. I’m her best customer.’
Rosie smiled at this. She loved the happy-go-lucky attitude of Jeannie. A plump girl, due to her eating habits, she had a pretty face that always seemed sunny, as she smiled all the time. She had lovely even, white teeth and full lips. Her hair, though, was her crowning glory: thick and very dark, it shone with many natural highlights – copper colours. She wore it wound into a bun while working, but when she released it and her hair fell around her face and hung down her back, it was beautiful.
Freda was the exact opposite. Tall and very slim, almost skinny really, she was fair-haired, and wore her hair cut short and curled under at the bottom – a style made popular by the lovely Queen Elizabeth.
‘Right, we’re here to get you out of the doldrums, Rosie. So start by telling us what’s bothering you, eh?’
‘Oh, Jeannie, you knaw it’s me brother and me sisters. I told you they’re stationed right where the Japs are closing in. I’m terrified sommat’ll happen to any of them.’
Neither Jeannie nor Freda spoke for a minute, but then what comfort could they offer? Facts were facts, and what was being revealed about the Japanese methods of war, and their disregard for the conventions, was terrifying.
‘All we can do is pray for them, Rosie, and I will, love.’
‘Ta, Jeannie.’
‘And I will, love. But although that’s a terrible burden, you’ve other things on your mind, haven’t you?’
‘Aye, I have. But, well . . . it don’t do to talk about it.’
‘Look, we all know what it is; and you’re right, it ain’t a good idea to talk about it. But even so, I want you to know that I don’t condemn you, but would warn you not to do anything about how you feel until the war’s over and attitudes have changed a bit.’
‘They’ll only do that if we win, Jeannie.’
‘And we’re going to – we have to hang on to that, or we’ll be without hope.’
‘Jeannie’s right. No matter how you feel, just keep a lid on it all. Albie’s going nowhere; he’ll be a prisoner till the end of the war, whatever the outcome. And if he feels the same about you, then what will be, will be.’
‘We have to get him well first. I didn’t like the look of the reports that came with him from surgical.’
Once again they all fell silent. Kath serving them her delicious scones helped. ‘They smell grand, Kathy – remind me of home. Me ma does a lot of . . .’
‘Come on, Rosie, cry it out. Holding it all in will cause you to have a breakdown, and you’re with friends now.’ An arm came round her. She looked up into Kath’s face. ‘I can’t have this, crying in me cafe. Cheer up, girl, it may never happen.’
‘She’ll be all right, Kath. Things get on top of us now and then.’
‘I don’t wonder at it. And especially those of you who aren’t from round here. I’ll tell you what – I’ll put the wireless on. They play some nice music in the early evening before the news comes on.’
‘We can do a jig, Rosie; that’d cheer you up.’
As the music blasted out, Jeannie got up, scraping her chair loudly on the floor as she did so and, stuffing a mouthful of scone into her mouth, began to jig around in a hilarious fashion, holding up the skirt of her uniform.
‘Oh, Jeannie, you are a clown.’
‘Ha, I could dance you under the table, Freda.’
The music turned to a Scottish reel, and Freda stood. ‘We’ll see about that.’
‘Now, girls, mind me furniture.’
Taking no notice, Freda linked arms with Jeannie and swung her round. Then she skipped away, before turning, and this time both girls met and linked arms again and did a twirl. The sight, and the sound of the music, lit something in Rosie. Having lived in Scotland since she was a little girl, she knew plenty about Scottish dancing. Getting up, she kicked off her heavy shoes and raised one arm above her head. Putting the other on her waist, and being light on her feet, she danced a proper, elegant Scottish jig, bringing the others to a standstill in amazement.
The feeling that she got as the music pulsated through her lifted Rosie and made her heart soar, making her feel as if she was in the inn at Portpatrick, dancing with the locals as Ma and Angus clapped along. The clapping and cheering were almost as loud from the three of them watching her, and they hooted as the dance came to an end.
‘That was amazing, Rosie. Well done, you. And you look so much better now.’
‘Aye, with the smell of the baking and the Scottish music, I felt as though I were at home, and it felt good.’
‘You need some leave, Rosie. I’m going to tackle Sister about it. It’s as Kath says: it ain’t so bad for us as live around here, or in London, as I do. Freda can go home every night, and I can every time I have a day off. But you can’t, and it ain’t right. Leave has been cancelled for too long.’
As Rosie went on-duty, leave was the last thing on her mind. Albie had worsened, and now there was a fear for his life. Checking all of his vital signs further worried her. Putting her hand out, she stroked his blond hair from his burning forehead, leaving her hand resting there for a moment as she gazed down at him. Her love for him flowed from her.
Albie opened his eyes, his long eyelashes brushing his high cheekbones. ‘N – Nurse Rosie?’
‘Aye, it’s me. I’m here, Albie, and I’ll not leave you. Fight, Albie – get well. You can, you knaw. It sometimes only takes willpower, naw matter what we do. I’ll not give up on you.’
‘R – Rosie, I – I have the letter. For . . . my Mutter.’
‘You’ll not need that. You’ll see your mother again, Albie, and you can tell her what you want to say. This war will end, and you’ll go home, I promise.’
‘Nein, Rosie. I – I’m . . . fertig.’
Rosie didn’t fully understand, but thought Albie was telling her that he was finished. Usually an excellent English speaker, in his illness he was reverting to his native tongue.
‘Naw, you’re only done if you give up. Fight, Albie.’
His eyes closed. Rosie did her medical checks again, frantic for them to tell her that he wasn’t entering the last phase of his life, and then sighed with relief as they showed a slight improvement. ‘Sleep, Albie. Rest easy. You’ll see your Mutter – you will.’
An hour later, after checking him a further time, Albie showed signs that his fever was deepening, as sweat stood out on his forehead. Fetching lukewarm water, Rosie began to wash him down, to try to cool him and make him more comfortable. Sister looked in at that point. ‘How’s he faring, Nurse?’
‘His temperature is very high, Sister. I’m trying to cool him.’
‘Open the window. I’d fetch a fan, but they are all in use.’
Rosie already knew this, as she’d sent an orderly in search of one, but she had come back saying none were available; and yet Rosie knew that no one in the ward needed a fan more than Albie. It would be the senior nurses refusing. How they could do so, she did not know and she wanted to shout at Sister that – German or not – Albie deserved to have his life saved. But then she’d be doing Sister an injustice because no one cared more, even if in a cold detached way, than Sister did.
Opening the window blew a gale into the room and chilled Rosie.
‘No, that’s not acceptable. I’ll be back in a moment.’
Rosie could have hugged Sister as she came back bearing a fan. ‘There, I found one. Concentrate it on the patient. Nurse, I know we can’t help how we feel, and I can see that this case has got to you, so I may think about swapping you with Nurse Potts, who is also on night-duty.’
Wanting to plead, but knowing that would mean that she would be taken off Albie’s case for certain, Rosie kept her voice steady. ‘Naw, I’ll be fine, Sister. I feel no different about this patient than I do about any other. I just care deeply and want to save his life. I might be speaking out of turn, but some are not so caring of the German patients. I don’t blame them, and I understand, but this man’s life is hanging in the balance, and I want to make sure he gets the best attention we can give him.’
‘No. You’re not speaking out of turn, Nurse, and it’s why I wanted you to do this. I can go to my bed resting easy, knowing that he is in your care, but please try to keep your emotions in check. Don’t let your judgement be impaired by over-caring. Be professional in all you do, and he will have the best chance he can possibly have, in your hands.’
Sister was right, Rosie knew this, and nodded her head. ‘I will, Sister. But can you instruct that if I need owt, I’m to have it, because not getting a fan was frustrating me. That’s all my emotions were – anger and frustration.’
‘Very well, I’ll do that. Now, goodnight, Nurse, and good luck. If anyone can bring the young man through, you can with your excellent nursing skills.’
‘Ta, Sister.’
With Albie now washed down, and a fresh sheet under him and another over him, Rosie concentrated the gently whirring fan on him. Albie gradually rested easier than he had, and Rosie was glad to see that after a little while his temperature lowered by a fraction. If that kept up, he would stand a chance.
Two hours later, Albie hadn’t moved. His breathing was shallow, but steady. Checking his oxygen levels prompted Rosie to put an oxygen mask on him. As she tugged the heavy cylinder from the corner of the room to stand nearer to Albie, she prayed to God to make him better. Holding his hand, she whispered fervently what she’d told him earlier: ‘Fight, Albie. Don’t give in.’ Then, without thinking, she added, ‘Please don’t give in, me darling.’
Albie stirred. His hand tightened on hers, his lovely blue eyes opened and seemed to contain a plea.
Rosie understood. ‘Yes, Albie, I do love you. Get well for me.’
His weak hand let go of hers and she saw that he’d fallen asleep once more. But this time he seemed very much at peace.
Pulling her chair over to his bedside, Rosie sat down and took his hand in hers once more. Watching the rise and fall of his chest, she willed the movement to get stronger, and for Albie to breathe more deeply. But tiredness overtook her after half an hour, and the whirring of the fan lulled her to close her eyes.
‘Nurse. Nurse!’
Rosie sat up, startled by the sudden intrusion into the dream she was having of running down the beach, holding Albie’s hand, without a care in the world.
Looking up, she saw Nurse Potts staring down at her. Realization dawned on Rosie that Albie’s hand had gone cold in hers. Slowly she looked back at him, not wanting to know the truth, but seeing what she feared had happened. Albie had gone.
‘Naw . . . naw.’
What happened next was completely unexpected, because the cold-as-ice Nurse Potts grabbed Rosie and held onto her. ‘Rosie, poor Rosie. I’m sorry. I know . . . well, I know how you feel. My fiancé was killed.’ This came out on a sob.
‘Oh, Elizabeth, I had naw idea, lass.’
Nurse Potts dried her eyes. ‘I know. I’ve never spoken about it. Anyway, we must be professional at all times – it helps, you know. Forgive me for that breakdown. Now, we need the doctor. He will have to certify this young man’s death. I’ll send the night-porter; he’s on the ward at the moment, bringing oxygen cylinders round, and wanted to know if we needed any. That’s why I came in to check. In the meantime I’ll inform the night-sister, and you take the oxygen off this young man, close his mouth, and so on. You know the drill.’
Taking no heed of the tears streaming down Rosie’s face, Nurse Potts left the room.
‘Oh, Albie, and I wasn’t with you. How could I have fallen asleep?’ But then the thought came to Rosie that she was with him, for his passing. She’d run along the beach with him in her dream. But it wasn’t a dream. It was reality. And now she knew that any other dreams she’d harboured about Albie were never going to come true. Bending and kissing his lips, she said her goodbyes. ‘I promise that one day I’ll deliver your letter, Albie.’
Before she left, she took the letter from his personal effects and put it in her pocket. The address was on the envelope, but she wouldn’t post it. All letters were heavily censored. Whatever Albie had said to his ma was personal to them both, and would stay intact.
Back in the nurses’ dormitory, Rosie fell onto her bed. She couldn’t cry any more tears. The loss of Albie was a strange feeling, as their love had never developed. It had just been there in his look, and in her own heart. Now it never would develop, but she’d treasure his memory forever.