Betty Neels - The Magic of Living

Her companion didn’t pause in his rescue operations. ‘No—the bus is beginning to tilt at that end; we don’t want to shift the balance, it might make it more awkward.’

She considered that nothing could be more awkward than their task at that moment, but she kept silent. It was hardly an occasion for conversation, and the men seemed to know exactly what they were doing.

There were only five children left when she heard several cars stop close by with a tremendous squealing of brakes. The man beside her had called to his helper above, who in his turn shouted down to whoever it was who had arrived, and a moment later a round, serious face, crowned by a peaked cap, appeared at the door above them. ‘Police,’ muttered Arabella, and redoubled her efforts with the incredible muddle Sally Perkins had got herself and her straps into. The owner of the face seemed to know the man in the bus, for he listened to what he had to say, nodded his head in agreement and disappeared again.

Arabella could hear the singsong warning of the ambulances now, and the thought flitted through her head that she hadn’t the least idea of what was to happen to them all; presumably someone would arrange something—perhaps Sister Brewster? No, on second thoughts, old Brewster would be waiting for someone else to do it for her. The last child was heaved gently aloft, so that he could be lifted clear of the bus, and Arabella found herself clipped round her neat waist and held high, so that she could be lifted through the door too, to be deposited gently on the grass. She was barely on her feet when the two men joined her. The second man spoke no English, but he smiled kindly at her, dusted her down, said ‘OK’ and when she thanked him, shook her by the hand and made off after a brief word. She wondered if the man who had come to their rescue was going too; his car was close by—a Bentley, a silver-grey piece of elegance which stirred her to envy.

‘We had better take a look at these children before they go to hospital,’ remarked her companion.

‘Hospital?’ she echoed stupidly.

‘In Doesburg.’

‘In Doesburg?’ repeated Arabella, still stupid, knowing she sounded like a bad Greek chorus and unable to do anything about it.

He smiled at her very kindly. ‘I imagine that the other lady is in charge?’ and at her nod: ‘If you will tell me her name? I think I should speak to her, then we will have a quick look at everyone and get them settled as quickly as possible.’ He turned to go and then paused to add: ‘I’m a doctor, by the way.’

He glanced at the huddle of small figures lying and sitting awkwardly on the grass verge, being tended by ambulance men and police, and then allowed his gaze to rest upon Arabella, who looked deplorable; her overall stained with heaven knew what, her hair hanging wispily around a far from clean face; her cap—the cap Sister Brewster had insisted that she should wear, with some vague idea that it would uphold the prestige of the British nurse abroad—crushed and dirtied by desperate little fingers, pulled askew by some unhappy child.

Arabella was in no state to mind her appearance; she was indeed unaware of the doctor’s amused and critical eye. Relief was surging through her, because they were all out of the ruined bus and here was a doctor at hand to help the children. She declared with fervour: ‘Gosh, I am glad!’ and started at once on the difficult task of discovering which of the children, if any, was seriously hurt.

The doctor was back beside her within a few minutes. ‘Sister Brewster will go with those children who can help themselves a little—they’re going to the hospital now. Do you mind staying and giving a hand here?’

She accompanied him from child to child as he examined each one, leaving her to put on an emergency dressing here and there before they were whisked away to an ambulance. On the whole, they had got off lightly; cuts and bruises and terror, and a nervous excitement which had caused the children’s condition to be grossly exaggerated. Only Billy Trent and Sally Perkins had suffered serious injury, for they each had broken a leg. Surprisingly, they were quieter than the other children, possibly exhausted by fright and pain and bewilderment. The doctor muttered to himself as he made them as comfortable as possible in the last waiting ambulance. ‘Hop in,’ he ordered Arabella tersely, and the expression sounded strange in his correct English. ‘I’ll go ahead in the car.’

He banged the door on her as though the very sight annoyed him, but she forgot that at once in her efforts to keep Billy and Sally happy once the ambulance was on the move.

They turned off the road after a very few minutes, to go through heathland and woods, cross beneath two main roads after a mile or so, and enter a small, pleasant town. The hospital was situated some way back from its main street, a fairly modern building at the end of a cul-de-sac lined with small old houses. Its courtyard was a hive of activity and from what Arabella could see from the ambulance windows, there was no lack of helpers. Several people detached themselves now and came hurrying to undo the ambulance doors and convey the children inside; Arabella was swept inside too, with a kindly nurse’s hand firmly under her elbow. She had time to glimpse the silver-grey of the Bentley parked on one side of the small forecourt before she was borne through the doors into what was apparently the entrance hall. But they didn’t stay here. The trolleys bearing the children were already turning down a short passage leading away from the hall, and Arabella, urged on with gentle insistence by her companion, trotted obediently after them. Casualty, she saw at once, quite a nice one too, but just now filled to capacity with spastic children… She barely had time to glimpse Sister Brewster lying back with her eyes closed, when the doctor appeared from nowhere beside her.

‘Keep with these two,’ he counselled her. ‘X-Ray first, and then probably the plaster room—they’ll feel better about the whole thing if they see you around.’

She nodded, and then remembered to voice a doubt at the back of her mind. ‘Mr Burns—his people in England, and Wickham’s—should someone do something?’

‘It’s being done now. Off to X-Ray—I must go and have another chat with Sister Brewster.’

Arabella perceived that for the moment at any rate she was a nurse, not a young woman who had had a nasty fright and needed, above all things, a nice cup of tea and a good cry. She said quietly: ‘Yes, very well, Doctor,’ and was brought to a halt by his: ‘She has brown hair, and speaks soft like a woman.’

‘The Merry Wives of Windsor,’ she stated automatically, and wondered if he had sustained an injury to his head while he was in the bus. It seemed not.

‘The sight of you called it to mind,’ he explained, and walked away, leaving her to accompany Billy and Sally to X-Ray.

It took a long time to get everyone sorted out, especially as Sister Brewster, instead of being helpful and efficient, lay back and declared that she was far too poorly to be bothered with a lot of questions and plans. Arabella, freed for a short time from Billy and Sally while they were anaesthetized while their legs were put in plaster, drank the cup of coffee someone put into her hand and then helped get the remaining children into their beds.

The hospital had risen nobly to the occasion; extra beds were being put up, more staff had been called back on duty, there was a supply of night garments and a trolley of warm drinks and soup. Arabella, almost dropping with tiredness, her appearance more deplorable than ever and starving for food, toiled on. The children had rallied amazingly. They had all been examined by now; two house doctors and the doctor who had come to their help in the first place had checked each one of them carefully. There was nothing, they declared, that could not be put right by a good night’s sleep and a day or two’s rest before being sent home. Excepting for Sally and Billy, of course, who would have to stay for a week or two.