Deborah Carr - The Poppy Field - A gripping and emotional historical romance

Sitting down, she made herself comfortable and read the next letter.

“Nurse! Nurse, come quickly.”

Alice heard the frantic tone of the patient lying in the bed next to Captain Woodhall’s. She hurried over to see what was wrong.

“He was havin’ a fit, Nurse,” The young private said, his eyes wide with fear.

Lifting the captain’s wrist, Alice took his pulse, flinching at a loud explosion she estimated to be only a couple of miles away. Taking a calming breath, Alice felt the captain’s forehead. He was running a temperature and she knew it could be the reason for the convulsion, although her instinct told her he wasn’t in immediate danger.

“He’s fine, Private Allen,” she soothed, pushing him gently back against his pillows and straightening his sheet. “Try to relax. I’ll look after Captain Woodhall.”

The private grimaced and waved her closer. “I would, Nurse, but I’ve wet me bed,” he whispered, glancing from side to side to check no one else had overheard. “I’m sorry. Those loud bangs, they frighten me silly they do.”

“Leave it with me,” she soothed. “We’ll sort you out in no time.”

She waved over one of the probationers. “I think it’s near enough time for the men to have some refreshment, don’t you?” She gave a pointed glance in the private’s direction.

“I’ll see to it right now, Nurse Le Breton,” the young girl said.

Alice pulled a screen around the private’s bed and helped him out. “Change out of those things and I’ll bring you some clean pyjamas.”

She was back a couple of minutes later with fresh clothes and bedlinen. Alice hated seeing the poor boy so embarrassed. She understood how terrifying the nearby explosions were to some of the men. Hadn’t she nearly jumped out of her skin many times on hearing them? And she hadn’t spent months sleeping on a fire step in a muddy trench with explosions going off all around her.

She helped him to wash quickly and change. “You do up your jacket and I’ll change this bed. You’ll be back in it in a jiffy.” She smiled at the volunteer nurse. “It’s Nurse Jenkins isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “I arrived last week. Still haven’t quite found my footing here.”

“You’re doing fine.”

The bed changed, Alice left the young private to be settled by Nurse Jenkins and turned her attention to Captain Woodhall. She gave him a thorough check to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. Determining to try and reduce his temperature, she dipped a flannel in a bowl of cool water, rung it out and placed it over his hot forehead. His eyes flickered briefly, then opened. He took a while to focus before gazing up at her.

“Where am I?” he asked, his voice croaky from lack of use.

Alice poured a little water into a glass and raising his head gently, held the drink to his lips. He took a few sips. Looking exhausted from the effort, he closed his eyes again.

She lowered his head and sat down on the chair next to his bed, waiting for him to gather the strength to address her again.

“Is this a casualty clearing station? No,” he answered without opening his eyes. “It can’t be, I didn’t think there were VADs at a CCS.”

“We’re welcome in many more places than we were a couple of years ago,” she said, straightening his sheet. “You have a bit of a fever.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Three days.”

His eyes scanned the room. He went to sit up, wincing in pain, before collapsing back on his bed.

Alice could see the panic on his face. She was used to men reacting in this way when they recovered consciousness. Their first reaction, once discovering that they were in a medical unit, was often wanting to ascertain why they were there and what damage had been done to their bodies.

“Rest, now,” she said calmly.

“What happened to me?” He went to sit up again, then must have thought the better of it and closed his eyes. “Everything hurts. Please, what are my injuries?”

Aware he would fret until he knew, Alice answered with as much reassurance as possible, “You’ve received a shrapnel wound to the side of your head,” she said. “You were lucky, it wasn’t very deep. You’ve also been shot in your side, near your hip. Again, you should be fine.” He visibly relaxed. Alice stood up. “That’s enough for now. You need to get as much rest as possible. You can ask more questions in the morning.”

“Thank you, Nurse,” he said, calmer. He opened his eyes. and Alice saw that they were the colour of dark chocolate. A kindness emanated from them, she liked him immediately. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Nurse Le Breton,” she said, smiling at him.

“You don’t sound French,” he murmured.

“I’m not,” she said, amused that he was so inquisitive, despite being drowsy and in pain. She was intrigued that his focus had gone from worrying about his injuries to her home. “I’m from Jersey.” He opened his mouth to speak again and she shook her head. “No more questions. You need your rest. Now, sleep.”

He closed his eyes again and she saw him relax slightly. But as Alice began walking away a bugle call sounded and her heart plummeted. Another convoy of broken men on their way for treatment. She looked around the tent, crammed with occupied beds. How were they supposed to fit in any more wounded?

She hurried outside to wait with the others for Matron to give her orders. Ambulance, after ambulance rolled into the dusty yard. How was it possible for these poor men to keep coming in? Soon there would be none left to fight at this rate.

“Nurse Le Breton, Nurse Fielding, you take the second ambulance over by Sister Brown.”

They hurried over to it, arriving as the driver opened the door. Several orderlies appeared to help carry the injured men. Alice took Sister Brown’s lantern, lifting it so she could inspect the soldier’s tag attached to his uniform jacket.

“Take him to Ward Two,” Sister instructed the orderlies. Lowering her voice so the semi-conscious soldier couldn’t hear, she added to Alice, “He needs to be away from the door, in one of the quieter beds. I’m not sure he’s going to make it.”

She nodded, handed Sister Brown’s lantern to Mary and followed the stretcher to the ward.

The following two soldiers weren’t as close to death as the first one, but both had bloody bandages around stumps on their legs.

“These men are to be taken to the Theatre Ward, as soon as possible. “The surgeon can check them and decide what he wants to do.”

The final stretcher was pulled from the back of the dusty ambulance. Alice forced a calm smile on her face when she gazed into his dirty, panic-stricken face. The bandage covering half his face was thick with layers of dressing, but still the blood was oozing through. She read his tag, but his face was the only injured part of him mentioned.

“Ward Seven?”

Sister Brown looked at her and nodded.

Of all the wards, Ward Seven was the one that Alice found the most difficult to deal with. She wasn’t sure why. After all, the men who had lost limbs were going to find it difficult to integrate into the outside world, too. Somehow though, the men with damaged faces, found it harder to cope than those who’d lost limbs. Alice supposed it was because people found it hard to look in the mirror and not recognise the person staring back.

She couldn’t help hoping their loved ones would put aside any misgivings about these men’s new physical situation to support them. It upset all the nursing staff when they heard of a fiancée calling off an engagement after seeing the result hot shrapnel had done to their loved one’s face.