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

The night was long and filled with the usual cries of pain, panic and horror, but Alice didn’t mind being on night duty, especially after a new influx of injured came to the station. The time flew by as she moved from bed to bed, assisting the sisters, or Matron.

Just after two in the morning, Alice was finishing redressing a leg wound. She enjoyed having established recognition from Matron Bleasdale and being allowed to carry out tasks usually only permitted to be done by qualified nurses.

“Nurse Le Breton,” one of the younger volunteers shouted, breathless from running to find her. “Doctor Sullivan needs you to assist in Theatre Two immediately.”

Alice stood up. Ordinarily she would never pass on work to a probationer, but this was an emergency. “This is nearly done,” she said handing over the bandage carefully. “You’ll need to finish it for me.”

Excitement coursed through Alice. Ever since joining the VADs she had dreamt of assisting during a surgery. This, though, was the first time she had been called to do so. She arrived at the theatre tent moments later, trying not to show her nervousness.

“Wash your hands in there,” Matron Bleasdale instructed, removing a blood-stained apron. “Hurry, now. The surgeon needs you to relieve the current nurse, she’s unwell.” She left Alice to prepare.

Alice quickly scrubbed and dried her hands. Pulling her apron straps over each shoulder she crossed them, fumbling with the material as she tied them in a bow at her back, before rushing in to the theatre.

“What kept you,” the surgeon barked, his black eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “I called for you long ago.”

She didn’t care to argue. “Sorry, Sir,” she said.

Alice had noticed how strained the surgeons seemed recently. The continuing arrival of patients increased the relentless surgeries each man had to perform. Alice was exhausted, with every muscle aching, but she could only imagine how they must be feeling. If only more tents and beds could be brought to the station, as well as more surgeons and nursing staff, she thought. Surely, they would be falling ill soon themselves, if they didn’t get some relief from the endless work.

“Hand me that clamp,” he said indicating the instrument he wanted. He then looked down on the operating table at the soldier, his chest opened on one side. “Blast. Another, now.”

Trying not to panic, Alice did as he asked. “Call another nurse to assist. We’re going to need more hands here.”

Alice went to leave and do as instructed.

“Bloody shout from the door. We don’t have time for you to fetch people. They’ll come to you.”

Alice nodded and went to the opening. Pulling back the canvas flap she called for someone to help.

Matron spun on her heels, glaring at her. “Nurse Le Breton, what is the meaning of this?”

Alice hadn’t seen her. “Doctor Sullivan’s, instructions,” she explained. “We need assistance here, now.”

Matron pointed to another nurse and waved her over. Alice didn’t wait to hear what was being said, but dropping the canvas returned to the operating table. She knew Matron might be a bit of a tyrant, but she was brilliant in an emergency. Seconds later, another nurse ran into the side room.

“I’m washing my hands, I’ll be there in a moment,” she called.

“Wadding,” the surgeon bellowed, ignoring her. “Lots of it.”

Alice grabbed a handful of the wadding, handing it to him.

“Hold it there.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it against the boy’s open wound.

She did as she was told, wondering if there was any chance the bleeding in the boy’s side could be stemmed. “It’s not stopping, Doctor,” she said, without thinking what she was doing.

“I can see that for myself, Nurse.” He continued working on the boy, concentration etched on his perspiring brow.

The patient began to convulse on the operating table and Alice held her breath. She wasn’t sure what to do and almost sighed with relief when they were joined by the other nurse.

“Where the hell have you been?” the doctor growled. “Here,” he said pointing for them to place their hands over the side of the open wound. “Hold him there. I need to think.”

They did as he said, not daring to look at him or each other. Alice wondered if the other nurse was shaking as much as she was right now. The soldier convulsed, once again and Alice’s bloodied hands slipped away from his side.

“I said hold it,” the surgeon roared, grabbing Alice’s wrists and pushing her hands against the torn bloody side. “Damn, this isn’t doing anything.”

He took her hands away and reaching inside the man’s wound, groaned. “Quick, the smallest clamp.”

Scrambling around on the metal tray to find the correct implement, Alice grabbed it, handing it to him. The two nurses watched in awe as the surgeon took a deep breath, visibly calmed down and closed his eyes, his two hands lost inside the bloody mess of the soldier’s side as he worked.

Finally, he withdrew his hands. “Yes, that’s it. We’ve managed to stem the bleeding.”

She wasn’t sure she had managed to do anything of the sort but was delighted to be included in his congratulatory delight.

“Can he be left like this?” she asked, relieved enough to forget herself.

“What? No, of course not,” the surgeon, looked shocked at her ridiculous question. “I’ve just bought the boy time, that’s all. We must clean up this mess inside him. I need to see the damage before I can close him up.”

Alice couldn’t see how that was possible. However, she had witnessed many miraculous actions by Doctor Sullivan, so trusted that he’d manage it somehow. She did as he instructed, giving the handsome surgeon an occasional side glance. He glowered back in concentration and she realised he was addressing her. “Sorry, Sir?”

He exhaled sharply. “Pay bloody attention. Apply the dressing, Nurse Le Breton. See to it that he is kept sedated for at least the next twelve hours. He needs fluids and must be kept still at all times. We do not need him back in surgery to stem a haemorrhage.”

“Yes, Sir.” Alice did as he asked. He left the theatre and she could hear him washing in the canvas room next door.

“You lucky bugger,” Mary whispered as she and Alice crossed paths later. “I heard you assisted Doctor Sullivan today.” She lowered her voice further. “I think he’s sweet on you.”

“Hush, Mary.” Alice frowned at her cheeky friend. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

She marched into the ward her face red with fury and embarrassment. What did Mary think she was doing, saying such things? She could start all sorts of unnecessary rumours. Alice couldn’t imagine the doctor even noticed her, beyond her skills as a nurse. She was glad of it, too.

She thought of Dr Sullivan’s deep voice and how she had cringed the first time she’d heard him addressing a patient. She had been shocked when he didn’t use a gentler approach. But having seen his expertise achieve almost the impossible, her feelings towards him had softened over the past year. Alice smiled; she had seen the other two surgeons deal with patients at the station, and neither had the harshness of Doctor Sullivan, nor his brilliance.

They barely had time to catch up with their ministrations when Matron announced that another convoy of injured men was on its way.

“Not again,” Mary groaned. “I don’t know how much more of this my poor feet will take.”

“Come along,” Alice said, thinking of how impressed she’d been by Doctor Sullivan’s dedication. “We can do this.”

“Once the beds and trolleys are ready for the new intake of men, I suggest you all find yourselves something to eat and have a cup of tea,” Matron took a deep breath. “I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”