A Strong Hand to Hold. Anne Bennett
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the raw winter’s day was beginning again. The pearly grey dawn eventually gave some light to the rescuers, some of whom had toiled through the night. Then the rain began, pounding the pavements and stinging their faces in icy spears, the wet making the rubble pile slippery and slimy and more unstable than ever. It was hard to continue to move the rubbish away with wet hands, their fingers aching and made clumsy with the bitter cold.
And yet, no one wanted to give up now the girls had been located and it had been established both of them were alive and well. Those who had work that day had gone back home to prepare for it. But there were others to take their place.
And then into that grey, depressing, rain-sodden morning, came the sound of singing, and what singing! ‘It’s one of the girls down there,’ one man remarked.
‘She sounds like a nightingale herself,’ another commented. A third rubbed his hands over his eyes and said, ‘I call that real courage. Let’s put our backs into this and get those two girls out quick.’
Dr Sanders, who’d been home for a brief rest before morning surgery, returned after it to see what progress had been made. By then Linda was singing, ‘I’m going to hang out the washing on the Seigfried Line’, after a rendering of ‘The Quartermaster’s Stores’, and ‘We’ll Meet Again’.
Dr Sanders knew who it was. Beattie had told him of Linda’s love of singing and the quality of her voice, but he was amazed she was still able to sing after being incarcerated for so long. ‘How much longer?’ he asked impatiently. ‘That painkiller I gave the girl to take in will be wearing off soon.’
‘Another half hour should do it, Doc,’ one of the men said. ‘You don’t want us to lift the stairs up off her yet, do you?’
‘Not till I examine her,’ Dr Sanders said. He wasn’t sure of the extent of the damage. Linda’s legs could be smashed to pulp and once the stairs were lifted, she could bleed to death. It might even be that one, or both, of the young girl’s legs would have to be amputated. God, he hoped that wasn’t the case. But then, only the previous week, he’d dined with a friend and colleague from London, who’d just done such an operation on a young boy. The boy had been caught in an air raid and pinned down as the building fell on him. Dr Sanders’ friend had amputated both legs below the knee on the dust-laden pavement, with only the light from a couple of shielded hurricane lamps, and with bombs dropping all around them. It made Dr Sanders’ blood run cold to think of it. ‘I’m off to do a few visits,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back in a little while to see how you’re doing. Send for me if you need me before; my receptionist will know where I am.’
‘OK, Doc.’ The man who’d spoken watched the doctor walk away and sighed. He wouldn’t want his job in this war for all the tea in China.
Linda eventually stopped. ‘I can’t sing any more,’ she said. Jenny heard her breath coming in short gasps and knew the pain had taken over again. She could do nothing but hold her close and pray. Slowly the conversation above became distinguishable from the low rumble heard previously. Now she could hear actual words and she knew any minute they would break through. The darkness was not so dense now, she noticed. It was grey rather than deep dense black. Then suddenly it was over and light flooded in. A cheery face looked down at her. He looked exhausted and had red-rimmed eyes, but his face near split in two when he saw the girls cuddled up together. ‘By God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Have you out in a jiffy, ducks. Who was it giving the concert then?’
‘Linda,’ Jenny said getting to her feet. ‘But she’s in terrible pain again now.’
‘Doc’s here,’ the man said. ‘You hurt at all?’
‘No, not really,’ Jenny said, shaking herself free of the blanket and struggling to her feet. But her head swam as she stood up and she staggered like a drunk as she made her way over to the hole the man had made.
‘Catch hold of me, ducks,’ the man said. ‘We’ll get you out in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’ Jenny lifted up her hands and the man whistled when he saw them. ‘Thought you said you wasn’t injured?’ he said. ‘You won’t be able to hold anything much with these hands. I’ll catch hold of your arms. Don’t worry, I’ll soon have you up.’
And he did. Another man came to help and they hauled her upwards. For a moment she was suspended in mid-air, and then she lay on the top of the rubble, panting. She gulped at the fresh air thankfully and didn’t mind the numbing cold, nor the icy rain that was still pelting down.
‘How’s the child?’ the doctor asked Jenny, as she tried to stand unsteadily, supported by the two rescue workers.
‘She’s been OK till a little while ago,’ Jenny said. ‘The morphine’s wearing off now.’
‘I guessed as much,’ Dr Sanders said grimly. ‘I’m going down immediately,’ he told the men and they nodded briefly. Then to Jenny he said, ‘There’s an ambulance waiting. You use it.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘There’s plenty,’ he said, ‘and I’m afraid I must insist. There’s another one on the way for Linda and she won’t be out for a while yet. I’ll have to examine her before they can even begin to start moving the staircase. You get yourself away.’
Jenny was surprised how weak she felt and she knew if it hadn’t have been for the two men either side of her she’d have stumbled on her face more than once. She was surprised at the knot of people gathered who gave a cheer as she appeared. Her gran was there, brought from the house when Jenny’s release was imminent. She was in her old brown coat and didn’t seem to notice the rain pouring down that had plastered her hair to her head.
Geraldine was there beside her. Jenny was touched that she’d come to stand, like her gran, in the rain.
‘Mother’s been beside herself with worry over you,’ Geraldine said, a hint of censure in her voice. ‘What a foolhardy thing to do.’
Jenny was too tired and worn down to make any sort of answer, but her gran wasn’t having Jenny spoken to like that. She said impatiently, ‘This isn’t the time or place to discuss things. Do you want to ride in the ambulance with your sister or not?’
‘No,’ Geraldine said. ‘I must go back to grandmother and mother; they’re minding the children for me. We’ll probably be up later to see you.’
Jenny waved her hand wearily, and Maureen just waited until they had Jenny settled before climbing in beside her.
‘Well, she’s not going away without one of her own beside her,’ she said and she gave a defiant wag of her head from which droplets of glistening rain fell. Jenny smiled and closed her eyes.
When she woke in the General Hospital the following morning, Jenny felt refreshed and more in charge of herself. Even though her hands and legs were heavily bandaged, she wondered why she was taking up a valuable bed that could be used for someone else. All day she fretted about it, but when she attempted to go to the bathroom before lunch, her legs felt so wobbly she was afraid they’d give way, and a scolding nurse brought a wheelchair and assisted her into it. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ she protested. ‘Not really.’
‘You are totally exhausted,’ the nurse said. ‘And suffering from exposure and shock, and you’ve inhaled a lot of dust. As well as that, you had a lot of nasty lacerations on your body, and some of them have become infected, including those on your hands. Is that list enough to be going on with?’
Jenny was surprised, but it certainly explained the weakness she felt. ‘Don’t rush to get better,’ the nurse said with a smile, as she helped her into the toilet. ‘You’ll only put yourself back if you do. We’ll tell you when we want you to sling your hook. All right?’
‘All right,’ Jenny said.
‘D’you want to get tidied up after lunch?’ the nurse went on. ‘A reporter from the Evening Mail wants to interview you and take a photograph. If you feel up to it, that is.’