An Orphan’s War. Molly Green
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eyes swimming, she banged her cup on its saucer and rushed out of the room, but not before she heard her father say, ‘Leave her be, Edna. She’s old enough to make her own decision. The change is probably just what she needs to take her mind off things.’
Maxine heard back from St Thomas’ within a few days. They were interested! Because of the war, provided she had references from the hospital, they weren’t going to waste time interviewing her. There was a desperate shortage of nurses so they would like her to start as soon as she could give in her notice. They had every reason to believe that her initial training at the Royal Infirmary was first class and that she’d be a real asset at St Thomas’ as a nurse at their Nightingale School for the next two years. Would she let them know by return that she was still interested so they could prepare her paperwork?
It had happened. One letter to the hospital had led to her life changing – but only because her dearest Johnny had died. She swallowed. She was determined to do her best in this war, whatever the cost. She owed it to him.
As soon as she had given in her notice, Sister said in view of the circumstances she could leave as soon as she was ready. A fortnight later the arrangements were in place. And then it was her last day. Maxine had said her goodbyes to the other nurses and patients and as she was about to leave by the staff door, Sister Dugdale stopped her and put a small package in her hands.
‘From all of us on the ward,’ she said. ‘You’ve worked hard,’ she continued, her voice as crisp as her cap and apron. ‘The makings of an excellent nurse so long as you don’t get carried away with your emotions. It’s difficult, I know … perhaps the most difficult, but it’s vital you don’t get personally involved with individual patients to the point where you can’t do a professional job.’
Maxine knew Sister was referring to Robin, only six, on the children’s ward. The child had been run over in the blackout and they said his injuries were so bad he probably wouldn’t survive. But he had. Maxine had been determined that he would pull through. His parents were constantly at his bedside, but when they left for the day she would talk to him, give him sips of Lucozade, read to him. Her reward was that he slowly recovered and her favourite time of the day was when she came on duty and his face lit up in a beaming smile. She could have hugged him to bits. Three days before his discharge she’d come on duty to find his bed freshly made up.
‘Have they already sent Robin home?’ she’d asked, happy that the day had come, but disappointed she hadn’t been there to say goodbye.
There was a few seconds’ silence. A tension in the ward. Maxine looked at Fuller and White, the two other nurses. Then Fuller said in a low voice, ‘He died in the night.’
She’d run to the toilets and sat on the seat, sobbing her eyes out. Eventually she got up and combed her hair and arranged her cap. She looked terrible. Eyes puffy and red. Sister was sharp with her, and she thought at the time what a hard woman Sister was. But experience taught her differently. Sister was right. She probably didn’t have the perfect temperament to be a nurse, but she’d do her level best, especially now they really were at war. And if one day she could become a children’s nurse, it might be her salvation.
The night before Maxine left home for London there was something she needed to do. She knew it would take all her courage.
‘I think I’ll have an early night,’ she told her parents after the three of them had spent an awkward evening in the front room, none of them knowing quite what to say.
‘I don’t blame you, love.’ Her father smiled sympathetically, his eyes full of affection. ‘You’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow, and an early train to catch.’
‘I’ll say goodnight then.’
In her bedroom Maxine reached for the top shelf in her wardrobe and removed a shoebox, laying it on the bed. She lifted the lid to reveal Johnny’s letters in a neat pile – and a navy blue ring box. She took the ring box out, then gently removed her engagement ring, remembering when Johnny had first slipped it on her finger. Emeralds were said to be unlucky and it had turned out to be true, she thought sadly.
‘Goodbye, Johnny,’ she spoke aloud, the words almost choking her. ‘I’ve loved you since I was eight, but I must leave you now to rest in peace.’
With tears streaming down her cheeks, she kissed the ring and pressed it in its slot. The lid made a final snap as she closed it and laid the little box on top of Johnny’s letters. Satisfied, she slid the shoebox back on the shelf in the wardrobe. The ring would be safe there.
London, July 1940
As Maxine hurried over Westminster Bridge, she tilted her head skywards to the faint sound of a plane, but there was nothing in sight except two contrails crisscrossing a flight path. The Battle of Britain had started a few days before, raging over Kent and the coast. Her mother had begged her to stay in Liverpool, but stubbornly she’d kept to her plan. Hardly giving the Thames more than a cursory glance, Maxine paused a moment on the bridge to check the folded letter in her hand. Yes, St Thomas’ was directly opposite the Houses of Parliament.
A few minutes later she passed through the imposing front entrance of the red-brick hospital. No sooner had she stepped in and given her name at the front desk than a tall, thin woman with a blue and white uniform which crackled when she walked marched up to her. There was no smile of welcome and Maxine’s heart plummeted.
‘Taylor, I presume. I’m Sister Dawson, standing in today for the Home Sister, Miss Harley. We’re expecting you. In fact,’ she made a play of looking at the watch on her chain, ‘you’re half an hour late. I believe we said three o’clock.’
This wasn’t a good beginning. Maxine was certain she was no more than five minutes late, but it wasn’t the time to argue.
‘I’m awfully sorry, Sister,’ she said. ‘The train stopped even more times than usual, and I don’t know London all that well so I got a bit confused.’
‘Hmm.’ The woman tossed her head in disbelief. ‘You couldn’t have a much better landmark than Big Ben.’ She looked Maxine up and down, her lips tightening as though to say that Maxine wouldn’t do at all. ‘Well, you’d better come with me and I’ll show you your room. You’ll be in the West Wing – that’s where the second- and third-year nurses live.’
Maxine followed her down long, gloomy corridors with so many twists and turns she had no idea which direction she was going. Finally Sister opened one of a dozen identical doors.
‘You’ll be sharing with Nurse Redding.’ She glared at Maxine. ‘And no smoking. That’s an order.’
‘I don’t smoke,’ Maxine said, feeling like a probationer instead of a second-year nurse.
‘Be in my office in ten minutes,’ Sister Dawson ordered, closing the door with a loud click.
Maxine sat on the furthest bed, where the area didn’t appear to be occupied, and looked around. Except for a photograph and a book on the other bedside cupboard, and a cape flung over a chair to show some sign of life, the room was as gloomy as the corridors. The bedspread was a khaki colour and the curtains weren’t much fresher looking. Even though it was still July the room felt cold. She shivered and unpacked her case, hanging up the few pieces on the wooden hangers provided in the shallow cupboard next to the other nurse’s clothes, and berating herself. She’d made completely the wrong decision but there was simply no going back; she’d have to live with it. She only hoped the other nurse would be nice.
Slowly Maxine unpacked her small case and undid the little parcel Sister Dugdale had given her. It was a small green Bakelite clock. She immediately wound it up and placed it on the bedside table. Somehow, its friendly little face and cheerful sound of ticking made Liverpool seem not quite so far away.
Suddenly