T.S.

Diana age 19: June 1916

It was a dry summer afternoon. The Germans surged forward tremendously leaving us nurses overworked and exhausted as men groaned over the sweet tune of 'rose in no man's land'. The immunes carted wounded and maimed by the hundreds and all we could do was work around the clock. By 6PM, the same evening more people had been carted off to the country hospital. At exactly 6:20PM, Ron and Will rushed in with someone in their arms. They called out to me. There were still a few boys on the floor so I tripped over one promising I would get him into a bed after I tended to this patient. Ron gave me the information but Will cut him off and drew back the sheet, "It's Tom." My eyes grew wide and I ordered that they put him onto a bed. "He's been speaking, yes?" I ask apprehensive

"Just about his girl, but he's a bit delirious with pain so I would take what he says with a grain of salt." says Will cheerily

I nod. "Ron I- We know him." I explain. He pats my shoulder and tells me to get him better before walking off pipe in hand. Will chases after him. Through the pain and delirium Tom speaks up, "Black Bess for a pound and Diana's kiss for 3." He sighs and seems to fall into a deeper sleep. I prod him, "Tom... Tom."

I gulped down bucket loads of brandy before removing the largest bullet I had seen. It was probably a machine gun one but God was it huge. We mostly got revolver 3 mm bullets and they were never longer than my pinky toe. I tore open Tom's shirt to reach his affected area. It was messy but my sloppy sterilising clean up kept him awake as he hissed and mumbled swear words. After my little surgical act, I push on his forearm to wake him. His eyes snap open and he begins shouting, "ITS HER ! I TOLD YOU I HAD A FUCKING GIRLFRIEND RON."

The other patients yell for him to be quiet and I say small 'sorry's to them. I smile; It meant he didn't have head injuries ,if he could remember who I was. "MS PORTUGAL MY DIANA DIE-ANNE-AH !" he bellowed again. I shushed him and blushed. God how much morphine had they given him? I wrinkle my nose at the thought of Ron awkwardly sticking needles into poor Tom. "It's me. It's me Tom. Be quiet now, okay?" I affirm.

Tom craned his neck to look around his room, "CORE... IS THAT A GRAMOPHONE?" The way he kept shouting struck me. "Hold still love. Let me see your ear." Surprisingly, he did as told. 'Maybe he did hit his head' I thought. I put the oil lamp closer to his ear to get some light in and sure enough a dandy little piece of shrapnel has lodged itself in his ear. I extract it carefully with my tweezers. Tom's face was bruised and scratched like he had been in a brawl. He fell asleep, naturally. With all the morphine pumping through his body it was a wonder he had woken up at all but knowing Tom he wouldn't stay asleep long. Will and Ron carted in more of the Small Heath battalion: Freddie came in with his arms slashed and pierced with the word "gekreuzigt" carved into his arm; John had a large gash from his ear down to his collarbone; Arthur had been beaten so badly that his body was practically bruises and his clothes had been torn off him.

I grew worried about Tom when his eyes began to flutter and his breath became more shallow. I prodded him and he moaned that I had woken him. "Don't whine. I need to ask you questions." He nods agreeing to answer.

"What's your name?"

"Thomas Michael Shelby."

"What's mine?"

A lazy smile appears on his lips, "Love of my life." I roll my eyes, "Diana Pereira."

"How many brothers do you have then?

"3 of them. Finn, John and Arthur." His eyes snapped open then, "The Germans... Arthur and John and... Oh God Fred-" He clutched at his raven black hair frenzied. I squeeze his hand that's now sweaty with anxiety, "They're here getting better like you. Don't worry silly. They're all here." I try to make my voice soothing instead of its usual harshness but it comes out like some silly song that the sailors up by Charlie's dock would have sang, passing through. Nevertheless, Tom relaxes and lies back. In those seconds where he feared for their lives, he had never looked so forlorn, Not even when Mrs Changretta had denied him a sweet when he was 11. I shuffle over to the gramophone and turn the volume up slightly, trying to drown out the sounds of death and destruction. The bittersweet tune moans out of the gramophone much like the soldiers in their beds and I hummed along to it as Tom lay in his bed. With no new patients in and all my colleagues gone for the rest of their dinner, I sat with Tommy. Flattening his hair and holding his hand singing quietly. There was a clause in my contract at the VAD that allowed me to sit with the men if they entered a state of panic or began to delude themselves into thinking their mother/sister/sweetheart etc sat in front of them. I was supposed to sit with them and tell them what they wanted to hear until they drifted into a painless sleep forever. In Tom's case, he had entered a state of panic, which meant I had to sit with him to make sure he didn't injure himself or any of the other patients. The song finished and Tom had calmed down, even going back to sleep. His breathing was even meaning the drugs had slowly begun to wear off. I retired to bed not even bothering to eat my dinner which I offered to a sour looking nurse. Joy had signed up for the night rota, which meant she would swap with me. I waved at her tiredly and told her about Tom. She promised to 'make a fuss over my special patient' and walked off speedily. Before retiring to bed, I walked out into the infirmary; earning me teasing words from the nurses and even a few jeers from the recovered men waiting for pick-up. I only grinned. Tom opened his eyes once I pushed on his forearm again. "Tom, You stopped writing. You didn't keep your promise." Through the drugs and sleep, he mumbles back a 'neither did you.' peering wearily at my ringless finger. I fish it out of my robe's pocket and he flushes red. He tiredly snatches the clutch of unsent letters I had in my hand and he tucked them into his waistband. His eyes fall closed again and he makes a kiss noise with his lips and I smile. The night nurses nudged me, "Go to bed, Little rose." says a grey haired middle aged one. I swivel round and stalk back to bed, slumping into bed happier than I had been in a while. It was such good sleep that I didn't wake up throughout the night. In fact the nurse I had offered my dinner to last night had come to wake me. Rolling her eyes at me, she stalks out huffing and puffing like she'd done a great deal of exercise. Luckily for me I hadn't even changed out of my uniform so I just rolled out of bed and put my hair up. As I rubbed at my sleepy eyes, I pulled my hair and twirled it into its usual fashion. I stepped out and nurses cast me disappointed glances. I found it strange but soon saw why as the clock struck 11:00. The last pick-up had been at 9:00 and Tom's bed had been lazily half-stripped for the next patient. I frowned. I hadn't given him a goodbye out of pure exhaustion but if i had known, I'd have stayed awake through 3 nights just to see him off. It was warm, his bed, but had been barely stripped, with his pillow hanging off the side. I bundled the old sheets into my hands and took it over to the already overflowing laundry basket. From between the folds flies out a slip of paper. I inspect it and in neat penmanship it says, "We'll meet again. Ready me my dinner." My smile is wide like the ones I'd seen on Marjorie's face when Luca had waited for after school. I tuck it into the sleeve of my uniform and carry on before stumbling over to familiar faces. "Arthurrrr. John-boyyyy." I cooed, "Have they given you any medicine eh?"