«letters to the somme»

wounded nurses.

They stand in a row, their clean gray dresses draped with a white apron. A crimson red cross is imprinted on every woman’s chest. They also wear white caps, their long hair tied and tucked under them. The echoes of screaming men, the crying of their family, and the shouts of doctors and nurses, calm and firm, bounce around the room.

Rose stands firm among them. She is not the youngest. Many are around her age, with sweethearts and husbands and fathers and brothers and cousins away at the front.

“Today is your first day at the hospital. You will be expected to be there when needed, and not there when not needed. The sight may…shock you, but you will get used to it.” A middle-aged woman lectures them, pacing up and down on the dark, gray stone floor of the storeroom. Her face is lined with lines that will never smooth out, lines that are etched into a face, around eyes that have heard many things and a mouth that has never repeated them.

“Sister Hardy?” A young brunette woman pipes up.

“Yes, Nurse Bailey?”

“What if…what if it is our fault a soldier dies?” Her soft, meek voice enquires, and there is a silent breath taken in in unison around the room. Rose swallows, staring forward.

“If it happens, there is nothing you can do, is there, dear?” Sister Hardy says softly, after a pause.

“Right. You three stay here, and the rest of you go make yourselves useful.” She continues in a brisk voice, and points at Rose and two other girls. One of them is Mary, her best friend. The other is barely sixteen. Rose stares worriedly at Mary, who shrugs in return, her brown hair falling in her eyes.

“You three will be assisting in an operation today. You are the most capable, and, dare I say it, the bravest. It will not be pretty, but I suspect that you will not vomit like one other trainee did.”

“What happened to her?” Mary widens her eyes.

“She got used to it.”

The trio follow Sister Hardy through the halls of the hospital. Rose is disconcerted, holding a pile of white towels. Soldiers are crammed everywhere, on beds, on makeshift mattresses on the floor, and on chairs. Some are sleeping, their faces look more like they belong on little boys, not men. Some are screaming in excruciating pain, while their family look on, helpless. Some are newly blinded or deafened, and are learning how to live again. Some do not have limbs, and their deformities have clearly made them give up on life.

Some do not move at all, because they are dead.

The three walk up the stairs and down some corridors. A couple of soldiers wink at Rose, or whistle, as she passes. She does not know what to do but smile back, thinking of the horrors they have faced.

They enter an operation theatre. A dirty, matted figure of a tall man lies on an operating table, his leg a crushed, warped version of what it once was. He lies moaning quietly, barely conscious because of the blinding pain he is going through. Rose sucks in a breath. A surgeon stands to the side, cleaning his lethal-looking tools.

“Doctor Evans.” Sister Hardy says sharply. The man winces on the table, and Mary looks away, and back again.

“Ah, Sister Hardy. Are these your new trainees?”

“Yes. This is Nurse Knight, Nurse Edwards, and Nurse Smith. They are highly capable.”

“Of course. Nurses, if we may proceed.”

The next hour unfolds in a sequence of events Rose would rather rip from her mind and throw into a grace. She helps clean his wound, gazing at the amount of pus and blood that emanates from it. Mary and Nurse Smith look on, eyes wide with horror. The doctor announces that it is done after what feels like twelve hours, and she scurries back next to the others. He then proceeds to saw the man’s leg off, after Mary injects him with anaesthetic. She shudders as she does so, and her hand shakes a little.

Once the deed is done, Nurse Smith helps clean the stump the leg has left and bandages it.

“Good work, nurses. Please go inform Sister Hardy that the patient is ready to be moved back to his bed, and that he should be sent to a convalescence home as soon as possible.” The surgeon nods. Rose exits the room first, after a stiff nod, and flies down the steps, down the corridors, and back to the empty storeroom, barely holding in tears.

She sobs uncontrollably, not holding anything back. How did she think she could do this? She isn’t brave, she isn’t capable. She should just go home and pray for war to be over, like some useless posh girl. Yes, that’s what she will do, hand in her notice after one day -

“May I come in?” Nurse Hardy raps on the door, and pushes the door open, and sees Rose, her eyes red and wet, her face covered in snot and tears, sitting on the ground, against the table.

“Er, I’m sorry, Sister Hardy, I need to…I need to hand in my notice.” Rose takes short hiccups of breath, sniffing.

“I’m sorry, I can’t let you do that. Nurse Edwards, you are one of the more capable nurses I’ve ever trained, and I have trained many.” She shakes her head kindly.

“But I’m not exactly fearless Florence Nightingale, am I?”  She sighs. To her surprise, Sister Hardy sits down beside her, smiling.

“You remind me of myself.”

“How so? You seem very capable.” Rose forgets she is her superior for a moment, but the Sister decides to ignore it.

“I started my service in the Boer War, you know. My sweetheart had just signed up and I decided to become a nurse. It was incredibly hard at first, with what seemed like endless tides of the wounded coming through the doors. I wanted to quit too, forget all about the war, but then I remembered something.” Nurse Hardy shakes her head at the memory.

“What?”

“They need us, Rose. For one of us there are dozens of men wounded and dying, and it is our duty to help them. We hold the keys to life and death. And is it not better to fight your fears and throw away the right key?”

“But I’m scared I might accidentally –”

“As long as you try, and as long as you remember your training, no one can blame you. For you are one of the best people in the world, because you are saving lives. And one day, God will repay you, and save your sweetheart’s life. That’s what I thought, anyway.” And at that, Sister Hardy smiles sadly, and leaves the room. Rose breathes slowly.

And then she mops her tears away, and goes to find soldiers to heal.