Across the Mersey - Annie Groves [94]
‘Men aren’t like us,’ Hannah told her wisely, ‘All it takes to pull the wool over their eyes sometimes is a pretty girl letting them think she’s in love with them. And, of course, it’s so much worse during wartime. It might be a good idea, though, if you were to write to him and drop him a hint, for his own sake.’
‘I’ve tried that already,’ Grace admitted, ‘but so far as he’s concerned, she’s the sweetest kindest girl ever and he can’t believe I could think they may not be suited.’ Grace gave a small sigh. ‘I suppose I could have a word with my mother, but I don’t want to worry her …’
What she didn’t want to say even to Hannah, who was probably her closest friend out of the whole group, was that from what he had said in his letters to her Luke genuinely believed that Lillian was far more committed to him than Grace knew her to be. So much so, in fact, that he had even talked of them becoming engaged just as soon as the war was over.
‘Lillian should have been straight with him from the start instead of leading him on. Now, of course, she’ll be worried about how it’s going to look if she sends him a Dear John letter whilst he’s away. If you ask me that’s why she’s acting the way she is, and hinting that she never encouraged him in the first place,’ said Hannah.
Grace sighed. She knew that what Hannah was saying was probably true.
She was still thinking about Luke and all the other young men like him for whom letters from their loved ones were so important when she went on to the ward. Even here in hospital, letters from their families were important to the men. Grace had seen the expectant look on their faces when the post was brought in and the disappointment when there was nothing for them.
The blackout coverings had already been put in place over the windows, which were now latticed with sticky tape to protect the patients from flying glass if the hospital were to be bombed, and the ward was shadowed and quiet. But that did not mean that there wasn’t plenty of work for her to do, Grace recognised, as Sister raised her head.
‘Lockers I think first, Campion, and then Staff Nurse Willetts will show you how to change Mr Simmonds’ dressing.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
Alfred Simmonds had been on the ward longer than anyone else. He had a nasty ulcerous sore on his leg that needed twice-daily dressing and which Grace had heard was ultimately unlikely ever really to heal.
‘He should be in a chronic infirmary ward really,’ Staff Nurse Willetts had told her, ‘but Sister reckons it would be the end of him if he was to leave here.’
Twice daily he was given M and B tablets, as the only medication available against blood poisoning was known, and the smell of the bandages that were removed from his leg and which it was Grace’s job to take away to the sluice room were enough to make her stomach heave.
There were screens around one of the beds, and Sister herself had disappeared behind them, a sure sign that the patient in the bed was poorly.
Seeing Grace looking toward it, Staff Nurse Willetts told her grimly, ‘We’ve got one of the merchant seamen in there. He had his operation earlier, and he’s not too well, poor chap. Now let’s go and see how you manage with Mr Simmonds’ ulcer, shall we?’
Cleaning Mr Simmonds’ leg was every bit as unpleasant as Grace had expected, but he was a kind man and he didn’t wince at all, despite the fact that Grace knew she must be hurting him. Her hands were trembling dreadfully by the time she had finished and his leg was finally rebandaged to Staff Nurse Willetts’ satisfaction. It was all very well practising bandaging and getting good marks; actually having to do it in reality was a very different matter, and Grace shuddered to think of what Staff might write in the plain cardboard-covered book all the junior nurses had to present to their seniors for their report every time they undertook a new procedure.
‘Now I want you to give Mr Simmonds his M and B. Can you remember the dosage?’
‘Two,’ Grace started to say and then changed it quickly to a three when she saw Mr Simmonds raising