out with the ambulance crews to the bomb sites?’
Julie didn’t want to go into long explanations, so merely nodded in reply.
The nurse gently steered her out of the ward. ‘I’ll show you where you can wash,’ she said kindly. ‘We can’t risk infection – not in there.’
Julie suddenly realised how thoughtless she’d been and, with a muttered apology, followed her into the sluice. The nurse handed her a bar of soap and a clean towel and quietly closed the door behind her to give her some privacy.
Julie took off her coat, cap and apron, careful not to get too much dust on the pristine floor as shefolded them into the big brown paper bag she always carried with her medical instruments. Having stripped off the ruined stockings, she threw them in the waste bin. There was nothing she could do about the grubby, blood-stained dress, so she filled the sink with hot water and began scrubbing her face, neck and hands.
Once she felt clean again, she stuck her head under the tap and used the carbolic soap to wash the dust and grime from her hair. Feeling marginally better, she rubbed her hair vigorously with the towel, thankful it was short and would dry quickly.
She took a deep breath, suppressing another tidal wave of sadness and exhaustion, and forced her weary legs to carry her back to the baby ward. She gave a wan smile to the nurse who was now sitting on a low chair, bottle-feeding a baby. ‘Where’s William?’ she asked.
‘We’ve transferred him from the oxygen tent, and he’s now in the cot at the far end.’ The nurse eyed her thoughtfully. ‘You look about done for,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Julie replied, already on her way to William’s cot. He was crying, his little face red, his tiny fists waving above the blanket in fury.
‘You can change and feed him if you like,’ said the nurse. ‘The nappies are in that cupboard and the bottles are all made up in the kitchen over there. They only need warming.’
In a stupor of grief and weariness, Julie changed his sodden nappy, and then went to warm the milk in the tiny, spotless kitchen that led off the ward. The young nursing aide handed her a cup of tea, and she gulped it down gratefully. It was weak and almost tasteless, with only a hint of sugar, but it helped revive her spirits enough to keep going.
William had stopped crying by the time she returned to the ward, and she took him from his cot and held him close. He didn’t weigh much, but his tiny body was comforting and warm in her arms – a reminder that life carried on regardless of the horrors surrounding them. She breathed in his baby smell, her cheek resting lightly on his downy head as she sank into the low chair and settled down to feed him.
She watched his fingers flex and curl in delight, noted how his eyelashes were dark against his pale skin, and how greedily he sucked at the teat. His vulnerability and total reliance on her touched something within Julie, and she knew in that moment she would do everything in her power to protect him. For now all they had was each other.
As Julie left the hospital and wheeled her bicycle over the road to the hostel, the air was rent with the sound of Hurricanes and Spitfires heading for the coast. She took little notice of them, for she was pondering on the miracle of a love so strong it was an irrepressible force. She’d seen that love in thepoorest of hovels when a baby was placed in a mother’s arms for the first time – had witnessed it in acts of incredible bravery when a child was at risk, and in the unceasing, selfless care that a mother gave to her ailing little ones.
William was not her baby, but in the short while she’d held him, fed him and watched him fall asleep, she’d felt that love sweep through her. It was fierce and overwhelming; stronger than anything she could have imagined. But it was healing, too, for in caring for William, she’d found a
Julie didn’t want to go into long explanations, so merely nodded in reply.
The nurse gently steered her out of the ward. ‘I’ll show you where you can wash,’ she said kindly. ‘We can’t risk infection – not in there.’
Julie suddenly realised how thoughtless she’d been and, with a muttered apology, followed her into the sluice. The nurse handed her a bar of soap and a clean towel and quietly closed the door behind her to give her some privacy.
Julie took off her coat, cap and apron, careful not to get too much dust on the pristine floor as shefolded them into the big brown paper bag she always carried with her medical instruments. Having stripped off the ruined stockings, she threw them in the waste bin. There was nothing she could do about the grubby, blood-stained dress, so she filled the sink with hot water and began scrubbing her face, neck and hands.
Once she felt clean again, she stuck her head under the tap and used the carbolic soap to wash the dust and grime from her hair. Feeling marginally better, she rubbed her hair vigorously with the towel, thankful it was short and would dry quickly.
She took a deep breath, suppressing another tidal wave of sadness and exhaustion, and forced her weary legs to carry her back to the baby ward. She gave a wan smile to the nurse who was now sitting on a low chair, bottle-feeding a baby. ‘Where’s William?’ she asked.
‘We’ve transferred him from the oxygen tent, and he’s now in the cot at the far end.’ The nurse eyed her thoughtfully. ‘You look about done for,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Julie replied, already on her way to William’s cot. He was crying, his little face red, his tiny fists waving above the blanket in fury.
‘You can change and feed him if you like,’ said the nurse. ‘The nappies are in that cupboard and the bottles are all made up in the kitchen over there. They only need warming.’
In a stupor of grief and weariness, Julie changed his sodden nappy, and then went to warm the milk in the tiny, spotless kitchen that led off the ward. The young nursing aide handed her a cup of tea, and she gulped it down gratefully. It was weak and almost tasteless, with only a hint of sugar, but it helped revive her spirits enough to keep going.
William had stopped crying by the time she returned to the ward, and she took him from his cot and held him close. He didn’t weigh much, but his tiny body was comforting and warm in her arms – a reminder that life carried on regardless of the horrors surrounding them. She breathed in his baby smell, her cheek resting lightly on his downy head as she sank into the low chair and settled down to feed him.
She watched his fingers flex and curl in delight, noted how his eyelashes were dark against his pale skin, and how greedily he sucked at the teat. His vulnerability and total reliance on her touched something within Julie, and she knew in that moment she would do everything in her power to protect him. For now all they had was each other.
As Julie left the hospital and wheeled her bicycle over the road to the hostel, the air was rent with the sound of Hurricanes and Spitfires heading for the coast. She took little notice of them, for she was pondering on the miracle of a love so strong it was an irrepressible force. She’d seen that love in thepoorest of hovels when a baby was placed in a mother’s arms for the first time – had witnessed it in acts of incredible bravery when a child was at risk, and in the unceasing, selfless care that a mother gave to her ailing little ones.
William was not her baby, but in the short while she’d held him, fed him and watched him fall asleep, she’d felt that love sweep through her. It was fierce and overwhelming; stronger than anything she could have imagined. But it was healing, too, for in caring for William, she’d found a
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