Dead Man's Land Read Online Free PDF Page B

calmly, ‘I requested some assistance during this tour of the clearing stations and field ambulances. The Senior Medical Officer in Charge suggested Nurses Gregson and—’
    ‘They are not
nurses
, Major Watson, as you well know. Not qualified nurses. They are auxiliaries. Orderlies. And the Matron-in-Chief herself has forbidden VADs to work this far forward—’
    There came another explosion, short and sharp, that made everyone’s heads turn to the source. It had come from Mrs Gregson, the older of the VADs. Her companion, Miss Pippery, a tiny thing who looked to be barely out of her teens, took a small step backwards, as if retreating from a ticking bomb.
    Mrs Gregson bent at the waist, put down the medical chest, and stepped over it, so that she stood eye to eye with the sister.
    Mrs Gregson, Watson estimated, was thirty or thereabouts, with striking green eyes and, beneath the white VAD headdress, a crown of fiery red hair. The sister was probably two decades older, pipe-cleaner thin, with a mouth pinched by years of keeping her charges in line. Now the opening was reduced further, to a razor cut in a rather sallow face.
    When Mrs Gregson spoke, it was with a quiet but stinging force. ‘Sister, I may not have your qualifications, but I have been out here for more than two years. I was running first-aid stations when the worst the men faced was a turned ankle from trying to march in hobnail boots on French and Belgian cobblestones. I drove for McMurdo’s Flying Ambulance Brigade at Mons. Perhaps you have heard of it? I have treated trench foot, venereal disease, lice infestations and lanced boils in men’s buttocks the size of macaroons. I have stuffed men’s entrails back in place and held the hands of boys who cried for their mothers, such was their pain, and of grown men weeping in fear at the thought of going back up the line. I have carried men’s mangled arms and legs to the lime pit, told a private he will never see again, watched men drown in their own fluids from gas, spent weeks wondering if I will ever smell anything in my nostrils other than the stench of gas gangrene. I have shown pretty fiancées what German flamethrowers have done to their future husbands’ faces. Then had to deliver the letter that tells them that they have lost those sweethearts. I have seen enough pus to last me a lifetime, Sister, and my hands are likely ruined for ever from all the scrubbings with carbolic and Eusol because, of course, only a
sister
can wear rubber gloves, and I do believe, no matter what your dear Matron-in-Chief thinks, that I have earned the right to go where my betters think I am needed in this war, and I also believe that Major Watson’s new method of blood transfusion will save the lives of many who have to this point died for want of fluid and warmth.’ She finally took a breath. ‘Of course, I am not a nurse, nor would I claim to be. I am a VAD and proud of it.’
    Mrs Gregson’s short speech never increased in volume throughout its course, but somehow, like a great flywheel pressed into motion, gathered power and momentum as it went. Watson was about to object that is wasn’t strictly speaking
his
new method of blood transfusion, but decided to stay out of the contest. It would be like trying to separate two Siamese fighting fish.
    The guns seemed even louder and much closer in the brittle silence that descended on the tent.
    Sister took her time composing her reply. The heightened colour in her cheeks faded, but she twisted the piece of paper she held in her hands as if she were wringing Mrs Gregson’s neck. ‘I did not intend to impugn the service you have given. But there are few here who haven’t performed the same tasks. Isn’t that right, Staff Nurse Jennings?’
    ‘Yes, Sister,’ she agreed softly, eyes downcast. ‘Although I can’t drive—’
    But Sister had turned her attention back to the VADs. ‘You will assist Major Watson, of course, in his important work, and I assume move