Free A Wartime Nurse by Maggie Hope Page A

insist, Major Koestler,’ she had said stiffly, and he instantly turned his attention to the patients, saying no more to her than was absolutely necessary for them to get round the ward. But the constraint she felt soon eased as her professionalism took over.
    The Italians, usually so vociferous, especially when there were pretty nurses about, fell silent as he approached their end though Major Koestler did not examine them, most of them being medical rather than surgical cases anyway, Theda realised. They had been prisoners since the North African campaign and their main camp was further up the dale.
    ‘Good morning,’ he said to them. They stared back, their normally merry faces impassive, but he didn’t appear to notice anything, merely going smoothly to a middle-aged German who was sitting by the stove, one arm in a sling.
    ‘Don’t get up,’ he said in German, or at least that was what Theda surmised he said for the elderly soldier half-rose from his seat and then subsided again.
    Afterwards, when the round with Major Koestler was over and she had gone back into the office with him to leave the case notes, the English doctor had looked at her impersonally, almost as if he had trouble recollecting who she was. Sister was back and he was deep in an animated discussion with her over Johann Meier.
    ‘Oh, Helmar,’ he greeted the German, and barely glanced at Theda. ‘We were just discussing the shoulder wound, Meier. I think we should withdraw the Sulphapyridine and try—’
    Theda heard no more as she left the office, closing the door behind her. She carried on with the work of the ward automatically, dishing up mince and cabbage and potatoes for Nurse Harris, a new auxiliary nurse, and Nurse Cullen to give out to the patients who, practically to a man, looked in horror at the grey meat and watery vegetables. Yet all the plates were cleared when they came back to the kitchen, she noticed. Food was food after all in this year of war, 1944.
    Laura Jenkins was coming off duty when Theda got to Block Five and waited while Theda delivered her comic book and had a few words with the children. Then they walked together to the dining-room.
    Over plates of mince and vegetables, exactly the same as those eaten by the prisoners earlier, Theda gave an account of her morning. Laura ate steadily saying nothing, until she put down her knife and fork and went to the counter to bring back two plates of rhubarb and custard.
    ‘Well,’ she said as she sat down again and picked up her spoon, ‘at least you have got over the first time. It will get easier, I’m sure.’ She pulled a face at the taste of the rhubarb, sweetened with saccharine and tasting like it, but carried on eating stolidly.
    ‘I’m all churned up though,’ said Theda, who was pushing her spoon round and round in the custard and eating little. ‘And I don’t see why I should feel in the wrong. Surely anyone would feel the same as I do in the circumstances?’
    ‘Aye, I can see you’re right upset,’ agreed Laura. ‘What I reckon is, you’re just going to have to get used to working there. What can’t be cured must be endured, as my old man used to say.’ She put down her spoon and gazed across the table at her friend. ‘Oh, look, I know how you feel, believe me I do. You’re still raw from losing Alan, I know that.’
    Theda stopped playing with her food and began eating stolidly, the stab of pain at the mention of Alan’s name fading slowly, robbing her of her appetite. But after all, she had to work the rest of the day and needed the energy. Laura was right of course, she knew it, and moaning about it wasn’t going to help. At least it was her day off tomorrow. She could go back to Winton Colliery tonight and forget about the hospital for a while.
    It was a dark and bitterly cold morning when Theda awoke in the bedroom she shared with Clara when she slept at home. She snuggled down under the bedclothes, leaving only the tip of her nose in the