Page 107 of Summer in Greece

‘Wait, Gertie. Pour me a brandy, and a small one for yourself.’

‘Me? Father! I don’t think that’s appropriate.’

‘Stuff and nonsense. This is 1917. I do believe young people partake occasionally. Besides, I want to talk and there is nothing like a good cognac for loosening the tongue.’

I poured him a drink, and a small one for me too. This personal moment with my father strengthened my morale. For the first time, I realised he no longer considered me an irresponsible child. I found it difficult, even after all that had happened, not to grin like the organ-grinder’s monkey.

‘Matron told me she’s very pleased with your progress, Gertie.’

‘She’s a marvellous woman and I wish to model my future on her. As I said in my letter, she promoted me to the theatre and though I’m not as yet a qualified theatre nurse, I’ve learned various sutures and it seems to have become my job to take care of the outer sutures, to close a wound after surgery and also apply the dressings. This leaves the surgeon free to move on to the next case. Through this recent work, I have discovered where my aspirations lie.’ I stopped and took a breath. ‘Can I tell you my dream, Father?’

‘You can tell me anything at all, child,’ he said, swirling his drink, then lifting his head to stare at me.

‘I want to be a surgeon.’ There, I’d said it.

‘Ha!’ he exclaimed. ‘Don’t look like that, Gertie! You’ve no idea what being a surgeon involves. When people die in your hands—’

‘Excuse me interrupting, Father. I’ve assisted at one hundred and sixty-seven operations. Twenty-nine of our patients died on the table, but this was simply because their wounds were too catastrophic, or they had lost too much blood.’ I put down my drink, turned my hand over, and pushed my sleeve above the small scars in my arm. ‘Look, I’ve given direct blood transfusions, via the glass tube, to five patients, four of whom survived. The first one of those patients was in the lifeboat, and the procedure saved the man’s life.’

Father lifted his eyebrows. ‘Really? Well, I’m shocked. And you still want to be a surgeon?’

‘More than anything in the world.’

‘Then I’m proud of you, and relieved that you’re home, safe. You have my total support, Gertie.’

This was not the response I expected. ‘But there are no women surgeons. Where would I start?’

‘Exactly where you are now, in the field hospitals. Do everything you can, show you are not afraid. Offer to take over. Most importantly, prove that you can lead a team of medics, because you cannot do the job alone. Get organised, get a reputation, and get all the knowledge you can absorb. Make people remember you because – and this is important for you to understand, Gertie – this war will not last forever! There will always be a shortage of good surgeons. This is an exciting time for women. An opportunity to prove yourselves. Be brave and rise to the challenge.’ He went to the bookcase, pulled out a thick volume and handed it to me. ‘Start with Matron’s book, then this. Learn it cover to cover. I’ll test you every evening over supper.’ He handed me his wine-coloured tome. ‘Gray’s Anatomy of the Human Body.’

I went to sleep feeling relieved. Did my father believe the newspapers? Did he believe I had opened the portholes? Merriberry must have guessed it was me, although it could have been any one of the patients while I was in the sluice room. Had she told my father? I got the impression they had spent time together. Not one person had asked me straight out if I had opened the portholes.

Memories of the mob outside the cottage concerned me. Clearly, they believed everything in the papers? Poor Mr Boniface, to lose his youngest son. I couldn’t even remember seeing the boy.

*

I was having breakfast when the mob returned. The sound of hammering on the front door made me jump. ‘Who is it?’ I asked through the letterbox.

‘The Morning Standard, miss. Can I ask you a few questions?’

‘What? What about?’

‘Were you on the Britannic, miss?’

Clattering from the fist-shaped brass knocker had woken Father. He appeared in his smoking jacket over his striped pyjamas. ‘What’s happening, Gertie?’

‘There’s a newspaper reporter outside, Father. He wants to come in and ask a few questions.’

Father opened the letterbox and called, ‘We have nothing to say. Remove yourselves before I summon the constable.’

Mrs Cooper came in the back door. ‘Here, there’s a crowd outside again, Doctor. What’s going on?’ She placed the newspapers on the table.

Father groaned as he scanned the headlines. ‘This is what’s wrong!’ He waved the paper, then dropped it onto the table and picked up a second tabloid. ‘More headlines, and even more condemning than yesterday’s. DOVER GIRL RESPONSIBLE FOR SINKING THE BRITANNIC?’ He stared at me for a moment, then went on to the next one. ‘NURSE CAUSES DEATH OF THIRTY MILITARY PERSONNEL, AND MAIMS FORTY MORE.’ He glared at me again. ‘What on earth did you tell them in that tribunal, Gertie?’

‘Father, I told them I couldn’t remember what happened before I was rescued from the sea. I said it was all a blank.’

He stared at the broadsheets again. ‘Well, you might as well know, both Matron Merriberry and I have guessed what happened, but it is better if those words are never said aloud. You don’t remember anything at all, you understand? Nothing will be changed by encouraging more problems.’

I turned my eyes away. ‘Yes, Father.’