Page 16 of Summer in Greece

‘I won’t give up, Father, I promise.’ I made a determined effort to kick harder.

By eight o’clock, we were drinking beef tea and eating dripping on toast at the kitchen table. Every muscle in my body ached and I was exhausted to the core.

‘Rub wintergreen into your calves and shoulders and we’ll try again this evening,’ Father said before leaving for the surgery.

Mother fell into a chair most ungraciously. ‘You could have both been swept away, then where would I be?’

*

I’m proud to say, by the middle of the second week, I could keep my head above water without the cork. Mother had ordered a modern, knitted swimming suit with three-quarter legs and arms, and I promised my father I would practise swimming whenever the opportunity arose.

The summer passed quickly. My work experience took place at our local hospital, where I occasionally saw my father and caught his flattened smile and glint of pride.

We all held our breath as the war gained momentum throughout 1916. By October, a great sea battle took place right off our coastline: the Battle of Dover Strait. Father and I watched from the cliff top for most of the night. At the time, we didn’t know who the burning or sinking ships belonged to: us or them. I’d always loved watching the ships, but to see those great vessels explode into fireballs, lighting up the dark – and for a few second the boats and lifeboats around them – was heartbreaking. To hear the distant cries of men calling for help, clearly some wounded and many in the sea, was too terrible.

The next morning, Mrs Cooper brought the newspapers in. Nothing of note said about German losses, which we took to mean there weren’t any. Our navy lost seven ships and six were damaged, and the loss of life was appalling.

‘BRITANNIA RULE THE WAVES! Bah. We’re a disgrace!’ Father bellowed over his breakfast. ‘How are we supposed to win this war if we can’t even scuttle a few ships on the doorstep of England?’ He glared across the table at me. ‘Go and dress in your uniform, Gertie, and be ready in fifteen minutes. You’re coming to the hospital with me.’

Mother gasped. ‘But why, Father?’

‘It’s about time our daughter saw some real casualties of this war. The tragedy of men with their arms and legs blown off.’ He turned to me. ‘Do you know what they’re known as?’ I shook my head. ‘Basket cases! Basket cases, do you hear me? Because there’s so little left of them, that’s how they’re transported, in a basket!’

Father’s plan was to horrify me so much I would give up my ‘harebrained scheme’ as he called it, to work for the Voluntary Aid Detachment. I’d show him I could be as strong as anyone. Although, when I glanced worriedly at Mother, who was practically trembling at that point, I feared perhaps I might not be able to take whatever he had in mind.

After losing Arthur and Sissy, his bombastic personality almost faded away; but now it was back with a vengeance. I understood that he wanted to keep me safe, and I loved him for that; but here was the odd thing: the more he tried to force his will on me, the stronger I became.

*

We arrived at the hospital and met Staff Nurse Cuthbert, in whose charge father left me. There followed the most disgusting four hours imaginable. I was ordered to perform the most sickening tasks.

‘Very good, Miss Smith,’ Staff Nurse said, her voice as cold as the sweat on my forehead. ‘You realise, as a VAD your life will mostly consist of bedpan duty?’

‘Yes, Staff Nurse.’ I nodded, suspecting that she’d caught my loathing of this chore. But I would rise above this station, and new recruits would take my place at the bottom of the nursing ladder.

‘Then you may wait for Dr Smith at the hospital entrance.’

I stood out front, wrapped my cape around myself, and watched the arrival of military ambulances. The stretchers, four to a vehicle, were pulled out and lined up outside the hospital where orderlies took over. Casualties from the night’s battle streamed in. Young men in a terrible state.

‘Nurse! Nurse, please help me,’ one young seaman cried. ‘My hand, please . . .’

For a moment, I wanted to run away, but his pleading tone brought out the pity in me. I could hold his hand for a moment. The sailor was held to the stretcher by two heavy straps over a blanket that covered all but his head. One strap pinned him across his chest, and the other over his thighs.

I knelt beside him. ‘Take it easy, sailor, they’ll soon fix you up.’ I eased the blanket back to take his hand in mine . . . there was no hand, just a bloodied stump at his wrist and a tight tourniquet. The shock caught me by surprise and I almost cried out. I fought to keep the horror and fear off my face, but the hardest part was to speak to him with a steady voice. I turned my head away, thought of our Arthur, then called on Sissy for help.

In a moment, I had regained control of my voice and was able to calm the young man. ‘This is one of the best hospitals in the country, sailor. They’ll take very good care of you, I promise.’ I talked to him, told him about my brother, but not that he had died.

The orderlies came for him at the same moment as my father appeared.

I tucked the blanket back under his arm and patted his shoulder. ‘Good luck, sailor,’ I called, my calm voice seeming to come from somebody else, my insides shaking like Mrs Cooper’s blancmange.

‘Thank you, nurse,’ the sailor called, his voice a little calmer now. ‘I’ll never forget you!’

In father’s car, I turned away from him and, peering out of the window as he drove us home, broke down. I wept for a few minutes, then dried my eyes, blew my nose and threw my shoulders back.

Father never spoke of the incident, yet I sensed he was quite aware of my emotions.

That evening at dinner, Mother got herself in a tizzy about everything, saying it just proved how much danger I’d be in on the high seas, but Father sternly reassured her.