and we are optimistic for her full recovery. That doesn’t decry the sacrifice those girls made, but it could have been even worse. We could have lost all or many more of our wonderful nurses.’ She paused. ‘Here are the names of those who died.’
Maxine held her breath while Matron adjusted her glasses.
‘Patricia Cooper, Jane Deveraux and Sally Grimshaw and Belinda Brown.’
Maxine stood alert, her nerves taut. Anna wasn’t on the list. Why? Where was she? A flicker of hope died at Matron’s next words.
‘Unfortunately, we haven’t found Anna Redding. We can only presume she died, as several of the nurses confirmed she was in the quarters with the others at the time the bomb went off. I will inform you when I hear of any further news. In the meantime, in case the Germans decide to have another shot at us tonight, I have asked the cleaners to prepare the basement. All of us, the whole hospital – except those on duty – and I mean doctors, nurses, cleaners, cooks, servicemen, and everyone in between – is to sleep down there tonight. I will inform you if there are to be any further changes.’
It wasn’t until the afternoon that Anna was pulled out of the rubble. Like the other four nurses, she’d been buried alive. Maxine swallowed the bile that kept coming up into her throat before she fled to the toilet and vomited until her stomach had nothing left to bring up. And then she wept. She wept for Anna and she wept for Johnny. Two wasted young lives within months of one another.
‘I’ll never forget either of you,’ she whispered, her hands folded together in prayer.
Maxine lay still, wondering why every bone ached. She stretched out her legs, grimacing as pain shot through them. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Her mouth felt gritty, dusty, stale. Where was she? What was that strange odour? Something rancid. So strong it turned her stomach.
She opened her eyes and lifted her neck, twisting it this way and that, hardly taking in the sight that met her stare. Fully dressed bodies were lying inches away from her, still sleeping, some of them actually snoring. Of course. She was in the basement of the hospital. Matron had ordered everyone to spend the night here, leaving only a skeletal staff above.
Maxine managed to raise herself to a sitting position and took in the incredible scene. Surgeons were pressed up against tea ladies and maids; Dr Shaw, who always barked his orders and was often rude to the nurses, had his head on the shoulder of the young trainee nurse in her ward. She wondered what he’d think when he woke up and realised who he’d slept with last night. Maybe he’d get the message that he wasn’t quite as important as he liked to make out. She couldn’t help the smile which hovered over her lips … that is, until she remembered poor Anna. Her dear friend. How she was going to miss her.
It was still early but several people were stirring and Maxine struggled to her feet.
‘What a night,’ John, one of the porters said, flexing his arms above his head and yawning.
‘Not the most comfortable, I have to say,’ someone else said. ‘But we’re the lucky ones.’
‘You can say that again.’
More staff were scrambling to their feet, giving one another wan smiles, probably feeling as foolish as Maxine that they’d spent the night in such proximity with one another, and now it was over they needed to get on with their normal duties.
And she needed to go back to her patients.
Two nights later, wailing sirens sent cold shivers down Maxine’s back as she desperately tried to help the patients to safety before terrifying explosions wiped out two whole blocks of the hospital. Wards were totally destroyed and Matron ordered everyone to transfer what seemed like the whole hospital to the basement.
Everyone had to work at top speed with the blackout still in strict force, even in the basement. Carrying a pile of linen, Maxine had almost careered into a wall.
‘It was those painted animals that saved me from a nasty collision,’ she told Bennett at breakfast next morning. ‘They certainly showed up in the dark.’
‘Oh, you’ve spotted the White Rabbits,’ Bennett laughed. ‘Bloody ingenious, if you ask me. Some chap, I think it was, painted them on the wall for just that reason – to save us all smashing into it.’ She swallowed a spoonful of porridge. ‘I see you’re down for the children’s ward for the next month – rather you than me. I hear the Staff Nurse is awful.’
‘I particularly asked for the transfer.’ Maxine smiled at Bennett’s raised eyebrows. The children’s ward was always the least favourite among the nurses, mainly because of the children’s distress caused by their parents either coming on visiting days and stirring them up, or not appearing at all. She didn’t bother to explain that she’d always wanted to work with children.
Staff Nurse Mayfield ordered Maxine to bath the children who were able to get out of bed. Her first patient was a scruffy, undernourished waif who had just been admitted with a body full of scabs, looking suspiciously like the results of chickenpox. If it was, at least now the spots were scabs he wouldn’t still be infectious. She would show them to Sister Mayfield after his bath.
‘You’re a girl and not s’posed to see my willy,’ the child shouted when she pulled his filthy underpants down.
‘I’m a nurse, so it doesn’t count,’ Maxine told him, biting her lip to hide a smile.
‘Why doesn’t it?’ His round blue eyes regarded her.
‘Because we’re trained especially to help children to get better.’
‘I don’t wanna go in the water. Mum never makes me. I don’t like it.’ His eyes were wide with fear.
‘We have to clean those nasty scabs or they’ll get worse and start itching and spreading.’
She quickly lifted him into the bath, and taking no notice of his screams, she soaped and rinsed him.
‘I can get out myself,’ he said, his face contorted as he struggled to put his thin legs over the side of the bath.
‘Well, you’re a big boy.’ Maxine smiled as she dried him. ‘And you’ve done well.’ She dabbed his tears away. ‘Can you tell me your name?’
‘Course I can,’ he said scornfully. ‘It’s John Smiff – but Mum calls me Johnny.’
Her eyes filled as she heard the little lad’s name and a tear rolled down her cheek. Quickly, she brushed it away.
‘Why are you crying, Miss?’ Johnny looked up at her, his eyes still wet. ‘Have they said you’ve got to have a bath now?’
September 1941
When Mr Churchill had announced at the end of May that the Blitz was over, and the Luftwaffe no longer pounded London and the Docklands every night, Maxine had a desperately needed reprieve. She’d been working twelve-hour shifts, covering for a nurse on sick leave as well as doing her own duties, with little time off in between – not enough to do much more than write letters home, keep up her laundry, and occasionally
