She remembered him looking into the distance and speaking, very quietly, almost to himself.'Such is the legacy of war . . . the discarded dreams of children . . . the waste. The tragedy.'
Simon looked at his watch.'Well, sadly, Maisie, I must go. I have meetings while I'm here, I'm afraid. So much for leave, eh?'
'Yes, I have to go, too. We set off early tomorrow morning.'
As Maisie placed her white linen table napkin alongside her plate, Simon watched her intently.'Would you mind very much if I wrote to you? It may take a while, but letters can be sent up the line. I'll work out something.'
'Yes, that would be lovely. Please write.'
Simon rose to pull out Maisie's chair, and as he did so Maisie noticed her three friends at an adjoining table, all holding coffee cups to their lips and looking at her over the rims of the cups. She had forgotten they were there.
In the lobby Simon once again made a sweeping bow. 'You may be clad in that wonderfully practical nursing attire, Miss Dobbs, but in my eyes you will forever be wearing a stunning blue silk dress.'
Maisie shook hands with Simon, and bade him good-bye before joining the three nurses standing directly behind her, and doubtless waiting to begin teasing her once again.
Maisie and Iris saw the tents in the distance, a musty afternoon cordite-laden fog lingered overhead, and a heavy ground mist was moving up and around them.
'I'm freezing just looking at that lot, and it's nowhere near winter yet,' said Iris.
'I know what you mean. Looks bleak, doesn't it?'
Maisie pulled her cape around her body, though the day was not that cold.
The main tents had giant red crosses painted on top, and beyond were bell tents that were home to the nursing contingent of the casualty clearing station. The ambulance moved slowly along the rutted road, and as they came closer to the encampment, it was clear that they were in the midst of receiving wounded.
The ambulance pulled alongside the officers' tent, where records were kept and orders given. All around them people moved quickly, some shouting, others carrying fresh supplies. Iris and Maisie stepped down and had barely taken up their bags when a sister rushed up to them.
'No time to dawdle. We need you now--time for the paperwork and receiving line later! Get your capes off, your aprons on, and report immediately to the main tent. It's the deep end for you two.'
Two hours later, as Maisie stood over a young man, cutting heavy uniform cloth away from an arm partially severed by shellfire, Maisie remembered Simon's words:'You must prepare yourself for what you are going to see.'
Quickly pushing the still-fresh words to the back of her mind, and brushing the sweat from her forehead with the back of her bloodied hand, Maisie felt as if she were in the eye of the storm. The young soldier lying in front of her was conscious, watching her face all the time, searching for the glimmer of expression that would give away her assessment of his wounds. But the sisters of the London Hospital had taught their nurses well: Never, never ever change your expression at the sight of a wound--they'll be looking into your eyes to see their future. Look straight back at them.
As Maisie worked quickly, taking up disinfectant and swabs, a surgeon accompanied by nurses and medical orderlies moved from one soldier to the next, cutting away skin, bone and muscle, pulling shrapnel from the bodies of boys who had taken on the toil of men.
The soldier continued to stare into Maisie's eyes as she prepared his wounds for the surgeon's knife. Following the trail of blood and flesh, Maisie cut away more uniform, taking her scissors to his trousers, pulling at the bindings around his lower leg. And as she felt her hand sink into the terrible injuries to his thigh, the soldier cleared his throat to speak.
'Rugby player's legs, those.'
'I thought so,' said Maisie as she continued to work on his leg, 'You can always tell the rugby players.'
'Nurse, nurse,' the soldier reached out toward her with his uninjured hand,'Nurse, could you hold my hand?'
And as Maisie took his hand in hers, the young man smiled.
'Thank you, nurse.'
Suddenly Maisie was aware that someone was bending back the soldier's fingers and moving his arm to his side, and she looked up at the nursing sister in charge. An army chaplain placed his hand on her shoulder for barely a second before lifting it to perform last rites over the young soldier's not-yet-cold body, while two stretcher-bearers waited to remove him to allow room for more wounded.
'Oh, I'm sorry--'
'No time for sorry,' said the sister. 'He's been gone less than a minute anyway. You did all you could. Now then, there's work to do here. No time to stop and think about it. Just got to get on with it. There's plenty more waiting outside that need your helping hand.'
Brushing back a stray hair with the back of her hand once again, Maisie prepared the table as best she could for the next soldier.
''Allo, Nurse. Going to make me all better, are you?' said the man as the stretcher bearers quickly but carefully placed him on the table.
Maisie looked straight into the man's eyes and saw intense pain masked by the attempt at humor. Taking up scissors and swabs, along with the pungent garlic juice used to disinfect wounds, she breathed deeply and smiled.
'Yes. I'm going to make you all better, young man. Now then, hold still.'
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Maisie awoke in the tent she shared with
