Home Front Girls

the surgeons had managed to save his leg. She had seen hundreds of amputations during her time at Haslar. Indeed, sometimes the theatres had been so busy that the amputated limbs had had to be piled outside the theatre doors until the porters had time to wheel them away to be incinerated. It was a terrible sight, and the first time she had witnessed it, Annabelle was ashamed to admit that she had vomited. The stench of rotting flesh and blood had been too much for her, but it was yet another sight that she had been forced to get used to. But somehow, knowing that one of those limbs had belonged to someone you knew personally, made it a thousand times worse.
    She wondered if she should try and find out which ward Joel had been transferred to, but then decided against it for now. Madam and the Ward Sisters were very strict about there being no fraternising between the staff and the patients, and she was sensible enough to realise that she stood more chance of seeing Joel if she played their friendship down. And so she returned to her dormitory along with the other girls who had also pitched in to help when they got back from their night out. She was ready to drop, and yet even when she was tucked in bed, sleep refused to come as pictures of Joel’s pale face kept flashing before her eyes.
     
    Later that day, after making discreet enquiries of the other girls, she discovered which ward Joel was on and also that the surgeons had managed to save his leg, although it would never be the same again.
    ‘That poor bugger won’t be seein’ service again,’ Sandra Pritchard, one of her roommates, told her in a matter-of-fact voice. Annabelle felt torn between sympathy for Joel and relief. He might be maimed but at least he was still alive, which was a lot more than could be said for many of the men who had arrived the night before and who were now lying in the hospital morgue. During the next couple of days, telegrams would be going to their nearest and dearest informing them of their deaths, and yet more families would be devastated. It all seemed such a terrible waste of life. But as the VADs had learned early in their training, it wasn’t their job to dwell on the fate of the departed. There was nothing that anyone could do for them. Their job was to do their best for the survivors, with a cheerful word or a shoulder to cry on when the men were feeling down.
    Sometimes Annabelle thought that this was one of the most important aspects of their job, although had anyone asked her if she was capable of doing such a thing just a short while ago, she would have scoffed at them. Why would Annabelle Smythe, the girl who had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and who had been pampered and spoiled all her life, demean herself to such a low level? But as she was now painfully aware, that girl no longer existed. Had never existed really, and so she just got on with the job she had chosen to do as she tried to work out who she was now.
     
    Two days later, Annabelle found herself on duty in the ward to which Joel had been admitted, and she had to force herself not to rush over to him as she worked her way down the row of beds seeing to the patients’ needs. Madam had set up a new rota, and she was no longer required in the theatre for the time being. And then at last she was standing next to him. He was lying very still with one arm in a sling and his leg suspended from a pulley in the ceiling.
    ‘Good morning, Mr Ford,’ she said officially as she swished the curtains around the bed to create some privacy. ‘I’ve come to change your dressings. How are you feeling today?’ She began to rummage on the trolley for fresh bandages as Joel turned dull, reddened eyes towards her, and then as recognition dawned those eyes lit up and he held his hand out to her. Every visible inch of him seemed to be covered in cuts and bruises, and he had lost a tremendous amount of weight – and yet she still felt the pull of him as she had when she had first met him.
    ‘Belle,’ he said weakly, and she grinned. She had always considered shortened names to be common, yet coming from Joel she quite liked it.
    ‘Yes, it’s me,’ she whispered. ‘But we mustn’t let the Sister think that we know each other, or she won’t let me nurse you.’
    He was obviously very weak but he nodded to acknowledge that he understood what she was saying. She began to unroll the bandage from his arm and after checking that the wound beneath was clean