Letters To Alice. Rosie James

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СКАЧАТЬ bombings this month. Amazingly, many of us – and many buildings – seem to be still in one piece, but the devastation is horrifying, and I have seen some terrible things. Every hospital has become an emergency centre (St. Thomas’s was hit) and no one has been allowed off duty. Even the most junior of us have been expected to rise to all occasions, and of course we have. We are all doing our best not to let the side down.

      It has been a privilege to witness the bravery and courage of the victims, Alice – one elderly gentleman I was looking after, and who was close to death, still managed to smile at me as I clasped his hand and held him at the end. The look we exchanged as he finally slipped away will stay in my memory for ever.

      No one ever grumbles, but just gets on with everything in a matter-of-fact way. We haven’t had that much sleep lately and meal times are brief, but the determination and camaraderie have helped to keep us going.

      After last September’s outrageous attack on the city, and now this latest one, let’s hope that Hitler will give us a rest for a bit. (I sometimes wish I was in uniform somewhere, and doing something positive to help bring this ghastly business to an end.)

      I hope, I really hope, that we can all arrange to get together soon.

      Always and ever – Sam.

      PS. Sorry to spill all that out on you, Alice, but one of the reasons for writing is that, a couple of times, I have asked myself whether I have chosen the right profession after all. Because handling unrecognizable bodies, and trying to comfort the frantic and bereaved, has been a nightmarish revelation, and there was one moment when I almost lost control and broke down. (Though thank goodness I managed to hold it together!) Such emotional weakness in anyone hoping to be a surgeon is not acceptable, but I had to tell someone, and you are the only person I want to share this with. I already feel some relief in confessing it.

      Please write and tell me that you don’t think me a total coward. S.

      PPS. This is not something I would want to worry my parents about. S.

      Dear Samuel

      Thank you for your letter. Yes, we have had a terrifying time here, too, but have survived to face another day, another year…or years, perhaps. Mrs. Hammond and I have spent several nights in the under-stairs cupboard together, emerging quite safe – if a little stiff – in the morning!

      And like you, I have witnessed amazing bravery and goodwill everywhere. People are determined not to give up, but to carry on as cheerfully as possible. A mostly-demolished shop in the city had a notice outside saying “More open than usual.” That gave everyone a laugh. The office where I am employed is still intact and open for business. Not even a single day off for me – worse luck!

      It would be lovely to see everyone again soon, I agree. But we are all so spread out now. However, I am sure your mother would manage to arrange something!

      All my best wishes, Sam. Alice.

      PS And you are not a coward. I don’t know any cowards. Don’t call yourself stupid names! A

       Bristol 1941

      The bus was crowded, almost full, the hot August sunshine streaming through the grubby windows making Alice lift her hand to shade her eyes.

      As they’d all got on, she’d made her way to the back where there were three vacant seats all in a row, next to the emergency exit. She’d left her suitcase next to the driver, though in the limited space available some other passengers had to have theirs alongside them in the aisle, or held awkwardly between their feet.

      Alice had brought very little with her, mainly because her uniform took up so much space. But she’d put in a couple of dresses and a cardigan, another pair of sandals, and two spare sets of underwear. She imagined there would be laundry facilities. In her wash bag was a new flannel, a bar of soap, a tube of toothpaste, and her toothbrush. And along with six pretty hankies which Gloria had given her as a sort of going-away present was her indispensable pot of Pond’s cold cream. The handbag on her lap held some money, a strip of Aspros, a comb, her powder compact and a Tangee lipstick. At the bottom of her case, beneath everything else, were two new exercise books, some pencils, and the wallet containing her letters and her precious fountain pen.

      She looked around, waiting for the bus to fill up. She couldn’t help feeling slightly apprehensive about what lay ahead…it was going to be a completely new experience, that was obvious – but then she, along with everyone else was having to adapt to new experiences – some of which were highly dangerous – and, unfortunately, often fatal. They were living in troubled times, and there was nothing left but to accept what was happening and just get on with it. Her mother had told her often enough that that was what life was all about. That every generation had its ups and downs. And anyway, what she and her fellow passengers were facing was not going to be dangerous…just very different, that’s all. In fact, where they were all going would be blissfully free from death and destruction. It would be calm and peaceful. A sort of respite from the perpetual fear of sirens announcing an air raid, from the spectacle of searchlights criss-crossing the night skies…

      Everyone else around her was about her own age, Alice guessed…early twenties or so…dressed much as she was, summer frock, sandals, the occasional cardi or headscarf. She noticed that one or two had brought their gas masks – which was unusual nowadays. After the initial terror of being gassed had passed, most people didn’t bother to carry them any more. Alice remembered being made to practise using hers. Remembered her gasp of fright as, for a second or two, she hadn’t been able to breathe properly, had felt trapped, and ugly. And frightened.

      But so far so good. The war was nearly two years old already and no lethal gas had arrived. Surely that would never happen now? She bit her lip. Why on earth was the world having to go through this all over again? It was only a couple of decades since the last one…the Great War…how could history be repeating itself? Especially after Mr. Chamberlain had come back from his meeting with Hitler, the piece of paper he was holding bearing such high hopes of “peace in our time”? Utterly futile as it turned out. High hopes? No hopes, as it turned out.

      Alice wondered what her mother and father would make of it, if they were still here. Her eyes misted as she thought of them. Her merchant seaman father had survived against all the odds in the first one – his ship somehow managing to deny the hungry Atlantic another expensive meal. Yet he was to lose his life later in a stupid accident. Alice’s lips tightened as her thoughts tormented her. For four long years God had answered her mother’s prayers, only to turn His back on them afterwards. It didn’t make any sense.

      The last few women were boarding the bus now, and coming towards Alice was a tall, well-built girl with dyed blonde hair nearly reaching her shoulders, and held in place by a Kirby grip at either side. Her friendly face was enlivened by a pair of deep blue eyes, her full lips painted a bright red. As she grinned down, her teeth were snow-white. She immediately plonked herself next to Alice.

      ‘Watcher, I’m Fay,’ the girl said cheerily. ‘Blimey, it’s flippin’ hot, idn’t it? God alone knows what we’re all letting ourselves in for in this carry-on!’

      ‘Hello, I’m Alice,’ Alice said, responding with a generous smile of her own, warming to the girl’s outgoing nature and hearty Bristolian accent.

      ‘Watcher, Alice,’ Fay said. She rummaged in her large holdall and took out a tube of Maynard’s wine gums. Yer – have one a’ these! You’re not teetotal are you? They’re pretty alcoholic if you’re not used to them!’

      Alice took a gum СКАЧАТЬ