Wave Me Goodbye. Ruby Jackson

Brewer or Mrs Petrie. I didn’t misunderstand her; I understood her only too well. She told a lie.’

      ‘Liberty bodices and woolly socks,’ she announced to the unusually quiet room. ‘I promised a liberty bodice to Olive.’ Then, turning to Olive, she added, ‘I think I have a pair of socks I can give you too, once we get you well.’

      Other land girls stood up and began to go through their often-meagre belongings.

      ‘Every old lady in my home village knitted me warm stockings, Grace, and I bet there’s a knitted vest in here too,’ said a slightly older girl from Yorkshire. ‘Hate wool against my skin, I do, but what can you say to old ladies?’

      ‘Thank you very much,’ chorused several of the girls, and everyone laughed.

      ‘I can’t take all this,’ Olive wheezed, as knitted socks, stockings, vests and even knickers began to pile up on her bed.

      ‘Don’t fret; we’ll sort it out. We’re all in this war together, aren’t we, ladies?’ Betty made Olive smile as she pulled on a very large woolly vest over her pyjamas. Then she took it off and held it up. ‘Bit too small for me, this one. Any takers?’

      Grace, still feeling both angry and unhappy, began to relax in the camaraderie. This was how she had joked with her old school friends. No one would ever take their places in her affections but she smiled as she understood that these young women too would always be a special part of her new life.

      Two days later, Miss Ryland admitted that Olive was no better and telephoned for a doctor. Grace and Betty were allowed to stay with her while they waited.

      Grace had no experience at all of medical care and could make no suggestions as to how to bring down Olive’s temperature. ‘She’s burning up, Betty. What can we do till the doctor gets here? Should we take off this heavy blanket?’ She made as if to move it.

      ‘No,’ said Betty sharply. ‘If I remember right, my nan used to put us in cold water when we had a high temperature and then quick as a wink, back into the nice warm bed, just till the temperature broke. I know she shouldn’t be in a draught.’

      Grace looked around. ‘Wish there was a fireplace. I could easily find sticks and branches in the wood. It is a bit draughty.’ She walked angrily to the small window and tried to peer out. ‘Can’t see a damn thing. I’m going to run downstairs to watch for the car coming. I can’t just sit here.’

      Olive coughed, a loud hacking cough that seemed to shake her whole body. ‘I’ll be all right, Grace,’ she wheezed.

      That frightening wheezing had been heard too often in the past few days and, combined with the burning skin that made her attempt to throw off her covers, had added to the land girls’ worries.

      Betty, who had lifted Olive up until the spasm passed, lowered her down onto the pillow. ‘You go, Grace, and bring back three cups of tea. You’d like a nice cuppa, wouldn’t you, Olive? See, Grace, she’s dying for some tea; me, an’ all. Run.’

      Grace grabbed another jumper and pulled it over her clothes. There would be time to continue the fight for the promised coats when they had Olive well. She strained her ears to hear the ring of the doorbell but all she heard was the clatter of her heavy-soled shoes on the wooden staircase.

      It was too cold to stand on the steps, looking down the driveway for the doctor’s car and so she decided to jog down to the gates in the hope of seeing it arrive. She reached the gates without seeing any vehicle of any kind, but as she stopped, leaning against the gatepost to get her breath back, she saw a bicycle at some distance. The bicycle slowly drew near as the rider fought both the wind and the weight of the ancient machine. Disappointment. A woman was riding the bicycle.

      Grace had never felt so powerless. Olive needed a doctor, the doctor who should probably have seen her two days ago, but just then the wind blew the cloak worn by the cyclist and Grace saw a bright red lining.

      ‘A nurse,’ she shouted. ‘Nurse, nurse,’ she cried again as, her energy restored, she ran down the road to meet her.

      The nurse had no breath left for talking but she handed Grace her medical bag and, her burden lightened somewhat, they reached the hostel together.

      Miss Ryland was there to meet her. ‘We sent for the doctor. Where is he?’

      ‘You’ll have to make do with me; I’m the district nurse, Nurse Stevenson, and Doctor’s too busy. Now, if I could see the patient … Honey in hot water with maybe a splash of brandy is the best medicine for colds. I’m sure I didn’t need to cycle out all this way. The call came right in the middle of my first-aid class.’

      She was making her way up the steps and into the hostel, Grace following along behind, carrying the rather heavy and well-used medical bag.

      Miss Ryland decided to be charming. ‘We are sorry, Nurse, to tear you away from war work but we too are in the middle of the war effort and the health of our students is, naturally, our first priority. The girl is rather delicate and possibly should not have been accepted into the Land Army, especially in the middle of winter.’

      She continued upstairs at the district nurse’s side and Grace followed on behind.

      Very few of the girls had an appetite for supper that evening. There was a roaring fire in the large room used as a dining room, and a delicious smell of roasting potatoes almost hid the mouth-watering odour of roasting apples, but the room, although filled with healthy and hungry young women, was unusually quiet.

      The district nurse had taken one look at the shaking, sweating Olive and, with an angry, ‘She should have been seen earlier,’ sent her to the nearest hospital.

      ‘Pleurisy?’ the girls questioned one another. ‘What’s pleurisy?’

      ‘Ask Grace Paterson. She were with her. What is it, Grace, something like pneumonia, maybe?’

      Grace, who was chopping a roasted potato into tiny pieces but making no attempt to eat it, shook her head. ‘Nurse didn’t say. I think it’s lungs but I’ve never heard of it. Really sore chest and difficulty breathing; Miss Ryland’s gone with her.’

      That news had a mixed reception. Most were pleased that the hostel manager had accompanied Olive to the hospital, but some were afraid that her doing so only proved how ill the land girl was.

      Voices were raised in anger. ‘She’s one of the girls without a coat. We was promised proper clothing.’

      ‘Only the latest intake’s short, girls,’ someone tried soothing frayed tempers. ‘And the coats is promised.’

      ‘Come on, ladies, look at the lovely supper,’ another said. ‘Eat up, that’s real custard with them apples. Tomorrow’s another day and we don’t want no more getting sick now, do we?’

      The muttering and grumbling died down as healthy appetites were appeased. Some looked round at the warm, comfortable room, with its fire, its benches and old sofas piled with cushions, the shining brassware on the walls, and reflected that, yes, the work was hard but the billet was a good one. A girl, possibly one who should not have been accepted for such arduous work, was sick, but she was receiving the best possible care. Tomorrow, they would learn even more and, one day, equipped with hard-won knowledge and experience, their lives would be even better.

      Grace’s dormitory was not so quiet that evening. Well aware of how early they had to be at work next morning, the land girls remained unable to settle down and sat up in their beds going over and over the events of the past few days. Only Grace and Betty Goode, the two most closely involved, were quiet. What was the point of talking and losing sleep? Olive was now receiving the best of care – no one, thought Grace, could have done more than Nurse Stevenson – but hospital staff surely had equipment not available to a district nurse.

      The loud ringing of the alarm clock had them stumbling in complete silence to wash and dress as quickly as possible. The working day began after breakfast and Grace was delighted to find that a lecture on crop rotation had taken the place of an