The Poppy Field: A gripping and emotional historical romance. Deborah Carr

surgeon an occasional side glance. He glowered back in concentration and she realised he was addressing her. “Sorry, Sir?”

      He exhaled sharply. “Pay bloody attention. Apply the dressing, Nurse Le Breton. See to it that he is kept sedated for at least the next twelve hours. He needs fluids and must be kept still at all times. We do not need him back in surgery to stem a haemorrhage.”

      “Yes, Sir.” Alice did as he asked. He left the theatre and she could hear him washing in the canvas room next door.

      “You lucky bugger,” Mary whispered as she and Alice crossed paths later. “I heard you assisted Doctor Sullivan today.” She lowered her voice further. “I think he’s sweet on you.”

      “Hush, Mary.” Alice frowned at her cheeky friend. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

      She marched into the ward her face red with fury and embarrassment. What did Mary think she was doing, saying such things? She could start all sorts of unnecessary rumours. Alice couldn’t imagine the doctor even noticed her, beyond her skills as a nurse. She was glad of it, too.

      She thought of Dr Sullivan’s deep voice and how she had cringed the first time she’d heard him addressing a patient. She had been shocked when he didn’t use a gentler approach. But having seen his expertise achieve almost the impossible, her feelings towards him had softened over the past year. Alice smiled; she had seen the other two surgeons deal with patients at the station, and neither had the harshness of Doctor Sullivan, nor his brilliance.

      They barely had time to catch up with their ministrations when Matron announced that another convoy of injured men was on its way.

      “Not again,” Mary groaned. “I don’t know how much more of this my poor feet will take.”

      “Come along,” Alice said, thinking of how impressed she’d been by Doctor Sullivan’s dedication. “We can do this.”

      “Once the beds and trolleys are ready for the new intake of men, I suggest you all find yourselves something to eat and have a cup of tea,” Matron took a deep breath. “I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

      Alice and Mary returned to their ward to help move beds even closer together as more space was needed to allow further beds to be brought into the ward. Having made up the new beds and replenished the trolleys with implements, disinfectants and dressings, they went to the dining room for lunch.

      “I heard one of the orderlies talking about a village — Guillemont, I think he said was the name,” Mary said quietly, as they poured strong tea into their cups. “He said a battle has been raging there for the last couple of days. I think these men could be the injured from there,” she said taking a sip of her steaming drink.

      “I can’t imagine ever sleeping without hearing men’s screams in my dreams,” Alice admitted rubbing her eyes. “Sometimes I wish I could stay awake all night. Then I remember that I need my sleep to do what I must each day.”

      Mary put down her cup and rubbed Alice’s forearm. “It is relentless, but it’s got to end sometime.”

      They stared at each other. Both reading panic in the other’s eyes that they might be wrong.

      Alice closed her eyes briefly, then opening them, forced a smile. “It will. You never know, maybe it’ll all end sooner than we expect.”

      “Yes, it just might,” Mary said.

      Alice knew they were fooling themselves, but if they remained positive then they were better placed to help the patients. “I wish they didn’t discharge them straight back to the trenches as soon as they were well.”

      Mary didn’t reply immediately. She drank the remainder of her tea. “I can’t help wondering at the fruitlessness of it all.”

      “That’s enough of that,” Matron snapped from behind them making them both jump and Mary spill her tea. “No feeble talk from my nurses,” she said. “I want you back at your ward now. The convoy will be here shortly.”

      They stood up and cleared their plates and cups.

      Alice waited for Matron to leave the room before exhaling. “I hate being caught out like that,” she said, embarrassed.

      “Don’t you think she feels the same as us sometimes?”

      Alice looked at Mary and shrugged. “I imagine so, but the difference between her and us is that she’d never allow her feelings to show.”

      And neither should she, Alice decided. She was here to do a job and bleating about it wasn’t going to help anyone. She needed to buck up her ideas.

      Reaching the other nurses and orderlies waiting on the wooden walkway, Alice heard the bugle announcing the arrival of the ambulances. First Matron stepped forward, followed by two nurses and two orderlies. Once they had been told which ward in which to take the initial casualty, Matron checked the next man, and so on, until it was Alice’s turn.

      “Ward Four,” she said. Alice looked down at the conscious man who winced in pain as the orderlies lifted his stretcher from the back of the ambulance. She accompanied him across the wooden boards to the ward.

      “We’re in here,” she said, aware she was stating the obvious, but not sure what else to say until she had discovered what his injuries were exactly.

      Indicating the vacant bed next to Captain Woodhall, Alice checked the tag on the man’s jacket. “Corporal William Healy?”

      “Yes, Nurse, that’s me,” he said, in a gentle southern Irish accent. He gazed around him.

      He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was pale, thin, and, like most of the men who came here after spending months in the discomfort of the trenches, utterly exhausted.

      “You have a gunshot wound to the right foot, I see,” she said, waiting while the orderlies lifted him carefully from the stretcher onto the bed.

      “Yes, and stings something dreadful, it does.”

      “I don’t doubt it.” She unbuttoned his dust encased jacket. “Let me help you off with this filthy uniform,” she said. “Then I can wash you and help you change into your pyjamas. You’ll be more comfortable then.”

      “Thanks, nurse,” he said, gritting his teeth as she slowly worked his trousers down past his bandaged foot. He looked to his right and nodded at the captain in the next bed.

      “Welcome to The Haven,” the captain said, smiling up at Alice. “Most of our nurses here are angels.” He lowered his voice. “Matron can be a bit of a tyrant, but I’ve noticed that her heart is in the right place.”

      Alice was relieved to see the captain had improved dramatically since she’d last seen him. She went to speak to him, but two more injured soldiers were carried in to the large tent, diverting her attention. One was writhing in pain and Alice noticed Mary assisting a sister as she attempted to calm him. The two men next to her stopped talking, as both stared anxiously at the weeping casualty.

      Alice emptied the corporal’s pockets and placed a photo, wallet and letters onto the small chair by his bed that he’d be sharing with Captain Woodhall. She dropped the trousers and jacket in a heap that a probationer would take away with a mound of other dirty uniforms.

      “Poor sod,” the corporal said. “He was in my battalion. I wondered what had happened to him.”

      “He’s here now,” Alice said, trying to sooth their concerns. “We’ll ask Sister to give him something for his pain shortly.”

      “There’s far worse than that arriving,” Captain Woodhall said quietly.

      “Thank you, Captain,” she shook her head. “I need to clean Corporal Healy. You can impart your survival tips afterwards.”

      Alice washed and partially changed the corporal into pyjamas.

      “I’m going to have to change this dressing,” she explained,