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

are readied. I want all free beds made up. Go,” she shouted when they didn’t move the instant her order was out of her mouth.

      They had all perfected the art of hurrying without breaking into a run. Matron loathed running. As they reached the wards, two went to help make up beds, while Alice and Mary kept going to the supplies hut.

      “That was your fault,” Alice teased, grabbing several packets of dressings from the shelf in front of her. “Telling me things about your cousin.”

      Mary took several more. “I thought you’d be interested.”

      “I was,” Alice admitted, not wishing to fall out with someone with whom she shared a small tent. “Sorry, I’m tired, that’s all.”

      “Apology accepted,” Mary smiled, throwing a pack of dressings at her.

      Outside, they waited silently in the uneasy calmness. The only sound interrupting the quiet orderly grounds being the occasional burst of shell fire from the Front. Alice wondered if she would ever get used to the noise. The worst was when she felt the earth shudder beneath her feet. The closeness of those explosions never failed to give her a fright. Mary had told her countless times to try to ignore it, but how was she to do that when each explosion almost certainly meant the death or mutilation of at least one soldier, usually many.

      A bugle sounded, jarring Alice out of her reverie as it signalled the arrival of the convoy.

      “Let the nightmare begin,” she whispered to Mary.

      Mary grimaced. “I hate this bit most of all.”

      Alice didn’t. The bit she dreaded most was nursing a soldier as he screamed in an agony she could only imagine, unable to lessen his pain. And the fear some of them showed, her heart ached at the thought. It was something she knew she would never get used to, no matter how long this damn war continued.

      The sound of motor ambulances arriving over the hardened summer ground increased as they neared. Horses whinnied as they pulled ambulances to the rear of the convoy.

      “There are so many,” Alice said nervously, as the vehicles drew up in front of the casualty clearing station and parked long enough to unload their damaged passengers. Orderlies ran to take stretchers from the vehicles. “There must have been another big push.”

      Cries and agonised pleading for help rang through the early evening air. Alice braced herself for what was to come.

      “Do we know how many?” One of the sisters asked as the first driver opened the back of his vehicle.

      “At least seven, maybe eight ambulances,” he said. “These are all from the fighting going on near Pozières. I was hoping the worst of it was over, but it just goes on and on.”

      “It does seem to.”

      “All of these are full. We’ll be going back for more later. By the looks of things, you’re going to have around two hundred wounded brought here over the next few hours.”

      Alice wondered how many more patients they could take, or how many soldiers there were still left to injure in the battles being fought in various areas across the Western Front. She waited for stretchers to be lifted from the vehicles. Matron read their tags to check injuries and the severity of damage to the new patients. Some didn’t need checking, even Alice could see from where she waited for Matron’s instructions, that they were horribly injured.

      “Nurse Le Breton, Nurse Jones,” she called waving over Alice and Mary. There’s a pile of bandages at the back of the tent there,” she said pointing. “Take them to be burnt and get back here straight after.”

      Alice was carrying a pile of soiled dressings, trying not to get blood on her clean apron, when a smirking patient stood in front of her on the boardwalk dragging on a cigarette.

      “Excuse me,” she said, trying to side-step the man. When he didn’t move, she stepped to the right to pass him, only for him to block her route once more. Not wishing to get into an unnecessary argument with him, she glared at him.

      “What the hell are you doing?” Doctor Sullivan bellowed coming up to them. “Move aside and let the volunteer nurse pass, now.”

      The patient did as he was told. He doesn’t look nearly as full of himself now, she realised, amused.

      “Thank you, Doctor Sullivan,” she said hurrying off, hearing the doctor scolding the patient. Having thrown the revolting mess into the fire, Alice washed her hands in the sluice room and returned to wait near Matron.

      As she walked, she thought of the doctor and his eighteen-hour long shifts battling to save patients. Alice didn’t know how he and the other surgeons carried on working, day after day. They rarely had a day off, or at least, that was how it seemed to her.

      A loud uproar alerted her to a disturbance outside the ward. Without hesitating, Alice grabbed the string of a large jar containing a lit candle and ran outside to help.

      More ambulances had arrived. The crying and groaning increased. Matron, the front of her beige uniform bloodied, pointed for Alice to go and assist with the ambulance next to where she was standing. Doctor Sullivan and two other surgeons ran from the direction of their huts to the theatre wards.

      Three men were lifted out of the first ambulance, all of whom were conscious. Alice noticed that there was a further patient. This one was still, and she had to take his pulse to be certain he was still alive. He was. Just. “Take these men to Ward Five,” she said. “Please, hurry. There are nurses in there who’ll tell you which bed to put them in,” she said, as the fourth man’s stretcher was slowly pulled back from the vehicle.

      Holding up her lantern, she narrowed her eyes and studied the patient. He was covered in dried earth and lice, but then so many of the men were. She lifted the tag attached to his uniform jacket and saw that he had received a shrapnel wound to his head and a bullet had grazed his hip.

      “Bring him with me,” she said, covering him up to his neck with the brown blanket. “This way.”

      They followed her to Ward Five. Inside, she scanned the tent for a free bed. He would need one as far away from the door as possible, she decided. He needed to be kept warm and Alice was relieved to discover a bed at the other end of the ward. Hurrying over, she carefully passed nurses stripping, cleaning and tending to wounds on the new patients.

      “Here,” she said. They placed him down on the bed and left her to it.

      The poor man was very cold, despite the warm day. Much colder than the other soldiers she had come across that evening. Alice didn’t like to think how low his body temperature must have fallen. He groaned and winced as she undid his uniform jacket.

      “You’re safe now,” she said. “My name is Nurse Le Breton. I’m going to wash and change you. A doctor will be here to check on you as soon as he can.”

      When she moved his head slightly, blood covered her hand. Alice saw Mary finishing with a nearby patient and waved her over.

      “Can you help me, please?” she asked and Mary hurried over. Alice held the patient up by his shoulders while Mary removed the clothes from his torso. Carefully resting him down again, they both removed his trousers and underclothes. Keeping him covered as much as possible, they quickly washed him before cleaning and redressing his hip wound. “Fetch an extra blanket,” she said quietly to a passing probationer. “Be as quick as you can.”

      Alice was aware that she should not move his head any more than was necessary, but his bandage was filthy and soaked with blood. “We need to change this,” she said, waiting for Mary to raise his head slightly, so she would remove the dirty dressing. Cleaning the wound as best she could, Alice pressed two new dressings against it before bandaging it.

      “That’s better,” Mary said, lowering his head gently onto the pillow. “I’ll make up his records, while you let Matron know his situation.”

      “Thank you,” Alice said. “He’s,” she checked his tag again. “Captain