Page 75 of Summer in Greece

We hurried along behind the orderly, a frowning man who avoided our eyes, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of women. The ship had a confining atmosphere, nothing like the spacious Britannic. Corridors were narrow and dim, and two sailors walking in the opposite direction had to flatten themselves against the wall so we could pass. The floors, walls, and even the low ceilings were metal, giving a great feeling of strength, but also noisy and oppressive. We arrived at the medical station.

The surgeon was a tall, pale man with little hair and a neat, black moustache on a perfectly round face. Archibald Fitzgibbons reminded me of the peg dolls I made as a child. He offered Nurse Josephine and I a stiff little bow.

‘You’ll be pleased to know we shall arrive at the port of Mudros, which is the naval port of Lemnos, at 0500 hours, but you won’t be able to leave until 0700 hours. We have a ship full of medical supplies to disembark there and we don’t want you in the way.’

So Manno was right, we were leaving for Lemnos, not Britain.

Fitzgibbons continued. ‘A good night’s sleep would be in order, as it may be your last for some months. Trust me when I say the living conditions at the hospital clearing station are appalling.’ He indicated for us to sit at his desk. ‘The hospital staff are crying out for our cargo, particularly chloroform and morphine. I warn you, the medical situation on the island is grim. More than half of those who were due to be transported back to Blighty on the Britannic have perished already, or are on the brink of doing so.’

I felt my skin shrink at the mention of this fact. More deaths due to my own incompetence.

‘Trench foot, gangrene, shrapnel wounds, dysentery, typhoid, and also a fresh outbreak of Spanish influenza are the main problems. On top of that, venereal diseases. Syphilis and gonorrhoea have reached epidemic proportions. The station is under-manned, short of everything, unhygienic, and most of the patients are kept under canvas. Due to the shortage of beds, the majority of the injured sleep on the ground, and as the winter rains reach their peak in February, things will only get worse. Food, like everything else, is in short supply, so eat everything you’re given; and beware of the moles.’

Nurse Josephine and I exchanged a despairing glance, trying to keep the horror out of our expressions.

‘Moles?’ Josephine asked quietly.

‘Yes, moles. Disgusting flea-ridden creatures, blind, with long claws. They dig their way up into the tents at night, then run like rats over everything and everyone. Most unhygienic. Screaming nurses will not be tolerated in a town of hospital tents where too many men are dying in terrible pain. Any questions?’

‘Were the medical staff from the Britannic taken to Mudros?’ Josephine asked.

‘They were offered the statutory two weeks leave after such a sad event, but many who survived uninjured volunteered to work in local hospitals, and some went on to Lemnos and are working in Mudros now.’ He folded his arms and stared into the distance. ‘However, I believe they’ll all return to England for another inquiry the moment they can be relieved – which won’t be for some time the way things are going. The ones that returned to the UK attended an unofficial inquiry on board the flagship, Duncan, on 24 November.’

‘I see. Are there at least enough splints and morphine for the casualties now?’ Nurse Josephine continued.

‘There isn’t enough of anything. Priority is given to those with over a fifty per cent chance of survival.’

‘And the progression of the war? We had no news while on Kea.’

‘I can’t say. There is a plan, but I’m not at liberty to divulge it. You must be ready to relocate at all times.’

‘How many patients are at the clearing station?’

‘Can’t be sure. Perhaps forty thousand wounded, sick, and dying.’

‘And medical staff?’

‘The answer to that is simply nowhere near enough – perhaps a thousand.’ He paused to let the number sink in while appearing totally defeated. ‘Yes, it’s impossible, and most of the nurses have had no experience and hardly any training before arriving in Mudros, though they’re full of good intention. What greets them is shocking – beyond their, or your, imagination. Most nurses cannot cope with the horror. Hats off to each one for trying but men with their guts hanging out, or arms and legs blown off . . . screaming with pain, well, it’s not what they imagined when they signed up.’ His eyes flicked to Gertie. ‘Half of them leave in the first month. The situation is impossible; but we have a consignment of ANZACs due in from Australia and New Zealand any day now, mostly practised nurses, though I doubt any of them have experienced war wounds. We shall see.’

Nurse Josephine was silent for a moment and the surgeon took that opportunity to terminate the conversation. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I have to examine your Corporal before dinner as he’s staying on board until we return to Athens, Malta, or Alexandria. I’m awaiting orders. We sail at 0900 hours. Be on board by 0800 hours sharp.’

CHAPTER 31

SHELLY

Dover, present day.

DJ ORDERED COFFEES WHILE SHELLY dried her eyes. Sunshine bounced in from the wet pavements outside.

‘DJ,’ Shelly said, looking into his eyes. ‘You’ve no idea how long I prayed for this moment.’

‘So why didn’t you instigate it?’ he asked, and although it could have been an aggressive question, there was no animosity in his voice.

‘Because your father was my first and last true love. You see, I met David when I was sixteen. He chose your name, by the way. On the day I first met him, he introduced himself: “I’m David,” he said. “My father was David, my grandfather was David, and when I have a son, I’ve no doubt he’ll be a David too. Or more likely a Dave these days, it’s more modern, isn’t it?”’ Shelly sat there smiling. ‘I was crying in the town centre. He was trying to cheer me up. “I come from a long line of Davids,” he said. I ended up laughing, it sounded so ridiculous. Your father’s middle name was John, so you were named David John, DJ.’ Remembering the moment, Shelly smiled, then she filled up and placed a hand over her mouth for a moment to stop herself sobbing. ‘My mother had just been killed, you see . . . in the most tragic accident on Christmas Eve. I was depressed like you can’t imagine. Your father was incredible. The kindest, most understanding person I’d ever met. I was so alone it hurt, but when I was with him, he took all my pain away. At the most difficult time in my life, your father, David John Evans, gave me hope and determination.’

‘David John Evans,’ he whispered as if testing the words.

Shelly nodded. ‘I asked the people who adopted you if they would keep your name, it was important to me, and they agreed on David John. Although I hadn’t known your father long, he really made me feel I was worth something. I passed my exams, got through university, and built myself a successful business, all because of him.’