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Standing tall, she dug her short nails into her palms and nodded. ‘I’m ready, doctor.’ She followed him into the operating theatre and stopped by his side. He lifted the lid of the metal box. Inside, the metal drainer was similar to the one she had used in Darwin. ‘When will the other nurses arrive?’
He shrugged and set the lid down beside the autoclave. ‘A day or two or three. I have no idea, but what I do know is that all of you will require training in preparation for when the worst happens and we’re inundated with casualties. You’re here so I’ll train you. If you live up to your matron’s recommendation, you might become my head nurse. When the other sisters arrive, we will both teach them what you have learned. Okay, so—you’ve used an autoclave before?’
Meg nodded. ‘Autoclaving is the most effective method of sterilising equipment, which we do after each procedure.’
He picked up a handful of medical instruments and set them in a single layer on the metal drainer then replaced the lid. ‘Always like that; never in an untidy pile, which, believe me, I have seen happen. Once the lid is in place and secure, turn the power on and note the time. We can’t expect that all of our nurses will be fully trained and competent. I want to reduce the chance of errors, so I want the autoclaving times for various instruments and beakers posted on the wall above.’
He moved on to a tray of surgical instruments. ‘Set these out according to the diagram in the manual. There is logic and reason for the order. When we operate, I expect immediate delivery of whatever I ask for. Let’s see your technique. Hold out your hand, palm up and flat.’
Meg did as she was told and Dr Ransom firmly placed a scalpel in her hand. ‘Like that, Sister. That’s what I expect from you. Your delivery of the instrument should be firm without smacking into my hand. The handle should be placed so that when I close my hand, the instrument is facing the right way ready to be used. In emergency cases, speed is as important as precision. Now, hand me that scalpel.’
Nervous at first, Meg took three attempts to set it in Dr Ransom’s hand firmly enough to suit him. ‘I’m sorry, doctor.’
‘Don’t be. You picked up my preference quickly. Sister Dorset, I’m confident that, with practice, you will become a good theatre nurse. Now, I’ll explain the procedure I expect for bringing a patient in and preparing him, and after that, I think we’ll have a break for lunch.’
##
‘Knock, knock.’
Meg looked up from the filing notes in her hand. A young corporal stood in the doorway and pulled off his cap when she noticed him.
‘Ah, Lieutenant, I have a package for a Sister Margaret Dorset, to be delivered to her hand only. Can you tell me where I might find—’
Meg pushed her chair back and held out her hand. ‘I’m Lt Dorset, Corporal.’
‘Then this is for you—’ He paused, and colour seeped across his cheeks. He pulled off his cap and gripped it between both hands. Clearing his throat, he met her gaze. ‘With much love, and a thousand apologies. I was told to say that.’ His cheeks flamed red as he handed over the package, and he shuffled his feet. ‘Corporal Flanagan made me swear on my granny’s grave that I’d be sure to tell you that. Especially the love bit.’
Heart thudding at this wonderful and unexpected gift from Seamus, Meg smiled. ‘Then I’ll be sure to let him know how perfectly fine your delivery of his message was when I next write to him. Thank you, Corporal.’
The bright red in the lad’s face eased, and his cheeks puffed with round good health as he smiled. ‘My pleasure, Lieutenant. I’m sorry I couldn’t get it to you any earlier.’ He saluted and disappeared down the hallway.
Meg sat slowly, thoughtful as her fingers teased out the shape inside Seamus’s package. A book.
She set the package on the desk and slipped off the string holding the brown paper wrapping in place. Folding the paper back, she saw it was a slim volume of poetry. Not new. Well-thumbed. Loved by its owner.
She lifted the front board and first page and held them open. There, in the top left corner, was written in a neat, schoolboy script: ‘M. Seamus Flanagan, 1932’.
Below, in a similar but adult version of the same hand, Seamus had written:
For my Meg
With all my love, always,
Seamus xx
She traced the letters of his name, read the inscription softly, and then fanned the pages of the book. Had he written a letter? A note? Perhaps he had marked his favourite poem for her? As she reached the back board of the volume, a single sheet of paper fell onto the desk. Ripped from a notebook, both sides were covered in pencilled words, scrawled, perhaps written hurriedly. She picked the paper up and tipped it towards the window. There was no attribution or year, and no other message to her, but Seamus had felt this important enough to include with his gift. She read:
SONG: WHEREVER WE MAY BE
Wherever we may be
There is mindlessness and mind,
There is self, there is unself,
Within and without;
There is plus, there is minus;
