“They arrived this afternoon,” the private at the desk confirmed.
“Sounds like fun up there.” Pru smiled. She was tired, but it didn’t show. They had almost lost one of their patients, but some heroic measures on her part, with Ed’s help, had saved him. She was going to check on the patient at the hospital later that night, but wanted to shower and grab something to eat first. She hadn’t had time to eat all day. And they had been chased by a German fighter plane, which their own fighter escort shot down. Her dark brown hair was disheveled, and there was dried blood on her flight suit. She was tall and slim, with warm brown eyes, dark brown hair, and a ready smile.
She headed up the stairs, and saw half a dozen women sitting on some beds through an open door, and she stuck her head in. “Welcome to jolly England, and air evac, ladies. We’ve been waiting for you. We need you desperately. There’s a fine Irish pub down the road, with a fish and chips shop next door. I’ll take you down there tomorrow. I’ve got to stop in at the hospital tonight, to check on some of my boys. I’m Pru Pommery, by the way,” she said with a broad, welcoming smile, as she walked into the room. Alex, Lizzie, and Louise turned and smiled at her. Audrey was in the shower at the end of the hall.
“Did you just fly in?” Alex asked her. Pru looked like a lively, fun person, with a broad smile that lit up her eyes.
“Just back. My room’s just down the hall, by the way, if you need anything. I’m sort of the house mother on this floor, aspirin, safety pins, steri strips, kirby grips—oh booby pins, I think you call them, for your hair.” The three of them laughed.
“Bobby pins,” Lizzie corrected her, “but I think I like booby pins better. Most days, I get a booby prize for my hair.” She always complained that her blond curls were uncontrollable.
“I have mine done every day at four,” Pru said, patting her mop of hair that looked an absolute mess after the arduous flight and the stress of saving a man from bleeding to death. They all laughed again, as Audrey walked in, wearing a terrycloth robe with her hair soaking wet, and introduced herself.
“You’ll all start classes tomorrow, it’s really an orientation to tell you how the RAF does everything. Protocols and all that. It’s a total waste of time. You’ll do just fine without it. They just want to impress you with how efficient we are.” Pru went to take a shower herself then, and soon came back to see them in a clean flight suit, as they were leaving for the mess hall. Pru was postponing dinner to check on her patient. “I’m off to see one of my boys,” she explained. “He gave us a bit of a fright today. You’ll each be flying with one of us for the first few flights, and then you’ll be on your own. I hope I get a chance to fly with you,” Pru said, and walked down the stairs with them, and then walked swiftly to the hospital. The soldier they’d saved that afternoon was still alive, but in critical condition. There was a good chance that her corpsman had saved his leg. She sat next to the boy who had nearly died and talked to him quietly until he drifted off to sleep. He’d been happy to see her again, and she told him how well he was doing and how brave he was.
She hitched a ride to the pub on the way back to tell Ed what a good job he’d done. He was a strapping, handsome blond Irishman who’d been a pharmacist’s assistant before the war, and had trained as a medic in the army. He dreamed of becoming a doctor, but probably never would. He had too many relatives who needed his help in Ireland. His father had died when he was a boy and he had worked all the odd jobs he could to help his mother support his seven younger brothers and sisters.
“You did a good job, Ed,” Pru said and patted him on the back. “If he lives, the surgeons think he’ll keep the leg.” Ed had applied a tourniquet so perfectly, he had kept the patient from bleeding to death, but not so tightly that he’d lose the leg. The soldier was nineteen years old, barely more than a boy. The war was devouring boys like him every day, and killing most of them. It broke Pru’s heart when she lost one of them. She did everything she could to save them, including threatening the life of Reggie, her pilot, if he didn’t get them back fast enough. It was a race against time on every flight every day. “We got a load of new nurses in today,” she told Ed as he handed her a pint she didn’t want, but she took a sip anyway. “Americans.” Ed was a ladies’ man, and he could never resist a pretty nurse. He had the charm of the Irish, and many of the nurses found him irresistible. Aside from being good-looking, he was an incredibly nice guy, a great corpsman, and a talented medic.
“Music to my ears.” He smiled at her.
“I shouldn’t drink the beer,” she said, smiling back at him. “I haven’t eaten. I just want to go to bed.”
“Shall I get you some fish and chips next door?”
“I’m too tired to eat,” she admitted. “We’ve got a four a.m. start time tomorrow. I’m heading to bed.”
“Me too,” he said, glancing around the room. “I just haven’t figured out with who yet.” She laughed and knew he wasn’t as indiscriminate as he liked people to think. It was more of a game he played. He loved to flirt. Women loved him. And men admired him.
“Save yourself for the Americans. There were about six beauties in the room, or maybe it was four, when I stopped in to say hello to them.”
“Are any of them flying with us?”
“Not tomorrow, but probably soon. We have to brief them first. They don’t really need it. They’ll figure it out as they go along, like the rest of us. Well, I’m off,” she said, handing him her beer to finish.
“I’ll drive you back,” he volunteered, setting the beer down. “You look done in. You’re asleep on your feet.”
“Not quite, but getting there.” She smiled at him.
She followed him outside, and they chatted on the short drive back to her barracks. The nurses’ dormitory was one of the biggest buildings on the base.
“See you in the morning,” he said and waved as he drove away. He was thinking about the American nurses who had just arrived and wondered if they were as good-looking as Pru said. He could hardly wait to see for himself.
* * *
—
Emma Jones was already sound asleep in her bed when Pru walked into the dimly lit room they shared, and undressed. They had been roommates for a year, and after a stormy beginning, had become fast friends. Pru had heard that Emma had had a rough flight that day and lost a patient, which was rare for her. Of all of them, she had been a nurse for the longest time before the war. Emma had grown up in the slums in the East End of London. Her father had died at the end of the Great War shortly before she was born. Her mother had died of drink when Emma was fifteen. She’d spent three years in a Catholic home for orphans after that, and had somehow resisted the usual temptations of prostitution and minor crime to survive. She had no family, had grown up dirt poor, and had all the toughness and the accent of the East End that went with it when she and Pru met in the RAF.