The Nightingale Nurses (44 page)

‘Have you heard what happened at Gardner’s Corner?’ someone shouted. ‘A tram driver just got out of his van and left it there, right on the corner. It’s causing chaos to the marchers, they can’t get past it!’

A roar went up from the crowd. ‘Let’s see if we can’t do the same down here,’ someone else yelled.

It took Dora a while to find Dr Adler in the middle of all the chaos. He had set up a temporary consulting room in the back of a bagel bakery. Dora found him in his shirtsleeves, unpacking dressings from a bag.

‘Need any help?’ she asked.

He swung round. ‘Nurse Doyle! What are you doing here?’

‘Same as you.’ She took off her coat and rolled up her sleeves. ‘Right, what have we got?’ She nudged him aside and delved into the medical bag. ‘Did you remember to bring any elastic bandages? Oh, well, never mind, I suppose we can make do with what we’ve got. How about medicated lint?’

He ignored her. ‘You’ve got to go back, it’s too dangerous. You can hear them out there. I can’t be responsible for your safety.’

‘Then I’ll just have to look after myself, won’t I? Now, have you brought any carbolic? We’re going to need that, whatever happens. Never mind, I’ll go and get some. I’m sure I passed a hardware shop further up the road . . .’

Just at that moment the door burst open and a boy charged in, his face alight with excitement. ‘We’ve just got word, the marchers have been turned away from Gardner’s Corner!’ he cried.

Dora looked at Dr Adler. ‘Does that mean they’ll be turning back?’ she asked.

‘Either that or they’ll all be coming down here,’ he said grimly.

Dora grabbed her coat. ‘Better get that carbolic then, before the rush starts.’

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon in Casualty. Nick had been summoned to replace a lightbulb in the waiting room.

‘The calm before the storm,’ he heard Sister Percival saying to Nurse Willard as he balanced on top of the stepladder, unscrewing the bulb. ‘You mark my words, we’ll be turning them away before the end of the day.’ She tutted. ‘We could have done without Dr Adler swanning off, today of all days. How Dr McKay is going to manage on his own when the casualties start to arrive, I’ve no idea.’

‘You heard Dr Adler,’ Nurse Willard said. ‘He was determined to go and do his bit.’

‘Irresponsible, I call it,’ Sister Percival huffed.

‘He’s not the only one,’ Willard said, idly examining her fingernails. ‘Doyle’s gone off too.’

The lightbulb crashed to the ground, splintering into fragments.

‘Really!’ Sister Percival looked up, irritated. ‘I hope that wasn’t the new bulb you’ve just broken. It will be coming out of your wage packet if it is!’

Nick ignored her, coming down off the ladder to pick up the pieces. He moved slowly, listening to their conversation.

‘Are you certain Doyle’s gone?’ Sister Percival was saying. ‘I’m sure Matron would never allow it.’

‘Allow it or not, she’s gone. She told me herself. Joe warned her it would get nasty out there, but you know how headstrong she is.’

‘Serves her right if she ends up in here injured herself – where do you think you’re going?’ Sister Percival turned round to Nick, who was stripping off his overall. ‘Come back here, you haven’t finished the job—’

But he was already gone, the double doors crashing shut behind him.

Outside the bagel shop the crowd were getting restive, jostling each other. People were shouting and singing. Kids hung off lamp posts, acting as lookouts. Women in aprons and old men in silk coats with shawls around them stood shoulder to shoulder with big Irish dockers and young communists with their red banners flying high above them. It felt as if the whole world had converged on Cable Street.

A crash shook the pavement under her feet, briefly silencing the crowd. Dora cowered, terrified a bomb had been dropped. But then one of the children called down from his lamp-post look out, ‘They just pulled a lorry over on its side!’

But no sooner had a cheer gone up than someone else called out, ‘Watch it! The police are coming.’ Dora looked over her shoulder, just in time to see a dark tide swarming towards them over the barricades, policemen on foot and on horseback, pushing their way into the crowd. She saw bricks, bottles, lumps of wood and concrete flying through the air, truncheons raised, horses’ hooves pawing the air, coming down on the crowd, followed by screams and roars of outrage.

‘Bloody coppers! Let ’em have it!’

The next moment hell rained from the skies. The women were hanging out of the upper windows, throwing jars, bottles, tin cans and anything they could find down on the policemen. The air was suddenly filled with the stench of vinegar, pickles and a lot worse.

Dora dodged into a doorway, just in time to avoid a chamberpot smashing at her feet.

‘Watch it!’ someone laughed. ‘Don’t hit us, we’re on your side!’

She inched her way along the street, dodging the scuffling crowd that surged around her. She got to the the hardware shop just as the owner was boarding up his windows. He gave her the carbolic and refused payment.

‘It’s good of you and the doctor to help us,’ he said, pressing the brown paper package into her hands.

She was on her way back up Cable Street when she saw a man, slumped down an alleyway just off the main street. Blood poured from a gash in his head. A little girl in a green coat stood beside him, whimpering.

‘It’s all right, love, I’ll see to him.’ Dora crouched down beside the man. ‘Hello?’ she said. ‘Can you hear me?’ He groaned a response. ‘I’m going to get you somewhere safe. Put your arm around me . . . do you think you can walk?’ She turned to the little girl. ‘You come with me too, ducks. It’s not safe for you round here.’

The man was a dead weight. No matter how hard she tried, Dora couldn’t shift him. She was still struggling to get him upright when a voice behind her said, ‘Here, let me.’

She looked around. There was her brother, a coat slung over his black shirt.

‘Pete! What are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same question.’ His face was grim. ‘You never know when to stay out of trouble, do you?’

Dora looked him up and down. ‘But why are you—’

‘Let’s just say I thought better of it. Come on, let’s get this bloke moved before the police really move in.’ He slung the man’s limp arm around his own shoulders, lifting him easily. ‘Which way?’

‘Down here. On the next corner.’ Dora directed him through the crowd to the bakery where Dr Adler had set up his surgery. A small crowd had already gathered there, waiting for attention. Dr Adler was cleaning a cut on a woman’s arm, his white coat smeared with blood.

‘Thank God you’re here, I was beginning to—’ He glanced over his shoulder and saw Peter, helping the man into a chair. ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘I think he’s come to help,’ Dora said.

‘We don’t need help from the likes of him.’ He shouted over to Peter, ‘You’re in the wrong place. Shouldn’t you be up at Victoria Park, polishing Mosley’s boots?’

Peter didn’t reply. ‘Surely we can put him to some use?’ Dora pleaded. ‘He’s a porter, so he’s used to lifting patients.’

‘Dora?’ Peter called to her. ‘This bloke we’ve just brought in . . . I think he’s lost someone. He keeps calling out for Anna.’

Dora went over to him. ‘Who’s Anna, mate? Your missus?’

‘
Tochter
. . .’

‘He’s asking for his daughter,’ Dr Adler translated.

Dora and Peter looked at each other. ‘There was a little girl with him,’ Dora said. ‘I told her to come with us . . .’

‘I didn’t see her.’ Peter frowned. ‘She must have run away.’

‘Probably saw that black shirt of yours,’ Dr Adler muttered.

The man started to get agitated. ‘Anna,’ he pleaded, looking from one to the other of them desperately. ‘My Anna . . .’

‘I’ll fetch her, love, don’t you worry.’

Dora headed for the door, but Peter barred her way. ‘You’re not going out there again.’

‘I’ve got to find that kid. She’s out there by herself, I can’t leave her.’

‘Let me go, then.’

‘You don’t know what she looks like.’ Dora glanced back at Dr Adler. ‘You stay here and help the doctor.’

Dr Adler and Peter glared at each other. ‘Do you know anything about putting on a bandage?’ the doctor asked.

Peter’s chin lifted. ‘A bit. Our Dora’s practised on me a few times.’

‘Then make yourself useful.’ Dr Adler tossed him a dressing. ‘That’s if you don’t mind putting your hands on a dirty Jew?’ he added.

THE POLICE HAD
broken through the barricades and were tearing through the crowds, charging them with truncheons raised. Horses thundered past, so close Dora could feel the heat coming off their flanks. Everywhere she looked there were running battles, people fighting hand to hand with the police, blood running down faces.

A young policeman lay injured in a doorway, nursing his leg. As Dora watched, a man dashed out of the crowd towards him, a blood-stained lump of brick in his hand.

‘No!’ She flung herself on him, pushing him away. ‘For God’s sake, what do you think you’re doing? Leave him be, or you’ll be no better than those bloody Blackshirts!’

She helped the policeman to his feet. ‘Can you walk?’

‘A bit.’ He put his weight on his leg and cursed in pain.

‘Let me help you. Put your arm around me.’

Together they struggled the length of the street almost to the door of the bakery. ‘Go in there,’ Dora said. ‘The doctor will sort you out.’

She left him and turned back into the mêlée. The police were closing around her on all sides now, charging and thumping and kicking and punching out at anyone who came near them. The protesters were giving as good as they got, while rubbish still rained down on all of them from above.

She plunged into the crowd, head down, looking for the little girl.

‘Anna!’ she called out, but her voice was lost in the roar of the crowd.

And then, by some miracle, she caught a flash of green out of the corner of her eye. She swung round. The little girl was cowering in a shop doorway near where Dora had found her father.

‘Anna?’ Dora started across the road towards her, pushing her way through the crowd. But just as she reached her, a lump of wood came down from an upstairs window, hitting Dora on the shoulder and sending her sprawling across the road. Next moment, a huge grey police horse plunged out of the crowd towards her, its eyes wild, nostrils flaring.

‘No!’ She heard a roar as the massive beast reared up, casting its shadow over her. She saw its iron-shod hooves pawing the air, and instinctively curled up to protect herself, moments before they came crashing down.

Suddenly she felt strong arms around her, pulling her up, snatching her out of the way as the horses’ hooves descended.

‘Jesus, Dora!’

She breathed in the familiar scent of him before she dared to open her eyes and found herself crushed against Nick Riley’s rapidly pounding chest.

‘Thank God,’ he whispered, over and over again. ‘When I saw you lying there . . . I thought I’d lost you.’

Dora clung to him, not wanting to let him go, even as the crowds surged around them, pushing them this way and that.

Finally he released her, his hands moving up to cup her face. His was only inches away, closer than he had dared to be in so long, and for the first time in months Dora didn’t try to fight it.

‘You could never lose me,’ she whispered.

The riot around them ceased to exist for a moment as she drank in every detail of his face: the tears glistening on his thick black lashes, the flecks of navy in his blue eyes, the beautiful long curve of his upper lip . . . moments before his mouth came down to claim hers.

Joe Armstrong clambered over the barricade, raised his stick above his head and lashed out left, right and centre, blindly striking down anyone in his path. On either side of him a wall of uniforms was advancing, pushing forward into the crowd. Ahead of them was an unruly mass of people, waving flags and jeering. He could see their mouths moving, but their angry taunts were lost in a deafening chorus of police whistles, ambulance bells, horses’ hooves and chanting.

‘Oi, copper! Over here!’ He turned around just as a woman took aim and pelted him with a rotten apple. It exploded as it hit the side of his face, rotten mushy flesh dripping down his cheek.

A young man laughed. Joe spun round, blinded by rage.

‘You think that’s funny, do you?’ He picked up the boy with both hands and hurled him through an ironmonger’s window, splintering the glass.

‘Careful, mate.’ Tommy sent him an uneasy sidelong look.

‘We’ve got our orders, ain’t we? Hold the line and get rid of anyone who stands in our way. That’s what the sergeant said.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t have to be violent, do you?’

‘Have you seen what they’re doing to us?’ Joe dodged a brick as it flew through the air. ‘We’re allowed to defend ourselves, ain’t we?’

‘You weren’t defending yourself when you threw that kid through the window. You looked like – well, like you were enjoying it.’

Joe shot him a dirty look. ‘You get on with your job, mate, and I’ll get on with mine.’

Truth be told, he
was
enjoying it. All the shouting and the fighting had got his blood raging. He didn’t really care who he lashed out at. Just like being in the ring, he’d taken a few blows but he’d delivered a damn sight more. And so what if they hadn’t all been in self-defence? Those bastards shouldn’t have been on the streets if they didn’t want trouble.

And then he saw them.

For a moment he thought he must be dreaming. But when he looked again, there they were, Dora and Nick, standing on the side of the road, kissing.

Blood roared in his ears, deafening him. A missile came out of nowhere, knocking his helmet sideways, but he barely noticed as he stood stock still, staring at them.

‘Hold the line!’ their sergeant urged them on. Joe saw them, still locked in an embrace as the police surged past, pushing back the crowd, a relentless wall of blue uniforms. Still he couldn’t take his eyes off them, looking back, picking out Dora’s red curls in the crowd.

And then, suddenly, he couldn’t stand it any longer.