Chapter 19
By the end of the training programme, Tilly knew how to use a jack and change a tyre, how to replace spark plugs, clear a clogged carburettor, change oil, top up water and various other roadside jobs that could easily be performed with the right tools.
She was issued with her own tool kit and overalls, a hard hat and boots that would protect her feet in any weather conditions.
She was informed that an essential piece of kit was lipstick, because it cheered the wounded.
That was the last thing she thought she would need to pack, but she was reliably informed that it was a must. Fliss wouldn’t have dreamed of going anywhere without her lipstick, her whole make-up kit to be truthful.
Although Fliss declined to complete the ambulance-driver training on the grounds it might destroy her nails for ever, she did agree to do the nursing part of the training and accompany Tilly to France.
Tilly teased her constantly, asking her if she was sure she wouldn’t prefer to stay behind and work on her husband project, but Fliss’s response was, ‘What and let you have the pickings of all those good-looking officers? You must be kidding.’
Tilly got the feeling that Fliss’s bravado was a front for the nervousness she was really feeling.
Fliss had let slip once that her father had been an officer in World War One and that she had often been woken, as a child, by his calling out in the night.
Fliss didn’t speak an awful lot about her family, but she did reveal that her father had a short temper and would often fly into rages.
Her mother tried to say that the bruises on her face were where she’d fallen off her bicycle, but she heard them rowing at night sometimes and Fliss didn’t believe her mother.
One time the doctor had to be called and some people came to take him away.
‘They call it shell shock, now,’ Fliss explained, ‘but they didn’t know much about it back then.’
On 10 January 1940, Dot and Amelia stood on the quay in East Cowes to see Tilly and Fliss aboard and wave them goodbye.
They had volunteered their services a month earlier and were accepted immediately.
Nurses were badly needed. Fliss’s mother had declined to come because she said that it was ‘foolhardy, stubborn and selfish’ and that Fliss only sought to annoy and upset her mother.
Fliss’s father made excuses and said he was unwell.
Tilly saw this as a clear illustration of how difficult Fliss’s upbringing had been.
Fliss had said many times how much she envied Tilly for the closeness of her family, how much they loved and cared for each other and how happy Tilly always was to go back home.
The only aspect of Fliss’s life that her parents were interested in, it seemed, was the importance of securing her a ‘good marriage’.
By good, they meant a wealthy husband and a financially secure future that meant she was off their hands.
So, Dot and Amelia took Fliss under their wing and hugged and waved her goodbye, alongside Tilly.
‘Take care of each other,’ Dot called out as the two friends ascended the gangplank.
Tilly turned around and waved wildly to Dot and Amelia on the quay.
She was wrapped from head to toe in the warmest clothes she could find, anticipating that the weather could only get worse.
She wore her dungarees, her thermal underwear and as many layers of clothing as she could fit under her greatcoat.
Not the most flattering of outfits, but practical.
Her small suitcase held only the essentials. They were told to travel light.
‘Well, this is it. How’s your French?’ asked Tilly, as the ship moved off its moorings.
‘I’ve been preparing myself with a few important phrases like “Un verre du vin” and “Ou sont les toilettes?”,’ Fliss replied.
‘I notice you put the request for wine at the top of the list.’ Tilly smiled. ‘When do you expect to have time for socialising?’
‘Well, you never know,’ Fliss replied. ‘They tell me that Frenchmen can be very passionate and flirtatious. I thought about packing a dress for all those evenings off that I will have to spend in a French bar, sipping red wine and making friends with the locals.’
Tilly suspected that Fliss’s light-hearted banter was as much to do with her nervousness as anything.
Neither of them knew what to expect. They had orders to join the first battalion of the Royal Scots who would be travelling on the same ship to Calais and from there, provide them with a military escort to a field hospital in Lecelle on the Maginot Line.
They put up with the usual banter from the troops as they sailed, just letting it all wash over them.
But when they’d had enough of comments like, ‘You can change my groin dressing any day of the week, Nurse,’ Tilly bit back.
‘Just let me know if you need a hand if your carburettor is blocked and I’ll sort you out. I’m just as handy with a screwdriver as an enema,’ she said, grinning.
That usually stopped them.
When they arrived in Calais, they disembarked and were escorted to their destination in Lecelle. The nurse in charge of the field hospital introduced herself and took Tilly and Fliss on a tour of the encampment.
‘I’m Sister Lydia Parsons. It’s a relief that you two have arrived. Our last ambulance driver’s vehicle took a direct hit and I’m afraid the driver was killed. The ambulance burst into flames and she didn’t get out.’
‘I’m not the driver, thank God. She is,’ Fliss said, pointing at Tilly.
‘The assistant nurse on board was badly injured too. So, don’t think you’ll escape the action,’ Sister said.
‘You didn’t tell me that I might be asked to go out with you,’ Fliss said, a little perturbed.
‘Would you have come with me, if I had?’ Tilly asked.
‘Probably not,’ Fliss replied.
‘Oh! Wonderful,’ Tilly said.
Tilly thought this a rather harsh introduction to the work she would be doing here, but realised that the realities could not be glossed over. They were several miles from enemy lines, but could still be ambushed by fighter aircraft or tank bombardment.
‘Stow your belongings in that tent over there, for the meantime,’ they were told.
‘We’re a bit short of accommodation, so you’ll probably end up sleeping in the ambulance with the other drivers and nurses.
Yvette is our local nurse who helps with translation when French soldiers arrive.
Our French nurses are essential to help with communicating with the wounded. How’s your French?’
‘A bit basic,’ Tilly replied. ‘But it will improve; perhaps Yvette can help me.’
‘I doubt you’ll have time for French lessons. We work pretty long hours here,’ Sister replied. ‘Now, let me show you our operating theatre and staff,’ she continued.
The surgical team were not actually operating on anyone at the time Tilly and Fliss arrived, so she was able to meet them.
‘This is our surgical team,’ Sister said. ‘Dr Martinez and Dr Handsworth. They will be patching up the men you deliver to them and get them back to the front as soon as possible. This is Nurse Tilly Truscott and Nurse Felicity Macheson.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ Dr Handsworth said in his impeccable English accent. ‘Call me Ralph.’
‘Hi there, I’m Jed,’ Dr Martinez, an American, said. ‘Always pleased to see more pretty faces around here.’
‘Not just pretty faces,’ Sister snapped. ‘Our nurses are well trained and Nurse Truscott, here, is a woman of many talents.’
‘And what might those be?’ Jed teased. ‘Perhaps we’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Be warned,’ Sister cautioned the two friends. ‘Dr Martinez has built himself quite a reputation among the nurses. Now, Dr Martinez, do you think you could finish with the introductions? We have an induction session to get started on.’
‘Right you are, Sister. That’s what you Brits say, isn’t it?
You have so many quaint expressions. I’m learning some of them.
You are standing in the operating theatre, Tilly.
It’s about as well equipped as it gets and that’s fairly basic.
Luckily, it’s been fairly quiet as yet; we’ve not seen much action so far.
If this war goes on too long, then no doubt we will see essential medical supplies dwindle but at the moment we have all we need to get these fighting men back on their feet.
How are you with amputations? Some of our nurses find that the most difficult operation to assist with.
They have too great an imagination and think about the change of quality of life once those soldiers come around.
Men who have amputations are shipped back home. They won’t see active service again.’
‘I’m not a surgical nurse,’ Tilly replied. ‘I’m here as an ambulance driver.’
‘I’m prepared to assist with anything,’ Fliss said, clearly smitten by these two good-looking medics.
‘That’s good,’ Ralph replied. ‘We need more of you women. The best job you can do for the men you transport is to try to stem the bleeding. We never have enough blood for transfusion and recovery is so much quicker if the men are strong enough to fight off the infection that can take their life quicker than the loss of a limb. Gangrene is our worst enemy. So, a thorough cleansing of the wound and a strong tourniquet are essential. It takes an ambulance about an hour to get to us from the front and time is critical. Female ambulance drivers are not permitted to retrieve casualties from the front line. The British army will not allow it, unlike the French. So, they have to be driven to a pick-up point where they are transferred to your ambulance. Once things really hot up, you will see plenty of spinal-cord injuries too. For those soldiers, the driver has the responsibility to deliver their patient with the minimum of jolting and jostling. So, your driving skills could mean the difference between a soldier being able to walk again or not.’