CHAPTER 19 #2
As time ticked on, however, it seemed that the British government was taking no chances.
Singapore’s defences were fortified and manpower increased as the Civil Defence recruitment drive upped its pace.
People were encouraged to stockpile food and work began on building air-raid shelters, just like they had done in London.
But the British insisted it was purely precautionary; nobody believed that a Japanese attack could ever be successful.
A couple of weeks later, Clara called round to Dorothy’s house unannounced after breakfast. Dorothy could sense a buzz of excitement in her friend and wondered if it might be anything to do with her blossoming romance with Cyril Cavendish.
‘I have some news,’ Clara began, as soon as they were seated in the garden, the coffee tray on the table between them.
Her face broke into an excited smile and Dorothy got ready to congratulate her friend.
Cyril was a thoroughly decent chap and he idolised Clara.
But she knew all too well that appearances could be deceptive and she hoped that their marriage would be more successful than her own.
‘I’ve decided to do my bit and help out at the hospital. They’re training volunteer nurses in case of an invasion. So I’m going to sign up!’
‘Oh!’ Dorothy gasped, unable to hide her surprise. ‘But Daddy says there isn’t going to be a . . . ’
‘Oh, wake up, Dorothy! Stop burying your head in the sand! Haven’t you been listening to the news?
The Powers That Be can posture all they like, but it’s going to happen.
Now that the Japs have a stronghold in French Indochina, they’re in prime striking position.
And it’s been kept hush-hush, but Father said that Japanese planes have been spotted over Singapore, doubtless on reconnaissance missions. ’
‘But . . . ’ Dorothy’s brow furrowed.
‘But what?’ Clara interrupted, her frustration clearly growing.
‘You think they just pop over to see if they fancy the look of Singapore’s beaches for their holidays?
’ She gave a wry chuckle and shook her head at her friend.
‘They’re going to invade, Dorothy, there’s no doubt about it, and we need to be ready. So what do you say? Fancy joining me?’
For the second time that morning, Dorothy was wrong-footed. The idea of Clara training as a nurse had been surprising enough, but the fact that she wanted Dorothy to join her was even more unexpected.
‘Oh gosh, I don’t know,’ she blustered. ‘I’m not sure what Douglas would think . . . ’
‘Oh, hang Douglas!’ Clara snapped. Although Dorothy had deliberately avoided saying as much to her friend, Clara seemed to know that her marriage was proving a disappointment.
She took a breath, then softened her tone.
‘I’m worried about you, you haven’t been yourself lately.
I know how sad you were about losing the baby . . . ’
‘Babies,’ Dorothy whispered, pluralising the word without missing a beat.
Clara nodded solemnly, ‘Indeed; babies.’ She patted her friend’s hand. ‘I think a change of focus might be good for you; take you out of yourself, get you out of the house a bit! And let’s face it’ – she grinned mischievously at her friend – ‘what larks we’d have, doing our training together!’
Dorothy rolled her eyes at her friend’s enthusiastic persuasion tactics, but couldn’t help grinning back.
Clara was right, she needed something new in her life.
She was in danger of becoming a proverbial bored – and boring – housewife.
With Douglas increasingly away on training exercises and no baby to prepare for, there was precious little to keep her at home.
And, even if she didn’t particularly enjoy the sight of blood, she was sure that she could make herself useful in lots of other ways.
Just three days later, Dorothy found herself standing in line with Clara at the Alexandra Military Hospital.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but the reality of her decision was now making her stomach do somersaults and her palms feel clammy.
The Alexandra was an imposing building in the Queenstown area, on the western side of the city.
Built by the British as a military hospital just three years earlier, it housed all the latest equipment and prided itself on keeping up with the very latest medical advances.
It was a big place, with over 800 beds and 200 doctors and nurses, and catered for military and civilian patients alike.
The hustle and bustle of people going about their business – medical staff, patients and visitors – was overwhelming to Dorothy, and the bitter scent of disinfectant was starting to cloy at the back of her throat.
Today was recruitment day for the nursing school and the two friends were halfway along a queue of ladies, all patiently waiting to hand in their forms to the registrar.
Dorothy looked down the line and smiled nervously at a couple of British girls she recognised.
But it wasn’t just Brits who had come, there were local ladies, too, all keen to come and do their bit.
‘Chin up!’ Clara had told Dorothy when she’d shared her nerves. ‘Worse things happen at sea!’ Then she had handed Dorothy a boiled sweet which helped ease the sensation in her stomach. She thought back to Douglas’s reaction and her resolve strengthened.
‘You, darling? A nurse?’ he had asked incredulously, as if the idea were completely alien to him. ‘It’d mean hard work and long shifts, plus you’ll see some pretty ghastly sights. Are you sure you’re up to it?’
Did he think so little of her? That she was so weak? His response had infuriated her. Well, she would show him. Rather than put her off, Douglas had made her even more determined. She didn’t want to be a delicate little wife at home, she wanted to make something happen.
Finally, a nurse called Dorothy’s name and Clara patted her arm with an affectionate ‘Good luck!’
Dorothy was led along the corridor and into a small, white office.
The matronly-looking lady behind the desk introduced herself, with a tight Scottish burr, as Sister Jamieson.
She fired through the preliminary interview questions in a brusque, no-nonsense sort of way and she gave little reaction to Dorothy’s answers.
Instead, she scribbled busily on the notepad in front of her in long, spidery handwriting.
Dorothy felt as if she were being interviewed for the military.
Was this what interrogation was like? Her stomach was in knots and she had no idea how she was holding up.
After a while, she breathed in relief when Sister Jamieson concluded her questioning with a curt ‘Thank you, Mrs Llewellyn.’ Then she nodded to the gentleman on her left, it was his turn.
Doctor Archie, as he introduced himself, was the total opposite of the bustling sister.
He spoke in a softer, less hurried way, with a well-spoken English accent that had a slight hint of the West Country.
His haystack of sandy-blonde hair fell into his eyes and he had a slightly crooked smile which made his green eyes shine.
Dorothy thought him younger than the matronly sister, perhaps in his late thirties.
His gentle, easy-going manner reminded her of her brother Thomas and she instantly found herself warming to him.
Instead of firing more questions at her, he asked her about herself; her hobbies, her interests, her life.
He explained that he was purely there in a supervisory capacity, that the nursing school was very much the domain of Sister Jamieson and her equally capable colleagues – cue a proud smile from Sister Jamieson – but it was important for him to get a sense of whether or not she would be a good fit.
Dorothy found herself hoping that she would.
After the interview, she sat on a wooden bench in the entrance lobby, waiting for Clara.
Her stomach fluttered with a combination of nerves and excitement.
They would write to her in the next few days, Nurse Jamieson had said, informing her whether or not she had been accepted.
The coward in her hoped that they wouldn’t want her, that they had been disappointed by her interview answers and felt she wouldn’t make a good nurse after all.
But she also felt a growing sense of nervous anticipation.
To have a role in this place, to be part of a team and to help others was an exciting, if a little daunting, prospect.
Dorothy was jolted out of her reverie by the sharp tap of high heels ricocheting around the lobby like gunfire. She looked up and instantly recognised the owner.
‘Mummy!’ She smiled and jumped up from her seat, crossing the hallway to embrace her mother. But she stopped short. Her mother had been crying; something was wrong. Fear gripped her stomach like a vice.
‘What is it, Mummy? Whatever’s happened?
’ She grasped her mother’s hands and ushered her over to sit down on the bench.
Dorothy put her arm around her, she was trembling.
Olivia Templeton took a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wiped her moist eyes.
Just then, Anthony Templeton appeared, rushing to catch up with his wife.
He gave Dorothy the ghost of a smile then sat next to Olivia and wrapped her in his arms.
‘Daddy, what’s happened? What did the doctor say?’ Dorothy whispered, choked with emotion.
‘Darling, there’s no easy way to say this, I’m afraid,’ her father began, his voice cracking as he tried to get the words out. ‘Your mother has a tumour.’