A Time to Survive Jenny Faulkner
Copyright Š Jenny Faulkner 2013 First published in 2013 by BK Press ISBN 978-1-920584-17-7 Cover Design & Typesetting: Ginny Porter Cover: Photograph taken by Neil Tinmouth All characters in this work are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, translated or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.
Dedication To my dad
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Acknowledgements
would like to thank my father John Faulkner for believing in me, and for his unfailing support. He lived through each page of the story, his enthusiasm never waning. I am also grateful to him for sharing his insight of an era that was part of his youth, but which has now been cast to history. I would also like to thank my sister-in-law Carol Faulkner for reading through the drafts and for her suggestions. To Ginny Porter, a sincere thanks for her generous help in getting this book published. Without her insight and patience it would have forever remained a document on my computer.
If you save one life, You are a hero If you save hundreds, You are a nurse. Unknown
OCTOBER 1941
CHAPTER 1 Day Off
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s Samantha rolled over, she could feel the warm golden threads of dawn touching her face. She lay tensed, listening to the peal of the phone, fighting the urge to place the pillow over her ears and block out the sound. The ringing stopped as abruptly as it had started, and with a sigh of relief she relaxed and closed her eyes. The sound of a familiar voice emanated from the doorway, forcing her to open her eyes again. “Stand to, Sam. That call was to let you know an ambulance was dispatched five minutes ago, and it is on the way to pick you up.” Raising her head from the pillow, Sam called after the departing figure. “Have you any idea where they are sending me this time?” “No, they only mentioned that the ambulance was on its way.” The voice trailed off as the door at the end of the passage clicked shut. Wide awake now, Sam sat up, pushing aside the damp sheets. Lifting the mosquito net she slipped from the bed. She headed for the bathroom, shedding her pyjamas as she went. It would have to be a quick shower – there wouldn’t be much time to get ready. This routine had become all too familiar, so much so that every step Sam performed was automatic and without conscious thought. Fastening the last button on her uniform, she slipped her feet into her shoes as she hurried over to the dresser. Picking up the starched white organza veil that lay on the top, she
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positioned it carefully on her head and secured it in place by feel. Raising her eyes she glanced at herself in the mirror, turning slightly she fleetingly admired the dark blue naval crown embroidered on the back. Before Sam reached the door there was a screech of brakes from outside; her transport had arrived. Snatching up her medical bag, she left the cool surrounds of the bungalow. She crossed the veranda and ran down the steps towards the drab green vehicle that idled in the settling dust. The early morning rays, heralding the beginning of another hot day, glinted off the imposing Red Cross painted on its side. “Morning, Ma’am.” “Morning,” she greeted the driver cheerfully as she opened the cab door. She threw her medical bag up onto the seat beside him and clambered up after it. Pulling her skirt into place, she settled herself onto the hard seat. She knew this was going to be an uncomfortable journey. The young army corporal glanced in her direction to ensure she was seated before engaging gears. The engine growled as he let out the clutch and they moved off with a judder. As they headed down the driveway, they swept past a variety of pink bougainvillea bushes which grew in abundance on each side. The array of bright colours was in complete contrast to the grey cold of England where she had grown up. Now she looked out at a world bathed in the warmth of colour. Turning to the corporal, she introduced herself. “Sister Davey. Have you any idea where we are off to?” There was silence as the driver concentrated on the road; he nodded in the direction of a folder balanced on the dashboard. Sam leaned forward as the vehicle lurched and grabbed the documents before they were displaced. Her eyes dropped to the paperwork; she felt the usual excitement of anticipation
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rise. These unforeseen call-outs always offered an opportunity to experience something new. Although they usually turned out to be a bit of a let-down, it was preferable to the routine ward work of bed baths and bed pans. Shuffling through the passes and documents she eventually found the page she was looking for. She struggled to focus on the print as they bounced along the rutted road. Carefully skimming the sheet of paper, Sam looked for any information that would give her an indication for the early morning call. Sam glanced sideways at the corporal. “It looks as if the Royal Air Force has got one of their planes airlifting patients from an air station in northern Malaya.” The plane had been diverted, so this wasn’t a routine flight, which explained why she had been called out unexpectedly. Looking down at the documents in her hands she began to wonder who the patients were and why had they needed to be airlifted out at such short notice. What condition would they be in? There was quite a volume of paper but very little other detail. If only there had been more information about the patients, she could have run through some procedures in preparation. It always helped to be mentally prepared and it calmed her nerves when she could concentrate on something specific. This lack of preparation reminded her of the day when they had sent her to meet a destroyer that was docking carrying wounded patients from France. With naive eagerness she had rushed to get into the first ambulance, not envisaging the extent of human carnage she was about to encounter. When they had arrived they were greeted by row upon row of stretchers that had lined the quayside. Men lay freezing as the sleet blew in on the wind. Overwhelmed, she had panicked, not knowing where to begin. Should she hand out blankets first? Or assess their state for transportation? Maybe she should just provide basic care as she identified
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the need? She had felt so ineffective. Sam hoped she wouldn’t feel that way today Even with the windows wound fully down it was still stifling hot inside the cab. Sam lowered the papers to her lap and leaned back in the seat as a wave of nausea began to engulf her. She drew in a deep breath and inhaled a lung full of humid air. The pungent tang of disinfectant hit the back of her throat, choking her. The lush tropical forest, with its dripping fronds each wrapped in their own blanket of moisture, added to the suffocating mix of smells. Closing her eyes and swallowing hard, she tried to fight off the waves of motion sickness. Each surge of nausea made her feel hotter and hotter. She had to remind herself that she felt this way almost every time she drove through the jungle and she always came out unscathed. With her eyes closed, she was unprepared when they hit a pothole. Each time this happened she was caught by off guard and came down hard on the seat. Sam twisted and stared at the corporal, her face stern. “I understand that the army isn’t too keen on the navy, but at this rate, I am going to be so battered and bruised that I’ll not be able to sit down for a week.” The soldier’s eyes did not leave the road. “Sorry, Ma’am.” Sam glanced in his direction, trying to discern whether he was sincere in his apology, and was met with a fleeting grin crossing his face. They continued swaying and lurching along the winding jungle road that did not seem to have a straight section to it. As each mile passed she became more convinced that the driver was making no effort to avoid any of the ruts in the road. Could he actually be aiming for them? This was going to be a long, silent drive. From previous trips she knew that some of the army drivers were uncomfortable conversing because of the officer and other ranks divide.
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Although she was not technically an officer, she did hold the honorary equivalent rank of one. This normally didn’t prevent her chatting away. She was first and foremost a nurse; talking to people was part and parcel of her profession. They would open up to her and talk about everything they cared to and she would listen attentively. And she enjoyed it. Her mum had always said she was ‘the nurturing kind’. For as long as she could remember she desired to make things better, to protect and make a difference. Every school holiday had been spent helping at the local vet. The animals seemed to trust her, nestling into her while they had their treatment. Each experience had made her realise she enjoyed nursing things back to health; she felt an inner need to help make things better. They were helpless and she had the ability to make a difference. Approaching the Royal Air Force base, they slowed as the armed sentry manning the main entrance stepped forward into the road in front of them. As they came to a halt, he ambled towards the vehicle. Stopping at the driver’s window, he held out his hand. “Passes.” In silence the documents were handed over and the military policeman scrutinised them before handing them back. “I’ll need to see your identity cards too.” Sam handed across their cards. These received an even more thorough inspection before being handed back. “Sorry, Ma’am, but we can’t be too careful these days.” With that, he stepped away, pulled himself to attention, saluted, and waved them through. They headed past the main administration block, its neat lawn edged by whitewashed stones. Driving on in silence they continued on towards the main airstrip. At the edge of the runway a windsock drooped lifeless against its pole. With
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the heat pressing in, the driver headed for the relative cool of the shadow cast by a hanger. Once they had stopped in the shade, Sam swung open the door and slid to the ground. Turning she stood on tip toes and leaned into the cab to lift her bag off the seat. By the time the corporal had dismounted and walked around to her side, she had straightened her veil and smoothed her uniform dress. “You may as well stay here until the plane is ready to be off-loaded. There is no point in both of us standing out in the sun getting burnt. This way, only one of us will have to stand on ceremony.” He looked surprised and eyed her thoughtfully. “Thank you, Ma’am.” A mark of admiration was evident in his voice. Sam smiled to herself. He was a real squaddie, with the traditional belief that the army was the best and anything to do with the navy was inferior. But maybe, by showing him a human side, she had changed that thought, at least slightly. Swinging her bag over her shoulder she made her way to a small contingent of military personnel that were assembled on the perimeter of the runway. Sam approached them slowly, as she tried to identify which one was the senior officer, so that she could officially report to him. The dull murmuring of the group stopped as she drew closer; all eyes were now on her and they followed her progress. One of the officers was standing slightly apart from the group; the insignia on his uniform indicated his rank as that of a Flight Lieutenant. She came to a halt in front of him and pulled herself to her full height, squared her shoulders, and presented herself, “Sister Davey.” Sam could feel the officer slowly eyeing her up and down, seemingly taking in every detail of the slender frame in front of him. She observed him studying her belt which
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