You’ve been in and out for two days. I would have thought the shelling would have woken you, Ellen, but you didn’t do much more than moan

Events from the shelling of the truck came flooding back as Ellen struggled to make sense of it all as she regained consciousness in Royaumont. Her last memory was getting into the truck with Letita. “Letitia!” she said with a sudden gasp. “Is she . . .”

“She’s in the bed next to you,” Marjorie said, and Ellen turned her head for a glimpse of her friend. “She’s sleeping,” Marjorie went on. “She broke her arm. Miss Ivens set it herself, and said it should mend nicely.”

“What about the soldiers?” Ellen asked. “Did you bring them to Royaumont?”

“Why are you concerned about them? Surely you didn’t know any of them?”

“Yes, I did.” It seemed a terribly cruel twist of fate for her to be reunited with Jed only to have it all blasted apart seconds later.

“Marjorie, could you find out if one of the Canadians, Jed Lyman, is here, and how he fares? He is a friend of mine from back home.”

“I’ll try,” Marjorie said. “But it’s not as it once was, Ellen. The abbey is filled to the rafters, not just with patients, but with refugees of all sorts.

“The entire nursing staff from another hospital has come here. They won’t lift a finger to help,” she added with a sniff.

“How long have I been here?” Ellen asked, and Marjorie grimaced.

“You’ve been in and out for two days. I would have thought the shelling would have woken you, Ellen, but you didn’t do much more than moan, even when the window blew in.”

“Goodness.” Ellen closed her eyes, overwhelmed by how much had happened. Her head pounded.

“You need rest,” Marjorie said. “I’ll look for this Canadian of yours.

“Someone might know if he’s here.”

She gave Ellen’s arm a squeeze before rising from the chair by her bed.

Ellen lay there for a few minutes, gazing up at the ceiling, her mind spinning from the bump on her head as well as the realisation that Jed could be close – or lost to her for ever.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please let him be safe.” Terror

It was another two days before Ellen felt well enough to rise from bed, and even then Miss Ivens insisted that she rest and recuperate rather than report for duty.

“We need all the hands we can muster,” she told her severely, “but you won’t do me or anyone else any good at all if you fall into a faint when I need you to hold the candle steady!”

Royaumont was indeed filled to the rafters. Beds and stretchers lined every room.

Shells rained down all around them, and refugees camped in the meadows outside the abbey. It felt like a cross between a circus and a battlefield.

Ellen had risen from her hospital bed and was putting her things away in the room she shared with two other nurses as well as Marjorie when her friend came into the room, breathless from the climb up the stairs.

“I’ve found your Jed Lyman,” she said.

“Is he well?” Ellen asked, anxiety sharpening her voice. “He wasn’t badly hurt?”

Marjorie hesitated and terror surged through Ellen.

“It’s not that,” Marjorie said quickly. “He was hit on the head, but it wasn’t too serious.”

“But there’s something,” Ellen clarified as she searched her friend’s face.

“I can tell by the way you’re looking at me. Oh, Marjorie, just say it.”

“What is he to you?” Marjorie asked and the flush Ellen had been battling returned in full force.

“He’s married to one of my school friends. Marjorie, you don’t mean to tell me that his life is in danger?”

“No, nothing like that,” Marjorie replied. “But when he was thrown clear of the lorry he shattered his elbow.

“It would have been all right if it had been dealt with right away. But it wasn’t. So many soldiers had to wait. We had them lining the hallways, bleeding to death while Miss Ivens operated as quickly as she could.” Ellen blanched at the image.

“I wish this war would just end,” she burst out. “I’m sorry, Ellen.”

“So he’ll lose his arm,” Ellen stated flatly, for she knew Marjorie could mean nothing else, and her friend nodded.

“Miss Ivens is going to amputate this afternoon. She’s afraid of blood poisoning. It looks infected.”

Ellen nodded mutely. She’d heard such a story a thousand times before. It was the same as Lucien with his leg; it was the same as dozens and dozens of other soldiers who had come through Royaumont. The fact that it was Jed made no difference – except to her.

She sank on to the bed, her head pounding worse than ever.

“Poor Jed,” she murmured. “An amputation above the elbow. He’s a farmer,” she explained, as she looked up at Marjorie and blinked back tears. “A farm on the prettiest island in Ontario you’d ever hope to see.”

Livelihood

The tears thickened in her throat and she dropped her face into her hands.

She felt like crying until she had no tears left for all the tragedy and devastation, all the pointless loss and endless grief. And most of all for Jed, who would lose an arm and perhaps his livelihood.

“Oh, Ellen, I’m sorry,” Marjorie said, and came to sit next to her on the narrow bed. She put her arms around her and Ellen leaned against her shoulder, willing the sobs back.

“It’s the same everywhere, I know,” she said. “So many men. So many shattered limbs and dreams. So many lost lives.”

“Don’t think on it,” Marjorie implored. “The only way to keep going is to put your head down and work.”

“I know,” Ellen answered with a sigh. “But it’s so hard sometimes.”

“I know it is.” Marjorie was silent for a moment. “They say the end may be in sight.”

“You think we’ll push the Germans back, when the bombs are falling all around us?”

“One hopes,” Marjorie answered wearily.

They exchanged sad smiles, needing no words.

More tomorrow.

On Renfrew Street was previously a serial in The People’s Friend. For more great fiction, get The People’s Friend every week, £1.30 from newsagents and supermarkets.

Artwork: Dave Young.