Liam's Story by Ann Victoria Roberts

Author:Ann Victoria Roberts
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: First World War, Love Story, Family Saga, British Historical Fiction, WW1 Australian Fiction, Haunting Love Story, Seafaring Fiction, Historical Romance
Publisher: Ann Victoria Roberts
Published: 2013-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

In June’s early summer dawn, birds were warbling an enthusiastic chorus from the hospital grounds. Roused from a momentary reverie, Georgina stood before the open window of her office, wishing she could be as bright as they were at this hour. It had been a long and wearisome night, not very busy but the last of several weeks without a proper break. She could not wait to have the next couple of hours over, to be away from here and going home to sleep. Three days! Three whole days to relax and do nothing. She needed it.

Voices were stirring on the ward. A young VAD nurse knocked on the open door demanding her attention. The amputation in bed four was severely distressed and would not be quieted; would she come?

‘Names, nurse,’ Georgina repeated wearily. ‘He’s not just an amputee, he does have a name. Please remember that.’

‘Sorry, Sister – Private Hopkinson. It’s just that – ’

‘I know – when you were in France, they were in and out so fast there was no time for names.’ Georgina had heard that too many times from this young woman. ‘Here we have time – here, names are important.’

The nurse bowed her head in acknowledgement, but could not control an irritated sigh. She was thorough, but Georgina wished she would give some evidence of caring for these boys who were here, often for several months. They needed more than medication and clean dressings, they needed interest and reassurance: she had learned that much from the Quakers and was determined to have it here. Once the euphoria of survival had worn off, many of them became despondent. Some had families close enough to visit, but too few knew what to say. It was as though the experience of war and terrible wounds had set insurmountable barriers between those boys and their loved ones.

Georgina was convinced that men who felt they were cared for recovered more quickly than those who imagined themselves a burden to the staff. For some nurses affection was hard to give without great personal cost to themselves; and the inexperienced sometimes erred by giving too much. It was a narrow, difficult line to tread, always with the danger of provoking passionate adoration from this one or that. Georgina had found herself, from time to time, the object of both lust and fantasy as well as gratitude masquerading as love. The young officers were more susceptible, for some reason, than their men. She explained to each that what they felt was natural, if temporary; they would recover in a surprisingly short space of time. Few believed her, asking if they might write. In spite of her discouragement some did, from home, from convalescent hospitals, from France. But rarely more than once. She kept their letters.

The ones who broke her heart were the ones who died.

It was perhaps because their future had been full of a potential which would never now be realized; or perhaps each death represented, to her, a personal failure. It was not something she could adequately explain.

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