Together for Christmas Read Free Page B

gravely, nodding to Flora, who stood ready to repair what she could of the result of the terrible infection. ‘But we
won’t discuss it further until I have made a thorough examination.’
    Flora knew that the man would almost certainly lose his leg. When she had been present at his first visit two months ago, the doctor had judged there was some hope to save the limb. The wound
had been treated at the field hospital. But, like many who were injured at the front lines carved across Europe’s battlefields, many cases proved hopeless.
    In just a few minutes, Dr Tapper returned with the pain-relieving Jamaican balm that was derived from arrowroot, a pap that Flora herself had helped him to prepare that morning. After she had
cleansed the wound, she took the boiled application from the bowl in the doctor’s hands and laid it carefully on the weeping sores that were eating down to the bone of the man’s
limb.
    ‘Thank you, nurse.’ Dr Tapper placed his hand on Stephen Pollard’s shoulder. ‘Is your wife here today?’
    The man nodded, his agony causing him to writhe uncomfortably beneath the doctor’s grasp.
    ‘Nurse, will you please inform Mrs Pollard that my intention is to refer her husband to the infirmary.’
    ‘No! No!’ protested the distraught patient. ‘They’ll rob me of my leg for sure!’
    Dr Tapper was silent. After washing her hands in the china bowl, Flora left for the waiting room. Here, every seat was taken. Despite it being late on Saturday morning, twenty or more bodies
filled the small space, making it clear to Flora that the handful of wooden chairs she had arranged on the bare boards were insufficient for their needs.
    Flora looked with pity at the babies wrapped in their dirt-ridden shawls, the runny-nosed, shabbily dressed toddlers who whimpered at their mothers’ feet, the older patients full of the
ague and vapours, together with disabled veterans of Europe’s devastating war. Three younger men leaned against the peeling walls, supported by crutches and crudely made walking aids. Every
face turned to her expectantly. One woman rose to her feet. Flora beckoned her.
    ‘It’s all right for some,’ an older lady shouted after them. ‘I’ve been sitting here for over an hour. All I want is something for me rheumatics.’
    ‘Think yourself lucky!’ wheezed an elderly man who occupied the chair beside her. ‘I’ll be dead before I’m seen, at this rate.’
    Flora led the way to the small room adjoining the doctor’s that she used to sterilize the equipment on a burner and help the doctor prepare his prescriptions. It was also a place she used
to comfort the patients.
    The smell of carbolic and herbal remedies was strong as Flora entered the tiny space. Here, Flora kept rows of bottles on the shelves in neat order; they were the doctor’s armoury against
disease. Smelling salts for fits of the vapours, poultices made from hot water and mustard, Sloan’s Liniment for the agues, camphorated and eucalyptus oils for congestion of the lungs,
arrowroot to alleviate nausea, Fuller’s Earth for stings, burns and sores, and compounds of mercury and chloride that were used in emergencies to treat the bowels. There was laudanum too, and
opium, for the more serious and sometimes terminal cases. She kept these under lock and key in the cabinet on the wall. On the bench below and in the cupboards were dressings and saline solutions,
bandages, lints and sterilized equipment ready for use. Flora often worked at the big porcelain sink with its single tap. She kept it spotless.
    ‘What’s happening, nurse?’ The young woman sat down on the only wooden chair. Flora knew Mrs Pollard was in her twenties but looked twice her age. Haggard and frail, she was
old before her time.
    ‘Your husband’s wound is infected. He will have to go to the infirmary.’
    ‘But how will we manage?’ Tears came to Mrs Pollard’s eyes. ‘We’ve got four nippers and an infant. The few pennies Stephen