Storm Warning

He seemed surprised. ‘Don’t you know who’s here tonight, miss? Eisenhower himself. Turned up an hour ago just before the bombing started.’

She paused and looked at him blankly. ‘General Eisenhower? Here?’

‘Visiting those Yank paratroopers in ward seventy-three. The lads they brought over from Paris last week. Decorating some of them, that’s what I heard.’

She was unable to take it in, suddenly very tired. She turned back to her patient and inserted the last couple of stitches.

‘I’ll dress it for you,’ Callaghan said. ‘You get yourself a cup of tea.’

As she stripped the rubber gloves from her fingers, the young fireman turned his head and looked at her. ‘You a Yank then, Doctor?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Got any gum, chum?’

She smiled and took a cigarette-lighter from her pocket. ‘No, but I can manage a light.’

She took the cigarette from his mouth, lit it and gave it back to him. ‘You’ll be fine now.’

He grinned. ‘Can you cook as well, Doc?’

‘When I get the time.’

Suddenly, the effort of keeping her smile in place was too much and she turned and went into the corridor quickly. Callaghan was right. She needed that cup of tea very badly indeed. And about fifteen hours’ sleep to follow – but that, of course, was quite impossible.

As she started along the corridor, the curtain of a cubicle was snatched back and a young nurse emerged. She was obviously panic-stricken, blood on her hands. Turning wildly, she saw Janet and called out – soundlessly, because at that moment another heavy bomb fell close enough to shake the walls and bring plaster from the ceiling.

Janet caught her by the shoulders. ‘What is it?’

The girl tried to speak, pointing wildly at the cubicle as another bomb fell, and Janet pushed her to one side and entered. The woman who lay on the padded operating table, covered with a sheet, was obviously very much in labour. The young man who leaned over her was a corporal in the Commandos, his uniform torn and streaked with dust.

‘Who are you?’ The tiredness had left her now, as if it had never been.

‘Her husband, miss. She’s having a baby.’ He plucked at her sleeve. ‘For God’s sake do something.’

Janet pulled back the sheet. ‘When did she start?’

‘Half an hour, maybe longer. We was in the High Street when the siren went, so I took her into the underground. Borough Station. When she started feeling bad I thought I’d better get her to hospital, but it was hell out there. Bombs falling all over the place.’

Another landed very close to the hospital now, followed by a second. For a moment, the lights went out. The woman on the table cried out in fear and pain. Here eyes started from her head as the lights came on again and she tried to sit up.

Janet pushed her down and turned to the young nurse. ‘You know what’s wrong here?’

‘I’m not sure,’ the girl said. ‘I’m only a probationer.’ She looked at her hands. ‘There was a lot of blood.’

The young Commando pulled at Janet’s sleeve. ‘What’s going on? What’s up?’

‘A baby is usually delivered head first,’ Janet said calmly. ‘This is what’s known as a breech. That means it’s presenting its backside.’

‘Can you handle it?’

‘I should imagine so, but we haven’t got much time. I want you to stand over your wife, hold her hand and talk to her. Anything you like, only don’t stop.’

‘Shall I get Sister Johnson?’ the young nurse asked.

‘No time,’ Janet said. ‘I need you here.’

Bombs were falling steadily now and from the sound of it, panic had broken out amongst the crowd that waited in general casualty for treatment. She took a deep breath, tried to ignore that nightmare world outside and concentrated on the task in hand.

The first problem was to deliver the legs. She probed gently inside until she managed to get a finger up against the back of one of the child’s knees. The leg flexed instantly and so did the other when she repeated the performance.