facial pictures next. There were faces all but destroyed, noses and eyes lost, men disfigured by burns. No one asked any questions at first. Penny shivered at the thought of her brother, Zan, being subjected to such atrocious wounds. She was glad that letters from home were still getting through and she knew he was safe.
‘Each of these young men gave himself up to his country’s cause. Some here are British, German, French. Guns make no distinction and neither must we. This is the principle that underpins the work of the Red Cross. We treat all who need our help, regardless of nation, race or creed. We feed the starving, we do not judge or take up our own national cause, only that of suffering humanity.’
When Sister McGrath had finished and the blinds were lifted, Penny and Yolanda stumbled out into the light, wanting to breathe fresh air.
In the six months since she had begun training, Penny found there was no hiding place from the eagle eye of the matron. The wards were inspected twice a day for any sign of slacking among the new trainees. The hospital had been founded by no lesser person than the late Queen Olga of Greece. The twenty-five beds had been expanded over the years and it was considered one of the best hospitals in Athens.
They’d started as the lowest of the low, scrubbing floors, emptying bed pans, mopping up vomit and blood. Yet Penny found herself taking to each task with relish, knowing it was a step closer to proper medical instruction.
Her back ached and her legs throbbed at the end of a shift, but she retired back to Margery McDade’s rooms, satisfied that no one could ever call her a social butterfly again. The severe uniform, with its thick dark-blue cloak and stiff white headdress, was a bit like wearing a nun’s habit, but she was proud of the Red Cross emblem on her chest.
It was Yolanda who had challenged her to sign up for training. She’d watched a film about Florence Nightingale in Salonika, and at first had wanted to train to be a doctor, but now, like Penny, she moaned after a hard day and they both wished she’d seen some other film.
Penny was glad when the Markos family left Othos Dimitris to stay with a rabbi friend in the Jewish quarter. They were hoping to ship out to Crete but Yolanda fought to stay and finish her training. She was lodging with another rabbi, Rabbi Israel, who lived nearer the hospital, helping his wife look after a handful of unruly children to pay for her board and lodging.
Now at last they were learning about wound management, how to stem blood flow, give injections, all the latest techniques. Penny was keen to get her hands on real nursing techniques, but after the slide show she knew she would have to start getting used to the the simpler tasks before they were allowed to do anything complicated.
There were lectures on hygiene, anatomy, and care of children, the elderly and the chronically infirm, but despite her studies Penny found time to read in the newspapers all about the war in Europe. The march of Italy to the Albanian border was causing concern throughout the Balkans, and there were letters from home once again, demanding she return.
Yet she felt safer here in the city doing a job she loved. There was nothing to spoil the glory of spring and early summer before the heat got oppressive. There were flowers in bloom everywhere, which cheered the two nurses one hot afternoon as they staggered out of their lecture towards the National Garden, trying to absorb all the horrors to which they’d just been exposed.
‘Do you think we’ll cope if we’re faced with stuff like that?’ Yolanda asked. ‘I feel sick. How I ever thought I could be a doctor . . .’
‘You still could train,’ Penny said, but Yolanda dismissed this with a wave of her hand.
‘Poof ! I am a woman, a Jew . . . who will train me now? You know our situation. It’s not an option, just a silly dream.’
‘And it’s
when
we’re faced with stuff like that,
‘Each of these young men gave himself up to his country’s cause. Some here are British, German, French. Guns make no distinction and neither must we. This is the principle that underpins the work of the Red Cross. We treat all who need our help, regardless of nation, race or creed. We feed the starving, we do not judge or take up our own national cause, only that of suffering humanity.’
When Sister McGrath had finished and the blinds were lifted, Penny and Yolanda stumbled out into the light, wanting to breathe fresh air.
In the six months since she had begun training, Penny found there was no hiding place from the eagle eye of the matron. The wards were inspected twice a day for any sign of slacking among the new trainees. The hospital had been founded by no lesser person than the late Queen Olga of Greece. The twenty-five beds had been expanded over the years and it was considered one of the best hospitals in Athens.
They’d started as the lowest of the low, scrubbing floors, emptying bed pans, mopping up vomit and blood. Yet Penny found herself taking to each task with relish, knowing it was a step closer to proper medical instruction.
Her back ached and her legs throbbed at the end of a shift, but she retired back to Margery McDade’s rooms, satisfied that no one could ever call her a social butterfly again. The severe uniform, with its thick dark-blue cloak and stiff white headdress, was a bit like wearing a nun’s habit, but she was proud of the Red Cross emblem on her chest.
It was Yolanda who had challenged her to sign up for training. She’d watched a film about Florence Nightingale in Salonika, and at first had wanted to train to be a doctor, but now, like Penny, she moaned after a hard day and they both wished she’d seen some other film.
Penny was glad when the Markos family left Othos Dimitris to stay with a rabbi friend in the Jewish quarter. They were hoping to ship out to Crete but Yolanda fought to stay and finish her training. She was lodging with another rabbi, Rabbi Israel, who lived nearer the hospital, helping his wife look after a handful of unruly children to pay for her board and lodging.
Now at last they were learning about wound management, how to stem blood flow, give injections, all the latest techniques. Penny was keen to get her hands on real nursing techniques, but after the slide show she knew she would have to start getting used to the the simpler tasks before they were allowed to do anything complicated.
There were lectures on hygiene, anatomy, and care of children, the elderly and the chronically infirm, but despite her studies Penny found time to read in the newspapers all about the war in Europe. The march of Italy to the Albanian border was causing concern throughout the Balkans, and there were letters from home once again, demanding she return.
Yet she felt safer here in the city doing a job she loved. There was nothing to spoil the glory of spring and early summer before the heat got oppressive. There were flowers in bloom everywhere, which cheered the two nurses one hot afternoon as they staggered out of their lecture towards the National Garden, trying to absorb all the horrors to which they’d just been exposed.
‘Do you think we’ll cope if we’re faced with stuff like that?’ Yolanda asked. ‘I feel sick. How I ever thought I could be a doctor . . .’
‘You still could train,’ Penny said, but Yolanda dismissed this with a wave of her hand.
‘Poof ! I am a woman, a Jew . . . who will train me now? You know our situation. It’s not an option, just a silly dream.’
‘And it’s
when
we’re faced with stuff like that,
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