大象传媒

MY BIT by Dorothy Bushell RMN SEN
It was not until 1941 that I began to realise what the glorious epic of Dunkirk really meant 鈥� not until we saw the film 鈥淚n which we Serve鈥� and my husband Edmund pointed out some inaccuracy 鈥�(he was working on the dockside at Dover repairing the damaged boats from Dunkirk) 鈥� that I felt my impressions of that time might be worth recording.
To remind me of those momentous days when I was a tiny unit in the hospital (Buckland, Dover) where the seriously wounded found a haven 鈥� some to travel no further, while others were given a new lease of life 鈥� is even now, a very poignant and distressing memory.
I do not remember the exact day that it all started for us. I do know that I was on 鈥渄irty nurse duty鈥� in the theatre, but loaned to Sister V鈥檚 ward for the afternoon, when someone told me to get the beds ready for patients, and that Sister was coming back on duty. I hardly had time to prepare them for admissions before the wounded started arriving; all were stretcher cases. It was the British Expeditionary Force. Shall I ever forget how badly injured they were, yet all could raise a smile.
I little realised what a miracle it was that so many were rescued from the Dunkirk beaches. By this time an SOS to other hospitals reinforced our usual staff, and when Matron gave me the keys to the kitchen larder store and said, 鈥淭ea Nurse鈥�, I called a cleaner, loaded her chin-high with loaves and slab cake, and it was soon sliced and taken round the ward.
Then I was sent to Sister S鈥檚 ward upstairs where Dutch, French and Belgian soldiers were warded. I gave out bottles, not even knowing the eight words in their language! Poor lads, they seemed very young to me, and they didn鈥檛 know what they had left their loved ones to face.
There must have been some staff on duty, but I only remember Sister saying, 鈥淲e鈥檒l see what we can do about those dressings Nurse. You take that side, and I鈥檒l start this.鈥�
My first patient was a young Belgian soldier, his hands encased in brown field dressing reminding me of boxing gloves, yet somehow odd. Most of his hands and fingers were gone, which made me feel queasy, and my knowledge of French inadequate to convey much sympathy. After that, I was prepared for legs not there, or only in part.
Much later, I was sent back to theatre where our usual team-aid, and a scratch one, were working at full stretch. Here, most of our non-resident staff remained on duty until Dr. Dick, as he was affectionately known, packed all six of us into his car and drove us home about 2am.
After that, time had no meaning for us; we were so busy. I do not clearly recollect when some of the following incidents took place, except to say, 鈥淚t was during Dunkirk.鈥�
Trying to keep the sterilising room clean, cleaning used instruments, re-sterilising them and being 鈥渄irty nurse鈥� for two tables at times was just hectic, since one table always seemed to need me when I couldn鈥檛 leave the other.
Towards tea-time, more staff arrived, and I was give a ten-minute break. In the sterilising room I was bewailing the fact that my tea things were at the other end of the hospital, when Matron popped her head round the door and said, 鈥淯se the general kitchen 鈥� it鈥檚 nearer.鈥� She really didn鈥檛 miss much, and was very understanding.
Much later in theatre, while wiping Dr. B鈥檚 forehead and wondering whether I dare wipe my own, I suddenly felt weak. Anyway, with the heavy lifting, the heat, the smell of blood and other, and the glare of the lights, I might have committed the unforgivable sin of fainting, but for Sister W鈥檚 鈥淏USHELL鈥� which just saved me!
We were run home again by Dr Dick sometime in the early hours.
When I returned to duty at 8am, I was sent to Sister L鈥檚 ward, where my first duty was to help a staff nurse carry out the last offices on three patients, which was sad enough, but taking a young wife, who could not believe that her husband had died, out of the ward, was really awful. But I managed to cope somehow, and stayed with her on the landing until she was calmer and another visitor joined her. Then I continued doing dressings until sent to a special patient who could not be left.
Later still in the sterilising room, Dr. J came and asked what I had done with an arm which still had a wedding ring on one of the fingers. 鈥淚 saved it until I have time to remove the ring 鈥� it鈥檚 so tight鈥�, I said.
鈥淲ell, the patient is asking for it. Get me a small saw.鈥�
I did 鈥� then held the arm while he severed the finger. Then, giving me the ring, he said, 鈥淪terilise it and bring it to my office as soon as you can please, Nurse.鈥�
The next day, Sister Q insisted that I was examined by Dr. J because I had a miserable pain and felt sick. The only beds were on Sister S鈥檚 ward. So I had to put myself to bed in the corner of the men鈥檚 ward behind screens. Dr. J diagnosed overstrained stomach muscles, and said I should have a week off duty. I said I could still do jobs such as meals and messages. He said, 鈥淲ell a day in bed, then light duties only - I鈥檒l tell Sister.鈥� So, after a day of feeling more of a liability than an asset, I returned to duty as a 鈥渇etch and carry nurse鈥�, but found there was still plenty to do.
Then came an opportunity to make use of my ambulance experience. Someone was needed to go to a distant secret destination with three ambulances. A fully trained nurse could not be spared. I could go, and I was pleased to be of real use again.
An East Kent bus, that had been stripped of seats and equipped with five stretchers each side, accommodated the ten worst chest cases. There was a mother with her son and two wives with their husbands in the other two small ambulances. This was a great help to me, as I knew I would be busy enough with ten to look after.
It was 4pm before we actually started, because it took some time to load up, provide the necessary equipment, and receive instructions and case notes.
At one caf茅 where we stopped on the way to get 鈥淐uppas鈥� for those who could drink tea, I was lucky enough to get some ice for cold drinks as well. The caf茅 people were very kind, washed all the mugs and filled my clean water bottles for me. The bus driver was a wonderful help to me, especially after 鈥渃omfort stops鈥� when we had to empty bottles into the hedges.
At last we arrived at 10pm, - we had to keep regulation speed because of my patients. Even so, it was a bumpy ride with many an anxious moment - when some were sick 鈥� when a haemorrhage threatened 鈥� when I lost an ambulance at a crossroads 鈥� and when one patient got hysterical before the end of, what was to them all, a nightmare journey of 100 miles.
A hasty cup of coffee and some biscuits were provided while someone of importance was found to whom I could explain why I had a mother and two patients鈥� wives with me, and arrange accommodation for them. Then, a hundred miles back again with neither moon nor signpost to guide us. How black the blackout really was! We arrived back at 4am to unload the bus and depart our separate ways. Night Sister, to whom I reported, told me to find a bed in the labour ward, so I did, and when the maid remarked to me, 鈥淚 suppose you will be glad when it鈥檚 all over鈥�, I said, 鈥淵es鈥�, thinking she meant the Dunkirk evacuation until she asked, 鈥淲hat names have you chosen?鈥�
I remember lots of other things; the marvellous fortitude of the wounded; the courage and gratitude of their relatives; the modern miracle when two - apparently hopeless cases - lived; the strange assortment of stretcher-bearers 鈥� office boys, a minister minus jacket but plus collar, and civil defence, as well as our porters.
I shall never forget the funeral pyre of torn and bloodstained uniforms that we passed when taking a short cut on duty, or the memory of the church, long after it was used as a temporary mortuary.
Nevertheless, there was a wonderful feeling of 鈥渁ll being in this together鈥�, and that amazing unity of purpose was never equalled during my three years duty at the Buckland Hospital. It is still incomprehensible to me that none received a decoration 鈥� surely the surgeons were worthy of recognition?
The flow of patients lessened, and we returned to a more normal routine with regular time off. The wards regained their uniform neatness and we waited for the invasion.

Written by Dorothy Bushell, who, after the war, became the first lady mayor of Dover. Dorothy died on July 11, 2004 aged 95 years.

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