OUR LITERARY CORNER.

Press, Volume LIV, Issue 16162, 16 March 1918, Page 7

OUR LITERARY CORNER.

AS AIR-RAID DUTY.

i gv Dora Wilcox (Madame Hamelius, j formerly of Canterbury.) (specially written vor "the pexss.") Shall vr 11 n > or s^a '' p0 i 0 bed early? That is the question ton Hit. although conditions arc r.ot ideal for tiio "Boche," yet it is full moon. But other of tho household is tired after a day's work cxi Care Committors in the East End. nnc j am 1, who have heen at the hospital. Wc go bod, and take our chance. I seem to have sunk into the very al ., v „es of sleep when lam forced hack to'thc sur&ce of consciousness by someone shaking me. "Got up! she says: Get m>. There's an air-raid. I've hoard t.ie Vhistlc!'' , , "Are you sure?" 1 sleepily: "Isn't it nearly morning:" ' "Get up!" she answers: "the guns are „oing in the distance, and there's the whistle again." And tlus time I hear it outside in the street, and our policeman's musical cry, "Take cover, take cover!" with the accent full on tho first svllable. I tumble tip, and in the quickest time in record am out of tho house with all my clothes and uniform on—though nothing is very much fastened. The other member of tho household is already at a neighbour's. Coming out of the gate I run into a special constable, and we hurry up the hill together, talking like old friends, and buttoning up our garments as we run. "What- is it to-night?" I ask, fastening my collar. I suppose," ie answers, fnmbling with his tunic. The wind has dropped, and the moon is shining brightly in a clear sky. Awav to the east the guns are going, but our own particular loud-voiced friend verv near us. has not yet bogun to bark. *At the Tubo station people are pouring in to find shelter: mothers with their children half-dressed and half-asleep, the babies hastily wrapped in blankets or rugs, mostly poor, but are well-dressed men and women amongst them, too. "I'm on duty," I say, dodging in between them: "Will you please lot me pass?" There is not much confusion, for the special constables keep good order. J . "Wdfflen and children in the lift!" they cry. "Women and children only, men by the. stairs." Down , below, the platforms are already crowded. As 1 stand waiting for „ the train a "social" taps mo on tho shoulder. "You are an ambulance nurse?" "j am—but on duty further on." "I'm sorry., but 1 must commandeer * jou. Our own nurse has not come, and vou are "wanted here." I follow him. The crowd is very thick round a poor ' old woman of the people, half-sitting, half-lying, supported by her man. The handkerchief at her lips is stained with hlootf. "This is a ease for a doctor," I say, feeling hor pulse, and the "special" goes at once "Is there no water? Someone fetches up a fire-bucket. We get the crowd to stand back, loosen her garments, lay her as comfortably as lie can, bathe her forehead. Presently the haemorrhage stops, and she lies very ttill and white. She will not have iiany more raids to endure, for the .pint has begun to slip away from a worn-out body. The doctoi; oomes; when I can do no more I scramble into a train and reach my own station. The platforms are packcd there, too, and many people Lave made themselves comfortable for tho night. Many of the children are fast asleep, their heads pillowed on their mothers' knees: some of the elders are knitting, and some are playing cards. There is a fine exhibition of babies, several, (mall dogs, a cat with a blue jphbo&iround his neck, and a parrot in a Age. . "v'Ere's the nurse!'' I hear many times as I go up and down, trying not to step on anybody's legs, and stopping tftehf to speak to friends. For the same peoplo come night after night i° their havens of refuge, and you don't wait for introductions during an airraid. "'An 'ow's Nurso to-night?" asks the coster gent, who is lying on the floor with his many children spread on of him. "All right, thanks! and how arc Fou?'' * " 'Avin' anater night out, not 'alf!' : bg says, genially with a wink. "Glad to see you, Nurse 1" says a littlo old lady further down: "You vc badly wanted, for a man's been •fitting' all over the place, and I expsct ho'll begin again soon. I'll lend you a hand if he docs." "Thanks very much," I say, devoutly hoping hc> won't. ,Down by tho electrician's room we . make a little dressing-station. The lift-boy brings up a bucket of water, and Halgy and Harthur, our lied Cross men, spring up from nowhere. Halgy and Harthur are two small boys who always appear on these occasions, ind spend their time running about and trying to fall on to the live-rail. Sc to save their lives, and relieve the "specials" of one anxiety, we hit on the idea of making them Useful. Thoy preside over the water-bucket, and arc Jtept verv busy, for people got very thirtty down in this stuffy atmosphere. When there is time for reflection— wh.c-h doesn't often happen, for tlieiv is plenty to do to-night—l think whal a queer sight it is, and what a queer world is this night-world of ours. There are people of all kinds and classes down in this station to-night, and jn all varieties of costume. There arc *omen in curling-pins with their nigfctjfresEes showing below their cloaks. There is at least one man in pyjamas with bare feec thrust into bedroo:;: slippers, and there is a party of peopic in real evening dress, a thing one has almost forgotten existed nowadays. There are soldiers and sailors, Italian and .Japanese and Jews; there is in actress smoking a cigarette, an*, a neeress nursing someone else's bat.y And tfvcrybodv is talking to everyboth else, and the. noise is like the roar oi the sea. And, queerest of all, one ; daylight waking world seems to hav< vanished for ever, with all the pcopli ona used to know by daylight. The Inspector comes up and salutes i "Got everything you want, Nurse?' : Yes. 1 tell him. and he hurries c«f to another station. I don't knov whether all special constables are a kind, ana as efficient, and as hard

ORIGINAL AMD SELECTED MATTER. NOTES ON BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

wording as ours: if they arc, they aro r, wonderful bodv of men. Many «.:f them are elderly, most have vlieir Own work to attend to as well. Thev rr-maiii for lons hours in this close -lir, like Father O'Flynn: "C'heeJcin' the crazy ones, coaxin' j anaisy ones." | preventing overcrowding, restoring loat | children u> their parents. reassuring 1 frightened women, and while they aroj pro toe ting others who knows what n;av j be happening to their own wives and children;' Time pa.snis: it gets hotter and hotter. Haley and Harthur are kept basv at the" water-bucket —it has he; n re-hlled four times. There hare been several fainting women, and oven a man, and tho poor epileptic has begun "fitting"' again. In one of the intervals I hnd myself near a "special" at the. bottom of tho stairs. "Anything doing up above?" I ask. "No one's allowed up there," ho says. "They're just overhead, and the? noise is tearful. Can't you hear our guns?" and listening, 1 hear, far, far away, a sort of pattering, and then a duller sound. "That's a boml>," says tho special. Later we hear it has fallen in an adjacent street, spattering many windows, but doing; loss damage to life j and property than might have been j supposed. _ j 'Think of them poor souls passing," says a woman with a sob in hor throat. Wo remind hc-r that even in peace-time thore are souls passing every minute, but to her type of mind sudden death is terrible —dramatic. I am called to another patient —another young girl has fainted. When she has coma to herself again, I go down the platform, and notice a little girl huddling up against her mother. "Your little girl isn't woll. is she?" "No, Nurse, she ain't. 6hc's been in bed two days, her head's so bad, and hor cough is ehockin'. I dunno what to do." Tho child's face is flushed, and her oyes arc heavy. Her skin is dry, her temperature very high indoed. •'Put her to bed as soon as you get home, mother, and send for the doctor •first- thins-" Which is worse, ono wonders, to hear all the noiso and all the terrors of tho raid, and the chance of a bomb on flimsy dwelling, or to bo dragged out of a warm bed in such a condition as that? It is impossible to decide. And now, at last, the joyful, "All clear!" coines, and mothers collect their blankots and their babies. The noiss is still louder, the parrot screeches, the hystorical Jewish lady, who has cried nearly all the evening, bursts out worse than ever. "I should murder that woman if she wore my wife," observes one of the "specials." "Hullo, Nurse! here's your train.'' I get in, but the night's work is nou yet over. Every ono in the carriage is looking at a woman. She is quite young and pretty, and fashionably dressed, hut she sits huddled up anyhow. She has taken ofE hat and scarf, and thoy have fallen on to the floor. Igo and sit next to her, and she begins to talk in a loud, hurrying voice. Is it only shock or neurasthenia? I don't quite know. I ask her destination, dross her again as ono would dress 'a child, and finaßy hand hor over to her friends. And so one goes home to sloop for what littlo remains of the ni^ht.