Lieutenant Janet Castner
January 1944
Your country is at war and faces just such a situation as the First Reserve of the American Red Cross Nursing Service is intended to meet ... Millions of our men are in service in this country and overseas. It is your privilege and patriotic duty to give them the care they so justly deserve by accepting an assignment with the Army Nurse Corps. –Mary Beard, Director of Nursing Services, 1944
Petworth wasn’t the quaint little British town Lieutenant Janet Castner had seen in tourist brochures before she left the States. No. The images she had thumbed through at the L.A. County Library during the months she was training, before she embarked on that great voyage to Europe, gave a completely different impression. According to those images, flower baskets would hang from white framed windows overlooking narrow cobblestone alleys, and ivy would drape over red brick walls. Young girls in pinafores would play hopscotch on sidewalks or jump rope on freshly mowed lawns. Boys in knee-britches with their newsboy caps and bow ties would shoot marbles in front of barber shops or play tag in the street.
To her disappointment, she saw none of that from the backseat of the motor coach
The cab came to a halt.
“This is it?” Janet asked.
“Looks like,” her friend Martina Alvarez responded. A tall Hispanic nurse anesthetist with whom Janet had become good friends, rolled down her window.
“The road’s in ruins, miss. The coach won’t roll through this wreckage,” the cab driver proclaimed in a thick British accent. He pushed back his cap, looked over his shoulder, and gave them a hearty grin.
“I’m sure this is the way to the hospital,” Janet argued as she pulled her map from her bag.
“Yes, ma’am. But you can’t get there by car.”
Janet sighed heavily. “So, we have to walk with all our luggage? There are twenty-five nurses behind us.”
“There’s a footpath through this rubble that will take you and your twenty-five nurses to where you need to go,” he offered, though he didn’t show the way.
“Great,” Lieutenant Evelyn Dobi mumbled under her breath. Younger than any of the nurses that had flown from Scotland to Petworth on this assignment, she was a stocky woman with a cynical outlook on life. Her pessimism bothered even Janet, a master of buoyancy. Dobi leaned against the seat, a pout on her face, and crossed her hands over her chest.
“Hey, we get a chance to put into practice what we’ve trained for, you know?” Marty offered with a grin and slid out of the car. “I, for one, can’t wait to get out of this vehicle and get some fresh air!”
Janet followed Marty’s lead and pulled her suitcase from the taxi’s trunk. Soon the band of nurses, baggage in hand, stood together in the wet and rainy landscape. Once the caravan of taxis drove away, Janet stepped away from the others, expecting to hear people, chickens or dogs, or some other sound that would indicate that the city of Petworth had living inhabitants.
She heard nothing. Nor did she breathe in a pleasing odor of fresh ocean breeze, lilacs or rose that she had expected of a parish so near the English Channel. Rain and mud and wet cement were the only pungent fragrances.
“This is not what I expected,” Janet whispered to Marty.
“I didn’t know what to expect, however there is a war going on, Janet,” Marty assured her. “Of that we were forewarned!”
“You’re right. I’m just belly aching over my first taste of discomfort. I’m sure there will be a lot more to follow.” She surveyed the demolished landscape. “Of which I won’t have the privilege to complain about.”
Hovering clouds grayed the earth, the wind threatened to steal Janet’s cap, and a rubble of broken buildings loomed over her. Janet fastened the top button to her coat and saluted the lone officer who appeared out of the mist.
“Lieutenants! I see you’ve made it here early!” The man returned the salute. His dark coat rustled in the breeze. The wool scarf he wore around his neck protected his ears, though his face flushed from cold. A pleasant sight, his eyes beamed blue, a stark contrast against the gray of the weather and the disturbing ruins surrounding them.
“Sir!” Janet stepped forward. “I’m Lieutenant Castner.” She introduced herself and glanced at the other nurses.
“Lieutenant James Frost here.” Lieutenant Frost’s smile spilled out like a sun peeking behind the clouds. “Welcome to Petworth. I’m afraid this road to the hospital hasn’t yet been repaired, but we’re working on it. We should have it cleaned up by the time the other nurses arrive. There is another road to the hospital in better shape than this, but it’s much longer and hard on tires. I doubt your driver found it worth the risk.” He nodded at the scattered wreckage as he picked up Janet and Marty’s suitcases. “We’ll have to walk from here. Follow me.”
Janet slipped over the uneven footpath that had been carved through broken brick and crushed stone. She swapped her gaze from the gray ash and powder that clung to her shoes, to the debris surrounding her. Burnt beams lay scattered against half-standing walls. Broken furniture hid amongst the rubble. A leg from a table extended into space, the rest of its body buried under blocks of cement, granite, and gravel. Electrical wires rocked dangerously in the rain. Roofless structures grasped for the cloudy sky, their window frames sticking out against the fog, the glass demolished and long gone.
“What kind of building was this?” Marty asked.
“A boys’ school,” Frost answered. “Further ahead you’ll see the remains of the chapel.”
“Good heavens! When was it bombed?” Janet wiped the mist that had accumulated on her brow. She knew of the bombing blitz in London, and how the Germans nearly destroyed the city. She hadn’t been aware that the people of Sussex had been victim to the assault as well.
“Two years ago. September 29, 1942.”
“Are they still bombing this area?” Marty asked.
“Who knows?” Lieutenant Frost chuckled quietly to himself. “The Germans bomb whatever they damn well please.”
Janet and Marty exchanged a worried glance.
“Expect blackouts. There’s a shelter at the base–a dugout of sorts.”
A hundred yards away, amid freshly cut grass and tombstones, a towering stone cross hovered over a graveyard. Fresh cut flowers decorated the memorial, propped up by vases. A toy soldier had been placed at one of the headstones. “A child?”
“Twenty-eight children to be exact, the headmaster and a teacher. Once you meet the residents of Petworth, I’m sure you’ll hear the stories. Even though it happened two years ago, the town still grieves. No one ever forgets their children.”
“I wasn’t aware of Petworth being a target,” Janet whispered as she read the other headstones.
“The chapel was also destroyed. If any of your nurses are looking for a place to worship, you’ll have to visit Father Dean at the old 48th General Hospital, adjacent to ours. He’s set up a makeshift sanctuary in one of the huts. You’ll enjoy Father Dean. Nice guy.”
They hiked away from the ruins through an open field of clover and dried thistle. Long strands of wild grass leaned from the weight of the rain, carpeting the valley with a golden hue. In the center of these plains nested a settlement of rusty cylindrical buildings covered with corrugated steel.
“Quonset huts?” Sue had been traveling with Janet ever since she enlisted in Pennsylvania. “We had those in California. I was afraid we’d be staying in tents!”
“Not quite tents.” The lieutenant laughed. “These are Nissen huts. Smaller than the American Quonsets, but with a different interior structure. I think you’ll find them more suited to British weather,” Frost explained.
“Drier then?” Sue asked.
“Does the sun ever shine in Britain?” Marty pulled the tip of her hat further over her face and covered her cheeks with her coat collar.
Janet scanned the sky, hoping to see a break in the clouds. Instead, five Mosquito bombers appeared like bees, their sound breaking the silence like a sheet of glass busting in an echo chamber. They buzzed low overhead toward the channel. Toward France. A reminder that very soon she and her nurses would be meeting the Face of War.
Everyone stopped and watched, and Janet couldn’t help but eye Dobi and the other nurses who had fallen behind. Though the Army trained her well, the sight of the bombers brought home a cold reality. She wondered how her nurses would react to an influx of wounded soldiers from a war zone, especially young Dobi.
“Look,” Marty whispered and nodded toward a group of children playing tag in the fields. “At least some hearts are light enough to laugh.”
The children were not far away, closer to the hospital than the village. Three boys and two girls. They came to a halt when they saw the officers. The boys stood at attention and saluted. Lieutenant Frost returned their salute with a grin. Janet caught the eye of one little girl. A sandy-haired child with pigtails and bows. How much paler the British children were than kids in America, she thought. The girl stared at Janet in wonderment. The closer Janet came, the more the child blushed until, with a gasp, she bent her knee and curtsied.
“Odd,” Sue whispered.
Lieutenant Frost glanced at Janet, and then the child, but he said nothing.
Soon they descended the hill to an orderly row of corrugated steel huts.
The buildings could not have been more military in appearance—drab green, white circles with large red crosses on their doors and on their roofs. The huts were positioned in a pattern. Three rows forward and three cross-wise. Perhaps fifty of such huts in all, and five skeletons of the same in various stages of construction.
“Here you are, ladies. Your station and your quarters. This hut holds the medical supplies and three nurses.” He set the suitcases down and opened the door for them. “The next three huts accommodate up to twenty-five nurses each. Once you’re settled, I’ll give you an orientation. Some of the huts have just been built and we’re moving beds and medical equipment into them this afternoon. You’ll need to know where the wards are. Lieutenant Castner?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I understand your experience is with orthopedics. Major Billet informs me you’ll be supervisor in that ward.”
“He did?” Startled, Janet had no idea she’d be put in such an important position so quickly.
“Is there a problem?” Lieutenant Frost asked.
“No! I’m sorry, I just wasn’t aware. I mean, why me?”
“From what the Major tells me, you have an excellent reputation as a leader. It’s all on your resume and your referrals. Your personal barracks will be in the supply hut. There are three beds in there.”
“I’m assuming Major Billet is our commanding officer?” Sue inquired.
“Yes. He’s in London right now. Major McCall is acting commander. He’s a hard-liner, so be on your toes.”
“How many patients do we have?” Janet asked.
“None now. We’re just setting up. The hospital used to be a WWI base and is in want of repair and more huts are being built. We’re expecting wounded any day now, so there’s a lot of work to do.” He gave Janet a salute along with a wide and handsome smile. “See you soon.” He led the other nurses to the adjacent hut.
“What a cutie!” Sue whispered in Janet’s ear. “Did you notice those dimples?”
“He’s a fine-looking man,” Janet agreed. “But this place is a mess!” Janet put her hands on her hips and shook her head. Indeed, the hut, though nearly empty, was laced with cobwebs and dust. The inside had been painted the same army green as the outside, and paint peeled away near the seams where rust corroded the walls. Lightbulbs hung over each cot, though there were only three in this hut. The rest of the room included a kitchen area, a closet, and a row of ice boxes.
“I was hoping the inside of this hut would look better than the outside. I’m significantly disappointed. Look at these windows! They haven’t been washed since the last war!” Marty snickered.
“If then,” Sue added.
“I’m not sure they wanted clean windows. I think they were using this place for target practice,” Janet suggested.
“It does appear that way, doesn’t it?” Sue inched her way down the aisle to one of the beds. Her lips curled in disgust. “Iron cots with straw mattresses? Straw? And no linen anywhere to be seen. Nor pillows.”
“What? No pillow?” Marty’s half pout broke into a grin. “That is roughing it.”
Sue tossed her suitcase on one of the beds. “At least there’s a Limey stove in the middle of the room? Who’s going to chop wood?”
“I’ll do it,” Marty offered. “You wash my clothes.”
“Ha! Looks like we’ll be doing that in a bucket!”
“I’m sure there are bedsheets and blankets somewhere.” Janet pulled open the doors to the many iceboxes. Some were supplied with plasma and penicillin, others needed to be stocked.
“Did you see this propane cookstove?” Marty pulled open the oven door, tested for dust with her finger, and made a face at the grease left on her hand.
“No lie? An oven? We can cook our own meals!” The idea made Janet giggle. A long time had passed since she practiced her cooking skills. “You know what this means, don’t you? Homemade fudge. Pies. Goodies galore!”
“You and your sweet tooth, Janet,” Marty admonished her teasingly. “Just give me steak and eggs.”
“Oh golly, Marty, did you have to mention meat? I’m so starved for protein I could eat a cow on the hoof.”
“Sorry, ladies. The word is that Britain’s on rations,” Janet reminded them. “No meat. Certainly, no steaks! We might be able to find a local farmer in town with chickens, and barter him out of some eggs. Sweets it will have to be.”
“If England doesn’t run out of sugar,” Sue mumbled.
The drone of a German bomber soaring overhead drowned out her voice. Janet shut the door to the icebox quickly and turned to the other women in the room. Faces paled, eyes wide as they listened. “How far are we from London?” Janet asked.
“Forty miles, thereabouts,” Marty answered.
“Are you sure they don’t bomb hospitals?” The dread in Sue’s eyes matched that in Janet’s heart.
Janet shook her head. “According to the Geneva convention, they aren’t supposed to.”
“Well, that’s reassuring!”
“Look, we’re in a war zone. We knew it was going to be dangerous. We signed up for this.”
More aircraft silenced them. Sue raced to the door to look out.
“Is it ours?”
“I don’t know. All I saw was a tail disappear into the clouds.”
Janet stood next to her, listening to the rumble of the aircraft until it diminished, replaced by the gentle sound of rain dripping from the gutters. “Well,” she said. “You can bet your curlers that won’t be the last bomber to fly over our little hospital. We’ll be seeing a lot more of the war, so come to terms with your fears now, ladies, because even if this little hospital isn’t bombed, we’ll be taking care of the men who are. Can you imagine what our GIs will think if they see us cringe whenever a plane flies over?”
Janet presumed both Marty and Sue’s thoughts ran along the same line as hers—that they were in for an experience of a lifetime. No one spoke as they chose their beds, unpacked quietly, and then explored further their new home.
Sue pulled out a stack of linen from the wall closet and handed a set of sheets to Marty. When she brought linens to Janet, she sat on the bed next to her. “Answer me a riddle, please.”
“What’s that?”
“When we were walking through the field and that little English girl saw you, why in the world did she curtsy? I can understand the boy saluting, but is it common for British children to curtsy when they see American nurses?”
“No, silly.” Marty laughed as she tucked her blanket in tight and straightened the wrinkle with a sweep of her hand. “That’s something British people do for royalty. Haven’t you seen princess Elizabeth in her uniform? She and Janet could be twins.”
Janet met Sue’s gaze as Marty continued.
“I mean, aside from the fact that Janet is wearing a US Red Cross uniform and Princess Elizabeth wears a reserve uniform.”
Janet felt a fever rush to her face as Sue stared at her.
“Holy to Betsy, I never noticed that before! What kind of ghosts are in your closet, Janet?” Sue exclaimed.
Not a subject Janet wanted to discuss. This wasn’t the first time she’d been told she looked like Princess Elizabeth. She shrugged it off as coincidence.
“Speaking of closets, were there any cleaning supplies in that one?” Janet asked. She frowned at Sue’s bewilderment. “We’ve got to scrub this hut down, make our beds and inspect the condition of the other wards by tomorrow before our nurses get here. I have a feeling no one’s used this place since the Canadians left. When was that? Two years ago?”
“I was just wondering—” Sue began, but Janet quieted her with a scowl.
That evening, orders were to keep the windows shaded, so Janet wrote a letter to her sister by candlelight.
Dear Flo,
I arrived safely in Petworth. All my expectations have been quashed. The village may be quaint, but there is wreckage from a recent bombing here where twenty-eight children were killed. I pity the poor people who lost their babies, and the memories they must have of that horrid event.
I’m sure the countryside is pretty in the spring, but right now the skies are gray and everything else has absorbed the same dullness. I can’t tell if it’s only the weather, or also the war that makes England so dismal. I suspect both.
I have close friends now who I trained with, and we are all here in the hospital ready to work. I also met a very kind man, Lieutenant Frost, who is giving us a grand tour.
Tomorrow we straighten up these little huts that haven’t seen a mop for two years. I’ll be happy to settle in and start mending our wounded soldiers. It’s been a while since I’ve been doing any nursing what with all this marching around like a foot soldier! I’m sure the adventure that awaits will be more than I ever imagined. I just hope I can be a good samaritan for the war effort, although as soon as I arrived I wished even more that the war was over. Please write me and let me know how things are at home. I miss you.
Keep me informed if you are still considering joining the Corps. Maybe I can give you some advice.
Your sister, Janet
P.S. Aside from the marching drills, Scotland was lovely!
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