Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. Lyrics from "Last Night When We Were Young" were written by Yip Harburg (music by Harold Arlen).
Camilla Fortescue-Cholmely-Browne was always quick to offer a hand of friendship. "Please. Call me Chummy. My Pa always said, 'long dogs need short names." While her introduction seemed endearing, it nearly always provoked a snicker of ridicule, but Chummy never let anyone see the pain it inflicted. Her height and physical appearance had been the main source of her isolation for as long as she could remember. Even Mater had abandoned her only daughter to the care of an older Indian woman, but Chummy's tough skin failed to protect her tender heart.
Chummy entered the small chapel of St. Thomas Hospital and took a seat at the end of a pew. Her faith kept her uplifted, and she had already made good use of the chapel since she began the term as a new student at the Florence Nightingale School of Nursing & Midwifery. She had only been in London for a few days, but the chapel quickly became a place to escape the disapproving glare of the head matron or loneliness. Her lips moved in silent prayer seeking comfort & confirmation. "If this is where You want me, Lord, I will serve you here. Use me. Let me show people Your love & Your kindness." Chummy's mind would wander to the people of India who only knew of vengeful gods. She would think of the serious threats these people faced - seen and unseen. Not only were they losing battles to diseases that were rapidly disappearing in England, but there was also the danger brought on by the presence of tigers and other large predatory animals.
Chummy soon learned that London and the rest of England were threatened by a different type of animal. The Grey Wolf had his sights set on the small island, and on the seventh of September, he began his attacks. Hitler's blitzkrieg destroyed the landscape and many families that night, but it was only the beginning. Chummy's visits to the chapel were no longer for herself. She prayed for protection for her country and strength for herself because she finally understood why she was here. As the air raid sirens began to blare, she brought the crucifix that always hung around her neck up to her lips then tucked it safely in her blouse as she made her way to the basement of the hospital.
Peter Noakes escorted his mother passed the chapel doors, "Mum, please. Just go down to the basement. I promise to go back and check on Dad. The staff is taking care of him, but I want to make sure that you're safe."
Mrs. Noakes was only in her early fifties, but the past two nights of bombing had already aged her face considerably. She took a handkerchief out of her pocket to dab at the tears welling up in her eyes, "Peter, how long will this go on?"
Peter held his mother close and kissed the top of her head, "I don't know, Mum. I don't know."
Mrs. Noakes began to fiddle with a brass button on her son's new uniform. As she gently shined it with her hankie, she thought about the fear she had felt when he told her and his father of his plans to join the police force. Even during his training, she would have nightmares of him being killed by some crazed madman with a gun. Her baby boy, her only child. She never imagined that the crazed madman would attack from the sky, and it wasn't only her Peter who was in danger. It was her entire neighbourhood, the whole country.
A young, blonde nurse, about Peter's age, approached them in the corridor. "Pardon me, constable. There's been a bit of a problem clearing Ward C. If I could ask for your assistance?"
"Of course. Would you show my mother to the basement?"
The nurse placed her arm around Mrs. Noakes to direct her down the correct corridor, but his mother grabbed his hand, "Peter!"
His eyes softened as he read her thoughts. Peter asked the nurse, "And Ward B?"
"All clear."
"Dad's safe," he squeezed her hand. "Now I want you to be safe."
The air raid sirens sounded more urgent than before.
"I'll find you when I'm finished here. I'll be back by your side before you know it."
Mrs. Noakes held on for a few seconds longer. She could not understand how Peter's voice remained calm and assured in a moment like this, but that had always been his way. Finally with a nod, she released his hand and followed the nurse to safety.
Peter turned in the opposite direction to help evacuate Ward C. This wasn't what he had in mind when he joined the force, but as long as he was helping someone, he knew he was doing his life's work. As a small boy, his mother had taught him the Golden Rule - "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." It wasn't a hero complex that drove Peter Noakes. He was just an honest-to-God good, reliable bloke who believed in defending the defenseless, helping a friend, or just offering a kind word, and if the day came when he or his kin needed a hand, maybe somebody would be there to return the favor.
As Peter wheeled out the last bed-ridden patient, the hospital was submerged in total darkness.
There was a collective gasp in the hospital basement when the lights went out. Chummy thanked God that she was standing against the wall at that moment because she had misplaced her torch earlier, and the last thing she wanted to do was to step on someone. Bombs could be heard in the distance. Chummy slowly slid down the wall until she came to sit on the floor. Another bomb announced its descent with a long, drawn out whistle, and then, KA-BOOM! Then another - KA-BOOM! Each explosion sounded closer than the one before. Chummy thought it sounded like the cadence of a giant, marching soldier - stomping his way across London. Left ... Left ... Left, Right, Left! Now the giant was right on top of them, and KA-BOOM! This time everything around her shook, and the person sitting next to her let out a loud yelp.
"Sorry," the woman sounded embarrassed as she tried to swallow a sob, "I'm so sorry." But the sob escaped.
"There, there," Chummy hoped the tremor in her own voice did not belie the comfort she was trying to give. "No need to apologise."
Another bomb made contact with a nearby street, and the woman sobbed again. "I'm sorry. I can't help it. I think I'm just exhausted. My husband's been admitted because of heart trouble, and my son's somewhere in the building. I wish I knew they were safe." Her breathing shuddered with defeat, "And I've misplaced my handkerchief."
"Oh gosh!" Chummy fumbled in her pockets for her handkerchief and held it out in the direction of the voice. "Here. Take mine. Please."
"Thank you," the woman sniffled. "You must think I'm being rather silly."
"Quite the contrary," the explosion of another bomb interrupted Chummy only momentarily. "But as a nurse here, let me assure you that your husband is in the safest place he could be. Is your son a patient as well?"
"Oh ... no. He's a constable for the London Metropolitan Police. We were on our way down here together when he stopped to help evacuate a ward."
Chummy noticed that the woman's breathing had steadied some. "Well, your son sounds like a very good man, and I'm certain he'll take care of himself."
"Yes. Yes, he is a very good man, but he'll always be my baby," Chummy could hear the emotion welling up in the woman's voice again. "I worry. It's what mothers do. I guarantee wherever your mother is at this moment she's worried for you too."
Chummy could only hope that was true, but she didn't dwell on it for long. "Whenever I feel anxious or overwhelmed, I find that reciting a psalm brings me peace. Do you mind ...?"
"No. Please. Go on."
Chummy proceeded to recite her favourite psalm. She learned it while she was at boarding school, and whenever she felt homesick, she would meditate on these words:
"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,
from whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord,
which made heaven and earth.
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved:
He that keepeth thee will not slumber.
Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber
nor sleep.
The Lord is thy keeper:
The Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.
The sun shall not smite thee by day,
nor the moon by night."
At this point, the woman joined in.
"The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil:
He shall preserve thy soul.
The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in
from this time forth,
And even for evermore."
The woman ended with an, "Amen."
And Chummy echoed her closing, "Amen."
A peace fell over the basement, and everyone was silent. They could still hear bombs in the distance, but the ground had stopped moving.
"It will be hours before we hear the all-clear siren," Chummy spoke quietly to preserve the atmosphere. "Maybe you should try to sleep?"
The woman protested, "I don't think I can sleep at a time like this."
"It wouldn't hurt to try. Close your eyes, and I'll recite another psalm."
Before falling asleep, Mrs. Noakes remembered hearing a kind voice praying, "I will both lay me down in peace and sleep. For thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety." The next moment she was woken by the shrill siren announcing all was clear. The nurse who encouraged her through the night was no longer by her side. If it wasn't for the unfamiliar handkerchief, Mrs. Noakes would wonder if the conversation had ever happened. Even years later, she would think back to that night and entertain the thought that she had been in the presence of an angel.
Peter and David grew up together on the same street where they used to play cops and robbers. Some days, they pretended to be soldiers in combat, but years later, it was no longer a game. Still thick as thieves, the two young men enlisted in the Army together.
"She took it well. Better than I expected. Of course, Dad was proud." Peter had struggled with his decision to enlist only because of his father's recent heart problems, and he didn't want to add another concern to his mother's growing list. Still the Noakes knew it was inevitable. Peter was one of the last young men on the force to sign up. "How about your mum? What did she say?"
"Haven't told her yet, have I?" David never knew his father, and Ms. Johnson didn't have any other children. Peter didn't envy his friend. He couldn't imagine there would be an easy way to break the news. "Have you told your girl yet?"
"That'll have to wait until tonight," Peter put on his custodian helmet. "I've got to get to work."
"Me too," David nodded toward the delicatessen where he worked behind the counter in the meantime. "See ya later."
Peter disappeared around the corner as David held the door for an unusually tall female customer. She bobbed her head in appreciation as she tried to hide a shy smile. David threw on his apron.
"What will ya have, miss?"
"A cheese sandwich, please, and ... oh gosh!" the case full of chocolates, sweets, and cakes caught Chummy's eye. "And perhaps one of those sweet buns. Thank you."
A group of young women tittered at the corner table. Chummy recognised a couple of them from St. Thomas and summoned enough courage to approach the table.
"You must come to the dance! The trumpet player is gorgeous, and Enid thinks her beau is going to get down on one knee tonight!" the lively brunette's up-turned nose rose even higher as she noticed Chummy heading their way.
"Hello, Joyce," Chummy smiled at a blonde and then at the brunette, "Susan. A bit awkward seeing each other outside of the hospital wards."
"Nurse Browne." With those two words, Susan succeeded in dashing any hope of friendship that Chummy held onto. "Did you manage to clean up the tray of sterilised flasks you dropped this morning?"
A flash of color seared Chummy's face, but she kept her chin up as she displayed her hands. "Yes, and nary a nick."
Susan and the others unsuccessfully tried to hide their laughter except for Joyce. She smiled at Chummy, "It is nice to get out of the hospital for a while - especially wonderful to be out of those ridiculous uniforms, don't you think, Camilla?"
"Chummy," she felt her face cool and her body relax. "You can call me Chummy, and yes, I agree. One much rather dress as a civilian as it were."
"So, Chummy, what do you have planned for your day of freedom from St. Thomas?"
"I've been having the most horrible nightmares of Matron quizzing me on new analgesic procedures available during childbirth. I had planned on returning to the nurses' residence to study."
"Miss!" David called to her from behind the counter.
As Chummy paid for her neatly wrapped lunch, she could hear Susan. "You can't be serious? Invite her to the dance? Joyce, have you seen her large feet? With her severe lack of grace, she'll put several able-bodied men in traction!"
While Susan's friends snickered, Chummy slipped out of the delicatessen unnoticed.
Enid chattered away about all the clothes she modeled at J. Lyons & Co. where she was employed as a living mannequin. Her biggest worry was the effect rationing would have on fashion. Even the department store was down to its last shipment of silk stockings. Her manager, Mr. Crummley, asked the models to start using the leg make-up the salespeople were asked to push.
"He tried to make it sound like our patriotic duty," she explained to Peter as she primped in her compact. "That little crumb of a man will just have to face the fact that nothing but silk will be touching these legs!"
Peter's head snapped up at the last statement. Most girls would've blushed at the implication, but Enid showed no sign of embarrassment. Then again, most men in his situation would've spent their day wondering if their girlfriends would wait for them through the war, but Peter spent his day wondering how to let Enid down easy. At first, he thought it wouldn't be fair to ask a beautiful girl to wait for him to return from war – if he returned at all. But now, he was beginning to wonder what he had ever seen in her.
Sure, Enid was a brown-hair, brown-eyed beauty with a button-nose, and Peter would be lying if he said that he never noticed she had curves in all the right places. But as a human being, what was attractive about her? She thought it was cute to joke about her "favourite books" being Vogue and various other fashion magazines. Peter never found it cute or funny to boast about ignorance.
Peter knitted his eyebrows as he studied Enid's face – trying to see the beauty that had been there only moments before.
Enid flashed him a perfect smile, "Do you like what I did with my eyebrows?"
Peter straightened his back and cleared his throat, "Enid. We've got to talk."
St. Thomas Hospital's nurses' hall of residence was quiet. If the nurses weren't on duty, they were either out on the town or sleeping. Not Chummy. After the incident at lunch, she had returned to her room and did her best to shield her sandwich from her tears ("One could not stomach a soggy sandwich").
When she ran out of tears, she picked up her textbooks and began to study. Hours had passed when Chummy decided she had earned herself a hot cup of Horlick's and the sweet bun she had purchased earlier. Tightening the sash of her dressing gown, she pulled back the curtain to look into the night sky – wondering if the Germans would attack again.
Enid smiled up at him as he offered her his hand. The band had just started playing a slow ballad, and a singer made her way to center stage.
"Last night when we were young
Love was a star, a song unsung
Life was so new, so real, so right
Ages ago last night …"
She rested her head on his broad shoulders as they moved across the dance floor. The night had not been anything like she had expected, but she felt confident in his arms if only for the evening.
"Today the world is old
You flew away and time grew cold
Where is that star that seemed so bright
Ages ago last night…"
Peter was sitting at the bar nursing a pint as he watched Enid dancing with another man.
"Looks like she's found herself another chap in uniform," David slapped Peter on the back. "Didn't take her long, eh? You alright?"
"Yeah," Peter had gently packed Enid in before the bus reached their stop. He had explained to her how impractical it would be to carry on a relationship while he was away, that she might meet someone else she could be happy with, and that he didn't want her to feel obligated to wait for him. He just assumed she would've waited until he left. Peter finished his drink and stood to leave. "It's all for the best."
"Let me buy you another," David signaled to the bartender.
"No, but thanks. I think it's time to go home."
As Peter stepped out into the moonlight, the band began to play "Moonlight Serenade". He shook his head at the irony, but he looked up at the night sky and decided it was a beautiful night for a walk as long as the Germans didn't attack. That's when he heard the wail of the clarinet from the dance hall. The lone note grew in intensity – almost as if it were chasing Peter down the street.
They say you never hear the bomb that's right above you. The last thing Chummy remembered was the sound of the air raid siren as she ran down the stairs toward the basement of the house. All she could hear now was a sharp ringing in her ears. She tried to raise herself, but something was pushing her down into blackness. It was a feeling she had experienced often in her dreams. Submerged in total darkness. Unable to move or to cry out for help. Incapable of changing her situation or escaping the tormenting words of defeat. These were also feelings she struggled with during her waking hours.
In her nightmares, she never reached the light. She never had a voice. She never heard a kind word, but this wasn't a nightmare. This was real.
Instinctively, Chummy's hand went to the thin, gold chain around her neck and clutched the cross. All of her senses were coming back. She could feel the rubble beneath her shifting as she tried to push herself up again, but she was trapped under the remnants of a wall. The ringing in her ears was replaced by the whistling of falling bombs in the distance, and she heard a voice. At first, she thought it might be another nurse, but as the voice got closer, she realised it belonged to a man.
"Hello?!" the man shouted. "If you can hear me, call out!"
"Here!" Chummy tried to force her hand through the debris. "Here! I'm here!"
She continued to push and dig and claw with both hands. She could hear other men calling out for survivors. She had to get their attention. In this living nightmare, she had to reach the light. Finally, her hand reached the surface, and the cool night air rushed through her wriggling fingers.
"I'm here!"
"Look!" another voice cried out.
Chummy could hear someone running toward her and a chain of voices calling to each other.
"We've got one over here!"
"Over here!"
"Everybody! Over here!"
Someone knelt down and grasped Chummy's hand.
"We've got you," his hand was rough, but his voice was gentle. "You're safe."
Once Peter realised the enemy's planes were flying toward the hospital, his heart sank. His thoughts quickly fled to his father, and Peter's feet followed suit. By the time he reached the hospital, the nurses' home had been hit. Anybody who had been in the area when the bomb went off was covered in black dust. No one was recognisable. Peter joined a group of men that was searching for people in the rubble despite the bombs falling around them.
He experienced a rush of joy when they found the first nurse. Peter had never thought one moving hand could have filled him with so much hope. Immediately, three more nurses were found. Peter left the group to help a couple of men lift the wardrobe that kept the nurses pinned down.
Chummy suffered from several cuts and bruises. Some of the doctors from the hospital had joined the search offering medical attention. One doctor insisted that Chummy return to the hospital, but she refused. She felt she should stay and help. As she gave herself a few minutes to recoup, Chummy watched the people before her. Covered in the dust from the destruction, they looked like shadows moving across the debris. She took off her glasses to somehow wipe the dust from her lenses when somebody accidentally bumped into her.
"Pardon me, sir," Peter turned to make a curt apology as he helped an injured nurse walk to the hospital, but Chummy didn't notice.
The search continued until 3 a.m., but before the night was over, six more nurses were found. Sadly, not all of them were alive. Joyce, who had returned from the dance earlier, had been trapped under the rubble for several hours before she died. Chummy mourned for her as did the other nurses, but Chummy also mourned for the friendship that could have been.
A week later, Peter was sent to France. The war front was similar to his home front. Bombs and death - something most of England grew accustomed to. Peter came back from war a little quieter, and Chummy came through a little stronger.
Almost fifteen years later, they would bump into each other again, but this time destiny wouldn't miss. As a matter of fact, destiny knocked them both off their feet.