Jemima’s voice seemed to cut through it all though.
“They’re here.” she said gently, “You’ll be fine now.”
I opened my eyes and frowned, then realised that the noise was not my teeth chattering but the clatter of an approaching helicopter.
In no time at all the tiny, two seat machine had landed at the end of the old runway, a few feet away and switched off the noisy engine.
Once the rotors had slowed to a stop, the two occupants jumped down and ran across to us, bending low beneath the heavy blades.
“Over here, quickly!” George shouted to them. “She needs help.”
The passenger from the machine carried a first aid kit with him.
“I only ‘ave zis small kit.” he apologised in a heavy French accent. “’ow many are injured?”
“We all are in some way.” Jemima answered him, “But Karen has a bad gash in her leg and needs urgent attention. She is also in shock.”
“I am no docteur, we are with ze electrique.” the young man looked worried. We ‘eard mayday and were looking for ze crash!”
The other man, the pilot, spoke up:
“I ‘ave radio ze position of ze crash. ‘elp should be ‘ere soon.”
I was still shivering violently. I seemed unable to control my muscles as Jemima and the young man re-dressed my wound with clean dressing and bandaged it.
“Can you get her to hospital in that contraption of yours?” she asked him.
“Mai oui,” he shrugged, “I suppose so. I will ask… HENRI!” he called across to the other, older man who was talking with the other survivors.
They conversed briefly in French, a language which I had never bothered to learn so understood none of it.
“We do not carry enough fuel to fly as far as Toulouse but we should be Ok for Limoges. I can fly ‘er zere…”
“Please hurry, Henri.” Jemima pleaded, “She is a strong woman but she has lost quite a bit of blood.”
With help from the other passengers I felt myself lifted and carried towards the tiny cockpit where I was strapped into the seat. The young Frenchman covered me with a blanket.
I was only vaguely aware of Henri flicking switches and then a wheeze before the engine burst into life and the rotors began to turn above my head. There was no door and the last thing I heard before the darkness washed over me was the vague distant sound of a woman’s voice. I couldn’t hear what words she used but somehow, I knew it was Jemima wishing me luck.
When I awoke I was in bed and I stretched and yawned. Such a lovely sleep but wow, what a dream I’d had. The room was dark but lit by a dim bulb that seemed so far away and as my eyes became accustomed to the half light I saw that I was not alone. I realised that this was not my hotel room but a hospital ward and then, it hit me. I had not had a dream, it was all real! Jemima, the crash, everything had really happened.
My heart began pounding and I tried to sit up. There was a blood bag hanging from a stand beside my bed and a red tube led from it and into my left arm. I saw that the bag was almost empty.
“Non, Non. Attendre!” I heard the words but they meant nothing to me and I continued to struggle. Within seconds a nurse in white starched apron appeared beside me and helped me to sit up, plumping my pillows and supporting me whilst I lay back against them.
Slowly I became aware of a dull, burning sensation in my leg and remembered the injury.
“Vous etes eveille , alors?” She smiled benignly.
“I’m sorry,” I said laying wearily back against the pillows, “I don’t speak French.”
“Ah, you are Anglaise… English?”
I nodded.
“How are the others?” I asked her, thinking more of Jemima.
“Others?” she seemed puzzled. “What others?”
“The other survivors.” I began to panic. Was I the only only one?
“There are no, ‘others’, Mademoiselle. You arrived alone.”
I began to panic, I couldn’t be the only one, I just couldn’t be!
I tried to get my befuddled mind into some sort of order.
“Wait! Toulouse!”
“Pardon?” the nurse queried. “Toulouse?”
“I heard the helicopter pilot mention Toulouse. Could they be there?
The nurse pulled a chair to the bedside and sat beside me.
“Mademoiselle , all I know is zat you were involved in an accident. I do not know of anyone else being brought here.”
“My aeroplane crashed in the mountains, there were nine other survivors…”
“Zut Alors !” she exclaimed, “ Un Avion ? I did not know. I thought you were in a road accident!”
“Yes, an aeroplane.” I repeated, “Nine other survivors. Can you find them for me? Please?”
“I will make ze telephone call but I cannot promise anything until ze morning.” She looked at me, a look of pity on her face. “Let me remove zis bag first.”
A picture of efficiency, she checked my blood pressure and temperature then carefully removed the drip from my vein.
“Would you like something to eat and drink?” she asked, when all was done, “I can get you a baguette.”
“Just a drink please.” I replied.
“I ‘ave some tea if you would like. It is called Earl Grey.”
“Mmm… that would be lovely, thank you.”
She smiled again and before she left said:
“I will find zem if I can.” and squeezed my hand gently.
I don’t know how long passed before she returned but it seemed like hours.
I took the steaming cup and saucer from her and took a sip. It was sweet and had no milk in it but, at that moment it was the best thing I had ever tasted.
“I ‘ave telephoned Toulouse.” she said eventually. “You are correct, nine survivors were taken zere. Zey are all Ok.” I breathed a sigh of relief as she went on, “Zey will be kept zere for observation at least until tomorrow, except for one.”
“Why, was he badly hurt?” I was concerned that I hadn’t realised.
“Au contraire. ” she said, “She discharged herself.”
Jemima!
“Why did she do that?” I asked.
“Oh, I am sorry, Mademoiselle, they did not say.” she paused for a minute, as if unsure as to what to say next.
“You were on ze TEA flight zat crashed in ze mountains?”
“Yes, I am the flight attendant.” I frowned, “Is something wrong?”
“Oh, non, nussing is wrong but I ‘eard about it on ze news. I am sorry so many did not survive.”
She took my hand. “Ze report said zat you saved ze rest but zat you ‘ad disappeared. We didn’t know who you were because you ‘ad no identification.”
“And now they know?”
“Oui. I ‘ad to tell zem. You are Karen Farmer?”
“I am.” I agreed. I immediately had the feeling that very soon I would be the centre of an awful lot of unwanted attention.
“What time is it?” I asked wearily, feeling that it must be the early hours of the morning.
“C’est Trois heurs et demi… Oh, Pardon, Mademoiselle, Three-thirty.”
“Thank you.” I said and lay back against the pillows, closing my eyes and feeling sleep begin to take me again.
“Rest now.” she said, “For tomorrow, I sink, you ‘ave busy day.”
I must have slept very soundly for I awoke with a start. The ward was filled with light from the early morning sun. I blinked a couple of times and looked around through half open eyelids, the bright light hurting my eyes.
The ward was busy now, nurses going about their daily checks. I couldn’t see the young nurse with whom I had spoken in the night, I assumed her shift ended when the day staff arrived.
Very soon, I was approached by what appeared to me to be a matron.
“Bon Matin, Mademoiselle.” she said. She seemed very officious but not in a bad way, her voice was quite soft, and she had a pleasant demeanour about her.
“Good morning, Sister.” I replied.
“Ah, yes, of course, English.” she smiled. “I am Matron Blanchard. Now, before we do anything else I need to check that leg of yours.”
Another nurse who had appeared, drew the curtains around my bed and between them, they drew down the sheet. I realised then that I was only wearing a hospital nightdress and wondered immediately who had undressed me and where my clothes were.
The matron gently lifted my leg and slipped my nightdress up to my hips. I was extremely concious of the fact that my panties were quite loose legged and my face began to burn.
She must have noticed me getting a little flushed for she pulled down the hem to cover me a little more.
Once the bandage was unwound, she dropped it into the enamel dish the other nurse was holding, then, with a pair of forceps, peeled back the thick pad.
“Ah, Bon, Very good.” she looked pleased with what she saw, “It has closed nicely and is clean, no more bleeding. You will have quite a scar though, the doctor had to use fifteen stitches, it was very deep!”
I looked down at the vicious looking gash with the row of neat stitches.
“I suppose that explains why we could not stop the bleeding.”
“I believe so.” she agreed, “You were given one and a half litres of blood through the night. Losing all that blood is the reason why you went into such deep shock.”
The Matron re-dressed the wound neatly, showing her experience.
When she had finished she smoothed down my night dress and stood up.
“I am informed that you are likely to have many visitors today, the press, investigators etcetera. Do you feel up it?”
I sighed before replying. The next few days were going to be a nightmare I was sure.
“Yes.” I said eventually, “Best to get it over with.”
“I think you are right, Mademoiselle. You will not be alone unless you wish it and if it gets too much I will see that you are allowed to rest.”
I looked at her for a moment, then:
“May I ask where you learned your English, You have hardly an accent?”
She smiled a far away smile.
“I was married to an RAF pilot since before the war began. I lived in England until last year.”
“So you both decided to come to France?” I asked, thinking what a lovely story.
“Oh, no…” a look of sadness passed over her face. “I am afraid he was killed in a road accident two years ago. I stayed in England until all the formalities were cleared but as I had no family there. I came back to live here.”
“I am so sorry.” a lump in my throat made the words difficult.
“It is all right.” she said, “It was so unfair that he survived the war only to die at the hands of a drunken driver.”
I didn’t reply to that, didn’t know how too. So tragic.
There was a silent pause before she smiled again.
“C’est la vie.” she said, “Such is life.”
I smiled and nodded. Although I had never had a husband or even a boyfriend whom I wanted as a husband, I could easily understand how awful it must feel.
“Anyway,” she continued, “Breakfast will be along soon and after…”
“After?” I repeated.
“After…” she said again, “your trial by ordeal will begin.” she smiled widely.
“Oh yes, that!” I couldn’t help but smile myself. Matron Blanchard was probably nearing fifty but she had the most infectious smile which made her look so much younger. Her deep brown eyes twinkled and I thought she must be one of those women who could make anyone feel at ease. Her dark, chestnut hair was flecked with grey but she was pretty, like a beautiful rose which was only just beginning to fade.
I hoped, just then, that I would have the time to get to know her for already I was fascinated.
“My name is Karen.” I ventured.
“Pardon?” she seemed puzzled at this.
“You called me ‘Mademoiselle’. My name is Karen.
She smiled as the understanding came to her.
“Ah, oui. My name is Françoise.” She held out her hand which I took warmly. “Pleased to meet you Karen.”
“And I am pleased to meet you too, Françoise, although under better circumstance would have been preferable.” I held her hand maybe a little longer than was usual but she seemed in no hurry to pull away.
The very next moment a head appeared through the curtain and said something in French.
The Matron turned to me.
“Your breakfast is here, Karen.” She pulled back the curtain and a plate was placed in front of me containing a croissant with some butter and jam on the side.
“Thé ou café, Mademoiselle.” The woman with the trolley asked, gesticulating the two metal pots.
“Oh, coffee please.” I replied and watched as she poured the thickest blackest coffee I had ever seen and placed it beside the croissant.
“Au lait” she said, picking up a jug of what I guessed to be milk.
“Oui, merci.” I replied, summoning up just about the only words of French I knew.
They left me in peace to eat. I was glad of the coffee but I really didn’t feel all that hungry. I felt I should have been but I was so tense with all that was going on that I really wasn’t. Nevertheless, I ate the croissant, with the butter and jam, then picked up the coffee cup and tilted it to my lips. At that moment I knew I should have asked for ‘thé’, the thick, glutinous liquid made me cringe involuntarily.
I shuddered but persevered until the cup was empty then lay back for a moment, sated.
It was not long before Françoise reappeared along with a porter pushing a wheel chair.
“We are going to move you to a private room, Karen.” she said. “I am afraid that there are many people wish to speak with you and the other patients will be disturbed if you stay here.”
I understood exactly what she meant and swung my legs over the side of the bed.
“Oh, no, no, no!” she said, sharply, “You must wait a moment while we support you. We do not want your stitches to open!”
So I waited until the porter placed the chair as close to be as he could then, with him holding one arm and Françoise the other, they eased me carefully into the chair.
She was quite right, even supported I could feel the wound trying to open again.
It was strange, I thought, how we don’t realise what muscles we use until we are unable to use them.
“Oh, my clothes!” I exclaimed as the porter began to wheel me away from the bed.
“Do not worry, I will bring them.” Françoise smiled as she continued, “Though I don’t think you will be wearing them again, they are quite a mess.”
Once I was settled into the small private side ward, the Matron allowed the first of my visitors, a director of Trans Europe Airways no less!
He was most concerned for my welfare and told me that as soon as I was ready they would have me transferred to a hospital in Toulouse, an offer which I resisted, telling him that I could have no better attention than I already was receiving here in Limoges.
He didn’t stay long, I think he was a little embarrassed but he explained about everything I would have to do when I was well. Reports, interviews and so on.
I thanked him for coming to see me and finally, he asked if there was anything I wanted.
“I do need some clothes for when I am discharged.” I told him.
“Oh yes, of course.” He smiled and looked at the pile of bloodied rags on the chair. “We certainly can’t expect you to wear those.”
“There is one more thing…” I looked serious then. “What happened to Eric and Bob?”
His faced clouded over and he didn’t answer straight away so I probed a little further.
“Were they found?”
The director nodded.
“Yes, they were found.” he said.
“Were they…?” I knew they could not have survived but I had to ask anyway.
He nodded.
“Yes.” I didn’t press him. Now was not the time or the place. I would know more soon enough, I reasoned.
After he left I was deluged with visitors, reporters, investigators and even some nosey patients.
From time to time Françoise dropped in to make sure I was all right but, as the day wore on I found myself getting very tired.
Around two forty-five, Françoise came into my room.
“Gentlemen, please. You must leave now. Mademoiselle Farmer is tired and must rest.”
There were grumbles and moans but finally, the last one left and Françoise came and sat with me for a moment.
“Are you Ok, Karen?” she asked.
I nodded and lay back against the pillow.
“Just tired.” I whispered.
“I am at the end of my shift now so I won’t be here until the morning but I have made sure that the next matron is aware of you and she will make sure you are not troubled too much.”
“You will be alone?” I am not sure why I asked and regretted it instantly but before I had a chance to apologise she said:
“Not alone, I have my girls at home still.”
I looked at her, wanting to know everything about her but before I could say anything else she stood and said:
“I must hand over to the next matron now, Karen. If you are still here tomorrow I will see you then.”
“Françoise. Thank you, for everything.”
“You are welcome.” she smiled and turned and left me alone with my thoughts.
I wasn’t alone long though. About thirty minutes later the new matron came in and carried out all the usual checks and measurements. Blood pressure, temperature, heartbeat and so on, marking all the results on a chart attached to a clip board and hanging it on the end of the bed-frame.
“Trés bon.” was all she said and I wondered if she actually spoke English!
It took no more than a few minutes to do all the tests and soon, I was alone again. I closed my eyes and drifted off into a restless sleep, images of the crash and destroyed cockpit haunted me and, suddenly I cried out and sat up then stared at the visitor by the door.
“You! What are you doing here?!”
To be continued…
