‘God save the Queen!’ said Nurse Bryant and Nurse Smith, standing up in deference.
We couldn’t stand, of course, but we all said ‘God save the Queen’ too, though Babette and Maureen went into peals of giggles afterwards.
Queenie came wandering into the ward, clearly wondering why we weren’t out on the veranda. She eyed us all warily, alarmed because our beds weren’t in their usual positions.
‘Here, Queenie,’ I said, clicking my tongue at her encouragingly.
She hesitated, not quite sure what she wanted to do, but then readied herself and jumped up onto my bed.
‘There, darling Queenie,’ I said, reaching for her.
She butted her head against the palm of my hand, wanting me to make a fuss of her.
‘God save our Queenie,’ I said, and Martin and Gillian and Rita and Angus all said it too.
‘Elsie! Show some respect,’ said Nurse Bryant, but she wasn’t really cross.
We watched the Queen make her way slowly out of the church, holding her head very stiffly and carefully, and then she got back into her coach while the crowd outside cheered and cheered. She smiled a little now, and gave elegant waves as if she were languidly fanning herself. We all waved back now, Martin messing about, fluttering his eyelashes and pursing up his lips.
Then all the posh people filed out of the abbey into the rain, and the solemn voice told us who everyone was all over again. They all looked the same except for the large black Queen of Tonga, Queen Salote. She got a really big cheer because she kept the roof of her carriage down so everyone could see her.
‘Oh my, what a treat!’ said Nurse Bryant, rushing round giving us all a hug.
There was another treat for supper too. We were all given a wonderful plate of creamy chicken.
‘It’s special Coronation chicken,’ said Nurse Bryant. ‘The recipe’s been in all the papers. Oh, God save our cook as well as our Queen!’
I’d only ever had chicken at Christmas before. It was white and tender and it didn’t have any fat at all. I decided it was my absolute favourite food. It was a bit of a struggle saving some for Queenie, but worth it when I did. She ate it up with immense relish, mewing for more.
We thought Mr Dobbin would come and pack the television back in its box. It was such a thrill when we realized that it was here to stay. We were pushed in early from the veranda now, our beds crammed together at five o’clock so that we could watch Children’s Hour on the television.
We thought it was all wonderful, but I liked the puppet Mr Turnip best, with his little dancing walk. I begged some wool from Mrs Rhodes and tied long strands to Albert Trunk’s legs, but no matter how I pulled he couldn’t get the knack of walking. I got cross with him and gave him a little tap. I only meant to give him a tiny smack for being uncooperative, but he tumbled right off the bed and disappeared.
‘Oh Albert Trunk!’ I said, reaching out desperately with my arm.
‘Whoops! You’ve lost him now, Gobface,’ said Martin. ‘Oh dear, I can just see him upside down on his silly head. Watch out he doesn’t get swept up with the rubbish.’
‘Stop it! He won’t be swept up,’ I said, wriggling myself inch by inch to the edge of my bed.
‘Oh yes he will,’ said Martin. ‘He’s rubbish now, all dust and gunge. They’ll throw him away.’
‘No they won’t. They’ll just send him off to be fumigated,’ Angus called, trying to comfort me.
It only made me more agitated. I knew they probably wouldn’t throw Albert Trunk away. Even Nurse Patterson had given my pyjamas back eventually. But they were so strict about dirt and germs, they might just take Albert Trunk off to be fumigated – and then he would come back smelling horrible again.
I looked around for Queenie. She was right at the other end of the ward, pacing the empty spaces where our beds were when we weren’t watching television.
‘Queenie! Over here, Queenie girl. Fetch! Fetch Albert Trunk for me,’ I called.
Queenie looked up and gazed at me balefully. ‘Don’t try to treat me like a silly little dog,’ she said, and stalked off.
‘Then I’ll fetch him myself,’ I said determinedly.
I edged slowly across my bed, taking hold of my splint and dragging my bad leg along with me.
‘Don’t!’ said Gillian. ‘You’re not supposed to do that! You’ll bust it!’
‘I have to get Albert Trunk,’ I gasped, sweat prickling under my arms with the effort.
‘The nurses will come along soon. They’ll pick him up,’ Gillian told me.
‘But then he’ll be fumigated.’
‘No he won’t! They only do that for our stuff when we first get here in case we’ve got bugs from home,’ said Gillian.
‘I didn’t have any bugs!’ I said indignantly.
The rush of anger gave me a little strength. I shoved hard, and then I was teetering on the very end of the bed. There were barely two inches between my bed and Martin’s – just enough room for me to slide my arm down and fish up poor Albert Trunk.
‘Don’t, Gobface.’ Martin was sounding a little panicked now. ‘You can’t reach him and you’ll only hurt yourself.’
‘No I won’t,’ I said, with one last thrust – and then my body shifted into thin air, and the whole of me went hurtling downwards and landed with an almighty thump on the floor.
‘Nurse! Nurse! Nurse, come quick! Elsie’s fallen!’ Gillian shrieked.
I lay very still.
‘Oh no! She’s killed herself! It really is the Bed of Doom!’ said Martin.
I was so stunned I couldn’t work out whether he was right or not. Was I dead? I couldn’t seem to move. I couldn’t see anything. My ears seemed to be the only bit of me that was working. Perhaps I was a ghost now. Was heaven a land above a magic tree? But how could I climb the ladder? My poorly leg was far too heavy – and my other leg throbbed too. No, it didn’t just throb, it hurt unbearably – and it seemed to be crumpled in an odd way, kicking out weirdly at the knee as if I were trying to do the Charleston.
I heard a weird slithering noise. I opened my eyes and saw Nurse Bryant propelling herself towards me underneath my bed.
‘Oh my Lord, Elsie Kettle! What have you done to yourself?’ she gasped.
Nurse Smith frantically pulled the beds to one side so they could get at me properly. I was so scared I tried to roll away from them, but a terrible pain shot right up my leg – my good leg – to my hip.
‘Please don’t be cross,’ I whimpered. My voice seemed to have broken too. It was just a tiny whisper.
‘I’m flaming furious,’ said Nurse Bryant, but she was touching me very gently and tenderly all over, tutting when she got to my legs. I hoped she would twist my good leg back into place for me, the way I manipulated my celluloid dolls’ legs when they got stuck the wrong way, but she didn’t even touch it.
‘My leg hurts,’ I said.
‘I dare say it does. You’ve clearly broken it,’ said Nurse Bryant. ‘Better run for Sister and Sir David, Smithy. Someone senior needs to assess this little jobby. Heaven help us if the tubercular leg is broken too. Oh Lordy, they’re going to have our guts for garters.’
‘It wasn’t your fault!’ I said. I couldn’t bear the thought of getting any more nurses in trouble, especially not Nurse Bryant, who was my second favourite after Nurse Gabriel.
‘It’s our job to look after you and to stop you flinging yourselves out of bed. Whatever possessed you, child?’
‘I was trying to reach my elephant! He tumbled out of bed because he wouldn’t walk like Mr Turnip,’ I said, starting to sob.
‘God save her, she’s not making any kind of sense. Is she delirious?’ asked Nurse Smith.
‘No, this one’s always mad as a hatter. Will you run for help, Smithy,’ said Nurse Bryant, but she fumbled for Albert Trunk under the beds and sat him on my chest. ‘There now, here’s Jumbo Doo-Da come to cheer you up.’
‘He’s Albert Trunk,’ I sniffed, clutching him fiercely.
/> ‘Lie still now. No moving at all until you’re properly assessed,’ said Nurse Bryant. ‘Especially don’t try to move your head.’
‘Has she broken her neck, Nurse Bryant?’ Martin asked.
‘Oh Elsie, we told you not to do it,’ said Gillian.
‘Yeah, we told you,’ echoed Rita.
‘Maybe you’re all broken and you’ll have to be in a plaster bed like Angus,’ said Martin.
‘No she won’t,’ said Angus. His voice was quavery but he spoke as clearly as he could. ‘Don’t worry, Elsie. You’ll be all right. And if you do have to go in a plaster bed, it’s not too terrible. It just gets a bit itchy, that’s all. Don’t get upset, please.’
I swallowed hard. ‘Thank you, Angus. You are a true friend,’ I said hoarsely.
‘Now now, Elsie, don’t try to speak,’ said Nurse Bryant. ‘But you’re right, Angus is indeed a true friend. Plaster beds aren’t so very dreadful, but I don’t think you’ll need one. As far as I can see, you’ve simply broken your good leg, though heaven help us if your bad leg is broken too.’
Nurse Smith came scurrying back with reinforcements, including Sir David himself, in his shirtsleeves. I got really scared again, but he was so gentle, feeling me all over and then supervising the nurses as they lifted me back into bed. I was wheeled along to be X-rayed in the main hospital, my splint taken right off. Oh, the joy of getting that leg free again, though it looked alarming, like a little white matchstick. My other leg was even more worrying, kicking out at its new awkward angle.
‘Clean break, thank goodness,’ said Sir David.
They operated the next morning. I was told to breathe into a horrible rubber mask.
‘I don’t want to!’ I protested, but someone held it hard over my nose and mouth, and I suddenly slipped into a dream world. There was Nan, her arms outstretched, sitting me on her lap and giving me a big hug. She told me again and again that I was her own special girl and she loved me so, in spite of my legs – and when I looked down, I saw they’d both grown enormously into huge crooked giant legs stretching right across the carpet, the feet pressed hard against the wall, terror legs that made me scream.
‘Now now, Elsie, calm down, my little love,’ said Nan.
Then her voice changed. ‘There now, Elsie, it’s all right. Calm down, dear.’
I opened my eyes, and there was Nurse Gabriel, her white nurse’s cap outlining her head like a halo.
‘Is it really you, Nurse Gabriel?’ I mumbled. ‘You’ve got your uniform on.’
‘Yes, because I’m on duty in the men’s ward, but I came haring across in my lunch break to check on you. I heard you’d been wilfully flinging yourself out of bed, you daft banana!’ She gently poked me on my nose.
‘Oh, my legs!’ I said, starting to cry.
‘Oh dear, do they hurt dreadfully?’ asked Nurse Gabriel.
‘No, but they’ve got so big. I won’t ever be able to find socks and shoes for them,’ I wept.
‘Yes you will, you funny little moppet! Look – they’ve not got any bigger.’
She held up my blanket and I peered down. My right leg was back in its splint, fitting it perfectly. My left leg was encased in white plaster, which made me gasp a little, but I could see my foot poking out at the end, and it looked its own normal size. I blinked at them. They didn’t grow at all.
‘It was just a dream,’ I said, laughing as well as crying, which sounded very spluttery.
‘Yes, I think the anaesthetic gives you very vivid dreams, so heaven help you, Elsie, because you’ve got such an over-active imagination already,’ said Nurse Gabriel.
‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing?’ I asked.
‘It depends,’ she said. ‘It’s good if you can comfort yourself telling stories. It’s not so good if you tell those stories to the others and frighten them all into fits!’
I had a new story to tell now. I pretended to Martin that I’d really died.
‘That’s silly, I can see you. You’re not one bit dead,’ he said.
‘No, but I was – for about five minutes. When I was on the floor, before they lifted me up,’ I told him.
‘You were talking to Nurse Bryant, I heard you,’ he said.
‘Not at first. I tell you, I died, Martin. I was in the Bed of Doom, right? Your friend Robert died, and so did I.’
‘What was dying like, Elsie?’ asked Angus.
‘It was so scary. I just jolted right out of my body. I could see myself lying on the floor, my leg all twisted, and you peering and crying, but I wasn’t in my body any more, I was just floating like a ghost, drifting along right up underneath the ceiling.’
‘That isn’t true, is it?’ said Rita. ‘Shut up, Elsie. You’re giving me the creeps.’
‘No, go on! Did you stay under the ceiling or did you get out?’ said Angus.
‘I found I could float right through the ceiling. It was the weirdest sensation.’
‘But then you’d be in the attics,’ said Gillian.
‘No, I floated up through the attics, through the roof, up into the sky,’ I said.
‘Wearing your cat pyjamas?’ said Gillian, giggling.
‘You can laugh! It was most extraordinary,’ I said. ‘I looked up, and there was this blinding bright light, and a beautiful deep voice seemed to be calling me. Elsie – Elsie . . .’
‘Was that your daddy?’ asked Maureen.
‘No, it was God, wasn’t it, Elsie?’ said Babette.
‘I don’t know who it was. I just hovered helplessly in the air. I wanted to fly upwards into the light, but I struggled too, because I wasn’t really ready to die. I cried a little and called for my nan, and she climbed out of her bed and reached right out of the window and pulled me back, saying, “No, my Elsie, I can’t let you go. You’re my own baby.” I turned and put my arms round her and promised I wouldn’t go, not yet. Then I was pulled down, down, down again, and I ended up with a bump on the floor, with Nurse Bryant gasping and crying.’
‘You wouldn’t have had time to see your nan. You were only out cold for a minute or two,’ said Gillian.
‘There’s no such thing as time in ghost worlds,’ I said grandly. ‘It’s like when you dream. All sorts of amazing things happen in just a minute or two – see!’
Gillian tutted at me, clearly not convinced by my little act, but the others were hanging on my every word. I even had Martin hooked.
‘So when you saw this bright light and heard the voice – was there anyone else around?’ he asked.
’Hmm. I wasn’t really looking, but I think there were some children up above me. Yes – there was this one boy waving at me, calling something. I think he was calling your name, Martin,’ I said.
Gillian snorted but Martin took no notice. His head strained upwards, his eyes shining. ‘It was Robert. He was calling for me!’
‘Better watch out then, Martin. Your turn next!’ said Gillian.
‘Really?’ said Martin, looking stricken.
‘Of course not! I was just stringing you along – and so is Elsie. Pack it in now, Elsie Kettle, or you’ll send them all nuts. They believed every word.’
‘I don’t believe it. Elsie’s just a lying storyteller,’ said Rita.
‘I didn’t believe old Gobface! What do you take me for?’ said Martin.
But that night he lay awake long after the others were asleep. I was awake too, both my legs throbbing.
‘Elsie?’ he hissed.
‘Yep?’
‘Elsie, I know you were kidding, sort of – but when you were unconscious, did you see a bright light and hear a voice?’
I hadn’t, but I’d imagined it so intensely I wasn’t ultra-sure. ‘I think so,’ I whispered back.
‘So did you see a boy – you know, calling for me?’
‘I – I don’t really know,’ I said.
‘Oh. Well, never mind,’ said Martin. He sounded relieved but very sad.
‘I think he could have been your friend Robert,’ I said.
‘What colour hair did he have?’
‘He had this crazy ginger hair. I used to call him Ginger at first and it drove him daft,’ said Martin.
‘Well, my boy had bright red hair, all sort of tousled,’ I said. ‘And he was wearing striped pyjamas.’
This was an easy guess. All the boys in the ward wore striped pyjamas except for Martin in his Dan Dare nightwear.
‘Yes! Oh goodness, it must have been Robert!’ said Martin. ‘Listen, Gob— Elsie. If you dream it again, or get knocked unconscious, will you tell Robert I miss him and we’ll play that game of marbles together one day?’
‘I will,’ I said.
THE CHILDREN STAYED a little in awe of me after that, but the nurses sighed and stuck me in a new bed with little sides so that I couldn’t possibly roll out again.
‘And if you try, we’ll tie you to the bed sheets,’ said Nurse Bryant.
I thought she was joking, but I couldn’t be sure. I lay obediently in the middle of my bed, and when my broken leg itched and prickled in its plaster, I tried not to moan too much, because I knew it was my own fault.
Mum was appalled when she discovered I’d broken my other leg.
‘What do you mean, you fell out of bed?’ she said, looking at my plaster in horror. I’d been wearing it a couple of weeks now and it had got a bit grubby. I’d written my name and drawn a portrait of Queenie on it in smudgy blue biro. ‘How could you be such an idiot? Were you trying to get up?’
‘I was trying to reach Albert Trunk, Mum. He’d fallen on the floor.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! I don’t know what you’re doing with that awful moth-eaten old elephant anyway. You’re getting too big to play with stuffed toys – you look simple,’ said Mum impatiently. ‘What are you trying to do, permanently cripple yourself? You’ll be limping on two legs now, and everyone will stare at you and you’ll never get yourself a decent man when you grow up.’