Heartwarming and emotional story of one girl's courage in WW2 by Fenella Miller (best ereader for students .TXT) 📕

have been happy about this invasion of his privacy. Their marriage had been a mistake – one she was never going to make herself.

Today she was in slacks and there was no danger of showing her underwear to anyone. The church clock in the village had struck eight o’clock a few minutes ago but Jack was already here.

Why had he parked so close to the office? The door was ajar but there was no sign of him through the window. She dumped her bicycle in its usual place and saw the three aircraft were safely in the hangar. He’d obviously taxied them in before he’d left for his digs last night. There were no lessons booked until ten so she was puzzled as to why he’d got there so early.

As she approached the steps that led to the office she heard what sounded like a groan coming from inside. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. ‘Is that you in there, Jack? Is something wrong?’

There was no answer. Slowly she pushed open the door and for a moment was too horrified to move. Jack was slumped under the table and his smart suit was covered in blood.

She’d done a basic first aid course when she’d got her instructor’s licence so knew what to do. She dropped to her knees beside him and felt for a pulse. Thank God! It was weak but regular. Blood was seeping from somewhere and this had to be stopped if he was to survive.

She scrambled to her feet and grabbed the first aid tin from the shelf. She doubted there was anything really useful for a gunshot wound – but that’s what it was – so she’d have to make do. Should she call for an ambulance as it would probably take them half an hour to arrive? Then what about the police? They must be rung as well.

To do both would take too long so she would attend to the patient and then make the phone calls. She grabbed the office scissors, cut through his jacket and shirt and removed half of both, along with the sleeve. The bullet had gone through the fleshy part of his upper arm – not his shoulder at all.

There was a small bottle of Dettol in the tin which would be really useful. She tore off a wad of cotton wool and tipped water from the kettle onto it. She began to carefully wipe away the worst of the blood from the oozing bullet wound.

Then she did the same for the exit wound. In order to do this, she had to lean him against her knee which meant she now had blood all over her slacks. This would be hard to explain when she went home. Once she was sure the injury was clean she tipped neat Dettol over both and the shock of this work Jack up.

‘Jesus H Christ, that hurt,’ he said, his voice coming out more like a hiss than words.

‘I’ve nearly finished. I’ve just got to put on a bandage. Can you sit still for me?’

He didn’t answer and his eyes closed. He’d passed out again. She put a sterile pad on either side of his arm and held them in place with a tightly wound bandage. There was little left in the tin by the time she’d completed her ministrations.

His skin was clammy and cold. They kept a picnic rug somewhere and that would be ideal to put around his shoulders until the ambulance arrived to take him to hospital. After a quick search she found it under a pile of old newspapers and draped it around him. She was worried that he was still unconscious.

She left him propped against the wall. She’d never had to ask the operator to connect her to the ambulance or the police and her hand shook as she picked up the receiver.

‘No, no police. No ambulance either.’ Jack had woken up.

‘You’ve been shot. You need to go to hospital urgently and the police have to be told.’

He grimaced and forced his eyes open. ‘Please, for me, no calls.’

‘You’ve lost so much blood…’

‘Cup of hot sweet tea. No need for hospital. I’ll be fine in a bit.’

She was going to refuse but he looked so desperate, and his colour was a little better, so she relented. ‘I’ll make you some tea and then you can tell me what happened. I’ll decide after that what I’m going to do.’

She tipped the remainder of the water into a mug and held it to his mouth so he could drink. He finished it greedily. Her emergency first aid appeared to be working as there was no fresh blood seeping through the bandage.

She nipped outside to fill the kettle from the tank then lit the paraffin stove. This was fairly efficient but smelt horrible. She’d brought a large slice of fruit cake for her breakfast but his need was greater than hers. If he ate this and drank a cup of tea then she might not need to call out the ambulance.

His right arm was the one with the injury and he was left-handed which would make things easier for him. He appeared to be sleeping rather than unconscious which gave her a few moments to recover from the shock.

There were two phone calls she had to make but these were to the people coming for their first lesson later this morning. It wouldn’t do the reputation of the business any good for anyone to find the owner had been shot.

She told both of them Jack had been called away on a family emergency. She rebooked their appointments for the following weekend and by that time the kettle was singing.

‘Jack, wake up, I’ve got a cup of tea for you. I want you to drink it and eat this piece of cake.’ She was crouching down beside him holding the mug and the plate.

He opened his eyes and this time he looked more himself. ‘I think I can manage