Christmas on the Home Front. Roland Moore

the clipboard at the end of her bed.

      ‘What happened to you, Connie Carter?’ Channing mumbled to himself.

      He took her pulse, timing it against the small fob watch that dangled from his waistcoat. He made a note of the reading and then took a mercury thermometer from his pocket. He gave it a shake to zero it and was about to put it in Connie’s mouth, when she opened her eyes with a start.

      ‘Where am I?’ She asked, pulling herself up.

      ‘You’re at Hoxley Manor. You had a bump on the head,’ Channing tried to gently push her back onto the bed. ‘It’s important you rest.’

      ‘No, you don’t understand,’ Connie’s eyes were darting around the room. She clutched her head suddenly, an excruciating pain forcing her to squeeze her eyes tightly shut.

      ‘Easy, it’s all right.’

      ‘No, they attacked me,’ Connie broke off to wince in pain, her mouth open in silent anguish as if making a noise would hurt her further.

      ‘Who? Who attacked you?’

      Connie’s brown eyes widened in fear.

      ‘Who was it?’

      ‘German airmen!’ Connie forced the words out amid the pain. And with that, she collapsed back onto the bed, her hand lolling listlessly over the edge. Channing tried to gently rouse her and then he shouted for assistance.

      ‘Nurse! I need some help here!’

      He looked worried, but there was something in his eyes that indicated it might not be just concern for the well-being of his latest patient.