A story of loss, hope and redemption against impossible odds.

When the World Fell Silent
By Donna Jones Alward

Publication Date: 20th July 2024

Publisher: One More Chapter 

Page Length: 380 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

1917. Halifax, Nova Scotia.

Nora Crowell wants more than her sister’s life as a wife and mother. As WWI rages across the Atlantic, she becomes a lieutenant in the Canadian Army Nursing Corps. But trouble is looming and it won’t be long before the truth comes to light.

Having lost her beloved husband in the trenches and with no-one else to turn to, Charlotte Campbell now lives with his haughty relations who treat her like the help. It is baby Aileen, the joy and light of her life, who spurs her to dream of a better life.

When tragedy strikes in Halifax Harbour, nothing for these two women will ever be the same again. Their paths will cross in the most unexpected way, trailing both heartbreak and joy in its wake…

Excerpt

The stretcher-bearers brought my next patient. “Unconscious, but she needs stitches.”

I examined the woman, looking for other wounds. Other than a few pieces of glass in her hair that were completely superficial, I saw no cuts or signs of swelling other than two gashes, one on each forearm. Stitching her up while she was unconscious was a blessing. I wondered how she got two such identical wounds. Had she been watching from a window, like so many stories I was hearing?

“When I’m done she’ll have to be moved to a bed.”

“Yes, Nurse.”

I went to work. The wounds were deep and laid to the bone. Swallowing the sudden bile in my mouth, I cleansed the right arm and prepared to suture. I’d put in three stitches when I sensed someone standing behind me. 

“Sorry, I won’t be done for a while,” I said without looking up.

“You’ve a fair hand at suturing.”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw a doctor there, but not one I recognized. “I’m sorry, sir… you are?”

“Captain Neil McLeod,” he said. “I’m a doctor at Aldershot. I’ve come to help.”

“You should report to Major Morris,” I replied, returning to my work. “He’ll assign you.”

“I’ve already seen him. Where did you learn to stitch like that?”

My cheeks heated as I looped and pulled and snipped and started again, falling back into a rhythm. “To be fair, sir, I’ve had a lot of practice this morning.”

“It’s late afternoon, Lieutenant.”

It was so rare that anyone called me by my rank that I startled and dropped my forceps. I stood to retrieve them and swayed on my feet.

His hands gripped my upper arms, steadying me. “When did you last eat? Have something to drink?”

I stepped away from his hands. The weakness and unsteadiness persisted, though I tried not to show it. “It hasn’t been a priority.”

“It is now. You can’t treat patients if you faint, Nurse…” 

“Nursing Sister Nora Crowell,” I replied, steady enough to retrieve the forceps and drop them into disinfecting solution. “Sir.”

“Finish with your patient, then have one of the VADs find you something.”

“I’m fine—”

“That’s an order.”

I bristled. He was a captain in the CAMC and a doctor, but he wasn’t a Camp Hill doctor. Yet he marched in here and started giving orders…

Except he was right, of course. And if he was here, it meant he had come to help because we were overwhelmed. I suspected every hospital and doctor’s office in the city was probably overwhelmed at this point. How many dead and wounded were there? How was it they were still coming?

Once more I pushed aside the thoughts and focused on my suture kit. “Yes, sir,” I replied, threading the needle.

He left then, and I saw him later when I’d finished with the patient and called the stretcher-bearers to take her to a ward. He was at the front of the hospital, triaging patients, sending them this way and that. He looked over his shoulder and caught sight of me, his blond hair now dishevelled and his jaw set. But he lifted an eyebrow at me, as if holding me to my word to get something to eat.

Wooziness threatened again, and I knew I had to obey. Not just because it was orders, but because of the baby. For the first time, my pregnancy was affecting my ability to do my job. The thought sent conflicting emotions crashing through me… consideration for my unborn child, resentment that my life was changing, guilt for harbouring the secret and for not being… better, I suppose. I’d traded the traditional domestic life for a professional one, and because of that I realized I’d felt pressure to be perfect at it. To prove that my choice was worth it and the right path for me. It was a punch to the gut to know that I couldn’t give it my all right now, and that I had no one to blame but myself.

Gram’s voice came through my mind again, as it usually did when I needed shoring up. Nora Margaret Crowell. You listen to me. What’s done is done. You’re ready for this. Now hunker down and get at ’er. People need your help.

I spluttered out a little laugh at the thought of Gram’s no-nonsense wisdom. I was doing the best I could under the circumstances. I found a volunteer—a VAD—and miraculously a cup of tea and a few slices of bread were produced. It wasn’t a meal, but it was enough, and I felt much better afterward.

Except for the hole that seemed to widen in my chest with every passing hour.  Treating patients had kept me from thinking too much, but in between patients worry seeped in. Eventually I would have to go home and find out the fate of my family.

The worst for me were the eye and facial injuries. So many people had gone to their windows to watch what was happening in the harbour that when the explosion happened, glass had embedded in eyes, sliced eyelids… So many people would never see again. As the hours wore on, I found myself blinking a few times to clear my own vision before resuming treatment. Fatigue was setting in, and I needed to fight it. But I also needed a drink of water and to relieve myself, so I took a short break. As I moved through the cluttered hall, I passed a doctor I didn’t recognize—a civilian—working over a patient’s head. I couldn’t see the patient, but I saw the bucket of eyeballs on the floor next to them.

I had seen horrors all day long. Blood, bile, excrement… the smells had assaulted my nose and I’d withstood it. But seeing those eyeballs did something to me. My throat burned with bile, and I rushed to an exit, pushing my way outside into the cold air where I bent over and retched onto the hard ground.

There was nothing to come up. I’d had so little to eat since morning that I dry heaved, the bitter taste of bile in my mouth as my head went light. I would not faint. I would not. Instead I gulped in air, put my hands on my knees, dropped my head a little, and waited for the dizziness to pass. This was just so wrong. Soldiers… when they were wounded, it was horrible too, but they’d signed up. Been trained. They weren’t innocent civilians going about their day, changed forever by some random accident. The people of Halifax had got up this morning as I had, ate breakfast, read the newspaper, said goodbye

to loved ones, not knowing that in mere minutes their lives would be altered. It was so unfair. It wasn’t just the eyeballs and knowing those people wouldn’t see again. It was everything. It was the loss of security. Of being in a war without seeing the horrors of war.

Now I’d seen it, and while I wasn’t injured, I would never be the same, either.

 “Nurse Crowell?”

The kind voice was at my elbow—Captain McLeod. Embarrassment burned my cheeks. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. Didn’t want to appear weak and unable to do my job, and certainly didn’t want anyone to know about the baby. I immediately straightened, fighting the dizziness. “So sorry, sir. I’ll be right back in.”

It was dark outside now, and little snowflakes had begun to fall. Shadowy figures shifted around the hospital entrances, wounded who still waited for treatment. At present there was just enough snow that it barely dusted the ground. It melted on my uniform that was now blotched with dirt and rusty, dried blood, but the air had the feel of a storm to it, not just a light flurry. The sounds of pain in the air were a haunting echo, sliding over my skin, and I shivered. The air, while cool and bracing, was tinged with the acrid smell of smoke. Whether it was from wood stoves or structures burning after the explosion, I didn’t know. What I did know was that out there—in a city I could no longer see— human beings were dead, wounded. Thousands were without shelter, food, or water. And for what?

I had not been outside since arriving in the morning, and now the entire city was changed. While I couldn’t see it, I could feel it. It was as if the landscape had gone through a tectonic shift, taking the people of Halifax with it, never to be the same again. The devastation started to sink in. When I visualized what kind of an explosion could cause this many casualties, I started to shake, unsure if it was from the cold or delayed shock. “Do you know what caused the blast?” I asked him finally, my teeth chattering.

He nodded. His face was in shadow, but I saw the movement, saw the grim light in his eyes as he met my gaze. “The ship that was on fire in the harbour. It was carrying munitions. When it blew, it leveled the whole north end of the city.”

“Leveled?” I breathed, horrified. “All of it?” But that was… massive. Impossible.

“The train tracks… we had to stop at Rockingham. It’s…” He turned his head and looked away. “It was unlike anything I could imagine.”

The lump in my throat grew. “One of the soldiers who was helping said it was worse than anything he’d seen at the front.” I paused. “I didn’t believe him.”

We let that thought sink in for a moment. It was a relief to know it hadn’t been an enemy attack, but to think of the boisterous, vital city I loved being the scene of such destruction… If I weren’t in the middle of it, I wasn’t sure I’d believe it.

“Are you all right now?” he asked, touching my elbow again. I nodded. “It was the eyeballs,” I said, shuddering at the memory. “I’m not usually squeamish.”

He chuckled a little. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Not many of us here have seen anything close to this before. You’re doing fine.”

I felt anything but fine but appreciated the sentiment just the same. His reassurance bolstered my confidence. “Thank you, sir. I should get back.”

“How long have you been here today, Nurse Crowell?”

I met his gaze. “What time is it now?”

“Nearly nine.”

Heavens. I had worked nearly non-stop all that time. “Thirteen, fourteen hours?”

“You should go home, get some rest.” Suddenly his face changed, softened. “I’m sorry. Where is your home? I hope it’s not in Richmond… I don’t mean to be thoughtless.

”

“No, not at all. It’s not far. On Henry, on the other side of Robie Street. But my family… they were all going to the docks this morning.”

“And you don’t know what has happened to them?”

I shook my head, my throat closing as the trembling started again and a pit of dread settled in my stomach. Jane was to mail my letter, I thought numbly. Jane’s going to help with the baby.

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “You should go home, get some rest,” he said again.

“But there are so many patients… ”

His lips thinned and his jaw tightened. “Nurse Crowell, we are looking at days of treating the wounded, not hours. It might seem cruel, but we need to look after ourselves, to have the stamina to see it through. Too tired, and we start making mistakes.”

I knew he was right. Now that I’d stopped, I was ready to drop. “Only if Matron sends me,” I said firmly. I would not be the one asking to be relieved. As anxious as I was about my family, I understood that this was not my own unique circumstance. Was there anyone in this city who wasn’t wondering about the fate of a loved one? 

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When the World Fell Silent

HERE!

 Donna Jones Alward

My grandmother was poor, but my earliest memory of her is being at her apartment, where she had stacks of Harlequins, Sesame Street books for me to read, and a dish of humbug candies. My mom is still an avid reader, reading audiobooks on her CNIB machine. It’s not much wonder, then, that I grew up with my nose stuck in a book—it’s in my genes. I grew up on a farm, and I remember an awful lot of my summer vacation from school being spent on our sunporch, on an ancient lumpy sofa with a book in my hands. I cut my teeth on Anne of Green Gables, The Black Stallion, and my sister’s old Bobbsey Twins books.

I also loved school (except math and science, ew) so it says something that I skipped a morning of classes to finish reading November of the Heart by LaVyrle Spencer. I sat in the cafeteria trying desperately not to cry as I turned the pages. I did my degree in English Literature and took the Creative Writing Prize in my graduating year. So you’d think I’d simply transition into this writing gig…

Instead, I worked for the Department of Finance for the provincial government (even with my allergy to math), got married, moved across the country, worked as an admin assistant, had babies, and worked as a teaching assistant—in that order—before selling my first book in 2006. We moved across the country again in 2008, and here we’ve stayed, and here I am, still writing books. After years of writing contemporary romances where happy endings are guaranteed and characters find that place where they belong, I spread my writing wings once more and ventured into the world of historical fiction. It isn’t that much of a stretch, really; I’ve always loved history and historical romance. For years I’ve gravitated to historical fiction as a reader, especially anything during the World Wars, but I was too afraid to go there as a writer. Afraid of…failing.

A funny thing happened as I started to get older, though. I stopped fearing failure so much. I realized that making pivots can be scary but heck, also a great adventure. And I love adventure—within limits, of course. I didn’t totally stop becoming a control freak. In 2020—as the entire world changed with the pandemic—I took that first step and started Chapter One of what would become my first published historical fiction title.

And while the rest is (pardon the pun) history, the best is yet to come.

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