01:00 AM EDT on Tuesday, May 9, 2006

They awoke at the usual time, 6:30 a.m., which is when the residents of the Rhode Island Veterans Home are served breakfast by their beds, at least those in the semi-skilled ward.

Dr. Paul Narcessian and his wife Elinor have shared a room there for the past month. It is rare to have a married couple in the home, since both are required to be veterans. Paul, a retired dentist, is 94 now; his wife, a retired nurse, is 88. They served together in World War II.

On this day, Paul helped Elinor into her wheelchair. She can walk, but osteoarthritis makes it hard to do so. She eased the chair over to the side table, where the staff was setting down the meal. Paul sat by his own side table.

It had rained the past day, and though their memories aren't what they once were, rain occasionally reminds them of their time in Algeria.

It was called the 61st Station Hospital, in El Guerrah, not far from the North African front. That's where both Paul and Elinor were assigned.

The 61st at times received hundreds of wounded a day from desert battles.

Elinor remembers how the rain often came across a nearby mountain range, onto the dirt road by their tent hospital. The road would turn to mud, making it hard for vehicles to move, so soldiers in high boots would have to carry in the wounded on stretchers.

THEIR ROOM at the Veterans Home, in Bristol, is simple and spacious. They picked it in part because of the bay window overlooking the courtyard. The Narcessians have always loved the outdoors.

Paul was the one who cared for the garden around their home in Woonsocket. That's where they raised their two sons, and where Paul practiced dentistry after the war. They used to love to take rides together as a family. Their sons are now 60 and 58.

ELINOR had planned a civilian career as a nurse, and had begun at Cooper Hospital, in Camden, N.J. One day, she checked on a patient who was listening to a radio.

"Oh my God," he said, "they just bombed Pearl Harbor."

Working with the Army, much of the hospital staff decided to enlist together and deploy overseas as a military hospital. Elinor was among them.

At that same time, Paul Narcessian was a dental intern at St. Joseph's Hospital, in Providence, and a member of ROTC. He was 31, she was 25.

They ended up being transported to the war theater on the same Pan American ship. It left the states Dec. 12, 1942, as part of a convoy that included five destroyers.

The weather was sometimes rough, once tossing Elinor out of bed. One night, they had to go without lights when the convoy was chased by a German submarine.

Paul remembers spotting Elinor across the way on the ship. She had blond hair and an athletic build. He was almost engaged to a girl back home at the time, but suddenly, that seemed not so important.

Elinor already knew about Paul; another nurse had spoken of him being one of "two new fellas," who would be joining the hospital. "Boy," the nurse reported, "are they good lookin'."

But the two never got a chance to meet on the ship.

OUTSIDE their bay window at the Veterans Home, the rain still came down. The staff cleared the dishes. Both Paul and Elinor try hard to dress nicely, and don't need much help, this being a mostly independent ward.

The day I was there, Paul put on a yellow cardigan, a white button-up shirt and tan slacks. Elinor wore a white sweater over beige slacks. She put on earrings that had three pearls each.

MOST STAFFERS at the 61st Station Hospital were supposed to have 36 hours on and then 36 off, but actually were on duty whenever needed. "You were always busy," Elinor recalls. "You just worked."

In addition to his job as a dentist, Paul was the officer of the Guard, overseeing military police. As such, he would occasionally transport wounded German prisoners, who were also brought to the 61st. He needed a nurse to ride with them, so he asked for Elinor. They had met by now, but that gave him a chance to get to know her better.

Instead of barracks, they slept in big tents. When the nurses in Elinor's tent couldn't bear C-rations anymore, they would sometimes get eggs in town. A few times, Paul heard about this and found his way there to share in whatever they cooked up. He wasn't supposed to stop by, but he did anyway.

THROUGH their Veterans Home window, the rain continued. At 7:45 a.m., Paul saw the barber for a good shave and a moustache trim. Elinor had a Whirpool bath for her osteoarthritis. Then they relaxed in their room, waiting for the 11 o'clock meal. They both like Jeopardy on television, and enjoy following the Red Sox. Paul's eyesight is failing a bit and it makes it hard for him to read a newspaper.

SOMETIMES at El Guerrah, if there was downtime at night, people would get together at the mess hall tent and dance to records. The nurses had not been shipped white uniforms so all wore GI shirts and pants. Paul thought Elinor looked good that way. She didn't need to wear a dress to turn his head.

The two became buddy-buddy -- that's what everyone called it back then. Their tents weren't that far apart, and sometimes, at night, Paul would call out, "Oh Elinor." It was loud enough for others to hear. She didn't mind. She liked a guy who was full of fun. They became a regular couple.

By late 1943, the theater of war had moved, and the 61st Station hospital was ordered to Foggia, Italy. They had only 24 hours to pack up everything.

Paul and Elinor became good friends with a psychiatrist named Bob Garber. Once, all three had a few days of liberty and headed to a seacoast town in southern Italy. Paul and Bob Garber were already at breakfast when Elinor came to the table. She noticed both men were grinning.

Garber, who wasn't shy, said, "Paul and I just decided it would be a swell idea if the two of you got married."

Elinor didn't protest because she thought it was a swell idea, too.

The two had to wait three months for permission from the War Department. The wedding date was Sept. 15, 1944.

A chaplain performed the ceremony in the Foggia hospital auditorium. Garber was the best man. The commanding officer gave Elinor away.

At the celebration afterward, everyone was in such good spirits that the enlisted men danced with the nurses, their superiors, and no one minded.

Paul and Elinor's wedding present was a Jeep for 10 days with enough gasoline to make it back and forth to the Isle of Capri for a honeymoon.

JUST AS the two stood out during the war for being a rare married couple on base, they are today the only such couple among the 260-plus veterans at the state home.

It's where Paul and Elinor Narcessian hope to live out their days.

"They take good care of you here," says Elinor.

"Very good," says Paul.

Unless one of them has to move to a skilled ward, they will be able to remain together.

AT LAST, by 4:30, the rain had stopped. It was time for dinner.

Elinor got into her wheelchair. Paul got behind. Slowly, together, they headed down the hallway.

mpatinkin@projo.com / (401) 277-7370