The Country Doctor: Captivating tales from a young GP's case notes

by Jean McConnell

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Matron’s put him in the Sanatorium. I’ll get a chap to take you over.’

  Linda attended the mildly-measled little boy and afterwards was just climbing into her car when she realised she had left her gloves in Feldon House. She ran back up the steps into the hall, then remembered they were upstairs on a landing table.

  There was no sign of anyone about, but just as she was gathering them up she heard Mrs Beale speaking from behind a door nearby, and what she said riveted Linda to the spot.

  ‘Oh God, Paul, he’s getting better! Everything will be back to normal!’

  It was said in such anguished tones that Linda half expected to hear it followed by sobs. Instead there came a second voice, equally tortured.

  ‘Oh, my dear!’ it said sympathetically.

  Linda tiptoed downstairs hastily, taking every precaution not to be seen, for the second voice was Henderson’s.

  Lord, thought Linda as she drove off, I nearly stumbled on a touching scene then.

  That evening, Doctor Cooper telephoned and spoke to Linda. She assured him that she was managing quite satisfactorily during his brief visit to a sick friend, and was gratified when he did not sound excessively surprised or relieved. John Cooper had the gift of making her feel capable and trusted and this gave her self-confidence. She took the opportunity to discuss with him matters concerning one or two of their patients. Henry Beale’s case was amongst them, and she couldn’t help introducing Mrs Beale into the conversation with an oblique reference. John Cooper took it up.

  ‘Is she coping?’ he enquired. ‘She was distraught when her husband went into hospital. I thought I was going to have a breakdown on my hands as well. Then she started haunting the wards and bestowing gifts of flowers and chocolates on all the staff. The nurses nicknamed her Lady Bountiful because of the way she gushed all over them.’

  ‘How funny,’ said Linda, ‘yet Mrs Perry says when Mrs Beale phones her about the boys, she’s completely business-like, in fact quite tough and demanding.’

  ‘She’s quite a chameleon ‒ changing her character to suit the occasion.’

  ‘Certainly a woman of parts,’ said Linda.

  ‘All things to all men,’ chuckled John Cooper, as he rang off.

  He could be right there, thought Linda, as she put her gloves away, remembering the whispers behind the door.

  She got out a thicker pair and collected her Wellington boots. There was a call to be made to a farm cottage, and Linda knew the road up to it was flooded and she’d be picking her way over the fields. Two days ago she’d left part of her skirt decorating the barbed wire fence.

  It was raining as she set off, so she borrowed an old deerstalker hat she found on the surgery hall-stand. Desperate situations call for desperate measures, she told Mrs Perry, cheerfully.

  The receptionist laughed. After their uneasy start, the two women had found they worked together well, and Linda was grateful for Mrs Perry’s efficient organisation without which she could never have handled John Cooper’s work as well as her own for these few days.

  When Linda next called to see Jilkes at Yelchester Hall, she found her own way to the Sanatorium. Again, as she left her car, a group of small boys attached themselves to it, discussing its merits. Linda smiled warmly. She was rather devoted to her little treasure.

  Jilkes was sitting up in bed reading The Farmer and Stock Breeder. Linda glanced at Matron with amused surprise.

  ‘Jilkes’ father raises pedigree Jersey cows,’ explained Matron, adding wryly, ‘as I am now well aware.’

  Jilkes grinned.

  ‘I shall not be sorry when he’s better, Doctor. He has told me more about the pedigree Jersey cow than I wish to know.’

  Linda sat down on Jilkes’ bed. ‘We’ve got something in common then,’ she said to the boy. ‘My father owns a dairy and milk-round.’

  ‘Does he?’ said Jilkes, clearly astonished to find that doctors had fathers, let alone dairies.

  ‘Yes,’ ventured Linda, ‘he’s a sort of dairy Godfather.’

  Jilkes fell about with mirth.

  Matron went off to make Linda a cup of coffee, while the little boy told her all about the prize herd which was the pride of his family, and Linda told him about the old-fashioned shop in the East End of London that had been her home as a child; with its tiled walls and counter, and the yard at the back for the milk floats.

  As she spoke Linda felt a pang of nostalgia. She could smell again the fresh cream, the cheese and the gammon ham. She remembered her mother’s clean-scrubbed rosy arms emerging from her spotless overall. The shop had always been a cool oasis in its dingy setting. It had had its day, of course, and even now Linda knew there were moves afoot for it to be taken over by a large combine, together with several neighbouring shops, to make a big, new supermarket. Her father had written about the matter only a few days ago. She was glad he didn’t seem upset.

  Later, Linda left young Jilkes busy impressing the Matron with an account of record milk yields. She made her way across the quadrangle towards Feldon House, to look in on Henry Beale.

  Mounting the stairs through a cascade of students, she went along towards the study. She knocked lightly. There was no reply so Linda opened the door and peered in.

  Oh dear, she thought, I’ve done it again. For across the room in an alcove stood Mrs Beale, close folded in the arms of Paul Henderson. Evidently they had not heard her knock.

  Mrs Beale recovered first. ‘Oh good morning, Doctor Ford,’ she said brightly, and came forward patting back a stray hair. ‘My husband’s not properly up yet. I’ll just find out if he’s fit to be seen.’ She darted off.

  Henderson and Linda stood for a moment in silence each looking at separate walls of the room. Then the young man spoke.

  ‘I ‒ I think I ought to explain.’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ said Linda, ‘it’s none of my business.’

  ‘But I’d like to.’

  He seemed very agitated and it was not just embarrassment.

  ‘Very well.’ Linda sat down and listened.

  ‘Mrs Beale is desperately unhappy,’ he began. ‘You can’t imagine what a life she has with that man. He’s utterly inconsiderate. Half the time you’d think she just didn’t exist and the other half he finds some pretext on which to bully and harass her until she’s completely demoralised. I’ve tried to give her what small comfort I can but she’s nearly at her wit’s end!’

  And so are you, thought Linda, looking into his strained face.

  ‘I’ll confess she’s come to mean a very great deal to me,’ he went on, ‘and I just can’t bear to stand by and watch her suffer! What can one do? Somehow she must be helped. He must be made to stop tormenting her. She’s too gentle, Doctor. She has no weapons against him. Can you do anything? Is there nothing you could say to him?’

  Linda looked dubious. Henderson turned away in despair. She laid a hand on his arm.

  ‘I’ll see if the opportunity presents itself,’ she offered. ‘But you know, unless one knows the full circumstances ‒’

  It was not feasible, she knew, but she could also see that the woman had become the young schoolmaster’s fairy princess, and that he saw it his duty to slay her dragon-husband. Another role for the lady and she seemed to be playing it well.

  ‘He’s a bloody monster!’ said Paul Henderson. His voice broke on the last word and he hurried from the room with his head down.

  A few moments later Mrs Beale came back and collected Linda to take her to her husband’s bedroom as he was still not up. She was perfectly composed and took her place by his pillow, laying her hand on his shoulder fondly.

  ‘It’s all right, Doctor,’ said Beale. ‘I’m not feeling bad. Just had a lot of mail this morning. I must say, though, I’m getting mighty bored sitting about.’

  ‘You must do as the doctor says, Henry dear,’ said Mrs Beale, shaking her head at him in affectionate reproach. She began to pick up some of the envelop
es scattered over the bed.

  ‘Leave them alone, you’ll only muddle them up,’ said Henry Beale testily.

  ‘Well now,’ said Linda, ‘I had a word with Doctor Cooper about you. We think you should be fully active in two months. Does that cheer you up?’

  ‘Two months. Splendid. That means I’ll get a good run at the end of term. I’ve a good deal to clear up, you know.’

  Mrs Beale looked up enquiringly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Linda. ‘I imagine it’s been difficult for you, having to leave things.’

  ‘Not just that,’ said Beale. ‘I’m finishing here, you see. I’ve just heard this morning. I’ve got a Headship. A minor public school in the north.’

  Linda was prevented from making the appropriate congratulations by Mrs Beale. Obviously the news was a complete surprise to her. She gave a gasp of dismay and quickly left the room.

  Henry Beale gritted his teeth with annoyance.

  ‘You must excuse my wife,’ he said coldly. ‘She lives in a dream world. I don’t know why she chose to make a scene. It’s a promotion, for heaven’s sake. But then she always dramatises everything. She lives in a dream world,’ he repeated.

  ‘I wonder why,’ said Linda pensively. It occurred to her that it was possibly because the woman felt shut out of the real one.

  Henry Beale sighed. ‘I should never have married such a young woman. It was a mistake. It’s foolish of me to expect any better. One needs a really capable woman to partner one in a job like this.’

  Linda wondered to what extent the man had ever given his wife a chance to develop in this respect. The many parts she adopted with such facility were perhaps all only substitutes for the true one in which her husband did not deem her fit to be cast.

  ‘Heaven knows I demand little enough of her,’ said Beale.

  Too little perhaps, thought Linda. It could make a woman feel undervalued. She rose to go. She was a bit surprised that this man should have opened up as he had. But Mrs Beale’s reaction to the new job had created an opportunity for him to discuss their relationship, and Linda suspected he had welcomed it.

  On the table by the door, Linda spotted a box of cigarettes lying in an opened gift-wrapping. She picked them up and carried them out of the room with her.

  In the lounge she found Mrs Beale and handed her the box.

  ‘If these were intended for Mr Beale, please make sure he does not smoke them at present. Cigarettes are strictly forbidden for the time being. They might cause a coughing spasm which could be extremely dangerous. Will you keep them away from him?’

  ‘Oh, of course!’ said Mrs Beale, taking the cigarettes. ‘I’ll put them right out of sight. I don’t smoke myself. I know, I’ll give them to Paul, then Henry just won’t be able to find them. Henry’s a very heavy smoker normally. He’s really missing it, you know.’

  ‘Well, you must impress on him that it is most unwise.’

  Linda’s drive home was a minor nightmare. Something was wrong with the engine. Even as she started it, she knew there was some sort of trouble in the works. It was making a curious, stifled sound and there was no power worth speaking of in it. She limped out of the gates of Yelchester Hall under the eyes of the row of young motor-car fanciers. They’ll have taken a few marks off this one now, thought Linda, ruefully.

  She got less and less amused as she went on, however, for she could scarcely get the vehicle to go beyond ten miles an hour. Linda stopped and got out. She opened the bonnet and surveyed the engine suspiciously. The plugs were in place. Nothing looked loose or disconnected. She knew she had petrol. She got back in and drove on. But it was ludicrous going at this pace. She felt like a hearse.

  There was no Garage between the school and Stoke Dabenham village, so she was obliged to continue her stately progress for the whole journey. At least I’m going, she thought, and hoped she wouldn’t get a stream of traffic building up behind her. But it was a quiet country lane and she eventually reached home with only her own frayed nerves to contend with.

  Mrs Perry greeted her with the news that the surgery appointments were particularly heavy and glanced rather pointedly at her watch. When she heard about the trouble with the car, however, she was immediately concerned to assist.

  ‘I’ll contact the Garage,’ she said, ‘and meantime there’s Doctor Cooper’s car, isn’t there?’

  Linda realised, with relief, that John Cooper had not driven to London. He had said he did not feel up to it and had gone by train. There was sure to be a key somewhere and he would certainly not mind her using it for the calls until the M.G. was back to normal.

  When the last patient had finally been attended to, and the waiting room was empty, Linda wearily rose and went through into the sitting-room where Elsie Peach had prepared her a little supper. But the telephone rang almost at once and the matter was urgent.

  ‘There!’ said Elsie sympathetically. Then she quickly made up a sandwich of bread and cheese and thrust it in Linda’s hand as she went out.

  Linda knew it would give her hiccups but she was grateful for the kindness. It was certain she wasn’t going to see a knife and fork again for a few hours.

  Mrs Perry had been unsuccessful with the Garage which had already closed. She watched anxiously as Linda gave her car an experimental start. But it was still useless and she transferred to John Cooper’s Rover. Mrs Perry climbed in beside her and Linda dropped her off at her house at the end of the village.

  ‘Goodnight, Doctor Ford,’ she said, and gave a tired smile.

  Linda realised the last few days had been quite a strain for her as well.

  ‘Doctor Cooper will be back tomorrow morning,’ Linda reminded her, in the way of comfort. Then she sped on to deal with a young girl in Pretting who proved to require an immediate removal to hospital, for an appendix operation.

  There were two other calls after this, which, although not emergencies, Linda deemed necessary in order that her patients should get comfortably through the night. One of them was to a house on the big estate which was being built as part of the new area of industrial development. Although the site was being well-planned and the factories and houses attractively laid out, it was not yet finished and so far had no character. All the buildings looked alike to Linda and with little lighting she soon found herself lost in a maze of unmade-up roads and half-built houses.

  An hour later when she was at last pointing the Rover’s nose towards home and bed, the moon was up and the back of her shoulders were stiff with fatigue. Never mind, she thought, her senior would be back to share the burden tomorrow.

  Elsie Peach came out into the yard as she was parking the Rover. Linda’s heart sank.

  Another call?

  ‘Doctor Cooper telephoned,’ began Elsie.

  ‘He will be back tomorrow?’ asked Linda quickly.

  ‘It wasn’t Doctor Cooper who phoned, it was his son, Doctor Peter. Apparently his father had a bit of a bad turn this morning and he’s driving him down here. Doctor Peter said it was not serious,’ said Elsie, ‘and you were not to wait up because he’ll look after his father. I’ve got everything ready.’

  ‘I see. Well, thank you, Elsie. But I really think I ought to.’

  ‘Doctor Peter specially said for you to get your sleep, Doctor Ford, because Doctor Cooper won’t be able to take surgery tomorrow morning and there’s no point in you both being under the weather.’

  That’s sensible, agreed Linda. So although she felt far from happy about it, she took herself off to the stable flat and went to bed, where she was fast asleep long before Peter Cooper swung his car into the yard.

  The next morning, Linda went across to the big house first thing. She found Peter having his breakfast.

  He waved to her to sit down and poured her a cup of coffee.

  ‘The old boy’s still in bed,’ he said, ‘but he says he’ll be up for evening surgery ‒ and knowing him I’ve no doubt he will.’

  ‘What was wrong?’

  ‘Nothing serious �
� if he’s sensible. A very slight angina, we think. Too much booze with his old chum, probably.’ He pointed the quip with a great swig at his cup.

  Linda was not taken in by his flippancy. After all, he hadn’t hesitated to drop everything and drive his father home.

  ‘Anyway,’ he continued cheerfully, ‘he’s got the message. He’s got to ease off a bit. You can manage all right this morning, can’t you?’

  His tone was offhand and Linda realised that Peter had no conception of the number of patients the Practice now embraced; that he still thought of it as it had been when he was a child growing up in Stoke Dabenham when his father didn’t even have the second surgery at Pretting. It’s probably why he’s so reluctant to come down here and be his father’s partner, she thought. Because he imagines it’s so dull! Well, when he does take over from me he’ll find out it’s a far cry from the well-ordered life and wide-spread responsibilities of hospital work.

  She told him about the trouble she’d had with her car and he at once rose from the table and strode out to the yard to investigate, still carrying his coffee cup.

  He switched on the ignition and revved up, making a face at what he heard. Then he gave his cup to Linda and flung up the bonnet. He frowned thoughtfully into the engine for a moment and then moved round the side of the car and sank out of view. A few seconds later he reappeared from round the back, with a puzzled look on his face.

  ‘It doesn’t seem to have any power,’ said Linda.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Peter. ‘Your exhaust pipe’s blocked.’

  ‘Blocked?’ queried Linda. ‘Whatever with?’

  ‘It looks like a currant bun.’

  Linda remembered the row of innocent, boyish faces at Yelchester Hall.

  Peter loosened the blockage with a screwdriver and at the next rev it flew out and the sound of the engine returned to normal.

  Linda wondered whether she’d be able to recognise the culprits when next she called at the school and whether, if she did, she’d be able to reprimand them with a straight face.

  Peter stayed on to lunch and all three doctors had it together. Elsie Peach served them rump steaks, whispering to Peter as she passed that she’d have got him his steak and kidney pudding if she’d had more time, but a pudding needed advance notice.