The Wedding Dress Maker

by Leah Fleming

  ‘Oh, Drew! What shall I do if anything happens to him? They think it’s polio.’

  Drew’s voice was steady, calming her panic. ‘Look, don’t worry. Everything they’re doing is routine so far. They’ll run tests. It could be either meningitis or poliomyelitis. There’s a non-paralytic variety or, if we’re unlucky, acute asymmetric flaccid limb paralysis

  ‘Drew, slow down! I can’t take it all in. Which one’s infantile paralysis then?’ Netta as straining to catch his words.

  ‘Netta, are you still there? Remember, even if it’s the worst sort, over half recover with no permanent damage. Hold on to that hope. “Courage, mon brave”. If he’s unlucky there’s still plenty that can be done.’

  ‘Tell me the truth – will he die? Don’t give me false hope. Drew, he looks so ill. Will he be in an iron lung?’

  ‘Only his doctors can tell you that. Be patient. We’ll face what has to be faced, when or if it comes to it. He needs you to be strong and cheerful. The little chap’s going to need all the courage he can find. I’ll ring you for a bulletin later this evening. I wish I could just drop everything but I can’t abandon things here, forgive me. What a good job you turned back. This is your chance to show them your true mettle. I’ll be thinking of you and I’ll come when I can. Chin up.’

  *

  It took nerves of steel to walk down that long hospital corridor with its oh-so-familiar smells, not knowing what would be waiting for them in the Isolation Ward. Netta strode out briskly with a falsely confident air, trying to chivvy on Peg who shuffled to catch up, clutching parcels and gifts. All their old rivalries had vanished in the heat of such a tragic turn of events.

  The world quickly shrank into one hospital bed where Gus hovered between life and death, barely conscious, while his body was examined, injected, poked and invaded. There had been no respiratory collapse and that was the best news that was on offer. Netta soon learned that information was spoon-fed in measured doses to anxious relatives. They watched from behind a screen, helpless and useless, and Peg fled from the first sight of him in tears.

  ‘That’s no my bairn in there, that poor waif, all on his own. A mammy should be in with her wee-one at such a time, no forced to sit behind glass once a week while strangers see to him!’

  ‘I know, Peg, but rules is rules and it’s all for his own good. We have to trust they know what they’re doing… It’s their job to nurse and they say that too much visiting disturbs the children. We mustn’t let Gus see we’re upset. Wave to him and hold up all the presents we’ve brought.’

  ‘All these toys’ll have to be destroyed in here when he leaves. What a waste! Why can’t I go in and help?’

  ‘The day he leaves this hospital, I’ll gladly burn everything he’s been given myself. Think about it: that happy day when he leaves to come home. Getting him through’s all that matters now! We must do as they say, Peg. Don’t make it harder on yersel.’

  When Angus and Peg went in the following week they were reeling from the news that Gus was suffering from the dreaded asymmetric flaccid paralysis and the outlook was not good for his legs. The fever was destroying nerves in his body. They crawled back to Brigg Farm drained and aged with worry, pacing the floor all night, while Netta stood out in the farmyard looking up at the bright stars in the violet sky, also pacing up and down. It was balmy summer night, the smell of blossom on the soft wind. How could the weather be so fine when they were so stricken? She was in no mood to be lulled by starlight.

  ‘You will live, Gus Nichol! You will live and get back on your feet. Just keep breathing for us. I won’t let you die. I will die before you. That must be the order of things. Come on, all you guardian angels. Where are you all? Mother… Rae… loving spirits. See that you pull a miracle out of the hat. Do something for your child. He mustn’t die… He won’t. I won’t let him.’

  Netta shook her fist into the night. No one was going to take Gus from Stratharvar, from Peg and Angus, tear him from her heart. She was not even going to consider the possibility.

  Do you hear me up there? If he has to stay here at Brigg Farm forever, if I have to keep on visiting him, year in and year out, I don’t care now. If that’s what it takes to keep him alive, then so be it. I surrender my claim to him as long as he lives. Do you hear me? Gus has to live. I can bear the rest.

  Their pain was made bearable only by the kindness of others. The Strathavar folk rallied to make a rota for milking which gave Angus the chance to visit the hospital each precious hour on Saturday and Sunday. Steak pies and sponge cakes appeared out of the air on the kitchen table to sustain their broken hearts. Gus’s little pals sent cards and letters and gifts for him. Peg wept each morning when the school bus passed at the bottom of the track, knowing that Gus was lying so far away from all that was normal. Netta no longer cared what was happening in Yorkshire. If the business was ruined so be it, but Polly kept her informed and loyally kept up her sewing.

  A flow of kindness from her Griseley customers came through the post. The Oldroyd girls send a parcel of magazines addressed to Gus. Elsie Batley sent a huge bouquet to the farm and a box of fancy chocolates to boost Netta’s morale. There were even greetings from the Scotia crowd and prayers of encouragement from the church folk. Peg and Angus were humbled that so many strangers were concerned for the plight of their child.

  Drew came up by train to meet up with them outside the hospital and Netta introduced him shyly to Peg and Angus as they made the trek down to the ward. Her parents were impressed by the way he could ask the sort of questions in medical language that got pertinent answers, not evasions. He explained every procedure to them in simple terms. Netta took him in briefly to see Gus who was now out of immediate danger but very weak. ‘This is Dr Stirling who’s as keen on Leeds United as you are on Queen of the South.’

  In the quiet of the Station Hotel he was able to explain what might happen next in Gus’s treatments. ‘He’s being transferred to orthopaedics now, being rested on a firm bed with lots of massage and therapy on his limbs. Perhaps he’ll need calipers for a while to strengthen them. He’s over the worst but there’s still a long way to go. He’s a spirited wee lad. He’ll do fine, I promise.’

  Netta wished she could believe him as they walked along the platform. It felt strangely comfortable to have him to herself in the very place where she and Rae had met so many years ago. Another man and another farewell.

  They sat on the bench. Drew was quieter, more reserved, and there was something different about him. He stared along the track with vacant eyes, opening his mouth as if to say something but shutting it again like a goldfish.

  ‘I think you should consider coming back to Griseley. It’s going to be months before he comes out, you know.’

  ‘I’m not leaving until Gus is on the mend. I’m sorry, I know this scuppers Ginnie’s dress. It’s half-finished but Polly isn’t up to the rest. I’ve written to Vida Bloom to see if she can come to the rescue. I don’t want to let anyone down but you see…’

  ‘Don’t worry about that now.’

  ‘Oh, Drew. What a mess. He will be all right? We hardly see him and he’s very quiet.’

  ‘You’re welded to that hospital bed, aren’t you? And here’s me, rabbiting on. He’s going to be fine.’

  ‘He’s going to be crippled.’

  ‘Have some faith in the medical profession even if not in my puny efforts.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Drew. I can’t joke at a time like this.’

  ‘I’ll take myself back now but don’t forget there’s a wee something Polly sent in that parcel – to keep yer hands busy, Netta, in the long weary hours. Something to keep you going forward. Practise what you preach. One step of the way, remember?’

  *

  Two weeks later on Sunday afternoon who should pop into the ward but a glamorous blonde in a pretty pink duster coat. Dixie and Arnie Bloom had made a special detour from Glasgow to visit Gus and Netta. Larger than life and twice as loud, but a lovely sight all the same.


  ‘How are you both? What a surprise! Did Vida tell you to come?’ said Netta, hoping they had had a reconciliation.

  Arnie shook his head sadly. ‘I knew what would happen if I married Dixie. It’s mother’s loss but we’re sad she took it out on you too.’

  Dixie gave her a hug. ‘I was bursting to tell yer all about ma dress being a wedding dress but we thought what you didn’t know wouldn’t harm you. Still, that’s families for you. It takes two to make a fight.’

  They shook hands with Peg and Angus who stepped aside to let them in. Dixie blew a big kiss to the boy. ‘So this is the famous Gus! Do you know, when I was your age I used tae live on yer farm, did I no? And this man here used to take us up the stairs to my bed and tell me stories.

  ‘Netta and me fought like cat and dogs. She never used to pick me for the games. Do you remember? “Silk, satin, cotton, rags… you are oot!” And this yin here used to stick up her toffee nose and say, “I’m no cotton or rags… I’m lace.” Well, she’s certainly had plenty of lace in her life. We called in at your new place and Polly told us all about it.’

  Netta blushed. ‘She’s such a bletherer, Gus, take no notice of her.’

  Dixie had brought a box of games for Gus to play with on his bedside table. He was sitting up unaided now and that was giving the nurses hope for his recovery.

  Sometimes, in the privacy of her own room, Netta wept at the thought of him crippled, in a wheelchair. How would Peg and Angus cope at Brigg when they grew older? What if he never got the strength back into his muscles? She had seen how his limbs were like sticks. He could not bump a chair down to the shore. How weary they were all getting from their weekly trips to see him. How she ached to stay by his side and play games with him, read him stories and see to his comfort. He preferred to have Peg and Angus by his side.

  Why didn’t she get the infection? Why Gus? Why couldn’t he recover in a few days like Jamie Paterson, with nothing more than a sore back? As long as she lived Netta would never understand a happening that shot out of the sky like a bolt of lightning from the blue.

  Netta caught Father buried in the milking parlour, pretending to clear up. But she could sense he was skulking out of sight, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep. ‘I’ve worked like a navvy to build up this place. Gus was our future hope. How can a cripple manage to run Brigg? Netta… I’m that choked I could smash all these damned new machines! It’s no fair, why us!’

  ‘Don’t talk about him as if he’s dead and gone. He’s alive and he’ll recover. I know it now. Why should the Nichol family be preserved from troubles? Don’t tell me life’s ever fair… Didn’t we learn that when my mother died and Rae was killed and all that followed? You have to believe what Drew tells us. He must walk again. Drew says half of polio victims suffer no long-term effects, and another quarter have only minor problems. It could be much worse. Gus has everything on his side. He’s so young and he’s fighting to get well.’

  ‘He’s a good one, that Dr Stirling. I take my hat off to you, you’ve made some good friends. He’s no much of a looker but I like a man who looks ye straight in the eye. You could do far worse.’

  ‘Away ye go, we’re just good pals the now. I’ll have to go back soon to finish off his girl’s wedding dress. We all have to pull together to get Gus back on his feet. Now the worst of his fever is over, the hard work really starts: all that physiotherapy. Don’t they have long words for everything? His muscles are wasted. He has to build them up to take his weight again and we’ll just have to let the nurses get on with it. His legs may have to be braced in calipers for a while.’

  ‘No bairn of mine’s going to be put in leg irons!’

  ‘If it gets him back on his feet quicker, then surely it’s for the best? Drew says it’ll straighten his legs and help him take the weight.’

  ‘He doesn’t have to put them on now, does he?’

  ‘Oh, Paw! If only I could wear them for him, I would. We’re going to have to grit our faces and watch and worry. Do what is best for Gus and help him bear it.’

  Angus moved forward out of the shadows and faced his daughter.

  ‘I’m proud of you, hen. I know it’s been a long time coming but I’ve watched you keep us all afloat, paddling the canoe like fury, baling out the water, buoying up Peg’s sinking spirits. I don’t know how we’d have coped without you. You’ve got so much of Jeanie in you… not just yer looks but that steely-eyed look she had when she was determined to go her own gait: stubborn but with a golden heart. You have that same golden heart. “That’s what matters most… the colour of yer heart,” she used to say. Now away afore I start greetin’ like a bairn. Away inside and see if there’s any food on the table. I’m starving!’

  Netta pressed her hand into his. ‘Thanks.’

  The praise of her own father rang strangely in her ears, once yearned for, now welcome for it marked her transition in his eyes from troublesome child to valued grown-up. How Gus’s illness was changing everything at Brigg Farm!

  *

  Gus opened the parcel with dull glassy eyes. The banner fell over the bed like a tablecloth. ‘Polly made this for you and I added some bits. Lift it up, see, here’s a rainbow made out of ribbons. There’s you in the hospital bed at one end and here’s the farm and Brucie waiting for you at the other. That’s Jamie and there’s Maisie. Peg is standing by the door with Father. She made it out of materials like a picture. I sewed on the sea and the golden sands with sequins as shells. One day we’ll all go back to Carrick and play there again. Would you like that?’

  Gus turned his face away from the rainbow and sucked his thumb. He had forgotten the beach and his room. This bed was his home now, with the stripey nurses who tugged at him and hurt him. No one came when he cried and he didn’t like the smells.

  ‘We won’t go away, Gus, I promise. It’s all still there, waiting for you under the rainbow. We’re counting the days…’

  ‘I don’t want it… put it away!’

  ‘I’m sorry, we thought a picture on the wall would cheer you up. I have to go back to Griseley soon to get on with my sewing but I’ll come back every weekend to visit you.’

  ‘Go away! I don’t like you. I want the nurse. Go away!’

  His words tore at her heart on that second journey southwards in the van. Perhaps it was time to sell up or close down and come back for good. Sewing was no longer her first priority though it had always served her well to date.

  Mustn’t rush into anything. There was too much still to sort out. She could never be without a thimble on her finger. Perhaps the business was part of that too. She had to go back to sort things out. Poor Polly must be floundering or wondering if she was going to have to find other work!

  In her heart Netta knew Gus was on the mend when he started to complain. He was weary of hospital and all the fiddling about and adjustments to his leg braces. He fought them at first then accepted that they had to stay on, but he was too young to understand why he was hurting.

  No one had bothered to explain to him why he should be massaged. Netta asked if she could attend some sessions to learn how to help the boy but was shooed away. No one from Brigg Farm was there to praise his first steps.

  Peg and Angus busied themselves in a flurry of cleaning and decorating. Gus’s room was transformed ready for his homecoming. Netta stuffed a brand new Yumpy complete with a fresh suit of clothes. She would tell him that old Yumpy had been retired to a home for old suckies and his nephew, Yumpy Junior, had come in his place. He would not smell or taste the same but, given a few weeks to settle in, he soon would.

  Netta smiled, thinking of Peg’s words, ‘You spoil the bairn.’ She had replied, ‘Listen to the kettle calling the pot black. Who bought a new candlewick bedspread and linoleum for the floor? What laddie would notice any of that?’ Then Peg said she was worried how he’d get up the stairs but Netta had asked if they were practising that in the hospital therapy room. She’d been informed that they were and the Nichol boy had a very stubbor
n streak.

  ‘I’m not surprised!’ Peg smiled. ‘We’ve had enough of you to know where that came from!’ Peg was actually smiling! At long last she had acknowledged the special bond between Gus and his mother.

  Netta sniffed away the tears. It was still Peg he cried for when they worked his legs. On her last visit he had looked at her so angrily. ‘I want my mammy – not you, my mammy!’ The rebuke was breaking her heart.

  9

  Amethyst

  ‘Colour of the moon in soberness.

  From this rainbow’s end

  Earth and Heaven reveal themselves.

  Time to cross over into the unknown.

  To begin again?’

  Back to Griseley, June 1949

  Netta flung open the windows and doors of her cottage to let the breezes air the rooms and shift the fusty unlived in smell of the place. The garden patch was knee-high in rogue grasses and corn poppies, dandelions and buttercups, as she waded to the stone wall and sniffed soot not salt in her nostrils. Coming back gave her no relief from her concern for Gus. There would be so much to catch up on if she was to get back to Dumfries again at the weekend.

  She had deposited the van at the garage and called in to see if her workshop was still standing. Polly had done her best to keep the work going but no sixteen year old could be expected to run someone else’s business. The unmade pieces of outstanding orders were packed away neatly and Ginny Mackeever’s gown hung on the rail waiting for its final fitting at High House for the wedding in two weeks’ time. Its full lace underskirts swamped the room. Everything would need adjusting. Netta fingered the fabric. She would be glad when this wretched thing was out of her sight.

  She wanted to thank Polly for her banner and the thoughtfulness behind the design. She must have been lonely here each day. It was no place for a young girl without company. In fact she had thought over Polly’s future very carefully on the long journey back. Training and experience at college would be far more beneficial for her natural talent than being shut up in a back street workshop. Polly hankered after theatrical costumes and designs, embroidery and textile fashions. It was only fair to offer her the chance to take up that place at college in September should it be offered.