by Daisy Styles
Her aunt awkwardly busied herself with a packet of cigarettes, leaving her uncle to answer the question. ‘No, we have had no news of Gabriel since you left us, Rosa; otherwise, be assured we would have got a message to you immediately.’
Seeing their grim expressions, Rosa held her breath.
‘It is the prolonged silence that concerns us,’ her aunt added. ‘Not that we expect to hear directly from Gabriel if he’s in a prison camp, and it is not uncommon to hear news from the Underground workers, with whom we have close ties, as you know from your own experience, Rosa,’ she reminded her niece.
Clutching at straws, Rosa said in a frantic voice, ‘He may be ill! He may have been removed to another camp.’ Tears bubbled up unbidden in Rosa’s dark brown eyes as she imagined her cherished brother crawling with disease, malnourished and wearing rags, being transported in filthy packed trains from one camp to another in the middle of winter. ‘He could be frightened and alone, on the run, in hiding,’ she frantically added.
Her aunt and uncle nodded in agreement with her. ‘He could be any of those things,’ her uncle said. ‘We can only hope and pray for good news.’
Rosa buried her face in her trembling hands. What had she been thinking of? Only ten minutes ago she had been glowing with happiness and pride; now here she was, imagining her beloved brother dead of typhoid or cholera, or shot through the head as he tried to escape. Her two worlds – that of the Phoenix and that of the death camps – collided at such a speed she could barely breathe. ‘I should be doing something,’ she said urgently.
‘You’re doing everything you can, child,’ her aunt pointed out.
‘Oh, yes!’ Rosa scoffed in self-disgust. ‘Painting women at work! I should be fighting to free my brother, just like he did everything to free me – I should be fighting for HIM!’ she raged at herself.
Seeing his niece was about to lose control, her uncle covered her hands with his. ‘The worst thing you can do, Rosa, is panic; we do what we’ve always done: we wait and, as your aunt says, we pray.’
‘I’m sorry, Uncle,’ Rosa whispered. ‘I’m angry at you for speaking the truth. Forgive me,’ she begged as he handed her a clean white handkerchief and she mopped away her tears.
‘Stay strong, Rosa,’ he said firmly.
‘We will pass on any information, be assured of that,’ her aunt promised before they said goodnight and parted ways.
Back at work, Violet was the first to notice how quiet Rosa had become over the course of the next few days. ‘I think she’s stopped sketching too,’ she whispered to Kit during their tea break in the canteen. Kit’s gaze drifted over to Rosa, who was queuing up at the canteen counter for a mug of tea and a round of bread and marg.
‘She does look pale,’ Kit remarked. ‘Have you talked to Gladys about her?’
Violet shook her head. ‘It’s difficult to catch Gladys now that she’s working at the infirmary.’
As Rosa approached their table, Kit said in a hurried whisper, ‘Let’s try and see Gladys later, when we pick up the kiddies from nursery.’
When they’d finished their shifts, Violet and Kit hurried over to the domestic quarters, where they hovered around the infirmary entrance, keen to get a glimpse of Gladys. They finally saw her through a window: looking smart in her uniform, she was smiling as she pushed a hospital trolley loaded with a tea urn. Waving frantically through the window, they caught Gladys’s attention and she sneaked outside to speak to them. ‘What’s the matter?’ Gladys asked her friends as she glanced nervously over her shoulder to check that Sister wasn’t on her tail.
Not having time to beat about the bush, Kit blurted out, ‘There’s something wrong with Rosa.’
‘She’s definitely not herself,’ Violet said urgently.
‘I agree with you,’ Gladys replied. ‘She hasn’t been herself since the exhibition opened in Salford.’
‘That surprises me,’ Kit remarked. ‘She was so thrilled and excited to start with.’
‘She isn’t any more,’ Gladys told her friends. ‘She seems to have gone off drawing too.’
‘We noticed that,’ Violet said grimly.
‘We can’t force her to draw,’ Kit pointed out.
‘We thought, seeing as you’re living with her, you might be able to have a word with her,’ Violet said.
Gladys nodded. ‘I’ll try,’ she promised. ‘Though with our different shifts, we hardly see each other these days, but I’ll make a point of talking to her.’
‘Thanks, Glad,’ Kit said gratefully. ‘We’ll try talking to her too, but she might open up more to you, especially if you can get her in a quiet moment on her own.’
A loud cry made Gladys jump. ‘Johnson! Your patients are in need of a hot drink – see to it, Nurse.’
‘Sorry, Sister,’ Gladys apologized. As she turned to go, she quickly said to her friends, ‘I’ll talk to Rosa just as soon as I can.’
Gladys managed to talk to Rosa a few days later; by leaving work promptly and rushing home, she caught Rosa before she left for her shift. ‘This makes a nice change,’ said Gladys, as she put the kettle on the crackling wood-burner, then flopped down beside her friend on the old battered sofa. ‘What’s your news, sweetheart?’ she asked in apparent innocence.
Rosa shrugged. ‘Nothing much.’
‘Nothing much!’ Gladys echoed her words with a laugh. ‘You’ve got an exhibition on in Salford and you call that nothing much! You might come first out of all those talented artists and win a prize – you could be famous!’
‘What is the point?’ Rosa asked in a flat empty voice. ‘I’ve lost interest, Gladeeees, that’s the truth.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Gladys said bluntly.
With a scowl on her face, Rosa continued, ‘It seems pathetic to fuss over a few pencil drawings, when men and women are dying in death camps all over Germany.’ Rosa seethed as she lit up one of her cheroots. ‘I want to do more than bloody draw!’ she added scathingly.
‘You’re doing more than your bit,’ Gladys pointed out. ‘Working on the cordite line, building bombs for soldiers at the Front.’
‘I wish it was ME on the front line,’ Rosa cried angrily. ‘I wish somebody would give me a bomb or a rifle to shoot the Nazis!’
As Gladys handed Rosa a mug of tea, she could see tears spilling from her friend’s eyes. ‘We’re all working hard to bring about peace, Rosa.’
‘But we are no nearer to it!’ Rosa cried. ‘Four years, we fight the Germans, four years, and they still are winning.’
‘Not true, Rosa!’ Gladys protested. ‘We defeated them in North Africa, and the Allies are making steady progress through Italy; we’ll get there, especially now that Mussolini is out of the way.’
Rosa’s shoulders slumped. ‘And how many men and women have died?’
Abandoning her mug of tea, Rosa put her face in her hands and sobbed. Feeling sorry for her friend, who was so clearly racked by misery, Gladys sat down beside her again and put an arm about her shaking shoulders. ‘It’s so unlike you to be defeatist, sweetheart. What’s happened? What’s changed you?’
‘Gabriel …’ Rosa wailed as she abandoned herself to grief. ‘Gabriel …’ she repeated with such yearning and heartbreak in her voice it made Gladys cry too.
‘Have you had bad news?’ Gladys asked as she frantically tried to grasp what was upsetting her dear friend so much. ‘Is he dead?’ she whispered as she clung on to Rosa.
‘Nobody knows, nobody hear from him in months!’ Rosa cried. ‘My uncle said even the Underground workers who got me out hear nothing from Gabriel. It doesn’t look good, Gladys. Oh, WHY didn’t he escape with me? WHY did he stay and let me go?’ she cried, as she subsided into floods of tears all over again.
Gladys waited until Rosa’s sobs had subsided before she spoke, and when she did it was with infinite tenderness. ‘You know exactly why Gabriel stayed, sweetheart.’
Rosa nodded. ‘I know … he gave me freedom, but, Dio,’ she raged, ‘som
etimes I wish I had given it to him.’
Gladys took a deep breath to steady her nerves. ‘You’re right: your brother did sacrifice himself for you, but only because he loved you so much, Rosa – he knew that you would make the best of your freedom, which you have done.’ As Rosa turned to her friend with eyes full of sadness, Gladys continued. ‘Think how proud Gabriel would be to walk into the Salford gallery and see your pictures hanging on the wall. He would know better than anybody how well your mother taught you to draw, how hard she tutored you in order to pass on her learning.’
Rosa gave a shadow of a smile. ‘He know, for sure. I always complain to him about my mother,’ she confessed with a bleak smile. ‘He always positive; when I think of it now, I see he pushed me hard, just like Mama.’
‘So be positive for Gabriel: create for him, celebrate for him – and thank him, wherever he may be on God’s earth, for the precious gift of freedom he gave you.’
A long thoughtful silence followed Gladys’s passionate outburst; then suddenly Rosa stubbed out her smoking cheroot and rose to her feet. Reaching down, she kissed Gladys on both cheeks and headed for the door.
‘Hey, where are you going?’ Gladys, suddenly anxious that she’d overstepped the mark and had upset Rosa, called after her.
‘I will do as you say, Gladeeees, I will draw for my brother, Gabriel!’ Rosa replied with a strong ring of determination in her voice.
‘Make him proud of you,’ Gladys said as she choked back tears.
‘Oh, I will,’ Rosa retorted with a brave smile. ‘Dio, I will!’
19. Trainee Nurse
Gladys was rather nervous when Sister Atkins told her she had to report to Dr Grant’s office before she started her morning round. ‘Is there a problem?’ she asked anxiously.
‘You’ll soon find out,’ Sister Atkins replied as she relieved Gladys of the thermometer she was holding. ‘Off you go – don’t leave the man waiting.’
‘Come along in,’ the doctor called when Gladys gave a nervous little knock on his door. ‘Morning, Nurse Johnson,’ he said cheerily when she walked in. ‘Take a seat,’ he added, indicating the chair across the desk from him.
Perched anxiously on the chair, Gladys said, ‘I hope everything’s all right, Doctor?’
Grant beamed at the lovely trainee, whose blue eyes were wide with concern and curiosity. ‘Couldn’t be better,’ he replied. ‘Sister Atkins has been singing your praises.’
Gladys was so surprised by his statement that she burst out laughing. ‘That’s the very last thing I expected to hear you say,’ she chuckled.
‘Words of praise don’t come easily to Sister Atkins’s lips; she’s a hard taskmaster and a perfectionist to boot. We’ve had a few trainees leave in floods of tears, but you, young lady, I’m delighted to say, have weathered the storm.’
‘I’ve loved every minute,’ Gladys retorted with an eager smile. ‘And I’ve especially loved shadowing Nurse Atkins: she is a perfectionist,’ she said reverently. ‘It’s surprising how much you can pick up if you stick to somebody like glue!’
‘You were assigned to an excellent teacher,’ Dr Grant agreed. ‘Sister Atkins and I are both in agreement that you would now benefit from a short stint in a big teaching hospital.’
‘Goodness,’ Gladys gasped. ‘I feel like I’m only just getting my feet under the table.’
‘We don’t want you to get too comfortable,’ the doctor laughed good-naturedly.
Assuming she’d be heading for Manchester Royal Infirmary or the hospital in Salford, Gladys was stunned when Dr Grant said, ‘You’ll start at St Thomas’ Teaching Hospital in London on Monday.’
Gladys couldn’t believe she was hearing correctly; for all her struggle to stay in a close, familiar community, she was now being sent nearly two hundred miles south – to London!
‘You don’t look pleased,’ the doctor commented.
‘I’d prefer to remain in the North,’ Gladys confessed.
‘I know it’s a big jump, but the timing’s good for us,’ Dr Grant explained. ‘The trainee we recently sent to St Thomas’ is returning here to do further work, which frees up a space for you – it’s a straightforward swap,’ he concluded.
Sister Atkins was more excited than Gladys about the transfer. ‘You’ll do well, and you’ll come back with far more knowledge than you had when you left.’ Seeing Gladys’s anxious face, she gave her a brisk pat on the back. ‘Cheer up, Nurse, it’s not for long, and you’ll learn so much. Now I suggest you finish your final shift on Saturday afternoon, which will give you time to prepare for your journey south on Sunday. We’ll also provide you with return train tickets; we don’t want to lose you on the way, do we?’ she joked.
Gladys was sad to say goodbye to her patients, and they were sad to see her go. ‘You’re bound to break someone’s heart down South with those beautiful eyes of yours,’ one of the gentlemen said to her.
‘I’m going to advance my training,’ Gladys assured him. ‘Not fall in love.’
‘I’ve heard that before,’ the patient teased.
‘Come on,’ Gladys laughed. ‘Time for your bed bath – and no more cheek – or I won’t scrub your back!’
In the few hours they had together on Saturday after Gladys had finished work, Rosa helped her friend pack her suitcase. ‘I won’t need much,’ Gladys said. ‘Sturdy shoes, underwear, warm coat, make-up, nylons, one precious pair,’ she laughed as she carefully wrapped them in tissue paper so they wouldn’t snag. ‘I won’t even have to bother with my uniform: Sister Atkins told me that St Thomas’ provide their own.’
‘But you’ll need clothes to go out in – surely you won’t be working all of the time,’ Rosa exclaimed in shock.
‘If St Thomas’ is anything like the Phoenix Infirmary, I’ll be fit for nothing at the end of the day but bed; the last thing on my mind will be going out on the town. Anyway, I’m sure it’ll be dangerous: bombs falling all the time and wardens rushing everybody into air-raid shelters.’
Rosa’s pretty face darkened. ‘Take care, darling. I want you back in one piece and as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll take care, promise,’ Gladys said as she hugged her anxious friend. ‘And I’ll get back just as soon as they let me go. I’ll be homesick for you and our cosy cowshed.’
Early the next day, Rosa insisted on accompanying Gladys to Clitheroe Railway Station.
‘Please,’ Gladys implored as Rosa, looking like a lovely child with her lustrous dark hair draped untidily around her shoulders, helped her with her case. ‘I can do this on my own; please go back to bed. You’ll be clocking on soon, and you need your sleep.’
‘No, mia cara!’ Rosa said stubbornly. ‘I accompany you.’
When it came to it, Gladys was actually very glad that she had somebody she loved to wave her off; the thought of returning to London brought back a rush of memories that Rosa’s sweet, smiling, hopeful face might help to dissipate.
‘Arrivederci, Gladeeees,’ she cried as the train pulled out of the station in a great big wheezy blast of smoke. ‘Good luck!’
The local train stopped in Manchester, where Gladys caught one bound for London that stopped at every major town they passed through to pick up and drop off passengers, mostly troops being mobilized. As the noisy steam train puffed and wheezed its sooty way to the South, soldiers and sailors stood shoulder to shoulder in the crowded corridors and squeezed into overcrowded carriages, where one poor lad climbed into the netted luggage rack and promptly fell asleep. Gazing at the tired men, some of whom were hardly more than boys, Gladys’s heart ached for them. They looked so tired and grimy; the younger ones, slumped against anything they could find, gazed dully out of the window, whilst the older ones constantly smoked cigarettes as they bantered cheerfully amongst themselves. Nobody could ignore a beautiful young woman like Gladys, who took all their cheeky comments in good heart and shared her packed lunch with them.
‘It’s only meat-paste sandwiches,’ she said apologetic
ally, but the way the food was so rapidly consumed suggested the soldiers hadn’t had anything fresh in a long time.
The last time Gladys had been in London was with the Bomb Girls’ Swing Band, when they’d all stayed at the Savoy and had been in such high spirits. This arrival late at night couldn’t have been more different. Even though she was optimistic about her new nursing career, there was no doubting the depression and fear that walking through the bomb-torn streets of the blasted city brought on: barrage balloons floated high over a London that was literally crushed by relentless bombing-raids. The bus she took rumbled by shattered office and tenement blocks; holes gaped like open black mouths in the fractured ground; and the air stank of leaking sewers. When she arrived at St Thomas’, Gladys’s spirits didn’t lift at all: the hospital, wrapped in an inky darkness, looked formidable, and Gladys had no idea where and to whom she should report her arrival. A nurse in a dark cape, pulled around her to keep off the damp mist rising from the river, kindly stopped in front of a bewildered Gladys, who stood on Westminster Bridge wondering which way to go. ‘Can I help you, love?’ the breathless nurse asked.
‘I’m trying to find the nurses’ quarters,’ Gladys explained.
‘Follow me – I’m on my way there myself,’ she said as she led Gladys across the road to a tall, narrow house that looked empty. ‘They’ve got the blinds down,’ the nurse explained. ‘Don’t worry: it ain’t as empty as it looks.’
She was right; once Gladys entered the building, there were nurses, in various forms of disarray, dashing around everywhere. ‘Register at the office, where you’ll be allocated a bed and food tickets,’ Gladys’s new friend informed her, before she dashed off to her own dormitory. Feeling unbelievably weary, Gladys signed in and, almost too tired to eat, drank a mug of tea and ate some bread and marg before heading to her own dorm, where, after a quick wash and a change of clothes, she stumbled to her bed and fell into the deepest sleep.