by Jane Yeadon
And for once there was no argument.
Compared to last night’s menacing undertones, an early morning’s sisterly wrangle sounded positive and healthy. Leaving a godless person to sleep on undisturbed, the girls had gone to catch early Mass. Their return was less discreet.
‘Ah, Colette, I can’t believe you took two shillings out of the collection plate.’ Seonaid sounded outraged.
Colette had the injured voice of the righteous. ‘What else could I do? I only had two and six. I could only afford sixpence. Anyway, I might need money for getting home.’ She prised open her purse, eyed its contents then snapped it shut. ‘Somebody round here needs to be careful.’
There were no further sightings of the purse until we were returning home. We’d had a lift from a lorry driver who was going as far as the official border: a casual affair.
As we got out, Seonaid pointed to a man selling something. There was such a roaring trade for it, a queue of people had formed, waiting their turn. ‘Look, they’ve got oysters. What about having one?’
‘No!’ Colette said unsurprisingly.
‘I’ve never tasted one,’ I said. ‘What are they like?’
‘They’re two shillings each, and a delicacy. Very tasty. Oh, let’s each buy one. Just to finish off the holiday. Go on, Colette, you’ll be wanting one when you see us having ours.’ Seonaid was in full cajoling mode. Maybe she just wanted to see the purse being opened.
‘Oh well then. Might as well, but it better be good.’ With some ceremony, Colette took out her money and grudgingly handed it over. Pleased, Seonaid trotted off to come back shortly after, a smile on her face, three shells in her hand.
‘Is that them?’ Colette was shocked. ‘You really mean we only get one each?’
‘How do you eat them?’ I was curious.
‘Swallow in a oner,’ said Seonaid.
‘I’m going to chew mine.’ Colette was adamant. ‘I’ll never get the taste of such a little thing otherwise.’
Seonaid had tipped hers into her mouth, smacked her lips then wiped them on the back of her hand. ‘Mm!’ She eyed her sister as she dithered with hers. ‘Would you hurry up!’
Colette opened her delicate mouth and held the oyster, savouring the moment whilst Seonaid looked on.
There was a pause, then – ‘Yuck!’ She suddenly threw it away in horror.
Pointing to it quivering on its shell, her sister had mused, ‘Does it not just look like a dirty big snotter?’
25
LOOKING TO THE FUTURE
Miss Harvey was like an exasperated general dealing with a Home Guard group incapable of marching in time. In her classroom, the last place it intended practising, the class fidgeted and squirmed.
Marie was clicking her rosary beads and in a world of her own. So was Seonaid – probably thinking up new ways to annoy Colette or Matron, having recently been sent to her for another lecture, this time on time keeping.
‘Ah, sure it doesn’t worry me so much now,’ she’d shrugged. ‘I just opened my eyes wide, trained them on Matron’s left ear, looked surprised then checked my watch. I thanked her for being so keen to advise me, and I mustn’t be late for getting on duty. She got rid of me far quicker than the last time I was there. I bet it was to check herself in the mirror.’
‘I think she’s a beautiful person. I often visit her,’ Margaret had said by way of comfort. ‘Just for a chat, you know.’
‘I’d say an evening with a boa constrictor would be more fun.’ Lorna breathed on her spectacles to clean them then put them on, magnifying her twinkle.
Marie whispered, ‘Sure, and I don’t think that’d be a nice pet to keep. Mammy would have a fit if I took one home.’
Maybe that was what was now occupying her thoughts.
As the class continued with its own thoughts and aware concentration was elsewhere, Miss Harvey lost her cool. ‘Would you please pay attention!’ She knuckle-rapped the desk. ‘In two weeks, you’ll have your theory and clinical exam. You’ll also need to have all of your record books completed.’ Her voice dropped to the tones of one discussing a dear departed. ‘Of course you know everything’s going to depend on you passing these exams for you to move on to Second Part. Our consultant obstetricians will be taking the clinical part.’
Aware she now had complete attention and eye contact no longer a problem, she moved into full military mode, hardening her jaw and speaking slowly and very clearly. ‘They’ll be expecting a professional presentation so it’s up to you to find out all you can about your patients. As you should know by now, confinements here are based on a likelihood of complications so you need to be on the lookout for anything and everything. Understood?’
‘Yes, Miss Harvey.’
She seemed sufficiently pleased with the response to hand out prizes. ‘Practice is the key word so I’ve arranged for you to go as a group to the antenatal clinics. That should prove invaluable.’
‘We’ve been there!’ chorused Margaret and Cynthia.
‘Well a little more experience won’t do you any harm, as I’m sure you’ll agree, Nurse Smythe.’
Cynthia, minus double barrel, was plainly out of favour but it didn’t stop her squinting down that splendid nose. ‘Can’t I go to the labour ward instead? I’m short of normal deliveries. I’ll need them to get my record book completed.’
Margaret couldn’t resist it. ‘Goodness, haven’t you got them already? I’ve had mine for ages but if you like I could come and help you.’ Her laugh was easy and designed to annoy.
‘I sometimes wonder if I’m dealing with adolescents or grown women,’ said Miss Harvey with a heavy sigh.
There was the same problem in the antenatal clinic as our class checked in at the same time as our arrivals. A pretty young girl came first, closely followed by a similar version, if faded, a bit crumpled, and carrying fully loaded shopping bags.
‘Have you come to help your daughter?’ I asked, searching around for a seat and somewhere to put her stuff.
‘No. She’s here for her first but I’m a regular. I’ve come for a checkup on my twelfth.’ Patting her coat, she sounded preoccupied and more interested in checking the bags.
Taking in our conversation, Annie, the clinic midwife, said, ‘Maybe you could look after Mrs Quinn. Take her details. She doesn’t need to be hanging about. She’ll need to get back to her kids. Let her get the weight off her feet on that chair there.’ She pointed to one at a row of desks where Seonaid had already settled and was beckoning to Mrs Quinn’s daughter.
We took the one beside her. Seonaid was patting the case note files stacked before her as if she couldn’t wait to get started. Taking up most of the desk space was a line up of blood pressure machines, test tubes and enough syringes to stock a factory. Unfazed, our patients waited their turn, chatting amongst themselves as if at a village pump, whilst those heading for the desks seemed completely relaxed.
Mrs Quinn, however, wasn’t up for giving either chat or her medical history.
‘Every time I come here, I get asked the same question,’ she complained as we ploughed through a questionnaire dealing with everything but intended holiday plans. ‘And no, sure I don’t remember the date of my last period. I don’t think there’s been one since she was born and she was my first.’ She nodded at her daughter.
I looked across. Seonaid and her patient seemed to be having an animated conversation. How come, I wondered, they had so much to speak about with only one intended pregnancy when here we were in multiple numbers struggling to fill the boxes.
‘Twins in the family?’ I asked.
Mrs Quinn consulted her shopping as if it were an abacus.
‘Two sets.’
There was a burst of laughter beside us. I felt I was letting Mrs Quinn down in terms of jokey asides but two sets of twins was a sobering prospect. It couldn’t have been easy getting here, and how on earth did my patient look so tidy?
I was full of admiration for her stoic calm. I blew a strand of hair
to clear my vision and squinted down at her feet. Observation was one of the key skills Miss Hardie had harped on about and ankles were a good barometer.
Those neat ones with their feet shod in polished leather promised fair weather, not to mention an ability to walk on water, whilst at a higher level her face was miraculously full of purpose and life.
Dr O’Reilly appeared but not even his good looks and charm made her blood pressure anything but normal.
‘Ah! Another of my regulars,’ he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll be having a look at that bump of yours once the nurse here’s weighed you.’
Maybe she was used to always being lumbered one way or another or the shopping bags carried something important but, even without clothes and about to be weighed, Mrs Quinn took them with her onto the scales.
Relieving her of them I said, ‘I think your daughter’s ready to go now. Could she take those with her?’
‘Surely, but tell her to get them to Sadie right away. She’s my neighbour . It’s her shopping but so run over with children she’s no time to do it.’
‘She must be glad she’s got an organised friend and, as for your daughter, an experienced Mum must be a boon.’ I was full of admir- ation.
‘Ah now, she learnt it all at her mother’s knee a long time ago.’ The tone was practical whilst she adjusted the headscarf she’d refused to remove. ‘But I’ll be telling her,’ she pulled the scarf ends into a very tight knot, ‘to be sure and train her husband better than I ever did mine.’ She swung onto the examination couch with lithe ease.
‘Quite right,’ said Dr O’Reilly, ‘and maybe I could have a word with him too. But in the meantime, d’you mind being a guinea pig for Nurse Macpherson? Her tutor tells me she’s needing a bit of practice before her clinical exam, so I need to lead by example.’ He made a great show of rubbing his hands. Then, once they were suitably warmed, he smiled and said, ‘Perfect temperature. I wouldn’t want cold ones making you leap off the couch. I’ll go first shall I?’
‘Help yourself.’ Mrs Quinn settled back as if she was being offered four-star accommodation whilst Dr O’Reilly investigated her bump with his thermally correct hands. ‘Interesting,’ he pronounced, eventually stepping back. ‘What d’you think, Nurse?’
There was quite a lot to look at. Then, putting a hand on her abdomen, even more to feel. It took me ages but I got the impression that Mrs Quinn was housing a tenement full of busy residents.
‘Well?’
Our patient, perhaps absolved from the responsibilities of parcel minding or probably from the length of time I was taking, had dozed off.
‘Double trouble?’ I whispered, wanting neither to upset nor wake her.
‘Right!’ He nodded approvingly. ‘But there’s only one sure way to find out. I don’t want to worry her. I mean there’s two sets of twins already so just tell her we’re trying to find out how far on her pregnancy is. You’ll need to take her down to the X-ray department. Once done, be sure and come back with the films quickly. We don’t want to hold back a busy mother. Don’t mention twins until we know for sure. Wake her up, but gently now. If we tell her about twins she might have a canary.’
‘As well as or instead of?’ I asked, delicately shaking our patient awake.
The X-ray department was nearby in a small unit on its own but apparently connected by telephone to the General Hospital. Two receivers sat on the reception desk beside a small hand-written notice that said, ‘In the absence of a radiographer phone two-three-twozero .’
Refreshed by her little snooze Mrs Quinn wandered over to some randomly-placed chairs and started to marshal them into rows. As I lifted the phone and dialled I wondered if she was counting them.
‘Do you do X-rays for the Maternity?’ I asked when someone answered the phone.
‘I’m not sure. Just hold the line.’
There was a short pause then the second phone rang. I picked it up and, the other one being occupied, put it to my left ear.
‘Maternity X-ray department,’ I said, to which came back a familiar voice. ‘We’ve just had a caller asking if we do X-rays for Maternity. But we don’t, do we?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I said, aware I was repeating her response to my original question.
I was now as confused by having a telephone at each ear as I was conversing to the same person on two phones. Any moment now she was going to come back to me on the other line. Maybe I should disguise my answering voice. That would fool her!
‘Phone two-three-two-zero and they’ll keep you right,’ were the instructions.
I must have dialled the wrong number.
I’d have liked to apologise but she’d put down her phone. I should have done that too. I’d have avoided the radiographer. She was back, plainly from a fag break and was curious to know why both telephones were being commandeered, and by a mere nurse.
Mrs Quinn thought so too. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t leave silly scraps of paper with squiggly figures on it. They’re not one bit clear. The poor wee nurse has been all but phoning herself. She must’ve thought she was talking to a fool.’ She lined up pencils on the desk and, squaring a notepad beside them, stepped back to admire her handiwork . ‘Now! That’s better.’
The radiographer seemed mollified and chuckled. ‘The numbers are there to get a radiographer over here. I was only out for a minute but already you’ve got the place tidied up. It hasn’t been so orderly since your last visit, Mrs Quinn. Now let’s see if you’re as tidy inside.’
Dr O’Reilly took the X-ray films and held them up to the light.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘What news then, Doctor?’ Mrs Quinn asked, trying to get a look.
He looked apologetic and held up two fingers.
‘Ach, Doctor, is it not me that’s had the practice?’ she said, brow clearing and showing a rare glimmer of humour. ‘You had me worried for a while. Did you not know I’d be having twins? I could have told you that already.’
26
MARCHING ORDERS
Margaret looked as if she was heading The Glums’ Club. Even Marie, our usual Captain Doom and sitting beside her, looked marginally cheerier.
Close enough to be within earshot, I muttered to Seonaid, ‘That pair look as if it’s the end of the world. Who’d want to bring gloom sitting in this nice sunny dining room? Look, I’m starving. Let’s sit somewhere where they won’t put us off our food. Having exams so close as well, I’d like to be some place more cheerful.’
But I was too late. Already Seonaid was skipping towards their table.
‘So what’s the craic? Youse look as if you’re going to a funeral.’
Margaret was usually a stickler for etiquette. Now she was slumped across the table, crumbling a piece of bread over her plate and idly mopping it up with a huge chunk of butter.
‘Ach, Seonaid, you were right about that oulde Matron after all. She’s a heartless woman. Not a bit of compassion in her whole body.’ Carelessly and with the back of her hand, Margaret wiped her buttery chin.
What more proof could there be that something was wrong?
‘And sure Margaret only meant to help.’ Marie was as defensive as if we were already arguing. ‘And it was only about safety, wasn’t it?’
‘It was Brian, actually.’ At least using his name perked Margaret up a little. She straightened up, righting her shoulders. ‘I was sure I should tell Matron he thought that having an oxygen cylinder tied to the back of a bike might be dangerous. And being a policeman, he should know.’ Her sniff was profound. ‘I thought she might be grateful for a safety tip.’
I thought Margaret should either have her head examined or get a medal for bravery whilst Seonaid wondered aloud if it was any old bike or was Brian talking specifics.
‘District ones of course,’ snapped Margaret. ‘That’s what the guard at the back’s for. The basket in the front’s for our black bags, and Brian thinks even they could make experienced cyclists wobble about.’ Her large capable hands g
ave an exaggerated wiggle.
‘If we need oxygen I’d think we were in trouble,’ I said. ‘I didn’t think Belfast was that hilly. I’d hope to manage without any help, and won’t we need baskets to put the babies in? I mean we are supposed to be delivering them aren’t we?’
‘Ah, Jane! You’re teasing us.’ Marie was reproachful. ‘The oxygen’s not for us – it’s in case the babbies need it, and you must see how upset Margaret is. You’re not helping with your wee jokes.’
‘Never mind.’ Seonaid pointed as Cynthia in full sail swept towards us. ‘Here comes Happy Legs. She’s bound to cheer us up.’
‘Dear God! She’s all I need,’ moaned Margaret.
‘I’ve something to pass on,’ declared Cynthia, sitting down, expanding her chest and readying for an announcement, but Margaret, eyes blinking, excused herself and hurried away.
Cynthia looked after her in exasperation. ‘Honestly! She’s going to miss my news and it’s important. Anyway, what’s wrong with her?’
Marie gulped. ‘Matron’s after telling her it’s probably best she leaves after sitting First Part. She says she’s always worrying about something and now Matron’s had enough of her moans and troubles. She’s a busy woman with a hospital to run, without nurses, never mind policemen, coming to tell her how to run it.’
Coming from Marie, this, without a mention of God, made an impressively strong statement.
‘That woman’s determined to get rid of us all,’ sighed Seonaid. ‘You’d have thought Margaret would be her star pupil. Responsible and all.’
Cynthia was finding it hard to be gracious. ‘So much for always popping in to have a chat. Speaking personally, I’ve always found one’s best to keep one’s superiors at arm’s length.’
Torn between thinking Brian might have a point and wondering how we could filch an oxygen cylinder to do a practice bike run with one on board, I went for the usual put down. ‘Does one indeed!’