I marveled at the strength of his faith and bathed in the gentle aura of serene reverence that surrounded him. He was nothing like cocky, boasting Henry. This was a man at peace with himself and the world.
This was a man I could truly fall for.
TESTIMONIAL
Miss Ashford was appointed as nursery nurse at Redbourn Day Nursery in May 1943. In September 1944 she was promoted to position of assistant matron. She has proved herself to be most capable in every way, conscientious, loyal, and faithful in dealing with parents and staff and her work is of the highest standard. I would add that she has been in complete control of the nursery.
—COUNTY HALL REPRESENTATIVE, COUNTY HALL
Nanny’s Wisdom
STICK AT IT.
The war went on for a very long time and, I’ll admit, there were times I despaired at it ever ending. They were exceedingly tough years for so many, but I, like every other citizen, stuck at it. Life is different now, but today’s world throws up its own complex issues. So many people face huge financial problems or can’t find a job; and when they do, they fear holding on to it—not to mention the horrors of so much crime, poverty, and needless death on our streets. In life we all need to keep our faith that things will turn out okay. If something awful happens, then I suggest people do what I always did when I was bombed or I had my heart broken: pick yourself up, dust yourself down, and start over again. We humans are an awful lot tougher than we give ourselves credit for. Keep going and keep smiling.…
HAVE TREASURE CHEST FUN.
You don’t need expensive toys to keep children entertained. Simply keep a box of odds and ends. You can keep anything in it for children to play with, from old pinecones and seashells to crayons, stickers, balls of wool, postcards, stamps, dice, or plastic cutlery.
Every time you go on holiday or to somewhere new, find something to bring home—be it a shell from the beach or a pretty leaf—and add it to your treasure chest. It will always remind you of those times.
CHAPTER 10
SAINTS AND SINNERS
THE SACKS RESIDENCE
KENT, ENGLAND
[1946, AGE TWENTY-FIVE]
Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross,
To see a fine lady upon a white horse;
Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,
And she shall have music wherever she goes.
—NURSERY RHYME
Schedule
6:00 AM: Woke half an hour before children and prepared for the day by getting twins’ bottles ready and myself washed and dressed.
6:30 AM: Woke one twin and fed bottle, then when finished and burped, woke other twin for his feed. Changed twins’ nappies and put them back in cots.
7:00 AM: Supervised waking of two older children, ages two and four. Washed and got them both dressed.
7:30 AM: Breakfast in the day nursery prepared by mother. Placed twins in Moses baskets in day nursery or on mat for kickabout while older boys ate breakfast. After breakfast, supervised toilet and potty trips for older boys.
8:30 AM: Swaddled twins and put down for nap, then played or read to older boys.
9:00 AM: Man of the house arrived in day nursery and collected older boy, ready to take out for the day. Cleaned nursery, made beds, did laundry, while two-year-old brother played.
10:00 AM: Started to wake twins for bottle-feed.
10:30 AM: Fed twins, changed diapers, and placed them outside in their pram for sleep in fresh air.
11:00 AM: Put two-year-old down for nap before lunch. Prepared twins’ bottles for the next twenty-four hours, more washing and ironing.
12:30 PM: Lunch.
2:00 PM: Woke and fed twins. Changed diapers and prepared to take twins and two-year-old out for walk.
2:30 PM: Walked in fresh air to local park, twins slightly propped up in pram and dressed warmly. Encouraged two-year-old to walk and feed ducks before walking slowly home, talking about all we saw en route.
3:00 PM: Mother visited nursery and played with all children, while I tidied nursery and scrubbed dirty diapers.
4:00 PM: Twins napped. Older brother returned home and ate simple tea in nursery with younger brother. Both boys ask to be excused from table.
5:00 PM: Woke twins from nap before Father arrived to play with all children in day nursery. Started preparing for baths, laying out pajamas and twins’ sleep nighties.
6:00 PM: Older boys played in day nursery. Left one twin in Moses basket while bathing the other. Dressed in nightie and cloth diaper, returned him to Moses basket, then bathed the other twin. Bathed the two older boys and helped them into pajamas and cleaned teeth. Told them made-up story after I got them into bed.
7:00 PM: Mother read older boys second story in bed while I fed twins bedtime bottles. All asleep by 7:30 PM.
7:30 PM TO 10:00 PM: Chores in the nursery, including sewing, darning, knitting, washing, ironing, and laying out children’s clothes for next day.
10:00 PM: Woke twins and took them through to parents’ room for evening feed. Collected them when finished and put in cot next to my bed.
11:00 PM: My bedtime.
IT WAS A MOST INTRIGUING request and one I knew I couldn’t possibly ignore. “I really am in the most urgent need of help for my wife,” said the gentleman’s voice on the other end of the phone.
“Meet me at Fortnum and Mason and I shall explain more over tea. I will be wearing a bowler hat and carrying a cane. Good day to you, Nurse.”
The Norland had arranged my first interview for private work since the wretched war ended nearly a year ago.
After handing in my notice at Redbourn Day Nursery, I was most eager to get back into a private household. The time I spent looking after evacuees and local children was the most eye-opening and rewarding time of my career, but since the end of the war the nursery had lost its soul and I my enthusiasm for it. I dearly wanted to get into a private household and work one-on-one with a family who needed my help.
Now it was March 1946 and postwar Britain was a much-changed place. Economy and survival were the order of the day, as women and soldiers struggled to find their place in the world. But to what world had many of them returned? The answer was uncertain.
There was a major shortage of jobs and housing, but people were being looked after in a way never seen or heard of before. The new Labor government had brought in the National Insurance Act, which marked the beginning of the welfare state. All working adults paid into the National Insurance and the money was used to fund free health care, old-age pensions, and an allowance for those forced to take a break from employment.
Mothers received a single lump-sum payment on the birth of each child, and if they had been paying NI, received an allowance for eighteen weeks. Thanks to the work that I and thousands like me had done in war nurseries, the government began to take a more collective view of child care and state involvement in families and child rearing.
The Family Allowance Act also became law in 1946, at the same time the School Milk Act came into force, ensuring that all schoolchildren would receive a third of a pint of milk each day. Women and children were being better cared for. These measures led to a new feeling of determination! We could and would recover.
Despite this, the scars of Hitler’s terrifying attacks had left behind a sobering legacy.
Once glorious buildings had crumbled to dust; blown-out houses lay empty and devoid of life; closed streets and roofless houses could be seen all over the land. Pavements in the cities were pockmarked with bomb craters, and keep out signs on bomb sites acted like magnets to some naughty children seeking out thrills.
But there was also optimism among the rubble. We had survived. We owed it to those who sacrificed their lives for our freedom to restore our great cities.
Part of winning this war meant acceptance of the sacrifices and a willingness to rebuild our country from the ashes up. And so it was that I took a red double-decker bus up London’s smart Piccadilly in Mayfair to meet this rather despe
rate gentleman and answer his call for help.
I, too, must look forward, not back. With state-run colleges opening everywhere to train nursery nurses, employing a private nanny in a uniform was not seen as prestigious as it once was. No, I should feel most grateful for a position in a house, however difficult it may be.
A liveried doorman graciously swung open the door to Fortnum & Mason for me.
War may have altered England but some traditions would never die out.
Hitler had dumped eighteen thousand tons of explosives on London, but Fortnum & Mason at 181 Piccadilly had survived. Afternoon tea here was an iconic British ritual; and I was pleased to see the place was thronged with customers, nibbling dainty sandwiches and sipping tea.
Did Hitler really believe he could replace our beloved cucumber sandwich with stollen and bratwurst?
Once inside, a welcoming rush of warmth hit me.
Smartly dressed waitresses rushed about the place, carrying tea trays piled high with bone china teapots and plates of little cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off.
It reminded me of a special day when Mother and I had gone for tea at Lyons Corner House all those years before as a treat for being accepted by the Norland. Two weeks after I’d been informed by letter that I’d been accepted, she had taken me to the grand teahouse and treated me to an ice cream sundae. What a wonderful afternoon that had been.
How different a person I was now from back then! But then, war had altered us all, no doubt.
I caught sight of a lone gentleman whose cane rested against the white linen tablecloth.
He was dressed smartly in a double-breasted dark suit, and he looked like a well-to-do banker or merchant.
As soon as he saw me, he smiled, took off his bowler hat, and rose to his feet. “Miss Ashford?” he inquired.
“Mr. Sacks?” I smiled.
“Yes, indeed.” He smiled warmly, pulling back my chair for me. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to see you.”
Soon I found my plate piled high with sandwiches, and a delicate little cup full of the most delicious-smelling tea was pressed into my hands.
I took a sip and eyed the cakes that our waitress had brought to the table. Little sponges and scones that looked as light as gossamer sat tantalizingly atop a white doily.
We’d never had anything as refined as that at the day nursery. I smiled as I pictured little Jimmy’s face if someone had set down a plate of such delicacies in front of him.
I daresay it would have been demolished in the blink of an eye. Rationing was still in full swing despite the end of the war; indeed bread was more tightly rationed now in 1946 than it was during the war as the economy attempted to recover.
It could still be bought however, if you had the money to pay for it, which judging by his smart appearance and the leather briefcase by his chair Mr. Sacks obviously did.
Remembering I was a professional, I tore my gaze away from the mouthwatering afternoon tea and looked Mr. Sacks in the eye. “Do tell me about your situation and then I can see whether I can be of assistance.” I smiled.
“My wife, Carolyn, has four children, two boys aged two and a half and four and a half, and baby twins, one boy and one girl, born just a few weeks ago.”
“Gracious.” I smiled. “You do have a houseful.”
“Quite honestly, I don’t know how she’s coping,” he said. “She is exhausted.”
Suddenly, I realized he, too, had dark circles under his eyes.
“Oh, you poor thing,” I gushed.
He sighed dramatically as he took a bite out of his cucumber sandwich and chewed thoughtfully.
“On top of which poor Carolyn’s father is gravely ill and on his deathbed, so we need to move in with him.”
His voice dropped to a whisper and he glanced left and right.
I leaned in closer.
“We rather suspect his carer is manipulating him. He has altered his will and left everything to her,” he muttered. “So the move is of the utmost urgency, as I’m sure you can appreciate.”
My eyes grew as wide as saucers. “Oh, absolutely I understand,” I said, nodding my head vigorously.
That poor, desperate couple. Baby twins, two children, a house move, a dying relative, and a fraudster to contend with! If ever a family were in dire need of help, it was surely them!
I had already decided to take the job before he even offered it to me. “We’ll need you right away, Nurse Ashford. You will take the job, won’t you?”
No sooner had I nodded my head than he stood up and put on his bowler hat with a flourish and beamed brightly. “Marvelous. The salary will be fifteen pounds a week and you can report to my wife tomorrow.”
With that he strode from Fortnum & Mason, hailed a cab, and vanished into London’s bustling Piccadilly.
I sat back in my chair, my head still spinning from the speed of my new appointment. It was only later as I packed my suitcase and uniform ready for my new job that I realized he hadn’t paid for our tea! Little did I know it then but I was about to become embroiled in a most peculiar world.
On the way to my new job I made a mental note to tell my new friend Bill of this startling event to see what he would make of it. At the mere thought of dear sweet Bill, I felt a warm glow spread through me. Bill was quite, quite lovely and the reason that I’d been wearing a smile like summer these past few months.
With his blond hair, big brown eyes, and earnest countenance he was quite lovely and very much up my street.
Nothing had happened between us—we were just friends—but I rather hoped that perhaps something might develop.
He was studying theology at Cambridge University and was fearfully bright. Surviving countless brushes with the German Luftwaffe had left Bill with a deep and profound faith, and we’d spent many an hour discussing it when we’d met.
Best of all he had invited me to visit him at university in Cambridge. I couldn’t wait, and on my first weekend off from my new job I intended to take him up on his offer.
On arrival at my new employers’ I forced all thoughts of romance from my head as I knocked on the door of a very ordinary semi in Pinner, Greater London.
Mr. Sacks, immaculately turned out in a pin-striped suit, answered the door with a charming smile.
“Aah, the cavalry has arrived. Welcome, Nurse Brenda. Come in, come in, do.”
I had already resolved on the way here not to make mention of the small matter of an unpaid tea bill and put it down to a bad memory on his part.
He led me up a small corridor and into the sitting room. “This is my wife, Carolyn,” he said.
There, huddled on the sofa, was the most pitiful sight I’d seen since little Jimmy had been brought into the day nursery.
Carolyn was tall, pale, thin, and looked utterly worn-out. Clutched to each breast was a red and wriggly little baby, who looked incandescent with rage and hunger.
My heart went out to this poor exhausted woman.
“I can’t seem to feed them,” she sobbed over their angry cries.
Straightaway I realized what the problem was.
I’d seen it during my training at Hothfield with the young girl and her illegitimate baby. Her milk hadn’t come in.
The more an exhausted mother frets and worries, the less likely her milk is to come in, the hungrier the baby gets, and the more worried mother becomes. A vicious circle if ever I saw one.
It was my job to ease her load.
“Come here,” I soothed. “Will you allow me to hold one?” I smiled.
With dull eyes she handed me one of her babies.
Violet and Peter were beautiful little babies with dark curly hair, but I could see Carolyn was too tired to appreciate the little miracles she had produced.
“Glad you ladies are sorted then,” piped up Mr. Sacks from the corner of the room. “I’ll be off then.” Bang, the door shut after him.
I turned back to his poor scrap of a wife. I’d never seen anyone so thin after giving b
irth.
“Tell you what,” I said softly, “how’s about I make you a milky drink?”
Propping her up on freshly plumped cushions, I sorted out her two older boys with some toys, then went to the kitchen and fixed her a nice cup of hot milk and a sandwich.
When she had eaten and was more comfortable and rested, I showed her how to do breast massage.
“Don’t worry,” I said, smiling reassuringly. “We’ll get your babies feeding in no time.”
Sure enough, with plenty of rest, fresh air, and regular food, within days the color had come back into her cheeks, her breasts were engorged with milk, and the babies were feeding happily.
She and I took it in turns to hold Violet and Peter, so that she didn’t need to feed them both at the same time.
I also showed her the correct way to position the babies and how to ensure they latched on properly and got a good flow of mother’s milk.
We also sorted out a regular feeding and sleeping pattern that I kept note of and made sure we stuck to. I kept her older boys entertained, too, so that she and her twins got regular naps.
Violet and Peter began to thrive, her older boys looked less surly, and Carolyn looked so grateful. Peace was restored.
“Thank you so much, Nurse Brenda,” she said with a smile one night over the boys’ teatime. “You’re a miracle worker.”
“I don’t know about that.” I chuckled. “It’s simple really. All babies thrive on routine.”
I hadn’t been there long when the big move to grandpa’s house in Kent was announced.
“We can’t possibly move with the babies,” fretted Carolyn, her lip wobbling. “How will I pack and get everything sorted with them?”
“Don’t worry,” I soothed. “I’ll take the babies off for the day. I know someone who would simply love to meet them.”
Leaving the Sackses and the older boys among a mountain of packing boxes, I headed to Mother and Father’s house in St. Albans.
A Spoonful of Sugar Page 23