A Distant Dream

by Pamela Evans

  ‘It’ll probably be nothing to worry about,’ Flo said, having been shown the bloodstains on May’s handkerchief as soon as she got home from the party. May had known she mustn’t keep a serious symptom like that to herself. ‘We’ll take you to the doctor in the morning and let him have a look at you. A bottle of tonic and you’ll be as right as rain. Don’t upset yourself.’

  But Flo was actually in despair. She’d lost one child to illness; now it seemed likely to happen again. Not May as well, she prayed silently. Not our darling May.

  It was a cold January day and May was in bed outside on the porch of the isolation ward at Ashburn Sanatorium in the Surrey countryside. Fresh air and bed rest were considered to be the best medicine for what she had, and the air was fresh all right. In fact it was absolutely freezing.

  She could still hardly believe how her life had changed the instant she had seen the blood on her handkerchief. It seemed as though one minute she had been enjoying life in the bosom of her friends and family and the next she had been plunged into isolation, low temperatures and strangers.

  Here at Ashburn she was a TB patient, a victim of the much-feared consumption, otherwise known as the Great White Plague. She still winced when she actually made herself say the words in her head. It wasn’t an easy thing to face up to, because the mortality rate was so high. The family doctor had lost no time in arranging for her to go to this sanatorium, which was funded by the London County Council.

  Looking back, perhaps she should have checked with the doctor earlier, but you didn’t go rushing to the surgery every time you had what you thought was a cold, especially as it cost money. She could see now that the signs had all been there, the night sweats and the fatigue as well as the cough. But it was only when she’d seen the blood that alarm bells had rung, because she’d heard about that particular symptom and knew what it meant. Maybe things would be easier for future generations, because apparently there were plans to introduce a scheme to test schoolchildren so that the disease could be diagnosed earlier.

  As for May, she didn’t know exactly what her prognosis was, because you didn’t ask questions here; you just did as you were told. It was a huge place with an orchard, large gardens and farmland where some recovering patients worked. The barrack-room-type wards outside the main part of the hospital were set out in rows and seemed endless. Hospital discipline was strict; men were segregated from women even in the grounds where patients could go when they were up and about and feeling well enough.

  The treatment was mostly bed rest, lots of nourishing food and fresh air. The family doctor had told her that they would do their very best for her here, but there was no guarantee with this cruel illness for which they had yet to find a definite cure. They had collapsed her lung to rest it and she had to have it inflated twice a week – a painful process in which a needle was inserted under her arm – so she felt that something was being done. But her life and her future were out of her hands and somehow she must accept it. Naturally she was very frightened for herself, but she felt sorry for her mother too. Flo had been absolutely stricken by the diagnosis but had hidden it beneath a barrage of optimism. ‘You’ll be all right, love; they’ll soon put you right in the hospital,’ she’d said whilst choking back tears.

  One of the worst things for May was not seeing anyone from home. No visitors were allowed here because of the risk of infection and also because it was thought to be unsettling for the patients, who were encouraged to treat Ashburn as their home for the duration of their stay. She didn’t know how anyone from London would get here anyway, because this place was miles from anywhere, though even in her grey state of mind she could see that it was in a lovely spot, surrounded by countryside and with a view of rolling hills beautifully bleak at this time of the year.

  For the first time in her life she felt utterly alone. The party with the gramophone music and George by her side seemed like another world.

  ‘Cor, it’s parky out here,’ said the patient in the next bed, a determinedly cheerful girl from Chiswick called Connie. She was a brunette with huge dark eyes and very pale skin, and was about the same age as May. ‘If we don’t die of TB we’ll probably get wiped out by pneumonia.’

  May managed a watery smile.

  ‘Missing your family, are you?’ Connie asked.

  She nodded. ‘And my friends.’

  ‘It is hard at first but you’ll get used to it. Never say die, eh, girl.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said May, but the homesickness didn’t abate.

  Dot and Sheila Bailey were at it hammer and tongs when George got home from work.

  ‘Pack it in, you two,’ he said wearily.

  ‘Mum’s been moping about the place again,’ Sheila informed him miserably.

  ‘No I haven’t.’

  ‘Yes she has, George, she was—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear about it,’ he cut in, his voice rising to a shout. ‘You can get on and sort it out yourselves. I’m not in the mood for your bickering tonight.’

  They both stared at him aghast. Such an outburst from George was almost unheard of.

  ‘Ooh, hark at him,’ said Sheila at last.

  ‘He’s missing May,’ suggested his mother.

  ‘Yeah, that’s what it will be,’ agreed Sheila.

  ‘Too right I am, and you two should spend less time arguing and more time counting your blessings,’ he stated categorically. ‘Just think of May being taken away from everything she knows with no idea if she’ll come through this illness or not. Why don’t you concentrate on being thankful for your good health and each other instead of arguing the whole time?’

  There was instant silence.

  ‘Yeah, he does have a point, Mum,’ agreed Sheila after a while. ‘Let’s go and get the dinner and leave George in peace.’

  After George had washed away the factory grime at the kitchen sink, he sat in an armchair by the fire lost in thought while his mother and sister were busy in the kitchen. He was still reeling from the shock of May being taken away so suddenly. She’d seemed all right at the party apart from the cough, though she had been a bit quiet towards the end.

  As well as missing May personally, the thought of her being ill and among strangers caused him pain, such was the extent of his empathy. It was all a bit hush-hush too, as though May had something to be ashamed of. Consumption was often shrouded in secrecy because it was such a feared illness. He got the impression that Mrs Stubbs had only let him into the secret because he was such a close friend of May’s. The news had got around the neighbourhood though; he’d heard people talking about it.

  Not being able to visit added to his distress. She must be feeling so lonely out there in the country and there was nothing he could do about it. Except . . . maybe there was one small thing he could do that might cheer her up, and he would do it right away.

  ‘Have we got any writing paper and envelopes, Mum?’ he asked, going into the kitchen.

  ‘In the sideboard drawer,’ she replied.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  He went over to the sideboard, feeling slightly better. He wasn’t exactly a master of the written word, but he’d do his best. It wasn’t much, but it might help.

  Betty was missing May too. Her best friend had been whisked away out of the blue. It had been a huge shock. TB! Blimey, that was the big one. Betty’s main worry initially had been that she might have caught it from her, but the doctor had now given her the all-clear, thank goodness.

  But she still had the problem of an absent best friend, she thought irritably as she refolded an eiderdown that some nuisance of a customer had looked at lengthily then left the store without buying. Who was she going to go about with now that May was out of the picture? The two of them had always been self-contained, apart from George. Now she had no one to go to the pictures with or spend the lunch hour with, or anything. They had been going to start going to dance halls soon too. Now it was all ruined because May had got ill, damn her. What was Betty supposed to d
o in her spare time now? She couldn’t go out on her own. The whole thing really was most annoying.

  Then it came to her. With May out of the picture, maybe she herself would stand a chance with George. He wouldn’t look at her while May was around – she’d tried it and he wasn’t interested – but who was to say what might happen now if he was given a little encouragement? Some good might come from May’s absence after all.

  ‘I’d like to see some double bed sheets please, miss,’ said a customer.

  ‘Certainly, madam,’ said Betty, recalled to the present with a start but pleased that she had worked out a possible solution to the problem of her depleted social life.

  Flo and Dick kept the Pavilion closed until the doctor said there was no further risk of infection to the customers. When they reopened, nobody came; not even for a newspaper. People’s fears about TB were sometimes out of proportion.

  ‘It’ll pick up,’ encouraged Dick, dusting tinned stock on the shelves. ‘People will see that there is nothing wrong with either of us.’

  ‘I don’t really care, to be honest,’ Flo said, rubbing a cloth over the teapot.

  ‘But you love this place.’

  ‘I love May more,’ she said. ‘I’d sooner be back in poverty and have her alive and well.’

  ‘It isn’t a case of choosing one over the other,’ he pointed out.

  ‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘But at the moment there is only one thing on my mind and that is May. If I had to choose I’d go for that every time.’

  ‘Well maybe we can have them both,’ he said, putting his arm around her. He knew the depth of her suffering over May’s illness. He was upset and worried too, but as her mother, Flo’s pain probably went deeper. ‘We have to stay positive. At least she’s having some treatment.’

  ‘But some people are in those places for months, even years, and they still don’t walk out through the front door,’ she said. ‘They go out the back way feet first.’

  ‘Now, Flo, that sort of talk will upset me as well as you, so let’s have no more of it,’ he admonished.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, turning to look at him and putting her hand on his. ‘I’ll be all right, love.’

  ‘Oi oi,’ came a voice and a woman walked in. ‘Doing a spot of courting, are we?’

  They sprang apart, embarrassed, both managing a watery smile.

  ‘How’s that girl of yours doing?’ the customer asked.

  ‘As well as can be expected is what they tell us when we ring up from the phone box,’ said Flo. She was surprised at the question; people were usually too embarrassed to mention TB.

  ‘I suppose they are too busy to say more,’ said the customer. ‘Still, she’s in the best place.’

  ‘We hope so.’

  ‘Anyway,’ began the woman, ‘I’ve got a list for you today, so let’s start with a pound of sugar.’

  Two more customers came in.

  ‘Wotcha, Flo, Dick, I didn’t realise you’d opened up again.’ It was one of their regulars, an elderly man with his pal. ‘We’ve missed you.’

  ‘Not half,’ added his friend.

  ‘Nice to see you, boys,’ Dick greeted.

  ‘Hear, hear,’ added Flo, exchanging a look with her husband. People were beginning to drift back. It didn’t change the situation with May, but it did make Flo feel a little more human again.

  One evening in the spring, George had a visitor come to the door.

  ‘Hello, George,’ said Betty.

  ‘Wotcha, Bet.’ He frowned, fearing that some sort of bad news about May might have brought her here. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Yeah. Haven’t seen you for a while,’ she said.

  ‘No, I’ve been spending a lot of time helping out at the boxing club,’ he explained.

  ‘At least you’ve got something to do,’ she said with complaint in her voice. ‘I miss May something awful.’

  ‘Me too, but at least I’m keeping in touch by letter. Have you heard from her lately?’

  She shook her head. ‘I haven’t written to her,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘I’m not a letter-writer.’

  ‘Neither am I usually,’ he said, surprised she hadn’t made the effort to write to her best friend. ‘But it’s different when it’s May. We don’t want her to think we’ve forgotten about her because we can’t visit, do we?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Betty, wanting to please him. ‘I’ll get around to writing to her sometime. But it’s all so weird her going away to that awful place.’

  ‘Who said it was awful?’

  ‘It’s bound to be, those kind of places always are,’ she said with authority.

  ‘Have you been to one, then?’

  ‘No, but I’ve heard about them. Terrible places, everyone says so. Poor May, just the thought of that horrible illness makes me feel sick. Mum says I mustn’t tell anyone that I have a friend who’s got it.’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said George.

  ‘Because it’s that illness, I suppose,’ she suggested. ‘If you know someone who has it, you might have it yourself, is what they think.’

  ‘Anyone would think it was leprosy the way people carry on,’ he said disapprovingly. ‘Well I’m proud to be May’s friend, whatever is the matter with her.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Me too, of course,’ Betty said unconvincingly.

  Puzzled as to why she had come, he gave her a questioning look. ‘Is there any particular reason why you’ve called?’ he asked.

  ‘Er . . . there is, actually,’ she began hesitantly. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime . . . to the pictures or something.’

  He stared at her in astonishment and closed the front door behind him because he knew Sheila’s ears would be flapping. ‘What, you and me . . .?’

  ‘Not like that, of course,’ she was quick to explain, having seen the look of dismay in his eyes. ‘It’s just that we are both missing May and I don’t have anyone to go around with now. I thought perhaps we could keep each other company every now and again.’

  This was something of a dilemma for George. He didn’t want to hurt Betty’s feelings because he guessed she would be lonely without May. But neither did he want to get involved with her. He could see from the look in her eyes now, and from her behaviour on previous occasions, that that was what she had in mind. He was at an age when his hormones were running riot, and he was flattered, of course. Betty was an attractive girl in an ordinary sort of way and she had a good figure, but May was the only girl for him; not her best friend. Besides, even though there was nothing actually binding him to May, it would seem disloyal to her somehow.

  ‘It’s kind of you to ask me but I think we’ll wait until May comes home and we can all go out together.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, smarting from the rejection and astonished at his optimism, she herself having written May off completely. ‘But she’ll be away for ages, probably years, and some people never come back from those places.’

  ‘That’s something I never even allow myself to consider,’ he said sharply. ‘I’m not prepared to give up on May yet.’

  ‘No, of course not, me neither,’ she blurted out guiltily. ‘It’s just that you hear such terrible things about that illness and we have to face up to it, George.’

  ‘And I will if I have to,’ he assured her. ‘But the time for that definitely hasn’t come yet. Maybe at some point later on we might be able to go and visit her. I know visitors aren’t allowed at the moment but that could change.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t go there even if we were allowed,’ Betty burst out, looking alarmed at the thought.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Definitely not,’ she stated. ‘I’m sorry if that makes me sound awful, but I wouldn’t go near one of those places and neither will you if you’ve got any sense.’

  George found her attitude cold hearted in the extreme but knew she wasn’t the only one to feel that way. ‘That seems a bit hard on May,’ he remarked.

  ‘It probably is, but I
can’t help the way I feel.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘It’s a dangerous illness, George.’

  ‘All the more reason for us to give May as much support as we can.’

  Betty shrugged in reply.

  ‘Anyway, let’s just look forward to the three of us getting together when May comes home,’ he said, determined to stay positive and not wanting an argument with Betty, who was obviously more interested in self-preservation than supporting May.

  ‘All right then,’ she said, looking downhearted. ‘I’ll see you around.’

  ‘See you,’ he said. He felt rather sorry for Betty even though he knew her to be a very shallow person. He had known her for a long time and had a certain amount of affection for her as he would for any long-term pal. But he knew it wasn’t just friendship she wanted from him, so he needed to steer well clear.

  Betty was down but definitely not defeated as she walked home. George Bailey had become a challenge and she wasn’t going to give up at the first hurdle. After all, there was nothing definite between him and May, so it wasn’t as if she was being disloyal to May or anything. It was lonely not having a best friend, and a boyfriend would solve all her problems. Her chance would come, and when it did she was going to grab it with both hands.

  ‘At least we get good food here,’ May remarked to Connie one day in May when their beds had been wheeled out on to the porch as usual.

  ‘That’s part of the cure; lots of nourishing grub,’ said Connie. ‘The rice pudding is much creamier than what we have at home.’

  ‘Home,’ May sighed. ‘I’d love to be back there.’

  ‘I shouldn’t wish too hard for that,’ said Connie. ‘They sometimes send people home from here to die.’

  ‘Oh Connie,’ she said with a wry grin. ‘Cheer me up, why don’t you?’

  The other girl laughed. ‘Only teasing,’ she said. ‘I have heard people say that but it might just be a rumour. Don’t worry, it won’t happen to you.’

  ‘I flippin’ well hope not.’

  ‘Nothing we can do about it anyway, kid, is there?’