by Pamela Evans
‘It’s done him the world of good,’ Flo could be heard to remark. ‘A complete change for him from being stuck in a shipyard all day.’
For May, the most exciting part of the whole self-sufficiency project was when they were rewarded with an egg, though they had to be patient because it wasn’t an everyday occurrence.
The chickens’ most ardent enemy was Tiddles, their most devoted fan Joe, who thought it great fun when they were let out to peck and cluck around the garden, at which point the cat hissed and arched its back before leaping to safety on top of the coal shed. Joe adored the cat and his loyalties were seriously divided one day when an aggressive cockerel they had named Horace chased Tiddles down the garden.
Although there hadn’t been any raids for a long time, neither was there any sign of the war coming to an end. Mr Churchill had warned the public some time ago, after several successful campaigns abroad, that they were only at the end of the beginning and not the beginning of the end, but everyone wanted peace with such ardour it was hard to stay patient.
People talked about something called the second front, or D-Day, which May understood to be another invasion of western Europe similar to the one that had failed earlier in the war. Everyone was expecting it at any time but still it didn’t happen.
The population in general took comfort from two of the heroes of the war: Churchill, whose gravelly tones came across the airwaves every so often, and General Montgomery, nicknamed Monty, the leader of the successful El Alamein campaign in the desert. As far as May knew, George was still abroad somewhere, but she had no idea where. His letters were more heavily censored than ever and didn’t give much of a clue. Home leave was never mentioned, so she assumed he wouldn’t be back until the war ended.
Then, as the summer progressed, May began to have worries of a personal nature to contend with, and the war was pushed to the back of her mind.
While not judging herself to be any sort of a heroine, May had thought she was a person who faced up to things with a reasonable amount of courage. Until now . . .
She told herself it wasn’t happening; that the exhaustion was due to long working hours and early mornings sorting the papers. She tried to convince herself that the night sweats were normal for this time of year and the general feeling of being off colour was all in her imagination. She rubbed her cheeks in front of the mirror to take away the horrible pallor. After all, she didn’t have a cough, so it couldn’t be TB back, could it? Well, maybe she was a bit chesty, but nothing like before.
But try as she might, she couldn’t erase the fear, which was physical in its intensity, giving her knots in her stomach and nausea, which added to the horrible feeling of being unwell. Guilt at not getting herself checked out and therefore possibly passing it on to other people added to her distress.
Already feeling below par, she made things worse by expending a great deal of energy trying to hide it from her parents. She sang popular songs like ‘Paper Doll’ around the house and laughed a lot even though it was the last thing she was in the mood for. Mum and Dad would be worried sick if she were to tell them how she was really feeling, and she couldn’t bear to put them through that again. Somehow she would have to bluff it out.
Of course, the rational part of her knew that this wasn’t a permanent solution and she was only making things worse, but her emotional side recoiled from the idea of acceptance.
‘So . . . what’s up, May?’ enquired Connie one day on their way to work.
‘Nothing,’ she replied.
‘Oh come off it,’ Connie persisted. ‘You might be able to fool your mum and dad with all that jolliness, but not me. I think you might need a friend to talk to at the moment.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ May lied huffily.
‘I think you do.’
May had the idea that if she spoke about it, it would make it real. While she didn’t say it out loud she could pretend it wasn’t happening.
‘Come on,’ urged Connie. ‘Has something happened between you and George? Is that what it is? Has he said something to upset you in one of his letters?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘What is it then?’ persisted Connie. ‘I know something is wrong so you might as well tell me, because I’ll keep on until you do. I don’t want you to be miserable on your own.’
At last May allowed herself to admit that it would be a tremendous relief to talk to someone about it. ‘It’s back, the unmentionable,’ she blurted out. ‘I’ve got it again.’
Connie turned pale; they both knew the seriousness of this, especially as May had already lost a lung. ‘Oh God,’ she said quietly. ‘I thought you might not be feeling well, but I didn’t dream it was anything like that. Are you sure?’
‘Oh yeah. No doubt about it. I feel exactly the same as before,’ she replied. ‘There’s no mistaking it.’
‘Oh May, I’m so sorry.’
‘Me too.’
‘You need to go to the doctor right away.’
‘No, I can’t face that.’
‘You’ll have to. You need treatment as quickly as possible.’ Connie swallowed hard, trying not to show her feeling of panic. Having experienced the illness herself, she could imagine how awful May must be feeling. She also knew that she would be tormenting herself about passing the infection on to someone else, and Connie didn’t want to pile on the agony by mentioning it.
‘I can’t go through all that again, Connie,’ May confessed. ‘All that illness and being away; the stigma and feeling set apart. I’d sooner be killed by a bomb.’
‘I can understand how you must be feeling and I expect I’d be exactly the same if it was me, but you can’t ignore it and you don’t need me to tell you that,’ Connie advised sympathetically. ‘You’re one of the strongest people I know, May. You’ll get through this.’
‘But if it’s in the other lung, they can’t remove that one as well, can they?’ she said. ‘So what are my chances of getting better?’
‘There are other things they can do besides surgery,’ Connie reminded her, struggling to stay positive because there was still no cure for this vile disease. ‘I didn’t have a lung removed and I recovered.’
‘Mm, there is that.’ May looked worried. ‘Oh Connie, how can I tell Mum and Dad? They’ll be devastated.’
‘They’ll have to know.’
‘Maybe I can leave it until I’ve been to see the doctor,’ she suggested.
‘They’ll be very hurt if you deceive them,’ Connie said. ‘They are tough old sticks. Stronger than you think. They’ll want to know. You are their child; it’s only natural.’
‘Everything you’ve said is true, but I seem to have lost my spirit,’ May confessed. ‘I just want to hide away somewhere and let the illness do its worst. I don’t feel as though I have it in me to fight back.’
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ said Connie. ‘The May Stubbs I know would never say a thing like that.’
‘I’m tired,’ said May.
‘And we both know why, because we’ve been there before,’ said Connie. ‘So get down the doctor’s before the flaming thing takes a hold.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ sighed May wearily. ‘I’ll have to pay up and see what the doc has to say.’
It was as May was pretending to be brave as she was giving her parents the horrible news that her courage returned, albeit temporarily.
‘It’ll be all right, honestly,’ she tried to assure them. ‘I’ve beaten it once and I’ll do it again. I’m as strong as a horse, so you must try not to worry.’
‘As if we would worry,’ said her shaken mother in an attempt at humour.
‘It might not take so long to shift this time,’ May suggested.
‘Maybe not,’ said her father.
‘There might be some new and better treatment available now,’ added Flo.
But it was all just empty talk because none of them knew how serious the problem was. May found herself courageous and
feeble in equal measures. It wasn’t so much the fear of death as the misery of illness that bothered her.
The doctor examined her but didn’t make a diagnosis. Instead he sent her to the hospital for an X-ray and gave her a sick note for work, telling her that she must stay away from people until she had the result. He told her to take things very easy and eat as much good food as she could, which was no easy task as rationing was biting even harder.
Here we go again, said May to herself as she came out of the doctor’s surgery, which was actually the front room in his house. But she did feel better for having faced up to it; stronger somehow and more able to cope. Whatever came, she would accept it with as much fortitude as she could muster.
George could hardly contain his excitement as he got off the train at Paddington and headed for the underground, his kitbag slung over his shoulder. Because he had served for more than three years in the Middle East, the army had given him some home leave, and a change of posting. He wouldn’t know where he was going until after this leave, but all he could think about now was getting home. No one knew he was coming, so he would give them a surprise.
He was dying to see Joe, and his mother of course, and absolutely longing to see May, especially now that their relationship had changed. He was a little nervous too about the latter, because it would be strange after a lifetime of being just friends and he wanted to get it right; he didn’t want to disappoint her.
Heading down on the escalator, the familiar warm, acrid draught of air blowing in his face as he headed for the platform, he thought how wonderful it was to be back in London.
The first disappointment was the lukewarm reception he received from Joe, who was out playing in the street when George arrived and was called in by his grandmother after the two of them had had a chat.
‘Why do I have to come in, Gran?’ asked the boy. ‘We’re playing hopscotch and I’ll miss my turn.’
‘Look who’s here,’ she said, looking at George. ‘Your daddy’s come home.’
‘Oh, ’ello,’ said Joe casually, glancing at his father then back to his grandmother. ‘Can I go out again now please?’
‘No you can’t,’ said Dot, also disappointed at his reaction. ‘Surely you want to stay in and talk to your dad?’
‘Can I do it later?’ asked Joe in a matter-of-fact manner. ‘Everybody is out playing today and we’re having a really good game.’
‘Joe,’ admonished Dot sternly. ‘Your daddy has come a long way across the sea to see us.’
The boy looked at George with just a glimmer of recognition. ‘What was it like on the boat?’ he asked dutifully.
Appalling was the honest answer to that, but he couldn’t tell a five-year-old boy that the ship was overcrowded with troops, and smelly and uncomfortable, and that he was seasick for part of the journey, so he said, ‘It was all right.’
‘I’ve seen boats on the river when Auntie May takes me to Richmond,’ said the boy. ‘Please can I go out again now that I’ve talked?’
‘No you can’t,’ said Dot.
‘But they’ll be waiting . . .’ he objected.
‘Let him go,’ said George. ‘We can talk later on when he comes in.’
‘Can I Gran?’ Please can I?’ asked Joe, looking towards his grandmother for confirmation.
Dot tutted and didn’t look at all pleased. ‘Well . . . if your father doesn’t mind, then off you go,’ she said.
‘Thanks,’ he beamed, and tore off, slamming the door behind him.
‘Sorry, son,’ Dot said. ‘It wasn’t what you could call a warm welcome, but he’s just a little boy.’
‘I’m glad to see that he’s well and happy,’ said George, ‘and I can remember how I used to love playing out. The kids are in their own world out there in the street. I know I used to be.’
‘I have tried to keep you alive in his memory, and so has May,’ Dot told him. ‘But it obviously hasn’t worked too well.’
‘I’ve got ten days,’ said George. ‘Plenty of time to get to know him all over again.’
‘Before you disappear again.’
‘Still, as long as I come back like the proverbial bad penny, you won’t hear me complaining,’ he told her. ‘It’s better than the alternative, anyway.’
‘Not half, but I want you back for good.’
‘All in good time, Mum. Meanwhile, what time does May get in from work? I can’t wait to see her.’
Dot bit her lip. ‘I’m afraid you can’t see her, son,’ she said, looking worried.
His brows knitted in a frown. ‘Why not? Has she gone away or something?’ he asked.
‘No, she’s at home, but she isn’t well,’ she explained. ‘They think she’s got consumption again.’
The blood drained from his face. ‘Oh no,’ he said, shocked. ‘How awful.’
‘Yes, it’s horrible,’ sighed Dot. ‘We’re all worried sick.’
‘I must get round there right away to give her some support,’ he said, moving as though to leave the room.
‘No, son, you can’t,’ said his mother, grabbing his arm. ‘Because of the infection.’
‘I’ll take that chance,’ he said. ‘I have to be there with her. She’ll be needing me.’
Dot restrained him more firmly. ‘No, George, you can’t see her because of Joe,’ she said. ‘You’ll be putting him at risk if you have physical contact with her. If you catch it he might pick it up from you. She isn’t seeing anyone at all at the moment. Not until she’s had the result of the X-ray.’
He sat down and held his head. ‘Oh Mum, what a blow,’ he said thickly. ‘And how terrible for May.’
‘Yes, we are all dreadfully upset about it,’ she told him sadly. ‘There isn’t anything we can do to help, either.’
‘I can cheer her up, though,’ he said. ‘Have you got any writing paper?’
‘Not as such because of the shortage,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got some bits of scrap paper that I’ve saved.’
‘That’ll do if you can spare me a bit,’ he said. He was trying to keep cheerful, but he was shaken to the core by the news about May.
Although May had worked hard to get herself into a state of readiness for bad news, she was still paralysed with fear as she sat waiting for the result of the X-ray, painfully aware that her life hung in the balance. Her appointment with the doctor had been made for after surgery so there was no one else waiting, for reasons of possible infection.
It was a month since she’d had the chest X-ray done and during that time she had knitted socks and several pullovers for the troops, done a few make-do-and-mend jobs on her own clothes and tried not to let herself sink into a mood of negativity, which wasn’t easy with such a huge issue on her mind, especially as she was alone in the house for much of the day while her parents were both at work. There was a saying about too much isolation bringing about morbidity, and she’d had to battle with that on a daily basis.
She’d been enormously cheered this past week or so by letters from George written on scrap paper and put through the letter box. Although she was desperately disappointed about missing his leave – he was going back this morning – his little epistles brightened up her life no end. Her mother posted her replies through the Baileys’ letter box for her.
It was heart-warming to feel loved but she was aware of a responsibility too, because George would be as devastated as she was if she did have the illness. She didn’t want to upset him, even though she knew the situation was beyond her control. She’d promised to write and let him know.
‘May Stubbs,’ said the doctor, opening the door of his consulting room.
Feeling as though her legs were about to buckle beneath her with nervousness, she followed him in.
May was crying when she emerged from the surgery. She paused and blew her nose, tried to compose herself, then ran as fast as she could down one street and up another, tears streaming down her cheeks. Stopping briefly because she had a stitch, she raced onwards until she reached her destin
ation, rapping the knocker as hard as she could.
Dot Bailey opened the door.
‘May, dear,’ she said worriedly, seeing the tears and fearing the worst.
‘Has he gone, Mrs Bailey?’ May asked.
‘Yeah, a few minutes ago; you’ve only just missed him, love.’
‘Thanks, Mrs B,’ she said and tore in the direction of the station, leaving Dot in a state of anxiety about the result of the X-ray.
He was sitting on a bench on the platform reading a newspaper with his kitbag on the ground beside him. She flew down the stairs and rushed up to him.
‘George . . .’
‘May,’ he said, leaping up, his expression a mixture of joy and fear. ‘What . . . what happened?’
‘Oh I’m so pleased I managed to catch you. I thought I’d missed you,’ she said, gasping because she was out of breath.
‘So . . . tell me please, and put me out of my misery,’ he begged ardently.
‘I don’t have it,’ she said, still weeping with relief. ‘I don’t have TB again.’
‘Oh May, really?’
‘Yes, really,’ she confirmed. ‘The X-ray was clear. The doctor thinks I was a bit run down and that was making me feel poorly; that and my imagination running wild and making me feel sick and exhausted. He’s given me a tonic and said I should be feeling better in a week or so.’
George was wet eyed too as he took her in his arms. They had both waited so long for this. It was one of those ineffably wonderful moments.
‘I’m so pleased for you, but the timing is rotten. I’m on my way back to camp,’ he said hoarsely.
‘At least I was able to see you before you disappear again,’ she pointed out.
‘Yeah, there is that,’ he agreed, ‘but there isn’t enough time to get married.’
‘We can do that the next time you are home,’ she said, grinning. ‘If you ask me nicely, that is.’
‘May,’ he said, barely able to speak for emotion. ‘Will you marry me?’
‘I certainly will,’ she said, her voice drowned out by the sound of the train rumbling in.
As this station was the end of the line, they had a few precious moments together before the train headed back into central London. Once George had gone, May walked home happily via the Co-op to tell her mother her double good news, then called on Mrs Bailey for the same reason. After an awful few weeks, life was very bright indeed again.