‘It won’t take me long to drive over and look at your nephew. Then we can talk about letting the new doctor know.’
‘I didn’t mean for you to come here, Nurse. But I’ll be real relieved to see you,’ she said sincerely.
Ann went for my coat and hat. ‘Do you really have to drive ten miles now just because someone has a backache?’
‘If I was certain it was only that’ ‒ I wound my scarf round my neck ‒ ‘perhaps not.’
‘Mightn’t his aunt be exaggerating?’
‘I don’t know her yet, but I doubt it. She sounded a sensible and really worried woman. Sensible women who’ve raised five children don’t worry lightly over healthy young adults.’
She came out to the garage with me. ‘I’m glad there’s no mist. How long do you think you’ll be?’
‘Hard to say. Probably not long. Don’t wait up. You’re looking tired.’
Ken Mathers was a solid young man with a broad face and pleasant blue eyes. ‘Aunty shouldn’t never have fetched you over, Nurse, I reckon I just pulled meself. Them aspirins and the hot-water bottle me aunty give me’ll have me fine by morning. Honest.’
I had not known what to expect. My first impression was disturbing. His face was drawn with pain, his posture in bed unnaturally tense.
‘Has that treatment helped yet, Mr Mathers?’
He hesitated. ‘Reckon it will soon.’
‘I hope so. Tell me, have you had this pain before?’ I watched his face closely. ‘Did you hurt yourself at work this morning? And what is your work?’
He was a tractor-driver and had spent three years working on a farm in Canada. ‘I come back when me mum was took bad last fall, and went back to me old job at Gibson’s. I was working for Mr Gibson’s brother, Mr Tom, in Manitoba. I ain’t hurt meself here, but I did come off me tractor back at Mr Tom’s summer afore I come home.’
‘Summer last year?’
‘That’s right, Nurse. Me tractor got in a skid and went right over. I was real lucky. Got chucked clear, I did. Not even no bones broken.’
‘You were lucky.’ When a tractor overturns the result can be fatal for the driver. ‘Did the fall hurt you in any way, apart from not breaking your bones?’
‘Didn’t hurt much, Nurse.’
‘How much is “not much,” Mr Mathers?’
He was a tough young man. I had to wrest his symptoms out of him one by one. Eventually, I had enough to give me a clear picture I could not just then have named had diagnosing been my job, which it was not.
‘Up at Gibson’s this morning me mates was saying as I got the rheumatism. I didn’t reckon it could be that at my age?’
‘I’m not a doctor, I’m afraid. I can’t say just what is wrong with you. But there’s no age-limit to rheumatism. Children can get it.’
‘You don’t say.’ He nodded at his aunt, who was standing at the foot of his bed, her hands folded patiently over her ample middle. ‘You know that, Aunty?’
Mrs Siddons launched into a long tale of the children and young folks she had come by who had been taken real queer with the rheumatics. I listened absently, studying Ken Mathers. Although diagnosing was not my province, like most trained nurses I had learnt to recognise a good many illnesses for myself. There was a possibility that he was suffering from some form of rheumatism.
Yet I had the notion that he was really ill. Perhaps this was some delayed reaction from that old fall. His position in bed, the careful way in which he was shifting, when he allowed himself to move at all, the tiny grimaces of pain he was doing his best to control, stirred an old memory in my mind. I thought, I’ve seen this before at Hilary’s. Who was it? Then I remembered. Chapman. A man called Chapman in William Brown Ward.
I brought up the subject of Mike, tactfully.
Mrs Siddons looked perturbed. ‘We wouldn’t like to bother the new young doctor tonight, Nurse. Can’t it wait till morning?’
I explained the new doctor was my old friend. ‘It’s not all that late, and I know he won’t mind my having a word with him.’ I smiled at Ken Mathers. ‘He can let you have something to take that pain away for the night.’
He said slowly, ‘Well ‒ I’d not say no to that, Nurse.’
Mrs Siddons took me down to the telephone in her spotless front parlour. ‘I can see you know what you’re doing, dear. I’ll be making a pot of tea while you’re talking.’
Mrs Grimmond answered the telephone. ‘Out on a case, Nurse Sanders? My dear, you’re as bad as my husband! You want Dr Ellis? I’m afraid he’s not in. You’ll find him at Mrs Graves. Just let me get my glasses and I’ll give you the number.’
I asked her not to worry as I knew that number. ‘I’m sorry to disturb Dr Ellis, but I’m a bit worried over something.’
‘My dear, he’ll understand. He said he doubted he would be able to stay for the whole of Paddy’s party as he’s on call. As my husband always says, Nurse ‒ no G.P. ever sees a party ‒ a play ‒ or a film out. I warned Paddy and Angela this might happen when they came round to arrange things this afternoon.’
So her name was Angela. I rang Mrs Graves’s number. Nice name.
Paddy’s voice broke into my thoughts as I was wondering what she looked like and who else was at the party.
‘Paddy, Lesley Sanders. Could I talk to Mike Ellis, please? And forgive me interrupting your party.’
‘Is it you, angel? And who said one word about your interrupting ‒ oh, hell! A man can’t hear himself think! Hold on, darling ‒ hey, Angela,’ he called, ‘will you be a darling girl and turn down that radiogram?’ The music faded from his background. ‘Now then, angel? Whom do you want? Michael? You shall have him.’
A girl laughed somewhere close to the telephone before Mike answered. ‘Trouble, Lesley?’
‘Not sure ‒ I think so.’ I explained the set-up briefly.
‘Want me to come over now?’
I answered indirectly. ‘He seems to me in far too much pain.’
‘Which means you do. Let’s have the address.’
After I had given this, he asked, ‘What’s your view?’
I paused before telling him. Despite his question, few doctors in this country care to have nurses suggest a diagnosis, even if said nurses are old friends. I decided to take a chance. ‘I may be wrong, but he reminds me of a man called Chapman in Willie B. at Hilary’s. I think you may remember him. Weren’t you Illingworth’s house-surgeon when Chapman was in?’
‘Chapman? Oh ‒ Chapman. Aortic aneurysm. Lesley, are you sure?’
‘Can’t be. I’m no doctor. But that’s who Mathers looks like to me.’
‘Oh, God, does he?’ he echoed gloomily. ‘Then I had better come over right away.’
Just what do you think I’m calling you for? I would have liked to ask. We were old friends, but not that good friends, so I just said I was sorry to break up his party.
‘That makes no odds to me. I’m the extra man as it is. Anyway, what about your evening? You’re not exactly celebrating Saturday night in what Paddy would call the approved style.’
I said that made no odds to me either, and agreed to wait with Mathers until he arrived. It might not have made any odds to me, yet, as I replaced the receiver, for the first Saturday night in years, I felt definitely Cinderella-ish. That, quite irrationally, made me very annoyed with Paddy.
Mrs Siddons was clucking anxiously over her tea-pot when I joined her. Her husband was with her. He was a dapper little man half the size of his wife. He tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat armpits and rocked on his heels in front of the kitchen fire.
‘Me and the missus are much obliged to you, Nurse. Our Ken’s a good lad, not a one to fuss.’
I went up to tell Ken the doctor was coming over.
‘I didn’t want him fetched, Nurse.’ He smiled wearily. ‘But me aunty says you knows your job.’
‘I hope so, Mr Mathers.’ I made him more comfortable. ‘Thanks for taking my high-handedness so well.’
�
��That’s all right, Nurse.’ He watched me curiously. ‘You like this job, Nurse?’
‘Very much.’ I smiled. ‘Or I wouldn’t be doing it.’
He said he reckoned I had something there, though it seemed a queer carry-on for a young lady to him. ‘No offence, Nurse, but wouldn’t you be on the young side for it? I thought as district nurses had to have a proper long training.’
‘I had eight years, Mr Mathers. Is that long enough?’
‘Eight? ’Streuth.’ He whistled soundlessly. ‘I’ll say.’
Mike arrived as I finished my second cup of tea. After he had seen Ken, Mrs Siddons insisted on making us a fresh pot.
Mike sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I’d like to talk to you both about your nephew.’
Mrs Siddons perched on the edge of her chair, as if she was sure of bad news and wanted to be ready to get to her feet and into action quickly. The coastguard sat down stiffly. ‘Is the lad bad, sir?’
Mike glanced at me. ‘He’s not too well, I’m afraid, Mr Siddons.’
‘If it’s not the rheumatics, Doctor ‒ would it be one of them slipped discs?’ Mrs Siddons looked more worried than ever. ‘I’ve heard as they can catch you cruel.’
‘They can. But in my opinion, he is suffering from neither rheumatism nor a slipped disc.’ Mike was very gentle. ‘I want him to go into hospital for certain tests and X-rays he can only have in a hospital. I am going to try to get him admitted to my own London hospital. He is of age, and I’ve asked and got his permission.’
‘London?’ The Siddons exchanged horrified glances. ‘Couldn’t he go to the County, sir?’ asked the coastguard.
‘He could. But I would very much like to have him under a particular specialist who only works in London.’
They were obviously distressed, but at the same time relieved by Mike’s capable air. He was young enough to be their son; he talked to them like a father.
I was very impressed how kindly and well he handled them. All doctors need a good bedside manner. G.P.s also need a good fireside manner. Mike’s was excellent.
‘I must get him into Hilary’s,’ he said later when he saw me to my car. ‘I want him under Illingworth. I think I can fix it.’
‘He is another Chapman?’
He nodded. ‘For my money, I think you’ve done a snappy bit of spot diagnosing, Lesley. Maybe you should have taken up medicine.’
‘Not my line, thanks.’ I got into the car. ‘I’m sorry about Mathers, though. What’s the prognosis?’
‘Depends how far it’s gone. He’s young ‒ tough. A good subject, and Illingworth knows his stuff. He may do very well if we can get him in quickly.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘I’ll pull my string hard.’
I said, ‘You know your stuff too, Mike.’
He smiled. ‘To hand it back ‒ so do you. Paddy Larraby told me tonight how well you dealt with his cracked head. He said but for you he’d have no ideas beyond vinegar and brown paper.’
‘Huh. Did he tell you how stubborn he was about my calling you?’
Mike generally shared my views on people who played the fool with their health. I was a little surprised at the indulgence he showed Paddy. ‘He told me. Can’t say I blame him. If I were in his shoes I’d be allergic to the medical profession.’
‘Because of all the doctors in his family?’
It was a simple retort, but he hesitated oddly. ‘Oh ‒ yes. Yes, of course.’
‘I didn’t realise you two knew each other.’
‘Mrs Grimmond asked Paddy round some while ago, thinking I might be in need of pals being in strange territory. We’ve got on pretty well, and I must say I like the man. He’s good value.’
‘Very amusing,’ I agreed, more drily than I wished.
‘Very. That girl tonight ‒ what’s her name ‒ Angela Gerrard said she couldn’t visualise the marsh without him. She was very bucked to hear he’s going to be down for a spell. I gather she gets down most weekends.’
‘Angela Gerrard?’ I sounded intentionally casual. ‘Don’t know her.’
‘Her father’s the rector at St Crispin’s. That’s just out of your area, isn’t it?’
‘Just. What does she do?’
He smiled. ‘Model girl ‒ and looks like it. Very tall ‒ nearly six foot ‒ very dark. Goes well with Paddy. Too tall for me. You’ve probably seen her picture in advertisements.’
‘Probably.’ It was absurd to feel depressed, but I did. ‘What was that about Paddy being here for a spell? On holiday?’
‘Roughly. He’s been overworking a good deal, lately. Sort of rest-cure.’
At that, I nearly choked. ‘Mike, dear, I know you’re a doc, but I’ve never seen anyone less in need of a rest. He looks revoltingly healthy.’
Mike said lightly, ‘After Mathers I’m not quarrelling with your spot diagnosing, Lesley. Don’t blame me. I’m not the character who suggested he took life easily for a while. I’ll just remind you ‒ even Homer sometimes nods,’ he added, and did his vanishing act.
I watched his car lights disappearing ahead and wished men did not have to be ill in bed before I was able to work out anything about them.
Chapter Four
A HERON MISNAMED
When the telephone bell woke me the following Monday morning I thought it was the middle of the night. I groped for the bedside lamp with my free hand. It was ten to six.
‘Nurse, this is Peter Ebony from Cherry Farm. It’s Sandra’ ‒ he announced urgently ‒ ‘she’s having a baby!’
This was scarcely surprising news, since Sandra Ebony was one of my ante-natal patients. She was eighteen, and expecting her first baby any time in the next week.
‘Have the pains started, Peter?’
‘Lord, yes, Nurse! She thinks she’s had two. Do come quickly.’
‘I will. Right away,’ I added to soothe him. I intended doing that, but doubted there was any real urgency yet. A woman in labour does not merely think she is having a pain; she knows full well. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t take me long to get dressed.’
He was two years older than his wife, and normally a phlegmatic young man. He now sounded like a scared schoolboy. ‘Can I come and collect you in my van to save time, Nurse?’
‘It won’t take me long to get my car out, thanks. You go back to Sandra and make her and yourself some tea. I’ll probably be with you before the kettle boils.’
‘Isn’t there something else I ought to do, Nurse? Call Dr Bowers ‒ an ambulance ‒ the hospital ‒ something?’
‘Not as she’s having her baby at home, Peter. Everything’s arranged. You go on home ‒ and perhaps call by on the way to let her mother know.’
It appeared he had already knocked up Sandra’s mother and every female relative they both possessed. Since they both came from our village, that was over a dozen. ‘Sandra’s mum,’ he added impatiently, ‘did say I was to tell you she didn’t think I need call you yet. I don’t see how she can tell ‒ she’s not a doctor or nurse.’
‘That’s true.’ He was in no state to be reminded that Mrs Withers, his mother-in-law, had borne six children and now had eight grandchildren. ‘I’m glad she’s there to help you. You go back home and try not to worry, as that’ll upset Sandra.’
‘Honestly, Nurse, I’ve been in such a state it’s a flipping miracle I haven’t done that already. Sandra’s so calm ‒ I’ve never known her like it! You’d think this kind of thing was happening every day!’
I let that one pass, too. ‘Sandra’s a good girl, Peter. You go on back to her, my dear. I’ll be along very soon.’
I looked in on Ann before leaving. ‘I’m off, Annie. Baby.’
She smiled sleepily. ‘I heard the phone. You poor darling. Who’d be a nurse? Nothing but late nights and early mornings.’
‘Last night wasn’t very late. I must fly, or Peter Ebony’ll be back to haul me out bodily.’
‘His wife in real labour?’
‘I very much doubt it, yet. But he is.’
; At Cherry Farm Mrs Withers was cooking breakfast for fourteen. Female Withers and Ebonys were bustling round having a most enjoyable and blood-curdling obstetrical gossip. Sandra was experimenting with a new hair-style and listening to a rock ’n’ roll record. Peter, looking already pale and exhausted, was stalking unhappily out to do a very late milking round.
His daughter was born five hours later. She was an exquisite little baby with cameo features and a fine head of curly black hair.
I peeled off my gloves, lifted her from the cot into which I had temporarily put her, and wrapped another shawl over her. ‘Come and meet your mum, sweetie.’ I carried her to the head of the bed. ‘Sandra, dear, you’ve got the most beautiful baby girl I’ve ever seen.’
Sandra had looked younger than eighteen until that moment. She stirred wearily, her eyelashes fluttered, then, as she gazed at her baby, all the wonder and beauty of that moment came into her face. She reached up and touched her daughter’s cheek with one finger. ‘Oh, Nurse ‒ oh, Nurse ‒ she’s lovely.’
She took the baby in her arms and lay back, her face against the small head. I looked down at them in silence: I had lost count of the number of babies I had helped into the world, but the moment when I was able to hand a healthy baby to a safely delivered mother invariably left me speechless with relief, pleasure, and the same wonder that was in Sandra’s expression. I moved reluctantly. ‘You’d like Peter to know first?’
‘Please, Nurse. Then Mum.’
Peter was sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands and an untouched cup of tea beside him. From the kitchen below came the sound of mainly female voices and the clatter of crockery. The Withers-Ebony ladies had all volunteered to sit with Sandra. She had chosen to be alone with me. Her mother had approved. ‘I was the same. I didn’t want nobody but old Nurse Watson. When a women’s time comes she comes close to the Lord. She don’t need no one else to hold her hand.’
Peter did not hear me until I touched his shoulder. He leapt to his feet. ‘Nurse ‒ something terrible’s happened! I can see it in your face ‒ your eyes are wet ‒ and it’s so quiet!’ He grabbed my shoulders. ‘What is it? I must know.’
Nurse Errant Page 5