The Children of Lovely Lane

by Nadine Dorries

  ‘Everyone gets on with everyone else around here,’ the head porter, Dessie, had said.

  ‘We have all worked together for years,’ said Betty Hutch, one of the night-time cleaners.

  She knew what they were doing. They were warning her. Don’t upset the apple cart. Little did they know, that was exactly what she intended to do.

  She had begun by telling Elsie O’Brien that the room she had made up ready for her was not suitable. The impertinence of the woman, she thought, when she recalled how Elsie had told her that she kept the other room for when Dr Gaskell had visiting guests. Who did she think she was, a mere domestic, taking a decision like that?

  ‘I am afraid that simply won’t do,’ she had said to Elsie, who had personally escorted her to the room.

  ‘Well, that’s the only room, other than the visitors’ rooms. There’s nothing I can do now. Matron won’t be back for a few days, her mother’s taken bad.’

  ‘Has she not left a telephone number? Surely there must be a way she can be reached?’

  Elsie had fingered the note folded in her apron pocket. It was the number of the nursing home in Lytham St Annes where Matron’s mother had lived for the past ten years. Reluctantly, she confessed that she had the number, and Miss Van Gilder wasted no time in making the call herself.

  After a brief conversation with Miss Van Gilder, Matron had asked that the telephone be passed to Elsie. ‘I am quite sure that Dr Gaskell will have no objection if you offer Miss Van Gilder the visiting consultants’ rooms,’ she said.

  Elsie wanted to object, but she knew that was not her place. There was something about Miss Van Gilder that made her flesh crawl. With a sigh, she quickly excused herself from the company of Miss Van Gilder and went off to air the bed and give the visiting consultants’ rooms a once-over. Within minutes, the story of the unhappy new assistant matron had spread across St Angelus like wildfire.

  ‘You will now be in the rooms next door to Sister Haycock,’ said Elsie as she struggled to carry Miss Van Gilder’s case into her new accommodation. Miss Van Gilder stood and watched without offering any help. Opening the door with one hand, Elsie set the case down with a thud on the polished wooden floor. She made a mental note to reward herself that night at bingo with a cold Guinness, for having kept the room as clean as she did, even though it was only ever used four times a year.

  ‘She is as quiet as a church mouse, is Sister Haycock,’ she said. ‘You will have no cause for complaint being next door to her.’

  Miss Van Gilder made no comment. She failed to smile and simply nodded her head in approval as she took in the room. She ran her fingers along the mantelpiece over the fire and fingered the curtains at the window as she glanced out. A pair of seagulls almost collided as they passed mid flight on the other side of the glass, catching her off guard and making her step back in alarm.

  ‘Don’t be worried about the seagulls now, they are never away from the place,’ said Elsie. ‘Forever hitching lifts back and forth on the ferry, they are. It must be bad out at sea as there’s lots of them about today.’

  ‘Indeed,’ replied Miss Van Gilder.

  Elsie, having gathered her strength, lifted up the suitcase once more and lugged it with little finesse into the bedroom. ‘Do you want me to do your unpacking as well, or can you manage?’

  ‘No, I do not. I can see to my own unpacking.’

  ‘All right, well, please yourself. There are clean towels on the end of the bed. I’ve scrubbed the bath, but Sister Haycock keeps it immaculate anyway. The greasy spoon is open until after the night staff break at midnight.’

  Elsie waited for a thank you. None was forthcoming. The silence told her she was dismissed.

  *

  When Matron returned from her leave, she summoned Miss Van Gilder to her office.

  ‘Come and sit by the fire,’ she said. ‘The cold is just dreadful. Sister Antrobus tells me the bed count is full on the medical wards due to bronchitis and influenza. Are your rooms warm enough?’

  ‘They are, thank you, Matron. And besides, a bit of cold never killed anyone.’

  ‘Oh, I think Sister Antrobus might disagree with you there,’ said Matron as she closed the door behind her. The number of patients who’d died that day from pneumonia was already much higher than usual. A situation Matron was sure was not helped by the cold houses some of their patients had to endure.

  ‘Warm or not, I’m not altogether sure how much longer any of us will be able to remain living on the hospital premises,’ she said. ‘The Liverpool District Hospitals Board has approved plans to convert the entire accommodation corridor into a ward for emergency admissions. I have no doubt that soon they will be giving us orders to find our own accommodation outside of the hospital grounds.’

  ‘Well,’ Miss Van Gilder replied, ‘in that case, we shall have to move into the Lovely Lane nurses’ home, which would be a far better solution, in my opinion. Much more homely and comfortable. I am surprised, Matron, I have to admit, that we don’t have rooms in the Lovely Lane home, what with it being such a beautiful building.’

  ‘Well, it was your predecessor, Sister April, who put a stop to that,’ said Matron as she led Miss Van Gilder to the comfortable chair by her roaring fire. ‘When the war started. Sister April felt that the nurses needed a break from the more senior staff and that it would be much better to separate the qualified staff from the junior nurses. And I have to say, it has worked very well. As Sister April used to say, we can’t act as if our young nurses need supervising when they’re off duty and at the same time expect them to have the responsibility of saving lives on our wards.’

  Matron bent down to stroke Blackie, who was stretched out in front of the fire. He made a continual low growling noise in his throat. If there was one thing Miss Van Gilder hated more than children, it was dogs, and Blackie clearly knew it.

  ‘Well, Matron,’ replied Miss Van Gilder, sucking in her cheeks disapprovingly, ‘I have never been a fan of living above the shop, as it were, but if we are to hold on to the ban on employing married nurses, moving out of hospital accommodation will make life a little more difficult. Very few nurses could afford to pay for their board out of their salary. Not that I am complaining. At least we’re paid enough to keep us in comfortable lodgings in our old age.’

  Matron nodded and stoked the fire.

  ‘But, frankly, I would have thought that there were other matters the LDHB would want to concentrate on before it considered emptying out the sisters’ rooms. There are areas of hospital operation which I believe require more immediate attention.’

  Matron bristled. Blackie growled.

  ‘Other areas? What areas exactly, Miss Van Gilder?’

  Matron was disappointed. She had looked forward to the arrival of Miss Van Gilder. She had judged her to be someone who was firm but also compassionate and flexible in her approach. She was sure the board members had seen those qualities too. Qualities they all realized were required in a hospital that was struggling to cope with the post-war demands of a rapidly healing and developing city. The number of babies being born was a challenge in itself, but there were also more and more young men ending up in casualty, now that there were so many more scooters and motorcars in the streets. Liverpool, so recently devoid of the young men who had been away fighting for King and country, was once again alive and vibrating with energy, and St Angelus needed to keep pace.

  Miss Van Gilder spotted the shadow of concern that had crossed Matron’s face and feared she had overstepped the mark. It would not be the first time. Proffering her opinion where it was not wanted or required had always been her problem. If she had not been quite so forceful with her opinion, she might have been in Bournemouth still.

  She smiled a bright and disarming smile and tried to rekindle their earlier friendliness. ‘As you’ll have understood, Matron, from the letter I sent you outlining cost-efficiencies I have encountered in other hospitals, this is an area in which I have some expertise. Perhaps I could s
pend some time getting to know St Angelus a little better and in the process produce a report for you. A new pair of eyes to take a fresh look at the way we do things. And then, Matron, you could use it as your own, to help with the expansion plans for the hospital. After all, easing the burden of the matron should be the primary consideration of any assistant matron worth her salt.’

  Matron softened. The smile returned. Blackie settled back down on to his tartan rug. The danger had passed.

  ‘Why, Miss Van Gilder, that is an excellent idea. I must tell you, I have managed to hold them off evacuating the sisters’ rooms and demolishing the old ward block. But the proposed building programme in itself makes my eyes water. I have no idea how we could deliver a normal service to patients with the amount of disruption we would be expected to endure. A report on how we might make improvements to the hospital without the degree of bulldozer destruction proposed by the board would be very welcome indeed.’

  Elsie arrived with the tea tray and laid it down on the small coffee table between them.

  ‘I think that, as well as the building, we could make some changes to how the hospital is staffed. We do seem to employ an army of people. Many hospitals are looking at money-saving measures, and in particular they’re reviewing the ways in which they clean the hospital and provide meals to patients.’

  Elsie didn’t move a muscle.

  ‘I have some very exciting ideas with regard to how we can reduce our spend and staffing levels. We employ far too many domestics, it appears to me.’

  Elsie spilt the spoon of sugar she was about to drop into Miss Van Gilder’s tea.

  ‘I would also like to develop my ideas regarding a nurse cadet force.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ said Matron. ‘The person you need to speak to there is Sister Haycock.’

  ‘Well, I would like to, but she has been very elusive. She appears to be out almost every evening. Returns at nine o’clock, does a little washing, and is out again by eight in the morning. I have never known anyone to wash so often.’

  ‘Yes, I have noticed that myself. However, we are all entitled to our private lives, Miss Van Gilder. As long as Sister Haycock isn’t breaking any of the hospital rules or behaving in a manner which is inappropriate or would bring shame upon the hospital, she is entitled to behave in private as she pleases. I have known her since she was a young nurse. It is a fact, she was not my choice for the position of sister tutor. I was overruled on that one by our TB specialist, Dr Gaskell. However, she has more than proved herself as being both able and, dare I say it, excellent in the execution of her duties. She has a way with the student nurses which brings out the best in them. And as a result, she now has my unconditional support.’

  Miss Van Gilder wasn’t sure she shared that sentiment. She found complaint with almost everyone and everything and she was quite sure that Sister Haycock would present no challenge in that regard. As a woman who had no private life herself, she was deeply interested in everyone else’s and had already decided that she would make it her business to find out exactly why Sister Haycock did so much washing in the laundry room and ran so much hot water late at night. After all, how did one know whether rules were being broken if the perpetrator had yet to be caught?

  ‘Now, Miss Van Gilder, I think we need to establish a time when you and I can meet and discuss the week. May I suggest that every Monday morning we meet here in my rooms at eleven o’clock for coffee and you, being my eyes and ears, can tell me what concerns or indeed pleases you. I am being called to so many committee meetings across the city and even have to catch the train to London later this week for a matrons’ conference. Would you believe it, there are some people in this new NHS who consider that matrons lack the correct management skills to run hospitals. I had no intention of travelling all the way to London at first, but when I saw that particular item on the agenda, I made it my business to secure myself a place. Just who do these people think they are?’

  Miss Van Gilder began to relax. She tut-tutted and shook her head in conspiratorial disbelief. This was more like it.

  ‘Why, thank you, Matron, yes, a weekly meeting would be an excellent idea. I am sure I shall have a great deal to report back to you for consideration. There will not be a part of this hospital or a single person I won’t know all about, I can assure you.’

  ‘Excellent. Right, well, this all sounds very positive. I’m delighted that you could join us. Let me call Elsie back with some of her delicious biscuits to celebrate and we can start today as we mean to go on. I keep forgetting that we can have biscuits whenever we want them now, do you?’

  Miss Van Gilder, not being fluent in small talk, stammered a response. ‘Er, well...’

  ‘Have you met Blackie?’ asked Matron as Blackie growled.

  Miss Van Gilder flinched. Matron almost frowned.

  As Elsie placed the biscuits on the plate in the kitchen, she answered the kitchen phone. It was Biddy.

  ‘The note you copied from Matron’s desk, it’s come up trumps, Elsie. It had a hospital name on it, St Dunstan’s, and I have the address for your woman in St Dunstan’s, the one I was telling you about yesterday. She’s from Ballina and her sister is Cathy, in the kitchens, lives on Waterloo Street. Cathy asked her in her letter did she know your one, the Bone Grinder, and sure she did. I said I would send a letter off to her tonight with what we want to know and my address. Is she there now?’

  ‘Oh God, she is, Biddy, and she has a right funny way about her. There’s something fishy about that woman, make no mistake, and she’s going to be big trouble for us all.’

  Biddy almost sighed. Elsie was a worrier and Miss Van Gilder sent Elsie into a spin. ‘Stop your fretting, Elsie. Get round to mine tonight and we’ll send the letter off. If she’s hiding something, as God is true, we will find out what it is.’

  As Miss Van Gilder drank her tea and ate the delicious caramel biscuits with Matron, her hostility to the chilly north-west began to fade. St Dunstan’s felt like a million miles away. It had been a close thing at St Dunstan’s. Too close for comfort. But this was a fresh start. She would not make the same mistakes. From now on, she would take much more care.

  ‘I suggest you let me deal with all the post as well, Matron. I can open the mail and settle the more trivial issues. Anything of concern, I can place on your desk for you to deal with. After all, what is the point of having a dog and barking yourself?’ Miss Van Gilder couldn’t help herself as she set her chin at Blackie.

  At the mention of the word dog, Blackie’s head shot up.

  Matron did not feel comfortable with this suggestion but had no idea how to object. Miss Van Gilder was quite correct. Her job was to assist her in her matronly duties. Hadn’t she just said herself how busy she was? Was it not the case that this week alone she was away from the hospital for three full days? ‘Well, that will be very kind of you,’ she said, reluctantly.

  ‘Excellent, I shall have the porter deliver all the post to my desk each morning and we shall work out who deals with what from then on. I shall handle all the tedious and less important correspondence.’

  Miss Van Gilder looked into the leaping flames and thought to herself, yes, at St Angelus I shall cover myself in glory. No one will wag any fingers at me here.

  15

  Lockie had drunk too much. He knew it, but Amy had been in the mood to drink and he couldn’t stop her.

  ‘Wait for me outside the plant at six,’ she’d said to him as he collected his banker’s draft that morning, and he had. They’d been sitting in the Grapes pub ever since, on the small pew next to the fire.

  Amy wasn’t really Lockie’s type. He was a quiet, hard-working man who wanted a simple life. He watched the footie with his dad on Saturdays and called in to the pub after the match on the way home. He lay in bed on Sundays to catch up on his sleep and gave Misty an extra-long groom. He went to the pub with his dad for a lunch-time pint, ate the roast dinner his mam cooked and then visited his nan.

  That was Lockie’s
life. Orderly. Nothing unusual happened to knock him off his beat and he liked it that way. He had never met a woman who wore make-up, until he met Amy. He had never met a woman who flirted with men, until Amy. When Amy spoke to Lockie, he wanted to run a mile, but instead, he was captivated by her red lips and the wafting aroma of something that had no place in a kitchen.

  ‘I have to work in the morning, Amy,’ he said. ‘I need to be up at five. I want to meet the Cotapaxi. She’s out at the bar, due to be first in. When she docks, I want to be down there for the jute offloads.’

  Lockie was always the first in the queue. The broken bales and the ripped sacks were all his, for a lower price, and he took those too. That was how he managed to save over ten pounds a week. It would be more, but he always slipped a green note to his nan on Sundays.

  ‘Use this for the Guinness and the bingo, Nan,’ he would say as he placed it on her dresser. She would light her pipe and pretend she hadn’t heard him. Pride always came before grateful acceptance of a pound note.

  He also helped out his mam, paid the rent and supplemented his dad’s wages as a docker. All was good in Lockie’s world and this was a result of his own endeavour and enterprise. But nothing gave him as much pleasure as the ever-growing pile he had on deposit in the bank. He checked the amount each month and surprised even himself. Not long now.

  ‘I’ll have enough soon, Da, to rent my own yard and buildings and employ my own men with no need of money from the bank. There will even be enough to buy this house one day. I can get extra carts and with a bit of luck start some of my own processing. I’m doing well, Da.’ He knew it was true. He worked for it and nothing was going to stand in his way. When he had saved up enough money, he would cut out the middleman. These thoughts filled his mind day after day. They propelled him out of bed at four thirty on the coldest, dampest mornings and they sustained him through the longest working day.

  Amy smiled. ‘What are you thinking about, Lockie?’ she asked.