The Children of Lovely Lane

by Nadine Dorries

  And in a flash she was gone, out of the door and down the steps, leaving Dr Mackintosh wondering what on earth was wrong with him.

  Teddy was at his side. ‘I saw you,’ he whispered.

  ‘You saw what?’ asked Dr Mackintosh.

  ‘I saw the way she made you smile, put a twinkle in your eye.’

  ‘You did no such thing. Do you know, since you’ve been dating Nurse Brogan, you’ve gone soft in the head.’

  They could both hear Miss Van Gilder’s voice at the sisters’ station and they both winced. Without wasting a second, Dr Mackintosh called out to Pammy, ‘Nurse Tanner, could you please arrange for this young chap to be transferred up to ward three.’ He walked over to the desk and dropped his hand towel into the linen basket as he passed.

  As he had guessed she might, Assistant Matron had an opinion. ‘Is that entirely necessary, Doctor?’ she asked. ‘You have said yourself that his breathing is much better.’

  ‘Miss Van Gilder, when you have spent seven years dealing with chest conditions, as I have, I will happily invite your opinion on my cases. But until such a time and for as long as we are under the auspices of the NHS, clinical decisions regarding children are my responsibility. I shall exercise my judgement as I see fit. That’s if you don’t mind?’

  Miss Van Gilder bristled and turned away. ‘I shall return later, Sister Antrobus. It is very clear to me that we need additional supervision on casualty. I will ensure that some semblance of normality returns to this department.’

  As she finished speaking, she bustled towards the main entrance, where she bumped straight into Nurse Makebee and almost knocked her out of her way. Nurse Makebee dropped the half-full bucket of plaster of Paris she was carrying all over the floor.

  ‘Oh, that poor nurse,’ said Teddy, who was about to start completing Joe’s notes. ‘I’m going to go and help her before that woman eats her alive.’

  Pammy was speechless. Unusually for her, she could think of nothing to say. She watched helplessly as Nurse Makebee responded to the outburst of vitriol she received from Miss Van Gilder. She was contrite but retained her dignity, seemingly unfazed as Miss Van Gilder tore her off a strip then flounced out through the main doors.

  Teddy had rushed to help Nurse Makebee a little too quickly. He knelt down on the floor, scraped the plaster of Paris into the bucket and called for the orderly, and within seconds he was standing upright again with the now tearful Nurse Makebee in his arms as he tried to comfort her.

  Only Pammy saw her smile as he led her towards the sink to clean the wet plaster from her apron. Nothing escaped her and she caught every last trace of meaning that beamed from Nurse Makebee’s eyes in Teddy’s direction. You fool, Teddy, she thought. You fool. I’m really going to have to watch you, miss.

  19

  Sister Antrobus stormed out of Emily Haycock’s office as Biddy walked in.

  ‘What’s got her goat?’ asked Biddy. ‘She’s flying down those stairs and as God is my judge, I have never seen her walk as fast as that before.’

  ‘She’s not happy about Miss Van Gilder.’ In despair, Emily dropped her head on to her forearm on the desk. Then, lifting it again, she said, ‘Apparently, Miss Van Gilder is not happy with the way ward sisters take the nursing assessments and then tick off the tasks in the workbooks. She thinks it’s a job for herself. That trainee nurses should be answerable to her, even on casualty, with all that goes on there.’

  ‘And has she spoken to you?’

  ‘No, she hasn’t mentioned a thing to me. I’ve heard her moving around in her room next to mine on the accommodation corridor and that’s about the sum of it. We haven’t spoken a word since the day of her interview.’

  ‘Well, it seems to me you need to change that pretty fast because that woman is trouble. Tell me, what is an industrial and domestic cleaning agency? I’ve never heard of such a thing, but it doesn’t sound good to me and we know it’s something she is talking to Matron about and Matron doesn’t seem to be putting up much resistance.’

  Emily groaned. ‘Do you think the board knew what they were doing when they said she was the one they wanted? She was the one I liked the least. I reckon they don’t like me. They think I am too young for the responsibility I hold. They appointed her to spite me.’

  ‘Well, if they did or didn’t, there’s nothing you can do to change anything, so there’s no point in complaining. I’m going to go and get us some tea and a slice of brack from the kitchen. You and me, we need to make a plan.’

  While Biddy made her way to the kitchen, Emily walked over to the window, pulled up the sash and placed half a slice of seed cake she had popped into her pocket on the sill for the gull. She looked sideways to where it had taken to resting, in the guttering behind a large pipe, and watched as it craned its neck upwards at the sound of the sash rising.

  She had told her stepfather, Alf, about the seagull and had been amazed at the lucidity of his response. ‘He’s a young one, queen. They often fall out of the nest and can’t get back and so he will have made his own way to the guttering. Keep feeding him and once he has his strength up he will fly down to the docks with the rest of them. Have you told your mam? Show the boys, they’ll love that. Our Richard, he’ll look after it for you.’ It had all been going so well until that point. In Alf’s mind, his wife and sons were all still alive. The bomb had never fallen and all was good in the world.

  Emily heard a loud clattering noise outside. It was the delivery of coal to the furnace and she watched as the bags were lifted one by one from the cart and dumped on to the blackened cobbles. Miss Van Gilder was down below and she watched as the porter’s lads visibly shrank in fear as she strode past.

  She let her head rest against the cool windowpane and, placing her hands on the ledge, she sighed. There was something about Miss Van Gilder that disturbed her. The woman didn’t feel right. It was as if she was an act, playing out the role of the formidable assistant matron. Only in her case she was trying to tone down her fierceness, not ratchet it up.

  Emily thought she would like to move out of the accommodation block if she could. She needed a life outside of the hospital. It was too consuming. She thought and spoke about nothing else and she knew that wasn’t right. But housing in Liverpool was so scarce, it would be almost impossible. Her stepfather Alf would spend the rest of his life in the nursing home for war veterans. She had visited him there almost every evening since he’d been admitted and tonight would be no exception. In fact, she was looking forward to seeing him. She would tell him all about the new assistant matron, she would let off steam and complain and moan and rant. And when it was all over, he would forget every word within seconds. His senility was about as bad as it could possibly be, except for one fact: he sometimes knew who she was.

  She watched as Dessie came into view. He straightened the cap of one of the porter’s lads as he passed and they both looked down at the lad’s gleaming boots. He gave the boy a fatherly pat on the back and, extracting something from his own pocket, pressed it into the boy’s hand. With that, the lad ran off to join the others.

  What a lovely man you are, Dessie, thought Emily. She guessed he had passed forty. He had the air of a man who had seen and known life. She had never heard him mention the war, but had heard others speak of his medals and bravery. ‘No one gets a medal for making the tea,’ she whispered and as she did so, the window steamed up with her breath. Watching Dessie with his kindly way softened her heart. He reminded her of Alf.

  She had a sudden pang of loneliness and regret at her solitary circumstances. Oliver Gaskell had tried to win her back after she’d seen him with Pammy Tanner at the doctors’ social, but she’d rebuffed all his calls and notes. She might be alone, but she had her pride. She would keep searching for a man who matched up to her Alf. Her mother would have expected no less.

  Just as she turned to move away from the window, Dessie looked up, as if he had sensed her watching him. He smiled and slowly raised his hand, and she waved
in response. Without knowing why, a grin spread across her face as Dessie doffed his cap and mock-bowed to her up at the window.

  Blushing, she moved away and back towards the desk at the sound of Biddy’s returning footsteps.

  Biddy placed the tray down on the desk. ‘Have you ever seen a slice as big as that?’ she asked.

  ‘Isn’t everything in this life made better by a slice of cake.’ Emily smiled. ‘Biddy, can we have a chat?’

  ‘A chat? God in heaven, we chat all the time.’

  ‘This is personal, Biddy. There is something I want to help you with, with regard to Miss Van Gilder and the St Angelus mafia. Oh, I know you all exist. You and Dessie and Elsie, and Madge from the switchboard, and some of the others, you’re as thick as thieves and you’re always one step ahead of everyone else. Come and sit down with me. Not at the desk, over here by the fire. I’ll take my tea.’

  The two women carried over their cups and plates.

  ‘You know I can’t get out of these chairs once I’ve sat down,’ Biddy complained. But secretly she enjoyed the fireside chats that Emily occasionally invited her to share.

  As she put her cup of tea down on the side table, Emily heard a gentle patter outside the window. Without turning her head, from the corner of her eye she saw the seagull move halfway across the red sandstone ledge. It stopped and looked into the room to check it was safe and, sensing it was, scuttled towards the seed cake, picked it up and scuttled back to its safe place with the cake in its beak. Emily smiled, pleased with the gull’s bravery. Yesterday it had taken over an hour for it to venture out towards the food she’d left.

  ‘Biddy, I have made a huge mistake and I don’t know what to do about it. Miss Van Gilder is spying on me. I’ve never seen her, but I know she’s doing it. I hear her footsteps on the other side of the wall when I’m washing Alf’s clothes and pyjamas in the laundry in the accommodation block. Every night when I switch off my light, I hear hers go off just after me, as though she’s been waiting. The woman is giving me the creeps. I also think she is bad for the hospital. We have to do something. If she carries on, I think Sister Antrobus is going to have a stroke.’

  ‘And that’s a bad thing?’ enquired Biddy with a look of surprise on her face. ‘No, I’m only joking, having a bit of craic! Don’t look so horrified. I have no notion what was in the head of those do-gooders when they appointed her.’

  There was a moment’s silence. Both were aware that Biddy had chosen not to mention that it was Emily who’d been in charge of sifting the applications.

  ‘Biddy, I think we need your team of ladies – and before you object, I know you have one, you can’t hide it from me – to keep an eye out. There is something about Miss Van Gilder which does concern me.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Biddy. ‘But it may not surprise you to know, we are already way ahead of you.’

  Emily’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Now I have a bit of news of me own. We have tracked down someone who works in St Dunstan’s, her previous hospital. She’s a ward orderly, a sister of Cathy’s in the kitchens here. We’ve written to her – Dessie helped us – and we’re waiting for a letter back, but it sounds to me as though she may have some interesting information. If there is anything to know, we will find it out. ’

  Emily bit on the last slice of brack and finished her tea. ‘That was blooming good cake, Biddy. OK, here’s what I propose. Can I come in on your little mafia meetings? We need a plan. I will find out about the agencies and report back to you, if you let me know what your friend Cathy finds out from her sister.’

  Biddy smiled. ‘Well, it’s nothing fancy. We meet in my house every so often. It’s generally on a Sunday night with a pie and a bottle of Guinness. Fancy that, do you?’

  Emily grimaced. ‘Well, I can eat the pie.’

  ‘OK, my house it is then. I’ll let you know when we’ve had a reply to our letter.’

  *

  Over in the administration offices, which were situated at the end of the accommodation corridor, Miss Van Gilder began to open her own post. She was delighted with the first letter, which was from the Acme cleaning agency.

  Dear Miss Van Gilder,

  Thank you for your letter requesting further details of our services. We would be delighted to provide you with a quotation for the cleaning of St Angelus Hospital.

  ACME see the establishment of the NHS as an opportunity for cleaning agencies such as ours who wish to specialize in the cleansing of NHS facilities. Procurement of our services would both save St Angelus a great deal of money and improve the cleanliness of the hospital.

  I would be happy to meet at your earliest convenience in order that we may evaluate the best way forward and ensure that my estimate fully meets your requirements.

  Yours sincerely,

  Capt. T. J. H. Oldsworth

  ‘Excellent,’ she said out loud. That is a meeting I am looking forward to, she thought. But I must take every care to ensure that everything is in order. No one must be able to point a finger. Everything as it should be. No mistakes. She made a new file clearly marked: Cleaning Agency Proposals.

  The second letter was not so pleasing. It made her heart race and her skin tighten in apprehension. She swallowed hard as she instantly recognized the scrawly handwriting on the envelope. It was there in her hands. The envelope was addressed to Matron, but she was safe. She had it.

  Breathing in, she steeled herself. She turned over the envelope with a flourish and cut through the paper with a single sharp slice. She let out the long breath she was unaware she had been holding.

  Dear Matron,

  Thank you for your letter requesting a testimonial in writing for Miss Van Gilder.

  I sadly have to inform you that Miss Van Gilder’s time at St Dunstan’s was not a happy one.

  Miss Van Gilder continued to read.

  Without taking her eyes from the letter, she walked across to the fireplace and, placing one hand on the mantelpiece, read it again.

  ‘Well, well, I got the better of you, you old witch.’

  Resisting the temptation to tear the letter into tiny pieces, she let it float down on to the fire, where it instantly caught alight. She watched as the flames engulfed the accusing words.

  ‘The problem with you, Matron, was that you thought you were cleverer than me, didn’t you? It was only by chance that you thwarted me, and you have been the only one.’ She rested both of her hands on the mantelpiece and watched as the paper crackled and burnt until, before her eyes, the words became nothing more than a gossamer film of grey ash.

  ‘You with your girly kiss-curls on an old woman and your fancy notions.’ She spat the last word into the fireplace and a streak of spittle landed on her chin. She wiped it away with the back of her hand as she swallowed hard. Her face glowed red, burning with the heat from the fire, and her eyes stung.

  She walked back to her desk. As she picked up the next letter, her hand was shaking violently; she placed it back down on her lap and rubbed her thighs until the shaking stopped. She couldn’t concentrate. The fear of almost having been caught haunted her thoughts. It refused to go. If that had happened, she could not have lived with the shame. There would have been only one way out and, even now, she was not sure that she would have been brave enough. One more time, she thought. We just need one more time and then it’s done.

  20

  Dana had been tucked up in her bed in the Lovely Lane nurses’ home since 9 a.m. on the dot and now, in the middle of the day, she lay there wondering what it was that had woken her. She could hear the whispered voices of the maids, who she knew were being quiet so as not to disturb her. She had been temporarily transferred on to nights on the children’s ward because almost all of the night staff had gone down with flu.

  She’d been terrified when she was told to report to Sister Haycock’s office. But she was soon put out of her misery and informed that she would be the most senior member of staff on children’s.

  ‘But I�
��m only partway through my training,’ she’d said to Sister Haycock.

  ‘Needs must, I’m afraid. There is a staff nurse on ward four, she will be keeping an eye on you. You can always call Night Sister if you need her, and I’m in the accommodation block. There is a lot of help on hand and besides, it’s great training. The best nurses are those who’ve been thrown in at the deep end.’

  Dana felt proud at having so much trust placed in her.

  ‘There is so much new thinking with regard to paediatrics,’ Sister Haycock had said. ‘It’s an interesting area and you may find it’s something you want to specialize in. I will look out the article I read in the Nursing Times this week and lend it to you. It’s all about the proposed new NHS policy for allowing daily parental visits to children on the wards. The thinking being that it does more harm than good, keeping parents away.’

  Dana could imagine how Miss Van Gilder would feel about daily visiting for parents. She had already garnered a reputation for being rude to visitors.

  ‘The new policy is one I wholeheartedly agree with,’ continued Sister Haycock.

  Dana couldn’t agree more. Her heart tightened at the sound of children crying out for their parents.

  ‘Some of the doctors are pressing for a children’s intensive-care unit and that could be just up your street, Nurse Brogan. Work hard on children’s, use this opportunity to learn well, and if you’re inclined to apply when you qualify, you would have my support.’

  Dana had thought that when she qualified she would want to be placed on casualty. Having been born to the twice-daily routine of milking cows, she loved the unexpected and the anticipation of what could come though the door next. There was a much more light-hearted atmosphere on casualty. A camaraderie among the staff, doctors and nurses alike that sustained them through the worst events.

  But all she said was, ‘Thank you, Sister Haycock. I shall do my best.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve been given such responsibility,’ she’d told the girls and Mrs Duffy that evening.