‘I am very pleased to hear that, Mr Marcus. It would be a sad day indeed if Dr Gaskell did not support my aims and objectives for the hospital. We have always worked together closely on matters to do with providing the best care for everyone.’
‘Indeed, Matron, you do have a formidable supporter and, may I say, not only in Dr Gaskell but in myself and my mother and, I would imagine, in the hundreds of patients who have had much to thank St Angelus for over the years. The hospital runs as well as it does because of you, Matron, and your exceptional organizational skills.’
Matron was silent, not knowing how to respond. As someone unused to praise, she feared the emotion she could feel stirring within.
Maximillian Marcus, clearly pleased that his words had had such an impact, continued. ‘Matron, as impressive as your reputation is, and as good as the care is that is provided at St Angelus, I have met with considerable opposition to your plans for a new maternity unit. Far stronger than I could have imagined. There were some very strong forces working against me at a very high level.’
Matron’s heart sank. This was it. The flowery words at the beginning of the call had been for no other reason than to lay a soft landing for the news that was about to follow.
He had failed. There would be no new maternity unit. She felt anger bubbling up inside. How could she have been so stupid to have fallen for his flannel? After all these years, to have allowed herself to be taken in in this way.
Blackie growled. He was becoming impatient for his walk. They were now almost ten minutes late and unlike many of the patients lying in beds in the wards, Blackie’s bowels were very regular.
Matron took a deep breath. ‘I am very sorry to hear that and very disappointed too. I thought that the powers that be would have had the interests of our local families at heart. Indeed, before the appointment of the major as chairman of the Liverpool District Hospitals Board and the strategic removal of every single female representative from that board – women who had until recently been considered irreplaceable and immensely valuable – what was best for the community, for local mothers, was very much a priority.’
This was something that made Matron blister with anger and it was happening even in clinical settings. Male nurses were now almost immediately promoted to charge nurse once they’d qualified, whereas staff nurses could wait an entire career before being promoted to ward sister. And despite having removed the unmarried nurses rule at St Angelus, so that nurses who married could now remain in employment and were no longer forbidden from having contact with patients, Matron was certain that if Emily Haycock were to stand down as director of the school of nursing, the board would replace her with a male nurse who’d served in the medical corps.
‘Now then, Matron, don’t be too harsh. There are plans being formulated for the whole of Liverpool and how best to meet the needs of all, over a longer period of time.’
At Matron’s elbow a cup of tea materialized on the desk and from the corner of her eye she saw Elsie retreating from the room. Elsie never brought her tea at ten past one. It was Blackie’s walk time. She turned her head to whisper thank you, but Elsie had her back to her and disappeared through the door. She had no time to consider the peculiarity of the unrequested tea as the next words she heard took her breath away.
‘I have managed to secure the new maternity unit for you on the basis that those who were initially opposed are to head up a feasibility team to appraise the needs of Liverpool over the next twenty-five years and produce a report. This in itself will take a number of years to complete and evaluate. However, given the current birth rate in Liverpool, the provision of a maternity unit cannot wait. They are calling it a baby boom apparently, and you have it bad in Liverpool.’ Blackie growled and for the first time ever, Matron nudged him with her foot to silence him. She swallowed hard as she tried to make sense of what she was being told. ‘And so the secretary of state and I have agreed on an incremental spend for improving existing services to meet the predicted and increasing demographic need, until such time as a decision is taken on when, where and how a new hospital is to be built. And indeed where and how it should link with the medical school and the university.’
Matron needed a second to allow the words to sink in. ‘You mean we actually are going to have a new maternity unit?’
‘Yes, Matron, you are. The decision is that St Angelus has a minimum shelf life of a further ten years, but we all know how the wheels of finance and town planning turn. My guess is it will take until the 1970s or even the 1980s before any substantial change takes place and by then, Matron, you and I… Well, it will no longer be our problem, will it?’
Matron was steadying herself against the desk now and was only half listening, but Mr Marcus was still in full flow. Blackie had wound himself and his lead around the leg of the desk and had become trapped. He whined and whimpered in order to attract her attention. Always so attentive to his needs, she failed to even notice.
‘The world will have altered so much by then, Matron. Liverpool especially. Our job is to man the bridge until the country has truly moved on from the ravages wrought by the war. The rebuilding of our great city will take much longer than most people believe. The war was expensive and money is in short supply. Besides, the prime minister is prioritizing housing, which, I don’t have to tell you, is in desperately short supply. And roads too, out to the places where new houses can be built as cheaply as possible. So, Matron, your maternity unit is approved. The paperwork is with the secretary of state, in his red box, waiting to be signed this week. All you need to decide is where you would like the unit to be situated.’
His words were met with silence.
‘Matron, are you still there?’
‘Er, yes, I am. I’m most terribly sorry, you have caught me unawares. I don’t know what to say except thank you. Thank you. You have achieved something wonderful that will benefit many.’
‘Well, Matron, don’t thank me, thank Dr Gaskell. I understand that a great deal of pressure was applied to force the good doctor to disapprove of the unit and instead to back the plan for the hasty construction of a new hospital, regardless of a feasibility study, on the basis that St Angelus is no longer fit for purpose. I have no need to tell you I am sure that he steadfastly refused, even though he would doubtless have benefited in a personal capacity. The wheels turn in very murky ways.’
Matron felt quite ashamed. She had doubted Dr Gaskell and his commitment. After all these years. ‘Mr Marcus…’
‘Oh, Matron, please, it’s Max, would you call me that? You virtually nursed my mother back to life. You returned her to me. She had all but given up, you know, because of the pain, the mountain she had to climb. You, you and your nurses, you made the difference. Mother is everything to me and I cannot imagine how my life would run without her. She and your mother were the oldest of friends. Isn’t it about time you called me Max? Although I must admit, you will always be Matron to me.’
Matron remembered his mother, her own mother’s friend, very well. They had both attended the same girls’ boarding convent on the Fylde coast. Mrs Marcus had received a diagnosis of cervical cancer and Matron remembered that she had instructed the surgeon to ‘take everything possible away because my son needs me. I have to see him established in his career before I go anywhere.’ Her numerous post-operative complications had tested her resolve to the limit, but she had been determined not to succumb. Matron had spent many nights at her bedside, fighting the fever with nothing more than an army of sponges dipped in tepid water. There were no antibiotics freely available then. Nursing an infection equated to physical combat between the patient, the nurse and an unseen enemy. It had been touch and go a number of times, but Mrs Marcus had got through it, propelled by her maternal instinct to survive, and she was still here.
‘Well, if I may… Max.’ It sounded so strange, she could barely say the word and she knew that as soon as this conversation was over, she would revert to ‘Mr Marcus’. ‘I think your mother
has had some input here. I can almost hear her fighting my corner. Would you please give her a personal thank you from me. She has very well repaid any debt she feels to St Angelus.’
Mr Marcus laughed. ‘Matron, Mother tells me she hasn’t seen you since the funeral of your own mother and she would like you to come and stay. You can thank her yourself. You and Blackie are warmly invited to spend a weekend in Hoylake with us. Would you do that?’
It was so long since anyone had invited Matron anywhere, she felt slightly overwhelmed. A knot formed in her diaphragm and as she breathed it slowly released a warmth within.
‘Please, don’t hesitate to say yes. Mother mentioned it again only this morning. I’m sure it is what your mother would have liked, so please say yes.’
This time Matron didn’t pause. ‘Well, yes, thank you. Are you sure about Blackie? It’s just that I never like to leave him.’
‘Of course we are sure. How about later this month? Can I tell Mother you’ve said yes?’
Five minutes later, Matron walked down the stairs, Blackie at her side, feeling as though she was floating on air. She had her unit. Dr Gaskell’s loyalty had been put to the test and he had proved to be as good a caretaker of the families of the dockside as she was herself. She had been invited to stay at the Marcus home, her first social engagement since she could remember.
As she made her way to the front doors at the main entrance, various people called out, ‘Afternoon, Matron.’ The lady on the WRVS stall said, ‘You will need your brolly today, Matron. The weather has turned quickly, pouring down out there, it is.’ And everyone thought it was most odd when, instead of grimacing at the rain that flew in through the door on the tail of a mini tornado, soaking the front of her dress and cloak, Matron beamed from ear to ear as the umbrella shot out in front of her.
15
As Noleen neared the hall, her step slowed and her heart beat faster. It was so long since she had been to the bingo, she thought that maybe she had forgotten how to play. She could just see inside. The women staffing the cloakroom were standing at the hatch, exchanging coats for little chits of grey paper on which they wrote numbers. The overhead light beamed down on them, and their cigarettes, which they only relinquished when they needed to hang up a coat, sent up plumes of thick smoke, making their faces barely recognizable.
Beyond the cloak hatch the hall was dark and Noleen could hear the murmur of excited chatter. The dockside mothers loved their bingo. It was the second religion of the streets. Chair legs scraped across the parquet floor as lucky seats were resumed in anticipation of a good win. Noleen smiled as she remembered nights during the war when players had almost come to blows if they’d arrived to find their own special seat had been taken by someone else.
The familiar feelings of doubt and anxiety began to take hold as she decided that maybe coming to the bingo had been a bad idea after all and she should give tonight a miss. Return home to the kids, just in case Bryan wasn’t managing. After all, Paddy hadn’t been working for long.
She heard the sound of laughter spilling out of the hall and looked up. It was a sound she was unused to and she’d missed it. But although she felt the pull to join in with the women she had known for all of her life, the fear of condemnation drew her back. Yes, I’ll go back home, she thought.
As she turned, she met the examining stare of Biddy, who was right behind her. ‘Where do you think you are off to?’ asked Biddy. ‘Now you’re here, you aren’t leaving me to the rabbiting of that one.’ She flicked her head back and Noleen saw Elsie, hurrying along behind her, swinging her lucky bingo handbag back and forth as she went.
‘Noleen, well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,’ said Elsie as she stopped and caught her breath.
‘Isn’t she that. What a great night this is going to be. I have a feeling in me water that one of us is going to have a big win tonight.’
Noleen shook her head and smiled.
‘No, Noleen, ’tis true. My bladder is better than any crystal ball, even with the pessary fitted. If anything, it’s made it better than before, in more ways than one. Come on or Madge will complain that she’s been left to keep the seats again. I would have been here ten minutes ago if it wasn’t for that one.’
Elsie rolled her eyes heavenwards and smiled at Noleen. She was well used to taking the blame.
Once the coats were handed over, Noleen stood at the entrance to the inner hall, Biddy on one side, Elsie on the other. On the stage ahead and in between, rows of tables and chairs were being filled by women talking fast and furiously, getting all their news out before the serious business of the bingo began.
Because of the thick pall of smoke, it was difficult to see to the end of the hall and make out any faces. The chatter began to subside and Noleen blushed. She instinctively felt that they were staring at her, the newcomer. Although she knew the name of pretty much every woman there, she had been unable to join them on the bingo nights since the day Paddy had come back from the war.
‘Oh look, would you? It’s Noleen Delaney.’ The voices faded to silence.
Noleen felt her heart somersault. It was as she’d expected. They were judging her to be a bad wife who sent her injured husband out to work while she came to the bingo. Someone was going to shout out any moment now, ‘Who’s looking after your kids now your Paddy has to work nights, Noleen?’ The shame of it. She would have to answer, ‘Our Mary.’ And everyone knew Mary couldn’t manage the kids. She couldn’t say ‘Bryan,’ even though that was the truth. He would have seven kinds of a fit if she did, and he had given her strict instructions. ‘Don’t say I’m at home, Mam. I don’t want the other women going home and telling their lads I’m a big cissy.’
The silence was broken by a single clap from Madge Jones, who had stood up and was smiling at her. One by one, all the women stood and began to clap and then someone cheered. Noleen was steered down the hall by Biddy and Elsie, deafened by the cheers. She could not make out who the individual women were who shouted their messages of good will as she passed them because a river of tears had filled her eyes and threatened to pour down her cheeks.
*
Lorcan had offered to work the night shift with Paddy and Paddy was delighted. He had become fond of the earnest young lad. ‘Now, all of you, behave for Bryan until your mam gets back from the bingo,’ he said as he prepared to leave the house. ‘Do you hear me?’
Finn didn’t respond. He was lying in his usual position in front of the fire. Jack was yet again waiting patiently for Cahill to finish the comic Bryan had bought him from the tobacconist.
Lorcan almost jumped in through the back door. ‘Are you ready, Mr Delaney?’
‘I am, lad. How’s your mam?’
‘She’s awake and she’s allowed to sit up tomorrow.’ Lorcan beamed from ear to ear. It was a smile that was quickly removed by the next question.
‘And what about that no-good brother of yours? Have the bizzies got him yet?’
Lorcan looked down at his feet. The thought crossed his mind that someone else might have seen and recognized J.T. at the hospital the other day. He had put it to the back of his mind. At times, he convinced himself that he was wrong, that it hadn’t been J.T. at all. But the feeling in the pit of his stomach that hadn’t left him since that day told him he had been right the moment he had seen him. It had been J.T.
‘Da,’ said Bryan, ‘give Lorcan a break. He’s not responsible for his brother.’
‘Sorry, lad,’ said Paddy. ‘Just can’t help thinking he has something to do with your mam’s condition. The Bevan boys didn’t just turn up with all those guns, did they? Someone must have told them it was OK to leave it all there and if it wasn’t J.T., who was it?’
‘The bizzies will pick him up soon and Lorcan will be as pleased as anyone, won’t you, lad?’ said Bryan.
Lorcan handed Paddy his coat from the back of the door. ‘I will. I want to go home and get Mam home too. I don’t think we can until the bizzies find him. I don’t think Biddy w
ill let us. Are you going in the chair, Paddy?’
‘No, Lorcan, I’m going to try the leg. Your man at the prosthetics clinic has worked wonders.’
Bryan tied off the bandage he had been wrapping around the wood-and-iron end of the leg ready for the bandaged stump.
‘No more padding,’ Paddy instructed, ‘or I won’t be able to fit the stump in. Joe was very clear about that.’
‘Are you going to be all right in that, Da? What if you need to move quickly?’
‘I won’t need to do that, Bryan. I just have to check off the dockets. It needs a man to deal with the drivers. Some of them are right hard cases. Any running around is done by the night lad, isn’t that right, Lorcan?’
Lorcan nodded enthusiastically. ‘If he needs to move quickly, I’ll do it for him, Bryan.’
‘Aye, Lorcan is one of the best,’ said Paddy as he playfully swiped at Lorcan’s cap. ‘I never have to ask him twice.’
‘Right, try this, Da,’ said Bryan.
Paddy slipped his stump into the false leg and winced. Bryan grimaced in sympathy. ‘Hang on a minute, it will pass,’ said Paddy. ‘I just need to get used to it.’ After a few moments, his facial muscles eased. ‘Right, let’s tighten these new straps and tighten this girth and see if do they do the job.’
Ten minutes, two more painkillers and an even thicker bandage later, and aided now by a pair of carved wooden crutches, Lorcan and Paddy made their way towards St Angelus.
*
Lorraine and Mary came in through the Delaneys’ back gate just after Lorcan and Paddy had set off.
‘Where’s Mam?’ asked Mary as she walked into the kitchen and looked around in surprise. ‘I thought she’d given up her weeknights and wasn’t going to work two on the trot any more?’
The Mother's Of Lovely Lane Page 31