A Wartime Nurse

by Maggie Hope

  ‘I think I’ll go for a walk before tea,’ said Theda, a feeling of restlessness taking hold of her.

  Bea looked out of the window at the darkening sky. ‘Mind, it’ll be cold enough out there. You’ll want your top coat buttoned up, and don’t forget to wrap your scarf round your head. Nurses can catch pneumonia an’ all, you know.’

  ‘It’s stopped raining at least.’

  ‘If you walk up by Old Winton you can take the accumulators for the wireless – they’ve ran down. Tommy Handley’s on tonight, I always get a good laugh from him.’

  ‘It’s Boxing Day, won’t the place be closed?’

  ‘No, he always opens up for a couple of hours in the afternoons.’

  Theda placed the two accumulator batteries in the old basket kept for the purpose and set off up the back row for the shop. She turned round by the corner shop, closed and shuttered, the faded letters of ‘Armstrong’s’ peeling away from the wood above the window and an equally faded notice stuck to the shutters, ‘Closed for the duration’. She smiled as she remembered buying a penn’orth of black bullets there but now Tommy Armstrong was under the sod somewhere in France, had been since Dunkirk along with Frank. Now the only place to shop in the village was the Co-op and, of course, the bicycle shop where she was heading, with the shed behind where old Mr Jones mended wirelesses.

  There was a strong smell of accumulator acid in the shed. Theda wrinkled her nose as she waited for Mr Jones to replace the batteries with newly charged ones.

  ‘I hear Churchill’s away to Athens for a conference,’ he remarked. ‘Must be nice to go off to the sun, eh? All right for some? Old bugger!’

  Theda smiled to himself. There was a running battle going on between the Tories, and Churchill in particular, and the mining folk since the last war when he had ordered in the troops to South Wales. Evidently Mr Jones was one of those who wasn’t going to let a little thing like Churchill’s being a great war leader alter his opinion of him. ‘Attlee would have done as well, mebbe better,’ was a comment he often made.

  Looking at his gnarled hands, Theda noticed the acid burns on them, some just pink scars and others more recent, angry and red.

  ‘You want to be more careful with your hands,’ she told Mr Jones. ‘Haven’t you got some of those industrial gloves? Our Clara wears them when she’s working with gunpowder; they save her hands a lot.’

  Mr Jones gave her a scathing look. ‘Aye, well, your Clara’s a lass now, isn’t she? A few burns aren’t going to hurt me.’

  Suitably told off, she paid over her eightpence and picked up the basket, carrying it carefully now. Acid from the accumulators could burn holes in clothes and she couldn’t afford a new coat, not yet, though she had the coupons left.

  Outside, the winter’s afternoon was closing in, a cold, dark mist beginning to swallow up the houses only a few doors away. Theda tucked her headscarf inside her coat collar and burrowed her chin into the soft, woollen folds. Dark was approaching fast but at least she didn’t have to use her flashlight. Now that the blackout was reduced to a dim-out there was a little light seeping through the curtains of the houses though the street lights had not been lit since 1939.

  There was a car parked on the end of West Row. As she drew near she saw it was Major Collins’s. Now what did he want? It wasn’t time for her to go back to the hospital, it was far too early for her. She wanted to have a quiet word with Clara.

  There was an unpleasant smell from the earth closet, which stood by the coalhouses at the end of the yards. Normally she didn’t notice it, but now, with Ken here, she was embarrassingly conscious of it. I bet there’s a water closet in the manager’s house, she thought to herself. But why should she care what he thought? He knew well enough the conditions . . .

  Her thoughts were cut off as, staring at the car and not looking where she was walking, she stumbled against the base of a blacked out street lamp and the basket jerked in her hand. Acid slopped out on to her feet and ran down inside her shoes, stinging and burning so that she cried out in agony.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ken had spent the day with his uncle. Simon, Tucker’s son, was on leave from the RAF and he and his wife Anne, who was six months pregnant, had come up for the Christmas holidays.

  ‘Can’t you come home, at least for one day?’ Ken’s mother had asked wistfully. But he was on call and had to stay near a telephone, close enough to the hospital to be able to get in if there were any emergencies. Mr Kent, the senior surgeon, lived in Darlington.

  It had been a good day at Winton, though. Uncle Tucker seemed to have forgotten about the pit for a while. He was happy with his family around him, displaying a dry wit which kept the atmosphere bright and cheerful as they sat around the dining table.

  ‘We’re going over to Marsden to see Grandma Meg and the others tomorrow,’ Simon said as they gathered round the fire in Tucker’s comfortable sitting-room after the meal. ‘Come with us, Dad. You too, Ken. Let’s make it a proper family day.’

  ‘Oh, yes, why not?’ Anne enthused. She was a pretty girl, obviously madly in love with Simon. Her blonde hair was cut in the style of Veronica Lake, hanging loose over one eye, and she flung it back now in a gesture that was becoming habitual.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t get leave,’ Ken answered. ‘Give my love to them all, though.’

  ‘No, I can’t go either,’ said Tucker. ‘The pit will be going full blast by tomorrow.’

  The afternoon was wearing on. It was cosy there before the fire, with Simon reminiscing about holidays spent on the farm at Marsden and Tucker and Ken putting in the occasional word. Thankfully, the telephone didn’t ring to summon either of them to work. Anne and Simon sat close together on the leather couch, and Ken watched them indulgently.

  Oh, how they reminded him of himself, not long ago it seemed, when he was waiting to go to North Africa with his mobile hospital unit and there had been Julie sitting just as close beside him on the couch in Grandma’s front room.

  Julie . . . he hadn’t thought of her for ages, deliberately put her out of his mind. He had no choice, anyone in his position had to otherwise they would go mad. But now he felt the old aching longing for her. How she had clung to him when he got his orders!

  ‘You come back, you hear?’ she had said. ‘No heroics now.’

  ‘I’ll come back,’ he had promised, and kissed her and hugged her to him. It had been raining and her tears mingled with the raindrops as she held her face up to him.

  He had come back, limping it was true but whole. It was Julie who had been taken, as she worked with a team of doctors and nurses and first-aid men down at the quayside in Newcastle during an air raid.

  Ken moved restlessly in his chair, uncrossing his legs and crossing them again the opposite way. He was only one amongst many. Julie was one amongst many. But his memories were hard to bear, his contentment with the afternoon and the company gone. He got to his feet.

  ‘I think I’d better go, I might be needed at the hospital,’ he said.

  Tucker looked at him in surprise. ‘Oh, we’ll be having tea in a minute or two. And I thought you were staying for supper? Mrs Parkin has gone off to see her daughter but I can soon fettle something. She said there would be cold rabbit pie and pickles.’

  ‘Sounds tempting,’ Ken admitted. ‘But needs must . . . In any case, I gave a nurse a lift here this morning, I’d better see if she needs a lift back.’

  ‘Theda Wearmouth, would that be? You mentioned her before and she’s the only nurse I know lives in Winton Colliery,’ Tucker answered.

  ‘Yes. She lives in West Row.’

  ‘A bright girl,’ said his uncle. ‘Good-looking, too.’ He looked at Ken, his gaze thoughtful. ‘A shame about her fiance.’

  ‘Her fiance?’

  ‘Missing at Arnhem.’

  Ken nodded. Another victim of the war, he thought.

  Simon and Anne walked with him to the door, their arms entwined. It was as though they couldn’t bear not to be touc
hing.

  ‘I hope we see you again soon,’ said Anne. ‘After the war, eh? It won’t be long now.’

  Not long now . . . Ken opened the car door and got in. ‘Not long now’ was the phrase on everyone’s lips. He only hoped this German push in the Ardennes was soon crushed, otherwise it would delay the ending of the war yet again.

  He was about to turn his car round when he thought again of Staff Nurse Wearmouth. He hadn’t really promised to do it but he would go into Winton Colliery and pick her up. No doubt she would be glad of a lift. And he needed to be with someone so that he couldn’t brood about Julie. What with hearing about yet another soldier killed at Arnhem and then seeing Simon and Anne together . . . He frowned, shying away from his dismal thoughts. Best think of something else. What had he said to upset the Staff Nurse so this morning? Nothing but the truth.

  Parking his car at the end of West Row, he sat for a moment, feeling a bit of a fool for he wasn’t sure which of the houses was occupied by the Wearmouths. Of course he could knock on the door of the end house and ask, that was the obvious thing to do. He was about to get out of the car and do just that when he heard a woman’s footsteps coming down the back street. He would ask her.

  But whoever was approaching was walking rapidly in spite of the blackout and suddenly there was a dull bump and something fell to the ground, and Ken jumped out of the car as whoever it was gave a startled scream of pain. Taking his flashlight from the dashboard, he jumped out and shone it on the woman and saw it was Theda.

  ‘What have you done?’

  She fell silent and tried to stop hopping about. But she couldn’t keep still, the pain was so sharp. Backing away, she limped to her gate.

  ‘Wait! Let me help you,’ said Ken, and putting his arm around her, supported her up the yard. Opening the back door without knocking, he helped her into the kitchen.

  ‘What on earth is the matter?’

  Bea started up from her chair by the range, looking alarmed.

  ‘Nothing, it’s nothing . . . just stumbled and spilled some acid from the accumulator batteries on my feet.’

  Ken practically carried Theda over to the settee and sat her down, lifting her legs and swinging them round and up on to the cushion.

  ‘By, our Theda, you want to be more careful! You know what that stuff’s like—’ Bea began, but stopped in mid-flow when Ken interrupted.

  ‘Get me some water, will you, Mrs Wearmouth? The sooner we can wash the stuff away the better.’

  Bea bustled away to the tap in the pantry, coming back with an enamel dish of water. Meanwhile Ken was easing off Theda’s shoes and cutting away her lisle stockings.

  ‘I can do it myself,’ she protested. ‘Really, it’s not too bad. It was just the shock at first, I’m all right now.’

  Ken was sluicing her feet and one leg with water and the pain eased as if by magic. The relief made Theda lie back against the hard horsehair of the couch end with a sigh.

  ‘Yes, well of course you can,’ he said, glancing up at her white face. ‘But I’m here, aren’t I? Does that feel better?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said fervently.

  ‘Now just lie still. It’s not so bad but you’ve had a shock. Have you any bicarbonate of soda in the house? Clean white cloth? Bandages?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Theda is a nurse.’ Bea took the first-aid box out of the press and made up a solution on his instructions.

  ‘Look now, it’s not so bad,’ said Ken. ‘Mainly first degree, though some blistering. And if we exclude the air—’

  He laid the makeshift dressing soaked in the solution across the reddened skin and bandaged it loosely. His hands were so gentle yet so capable, strong hands with the square nails of a surgeon. ‘There now, you’ll be back walking the wards in no time. It won’t even leave a scar.’

  ‘Tomorrow, I hope. It’s Sister’s day off, I’ll have to go in. Anyway, it’s not half so bad as I thought it was. It feels fine now.’

  ‘Hmm. Now you’re talking stupidly.’

  Theda bridled. His tone was so cool, his blue eyes level and expressionless – quite different from when he had been attending to her feet. He seemed a different man.

  ‘You said yourself the burns are nothing. I’m sure if I have a good night’s rest and keep them covered, they’ll be fine,’ she said defensively.

  ‘Eeh, our Theda, don’t talk so soft!’ her mother put in, and Theda blinked. She had almost forgotten Bea was there. ‘Take no notice of her, Doctor. Of course she won’t be coming in tomorrow. You can tell Matron, can’t you?’

  Theda sighed. Maybe she was being a bit of a fool, acting as though the hospital couldn’t do without her. No one was indispensable. In any case, she felt tired to death. Shock, she supposed. And her feet, the left one in particular, felt like they were on fire again in spite of the dressing.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Ken rose to his feet and smiled at Bea. ‘Well, I’d better be going. I just came because I thought that Theda would like a lift. Lucky I did, really. I was able to see to her when she stumbled.’

  I wouldn’t have stumbled if you hadn’t been there, thought Theda. She felt thoroughly out of sorts, angry at the world. ‘If I don’t go in, I’ll have to have a doctor’s note,’ she said grumpily. ‘It’s the rule.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll explain to Matron,’ Ken said easily. He stood looking down at her as he drew on his gloves, a faint smile on his lips – as though he were humouring a child, she thought.

  ‘Won’t you stay and have a cup of tea, Doctor? Or perhaps something stronger?’

  Theda’s heart sank. The only drink her mother had in the house was home-made ginger wine and half a bottle of cheap rum which she used to flavour the Christmas pudding. It was the only alcohol they ever had in the house, though they were not as strongly Methodist as some of the miners’ families. But Ken was declining the invitation, thank goodness.

  ‘No, thank you very much, Mrs Wearmouth. I must get back,’ he answered, and headed for the door. Before he got there it opened and Clara came in, her hair done up in a turban formed from her head scarf and her cheeks red with cold. Just behind her were Chuck and his girlfriend Norma.

  Clara stopped just inside the door with her brother and his girl crowding in behind her. ‘Oh! For a minute there I thought I was in the wrong house.’

  ‘This is Doctor Collins from the hospital, he just came to offer our Theda a lift in. He was visiting his uncle, Mr Cornish,’ explained Bea. ‘Doctor, my younger daughter, Clara. And my son Charles and his friend Norma.’

  ‘How do you do? I’m sorry I have to go, I’m late as it is.’

  The trio stood aside as Ken made his exit, rather hurriedly, Theda thought. He probably felt overwhelmed by the number of Wearmouths.

  ‘Well, our Theda,’ said Chuck, as he came into the kitchen and stood before the fire, warming his back. ‘How long had this been going on?’

  ‘Chuck! Behave yourself!’ cried his mother. ‘You know it’s not five minutes since—’ She stopped abruptly, horrified that she might say something that would bring all that unhappiness back to Theda. It didn’t matter. The silence was uncomfortable. They all knew what the end of her sentence was going to be.

  Not five minutes since Alan died, though Theda, and lay back on the cushion and closed her eyes for a moment.

  ‘Aye, well, it’s the first time a doctor has bothered to fetch her home, isn’t it?’ said the irrepressible Chuck.

  ‘Just you take the brush and shovel and get out there and clear up the mess,’ Bea said sharply. ‘Theda fell and dropped the accumulators and burnt her feet. And now I won’t be able to listen to Tommy Handley neither. I was looking forward to it an’ all.’

  She looked at Theda, suddenly realising what she had said. ‘Eeh, pet, I didn’t mean – well, it doesn’t matter about the wireless, so long as you aren’t burnt so badly.’

  ‘No, I know what you meant, Mam,’ she answered.

  When Chuck came back he triumphantly bore a whole accumul
ator which looked none the worse for wear, the acid level seeming normal. The other was chipped and spoiled, its acid level well down, though even it might be salvageable, he pronounced.

  ‘I’ll take it in the morning,’ he said. ‘When I come in from fore shift.’ He wired the accumulator into the wireless and switched it on while Bea made tea and toast with cheese and onion melted together in the oven. ‘American cheese,’ she said, her voice full of disgust. ‘I don’t know what the Ministry of Food is thinking of, saying the miners need extra protein, whatever that is, and then giving them four ounces of this hard rubbery stuff and telling them it’s cheese. You could sole your shoes with it, you could. There’s nowt else to do with it but melt it.’

  The family ate it, however; four years of war following on the harder years of the depression had instilled in them the habit of never wasting food. Even Theda ate half a slice, though it lay like lead on her stomach after. It wasn’t long before she went to bed, wincing a little as she put her feet to the floor and walked to the staircase.

  ‘That’s right, pet,’ said Bea, ‘you go up. You’ll likely feel a lot better the morn.’

  ‘I’ll come up too, so I don’t disturb you later on,’ said Clara.

  ‘Goodnight then.’ Theda climbed the stairs slowly and carefully, undressed and thankfully got under the bedclothes. She lay on her side, so that the weight of the blankets did not press on her burns, or rather the one burn in particular which lay across her instep and was the only one to have blistered.

  She had wanted to talk to Clara but didn’t feel up to it now. All she wanted was sleep. Another day coming, she thought.

  ‘Theda?’ Clara had come into the room and was preparing for bed. She climbed in beside her sister. ‘Theda?’ she said again, though softly. Evidently she wanted to talk. But Theda lay with her back to her sister, her eyes tightly closed, and after a moment Clara too turned away and appeared to be sleeping.

  The wireless was still on downstairs, Theda could hear her mother’s chuckles as she listened to Tommy Handley on the Forces Network and Chuck laughing loud and clear. Her mother hushed him, reminding him the girls were trying to sleep.