A Wartime Nurse

by Maggie Hope

  ‘Aye, well, you should have thought of that a bit earlier, shouldn’t you?’ said his mother. ‘By, you’ll have me white-haired a fore I’m forty, you will that.’

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ said Theda.

  She had her flashlight in her pocket so took the path across the fields from the end of the rows. But when she got to the club the first-aid class was just about over.

  ‘Dr Oliver was called out, lass,’ advised the steward. ‘Your Chuck’s here though, will I get him to give you a hand?’ But Chuck was already coming out. He soon grasped the situation.

  ‘The baker’s van’s stood outside the store,’ he said. ‘I’ll knock him up, he just lives up Winton Village. He’ll take the bairn in to the hospital, I’m sure. I cannot think of anybody else with a car working round here.’

  ‘There’s a car stood outside the gaffer’s house,’ volunteered one of the men who had followed him out and were now standing round Theda curiously.

  ‘Right then, that’ll do. Get away back, our Theda. The lad might be needing you.’

  He was very capable, thought Theda as she hurried back up the road. No wonder he was trying to better himself; the bosses would be crazy to refuse him.

  Chuck strode away and up the lane and Theda went back up the fields to the colliery rows. Peter was lying down on the sofa now, his eyes closed with lashes fanned out on his pale cheeks. She explained what was happening to Mrs Patterson while she checked the dressing on the boy’s arm.

  ‘Eeh, I’ll have to leave a note for my man coming in from work. His dinner’s in the oven already, anyroad . . .’ Mrs Patterson bustled about, finding a pencil and paper and putting on her hat and coat. ‘I don’t know what he’s going to say,’ she sighed once again.

  Her mind busy with Peter, somehow Theda hadn’t given any thought to the fact that the car outside the manager’s house would be Ken’s. But suddenly there he was, bending over Peter, looking at his arm.

  ‘Came out of the window, eh? Did you think you could fly?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ the boy said. ‘I just fell, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to go in to Lady Eden’s cottage hospital. It’ll have to be X-rayed.’

  ‘It won’t be for long, Peter,’ Theda said. ‘You’ll be all right.’ The boy nodded. He seemed to have got over his moment of panic.

  ‘Are you coming in with us to the hospital,’ Ken asked her. ‘You did a good job, by the way.’

  ‘No, I’ll not come in. Mrs Patterson will go, though. I’m staying at home tonight.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘About next weekend—’ Theda glanced anxiously at Mrs Patterson but she either hadn’t heard or attached no significance to what Ken was saying. All the same if she had, Theda thought angrily as she closed the door. The key was on a string inside and she pulled it up through the letterbox and turned it in the lock before putting it back. He just didn’t care about her reputation at all, she thought miserably. He should know what mining villages could be like for gossip. But Ken had settled the boy and his mother in the car and walked back up the yard to Theda.

  ‘Don’t look so anxious, love,’ he said. ‘Come with me on Saturday and I promise you everything will be all right.’

  What does he mean? she asked herself as she walked back to West Row. Was he going to ask her to marry him? Was that why he wanted her to meet his family? Or did he just mean the weekend would go well?

  Anyroad, she told herself as she let herself back into the house, I’m not sure I want to be married. It’s far too soon after Alan’s being killed. And she wanted to take more qualifications, wanted to be a midwife, perhaps go on the district, be of some use to her own folk. She could look after herself, she didn’t need Ken, of course she didn’t.

  ‘How’s the lad, pet?’

  Theda loosened her coat and took off her scarf and gloves before she answered her mother. She was cold and tired and dispirited. 1945 hadn’t got off to a good start, she thought. Though it had been so wonderful on New Year’s Eve. So . . . so . . .

  ‘Theda? How’s the bairn, I’m asking you?’

  ‘Fine, Mam. Peter’s fine. Well, not exactly; he has a fractured wrist, I think, and a nasty gash on his forearm. But he’s gone to the hospital now. He’ll probably spend the night at least on the ward.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think that lad’s accident-prone. By, he’ll be one to watch. I wouldn’t like the bringing up of him, I would not.’ Bea shook her head. ‘Go on, get to bed. I’ve put the oven shelf in so it’ll be nice and warm.’

  Chapter Twenty

  It was like an early-spring day with the sunshine warming the inside of the car as Ken and Theda travelled over to Marsden. The wind outside was biting enough, but in the car it was a little cocoon of comfort with the worn leather seats fitting round them beautifully. Theda sat back in hers, enjoying the luxury of it.

  ‘Not a bad old car, is it?’ asked Ken.

  She laughed. ‘Any car is a good car for me after travelling on the buses, especially since the beginning of the war. Do you know what it’s like on a utility bus, packed to the roof with people?’

  ‘Yes, I do know, I’ve done it in my time. I’m lucky having the car, though, and being able to get the extra petrol because I’m a doctor, I admit is an advantage. But it is nice, isn’t it? Am I supposed to be filled with guilt every time I use it for pleasure and not work?’

  ‘No, of course not. I appreciate it anyway. And young Peter would have been in trouble if you hadn’t had the car with you last week.’

  ‘Hmm. Scamp that he is! He might have broken his neck. I thought he had learned his lesson after last time. Have you seen him since he came out?’

  ‘Yes. He seems fine. I gather he comes in very handy as a casualty when the lads play war games. With his pot an’ all.’

  They were rolling down into the valley of the Browney, a small stream that ran into the Wear, and the countryside was laid out before them, hedges bare and dusty in the sunlight, fields brown and ploughed. Nothing was to be seen of the coming spring on the trees that clothed the riverbank and stretched away on the horizon but as they passed a small farm there was a gleam of early snowdrops along the front of a stone wall and the lime-washed farmhouse gleamed white.

  Theda sighed. ‘By, I love this road into Durham,’ she said. ‘I used to travel along it a lot when I was training in Newcastle.’

  ‘I trained in Newcastle too,’ said Ken. ‘But after the war I would like to work in Sunderland. I’m a home bird really; it will be nice and handy for Marsden.’

  It was the first time he had volunteered anything about his personal life, Theda reflected. She glanced at him. He looked relaxed and rested. Had he once been a dare-devil like Peter Patterson? She was filled with curiosity about him, wished she knew him better. She wanted to know everything about his childhood, about his ambitions. But at least he was taking her to meet his family.

  ‘I would have thought there would be more scope for you at Newcastle,’ she ventured. ‘If you want to be a top surgeon, isn’t it better to belong to a teaching hospital? It’s not very far from Marsden after all.’

  Ken frowned suddenly. ‘No, I don’t want to go back there.’

  There was a silence in the car. Theda was left with the feeling that she had said something wrong, butted into something that was none of her business. But what?

  ‘Why not?’ she pressed him.

  ‘I just don’t, that’s all.’

  The sun went behind a cloud just then and the temperature in the car rapidly went down. She folded her arms across her chest and stared out of the window as they travelled through Durham and out on to the Sunderland road. A spatter of rain hit the windscreen and Ken switched on the wipers. She watched as the blade went from side to side with the water running down beneath, almost hypnotised by it. She shivered and rubbed her hands together.

  ‘Cold?’

  He reached into the back seat without taking his
eyes from the road and handed her a rug which she wrapped round her knees. And the moment of coldness melted away as the rain stopped and he smiled down at her. ‘Soon be there.’

  The sun had come out again and the enclosed farmyard was quite warm as they stepped out of the car. Hens picked away between the cobbles and a black and white border collie barked furiously at them until it recognised Ken and wagged its tail.

  ‘Hello, Sam.’ Ken bent down and scratched the dog’s ears as the back door opened and Walt stood there.

  ‘It’s you, is it?’ he said. ‘I might have known you would smell the tea.’ He glanced curiously at Theda. ‘Brought us a visitor, have you?’

  ‘My brother Walter, Theda. Walter, Staff Nurse Theda Wearmouth.’ It was the briefest of introductions as he ushered her into the low-beamed farmhouse kitchen. The family were sitting round about drinking their mid-morning cup of tea and Theda was suddenly conscious that her stomach was beginning to rumble in response to the smell of freshly baked scones and farm butter, something she hadn’t smelled in a long time. She’d had no breakfast, she remembered – had been too keyed up to eat.

  The room seemed full of people but she was used to that at home and after Ken’s introductions soon sorted out grandmother and uncle and the frail-looking woman sitting by the fire as being Ken’s mother. And she couldn’t help noticing the way they all looked at each other significantly when she came in. It was Grandmother Meg who came forward with a welcoming smile and shook her hand and found her a seat before pouring her a cup of tea and putting a plate with a scone oozing butter into her hand.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, pet. You come from Bishop, do you?’

  ‘Winton Colliery.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I don’t remember any Wearmouths there, though?’

  ‘Well, my family came from Wheatley Hill in the thirties. My father was out of work and got a job at Chilton. The only free house belonging to the owner was at Winton.’

  Meg’s face took on a sad faraway expression. ‘Aye, I remember what it was like.’

  ‘Grandma, stop quizzing the lass, let her have her tea.’ Surprisingly, that was Walt. Theda looked at him. He was very like Ken except that his eyes were darker and his complexion ruddy as befitted a man who worked outdoors most of the time. He had a pleasant open expression and she warmed to him.

  After the initial surprise, the family seemed to accept her presence quite naturally and she was able to sit back and enjoy her tea and scone as they asked how Tucker was and talked about the doings on the farm and the likelihood of the war ending soon. And then Jack and Walt were putting down their cups and going back out to work and Meg was clearing the table.

  ‘I’ll help,’ Theda offered, and without any demur Meg agreed and took her out to the scullery, leaving Ken to talk with his mother.

  Meg asked after the people she knew in Winton: asked if the Armstrongs still had the newspaper shops around the town, and mentioned how she liked the bands in the Bishop’s Park on a Sunday afternoon. And Theda told her what was happening as far as she knew, which ones had got married, which families had lost their men in the war. They got on well, she thought, as though they had known each other for years. Meg reminded her of her own grandmother back in Wheatley Hill.

  Afterwards Theda walked with Ken up the fields to the wood on the skyline to see the view: the land sloping away down to the sea, neat fields, well-tended by the look of them, and the tiny figures of Walt and his uncle carting hay to the sheep which gathered in a corner of the field, baa-ing and jumping over each other to get at the food.

  ‘It’s lovely, Ken,’ Theda said. ‘I don’t know how you could bear to leave it.’ It was, too; even the smoke stacks from the colliery by the sea looked a natural part of the scene, their smoke blending into the clouds.

  ‘If we go now we’ll just have time to walk along the cliff edge to the lighthouse – the rock formations are unique,’ he said, and they ran down the path past the farmhouse and out on to the road. The pit yard and rows of miners’ cottages were as grey and dreary as any other mining village but that was more than compensated for by the dramatic coastline with its steep cliffs and Marsden Rock standing against the breakers, connected to the land only by a natural bridge formation. Gulls wheeled about crying mournfully and in the distance a fleet of trawlers was making its way into the harbour at Shields.

  Theda stood quietly watching and Ken put an arm around her shoulders. The primary school bell rang out and children began to march out of the nearby school yard in orderly rows which broke into yelling, racing gangs as they left authority behind.

  ‘Time for tea and then we must be on our way back,’ said Ken. He smiled down at her and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  ‘“Oh, soldier, soldier, won’t you marry me?”’ girls’ voices shrilled as they were surrounded by a pack of ten-year-olds, their faces alight with mischief. ‘Is she your sweetheart, soldier? Go on, give her a proper kiss!’

  Ken laughed and made as if to chase them and they scattered, shrieking with pretend alarm.

  ‘It’s been a lovely day. Thank you for bringing me,’ Theda said. They walked back to the farm and ate the rabbit pie that Meg had made for high tea and then it was time to go.

  ‘Come back whenever you like, Theda,’ said Jane. Though she had sat quietly by the fire for most of the time Theda was there, she looked better than when they had first come; her cheeks had a tinge of pink and her eyes were bright as Ken bent down to kiss her cheek.

  ‘Aye, you do that,’ said Walt, who was busy putting on his boots yet again so as to go out and lock up the hens. ‘At least you’re friendlier than Julie.’ A small silence greeted this remark and Theda glanced from one to the other. Ken was looking thunderous and it was Meg who jumped in, covering up, filling the moment with small talk.

  ‘I’ve packed a dozen eggs for your mother, Theda, and a bit of butter. And don’t forget to take Tucker his,’ she admonished Ken.

  They drove back as darkness was falling, made even thicker by the storm clouds that had gathered suddenly, spilling even more rain, which slanted across the windscreen, obscuring their vision. Ken was quiet, concentrating on his driving, and Theda was content to sit quietly too.

  He dropped her on the end of West Row, making no suggestion that they go anywhere for the evening. And it was only as she watched him go away up the lane towards the manager’s house that she remembered that he had said there was something they needed to discuss.

  ‘Did you have a nice day, pet?’ asked her mother as Theda put her parcels down on the kitchen table.

  ‘Lovely.’

  Bea looked at her curiously. Theda was disinclined to talk, she could tell, she knew that closed look she had on her face. No doubt she would hear all about it when her daughter was ready to tell her.

  ‘I hope you thanked them properly for the eggs and butter,’ was all she said now. ‘By, it must be lovely to have a farm nowadays, eh?’

  Clara came in like a whirlwind and bolted her food down, anxious to get washed and changed so that she could go and meet Dean in Darlington.

  ‘I don’t know, our Clara,’ said Bea doubtfully, ‘a young lass wandering all that way on her own . . . it means two buses an’ all, and you’re going to be pretty late.’

  ‘Don’t fuss, Mam,’ was all Clara answered, and Theda covertly studied her. She was radiant with happiness for Dean had been grounded for the foreseeable future and their wedding plans were proceeding apace.

  ‘You don’t look very happy. What’s up? I thought you had a date today?’ Clara asked, but she wasn’t really interested, too full of her own doings. Theda saw her mother frown fiercely and mouth, ‘Alan!’, and it was even more depressing that it had nothing to do with him; she hadn’t even thought of him all day.

  Theda soon made pressure of work an excuse for deciding to go back to the hospital that evening instead of the following morning. It was almost impossible to have any privacy in the tiny house in West Row and privacy was what she ne
eded so she could think things out. She felt that events were running away with her, and that she had no control over them at all. The feelings she was developing for Ken were beginning to dictate all her actions and she still had enough common sense to know she couldn’t allow that to go on.

  Back in her narrow room in the nurses’ home, she went early to bed and lay on her back, hands behind her head. Julie . . . she would give anything to know who Julie was, and what had happened to her. It was obvious by the way Ken had reacted that the girl had some sort of hold over him. In which case it was no good her going on fooling herself that she could make him love her. For that was what she had been doing, she realised that now. She loved him, that was the trouble.

  And it wasn’t only physical, though the attraction between them was so powerful. She wanted him, the very thought making her body ache for him. If he had suggested a place for them to go tonight she would have gone, though she had told herself all day she wouldn’t. And she had been so critical of Clara! What a hypocrite she was! Turning over on to her side, Theda closed her eyes resolutely. She would get over this, oh, yes she would, she told herself for the thousandth time. She was her own woman, nobody else’s.

  ‘What do you think? There’s a new registrar. We’ve got a civilian one now,’ said Sister. It was the next morning and Theda and Sister Smith were taking the report from the night staff.

  ‘A new registrar?’ echoed Theda’s voice, sounding stupid in her own ears.

  ‘That’s what I said.’ Sister leaned back on the desk and folded her arms across her spotless apron. ‘Major Collins has been recalled to Europe somewhere – I can’t say where. It all happened in a tremendous rush. Our new man comes from Durham. Just until they get a military man from Catterick, I suppose.’

  ‘But—’ Theda began, and stopped. She bent her head over the report, feeling faint. Picking up the book, she pretended an intense interest in the fact that a new patient had arrived during the night, a suspected gastric ulcer: Wilhelm Foch, ex-submariner. No doubt his ulcer had been brought on by the dreadful diet the submariners had to put up with, according to the others they had nursed. Or the stress of being cooped up in a submarine . . .