A Wartime Nurse

by Maggie Hope

  Matt stood up and curled his toes into the proddy mat. He knocked the glowing end of his cigarette into the fire and carefully put the stub behind his ear. ‘I’m off then. Don’t forget, I want to be up early, I’m going to the match. The Bishops are playing Crook today.’ He glanced out of the window at the empty yard before taking hold of her and nuzzling his face into her neck. ‘I don’t suppose you want to come up wi’ me for a minute or two?’

  ‘Oh, had a way with you! It’s all you men think about, it is an’ all.’

  ‘All what men? Who else has been in here making suggestions, eh? Best come clean, woman!’

  ‘Who else would have me?’ she asked, and watched as he went to the bottom of the stairs and turned and winked at her. She snorted and turned to the earthenware bowl by the side of the hearth. She picked up the tea towel covering it and prodded the dough with a fork. It could wait a while, it wasn’t proved yet.

  It was quiet with all the family out of the house. Chuck would be in off the back shift but soon he would be married and away an’ all. Bea moved to the door and turned the key in the lock, then padded upstairs after Matt.

  But still, she told herself as she took off her clothes and climbed into bed beside her husband, she would have a talk with Theda the very next time she came home. She would do her level best to get to the bottom of what was troubling the lass.

  In the bathroom of the nurses’ home, Theda leaned over the lavatory basin, retching. This was the third time this week, she thought. Standing up straight, she wiped her mouth with toilet paper and went over to the wash basin. She filled it with cold water and splashed her face and forearms, though she was already shivering in the glacial bathroom.

  What was she going to do? There was no word from Ken, none at all. Perhaps she could go and see Mr Cornish? He would know where Ken was, wouldn’t he? She shrank from going, though, the very thought humiliating. There was a knock at the door.

  ‘You going to be in there all morning? Some of us are due on the ward, you know.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m coming now.’ Theda picked up her wash-bag and unlocked the bathroom door. She darted past the couple of nurses waiting with her head down and went into her room, closing the door behind her. She leaned against it for a moment. How could she even have thought of making a critical judgement on Clara? At least her sister had been going out with her Canadian for a few weeks, her child conceived in love.

  My child is a love child, thought Theda. Trouble was, the love was all on my side. She smiled grimly and pushed herself away from the door, weariness in her every movement, and began to dress for her day on the ward. What she really wanted to do was go home and hide in her own bed, the bed that was hers alone now that Clara had got married. But she daren’t do that. Bea would know straight away what was the matter in that bathroomless house.

  Major Koestler was on the ramp just outside the prisoner-of-war section. Whether he had just come out of a ward or was waiting around for her, which was what Theda suspected, she didn’t want to see him. She couldn’t deal with him at the moment.

  ‘Morgen, Staff Nurse,’ he said, clicking his heels and tipping his head forward in that foreign way he had. ‘May I walk with you to Hut K?’

  Theda was in no mood to be diplomatic. ‘No, I think not, Major Koestler,’ she said, walking straight past him, but he fell into step with her anyway.

  ‘Your name is Theda, I think? A pretty name, though I haven’t heard it before,’ he said, and she stopped abruptly and turned to face him.

  ‘Please, Major Koestler, stop following me about. If you don’t, I will have to report you to the authorities.’

  She was sorry she had been so sharp as soon as she saw his shocked expression but it was too late to take it back.

  ‘I simply wished to ask you if you had heard from Major Collins.’ He turned on his heel and walked rapidly away, disappearing into the next hut. His pride was hurt, she realised, but the realisation was overlaid by the pain his mention of Ken had brought to her. She carried on down the ramp, feeling more miserable than ever.

  In her break, Theda made her usual fruitless journey over to Block One to check her pigeon hole for any post, most especially a letter from Ken. Still in the back of her mind was the thought that there must have been a mistake. Surely he would write to her. Was it possible for him to be in a situation where he couldn’t get in touch? But the war was going well, it would be over soon, please God, and Ken was a doctor, for goodness’ sake. He wouldn’t be in the front line, now would he?

  There was a letter in the cubby hole, a long brown envelope, and her heart flipped and began racing until she could hardly see the typed name and address. Typed. Why would Ken type a letter to her? She stared at it but the envelope gave nothing away and as her eyesight returned to normal she turned it over and tore it open.

  It was from Sunderland Royal Infirmary. The disappointment was like a physical pain. It offered her a place on a course, Part One in Midwifery, beginning in March. Theda stared at it. It was useless, she couldn’t go now. She stuffed the letter and envelope into the pocket of her uniform dress and walked out of the building and across the open space to the hutted section.

  Somehow she had to get through the day. It stretched ahead of her, never ending, and would be followed by another and another just the same. And now there was not even any hope of getting away for how could she take her midwifery now?

  Theda went back to Winton Colliery that afternoon. She was working a split shift and expected back on the ward by half-past four but she had foregone her lunch and it was only fifteen minutes past one. She had plenty of time. Not that she intended going home, not unless she was seen by someone who would tell her mother she was there. No, she was going to the gaffer’s house to see Tucker Cornish. She had to find out if he had Ken’s address.

  It was a quarter to two when she descended from the bus, still the dinner hour. If she hurried she might find Mr Cornish at home. She paused at the gate, almost changing her mind, then walked up to the door and knocked, her heart thumping. Mrs Parkin answered the door.

  ‘You’re lucky to catch him – he’s finished his dinner and will be going back in a minute. He hasn’t got much time, mind. Is it important?’

  ‘I won’t keep him long,’ Theda assured the housekeeper. She said no more though Mrs Parkin looked enquiringly.

  ‘Well, then, I’ll just tell him you’re here,’ she said finally.

  Tucker was in his sitting-room, smoking his pipe before the fire. He rose to his feet as Theda went in, smiling coldly enough to make her rush into her explanation of why she was here, almost before they had exchanged polite greetings.

  ‘Do sit down, Miss Wearmouth,’ he said, cutting into her explanation, and she sat awkwardly on the edge of a chair. ‘Now, what is it you want?’

  ‘I wondered, Mr Cornish, if you could let me have Major Collins’s address?’

  Tucker looked at her consideringly. He took some time before answering by relighting his pipe. ‘My nephew? Has he not written to you?’

  Theda flushed. ‘No.’

  ‘Well then, Miss Wearmouth, I think perhaps you should wait until he does, don’t you? In any case, I don’t have his address. He could be anywhere in Europe.’

  Theda got to her feet. Her flush had receded and she held her head high as she replied.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, it wasn’t important. Look, I have to go, I have to be back at the hospital . . .’ She turned for the door and Tucker moved to open it for her but was too late.

  ‘Goodbye then, Miss Wearmouth,’ he said. He watched her going down the drive, unsure now that he had done the right thing. She wasn’t the sort to chase after a man who didn’t want her. Was she in trouble? There had certainly been an air of desperation about her.

  He remembered the day he had come back from Marsden early in January.

  ‘Major Collins must have brought a friend here over the holidays,’ Mrs Parkin had said. ‘A lady friend.’ She was cleaning the sitti
ng room and held up a green chiffon scarf she had found behind the sofa.

  ‘Major Collins knows he is welcome to bring any of his friends here,’ Tucker had said. And then there was the time Ken had taken Theda Wearmouth over to Marsden. Tucker’s mother had been delighted that her grandson was showing an interest in girls again after Julie’s tragic death. Perhaps he would write to Ken via Jane and ask him if he wanted Theda to know where he was? That was the best idea.

  Still, he remembered the night he had seen the girl come out of the Working Mens’ Club with a Canadian airman. The man had had his arm around her, and they were laughing together. And though he never took notice of the tittle-tattle in the village, he knew tales were going around about her sister’s marriage to another Canadian – a flighty sort of girl, that one, according to village opinion.

  Tucker had a horror of flighty women. The very thought was enough to make him shy away. There was the woman his father had run off with, or rather had gone to live with in Winton Village, leaving his mother with two small boys. The shame of it had ruined his childhood, leaving deep indelible scars. Wesley Cornish and his fancy woman had been the talk of the place. Ken wanted nothing to do with anything like that. The dirt would only rub off on the lad. Pulling on his overcoat, Tucker called goodbye to Mrs Parkin and went back to the pit.

  Later in the afternoon, he sat in the manager’s office at Winton Colliery. He was alone in the building though the activity in the engine house continued, the winding wheel buzzing and clanking as the steel ropes sent the cage back down to Busty number two seam to bring up the last of the back shift men.

  Idly he thought about finishing up and going home. Mrs Parkin would have left him a meal in the oven. It was warm in the office, though. A coal fire had burned in the grate all day and the heat had built up even though the fire was beginning to die now. It was only a short walk to the house but rain spattered on the windows of the office and the wind swept up the pit yard, howling round the corners and even lifting the coal dust. The prospect of going outside was not very inviting.

  It would have been different if Betty were there, waiting for him, the kettle humming on the hob ready so that she could mash a pot of tea for him as soon as she heard him open the front door. Or if he had been expecting Ken to come and eat a meal with him; he had enjoyed those times. But Ken was in Europe, probably over the Rhine by now, working in some field hospital. He would write to him tonight, get his address from Jane.

  Maybe he had been too harsh with that girl, Theda Wearmouth. A good-looking girl she was, with her dark hair and eyes and that proud lift to her chin. Yet there was the night he had seen her outside the club with that Canadian and only a few weeks after Ken had gone . . . she couldn’t have been serious about his nephew.

  Perhaps he would drop Ken a line, telling him Theda had been to see him. And maybe he would mention too he had seen her on the day of her sister’s wedding, and what a good time she seemed to be having.

  Theda walked back to the hospital along the path through the fields, glad when she reached the cover of the wood. She walked blindly. Knowing the path she could find her way almost automatically, and it was just as well. She felt humiliated, dirty – used almost. No, that was silly. She had been a willing partner, an eager partner. What had happened to her was her own fault. It wasn’t even unique: it happened to hundreds, thousands of girls. It was humdrum, banal.

  The path was wet and muddy but she stumbled on, the mud coming over her shoes in one place and seeping through her stockings, clinging and icy cold. Her fingers were dead white with the cold, she had come out without her gloves. Gradually the cold seeped into her mind and she paused, realising with a last vestige of common sense that she had to get inside, somewhere warm.

  She climbed the stile at the end of the wood and entered the cemetery, threading her way between the graves to cut off a corner and ending up in South Church Road, on the outskirts of the town. She paused. It was only three-fifteen, too early to go back to the hospital. In any case, she couldn’t bear to see anyone she knew, not yet. Making up her mind, she turned down the road and headed for Rossi’s coffee shop. It was warm in there, and what’s more she could hide in one of the booths at the back.

  The coffee shop was empty at this time of day. She bought a cup of Bovril and took it into a booth. She crumbled the free cracker into the drink and sipped the hot liquid, burning her tongue. But she could feel the warmth in the shop, and held her fingers round the hot cup, and slowly she began to thaw.

  What right had Tucker Cornish to speak to her like that? she thought suddenly, her self-esteem rising with her body temperature. If Da had heard him he would have had something to say all right, even if he lost his job over it. Why the hell should she let what he said humiliate her? He didn’t know her, and anyroad, who the hell was he? A Cornish, that’s who he was, one of the family that had been the scandal of the place. Why, wasn’t it his own father who had murdered the agent years ago?

  Theda sat up straight and rooted in her bag for her compact, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, but otherwise she didn’t look too bad. The cold had put colour into her cheeks and her eyes were beginning to sparkle with indignation. Taking out her comb, she pulled it through her tangled hair, taking it back from her face and pinning it with a clip over one ear. She found her lipstick and touched up her lips. Lipstick was frowned on at the hospital but just now she couldn’t care less about that.

  Finishing off her Bovril, Theda fastened her scarf under her chin and, picking up her handbag, slung it on her shoulder and marched out of the coffee shop and up Newgate Street to the hospital. Running a hot bath, she stripped off her clothes and lay in the hot water and made her plans. She would get through this on her own. Oh, yes she would. She didn’t need a man. And it wasn’t just bravado – she was capable of looking after herself.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  So much for fine talk and resolutions! Theda told herself as she made her way wearily down to the dining-room a few days later. She still had no idea how she was going to manage on her own, none at all. Laura Jenkins was at her usual table and waved as Theda came through the door.

  ‘Where have you been lately?’ she asked when Theda had hung up her cloak on one of the pegs that ran along the wall and gone up to the hatch to fetch her tray of food. ‘I was beginning to think you’d given up eating altogether. Either that or you were off sick, but Sister Smith said you were working all right. If you hadn’t turned up today, I was going to come looking for you.’

  ‘I just haven’t felt like eating much lately,’ said Theda. ‘Stomach trouble. I’ve been living on Magnesium Trisilicate.’

  ‘You look as though you have an’ all,’ said Laura, frowning in disapproval. ‘You’ve certainly lost a lot of weight. I don’t know, why didn’t you go off sick? Anyone else would have done. No sense in killing yourself, you know. Mag Tri is all right for a while but you can overdo it.’

  ‘Well, I’m all right now.’ Theda looked down at the grey minced beef on her plate, the plain boiled potatoes and watery cabbage. Picking up her knife and fork she attacked the food, unappetising as it was. Laura was right, of course, she had to eat. Her uniform dress was hanging from her as if on a coat hanger.

  Laura put down her own knife and fork and gazed at her with concern. ‘You don’t look too clever even yet, it must have taken it out of you,’ she observed. ‘What time do you finish?’

  ‘Six. I’ll probably go straight to bed and try to sleep it off.’

  ‘It’ll do you more good to get out, forget about it for a while. Look, I’m going to the pictures in Darlington tonight, the Regal. We could go through on the train and get the last one back. At least we’ll be getting out of the place for a while. What do you say?’

  ‘What’s on?’

  ‘Random Harvest. Oh, I know it’s been on before – but, ooh, I love Ronald Colman, don’t you? And Greer Garson’s all right, when she isn’t being all noble and self-sacrificing
and keeping the home front together against all odds. What do you say?’

  Theda made her mind up all at once. She and Laura had gone from one cinema to another once upon a time just to see Ronald Colman. Her friend would definitely think there was something seriously wrong if she refused to go when she had the night off and nothing else arranged.

  ‘It’s a date,’ she said.

  Getting ready to catch the train she almost cried off. She felt so tired and slightly dizzy and her breasts ached. But in the end she brushed her hair and put on the brightest lipstick she had and she and Laura ran down to the station just in time to catch the train.

  ‘We must be mad, going all the way to Darlington when there are three perfectly good picture houses in Auckland,’ she said as they stood in a crowded compartment, swaying as it click-clacked over the tracks. Shildon tunnel loomed and abruptly they were swathed in darkness and someone must have left a window open for sooty smoke swirled down the corridor.

  ‘Yes. But Ronald Colman’s on at Darlington,’ Laura pointed out as they came out of the Shildon end of the tunnel and the gloom lightened.

  There was quite a walk from North Road station to Bondgate and by the time they got to the cinema, the lights were already down and Gaumont British News well underway. They were shushed as they followed the torch of the usherette and groped their way to their seats. The audience’s attention was on the screen where grubby-faced tommies were marching up a road in Germany, their guns at the ready and ruins all around them.

  Theda closed her eyes. It was warm and muggy in the stalls, the only place where there had been empty seats, and to watch the screen she had to tilt back her head. But when Random Harvest came on she was feeling better and lost herself in the improbable story of the man who lost his memory and forgot he was an aristocrat, and the wife who pretended to be his nurse.

  ‘By, it was grand, wasn’t it?’ sighed Laura as they stood for the National Anthem and then joined the crush for the exit.