by Rosie Harris
‘Now that you’re going to be at home, perhaps you could act as his dispenser. Easier work than you’re doing at Bulpitts.’
Helen shook her head emphatically. ‘If I was that close to him all day, he’d guess about the baby in no time.’
‘When are you going to tell your parents?’ Adam asked.
They were still in bed, replete from a gourmet breakfast which had been served in their room.
‘Not until I have to,’ Helen told him, as she replaced her empty cup on the tray. ‘Wasn’t that absolutely delicious?’ she said with a satisfied sigh. ‘I’m sure we’ve just eaten a week’s ration of bacon each. I wonder how they do it?’
‘Black market, probably.’
‘Mmm. You could be right,’ she murmured, popping the final piece of hot buttered toast into her mouth and wiping her fingers on a serviette. ‘If you’ve got money you seem to be able to buy most of life’s luxuries, even in wartime.’
‘That’s another reason why you must tell your parents as soon as you get home.’
She looked at him, bewildered. ‘Are we still on the same wavelength? I’m talking about how people manage to get extra rations.’
‘So was I. As soon as a doctor officially pronounces you pregnant, you’ll be entitled to extra rations, won’t you?’
‘I can’t tell anyone yet!’ She giggled. ‘No one would believe me. How could I possibly know so soon!’
‘There are tests, surely?’
‘You think I should go straight home from my honeymoon and announce that I’m pregnant!’
‘Why not?’
‘Everyone would know that I’d had to get married,’ she replied in shocked tones.
‘They’ll be able to work it out for themselves in a few months’ time,’ he told her drily as his hand rested gently on the smooth, rounded contours of her stomach.
‘No they won’t,’ she said defiantly. ‘I don’t intend saying anything for another couple of months. When the baby arrives I intend to tell everyone he’s premature.’
‘And what if the baby decides to be premature anyway?’
‘He won’t be,’ she said confidently.
‘I still think you should tell your parents. At least let your father keep a professional eye on you.’
‘No!’ Stubbornly, Helen shook her head, her grey eyes determined. ‘I’d feel terrible having to face them on my own. At the moment neither of them suspect a thing. I want you to be there when I tell them …’
‘That mightn’t be possible,’ Adam said firmly. ‘I mightn’t be home again before we go overseas.’
‘Then I’ll tell them at Christmas.’ She traced the outline of his mouth with her index finger, before sealing the pact with a tender kiss.
‘You’re simply evading the issue; they’ll guess for themselves long before then.’
‘Well, if they do, I won’t have to be the one to tell them, will I?’ Her hands cupped his chin, drawing his face closer until once more their lips met.
He sighed as he pulled away from her. Reluctantly he threw back the bedclothes. ‘I must go. I have to report back before midday.’
She reached and caught his arm, pulling him down beside her. ‘Not yet … one last cuddle.’
His mouth settled hungrily on hers, transporting them both back into a timeless, enchanted abyss.
Chapter 8
‘Mrs Woodley, do you know where I can find Matron?’
For a moment, Helen stared blankly at the orderly. Although she’d now been married for six weeks, she still found it strange to hear herself being addressed as Mrs Woodley.
Her parents treated her marriage as if it had never happened. They rarely referred to it and there was not a single trace of Adam, apart from a framed photograph. It was one Aunt Julia had taken on their wedding-day and showed them both standing in a lop-sided manner, with a portion of Adam’s head missing from the top of the picture. Helen treasured the photograph since that, and their marriage certificate, were the only things she had as confirmation of that brief civil ceremony.
Except, of course, the gradual thickening of her waist and the waves of sickness that assailed her if she sprang out of bed too quickly in the morning.
After their brief honeymoon, Adam had returned to his unit and, although he wrote to her two or three times a week, there had been no opportunity for them to meet. He was still ‘somewhere near the south coast’, confined to camp and waiting to be sent overseas. And, from what she read in the newspapers and heard on the wireless, Helen knew that most likely that meant Italy.
She dreaded it happening, for although the campaign there was having some tremendous successes, the casualty rate, both on land and at sea, was very high. Jimmy, the Price’s gardener, had been killed when the troopship he was on had been torpedoed just off Salerno. The news of his death had brought the war much nearer home, for Jimmy had worked for them from the day he left school until he received his calling-up papers. He had the true countryman’s empathy with the soil and the things he grew. Helen’s father had constantly talked about how Jimmy would soon have the garden right once he came back, and it was hard to believe he would never return.
For Helen, life was as changing as the autumn tints around her. She felt restless, moody and apprehensive about the future. Her mother tried to persuade her to start training as a nurse but, knowing she had no possible chance of completing such an undertaking, Helen refused. She was tempted to give her reasons but drew back, unwilling to see the look of astonishment and dismay in her mother’s eyes. Tenaciously, she stuck to her plan to say nothing until Christmas and then let them think she was only four months pregnant.
‘It wouldn’t be so very different from helping out at Bulpitts,’ her mother persisted.
‘Maybe, but it’s not worth starting something I’m not likely to finish,’ Helen told her stubbornly. ‘I’m not dedicated like you. If the war ended suddenly and Adam came home, then I’d want to be free to be with him.’
‘That’s understandable,’ her mother argued, ‘but the way things are dragging on the war might last for another couple of years. And Adam won’t be discharged immediately it ends, you know. It may be weeks, or months even, before he is released. By then you could be fully qualified and you could go on working for a time. The money would help you get a home together. You have to think about these things now. Getting married brings responsibilities. It’s not all moonlight and roses. That’s why your father was so against you rushing things.’
Finally, because she had no wish to antagonise her mother, Helen agreed to train, not for her SRN but for a Civil Nursing Reserve certificate. The training was less stringent and qualifications easier to attain.
Although not completely satisfied, Mrs Price accepted the compromise with good grace. ‘It will be a sound basis and eventually you can go in for your SRN,’ she commented, when Helen made her decision.
Because they were so short-staffed at Bulpitts it was arranged that she could stay there for her initial six months’ training. After that she would have to move on to a larger hospital.
It seemed the perfect solution. Instead of merely going around the wards, in her everyday clothes as a ‘helper’, Helen now wore a blue print dress, a starched white apron and cap.
‘Can’t say I like you in that uniform; it makes you look fat,’ her mother told her critically.
‘It’s because it’s so stiff,’ Helen told her, colouring. ‘When it’s been washed a few times it will be better.’
‘Perhaps you’re right. Anyway, what you look like doesn’t really matter. It’s what you can do that counts. I’ve just had news that they are going to extend Bulpitts. Another thirty beds, and twenty of those are to be for women.’
‘It’s not possible! The place is overflowing as it is.’
‘The Army is going to put up huts in the grounds.’
Within days, the Pioneer Corps had moved in and a state of chaos reigned. It was short-lived. When they moved out, a spider’s web of new wa
rds, linked to the main house by long narrow corridors, had been erected. Almost immediately they began to fill up and Helen found herself worked off her feet making up beds for the new arrivals.
The first women patients to arrive were from the ATS and she quickly found they demanded more attention and were much more difficult than the men.
At the end of her first day on the women’s ward, Helen felt completely exhausted. Just as she was going off duty a nurse came hurrying into the staff room.
‘Helen, your name was Price before you were married, wasn’t it?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘One of the new arrivals is asking for you.’
Helen’s thoughts flew immediately to Adam. Her heart started hammering and her legs felt like jelly. Then, just as swiftly, she regained her composure. He wouldn’t ask for Helen Price. He, above all others, would know she called herself Helen Woodley.
‘Do you know who it is?’
The nurse shrugged. ‘I didn’t ask. She’s an ATS.’
Filled with curiosity, Helen returned to the women’s ward. When she pulled back the curtains around the newcomer’s bed, she stopped in surprise. Lying propped against the pillows was Katy Wilson, one of the girls from St Margaret’s.
For a split second they simply stared at each other, then Helen’s arms encircled her friend, hugging her and bombarding her with questions.
‘Go easy! I’ve got a broken collar-bone.’
‘Sorry! Just shows you the kind of nurse I am!’ Helen smiled. ‘When did this happen?’
‘About a week ago. It’s been X-rayed and set. I’m hoping that when the MO does his rounds in the morning he’ll say I’m a walking case. I hate lying in bed.’
‘Great. If you are up and about we’ll be able to see a lot of each other.’
‘When I heard the matron’s name I guessed it was your mother and I thought she’d probably enlisted you onto the staff. The nurse seemed to think your name was Woodley!’
‘It is!’ Helen held out her left hand with its shining new band of gold.
‘No! I don’t believe it! You never had any time for boys. Miss Prim-and-Proper if ever there was one. What happened?’
Helen flushed. ‘We met, we fell in love, we married. Just like that!’
‘And where is he now? When am I going to meet him? Is he a doctor here?’ Katy asked excitedly.
‘No, he’s a soldier. In the Guards.’
Katy’s green eyes narrowed. ‘Come on,’ she said softly, ‘You know I could always tell when you weren’t telling the truth. What’s the real story behind those wedding bells. Is he madly rich?’
‘No.’ Helen shook her dark head slowly. ‘As far as I know he hasn’t a bean to his name apart from his Army pay.’
‘What rank is he? A Captain, a Major …’
‘No, he’s a Guardsman,’ Helen said shortly.
Katy whistled silently and looked mischieviously at Helen. ‘The truth, Helen,’ she wheedled. ‘You’re preggers, aren’t you!’
Helen felt the colour rush to her face. ‘I think you should be resting, Katy,’ she said primly, avoiding her friends searching gaze. ‘I’ve got to go now. See you in the morning.’
Katy grinned and waved mockingly. ‘Take care, Mrs Woodley … in your condition.’
Helen hesitated for a split second, then turned back to Katy. The colour that had suffused her cheeks when Katy had started teasing her was gone. Her face was now white and drawn, grim lines etched her gentle mouth and there was a haunted look in her grey eyes.
‘Katy, stop joking and listen,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You’re right, I am pregnant and I did have to get married. Adam is on the south coast somewhere, waiting to go overseas. No one knows I am expecting a baby and I don’t intend telling anyone until Christmas. Can I trust you not to give my secret away?’
‘Helen, I really had no idea. I was just spoofing.’ Katy’s green eyes softened and she reached out and covered Helen’s hand with her own. ‘I won’t breathe a word … honest! Though how you hope to keep it secret when your father’s a doctor beats me.’
‘He’ll never notice.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ Katy said darkly.
‘That’s a chance I have to take,’ Helen answered stiffly. ‘Can I count on you though, Katy?’
‘Swear it! Only I want to hear the whole story. You owe me that.’
‘OK. Tomorrow. Or when you are well enough to move out of that bed and we can go somewhere private. There’s too many ears around here.’ She bent and kissed Katy on the forehead. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
Having Katy as a confidante did wonders for Helen’s morale. Katy found it all highly romantic, but she was adamant that Helen ought to confide in her mother. This Helen stubbornly refused to do.
‘You’re mad,’ Katy told her. ‘Your mother would make sure then that you were only given light duties.’
‘I’m as strong as an ox,’ Helen told her. ‘I don’t need special concessions.’
‘I bet Adam wouldn’t agree with you,’ Katy insisted.
Apart from this one bone of contention, the two girls enjoyed each other’s company. Katy was not confined to bed so, whenever Helen was off duty during the day, the two of them would go off together. The kaleidoscope of autumn, the golds, yellows, oranges, browns and dark greens, made walking a joy. And when the October days were cold or dull they went to Helen’s home.
‘Before Katy is sent back to her unit, I wondered if she’d like to come and stay for a weekend,’ Mrs Price suggested. ‘I’ve had a letter from Margaret Brady saying the Colonel hasn’t been too well and she’s anxious for him to have a check-up. Apparently, he’s averse to seeing doctors … except one. I thought if I could persuade him to go up to London he could give the Colonel a check-up and have a break at the same time.’
‘That’s a splendid idea,’ Helen smiled. ‘Knowing his professional services are needed is probably about the only thing that would persuade Dad to take a break, even for a weekend.’
‘I think a trip up to London would do us both good,’ Mrs Price admitted. ‘I was wondering about asking Aunt Julia to come and stay with you for the weekend …’
‘There’s really no need,’ Helen said quickly. ‘Katy and I will manage OK.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. I thought you mightn’t like being alone in the house overnight.’
‘I won’t be if you arrange a sleeping-out pass for Katy.’
Katy was as delighted as Helen and plans went ahead for the following weekend. On the Friday night, after they’d seen Dr and Mrs Price off, they had supper on their knees in front of a roaring log fire and settled down to play all their favourite records. They talked until well after midnight, reminiscing about schooldays, and fantasising about the future once the war was over.
‘We’ll have a lie-in in the morning,’ Helen said, yawning when finally they made their way up to bed. ‘I’ve left a note pinned on the surgery door to say Dad’s away until Monday and I’ve got a phone by my bed in case anyone calls.’
‘Right, nurse!’ Katy grinned. ‘If I do wake up first then I’ll bring you a cup of tea in bed.’
‘Great! I’ll make sure I sleep late!’ Helen laughed.
True to her word she was still asleep when the bedside phone rang at half-past nine the next morning. For a moment, still dazed by sleep, she thought the familiar voice on the line must be Adam’s and her heart raced. Then, as her mind cleared, she realized it was Donald Brady.
‘Sorry! Have I woken you? I waited until I thought it was a reasonable hour … it’s after nine-thirty, you know.’
‘I’ve got a friend staying and we had a late night.’ she explained.
‘Yes … yes, I know. Your parents told me.’ He hesitated, as if unsure what to say next.
Helen waited impatiently, irritated that he had woken her if all he wanted was to chat. The sound of the phone had disturbed Katy who appeared, yawning, tousled from sleep, clutching a green a
nd blue flowered dressing-gown around her.
‘It’s Donald … Donald Brady,’ Helen whispered, shielding the mouthpiece with one hand.
‘The one whose parents own Bulpitts?’
Helen nodded absently, her attention taken by what Donald was saying.
‘Helen … I saw your parents last night … they were all just sitting down to dinner when I left … About half an hour later it happened …’
‘What happened … what are you trying to tell me?’
‘Look, Helen. This is difficult to say on the phone … Are you on your own?’
‘I told you, I’ve got a friend staying with me … why?’
‘Could you fetch her?’
‘Whatever for! You’ve never met Katy.’
‘I … I think she should be there when I tell you …’
The distress in Donald’s voice suddenly registered with Helen. She stiffened, wondering what was coming next. Her thoughts raced. Had he heard something about Adam? she wondered.
‘What is it you’re trying to tell me, Donald?’
‘Helen … look … I don’t know how to say this. Perhaps it would be better if I spoke to Katy.’
‘Katy’s here in the room but I’d rather you told me,’ she said cautiously. A sixth sense told her that whatever it was Donald had to say it was something unpleasant.
‘OK.’ He gave a deep sigh, then rushed on, ‘It’s about your parents. They were having dinner with my mother and father when our house was bombed. It was a direct hit. No one … none of them … they were all killed.’
There was a silence, so taut that it was as if an invisible bridge linked them, then it shattered like broken glass as Donald’s voice came down the line, calling her name urgently.
Helen found herself unable to answer. Dumbly she passed the receiver over to Katy and, in a stupor, listened as Katy cross-questioned Donald in a cool, staccato voice.
Katy was the epitome of practicality for the next few hours. She phoned Julia Freeman and told her precisely what had happened. Aunt Julia promised to come straight over, as soon as she had found someone to take over her ambulance duties.