by Anne Bennett
‘We can’t take part in a service of any other Church,’ Paul said. ‘Didn’t you know that?’
‘No,’ Carmel said, ‘but then it would never have come up, would it? I mean, until I came here I seldom even met anyone who wasn’t a Catholic. But what is the reason for a ban like that? Do they think we’ll become corrupted by other Churches’ services or what?’
Paul laughed. ‘I don’t know why. I have never asked. That is just the way it is.’
Carmel thought it stupid, but knew that she could do nothing to change it, and together with Chris and Lois they began to lay out their wedding plans. Carmel and Lois’s time as junior staff nurses would end on Friday, 19 July and the ceremony when they would receive their certificates and any medals they might be awarded was the following week, on 26 July. In view of this, and because Paul and Carmel were having no honeymoon, it was decided that their wedding would be first, on 3 August, and Lois and Chris’s would be the following week as they were having a few days away in Blackpool afterwards.
Carmel and Paul’s marriage was being conducted at the Abbey, though Father Donahue from St Chad’s was officiating and, their fairly modest reception was to be in the upper room of the Cross Keys public house, just a few yards down the road, as it was all they could afford. After the gift of the furniture, Paul refused to take another penny piece and Carmel was glad, for anything more salubrious would have completely overawed her mother and probably would have spoiled the day for her.
The following day, Paul went up to tell his parents of the arrangements. Emma wasn’t a bit impressed. She bitterly resented the fact that her niece was to be married in the imposing Holy Trinity Church in Sutton Coldfield and then the guests were to be taken in chauffeur-driven cars to the Royal Hotel, the oldest and most expensive in the town, for James had pulled out all the stops for his younger daughter. Paul could have had that and more, and then she would have been able to hold up her head with pride, despite the doubtful pedigree of his bride.
Paul had laughed when she had suggested it—not particularly unkindly, but still it had offended her and more especially when he went on to say with a smile, ‘We can’t afford that kind of wedding, Mother. As I told you, we are to be married in the Abbey just this side of Erdington Village and then just down the road is the Cross Keys pub. They let their upper room out for weddings and functions like that. We have both been to see it and it is perfect, and because it is so close it will save on the hiring of cars.’
‘What rubbish you talk sometimes, Paul,’ Emma said through tight lips. ‘This hole-in-the-corner wedding is not suitable for someone of your standing. I was thinking of something much more lavish.’
‘No, Mother.’
‘Paul, see sense,’ Emma pleaded. ‘What is the matter with you? You don’t need to worry about cost. Your father and I would pay for it. Traditionally, of course, it is the girl’s parents who pay for the wedding, but your father tells me the Duffys are far too poor to be able to do that so we will—’
‘No, Mother,’ Paul said again. ‘For one thing, you have paid too much out on me already, and for another thing, that isn’t the type of wedding that either of us wants.’
‘You haven’t just to consider yourselves in this circumstance.’
‘Sorry, Mother,’ Paul said. ‘It is the one time in our lives when we can please ourselves, surely?’
‘And expect us to go on foot from the Abbey to some odious little public house?’
‘It is no distance at all, Mother,’ Paul said. ‘And the room is very nice. If you would just go and look—’
‘I have no intention of going to look,’ Emma snapped. ‘You are doing this to shame me…shame us all.’
‘Not at all. I’m doing this because we want just a simple wedding.’
‘Well, then,’ Emma snapped, ‘if you will not see sense in this matter and will consider no point of view but your own, then you needn’t think your father and I will attend. What will your fine friends think of that?’
Before Paul was able to reply Jeff said calmly, ‘When I need you to make decisions for me, my dear, then I will tell you. If you feel you cannot go to Paul’s wedding, then of course you must stay away, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
In one way, Paul was glad of his father’s support, but he caught sight of his mother’s face as she swept from the room indignantly and felt suddenly sorry for her.
Jeff misinterpreted the look on Paul’s face and said, ‘Don’t worry, son. She’ll come round when she has time to think about it.’
Paul didn’t bother contradicting his father, but he knew that his mother’s mind was made up.
‘She won’t come to the wedding because we are having the reception in some place she described as an “odious little public house”,’ he told Carmel.
‘Surely it is just a bit of a pique she is in,’ Carmel said. ‘Disappointment, maybe, but she’ll get over it. She wouldn’t boycott her own son’s wedding.’
Paul said nothing, but he knew his mother was more than capable of carrying out that threat unless he was to apologise and promise to do things her way, and he had no intention of doing that.
Once the wedding plans were made, the girls set to with a will, choosing the furniture and floor coverings to grace their home. Carmel could scarcely believe that she actually owned such beautiful things.
They also toured the Bull Ring for things for their bottom drawer and for the slinky underwear they wanted for their wedding night, which, they both admitted, they were looking forward to with great relish. They discussed what sex would be like and Lois knew a little bit more than Carmel, for she had quizzed her sister, Sue, but still both were a little bit afraid although Lois did say, ‘It might not be so bad in the end. I mean,’ she went on, ‘when we are kissing and everything, you want them to go on and on, don’t you?’
‘Oh, not half,’ Carmel said with feeling.
‘Well, our Sue says it’s a bit like that, but the point is you can go on and on once you are married.’
‘Doesn’t it hurt?’
‘She says only at first and not that much if they are properly gentle and that.’
‘Let’s hope they are then,’ Carmel said. ‘I’ll tell you what, though, whether it hurts or not, I can hardly wait.’
‘Me neither,’ Lois agreed. ‘In fact, in some ways it’s a good job that we don’t see much of our chaps, all told. We might well have pre-empted those marriage vows a time or two.’
And Carmel knew exactly what her friend meant.
The days began to get a tad warmer, and as April drew to a close the talk was all about celebrating the silver jubilee of George V in early May. As an Irish girl, totally unconcerned with the British monarchy, Carmel was perplexed at the patriotic attitude of so many people, just because some old bearded man had sat on the same throne for twenty-five years.
She kept her views to herself, however, when she realised how much in the minority she was. Even the hospitals were celebrating, and the General was no exception. The wards were decorated with streamers of red, white and blue, and Union Jacks, and special food was ordered for the day. A party atmosphere prevailed and the rules for everyone were relaxed. Carmel thought it extremely worrying to see Matron smiling benignly at everyone as she toured the wards. Usually, when anyone saw Matron smiling, they knew some poor soul was going to catch it, but not that day.
As many patients as possible were taken in wheelchairs, or even in their beds to the concert held that evening. They were entertained by comedy acts, enthralled by the sleight of hand of the conjurer, and they thoroughly enjoyed the singsong to round off the whole thing. At first they sang many of the traditional and patriotic songs of the day like, ‘There’ll Always be an England’. Then they moved on to songs from the Great War, like ‘Goodbye Dolly Gray’ and ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’. These then gave way to music-hall songs, such as ‘Daisy, Daisy’.
Those patients who were well enough sang with gusto and waved the U
nion Jack flags they had been given with great enthusiasm. Even Carmel was affected by the zealous pride she saw shining in many of the patients’ eyes and knew that, for some, the day had been better than medicine.
Some kind benefactor had donated coronation mugs for each child in the hospital and a coronation crown for each adult, and the patients were really overwhelmed by such generosity. Carmel sincerely hoped the patients might be able to hold on to their treasures and they wouldn’t soon be gracing the window of a pawnbroker’s. However, she did recognise when it was a case of food on the table, or rent to pay to prevent a family being thrown out on the street, a crown or a mug wasn’t much use to anyone. For now, though, at least they had the pleasure of owning the gifts.
The Queen’s Hospital had run similar activities. When Carmel saw Paul that night they spoke of it.
‘It certainly gave them all a boost,’ Paul said. ‘If we had a celebration like that once a week, I reckon they would need to stay in hospital less.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Carmel said with a laugh. ‘If we had a celebration like that every week, people would be fighting to get in.’
‘Yeah,’ Paul agreed ruefully.
‘I don’t see what the fuss was all about anyway,’ Carmel admitted. ‘The Evening Mail and the Despatch carried pictures of the street parties taking place all over the city. What difference will it make to the average man on the street who is on the throne or how long he has been there? I mean, isn’t the king or queen just a figurehead?’
‘Yes and no,’ Paul said. ‘You are right, though, that to Joe Bloggs this matters not a jot, but I think it is a national pride thing. Not every country these days has a royal family and it is something we can feel proud about. Let’s face it, Carmel, there is little else for the country these days. I mean, we fought a war with Germany and won, and then when the men were demobbed there was nothing awaiting them but the dole and poverty.’
‘I know,’ Carmel said. ‘I suppose this sort of thing raises their spirits even just for a short while.’
‘Yes, that’s it,’ Paul said. ‘It shows the rest of the world, and I suppose Germany in particular, that we have something we can be proud of.’
‘People say the chancellor Germany has, that Hitler chap, is turning Germany round.’
‘So I believe,’ Paul said grimly. ‘But I would like to know at what cost. There are lots of strange tales coming out of that place that I don’t like the sound of at all. And as for the next Olympic Games to be set in Berlin, it’s just madness. Still,’ he said, kissing Carmel lightly on the lips, ‘are we going to stand here all night discussing politics, or are we going to go out and enjoy ourselves?’
‘Ah, Paul, what do you think?’
‘Come on then,’ said Paul, catching up Carmel’s hand. ‘Let’s see what Birmingham has in store for us this evening.’
Lois and Carmel had to have an interview with the manager of the trust fund that ran the hospital, Mr Murdoch, the senior doctor, Dr Humphries, and Matron to see whether it would be acceptable for them to continue in nursing after they were married. There was no policy in place about this now they were fully trained, and while Mr Murdoch and Dr Humphries had no problem with the girls continuing, if that was what they wished to do, the final decision had to be left to Matron Turner.
The two girls knew this full well, and they also knew that the matron had re-examined their experience charts, gone over their examination grades and requested reports on them from the nurses they had worked with.
‘Don’t you worry your little head over that,’ Nurse Chambers had told Carmel. ‘I have given you such a glowing reference, you would hardly recognise yourself. I even went on to say that it would be a great loss if you were forced to leave.’
Matron had been impressed with that, and Lois’s testimonials were nearly as good. The matron deplored the policy of training nurses to the acceptable standard, only for them to get married and leave as soon as they were qualified. She couldn’t see why more girls could make nursing their life, as she had.
In the dark recess of her mind, she remembered Len Bishop, whom she was engaged to in 1914, just before war was declared. ‘Over before Christmas, Cathy,’ he had declared as he boarded the train full of troops. He had leaned out of the window and kissed the tears from the young girl’s eyes. ‘Don’t you cry,’ he’d admonished, but gently. ‘I’ll be back before you know it, and we’ll talk to your father about getting married. What do you say?’
Yes, yes, yes, was what the young Cathy Turner said, for she loved Len Bishop with all her heart. She was twenty-three, more than ready to marry, and had been a qualified nurse for two years. However, she had passed her twenty-fourth birthday six months later when Len’s distraught and anguished mother had brought around the telegram and pushed it into her trembling hands.
Catherine cried as if she would never stop. She refused to eat, became ill and didn’t care. She had wanted to die, to be with Len, and the doctor her worried parents brought in had little sympathy with her.
‘The man had to do his duty—surely you knew that—and now you must do yours.’
‘Mine?’ Catherine had asked, confused.
‘Yes, yours,’ the doctor snapped. ‘You have a duty to
yourself to rise above this, and to your parents, who are worried to death about you, and to that noble profession you broke your neck to enter. All this wallowing in grief is no good for anyone, so get up from this bed and do something useful with your life.’
CatherineTurner had got up. She knew that she would never marry and that she would strive to rise in nursing, for it was all she had left. That had happened twenty years before, in 1915, and she seldom allowed herself to think about it now, but looking at the two girls before her brought it all back. Nothing would spoil their young dream. Her Len and countless more had died in the war to end all wars, and even all this business with Germany couldn’t amount to anything much, so these girls would be able to have their cake and eat it on her say-so.
‘Well, Matron,’ Dr Humphries said, with a little cough, and the matron realised the silence had stretched out between them as she had reminisced.
‘Oh, yes. Sorry, Doctor.’
‘What sort of nurses then are these two?’ the doctor asked her. ‘Diligent? Hard-working?’
‘They are indeed,’ the matron said. ‘In fact, I have no problem at all with their work. But, Nurse Duffy, Nurse Baker, how do you intend to look after your husbands effectively if you are nursing too?’
‘Well, you see, Matron,’ Carmel said, ‘our prospective husbands are junior doctors anyway and so understand—perhaps better than most—the pressures we will be under and the hours we will have to work. They both work odd hours too and have no objections to us continuing.’
‘Hmm,’ the doctor mused. ‘Those men are Paul Connolly and Christopher Fellows, and both doing sterling and necessary work at Queen’s, but the girl is right: the men’s hours will be anything but regular.’
‘And what about when the babies start arriving?’ the matron asked.
‘We don’t intend to have children for some time yet,’ Lois said. ‘Both of us want to make our mark in nursing first.’
‘You feel the same, Nurse Duffy?’ the matron asked.
‘Yes, Matron.’
‘I thought you were a Catholic?’
‘I am, Matron.’
‘Hmm.’
Carmel was sure that the matron would have said far more, but before she was able to, the doctor said with a smile, ‘In my experience babies often appear in their own time, whatever their parents have decided. However, we can cross that bridge when we come to it. I have no objection to your continuing here after your marriage and if Matron feels the same, then I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t.’
Outside the room, the two girls hugged each other in delight. Carmel knew that, much as she loved Paul and longed to be married to him, nursing too was very important to her. She would have missed it terribly if she h
ad been forced to leave.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When Eve stepped on the platform of New Street Station in Birmingham, on Thursday evening, two days before Carmel’s wedding, she could hardly credit that she was there at last. When the people of Letterkenny heard that Eve Duffy, no less, was away to England to see her daughter married, alone except for a nursing sister, and that her truculent bully of a husband had given her permission for this, they had been astounded. Many remembered the fine young man on Carmel’s arm from the previous autumn and most women at least could understand Eve wanting to be there on her eldest daughter’s big day and felt sympathetic towards her.
As many said, ‘The poor woman often doesn’t have the money to bless herself with, but that is hardly her fault and God knows she does her best.’ Women who had barely bid Eve the time of day after Mass, now shook her by the hand and wished her Godspeed. Some of the men too began to look at Dennis in a new light and said they were surprised at his decision, for all it was the right one as every girl wants her mother near on her wedding day.
Dennis, however, had just a hazy recall of that evening in the pub when he had made the declaration that he was allowing Eve to travel to England and, sure he had been tricked into it, he began to feel resentful. Usually Eve bore the brunt of his bad humour, but Sister Frances had guessed how Dennis might react and when she saw the stiff way Eve was holding herself four days before they were to leave, she brought her and Pauline to bide at the convent with the full approval of Siobhan.
A drunken Dennis, when he discovered Eve gone, and guessing where she had made for, had hightailed it down to the convent, roaring and carrying on until some of the townsfolk were alarmed enough to send for the guard. He told Dennis if he didn’t want to find himself behind bars he should head for home quickly, and escorted him to his own door to make sure he went.
Eve was glad of the respite and overwhelmed by the nun’s kindness and generosity when she had seen the clothes that Sister Frances had put by for her. She was also filled with relief that she wouldn’t let Carmel down, and pleasure that for once in her life she would wear something that didn’t look like a wash-rag. The trip to the hairdresser’s had been her first and she had been amazed at the difference a good cut and set made, so that she could barely recognise the woman staring back at her in the mirror.