by Annie Groves
The entrance to the hospital was busy with nurses coming on and going off duty, and it took Sally several precious minutes to find out where her children were.
‘He’s Dr Ross’s patient, you say?’ the sister on duty asked her, pursing her lips.
‘Yes. That’s right. All my little lad had wrong with him was a bit of tummy ache. I’m sure there wasn’t any need for Dr Ross to go bringing him in here.’
‘That’s for the doctor to say, and doctors don’t go admitting patients unless they think there’s a need. He’ll be up on the children’s ward, but since it’s not visiting time until …’
Sally wasn’t listening to her. The nurse’s words were beating a slow terrifying tattoo into her head like the dark measured beat of a funeral march.
Until this war had brought them its injured soldiers and bombed civilians, the only time people like her had gone into hospital had been to give birth or to die, and sometimes, in the case of a woman, both at the same time, and just the fact that he was in a hospital made Sally feel as though the hand of death had already touched her vulnerable little boy. Inside her head there were so many treasured pictures of him: the day she had given birth to him, earlier than she had expected, her birth pangs mingling with the shrill wail of the air-raid siren, whilst Doris and a scared-looking Molly had helped her upstairs to Frank Brookes’s old bedroom. How fearful and resentful of the new life causing her so much pain she had been then, and how little she had known about the true nature of the pain a child could cause its mother. She would go through those birth pains again a hundred, no, a thousand, times over now if in return she could know that her son was safe and well.
After hurrying along what felt like miles of disinfectant-smelling corridors, she saw the doors to the ward up ahead. Almost running the last few yards, Sally pushed them open. The smell of disinfectant was even more overpowering inside the dimly lit ward with its rows of beds. A nurse, with an angry frown and a thin pinched mouth, came hurrying towards her.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘You can’t come in here. It isn’t allowed.’
‘I want to see my little boy. He’s been brought in this evening by Dr Ross.’
If anything, the nurse was now looking even more sour and critical.
‘You’ll have to come back during visiting hours.’
‘I want to see him now.’
‘That’s not possible. It’s against the rules.’
A second nurse appeared out of the gloom, demanding in a cold voice, ‘What’s going on here, Nurse?’
‘I’m sorry, Sister, it’s the mother of that little ’un we’ve got in the side ward, the one Dr Ross brought in. She wants to see ’im but I’ve told her she’ll have to come back at visiting time.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ the sister confirmed, but Sally wasn’t listening, pushing past them both in her desperation. The sister caught hold of her arm, already bruised from the rough handling she had received earlier, but somehow Sally managed to break free.
‘Nurse, go and call for a porter to remove this woman immediately.’
‘I want to see my sons, and I’m not leaving until I have seen them. They’re my children …’
‘Nurse, the patient in …’ a new voice joined the conversation, and it was one that Sally would have recognised anywhere, thanks to that Scottish accent! Still trying to free herself from the sister’s painful grip she insisted, ‘I want to see my sons,’ at the same time as the sister was complaining, ‘I’m sorry, Dr Ross, but she just burst in here without a by-your-leave and now she’s refusing to go.’
‘Where are my boys? What have you done with them?’ Sally was trying to remain steadfast and determined but fear was weakening her, making her voice tremble along with her body, and taking her to the edge of hysteria.
Ignoring her, the doctor turned to the two nurses, telling them calmly, ‘Thank you, Sister. I’ll deal with this matter now, seeing as the boy is my patient. And thank you for finding him a bed.’
‘You’re welcome, Doctor. I wouldn’t have wanted to turn him away, not seeing as how poorly he is, and his mother not being there to look after him, poor little mite,’ the sister responded, giving Sally an acid look of contempt before nodding to her subordinate to return to her post.
The doctor waited until they were out of earshot before acknowledging that she had spoken, looking past her rather than at her as he said coldly, ‘Will you please stop making so much noise? There are children on this ward, who, unlike your sons, are not fortunate enough to have strong recuperative powers, and who, being extremely poorly indeed, need their sleep.’
In any other circumstances those cutting words would have filled Sally with guilt, shame and concern for the poor children and their mothers, but right now she couldn’t think or feel beyond the relief his words had brought her.
‘My boys are all right?’
A small inclination of his head was all the response Dr Ross gave her, as though he begrudged her the comfort of actual words. What kind of man was he? He seemed not to have any normal human feelings at all, at least not that Sally understood. It was almost too much for her to take in: such intense fear, followed by an equally intense relief, and now anger surging through her so powerfully that she felt physically dizzy.
‘They haven’t got smallpox then?’
‘Smallpox? You mean you went out and left them thinking …? No, they haven’t got smallpox.’
The relief tipped her over the edge of self-control.
‘Well, if they’re all right, why won’t you let me see them?’ she challenged him furiously. ‘Why are they in here, and where’s Doris?’
‘If you mean Sister Brookes, I have sent her down to the nurses’ sitting room so that she can have a rest. She isn’t a young woman, and being left with the responsibility of a very sick child whilst his mother goes out enjoying herself—’
Sally recoiled as though she had been hit. ‘I had to go. Doris knows that. I had no choice … I was working. I have to work.’
‘Working? At a dance hall, the way you were the other night?’
The scorn in his voice made Sally’s face burn. ‘I have no choice,’ she repeated fiercely. ‘There’s a war on, you know!’
‘No choice other than to leave a sick child so that you could go out and sing? Somehow I don’t think that’s what the Government had in mind when they said that the country’s women had to enrol for war work. The age of your younger child means—’
‘I know how old my kiddies are, thank you very much, but what I don’t know is who gave you the right to go bringing them in here, especially seeing as you’re telling me now that there’s nothing wrong.’
‘What I said was that they were all right now. When Sister Brookes called me out to see your elder son, he was very poorly indeed, extremely poorly in fact,’ Dr Ross stressed, ‘and his condition made it imperative in my opinion that he be nursed under the care of a responsible person. Since it was obvious to me that his mother could not be relied on to be that person, I had no option other than to have him admitted here. As for your younger child …’ he paused, and now he was looking at her Sally caught her breath as she saw the condemnation in his gaze, ‘if you can’t look after your children yourself then why haven’t you taken advantage of the Government’s evacuation scheme and sent them into the country where they can be cared for properly and safely?’
‘My kiddies’ place is with me. I’m their mother.’ Like every other mother she knew, Sally dreaded the thought of being parted from her children.
‘I notice that your younger child has several bad bruises.’
‘Him and Tommy are always fighting.’ She wanted to see her boys, not listen to this man, whom she knew disliked her every bit as much as she did him, going on about a few bruises.
‘And I found that when touched he has a tendency to cry out in fear.’
Sally’s mouth compressed with growing irritation. ‘That’s because you’re a man. He isn’t used to men, on
account of his dad being in the army, just like a lot of other kiddies’ dads.’
‘If that’s true then surely that’s all the more reason why you, his mother, should be with your children just as much as you possibly can.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I should have thought my meaning was self-evident, Mrs Walker. This evening, despite the fact that you knew your elder son was feeling poorly, you went out to a dance hall—’
‘I was going there to work. I don’t have any choice, I need the money.’ Sally regretted her emotional admission the moment the words left her mouth but of course it was too late to recall them.
‘You have a job doing war work in a factory, so Mrs Brookes tells me, and your husband is a serving soldier, thus you will be receiving wages from your own work and service pay on account of your husband. Most women would find that ample income on which to manage under present conditions.’
‘My husband is a POW, not a serving soldier, and as for how much money I’ve got coming in and whether or not it’s enough, that’s my business and not yours. What do you know about the needs of people like us? You’re a doctor, living in a big posh house and—’
‘During my training I worked in the slums of Glasgow, and let me tell you that what I saw there of the struggles of the true poor is something I will never forget. You don’t sing in a dance hall because you need the money, Mrs Walker, you do it because you enjoy it, because a woman like you – attractive and alone – feels she deserves to have male flattery and attention. That’s why you went out tonight, despite the fact that your little boy begged you to stay with him.’
Sally opened her mouth to defend herself and then had to close it again as her throat locked on choking emotions. How dare he say those things about her? How dare he judge her when he knew nothing whatsoever about her? Her pride stung from the lash of his harsh words. She took a deep breath and launched into a passionate defence of her actions. ‘My kiddies mean more to me than my own life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, and if I say I have to go out to work, then that’s because it’s the truth. Of course I’d rather be with them instead of having to go out singing, but I haven’t got that choice. It’s all right for you to stand there and look down your nose at me. I saw that photograph of your wife and kiddies, and I’ll bet those pearls she had round her neck cost more than someone like my husband could earn in a whole lifetime. It’s all right for men like you and women like her. She doesn’t have to worry about her husband getting killed or being taken prisoner, and of course she won’t be doing any proper war work, leastways not working in a factory, just a bit of collecting for the WVS, and a nice hot meal waiting on the table for you when you get home,’ Sally told him scornfully. ‘It’s a different world for them like you—’
Abruptly and without saying a word, the doctor turned round and walked away from her, leaving Sally standing watching him in open-mouthed disbelief. Deep down inside she felt shocked by her own daring in speaking up like she had. She wasn’t normally the sort to make a fuss, never mind argue, especially not with someone like a doctor, but when it came to her sons …
She heard the doors to the ward open and she stiffened, expecting to be told to leave, but when she turned round it was Doris who was coming towards her, her plump face heavy with tiredness and strain.
‘Oh, Sally love …’
‘I’m sorry, Doris, I really am.’
Emotionally the two women clung together.
‘Sister Brookes, this really is most irregular. We don’t allow mothers on the ward other than at visiting time, you know that.’
‘It’s all right, Sister, I told Dr Ross that Sally here would be coming in to see her little ’uns the moment she heard, and he said that she was to be allowed to have a few minutes with them, seeing as it wouldn’t disturb anyone else with them being in a private room,’ Doris spoke up firmly.
Sally’s eyes rounded. This was news to her, and surely at odds with the doctor’s attitude towards her.
‘Come on, love,’ Doris urged Sally gently, guiding her down the ward. ‘They’re down here in a room off the main ward. That was the only space they had for them; a private room, it is, an’ all. I thought Sister was going to refuse to admit them at first, but Dr Ross was that insistent, even—’ she broke off, looking self-conscious, and then said hurriedly, ‘I never thought I’d be saying this because I never thought anyone would be good enough to step into old Dr Jennings’s shoes, but Dr Ross has proved me wrong. One of the best, he is, and no mistake.’ She paused and shook her head. ‘I never thought, wi’ me being a nurse for all them years, that I’d ever need to call a doctor out to a sick kiddie, but I’ll be honest with you, Sally, when I saw how bad he was getting I was that scared. I’ve never seen a kiddie being that sick before. I don’t mind telling you, it fair put the wind up me. Dr Ross said straight off as how I’d done the right thing sending for him, especially when I told him about them fish paste sandwiches. Wanted to know all about them, he did, and if anyone else had eaten them. I said as how they hadn’t – just as well really, an’ all. Mind you, I didn’t feel as though I could say too much, what with Daisy’s hubby having given her the fish paste in the first place. And we all know how he came by it. Not that I approve of black marketeering for one minute, I truly don’t, but Daisy’s a neighbour and I wouldn’t want to see her husband lose his job and get into trouble, especially not now, when it’s fourteen years in prison if you get caught. Dr Ross said as how he’d have a word with you about it. Yes, that’s it, through them doors, Sally.’
In the dark area through the ward doors, Sally could just about make out a door. She reached for the handle and then hesitated.
‘You open it, Doris,’ she begged. ‘I’m in that much of a state …’
The room beyond the door, like the ward itself, was lit dimly, to aid the nurses in their work, Sally guessed absently. It contained a small bed and a cot, and in them … Sally pressed her hand to her mouth to suppress the soft moan of love and relief at the sight of her two sleeping children. Dim the light might be but it was enough for her to see the familiar and much-loved faces of her sons, in separate beds but sleeping in identical positions. She went first to Tommy, aching to pick him up.
As though she guessed what she was thinking, Doris touched her on the arm and said softly, ‘Best not to wake them, Sally. Poor little lad needs his rest. I’ve never seen a child so sick, not even those that had had appendicitis. The doctor said himself that he didn’t know if he could pull through. Stayed with him every minute, he did, right until he knew he was over the worst.’
Tears filled Sally’s eyes, blurring her vision. She did not want to hear about how wonderful the doctor had been, nor how Doris felt that he had saved Tommy’s life. She should have been the one to be with her son, not some stranger, even if he was a doctor, and she would have been with him if it hadn’t been for …
The tears welled up and spilled over to splash down on her sleeping son. He turned over in his sleep, his forehead furrowing as he murmured, ‘Mum.’
‘Mum’s here, Tommy,’ Sally told him chokily, placing her hand on his forehead and smoothing away his frown, her heart pierced by the sharply sweet pain of mother love as he relaxed beneath her familiar loving touch.
‘They’ve offered me a bed here for the night, in the nurses’ home, so if you want to go home …?’ Doris offered.
Immediately Sally shook her head. ‘I’m not going anywhere without my boys.’
‘Well, the doctor’s said that he wants to keep him in until the morning, just to make sure that everything’s all right.’
‘Very well then, I’ll stay with them.’
‘Sally love—’
‘I mean it, Doris. I’m not leaving this hospital without my boys. I can sleep here on the floor. Not that I’ll be doing much sleeping, after what’s happened. I’ll never forgive myself for not being there.’
‘You mustn’t go blaming yourself, Sally lass.’
‘Who else is there to blame? I’m their mother, after all.’
‘It was Daisy who made them sandwiches.’
‘Mebbe, but it was me that went out to work and left him, even though he’d told me he felt bad.’
‘You weren’t to know. I didn’t think anything of it myself at first, and I’ve bin nursing for over forty years.’
Sally shook her head. ‘It’s all very well you saying that, Doris, but I should have known.’
And if she hadn’t been so worked up about having to sing, then she would have known, Sally admitted, after Doris had gone, leaving her to curl up on the floor between the bed and the cot, in the blanket the ward sister had reluctantly and disapprovingly produced at Doris’s insistence.
Sally was as deeply asleep as her two sons when, just before dawn, the doctor eased open the door, frowning when he saw the unexpected third presence on the floor before turning away from her to stand in the shadows, listening to the calm breathing of his patient.
A live, healthy child snatched back from the maw of death. He wiped his hand across his face. His eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, his unshaven jaw rough and itchy.
What had he expected? That saving other children would wipe out the burden of guilt he carried over those he had not been able to save? When was he going to understand that for him there could never be an easing of that guilt? He must carry it for ever, without a loving wife who understood, without a wife who cared enough about him to want to understand. What a fool he was to ache so intensely for that shared closeness, that oneness and completeness. He looked down at Sally. No one seeing her singing at the Grafton, as he had done, could have imagined that she was a married woman with children. She had sung like a single girl, using her smiles to tempt any foolish male to believe they were meant for him. This war was bringing out the worst in women like her, selfish women who felt that life owed them “a good time”, whatever that was, and who were prepared to let their children suffer so that they could have one. He had seen the results of that selfishness so many times: in war-weary, heartbroken men, returning to find their wives had found someone else; in blank-eyed, unloved children, unwanted because they had the wrong father or had been born inconveniently. And yet this woman, whom he had judged as a selfish uncaring mother, had turned into a tigress in defence of her cubs when she had confronted him earlier, refusing to leave them and exhibiting a fiercely protective maternal love completely at odds with his assessment of her feelings for them. She was a singer, he reminded himself; a woman used to projecting her charms to deceive and delude.