Call Me Sister

by Yeadon, Jane

  ‘Look in the range cupboard. Plenty kindlers there,’ he said. ‘And you’ll get paper under Willie’s chair-cushion, cushion. That’s where he keeps the P&J.’

  Willie was never going to get a medal for housekeeping but the sticks piled inside the wee range were stacked with such precision it seemed a shame to use them. There was a bonus to the unusual use of the oven too, for the sticks were bone dry. Soon I’d a good fire going.

  Casting flickering shapes on the walls, it brought a little cheer to the sparsely furnished room and ill-lit living room. Lampshades wouldn’t have had a high rating on the brothers’ shopping list but at least the house had electricity so that a hot drink would be possible. The thought was encouraging, but I’d been so engrossed on tending the fire I hadn’t noticed that Jock had stopped whistling.

  I rushed through to the bedroom. To my surprised relief, he’d actually fallen asleep. With his pink scalp and his wrinkles relaxed in slumber he looked like an elderly untroubled cherub. I breathed again, then checked Willie. He was beginning to get back some colour, and his pulse and temperature were picking up.

  I knew there was a farmhouse just along the road. Maybe they had a phone. It was worth a try.

  ‘I’m going to ask your neighbours for a bit of help,’ I whispered to the two recumbent forms, ‘and I’ll be right back.’

  Although the distance between the houses was short, I was glad to get there without the Morris slipping off the farm road.

  ‘Mercy me!’ exclaimed the lady who answered the door to my frantic knock. She shouted to someone over her shoulder, ‘Hugh, come here! There’s a car with a nurse here and she’s saying the boys are in big trouble.’

  Confidentiality wasn’t a big issue, I thought, forgiving myself for my garbled introduction. ‘Actually, if I could use your phone that would be a great help.’ I said, then, trying for a less dramatic approach, ‘I’m sure they’re going to be fine but I’d just like to speak to Sister Shiach first.’

  ‘Ah! Sister Shiach! She’s one girl. She’ll know what to do. Did she not deliver all our children, Hugh?’ With the inference that my mentor couldn’t have had a better qualification or the world to be in better hands, the woman relaxed and leant against the door jamb. As if to illustrate her point, two sturdy-looking youngsters joined her and beamed up at me. They had a well-fed look and confident way that I would have loved Bell’s Shirl to have had.

  Meanwhile, Hugh, perhaps more attuned to anxiety, came to the door and beckoned me in, saying to his wife, ‘Och, stop your blethering. Can’t you see the lassie needs the phone? Once she’s spoken to Sister then we’ll help as best we can. Come on, Nurse, it’s in the kitchen, and so are we. Oh, sorry, Hugh Campbell,’ he added, sticking out his hand.

  He didn’t say, but it was obvious from the half-empty plates that they were in the middle of their tea. The lingering smell of bacon made me feel hungry and my fingers tingled, registering that frostbite had moved from probable to less likely. The family made light of my apologies for interrupting, showed me the phone then sat down to listen with friendly interest.

  Sister Shiach answered the phone on the first ring. Once I’d finished, she was matter-of-fact. ‘Well it’s good that his temp’s going up. You’ve done fine, but it sounds as if he’d be the better of a right thaw-out so he’s probably best in hospital. He won’t want to go, of course but he’s in no position to object. Once he is there, he’ll get a good chance to be built up as well. I’ll call the doctor, tell him Willie needs to be admitted to the Ross Memorial.

  ‘Yes, it’s great that Dingwall’s got a hospital.’

  ‘Uh-huh, and you’ll need to go with him in the ambulance you’re about to call. Once you’ve done that, get back to the boys. Stay with them and keep warm yourself. Their neighbours are good folk, really helpful. They’re always fretting about the Duthies so if they want to help, you could ask them if they’ve any spare soup. Jock could probably do with some.’ She added, ‘I expect the boys have plenty firewood. They must. From time to time, they give some to the Campbells. I’ll let you get on to make that ambulance call now but,’ she dropped her voice, ‘you’ll already know you’ve got a bit of an emergency on your hands.’

  I’d never dialled 999 before and the watching family was plainly impressed when I did.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ I said, replacing the receiver, ‘but now I have to get back. They say they’re on their way.’

  ‘Right, I’ll come with you to make sure you manage on the road,’ said Hugh, grabbing a huge overcoat. ‘I’ll go and start the Land Rover.’

  Mrs Campbell, who must have heard the phone conversation, put in, ‘And I’ll give you some soup. It’s lucky you called when you did. We had some for tea. It’s lentil. I know the boys like that. Sometimes they’ll accept something, but only if we take some of their sticks. They’re far too proud for their own good. Look!’ She brandished a thermos. ‘I’ll fill this and there’ll be some for you too. You must be perishing. The Duthies’ house is like an ice block. We do worry about them. It’s good to get this chance to really help them.’

  I nearly told her not to hurry. The warm kitchen with its comfortable furnishings and kindly folk made the idea of returning to an igloo an even chillier prospect than it already was.

  I said, ‘I’m torn between worrying that I’ve left the Duthies with such a big blaze, it’s put the house on fire or,’ I leant against the Rayburn cooker’s rail, ‘it’s gone out. In which case, I’ll be glad of this warm up.’

  Mrs Campbell was bustling about with the briskness of a woman on a mission. She was reassuring. ‘We’d have seen the flames if it had. Anyway, Hugh will go with you, make sure you get back quickly and safely. The farm road can be tricky. Well done for getting here in one bit. You could easily have landed in a ditch.’ Handing over the thermos she said, ‘See you, and have some of that now and I’d advise using the cap. You might not survive eating from a Duthie plate.’

  I was moved by her kindness. What with herself and her husband so enthusiastically helping, I went out into the night feeling that, from one minute of being on my own, I’d now got a committed team on side. Added to that was the Campbells’ Land Rover. With its throaty roar bellowing into the night, the engine was a reassuringly powerful sound.

  Hugh had brought it to the house and, opening the door, shouted above the racket, ‘I’ll go first and you follow my tracks. But mind how you go. I don’t want to have to pull you out. Not with the Duthies needing us so urgently.’ He had the easy manner of someone who’d consider this an insignificant but unnecessary interruption.

  Diligently, I maintained a steady course behind him, trying not to be hypnotised by our car lights. Their beams occasionally streaming up into the sky were like spotlights, merging and crossing as if in some strange angular dance. I had to remind myself that they weren’t giving a display, merely highlighting the road’s hidden bumps.

  The Morris Minor, instead of behaving like a skittish colt, became strangely biddable. You’d never have thought the wretch ever had an independent thought. I’d have a word with her when we got home. She was lucky my boots were too flimsy to give her a sharp kick.

  For now, however, we’d arrived at the Duthie house. At least it hadn’t gone on fire. It was a relief too when Jock came to meet us. Giving Hugh a cursory nod, he said in a complaining sort of way, ‘I couldna sleep. Willie’s got awful restless. He never did like sharing a bed.’ He patted an old beret, last seen covering the bicycle seat and now on his head. ‘And he’s saying awful daft things, daft things.’

  ‘Well, you’ll be glad to hear that’s good news,’ I said heartily. ‘It means he’s coming back to us. We’ve organised an ambulance to take him to hospital just to make sure he gets on the mend as quickly as possible.’

  ‘He won’t like that, like that, but it’s maybe for the best.’ Jock wiped his brow and shook his head. ‘Forbye that I’d like to sleep in my own bed too, too.’

  A siren wailed in the distanc
e.

  ‘That’s Willie’s taxi,’ said Hugh, who was either stamping his feet clear of snow or avoiding frostbite. ‘And I know at least one person who’ll be pleased to see it, eh, Nurse?’

  8

  TAKING THE PLUNGE

  The long johns were beginning to take on a personality. They were now on my own washing line and dancing in the wind as if to a jig. I’d taken them home after my trip to the hospital with Willie.

  Getting him ready, I’d presumed his underwear was limited to the one garment meantime freezing on the Duthie washing line. Jock was stressed enough without me asking for pyjamas so I’d grabbed an old jacket off a peg on the back of the bedroom door and used it to cover Willie as best I could.

  The Ross Memorial Hospital ran with such a smooth and kind efficiency, the staff seemed unsurprised at a patient arriving and wearing something more suitable for his top half than the bottom. They changed him into more conventional wear. When I got back to Jock I told him that Willie was in safe hands, rapidly thawing and very smart in striped flannelette pyjamas.

  He scratched his brow and said, ‘He wisna very respectable when he left here. He’ll no be right till he gets these back on, back on.’ He’d nodded at the long johns now draped over Willie’s chair and steaming gently. There was a worrying human smell coming from them.

  I’d suggested I could take them home. ‘They could probably do with a wee rinse,’ I said, and thought Willie might get a surprise when he recovered consciousness. He was such a private, shy man I hoped that dressed in brightly coloured pyjamas might not be as big a shock to his system as waking up in a hospital bed.

  As Jock chewed over my offer, I continued, ‘We’re lucky, you know. The nurses’ houses are so well equipped we’ve even got washing machines.’ Looking round the Duthie’s ill-furnished house, I thought guiltily about my own little cottage. I was sure Miss Macleod had had a hand in its well-appointed, carpeted and snug comfort.

  As soon as I said I was going home, Jock looked pleased. He rubbed his hands and nodded his head. ‘Yes! That’s best. With my brother out of the house and your car outside late, we wouldn’t want people to start speaking, speaking.’

  Last night’s red sky had been an accurate sign that better weather was on its way. In the morning, with the wind promising a drying day and shifting the snow into piebald patches, I’d pinned out the long johns before heading for work.

  Driving towards Dingwall, I thought about Captain Saunders-Hewitt’s alleged fruitiness. In my hospital experience, I’d found a slight slap with a wet facecloth usually cured the ailment. I just hoped he didn’t use a sponge. That would be hopeless.

  The Saunders-Hewitts lived in a quiet cul-de-sac very different from Bell’s street. Their house, standing in huge grounds taken over by rhododendrons, may have had a more glorious past, but it still looked imposing.

  ‘A local lady goes in every day to help but the Captain’s a bit of a lad. Thinks he’s above personal hygiene,’ Sister Shiach had explained. ‘Both the Saunders-Hewitts are getting a bit frail now and if we didn’t go in, his wife might give up on him – and maybe herself as well. Personally, I think they could manage fine with a little encouragement. And they have their little indulgences.’ She mimed someone emptying a glass. ‘I’m never sure what to expect from a visit but don’t you take any nonsense from him. Stick him in the bath and make sure he scrubs his back. Himself.’

  There was no reply when I hammered on the big brass doorknocker but the creak as I opened the door would have wakened the dead. Yet still there was no answer. I listened hard. There was the occasional creak and groan of an old house in failing health but if there were any ghosts, I figured that they should be of animals killed for sport. Trophies of them were everywhere.

  Then I heard a giggle. It came from upstairs.

  ‘Hello?’ I called from the huge hallway. My footsteps echoing on the wooden floor were suddenly muffled by a tiger skin. A stopped grandfather clock said it was midnight.

  ‘Ooops! Sorry,’ I said, suddenly aware of being watched. But it was only the glazed eyes of a stag, its head mounted on the wall at the top of the stairs, the carpet of which was threadbare. More care had been lavished on the brass rods securing it. I suspected the Saunders-Hewitts hadn’t been responsible for their bright gleam, but probably were the source of noises coming from above.

  As I climbed the stairs, I held my nursing bag before me, trusting that both it and my uniform would identify me as their nurse. As I went I interspersed my helloes with discreet coughs. I could hear the sounds were coming from a room at the end of a wood-panelled corridor.

  It was in darkness. Maybe I’d the wrong room but before I went to turn back, a bedside light was switched on.

  ‘Oh! Look what we’ve got, Charles. It’s a dear little nurse!’ The light shone on a large stone on a thin finger of an elderly lady who had the sleek elegance of a greyhound. She was still in bed along with , I presumed and rather hoped, my patient. She must have liked jewellery because she also wore pearls. He favoured a cravat and as far as I could see without actually staring, not much else.

  He said, ‘By Jove, it is. Ha! We shought you might be a burglar. But come in, do, do!’ He nudged his partner. ‘We inshist, don’t we, Ginny?’

  ‘Rather!’ Ginny was enthusiastic.

  An empty sherry bottle lay on the floor. It might explain Charles’s ruddy complexion, the couple’s cheery way and a few other things I didn’t care to explore.

  Aiming my gaze at an oil painting of a stag in better health than the one on the staircase, I said, ‘Oooh, sorry. Look! I’ll come back in an hour.’

  Ginny shot up. She wasn’t wearing anything either. ‘No, my dear! You mustn’t. We’ll get a frightful row from Sister Shiach if she hears we’ve been messing up your routine. It’s just we weren’t expecting you so soon. She did tell us you’d be coming but she didn’t say you’d be so young.’ Now, she didn’t sound so pleased but continued, ‘Only we didn’t know when.’

  Charles rubbed his hands and tidied his moustache over large yellow teeth. If it hadn’t been for the sherry bottle I might have thought he’d had a stroke as he slurred, ‘She didn’t shay to expeck a young filly though, did she?’ His eyes gleamed.

  I’d a quick think. Whatever hazard he might present, naked or otherwise, I needed to get him sober. I moved to the curtains and jerked them open. The little metal wheels securing them to a rail screamed.

  ‘I shay!’ Charles put his hands over his ears whilst Ginny fumbled in the bedclothes. ‘Where’s those dratted gaspers?’ She had the wheeze of an enthusiastic smoker. ‘Charles darling, have you got the lighter?’

  One minute I’m trying to get a patient warm in bed and the next I’m trying to stop one going on fire, I thought, deciding on a brisk approach.

  ‘I’m a great believer in the restorative power of fresh air,’ I declared, and shot up the window. A chilly draught accompanied my words. ‘Now, I’m going to pop downstairs, make you something to drink and once you’ve had that, you’ll be ready for your bath, Captain.’

  ‘Brrh! Ginny, put down your chiggy and warm me up.’ My patient had burrowed down under the bedclothes, leaving just his eyes and moustache visible. The bedclothes started to move as if alive.

  Ginny slapped at them, inhaling as deeply as someone gasping for air. ‘Ooh, you naughty boy!’ Casually, she put her cigarette to the side.

  If it hadn’t been for the fire risk I might just have left them to it, said I’d call another day. Instead I made a big show of shoving the window up another couple of inches then, promising a swift return, hurried downstairs.

  I left the kitchen door open and made the kettle whistle several times, hoping it would have alerted the Saunders-Hewitts to progress. When I carried two cups of strong Camp Coff ee back upstairs, Charles was sitting up and now wearing silk pyjamas so grand they could do for a state occasion.

  ‘What a dishturber of the peashe you are,’ he complained. ‘Jusht when Ginny and
I were shettling down again, I’d to get up and dreshed to shut that damn window.’ He looked at the coff ee. ‘And I don’t want thish. I shuspect it tashtes vile.’

  ‘I’d be happier if you did drink it,’ I said, pleased at the bad temper. He must be sobering up. ‘Sister Shiach said you liked something strong to start you for the day. I’m presuming she meant coffee. I have to meet her quite soon.’ I made a big play of consulting my watch. ‘We’re running a bit out of time, I’d hate to have to tell her you’ve missed out on your bath.’

  Ginny plucked his arm. ‘Just do as the wee nursie says. We mustn’t upset Sister Shiach.’ She gave a genteel hiccup, smoothed back her grey hair and placed a finger over her lips. ‘Oooh, excuse me.’ The red nail varnish showed vivid against her pale face.

  Leaving the Captain unhappily slurping, I looked for the bathroom and found a huge room with an enormous bath in the middle of it. Some worrying plumbing noises came from a towel rail with bars the size of organ pipes. But at least it was warming the large monogrammed towel laid over it and took the chill from the high-ceilinged room.

  ‘Always run cold water first in any bath. You don’t want to scald your patient.’ Remembering a past nursing tutor’s advice, I turned on the tap. Water gushed from it as if it came from the Falls of Glomach and was so noisy I didn’t hear my patient arriving.

  ‘No!’ I cried, but too late. He’d thrown away his pyjamas, and before I could stop him, he’d plunged into a bath half-full of freezing water.

  9

  MEN MAY WORK

  Jomo wagged his tail and cocked his head as he watched his mistress leaning helplessly over her desk. Wiping away tears of laughter, she asked, ‘So what happened after the Captain took to the water?’

  We were in a small room in her house. I expect it was meant for office work and storing nursing equipment, but it was more like a drapery store. A hand towel fell from a variety of sheets and clothes cramming the surrounding shelves. I picked it up, and trying to find a space to shove it back, said, ‘I learnt two things about the Captain this morning. One, he can easily and quickly get out of a bath and two, a cold one’s a great way to sober him up. Mind you, with all his squeals and protests you’d have thought his wife would have lain low, but she came through to investigate.’ I mimed a pistol to my head. ‘She insisted she fill the bath instead of me doing it and she’d help him get back in. It was completely obvious to her that I wasn’t competent enough.’