by Maggie Holt
White-faced but outwardly calm, Mabel shook her head slightly as if in disbelief.
‘He could’ve been picked up. He was in a convoy, an’ there were escort ships o’ the Royal Navy there. They might’ve picked him up,’ she repeated in a dull, flat, curiously stubborn tone.
‘I don’t think you should allow yourself to hope, Nurse Court,’ answered the Matron heavily, thinking that if any of the crew had managed to throw themselves clear before the vessel went down, they would not have survived for long in the icy water with the darkness all around them.
Mabel was still standing in front of the desk. To sit down would be like accepting the dreadful finality of her brother’s fate. ‘What about Norah, Matron – I mean Nurse McLoughlin – will yer tell her as well?’
‘Perhaps you had better tell her, Nurse Court, as you are friends. My duty is to inform the next of kin, which is yourself. Nurse McLoughlin isn’t a relation.’
‘No, but she – oh, how can I tell her this?’ Mabel clasped her hands together pleadingly.
‘Shall I sent for her now, so that you can speak to her here in my office?’
‘N-no, thank yer, Matron. We’re both off from two to five. I – I’ll have to take her to our room and break it to her. Let her get her dinner first, otherwise she’ll miss it.’
‘Very well, Nurse Court. You can spend the afternoon with Nurse McLoughlin, but you’ll both have to report on duty as usual for the evening shifts.’
‘Yes, Matron.’
‘A nurse’s chief consolation comes from serving her patients, that’s been my own experience, my dear,’ said Sarah Brewer, moved by the girl’s stoic attitude and her concern for her friend. ‘All over the country today women are hearing news of losses like this and carrying on with their duties – the mothers, the sisters, the young women like Nurse McLoughlin who –’ She hesitated, and then went round the desk to lay a hand on Mabel’s shoulder. ‘We must put our trust in God, my dear. That’s what Captain Drover would say, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Thank yer, Matron.’
‘Are there any relatives you need to inform?’
‘I’ll write to me brother in Canada and me sisters at Belhampton – oh, they’ll see it in The Times, an’ so will Captain Drover. It’s poor Norah who hasn’t got any relatives at all.’
‘Mother o’ God, Mabel, yer face! Somethin’ wrong, is it? Has Harry been sent for to –’
‘No, Norah, it’s not Harry. Listen, dear, ye’ve got to be very brave. It’s Albert. His ship was torpedoed, an’ he’s missin’ at sea.’ Mabel brought out the dire news in a rush, rather as the Matron had done; there seemed no point in trying to soften such an irredeemably bitter blow.
‘Aah. Well, now, then.’ Norah automatically crossed herself and her body was strangely unresponsive as Mabel’s arms encircled her. ‘But didn’t I dream about him last night, an’ didn’t he look me straight in the eye an’ say he was on his way home to me? As plain as I’m seein’ ye now, Mabel, that’s what he said.’
‘Oh, Norah, dear, I’m sorry, but it’s been a week and Matron thinks he must be drowned, else we’d’ve heard by now. She says we shouldn’t let ourselves hope, ’cause we’ll only be disappointed when – when we don’t hear anythin’.’
Norah rose from the bed where she had been sitting in their shared room and went to the window that overlooked the roofs across to the river. ‘I’m goin’ straight over to St George’s to pray for him, whether he be livin’ or dead.’ She replaced her cap and picked up her cloak.
‘D’ye want me to come with yer, Norah?’
‘If ye want to, Mabel, darlin’ – only I must go now, before me two knees give way under me.’
Both girls remained dry-eyed throughout that day and neither actually admitted that Albert Court was almost certainly dead. ‘Missing at sea’ was not the same as ‘killed in action’ and their talk was about the living, breathing young man they knew. When Norah returned from St George’s Cathedral she went straight to the little Oxo tin where she kept his treasured letters and cards, scrawled and creased as they were, and set them out on her bed.
‘’Tis the first time in me life I’ve had somebody o’ me own, y’see,’ she murmured, touching each one in turn. ‘The Sisters o’ Mercy at St Joseph’s were kind to us – Mother Patrick was a darlin’ – but it wasn’t a family like yours, Mabel, though they gave me a convent education such as other girls had to pay for. When Miss Greene came an’ took me to be her maid, she brought me over to live in London wid her – but as soon as she met this fella wantin’ to marry her, she didn’t need me any more, an’ sent me here to train.’ The blue eyes gleamed. ‘An’ didn’t I straightway meet yerself, Mabel – an’ shall I ever forget me first sight o’ yer dear brother, all dressed up like a wumman, d’ye remember? The grandest, handsomest man I ever did see!’
Both girls smiled sadly and shook their heads at the memory of Sister Mattock, then held each other for a long moment.
‘I shan’t give up hope, Mabel, not yet. Only I don’t want to go to Cinderella now, ’cause that song’d break me heart for sure. Come on, now, let’s have a cup o’ tea before we go on duty again. There’s enough poor souls needin’ us to see to ’em, God knows.’
Harry Drover was deeply affected by the loss of his old friend and workmate on the railways and was not sure how to console the two white-faced girls. He dared not encourage them to hope for Albert’s survival, yet his attempt to pray with them and exhort them to accept the Lord’s will sounded empty and comfortless, even in his own ears. His parents sent Mabel a message of sympathy, hoping that her brother had entrusted his life into the Lord’s hands, but she was more touched by Ruby Swayne’s hand-delivered letter which expressed her real grief for Mabel on the loss of a beloved brother.
‘I feel for you as for a sister, that’s how I think of you, Mabel,’ she wrote. ‘And for your friend Norah, what you must both be going through, not knowing for sure.’
One thing Harry said which surprised, even shocked Mabel, was that he thought they should still go to the pantomime on New Year’s Day.
‘It’s what Albert would’ve wanted, Mabel,’ he said. ‘Think about it, ye’ve got to go on workin’, seein’ to yer patients an’ doin’ all yer usual jobs as if nothin’ ’ud happened – and I reckon he’d’ve wanted us to go to the pantomime, too, seein’ as Maud’s got us tickets for it.’
‘Oh, Harry, we couldn’t, it wouldn’t be right. Norah’s already given her ticket to Ethel Davies and I thought we’d give ours back to Maudie for somebody else. Me own brother lost at sea – no, we couldn’t.’
‘And I say we should,’ he argued with unusual persistence. ‘Can’t yer just hear him – “Why the ’ell are yer sittin’ arahnd on yer backsides mopin’, when poor ol’ Maudie wants yer to go an’ see ’er doin’ ’er stuff? Go on, get aht an’ ’ave a good laugh, the pair o’ yer!”’
This sounded so exactly like Albert that Mabel smiled in spite of herself. ‘Oh, Harry! That could just’ve been him talkin’. All right, I’ll come with yer on Saturday – and we’ll think about him while we’re there,’ she added, though her voice broke as she spoke.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. If he was recalled to active service, there might never be another opportunity to sit beside Mabel in the cosy darkness of the Canterbury. And it was because she was aware of this that Mabel had capitulated, hoping that Norah wouldn’t mind. It was a strange world where mourners went to pantomimes to laugh and cry for the sake of those who were lost . . .
Norah uttered no reproach. ‘Sure an’ Harry’s right, Albert would’ve wanted ye to go an’ see Maudie, poor darlin’, wid her Alex away to France, an’ not knowin’ if he’ll be back.’ She sighed. ‘Don’t worry about me, Mabel, go an’ give Harry a happy evenin’ while ye can.’
So Mabel allowed herself to look forward to Saturday evening, though her grief for her brother was always present; she tried not to think about those moments following the torpedo’s impact.
On the very next day, Wednesday, Mr Poole had a message for Nurse Court from Mrs Spearmann.
‘She wants to visit the Midway Babies’ Home one afternoon this week, Court, and asked me when you’d be free to go with her – if you feel up to it, of course,’ he added, noting her pallor and shadowed eyes.
‘We-ell, I’m off this afternoon, sir,’ she replied without enthusiasm. ‘An’ I’ve got to be back on at five.’
‘Oh, you nurses, always rushing to be on at such a time and in at such a time!’ he teased. ‘I’ll tell her to be here at two and you can arrange with her when you’ve got to be back.’
‘All right – I mean thank yer, sir,’ she answered wearily, and Poole felt slightly guilty. The girl looked all in and visiting the Midway would give her no pleasure, he knew.
Over the mutton hash and cabbage served to the staff at the midday dinner, Nurse Davies encouraged Mabel to swallow a few mouthfuls.
‘Ye’ve got to keep yer strength up, Mabel. What’re yer doin’ this afternoon – spendin’ it with Norah?’
Mabel shook her head. ‘No, she’s had a mornin’ off, and spent it on her knees in the cathedral, poor lamb. I’ve got to go out this afternoon, though I don’t feel the least bit like it. It’s this Mrs Spearmann I told yer about, the one who visited on Christmas Day. She’s comin’ to take me to visit the Midway Babies’ Home with her. And Mr Poole wants me to go, ’cause it’s where a lot of our babies end up, so he says.’
‘Ah! I been askin’ me mum about this Mrs Spearmann,’ said Ethel Davies. ‘She comes from ever such a posh family – only they lost all their money when the war broke out, ’cause it was invested in some German company that went bust an’ took all their shares with it. They hadn’t got a penny – until this daughter, Olive, went out an’ hooked Amos Spearmann whose people had made their money out o’ furs. Jews, they are, came over last century with nothin’ in their pockets, worked all the hours God sent, an’ made a packet. So Olive saved her mother an’ sisters from goin’ bankrupt, an’ she’s yer Mrs Spearmann! Ye’d better keep on the right side of her, Mabel, she’s a walkin’ gold mine!’
Mabel sighed. ‘Let’s hope she’ll find somethin’ useful to do with it, then.’
At two o’clock promptly a horse-drawn carriage drew up at the Booth Street entrance and Mrs Spearmann waved to Mabel who was standing on the steps.
‘Ah, there you are, Nurse – er, Coates, is it? Do get in. I use this to save petrol, though my husband says it’s antiquated. Do you mind facing backwards? Good. Wilson, let’s go.’
‘Very good, madam.’ The driver jerked the reins, and they proceeded towards the Elephant and Castle and into the New Kent Road, under a railway bridge and then took a left turn into a maze of narrow streets, manufactories and warehouses. Mrs Spearmann questioned Mabel about her work in a pleasant but slightly patronising way and Mabel answered briefly, adding, ‘The name’s Court, Mrs Spearmann.’ Blowed if I’m going to call her madam, she thought.
The carriage stopped in a narrow street beside a dismal passageway.
‘This is it, madam.’
‘What, this? But there’s no children’s home here, Wilson,’ replied the lady, looking up and down the thoroughfare.
‘Beg pardon, madam, but there’s the notice.’ He pointed with his whip to a board above the passage. MIDWAY BABIES’ HOME, it said, with an arrow pointing downwards.
‘Good heavens, we’d better get down, Wilson, and you must take the carriage on to some more convenient place to wait for us. Call back here in half an hour. Come on, Nurse Court, I’m quite glad to have you with me in a place like this. Most unpromising!’
Mabel’s heart sank as the two of them proceeded down the passage and came to a small open yard with a bare tree in the middle, a rusty swing and a see-saw. Ahead was a heavy wooden door with a notice, Children and Visitors. Mrs Spearmann went and lifted the tarnished knocker, bringing it down three times with a reverberating bang.
The door was opened by a young, untidy-looking girl in a checked dress, cap and apron. Somewhere behind her a child was crying.
‘Yes?’ She held the door ajar as if half inclined to shut it in their faces.
‘I beg your pardon, miss!’ said Mrs Spearmann indignantly. ‘I am Mrs Spearmann of Maybury Place and this is Nurse Court. We are expected this afternoon, so take us at once to the Matron or whoever’s in charge of this establishment.’
The girl opened the door to let them enter. ‘Beg pardon, marm, I’m sure, only I got to shut the door again quick, ‘case any of ’em get out. Shoo, get back to yer playroom, nosey!’ she snapped at a runny-nosed boy of about two who stood staring round-eyed at them. Mabel caught an all-pervasive smell hanging in the air, compounded of vegetable stew, carbolic and another odour she remembered from schooldays: sassafras oil. There was an atmosphere of lack in this place, she sensed, a want of both love and of money.
‘That’s Mrs Lovell’s room, there,’ said the girl, pointing to the first door on the left of a long, bare corridor. At Mrs Spearmann’s imperious knock, a harassed-looking middle-aged woman emerged, peering at them through round spectacles. She wore a dark dress with some kind of a badge pinned to the front, and a crumpled cap.
‘Mrs Spearmann, is it? Oh, Lord, I though yer wasn’t comin’ till three. They distinctly said three o’clock, I’m sure they did.’
‘Good afternoon,’ said Mrs Spearmann coldly. ‘Am I addressing the Matron?’
The woman gave an awkward half-curtsey. ‘In a manner o’ speakin’. I’m Mrs Lovell.’
‘Very well, Mrs Lovell, I’ve come to visit this Home and the children staying here, and this is Nurse Court from the Booth Street Poor Law Infirmary. Kindly show us round the Home and introduce us to the staff on duty. How many children have you in at present?’
‘Er – yes, madam. Nearly thirty-five we got now. We take ’em up to five years. Would yer like to start with the playroom, they’re mostly two or three an’ upwards. This way, if yer please.’
And so began their tour of the Midway Babies’ Home. Mrs Lovell first showed them into a fairly large room where there were about fifteen children, some crawling, some toddling, while others sprawled on blankets put down on the bare wooden floor. A little girl smiled at Mabel who longed to pick her up. Instead she mouthed a ‘Hello’, smiling in return and waving her fingers.
‘Now I’ll show yer the nursery,’ said Mrs Lovell, leading them to another door on the opposite side of the corridor. Nine babies lay in three rows of canvas cots, some crying, some sleeping, none being attended to. ‘It’s not time,’ said Mrs Lovell. ‘They’ve just had their two o’clocks an’ been put down.’
A third room contained ten larger cots crowded together, in which children of up to a year old lay or sat up, their little faces looking at the visitors through the bars. Most of them stared in silence, though a few shouted out such words or sounds as they knew or remembered.
‘Ma-ma!’ – ‘Ba-ba!’ – ‘Po-po-po-po-po!’ – ‘Wee-wee, wee-wee!’
Mrs Spearmann stood and stared in undisguised horror. ‘Good heavens, what a wretched place for children to be in!’ she exclaimed, glancing at Mabel who shook her head. She had seen too many of these unloved children in the women’s wards at Booth Street.
‘They know it’s potty time,’ said Mrs Lovell. ‘No tea without potties first, it’s the only way to train ’em in clean habits.’
‘I don’t see many staff around,’ observed Mrs Spearmann, frowning. ‘Who cares for these poor infants?’
‘That’s just it, we can’t get the staff, nobody wants to do it – the war’s put everythin’ back,’ replied Mrs Lovell wearily. ‘No sooner do we get new girls than they give notice an’ clear orf again. We has to do the best with what we got.’
‘But surely there are girls who are interested in nursing children?’ protested Mrs Spearmann. ‘Why, Nurse Court here can’t wait to –’
She turned to find that Mabel was no longer at her side; she had
gone back to the toddlers’ playroom where she was talking with the girl who had let them in.
‘Haven’t they got any toys?’ she was demanding. ‘Don’t their families bring anythin’ in for them to play with?’
‘Sometimes they get dolls an’ things, but they soon get ’em filthy dirty, suckin’ at ’em and tearin’ ’em to bits,’ answered the girl with a shrug. ‘Some women brought in a load o’ teddy bears at Christmas, an’ yer should’ve seen ’em by Boxin’ Day – we ’ad to put some away before they ruined the lot. I’ll tell yer what, miss, I’ll be glad to be out o’ this place, I will.’
‘But don’t yer enjoy lookin’ after children?’ asked Mabel, unable to comprehend that any girl or woman might not do so.
‘Not this sort, I don’t! I thought I wanted to be a children’s nurse, an’ they sent me ’ere to start trainin’ – I’m sixteen this year and not as green as I was! They come in ’ere full o’ lice and fleas an’ worms, and I’ve caught the lot –’ad to ’ave me ’air cut off same as the kids. I’ve ’ad nothin’ but colds an’ coughs an’ sore throats off ’em, an’ me mouth’s full of ulcers. I ask yer, look at them snotty noses – did yer ever see anythin’ like it?’
As a school-leaver of fourteen Mabel had worked at a pre-school nursery in Battersea, where she had met Ada Clay and discovered her vocation for caring for young children. Some of the children there had shown signs of poverty, but she had seldom encountered such deprivation as this, and for a moment her pity and indignation overcame her grief for Albert.
‘Don’t yer ever pick up yer poor little mites an’ cuddle ’em?’ she asked, looking round at the motley collection of over-large clothes the children wore. Most of them had nothing on their feet.
‘What, an’ pick up another lot o’ lice an’ stuff? No fear! ‘Sides, they’ll scream blue murder, as likely as not – they holler for their mothers.’