A Nurse's Courage

by Maggie Holt

  Lord, how can I bear to leave her again?

  To be so much in love and to be loved in return must be the greatest joy on earth. So thought Norah McLoughlin in those early weeks of 1916, the happiest girl in London, though all around her she saw distress and anxiety. Booth Street Infirmary was bursting at the seams with civilian patients forced out of other hospitals to make room for the never-ending stream of war wounded who poured in from the Front. The shortage of doctors and nurses was daily becoming more acute, and the quality of care more difficult to maintain.

  But Norah’s man had been snatched from the jaws of death and was improving with every day that passed. She spent every available minute at his side, bringing him drinks, shaking his two pillows and indulging in the sweet, whispered exchanges of lovers.

  ‘Me little Irish rose,’ he would murmur reverently. ‘It was the fought o’ yer waitin’ for me that got me frough.’

  ‘An’ didn’t I know ye’d come back to me – I saw ye in a dream, so I did.’

  Hearing that she had given up her free ticket for Cinderella, he was determined to be well enough to take her to see it before it finished in February.

  ‘An’ I’ll get yer the tickets,’ promised Maudie Ling, tripping gaily into Men’s I with a Lyons cake in a cardboard box and a tin of Mackintoshes’ toffee. ’Cor, it’s good to see yer again, Albert, lookin’ better ‘n I expected – must be Norah’s doin’. And ain’t she just gorgeous? I mean she was always a sweet little fing, but blimey, all of a sudden she’s turned into a ravin’ beauty!’

  It was true. The Irish girl seemed to have undergone a transformation, so that heads turned whenever she walked down the ward. Staff who had known her since her arrival at Booth Street now wondered why they had not noticed the large cornflower-blue eyes fringed with black lashes, the creamy skin, the softly waving dark hair beneath her white cap and the pretty little rosebud mouth that was always curving up in a smile these days. She gave an impression of glowing from within, visibly radiating happiness.

  And Albert Court worshipped her. As he gained strength, Mabel expected him to revert to his familiar uncouth manners, cocking a snook at any kind of authority and resorting to ill temper and profanity if he did not get his way – and then what would his Irish rose think of him? Mabel had always been a little worried about Norah’s infatuation with a man she did not know as Mabel did and feared that closer acquaintance might disillusion her.

  But in this she was entirely mistaken. His brush with death at sea had had a profound effect on young Seaman Court, in fact it had been a turning point in a life which now included a girl who clearly adored him. With her wide eyes fixed on his face and her lips softly parted, Norah hung on his every word and thought him the wisest as well as the bravest of his sex. Never having known family life or a mother’s love, her heart was now given unreservedly into Albert’s keeping.

  And it changed him. Here was a reformed Albert Court who actually wanted to show his better side to the world instead of hiding it under a surly exterior. He was gentler, softer of speech, more ready to listen than to answer back as had been his habit from early boyhood. And yet when he and his sister were alone, she found that the old Albert had not quite vanished.

  ‘Hey, Mabel, guess ’oo come to see me ’saft’noon? Ol’ Dr Knowles. Said ’e’d ’eard from Stephen that I was in ’ere, an’ fought ’e’d come an’ see for ’imself.’

  ‘Oh, bless him! How was he lookin’?’

  ‘Whacked aht, poor ol’ chap. Says ’e’d like to retire but can’t, ’cause there ain’t enough doctors to go rahnd. ’E asked after yer, Mabel, wanted to know what yer was thinkin’ o’ doin’ when yer finish ’ere.’

  ‘Oh, I wish I’d seen him, Albert, I’d’ve asked his advice,’ she replied, thinking about the Midway Babies’ Home. ‘What did yer talk about?’

  ‘This an’ that. Well, ’im an’ us go back a long way, don’t we?’ The brother and sister exchanged a meaningful look. ‘’E asked abaht George. I said yer ’adn’t ’eard nothin’ lately. I reckon there won’t be much news from over there while the war’s on.’

  They were silent, both thinking about the U-boats. Mail was the least important of cargoes.

  ‘He’ll be sixteen now,’ said Mabel. ‘I don’t even know if he’s still at McBane’s. Davy was talkin’ o’ goin’ west to work on the Canadian Pacific Railway.’

  ‘’E’s well aht of it if yer ask me,’ muttered Albert. ‘I dare say ’im an’ Davy’ll do all right.’

  ‘Did Dr Knowles say anythin’ about Stephen?’ asked Mabel after a pause.

  ‘Oh, yeah, poor ol’ Stephen – caught it in the bum.’

  ‘What? Ye’d better not talk like that in front o’ Norah! What d’ye mean?’

  ‘The buttocks, then. Lacerated to ribbons by a shell splinter while ’e was pickin’ up wounded at a clearin’ station up front. Muscle torn right away from the –’

  ‘Ugh, stop, stop, don’t say it, Albert!’ Mabel shuddered and closed her eyes tightly. ‘I can’t bear to think of it – those horrible injuries – how can God let it happen?’

  ‘Hey, don’t upset yerself, gal, it’s healed up pretty well, so the ol’ man said. Only trouble is, ’e can’t sit dahn, an’ ’as to sleep on ’is belly, poor bloke.’

  ‘That’s right, he didn’t sit down in Matron’s office that day when he brought the news about yer bein’ rescued,’ Mabel recalled. ‘Matron and me was sittin’ at the desk, and he came an’ stood beside me. Oh, poor Stephen, whatever does he do at mealtimes?’

  ‘Eats standin’ up, I s’pose.’ Albert gave a grimace and looked hard at his sister who sat with her hands clasped rigidly together.

  ‘Y’all right, ol’ gal?’

  She shook her head. ‘This horrible, hideous war, Albert.’

  He nodded gloomily. ‘Yeah. They’re callin’ up a whole lot more single men – conscription, that means they got to go – an’ askin’ the married ones to fink abaht it. Give ’em a chance to get away from the wife an’ muvver-in-law!’

  But Mabel was in no mood to joke. She thought of Stephen Knowles whose marriage had been disastrously interrupted so soon after it had begun. Two miscarriages, Dr Knowles had said. She found herself wondering about Phyllis Knowles, what sort of a woman Stephen had chosen to be his wife.

  February brought the dreaded summons. Harry was recalled for a medical examination and on the strength of it was told to report to Wandsworth barracks for home duties with the intake of new recruits. He was made a Corporal with the 10th London Rifles and once again exchanged his Salvation Army uniform for khaki, a soldier in the service of his country.

  ‘It’s a relief in a way, Mabel. At least I know where I stand, an’ it gives me a chance to get to know these boys before we go over there,’ he said with all the maturity of twenty-five years.

  They had met hurriedly on a cold, drizzly evening and, rather than walk in the rain or shelter in a doorway, they had slipped through the door of the nearby Prince of Wales where they hid themselves in a corner. For Corporal Drover it was a necessary compromise; Captain Drover’s uniform would have debarred him from entering a public house except with a collecting tin, and Mabel in her grey coat and untrimmed hat also hoped not to be recognised. They drank ginger ale and felt the warmth of the place gradually getting through to their chilled hands and feet. The pub was crowded with soldiers and their women companions, some of whom were smoking; Mabel wondered what her aunts at Belhampton would say if they could see their eldest niece in the fume-filled atmosphere of a public bar.

  Harry took a gulp and stared down at his glass. ‘I’m afraid there’s more unwelcome news, Mabel,’ he said in the sombre manner that had become almost habitual with him, and her heart lurched. ‘Somethin’ I’ve seen comin’ for a long time.’

  ‘Oh, my God.’ She instinctively seized his arm. ‘Ye’re bein’ sent to the Front.’

  ‘No, Mabel, dear, not yet, though that’ll come sooner or later. No, it’s Herbert, me
brother-in-law. He’s to go before a tribunal on the second o’ March for questionin’ under the Military Service Act.’

  ‘But he’s married – he’s got a family –’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s been on reserve an’ his views are known, that’s the trouble. He reckons he’ll be made an example, of, an’ he’s told us that he won’t give way. He’s prayed about it and says he’s not puttin’ on khaki at any price.’

  ‘But would he have to, if he went as a stretcher-bearer or ambulance driver?’

  ‘Yeah, and hold a rank, even if it’s only a private, like an orderly in the RAMC. A non-combatant is still in the army.’

  ‘So what’ll happen, then?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mabel. I’ve heard these tribunals can be pretty hard. Men who won’t fight get called cowards an’ shirkers, even traitors – an’ if he still won’t change his ideas an’ go as a non-combatant, he could be sent to prison.’

  ‘Oh, poor Ruby! And little Matthew an’ Mark! He can’t refuse to go, Harry, surely! Can’t yer speak to him, tell him how it’ll affect yer sister an’ the boys?’

  ‘I’ve said me piece, Mabel,’ he replied wearily. ‘The fact is, y’see, I agree with him in principle, but I reckon he’d be better off doin’ useful work as a non-combatant than coolin’ his heels in a cell. But it’s up to him. He’s a responsible family man, five years older ’n me, an’ it’s his life, not mine.’

  To Mr Poole’s dismay Nurse Court was taken from the maternity ward and put on night duty on Women’s II where she was also on call for emergency theatre cases. Overcrowding and an acute shortage of medical and nursing staff meant a lowering of standards of care for patients, especially the elderly who developed pressure sores; Sarah Brewer considered this a disgrace to her hospital.

  ‘Do what you can, Nurse Court, to encourage all the nurses to treat pressure areas during the night,’ she urged. ‘Wake the bed-patients up if necessary, to turn them four-hourly at least.’

  But in spite of the toilet rounds, the rubbing of bony backs with surgical spirit and dusting with boracic powder, the bedsores appeared and quickly became foul-smelling craters over the base of the spine and on the hips and heels, that had to be dressed with lint soaked in fish oil or friar’s balsam. Lack of assistance with feeding the helpless led to malnutrition and the death rate rose, to Matron’s deep distress. Staff continued to leave to look after war victims elsewhere and civilians were neglected. Everything had to be sacrificed to the war effort.

  Seaman Court suddenly found himself discharged from Men’s I and sent to the Tooting Home for Aged Poor, now commandeered as a military hospital; its former residents had been summarily despatched to the Mitcham Workhouse where they languished miserably. Albert was put in a temporary building erected in the grounds and used for other ranks in various stages of recovery. Here he played cards, argued over the running of the war, turned up his nose at the soft drinks bar, coughed, wheezed and moped for his Irish rose. Norah had to get the electric tram from Westminster Bridge to Tooting in order to see him during her brief off-duty periods, just as Mabel had done when Harry was first home from Gallipoli. Mabel found that her own best time for visiting was in the morning after night duty. She wore her uniform and spent half an hour with her brother, sitting in one of the wicker armchairs that had been supplied. The convalescents sat round a central stove with a pipe going up to the ceiling and Albert stretched out on a chaise longue with a blanket spread over his knees. He regarded his sister intently, his jet-black eyebrows drawn together.

  ‘Yer get time to fink, stuck in ’ere, Mabel. Take that poor blighter over there ’oo’s lorst an arm an’ a leg. It upsets ’im when ’is poor ol’ muvver an’ farver comes to see ’im, tryin’ to put a good face on it. It’s easier wiv you, Mabel, we’ve never ’ad to pretend abaht anyfing, ’ave we?’

  ‘I know what yer mean, Albert, we’ve always said what we think to each other!’ She smiled.

  ‘But it’s different wiv little Norah, i’n’t it?’ He shifted his position, crossed one leg over the other and uncrossed them again. ’Er – Mabel, ol’ gal, I want yer to do somefing for me.’

  ‘Depends what it is. Here, put these slippers on, Albert, yer feet’ll get cold.’

  He stuck his feet into a pair of stained carpet slippers left behind by some departing inmate. ‘It’s abaht Norah.’

  ‘What, d’ye want me to propose to her for yer?’ she teased.

  ‘Nah! No need for that, she knows I’d marry ’er tomorrer if she ’adn’t got to finish ’er trainin’. An’ I’ll be back at sea by the time she’s got ’er certificate. Nobody knoes ’ow long this show’s goin’ to go on.’

  Mabel nodded. ‘I know, Albert. It’s the same with me and Harry.’

  She waited for him to continue, but he hesitated, chewing his lower lip and showing the two strong white incisors that always reminded Mabel of their father. A thought came to her.

  ‘Yer do realise ye’d have to marry in a Catholic church, don’t yer?’

  He grinned. ‘That’s no sweat. I’ve told ’er I’ll turn ’oly Roman for ’er sake, so’s we can ’ave it done proper wiv all the trimmin’s.’

  ‘Albert! Would yer really?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘Listen, I’d turn into a bleedin’ ‘Indoo wiv a striped tea-cloth rahnd me ’ead if that’s what she wanted – the little darlin’.’

  Mabel gave a yelp of laughter, instantly suppressed. ‘Ha! An’ ye’d look the part an’ all, with your colourin’!’ In that moment they caught each other’s eye and both thought the same thing. After an awkward pause, Albert spoke again.

  ‘Which brings me to what I was goin’ to ask yer, Mabel, gal. The fam’ly ’istory. It ain’t such a pretty story, is it? D’ye fink Norah ought to be told abaht it?’

  ‘Oh, so that’s what botherin’ yer – oh, Albert, dear.’ Mabel was all concern at the sight of his worried eyes, still shadowed and sunken after his ordeal. ‘No! I don’t see why she needs to be upset by a lot of ancient history from the past. Ye know what they say – let sleepin’ dogs lie!’

  ‘But these fings ’ave a way o’ comin’ aht. Yer know, like skeletons in the cupboard. One day some chump says somefin’ wivaht finkin’, the sort o’ fing I might say meself – an’ aht they all come rattlin’. If yer was jus’ to tell ’er the bare facts, Mabel, it’d be better comin’ from you – then there wouldn’t be the risk of a shock later on, if yer see what I mean.’

  ‘No, Albert, I’m not sure that I do,’ she replied thoughtfully. ‘I’ve told Norah an’ me other friends at Booth Street that we lost our parents in 1912, an’ that both were tragic accidents – she drowned an’ he fell downstairs – and the family broke up, which is what happened, isn’t it? You were in the merchant navy, the girls went to live with their aunts in the country, George went to Canada –’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the bit that worries me, Mabel, the way poor little George was shunted orf aht o’ the way all on ’is own, an’ ’im only twelve. If Norah ever asks me abaht that, what am I s’posed to say? Tell ’er ’e bashed the ol’ man over the ’ead an’ did for ’im? An’ that our poor muvver drahned ’erself ’cause she’d got the pox orf our farver? An’ that our grandmuvver Court got ’im off a wanderin’ Lascar sailor an’ made a livin’ doin’ ’igh-class abortions for the gentry?’

  ‘Ssh, ssh, Albert, that’ll do,’ Mabel cut in quickly, catching her breath anew at the roll-call of human frailty which she and her brother shared but never had cause to mention. She glanced round at the men reading or dozing in armchairs.

  ‘’Arry knows, don’t ‘e?’ he persisted. ‘And never fought any the less o’ yer for it.’

  ‘His family don’t,’ she said. ‘He reckons that if the Lord knows, there’s no need for the rest o’ the world to be told, an’ I agree. Where’s the sense in upsettin’ Norah with all that stuff? None of it was your doin’, Albert, it isn’t like a crime that you committed, somethin’ on yer conscience. After all, Alice an’ Daisy
don’t know, nor do the aunts, so why should Norah?’

  ‘I ain’t plannin’ to marry any o’ them others.’ He yawned and suppressed a gentle belch. ‘I still fink she ought to be told abaht George, though – why ’e was sent all that way from ’ome.’

  Mabel saw that he was genuinely troubled, and guessed that his intended marriage to Norah McLoughlin had brought old family secrets to the surface of his mind. As if reading her thoughts he began to rhapsodise on his favourite subject, like lovers the world over.

  ‘She’s such an innocent little soul, ain’t she, Mabel? I’ve never met a gal ’oo was anyfing like ’er, an’ to fink she’s fallen for me – I’m scared I’ll wake up one mornin’ an’ find it’s all a dream!’

  Mabel smiled. ‘Yer needn’t worry, Albert, she worships the ground yer walk on.’

  ‘That’s what worries, me, y’see, if she was to find aht –’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly, Albert, it’s you she loves, not yer family. And besides, we’re not doin’ so badly these days; in fact, the girls are bein’ brought up like little ladies. Which reminds me, Aunt Kate’s lettin’ Pinehurst be used as a convalescent home for wounded men and Alice wants to help with the nursin’, she says. Yer never know, Albert, yer might find yerself sent down there!’

  ‘No, fanks – too far away from Norah. When I fink abaht ’er, Mabel, brought up by nuns an’ goin’ to that convent school – look at the way she reads an’ writes, better ’n any of us – an’ so neat and clean, wiv ’er white cap pinned rahnd ’er ’ead an’ ’angin’ dahn ’er back, she’s like a little nun ’erself, i’n’t she?’

  Mabel smiled. ‘I can’t see a real nun workin’ in a place like Booth Street, Albert! We get all sorts – drunks, down-and-outs, yer wouldn’t believe the state some of ’em are in. And the way they swear an’ curse! Norah gets her share of ’em, the same as the rest of us.’