by Maggie Holt
‘We’re getting our own back now,’ wrote Albert. ‘Starving the buggers out.’
While the newspapers rejoiced over the success of the blockades, Mabel as always thought of the children who would suffer by it: the German mothers who would go hungry so as to give their children what meagre rations they could lay their hands on. What an evil thing war was, killing husbands and fathers, damaging healthy young men! Mabel began to have more sympathy with the pacifists, the Herbert Swaynes who chose imprisonment and disgrace rather than take part in it, though she kept such thoughts to herself.
Suddenly, out of the blue came an unexpected letter.
‘Dear Miss Court,’ wrote Captain Knowles. ‘I’m on Christmas leave, staying with my parents. Father tells me that Captain Drover has had his arm amputated at the Royal Victoria at Netley, which I’m very sorry to hear. I’m planning to visit a couple of friends there next week, and could offer you a lift there and back if you could manage to get away on the twenty-second or twenty-third of December. Will you let me know?’
Would she! It was like an answer to prayer and Mabel eagerly accepted, naming the twenty-second.
When Stephen Knowles called at Booth Street in his Ford Model T, Mabel was ready and waiting, carrying a shopping bag filled with Christmas presents from herself, Norah and Maud.
‘This is really good o’ yer, Dr Stephen.’
‘It’s no trouble, seeing that I’m going there anyway. I’ll be glad of your company, Mabel.’
He looked older and leaner in the face; his blue eyes had dulled, and the hollows around them were seamed by a network of fine lines though she reckoned he could be only thirty-two or -three. Like Alex Redfern he seemed to have hardened: there was no humour, no relaxed ease of manner such as she remembered from their brief earlier acquaintance, and as she got into the car she decided to stay silent unless he spoke to her. But he at once asked her about Harry, and she gave him a brief summary of what had happened over the past four and a half months. When he fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, she took the matchbox and lit it for him.
‘Damnable business, Mabel. No man who’s been through the Somme and come out alive will ever be the same again. I won’t, and I haven’t been subjected to the day and night shelling that Drover had to put up with. Lost every man in his platoon.’
‘I know, Stephen. It’s what’s preying on his mind. He blames himself for them.’
‘So does every other survivor, Mabel – it’s part of the picture. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that all men who’ve come through the Somme have got war shock to some degree, some much worse than others, of course.’
He paused and she asked about his father.
‘Whacked out – doing far too much for a man of his age. Ought to be retired, but his caseload’s bigger than ever before. A lot of his patients should be in hospital, but everywhere’s been taken over by the military.’
‘Except for Booth Street,’ said Mabel with a wry smile. ‘It’s terribly overcrowded and patients don’t get the care they should. It’s heartbreaking, really, especially for the children.’
He drew on the cigarette, blew out a cloud of smoke, coughed and glanced at her. ‘Didn’t you want to nurse children at one time?’
‘Oh, yes, and I will, too, one day – only Harry has to come first at present.’ She smiled. ‘As a matter o’ fact, I’ve been asked if I’d like to be Assistant Matron of a babies’ home.’
‘Ah! Now, would that be a godforsaken hole called the Midway? Been taken under the wing of a do-gooder Jew, name of Spearmann, currently making a fortune in service uniforms?’
Mabel was quick to defend Mrs Spearmann. ‘It’s his wife, not him, and ye’d never believe how much she’s done for them poor little children, thanks to Mr Poole who got her interested. I think that if somebody does that much good, people ought not to look too hard at where the money comes from.’
‘Didn’t know you were such a little Machiavellian! All right, Mabel, I’ll give your Lady Bountiful the benefit of the doubt. But you’d be better off getting on the staff of the East London Hospital for Children at Shadwell. They’re feeling the pinch now, not enough doctors, nurses rushing off to be ministering angels to the wounded – they’d welcome you with open arms, Mabel, and you’d love it.’
‘Oh, yes, I would, it would be what I’ve always dreamed of,’ she said, her eyes lighting up. ‘But Harry’s got to come first with me now, y’see.’
He did not reply and after a moment she enquired about Mrs Knowles.
He shook his head. ‘She and my father worry about each other. Always tired these days, and her hair has turned completely white. I suppose they worry about me, like all parents.’
Mabel cleared her throat. ‘As a matter o’ fact, I was askin’ about yer wife.’
‘Oh, I see. Yes, poor girl.’ Again that shake of the head, and he raised his right hand briefly from the steering wheel in a non-committal gesture. ‘Not the marriage we’d planned, obviously. Disappointment on every side, you could say, like hundreds of other couples, Mabel, like you and Harry – waiting until it’s all over before we can start from the beginning again. She’s with her parents at Northampton and I’ll be going up there some time over Christmas.’
He lapsed into silence and Mabel fell into a doze. The road was narrow and winding, but there was very little other traffic and they made good time. He nudged her to point out the massive Victorian edifice with its central dome and arcaded windows, built for victims of the Crimean War. Standing in spacious grounds above the Solent, its pavilioned wards were joined by wide corridors where patients could sit in wicker chairs among a forest of pot plants and spend their time talking, smoking, reading, playing cards and board games. To Mabel it seemed palatial, yet she was full of apprehension.
‘I’ll come with you to see Captain Drover before I go to see the others,’ Stephen told her, lightly taking her arm.
Harry was in a ward of thirty beds, sitting in an armchair wearing regulation blue hospital pyjamas and a dressing-gown. He looked thin and frail, and did not smile as Mabel kissed him. Knowles had to conceal his shock beneath a show of bonhomie.
‘Well, well, Captain Drover, we meet again. Better than last time, eh? So how are things, old chap?’ He grasped Harry’s left shoulder, but there was no response at all.
‘Yer know Dr Stephen Knowles, don’t yer, Harry. He kindly drove me down here.’
Harry turned his eyes mutely upon Mabel. Stephen caught her eye, and with the briefest of nods he turned on his heel and left the ward. Only then did Harry’s features soften a little and he held out his left hand to her. She kissed him again.
‘Look, I’ve brought yer some presents – an’ lots o’ love from Norah and Maudie!’
She sat down beside him and opened the bag. There was a bottle of brandy and Woodbine cigarettes from Maud, and a tin of McVitie’s mixed biscuits from Norah. Mabel had got him a picture-book of paintings of English views, from the Thames at Westminster to Land’s End.
‘Ye’ll be able to look at ’em again and again, Harry, an’ pretend we’re walkin’ together in all those places!’ she told him, smiling. ‘I’ll have to hand in the drink and the fags, but yer can keep Norah’s biscuits on yer shelf, see?’ The men had shelves on the wall behind their beds as well as small tables between them.
He hung on to her hand like a drowning man, but made no other response. Alex Redfern was right, she thought sadly, it was going to be a long time. Well, she could wait.
At three o’clock the lamps were lit and a tea trolley was brought in, with bread-and-butter. An Anglican army chaplain also arrived, and opened a book to read a shortened form of Evensong. Mabel held Harry’s hand as they listened, and was struck by the way his eyes brightened at the words of the psalm. It was No. 116, a prayer for aid in time of trouble, and included the words: ‘I will walk before the Lord in the land of the living.’
‘M – M – M – Ma-bel – Mabel –’ he muttered, pointing to the book in th
e chaplain’s hand. Not sure what he wanted, Mabel’s instinct guided her to ask for the psalm to be read again when the prayers were finished. The clergyman willingly obliged and Harry listened with an attention that touched Mabel’s heart. Afterwards she pressed her warm lips to his pale cheek.
‘The land o’ the livin’, Harry. Hold on to those words, dearest love,’ she whispered and for a moment she saw his eyes come alive with recognition. On his part he saw and heard her close at hand instead of far away – the voice and the touch of his own guardian angel, the woman he had loved for so long: Mabel!
‘Mabel,’ he said and smiled directly into her eyes.
‘Ready, Miss Court?’
Stephen had appeared beside them and spoke with brisk formality, looking at his watch.
‘I think I’d better get going now, if you don’t mind saying goodbye to Captain Drover. It’s a long drive in the dark and I promised my wife I’d be back by eight.’
Mabel remembered that Stephen had said his wife was in Northampton, but then realised that he was reassuring Harry. He tactfully turned away while she gave Harry a last kiss and whispered a final loving word, but the moment had passed and he had returned to his lonely isolation, blank-faced and mute.
Stephen hardly knew what to say to his passenger on their return journey, for he felt he should not encourage her to hope. On the other hand, it was not for him to intrude upon the special relationship she had with Drover.
‘How was the Captain at your aunt’s home, Mabel?’ he asked conversationally, and this simple question led to an outpouring of all that had happened at Pinehurst, Harry’s nightmares and the incident with Miss White, the consultation at the Cambridge Hospital and her regret that she had insisted on taking Harry to a convalescent home instead of letting him go to Netley when it had first been mentioned.
‘My dear Mabel, he was going to lose that arm whatever happened and wherever he was. Don’t fret over regrets, just be thankful they amputated in time.’
That word ‘regret’ led Mabel into confiding her thoughts and feelings about Harry’s state of mind, his remoteness. She said again that she was sure it was due to his guilt, however unjustified, over the loss of his platoon. She spoke bitterly of the Colonel’s attitude, the mention that had been made of a court martial. Her voice broke on a sob and Knowles gripped the steering wheel as if it was the Colonel’s neck and he was throttling the man.
‘Oh, what crimes are committed in the name of patriotism!’ he burst out. ‘I couldn’t begin to tell you what hell it is out there, Mabel. The line between courage and cowardice is a very fine one and depends largely on how long a man has had to endure it – the shelling and the sleeplessness, danger, fear, seeing his friends fall down dead – Christ! I’d never call a man a coward who’d been through that lot. We all have a breaking point, and I may reach mine one of these days and gibber like an idiot, turn into a raving monster as I’ve seen some men become – or be half drunk most of the time. I’ve had to ease off on the whisky since I’ve been home. Some poor chaps have been charged with desertion and shot, while others have been awarded medals for gallantry – I’ll tell you, Mabel, it’s very difficult to tell them apart sometimes.’
He had not realised how furiously he was ranting on until he noticed that Mabel was crying.
‘My dear girl, I’m sorry. I hadn’t intended to get carried away like that. I never speak of it as a rule. Please, Mabel, don’t cry. I’d stop the car, only I might not be able to get the damned thing started again, and we don’t want to be stuck out here on a country road in the pitch dark –’
Mabel wiped her eyes. ‘Don’t worry, Stephen, I’m glad yer said what yer did. Let me light yer a cigarette.’
When they reached Booth Street he got out of the car and came round to the passenger door. ‘Here we are, Mabel. Give me your hand.’
She reached out and he steadied her as she climbed down from the seat. He took her arm and carried her bag, leading her to the short flight of steps at the front entrance of the Infirmary. It was cold, dark and deserted.
‘I’d like to take you somewhere for a hot meal,’ he said apologetically. ‘It’s rather late and you’re tired, but if you like we could go –’
‘Oh, no, no, yer parents’ll be waitin’, Stephen, and ye’ve already been so kind. All I want is – is – oh, for Harry to be well again! Back in the land o’ the livin’!’ And she burst out crying again.
‘Mabel, Mabel, my dear – you poor, brave girl.’
She felt strong arms around her, warming and supporting. It was so long since she had been held close like this. She let her head rest on his shoulder and realised that she was shaking from head to foot. For a few minutes he stroked her head and murmured to her, ‘Hush, Mabel, hush, there’s a good girl – ssh, ssh –’ until she quietened. And then he spoke firmly to her, not unkindly, but with emphasis.
‘I’m going to say something to you, Mabel, so please listen, because it’s for your own good. Harry’s going to be at Netley for a very long time, perhaps for – well, the foreseeable future, and I think you should consider your own life and go for children’s nursing while you’ve got the opportunity. It’s what you’ve always wanted and you’d be helping the war effort in the best possible way. Apply to Shadwell, that’s my advice – they’ll be only too glad to have you. You could still go and visit Harry, but he’s going to need time and he’s better off with the other amputees at present.’
It was exactly what Maud Ling had said. She knew in her heart that he was right and was aware of an extraordinary sense of relief. She had stopped trembling and was still standing enfolded in this man’s arms – the sense of security that it gave made her reluctant to draw apart from him.
‘Oh, Mabel,’ he muttered at last. ‘This bloody war.’
Slowly, slowly he released her and without another word she passed through the doors.
‘I’m applyin’ to the East London Hospital for Children, Norah.’
‘Ah! An’ haven’t I been waitin’ for yer to say so – an’ dreadin’ it, for surely I can’t be stayin’ on here widout ye. D’ye think they’d have me, too?’
‘I don’t even know whether they’d have me, Norah, but is it what yer really want? Ye’re goin’ to marry Albert as soon as the war’s over, so d’yer really need to start a new trainin’?’
‘That’s what I’ve been thinkin’, Mabel, and maybe the Blessed Mother o’ God put it into me mind about them poor little mites at the Midway, ’cause I can’t get ’em out o’ me head.’
Mabel stared at her in astonishment.
‘That Mrs Spearmann asked yer to go there, didn’t she? D’ye think she might settle for me instead?’
‘Norah McLoughlin! Just wait till she hears this!’
Matron Brewer resigned herself to the inevitable and sent a glowing reference with Mabel’s application to the East London. At her interview with Matron Rowe, Mabel said that she eventually hoped to run a children’s refuge for the Salvation Army, but said nothing about marriage. Within a week a letter arrived from the hospital secretary to say that she had been appointed as a junior staff nurse, commencing on the first of February.
Mrs Spearmann, disappointed at losing Mabel, joyfully pounced on her Irish friend and took her on an afternoon visit to the Midway Babies’ Home. Norah’s heart was immediately won by the love-starved children and she was appointed as resident Sister-in-Charge, to be the only fully trained nurse on the staff. Mrs Lovell was transformed into the Domestic Superintendent, in charge of catering, cooking and all housekeeping duties, while being relieved of direct responsibility for the children. Sister McLoughlin was to commence her new duties on the first of February, too, so both she and Mabel could work out their month’s notice at the Infirmary.
On the day that Mabel said goodbye to Booth Street Harry Drover’s parents removed him from the Royal Victoria Hospital and brought him home to number 8 Falcon Terrace. Once more the little front parlour became a sickroom for an invalid.
MABEL’S FIRST POSTING at the East London Hospital was to the Outpatients’ Hall, where a stream of women and children poured through the double doors every day with a variety of afflictions to be seen, advised upon and treated. Along one wall were the doctors’ consulting rooms and opposite these the treatment cubicles; medicines and applications were issued from the dispensary opposite the doors and the body of the hall was filled with rows of forms. Tea and biscuits were given out by members of the Ladies’ Association, a voluntary body with a long history of service to the hospital; they had also supplied the pictures on the walls, one prominently showing Jesus with a group of children at His knee, and the title For Theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.
Sister Colledge in navy-blue was in charge of out-patients, assisted by two staff nurses in royal blue, of whom Nurse Court was the junior, and three probationers in blue and white striped dresses. All wore ‘Sister Dora’ caps, with two rows of frills for the Sister and one row for the staff nurses. All wore starched white aprons, collars and cuffs. Mabel felt a little awkward at first, not only because the probationers knew the routine better than she did, but also because their accents were far more refined. However, as soon as the doors were opened and the mothers and children surged in, she relaxed and gave them a welcoming smile – which made her a target for all their hard-luck stories.
‘Up all night we bin wiv ’er, nurse, fightin’ for ’er breff, she was, wiv the croup!’
‘Look ’ere, nurse, ’e’s caught this nasty imbertiger rash off them dirty kids rahnd ’ere!’
‘She’s still bein’ sick as a dog, nurse, an’ ’er farver reckons that medicine’s made ’er worse!’