A Nurse's Courage

by Maggie Holt

  ‘That’s good o’ yer, Ruby – yes, if ye’d put it to her, it’d be up to her to take it or leave it. It’d tide her over until she was better an’ able to move on. An’ she could visit Alex once a week without havin’ to go on her knees to beg for the time off. Yes, Ruby, the more I think about it, the more it seems like a good idea.’

  ‘Good. I’ll go round to South Lambeth Road and have a word with her, then. Don’t worry, I’ll be very careful with the poor girl.’

  The sunny garden behind Elmgrove was a picture on a June afternoon, with the rose bushes in bloom and the trellises covered with dainty pink climbers. The big perambulator had been put out on the lawn under the watchful eyes of Nanny and Grandmother who sat together on a cushioned garden seat nearby. Maud Ling was a separate, solitary figure who walked to and fro across the grass, stopping every so often to gaze hungrily at the sleeping baby. He was now two months old, a fine, healthy child, and under the intensity of his mother’s longing gaze he stirred, woke and gave a little cry. She leaned over him as if to pick him up and soothe him, but both the watchers rose at once to prevent her.

  ‘Can’t I give ’im ’is bottle, Mrs Redfern – ma’am?’ she begged.

  ‘He was fed at two,’ replied Nanny firmly. ‘He’s not due again until six.’

  ‘Can’t I see if ’e needs changin’? If ’e’s got wind? I used to be good at bringin’ up the wind for them poor babies at the Midway ’Ome.’

  Mrs Redfern shuddered at the very mention of that awful makeshift place where this dear child had spent the first six weeks of his life. ‘Mr Redfern and I agreed to Mrs Spearmann’s request that you be allowed to visit Alexander once a week, Ling, but you have to observe Nanny’s rules,’ she said icily. ‘She has full charge of him and he is not to be handled without her express permission. Otherwise the concession will have to be withdrawn.’

  The Maud of earlier days would have protested loudly, but now she stood still in mute submission while inside her head she heard herself yelling for the right to hold her son.

  I’m ’is muvver – I’m ’is MUVVER – Alex loved me an’ gave ’im to me – to ME, not this ol’ cow of a Nanny – ’e’s mine, ’e’s mine, ’e’s MINE!

  But these were silent screams and only the trembling of the brown straw hat perched on the newly growing hair betrayed the inward agony, the desperation beneath the surface.

  A housemaid appeared with a tray of tea for three and a plate of buttered scones. She set it down on a small table and Mrs Redfern proceeded to pour out three cups. She handed one to the Nanny and one to the maid to take to Maud.

  ‘Put Ling’s cup on that chair over there,’ she ordered. ‘She’s to sit down to drink it.’

  Maud stood with clasped hands looking down upon her lovely child in his pram. Everything that money could buy, that’s what that Spearmann woman had said. The contrast between the handsome villa in St John’s Wood and the cheap Lambeth lodging house was plain enough for anybody to see, and not even the stricken mother could deny it. And there was no doubt of the grandparents’ love for Alex’s son.

  She couldn’t go on with this miserable farce. The decision had to be made. Again she leaned over the pram and looked down at the baby, yearning over him with all her heart.

  Goodbye, my dear little son, my Alex – goodbye, my only happiness.

  Having made the silent farewell, Maud wrenched herself away. Slowly she left the pram and somehow made her way across the grass towards the side gate that led round to the front of the house and Hamilton Terrace.

  The old Maud would have picked up the cup of tea and flung it in the faces of the pair who sat silently watching her go; but with her spirit now broken, she crept away without a word.

  ‘There’s some post come for yer, Mabel,’ said Ruby. ‘One o’ them brown typewritten envelopes, more stuff from the LCC, I expect. Nothin’ from Albert, I’m afraid,’ she added, seeing the sudden light in Mabel’s eyes, which quickly vanished.

  It was not until after her evening visits that Mabel got round to opening the large, official-looking envelope that had been addressed to her at the Booth Street Poor Law Infirmary. Matron Brewer had sent it to the Lambeth Borough Council, Maud’s present employers, and it had been sent on to number 3 Deacon’s Walk. At first she could not make head or tail of the contents. There was a folded document printed on thick, creamy vellum paper and an accompanying letter with the heading Jestico & Fox, High Street, Egham, Surrey. She spread the papers out on the table she used for writing up her register of cases and began to read the letter, which seemed to be about matters unrelated to her; she had never heard of Jestico & Fox and had never been to Egham.

  ‘Dear Miss Court,’ the letter began.

  As the trustees of the estate of Prudence Mary Lawton, late of 3 Ferryside Gardens, Egham, Surrey, we beg to inform you that following her death on the twenty-seventh of May, 1918 . . . we respectfully draw your attention to the enclosed copy of the Last Will and Testament of the said Prudence Mary Lawton . . . dated fifteenth July 1916 . . . in which you are named as the chief beneficiary thereof . . . we would be greatly obliged if you will contact our offices . . .

  Mabel found it difficult to follow the jargon and the circuitous approach of solicitors. Her head swam as she took in the fact that Prudence Lawton, her grandmother, her father’s mother, was dead. As Mrs Mimi Court she had practised as a midwife in Tooting for years, but it was her undercover activities as abortionist to the gentry which had built up her fortune and finally brought about her downfall and disappearance in 1913.

  And now she was dead, having parted in bitterness from Mabel, disgraced and friendless. She had offered Mabel a home with her and to pay for her nursing training at one of the voluntary teaching hospitals, but Mabel had retorted that she would not touch Mimi’s money with a bargepole, knowing how it had been made. Her grandmother had then sworn not to leave her a penny and had never contacted her again. Yet now here was this peculiar letter telling her that Mimi had bequeathed her the money after all.

  Three thousand pounds, it said, £3000. The words and the figures were printed there before her, as meaningless as if in a foreign language. Mabel could not imagine such an amount of money, she who now earned £150 per annum, plus an allowance for her lodgings and uniform.

  Suddenly she pushed away the papers and pictured her grandmother who had gone without a word of farewell or forgiveness, who had died in some strange place without Mabel’s knowledge. Who had attended the funeral? Who had followed the lonely coffin? Mabel guessed that Mimi’s dour-faced personal maid Elsie would be the other beneficiary, having endured her mistress’s scolding ill humour ever since she had been taken from an orphanage to be trained as Mimi’s assistant in her secret work. In spite of everything the maid had always remained stubbornly loyal.

  And now three thousand pounds were waiting for Mabel in the London and Provincial Bank. It just didn’t make sense. Mabel had never entered a bank in her life and could not take in what this meant. She needed to talk to somebody. If only Albert were here to advise her!

  Albert. How long had it been since his last brief visit? A whole year. What would she give to see his face again, to hear his good-natured teasing! How Norah must yearn for the day!

  For the time being Mabel decided to tell nobody. She needed time. There was much that could be done with the money, for instance, Maud could be helped – but Maud was at present living at the Salvation Army’s Women’s Shelter in Victoria Street, working among fallen women, and finding some consolation in giving and receiving care. There were some things that money could not buy . . .

  No. She would consult Albert at least by sending a letter that he might or might not receive, and wait for his reply that might or might not arrive.

  Sister Norah’s July birthday brought a totally unexpected surprise. A delivery van arrived from Arding & Hobbs’s department store in Battersea and a big package was carried into the Midway, which when unwrapped turned out to be a gramophone, a spl
endidly constructed oakwood box with a detachable horn to augment the sound and a handle to wind it up. Several small boxes of needles were included and half a dozen gramophone records to start a collection. It was directed to Sister Norah McLoughlin of the Midway Babies’ Home, Newington, and the sender was Able Seaman A. E. Court on board the SS Galway Castle. Heaven only knew what methods he had used to order and pay for this wonderful object, but here it was, in time for Norah’s twenty-third birthday. She was completely overwhelmed.

  ‘Did ye ever see the like of it, Mabel? An’ the records, look here, “The Teddy Bears’ Picnic” for the children, an’ “You Made Me Love You” – an’ this one, here, wait now while I show ye, look – “Let the Great Big World Keep Turnin’” – he’s already mentioned that song in a letter, an’ copied out the words for me, ’cause he said it was exactly what he wanted to say. Oh, Mabel, isn’t it grand? Isn’t he the best o’ men? Aren’t I the luckiest o’ girls?’

  Mrs Spearmann, looking flushed and rather bloated at six months, arrived at three o’clock with an iced cake, a tin of biscuits and half a dozen small jars of meat and fish paste to make sandwiches for a special birthday tea. She also brought news of Mrs Ada Hodges who had formed a War Widows’ Association.

  ‘It’s the best thing that’s happened to that poor woman since the birth of little Anne,’ she said, sinking down on to a bench seat in the yard and discreetly mopping her face with a handkerchief. ‘She holds the meetings at her home in Rectory Grove and the only problem is lack of space. I suggested that she might hire a church hall for one afternoon each week, but she said it wouldn’t have the same welcoming atmosphere as her drawing-room.’

  The lady sighed and looked almost furtively towards Mabel whose features were expressionless. ‘Er – how is your poor friend getting on, er – Mabel? I understand that she no longer visits at Elmgrove and perhaps that’s for the best, really. She knows that her son is getting all the care and attention that – er –’

  The utter blankness of Mabel’s face caused Olive Spearmann’s conventional words to peter out into an awkward silence. Eventually Mabel’s sense of fairness overcame her resentment and she told herself it was time to stop blaming this woman for Maud’s situation.

  ‘She’s workin’ in a women’s shelter. It’s not the first time that Maud’s turned to the Salvation Army for help in time o’ trouble,’ she said briefly. ‘And I’m very pleased to hear about Ada, though I reckon she’s goin’ to need that church hall, and a big one at that – there’ll be so many of ’em – widows, I mean.’

  ‘Now, then, we’re goin’ to bring out the gramophone an’ dance!’ said Sister Norah gaily. ‘First we’ll put on “The Teddy Bears’ Picnic” an’ we’ll all join hands in a ring – come on, darlin’s, hold handles! Mabel! Mrs Lovell! Where are the rest o’ the girls? Come on, let’s have a big, big circle – everybody’s to join in!’

  Squeals of delight filled the air; little legs tottered forward and little star-shaped hands reached out as the music began and a man’s voice sang:

  ‘If you go down in the woods today, you’re sure of a big surprise –

  If you go down in the woods today, you’d better go in disguise!’

  The July sun shone down on the slowly revolving circle, and Mabel found herself thinking of the reforms that Olive Spearmann had brought about in this place and how fortunate she had been in acquiring Sister Norah, now singing along to the record.

  ‘See them gaily gad about – they love to play and shout, they never have any cares –

  At six o’clock their mummies and daddies will take them home to bed,

  Because they’re tired little teddy bears!’

  Sadly there would be no mummies and daddies arriving for these little children, reflected Mabel, but there was a good tea waiting for them, and kind ladies and girls to take care of their basic needs. At the end of the song she saw that it was nearly five o’clock and time to return to Kennington for her evening visits.

  ‘Oh, no, wait! Just wait while I put on Albert’s special record!’ cried Sister Norah and held out her hands to her friend. ‘Let’s dance together!’ she said with shining eyes. ‘Let’s pretend he’s here with us!’

  So the pair of them held each other in the conventional ballroom manner, with Norah taking the gentleman’s lead because she was the taller. On went the record and the music began, a man and a woman singing together:

  ‘Let the great big world keep turning,

  Never mind if I’ve got you;

  For I only know that I want you so,

  And there’s no one else will do –’

  Norah pressed her right hand against the small of Mabel’s back, while Mabel let her head fall on to Norah’s shoulder as she joined in softly with the words of the song:

  ‘You have simply set me yearning,

  And for ever I’ll be true –

  Let the great big world keep on turnin’ round,

  Now I’ve found someone like you!’

  ‘Albert, me darlin’ love – oh, God save ye, me own dear man,’ whispered Norah and Mabel’s eyes filled with tears as she circled round the yard with Albert Court’s Irish rose, while far away on the SS Galway Castle a war-weary seaman longed for home.

  ‘Let the great big world keep on turnin’ round,

  Now I’ve found someone like you . . .’

  It was consolation of a kind and the last they were to know for a very long time.

  ‘Thank heaven ye’re back, Mabel! We’ve got trouble at Falcon Terrace. Mother’s been taken bad and Dad’s called the doctor.’ Mabel was at once alerted by Ruby’s obvious concern.

  ‘What d’ye think’s the matter with her?’

  ‘She’s so tired – I mean, we all are, but she’s in her sixties an’ completely worn out. She says she just can’t keep goin’ any longer.’

  ‘I’ll go an’ see her straight away.’

  ‘Thanks, Mabel. I’m goin’ to have to call in there every day to see to Dad an’ Harry.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Ruby, we’ll share it between us. I’ll go an’ see what I think and we’ll sort somethin’ out together.’

  All the fight seemed to have gone out of Doris Drover. She lay passively in the double bed, her grey hair in two loose plaits on the pillow. The unbuttoned neck of her plain cotton nightgown exposed her wrinkled throat, usually covered by high-necked blouses with collars. Suddenly she looked an old woman and Mabel’s conscience stabbed her. She felt Doris’s pulse and then held the hand of this woman who should have been her mother-in-law.

  ‘All I worry about is my Harry,’ said Doris in a small, weak voice. ‘What’s he goin’ to do if I’m laid up?’

  ‘Don’t worry about him, dear,’ said Mabel, realising with a pang that the woman was simply exhausted with caring for her invalid son. ‘Ruby an’ me – we’ll look after him till ye’re better. Yer can rely on us.’ She smiled reassuringly, but Doris did not respond.

  ‘It’s hard work, though, Mabel. He’s been goin’ downhill these last weeks.’

  The words fell on Mabel’s ears like a knell. Never before had Mrs Drover admitted that her son was losing the battle with the damage done to his mind and body at the Somme. She had always insisted that he would one day recover his strength and speech, however long it took. Now she could no longer continue the struggle to keep up that illusion.

  ‘Listen, Doris, dear, Ruby an’ me can look after Harry. We’ll take him to Deacon’s Walk an’ he can stay with us there until ye’re better. I’ll speak to Dad about it, an’ we’ll get him moved with his bed an’ his wheelchair an’ all – we’ll take care of him, don’t yer worry.’

  It was the first time she had referred to Major Drover as ‘Dad’ or called Mrs Drover by her Christian name.

  The following day a horse-drawn van was hired to take the invalid and all his necessary equipment from the front parlour of number 8 Falcon Terrace, Battersea to the corresponding room in Ruby Swayne’s home in Kennington.

 
; ‘We’ll share the work between us, Ruby, an’ fit it round our jobs – like when I’m out on a case, you an’ the boys can help Harry with dressin’ an’ washin’, an’ when I’m in I’ll do it,’ Mabel said confidently. ‘An’ we’ll take turns to pop over an’ visit yer parents, though Dad says he can cope with the housework an’ cookin’. Yer mother’ll be better when she’s had a good rest.’

  But life at number 3 Deacon’s Walk turned out to be much harder than either Mabel or Ruby had anticipated. Harry had become a lot less mobile and when sitting up he had a tendency to fall towards his right side. Mabel pushed a small cushion firmly down the side of the wheelchair, but sometimes the boys came home from school to find the cushion on the floor and Harry leaning over the side, his head lolling. Mabel had to be ready to go out at a moment’s notice when a call came to attend a woman in labour, and sometimes she could be out for most of a day and a night with a confinement; Ruby cut down on her Salvation Army duties, but still had to visit her mother daily, and Harry spent too many hours alone. Mabel rushed from one job to another, never saw Norah or Maud and was always tired. Doris’s recovery was slow.

  July gave way to August and while the boys were out of school the situation was somewhat eased. It was their daily task to push Uncle Harry out in his chair to Kennington Park and Matthew, now almost eleven, was reliably observant, noticing when Harry was tired and needed to be taken home.

  But it became more difficult to heave Harry from the bed to the chair and back again; there were times when his legs buckled beneath him and he dropped to the floor.

  It was Ruby who finally spoke the words aloud, on the day before the boys were due to return to school. ‘He’ll have to go into hospital, Mabel.’

  Mabel put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘Just for a week or two. I wonder if they’d take him at the Tooting Home? I’ll speak to the doctor about it.’ But looking into Harry’s adoring brown eyes, she could have wept for what she saw as a betrayal.