by Maggie Holt
Norah stood beside her and laid a hand gently on her head. ‘Mabel, dear, yer brother’s safe in God’s keepin’, we’ve got to believe that. Think of all the good times ye shared together wid him – how good he was to yer dear mother – how generous he always was wid his money – how funny he could be – he always made us laugh, didn’t he? Sure an’ he was the best o’ men – the dearest man in all the world.’
Norah stroked her friend’s head and went on murmuring softly about the man who was to have been her husband, the rough and ready sailor who had so adored her; who had been changed by his love for her. ‘Meetin’ himself made all the difference to me, Mabel, an’ the memory o’ him’ll stay wid me for the rest o’ me life, just as he will wid yerself. An’ he thought the world o’ ye, Mabel – told me ye were a bleedin’ angel, so he did!’
Norah allowed herself a half-smile, picturing Albert’s laughing face, his swarthy complexion and jet-black brows – and those dark, dark eyes worshipping his ‘little nun’.
But Mabel, his sister, she who had so stoically watched Harry Drover’s gradual decline and prayed alone beside his deathbed, was now utterly crushed by this latest loss. When the door of the office opened and Maud Ling joined them with the evening paper in her hand, Norah beckoned to her without a word and the three women held each other in a triple embrace, giving mutual support in the unity of their shared sorrow.
‘All three of us’ve lost the darlin’ men we loved, an’ we’ve only got each other left now,’ whispered Norah, her dark head on Maudie’s shoulder as they clung together.
But when the telegram arrived from the Union Castle line to confirm that Able Seaman Court had been lost at sea, Mabel felt that life could have nothing worse to inflict upon her. She truly felt that there was no consolation to be found anywhere. When Norah McLoughlin played her record of ‘Let the Great Big World Keep Turning’ Mabel could not bear to listen. In her ears she only heard Albert’s voice growing fainter and farther away as he sang that other song:
‘Mar-ri-ed to a mer-ma-id at the bottom o’ the deep blue sea!’
It was her work that saved Mabel at that time of desolation. The Kennington midwife’s duties did not stop for a period of mourning: women continued to need her, to call her to their homes and bedsides to comfort them in their pain and perform the most intimate service of all for them. At such a time in a woman’s life it is not possible to remain detached, and Nurse Court had to smile as she soothed and reassured; she had to explain and instruct, sometimes with a degree of firmness, and keep her own unhappiness hidden.
People were sorry and many a hand was placed in Mabel’s at a time of widespread loss. Ruby did all she could to provide tasty treats from meagre rations, and the boys willingly ran errands for their Aunt Mabel, keeping quiet in the house when she was resting after being out on a night call. She was touched by all the kindness shown to her, but found her best relief in the course of her work: the cry of a newborn baby, a mother’s face on receiving her child in her arms, the first breastfeed. The great big world did indeed keep turning, though the two men dearest to Mabel had been sacrificed with countless thousands of others. It was not exactly consolation, more a kind of awareness of time moving forward, a hope that there might still be a future. The words of Albert’s last letter echoed in Mabel’s head and deep down in her lonely heart she let herself dream again of a home for children. Every time she passed the headquarters of the Society for Waifs and Strays in Kennington Road, she wondered if her future lay with that charity, in becoming a house-mother at one of their countrywide small homes for the sad children who had neither parents nor a roof over their heads. And now she had her grandmother’s money . . .
But then, suddenly and unexpectedly, taking the whole country by surprise, came news of the Armistice, the end of the war at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918, a Monday. A dazed nation awoke to the realisation that the war was over: four years and three months of camage had come to an end, though a generation of men had been lost. A huge universal sigh of relief turned to shouting and singing, people danced in the streets under November skies, bands played, there was every kind of rejoicing to celebrate the return of peace. Union Jacks were pulled out of musty drawers and cupboards, to be flown from windows, and crowds surged outside Buckingham Palace as they had at the beginning of it all, calling for the King and Queen to appear. After dark there were bonfires lit in spite of the drizzly rain and once again the church bells rang out to call congregations in to give thanks. But for Mabel, Norah and Maud the pain of loss was too recent and their grief too deep to be thrown off, even for a few frenzied days.
On the Tuesday of that memorable week, Mabel had a visitor at Deacon’s Walk, a rough-looking youngish man with bloodshot eyes and two or three days’ growth of stubble. He gave off a rank smell of drink and unwashed clothes, and Mabel felt a little uneasy about showing him into Ruby’s parlour when he introduced himself as Able Seaman Smith, one of the few survivors of the Galway Castle.
‘Me an’ Albert made a promise when we was at sea, that if one of us was lorst the ovver’d go an’ see the next o’ kin,’ he explained, seating himself on the sofa.
‘Thank yer, Mr Smith, it’s good o’ yer to come,’ Mabel said cautiously. ‘Can yer tell me anythin’ about how – how me brother died?’
‘Yeah. Poor ol’ Albert was on watch at the time we was ‘it, Miss Court, an’ never stood a chance. I’m sorry, ’cause ’e was a good ’un, one o’ the best. Talked abaht yer a lot, an’ an Irish girl called Norah. Bloody shame to get all frough the war an’ then be scuppered. Too bad, that was. Too bad.’
Mabel shook her head slowly in agreement. ‘Would yer like a cup o’ tea, Mr Smith?’
‘Tea? Yer ain’t got nuffin’ stronger, I s’pose, miss?’
‘No, I’m afraid not,’ replied Mabel, for this was a Salvation Army house.
‘Er – I s’pose yer couldn’t let me ’ave me fare up to Manchester, Miss Court?’ he went on, his eyes narrowing to a foxy glint. ‘’Ad a bit of a set-to las’ night, an’ when I woke up ‘smornin’ I’d bin fleeced – them bitches’d cleaned me right aht. Me own fault, should’ve gorn ’ome soon’s I docked, but what wiv the Armistice an’ everyfink – if yer could – er, for Albert’s sake, like –’
Without a word Mabel went out of the room and returned with five one-pound notes which she put into an envelope and handed to him. It was all that she had saved for buying Christmas presents.
‘Crikey, Miss Court, that’s good o’ yer! Fanks – fanks a lot, Albert said yer was a good ’un, an’ ’e was right an’ all. Ta!’
‘Ye’d better be gettin’ on yer way, Mr Smith, if ye’ve got to go all the way to Manchester tonight. Yer don’t want to get robbed again.’
She stood at the window and watched his uncertain progress down to the Kennington Road; in spite of the damp, foggy air she threw up the sash to freshen the room.
Poor devil, she thought. He was about the same age as Albert and not unlike him in looks. Suppose there had been no Norah with her gentle, sweetening influence on that rapscallion brother of hers, smoothing his rough edges, loving him, praying for him . . . who could say how he would have turned out? But now he was gone and she wept afresh for the pity of it.
‘But I’ll do as yer said, Albert – I’ll buy a nice house an’ make it into a home for children!’ she vowed, though as yet she had little idea of how to set about it.
Chapter Twenty-five
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS of peace brought more sadness than festivity as families counted the cost of the war in terms of the men lost for ever, the spaces at Christmas dinner tables, the empty beds and lonely hearts. There was no word from George in Canada and, after three years of silence, Mabel had to face the fact that she had now lost touch with her remaining brother, no longer the boy she remembered but a young man who had become a Canadian with no wish to look back on bad memories.
The influenza epidemic raged on, continuing to
claim lives: theatres and other public buildings were closed, and people were advised not to travel unless it was really necessary.
From Belhampton came the news of Thomas Somerton’s death from a heart seizure on Boxing Day and Mabel longed to be with her Aunt Nell, but it was impossible for her to leave Kennington. She was thankful that Daisy was there for her aunt, because Miss Kate Chalcott still had a few convalescents at Pinehurst and Alice seldom visited at Pear Tree Cottage. Mabel supposed that Alice would now have her eye on Pinehurst when Aunt Kate had gone to live with the widowed Nell. Thank goodness it’s got nothing to do with me, thought Mabel wearily as she got on her bicycle for the daily round of visits.
But in this she was wrong. A letter arrived from Aunt Kate in which she again asked about her niece’s future plans.
‘We were all so dreadfully sorry about dear Captain Drover,’ wrote Miss Chalcott in her formal style. ‘I have always known that you planned to run a children’s refuge under the auspices of the Salvation Army and I wonder if you still wish to care for homeless children? My dear Mabel, it would give me great pleasure to offer you Pinehurst for this purpose. You have seen for yourself how well it accommodated victims of war and I feel that it should continue to be used for a worthwhile cause.’
Mabel’s head whirled as the meaning of the words dawned upon her.
‘Are yer all right, Mabel?’ asked Ruby in concern. ‘Not more bad news, is it?’
‘No, Ruby, it’s from Aunt Kate. She’s offerin’ me Pinehurst – me mother’s old family home at Belhampton – to use as a children’s home. I just can’t take it in.’
Mabel had told nobody but Albert of the three thousand pounds left to her by her grandmother Court – Prudence Lawton – which was still lying untouched at the London and Provincial Bank in her name. Now it seemed that her way ahead had become wonderfully clear, for she could offer to buy Pinehurst from her aunt, and never mind what Alice and Gerald Westhouse might think, for she now realised that this was what she wanted above all else. There had been times when she’d pictured Pinehurst, that solid Victorian house built by her grandfather Chalcott, being filled with children enjoying a healthy country life, far from the deprivation of their backgrounds. She gave a smile of anticipation as she saw this picture about to come to life, and for the first time since the deaths of Harry and Albert new hope sprang up in her heart that she might soon see a lifelong dream fulfilled. The Lord had not deserted her and she would dedicate her whole life to this new venture!
It was Dr Henry Knowles who advised about her next step. Now retired and a semi-invalid, it was some weeks before he heard about Albert, and then went straight to Deacon’s Walk and simply held out his arms to her. She went to him wordlessly, resting her head on his shoulder. When they sat down to talk, she told him about her legacy and how she intended to use it.
‘Mabel, my dear, I can’t think of anything better. I’m so pleased that old Mimi Court – that your grandmother’s money is to be used in this way. But tell me, how will you manage the day-to-day running of your home?’
When Mabel confessed that she had not much idea about administration, but hoped that her Aunt Chalcott would advise her, Knowles gave her the advice for which she was always to be grateful.
‘Go to the Waifs and Strays Society Headquarters, Mabel, and put yourself in their hands. Tell them your circumstances and how you want to use your money. They’re well experienced in this kind of thing and they have an excellent record of caring for children – think how they saved your friend Maud and her brother.’ He leaned forward and gave her a penetrating look. ‘But at present they’re sadly overburdened and to have a privately owned property put at their disposal, together with a ready-made Matron with means of her own – oho, Mabel, they’ll welcome you with open arms!’
Mabel beamed. ‘Oh, yes, Dr Knowles, that’s a wonderful idea. There was a time when I thought I might work with the Waifs and Strays and now I shall!’
‘And remember that it will be your property, which will give you status and far more say in the way the place is run – I mean the actual care of the children, their mealtimes, bedtimes and so on. Administrative details like wages and catering costs will be taken over by the Society, but you’ll be in charge, Mabel!’
‘That’s just what Albert said in his last letter!’ she cried, her eyes shining. ‘Dear Dr Knowles, ye’ve proved to be me best friend once again!’ And on an impulse she flung her arms round his neck in a grateful hug . . . which of course made her think immediately of his son, for so long pushed to the back of her mind. And she had not even asked about the family. Rather awkwardly withdrawing from him, she set about making up for the omission.
‘How’s yer wife these days, Dr Knowles? An’ young Mrs Knowles, how’s she keepin’? An’ little Lily, she must be walkin’ by now.’
‘Fifteen months,’ he replied with a fond look. ‘Though we don’t see much of her, I’m afraid. My wife and I are rather a pair of crocks, and as for poor Phyllis, I really don’t know, Mabel.’ He sighed deeply and gave a little shrug. ‘She probably needs to get away from her parents and stand on her own feet, run her own home, look after her child – but my son doesn’t seem able to give her the sort of support she needs to make the first step. Very much under her mother’s domination, I believe. Other people’s marriages can be – um – one has to be so careful.’
He paused. Mabel noticed that he had never once mentioned Stephen by name and wondered if he and his son were on good terms. In fact, Henry Knowles had long realised how the land lay and checked himself from saying more.
‘So, my dear, apply to the Society’s Headquarters – only round the corner from you! – and with your references from Booth Street and Shadwell, you’ll be a gift to the Waifs and Strays!’
Mabel’s interview went as well as Knowles had predicted, and she wrote to her Aunt Kate and gave three months’ notice to Lambeth Borough Council. A team of visitors from the Society was sent to inspect Pinehurst, which was duly pronounced as an ideal ‘cottage home’ for about ten children. Edward Rudolf, the founder of the Church of England Society for the Provision of Homes for Waifs and Strays, disliked large, regimented homes, and insisted on small family groups headed by a housemaster and Matron. Due to the enormous loss of manpower through the war, it was difficult to find suitable men to be ‘masters’, but Mabel had hatched her own plan regarding this problem: she intended to invite Norah McLoughlin to be her partner in the Pinehurst project, sharing the work they loved and for which they were both well qualified.
But tragic fate once again took a hand and struck at the Midway Babies’ Home. The deadly influenza swept through the area around the Elephant and Castle, and both Sister Norah and Mrs Lovell were laid low with it. The Board of Guardians were at their wits’ end and sent staff from Booth Street to try to deal with the crisis, but when four young children died within a week, the home was closed and the little inmates sent to wherever a place could be found, in homes, infirmaries, even workhouses. Sister Norah was taken to Booth Street where she recovered in Women’s I, but Mrs Lovell developed pneumonia and did not survive.
The newspapers had a field day with the story, finding the Midway a target for their righteous indignation at ‘Dickensian conditions in England today’. Photographs were published of the dark entrance passage, the stone-floored corridor, the nursery with its iron cots, the playroom with its high barred windows. It led to a vilification campaign against Olive Spearmann, widow of the ‘war-profiteering Jew’, a manufactured scandal that sold newspapers and diverted people’s minds briefly from the growing sense of anticlimax in a drained and exhausted country to which servicemen were returning to look for employment.
Mabel dreaded that Norah would read a report of the Midway’s fate, and when she received a scrawled message from Maud asking for news they arranged to meet and visit their friend, whom they found lying listlessly in her bed in at the end of the ward, though she quickly sat herself up when they appeared.
; ‘Ah, Mabel – an’ Maudie, darlin’ – have ye heard that the Midway’s been closed? An’ poor Mrs Lovell an’ the children all gone?’
‘Ssh, Norah, dear, most o’ the children’ve gone to other places, an’ maybe it was time the Midway was closed, anyway,’ Mabel said, trying to sound reassuring. ‘Listen, I’ve got the most amazin’ news –’ And she went on to tell her friends about Pinehurst and the legacy.
‘And I’ve got a wonderful idea, Norah. Come with me to Belhampton! There aren’t enough men to be housemasters, so we can be two house Matrons, workin’ partners, doin’ the sort o’ work we both love best – come on, what d’ye say?’
Maud, now looking quite elegant in a light-grey coat and hat, gave Norah an encouraging grin. ‘That’s right, gal, go ahead, you an’ Mabel togevver’ll make a first-rate team!’
Norah lay back on her pillows, a strangely resigned expression on her pale features. When she spoke her voice was weak but steady. ‘No, Mabel, darlin’, but thank ye a thousand times. I’m goin’ back to bein’ an Irishwoman agin, y’see. Mother Patrick wrote me from St Joseph’s to ask me to help her wid the orphanage, the one I grew up in meself.’
Mabel could not hide her surprise and disappointment. ‘Oh, Norah! Norah, dear – d’ye think yer could settle down over there in Cork after five years o’ livin’ in London?’
Norah reached out for her hand. ‘Yes, Mabel, so I could. Wait now while I tell ye what I wrote back to Mother Patrick. When I lost him who was all the world to me, I knew I’d never love another man on this earth, so I must turn the love in me heart to Himself above. I’m goin’ back to enter the convent an’ take me vows to become a Sister o’ Mercy an’ serve Him for the rest o’ me life.’
‘Norah! Yer don’t mean ye’re goin’ to be a nun?’ gasped Mabel at this totally unexpected announcement. ‘But yer can’t – yer can’t – turn yer back on the world like that!’
‘I may be turnin’ me back on the world, but I’ll be spendin’ me life wid children, just like yeself, Mabel,’ replied the Irish girl seriously. ‘An’ one day, if God wills it, I’ll take over from Mother Patrick an’ serve God an’ the motherless mites He gives me to care for. It’s the way that I must take, Mabel, can’t yer see? – an’ Albert will be wid me, right up to me dyin’ day.’