Pack Up Your Troubles

by Pam Weaver

  Eva nodded. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘I really liked you that day in London,’ Connie went on.

  ‘And I you,’ said Eva. ‘It was good fun.’

  Connie sighed. ‘Whatever the quarrel is between our families, it’s not ours.’

  They had reached the lifts. Eva pressed the button. ‘You know what? You’re right.’

  They smiled at each other shyly. ‘I think Ga would skin me alive, if she knew,’ said Connie. ‘Someone sent her that newspaper cutting of us in the fountain with those sailors and she went mad.’

  ‘Who would do that?’ Eva frowned as they stepped out of the lift.

  Connie shrugged. ‘I thought she’d be annoyed that I was in the water with two strange men, but she was far more upset that I was with you.’

  Eva giggled. ‘Oh dear.’ She linked her arm through Connie’s. ‘I’d better be careful not to let my bad reputation rub off on you then.’ And laughing, they pushed open the ward doors to begin the morning rounds.

  Jane Jackson wrote to tell Connie that Sally Burndell had lost her place in the secretarial college. Apparently she had been very upset about it and so her mother had sent her to stay in Oxford with her grandmother for a while. Connie told everybody at home, and Ga, after a little persuasion, agreed to have her back in the shop when she was well enough. Sally came back to work in the nurseries just before Christmas.

  Connie had been dreading Christmas because she was so close to home and yet unable to be with the family but in the event, it turned out to be rather special. On Christmas Eve, she and her fellow students put on their blue and red cloaks and went round the wards singing Christmas carols. Eva managed to get hold of an old-fashioned oil lantern and the rest of them carried torches. Sister Curtis was wearing angel wings on the back of her uniform. On the women’s ward, a patient who had spent most of the day in theatre had just come round from the anaesthetic for the first time. Seeing Sister Curtis and her wings, her eyes grew as wide as saucers.

  ‘Bloody ’ell! Looks like I’ve died,’ she whispered and then relaxing added, ‘Well, at least I’m in the right place.’

  On Christmas Day, every patient was given a gift from the management committee while Father Christmas (thanks to the hospital porter) turned up to give them out. He and the mayor toured the wards spreading their unique brand of goodwill. Throughout the hospital, the visiting hours were extended. Later in the day, the staff put on a concert and on Boxing Day the patients were allowed to invite their visitors to tea. The Hospital Bees Christmas party raised a much needed £29 for hospital funds and the week-long festivities ended on Saturday, 29 December with the nurses’ dinner and dance. Connie loved every minute of it.

  She managed to go home for the day on 30 December, her day off. Pip and Mandy were overjoyed when they saw her coming down the path, and to Connie’s delight, the family had saved their Christmas meal to have it with her. Gwen had saved a few presents for everyone to unwrap and a box of crackers from Woolworths, so Connie felt very spoiled.

  She discovered that late on Christmas Eve, the Frenchie had called by with Connie’s old pram although it didn’t look like her old pram any longer. Apart from Simeon’s attention to the bodywork and the hood, the Frenchie had painted Snow White in her rags on one side and with her handsome prince on the other. The two pictures were linked together by trailing rose buds and Mandy had been thrilled to have it. She showered her sister with kisses. Before she left for the hospital again, Connie dashed off a note of thanks but when she went round to the workshop, she had to make do with putting it under a brick on the doorstep. There had been no bill sent so she put £3 in the envelope and asked the Frenchie to tell her if the work cost more than that.

  ‘Are you enjoying nursing?’ Gwen asked when she got back. They were alone in the kitchen doing the drying up.

  Connie hugged her mother. ‘Mum, I just love it,’ she smiled. ‘And this has been the most amazing Christmas of my whole life. The girls in my set are wonderful. It’s hard work and there’s a lot to remember, but honestly, Mum, I’ve never been happier.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ said Gwen. She sounded a little wistful and at once Connie knew why. Her mother was remembering the one person in the family nobody spoke of. She was thinking of Kenneth.

  Connie slipped her arm around her mother’s waist and gave her a squeeze. ‘He’ll come back home one day, Mum,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  He mother nodded. ‘I just wish I knew where he was.’

  The door burst open and Ga came into the room carrying some dirty plates. ‘What are you two plotting?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Gwen. She turned back to the sink and began the washing up.

  Ga stared at her for a moment. ‘Don’t spoil a lovely day,’ she challenged.

  Gwen and Connie shared a knowing look together as Ga threw the plates into the washing up bowl. Ga hated talking about Connie’s brother, but no matter how strongly she felt, it didn’t alter the fact that Connie and her mother missed Kenneth, especially at times like this.

  It was easier for Connie and Eva to keep their friendship from both families for the time being. Connie was glad of a friend like Eva. Here at last was someone she could trust and confide in, although she wasn’t ready to talk about Kenneth yet.

  Eva, on the other hand, was desperate to talk about her problems. She had met and was greatly attracted to one of the doctors in the hospital but so far she had refused to go out with him. Through Connie’s gentle probing Eva began to understand her own reticence to embark on a romance. Hadn’t she loved Dermid and when she’d pledged her life to him, hadn’t he died? It was irrational but she was angry with him for getting himself killed and she was afraid to risk having her heart broken again. But Connie had seen the way Steven Mitchell looked at Eva and was convinced she had no reason to fear another broken heart.

  ‘If Dermid was here,’ Connie told Eva one night when they were having a deep and meaningful conversation, ‘don’t you think he would tell you to grab life by the scruff of the neck and enjoy it?’

  Eva sighed and stared down at her fingernails. ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘Supposing it were the other way around,’ said Connie interrupting with another tactic. ‘Supposing you had died and Dermid was still here. Would you want him to stay faithful to your dead memory until he died an old man?’

  ‘Of course not!’ cried Eva.

  ‘Then let him go,’ said Connie. ‘He belonged to 1944 but you’re still alive in 1946.’

  Her counsel didn’t fall on deaf ears. By Whitsun the following year, Eva and Steven were secretly engaged. That wasn’t the only engagement. When July came, the town was buzzing with the news that Mavis Hampton had just got engaged. The local papers had her picture on the front pages and there was a feature article on the inside pages of the Worthing Gazette. The girls in the nurses’ home drooled over the dress Mavis was wearing but Connie found her attention was on the man she was to marry, Eugène Étienne. The Frenchie looked so different in his formal suit and tie; like a different person altogether.

  Sally Burndell carried on working throughout the year but she was a very different girl. She was much quieter and less cheeky but the customers still liked her. Terry still refused to answer her letters so by the middle of May she gave up trying. Connie encouraged her to apply for the secretarial course again in July, this time at a different college, and to her absolute delight, she was accepted. Ga was a little put out that once again Sally was leaving, but the family gave her a little leaving party and by 3 September, she was on her way.

  The continuing blot on the landscape was the relationship between Ga and Clifford. It had never been an easy one but now it was full of angst and anger. The atmosphere at home was so bad, they could hardly bear to be in the same room as each other without a tetchy argument. Clifford had made plans for the nurseries but Ga disapproved of everything he suggested. With the advent of Worthing Borough Council’s grand plan for the regeneration o
f the town, came the need of land for housing. Clifford still wanted to sell off part of the nurseries to raise capital. Using that money, he planned to build a series of glasshouses and intensify his growing power. Strawberries, tomatoes and cucumbers were the way to go, he was sure of it. With the close proximity to the railway, he could get his produce up to Covent Garden within a couple of hours and if they could establish themselves with the top restaurants in London, the world would be his oyster, but Ga, as holder of the purse strings, was having none of it.

  ‘This nursery serves the people of this area,’ she said tartly. ‘We don’t need to look any further.’

  ‘Times are changing,’ Clifford said. ‘If we think small, we’ll stay small and eventually we’ll be swallowed up by a much bigger fish. We’re only just scraping by as it is. You can’t stand in the way of progress.’

  ‘May I remind you,’ said Ga getting onto her high horse, ‘that this is my place, not yours.’ And the argument ended in the usual slanging match. Whenever she came home on her day off, Connie could see how much it was getting her mother down, but what could she do?

  The year hadn’t been without its flash points between Ga and Connie. The old woman made a beef about her sore leg every time she saw Connie coming even though she was quite capable of digging potatoes, humping boxes and even running for the bus when she thought no one was looking.

  ‘If you’re not going to help in the nursery,’ she told Connie in the summer, ‘you should at least pay for your keep.’

  Connie gasped. She was on her way to the post office on an errand for Clifford. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘We can’t afford freeloaders,’ said Ga maliciously. ‘Food is short and it costs money.’

  Connie felt her face flame. Her great aunt put her nose in the air and walked into the house. As Connie stared at her receding back, for a moment she really hated her. She may not be putting money on the table but she paid them in kind. Wasn’t the rabbit they’d all eaten last night for supper bought from a butcher in Worthing by her? And didn’t she often put a few shillings in the electric meter when nobody was looking? Just because she didn’t make a song and dance about it, didn’t mean she wasn’t helping out when she could. Ga was impossible. In fact, the only person who thought she could do no wrong was her old friend Aggie.

  *

  He came downstairs quickly. She was unloading the shopping onto the kitchen table.

  ‘You’re back early,’ he smiled.

  ‘I caught the earlier bus,’ she said flatly. ‘You been in bed?’

  ‘No,’ he said, offended.

  ‘Your hair is all flat,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I did have a bit of a lie down,’ he admitted. ‘A bad headache. It’s gone now.’

  ‘Did you take an aspirin?’

  ‘No.’ He took out his cigarette case and tapped a cigarette on the closed lid.

  There was a footfall on the stairs and the child came down one by one. His wife turned her head and stared at him uncertainly.

  ‘She was playing in her bedroom,’ he said defensively as he struck a match.

  The child came into the room and without even looking at her mother, sat down by the fire. She drew her cardigan around her body and hugged herself tight.

  ‘You all right, luv?’

  ‘Yes Mum.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be off to the pub for a bit,’ he said snatching his cap from the nail on the back door.

  ‘What, at this time?’ she said glancing at the clock. ‘They don’t open until six.’

  He kissed his wife on the cheek and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Christmas is coming and I’ve got to see a man about a dog.’

  She grinned knowingly. ‘Make sure it’s a lovely surprise, won’t you?’ she whispered.

  The child didn’t move. The back door banged and she continued to stare into the fire as her mother carried on unloading the shopping.

  Ten

  It was a bit of a shock to see Sally Burndell on the ward. Connie, who was on a split shift, listened with growing alarm as the ward sister read the report.

  ‘Miss Burndell is a seventeen-year-old female with no history of mental illness. She was admitted from the emergency ward where she was treated for an overdose of barbiturates.’ Sister leaned forward to the junior student nurse sitting next to Connie and added, ‘That means she’s had a stomach wash-out.’ Connie was feeling uncomfortable. Should she tell Sister that Sally was a friend of hers? As the report continued, she decided against it. If Sister knew, she might stop Connie from nursing Sally.

  ‘Miss Burndell is to be kept in overnight for observation and then the police want to question her,’ Sister added with a sniff.

  As the report was finished and they separated to their various duties, the other student nurse touched Sally’s arm. ‘Why do the police want to speak to Miss Burndell?’ she whispered anxiously. ‘Has she done something bad?’

  Connie shook her head. ‘Probably not, but attempted suicide is a criminal offence. The patient is at risk of being charged and imprisoned.’

  The junior nurse went on her way satisfied, but just saying the words had sent a chill through Connie’s heart. At the earliest opportunity she went behind the curtain screen separating Sally from the rest of the ward. Her friend turned her head away in shame as she entered. Connie rubbed Sally’s arm sympathetically.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Sally choked.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Connie whispered. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help …’

  ‘My mum is so cross with me,’ Sally wept.

  ‘She’s had a fright, that’s all,’ said Connie. ‘She’ll come round.’

  Sally shook her head. ‘I feel so miserable.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ said Connie but she quickly realised that this was neither the time nor the place. Explanations would have to wait a while. ‘Look, you get some sleep and we’ll talk again later.’ Sally’s temperature was slightly raised but her heartbeat was normal.

  ‘Listen,’ said Connie as she entered the results on her chart at the foot of the bed, ‘I don’t know if they’ve told you, but the police want to talk to you.’

  Sally nodded.

  ‘Is there any chance you made a mistake?’ Connie went on. ‘I mean, could you have taken an accidental overdose?’

  ‘That’s what Mum told me to say,’ said Sally. ‘The silly thing was, it really was a mistake, but because I tried it before, she thinks I’ve done it again.’

  ‘You tried it before?’ Connie gasped. ‘Oh Sally, why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I was an idiot,’ said Sally, ‘but …’

  The screen clattered back and the ward sister came in with a scowl. ‘That’s enough chattering, nurse,’ she said tartly. ‘I’ll deal with this patient.’

  ‘Yes, Sister,’ said Connie and smiling encouragingly she left Sister to it. For some time afterwards, Connie found herself shouldering some of the responsibility. Sally hadn’t been her usual self at the beginning of the year but she honestly thought she was all right now. Connie had no idea it was so serious. Why hadn’t Sally told her what was troubling her?

  Sister cornered Connie about an hour later on her way back to the sluice room after having shaved Mrs Tucker in preparation for her operation the next day. ‘Miss Burndell tells me you are a friend of hers, Nurse Dixon.’

  ‘Yes, Sister,’ Connie nodded.

  ‘Then leave her to the other members of staff,’ said Sister. ‘You know the rules. You should not nurse any relative or friend.’

  Sister bustled away leaving Connie feeling even worse. She hoped Sally wouldn’t think she was deliberately avoiding her. Some friend you were anyway, Connie Dixon, she told herself crossly.

  Christmas 1946 was moving ever closer. In the Sty, as the patients of Mr McIndoe called their ward at East Grinstead’s Royal Victoria Hospital, they were making a go of putting up the decorations. They were a motley crew, some with injuries which they had sustained during the war and others, like K
enneth, who had been wounded in peacetime. Membership of The Guinea Pig Club which had been formed by thirty-nine injured airmen in 1941 was now closed. Members could only join the club if they had had at least ten operations and it lasted until 1945, so Kenneth had been a latecomer. He had been in the Sty for just over a year and he still faced several more months if not years of further treatment. Fortunately, the Royal Victoria wasn’t as rigid as most hospitals. Kenneth was allowed to wear his own clothes or his service uniforms instead of ‘convalescent blues’ and he was able to leave the hospital whenever he wanted to. The trouble was, he never wanted to, and that was giving cause for concern.

  ‘You never come to the pub with us, Dickie,’ said Bunny Warren.

  ‘Why bother when there’s a free barrel on the ward?’ Kenneth joked. He looked away. He knew what his companion was thinking. Bunny had overcome his disabilities but Kenneth still struggled with his own appearance. He’d never get his face back although the Maestro, as they called McIndoe, had made a valiant attempt. He had eyelids now and the eye sockets had been strengthened by bone from his thigh. He had no eyebrows but a couple of operations around the eyes had given him a small ridge on his forehead. Although he had been left with a slightly surprised expression, it was a lot better than before. Now that the area had settled down, the next step was to rebuild his nose and as soon as Christmas was over, Kenneth would be back on the operating table. The state of his hands meant that the RAF had no further use for him which came as a bitter blow during the year. It took all the help he could get from the other chaps to pull him out of the black depression which threatened to engulf him. And even though East Grinstead had gained the reputation of being ‘the town that did not stare’, Kenneth still couldn’t bring himself to venture out.

  Bill Garfield had been coming back to the Sty for almost three years. A dashing pilot at twenty-two, he’d crashed in flames but the Maestro had rebuilt his eye socket, both cheekbones and his jaw. If anyone knew how Dickie felt about himself, it was Bill. Hadn’t he gone through just the same? And yet this chap couldn’t seem to lift himself up out of the pit. Dickie’s reluctance to go out was more than simply because he’d lost his looks. It was as if he was carrying some great weight on his shoulders. Bill had probed and hinted but it was hopeless. Dickie kept himself to himself. He never had visitors or letters. Could he have been brought up in an orphanage? Bill fancied himself as a bit of an amateur sleuth and so he and Bunny decided to try and find Dickie’s family.