An Unsuitable Mother

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Inevitably, left to deal with everything, Mother grew sick of running about after someone with self-inflicted wounds, and the instant the doctor gave permission, she had Nell on her feet and undergoing light chores around the house.

  It was awful having to confront Father for the first time. He refused to speak to her, barely deigned to look at her, but when he did it was with such disappointment and accusation that Nell could not bear to meet his gaze.

  Mother did her best to inject some normality, though she must have found it as big a strain as Nell, for after only three days of this awful tension, she was to announce the moment Father had gone to work, ‘I think you’re fit enough to leave the house now.’

  A newfound cynicism told Nell that her mother did not mean just physically fit, but that her breasts no longer resembled two melons, and her flabby stomach was once more contained in a corset. Fit to rejoin society. No one would be able to tell what had happened to her, except perhaps from those haunted eyes that stared back at her from the mirror. Outwardly, it was as if William had never been born, whilst the loss of him felt like a still-smoking brand upon her soul.

  ‘I’m sure you must be eager to get back to work.’ Her mother’s declaration was tart as she moved energetically between table and kitchen, still unwilling to meet Nell’s eye.

  At a slower pace, helping to clear the breakfast pots, Nell made a wordless gesture of acceptance. Even after being allowed downstairs, the atmosphere at home was suffocating, not least in its air of perpetual condemnation. So, taking this unsubtle hint, in the hope that she would be allowed to start straight away, she went to put on her rather baggier uniform, gathered her coat and gas-mask container, and prepared to face the outside world.

  ‘It’s nice to see you up and about, lass!’ called Mrs Dawson, emerging into the spring morning at the same time as Nell to see Geoffrey off to work. ‘It’s a nasty thing, appendicitis. Really takes it out of you, doesn’t it?’ On the other side of the immaculately trimmed privet hedge that divided them, she sauntered alongside Nell towards the gate, hopeful of a chat. ‘It’ll be a while before you’re back to your old self.’

  Thinking that she would never be her old self again, Nell merely smiled and nodded, and tried to escape, but was immediately cornered by another neighbour, Mrs Tree, who blocked the gateway.

  ‘Aw, how are you feeling, Eleanor?’

  Feeling? I feel nothing. My arms are empty. With no child to hold, Nell hugged herself against the chill.

  ‘Eh, you still look peaky, doesn’t she, Mrs Dawson? Anything we can do to put the colour back in your cheeks?’

  Why could they not have asked before, when I really needed someone? rankled Nell. Edging her way past, and in that same tightly smiling manner that her mother employed to fend off unwelcome attention, she replied, ‘No, I’m quite well, thank you,’ and walked away.

  ‘Appendicitis,’ muttered an unconvinced Mrs Tree under her breath. ‘We all know what that means!’

  Her companion sighed and nodded. ‘Eh, the poor lass. I wonder what they’ve done with the bairn?’ Then, feeling a rush of sympathy for Nell, she called after her, ‘You don’t want to be doing too much, love!’

  Matron Lennox was of this opinion too, when Nell appeared before her, and warned of the physical snag of returning to work so soon. ‘Have another month off, Nurse Spottiswood, you’ll invite a prolapse.’

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, Matron, I’d rather run the gauntlet. I’ll go mad if I have to sit around the house.’ Nursing this terrible emptiness, she had really wanted to add. But just the thought of it made her face crumple in tears.

  ‘My dear, if that’s an indication of just how fit you are to return –’

  ‘Oh, please!’ Nell looked apologetic for her stridence, but begged Matron to reconsider. ‘I give my word that will never happen again.’ She immediately altered her demeanour, straightening her backbone to emphasise this intent. ‘If I can concentrate on those more unfortunate than myself, I know I’ll be able to cope.’

  ‘Very well,’ conceded Matron, who had not yet replaced her other two nurses. ‘You may start tomorrow.’

  ‘Today?’ quizzed Nell hopefully.

  ‘Today if you feel you are up to it – but on light duties. As a matter of fact we all appear to be on light duties, the train hasn’t left the sidings since you were with us last. So, it will be the usual drill, a quick tidy up and make a few dressings, then you can go along with some of the others and help out at the Infirmary.’ She saw the expression on Nell’s face and answered her unspoken question. ‘The rest of the crew have been informed that you’ve strained your back.’

  Appendicitis, a strained back, what next? But Nell gave a silent nod of gratitude.

  Then Matron Lennox thought of something more. ‘Has anyone troubled themselves to line up any kind of postnatal examination for you?’

  Her young nurse looked awkward. ‘My doctor says I should go see him in a month or so.’

  ‘Well, make sure you do. We can’t have you collapsing on us. And I don’t suppose I need remind you that your own upset must not be allowed to affect your patients.’

  ‘No, Matron,’ Nell promised quietly.

  There came a satisfied nod from her ladylike superior. ‘No, I’m confident that it won’t. You’re a good nurse. In general I’m very pleased with you. Well, run along now.’

  Rejoining her colleagues, Nell felt that all were staring at her. She half-expected unkind words from Sister, but for once there were none, and, true to Matron’s opinion, she was to be spared interrogation by the others too. Hence, she was to slip back into her duties quite easily. And if those duties were not performed so strenuously as usual, no one needed to ask the reason why.

  Later, though, upon finding herself alone with Beata in a sluice at the Infirmary, she felt that she owed her friend an explanation. ‘You guessed the real reason I’ve been off, didn’t you?’

  Having been scouring bedpans, the older nurse stopped to gaze at her for a while, as if noting the much more mature air about Nell, the one that Nell had seen for herself in the mirror; it was like viewing a completely different person. Then Beata nodded. ‘Well, I had an idea …’

  ‘I’m so sorry for deceiving you, Killie.’ There were tears in Nell’s eyes, but she fought them.

  ‘That’s all right.’ Beata issued an affectionate nudge, and both got on with scouring and rinsing the bedpans.

  ‘You’re not shocked?’ tendered Nell, above the splashing of water into the sink. ‘I didn’t dare tell you, for what you might think of me.’ She could not look at the other. ‘I know your views on unmarried mothers.’

  ‘Those who have no morals, aye, but that’s not the case in this instance,’ murmured her friend. ‘I know how much you thought about Bill … So, have your parents let you keep the baby?’

  Nell shook her head, unable to voice this dreadful sense of loss.

  Beata sighed in sympathy. ‘I wish you’d told me. I didn’t like to come out with it myself in case you took offence, but I’d have tried to help.’

  ‘How?’ demanded Nell. ‘What could you have done?’ She experienced deep upset, and a surge of rancour too, at Beata, at herself, at the thought that this might have been handled differently. But there was nothing to be done about it now. To find her son and take him back would be impossible. She swore her friend to silence. ‘I just thought you had a right to know – but cross your heart you’ll never tell another soul!’ She saw Beata’s slight hesitation, and guessed in, dull tone, ‘Ah, the others twigged too, didn’t they?’

  ‘They are nurses.’ Beata clanked another bedpan onto the stack of clean ones. ‘But none of them condemned you – well, Joy put her few penneth in, but you’d expect that of her. The others said as I do, that you’re not the first and you won’t be the last – and I told them how you really thought the world of Billy.’ In a gesture of compassion, she lowered the lids of her small blue eyes and shook her auburn head. ‘God knows, lass
, you must have gone through the mill these last few weeks …’ At her friend’s woeful nod, Beata confirmed, ‘I’ve never breathed a word to anyone outside, not even my family, and I never will.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Nell, quickly getting on with her work. ‘We’d better not talk of it any more.’

  Beata struggled for something to make her friend laugh. ‘Did I ever tell you about the time my false teeth froze in the glass overnight?’

  Despite herself, Nell gave a surprised chuckle. ‘How long have you worn dentures?’

  ‘Ooh, since I was your age,’ came the blasé reply. ‘Me and a pal had them all out on a whim – they looked far better than the ones we had – well, you obviously couldn’t tell, could you? I wish I hadn’t now, though, they tend to impair your freedom. Anyway …’ Beata prepared to go on with her anecdote, unaware that Nell’s mind was already drifting back to the previous subject.

  The friends were not to speak of this again. But every single day, throughout the springtime and beyond, no matter how hard she worked, Nell was to mourn her baby William, unable to shed the memory of having him torn from her arms, the pain of which grew worse, not better. If only she had some news of him and were allowed to know if he thrived, wherever he was. And if only life would not keep dealing her these constant painful reminders, every day bringing another.

  Today was no exception. In her recently acquired manner, never allowing herself to rest, Nell was striding purposefully along the corridor to collect a patient from surgery. Upon reaching a swing door, her way was blocked by someone approaching from the other direction, and, standing aside, she held open the door for Sister Eccles to go through first, not merely from duty, but also because her superior had a baby in her arms. Another little mite for the nursery ward. As it passed her by, as if to test herself, Nell allowed her eyes to rest upon its sleeping face, and the sight inspired a bolt of anguish – but with it came an awful thought that prompted her to catch her breath. What if they had lied to her; had fobbed her off in order to get her signature on the form. What if they hadn’t sent William to a good family at all, but had dumped him in this institution thinking she would remain ignorant? Perhaps that was why she had not been required to work in the nursery ward since she had returned – not from kindness, but from expediency! After so many weeks, would she even recognise him?

  Standing there, still holding the door ajar whilst she reeled over this awful possibility, Nell’s heart began to hammer, and the blood to swish through her ears. Then, completely changing course, she released the door to swing on its hinges, and began to follow the one who held the baby, increasing her pace to match the sister’s, pursuing her along the corridor and right into the nursery ward, where, without a word to anyone, not to Blanche on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor, not to the toddler who scampered back and forth – not even to her friend Beata on duty there, who smiled a greeting – Nell was to hurry from cot to cot, peering into each, anxiously scrutinising the wizened infants, intent on recognition.

  But he was not there. Half-relieved, half-anguished, she halted in some confusion by the last cot, her hand trembling on its iron rail.

  ‘Was there something you required, Nurse?’ The baby still in her arms, the ward sister was frowning at this impertinent intruder.

  Only half come to her senses, her heart still racing thirteen to the dozen, Nell showed penitence for not seeking authorisation to enter, and groped for a motive. Then her eyes fell on the simpleton Cissie, who had sneaked in to visit her five-month-old baby, Matthew. ‘Sorry, Sister, I just came looking for Ciss—’

  ‘Well, you’ve found her. Say what you have to, then look smart!’ Sister Eccles gave a curt nod, then marched off with the baby.

  Still Nell made no move to leave, at once attacked by the presence of all these infants that seemed to taunt her own loss. The toddler was dragging at a handful of her skirt, but, almost oblivious to him, she stared instead into Matthew’s cot. He had rubbed a bald patch on the back of his head, a large, square-shaped area surrounded with fledgling tufts. Had William kept his dark hair? Had he grown a tooth? Had they allowed him to keep the name she had given him, or substituted one of their own? The blood still whooshed through her veins, deafening her to all reason, carrying an insane surge of jealousy and anger, anger at the people who had taken him, anger at the doctor, anger at her parents, anger with the world, anger at herself for not showing more spirit and saving him. And as for this one – Nell’s glower landed on Cissie now – this imbecile, who kept popping out babies like a one-woman factory, and stood here with a gormless smile on her face … Never had she felt such resentment towards another human being. As much as she had told herself it was not the poor wretch’s fault, that it was those who had taken advantage who were to blame, as much as it had not mattered before, it mattered now, and she could not prevent the harsh words from spilling forth.

  ‘What are you doing here, you’re meant to be cleaning!’

  At this uncharacteristic treatment, Cissie’s smile turned to confusion. ‘I were just having a little look at me babby, Nurse.’

  ‘Well, just make sure he’s your last one!’ Nell stabbed a finger at Matthew’s cot. ‘You’re a blessed disgrace, having so many!’

  The unfortunate Cissie cringed and ejected a wail. ‘I couldn’t help it, Nurse, the man made me do it!’

  ‘Then we’ll have to get the police onto him!’ retorted Nell.

  ‘I wouldn’t know him again, nurse! He was all dressed in black with his hat pulled down over his eyes and a long leather coat over his clothes.’

  ‘Sounds like a member of the Gestapo.’ Beata had wandered up to defuse the situation with a wry comment.

  ‘You shouldn’t joke!’ Nell spun toward her, unamused. ‘It’s not right that she keeps churning out these poor little creatures who’ll never have a normal life!’

  Beata said nothing, but in that moment as brown eyes locked with blue, Nell caught the look of recrimination, and just as immediately felt a rush of shame for her cruel treatment of one in her care. Without either of them voicing the reason for Nell’s envious rampage, both knew its cause – that this unfit mother had been privileged to keep her baby nearby, at least until it was old enough to enter an orphanage, whilst Nell, who would have loved and cosseted and treasured hers, had been forbidden even to hold him for more than thirty seconds. Not even a photograph. Just a ribbon. And the scent of a newborn forever imprinted on her senses.

  Clinging to a last vestige of professionalism, Nell said nothing more, but straightened her shoulders, and strode from the ward, though she fully expected to be confronted after working hours – for how could Beata truly understand the magnitude of a mother’s loss? Yet Beata never did condemn, not on that day or on any day to come – which somehow only made matters worse, for Nell would have welcomed the confrontation, the opportunity to unleash the full extent of her rage on someone other than a hapless idiot, one who could justifiably return the blows, and thus allow her to purge this terrible pent-up grief.

  Instead of which, it continued to be bottled up, the level of this festering injustice bubbling higher every day, so that at times she was to feel like an unexploded bomb just waiting to go off.

  7

  Bombs were still going off in reality too, many of them on a devastated Hull and Sheffield, though few in York. As ever, London was to receive the worst of it, the springtime blitz relentless, and May bringing the worst raid yet. Nell had not written to Mrs Kelly since before … well, since before. What was the point? Under such a bombardment perhaps Billy’s mother had joined the legions of those made homeless, or even killed. And even if she were alive, thought Nell, with a bitterness forged of loss, this was a different life. She wanted no reminders to drag along with her. She felt bad enough as it was.

  So too did everyone else, if the glum and lean faces in the streets were anything to go by. With much of Europe under the heel of Hitler, one country falling after another, the rest of that year was a swi
tchback ride, morale being fleetingly elevated by the sinking of the Bismarck, then just as quickly dunked by heavy losses in Crete. By God’s mercy, their own threat of invasion had been postponed. Repelled from British shores, the Germans were to invade Russia instead.

  ‘This is the best thing the Huns could have done!’ opined a smug Wilfred Spottiswood to his wife and daughter, upon hearing the announcement on the wireless that midsummer evening. ‘Mark my words, it’ll be their undoing. The winters there are treacherous.’ He shook his head and made an O of his mouth to express severity. ‘Snow and ice up to your chin, fingers frozen to icicles! It put paid to Napoleon’s reign – and the Kaiser – it’ll topple Hitler too!’

  Taking comfort from this, Thelma gave a nod of satisfaction at her daughter, as if to indicate that Father’s word was lore.

  But Nell made little response. She had long ago ceased to respect anything either of her parents said. They had told her that it was for the best in persuading her to give away her baby – how could it be for the best when she still felt such raw agony months later? That was the only reason she seated herself there alongside them every evening, not because she enjoyed their company – Mother with her irritating click of knitting needles, Father with his irritating click of teeth – no, she was there because she feared to be alone with her thoughts. As for the war, its minutiae no longer figured half so much in her consciousness, for what would be, would be.

  However, as the year progressed it began to emerge that Nell’s father was right in his assumptions, in a roundabout sort of way. By another December, the Germans were far too embroiled on the Eastern Front to waste their energies on Britain, and moreover, after murderous provocation by the Japs, the United States had entered the conflict.