An Unsuitable Mother

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Did she feel better for putting herself through this? Not better, no. Nor had she gained any form of comfort, nor would she whilst her son remained lost. But at least she had been able to face them, and to remember that only because of the blackout could one truly appreciate the stars.

  Eventually re-tying the ribbon around the letters, she began to return everything to the box, including the chain and its ring. But on picking up the watch she noticed that the metal was not cold, but warm, as if it had come straight from Billy’s wrist. Overwhelmed by loss, she clutched the timepiece in her fist, gripped it fervently to her breast and closed her eyes, spilling more tears, wondering what kind of a God would take a young father before he had held his son – or even known of his presence – praying with all her might that there truly was a heaven, and that all this hideous violence was for a greater cause – begging for a sign that she would be reunited with her son some day, no matter how long her wait. Please, please, yearned Nell with every cell of her being, if I could just know that William was safe, that he’ll live a happy life, to be an old man with grandchildren, that I’ll get to see him again someday, then I could carry on. I promise I would. It’s just this uncertainty, this bloody awful feeling of hopelessness that I can’t bear …

  With a final, shuddering sigh, she opened her eyes, still gripping the watch. Then, unfurling her palm, she was to catch her breath. The hard metal had left an imprint, but she felt no pain, and her eyes were not on this but on the round white face. The hand that measured the seconds had begun to mark time.

  PART 2

  9

  ‘Come to the window, Nurse!’ commanded Sister, just after twelve on VJ night. ‘And listen to the bells!’

  And admittedly, it had been uplifting to witness that glorious clamour from the Minster, and from churches all over the city – as indeed it had following Victory in Europe, the patriotic celebration that went on for days, and the relief that there would be no more bombs, no more killing, that this hellish time was finally over.

  But what now? The enemy’s defeat brought no superabundance of food to a famished nation; the city was no less drab and demolished under its swathes of Union Jacks. A year down the line, and there was no tangible evidence of improvement, other than the victorious hordes of warriors returning home in their demob suits; the lucky ones, that was. On the contrary, things had become a good deal worse, for they were now having to ration that most staple of food: their daily bread. Some days Nell would not get to taste it at all, her entire diet seeming to consist of lentils, herrings, oatmeal and suet. Added to which there was still no butter, no meat, no sugar, no Billy, no William … just a painful sense of waiting for a life that would not return.

  But Nell had vowed that never again would she allow herself to surrender to depression. She would strive to live a useful life, and be content with the sign that had been channelled via Billy’s watch: that she would hold their son again one day. She held this to be true. The watch had ticked for only eight seconds, no matter how excitedly she might have shaken it, but it was enough to ignite the spark of hope that would light a path through the rest of her life.

  And when all was said and done, what had been her own suffering when compared to others? Those poor skeletal wretches in the concentration camps, the ones she had been reading about for years in the newspapers. Only upon liberation had she seen the true evil of the Nazi doctrine exposed through cinema newsreels. Unable to fathom such depravity, Nell had found it too unbearable to watch, might have dismissed it as sensationalism had she not witnessed the evidence of such wickedness pass through her own neat rows of beds – not that of the Germans this time, but of the Japanese. To see one’s own brave soldiers reduced to bags of bones, jaundiced of skin, sunken of eye, to hear and read the tales of torture, beheadings, atrocities – Nell’s fury was of such atomic proportions as the bombs that had done for the Japs. No matter how ghastly the suffering to innocent children, to whom her heart cried out, those devils had had to be stopped. And now they were, leaving Nell and others like her to try and pick up the pieces.

  Elsewhere, women in other walks of service exchanged their uniforms for aprons, some forced to relinquish jobs they had come to cherish, in order that men might work. A lot were disgruntled, others quite glad of the chance to be housewives again, at least those lucky enough to have a roof over their head – still, on that score, the urgent need of housing in York was rapidly being addressed, asbestos prefabs erected at record speed in every available space.

  For Nell, though, little would change, nor for her friend Beata, except perhaps in titular regard, their experience accrued during the war, plus their valuable contribution, entitling them to be listed on an official roll. Though pleased to be so recognised, both held the wry belief that this would make not one iota of difference, either to their state-registered colleagues, who would always view them as poor relations, or to their own technique. In whatever regard, Nell was content to remain here at the Infirmary, for what other purpose did life hold than to devote herself to the care of others? She would never marry. Many colleagues did, however, and she was happy for them, even the lazy Avril Joyson, who was set to wed an RAF chap she had previously nursed on her ward. Obviously he was fitter now, and able to provide for her, hence she would be resigning her post.

  There had been another marriage in the Melody household too – now back to its full complement since the men had come home from the war – and Nell had lately been introduced to Beata’s brother Joe, finding him a similarly warm and down-to-earth character as his sisters. Yet the meeting had not been without tension, primarily due to his choice of wife. Having fallen in love with the flaxen-haired Grette, Corporal Joe Kilmaster had been permitted to marry her and bring her to England. The young frau had earned a cool reception from some neighbours, and Nell too felt the hairs of her scalp bristle upon being obliged to shake the hand of a former enemy. But with Grette receiving the seal of approval from Beata and her sisters, what right did Nell have to say who they could or could not have in their home, and she kept her true feelings locked in her breast. Besides, there were others to get to know, with whom she would have closer contact.

  A new staff nurse was due to arrive on her ward – not new to the Infirmary, for she had started on day shifts three weeks ago, but new to Nell, who had not yet encountered her personally. However, she had heard the newcomer’s reputation, which had been doing the rounds within days of her arrival. Word had it that nurses were now refusing to work with her.

  ‘That’s why I’ve put her on nights,’ explained Sister Barber one evening as their paths coincided at handover. ‘So she can do less harm.’

  Nell looked incommoded. ‘Is she really that bad?’

  Even though the two of them were alone, Sister Barber attempted to be diplomatic in describing the newcomer, as she herself prepared to go home. ‘She’s a bit … how can I put this? Oh well, you’ll be able to form an opinion for yourself shortly. At least you will if she remembers what time she’s meant to start.’ Here the sister stole a quick look at her watch, then gave firm instruction to Nell. ‘When she does arrive, you must allow her to think she’s in charge, without letting her poison anybody. Make her give you the keys to the medicine cabinet.’

  ‘Sister, how can I do that when she’s above me in rank?’ protested Nell, her brown eyes wide.

  Sister Barber shook her head with a look of resignation as she made to depart. ‘You’ll just have to somehow. You’re one of my best nurses, Spotty, I’m trusting you not to let her kill anyone.’ And she left her youngest member of staff to mull over this dubious honour.

  Half flattered, half in awe of this responsibility, Nell sighed to herself. Then, after liaising with the night sister, who afterwards decamped to the other end of the hospital and would not expect to be bothered for the rest of the shift, she strode purposely back along the corridor, to see if Staff Nurse Cloughton had arrived yet. Finally, she was to come upon her, at least Nell presumed it was she,
for though the figure in Sister Barber’s office had her back turned, she was wearing the relevant uniform. Disallowing others’ judgement to cloud hers, Nell put on a smile and approached from behind, to politely introduce herself. But when the face turned around, her heart sank. The dull expression could have belonged not to a professional, but to one of the inmates – why, there was more intelligence to be read on Cissie Flowerdew’s face. Vacuous or no, it smiled at Nell, who sought to retain her friendly persona and to take an interest in the one she would be working with.

  ‘So, which hospital did you work at before, Staff?’ she asked brightly, collecting all that would be necessary for their rounds.

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t know it,’ came the vague reply. ‘It was in Malta.’

  Nell maintained her look of interest, but the other’s mind had apparently wandered.

  ‘Is there a clock on the ward?’

  Nell was nonplussed. ‘Er, no, there isn’t actually …’

  ‘Best take this then,’ decided Staff Nurse Cloughton, and reached for the clock on Sister’s desk. ‘It’s got a minute hand on it.’

  Noting that her superior wore no watch, and seemed intent on using the cumbersome clock to take pulses, Nell realised to her horror what she was up against. And only minutes into their twelve-hour shift, as the pair embarked on the ward to take temperatures and blood pressures, she decided that whatever rumour had been put about, it had surely been understatement: the staff nurse could justly be described as retarded.

  How on earth had she passed written exams? Nell asked herself, watching Cloughton hawk the clock from bed to bed, and frown over each patient’s notes as she struggled to decipher them. How had she passed any form of exam, come to that? Surely she must have friends in high places for her to be on the register – and certainly it was an aberration on Matron’s part for hiring her. But Nell reminded herself that this was none of her affair. Her task was to prevent any of her charges coming to harm – which seemed highly likely if she did not take precautionary measures. So, recalling Sister’s instruction, she asked respectfully, ‘Would you like me to read out the notes to you, Staff, so that you’re free to get on with the more important business?’

  The lacklustre eyes were slow to come up from the page, the lips silently mouthing the words like an infant in class. C-a-t, thought Nell, itching to get her hands on not just the notes, but the keys to the medicine cupboard. Staff’s face had barely altered, but it was clear she was pleased, for she handed over the records without quibble.

  It was a mean feat on Nell’s part, affecting to follow the other’s orders whilst remaining close enough to keep watch, and lending helpful pointers along the way. Even so, progress was incredibly slow, much slower in fact than if Nell had been there by herself, and, fearing they would never get the patients settled down for the night, she sought to bolster the other’s ego. ‘With all you’ve done, you must be ready for a cup of tea by now, Staff. Shall I make you one? Then perhaps you’d like me to attend the medicines, so you can get on with your reports …’

  The latter suggestion was issued in the full expectation of being rebuffed. But with barely a trace of animation, Staff Nurse Cloughton muttered, ‘Go on then, thanks. I’ll carry on till you get back …’

  Hoping that staff would not cause too much damage in the short while it would take to fetch a cup of tea, Nell hared off.

  And, thankfully, when she returned, the exceedingly slow nurse had only got round another few beds.

  ‘I’ve put your tea in the office, Staff,’ Nell informed her with an ingratiating smile. ‘I’ll finish off here for you – if you tell me what to do.’ Let her think she’s boss, Sister had said.

  Instructing Nell on which patient to handle next, and what measures needed to be taken, Staff Nurse Cloughton ended with the information that, ‘I’ve just given Constance Ward her mistalber.’

  Alarmed for her personal favourite, Nell turned away and discreetly dipped into the notes to check, and saw to her relief that this was the correct instruction, by which time her senior was already making for the office.

  ‘Er, I’ll need the keys, Staff!’ Forced to remind the other of her offer to do the medicines, Nell took possession of them with a great sense of relief. And, checking periodically on Staff’s whereabouts, she was to continue on her rounds. At any other time she would have been furious upon noticing that the only other nurse on the ward was already drowsing, and barely two hours into her shift. But upon catching sight of Staff’s mouth agape, Nell’s mood was considerably lifted at being allowed to attend her patients without having to watch her too – might even be able to snatch a cup of tea herself if her senior were to remain comatose – but for now there was much more to do.

  In the course of doing the rounds of the three-score beds, the need arose for another patient to receive an aperient, and with the staff nurse preoccupied, Nell went along to the cupboard to fetch this. Seeing no mistalber on the shelf, she was about to go and find a new batch, but at that point her eyes fell on the bottles of diluted Dettol, and her heart missed a beat. They looked exactly the same as mistalber – but, surely, surely a registered nurse could not have been so careless? Hand over mouth, she dithered between waking Staff and so ruining the rest of the night for herself, or taking the gamble that Connie had been purged with disinfectant.

  A moment’s quick thought told her there was another way to find out. Hurrying now to seek out the empty medicine glasses that staff might have used, and which were yet to be washed, Nell sniffed each of them, and on the last her fears were confirmed. It had contained Dettol.

  Hovering by Connie’s bedside, Nell anguished over what to do. The poor little dear looked so peaceful, it would be cruel to wake her, and even more cruel to cart her away on a trolley to have her stomach pumped. Concerned as she was, she decided to wait and see. To her knowledge, no one had ever imbibed Dettol before; and if it were poisonous, they would know soon enough anyway.

  Shaking her head in despair, as much for her own laxity in allowing one of her charges to be harmed as for the staff nurse’s error, she was to return many times to Connie’s bedside throughout the night, checking her breathing, her colour, her pulse. In the meantime she felt herself become a nervous wreck, unable to decide whether the nonarrival of vomiting was a good sign or bad, her ordeal made worse when Staff Nurse Cloughton suddenly jerked awake and proceeded to travel the ward, making adjustments to certain beds.

  In shadowing her, Nell saw to her horror that those who had been propped up on pillows, for very good reason, had now been laid flat. She hurried to intervene. ‘These are all coronary patients, Staff,’ she murmured hastily.

  ‘Yes, they should be made more comfortable,’ said the dolt.

  ‘But they have to sit up – Doctor’s instructions,’ added Nell as a precaution, and only by this means did she persuade the staff nurse to her point of view, and haul the elderly patients back into position.

  Even with this disaster avoided, Staff Nurse Cloughton remained at large, compelling her so-called underling to follow her about for the rest of the very long shift.

  The tension of this displaying itself in her aching shoulders, Nell would have loved to have massaged them, but dared not take her eyes off Staff for a moment, in total quandary as to how to transmit all this to Sister, who had invested deep trust in her. But most worrying of all was that poor Connie might have suffered damage.

  She was therefore much relieved at five a.m. when she was able to rouse the victim to imbibe a dose of castor oil, either this or the Dettol having the required laxative effect, and leaving her otherwise unscathed by the events of the night.

  ‘If only I could say the same!’ she pronounced to Sister Barber, upon encountering her prior to going home. ‘I feel as if I’ve done forty nights instead of one – I’m a shambling wreck – crikey, my back, my head! Oh, you can’t inflict her on me again, Sister, I beg you. The only time she’s safe is when she’s asleep!’

  ‘Well, that’s
easy to fix then! Stick some bromide in her tea,’ advised Sister in her breezy manner, dealing Nell a kind but less than helpful pat. ‘And I’ll do some digging on her.’

  ‘Well, dig deep!’ pleaded Nell, as she went off home. ‘Or else we’ll be digging graves for all the patients she kills – that’s if I don’t kill her first!’

  That Staff Nurse Cloughton did not kill anyone during the following nights was solely due to Nell’s assiduity. But this could not go on. It was a physical impossibility to follow her about for the whole twelve hours. Complaints to Sister Barber achieved nothing, nor had her investigations yet produced any sort of result.

  ‘You and Killie are the only ones good-natured enough to handle her,’ she said, flattering Nell into maintaining her role for as long as it might take to get rid of the woman. ‘If I put her back on days I’ll lose all my nurses.’

  ‘You’ll lose me too,’ Nell was finally to state, in a fit of despair.

  And at that point Sister did give way, though only as much as to advise Nell, ‘Take a holiday. A week off should help you rejuvenate, give you the energy to deal with her again. Though how the rest of us will cope with her whilst you’re gone I can’t begin to imagine …’

  Nell could safely say that she did not care. Rarely having taken any time that was due to her, on this occasion she was to grab the opportunity with both hands. Driven near insane by the dilatory staff nurse, for once she was looking forward to her time away.