Nightingales on Call

by Donna Douglas

  As she’d expected, they were gathered in the sitting room downstairs, studying. Half a dozen pairs of eyes looked up as Effie walked into the room, then immediately dropped back to their books.

  Effie waited for someone to speak to her, but no one did. She prowled around the sitting room, searching for something to do. On either side of the empty fireplace were shelves filled with tattered old novels, board games and a pack of cards, but nothing sparked her interest.

  Effie took the cards out of their box and counted them, just for something to do. She couldn’t imagine any of the girls wanting to play whist with her. She would have more luck asking that glassy-eyed dummy in Sister Tutor’s classroom.

  ‘Why don’t we put some music on?’ Her voice sounded overly bright in the silence of the room. She was halfway across the room to the gramophone when one of the girls, Anna Padgett, looked up.

  ‘Look here, do you have to? We’re trying to study.’

  ‘Don’t you ever stop?’ Effie flicked through the records piled up beside the gramophone.

  ‘Actually, no. There’s too much to learn if we ever want to pass PTS. As you might find out if you ever bothered to do any work,’ Anna muttered under her breath.

  Effie glared at her. Anna Padgett had unofficially declared herself the head of their set, just because she had already done a year’s training as a cadet nurse at another hospital. All the other girls looked up to her because of her age and experience, but Effie wasn’t impressed.

  ‘I thought you already knew it all?’ she retaliated. Padgett certainly behaved as if she did. She was always going on and on about the way they did things at her old hospital.

  Anna opened her mouth to speak, but Prudence Mulhearn got there first.

  ‘Why don’t you come and join us?’ she suggested kindly. She was a tiny little thing, pale-haired and bespectacled. It made Effie laugh when they were paired together to practise their washing or bedmaking. Prudence barely came up to her shoulder. ‘You never know, you might find it useful.’

  ‘Oh, leave her be,’ Anna dismissed the suggestion. ‘If she wants to fall behind and fail PTS, that’s her look out.’

  Effie had been about to refuse Prudence’s offer. But Anna Padgett’s spiteful comment piqued her, and she grabbed the book Prudence was holding out.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘What are we studying?’

  ‘Diabetic diets,’ Prudence replied, her nose already buried in her notes. ‘We’re trying to work out the Line Ration scheme, but I simply can’t understand it.’

  ‘It’s quite simple,’ Anna explained. ‘The doctor prescribes a certain number of Rations every day. One Ration is one complete Line and consists of one A and one B portion. Any A portion can be added to any B portion, but you mustn’t combine two A or two B portions.’

  ‘And the A portions are carbohydrates?’ Prudence said

  ‘Exactly. There’s a list of them at the back of the book.’

  ‘We should test each other,’ one of the other girls, Celia Wilson, suggested. ‘One of us could call out a food, and the others have to say whether it’s A or B.’

  The next moment they were throwing words across the room to each other and calling out the answers. Effie stared at them blankly. How could anyone get so excited about how much carbohydrate there was in a stick of rhubarb?

  Of course, Anna Padgett knew all the answers without even having to look at her book.

  ‘I learned it all at St Martha’s,’ she said dismissively, when one of the other girls admired her knowledge. ‘I was on Male Chronics for a while, so we had a lot of patients on special diets.’

  ‘Why did you decide to come here, then?’ Effie asked. ‘I wonder you didn’t carry on at your old hospital. It would have saved you a year’s training, surely?’

  Anna Padgett sent her a pitying look. ‘Because I wanted a certificate from the Nightingale, of course,’ she said. ‘Everyone knows it’s one of the best hospitals in the country. If you’ve trained here, it sets you apart from all other nurses. Surely you know that?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Effie admitted. ‘I only came because all my sisters trained here.’

  She felt the other girls staring at her.

  ‘Do you really want to be a nurse?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Of course.’ A blush rose in Effie’s face. The truth was, she hadn’t really thought about it. She was so keen to escape from Killarney that she would have done anything that meant getting on that boat to England. And following in her sisters’ footsteps was the easiest thing to do.

  And now she was here, of course she wanted to see it through and become a nurse. But she didn’t see why the other girls had to make such hard work of it.

  She closed the book and handed it back to Prudence. ‘I’ve had enough of studying,’ she said. ‘I’m going outside to get some fresh air.’

  ‘That won’t help you get through PTS,’ she heard Anna mutter as she closed the door behind her.

  Effie hurried along the hall towards the front door and barged straight into Jess, who was laden down with a mop and bucket. The bucket fell from her hands, slopping dirty water all over the tiled hall floor.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Here, let me help—’ Effie reached for the mop, but Jess held it away from her.

  ‘Do you want to get me the sack?’ she hissed.

  ‘But it was my fault.’

  ‘All the same, Sister Sutton would have a proper fit if she came out and saw you cleaning up after me.’

  Effie watched helplessly as Jess wielded the mop, cleaning up the dirty puddle. ‘It’s my fault for using the front door,’ the maid muttered. ‘Sister Sutton gave me strict instructions to use the basement steps to the kitchen. But I didn’t think it would hurt to take a short cut just this once, especially as she’s still at supper . . .’

  ‘And then I knocked you off your feet. I’m sorry,’ Effie sighed. ‘I can’t seem to do right for doing wrong today.’

  ‘I know how you feel,’ Jess sympathised. ‘I was supposed to finish an hour ago, but I’m all behind with my work.’ She finished mopping up the spilled water and squeezed the mop into the bucket. ‘There, all done. Sister Sutton will be none the wiser.’

  She looked hot and worn out, Effie thought. Her dark hair was fastened up in a bun, but stray strands had escaped and clung damply to her face.

  An idea struck her. ‘Have you got the rest of the night off?’ she asked.

  Jess nodded. ‘Thank the lord.’

  ‘Why don’t we go out?’

  ‘What? You and me?’ Jess couldn’t have looked more startled if Effie had suggested they should sprout wings and fly off the roof of the nurses’ home.

  ‘Why not? I’m going to go mad if I don’t get out of this place soon. And anyway, I haven’t thanked you properly for finding my luggage for me.’ Effie beamed at her. ‘I’ve got some money. Not much, but I could treat you to a cup of tea in the café on the corner. What do you think?’

  Jess’ frown deepened. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘that we shouldn’t even be talking to each other, let alone going off for cups of tea.’

  Effie stared at her blankly. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because . . . because that’s not the way they do things here.’ Jess darted a look over her shoulder towards the front door, as if she expected Sister Sutton to come barging through it at any second. ‘Besides, I’m already going out tonight,’ she added.

  ‘Oh.’

  Effie’s disappointment must have shown on her face, because Jess added more kindly, ‘Look, why don’t you try and make friends with your own lot? You’ve got far more in common with them than you have with me.’

  Effie glanced towards the sitting room. Laughter rang out from inside. ‘Want to bet?’ she said sadly.

  The image of Effie O’Hara’s forlorn face stayed with Jess on the bus ride to Whitechapel.

  Poor girl, she seemed so lonely. It was a shame, thought Jess, because Effie was so sweet. She reminded her of an over-enthusiastic puppy, bound
ing up to everyone, wanting to play and constantly being brushed off.

  Jess got off the bus and walked down Commercial Street to the Toynbee Hall Institute. It was an extravagant red-brick building, its gabled roofs and mullioned windows a grand contrast to the dreary shops and warehouses surrounding it. The hall had been built by Victorian philanthropists to offer ordinary people the chance to improve themselves. And every week for the past two years Jess had been taking herself off for night classes to do just that. She was only weeks away from the final credits she needed to achieve her School Certificate.

  It hadn’t been easy, keeping her studies secret from her stepmother. She knew Gladys would try to stand in her way if she could. All the Jagos were suspicious of learning. Neither Jess’ father nor any of her uncles had ever bothered with school, and her cousins all hopped the wag more often than not.

  But with Gladys it went much deeper. She was jealous of anything that reminded her of Jess’ mother. The day after she moved in, she had sold all Sarah Jago’s clothes and belongings to the rag and bone man, and anything she couldn’t sell she’d burned in a bonfire in the yard while Jess sat sobbing on the doorstep.

  Gladys could have sold her mother’s books too, but she threw them on the fire, instead. Jess could still remember her stepmother’s expression, twisted with spite, illuminated in the flickering light from the flames.

  ‘Sarah ain’t going to be needing books where she’s gone,’ she had said.

  Between Gladys’ malice and Cyril’s thieving hands, Jess had had to keep her schoolbooks and her studies secret. But not any more. Now she was living at the nurses’ home, she could read and study as much as she pleased. She had even started coming to the Institute for extra classes, just because she could.

  The class finished, and Jess followed her classmates into the main hall. The other rooms were turning out, and the hall was filled with people pushing their way towards the doors.

  Jess paused beside them to look at the noticeboard. Sometimes important people came to the Institute to speak, and she didn’t like to miss anything.

  ‘See anything you fancy?’

  She looked round, and was surprised to see Sam the bookseller’s son, grinning at her. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Same as you, I expect.’ He pointed to the book wedged under his arm.

  ‘You’re taking night classes?’

  ‘Don’t look so shocked!’ He grinned. ‘I don’t want to work on my dad’s stall all my life, ta very much!’ He patted the book. ‘With any luck, this time next year I’m going to be an engineer. How about you?’

  ‘School Cert.’ She stared at him defiantly, waiting for him to make some offhand comment. But he didn’t.

  ‘Good for you,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before.’

  ‘I’ve only just started coming on a Wednesday.’

  They stood there, jostled by the surging throng. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy a cup of tea?’ Sam asked.

  Jess eyed the clock at the far end of the hall. ‘I ought to be getting back.’

  Sam looked as if he might try to persuade her, but at that moment someone called out his name. Jess looked over his shoulder towards the gaggle of young men standing on the other side of the hall. ‘Shouldn’t you be with your mates?’

  ‘I’d rather be with you.’

  ‘I told you, I have to get back.’

  One of the young men called out again. Sam glanced over at him, then back at Jess. ‘Some other time then? Next week? After the class?’

  Jess smiled. ‘If I say yes, will you stop asking me?’

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  ‘Then I s’pose I’ll see you next week, won’t I?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE FIRST THING Dora saw when she walked through the back door of number twenty-eight Griffin Street was her grandmother Winnie with her ear pressed against a glass at the wall.

  ‘All right, Nanna?’ she grinned.

  ‘Shhh! I think June Riley’s got a new bloke next door, but I can’t make out who it is.’

  Dora took off her cardigan and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. ‘You know what they say about eavesdroppers, don’t you?’ she said. ‘They don’t hear any good of themselves.’

  ‘I can’t hear anything, good or not.’ Nanna polished the glass with her sleeve. ‘This thing’s no bleeding good. I reckon your mum must have got it cheap off the market.’

  Dora pressed her lips together to stop herself smiling. ‘Or maybe your hearing’s going, Nanna?’

  ‘There ain’t nothing wrong with my ears, young lady.’ Nanna Winnie glared at her. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, anyway?’

  ‘It’s my afternoon off.’

  ‘I wonder you don’t want to spend it with that bloke of yours.’

  Winnie’s toothless mouth was a thin line of disapproval, and Dora knew why. She had given up trying to explain the situation with Nick to her grandmother. Winnie might not have any time for that hussy Ruby Pike, as she called her, but as far as she was concerned Nick was still the girl’s husband and Dora shouldn’t be having anything to do with him.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’ Dora changed the subject.

  ‘In the scullery.’ Nanna nodded towards the thin curtain that separated the kitchen from the tiny annexe.

  Dora left her grandmother pressing her ear against the wall again and pushed through the curtain into the scullery. Her mother was standing at the stove, stirring a bubbling pot.

  ‘Got enough for an extra one?’ Dora asked.

  Rose Doyle turned to face her, a smile lighting up her tired face. In her early forties she was still beautiful, although the past few years had left more threads of grey in her dark hair and lines around her brown eyes.

  ‘Dora, love!’ Rose reached for a tea towel to wipe her hands. ‘Of course there’s enough for you. You know I always cook enough to feed an army!’ She smiled at her daughter. ‘This is a lovely surprise, I must say.’

  ‘I dunno if Nanna was too pleased to see me.’ Dora grimaced.

  ‘Take no notice of her,’ Rose said. ‘Her arthritis is playing her up again, I expect.’

  ‘I think she’s still got the hump about me and Nick.’

  ‘Well, it’s none of her business.’

  Dora watched her mother as she turned back to the stove. Nanna might have had plenty to say when she found out about Dora and Nick, but Rose had kept quiet on the subject.

  Her silence worried Dora. The Doyles had to live next door to Ruby’s family, and even though Ruby was the one who had lied and cheated, Dora knew Lettie Pike would take it out on Rose that her daughter was now courting Nick. Dora hated the thought of her mother suffering any shame because of her.

  Rose Doyle had already been through enough in her life. Dora’s father had died when she was eight years old, leaving Rose to bring up five children on her own. She had remarried, but Alf Doyle had abandoned her, leaving her alone and penniless yet again, this time with a baby son to feed too.

  ‘You know it wasn’t my fault their marriage broke up, don’t you?’ said Dora.

  ‘I know that, love.’ Rose went back to stirring the contents of the pot.

  ‘And it’s not as if Nick and I are doing anything wrong. We ain’t even properly courting,’ Dora went on, addressing her mother’s turned back. ‘We daren’t, not until this divorce business is all sorted out . . .’

  Her mother put down her spoon. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Because I want you to understand,’ Dora pleaded. ‘I’m sick and tired of people thinking I’m some kind of tart who goes after married men.’

  ‘Who’d ever think something like that?’

  ‘Lettie Pike. And Nanna thinks so, too. I can tell.’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ Rose said firmly. ‘You listen to me, Dora Doyle. I know you’re a good girl, and so does your nanna. She’s only upset because she wants you to be happy with a nice young man, same as I do.’
r />   ‘I am happy,’ Dora said. ‘I just wish I could tell everyone, that’s all. But I can’t talk about Nick. I can’t even hold his hand or say his name out loud . . .’ She stopped abruptly, knowing she was about to cry. The Doyle women never shed tears if they could help it.

  ‘I know, love. But you will one day.’ Rose patted her arm. ‘You’ve just got to be patient, that’s all. Things will come right in the end, you’ll see.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’ Dora sent her a rueful look. ‘So you don’t think I’m a disgrace, then?’

  ‘You could never disgrace this family, my girl. Not in a thousand years.’

  ‘That’s not what Lettie Pike thinks.’

  ‘Lettie Pike knows better than to speak her mind in front of me.’

  Dora noticed her mother’s white-knuckled hand gripping the spoon. Rose was a woman of great dignity and forbearance, but she turned into a tigress when it came to anyone mistreating her children.

  Dora helped her with the cooking, boiling and draining potatoes for the shepherd’s pie Rose was making. They chatted as they worked together, and her mother was full of news about the rest of the family. Especially Lily, Dora’s sister-in-law, who was due to give birth in the autumn.

  ‘You should see her, she’s blooming.’ Rose beamed. ‘It will be so lovely to have a baby in the house again, especially now Little Alfie’s not so little any more.’

  ‘I can’t believe he’s nearly six.’ Dora shook her head as she rifled in the drawer for a fork to mash the potatoes with.

  ‘Nor can I, love. It doesn’t seem five minutes since he was a baby in my arms, and now he’s off to school. Doing well, too. You should see how he reads.’ She sighed. ‘I only wish his dad—’

  Dora glanced over her shoulder. Rose was staring out of the window, deep in thought. Her mother barely mentioned Alf Doyle’s name these days. Dora hadn’t been sorry to see her stepfather leave after the abuse she and her sister Josie had suffered at his hands. Her mother hadn’t been sorry either, after finding out that Alf had betrayed her with another woman – and a young girl at that. But Dora wondered if her mother missed having a man in her life.