Nightingales on Call

by Donna Douglas

  ‘That seems acceptable,’ she said finally. ‘Well, O’Hara, I hope this will make you think twice about watching the clock so closely in future?’

  I’ll think twice about letting you catch me! Effie thought. ‘Yes, Sister,’ she replied meekly.

  She had just finished wiping down the sink in the practice room kitchen when a flash of movement outside the window caught her eye. Out in the garden, something was billowing in the breeze, ghostly white in the fading evening light. Effie yelped, thinking it was a ghost, until she realised it was attached to the ash tree at the far end of the garden. She peered closer, unsure of what she was seeing. It was no phantom, that was for sure. But it did look suspiciously like a pair of . . .

  ‘Bloomers!’ she cried out.

  Sister Parker looked up sharply from her desk in the corner of the practice room. ‘I beg your pardon, Nurse O’Hara?’

  Effie looked over her shoulder. ‘There’s a pair of bloomers hanging from that tree, Sister,’ she said.

  ‘Nonsense, child, you must be mistaken . . .’ Sister Parker stopped at the window and stared out. She took off her spectacles, polished them on her apron, then put them on and looked again.

  ‘Good gracious!’ she said. ‘So there are.’

  Effie followed her outside, thoroughly enjoying the entertainment. She’d even forgotten about her misery at being kept late.

  Sister Parker stood under the tree, looking up into the branches. The bloomers fluttered overhead, tantalisingly out of reach. Effie had never seen such large undergarments in all her life.

  ‘They look like Sister Sutton’s,’ she commented.

  Sister Parker turned on her sharply. ‘That’s quite enough, Nurse!’ she snapped. ‘The question is, how did they get up there?’

  She gazed around her. Effie gazed around too – and spotted a movement in the bushes. She shaded her eyes, peering closer. Yes, there was definitely someone there, moving about in the shrubbery.

  As she went on staring, a dark head suddenly popped up among the bright pink rhododendrons. A young man, not much older than herself. He grinned at Effie, and put his finger to his lips. She squeaked with shock.

  ‘Yes? What is it?’ Sister Parker wheeled round to look at her.

  ‘Nothing, Sister.’ She composed herself quickly, turning away from the bushes. ‘Should I – um – fetch the porter?’ she suggested.

  ‘Yes,’ Sister Parker said. ‘I think that is a very sensible suggestion.’

  By the time Effie had watched the porter climbing the tree to retrieve the bloomers, it was long past seven o’clock. She hurried back to the nurses’ home, stripping off her apron as she went. She couldn’t wait to tell Prudence and the others her story.

  She knocked on Prudence’s door. There was no answer.

  ‘You’ve missed them.’ Jess appeared at the other end of the landing, her arms full of linen. ‘They left about twenty minutes ago.’

  Effie stared at the closed door, feeling her eyes sting with tears of frustration. ‘I thought they might wait for me.’

  ‘I don’t think they were in the mood to wait. They seemed very giddy about something.’ Jess paused. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m just disappointed, that’s all.’ Effie fumbled for her handkerchief. ‘I’d been so looking forward to this night out. Now I’m stuck in here by myself again, while they’re all out having fun!’

  The unfairness of it overcame her, and she started to cry. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jess hesitate for a moment, then put down her armful of laundry.

  ‘Look, I’ve only got this lot to put away then I’ll be finished for the night,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we go down to the café for a cup of tea? It should be all right as long as Sister doesn’t find out.’

  Effie looked up at her. ‘Can we go to the pictures instead?’ she asked.

  Jess frowned. ‘I dunno about that.’

  ‘Please? I was so looking forward to it. And you’re not doing anything else, are you?’

  ‘Well no, but . . .’ Jess glanced around her, as if she was looking for a way of escape. ‘I don’t think it would be right,’ she said.

  ‘I won’t tell anyone if you won’t,’ Effie offered. ‘We’ll even go to a different picture house, if you like? Please, Jess?’

  Effie saw the look of resignation in the maid’s dark eyes, and knew she’d got her way.

  ‘All right,’ she sighed. ‘But don’t you dare tell a soul or Sister Sutton will have my guts for garters.’

  The Regal Cinema lived up to its name: it was like a palace. Effie had never seen anywhere so big or so grand. There were carpets everywhere, so soft underfoot it was like walking on air. Even the woman who showed them to their seats looked fancy in her maroon uniform with gold trimmings.

  But the best part was when the music started and a man rose like magic from a hole in the stage, playing an illuminated electric organ that flashed different-coloured lights as he played.

  Effie couldn’t hold back her squeal of delight. ‘Will you look at that?’ she cried.

  Jess sent her a sideways look. ‘Don’t you have organists in Ireland?’

  ‘Only in church.’ And Paddy O’Keefe the church organist had never come up through the floor. It would have livened up Father Dwyer’s endless services a treat if he had.

  ‘We don’t have a picture house in Killarney,’ Effie explained. ‘The only one we have is in the next big town, and that’s a poky little place, nothing like this. We all sit on benches, and half the time the projector breaks down halfway through and we don’t see the end.’ She unscrewed the brown paper bag of humbugs they’d bought to share. ‘We never bother going anyway. The last bus is at four, so you either have to go to matinees, or walk six miles there and back along the lanes in the dark.’ She offered Jess the bag. ‘Humbug?’

  ‘Ta.’ Jess took one, just as the organist sank slowly back down under the stage and the heavy gold-trimmed curtains swished back to reveal an enormous screen, bigger than anything Effie had ever seen.

  The other girls had gone off to see a Will Hay comedy at the Rialto, but Jess and Effie had chosen Camille with Greta Garbo and Robert Taylor. Effie was completely entranced, her gaze riveted to the screen. Even the bag of humbugs lay forgotten on her lap as she lost herself in the tragic story.

  Tears were streaming down her face as the lights came up and they made their way out into the darkened street.

  ‘Oh, wasn’t it sad?’ she sighed. ‘I’m so glad Armand came back for her in the end, aren’t you?’

  ‘Look at you, crying over a film!’ Jess laughed. But in the light of the streetlamps Effie could see that Jess’ eyes were glistening too.

  ‘Admit it, you found it just as sad as I did!’ she said.

  Jess shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’

  Effie tucked her arm under Jess’ as they walked back to the hospital, eating the last of the humbugs. They chatted as they went, and Effie made Jess laugh with the story of the bloomers.

  ‘I wonder who put them there?’ Jess said.

  ‘Probably one of the medical students. Katie says they’re holy terrors.’

  ‘Poor Sister Sutton.’

  ‘Oh, she deserves it. She’s awful.’

  ‘She’s not that bad once you get used to her,’ Jess said, helping herself to another humbug.

  Effie also confessed her disaster with the calf’s foot jelly.

  Jess laughed. ‘That Sister Tutor of yours must despair of you!’

  ‘I despair of myself,’ Effie sighed. ‘I’m sure no one makes as many mistakes as me.’

  ‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ Jess said.

  ‘Not as bad as mine.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I made a shocking mistake the other day. Almost got myself the sack, I did.’

  Effie glanced at Jess. ‘What did you do?’

  Jess shook her head. ‘I dunno if I could even tell you, it was so awful.’

  ‘Go on! You can’t say something like tha
t and then not tell me. It’s too unfair!’

  ‘Well, all right . . .’ Jess shot her a wary look. ‘But you’ve got to promise not to tell another soul?’

  Effie nodded. ‘Cross my heart,’ she swore solemnly.

  Jess took a deep breath. ‘It all happened when I was working over at the Sisters’ home. One of the maids had been taken poorly so Sister Sutton sent me over there to help out.’ She paused. ‘I had to wake up the Sisters and take them all their breakfast in bed.’

  ‘Lucky them, getting breakfast in bed!’ Effie sighed.

  ‘The supervisor told me to go up to Sister Everett on the top floor,’ Jess went on. ‘”Take her a cup of tea and pull the covers off the old bird,”’ she said.

  ‘That seems a bit unkind,’ Effie said.

  ‘That’s what I thought. But when I went into her room and put the tray down she was sleeping soundly, snoring away. I called out to her but she didn’t wake up. Then I remembered what the supervisor said. I thought it was something they had to do to wake her up. Y’know, because she was a deep sleeper or something.’

  Effie was round-eyed. ‘Go on?’

  ‘Well, I yanked at the blankets and pulled them right off. That woke her up, all right. She yelled like the devil. I was so frightened I ran away. But as I was running out of the door, I spotted the cage in the corner.’

  Effie’s mouth fell open. ‘You mean . . .’

  ‘How was I to know she had a parrot?’

  They looked at each other, and both burst out laughing.

  ‘That’s priceless!’ Effie cried. ‘You’ve made me feel a lot better about my wretched calf’s foot jelly, that’s for sure.’ She squeezed Jess’ arm. ‘I’ve had such a nice evening. We should do it again.’

  She immediately sensed she’d said the wrong thing. Jess’ laughter faded and she gently drew her arm from Effie’s.

  ‘We can’t,’ she said. ‘I told you, I’m not allowed to mix with the students. Sister Sutton would be furious if she found out.’

  ‘So you’ve said, but I don’t understand why.’

  ‘Because you’re a different class from me,’ Jess explained coldly. ‘You and the other girls are going to be nurses, and I’m always going to be a maid.’

  They trudged along the street in silence, the light-hearted mood between them gone. Effie was thoughtful.

  Rich or poor, you treated everyone as you found them, so her parents had taught her. She certainly couldn’t imagine snubbing someone because of where they were born or how much money they had in the bank. Even old Frank Weedon, who lived in a shack on the edge of the village and didn’t have a farthing to his name. Her da and every other man in the village would always stand him a pint in the pub.

  Life in London might be exciting, but it could also be very cruel, she decided.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘YOU’RE NOT reading that again, are you? I’m surprised it ain’t worn out by now, you’ve turned those pages so many times!’

  Dora grinned at Archie as she applied a linseed poultice to his sore ribs. He submitted patiently to her ministrations, still clutching the tattered Comic Cuts his mum had brought in for him last visiting day.

  He looked so different from the grubby child they’d dragged into the bathtub that first morning. Underneath all that dirt he was a handsome little boy with a shock of fair hair and a cheeky grin that split his face from ear to ear.

  He was very poorly, but he didn’t make a fuss. No matter how much pain he was in, that broad smile was always in place whenever Dora approached.

  ‘I like to make it last,’ he said. ‘I read the stories slowly, one every day. That way I don’t finish it too quick, see?’

  He gazed down at the comic with wonder. Dora’s heart went out to him. She knew his family didn’t have much, and it must have cost his mum dear to bring her son such a gift. But it was money well spent, as it had cheered him up no end.

  ‘So what have you been reading about today?’ asked Dora, as she pressed the poultice against his skin. His ribs stuck out like a birdcage from his hollow belly.

  ‘Jackie and Sammy the Terrible Twins.’ Archie immediately launched into a complicated story involving the twins’ latest bit of mischief. Dora listened as carefully as she could, but barely took it all in.

  ‘Well, I hope it doesn’t give you any ideas about getting into trouble here,’ she warned when he’d finished.

  ‘Me, Nurse?’ He gave her a look of mock innocence. ‘Not much chance of that with you lot watching us all the time!’ He looked down at his comic again. ‘When I’ve finished reading it, I’m going to cut out some of the pictures . . . the drawings of planes and trains. I love trains, don’t you?’

  ‘I can’t say as I’ve ever thought about them, Archie.’

  ‘I have.’ He beamed at her. ‘I’m going to be a train driver when I grow up.’

  ‘Good for you. There, all done.’

  As she pulled up his bedclothes, Archie said, ‘What’s wrong with that boy?’

  ‘Which boy?’

  ‘That boy down the end. I reckon it must be serious, ’cos he’s got a room to himself.’ Archie leaned forward, his eyes wide. ‘Is he dying?’

  ‘Oh, you mean Ernest?’ Dora shook her head. ‘No, love, he’s just got rheumatic fever. And he’s recovering nicely,’ she added.

  Archie looked disappointed. ‘Is that all? I thought it was something really bad.’

  Dora smiled. ‘Well, rheumatic fever ain’t much fun, you know.’

  ‘I s’pose not.’ Archie thought about it for a moment. ‘So why is he shut away all by himself?’

  ‘Because his mum and dad have paid for him to have his own room.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because . . .’ Because they don’t think anyone else is good enough to breathe the same air as their little boy, Dora thought. ‘Because they think it will be better for him.’

  ‘It’s meant to be a treat, then?’

  ‘I suppose so, yes.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem like much of a treat to me, being shut away from all the fun,’ Archie declared. ‘I thought he was being punished. Like when my dad locked me in the coal hole once.’

  ‘I never thought about it like that.’ Dora glanced towards the door. She couldn’t imagine young Ernest minding too much about it. He seemed to share his mother’s opinion that he was too good to mix with other children.

  ‘I feel sorry for him anyway.’ Archie thought for a moment. ‘Do you reckon he’d like to have a read of my comic?’

  ‘But you haven’t finished it yourself!’

  ‘It don’t matter. He could read it – as long as he’s careful and he promises to give it back?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Archie,’ Dora said. ‘Right, that’s you sorted. And I don’t want you hopping out of bed when my back’s turned, all right? You know Sister doesn’t like it.’

  ‘All right, Nurse Doily!’ Archie grinned.

  Dora sighed. ‘And don’t let her hear you calling me that either!’ She didn’t mind Archie’s nickname for her, but she was sure Sister Parry would say he was being too familiar.

  Archie laughed. The sound immediately drew Sister Parry who bustled up, her starched uniform crackling.

  ‘Are you still here, Nurse Doyle? Lane has gone for lunch so I’ll need you to watch her patient in room two. I don’t want you to leave his side until she returns, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  ‘And when she comes back, I’ll need you to take the tonsils down to Theatre.’

  Dora caught Archie’s eye as Sister walked away. ‘No rest for the wicked, eh, Doily?’ He grinned.

  ‘Looks like it, Archie.’

  ‘If you’re going to see that boy, don’t forget to give him this.’ Archie proffered the comic. ‘But make sure he knows it’s just a lend, mind.’

  Ernest was reading a book, but Dora could tell from the way his eyes skipped over the pages that he wasn’t really enjoying it. He looked up s
harply when she walked in.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded.

  Dora pasted a smile on her face. ‘I’m sorry, Ernest, did you want something? If you do, you only have to ring the bell, you know.’

  ‘You’re not supposed to leave me alone. That’s your job,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Heavens, Ernest, you were on your own for five minutes! Besides, you’re not the only patient I have to look after, you know,’ Dora said. ‘We do have other children on the ward.’

  ‘Yes, but my mother and father are paying you to look after me!’ Petulance made his fat cheeks wobble.

  Dora took a deep breath. He’s just a little boy, she told herself. Being ill was bound to make him bad-tempered.

  She turned her attention to the airmail envelope lying on his bedside locker. ‘Have you had a letter from your parents this morning? How lovely,’ she said. ‘Are they still in Europe?’

  Ernest stared at the letter. ‘My father is playing with the Bavarian State Orchestra now,’ he said in a flat voice.

  ‘I expect you miss them, don’t you?’

  Ernest looked at her, his face sullen. ‘I’d like a drink of water,’ he said.

  ‘Of course.’

  Dora felt a twinge of pity for him as she poured his drink. With his parents away, Ernest’s only visitor had been an elderly housekeeper. His mother sent letters, but they only seemed to leave him even more fretful and demanding than ever.

  It was a shame because one of the privileges of being a private patient was that parents were allowed to visit whenever they chose. Unlike the children on the main ward, whose parents could only visit once a month.

  He needed cheering up, she decided. And reading that dull book wasn’t going to do it.

  ‘I’ve got something else for you.’

  ‘What is it?’ Ernest asked sullenly, not looking at her.

  ‘This.’ Dora took the comic out from under the bib of her apron and put it down on the quilt in front of him.

  Ernest stared at it for a moment. Then he turned his face away.

  ‘I’m not allowed to read comics,’ he declared. ‘My mother doesn’t like it.’

  Your mother isn’t here, is she? Dora thought. She’s off, gallivanting round Europe. ‘I’m sure your mother wouldn’t mind, just this once?’ she coaxed. ‘I expect she’d like you to have something to cheer you up. I’ll put it in your locker for now, shall I? You might decide you want to read it later.’