The Newcomer

by Hilda Pressley

  ' You'll be ill yourself at this rate. Are you sure

  you're not overdoing it ? You really must let me take my share of the calls.'

  Nonsense, Uncle John. I've told you, I like going out on visits—if it's still all right with you. Anyway, you have been out on some, and surgery's busy enough. You're not exactly idling your time away.'

  No, but—oh, well, if you're sure, that's all right. Anyway, I don't suppose the outbreak will last very long. They don't, as a rule.'

  Sara frowned. You mean they're a regular occurrence ? '

  ' I'm afraid so—and will be until the proposed sewerage scheme gets going. You must have seen for yourself the primitive sanitary conditions still existing in many of the cottages.'

  Sara sighed. I have indeed. Trips to the moon, atomic power, and here we are, still virtually in the middle ages, in these rural areas.'

  True, but it costs a lot to put these ideas into practice. Most people are so scared of having a halfpenny more put on the rates. Lots of quite large houses in the country, of course, have their own sewerage system. Modern houses, too.'

  ' I suppose so. The septic tank and the soakaway. But most of the people who live in these unsanitary cottages are either old-age pensioners or are paying rent. Or they're in tied cottages. The pensioners can't afford to put in septic tanks, and you can't expect the tenant to spend money on improving somebody else's property. Not to the extent of a hundred pounds or so, anyway, even if they could afford to. And I'm quite sure farm workers like the Scotts can't. It's really up to the owners of the cottages, and if they won't do these things of their own accord, there should be legislation to make them.'

  Now, now, Sara,' John Henderson admonished her, you're off again I I agree with you, in the main,

  naturally, but the rents of these cottages, in many cases, are so small, and the tenants so unwilling to pay more '

  ' My dear Uncle John, that isn't the point, is it ? '

  He heaved a heavy sigh. ' No, it isn't, but only have a little patience, and all will be accomplished.'

  Sara thought things like ordinary sanitation should have been accomplished years ago, but she went to bed, only too thankful, in actual fact, to sink beneath the sheets and hope the telephone would not ring during the night. The previous night, she had just been drifting off to sleep when she had been called out to a child with a temperature of a hundred and four, and the mother had needed as much attention as the child. As was often the way with children, there seemed to be no reason for the temperature. Sara could find none, and neither had Uncle John when he had seen the child. And the next morning, the temperature had been normal.

  On one of her visits to Mr Scott, the farm worker with the bronchitis, Sara was surprised to find Mrs Williams, whom she had met at Alys's house, just leaving the cottage.

  Sara bade her good morning, but sensed a coolness in the other's demeanour, considering they had met socially only an evening or so ago. There was no smile on her face as she answered:

  ' Good morning, Dr Martindale. I've just been to see Mr Scott.'

  "That's very nice of you, I expect he was pleased to see you.'

  Even as she spoke, Sara knew she was speaking with tongue in cheek. Here was her patient's employer and landlady, and she felt both his working conditions and the place . in which he lived left much to be desired.

  Mrs Williams moved towards the door. Yes, Doctor, I think he was. Contrary to general belief, we farmers do look after our workers. Good morning.'

  She went out swiftly, which was just as well, Sara thought, as she stood for a minute in the tiny living-room seething with anger. How complacent some of these country people were I The squire's missus handing out charity as they did some fifty or so years ago. Anything but give them adequate wages so that they could afford to pay a decent rent for a decent house.

  She calmed down and went upstairs to see her patient. His wife, she presumed, was out at work, as usual. As she expected, Mrs Williams had brought all manner of delicacies for Mr Scott. Fruit, a chicken, fresh vegetables and a bottle of home-made wine.

  She warnted to put 'em in the parntry,' he explained, but the missus doarn't like anyone agoin' in her parntry when she ain't 'ere, 'specially farmer's woife. Then she heard your car and flew downstairs.'

  Sara smiled. I see. Well, I'll take them down and put them on the kitchen table for you, if you like. I promise I won't go near your wife's pantry. Well, how are you, Mr. Scott ? ' she asked.

  He. was much better. That last medicine you give me has really done the trick, Doctor.'

  Well, keep on with it for a little while longer. I should think you can get up for a short while this evening. I expect you'd like that, wouldn't you ? '

  He said he would. It gets real borin' settin' up

  'ere, an' I expect missus'll be goin' out t'night.. It be W.I. night.'

  Oh, I see. It's Institute night, is it ? How often do they meet ? Once a week? '

  But apparently, it was only once a month. After telling him to wrap up warm when he went downstairs, and that she would call and see him in a few days' time, Sara left the cottage and continued on-her way.

  She was on an afternoon round of visits, and had just one more patient so see before she could go home for a cup of tea which would be more than welcome.

  This visit was to Duck Pond Farm, owned by a Mr and Mrs Marley. After her experience with .Mrs Williams, Sara was not altogether looking forward to meeting another farmer's wife, even on a professional visit, but of course, she thrust these kind of thoughts firmly out of her mind as she turned into the wide opening which led to the farmhouse.

  The way down to the house was no more than a cart track. Sara grimaced and went into bottom gear as the car began to bump and roll in the ruts. It was a pleasing, dignified-looking house, square and solid with Virginia creeper growing up the walls, a beautiful, rich wine shade. Ducks and geese waddling near the door of the house barely moved as Sara's car drew up and she alighted.

  A smile of amusement on her face, Sara rang the bell to hear musical Westminster chimes sound from inside. A few minutes later the door was opened by a pleasant-faced, dark woman, a smear of flour on her nose.

  Mrs Marley ? ' Sara enquired.

  Mrs Marley's eyes went to Sara's bag. Oh—yes, Doctor, come in.'

  Sara stepped inside and a pleasant, warm smell of baking invaded her nostrils. Sara sniffed appreciatively.

  Mm, lovely smell, Mrs Marley. What are you making ? '

  Oh, just a few cakes and scones for tonight's W.I. meeting. I did my big bake up yesterday.'

  Sara smiled. ' So you belong to the W.I., too. It seems to be quite the thing in the village. Do you take it in turn to bake cakes ? '

  Well, it's usually left to the Committee, of course.'

  I suppose so.' Sara was beginning' to be interested in the W.I. So many of the women in the village, it seemed, were members, but at the moment, she was more interested in her patient. ' Well, what about the invalid, Mrs Marley ? '

  Mrs Marley moved towards the stairs. It's our _

  young Peter. He hasn't been well for a couple of days now, and I thought he just had a feverish cold or something. Then this morning he developed these spots. They're all over the place. Face, neck '

  Not on his arms and legs, I hope, Sara thought quickly, thinking of the rare event of smallpox. Whatever happened, she must make sure of the diagnosis. She followed the boy's mother upstairs and into the little bedroom where five-year-old Peter was sitting up in bed.

  Here's Dr Martindale to see you, Peter,' Mrs Marley said, by way of an introduction, for which Sara mentally gave her full marks. ' You remember Dr Henderson, don't you ? Well, this lady is a doctor, and she's come to help him. Isn't that kind of her ? Say good afternoon, Dr Martindale.'

  Sara smiled and waited for the little fellow to say shyly: "T'noon, Do'tor Marterdale '

  And a very good afternoon to you, too, Peter,' she answered, sitting on the little bed. She could already se
e the characteristic spots of chickenpox on his face and forehead. ' Your mummy's been telling me about those nasty little spots on your chest. Do you mind. if I have a look at them ? I'm almost certain to be able to make them better.'

  There now, isn't that kind ? ' said his mother. Come along, there's a good boy. Let's have your pyjamas off so's the doctor can look at your chest.'

  His chest, abdomen and back were covered with spots, but few on the arms and legs, and Sara was pleased to see that they were at various stages of development. Some were no more than round, red areas, while others were visicles about the size of a pinhead containing a clear fluid. If the spots had been due to smallpox they would all have been in the same stage, because smallpox lesions all came out simultaneously. Also, smallpox avoided the natural folds of the skin, and Peter had

  one or two spots under his arm. When she touched the spots, Sara found -they were soft and superficial; finally, he was not really ill enough for smallpox, though naturally his temperature was raised..

  Is it chickenpox, Doctor ? ' asked the young farmer's wife anxiously, replacing Peter's pyjama jacket.

  Though she had ruled out the more serious' disease, Sara did not attempt to minimize the diagnosis, serious enough in any case, and certainly to the boy's mother.

  Yes, I'm afraid so, but he'll be all right if you keep him in bed for a little while. What about the other two—Carol and Johnnie ? '

  The twins have had it—and what a job that was I I couldn't keep them apart and they were continually re-infecting each other. All the same, I've kept them away from Peter.'

  Good. Well, the main thing is to prevent him from scratching. I'd suggest a light splint on each arm.' She smiled at the boy. mummy's going to play a game. Pretend you're an injured soldier. How would you like that, eh ? '

  ' Or better still, an injured air pilot,' laughed his mother.

  ' I'll give him something to stop the irritation, too, and make him sleep.'

  front door. ' It's been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs Marley,' Sara said. Though, of course, I'm sorry it had to be at poor little Peter's expense. Do you enjoy being a farmer's wife ? '

  Mrs Marley smiled. ' Oh yes. I'm a born countrywoman., and I love animals.'

  Well, a fair number, but our farm is not quite as big as—say—the Williams'.'

  There were a lot more questions Sara would have liked to ask, but she restrained herself on various counts and said good morning, saying she would call in and see Peter again in a day or two. She drove back home thinking what a nice woman Mrs Marley was, and that she would like to get to know her better, on a social level. It was said that it took years to get to know people in the country. But did it ? Certainly it would take a long time if one had to rely on meeting only in the course of one's work or casually in the _street or one of the shops. But country people, contrary to popular belief, were such busy people. The Women's Institute ? There seemed a common meeting place there all right. A wide variety of members. Alys, who was a schoolteacher, Mrs Williams and Mrs Marley, farmers' wives. Mrs Scott, who was a farm worker's wife and domestic worker. Another woman she had met who was a member was a post office worker. Then there was Mrs Tippet who kept the little draper's. It should be interesting.

  When she opened the sitting-room door on her arrival home, she found Jim Crombie there. He rose to his feet with elaborate courtesy.

  Ah, Dr Martindale ! Home at last. How went the day, dear Doctor ?

  Sara bit back a scathing reply, and sank into a chair. If they had been friends, of course, or even just friendly acquaintances, his greeting could have been taken as a joke. As it was, he was plainly indulging in sarcasm as usual. She decided to ignore him, turning to smile at Uncle John.

  How are things ? Had a quiet afternoon ? '

  He nodded. A couple of phone calls, but nothing urgent. As a matter of fact, I've been giving Dan a hand in the garden.' He looked up at Jim, who was

  standing looking down at Sara, his lips curved in amusement. ' Go and ask Jessie to bring in the tea, will you, Jim ? '

  Certainly,' he answered with extravagant willingness.

  He went out, and Sara let go a heavy sigh. ' Really ! I could cheerfully strangle him t '

  John looked at her in surprise, then said, half laughing: But, my dear, he doesn't mean anything. He's only teasing you, and that's a good sign. He likes you.'

  Sara was about to deny it hotly, but checked herself. If Uncle John liked to think that, so much the better. It would keep him happy. She was remembering something she had forgotten for the moment—Jim Crombie's words on the very first night she had arrived in East Norton. He was putting on an act for Uncle John's sake. Far from liking her, he heartily disliked her, and was merely using sarcasm to cover up his feelings.

  Perhaps you're right, Uncle,' she said with a smile. ' What were the calls you had ? '

  Oh, one was from Mrs Warby, a fussy woman, sends for the doctor at the drop of a hat. She's a widow of independent means, lives alone. Her husband died about five years ago, and ever since then she's had one fiddling complaint after another. Never anything serious. So I said you'd call in tomorrow.

  You're sure she'll be all right, Uncle John ? ' Yes, yes, my dear. She's lonely, that's all.' Oh, what a shame I '

  ' Yes, I'm sorry for her too, but it's largely her own fault. She refuses to join in any of the village activities. Just keeps herself to herself except for calling in the doctor.'

  I think she's got designs on you, John,' Jim Crombie said as he came back into the room followed by Jessie with the tea trolley.

  Well, I'm handing her over to Sara.'

  Poor woman l '

  ' Thank you very much, I'm sure,' Sara answered, playing up to him. ' And who was the other call from, Uncle John ? '

  ' A child with spots. I told the mother to keep him in bed in the morning and you'd call and see him some time during the day. She said he wasn't terribly ill, just fretful.'

  Sounds like chickenpox. I've had one case this afternoon already,' Sara told him. She began to pour tea, and Jim lowered himself into a chair.

  ' Sounds as though it might be the start of an outbreak,' he said. Who was it, and where did the poor little blighter pick it up ? '

  Sara told him who it was. But I've no idea where he picked it up.'

  Dear, dear, you have slipped up. That's one of the first things you should find out.'

  ' Is it ? ' she came back coolly.

  Uncle John looked from one to the other and laughed. I'll bet I know where both these children picked it up. There was a children's party over at Woodcombe, and they had a case of chickenpox there the very next day. Dr Vincent told me.'

  Well, thank goodness for that,' Jim said. ' I thought we were going to have to close the school or something.'

  Sara felt his tone mildly accusing, as if, if the school had had to be closed, she would have been to blame. She sipped her tea and wondered what it was he had against her.

  And how did you get on with Mrs Marley ? ' he asked, eyeing her shrewdly.

  ' All right. In fact, I found her a very nice woman,' she said with a touch of defiance. ' Why ? What made you ask ? '

  He shrugged. I just wondered. I gather you've

  properly upset Mrs Williams. I thought perhaps you had a " thing " about farmers' wives.'

  Sara felt a fury working up inside her. Perhaps I have,' she said tartly. Perhaps I have got a " thing " against people who would rather hand out charity than pay decent wages, who allow their tenants to live in ancient cottages with no water, no sanitation and— '

  Sara, you haven't been openly saying these things to Mrs Williams ? ' *John Henderson said anxiously.

  No, Uncle John, of course I haven't. But that's how I feel.'

  Jim Crombie's eyes had been slowly widening. You've missed your vocation,' he said. You should have been a member of Parliament, not a doctor.'

  Should I ? ' she came back spiritedly. I should have thought these sort of things were very much the conc
ern of a doctor. Mr Scott is ill with acute bronchitis. He has it every year. And do you know why ? '

  Because he drives a tractor which has no cover,. just as farm workers have been doing for generations,' Jim Crombie answered swiftly.

  Sara looked at him in surprise. Then why isn't something done about it ? '

  I don't suppose anybody's even thought about it. But I expect plenty of people know about it now, including Farmer Williams. And he isn't very pleased.'

  Sara gave him a puzzled look. You mean what I said to Mr Scott has been—has sort of spread ? '

  Jim nodded. That's right. It's one of the things you'll have to learn. You don't just speak into a vacuum, in the country. Nor in any society, come to that. And you can't expect everything you say to be kept secret. Mr Scott repeated your conversation to his wife—as most husbands and wives do if they're normally happy together. His wife mentioned it to someone else, and so on.'

  Oh, come now, Jim,' laughed John Henderson,

  there's no need to give Sara a lecture. She speaks her mind, I know, but I don't suppose for a minute she criticized Mrs Williams to Scott.'

  Sara sighed a little. ' I remarked to him that I supposed he caught his bronchitis working out on the farm in all weathers. He said it was ploughing mostly, sitting up on " them thar tractors ".'

  ' And you said, why haven't the tractors got covers on like cars ? '

  Precisely. What am I supposed to do ? Go around '

  You're supposed to think before you speak,' interrupted Jim Crombie tartly, unless you want to upset the whole village.'

  Some of the people in the village ought to be upset,' Sara declared, unrepentant. That's why nothing is ever achieved. Everyone goes around being so polite for fear of hurting somebody's feelings. In other words, arousing their consciences. By being tactful and polite and so on you're just pandering to people. Wrongs are never righted by keeping quiet about them. I still say, and I shall go on saying it, that farm workers should have some form of protection when they're using machinery like tractors.'