Christmas for the District Nurses

by Annie Groves

  Thank goodness he had remembered her saying that she worked first-aid shifts at that hall. She didn’t know how she would have found out otherwise. Ron had said that Evelyn had not been able to talk when he’d left – she was still knocked out. Gladys knew she would be forever grateful to him for rescuing the young woman and then coming to find her, in that awful weather on top of everything else. She shivered at what might have happened had he not been there – Evelyn could have been left to bleed to death on that filthy stone floor.

  She could not see her sister in any of the beds as they walked down the centre aisle. A nurse came towards them. ‘It’s very late. We don’t receive visitors at this hour,’ she said severely.

  Gladys swallowed, a lifetime of obeying the rules telling her that she should turn around and go. However, she stood her ground. ‘I was told my sister is in here and her life is in danger. Evelyn. I am a Civil Reserve nurse myself,’ she added, and was pleased to see that this piece of information carried some weight.

  ‘I see.’ The nurse paused, and then relented. ‘It is most irregular but, under the circumstances, you had better come with me now. And you are?’ She turned to Ron.

  ‘A family friend,’ he said, and Gladys cast him a grateful glance. ‘But now you’ve found her I won’t hang around. I got to get back to Ma, she’ll be worrying where I am.’

  ‘Yes, you go,’ Gladys said, not wanting him to be witness to Evelyn’s sorry state but sad to see him leave nonetheless. The ward nurse swept her along to the bed at the end, curtained off.

  ‘Be very quiet now,’ the woman said. She reminded Gladys a little of Gwen: old school, stern face, but with an air of complete competence. Her sister would be in good hands here.

  The older woman drew back the starchy fabric, which smelt of disinfectant, and Gladys stepped through the gap behind her. There lay Evelyn, her face deathly pale, a big cut on her cheek, and utterly still. Another nurse stood by her pillows, monitoring her pulse. At the foot of the bed stood a doctor, maybe about thirty years of age but with thick glasses perched on the end of his thin nose.

  Gladys thought for a moment that she might faint, but then her training took over and she rallied. ‘How is she?’ she asked quietly, her eyes never leaving her sister’s pallid face.

  The doctor looked up, and his glasses fell askew. ‘Her sister, also a nurse,’ the first nurse explained.

  Gladys could tell the man was very tired, but he was instantly sympathetic. ‘I’m afraid it is not good news,’ he began.

  ‘Will she … will she …’ Gladys could not manage the words to name her worst fear.

  He sighed and turned to face her. ‘Your sister has lost a lot of blood,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I expect you can tell by her colour. However, we have succeeding in stemming the blood loss and her temperature and pulse are improving – is that not the case, Nurse Michaels?’ He glanced to the young woman at the head of the bed, who nodded briefly. ‘And so we may reasonably expect that she will continue to improve. All other factors being well, she should gradually regain consciousness.’ He shook his head. ‘You knew she was pregnant, I take it?’

  ‘Y-yes.’ Gladys saw no point in denying it.

  His eyes darkened. ‘She obviously sustained severe abdominal injuries during her attack. I am very much afraid to tell you we were unable to save the baby.’

  Gladys looked down at the floor, the shiny grey lino, the precise hospital corners of the bed sheet. ‘I see,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Now you mustn’t upset yourself,’ the first nurse said, clearly mistaking Gladys’s lack of fuller response for grief. ‘Maybe it is for the best. To be honest, after tonight, the baby could very well have been extremely damaged, even if it had lived. Perhaps it is better that it and the mother and you yourself were not put through that. As it is, your sister will have known very little about the actual loss. The, er, process. I too am very sorry.’

  Gladys felt a lump in her throat. The poor baby. Even if both parents had not wanted it, she would have cared for it somehow. She would have managed. She had just about got used to the idea of a new child in the family, even though it was far from what she had wanted. All the same this would have been Evelyn’s own flesh and blood. It was a tragedy, whichever way you looked at it. She realised that the ward nurse was staring at her and she had to say something. ‘Thank you for trying,’ she croaked, though her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  ‘We are as confident as we can be that we will at least save your sister,’ the stern nurse continued, her voice kindly now. ‘You must not fret about her. Now that you have seen her and know what condition she is in, you must be reassured, a member of the medical fraternity like yourself.’

  Even in this terrible situation, Gladys’s heart sang at those words. A fellow nurse was acknowledging her training and expertise. Even though she did not feel very professional at the moment, she had been recognised. Evelyn might have scoffed at her but it was that very training that had won her admittance to her sister’s bedside.

  ‘Yes, I understand,’ she breathed.

  ‘Perhaps you should go home and rest now that you have seen her,’ the nurse continued. ‘Please leave me your address so that we can contact you if we need to – which I do not anticipate,’ she added quickly. ‘It is purely a formality. Then you may return tomorrow during regular visiting hours. I dare say your sister will be in need of comfort.’

  Gladys looked at Evelyn’s face. Maybe she had regained a little of the healthy colour she had boasted these past weeks. She did not know how her sister would react to the news. Nodding, she took her bag and turned away, making her way back through the row of beds and back outside to the starlit hospital entrance.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  ‘It’s kind of you to let me tag along,’ Edith said, hurrying after Mary and Charles as they left the cinema. They had all wanted to see The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp for weeks. ‘Are you sure I haven’t been too much of a gooseberry?’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Mary waited for her shorter friend to catch up. ‘If we thought that, we wouldn’t have asked you. I know how much you like Anton Walbrook. Now we’ll have time for fish and chips as well. Haven’t done that for ages, have you?’

  Edith shook her head. ‘No, not really. We tried when I was down with Harry that weekend but ended up eating in the inn we were staying at.’

  Charles looked interested. ‘Yes, what was that like? I’m always keen to hear of places for a little trip to the country. You never know when the occasion might arise.’

  Edith privately thought that Charles would find the country inn a little beneath his standards, but to say so would let Harry down. ‘It was lovely, a real breath of fresh air,’ she grinned. ‘Bit too fresh for me, though. Between you and me, I’m more at home in a busy city. It’s so quiet in the country – I’m always afraid a big cow will come around the corner or something like that.’

  ‘Ooooh, don’t.’ Mary shuddered. ‘I’d be scared if that happened.’

  Charles laughed. ‘Mary, how can you be scared of a cow? I’ve seen you face down the fiercest old doctors when they didn’t treat your patients fast enough. The cows would be scared of you, if only they knew.’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense.’ Mary clasped his arm as they joined the queue for the fish and chip shop. The aroma of hot fat and vinegar wafted through the open door and Edith’s mouth watered at the prospect.

  ‘How is Harry?’ Charles asked, giving Mary’s hand a squeeze.

  Edith shrugged. ‘Oh, not so bad. He’s glad to be out of hospital at last, back to doing something useful. Not sure he’s cut out for life behind a desk though.’

  ‘No, I should think not,’ said Mary.

  Charles nodded sagely. ‘Obviously I don’t know him as well as you, but I must say he never struck me as someone who liked to sit still.’

  Edith chuckled. ‘You can say that again. He’s itching to do something more active. Not that he isn’t grateful to be where he is,’ she add
ed hurriedly, not wanting to sound as if he was complaining – even though he was. She certainly would not tell them about Harry’s deeper worries; she had not mentioned those even to Alice. They inched forward, as several contented customers came out of the shop. One was eating a pickled egg.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Charles easily, taking his wallet from his uniform pocket. ‘No, Edith, put your money away. This is my treat, I insist.’

  Edith wondered if she should protest and then decided that Charles might be offended if she argued. Besides, he was not short of a bob or two. ‘Thank you,’ she said, considering herself lucky to have such friends.

  ‘My pleasure,’ Charles said, as two more customers came out and they edged along in the queue. The weather was on the turn; ever since the big thunderstorm, the breeze had been keener. Autumn was on its way. ‘It does seem a shame that somebody who knows so much about sport and keep fit is stuck doing – what exactly is he doing, Edith?’

  Edith gave a little groan. ‘Filling in requisition forms.’ She knew that careless talk cost lives but really, that was not giving anything away. ‘That kind of thing. It’s got to be done, I know, and he’ll be very accurate, but it does mean that all those years of training aren’t being put to good use.’

  Finally they reached the counter and Charles bought them their fish and chips. Edith inhaled with pleasure as the portions were served out.

  ‘Salt and vinegar?’ asked the woman behind the counter, her face red from the heat of the frying. ‘Pickled egg? Anything else?’

  ‘No, no, this is more than enough,’ said Edith, mouth watering even more in anticipation.

  Charles helped himself to a plump chip, which glistened invitingly. ‘Can’t be beaten,’ he beamed. ‘Helps to keep the spirits up, doesn’t it?’ He stood back to let the two nurses go past him and other customers to surge forward, then stepped swiftly to catch up with them once more. ‘Well, I’m delighted to hear he’s back in the world of work once more, but it’s a shame that it’s not something more appropriate to his particular talents.’ He paused as he lifted a couple more chips to his mouth. ‘We’ll have to see if something can be done about it. Leave it with me, Edith, leave it with me.’

  Peggy tried not to grow too worried when she heard nothing on the day after James was due to visit. She persuaded herself that he’d almost reached London, there had been some kind of hiccup and he’d had to return on a train which then suffered further delays. That way he would scarcely have had time to write a note or send a telegram. He would know Mrs Cannon had no telephone. It was all perfectly understandable.

  So when Clarrie casually asked her how their date had gone, Peggy had simply replied that James had been delayed. Clarrie had been instantly sympathetic and demanded Peggy go to the pictures with her so that she wouldn’t sit and dwell on it. They decided on a Tommy Trinder and Peggy almost managed to lose herself in the story and enjoy the show.

  However, when the days went by and there was still no word, all her anxieties returned. She could not concentrate on her work and several times had to be reprimanded by her supervisor. ‘What ever is the matter with you, Peggy Cannon? You’re as bad as some of those new girls who just got conscripted,’ the forewoman complained. ‘It’s not like you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Peggy had said, unwilling to explain. It would sound too humiliating.

  Sometimes she wondered if she was being punished, for the way she had gone off the rails when Pete had first died. Looking back, she felt bad about it. She must have hurt Pete’s mother, even if Mrs Cannon didn’t know the full extent of her wild behaviour. It couldn’t be changed, but she knew plenty of gossiping busybodies who had wished her ill when they saw her getting ready to go out on the town.

  She didn’t deserve another chance at love. This was Fate showing her the error of her ways. She had dared to dream that she might have a future with James, that someone as handsome and kind and interesting loved her. She had fallen for Fate’s trap. Now she was hurting all over again, only this time it was her own fault. She should have known that James was too good to be true.

  Mrs Cannon tried to cheer her up. ‘What if he’s been transferred to another base?’ she wondered. ‘I expect they don’t have much time to pack up and leave. He won’t have had a moment to get in touch.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Peggy, stifling the reaction that the James she thought she had known would have moved heaven and earth to get hold of her, even if it was simply a scribbled note. He had to be keeping his distance for a good reason, and the most clear-cut one was that he had had a change of heart. Somehow she would have to learn to bear it. If that was the case then she was never going to risk falling in love again. She felt empty, hollowed out, a dry husk.

  Sitting in her room she was tempted to reread all of his letters that she had saved, now kept in a shoebox under her bed. She had decorated the box with scraps of coloured paper, making a pattern of dots and love hearts. Silly girl, she berated herself. Believing that he could ever love her. At least he had never seen that box. How he would be laughing at the memory now, if he had.

  It was not one of her fire-watching evenings, so Clarrie, worried about her usually cheerful friend, had gone round to visit her. Now she was perched on the edge of Peggy’s bed, trying to talk her into a better frame of mind. ‘Let’s go through your jewellery collection,’ she suggested. ‘See what colours you are missing, before we paint any more brooches.’

  ‘What’s the point?’ Peggy asked sullenly.

  Clarrie threw up her hands. ‘All right, all right, don’t then. See if I care either way. I’m only trying to help.’

  Peggy looked away. ‘I know,’ she said, stricken. ‘It’s just I can’t feel that anything is worth it. Not if he’s ditched me. It’s all a waste of time.’

  Clarrie went and stood by the window. It was almost time to put up the blackout blind. The sunset was fading over towards Islington. Soon it would be dark.

  ‘Do you think something might have happened to him?’ she asked slowly. ‘Other than his changing his mind about you, that is. I don’t want to worry you any more than you already are, but what if he’s sick? Or, say, broken his arm and can’t write?’

  Peggy looked up at her tall friend. ‘He’d have asked one of the other soldiers to let me know, wouldn’t he?’

  Clarrie shrugged. ‘He might have. But what if he doesn’t have many friends? Or …’ She came to a halt and took a breath. ‘I know you don’t want to think like this, and don’t take it the wrong way, but what if his friends don’t want him to be with you? What if they think he should stick to his own kind? You know, what with him being a different colour to you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Peggy’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘You think that could be it? I don’t know … I realise that some old nosy parkers round here don’t approve – her opposite, she’s the worst. I just ignore them. They were horrible at first, but I thought they’d given up now they’ve seen how happy we are and that Mrs Cannon doesn’t mind. After all, if she’s pleased for us, what right have any of the rest of them got to stick their oar in?’

  ‘Even so.’ Clarrie didn’t want to push the point, as she could see Peggy was very sensitive about it. ‘What if he did break his arm or something like that, and nobody would write to tell you? Or worse, they said they would and then didn’t?’

  Peggy gasped. ‘No. That would be too cruel. So he could be there on his sick bed, thinking I know what’s happened to him, but I haven’t written back? He must think I don’t care! He must think I’ve changed my mind about him! Oh Clarrie, here I’ve been thinking he’s ditched me and he’s been imagining the same! I can’t bear it!’

  Clarrie came across from the window to put her hands on her friend’s shoulders. ‘Stop it, Peggy. You’re working yourself up into a state again. There’s a simple solution, isn’t there.’

  Peggy had given up making any kind of sense. ‘Is there? What is that, then?’

  Clarrie gave her an exasperated look. ‘Write to him, of
course.’

  Alice repacked her Gladstone bag in the unusually quiet district room. She worked methodically, ensuring all her equipment was clean and complete, but her mind was on the news she had heard on the wireless. The Allies had invaded Italy and General Montgomery was leading the troops. She wondered what it would mean for the soldiers, and whether the navy had been involved. Would Joe end up over there? As ever she could not be entirely certain where he was; by the time she received a letter, he could have been posted elsewhere.

  With the change in the weather, the first of the coughs and colds of the season had arrived. Not that she was called out for such minor ailments – but her patients had family members who were sneezing all over the place. She took every opportunity to use each visit to promote general hygiene and the importance of always having a handkerchief to hand. However, some of the children would stare at her as if she was talking another language.

  She’d gone as far as handing out good cotton hankies to some of the families. Pauline had looked at them dubiously but had got the idea once Alice had explained why she’d done it. Her little brother had improved since his accident, but there was no sense in tempting fate; Alice would always think of him as potentially vulnerable to germs that stronger children would simply shake off. At least this might stop him wiping his nose on his sleeve.

  Alice looked up as Gladys came into the room, a large cardboard box of bandages under her arm. ‘Do you need to stock up on any of these?’ she asked, her voice cheerful. But Alice could tell the young woman was worried about something.

  ‘No thanks. I’ve got all I need now.’ Alice indicated her bag. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while, Gladys. Is everything all right?’