Christmas for the District Nurses

by Annie Groves

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Flo surveyed the row of glass jars in all shapes and sizes lined up on the big table. ‘You’re sure you’ve sterilised them properly?’

  Mattie sighed. ‘Of course, Ma. Boiling hot water. I’d never live it down if our pickles gave someone food poisoning. Edie would have my guts for garters.’

  Flo nodded, and prepared to begin the tricky process of transferring the pickles into the jars. All the surplus vegetables were being preserved, so as not to waste anything. Besides, Flo had plans to use the pickles to barter for food that they had not been able to grow. Her WVS colleagues would happily swap what they did not strictly need for a few jars of her home-made preserves, which glistened ruby red thanks to all the beetroot.

  ‘You hold the funnel and I’ll ladle it in,’ Mattie suggested. ‘No, Gillian, you stay back out of the way. You don’t want this to splash on you. It’ll make pink marks on your clothes and I’ll have a terrible job getting them out.’

  Gillian looked up in interest, but was distracted by a knock on the door. ‘That’ll be Edie and Alice,’ Flo said. ‘You go and let them in, Gillian. We’ve got our hands full here.’ She didn’t want to stop now that they had begun the delicate job.

  Mattie sighed with relief as her daughter did as she was asked without arguing. It was high time Gillian started school; she was becoming too much to handle. Both she and Brian would begin after Christmas when the new term started, but that meant there were still almost two months to go. Mattie adored her daughter but simply could not answer all her questions any longer.

  Edith brandished a basket as she came into the kitchen. ‘I’ve brought all I could find,’ she said, setting it down. ‘Gladys had some extra string in case she needed it in the victory garden, but she says you can have it if she can have some pickles for the home. And look, they had dates for sale at the market. God knows how they got them, so they’ll be useful, won’t they?’

  Flo was delighted. ‘We’ll set them aside for the Christmas pudding. I’m collecting whatever dried fruit I can, and if we have to change the recipe a bit, then I’m sure nobody will mind. I do like to start baking well in advance of the big day.’

  Alice followed her friend into the kitchen. ‘How can I help?’ she asked.

  Flo nodded towards a pile of small squares of material. ‘See those? I can’t reach them or I’ll drop the funnel. If you could lay them out, then we can tie one over each lid with some of the string. Makes it look a bit more special. Gillian can show you how, I expect.’ She widened her eyes to Alice in a signal to involve the little girl but at a safe distance from the pickle mixture.

  ‘Oh, of course.’ Alice took her meaning immediately. ‘So, Gillian, I’ll just roll up my sleeves and then you can tell me what you want me to do.’

  ‘All right.’ Gillian watched her, as if checking she was doing it correctly. ‘You start over here. I’ll put out the squares and you cut the string. They won’t let me use scissors,’ she added.

  ‘Just as well,’ said Mattie firmly, as she brought another ladle to the jars. ‘The longer we keep you away from sharp objects the better, my girl.’

  Flo shook the funnel. ‘Have you heard from Harry since last week?’ she asked. ‘He wrote to say what a good time you’d had on your visit, but we’ve had nothing since.’

  ‘Only a quick note to say he hoped I’d got back without too many delays,’ said Edith. She still had said nothing to the family about Harry’s worries. She had tried to cheer him up, but a stay of two nights could make little impression on the gloom that he could not seem to shift. Her joy at seeing him had been tempered with concern. She had to hope that Charles would make good on his promise to come up with something, but nothing had happened yet.

  ‘And did you?’ Flo enquired kindly.

  ‘Yes, for once. I was pretty relieved – I’d had a bit of a cold and didn’t fancy standing all the way,’ Edith confessed.

  ‘Are you better now?’ Flo asked. ‘Here am I asking you to come over here when you aren’t well – sit down, take the weight off your feet.’

  ‘No, no, I’m all right,’ Edith protested, anxious not to cause a fuss. If truth were told, she still felt more tired than she ought to be, but perhaps that was down to the ongoing worry about Harry. It was enough to drain you of all energy, but she couldn’t afford to slow down when on her shifts. Therefore it seemed to hit her doubly hard on her days off.

  ‘We heard from Joe last week too,’ Mattie said, scraping the ladle around the bottom of the pot. ‘There, that’s the last dollop. Yes, he said he was busy and doing well, but didn’t give away very much otherwise.’

  ‘Well, he can’t, of course,’ Flo pointed out, setting down the funnel on the countertop. ‘He’s got to be careful in case his letters fall into the wrong hands.’ She wiped the spatters of vinegar from her fingers. ‘Unless you know anything else, Alice?’

  Alice looked up from cutting her string into small lengths, intently supervised by Gillian. ‘Well, he hasn’t said anything directly,’ she admitted. ‘I did wonder about one piece of news though. He said that some of the people on the base were talking about putting on a play and that it might be Julius Caesar.’

  Flo, Mattie and Edith looked blankly at her.

  ‘That doesn’t sound like much fun,’ Edith said. ‘Doesn’t everyone get killed at the end, or something like that?’

  ‘I should think they ought to choose a play to cheer everyone up,’ Flo said staunchly. ‘That’s what I’d want, not a boring one.’

  Alice smiled. ‘Perhaps it’s his way of hinting that they might be going to Italy. Julius Caesar is set in Rome. I don’t think they’d really put that on; it’s all a bit grim. He’s just trying to warn us that he might be posted over there – or that’s my guess, anyway.’

  ‘Really?’ Flo gave Alice a quizzical glance.

  Alice nodded. ‘That’s how he lets me know where he is if he can’t tell me outright. We’ve done it that way for years. He usually chooses a book title, but perhaps he realised I wouldn’t recognise any Italian ones.’

  Mattie took the big pot over to the tap in the back kitchen and filled it with water. ‘Well, if you don’t, then I’m sure nobody else would,’ she said, returning to the table. ‘I bet he wouldn’t either. He might be good at sums and suchlike, but I’ve never seen him try to read Italian. The news from over there is good, though, isn’t it? Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if he got sent there.’

  Flo nodded reassuringly but all the same her eyes went to Alice.

  ‘I think so,’ she said carefully, ‘but maybe it’s not as easy as they thought it would be. We shouldn’t expect it to be over very soon.’ She didn’t want to puncture their optimism, but some government voices had given the impression that it would be a straightforward and easy invasion, and it was turning out to be much trickier.

  It was at times like this that she missed Joe. All the people in this room were very dear to her and yet she couldn’t discuss the news with them like she did with him. He could judge the way the detailed facts were presented and weigh up whether a story was true or if bad news was being kept from them. It made her in turn think harder. Not that it would change the course of what was happening, but she liked to be properly informed, insofar as she could be. She felt safer for it, even if the news was bad.

  She wondered whether to raise what Winston Churchill had spoken of a few days ago. Alice, like the rest of them, was relieved that the terrors of the Blitz had receded and they could get on with everyday life, without the immediate danger of bombing, the threat of losing house and home, of all normal routines being disrupted. Though she would never forget what they had gone through, she hoped that was all in the past. The sheer relief at being able to sleep properly in her own bed, night after night, was immense. Nobody could function well on so little sleep over a long period of time.

  Yet Churchill had raised the prospect of returning to that nightmare. ‘We cannot exclude the possibility of new forms of attack on this isla
nd,’ he had said. There had been no exact details, but Alice presumed he would not say such a thing unless he had solid intelligence that something was in the pipeline. Should she mention it now?

  If Joe had been there she would have waited until they were alone. He might have more inside information; even if he did not, he would have a wide perspective. He could allay her fears like nobody else. But he would not give her false comfort; if the East End was liable to come under fire once more, he would see it as his duty to prepare her, so she was not taken unawares. She valued his advice more than anybody’s. He made her feel that she was as in control as it was possible to be – however little that was.

  But he was not here. He might be halfway to Italy by now. Or he could have been posted somewhere else entirely, and she would have to wait for his next veiled hint, disguised as a book title, to find out where. Then again, he might still be at his base in Plymouth, sailing from there out into the Atlantic. She sent up a heartfelt prayer that, wherever he was, he would be safe.

  ‘Penny for ’em!’ Edith laughed at her and gave her a little dig in the ribs. ‘You were drifting off there, Alice. Look, Gillian needs more string cutting. We can’t finish the pickle jars without it, so look lively.’

  ‘Of course. Sorry.’ Alice jolted herself out of her reverie. Gillian was watching her closely and there was no sense in worrying the little girl, who was becoming alarmingly good at picking up on any undercurrents in the adults’ conversation. Maybe she had inherited her Uncle Joe’s lively mind.

  ‘I was saying that we should start to plan who brings what for Christmas,’ Mattie said. ‘Edie reckons that your victory garden will have plenty of Brussels sprouts. Shall I put you down for those? You will come here for Christmas, won’t you? Unless you were going back to your parents, of course.’

  ‘Oh, er, yes, I’d love to.’ Alice hadn’t thought that far ahead, but knew that travel to Liverpool would be impractical over the holiday season and she would be better off saving her leave for a week in the springtime. ‘We should have sprouts to spare. We’ve planted lots, and there’s only so many the nurses can eat. Edith and I can do that, and carrots as well.’

  ‘Good, I’ll make a list.’ Mattie was getting more like Flo every day, taking great pleasure in sorting out the fine details in advance so that everyone would have a celebration to remember.

  Alice cut her last piece of string and Gillian carefully wound it around the top of the final jar, fixing the bright red and white gingham square in place before Edith neatly tied the ends in a knot, which the little girl’s fingers still couldn’t manage to do. The sight caught at Alice’s heart. She couldn’t bring herself to raise the subject of the prime minister’s speech. There would be no point; it would worry them for nothing. She could not break the air of contentment.

  Yet she longed for Joe to be here, to test out her concerns, and if she was honest, just for the joy of his presence. She wanted to see him, listen to that dear voice, feel that sense of connection that she had with nobody else. It was more important than she cared to say. Perhaps he would make it home for Christmas. All she could do was hope.

  ‘Ah, Mary, just the person I wanted to see.’ Fiona appeared around the corner of the stairs as Mary descended to the main hallway. ‘I’m sure you can spare me a moment.’

  Mary nodded at the superintendent, knowing she had little choice in the matter.

  ‘It’s almost that time of year again,’ said Fiona cheerfully. ‘Will you be able to play the piano for our carol concert? You do it so well. The other nurses and our guests always appreciate it.’

  Mary smiled, relieved that it wasn’t a telling-off for missing curfew. Charles had brought her back late a couple of times recently, thanks to the diversions that were now the norm; a water pipe had burst and the road had been shut off, and then a bus had broken down and blocked the high road. ‘Yes, of course,’ she agreed warmly. ‘I enjoy it. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

  ‘Excellent. Oh, and one more idea.’

  Mary set down her Gladstone bag, packed and ready for her morning rounds, and waited.

  ‘Gladys has had a difficult time this autumn,’ Fiona went on. ‘Shall we offer her a solo? She sings so beautifully and hardly ever has a chance to show us. I think she would like to. A few years back I wouldn’t have dreamed of suggesting it, but she’s come on in leaps and bounds.’

  Mary paused to consider. ‘What about “Once in Royal David’s City”? She could do the opening verse and then we all join in after.’

  Fiona beamed. ‘That’s the very thing. Not too much to frighten her off. If she were to feel inclined to do even more, then we could take her up on that too …’

  Mary saw where the superintendent’s thoughts were headed. ‘I’ll sound her out, shall I?’

  ‘If you would be so kind, then yes. I must detain you no further, Mary. I can see you are itching to get going,’ Fiona observed.

  Mary winced. ‘Itching is right. My first visit is a suspected case of scabies.’

  Fiona raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, impress upon them not to share towels – easy to say, I know, and we must hope they have the luxury of extra ones. Do your best, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ said Mary, as positively as she could. She knew the family had little money for anything spare. The very thought of it made her want to scratch her scalp, but she knew she would have to lead by example and not fall into that trap.

  As she took her bike from the rack, she looked to see who else had yet to leave. Edith’s bike was still there but there was no sign of the nurse herself. Mary wondered if Charles had managed to bring about what he’d confided to her he had in mind for Harry. It was not her news to tell, but she couldn’t help wishing that she could see Edith’s face when she heard. She was sure her friend would be delighted.

  Then again, Edith had seemed under the weather recently. She had never fully recovered from the nasty cold, even though that was many weeks ago. She wasn’t ill exactly, but she was not her usual lively self. Perhaps this news would be exactly what she needed. Mary was terrible at keeping secrets, and had the overwhelming urge to blurt it out every time she saw her friend, but she knew she absolutely must not do so, in case something had gone amiss behind the scenes and it did not come to pass. Gritting her teeth, she wheeled the bike out through the gate and swung herself into the saddle, wondering how long it would be before Edith’s face lit up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  December 1943

  Evelyn sat at the rickety table, half-heartedly stirring the bowl of barley stew that her sister Shirley had set in front of her. Shirley was shooing the four younger children up to bed, to cram into the room they shared upstairs. Their mother had retired to her own bed already, complaining yet again of a headache and bad nerves.

  Gladys took all this in as she returned from work. The feeble fire in the grate was doing its best to warm the cluttered living room. Evelyn glanced across at her.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, catching the expression on her older sister’s face.

  Gladys set down her bag and unwrapped her woollen scarf from her neck. She didn’t know how Evelyn would react to her news but thought she might as well come straight out with it. ‘It’s the annual carol concert,’ she said. ‘They want me to sing solo.’

  ‘You?’ Evelyn’s head shot up as if she’d been stung. ‘They asked you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Gladys stood her ground. ‘Mary wanted me specially. She’s the best musician there and she can’t play the piano and sing properly at the same time, so she wants me to do it.’

  ‘And will you?’

  Gladys nodded. ‘I told her I would.’

  Evelyn scraped her spoon across the bottom of her bowl with a horrible scratching noise. Then she slumped over it, with a sigh of defeat. ‘So you’re the singer in the family,’ she muttered.

  Gladys came to sit beside her, perching on a three-legged stool that she’d once tried to smarten up with some leftover cream pa
int. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Only for the carols. I don’t want to do any more than that.’

  Evelyn pushed the unfinished stew away from her. ‘I was kidding myself, wasn’t I,’ she said sombrely. ‘You can tell me “I told you so” if you want to. I was never going to be a singer. That Max was just stringing me along.’

  Gladys didn’t know how to reply. ‘Maybe,’ she said cautiously.

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to pussyfoot around.’ Evelyn was more animated now. ‘I been thinking a lot now I got all this time on my hands. He was only interested in one thing and it wasn’t my singing.’

  Gladys met her eye. ‘Probably.’

  ‘He’ll have scarpered off to his cousin in Norfolk what he used to talk about. Always said if things got too hot for him round here he’d take off to where nobody could find him.’ She shook her head, her hair now showing roots in its real shade of mid-brown. ‘That’s him all over. First sign of trouble and he scarpers. About the only thing he can be relied on to do.’

  Gladys shrugged in sympathy.

  ‘Well, it got me wondering.’ Evelyn clasped her hands in front of her. ‘I fancy getting away as well. I’m no use to you here, I’m just another mouth to feed. I’m no good with the kids and Shirley’s a better cook than I am anyway.’

  Gladys thought it better not to comment.

  ‘I’ve decided. I’m getting out of London too. I’m going to join the Land Army.’

  ‘Blimey,’ said Gladys before she could stop herself. ‘Are you sure?’

  Evelyn nodded, and there was a trace of her old determination on her face. ‘I know you think I won’t last five minutes but, like you said, I got to do something. I quite fancy it to tell you the truth. Tomorrow I’m going to go and sign up for it. Don’t try and stop me.’

  Gladys swallowed hard, taking this in. Perhaps it was the best solution all round. ‘I won’t try and stop you. I promise.’ It could be the making of her sister, she realised, if she could only stick it out. It had taken a tragedy to push her in that direction, but she could yet surprise them all.