Christmas for the District Nurses

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‘Come in … ah, hello, Edith.’ Fiona rose from behind her desk, to her full height, though she was even shorter than Edith. ‘What can I do for you? Your timing is excellent; Gwen and I have only now finished reviewing the training budgets.’

Edith saw that the deputy superintendent had also risen. Gwen towered over both of them, her severe face made even more so by her hair scraped rigidly back into a bun. ‘Have you come to enquire about one of the bursaries?’ she asked.

Edith had not counted on the outwardly fearsome deputy being there as well, but in for a penny, in for a pound, she told herself. ‘No, it’s not that.’

‘Well, sit ye down.’ Fiona subsided onto her chair and immediately stacked her folders out of the way. ‘Enough of those figures, I simply cannot bear to look at them for one second longer.’ She smiled brightly, her auburn hair now showing streaks of grey. Edith stared at them, for a moment taken by surprise. Fiona was so energetic that she forgot that the woman was older than most of them, and to be reminded of this almost threw her. Then it strengthened her resolve. The years would catch her soon enough; she must make the most of them in the meantime.

‘No, it’s not that,’ she said again, sitting on a narrow wooden chair to one side of the desk, as Gwen took a position to Fiona’s right. Edith took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, I would like … that is, Harry and I would like to get married. Quite soon.’ There. She’d said it.

Fiona nodded, raising an eyebrow. ‘Well, Edith, there’s no real surprise in that. You have been engaged, what? Over two years now, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right.’ Edith was always impressed that Fiona kept track of all her charges’ personal lives as well as their professional ones. ‘Yes, we agreed it before he was posted to France, but then there was Dunkirk …’

‘And we are all extremely thankful that he made a recovery after such a terrible time for you all,’ said Gwen, leaning forward to emphasise her point.

‘Yes indeed.’ Fiona regarded Edith. ‘So I imagine you’ve come here to talk about more than your wedding plans?’

This was the moment of truth. Edith took another deep breath and plunged ahead. ‘Yes, that’s why I wanted to see you before deciding on a date or anything like that. It’s because I want to keep on nursing. Please.’ There, she had said it. Now her fate was out of her hands.

Gwen nodded slowly. ‘I see. You are aware that strictly speaking you would be expected to resign your post upon marriage? Of course you are.’

Edith twisted her hands but refused to buckle under the scrutiny. ‘I know.’

Fiona tapped her pen against the edge of the solid old desk. ‘More than one of your colleagues has left for that very reason.’

‘I know. I’m not saying I should be a special case,’ Edith rushed on, ‘but Harry and I probably won’t be able to live together anyway. He still has to have more operations even though they aren’t as serious now. A couple more to try to hide the burns on his face and to improve the movement of his damaged arm. Then he’ll be able to perform desk duties even if he can’t go back to his unit and fight any more. That could be anywhere.’

‘But if he’s going to be well enough for desk duties, he’ll be well enough to be married,’ said Fiona. ‘Is that your thinking?’

‘Sort of.’ Edith twisted her hands still tighter. ‘It’s also, I came so close to losing him – it’s made us want to waste no more time. We’d like to be together when we can, depending on where he’s posted, but also I don’t want to stop nursing, not when we’re all needed so badly. I won’t use it as an excuse to take extra leave or anything. I wouldn’t let you down. I wouldn’t,’ she added, not sure what the two senior figures were thinking. Gwen’s serious face gave no clue. Then Fiona beamed at her.

‘I can’t imagine you would,’ she said. ‘I realise that the standard procedure is – Gwen, hear me out,’ she went on, as her deputy looked as if she would interrupt. ‘Those rules were made before the war began. Circumstances have altered completely. We’ve changed the design of our uniform to accommodate the shortages – why not extend that to the scarcity of experienced nurses? I don’t want to lose you, Edith. You are a highly valuable member of our team here.’

‘Thank you.’ Edith could not quite believe she was out of the woods yet.

‘It is highly irregular,’ Gwen stated, her back ramrod straight. Then she relented. ‘Yet as Fiona says, we can ill afford to send you packing. It takes time, money and effort to recruit staff, and you have shown yourself to be extremely competent. Furthermore you know the area now and your patients and the doctors all speak well of you.’ Her face softened, a rare sight. ‘Besides, I can remember what it was like to meet somebody you are certain you wish to spend your life with. Nobody knows how long they will have together. Who are we to deny you that?’ The usually stony-faced deputy looked away, as Fiona caught her eye in sympathy.

Edith was one of the very few younger nurses who knew that beneath Gwen’s fierce carapace lay a tale of sadness and heartbreak. Her fiancé had been killed in the Great War and, to add to the sorrow, her two brothers had also died in the fighting. A generation of young men had been lost and the women left behind had been permanently marked. Edith appreciated what must be going through her mind now.

Fiona stepped into the gap, after a respectful pause. ‘Exactly. We wish you every happiness, Edith. The Banhams are a fine family altogether and they will be lucky to have you. We will count ourselves lucky to keep you. It cannot have been an easy decision to ask us and we appreciate your directness.’

Edith nodded mutely.

‘May I ask, what about children?’ Gwen said. ‘As we are being direct. Don’t glare at me, Fiona, we might as well raise the subject.’

Edith tipped her head in acknowledgement. The angle of the sun had changed and she moved a little to avoid being blinded by it. It lit occasional dust motes as they floated by the big bookcase of medical reference works.

‘We’ll take our chances and see,’ she said honestly. ‘We would both like to have children, of course. We were worried that Harry’s injuries and then all his treatment might have affected our chances but he’s asked his doctors and they say not. I know he’s had lots of new drugs and nobody can say for sure, but we’re going to hope for the best.’

‘Very well.’ Fiona put her pen down. ‘You’ll have to see how you go. I defy even you, Edith, to cycle around on one of those old bikes while heavily pregnant. I would have to advise against that.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Meanwhile, accept our congratulations and start planning your nuptials.’

Edith smiled in relief. ‘We won’t have a big do. But that’s all to be decided anyway.’

Fiona rose. ‘Now I hate to rush you but I have a meeting to attend. Gwen, a word with you about those blasted budgets; I’ve now realised that one of our assumptions is wrong.’

Edith knew she was being dismissed and saw herself out of the office, the nerve centre of the whole building. She was delighted with the result of the meeting and could not wait to tell Harry. She loved nursing with all her being but, if it had come to making a choice, the truth was that she loved Harry more. She had been prepared to give up everything to marry him. She was heartily glad that she would not have to.

CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_c59c908a-32ac-5e09-9c16-88dafcfb7094)

‘Everything all right, Gladys?’ Alice thought that the younger woman was looking worried.

‘Oh, you gave me a fright. I didn’t know you was there.’ Gladys swung around from where she’d been cleaning the counter in the service room. ‘Do you want a cold drink? It’s warm out there today, isn’t it?’

Alice could see that Gladys was avoiding her question and decided to bide her time. ‘That’s a good idea,’ she said, although she wasn’t really thirsty. ‘I’ll get myself a glass of water, don’t stop what you’re doing on my account.’

‘I got some lime cordial around here somewhere,’ said Gladys. ‘How about a splash of that? Bet you haven’t had any for ages.’

‘Yes please. Wherever did you get it?’

Gladys scrabbled around in the far reaches of the end cupboard. ‘Here you are.’ Then her face fell. ‘To be honest, I couldn’t rightly say where it came from. My sister Evelyn gave it to me, sort of as a peace offering. We had another row. She said she would look after the little ones but then she scarpered off to the pub again.’

Alice drew cold water from the tap and carefully added a small drop of the precious green cordial. ‘The pub? Isn’t she a bit young for that?’

Gladys sighed and pushed a strand of straight dull brown hair out of her eyes. ‘Yes, you’re right. I try to stop her but she don’t listen. They let her do a bit of singing and she thinks she’s going to be a star. I’m just an old killjoy who’s out to spoil her fun. She don’t see how she’s being taken advantage of. All those men from the docks who go there … I worry about her, but the more I say, the more she sneaks out.’

Alice’s face creased in sympathy. ‘I bet you do.’

‘Think I’ll have some of that meself.’ Gladys reached for the glass bottle. ‘I try not to have it too often so it’ll last, but now and again I give in.’

‘You deserve it. You work so hard,’ Alice said. ‘Doesn’t it smell lovely? All fresh.’

Gladys took a sip, closed her eyes and nodded. ‘I feel better already.’ But Alice could see she was putting on a good front, and the worry had not left her eyes.

‘Are you on first-aid duty tonight?’ she asked.

Gladys shook her head. ‘No, not until tomorrow. Thought I’d go down to the victory garden and fetch some more potatoes.’ She sighed again. ‘That’s the other thing, all the shortages. I know I shouldn’t say it but it gets me down sometimes. Always wondering how we’ll manage. You nurses out on the district all day long, you need to be well fed, but I dread not finding enough food for you all.’ She looked around in case anyone else had heard her confession.

Alice realised that Gladys felt the weight of the world on her slender shoulders. She had grown up with such heavy responsibilities and there had been no let-up since. The war did that to everyone; despite trying to maintain a cheerful outlook or – failing that – a stoic one, it was only natural to feel despondent sometimes. The campaigns in the East and in North Africa were in trouble, the U-boats were preventing supplies from crossing the Atlantic, and rationing was biting ever harder. No wonder Gladys was slumping against the counter.

On top of that, just when she might have expected some help at home from her sister, the opposite had happened and Evelyn was refusing to pull her weight. Not only that, she was actually a cause of extra worry. It was not fair.

‘Shall I come with you later?’ she offered, feeling it was a barely adequate response.

‘Oh no, you don’t have to do that,’ Gladys said at once. ‘You done enough hard work for one day, you don’t want to be out grubbing about for potatoes.’

‘I don’t mind, I like it,’ Alice said. She took another sip of cordial. ‘Reminds me of helping out my parents when I was little. At least, I thought I was helping.’

Gladys brightened. ‘If you’d like to, then I won’t say no.’

Alice finished her drink and gave a satisfied smile. ‘It’s made such a difference, having that garden,’ she said. ‘You have worked miracles with it.’

‘Ain’t just me, you all help out,’ Gladys said immediately.

‘You do the brunt of it,’ Alice pointed out. ‘You’re too modest, Gladys. You think about what we need, work out when and where to plant it, and then pick it when it’s ready. We really just do what you tell us.’

At last Gladys gave a quick grin. ‘I like it too, really. It helps me to think, straightens out my head when I don’t know what to do with myself.’ She drained her glass. ‘Thanks, Alice. I’d better finish here and go to help Cook with the evening meal, but I’ll see you later.’ She picked up her cleaning rag again.

‘Right you are.’ Alice made her way back through the common room and into the hall, wondering how Edith’s interview with Fiona had gone. With luck she was up in her room right now, writing to tell Harry the good news. That’s what we all need, Alice thought to herself. Some good news. It seems like a long time since we had much of that.

‘What are you doing on Saturday evening?’ Mary asked a few weeks later. They were in the common room after a particularly tiring day. Alice couldn’t have said why; it was still hot, although no more than it had been for much of the summer; her patients were demanding, but only as much as they usually were. It was that background sense of constant unease, the drip-drip-drip of depressing news on all fronts. She hadn’t been able to shake it off properly.

‘Let me guess,’ Mary went on, settling herself in a comfy chair. ‘Sitting in your room reading a boring book. Or sitting down here reading a boring newspaper.’

‘They’re not boring,’ Alice began in protest but Mary took no notice.

‘Doing the crossword and then listening to more news on the wireless. Same as you do every day. Well, how about a change?’

Alice looked warily at her friend. ‘What sort of a change?’

Mary beamed. ‘Charles can get us tickets for the last night of the Proms. How about that? Wouldn’t you like to come?’

‘Really?’ Alice perked up. ‘Edie, did you hear that? Do you fancy a night out at the Albert Hall?’

Edith came across to join them, her expression slightly dubious. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t know much about that sort of music. I might not like it as much as some of the others.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Mary briskly. ‘It’ll be Beethoven, everyone likes that. It’s fun, Edith, it won’t be stuffy, I promise.’

Edith shrugged. She had been thinking of Harry’s latest letter with news about his forthcoming operations. If they went well then he would be recuperating through the autumn, and perhaps they could set a definite date for their wedding after that. A Christmas wedding – that would be perfect.

‘I don’t know …’

‘Oh, go on, Edie,’ said Alice, almost laughing as she realised it was usually the other way around, Edith begging her to go out for once in her life. ‘You might enjoy it. I’d love to go, Mary. It’s very kind of Charles. Are you certain we won’t be in the way – don’t you want him to yourself for an evening?’

Mary generously shook her head. ‘This is too good an opportunity to waste. Edith, you’re coming along and that’s that. It’s so exciting. I used to go all the time before the war – of course that was when it was in the Queen’s Hall, but that got bombed. I was afraid they’d cancel the whole thing but it started up again and better than ever, because the Albert Hall is so big. It’s good for boosting morale. Look at it like that, if you’re worried you won’t like the music.’

‘It’s all right for you, you grew up playing the piano and having singing lessons,’ Edith retorted. ‘We didn’t have so much as a harmonica in our house. If anyone sang too loud, my father clipped them round the ear. It puts you right off.’

Mary would not be dissuaded. ‘All the more reason to start now, then,’ she said smartly, standing up once more. ‘I’ll write to Charles straight away, before you change your mind.’

The staff car cautiously weaved along the damaged roads, past Hyde Park and through the centre of London, headlamps shaded because of the blackout, but as far as Alice was concerned it was as good as being in a sports car. It had been ages since she’d been in any kind of private vehicle. Even though she was crammed in the back with Edith, it felt like a decadent luxury.

The skies were lit by anti-aircraft spotlights, a far cry from the pre-war bright lights of the West End, and yet there were revellers out on the streets, making the most of a raid-free Saturday night on the town. Men and women in uniform alternated with those in civvies, some linking arms and wandering along singing.

In the front passenger seat, Mary was singing as well. She’d picked up the stirring melody of the sea shanties in the second half of the programme and was improvising her own version, tapping out the rhythm on the dashboard. From anyone else this would have been annoying, but Mary had a fine voice and it was all part of the evening’s fun.

Alice caught a glimpse of Charles’s face as he looked quickly across at Mary, before turning his attention back to the road. She knew that her colleague often despaired of him, as they saw each other far less often than she would like, and she doubted if their romance would ever come to anything. Yet Alice could tell from that brief glance that he thought the world of Mary. From the moment they had all met up earlier, he had been extra attentive to her, smiling even when she couldn’t see he was doing so, gently helping her with her jacket or making sure she had the best seat.

It wasn’t Charles’s fault their love could not progress; it was the war’s. He was an army captain and put his duty before everything, although this evening had made Alice realise how much that cost him. In any other situation he would have put Mary first.

Alice looked sideways at Edith, catching her animated face as a spotlight beam swept the sky above them. Far from hating the concert, Edith had loved it, swept along by the stirring music and the sense of occasion. It had been a night to remember. She began to hum along to Mary’s spirited rendition of the ‘Sailor’s Hornpipe’.

‘Sounds as if you don’t mind that sort of music after all,’ she said when her friends had finished.

Edith laughed. ‘I don’t know if I’d want to go to it all the time but that was just what we needed. I can’t get the tunes out of my head.’

Mary turned around to face them, and in the intermittent light Alice caught her broad smile. ‘See, I said you’d like it. We could go to other concerts if you want, when our days off coincide. There’s usually something on at the National Gallery at lunchtime. Myra Hess, you know.’

Edith made a non-committal noise.

‘Charles used to take me before he grew so busy,’ Mary went on, laying a hand on his arm. ‘Didn’t you? We used to meet there for some music and a quick bite to eat. Remember when they had really strange food? I suppose it was all they could get, and they always like to provide something.’