‘An evocative tale’ Woman MagazineThe East End of London has been devastated by the Blitz and the people are struggling to come to terms with their ravaged city. Rationing bites ever deeper and and everything that makes life better is in short supply. For the district nurses, the challenges are tougher than ever.Gladys loves her work in the Civil Nursing Reserve, but just when she needs to rely on her sister at home to help out with the chores, she turns into a handful of trouble. Edith is learning to cope with her boyfriend's injuries after Dunkirk but will she have to choose between her love for him and her career?With no end in sight, the war reaches its darkest moment … Can the nurses – and the families and patients that rely on them – find the strength to carry on?
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Annie Groves. Christmas for the District Nurses
CHRISTMAS FOR THE DISTRICT NURSES. Annie Groves
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE. December 1941
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR. January 1942
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX. April 1942
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT. Summer 1942
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN. Autumn 1942
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN. December 1942
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE. Winter 1943
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE. Spring 1943
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE. Summer 1943
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY. Autumn 1943
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO. December 1943
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
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About Annie Groves
About the Publisher
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Heartfelt thanks to Teresa Chris, Kate Bradley and Penny Isaac, without whom the stories of the district nurses would never have been told.
Title Page
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It was a matter of minutes before she arrived at the Banhams’ front door, which was still mercifully in place. Jeeves Street had taken a pounding earlier in the summer and there were gaps in its once-solid terraces, but the house she sought was intact. True, the air stank of fires and brick dust and, worse, an underlying stench of decay and rust. But the Banham home, for years her sanctuary, stood firm.
Mattie, her best friend, had cried with relief and hugged her hard before pulling her into the heart of the house, the big kitchen, with its view over the awkward wedge shape of not-quite-garden. Flo, Mattie’s mother, had immediately set about making tea and pouring precious orange juice for Brian, as Mattie still got extra for nursing her younger child. Kathleen had collapsed onto a chair, relieved beyond measure that she was safe and so were her closest friends and their children. Mattie’s father, Stan, was an ARP warden in the same section as Billy, and Flo promised to inform him at once that they were in one piece. ‘We thought you would be,’ she said. ‘We knew you went to the church shelter whenever the siren went, no matter what time of day or night. We all squashed up into our own shelter, packed in like sardines we was.’
