Читать книгу Our Country Nurse: Can East End Nurse Sarah find a new life caring for babies in the country? - Sarah Beeson, Amy Beeson - Страница 10

I knew I was frowning slightly as Flo poured me a cup of tea before the doors opened for the two o’clock Totley baby clinic on Tuesday afternoon. I’d been stunned when Mrs Martha Bunyard, a matriarch of clinic volunteers, had practically shoved me into the cramped consulting room away from the hall when I arrived, but now I was fuming.

‘Your predecessor always saw mothers in here, Nurse. That’s the way we’ve always done it in Totley. Stops time-wasters taking liberties,’ she had informed me.

We’ll see, I thought as I agitatedly sipped my tea. Flo looked at me thoughtfully. ‘Don’t want to rock the boat at your very first clinic, do you?’ she suggested tentatively. ‘Martha Bunyard and Doris Bowyer have been running things round here for years, Nurse. No one likes change, do they?’

‘Hmm,’ I replied. I thought of Susan, whose baby I’d helped deliver only days before, and felt a pang of sympathy for her. The stalwart so-called helper, who was most likely banking on me being out of sight and out of mind, was probably a relative of Susan’s new husband, his mother even – poor girl.

Flo straightened the biscuits on her trolley. ‘Have you got through that vegetable box we left you, yet?’ she asked, changing the subject.

‘Still working my way through it. Best produce I’ve ever tasted,’ I enthused.

Flo beamed with pride. ‘I don’t like to boast but my Clem has won “Best in Show” for his root vegetables at the village fete every single year for the last decade. Beetroot, carrot, potato, you name it, he’s won the blue ribbon for it. Mr Hopkins and Father Nick are almost green with …’ She stopped herself. ‘Pride comes before a fall,’ she reminded herself. ‘Lots to do; while you’re all out and about I think I’ll give the health visitors’ room a quick once over with a duster,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Mrs Drummond does have rather a lot of knick-knacks that are magnets for dust,’ she added, bustling off behind her tea trolley. ‘And Mrs Jefferies is in today. She’ll be running a gloved finger over everything, you mark my words.’

Oh yes, I still had to meet the fourth health visitor; ‘Mrs N. Jefferies’ read the little name plaque she had facing outwards on her desk. I scowled again at the thought of Mrs Martha Bunyard telling me what to do. Maybe I’d needed to be firmer from the off? I must stop sulking, I decided. I needed to observe and see how it all went. If it worked for the mothers then it didn’t matter if I was shut away in the dreary claustrophobic backroom.

There was a tap on the semi-open door. I saw a woman in a yellow and cream V-necked floral dress with tiny round buttons plus matching russet jacket and sandals standing in the doorway. Her almost white blonde hair was pulled off her face by a couple of golden combs. Her eyes wrinkled into deep furrowed lines as she gave me a broad open smile.

‘Knock, knock,’ she called as she stepped into the room. ‘I thought I’d come and say hello. I’m Monika Michalak, the clinic doctor.’

‘Where have they shut you away?’ I asked, stepping forward. ‘Sorry,’ I corrected myself, realising how much I was giving away, ‘I’m Sarah Hill, the new health visitor.’

‘Don’t worry. They do rather like to tuck us out of harm’s way in the broom cupboard, don’t they?’ she said, laughing. ‘I turn up and do my bit. But I often think it’s a shame we only see a mother by request.’

I smiled thoughtfully, drinking in the situation. Wait and see, wait and see, Sarah, don’t be too hasty, I said to myself.

Dr Michalak cast her eyes down, smiling shyly as she checked her wristwatch. ‘Doors open in a minute – action stations,’ she said merrily as she slipped away, back to her own closet.

Half an hour later and there I was drumming my fingers on the desk not having seen a single soul. Had nobody come yet? As a student health visitor I’d never been to a clinic that wasn’t packed right from the off. Maybe people didn’t go to clinic here; had I come to somewhere that had no need for me? ‘I’m not spending every Tuesday afternoon twiddling my thumbs. I’m going to go out there to see for myself what’s going on.’ I gingerly made my way to the main reception. Three of the four clinic volunteers were in a little huddle in a closed circle of chairs having cups of tea and biscuits in a corner; Mrs Martha Bunyard was very much the Queen Bee. Toddlers were running around or whining hot and bored with nothing to do. At least one of them was doing something helpful by weighing the babies, albeit fully clothed. None of the changing tables had been set up and chairs for the mothers to sit on seemed to be very few and far between. ‘It’s not good enough,’ I fumed.

‘Any mothers waiting to be seen?’ I asked my so-called volunteers.

‘What you doing out here, Nurse?’ replied Mrs Martha Bunyard in an accusatory tone. ‘We’ll tell you if anyone wants you.’ And before I knew it I was back in my box. I only saw three mothers during the clinic and felt utterly useless. I glumly trudged back to the office to see if there’d been any messages – probably not; maybe the mothers didn’t want to see me? As I shuffled past the clinic room I overheard Mrs Martha Bunyard saying, ‘Slip of a girl, barely a nurse. What does she know about babies and motherhood that we don’t?’

Fuming, I marched up to her and made a declaration of war. ‘I’ll have the clinic keys from now on please, Mrs Bunyard.’

She gaped at me for a few moments before replying, ‘I’ve had these keys for 30 years.’

‘Well, they’ll be perfectly safe with me.’

‘What do you need them for?’

‘It’ll give me the opportunity to set up the clinic in a new way. Next week I’d like you to come 10 minutes beforehand and I’ll run through the changes with you all.’

‘We’ve been doing this clinic like this for decades.’

‘Times change.’

‘Not in Totley.’

‘The keys please, Mrs Bunyard.’

Reluctantly she opened her handbag. ‘They’d be much safer with me. You won’t lose them, will you? I’ve had this same set since 1945.’

‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after a pair of keys, Mrs Bunyard.’

She frowned. ‘The silvery one is for the toy cupboard.’

‘Thank you.’ Not that they’d bothered to put any toys out in the first place.

‘And the brass one is for the metal cupboard where we keep the baby milk and whatnot.’

‘That seems simple enough,’ I said, smiling through my teeth as I took the keys out of her grasping hand and sauntered off back to my desk, leaving a buzz of whispered outrages behind me.

A plump woman with grey hair pulled back off her round face highlighting a bulbous red nose was blocking the entrance to the health visitors’ office. She wore a long plain tweed skirt teamed with a tightly buttoned dusty brown shirt. She was clearly leaving as her alligator handbag was securely nestled in the crook of her arm, car keys already in hand, balancing a large tin of what looked like Mrs King’s homemade shortbread biscuits and a stack of files underneath it.

‘Hello, I’m Sarah Hill, the new health visitor,’ I greeted her.

‘I don’t have time for pleasantries, but as you’re here you can make yourself useful and carry these to my car,’ she said, giving me the wad of records but keeping tight hold of the biscuits.

I followed her in silence out of the clinic to the car park, where she plonked everything on the backseat of her own Mini.

‘My, my! I would have thought you a student nurse on community practice at first glance,’ she remarked, her eyes cast down at my short skirt. ‘When I trained nurses wore skirts a good four inches below the knee on and off-duty.’

I wanted to ask if that had been during the Crimean War but I bit my lip.

‘Are you finished for the day, Mrs Jefferies?’ I asked. It was only four o’clock and I knew Mrs King and Miss Drummond would be back soon to write up their notes.

‘I am, but I don’t see what business it is of yours.’

I didn’t know what to say. She got into the driver’s seat of her car. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs Jefferies,’ I said, attempting cheeriness.

‘You will not. I only come to Totley Clinic on Tuesdays and Thursdays.’

‘Oh, are you part-time?’ I asked innocently.

Her eyes burned into me. ‘I work from the doctors’ surgery in Malling the rest of the week. I do not visit farm workers and villagers. Totley is not under my jurisdiction I am happy to say. They are entirely in your hands, Miss Hill. Good afternoon,’ she ticked me off before slamming her car door on me.

I scowled as I forlornly watched Mrs Jefferies speed off in a cloud of dust. They certainly make the women thorny in these parts, I ruminated, agitatedly flicking Mrs Martha Bunyard’s precious keys back and forth in my hand. I had notes to write up but what with overbearing volunteers at clinic and now, to top it all, it being clear that Mrs N. Jefferies had taken a distinct dislike to me on first sight, I started to feel perhaps moving to Totley had been a terrible mistake. I flicked the keys faster and faster, back and forth, biting my lower lip, and then somehow the keys slipped out my hand and down the drain of the clinic car park. ‘Oh hell, that woman had those keys for 30 years and I’d not had them for 10 minutes and look at what I’ve done,’ I lamented, getting onto my hands and knees to see if there was any way to retrieve them from the drain. What a mess!

I must have looked a sorry state when Miss Drummond gracefully entered the room. She dropped her bag onto a chair and sat on the edge of her desk, smiling curiously at me, my hair a-tangle, with smudges of clinic car-park dust on my face and clothes.

‘How was your first clinic, Miss Hill?’ she asked.

‘All right,’ I responded, attempting nonchalance.

‘I hear waves were made and the tables turned,’ she remarked, a smile playing on her lips.

I stared at her blankly then blurted out, ‘I dropped Mrs Bunyard’s keys down the drain.’

‘Oh dear. What are you going to do about that?’

‘Look for another job?’

‘No.’

‘Eat humble pie.’

‘A bit bitter for my taste, Miss Hill.’

‘What then?’

‘Do you think they’re the only keys? I’m sure Mrs Farthing could get you a new pair cut if you ask her nicely.’

‘Miss Drummond, you’re a genius.’ Now, I had to figure out how I was going to turn around the clinic so I wasn’t relegated to the back room – but I had a week to come up with a plan.

‘Anything to put a smile back on that forlorn-looking face. But you’re still frowning?’

‘I met Mrs Jefferies,’ I mumbled.

‘Ah,’ sympathised Miss Drummond. ‘I wouldn’t take it to heart. She’s never liked Totley. She was the health visitor here many moons ago. Unfortunate to be the school nurse with a name like Nora. She took offence her very first week so quickly found a role visiting the gentry in Malling and of course she’s completely enamoured of the doctors there – much more well-to-do. She’s very stuck in her ways. Whatever she says, remember, she always needs a saucer of cream afterwards.’

I laughed with relief. It wasn’t just me. Mrs Jefferies was clearly a complete cat to everyone as Miss Drummond had cleverly pointed out.

Miss Drummond shrugged off a long crimson shawl she’d been wearing and opened up a cupboard and took out a bottle of sherry and two glasses.

‘Mrs King keeps a bottle of sherry to spice up her soup at lunchtime but the sun is over the yardarm, so let’s call it a day and have a drink,’ she said, pouring each of us a glass. ‘It’s a beautiful September evening. Why don’t we have them in your little garden?’ she suggested. ‘If that’s not too presumptuous of me?’

‘No, no, I think that’s a lovely idea,’ I said, quickly gathering up my things and rising to my feet.

Miss Drummond followed me round to the back of the clinic and through the back gate into my long garden. Over the fence Clem and Flo were hard at work. Flo was picking ripe tomatoes and Clem was in his element in his white beekeeper’s suit.

‘A very devoted couple,’ remarked Miss Drummond.

‘They’ve been very kind,’ I added.

Miss Drummond caught Clem’s eye and he edged away from the hives, lifting the net off his hood.

‘Evening, ladies,’ he called. ‘I’m harvesting my honey.’

‘Best honey in the whole county,’ praised Miss Drummond.

‘I don’t know about that,’ mumbled Clem, glowing with pleasure. ‘But I’ll make sure I keep at least half a dozen jars for each of you when I’ve finished heeving.’

‘You’re too kind, Clem.’

‘Getting ready for winter, Clem?’ I asked.

‘I am, Nurse. Got to make sure there’s at least 60 pounds of sugar to keep the bees going or the queen won’t have it.’

‘Giving them plenty of syrup too?’ I asked.

Clem raised his eyes in surprise. ‘I am, Nurse, as it goes.’

I smiled. ‘My father comes from a long line of beekeepers,’ I explained.

‘And does he have his own heeves?’

‘He does. My parents are living in the town now, but he still keeps a hive or two at the bottom of their garden and more with a farmer nearby.’

‘Maybe we could set you up with a little heeve of your own,’ he suggested.

‘I don’t think I’m ready for that. But I’d gladly help you,’ I offered.

‘Clement, let the ladies alone,’ Flo called across the garden. ‘They’ve had a hard day, they don’t want to listen to you droning on about your bees all evening. It’s bad enough I have to listen to it.’

‘Ah, Mrs Farthing, just the woman we need,’ coaxed Miss Drummond. ‘Miss Hill is in need of a fresh set of keys for the clinic including the store cupboards – do you think you could get some cut for her?’

‘No trouble at all, Miss Drummond. I’ll get onto it first thing tomorrow.’

‘You’re a treasure, Mrs Farthing.’

‘Thank you so much,’ I gushed. To think only an hour before I’d felt like jumping in my Mini and fleeing Totley for ever.

Clem smiled and returned to his frames, Flo to her tomatoes, and Miss Drummond and I dusted off the little table and chairs by my back door and settled down with our sherry.

‘So, you’re a country girl?’ remarked Miss Drummond.

I nodded. ‘Did you grow up in Kent?’

‘Lord, no. Edinburgh. We’ve been here for the last 10 years ever since I came back from New York.’

‘I see,’ I answered, but I didn’t at all.

‘How are you finding the flat?’

‘It’s lovely. I’ve got everything I need.’

‘Well, that’s a blessing.’

‘Do you live in the village, Miss Drummond?’

‘Please call me Hermione off-duty, and may I call you Sarah?’ I nodded and she smiled. ‘We have a little cottage down by the river on Mill Lane.’

‘Oh, how lovely.’

‘It suits us – you must come and see us sometime?’ said Hermione, as she sat back, closed her eyes and bathed in evening sunlight. ‘You know the previous occupant of Ivy Cottage was the old district nurse? She left us only two months ago.’

‘Flo mentioned it. She said the new district nurse had opted to live in Maidstone and turned down the flat.’

‘Yes, Miss Bates. Pretty girl. Full of gusto. I’m sure you’ll get on. Did Flo happen to mention where the old district nurse moved to?’

‘No, she didn’t.’

‘Hove.’

‘Near Brighton?’

‘Yes,’ she paused and opened one eye momentarily for dramatic effect, ‘with Mr Jefferies.’

My eyes widened. ‘I’d assumed she’d retired. You mean the husband of …?’ My words trailed off.

‘Indeed, you can see why our colleague is feeling anti-sex appeal?’

I nodded. I felt quite sorry for Mrs Jefferies. No wonder she’d rolled her eyes at my hemlines. I wondered if they’d been carrying on in my flat.

‘Another reason for her to loathe Totley,’ explained Hermione, opening her eyes momentarily. ‘Apparently, he used to come over Monday, Wednesday, Friday …’

‘… and Mrs Jefferies works at the clinic on Tuesdays and Thursdays,’ I finished.

She nodded. ‘Rumour has it, that it all started at last year’s staff Christmas party, and in a small village Mr Jefferies regularly stopping by the clinic, or Ivy Cottage more likely, was bound to be noticed.’ Hermione took a long sip of her sherry as I waited to hear more. ‘I remember them running away together well because Billie Jean King was thrashing Evonne what’s-her-name in the Wimbledon final and they scarpered while everyone was engrossed in the match. Proved to be a bit of an anti-climax really.’

‘The affair?’

Hermione giggled. ‘No, the match. It was all over in no time.’ And then she raised an eyebrow to wordlessly finish off the account.

I chuckled. ‘And what does Mrs Jefferies say about it?’

‘Oh, nothing at all,’ Hermione elaborated, her sherry finished. ‘She never alludes to the affair and if pressed will confide she showed him the door after discovering some troubling things in his genealogy or some such rubbish.’

‘She sounds like a snob.’

‘We’re all snobs, Sarah, it’s a question of degree.’ I smiled. She was right of course. ‘Now, I really must be getting back to Etty. It’s long past dinnertime. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Anything exciting planned?’

‘No, nothing at all,’ I sighed with a little pang for London life. When you lived with other nurses in the metropolis there was always something to do, someone to pal up with. I suddenly felt very alone.

‘I’ve always rather enjoyed my own company,’ Hermione told me as if she’d read my thoughts. ‘No one to boss you about. You can lie down, have a nice cocktail and enjoy a good book, a bubble bath or something jolly on the radio without asking anyone’s permission. I often look at young girls rushing off to the altar and think it’s such a shame, why can’t they have a bit of freedom? God knows for most of our sex the opportunities for self-indulgence are few and far between. Enjoy it while you can,’ Hermione advised sagely with a wink before she sauntered off down the garden path.