Читать книгу An Unsuitable Mother - Sheelagh Kelly - Страница 10
ОглавлениеAnother week went by, and then another, taking Nell into December. Even now, the fear having churned her stomach into a pit of acid, she persisted in hanging on, visiting the Preciouses almost every night, and posting her letters to Billy. For, until confirmation of his death was put in writing, there remained the shred of hope that it had all been a mistake. All of it.
Being informed almost immediately that Bill was missing, Beata had been the source of comfort that Nell’s parents could never be, for they remained unaware – though of course they could see that their daughter was troubled by some matter. Hence, thinking it perhaps to be something at work, they were happy for her to accept her fellow nurse’s frequent invitations to the pictures, without guessing what these trips were meant to ease. Seated there in the darkened cinema, though, Nell felt anything but eased, barely concentrating on the opening film, let alone the tips on cookery and the shorts from the Ministry of Information – until the one that forewarned the audience about careless talk: ‘Keep mum!’
Oh, yes, she really came awake then, and took to picking over her dilemma in such great detail that when a cheer went up over the downing of another Hun, she almost jumped out of her skin.
Then, finding herself under amused inspection from Beata, she returned a half-hearted little smile, and momentarily attended the newsreel. But soon her mind was to wander again.
The interval brought community singing. Irritated beyond belief, Nell lit a cigarette and, whilst others sang, took puff after nervous puff of it, until the theatre eventually reverted to darkness. As if the uncomfortable seat was not bad enough, its rough moquette prickling the underneath of her legs, her bladder chose that moment to signal it required emptying again. Having purposefully gone before she came in, Nell damned her system for its current inefficiency, and tried to hold off for as long as she could.
But, constantly wriggling in discomfort, she was eventually to receive a tap on the shoulder.
‘Excuse me, love, but have you got worms?’ came an impatient demand from the man behind, whose view she had perpetually blocked.
Tutting with embarrassment, Nell apologised and turned back to the drama that had managed to capture her interest at last. But straight away an air-raid warning came onto the screen to interrupt a crucial moment, the slide instructing everyone who required to leave to do so in an orderly fashion.
‘Get on with it!’ hollered the man behind, the whole audience groaning in unison, and most people remaining in their seats.
Desperate for the lavatory by now, Nell rose quickly and made her way to the end of the row, whispering to Beata, ‘Don’t miss the picture, I’ll be back when I’ve spent a penny.’
Once in the cubicle, she took the opportunity to undo the top hooks and eyes of her corset, gasping as she lowered herself onto the seat, then sitting back to savour these few moments of relief. Soon, though, the sound of someone else waiting outside the door had her hurrying to do up her corset and emerge.
But as she did so, who should she almost collide with but Sister Barber.
Both looked stunned, before Nell turned shamefully aside to wash her hands, and Sister hovered to observe: ‘I heard nothing to the effect that you’d be here tonight. Nurse Spottiswood – you’re meant to keep the authorities informed!’
Nell could think of no excuse, other than to stammer, ‘I’m sorry, Sister, it was a last last-minute arrangement …’
‘One that could get you dismissed!’
Nell was immediately gripped by terror: how could she support a child with no job? Her parents were going to be angry enough as it was – perhaps even kick her out – she would need every penny to maintain herself. She turned with dripping hands from the sink, about to beg for mercy, when just at that point Beata came to look for her.
‘Oh, and this is your partner in crime!’ came Sister’s withering proclamation, giving Nell leave to dry her hands. ‘I thought better of you, Kilmaster. Do neither of you grasp how important it is that we know your every whereabouts? It’s imperative that we’re able to muster the entire crew at a moment’s notice, we can’t hang around whilst the messenger visits every pub and picture house in York in the hope of finding you there! Are you masquerading as nurses?’
‘No! I’m truly serious about this, Sister,’ objected Nell, both she and Beata apologetic. But Sister remained waspish and obviously not satisfied. ‘I’ll see you both in my office tomorrow morning.’ And she jerked her head for them to go.
‘Oh God, I can’t get the sack – not on top of everything else!’ uttered a frantic Nell to Beata as they hurried for the exit. She was close to tears again, and could not understand how the other remained so calm.
‘She won’t get us fired,’ assured her friend in that gently confident way of hers. ‘She was just letting off steam.’
Nell felt like shaking her older friend for such complacency. ‘Maybe not you, but she’s always had it in for me!’
Beata tried to coax her, as both made the decision to abandon their night out and turn for home. ‘I can promise you, you won’t get the sack. Listen to your Aunty Beat.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, I can see you’re going to spend the night fretting if I don’t tell you …’
‘Tell me what?’
‘I know Sister’s little secret,’ disclosed Beata with a sly grin. ‘She lives near me. Her husband runs a pub.’
Nell was utterly flummoxed.
‘Nurses’re not supposed to have a pub address,’ explained Beata. ‘Sister gave Matron a false one, I overheard her.’
Nell heaved a vast sigh of relief, but in that same turn she clicked her tongue. ‘You could have given me this ammunition before, instead of letting her boss me around all these weeks!’
‘You needed bossing around,’ retorted Beata, only half-joking. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t my place to let on about Sister, we’re all entitled to our secrets.’ Then, astonished that Nell’s eyes bulged with unexpected tears, she was swift to say, ‘I wasn’t thinking, love … keep your chin up, you’re bound to hear from him soon. That’s who you’re really worried about, isn’t it?’
Dabbing at her eyes and blowing into her handkerchief, Nell moved her head up and down, thinking but not saying, Oh, Killie, if only you knew the half of it. But then, did she know? Had she guessed? Darting teary eyes over her friend’s face, Nell tried to read what was there, wondering whether to throw herself on the other’s mercy …
But then the moment was gone. If Beata had guessed, she did not say as she delved into her pocket and handed Nell a sweet. And, knowing her friend’s opinion on unmarried mothers, Nell could not bear to incur such disapproval.
* * *
Thankfully, Sister’s own disapproval had mellowed by the following morning. Beata turned out to be right, neither she nor Nell were to be sacked, but received only an admonition to keep their superiors informed from now on.
Despite it being a relief, though, it was only one less thing for Nell to worry about. Awaiting news, day after day, night after night, she continued to haunt the Preciouses, and eventually those tireless visits were to bear fruit.
But it was the bitterest, most noxious of fruit. And the letter came not from Billy, but from his mother.
There was an unaccustomed delicacy to Mrs Precious’s masculine features as she handed it over, that suggested she already knew what was in its pages. Inviting Nell to sit down, she and Georgie hung on the youngster’s every nuance whilst the envelope was opened with trembling hands, and the reader braced herself to ingest the terrible words.
Mrs Kelly had found, amongst her dead son’s belongings, a bundle of letters. ‘Please forgive me for not writing to you sooner,’ she had painfully scrawled, ‘but I’ve been so terribly upset myself, and had no way of letting you know about Billy until I gathered the courage to go through his things, and found the letters bearing your name. I recognised Mrs Precious’s address at the top, because Bill occasionally dropped me a line from there whilst he was in York. And I knew, of course, that he had met a girl up there whom he thought the world of, and that he was going to marry her when the war was over. Always told me everything did my Bill, showed me your photograph, and said what lovely long letters you wrote him. Well, I could see that for myself when I came across them. I hasten to say I didn’t take the liberty of reading them –’
Nell felt sure she had, but cared nothing for this, and quickly read on, a pulse thrumming her neck. ‘– they were private between you and my son, and must remain so. You shall have them back if you wish. Billy did say that your parents wouldn’t approve of you going out with anyone, you being so young. But he was willing to wait. And he said you felt the same. That’s why I thought I should let you know the circumstances of his passing …’
Visualising the writer taking a deep breath in preparation of having to pen the following lines, Nell took one too, trying to fight the impulse to vomit, as the walls and all their bizarre contents seemed to press in on her, her hands trembling even more.
‘Even though it must be awfully sad for you to read, you will surely want to know why he suddenly disappeared from your life. We’d suffered a night of terrible bombing. I can’t describe how bad it was to you. Billy and other soldiers were sent out to help with the rescue. There were lots of people trapped under fallen buildings, and Billy crawled in amongst the rubble trying to locate a child whom he could hear crying. The walls collapsed, and my boy was killed instantly, along with a good few of his friends. I can’t tell you how my heart still breaks. I still keep expecting to see his smiling face appear round the door and saying, “Wotcher, Mum!” Life will never be the same without him. I fear I shall never get over it. But that’s as it should be, I’m his mother. It’s different for you, you’re still a girl, and Billy wouldn’t want you to be miserable. I know you’ll be terribly sad on reading this, but after you’ve had a good cry you must try to get on with your life …’ Nell broke down and sobbed noisily into her lap, unable to bear any more.
The Preciouses were immediately there with words of comfort, but Nell could take comfort in nothing, and merely sat weeping in the presence of talking heads.
‘She sent us a nice letter too, didn’t she, Georgie?’ Ma lowered her volume to fit the occasion, though it was less than gentle on the ear. ‘Thanked us for looking after him – I wrote straight back and told her we don’t need thanking, he was a pleasure to have, just like a son.’
His kind old face twisted in concern for the still-weeping Nell, Georgie asked tentative permission of his wife: ‘Shall I bring her it, do you think, dearie?’ And at her nod, he trotted from the room.
Shocked to the core, feeling ready to faint, Nell barely noticed him go, nor return, until a wristwatch was held under her nose.
Georgie gave gentle explanation as the watch was transferred from his gnarled old fingers, their nails split and stained with oil, into Nell’s young and chapped ones. ‘It’s Bill’s. I’ve had it in my workshop since he went. I didn’t have time to fix it then, so he left it with me. I did try, but my fingers aren’t as nimble as they used to be, I’m afraid, nor my eyes as good. A watchmaker would have no trouble, though. Anyway, we thought you might like it …’
Touched, but even more heartbroken, the tears streaming down her face, a shuddering Nell pressed the watch between her hands, unable to thank him.
‘It’s not much of a legacy for a hero, is it?’ submitted Ma with a heavy sigh.
And Nell sobbed again.
It was impossible, of course, to hide such deep grief from her parents.
‘Eleanor, whatever’s the matter?’ Thelma had been sitting in the firelight with her husband, listening to the nine o’clock news, but now put down her knitting and came hurrying to comfort her daughter, who had burst into tears at the moment of entry, her face already blotched and puffy from its previous onslaught. ‘Has something horrible occurred at work? We were worried when you were so late –’
Nell shook her head vigorously, spattering her coat with tears and mucus, trying to make herself stop crying in order that she might explain, but the moment she thought of Bill, she broke down again.
Wilfred Spottiswood turned off the wireless, sufficiently affected by his daughter’s distress to curtail the report of British exploits in the Western Desert. But he hung back, not knowing how to handle it, and so leaving it to her mother.
Finally, Nell was able to blurt in a shaky voice, ‘A very dear friend of mine was killed.’ It was all she could utter before dissolving again.
‘Today?’ Despite trying to commiserate, Thelma could not help questioning her daughter’s facts. ‘But there’ve been no raids.’
‘Not here,’ Nell managed to gasp. ‘London. Someone just told me.’
‘Oh, how horrible for you. Oh my dear, I’m so sorry.’ Issuing murmur of comfort, Thelma began to undo Nell’s coat, helping the deranged girl to take it off, then drawing her to the fire. ‘Come along and sit here, I’ve kept some cottage pie warm in the oven, you can have it on your lap just for tonight.’
The thought of this almost made Nell retch. ‘Mother, I couldn’t eat it!’
‘No, of course not …’ Thelma came back through the firelight to sit beside her daughter, wringing her hands and saying thoughtfully, ‘She must have been a very dear friend for you to be so upset.’
Nell nodded through a blur of tears.
‘How did –’
‘Leave the girl alone!’ Wilfred jumped in impatiently. ‘You’re making her worse by all these questions.’
‘Yes, yes, how thoughtless of me.’ Nell’s mother took issue with herself. ‘Maybe you’d just like to go to bed, dear?’
Nell required no further invitation to escape, and bolted for the darkness of the staircase. ‘I’ll fetch you a mug of Ovaltine with some aspirin, it’ll help you sleep,’ came the soothing addition from her mother. ‘I am very sorry, dear. We both are.’
Beneath the surface of her fitful sleep, her brain still reeling with visions good and bad, surrendering both to impulse and exhaustion, Nell chose to remain in bed the following morning. Lashing out to end the alarm clock’s violent demands, she pulled the sheets and blankets up over her head, and tried to gain oblivion. But as her hand slipped beneath the pillow it encountered Bill’s watch, and the tears came again. Forever seven o’clock – oh, would that it were, yearned Nell, as her mind replayed the scene that had led to this perpetuity. And to worsen her grief was the thought that poor Bill had died not knowing that he was to be a father.
A series of respectful taps came at the door. ‘You’re going to be late, dear.’
Nell crammed a fistful of pillow around each ear. ‘I’m sick.’ It was not pretence. This malaise felt as real as any bodily affliction.
But, ‘Lying there moping won’t take your mind off your bad news,’ persisted Thelma, peering in for a moment. Not one for hugs, she tried to comfort her daughter in the only way she could: with advice. ‘It might make you feel better if you throw yourself into your work – that’s what I always do when I’m a bit sad. Besides, it’s not very responsible to let the hospital down, is it?’
And ultimately, left alone, Nell was to see the truth in this, and to drag herself from the sparse comfort offered by the bed. After pondering one last time over Billy’s watch, through eyes that contained a ton of grit under each lid, she pressed it with a tender kiss, then hid it in the same place as his photograph and letters, in a hatbox, under the boater she had worn at school. And there they must remain from now on, came Nell’s miserable decision, as she donned her nurse’s uniform. For only in hard work could she hope to bury such enormous grief.
Preceding this, though, she must explain her stricken countenance to Beata – although the other had guessed the moment she saw those reddened eyes.
‘I do know a little bit of the way you’re feeling,’ Beata confided, wanting to heal the ugliness that defaced Nell’s gentle features. ‘I lost someone I was madly in love with – he wasn’t killed,’ she added swiftly, ‘but he might as well have been, the way it hit me. You feel as if your own life’s not worth living, don’t you?’ At a fresh gushing of tears from Nell, she went on softly, with a faraway look in her eye, ‘We’d been courting for ages, but the only obligation he felt towards me was to let me down lightly by letter. We lived too far apart, and he’d found a girl closer to home. We’d remain good friends, he said, and me thinking we were so much more, but there you are …’ Her glazed expression melted into one of kind concern, as she stroked Nell’s arm. ‘I know it can’t compare with your loss, not one bit, and you won’t forget about him. But believe me, it will pass.’
No it won’t, howled Nell’s heart. Still tearful at the mere thought, she begged her friend, ‘Could you tell Sister and the others? I couldn’t bear having to go through this time after time …’
Beata promised that of course she would.
But unnervingly, upon Sister being apprised, she insisted on having a word in person. Expecting a soulless lecture, dashing her gritty eyes for the umpteenth time, Nell approached her superior’s office with dismay. And, true to form, even if the words were ones of sympathy, the sermon began in the usual terse fashion.
‘First, let me say how sorry I was to hear of your bereavement, Nurse Spottiswood.’
Immediately revisited by the gargantuan lump in her throat, Nell tried to swallow it, but it refused to budge.
‘I do understand the fragile state you must be in,’ continued Sister. ‘It’s a ghastly thing that’s happened to you, and there’ll be times when you can’t prevent yourself from bursting into tears …’
But you must try not to display such an unprofessional attitude, prophesied Nell, anger and resentment fermenting in her breast. And try as she might, she could not allay the scalding mist that rushed to her eyes yet again, and she bent her head so that Sister might not take this as an indication that she was too feeble to carry out her work.
‘Whenever that occasion arises,’ finished Sister, ‘I would simply ask that you take yourself off to a cubby hole, and have your little weep in private, get completely rid of it, then clean yourself up and get on with your work. We shall all make allowances if you suddenly go absent.’ As Nell’s bloodshot eyes shot up to transmit surprised gratitude, Sister added, ‘I’m not a complete ogre, Nurse.’ And with a protracted and telling look, she ordered softly, ‘Off you go now.’
Such compassionate treatment brought the tears in full flow now. Mindful of the advice, Nell dashed straight to the lavatory and spent a good few minutes racked in sobs, hoping to dislodge that choking lump in her throat in order that she might breathe, trying to wring every last drop of unshed grief from her aching body, so that it might suffer no repeat of this handicap and allow her to operate like a professional human being. Finally, she splashed her face with water, took a series of deep, steadying breaths, and emerged red-eyed, but prepared to get on with her job.
Against all determination to the contrary, that shedding of tears was not to be Nell’s last. Far from it. But, with her colleagues equally sympathetic, and none of them seeking to interrogate, she was at least able to indulge in these bouts of sorrow as often as they afflicted her, everyone naturally assuming that her tears were all for Bill.
But what if they or Sister had known of her other anxiety? Would they have been so philanthropic then? The fear of being stigmatised prohibited any foray. There was no one in whom to confide, not even Beata, for Nell was well aware of her friend’s views on the matter of illegitimacy.
So, Nell continued to bear her burden alone, at times consumed by terror, at others elated that her lovely, heroic Bill had left a part of him growing inside her, and though the memories of him were to endure, eventually her tears were to recede.
Following the initial concern over her daughter, and having lent her a couple of weeks in which to get over the loss of her friend, Nell’s mother was finally to note one December eve, ‘I’m glad to see you enjoying your food again, dear, and looking so much better too.’
Nell regarded her with eyes dulled by fatalism. How could one’s body appear in such rude health, when one’s soul felt close to death?
‘I told you eating properly would do the trick,’ said Thelma, yet she was not quite so insensitive as to believe that all was fine. ‘I know you must still be feeling sad, but you’ve done exceptionally well in covering it up. I think you were right to go back to work straight away. There’s nothing like it for taking your mind off things, especially in a job such as yours where people are worse off. Let’s hope the Christmas festivities will help to put the vim back – such as they are with this blessed war on.’
Christmas. How Nell had been dreading all the manufactured gaiety that this would spell for her, having to pretend for those around her that she was enjoying it, whilst constantly arrested by this tiny being that fluttered inside.
Nevertheless, when Christmas morning arrived, for others’ sakes she was to adopt the obligatory beam of gratitude over the presents that had been bought for her, and to uphold this aching rictus throughout the morning whilst helping her mother cook the dinner, indeed through the eating of it, and to carry it forward even into the late afternoon, when she and her parents made a teatime visit to their kin.
But there the invented smile was to slip. With her expanding girth under tight control from the corset, until now no one had commented on Nell’s radiance, but Aunty Phyllis had not seen her niece for some time, and was quick to remark as her guests took off their coats.
‘Good Lord, someone’s been eating too much Christmas pudding!’
Nell flushed as everyone’s eyes turned to her, and, with her jaw agape, it was left to Thelma to retort, ‘Christmas pudding? Which of us has enjoyed Christmas pudding with no dried fruit to be had?’
Thankful to have the attention diverted, Nell struggled to regain her equilibrium, whilst Aunty Phyllis made a sound of disbelief. ‘Thelma Spottiswood with no dried fruit? I don’t think!’
Her sister-in-law laughed. ‘As a matter of fact, I have been holding on to some, but it was a choice between cake or pudding, and the cake’s so much more versatile and it keeps all year. So I tore a recipe out of the press for Christmas pudding using carrots – you wouldn’t think they’d be an especially good substitute, but I had to tell Wilfred and Eleanor after they’d eaten it, they couldn’t tell the difference. Shovelled it in, they did!’
‘I can see that!’ Aunty Phyllis’s eyes were on Nell again, looking her up and down. Then she rubbed her niece’s arms in fun. ‘Mrs Roly-Poly! Well, I hope you’re not going to be disappointed with what I’ve got for your tea, I’m not so clever as your mother.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be lovely!’ Nell had managed to revive her smile, and hoped that her voice did not betray tension as she and her family were shown to their seats. But she was already making a premature New Year resolution to eat less, and wondered bleakly if she were the only person at that table who was thankful for wartime rationing.
Dark days ahead, His Majesty had warned in his festive speech, and for sure, the old year went out on a violent note. With an intense bombardment, the Germans had distorted the familiar outline of London into a huge inferno. Even upon viewing those cinema newsreels, it was impossible to comprehend what it must be like to endure this night after night, and this gave Nell fresh cause to worry. For, since Mrs Kelly’s poignant letter, she had corresponded with the grandmother of her unborn child, as if to keep another little part of Bill alive. Hence, she was to worry over her safety, and that of Bill’s brothers and sisters. She might soon need their help if her parents were to throw her out. Still, she refrained from confiding in the Kellys for now, partly through fear of rejection. She would never be able to bear it, if they too spurned Bill’s child.
She would have to tell her parents soon, though. Another month was almost up, propelling her towards the inevitable. How, though? thought Nell, as she shivered through one January evening after another, nursing her secret, listening to the news with her parents. One could not just slip it in between the items from the wireless, say – ‘Oh, such good news that the price of custard powder’s been frozen, and by the way, I’m expecting a baby.’ Equally wrong, when Father was rejoicing over those allied victories in Tobruk, and inviting his daughter to partake in a celebratory glass of sherry with him and Mother. Nell just could not bring herself to wipe away those smiles, nor to invoke the overwhelming sense of let-down that would surely follow her confession.
Hence, both that month and the next were allowed to roll by, Nell’s situation worsening with every day, aided only by ingenuity. Her own corset now too small, she had rummaged through her mother’s old clothes and found a replacement. There was a shop in town that specialised in nurses’ uniforms, including the one she herself wore; thus was she to acquire a larger size to accommodate her growing girth, and no one would be any the wiser. For much of the day, too, she was able to disguise this under a capacious apron, and because it was winter a navy-blue cardigan provided an extra shield. Tall and large-boned, never slender at the best of times, she had managed to conceal it perhaps better than someone more delicate – though surely being surrounded by those with medical knowledge meant that one of them must observe it any day soon.
At least the baby did not sap its mother’s strength, and she had copious amounts of energy to devote to her work, which seemed to be all that mattered to her superiors. One of her peers, though, had certainly become alert to the amount of times Nell had taken to excusing herself to the lavatory of late.
‘Bloomin’ heck, why don’t you just set up residence in there?’ sighed Joyson, as Nell broke away from her group of friends as all were on their way to lunch one day.
Though blushing deeply, Nell managed to form a sarcastic reply. ‘I’m so sorry, Joy, I didn’t realise you were doing a thesis on my bladder movements.’ Egged on by her other colleagues’ laughter, she enquired in the same whimsical tone, ‘Would you care to come in with me to measure how much urine I excrete?’
‘Well! You’re always disappearing in there,’ complained Joyson, looking her up and down. ‘Anyone’d think you had a problem.’
‘My only problem is you,’ stated Nell, made even more uncomfortable by everyone’s eyes being upon her. Had one of them finally noticed the rippling bump, and would they draw attention to it? She herself was acutely aware of it moving under her apron, so violently did the baby protest at being restricted by its mother’s corset. It felt as if it were trying to kick its way to liberty, shoving its feet underneath her ribs and pressing with all its might.
‘Leave the lass alone!’ Beata was still chuckling over Nell’s last comment. ‘It’s the cold weather, isn’t it, love?’ she prompted the one under scrutiny. ‘I have the same trouble.’
‘Ooh, me and all,’ revealed the owlish Green.
Their grateful friend turned for the lavatory. ‘Right, you all go on, I’ll catch you up – I wouldn’t want to keep Joy from her dinner.’
‘Don’t mind her, love, we’ll wait,’ replied the kind-hearted Beata.
Which was all very well, but it added to the pressure Nell felt herself under, as she hurried to the lavatory, unbuttoning and unhooking, then seating herself for a few moments’ relief.
Granted more freedom, the one in her abdomen stretched its limbs, knees and elbows, distorting the shape of her belly. Despite the awfulness of her situation, and not for the first time, Nell felt an overwhelming wave of love for it, and placed her hand upon the mound that rippled from its subterranean movement. ‘I suppose you’ll want some clothes,’ she told it fondly, before biting her lip so as not to cry at the thought of its poor father. Stop! Stop thinking of him, she scolded herself, biting down hard, you can’t start blubbing again.
Forcing herself to concentrate on practicalities, she listed the items that she would need. One thing was certain, she would not have the outlay for many of these, perhaps a bonnet or a bib, but she would need every penny if the worst came to the worst. Well, her mother had shanks of wool from the WVS, she could filch a little of that, a tiny amount wouldn’t be missed; it might mean an unsuitable colour for baby, but she could trim the items with ribbons. Nappies, she would need those too. The word thief had never been ascribed to Nell, but desperation lured her to contemplate it now. Perhaps by volunteering to do more hours at the Infirmary she could inveigle her way onto the nursery ward, and take some nappies one by one. She was aware that every piece of linen was counted, for this had been amongst her chores, but was anyone really going to hold an inquest over the odd missing item? A feeding bottle could perhaps be spirited away from there too. But what about a pram – and a cot? She couldn’t secret either of those under her clothes. Never mind, they were not necessities. The child could be carried whilst it was small. She stroked her abdomen thoughtfully, imagining its resident five years hence, all the things it would need then – indeed, where would she be herself? When would she be able to pluck up the courage to tell anyone? When would it actually arrive? What on earth was she going to do?
But as and whenever this last thought came, Nell drove it away. In any case, she was soon yanked from her ruminations by Joyson’s hammering on the door.
‘Come on, Spotty, I want me dinner!’
Pawing her heart, and shutting her eyes with barely contained patience, Nell shouted, ‘Coming!’ this begetting a hasty and awkward fastening of clothes.
But after rejoining the crew, with Joyson setting the pace and almost dragging her along, she was to acquire a dreadful stitch in her side that had her begging them to leave her behind, so that she might catch up at a more leisurely rate.
‘I know what’s wrong with her,’ speculated Joyson, upon Nell having finally reached the restaurant where she now sat picking at her meal in absent-minded fashion. ‘She thinks she’s getting too fat so she’s started pecking like a sparrow – it’s upset all your metabolism,’ she told the astounded Nell directly.
Having suffered a moment’s fright that her dilemma was about to be announced to all and sundry, Nell’s relief was to emerge in an outpouring of uncharacteristic impatience. ‘Honestly, Joy, are you never satisfied?’ She clattered her fork onto the plate and sat back to roll her eyes. ‘One minute I’m eating too much, the next too little – apparently I’m not even allowed to go to the lavatory when I want – could you please mind your own business!’
There was momentary silence, and a few sideways glances from other diners. But, though surprised by this show of temper from one so normally placid, none of her colleagues chose to ask what had caused it, for Nell’s raw sense of bereavement was a good enough excuse for them. And the subject was hastily changed.
Feeling extremely foolish, Nell abandoned her meal, instead seizing advantage of the lately relaxed ruling that allowed nurses to enjoy a post-luncheon cigarette, lighting up and dragging on it as if there were no tomorrow, then blasting a stream of smoke at the ceiling. Then, trying to appear less agitated, she was to while away the rest of her break, listening half-heartedly to the others discussing the Germans’ latest invasion of yet another country, and damning herself for being such a coward as not to confide.
And yet again she was left to plod on alone towards her fate, alternating the days of hard work with evenings of knitting baby clothes in the secrecy of her room.
Spring brought daffodils to enhance the medieval Bar walls, pink blossom to the trees that lined Nell’s avenue, a fresh coat of paint to the Spottiswoods’ front door and sills, and an increasingly murderous blitz upon London. Having maintained a sporadic correspondence with Bill’s mother via the Preciouses household – though still not having told her nor them about the baby – Nell could only guess how terrible life must be in the capital, and, appreciating the safety of a York barely damaged, she had lately shelved her plan to throw herself on Mrs Kelly’s mercy should her own parents disown her. It was far too dangerous.
So, too, was her recent habit of pilfering from the hospital, and it looked to Nell as if matters had finally come to a head. After a long shift, partly maintaining the casualty evacuation train and undergoing a futile exercise in which she dressed mock injuries on fellow nurses, but much of it helping out with more genuine work at the Infirmary, she had been anticipating a warm meal and a comfortable bed as she made ready to go home. Instead, just as she was due to leave on that damp spring evening, an authoritative voice accosted her in the echoing corridor: ‘One moment, Nurse Spottiswood!’
Nell stopped dead, and quaked in her shoes, fearing that someone must have seen her take the baby’s napkin that she was hiding under her coat, requisitioned during her opportune bout in the nursery. Her heart beat rapidly as she turned to face her superior’s wrath.
But to her confusion, and not a little relief, others from the crew were being summoned as well, Matron Fosdyke announcing to all, ‘I’ve received word that the casualty evacuation trains are required – yes, you’re finally needed at last!’ she said at their looks of expectation. ‘So, if any of you have family who’ll be concerned at your absence, those without a telephone may go home and inform them of your whereabouts, then you must immediately present yourself to Matron Lennox at Leeman Road.’
Simultaneous to that wondrous flush of reprieve, Nell could also have wept from sheer exhaustion at the thought of being robbed of her bed. Though, adhering to duty, she was to act without question, as were her friends. Yet even in the rush to obey, she saw that Beata was eyeing her in a sympathetic manner, and it drew to Nell’s cheeks a crimson tinge, her instantaneous thought being that her pregnancy was finally to be unveiled.
Beata was not so candid as to mention it outright, though. ‘I’m sure they’ll understand if you can’t manage it,’ she simply murmured to her friend. ‘You really shouldn’t push yourself.’
Nell bristled, immediately wishing she had not, but it was too late now, as she yelped, ‘What are you talking about? I’m as fit as everybody else! We’re all in the same boat – why, if there’s anyone that should be resting it’s you!’
In the furious hiatus, she sensed that Beata was about to say more, but just then Sister Barber happened past, took one look at the other’s ankle, which was hugely inflated and spilling over its shoe, and declared in her usual brusque manner, ‘Spottiswood’s right! You needn’t bother coming back, Kilmaster, that leg will be exploded before we reach Doncaster. Get yourself home and put it up – come along, Spottiswood, get yourself weaving and tell your parents, then hurry back!’
Observing that Beata seemed about to plead lenience for her friend, Nell suppressed her with a thunderous glance. Then, issuing a hasty goodbye, and wrapping her coat around her abdomen, already afflicted by a stitch, she lumbered off to catch a bus.
Thankfully, its arrival at the stop coincided with hers, and within ten minutes she was almost home, though the latter part of her journey was delayed by the horde of human traffic that streamed from the carriage works, both on bicycle and on foot.
Home at last, she babbled the news to her mother. Then, still wearing her coat, and under pretext of visiting the lavatory, there was only enough time for Nell to hide the stolen napkin in her room alongside the rest of the layette she had accumulated, before rushing back out again, a hastily compiled sandwich in her hand.
Once she was on the train, though, and on the way down to London, there was at least an opportunity to take the weight off her feet, and, with many jarring hours ahead, the chance to succumb to the hypnotic rackety-rack of the wheels, Sister being charitable enough to allow her nurses a nap.
Nell was to fall into a deeper sleep than most, and this was to leave her disorientated when she woke from it with a start to find that they were emerging from a tunnel to a packed platform. Suddenly she remembered where she was heading. London – maybe she’d see Billy! Maybe he wasn’t – maybe it had all been a mistake – there were tales in the newspapers every day of men being presumed dead, then turning up alive, and not just isolated cases either, was it not possible that Billy could be one of them? That his mother could have been duped? It might not have been him, the witness might have been unreliable. Please, oh, please, let it be …
Forlorn as this hope might seem, with the train squeaking into its destination and the other nurses opening its doors, the still-hypnotised Nell found herself beset with an overwhelming mass of activity, much of it in khaki, and her immediate reaction was to scour every face on the platform. Almost at once she saw him! She called out, couldn’t help herself, took a few steps onto the platform and cried out his name. ‘Bill!’
A dozen men turned, then all shared a grin. ‘Last thing anyone needs is a lot o’ bills,’ quipped one, though he and his friends moved to gather around the attractive nurse, and ply her with cigarettes and chit-chat.
Poor bewildered Nell was in the midst of a flustered explanation, when an ever-vigilant Sister bellowed from the train, ‘We haven’t time for canoodling, Nurse Spottiswood! Here come our patients!’
Nell’s sense of outrage was immeasurable. How could anyone possibly accuse her of that after so recent a loss? Freshly bereaved, she broke through the masculine fence, wanting for all the world to shut herself away, and to heave with agony and tears.
But there was no time, for as Sister was so keen to point out, a fleet of ambulances was arriving with elderly infirm, and the logistics of getting all aboard and stacked one above the other was a nightmare in such cramped conditions – and in the middle of all this the air-raid sirens began to wail and the bombs began to fall, and people scattered. But there was no escape for Nell and her comrades, who had to don tin hats and remain courageously at their posts, and try to reassure their patients above the clanging of fire engines and the thunderous explosions, as one after another was stretchered into the pilchard tin and fitted onto the racks.
Only in the early hours did they manage to load the wagon to capacity. With their final patient handed over, the ambulance drivers slammed their doors and issued a chipper, ‘That’s your lot, dearies!’ And made their own escape.
Though almost prostrate themselves, Nell and her colleagues were full of admiration for the London crews. ‘How can you stand this night after night and stay so cheerful?’ Sister called after them.
‘This?’ Her female informant merely laughed at the tumbling bombs. ‘Why, it’s not half so bad as normal!’ And she jumped into her ambulance and drove away.
But it was terrifying enough to Nell, who, on top of her mauled senses, was physically bruised from the cramped conditions, and despite a swift impulsive urge to run and seek out Bill’s poor mother, she deemed it a mercy when the order came for their train to vacate the station at once.
Even after the throb of the Luftwaffe could no longer be heard, its pilots’ devilish games continued to trigger mayhem, the casualty evacuation train barely escaping the outer reaches of London when it ground to an abrupt halt. Everyone moaned at being forced to wait in pitch blackness. The squeaking of the wheels had completely stopped now. There was no sound at all.
‘Oy!’ Even through the darkness an ARP warden caught Nell’s head sticking out of the wagon as she tried to ascertain what was amiss. Unable to make out her face, the white veil identified her. ‘Get your tin hat on, Nurse! There’s an unexploded bomb on the line.’
Having only just taken the uncomfortable thing off, Nell looked abashed and quickly redonned her tin helmet, asking politely as the man travelled past, ‘How long are we likely to be?’ With the leadenness of her abdomen putting a great strain on her neck and shoulders, all she yearned to do was in get home.
‘I don’t know!’ His expression called her a bloody idiot. ‘When it goes off or gets fixed, one or the other!’ And he continued on his way down the track alongside their train, reminding everyone, ‘Tin hats on!’
‘Nurse, stop trifling!’ At Sister’s shout Nell jerked her head in, and hurried about tending her patients.
‘Nurse, Nurse!’ They all seemed to want a part of her, pulling her this way and that, and there was scarcely any room for a normal-sized person to squeeze a passage between the bunks, never mind someone of her girth. Fit to drop, Nell took a moment to flex the aching tendons of her neck and shoulders that were stretched beyond endurance by the tonnage of her belly.
‘It’s raining in, nurse!’ warbled an elderly voice.
Pulling herself together, Nell edged her way to the complainant, and found that the patient on the uppermost bunk was incontinent, and his urine was dribbling onto the man below. Clapping her hands to her cheeks, she stood there feeling helpless, trying to concentrate on what to do, whilst overwhelmed by her own exhaustion and worry, and the heavy burden of the child.
‘It’s raining in, Nurse,’ came the woeful cry again.
Finally coming to her senses, acting only on instinct, Nell took hold of the old fellow’s hand and gripped it reassuringly. ‘We’ll soon get you sorted out, Mr …’ she quickly read the old man’s label, ‘Mr Oak – but I’ll just have to see to the chap above you first as he’s copping most of the bad weather!’
With this, she summoned Avril Joyson from along the wagon. ‘Joy, could you help me change these patients’ sheets please?’
Joyson squeezed herself grumbling between the bunks. ‘What, both of them? You should’ve fetched them a bottle!’
‘Sorry!’ whined the elderly culprit, like a little child.
‘That’s all right, it’s certainly not your fault,’ Nell reassured him in a kind voice. Then she hissed under her breath at Joyson, appalled that a nurse could show such a lack of compassion. ‘It’s only the poor chap on the upper bunk who’s incontinent – and we wouldn’t have had to change two lots of bedding if someone had thought to catheterise him! Now are you going to help me or not?’
Joy became all hoity-toity, clicking her tongue and demanding, ‘What did your last slave die of?’ – though partly out of conscience, and partly because Sister had come into earshot, she was forced to help her colleague struggle to exchange sodden linen for dry. At the end of this ordeal, though, she was quick to slip away, leaving Nell to dispose of the wet sheets alone.
‘Are you comfortable now, Mr Oak?’ Nell hoped she projected sincerity when feeling so abominable herself. ‘I don’t think it should rain in again now we’ve closed the window.’ Then, having settled the two old men, it was off to tend someone else.
Hour upon hour they waited on the track for the bomb disposal team to arrive and for the detonator to be made safe, elderly patients having constantly to be nursed in the meantime, pulses to be taken, medicines to be handed out, charts to be filled in, bedpans and bottles to empty. Finally, at six o’clock in the morning, the train jerked into motion, and the exhausted crew thanked heaven to be on their way.
By now, the debilitating gravity of Nell’s abdomen seemed to have crept all the way down her limbs and into her feet, making them feel as if encased in boots of lead. Her ankles were bloated to the size of Beata’s, and further tortured by pins and needles. Unable to bend and get at them over her fecund dome in its iron corset, she held on to one of the poles that supported the stretchers and, amidst all the jerking of the wagon, tried to balance on one leg. Moving her other foot in a circle, she worked to improve her circulation, and whilst thus involved was to ponder on the way she had snapped at her friend. The mere thought procured a blush. She would have to eat humble pie when she saw Beata again … perhaps own up about the baby. The latter was unusually quiet at the moment, which was one small mercy, for even now she had no time to rest, but was at another patient’s beck and call. Not to mention Sister’s.
‘They shouldn’t have to call.’ her superior came up to deliver in hushed tone, though this was only out of consideration for the patients, and there was reproof in her eyes for Nell. ‘Forethought, Nurse Spottiswood, forethought, how many times do you have to be told? Anticipate the patient’s every need …’
‘Yes Sister, sorry Sister!’ And off Nell went again, every cell of her pregnant body screaming for a bed, yet forced to endure this for many an hour to come.
It was ten thirty in the morning when she finally staggered home. She had been on her feet for well over twenty-four hours. ‘Don’t wake me,’ she begged her mother in piteous tones, ‘not even for food. I just want to sleep.’ And she had only the energy to wash down a few bites of toast with a gulp of tea, and to undress for bed, before oblivion claimed her.
She was to sleep for all of that day, only rising in order to eat some supper, then it was back to bed again for the rest of the night.
‘You deserve the rest,’ agreed her mother.
This was quite some indulgence. Unfortunately, others were to be less so, for when Nell arrived for work a day later, it was to an impeachment. In this she was not alone, in fact all of those involved in the evacuation process had shared a similar supposition that they had given of their best and would be forgiven for catching up on their sleep. Now, they were assembled in Matron’s office, to be roundly disabused of this notion by a representative of the Ministry of Health.
‘Dereliction of duty! There is no other term for it,’ lectured the woman, who paraded judiciously before them in her hoary tweed suit and severe bun, her tone and expression relaying that they could at any moment be taken out and shot. ‘What if our soldiers should say, ‘Oh, I can’t be bothered to fire my gun today, I’ve done my bit now, I think I’ll go and have a nap?’ Where would the country be then?’
How unfair, thought Nell, after we slaved – though neither she nor any of the nurses dared protest that it was hardly the same, but were to stand there meekly and accept every criticism.
‘What would have been the plight of those needing instant evacuation?’ continued the official. ‘Would they have been left to their fate whilst their dilatory so-called nurses caught up on their beauty sleep? A shambles, a complete shambles! You should be thoroughly ashamed!’ Having worked herself into a froth, the tyrant then began to prowl up and down and to eye them one by one. Nell shrank expectantly, but it was Nurse Green the elder who attracted the first bullet. ‘How old is this nurse, Matron?’ the frowning official spun around to enquire.
Retaining her ladylike demeanour, Matron Lennox had been quietly seated at her desk throughout, and seemed hesitant to reply for the moment, for she had in fact been covering up for certain members of staff. Eventually, though, the birdlike face above the erect starched collar was to state with immense diplomacy, ‘Mrs Green is perfectly competent.’
‘I did not ask that!’ The woman snapped her attention back to Mrs Green. ‘How old are you?’
Mrs Green muttered the answer into her ample bosom.
‘Speak up, woman!’
The white-haired one snatched an uneasy glance over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses, finally to admit, ‘I’m sixty-seven.’
‘Good grief! No wonder you failed to turn up on time. It’s quite obvious you achieved this post under false pretences. Were you not aware when you applied that there is a maximum age limit? And for good reason!’ The official shot a look at the others then, and in the same breath sniped, ‘Though I fail to understand how the rest of you could possibly have an excuse – what is yours?’ she suddenly aimed at Frenchy.
The attractive dark head was tilted in question. ‘Pardon?’
The official frowned and leaned towards her. ‘Are you a foreigner?’
‘She’s French,’ Matron quickly explained before too much damage was incurred to her crew. ‘Married to one of our boys.’
‘Can she not reply for herself?’ The official regarded Frenchy with disdain, and when nought was forthcoming, save a look of confusion, she concurred with a yap, ‘I thought as much – can’t even speak English! Why wasn’t the Ministry informed of this?’
In the face of such rude demand, Matron was cool. ‘I should have thought the Ministry to be already aware, considering that it was the body responsible for sending Mrs French here in the first place. It has always been the official assertion that, despite my having forty years’ medical experience, neither I nor colleagues of equal rank are entitled to a say as to whom may be employed under the emergency measures.’
‘Well, I do have a say!’ clipped the interrogator, looking back at Nurse French. ‘And that makes two of you whose services are no longer required!’
Matron tried to save the day. ‘Despite her difficulty with our language, Mrs French is qualified in her own country – she did provide the appropriate references – and she hasn’t killed anyone yet.’
‘I’d prefer not to wait until she does! What else shall we find?’ The official’s eyes then began to examine each of the others, as shrewd and pitiless as a bird of prey. Caught in such sights, Nell’s heart fluttered like a sparrow.
But, by some felicitous quirk, neither she nor anyone else was to be singled out, and the final word of caution was for the benefit of all. ‘This will not happen again! I do not care that you are here on a voluntary basis, if you are to do the job then do it properly! Do I make myself clear?’
The nurses mumbled assurances.
‘Very well! That will be all, Matron.’ The raptor clamped a file under her wing, and made to leave the train. ‘I’ll trust you to dispense with those two. Good day!’ And with three strides she was gone.
‘I’m very sorry, Nurse Green, Nurse French,’ murmured matron, ever the lady, not considering it a loss of prestige to apologise in front of others. ‘But it seems your cover is blown, as they say. I’m unable to keep you on. Though I’m bound to add you have turned out to be far more capable than many I could mention, and it’s a great shame.’ She shook her neatly groomed head, and sighed at having her rank so affronted. ‘Apparently I’ve been granted no choice in the matter.’
With the victims’ pragmatic response, the rest of the nurses were instructed to go about their work, and began to file out of Matron’s office.
‘Nurse Spottiswood, a word if you please!’ Matron signalled for her to remain behind, and when there were just the two of them there, said without preamble, ‘How far along is your pregnancy?’
Thoroughly jolted, Nell immediately coloured up, the red travelling to her roots as she hung her head but did not deny it.
‘There’s not much you can hide from me, my dear. I’ve been aware of your condition for some weeks, but at Sister’s instigation I decided to let it pass for a while.’ She noted the sharp upturn in Nell’s demeanour that indicated surprise. ‘Despite what you may think,’ she now revealed sagely, ‘Sister Barber is very attached to you, and thinks you have the right temperament to make a good nurse. It was her opinion that your current circumstances didn’t appear to interfere with your work, and so we allowed you to carry on for a month or so, as in the natural course of events you would be leaving us soon enough anyway. But now it has begun to show …’ Matron cocked her head in sympathy, and repeated her former enquiry. ‘So, tell me, how far on are you?’
‘I’m not sure,’ whispered Nell. ‘But it was back in August that I last … had relations.’
‘Good heavens!’ Matron looked astonished. ‘Why, you must be almost ready to deliver. Have you received no medical attention?’
Trying to fight back tears, Nell shook her head.
‘I suppose you’ve been wearing a tight corset hoping it would go away,’ guessed her superior, rather stern of face again, and still battling incredulity. ‘Well, you’ve certainly managed to hide it remarkably well until now!’
But, as Nell started to weep, she clicked her tongue, adding, ‘You poor creature,’ and rose from her desk to lend a handkerchief and words of comfort. ‘It’s probably because your bump is evenly distributed around the sides that you were able to hide it – and taller girls like yourself do seem more able to carry it off. You’re not the first to hide a pregnancy, and you certainly won’t be the last. At least you’re not trying to deny it. I’ve known plenty who refused to accept they were carrying a baby even as they were giving birth! I’m just amazed that you’ve managed to continue with your work so uncomplainingly.’
Upon the flow of self-pity being staunched, Matron asked, ‘So, what do you intend to do? Will the boy marry you?’
‘He was killed last year.’ Nell broke down again.
‘Ah … it was that one. I’m so sorry.’ Matron’s voice was unusually soft. ‘Then you’ll need to be brave, my dear. Have you been concealing this from your parents too?’ At the distressed nod, she told Nell rather more uncompromisingly, ‘Well, you will have to tell them – in any event you cannot continue nursing at this late stage, it’s unsuitable for you to even appear in the workplace, leaving aside any physical repercussions – had I guessed you were so far along I’d never have sanctioned it. It’s a miracle our friendly official didn’t notice. Needless to say, you shall have to be sent home.’ In an untypical demonstration of hopelessness, Matron buried her head in her hands. ‘Good Lord, three nurses down – let’s hope there’s no emergency.’
Then, with Nell still weeping, she reverted to her normal self and, in steering her nurse to the door, was to mete a crumb of benevolence. ‘At least this is one instance for which we can be thankful you’re not state-registered, or you would be struck off. As things stand, I’m willing for you to return after the baby is adopted.’
Ambushed from her tears, Nell wanted to shout, Why do you falsely assume that I’ll give my baby up? But she did not, for it was not done and would only bring reproof, and besides, she appreciated Matron’s kindness. It was a relief to have told someone at last.
‘Run along home now,’ ordered Matron, patting Nell’s shoulder as she opened the door. ‘And please do inform your mother straight away. At the very least it will allow you to claim the proper nutrition. You could have been receiving extra milk and eggs, if you’d only come clean earlier.’
Involved with the preparation of dressings, the others regarded her with curiosity as she emerged dabbing her eyes from Matron’s office. She could see the question on their faces: why had Spotty been singled out to receive a more severe reprimand than the rest of them? Fending off their displays of concern with an upraised palm, Nell deterred any approach, then left without a word of explanation to any of them. Not even Beata. But a glance at her friend told Nell that she already knew.
‘Goodness, you made me jump out of my skin!’ accused her mother, hurriedly shoving an intended birthday gift out of sight into the cupboard, as Nell arrived home mid-morning.
Her face oozing guilt, Nell had been practising how to break her terrible news all the way home. She had finally primed herself, was on the brink of saying it, when Mother frowned and hazarded a guess:
‘You’ve been dismissed for not going back yesterday?’
‘Suspended.’ The lie tripped off Nell’s tongue, loaning her brief reprieve, and she thanked that horrendous shift for providing a good excuse. For now.
‘Oh, how mean …’ First came consolation, then practicality. ‘Well, you needn’t be bored. I’ll have ample to occupy you until you’re allowed to return. For a start, you can go through your clothes and put by anything that no longer fits you, particularly anything with rubber in it, such as those old galoshes you wore for school.’ With their enslaved colonies no longer able to export, rubber was now having to be salvaged, which explained Thelma’s manic preoccupation with the cupboard. ‘I could have sworn I had an old corset in here. I was going to cut off the suspenders, but I can’t find it anywhere – do you know, I swear there’s a goblin in this house, the things that have gone missing lately. Either that or I’m losing my marbles. Anyway, whatever you can find, I’ll take it to the WVS this afternoon. In fact, it’ll be rather handy you being off for a while, because you can help by doing the cleaning up and the shopping whilst I’m on official business.’
