The Country Doctor
Captivating tales from a young GP’s casenotes
Jean McConnell
Copyright © Jean McConnell 1984, 2014
This edition first published 2014 by Corazon Books
Wyndham Media Ltd
27 Old Gloucester Street, London, WC1 3AX
www.greatstorieswithheart.com
The author has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations and events are a product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organisations and events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Previously published in serialised form as Linda Ford, Locum
and in Large Print as The Substitute Doctor
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Preview: Her Australian Summer by Jean McConnell
Preview: A Country Practice: Book 1 by Judith Colquhoun
Preview: A Nurse’s Life by Jane Grant
Preview: City Hospital by Keith Miles
Preview: Home from Home by Cath Cole
Preview: A Doctor’s Life by Dr Robert Clifford
Chapter One
THE CIDER ORCHARD
My territory!
Linda Ford stopped her car on the hill, got out and leant over a gate staring across the field that sloped down into a maze of orchards and away in a pattern of lush green, yellow and dark red that typifies the western counties of England.
I’m a country doctor now, she thought. It wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she made the great decision at grammar school in London ‒ half expecting to be laughed to scorn; when she’d tentatively mentioned that she wanted to study medicine and been amazed to find that they thought she might try. At that time her ambition had soared.
Linda Ford the new Madame Curie! Shaking the world with a great breakthrough in medical knowledge!
Her parents had hardly subscribed to this dream. In fact it had taken some time to convince them that their wild young daughter was contemplating anything so at variance with the evidence of her bedroom ‒ that confusion of colourful pin-ups, scattered homework notes and non-stop pop. Their only daughter, who was so slapdash when she helped them in their little dairy on Saturdays ‒ yet knew the name of every customer.
They continued in a state of astonishment, although so consumed with pride in her endeavours, that Linda became shy of giving a hand in the dairy, knowing that all the regulars were being supplied with a blow-by-blow account of her examination struggles.
By the time she had passed her finals and taken her place amongst the junior doctors in a teaching hospital they accepted that she really was a budding medical genius.
But Linda was perplexed to find her interest in research fading. The reason only became crystalised one day when a patient in a geriatric ward took her hand and said: ‘You make me feel you care about me, dear.’ ‘I do!’ Linda had replied, and realised in that moment that it was not medicine in the abstract, not experiments in laboratories she wanted, but contact with complex, contrary, aggravating, fascinating human beings.
She was happy working in hospital for a year, walking the wards. Blissful in fact, for someone very special to her was walking beside her.
Then the pattern changed. Suddenly she found herself walking alone. She’d been so sure they were right for each other. Felt so secure. Been so secure. Been so deeply committed.
It was painful and bewildering; and she’d run two hundred miles away and plunged into a job she’d hardly had time to consider. For the next six months she was to be locum to a Doctor John Cooper, whose partner had died suddenly, in a practice in the West Country.
But with every fresh morning she brightened. With every drive through the sweet air she found herself reviving. And there were people here a-plenty ‒ relying on her judgement ‒ putting their faith in her decisions. It was a little alarming. But it was a challenge and certainly drove depressing memories from the mind.
Linda stood gazing over the orchards, feeling the sun warm on her face, then she climbed back into the little M.G. and drove on.
Across the valley, a woman was picking her way through those orchards. In the distance just a toy figure. A busy, searching figure that turned this way and that like a distracted ant, then came to a dead stop in the long grass.
The sudden scream alarmed a flock of sparrows from the laden apple boughs.
Mrs Danbury ran, wildly zig-zagging through the orderly ranks of trees, into the back gate of her cottage.
‘Dicker! Come quick!’
Her son hastily latched the hutch-door on his pet ferret and hurried to her. She clutched at his shirtsleeve.
‘It’s Betty! I’ve just found her in the orchard ‒ lying in the grass. Get out your bike and fetch the doctor! Ride up to Whitelaws ‒ they’ll telephone for you. And hurry! I can’t move the girl!’
The closed-circuit radio in the car bleeped at Linda as she was driving down a narrow lane. She eased off and answered.
‘Dr Ford?’ said the voice from the surgery.
‘Yes?’ said Linda.
‘We’ve had a call from Mrs Danbury. Her daughter’s been found unconscious. It’s Roseberry Cottage ‒ the other side of Mead Orchards.’
‘Can you just give me some directions, Mrs Perry? Right now I’m about three miles north of Pretting.’
Linda thought she heard a faint sigh. It wasn’t such an unreasonable request. Six weeks was hardly time enough to get familiar with the area. Linda had not realised how widely scattered a rural practice could be. Trudging knee-deep in mire on a dark night was no joke. Nor winding round endless lanes that all looked alike to her town eyes.
On her first trip into Yelchester she’d bought wellingtons, a sou’wester and a compass!
Mrs Perry’s flat voice, giving detailed directions, came to a halt. Linda thanked her and switched off. She’s an efficient woman, thought Linda, and she’s been Doctor Cooper’s receptionist for many years. I suppose I was a bit of a surprise, but she’ll get used to me.
The same could be said for the patients, as Linda had demonstrated to her a little later when she got to Roseberry Cottage.
‘It’s not the proper doctor, Ma. It’s that girl.’ Dick Danbury turned, realised that Linda had come up behind him, and went scarlet. His mother glared at him, and beckoned Linda inside.
‘My daughter’s on the sofa, Doctor. Old Tom helped me lug her in.’
Betty Danbury looked up at Linda with a bewildered smile.
‘I suddenly come over queer,’ she said.
‘Come over queer!’ snorted Mrs Danbury. ‘If she won’t tell you what happened I will! I warned her to keep clear of that man!’
‘Ma, don’t!’
But as Linda began a quiet examination of the girl, her mother chattered on angrily.
‘Foster, it is. The chap that’s taken over these orchards. Always hanging around by here. I told Betty to watch out but she would cut across just to save a few minutes.’
‘I tell you nothing like that happened, Ma!’
‘Oh? Then where did you get those mar
ks then?’
Linda frowned over the red patches inside the girl’s wrists and down her face and neck.
‘I must’ve fallen in some nettles. I’m all right now, honestly Doctor, and it’s time I fed the baby.’
‘Baby?’ queried Linda. ‘How old is it?’
‘Eight weeks.’
‘You stay there, my girl. I’ll get the bottle. You’ve had a bad shock.’ Mrs Danbury bustled out of the room.
‘Were you attacked?’ asked Linda.
Betty shook her head. Her blue eyes were guileless. She seemed quite recovered, except for the weals.
‘I’ll give you something to cool those down,’ said Linda and wrote a prescription. ‘And have you been well since the birth of the baby?’
‘Oh yes. Doctor Cooper looked after me so everything was fine.’
One day, perhaps, I’ll earn such warm confidence, thought Linda.
The fainting fit Linda attributed to postnatal weakness and the hot day, but Mrs Danbury was not to be moved from her own theory.
‘Don’t you believe my Betty. Always a close one, she’s been, and never liked to get anyone into trouble. But it was Foster did it right enough. He’s a menace where women are concerned.’
‘Why? Have there been other incidents?’
‘Not yet, no. But he hasn’t been here that long.’
‘Mrs Danbury, I think you ought to be careful what you say. What possible authority have you got for talking like this about a man?’
‘The best in the world, Doctor. His own wife!’
It was sunset before Linda drove into the village of Stoke Dabenham and up to the big house that served as home and surgery for Doctor Cooper. She parked her car in the yard and climbed the wooden stairs to her flat in the stable block.
She went to the telephone, kicking off her shoes as she crossed the room, and dialled the surgery.
‘Any messages, Mrs Perry?’
‘I always put the messages on the desks, Doctor Ford.’
‘Yes, thank you. And are there any?’
‘No. Only for Doctor Cooper.’
‘Right.’
Linda made a mental note. Always remember to report to headquarters before going off duty!
But I’m lucky, thought Linda. The flat was no more than two rooms with kitchen and bathroom, but it was pretty, with its old beams, whitewashed walls and cheerful cottage chintz.
And Doctor Cooper had asked her over to supper again. They were pleasant and useful these meals they were having together. John Cooper was a widower; and in his late sixties, Linda guessed. He’d been very kind so far and she was anxious to do the right things to please him.
She chose a plain navy dress and cheered it up with some fun beads. Maybe she’d risk more casual clothes later. She gave a final despairing spray at her hair ‒ really, curls were pretty undignified! But curls were hers by nature. Then she set off across to the house, going in through the back door.
Elsie Peach was standing over the stove with her hat already on.
‘Mrs Perry’s gone, the telephone’s switched through, the supper’s on the hob, and the Doctor’s late back from rounds again.’
‘You pop off, Mrs Peach. I’ll bring it to the table.’
‘Are you sure it’s no bother?’
Elsie picked up a bowl of fruit salad and carried it through to the dining room. Linda followed with a basket of bread rolls.
‘There’s steak-and-kidney pie and the cream for the fruit is on the sideboard,’ said Elsie.
‘Sounds lovely.’
Linda had stopped in front of a photograph. It was of a young man much her own age.
‘That’s the Doctor’s son.’
‘I know.’ Hadn’t his father told her so the first evening? His voice warm with pride at his son’s achievements in Medical School.
‘He’s a lovely young man.’
‘I can see.’
‘You’ll like him.’
Peter Cooper regarded them from his frame. Don’t disturb me, lovely young man, said Linda silently. I deserve a little peace. The door is locked, lovely young man. This property is off the market. The last tenant was a vandal and left the premises in great disorder.
‘Good night then,’ called Elsie, making for the door. ‘It’s very nice to have someone bright round the place again. The old partner got to be a right devil before he passed on, God rest him. ’Course everybody thought young Doctor Peter would join his father now he’s qualified.’
‘Perhaps he will yet, Elsie. I’m only here for six months you know.’
‘Oh lovely!’ Elsie trotted off.
Just keeping his seat warm, that’s all, thought Linda; and she made a face at the photograph.
Left alone, Linda wandered into the lounge and towards an old mandolin propped in a dark corner. She’d spotted it before and admired its intricate mother-of-pearl decoration. Lifting it down, she plucked at it gently, picking out an old melody. She knew it was wrong played in this fashion but it gave her pleasure to handle the rare instrument.
She sat down, crossed her legs and experimented. In her student days she’d played a rather mean guitar, and they’d all sung. What were the songs?
She’d just finished the second chorus of Foggy Foggy Dew when a round of applause greeted her from the door. Linda turned guiltily, jolted back from old memories.
‘You’re musical, I see, Doctor Ford.’ John Cooper stepped towards her. ‘That is not, of course, the way to play it.’
‘No, I know, I was just ‒’
He took the mandolin from her. ‘Is that meant to be soup on the stove? Where’s Mrs Peach?’
‘I let her go. It’s all right, I’ll serve.’
‘Excellent. And after coffee you can play me gems from the shows.’
Linda grinned sheepishly and made for the kitchen.
With his second helping of pie, Cooper began to talk shop, and Linda listened carefully to the useful background information he vouchsafed.
When Betty Danbury’s name happened to come up, it was agreed, although she was John Cooper’s patient, that Linda should continue to visit her if necessary, since she had two other cases in the vicinity.
‘Mrs Danbury seems a rather – forthright character,’ said Linda, carefully.
‘Mm. Lost her husband at sea. Guards her children like a watchdog. Thought they’d have a man in the family again when Betty got a fellow, but the rascal scarpered and all they got was another mouth to feed. Betty didn’t seem bothered ‒ rather relieved in fact since she’d gone off the chap ‒ but Mrs D. staves off all comers and waits for his unlikely return with the tenacity of Madam Butterfly!’
When Linda called again at Roseberry Cottage, Betty seemed quite well; and a fortnight went by, during which Linda alternated at the surgery in Stoke Dabenharn and the little outpost at Pretting which the doctors manned twice a week. She was getting to know her regulars now, was familiar with the voice of the local policeman, and of the matron of the Cottage Hospital; and she didn’t need to call on Mrs Perry’s help with the files quite so often.
Then one evening a telephone call announced an incident up at Mead Orchards. Betty Danbury had been found unconscious under a tree again ‒ and Mr Foster had been hit on the head with an axe. Linda decided Foster’s need could be the most urgent.
Mead Orchards straggled unevenly over nearly a mile of countryside and the apples, grown for cider, this year were in great abundance and hung ready for picking. At last Linda saw the house. There were apple trees up to its door and Linda, picking her way through half-eaten windfalls, disturbed clouds of dropsical wasps.
‘Who are you?’
Linda started. The door had been flung open at her knock and a woman stood on the threshold staring with hostile eyes.
‘I’m the doctor. I believe there’s been a ‒’
‘I rang Doctor Cooper.’
‘I’m afraid he wasn’t available. He ‒’
‘Don’t you come in here. I’ve had enough tro
uble from your sort!’
‘Christine, for God’s sake!’
A man’s voice came from inside, and as the woman turned, Linda stepped into the hall, where she could see a man bending over the kitchen sink. He was holding a flannel to his forehead and blood was running between his fingers and dripping into a bowl. Linda went towards him.
‘Don’t you touch him!’ The woman screamed.
Ignoring her, Linda sat the man in a chair, drew back his head and started to clean him up.
‘I’m sorry, Doctor,’ said Foster. ‘Christine, now the doctor’s here for heaven’s sake let her fix me up.’
‘Oh yes! I knew you’d like that! Just your cup of tea!’
‘Will you please be quiet!’ The man winced.
‘It’s not a deep cut,’ said Linda, briskly. ‘The head always bleeds prodigiously and you weren’t helping matters stooping over and bathing it with hot water.’
‘The blade didn’t catch me. I dodged. It was just the haft. I don’t know what the boy thought he was doing.’
‘Well I do,’ the woman interjected. ‘Defending his sister ‒ against a man like you!’
Foster sucked in an angry breath. ‘She’s talking nonsense.’
‘I told Betty Danbury’s mother ‒ you stop your girl passing through my husband’s land, because he can’t resist anything in skirts and he’ll be after her, sure as fate.’
‘I’ve never even spoken to the girl!’
‘Would her brother have come after you for nothing? Don’t take me for a fool!’
‘It’s not true. I swear.’ The denial was utterly weary.
‘Hold still, Mr Foster,’ said Linda, and hurried on quickly. ‘Now then, I’ve stopped the bleeding. It’s not bad enough to need stitches. I’ll put you on a dressing and you must sit still for a while.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
‘Why should I put up with it? Why should I stay with him?’ Mrs Foster was hugging her own thin body and rocking herself in agitation. ‘Running after every bit of a girl he sets eyes on. You’ll see for yourself if I go out of the room. But then you’ll probably like that!’
Linda dressed the scalp wound in record time. Before she left she gave Foster two tablets. ‘Take one of these if the head’s painful,’ she said. ‘And Mrs Foster might find the other helpful. She’s had a shock, I think.’
The Country Doctor: Captivating tales from a young GP's case notes Page 1
