The Wedding Dress Maker

by Leah Fleming

  Late Afternoon in Kendal, May 1949

  The sun was setting behind the slate-grey houses of the Lakeland town as Netta made for the van parked by the river. Business, business… the past few months had fled by in a flurry of tulle and satin, fittings and alterations. Polly would be anxious for her to return to Griseley to finish off Ginny Mackeever’s gown. It was not going well.

  So what had happened to that New Year’s resolution again? Did it get swamped by all the sewing orders or was that just an excuse? She watched the River Kent rushing over the boulders in full spate, under the bridge she must drive across to carry on southwards.

  Netta turned back towards the van with a heavy heart. She’d had a week to complete her mission. How could she have driven all this way, more than halfway home, knowing she’d funked her task? She sat down in the driving seat, placing the straw bag like a passenger to one side of her. You’ve done it again, she brooded, broken your promise, let yourself down.

  She switched on the ignition and yanked the choke out but nothing happened. In frustration she pulled again and the engine spluttered as it cut out. Her fist hit the steering wheel. A man stuck his head in the open window.

  ‘Have you flooded the engine, love? Don’t be hasty. Put the choke back in and leave it a while. Mind on, don’t rush, give it the gentle touch.’

  He winked and walked off, smiling to his wife.

  ‘Thanks.’ She winced at her own ignorance, slumping back into the seat with frustration. Even the wretched car didn’t know what to do with itself. She was stuck! Forwards or backwards, which was it to be? Neither option looked promising from where Netta was sitting: forwards to work and the ‘Royal wedding’ or a long drive backwards to battle for her son. Why was life so complicated now? It was all Drew Stirling’s fault. Why couldn’t he stay away? He was to blame for her confusion, damn him!

  Netta turned on the ignition tentatively, hardly daring to believe that it might start up. ‘Turn again, Whittington,’ she prayed and the engine fired perfectly. She reached the river crossing and paused, knowing it was now or never. What should she do? Cross the Kent or turn back north into the hills of home. Trust in what you love and it will lead you… Dr Anwar had better be right but why, oh, why, was her own loving never straightforward?

  8

  Lapis Lazuli

  ‘Mysterious colour of midnight oceans and sky,

  Torching a path from the darkness of fear

  To the indigo brightness of intuition.’

  The Same Saturday Afternoon at Brigg Farm

  Once Netta had left for England Peg sighed with relief that the visit had gone without a hitch even though Gus sulked and moaned as usual about his head hurting and didn’t want to do his farm chores. His girny gripes just got on her nerves as she stripped the visitor’s bed and tidied up the room. It was going to be a fine day for a stint in the front garden, a chance to prune the rose border that brightened up the side of the pathway to the front door.

  When she came in at teatime Gus was nowhere to be seen and she called out to the yardboy to go and find him. When he returned empty-handed she began to get anxious and searched the byres herself. It was just on the off chance that she popped her head round the bedroom door and smiled. Gus had tucked himself up on his bed and gone to sleep with Yumpy.

  She felt his forehead. He was hot but temperatures were often highest in the early evening so she closed the curtains to let him sleep off his sulks and over-excitement. If he woke up later he could have supper downstairs. She told Angus that Netta had worn out the poor child with all their stravaigin’ about the coast. Measles, chickenpox, mumps… Peg reeled off all the childhood illnesses one by one. He had been vaccinated for smallpox and diphtheria. He must have picked something up playing with Jamie Paterson. He was just overtired.

  The boy seemed better in the morning and had some porridge but his cheeks were still flushed and his eyes glassy. He waved Angus off to the church service in Stratharvar and then was promptly sick, which took the stuffing out of him. His head was hurting and he had a sore back so he curled up in the leather armchair with Yumpy in the heart of the kitchen, a bucket at the ready. By late morning he had taken himself off to bed again and Peg felt relieved that he was out of her hair, sleeping it all off. It was just some ‘summer tummy’ going round the district, no need to worry. Peg was never one for overfussing but some instinct kept making her check on the boy. Tomorrow he would probably be as right as rain and twice as noisy. Rest and plenty of fluids would do the trick. Nature would take its course in such a healthy young bairn.

  Gus lay back, docile and limp. It worried Peg far more than if he was complaining. He pushed aside picture books and models. It hurt his neck to bend and all he wanted was Yumpy to suck. He asked if Auntie Netta would tell him a Viking story. Seemed to think she was still here, rambling on. His temperature was up again and he was sweating, his pulse racing. Peg brought a bowl and face cloth and began to sponge his forehead, trying not to panic. Perhaps this was not a normal fever after all. She peered out of the window to the winding track, willing some cheery body to reassure her. She prided herself on not bothering the doctor for trifles, especially on the Sabbath. Where was Angus where she needed him?

  For all her nursing experience, Peg was nonplussed by Gus’s symptoms. He seemed to have gone very weak and floppy and it was as much as she could do to force liquid down his throat. Suddenly she was feeling very unsure and very alone. A strange feeling was burning into her, as if something terrible was about to happen, as if something was going to change their life forever. If only Angus hadn’t gone to church! But Gus had seemed fine when he had left. How everything seemed to change in just a few hours!

  Alone with time on her hands, she began to frighten herself with lists of complications, the worst of which was meningitis. But there was no rash or spots, no obvious localised stomach pain. Peg racked her basic medical knowledge for some simple explanation. It must be gastric flu, some virulent form of infection. All that stravaigin’ with Netta… perhaps she too was suffering the symptoms.

  For the first time in years she searched through the address book for the telephone number of the Bloom woman in Leeds and put in a trunk call to reassure herself. A woman answered. ‘Mrs Bloom, how can I help you?’

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you but could you get a message to Netta, Mrs Hunter, please?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know her whereabouts… Who’s speaking?’

  ‘Peg Nichol from Stratharvar. You once stayed with us in the war. She left us yesterday and she was heading straight home, or so she said.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Nichol. I’ve not seen Jeanette for months. Is anything wrong? She has her own business now, try ringing there.’

  ‘I’m not sure of the number. I’d like tae check something out with her. Sorry to have troubled you.’

  ‘Not at all. So glad to be speaking to you, Mrs Nichol, after all these years. Don’t worry, I expect her motor’s broken down or something.’

  ‘It’s no her I’m afeared for!’

  They were cut off at this point and Peg slammed down the phone in frustration. Trust Netta to disappear just when she was wanted. Such an unreliable girl! If she’d given wee Gus this infection there’d be hell to pay!

  Peg lifted the phone again and called Meg Paterson at Fordhall Farm to check on Jamie. It was such a relief to hear that he was being sick and was confined to the house. It was just something the bairns had picked up playing together, no doubt. On the strength of this good news, Peg made herself a cup of strong tea and got on with her housework, brushing the stairs down, finding clean linen for Netta’s bed and dusting the banister rail. She was panicking for nothing.

  When she heard the engine stop in the yard she flew to open the door, thinking it was Angus home early. It was only the old van she had waved off yesterday. Netta was stretching her long legs out of it while the silly sheepdog was racing round in circles yapping.

  ‘Oh, it’s you! Where’
ve you been? I’ve been ringing all morning and not a sign of you. What have you been up to?’

  ‘I came back. I had to. There’s a lot of stuff we need to talk about, stuff to be sorted out once and for all.’

  ‘Not now, Netta. Were you unwell? You’d better come upstairs and see for yourself. It’s Gus – he’s awful poorly, since you left yesterday. He’s been so feverish, sick and achey. Jamie Paterson’s in his bed too. Are you feeling fine?’

  ‘Not a twinge, just tired. I got as far as Kendal in the Lake District and then I turned back to Penrith. I stayed overnight in digs. I rang my assistant to tell her not to expect me for a few more days. I meant to ring you but I just wanted to come back here. I drove and drove, felt uneasy… Let me see him.’

  Netta was racing ahead up the stairs even as she was speaking. She paused at the bedroom door and tiptoed inside, Peg following behind.

  ‘He looks so wee in his bed, all curled up. Surely he’s shrunk? How long’s he been like this? Where’s Father? You’ve sent for the doctor?’

  ‘Well, no… I didna want tae bother the man, but Gus’s no picking up, is he? I’m awful worried. I’ve never seen him like this before. Gus, wake up, son. Here’s your Auntie Netta to read you a story. He was asking for you

  He opened his eyes but his focus was blurry. ‘I can see rainbows, Auntie Netta. Can we play rainbows again?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Peg! Phone Dr Begg. The boy’s delirious and burning hot.’

  She tried to lift him but the child moaned and grimaced.

  ‘Cannae lift ma neck. It hurts. Mammy… I want my mammy.’ Gus cooried into Peg’s stomach as she sat beside him, trying to sponge him down.

  Netta said, ‘I’ll go and ring for Dr Begg. You should have done it sooner.’

  ‘Ma head hurts so!’ he was crying.

  The two women lifted him higher on to the bolster but he flopped down and moaned like a whimpering animal.

  The two women sat by his bedside for a while.

  ‘Where on earth is Dr Begg? You rang ages ago. Minutes are like hours, I suppose.’

  ‘He’ll come when he can. If there’re others like Gus to see to… it’s going to be a long morning ahead, full of anxious mothers. Come on, Peg, you looked wabbit. Come down and I’ll put the kettle on. It’s the only cure. Thank God I came home! I nearly didn’t but this little voice kept saying, “Go back, Netta, go back!”’

  ‘I’m glad you did, hen. I wouldna like to be here on ma ain fearing the worst. All sorts of silly things go through your head… I’m fair shaking with the look of him.’

  ‘I know, Peg, but when the doctor comes he’ll tell us what to do. Come away down the stairs and let Gus rest. Sleep is the best cure for him.’

  It was after lunch when they heard the scrunch of tyre wheels. Ian Begg came through the door with his Gladstone bag, looking pushed for time. ‘Another one with the squitters, is it? Where’s young Master Gus, in the kitchen?’

  ‘No, Doctor, he took himself to bed yesterday and he cannae move. He’s running a temperature, his neck is stiff and his head is burning. He’s only been sick the once and no runs so far.’

  Ian Begg went to the bedroom and the women hovered by the door silently, not wanting to interrupt his examination. As thorough as his father before him, he took temperature and pulse, throat, glands: all the usual stuff. But then he drew back the covers and took his little hammer to Gus’s raised knees, they would not stay up. ‘Can you feel that?’ He smiled, tickling Gus’s toes.

  ‘A bitty,’ said a weak little voice.

  ‘And this?’ The doctor pricked his foot.

  ‘A bitty,’ came the reply.

  ‘Any tingles, young chappie?’

  ‘Ma legs jingle-jangle all of the time.’

  The doctor tried to move his lower body but there was no life in his limbs.

  ‘How long has he had no movement down here?’

  Peg shrugged her shoulders, puce with embarrassment. The doctor’s face had tightened from his usual jovial banter into a mask, stem and carefully composed, giving nothing away. He was taking his time and choosing his words. Peg knew he had no good news.

  ‘What is it, Dr Begg?’

  ‘Where’s your phone?’ he answered crisply. ‘I need to make some calls.’

  She pointed down to the hall table where the black phone lay on a white lace doily. He went to the bathroom and washed his hands then slipped downstairs.

  ‘I dinna like the look on his face, do you?’ Peg was trembling and wringing her hands. Netta was moved to touch her arm.

  ‘He’ll tell us in a minute. Hold on, not in front of Gus, He mustn’t see we’re afraid.’

  There was a tremor in her voice too. She hovered at the top of the stairs, hearing snippets.

  ‘Ambulance straight away… isolation ward… precautions… contact authorities… second case this week.’

  Netta darted back as he came into the room.

  ‘Now, young man, I’m going to take you on a ride to the hospital in Dumfries to see a nice doctor who knows all about this sickness of yours. He can run a few tests and sort out what we’re going to do with you. Don’t look so worried. The nurses’ll have you on your feet in no time and you’ll be kicking nine bells out of Jamie Paterson before very long.’

  Gus smiled weakly.

  ‘Just you lie back and rest a while longer. Don’t worry, you’ll get lots of fuss and ice cream and jelly when you’re feeling better, I promise. I just need a wee word with your mother.’ He paused, seeing the look of anguish in the other woman’s eye. ‘And Auntie Netta, of course.’

  They sat stiffly in the parlour, still cool in the afternoon rays. ‘I can’t be sure at this stage exactly what Gus has contracted but it is serious. He must go into hospital. To the Infectious Ward, I’m afraid. We need to do more tests in Dumfries. His limbs are flaccid. He has feeling but no muscle action. I don’t know how much else of his body might be affected.’

  ‘It’s infantile paralysis, isn’t it?’ Netta’s voice was cold and calm.

  Peg looked up in surprise. What did she know about that? ‘That’s a dirty disease… from the swimming baths. You didn’t take him to the public baths, did you?’ she accused.

  ‘Poliomyelitis can be caught from many sources, not just bathing, Mrs Nichol, but Mrs Hunter might be right. Have you come across this recently?’

  ‘Only last year, at an orphange near Leeds. There was an outbreak and two children died,’ Netta answered calmly.

  ‘Oh, dear God! Have you brought this with you?’

  ‘Calm down, Mistress Nichol. Last year saw many epidemics in the heatwave. I’m sorry but I have to take precautions. It may not be that at all but Gus must be in the safest place.’

  ‘What about Jamie? Is he stricken too.’

  ‘A milder form, just a fever and tummy upset. It can go either way, but don’t look so worried. It’s not in his throat or chest, so far as I can tell. Bed rest and lots of peace and quiet, and we’ll get someone to look at those legs. Chances are he’ll make a full recovery in time. The ambulance will be here shortly. I would gather a few things for him to take. It’s better if he goes alone. I shall write a few notes and details. You can follow later for visiting time between six and seven.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor. I’m glad we weren’t wasting your time.’

  Ian Begg put on his cheery mask again and raised his hat. ‘You should have rung me earlier. Gus is very sick. It’s good Netta called me when she did. The sooner we can find out what exactly the young chap’s caught, the sooner treatment can begin. Get Peg a stiff whisky, Nettie, she’s taken a bad shock.’ He left them standing stunned in the hallway.

  Peg collapsed on the bottom stair. ‘Not polio? Oh, what will Angus say? Will Gus end up in an iron lung, no able to breathe for himself?’

  ‘We have to be strong for him now. It may not be the worst form of paralysis after all. We’ll pull him through… Do you mind if I make a few phone calls? I need to clear the dec
ks.’

  ‘Are you away the now, back down to Yorkshire?’ Peg suddenly felt exhausted and confused. If Netta left now, how could she cope on her own?

  ‘No, of course not. My son is poorly. He needs me. He needs us all and here is where I’ll be staying until he’s on the mend. Polly’ll have to manage without me somehow even if it means closing the workshop.’ Nothing was going to shift Netta from her son’s side.

  Staying On, June 1949

  The ambulance was gone. The farm felt suddenly empty. The two women sat by the hearth, stunned by Gus’s tearful departure. Netta had offered to follow behind in the van but Dr Begg insisted she should stay on to disinfect Gus’s room and wait for Angus’s return.

  ‘You’ll have to clear out all his stuff. I’m afraid, burn what you can’t boil. Keep Mistress Nichol as busy as you can. Visiting will be restricted, of course, in the interests of hygiene.’

  On such a beautiful day, to be stripping beds, yanking down mattresses into the sunlight, making a bonfire of Gus’s toys and books as if he was already departed from them for good. When it came to Yumpy, Netta was adamant. ‘We can’t burn his sucky.’

  ‘Why not? It’s been stuck close to him. It must be full of germs. I’d rather burn it than cremate ma wee bairn! Give it to me.’ Netta could not bear to watch and went inside to phone Jean Brownleys with the awful news.

  ‘Leave the shop to Polly. She’ll cope. I’ll go through the order book with her and cancel early fittings. Polly can do the rest. We can send up some of your sewing if needs be. Forget about Griseley, concentrate on what’s important. It’s only dresses, after all…’

  ‘But I don’t want to let my customers down!’ Netta cried.

  ‘You won’t be. Gus needs you and so do your parents. They must come first. Here’s Stirling, he’s in my office doing medicals again. He wants a word with you.’