by Ellie Dean
The door closed with a heavy thud that made Julie flinch. Listening to the muffled sounds of the battle being waged overhead, she hugged Stan’s arm and tried to quell the terrible fear that was squirming and growing inside her. She hated being shut in, hated the thought of how deep they were below ground, and hoped to goodness the flickering lights didn’t fail and plunge them into profound darkness.
It was a fear born in childhood after one of her brothers had locked her in the coal-hole as a lark. She’d screamed and screamed for what felt like hours before someone found her, and she’d had nightmares for weeks after. It was the only time she’d seen her dad take a belt to any of them, and Freddy had yowled and blubbered and said he was sorry, but it hadn’t made her feel better, and she’d done her best to avoid tight, enclosed spaces ever since.
‘Sorry, love,’ Stan murmured. ‘I know I’ve been a moody so and so all evening, but it’s ’ard for a bloke, you know?’
She nodded against his arm, the smooth material of his sleeve feeling cool and comforting against her cheek. ‘I know, Stan, but it’ll all be worth the waiting. I promise.’
Stanley didn’t reply but just continued smoking his cigarette.
Julie closed her eyes and tried to shut out the crush of humanity around her, and the bangs and crumps overhead. She and Stan would be all right, she thought. They were just tired and out of sorts, and everyone had their ups and downs. They wouldn’t be normal if they didn’t.
The enemy raid seemed to go on and on, and Julie’s fear of being buried alive became almost too much to handle. She sat as close as she could to Stan, who’d managed, unbelievably, to fall asleep, and tried not to flinch or shiver every time a bomb went off, or the lights threatened to go out.
This was far worse than sitting it out under the stairs with Sadie and Val, for there had been no locked door barring her escape from the tenements. Now, in the bowels of the earth, she could feel the ground tremble under her feet, could hear the mortar shift and feel the dust drift down from the ceiling as the lights flickered and the walls shuddered. They were shut in here, with no avenue of escape. One direct hit, and it would all be over.
Julie determinedly pushed back these terrible thoughts and set her mind to the problems of her relationship with Stan. Perhaps she was wrong to wait – wrong to protect her virginity when all she really wanted was to make love to him – for she could die here tonight and never experience the mystery of all the things she’d read about and heard.
At last the raid ended, and within half an hour of the last enemy plane leaving, the all-clear went and the warden opened the door.
‘I’ve got to get back to the hostel,’ Julie said urgently to Stan, shaking him awake. ‘Will I see you on Wednesday?’
He slung his arm round her and gave her a hearty kiss as they shuffled along with the others towards the open doorway. ‘Wednesday it is,’ he murmured, ‘and I promise to be in a better mood, Jules.’
They emerged into a cold, damp night which seemed to be filled with smoke and ash and the ringing of ambulance and fire engine bells. It was after midnight, but the sky was orange with the reflection of the fires they could see raging near the docks and to the east, and evidence of bomb-blast could be seen in the shattered windows of the buildings opposite.
‘At least the Bull’s still standing,’ said Stan with a grin. ‘I’ll walk you back to the ’ostel and then pop in for a pint. I know it’s way past closing time, but the landlady keeps ’er side door open, and me throat’s as dry as chalk.’
Julie tucked her hand in his arm and they hurried down the road, dodging fallen masonry, raised paving stones and the vast jet of water that was coming from a broken main. The maintenance crews were already out in force, and Julie wondered if her dad was out in Stepney doing the same hasty repairs.
Stan wrapped his arms round her as they stood outside the hostel in the darkness. His kiss was warm and tender, his hug gentle. ‘See you Wednesday, gel,’ he murmured, his hand cupping her cheek, ‘and I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit . . .’ He grinned and shrugged. ‘Well, you know how it is, Jules.’
She gave him a light kiss on his lips and then nodded. ‘I do understand,’ she replied, ‘really I do.’ Not wanting to say anything that might lead him to believe she was beginning to soften to his persuasion, she turned away and hurried up the path to the front door. Blowing him a kiss, she slotted in her key and stepped into the hall.
‘Thank goodness you’re back,’ said a breathless Lily, who’d come racing out of the dining room. ‘There’s been a telephone call from Mrs Bessell. Franny’s gone into premature labour.’
Julie went cold. ‘Oh God,’ she breathed. ‘Did she call the ambulance?’
Lily nodded. ‘Franny was admitted over two hours ago and taken straight into surgery.’
Julie was already running up the stairs, peeling off her coat and scarf along the way as Lily pounded after her. ‘Do you know what stage of labour Franny was in when she was admitted?’
Lily followed her into the bedroom, gathering up the discarded clothes Julie flung about as she frantically changed into fresh uniform. ‘I took the call and tried to calm ’er down, but she was in a bit of a dither and wasn’t making much sense,’ she said. ‘Apart from saying the waters had broken, she didn’t seem to know anything.’
Julie was fully dressed in her uniform by now. She grabbed her overcoat and struggled into it. ‘I’ll be at the hospital if Matron asks,’ she managed. The fear for Franny was making her pulse race and her head spin.
‘They won’t let you near ’er,’ Lily warned. ‘Relatives aren’t allowed to treat their own.’
‘I know that,’ Julie replied, already halfway through the door, ‘but the uniform will give me answers I won’t get as a civilian. Thanks, Lily,’ she called as she raced down the stairs and slammed the front door behind her.
The maternity hospital was across the road, and by the look of it had escaped any damage from the raid. A large pale-grey stone building, it took up most of the block and towered over the surrounding houses. Julie ran along the curved driveway and raced up the steps into reception.
‘Frances Harris, brought in about two hours or so ago. I’m her midwife,’ she panted to the rather startled nurse behind the desk.
‘She was taken straight into theatre,’ the nurse replied, eyeing Julie with barely disguised curiosity – most midwives didn’t come charging in here out of breath. ‘I don’t know anything else, but she should be out by now and in the recovery ward on the third floor. You can go up if you . . .’
Julie didn’t wait to hear any more but took the stairs two at a time, incurring more startled and disapproving looks from the other nurses she passed on the way. She stopped running as she reached the endless corridor and walked as fast as she could until she reached the recovery ward. Taking a deep breath and trying to calm her fears, she pushed through the swing doors.
The nurse on duty was at her desk, a reading light illuminating the charts and medical notes that were strewn across it. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked pleasantly.
‘I’m looking for me sister, Frances Harris,’ Julie replied, her gaze trawling over the numerous beds in search of her.
‘She’s not here, I’m sorry,’ replied the nurse.
‘But I was told she went into surgery over two hours ago, and she was only due to have a C-section.’
The nurse stood and patted her arm. ‘I can tell you’re worried,’ she said kindly, ‘but I really can’t help. Why don’t you go down to the ground floor and the ward next to the theatre? Someone there will know what’s going on.’
Julie hesitated, unwilling to accept that Franny had been kept downstairs. Her sister must be in deep trouble. ‘You’re sure she’s not up here?’
The nurse shook her head. ‘We have four wards on this floor and I have all the patient notes here. Frances Harris isn’t among them.’
‘Thanks,’ Julie said briefly and shot out of the door, plummeted down the stairs and
raced towards the theatre wing. If Franny was down here in the special ward, then it could only mean she was still classed as an emergency.
‘Please let her be all right,’ she muttered as she flew down the corridor. ‘Please, please be all right.’ She came to a skidding halt outside the door, her heart hammering, her fears making her tremble. She should have got Franny into hospital earlier – should have gone back to check on her instead of seeing Stan.
She stood there, afraid to go in. Eventually, her years of training and discipline took over and, realising she must look like a mad woman, she smoothed her hair, straightened her cap and apron and pushed through the doors.
There were only four other patients and when she saw Franny, she knew immediately that her worst fears had been realised. But as she headed for the bed which had an oxygen tank by its side, and numerous drip-feeds hanging above it, she was stopped by a warm, gentle hand on her arm.
She turned sharply and discovered it was the elderly and much loved surgeon, Mr Philips, who’d come out of retirement for the duration. ‘What happened?’ she breathed.
Mr Philips steered her out of the ward and gently pressed her into one of the chairs that were lined along the corridor wall. He sat down and took her hands. ‘Julie,’ he began softly, ‘your sister’s labour had already gone too far for me to do a caesarean section.’
‘But she knew to tell Mrs Bessell the minute anything started. Why did she leave it so long?’
He shook his head, the silvery grey hair glinting in the bright lights. ‘She didn’t leave it long by all accounts. Mrs Bessell told the ambulance crew the pains started only minutes before she ran down the road to call them. They got to the house very quickly and, as you know, the journey isn’t long. But her labour was extremely rapid, and she was already in the second stage and fully dilated by the time we got her into theatre.’
She regarded the elderly man she’d come to know so well during her time in Shoreditch, her tears unshed, the fear gripping her heart. ‘Is she going to be all right?’ she whispered.
His grip tightened on her hands. ‘I’m sorry, Julie. Your sister has suffered an amniotic fluid embolism, and although we’re giving her oxygen and a fresh supply of blood, her heart has been further weakened by the shock.’
Julie felt the icy dread creep into her spine. ‘But that’s so rare,’ she breathed, ‘and so deadly. Does she have any chance of coming through this?’
‘I’m so sorry, my dear,’ he said solemnly. ‘There was an occlusion of the pulmonary vessels, and although she survived the pulmonary collapse, her already damaged heart simply cannot cope.’
Julie stared at him as his words and their meaning slowly penetrated. She couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it when she’d promised her sister that everything would go smoothly. ‘But she’s still alive. Surely there’s some hope she’ll pull through?’
His expression left no doubt, his next few words confirming it. ‘We’ve made her as comfortable as we can, but there’s nothing else we can do for her. The end is close, Julie. I’m sorry.’
Julie burst into tears. ‘I’ve let her down,’ she sobbed. ‘I promised her it would be all right only this morning. I should have got her admitted earlier, should never have gone out tonight when I could have been with her.’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Julie,’ he said softly.
‘But I do,’ she rasped, ‘of course I do. She’s my sister and I should have been with her.’ She scrabbled for a handkerchief and blew her nose, desperately trying to find some sort of calm and coherence of thought. ‘Did I miss something? Is it my fault – was it a mistake I made that led to this?’
‘No, my dear,’ he said firmly. ‘The sequence of so many tragic events is highly unusual and it could not have been spotted in advance. No one is to blame, Julie – least of all you.’
Julie’s tears rolled hot down her face and she blotted them away. ‘The baby?’ she whispered. ‘What about the baby?’
‘He’s a little premature but healthy enough, and although he should really be on the special baby ward, I’ve put him with his mother so she can see him and get to know him before she . . .’ His words trailed away and he sank his chin to his chest and gave a deep sigh. ‘Something like this touches us all, Julie. You have my deepest sympathy.’
Julie blew her nose again and determinedly scrubbed away her tears and the last of her mascara. The time for crying was later. She had to be strong and calm and able to think straight, and act professionally. ‘Has anyone thought to ring Stepney? Me parents should be here.’
‘We’ve tried the number you gave us, but the lines are down. Probably because of the raid, but we’ll keep trying, Julie, never fear.’
But Julie was fearful. Her sister was dying and her parents should be here. Yet there was absolutely nothing she could do about any of it. ‘Thank you for your kindness, Mr Philips,’ she said shakily. ‘May I see her now?’
‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Stay for as long as you like. I’ll be in my office next door should you need me.’
Julie felt as if she was living in a nightmare as she softly walked down the ward to Franny’s bed. Nothing seemed real – but the horror behind that sense of unreality was too awful. She didn’t know how long she could keep up this façade of calm.
Franny was almost as pale as the pillowcases behind her little head. Her breathing was shallow and irregular beneath the oxygen mask, but all her attention was on the tiny baby nestled in a blue blanket in her arms.
‘Hello, Franny,’ Julie murmured as she sat down on the chair by the bed and put a gentle hand on her sister’s skinny arm. ‘I hear you’ve got a son.’
‘Isn’t ’e beautiful?’ panted Franny, never taking her eyes from the bundle in her arms. ‘I’ve called ’im William Albert – after – ’is – father and – our – dad.’
‘Don’t tire yourself with talking,’ managed Julie as she fought her emotions. She gently drew back the blue blanket so she could see Franny’s baby. Her heart swelled with love and sorrow as she looked down at him. He was very small, with the tiny wrinkled face and blotchy complexion of all newborns – but much more special than any of the babies Julie had helped deliver because he was Franny’s. ‘He’s lovely,’ she murmured.
Franny smiled a sad, sweet smile beneath the oxygen mask. ‘Remember – your – promise,’ she panted. ‘Look – after – ’im – Bill – ’ome.’
‘Of course I will.’ Julie fought to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘But you’ll get better, Franny, really you will and . . .’
Franny shifted the oxygen mask and looked at Julie with clear blue eyes and an expression that brooked no argument. ‘I’m dying, Julie. Love ’im for me,’ she gasped in a rush. Those few words seemed to take the last of her strength, and she began to cough, the spittle tinged pink with blood.
Julie hastily stepped back as the specialist nurse bustled over and pressed the emergency button on the wall above the bed.
‘Hold the baby,’ she ordered softly. ‘I need some space.’
Julie took the bundle and held it close, but all her attention was on Franny as Mr Philips rushed to the bedside. Franny was struggling to breathe, doubled over with terrible pain in her chest as blood now trickled from her nose and mouth.
Julie wasn’t one for praying or church-going, but as she watched Mr Philips and the nurse fight to keep Franny alive she sent up an entreaty to God to spare her sister.
But God couldn’t have been listening, for Franny collapsed on the pillows and lay still, and with one last, laboured breath, was gone.
Mr Philips shook his head, and Julie sank back into the bedside chair, the baby in her arms almost forgotten as she reached for her sister’s hand. ‘Oh, Franny, love. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’
Tiny William seemed to sense that something was wrong, for he squirmed and bunched his little fists before bursting into a high-pitched, keening cry.
The nurse finished taking down the drips and turning o
ff the oxygen. ‘I’ll take William to the special baby ward while you spend some time with your sister,’ she said softly. ‘You won’t be disturbed.’ She moved away, pulling the screens round the bed before leaving the ward with the baby.
Julie lost track of time as she sat there and hardly noticed the air-raid sirens howling outside, or the roar of the returning bombers overhead. She talked about their childhood, the pranks they played, the summer delights of hop-picking in Kent, and the dreams they’d shared in those golden days. She spoke of her love and her sorrow, and repeated her promise to look after Franny’s baby.
She remained with her sister all through the crumps and bangs and the rattle of gunfire, scarcely aware of anything until the all-clear went for the second time that night. In the hush of the aftermath of battle she rose from the chair, stepped through the screens and approached the sister on duty.
‘I’d like to lay her out,’ she said. ‘It’s all I can do for her now, and I want her to look at peace when our parents come. Has anyone managed to get hold of them yet?’
The ward sister shook her head. ‘One of my nurses has been trying to get through all night, but the lines are still down. I’m sorry.’ She gave Julie a sympathetic smile and squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll find fresh linen and everything you’ll need in the room next door.’
Julie’s tears slowly rolled down her face as she lovingly washed her sister’s pale, lifeless body. Gently drying her with a soft towel, she then reached for the hairbrush and carefully teased out the tangles and arranged the shining curls so they framed her sweet face and drifted over her shoulders.
Franny looked more fairy-like than ever in the endless sleep that had so cruelly snatched her from those who loved her, but as Julie kissed her forehead and slowly drew the sheet over her, she knew she would always remember her this way – in peaceful, sleeping repose where the cruelties and struggles of life could never trouble her again.
She pulled the screens round the bed for the last time, thanked the sister and left the ward. She didn’t want to see them wheel her down to the morgue – didn’t want to think of her down there alone in the cold basement where she would remain until her parents came to see her in the Chapel of Rest.
