On a Turning Tide

by Ellie Dean

  ‘It was an accident,’ she blurted out. ‘Fanny assaulted me. I was merely defending myself.’

  ‘There have been powerful accusations made against you, Mrs Whitlock,’ he said, his voice ominously quiet. ‘What do you have to say in your defence?’

  ‘It was an accident, and I immediately made sure that she got proper medical attention.’ She glanced at Rachel. ‘Mrs Goldman will confirm that.’

  ‘I can confirm the ambulance was in attendance,’ said Rachel, ‘but the real reason for her so-called “accident” has only become clearer over the last few hours.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Mavis was flustered, and she glanced down at the belligerent gathering on the shop floor, perhaps suddenly realising that someone must have talked. ‘You don’t want to listen to them,’ she snapped. ‘They’re all liars.’

  Solly waved away this blatant attempt to besmirch everyone else and glared down at her, the colour slowly rising in his face. ‘We all know who the liar is. And the bully. So what is your excuse for using my niece’s notes to blackmail the women in my employ, and for being in my office last night?’

  ‘I thought I heard the telephone ringing,’ she stammered.

  ‘Liar!’ he shouted into her face. ‘The phone is put through to your office during the night.’ He was breathing heavily, clearly fighting to keep his temper in check.

  ‘You have no call to speak to me this way,’ she protested. ‘I am innocent of all the charges made by those women, and I’m shocked you should listen to the likes of Peggy and that Gladys with their filthy insinuations.’

  There was an angry buzz from the factory floor and Solly seemed to grow taller and broader as he loomed over her, but his voice was deceptively soft. ‘You have two choices, Mrs Whitlock. You either resign, or I dismiss you without reference. What is it to be?’

  ‘I’m not resigning,’ she retorted, showing more bravery than Peggy would have given her credit for. ‘And if you dismiss me, I shall inform my union and have the entire factory brought to a standstill.’ She smirked as she once again glanced down to the gathering on the factory floor. ‘It seems that either way, you won’t be fulfilling that contract.’

  ‘Oh, we will,’ rumbled Solly. ‘I’ve spoken to my brother and know what sort of woman you are. He paid you off to keep you quiet, but I won’t be doing that. And if you go to the union with some cock and bull story, you’ll regret it. You see, I have already spoken to the union president and given him the facts of the matter. So, what’s it to be? Resignation or dismissal?’

  ‘Go, go, go,’ came the chorus from the shop floor, accompanied by stamping feet and clapping hands.

  Mavis crumpled. She knew that she’d completely lost control of the women she’d thought she could bully, and had no chance of getting the better of Solly Goldman. ‘I’ll hand in my resignation, then,’ she said quietly.

  ‘A wise decision,’ said Solly. ‘Consider it accepted. I’ll have the wages due to you sent on.’ He leaned closer to her. ‘And if there’s one hint of trouble from you, I’ll have a word with Sergeant Williams about your blackmail attempts.’

  The men and women cheered as, red-faced, Mavis left with all the dignity she could muster through the emergency door and down the outside fire escape to the loud shouts of, ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish!’

  Solly mopped his hot face and smoothed back his hair, then went out onto the landing and looked down on his workers with affection. ‘It’s good to see you being so supportive of one another,’ he boomed. ‘I’ve always prided myself on the fact I have the very best and most loyal workers. In future, should there be a problem – any problem – you mustn’t hesitate to tell us. We’re here to listen and to help. Now let us carry on, and begin another shift in the knowledge that if we stick together, we are invincible.’

  Peggy glanced at Rachel as she switched off the public address system, and they exchanged a smile. Solly was getting quite Churchillian in his old age.

  Rosie hadn’t slept since leaving the hospital. First off, she had telephoned the registry office to cancel the wedding, and the Officers’ Club to cancel the wedding reception. That done, she’d shed more tears as she’d packed away her wedding outfit in a trunk and stowed it beneath one of the spare beds. She would wear it one day, God willing. But for now she had to forget weddings and champagne and concentrate on getting her beloved man back on his feet.

  She had a bath and changed into a dark blue dress and matching jacket, then carefully made up her face and brushed her hair so that when Ron woke up, he wouldn’t see how tired and frightened she was. She left the Anchor shortly before five-thirty and hurried across Camden Road to the hospital, where she found Frank sitting in the waiting room.

  ‘I thought you’d gone to work,’ she said, sitting down beside him.

  His face was drawn and grey with worry. ‘I did, but I couldn’t concentrate. Where’s Peggy? I thought she’d be here with you.’

  ‘She told me at lunchtime that some sort of crisis had blown up at the factory, and she might be late,’ Rosie explained. ‘But I’m sure she’ll be here soon.’

  They sat there in mutual worry and frustration, and were soon joined by Ivy, Ruby, Sarah, Pauline, Cordelia and Bertie. Alf the butcher and Fred the Fish arrived minutes later, swiftly followed by Peggy, Doris and the Colonel. Rosie was pleased to see them, but wished someone would come and tell her what was going on, for all this hanging about was sending her quite mad with worry.

  Matron came into the room and headed straight for her. ‘He’s out of recovery and in a side room off Men’s Surgical,’ she said quietly.

  Rosie’s legs almost gave way. ‘He’s all right?’

  ‘He’s not fully awake, and will probably not make much sense if he tries to talk, but yes, it appears that the operation went well.’ Matron looked at the others. ‘Only one visitor tonight, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’m his son,’ said Frank, getting to his feet. ‘I demand to be allowed to see him.’

  Matron looked up to meet his steady gaze. ‘Very well,’ she said reluctantly, ‘but only for five minutes – and that goes for both of you.’

  ‘But that’s not long enough,’ Rosie protested.

  ‘It’s all you can have,’ said Matron firmly. ‘Mr Reilly is a very sick man and needs all the peace and rest he can get. Visiting hours are from two to four, and six to eight. You can see him tomorrow – but again, only two visitors at a time.’

  Rosie and Frank meekly followed her down the endless corridors until they came to a single room set to one side of the men’s surgical ward. ‘I shall be back in five minutes,’ she said before bustling off.

  The room was very warm, lit by a low wattage lamp, and with a machine bleeping softly by the bed where a nurse was taking Ron’s temperature and noting it down on a chart. She put her finger to her lips and gestured to them to come in and close the door.

  Rosie only had eyes for Ron, who no longer had an oxygen mask over his face, but seemed to be lying half-naked on his side beneath a sheet, his bandaged back smeared with some sort of red lotion.

  ‘What’s all that for?’ she whispered.

  ‘He has a minor pressure sore from being trapped beneath something heavy,’ the nurse murmured. ‘The zinc lotion will help it heal and prevent further sores.’ She gave Rosie a reassuring smile. ‘He’s as comfortable as possible and heavily sedated against any pain.’

  Rosie approached the well-cushioned bed and took Ron’s hand. Kissing it, she touched his face and bent close to his ear. ‘Hello, darling man,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve come through. You’ll be all right now.’

  It was then that she noticed the clear, empty bag hanging down at the side of the bed and the red rubber tube disappearing up his pyjama leg. ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘It’s a catheter,’ the nurse explained. ‘It’s very important we monitor his urine output to make sure his kidneys are working properly.’

  ‘And are they?’

  ‘It’s a bit soon to
tell yet,’ she replied carefully. ‘But Mr Armstrong will explain everything.’ She pressed a soft hand on Rosie’s shoulder. ‘I know how silly this sounds in the circumstances, but do try not to worry. Mr Armstrong and we nurses will be looking after him day and night. He really will get the very best care.’

  ‘How long will he be confined to bed?’ Frank muttered.

  The nurse bit her lip. ‘Each patient is different,’ she hedged. ‘There’s no real set time.’ Seeing their horrified expressions, she quickly added, ‘But Mr Reilly is a very fit man for his age, so he could be up and about quite soon. We can only wait and see.’

  She left the room and quietly closed the door behind her.

  Frank stood on the other side of the bed and looked down at his father with such love and dread that it twisted Rosie’s heart. ‘We’ll just have to be patient, Frank,’ she murmured. ‘And be thankful that he’s still alive.’

  Frank cautiously touched his father’s hand. ‘Da, it’s me, Frank. You’d better wake up, old fella, because all this lying about is wasting good poaching time.’

  Ron groaned and his eyelids fluttered. ‘Salmon for Christmas,’ he mumbled. ‘Where’s Harvey?’

  ‘He’s with Alf, being a real butcher’s dog,’ said Rosie with a lightness she didn’t feel. ‘I expect he’ll be as fat as lard by the time you come home.’

  ‘Aye,’ he sighed. ‘That he will.’ His eyes opened and he gazed blurrily at Rosie and gave a weary smile. ‘Darling wee girl. What … doing … here?’

  Rosie lifted his hand to her cheek, careful of all the things sticking out of the back of it and attached to drips. ‘I’ve come to make sure you’re all right,’ she managed through her tears. ‘What on earth were you doing out there, Ron? You’ve given me the fright of my life.’

  ‘Ach. Not cry, wee Rosie. Tired,’ he sighed before drifting back to sleep.

  She and Frank sat there in numb silence for what felt like only seconds before Matron came in. She checked Ron’s chart, the bag beneath the bed and the drips hanging above it. ‘Mr Armstrong wishes to speak to you both,’ she said. ‘Follow me.’

  Rosie kissed Ron’s cheek and Frank squeezed his hand, then they followed Matron outside.

  Mr Armstrong was in a well-appointed office overlooking the rear gardens of the hospital. He rose to greet them from behind a polished mahogany desk cleared of everything but a large model of the human spine.

  He waited until they were settled on the edges of the comfortable chairs before speaking. ‘You will have noted that Mr Reilly is being treated for a pressure sore. It is quite shallow, so I expect it to heal quickly without the need for a skin graft, but from now on he will be turned every two hours to prevent any more developing. He will eventually have a plaster jacket applied to aid the healing of the fracture, and if all goes well then he will begin a course of physiotherapy. But there is a long road to negotiate before that can happen.’

  He pointed a ruler at the model. ‘This is the human spine,’ he said unnecessarily, ‘and these are the lumbar vertbrae that have been compressed.’ He pointed to the two largest at the base of the spine and made sure he had their full attention before carrying on.

  ‘Mr Reilly is fortunate in that the ligaments at the back of the vertebrae are intact, and therefore any damage to the nerves in this lower region can recover. The fracture is what we call stable, and there are definite signs of reaction to stimulus in his feet and lower legs, so there is hope that his partial paralysis will be temporary, and that he might – just might – be able to walk again after a long course of intensive physiotherapy. But every patient is different, so nothing is certain.’

  Rosie’s emotions went from utter joy to plunging despair within seconds, but Armstrong was still talking and she had to force herself to concentrate.

  Pointing to what Rosie would call the hip bone, he said, ‘This is the ilium, which has suffered a hairline fracture.’ The ruler moved to the top lip of the ilium. ‘The shard of shrapnel was driven like a nail into the ilium here, causing the fracture.’

  He regarded them solemnly. ‘Mr Reilly was extremely fortunate that its passage was stopped by the ilium, for if it had progressed further into the compressed vertebrae and severed his spinal cord, not even my skills could have retrieved it or prevented complete paralysis.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ breathed Rosie. ‘I can scarcely believe how lucky we are to have had you to save him.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ growled Frank, who’d gone as white as a sheet.

  Armstrong bowed his head in gracious acceptance of this praise. ‘However, there is more, I’m afraid.’

  Rosie and Frank clasped hands tightly as they tensed themselves for bad news.

  ‘I won’t bore you with the medical names for them, but the hips and spine are protected by muscles and sinews, which form a sort of corset. These are what help us to bend, sit and walk, and twist and turn. These muscles are connected to others throughout the human body to protect vital organs – such as the kidneys and intestines.

  ‘When the spine is damaged, the kidneys can go into shock and stop working, so it is now vital that we keep an eye on Mr Reilly. If the kidneys don’t function, then he will not be able to empty his bladder, except by being manually expressed when it becomes full, or with the use of a catheter, which can bring about the risk of infection if done too often.’

  He rested his forearms on the desk and entwined his long, graceful fingers. ‘I have every hope that Mr Reilly’s kidneys will recover to the point where he can urinate without intervention; however, in cases like this, one should be prepared for the worst. If the kidneys fail, then I’m afraid Mr Reilly will not survive.’

  Rosie burst into tears. ‘No. You can’t let him die. Not after all this.’

  ‘I’m afraid it won’t be up to me, Mrs Braithwaite. It will be up to fate, and the condition of Mr Reilly’s kidneys.’ He stood to show the interview was over. ‘I’m sorry not to have been able to give you better news, Mrs Braithwaite. I understand you and Mr Reilly were due to be married tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes,’ she sobbed.

  ‘We can provide the facilities to go ahead with a wedding here, if you so wish. In the circumstances, I would advise you do so.’

  Rosie fell against Frank, bereft of strength and crippled by the loss of hope.

  ‘Thanks, Mr Armstrong,’ said Frank, holding Rosie close. ‘We’ll get back to you on that. My da’s a strong wee man and he’ll pull through, you’ll see.’

  ‘I very much hope so,’ murmured Armstrong as he accompanied them to the door. ‘But I shouldn’t delay in arranging things with the hospital padre. Time could be of the essence.’

  Rosie fell in a dead faint, and Frank’s face was grim as he gathered her into his arms and carried her out of the room.

  Matron appeared as if she’d been waiting for them, and quickly showed Frank into a side room where there was a bed. ‘This is for the doctors when they’re on nights,’ she explained. She poured a glass of water. ‘Give this to her when she comes round, and then take her home.’

  19

  Huddled into her furs, Dolly Cardew drove as fast as she dared through the teeming rain. It was a foul night, the damned heater wasn’t working again, and the pale headlights were barely picking out the winding, narrow lanes. The journey from London felt endless, but it was one she had to make, for she could no longer bear the thought of not being with Ron and seeing for herself how he really was.

  She had known Ron since she was a girl, and loved him as the big brother she’d never had. He was a kindred spirit who enjoyed walking on the wild side of life, and fed on the excitement of being involved covertly behind the lines. They’d both found themselves in dangerous situations during the First War, and Ron’s experiences back then had bred in him a need to be useful and to hone his hard-earned skills when war had been declared again. Now his life seemed to be hanging by a thread – and the thought filled Dolly with dread.

  She opened the quarter-l
ight window and fumbled to light a cigarette as she peered into the dark night and felt the gusting wind rock the little car. She’d thoroughly enjoyed her First War, working covertly in France, and had been thrilled to be called into service again when the SOE had been formed at the start of this one. Her task this time kept her mostly at Bletchley, where her fluent French and German and knowledge of France helped to prepare the secret agents and saboteurs who were to be parachuted into Europe.

  But the fun had lost its allure when her agents were betrayed or killed, and had definitely faltered when young Danuta had been captured by the Gestapo. Her escape had been miraculous, her recovery from her injuries a testament to the girl’s strength of purpose to never be beaten, but Dolly knew that Ron shared her guilt over what had happened to her, for it had been they who’d encouraged the girl to risk her life.

  And now it was Ron who was in danger. She’d found out last night, when Bertram Grantley-Adams had telephoned her London office. It was by sheer chance that she’d been there, for she’d only just returned from Bletchley Park that afternoon. She’d listened to Bertram’s theory as to where Ron might have been, and after making a series of urgent telephone calls, she’d soon confirmed that his suspicions were spot on, and swiftly gave Bertram the go-ahead to set up a rescue team.

  Being buried alive was the stuff of nightmares, Dolly knew how Ron hated being in enclosed, dark places after his tunnelling experiences in the First War, and she had spent the night in an agony of frustration and anguish waiting for Bertram’s call to say he’d been found alive. When it had come at five in the morning, she’d gone straight to her superior, Sir Hugh Cuthbertson, to ask permission to drive to Cliffehaven.

  Dear Hugh had been very understanding, even though she’d woken him at the crack of dawn in a blind panic. He was a wily old fox, but a wise mentor and counsellor, and he’d advised her to wait until tonight. She’d protested at first, and then realised he was right, for her sudden arrival in Cliffehaven would elicit awkward questions she had no way of answering without giving away the part she and Bertram were playing with the SOE – for how else would she have known about Ron’s accident? There had been no other calls from Peggy, or even Danuta.