by Ellie Dean
‘I am not in the habit of making unnecessary telephone calls,’ said Matron stiffly. ‘Mr Reilly’s condition was improving.’
‘What do you mean, “was”’?’ demanded Rosie. ‘He looked very much better to me.’
‘That’s because he has a slight fever brought on by an infection,’ said Matron.
‘So, what are you doing about it?’ asked Frank.
Matron drew herself up to her full height and took a deep breath. ‘We are treating him with sulphonamide.’ On seeing their bafflement, she gave a sigh of annoyance and explained. ‘It is an antibacterial compound of potassium nitrate which should make his urine more alkaline and thereby stop the infection from progressing to the kidneys.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’ asked Frank.
‘Infection is the greatest barrier to recovery, and until very recently there has been little we could do about it. The infection either cleared naturally, or it didn’t.’
‘You mean Ron still might die?’ gasped Rosie in horror.
‘Not at all – especially with Mr Armstrong in charge of his case,’ Matron replied sharply. ‘There have been great advances in the field of antibiotics over the past few years, and they have been used to great success in the military. Mr Armstrong is taking part in a trial set up by Mr Fleming who has developed a drug called benzylpenicillin. So far the results have been highly satisfactory, and should the sulphonamide fail to halt the infection, then he will prescribe the penicillin.’
‘So you’re using my Ron as a guinea pig?’ snapped Rosie.
‘Absolutely not,’ said Matron hurriedly. ‘Benzylpenicillin has been tried and tested for a number of years, and it has been decided to expand its use. Very few hospitals have so far been supplied with this drug, but as Mr Armstrong has friends and colleagues in high places, he has managed to obtain it.’
‘So,’ said Peggy, ‘Ron will get better?’
‘Oh, yes. I’m quite sure of it,’ said Matron. ‘But there is still the question of his partial paralysis, which cannot be cured by medication. You must be patient and adhere to the hospital rules. They are in place for a reason. The smooth running of this hospital and the health of our patients depends upon them.’
‘We do understand,’ said Peggy, ‘and will stick to visiting times from now on. But please don’t take it out on that little nurse. She really was not at fault.’
Matron pursed her lips and gave a sharp nod before turning away and sweeping down the corridor.
‘Do you think we dare nip back in and say goodbye to Ron?’ whispered Rosie.
‘We’re going home,’ said Peggy firmly. ‘That poor nurse is in enough trouble as it is because of us.’
They left the hospital and kissed and hugged Rosie goodbye as they parted at the Anchor, before walking back to Beach View with a lighter step. Ron was on the mend if Matron’s prediction was right.
They were stopped repeatedly by concerned shopkeepers and friends as they went along Camden Road, and had to tell Ron’s story over and over again. It never ceased to amaze Peggy how quickly news travelled through this town, but it was wonderful to know how much people cared about Ron and how eager they were to offer their help and support.
There was no sign of Monty at the fish shop, for he was being taken for a long walk by the four boys Fred and Lil had adopted – and it seemed Harvey was being equally spoiled by Alf’s family.
Peggy saw Bert Williams coming out of the alleyway at the back of Beach View with Robert, lugging the ferrets’ enclosure between them. ‘It’s very kind of you to take them,’ she said as they met on the pavement.
‘It’s the least I can do,’ he said, placing the heavy wooden box on the ground. ‘Though the wife has put her foot down, and I’m having to house them in the shed behind the police station,’ he said with a grimace. ‘How’s Ron doing?’
Peggy let Frank explain, and hurried indoors to see to Daisy and pass on the news to the others. Having done this, she poured a cup of tea to whet her whistle after all the talking, and lit a fag before going into the hall to ring Cissy and Anne.
Much to her frustration, she had to leave a message for Cissy as she was on duty, and when she rang the farm down in Somerset it took an age for anyone to answer. She could only think they must all be busy in the fields and was about to hang up when Anne said a rather breathless ‘Hello?’
‘Oh, Anne, I’m so glad to have caught you,’ said Peggy, settling into the hall chair for a good chat.
‘You nearly didn’t,’ said Anne. ‘I just happened to be passing the kitchen on the way back from the milking parlour when I heard the phone ringing. Has something happened for you to be ringing so early?’
Peggy relayed the long and distressing saga of Ron’s accident and hoped-for recovery, which was greeted with some distress and a few tears. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask,’ she said, ‘but is it at all possible you and the boys could come home to see him? And then stay on for Christmas? I’d so love to see you all again, and Ron’s bound to recover quicker with his family around him.’
Anne gave a long sigh. ‘I wish I could, Mum, but the girls have got chicken pox and are still very much in the catching stage as well as being horribly fractious with it. I doubt we’d do him any good at all. As for the boys, Bob’s embroiled in farm work and his duties with the army cadets, and Charlie has finally made the county junior rugby team and is away with them on a training jolly.’
Peggy could have wept with disappointment, but she managed to stifle the urge and put a smile in her voice. ‘Oh, well, it can’t be helped, I suppose. These things always come at the worst time, don’t they?’
‘Indeed they do,’ said Anne. ‘The school had to close early because of the chicken pox outbreak, so the Christmas concert we’ve worked so hard to arrange had to be cancelled. But there is some good news. I’ve heard from Martin again.’
‘Oh, Anne,’ Peggy breathed. ‘How is he?’
‘He says he and Roger are still with Allan Forbes – the young chap who saved Martin’s life when he was shot down – and are doing fine. Martin has received a couple of my letters and is delighted that the girls and I are safe and doing well.’
She hurried on. ‘Of course he has no idea of what’s happened to Cissy’s Randy or Charlotte’s Freddy since they were transferred to another camp – and doesn’t know if Freddy has received the news about the twins. Roger is over the moon about little Faith’s safe arrival and he and Martin are as well as can be expected, but they’re all champing at the bit at being held prisoner instead of playing their part in bringing the war to an end. They send their love to everyone and really appreciate the letters once they get them – which seems to be very sporadically.’
‘Oh, that is good to hear,’ sighed Peggy. ‘I’ll ring Kitty and Charlotte later to tell them.’ She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Your father’s done very well and thoroughly enjoyed his leave in India. He’s been sent to retrain now he’s an officer, and expects to be in Burma again by Christmas.’
Anne giggled. ‘I can’t imagine Da as an officer. I bet he’s furious at having to leave his mates, but we’re all so very proud of him. I had a short letter from him last week, and it seems he and his friend, Big Bert, are a recipe for disaster. I wouldn’t mind betting they’ll lose those pips before the war’s ended.’
‘Neither would I,’ murmured Peggy. ‘I just wish he could come home.’
‘I am sorry we can’t be with you, Mum. It won’t feel like Christmas for you without us all there – but perhaps this really will be the last one we have to spend apart. What about Cissy? Will she be able to visit, do you think?’
‘I really have no idea,’ Peggy said sadly. ‘Things are winding down at Cliffe and she’s not even sure she’ll have a job by Christmas. I’m hoping to speak to her later when she comes off duty.’
‘I’d better go, Mum. Rose and Emily are having a set-to and I need to sort them out. It’s been lovely talking to you. Give Grandad my love, and if there’s any more news
on him, please let me know. I’ll try and ring on Christmas Day.’
‘That would be wonderful.’ Peggy could hear the background noise of two little girls squabbling. ‘Give the girls a kiss for me when they’ve calmed down, and send my love and hugs to the boys.’
She replaced the receiver and sat there for a moment thinking about her beloved children and grandchildren whom she missed so much it was a physical pain in her heart. They’d been apart for too many Christmases, and now it seemed this was to be another. How long would it be before she could hold them again?
She pulled herself together and tried to get through to Kitty and Charlotte, but the line was engaged.
Looking at her watch, she realised it was almost time to go to the Red Cross distribution centre for her voluntary two-hour shift, so she’d be able to speak to them then.
21
Ron had no idea how long he’d been stuck on this bed and in this hushed and darkened room, for the days and nights had blurred into one another, and the curtains over the window had remained closed. Routine seemed to be the order of this torturous place: being rolled from one side of the bed to the other every couple of hours, having stuff slathered over his pressure sore, medication injected into his numb backside, humiliating enemas, and doctors’ rounds where he was peered at and prodded whilst being surrounded by medical students who didn’t look old enough to have left school.
He’d been vaguely aware of Frank hovering over him with such a look of pity on his face he’d wanted to shake him and tell him to pull himself together – if he’d only had the energy – and of seeing Peggy, Cissy and his old pals who seemed to float in and out of here like fretful ghosts.
It was very warm in this room, especially now they’d incarcerated him in a plaster jacket that reached from just below the neck to the base of his hip and held his spine in a stretched and rigid grip. He lay there suffering the indignity of having his private parts washed by a young nurse, his eyes closed to spare both their blushes – although she didn’t seem at all bothered by her task – and he couldn’t actually feel what she was doing.
He was getting used to the hospital routine now that he was capable of staying awake for more than five minutes. The kidney infection had made him delirious in the beginning, and everything had passed in a colourless haze of sound and senses, and there had been times when he wondered if he was actually awake or just imagining things. However, several scenes from that time were very clear in his mind and he clung to those, determined to keep some sense of reality in this very strange world he’d found himself trapped within.
He was uncomfortable, to say the least – especially when the physio came in to manipulate his legs and make him do exercises to strengthen the flaccid muscles and keep them supple so they didn’t atrophy and twist out of shape. When it came to the back exercises the pain was often excruciating – which was a good sign, according to Armstrong – but the medication brought blessed relief.
He had some feeling in his lower legs, ankles and feet, and enjoyed the way the nurses massaged the cream into his heels, shoulders and elbows to prevent bed sores, but unusually had not become aroused by their touch, which was more than a bit worrying – but he’d put that down to the medication, and not feeling the full ticket, certain the feeling would return at the most inappropriate moment.
Ron kept his mind on other things as the nurse rubbed a soapy flannel round his neck and dried it off with a rough towel. He was almost certain that it had been Dolly who’d come to bully him about emptying his bladder. Who else but Dolly could be so bossy and demanding when all he’d wanted to do was float in a void of painless darkness? Of course, she’d had to be obeyed, and it had indeed been a blessed relief to do her bidding if only to be left in peace.
Then there was his darling, sweet Rosie. He’d woken several times to find her sitting by his bed, pale of face, her lovely eyes dimmed by worry as she tried so very hard to appear cheerful. There were things he needed to say to her – important things – if only he could stay awake long enough to express them.
He lay there with his eyes closed as the nurse pulled up his pyjama trousers and then started lathering his face in preparation for a shave. I hate all this fuss and mucking about, he thought as the cut-throat razor rasped over his chin. It makes me feel so damned useless. But I suppose anything’s better than being dead – and neither Dolly nor Rosie would forgive me if I just gave in and turned up my toes.
I should be so lucky, he thought grimly. I can’t do much more than twitch a toe or two at the best of times, let alone wriggle them about.
The knowledge that he still had no sensation in his hips and thighs was something he didn’t care to dwell on, for he’d heard enough of the nurses’ chatter to know it could lead to a lifetime in a wheelchair. Armstrong had been fairly positive that once the nerves in his lower back had recovered, the feeling would return, but as time had gone on, he hadn’t been quite so cheerful about it.
The real trouble with this place, he thought crossly, is that no one told him anything he could really latch on to. The nurses prevaricated and jollied him along, the doctors rushed in and out saying very little, and Armstrong mumbled to himself as if he wasn’t even there. And when he did arrive with his blasted entourage, it was always shortly after he’d been dosed up to the eyeballs and couldn’t take in a word.
‘There we are, Mr Reilly,’ said the nurse brightly, breaking into his dark thoughts and fears. ‘All lovely and fresh for Mr Armstrong’s visit. Now, do you need the bottle?’
At his nod she bustled about clearing up towels, flannels and bowls, then hurried out of the room, returning minutes later with the bottle.
Ron sighed with deep satisfaction as he filled it and when she’d disappeared once more, felt himself drifting off again, but deliberately jerked himself awake. He wanted to hear what Armstrong had to say today, and ask him straight what was actually going to happen to him.
Ron hadn’t taken to Armstrong at all. He was an obnoxious sort who’d clearly been very unkind to poor Rosie when she’d been so distraught. But Dolly had sorted him out good and proper. He grinned at the memory of them bickering over him as he’d tried to concentrate on peeing – determined to show the man that together, he and Dolly were invincible. And yet that could have been a dream – one of many he’d had just lately, and Armstrong had called her Mrs Cartwright.
‘Good morning.’ Armstrong swept into the room accompanied by Matron, a flutter of nurses and a scuffle of student doctors.
Ron simply nodded in acknowledgement, then wondered why he’d bothered as Armstrong didn’t even look at him, but stood with his back to the bed expounding at length about Ron’s progress to his eager and fawning audience.
‘This patient has recovered very quickly from the kidney infection, thanks to the sulphonamide,’ the man intoned. ‘But we must now wait to see if he fully recovers from his back injury.’
He pulled a slim phial from the pocket of his suit jacket and held it up. ‘I retrieved this from the iliac. As you can see, it is a needle of shrapnel which had been buried in the patient’s back since fighting in the trenches back in 1917.’
‘I am here, you know,’ rumbled Ron crossly. ‘And it was the end of 1916 when the field doctor left that in there. I’d be obliged to have it back, if you don’t mind.’
Armstrong looked at him as if surprised to see him there. ‘Quite so,’ he muttered, before handing over the phial and turning back to his audience.
‘As I was saying, Mr Reilly does appear to have suffered some nerve damage, which I had hoped would have repaired itself by now. Whilst he can move some of his toes and raise and drop his right foot, and there are certain areas of skin in his lower legs which respond to stimuli, there is no such reaction from the waist to his knees. He’s receiving daily physiotherapy to stop the muscles atrophying, but if the nerves in his back don’t recover soon, Mr Reilly’s condition will probably not improve.’ He paused. ‘There is also the likelihood that his erectil
e function will not return.’
‘Hold on right there,’ snapped Ron who was now fully alert. ‘What’s all this about erectile function? Do you mean I can never have sex again?’
Armstrong at last deigned to approach the bed and talk to Ron directly. ‘That is a distinct possibility if the paralysis continues,’ he said coolly. ‘But we can always hope it will be temporary.’
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Ron protested. ‘I was supposed to be getting married again.’
‘You’re very fit and have made great progress, but I’m sure that at your advanced age the lack of sex will not bother you too much. You’ll succeed in finding other pleasures when you are up and about in your wheelchair.’
‘Over my dead body,’ muttered Ron. ‘I’ll walk on me own. You’ll see – and enjoy making love to my Rosie.’
Armstrong turned to Matron and the others. ‘Our patient seems very determined,’ he said with a smug smile. ‘It will be interesting to see if his will is stronger than medical science.’
‘You can bet your damned life on it,’ muttered Ron, sticking two fingers up at the man’s retreating back as he swept out.
Ron regarded the sliver of shrapnel which had caused him so much discomfort over the years. ‘To be sure, ’tis a miracle you didn’t kill me,’ he muttered. ‘But if I don’t get out of here on me own two feet and with everything working properly, you might as well have done.’
He closed his eyes, weary and with little hope despite his earlier brave defiance. Armstrong’s prognosis haunted him, bringing visions of a bleak future in which he was tied into a wheelchair, never to walk the hills again or feel the freedom of the wind in his hair as he went out with Frank in his fishing boat, and – worst of all – never to make love to Rosie again.
He couldn’t marry her. Not like this. What use was he if he couldn’t be a proper husband to her? How could he possibly saddle her with the drudgery of nursing him day and night until he became a withered, dried-up, bitter old man? That wasn’t the life he’d envisioned for them.
