Wartime for the District Nurses

by Annie Groves

  Bridget was not sure what she could do to help herself. She hated waking in the middle of the night in a panic. Often she would dream of running along a coastal path and then she would look down, only to find that the path had run out and she was running on thin air, the rocks far beneath her, and she knew she had to keep going faster and faster in order not to plummet down onto them. She dared not tell any of the doctors she worked with. They would think she was mad, and question her suitability for the job. She could not tell Gwen or Fiona, who had put their faith in her when choosing her for the post. She would have to face it alone and keep hoping nobody guessed.

  Slowly she pedalled along, remembering where to turn for the next patient’s house, shivering slightly despite the warm air. She had to make this a success. She could not afford to fail. Too much depended on it.

  Alice had been uncertain where to go with Joe. She didn’t want to return to the Duke’s Arms or the café they used to frequent before he’d joined up. She knew deep down it was because she didn’t want their precious time together to be interrupted. Two nights of sharing his company had been enough.

  She hadn’t been able to wash her new blouse and so she reluctantly put on a dress that she felt was old and staid. It wasn’t as if he would notice, she was sure, but new clothing was a boost to her confidence. Not that she was trying to make him look at her in that way … and yet her sense of her own attractiveness had taken a beating when Mark had chosen the International Brigade rather than her. She had been able to park that uncomfortable knowledge quite successfully at the back of her mind for some time now, but having Joe around somehow awoke all those old insecurities, along with a wish for them not to matter.

  ‘It counts for nothing,’ she told herself sternly, tugging at the cap sleeves to straighten them, smoothing the well-worn cotton in now faded turquoise. ‘You’re meeting a friend, that’s all.’ All the same, she brushed her hair out over her shoulders, and picked out her sandals with a slightly raised heel rather than her sensible flat ones.

  In the end they had decided simply to go for a walk around Victoria Park. Joe met her at the end of Victory Walk and they strolled to the bus stop together, getting off at the Regent’s Canal and wandering along the towpath until they reached the park itself. The towpath was narrow, making it tricky to walk side by side, and it wasn’t until they reached the park gates that Alice could really turn to talk to Joe.

  She had planned to ask him so many questions about what he had done, what he really thought would happen if the cities were bombed, but she ended up breaking into laughter when she realised the significance of where they had come to.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, his dark eyes fixed on hers, but puzzled.

  She smiled up at him. ‘I just remembered that this is the place where I first saw you. You know, the day that Edie, Mary and I had brought a picnic here and you and your family were here as well. Edith and Harry set eyes upon one another and that was that.’

  Joe laughed as well. ‘You’re right, that hadn’t occurred to me when we agreed to come here. That feels like a lifetime ago.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘I thought you were one of those stuck-up nurses who think they are better than everyone else.’

  ‘I know.’ Alice cast her mind back to their first encounter. ‘And I thought you were a proper stuck-up killjoy, making Mattie go home early.’ She remembered how indignant she had been, and how furious at the idea he had disapproved of her.

  ‘Yep, that’s me,’ he said easily, and they smiled more widely at each other, in silent acknowledgement that their friendship had got off on totally the wrong foot. Slowly they turned and began to stroll along, as the leaves on the trees rustled in the evening breeze, not yet ready to change colour and fall. All around the trenches bore witness to the fact of the war.

  ‘Ah well, I know better now,’ she said, falling comfortably into step with him, remembering how well their strides were suited. Edith had often complained that she had to run to keep up and it wasn’t fair as she had much shorter legs.

  Joe had rolled back the sleeves on his pale grey shirt, and Alice could not help but check to see if she had been right in the cinema about his arms becoming more muscly.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ he teased.

  ‘They must make you do lots of PT,’ she answered. ‘Your arms have changed shape, you’re like Popeye the Sailor now, I swear it.’

  He rubbed them self-consciously. ‘You’re probably right. Even we engineers are meant to be halfway fit, you know. I’ll end up with a physique that even Harry would be proud of. Or maybe not quite that extreme.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Alice was pleased he could say his brother’s name so naturally, but still felt a pang of sadness. As a boxer with his eyes on the big championships, Harry had taken his keep-fit regime very seriously, brooking no mockery about it. She couldn’t imagine Joe taking it to such lengths.

  ‘It’s no bad thing,’ Joe went on. ‘I want to feel that I’m ready for anything, not just able to mend the telecommunications … I shouldn’t say any more about what I do, not really.’

  Alice looked around. ‘There’s no one listening. No, you’re right, though, best not to get into the habit.’ She had a surge of pride that his skills had been recognised, that he was doing something he believed in and that not many men would be qualified for.

  As if he had read her thoughts, Joe said, ‘Not bad for a bloke from Jeeves Street.’

  She looked up at him and nodded. ‘No, you’re doing well, Joe. We’re all proud of you. I for one feel safer for knowing that you do what you do.’

  He smiled but almost in embarrassment. From the early days, once they had got over their misunderstanding, their friendship had been based on gentle mockery and shared humour, as well as a mutual love of books. Now she sensed a shift to something more serious.

  Harry’s cruel fate had underlined that anything could happen at any time. Plenty of young people were rushing into relationships after knowing one another for next to no time. Nobody could say how long anyone would have; what was awaiting any or all of them in the future.

  Yet she knew she was not one to rush into anything. Nor, she sensed with every fibre of her being, was Joe. She realised she was keenly attuned to him, to his moods and feelings; whatever else, their friendship was vitally important to both of them. She didn’t want to risk it, for so many reasons. For two pins she could have reached out to see how that golden muscled forearm really felt, but something more powerful held her back.

  He halted and turned to face her, and to her surprise rested his hands on her shoulders, lightly, but the heat of his touch shot through her. ‘And I’m proud of you,’ he said, his voice quiet but ringing with sincerity. ‘I can’t imagine what horrors you’ve already seen, let alone what might be coming soon. I wish I could stop it, protect you from it – but I can’t. And you wouldn’t want that anyway, would you?’

  She shook her head, certain of that without even having to consider it. ‘No. A nurse can’t run away and hide. Nursing is what I do, it’s who I am.’ Before she could explain that she was grateful for what he’d said, surprised that he’d revealed so much in that short statement, that if circumstances had been different, who knew what direction their friendship would take, a group of teenaged boys on bicycles came around the corner of the path and only swerved around them at the last moment.

  Joe pulled her to one side, instinctively protective. The boys had long past them before they broke away. Joe smiled down at her, his face strong and handsome and Alice smiled back, comfortable in his gentle embrace.

  The spell was broken, yet, as they returned the way they had come and finally said their farewells on the corner of Victory Walk, well in time for curfew, she sensed that their friendship was even stronger now, with an undercurrent of deep connection.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Billy didn’t know what to think as he stood at the window of the crowded train to Portsmouth. Everywhere he looked there were men in uniform, mostly nav
al but from the other services too. A couple of soldiers must have been well under eighteen. How had they got through the selection process? Billy’s face flushed red with shame as he remembered being turned down just because of his stupid feet.

  The train lurched along, any pretence at sticking to the timetable long gone. Billy wondered if he’d even make visiting hours, or whether he would be forced to wait until morning. He had the address where Ron had stayed so he wouldn’t be stuck kipping out in a park, but he wanted to get this over and done with. The further he got from London, the more unlikely it sounded. Ron was a good mate and not given to flights of fancy but, really, he had to have been mistaken.

  This was one big case of wishful thinking, Billy told himself. If this poor man on Alfie’s ward was injured so badly, how on earth could Ron have spotted the likeness? Impossible. Why was he wasting his own precious leave on such a wild-goose chase? And he’d had to lie to Stan – well, not lie exactly, but certainly by omission. He’d allowed Stan to assume it was his own family who had a spot of bother. There had been no trouble swapping shifts, but Billy liked to keep such measures for emergencies as it didn’t do to use up all your favours too soon.

  This wasn’t an emergency, it was a futile waste of time, he thought, flexing his leg muscles and cursing his feet, sore from hours of standing in the same spot. He wished he’d brought more to eat on the journey, and wondered if he could break into the food parcel that Ron’s auntie had made, delighted at the chance to send her sick nephew more of her famous gingerbread. No, that would be mean. He knew she’d begged and bartered for the extra sugar coupons for a start. His stomach rumbled at the thought and he cringed with embarrassment. Everyone was so tightly packed together that there was no hiding it.

  The young man next to him, in a Fleet Air Arm jacket, turned and grinned at him. ‘Sounds as if you could do with a sandwich,’ he said cheerily. ‘Here, have one of these.’ He leant over and opened his duffel bag, drawing out a parcel wrapped in greaseproof paper. ‘I’ve got far too many. My old dear must have thought I was headed for Australia, she’s done enough to last a fortnight. It’d be doing me a favour.’ He passed them across. ‘Ham and mustard do you?’

  Billy stared wide-eyed at the offer. He had heard that the war was breaking down barriers and pulling people together but, apart from his voyage to Dunkirk, he had hardly left the East End for the last year, and that had been on a small boat.

  ‘Go on,’ the man urged.

  ‘Thanks, I will.’ Billy took a sandwich, made of thick-cut crusty bread, and bit in with gusto. It was slathered in butter and the ham was generously sliced. It was like nectar. ‘Tell your ma she’s a wonder,’ he said when he’d swallowed the first mouthful. ‘That is the best sandwich I’ve ever had. That hits the spot, that does.’

  The man shrugged. ‘We’re spoilt where I come from. It’s farming country, we don’t go short of butter or meat or anything like that. When I’m aboard ship, it’s a different matter.’

  ‘I bet,’ said Billy, remembering some of the stories Joe had told down the pub about what they’d had to eat in Scapa Flow. A bigger contrast to Flo’s home cooking couldn’t be imagined.

  ‘What about you?’ the man asked, but then one of his companions nudged him in the ribs. ‘Ah, sorry, shouldn’t ask, should we? Never know who’s listening.’

  Billy nodded. It seemed strange to be able to accept a sandwich from a stranger but not to tell them where you were from, what you did or why you were going to the same place they were. ‘Let’s just say I could support Arsenal or Spurs,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘And do you?’

  ‘Nah, my old dad was a West Ham man. But really I don’t have time to support any of them,’ Billy confessed. ‘There’s Ma to look after, and me job, and the ARP work.’ He wondered if he’d said too much, but what harm could that do? He was proud of being an ARP warden. ‘You get to see all sorts, doing that.’

  The man nodded, and they passed the time in conversation, eating sandwiches now and then, while the countryside turned to suburbs and finally into the buildings of Portsmouth, which the Fleet Air Arm crew recognised. ‘Here we go, good old Pompey,’ said one. ‘Back where all the fun begins.’

  Everyone began to pack away their flasks, books, newspapers and remaining food, secure their duffel bags and prepare to leave the train as it finally creaked alongside the platform. Billy smiled and said goodbye, his heart full of trepidation at what he might be about to find. What would be worse: for it to be a complete stranger? Or a Harry too injured and maimed to recognise him, a shadow of his former extrovert self? Was it a mistake to have come? Too late to consider that now, Billy my boy, he told himself, and swung down from the train’s high step onto the teeming platform.

  Kathleen quickly rinsed out the few items of handwashing and looked around for her peg bag. It had been so long since she’d hung anything out in her shared courtyard that she’d forgotten where she’d left it, but there it was, next to her iron in the cramped kitchen. She grabbed it and took the bucket of Brian’s clothes over to the line. The weather was taking a turn for the worse and she needed to get this out fast.

  She would have to buy him some bigger shirts soon, she thought, straightening the collar of the little checked one he had nearly grown out of. She could put this one aside in case it was useful for Mattie’s baby. She had collected a pile of such clothes, believing you could never have too many when children were small, as they had so many ways of making them dirty and needing to be changed. She tugged at a tiny cotton vest to remove most of the creases and pegged that to the line as well.

  Mrs Coyne emerged into the yard with a few items of laundry in a basket. ‘Haven’t seen you doing this for a while,’ she observed, making it sound like a criticism.

  Kathleen would not let herself be riled by her upstairs neighbour. ‘No, I’ve been helping out my friends with their washing and doing most of mine at their house while I’m about it,’ she explained.

  Mrs Coyne nodded. ‘I thought you was away a lot. Haven’t heard your baby for a while.’

  Kathleen gave a short smile in acknowledgement.

  ‘I could have sworn there was someone around yesterday,’ the woman went on. ‘Thought there was noise at your door. Early evening, it was. Expecting visitors, was you? Did you miss them?’

  Kathleen pushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘Not that I know of. It can’t have been important. There was no note or anything like that.’

  Mrs Coyne pulled a face as she took a much-patched apron from her basket and straightened up again. ‘Oh, my back. It’s really giving me gyp. I don’t know what I done to it. I blame the rain, look, it’s coming in before too long, I can feel it in me waters.’ She slowly pinned up the apron, moving cautiously to avoid further twinges. ‘Well, maybe I made a mistake, it could have been next door. I didn’t look out or nothing.’

  Kathleen adjusted her final items, some little socks that had once been white but were now pale grey, with a faded design of rabbits at the heel and toe. ‘That must have been it, then. Right, I must get on, the flat needs a good clean and then I should go shopping.’

  Mrs Coyne didn’t reply, only groaned again as she lifted up her next piece of laundry. Kathleen hurried inside with her bucket and peg bag so that she didn’t have to hear any more about the woman’s bad back. Although she wasn’t lacking in sympathy, she couldn’t help but suspect Mrs Coyne was exaggerating, perhaps in the hope that Kathleen would offer to help her too. Doing the Banhams’ laundry was one thing; adding the Coynes’ to her chores was something else entirely. She didn’t owe them any favours, and had no wish to know them any better than she had to. It was bad enough having to hear all their noise through the floorboards.

  ‘Right, all done!’ she sang out cheerfully to Brian, who was sitting on the rug under the front window, making a wall out of wooden bricks. He looked up at her, giggled and pushed the wall over.

  Kathleen reflected that only a few days ago, she would have panic
ked at Mrs Coyne’s gossip, assuming that it was Elsie chasing after her once more, ready with her threats. Today, though, she felt safer, sure that the woman would leave her alone in future. After all, she didn’t have a leg to stand on. Kathleen needed every penny of that pension and she was going to hang on to it.

  She wondered whether she should discuss it with Billy, to set her mind completely at rest. She was longing to see him again. That night out at the cinema had been wonderful, a real treat, and extra-special because she had managed to spend so much time feeling him sitting close beside her, bringing that sense of being protected that she loved so much.

  Perhaps she could get a message to him to come round, just to be certain. He was so good at reassuring her, with his sensible advice and practical perspective on things. Yes, that’s what she would do.

  ‘Shall we build it up again?’ she asked Brian, crouching to his level. ‘Then we’ll sweep the floor, and go to buy bread, and we’ll see if Billy can pop by later on. Won’t that be a lovely afternoon?’ She picked up several of the bricks, and in doing so noticed something shiny under the chair. ‘What’s that, I wonder?’ she asked cheerfully, reaching for it. It was a dark brown button. Brian reached for it out of curiosity, but Kathleen drew it away from him. ‘No, let Mummy see, and she doesn’t want you to swallow it.’ She turned it over in her hand, struggling to recall where it could have come from. Nothing came to mind. Perhaps it came from a visitor’s clothes; Mattie or Billy could have dropped it. ‘Silly Mummy,’ she said, and Brian laughed, then gave his wide smile. Kathleen felt her heart fill with love. She would never, ever let Elsie do the tiniest thing to hurt her precious boy.