by Jane Grant
He showed us round the quay and the ship-building yards. In Sarah’s father’s shipyard he wanted to take us into the office and introduce us to him, but our night’s privations had weakened us and we had not the courage.
‘Well, come into our office then,’ he said, adding reassuringly, ‘I know the old man’s out.’
By then we were almost frozen, so we gave in. We went through his father’s shipyard and into a comfortable warm office, where we sat in leather chairs and were restored by cups of hot coffee. On the walls were photographs of the firm’s ships, and one picture of a work’s celebration, where I managed to pick out Keith looking handsome and rakish, instead of pink and shy.
On the way to the Harbens I remarked, getting my leg out of the way of the gear, ‘You seem to have a lot of free time.’
Keith was hurt. ‘I work jolly hard as a rule,’ he assured me. ‘I’ve just taken a few days off so as to support Don.’
At the Harbens’ everyone was worn out with wedding preparations, so after lunch, lifting the telephone receiver off the hook, we all settled down for a quiet snooze. Keith stretched himself out in Mr. Harben’s favourite chair, with his feet almost in the fire, and went immediately into a deep sleep.
Evening brought Mr. Harben. He was a big, north-country business man, and with him he brought several more big north-country business men. Don arrived with his best man who was called Philip and another groomsman. We all drank cocktails, and visitors poured in to drink the future bride’s health. The room seemed full of large females all congratulating Sarah in booming voices.
Keith, who was at my side, suddenly raised a hand in answer to a signal from Don.
‘This is where we disappear,’ he said to me in a low tone.
‘What for?’ I asked in surprise.
‘Don’s last night,’ he said slurringly. ‘You know, the condemned man. Last time on the bat as a free man.’
Five or six young men slipped singly and unobtrusively through the door without saying farewell to the company. Keith’s last words to me were, ‘See you tomorrow,’ but as a matter of fact, I saw him again in about half an hour. When Mr. Harben dropped Mary and me at the small pub where we were to spend the night, we walked in and found ourselves in the middle of the stag party. We were pressed to stay, seats were elaborately polished for us and drinks put into our hands. After one drink, however, we managed to escape.
We were shown to our room, which overlooked the courtyard. We heard an argument going on in the courtyard, and looked out of the window. By the light of a single lamp, five young men were arguing with Keith, saying that they too wanted to come to the station. After a while Keith seemed to give in, and they all piled into his car, three men in the front and two in the boot. Keith got in somehow, and started the car, then he stopped it again.
‘Yesh,’ we heard him say. ‘It’s all very well, chapsh. But where are we going to put the guestsh?’
Two young men were pushed off the boot and the car started. Some quarter of an hour later the car returned, with three young men sitting on the boot end, one astride the bonnet.
Mary and I then got into the double bed, leaving the single bed for Pat, who was to arrive that night.
We lay giggling, but at last dozed off. Almost immediately we were woken by the tramp of many footsteps along the corridor outside our door. There were loud whispers of ‘You go first, old man,’ and a door slammed. A second later it opened and a harassed voice said, ‘I can’t find a light.’ Three or four people tramped in to investigate the situation. We heard Roy say, ‘Let’s have a little light.’ He evidently lighted his lighter. There was a pause, and then he said in a worried tone: ‘I shay, old man, it’s fallen down the Loo.’
Guffaws of laughter followed, and they all trooped down to tell the joke to their comrades. Philip then decided he wanted to know who slept in each of the three rooms along the corridor.
‘This is Philip’s room,’ he said confidently, coming to the first door. ‘This is the A’miral’s room.’ (The Admiral was Sarah’s uncle.) Then a pause. ‘Who sleepsh here?’ he asked indignantly, opening our door.
Mary and I huddled down under our covers, wondering how we were going to deal with this situation. However, Keith realized by the stifled giggles that females were in the room. With a loud, ‘Sh!’ he pulled the door to violently. There was a scuffle, and the sound of several bodies stumbling and falling down the stairs. A storm of male laughter followed the return of the stragglers to the main body in the room immediately below ours.
A bit later on, when we were almost asleep again, Pat came in, and amidst much whispered direction from the housekeeper, tiptoed with elaborate quietness about the room. Mary and I were too tired to speak to her, and the last sounds we heard were of her falling over chairs in the dark, with the background noise of the party which was still going strong.
We met most of them at breakfast, and judging by their grey faces and heavy-lidded eyes, the party had been a success. Mary, Pat and I, however, each ate a hearty breakfast. We went to our rooms, and put on our bridesmaid’s dresses, which were in pale blue brocade. Mr. Harben came and collected us in his car, and we went round to his house, which was complete chaos. The flowers hadn’t arrived, and Sarah’s mother was flapping about telephoning every two minutes, while Sarah walked from room to room with her dress hooked over her arm.
Our car arrived at last. There was quite a crowd outside the church, and we walked up the red carpet, self-consciously, to the church door. Here we were met by the pale and haggard, but immaculately dressed, groomsmen; unwillingly we parted with our wraps, and stood shivering at the end of the church till Sarah arrived, looking marvellous, on the arm of a proud father.
After the moving ceremony, the rest of the day passed in a jumble of gay incidents. There was the elderly man who inspected us at the reception, said, ‘Luvs, you look good enoof to eat,’ disappeared to collect three elderly cronies to give him moral support, then, made brave by drink, they kissed us one by one, the first one coming round for a second helping.
There was the conga led by Don and Sarah, the guests forming up behind them, at the end of which the happy couple got into their car and escaped; and Keith and I, with Mary and Philip, jumping into his car with the idea of chasing them, were hampered by two male hangers-on climbing on to the hood, one losing his balance as the car started and falling on Keith’s top hat, so that he was temporarily blinded and nearly drove into the gatepost.
The Harbens sent the wedding party out to a show that evening, and afterwards, unwilling to break up, we six, bridesmaids and groomsmen, adjourned to Philip’s house, where we cooked bacon and eggs and drank much-too-strong tea.
Suddenly Philip gave a gasp. ‘Oh, Lord! Don forgot to give me the key!’
‘Hell!’ exclaimed Keith. ‘I wonder if Mrs. Harben’s got one.’
They explained that Don had asked them to go and shut the window in his house. He had been living for some weeks in the house he and Sarah had bought and furnished, and on his wedding morning had opened the kitchen window to get rid of the smell of the burnt kippers he had had for breakfast, and forgotten to close it again. He had remembered this at the reception, and asked Philip to go and shut the window, but had omitted to give Philip the door key.
The time was now two o’clock. ‘We’d better do it tonight, hadn’t we?’ said Keith.
‘We can’t ring up Mrs. H. and ask for a key at this hour.’
There was a hurried consultation, at the end of which Keith volunteered to go and climb in at the window and shut it. I volunteered to go with him.
The house was of a small modern type in a quite ill-lit road. Once we got through the gate and out of the range of the car headlights it was so dark that we had to feel our way to the back of the house by following the wall. Keith was ahead; suddenly there was a loud clatter and a soft curse hurriedly suppressed. Keith had knocked off the dustbin lid. A dog in a neighbouring house started to bark furiously.
Arriving at the back door, Keith lighted a match to find the right window. It was about six feet from the ground and very small. I lighted matches while he made several abortive attempts to get up to it.
‘I don’t know why Don’s worried,’ he said. ‘A burglar would have to be a trapezist to get in.’
At last he got both feet on the sill, and began to insert his large body head first through the small opening. He got his shoulders wedged and could neither move forward nor back. I began to laugh helplessly, and he muttered injunctions to keep quiet and to do something constructive, while struggling to free himself.
We heard the gate open, and footsteps approach round the house. A beam of light shone on Keith’s rear.
‘What goes on here?’ said a voice in a strong north-country accent.
It was the local policeman. I was laughing so much that I couldn’t explain the situation to him. Keith without attempting to explain, kept asking the policeman to give him a shove.
‘I’ll give you toog before I give you shoov,’ said the policeman. ‘You coom on down and explain yourself.’
‘I can’t come down,’ said Keith. ‘I wish I could.’
Eventually with the policeman’s assistance, Keith returned to solid ground. They then found they were old friends, as Keith lived with his parents in a nearby road.
‘Didn’t recognize you froom back, sir,’ said the policeman.
They considered the matter of breaking-in to Don’s house. ‘I don’t see as how either of us will get through that,’ said the policeman, looking dubiously at the window. ‘Reckon the lass’ll have to do it.’
My merriment subsided abruptly. ‘I’m not tall enough,’ I said weakly.
‘Oh, we’ll soon arrange that,’ said Keith. ‘You lift her on to my back,’ he instructed the policeman.
Immediately I was seized in a muscular grip and lifted on to Keith’s bent back. I scrambled through the window on to a table.
‘Where’s the light?’ I yelled.
‘By the door.’
‘Where’s that?’
After banging my shins several times I managed to turn on the light, open the back door and let the men in. We closed the offending window, had a quick look round to see if the rest of the house was secure, then left by the front door, and with many pleasantries, parted from the policeman, who I now felt was an old friend. He departed on his beat, while we got into the car.
No sooner had our friend turned the corner out of sight, than Keith realized the car was not going to start.
‘Curses,’ he said. ‘We could have got a push from him.’
‘Shall I push?’ I inquired doubtfully.
‘Oh no, I’ll do the pushing. If you just pull that out and press that when I tell you.’ He indicated some knobs.
He pushed while I pressed what I thought were the right knobs, but all that happened was that the lights went out and the indicator sprang out.
‘No,’ he said patiently. ‘These two.’
‘Oh, I see!’
He again pushed. This time there was a faint sparkle of life from the engine, which died very quickly with a plopping noise.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I wonder if you’d mind terribly ‒ we’ve come to a slope ‒ just giving a little push?’
I got out, he said ‘Right!’ and I pushed. The car ran down the slope away from me and the engine started up; I ran after it and got in panting.
‘So sorry ‒’ he began.
‘Just wanted a little strength!’ I said brightly.
He pointed out his parents’ house as we passed it; it stood back from the road and had a large garden.
‘It must be nice here in the summer,’ I said.
‘Oh, it is,’ he agreed eagerly. ‘Lots of lilac and laburnum and stuff. The tennis club’s two doors down, and the cricket field’s at the corner.’
We started talking about cricket; Keith played for a local club and was very keen. We discussed the prospects for the next Test Match, and had quite a lively discussion about which players would be or ought to be selected.
The conversation began to sag, and at last we came to a long, long awkward pause, during which I began to feel uncomfortable. He seemed, I thought, to be taking me a long way round back to Philip’s.
Then suddenly he said, ‘D’you think Don and Sarah will be happy?’
‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘I think they’re very well suited to each other.’
‘What d’you think makes people suited, then?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said, ill at ease. ‘If they look at things the same way, I suppose. Like the same sort of things.’
He paused a moment and then said, ‘Such as cricket?’
I said very hurriedly and rather coldly, ‘Oh no, I meant the same interests. Like people having an interest in the same profession.’
He did not go on with the conversation, and soon after this he drew up the car at Philip’s gate.
The house seemed to be in darkness. We walked into the sitting-room, and a voice came out of the dark from the direction of the sofa: ‘And where have you two been?’
I heard a snigger which I recognized as Mary’s.
Keith said caustically, ‘Has the electricity fused?’
‘Well ‒ yes and no, old man.’
Keith turned on the light. Philip and Mary were on the sofa, a groomsman and Pat sharing a chair. Everyone blinked at the light and looked self-conscious.
‘It’s time we broke up,’ said Keith. ‘The girls must be tired.’
We went outside. Keith brushed the snow off the bonnet, so that the two boys could sit there.
‘Just leave me room to see the road,’ he warned them. Then he put the hood down and Mary and I sat on it, while Pat got in next to him. He drove very slowly back to the hotel through empty, snowy streets.
We were starting early in the morning, so we said good-bye on the steps of the hotel. Philip embraced us warmly all round, and the others gave us quick kisses.
I thanked Keith, and he said stiffly, ‘Oh, it was fun.’
‘Give my love to my favourite policeman, won’t you?’
‘Yes, certainly.’
We turned and went in. I felt suddenly tired and dissatisfied with my behaviour.
Chapter Ten
When we got back to the hospital, life seemed very flat and dull. It was a good thing that Christmas came immediately after our return. We went back to the same wards we had been on before our holiday; this is the usual practice at Christmas time, so that people shall not feel lonely on new wards during Christmas gaiety.
On my arrival at St. Bernard’s carrying my heavy case, I ran into Charles.
‘Begorra!’ he said, ‘if it isn’t the colleen, the light of my eyes, Bridget m’dahling! It would be a great privilege,’ he added, lapsing into English, ‘if I might carry your sack of peat for you.’
He took my bag and groaned. ‘Are you bringing back an illicit lover?’
‘It’s just all my books for Prelim.,’ I said.
‘Oh, you poor damozel! Are you working for that? You’re on Samuel, aren’t you? I’ll come and see you at Christmas, but my company’s so much in demand, I can’t exactly say when.’
He put my case down in the hall of the Nurses’ Home. I thanked him, and he assured me his dislocated shoulder was a mere nothing.
The ward was cleared of as many patients as possible for Christmas. We spent ages sticking pictures on the walls, standing precariously on high ladders while tying decorations to the light shades, and dressing a Christmas tree. Presents poured in for the children from organizations all over London, including one enormous rocking-horse. Word got around about this amongst the students, and on the excuse that the children must not see it till Christmas Day, it was kept in the treatment room, and we appointed one student collector, to charge a penny a minute for rides. Long queues of students waited with pennies in their hands, and the funds in the ward Christmas Box swelled rapidly. The horse was named Menelaus, as the name had
some vague association with Troy, and no one could remember the name of the real Wooden Horse.
Scenes such as this were common in the short days preceding Christmas: ‘Alan, your old boy in Daniel is Cheyne-stoking again and looks a bit grey.’
‘All right ‒ wait till I’ve had my go on Menelaus and I’ll see him.’
Then there would be a loud rattling which stopped abruptly: ‘Oh, hell, the pedal’s come off this tricycle again!’
Then a triumphant yell, followed by a student rushing into the corridor with a yo-yo and shouting, ‘Four hundred and eighty-five times without a break!’
Another student would pursue him, shooting with a gun that popped when the trigger was pressed, and was inscribed on the handle: ‘This is a Roy Rogers Special.’
From all quarters hampers and packing-cases of food came rolling in. We had three cases of oranges in our ward, presented by one of the ships at dock on the river. A big business office in the city sent four tins of chocolate biscuits. Three turkeys arrived from somewhere, and then eight tins of boiled sweets.
‘Gadzooks,’ said Charles, as he surveyed the stocked-up splint cupboard. ‘Enough scoff for a right royal banquet, i’ faith.’
On Christmas Eve Charles took me to have a drink at the local. He met some of his old friends there, and one thing led to another, and we eventually went to somebody’s flat and played records.
Soon Gavin arrived with Joyce; they had apparently made up their differences. They stood with their arms round each other, drinking out of the same glass.
‘Blimey!’ said Charles, looking at my gloomy face. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
It was not before time as the gates closed at twelve; it was now five to, and we had a good ten minutes’ walk in front of us. We got to the hospital two minutes after twelve and the gates had already shut.
