The Children of Lovely Lane

by Nadine Dorries

  ‘Go on! Go!’ she said to the bird. ‘Get lost. Go and find yourself a wife and make gully babies.’

  And at that, he flew off the roof of the lodge and soared away, down to the docks. Emily felt close to tears. He had been waiting for her, to show he could fly and to say goodbye.

  Emily jumped as Biddy came up behind her. ‘Has he finally flown off then, your little seagull?’

  ‘You knew?’

  Biddy looked at her with disdain. ‘Did I know? Of course I knew. I know everything. That’s at least your second one this year, isn’t it? They sometimes leave the nest too young and when they do, they have to hang around for a while, scrabble for a bit of food until they’re strong enough to fly. You did a good job with him. Mind you, they are bloody everywhere, so don’t go doing it too often. It’s a hospital we work at, not a bird sanctuary. Are you ready for this board meeting? It’s all on your shoulders now, you know. Everyone is depending on you.’

  Emily swallowed hard. ‘I’m ready, Biddy.’

  ‘Good. What’s your plan then?’

  ‘Well, I don’t have one.’ Emily looked sheepish.

  It was a look Biddy was familiar with. ‘You don’t have one? How are you going to expose her for the thieving con-woman she is then?’

  ‘I don’t know, Biddy, but I will.’

  ‘Sister Haycock, the last time you attended one of the board meetings, we ended up with Miss Van Gilder as assistant matron. Is this “I don’t know” malarkey a good thing?’

  Emily was in no mood for being contradicted. ‘It’s the only thing we have, Biddy, and if you will excuse me, I am going to be late for the meeting.’ With a flounce, she turned on her heel and headed for the door, only stopping to throw the ball of greaseproof paper in the bin as she passed.

  Biddy stared at the closed door as the determined clip of Emily’s heels reverberated down the stairs.

  She picked up the phone on Emily’s desk.

  Madge answered within seconds.

  ‘Madge, she’s off. I’m going to Elsie’s room to listen from the back. I’ll ring you with news. Have you got that?’ Biddy shouted the last four words.

  ‘Biddy, it’s a telephone, not a quiz. Of course I’ve got it. Fingers crossed, eh. Did she have a good plan up her sleeve?’

  ‘Did she? Of course she did. You know Sister Haycock. A plan a minute, that one.’

  Biddy placed the phone back on its cradle and, taking a duster out of her pocket, polished the receiver. Her breakfast sat in her gut like a brick and her heart felt heavy. Digging deep into the pocket of her skirt, she extracted her rosary. ‘Please let her pull this off, because if she doesn’t, there will be a lot of families wondering where the next meal will be coming from.’

  *

  All the LDHB members were there, standing around, drinking Elsie’s tea and chattering about the proposed plans for the big new hospital. The beaming, smug-faced Mrs Jolly looked like the cat who had the cream.

  ‘She loves the fact that she’s now the chair of the board, that one,’ said Emily to Dr Gaskell.

  ‘Now then, Emily, it’s better to go with these changes, not resist them. We need to try and find our own way to work alongside them. I’m surprised I’m having to say this to you. You’ve been chomping at the bit to bring about changes of your own for quite a little while now.’

  ‘Yes, but have you read this?’ Emily gestured at the board table. In each place sat a pristine white copy of the agenda for the meeting and a copy of Miss Van Gilder’s proposal.

  ‘I have. The first item up today is the structural reorganization of staffing quotas and the second is the hospital cleaning proposal.’

  Emily looked impressed.

  ‘See, I haven’t only seen it, I’ve studied it.’

  She wanted to tell him what she knew and what the others knew. But that would be impossible without getting Madge into trouble. ‘We have to find a way to stop this,’ she whispered. ‘Can I have your support? I mean, if I try to stop it, will you back me up?’

  Dr Gaskell smiled at her over the top of his teacup. ‘Emily, I am relieved you have asked. I was depending on you.’

  There was a clatter of cups and saucers as members of the board took their seats around the table. Mrs Jolly cast a disapproving look towards Emily as she sat next to Dr Gaskell.

  It must kill her that I am on the board, thought Emily as she reread the agenda. She looked up and Dr Gaskell winked.

  ‘Good morning, Sister Haycock,’ Elsie said as she pushed the trolley up behind her. ‘More tea?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Good girl. You need to keep your strength up.’

  As she turned round to take back the cup and saucer, Elsie winked at her. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve put an extra sugar in for you.’

  Emily gulped and smiled weakly.

  Matron walked into the room with the step of a woman half her age and took her seat.

  Did Matron just wink at me too? Emily was bemused. Has Dr Gaskell already told her I’m up to something? She put her head down and continued to read the detailed agenda.

  ‘Shall we begin?’ Mrs Jolly’s voice boomed out over the large oak table.

  Her authority was undermined only by the creaking wheels on Elsie’s tea trolley and her ‘Oh, sorry, everyone’ as she bashed into the kitchen door before leaning forward to open it.

  Mrs Jolly frowned. Elsie irritated her. She resented her overfamiliarity. She was one of the pre-NHS dinosaurs who did everything the old way. The wrong way.

  ‘Matron, I am delighted to note from the agenda that there is a proposal to address the staffing levels at the hospital. I gather that Miss Van Gilder is the person to thank for this. It seems to me that some members of staff are way past their time of usefulness to the hospital and may only be here on account of their long service.’ She shot a knowing look towards the retreating Elsie, who was struggling to manoeuvre the heavy wooden tea trolley through the kitchenette door.

  The look hit the spot. Elsie wilted.

  ‘Are you referring to me, Mrs Jolly?’

  The line of bent heads, busy poring over the agenda, shot up at once. The meeting was already becoming interesting and they hadn’t even reached item one.

  Dr Gaskell had sounded both surprised and hurt.

  ‘I most certainly am not,’ said Mrs Jolly, affronted. She blushed with embarrassment.

  ‘Oh, well, maybe you mean Matron then? You see, we have both been here for an awfully long time and, do forgive me, but the longevity of our tenure has, until now, often been regarded as rather an advantage. There have been occasions when our experience has been deemed useful.’

  ‘Well, of course, Dr Gaskell, I entirely agree. But it is the case, is it not, that some members of staff are more useful than others. Obviously, in the case of Matron and yourself, your experience has been invaluable during St Angelus’s transition from voluntary trust to NHS hospital. But we all have a shelf life, do we not? Even me, dare I say it.’

  ‘Oh, indeed, Mrs Jolly. Even you.’ Dr Gaskell leant forward and folded his arms on the desk.

  Mrs Jolly was now obviously uncomfortable.

  Mrs Twigg reached down towards the floor, took her handkerchief out of her handbag and coughed into it. Emily gave her the faintest smile. Mrs Twigg was almost squirming in her seat. Emily could tell she was a woman who loathed confrontation. She had presumably agreed to join the board out of duty to her dead husband and her country.

  The other members of the LDHB were sitting ramrod straight in their chairs, hats perfectly in place, heads slightly bowed. Emily wasn’t sure if she had actually ever heard any of them speak. Mrs Jolly did all the talking. The others were either too weak or too committed to the new plans, happy to abolish everything that had once represented community in a local hospital and follow Mrs Jolly and her political leaders down the road of the universal NHS.

  ‘I think it might be best if we bring Miss Van Gilder in and hear what she has to say,’ s
aid Mrs Jolly. ‘Don’t you agree, Dr Gaskell?’ Asking Dr Gaskell as an afterthought was a deliberate slight, thought Emily. This was only the second meeting he hadn’t chaired in all the years he could remember.

  The room braced itself as Mrs Jolly shouted to Elsie, ‘Could you ask Assistant Matron to step inside, please.’

  When Elsie opened the door, Miss Van Gilder stopped mid pace on the opposite side and glared at her. Your days are numbered, was the message she wanted to convey.

  Elsie didn’t speak, she just inclined her head towards the board table and gave Miss Van Gilder a menacing grin. Your days are numbered, was the message she too wanted to convey. Then she turned right along the corridor and headed for the back door of the kitchenette.

  A confused expression flitted across Miss Van Gilder’s face. Why had Elsie looked at her like that? But she had no time to ponder. The board members were waiting.

  ‘Ah, Miss Van Gilder,’ Mrs Jolly said enthusiastically. She was keen to get started. She wanted to get on with lifting St Angelus out of the old ways it had clung to. Here was a woman who was going to make the changes that were needed.

  ‘What a wonderful choice Miss Van Gilder was for assistant matron,’ she’d said to Mrs Twigg in the car on the way to the meeting. ‘She will not flinch from her duty. She will bring about the changes that are so badly needed at St Angelus. She is a true angel.’

  ‘Miss Van Gilder. We are most impressed to see that you have already produced a very comprehensive report regarding the modernizing of St Angelus and the reorganization of staffing. And in such a short time, too. Matron, what a bonus you have in Miss Van Gilder. Your workload must be so much lighter.’

  Matron wished that was the case. In fact, the opposite was true. She had spent the last weeks trying to calm down any number of explosive situations. Miss Van Gilder had such an unfortunate and domineering manner, and Matron could think of barely a single person working at St Angelus whom she had failed to upset.

  But she didn’t say that. She merely nodded half-heartedly.

  Dr Gaskell was certain that he heard a sharp intake of breath from Miss Haycock, and, much to his surprise, from Mrs Twigg as well. He had been studying inhaled and exhaled breath all his working life. He had definitely heard it. If Mrs Twigg was on their side, they might have a chance. However, Mrs Jolly had the casting vote.

  He studied Miss Van Gilder as she opened her notes. He had been working with the angels of St Angelus his entire career and yet this one had flown into the boardroom like a winged nemesis. He and Matron would not be able to defeat her or reclaim their beloved hospital. Miss Van Gilder was on a mission and in her eyes was the glint of a woman who would not be stopped.

  ‘Perhaps we should take item two first,’ said Mrs Jolly. ‘It seems to me that the reduction in staff numbers will come about as a direct consequence of item two. Am I correct in this assumption, Miss Van Gilder?’

  Miss Van Gilder removed her spectacles, laid them carefully on the table before her and waited a few seconds before she began to speak.

  ‘That is indeed the case, Mrs Jolly. However, I placed the reorganization of staff as item one as that is the main objective of Matron’s endeavour. To ensure that the hospital runs as efficiently and economically as possible.’

  Clever move, thought Emily. Passing it over to Matron, protecting your back. They all know it’s you. Matron would never want to put people out of work or let the children of fallen soldiers go hungry.

  ‘How that is achieved is of secondary consideration. I have today included a proposal from the Acme agency, but it could be any agency. I have of course diligently examined many quotes and have chosen Acme as my preferred option, although you may have other ideas.’

  Miss Van Gilder held her breath and looked around the table, noting the admiring expressions. The last time she had reached this moment, some stupid man on the St Dunstan’s board had piped up that he knew a man he had served with who was starting a cleaning business employing the wives of the fallen. She had had to think on her feet and argue for the fiscal responsibility of using an established company as opposed to a fledgling risk. ‘After all,’ she had chirped, ‘it is not our money.’ She had made that particular man look like the idiot he was, and she was ready to do the same again today.

  ‘Miss Van Gilder, you have obviously put an enormous amount of effort into producing this report. I doubt that there is one person here who would be able to match the hours you have dedicated to securing the best deal for St Angelus.’

  ‘Why, thank you, Mrs Jolly. Yes, well, it has been a case of not just securing the best agency for the job but finding one that understands modern cleaning methods. One not afraid to substitute machines for inefficient staff and, in the case of this hospital, older women, many of whom have costly health complaints resulting in many hours of absenteeism. I do believe I have found just such a company in the Acme cleaning agency.’

  ‘May I please, Mrs Jolly?’ Dr Gaskell had raised his hand and inclined his head, seeking permission to speak.

  ‘Of course.’ Mrs Jolly was a stickler for protocol and if anyone attempted to speak without first seeking her permission, she would cut them off with her razor-sharp tongue.

  ‘Just how many of our present workforce will be made redundant if we accept your agency proposal, Miss Van Gilder?’

  ‘All of them, Dr Gaskell.’

  ‘All of them?’ Dr Gaskell’s voice rose as he spoke. ‘You want to make every woman, some of whom have worked here for all of their working lives, remaining loyal to us throughout the war and ever since. All of them?’

  Miss Van Gilder did not flinch. ‘Dr Gaskell, each one of those women would of course be given priority when the agency recruits. As the owner pointed out to me during our negotiations, they always give preference to the women who know the hospital and its corridors and wards.’

  ‘Really? How very generous of him. And at what price? Do our loyal and trusted staff receive a rise in their wages?’

  Miss Van Gilder did not care for Dr Gaskell’s tone. The smile had left her face. ‘All the costings are listed under item two,’ came her crisp reply.

  ‘Please, Mrs Jolly, if I may?’ Emily indicated that she would now like to speak.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Mrs Jolly replied, without enthusiasm. She regarded Emily as a junior member of the board and did not value her contribution. She made a mental note to tag an extra item on to the agenda, that Miss Van Gilder replace Miss Haycock on the board at future meetings.

  Emily shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ‘Miss Van Gilder, I have examined the costings with a fine-tooth comb. Dr Gaskell may be interested to know...’ She looked up to check that she had Dr Gaskell’s attention. ‘And I think there must have been a typing error on the part of the agency owner, because, as I see it, the workers he employs will be on only half the wage that the St Angelus cleaners are paid at present.’

  Miss Van Gilder picked up her glasses, placed them on the bridge of her nose and looked down at the proposal before her as though checking to see if what Emily had just said was correct.

  ‘Yes, well, the war ended almost nine years ago, Sister Haycock. I am afraid it is time to put the hospital first.’

  ‘I agree.’ Emily launched straight in without even bothering to catch Mrs Jolly’s eye for permission to speak. ‘Putting the hospital first has always been the position of everyone who works here, certainly since I arrived. Our hospital gleams like a new pin. The shine on the corridor floor bedazzles; you could eat your dinner off the ward floors. Our hospital, Miss Van Gilder, is the cleanest hospital I have ever worked in or seen and it is like that because the people who clean it were born here, their children were born here and their loved ones die here, as they themselves may do one day. Our workforce is emotionally invested in the well-being of our hospital. Everyone who works here cares with all their heart how clean and presentable St Angelus is. And, goodness me, this is not some hospital on the south coast. It is positioned on the banks
of the Mersey in a dirty city with the filthiest air and the poorest people. How... How...’ Emily’s voice cracked. She paused and took a breath. ‘How can your new cleaning agency expect those women to work with the same zeal and passion when he is cutting in half the wage they take home to feed their families?’

  The room had fallen silent. If Dr Gaskell could, he would have leant over and kissed Emily. Matron thought her heart would burst. And unbeknown to them all, on the other side of the green baize door, Biddy and Elsie held hands while Biddy wiped a tear of pride from her eye.

  ‘Whatever happens today, no one can say she hasn’t fought for us,’ Biddy said. ‘And if anyone ever tries to say any different, my God, they will have me to answer to.’ And with that, they both placed their ears back on the upturned brandy glasses Elsie had taken out of Matron’s sideboard for the purpose of more efficient eavesdropping.

  ‘May I speak, please, Mrs Jolly?’ Matron interjected. ‘Miss Van Gilder,’ she continued hurriedly, without waiting for permission, ‘have you ever noticed the little competitions that take place between our ward sisters?’

  A look of confusion crossed Miss Van Gilder’s face.

  ‘Do forgive me, I know it is difficult for a newcomer such as yourself to take in everything in such a short space of time,’ Matron said pointedly. ‘I have to admit, it was a few years before I cottoned on.’ She laughed. ‘I had always felt proud at how immaculate the hospital was, Mrs Jolly, but then it dawned on me that it was nothing to do with anything I said or did; it was all down to the ward sisters. Each sister wanted to be known for having the cleanest ward. They endeavoured to achieve the highest standards and the lowest number of post-operative infections and they drove their poor cleaners and probationer nurses to the limit in order to attain just that. That is why each ward has its own allocated domestics and orderlies. Because not only do the ward sisters and nurses take pride in the cleanliness of the wards, so do the cleaners themselves. And you know, that’s why we make our nurses do their share of the cleaning too, especially the probationers. They begin by being taught that very important sense of pride in cleanliness. Now my question is, Miss Van Gilder, will your agency honour this system? Will each ward sister have her own dedicated cleaners?’