A Wartime Nurse

by Maggie Hope

  ‘I swear I’ll go to that old wife in Shildon. I’ve got the money, you know!’

  Theda was down on her knees, picking up the tiny figures and scraps of straw which littered the floor. She glanced anxiously at the connecting door to the kitchen but Chuck was singing ‘You Are My Sunshine’ tunelessly as he washed and evidently neither of the men had heard anything, thank goodness. Her mind was working furiously, she had to get Clara to think sensibly.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ she said, forcing herself to keep her voice down. ‘I promise I’ll see what I can do. But I wish you would just tell them—’

  Seeing the desperate misery in Clara’s eyes, she stood up and dropped the figures on the sideboard and put her arms round Clara’s thin shoulders. They were both of them shaking, Clara struggling to recover her self-control.

  ‘I’ll help you. I will, Clara. I promise. But what do you think Dean would say if he knew what you were planning on doing?’

  How she was going to help she had no idea, and immediately after she mentioned Dean she was sorry. It wasn’t a fair thing to do.

  Clara moved away from her, turning her back. Theda’s words had had a calming effect on her. Now she had the promise, Theda doubted she had even heard the mention of the Canadian, but she had.

  ‘Dean’s dead, you know,’ she said, all the passion drained from her. ‘I know it. Violet and me, we went to the camp and asked for him. Missing over Germany, they said. I know what that means. So it’s just me who has to face it.’

  Chuck began to whistle, his usual signal that he had finished his bath and was decent again. A few minutes later, the back door opened and they heard Bea’s voice. The girls went through to empty the bath and finish tidying up the kitchen before their mother could do it all herself.

  ‘You’ll have a fine time with us tonight,’ Clara was saying brightly as they went through the connecting door. ‘I’ll paint the seams on your legs for you if you like, and you can borrow my pink scarf I got for Christmas.’

  ‘You want nothing with that flighty lot, our Theda,’ advised Chuck. He was in his favourite position before the mirror in the press door, applying a generous coat of Brylcreem and combing his still damp hair into a quiff. ‘The last time me and Norma met her and Violet at a dance, Norma didn’t know where to put herself, she was that embarrassed at the wild way they were jitterbugging. Lord knows where they learned to jump in the air like that, showing all their legs and even their knickers.’

  ‘They didn’t, did they, Chuck?’ asked Bea, scandalised.

  Seeing his sister’s furious face and realising he had said a bit too much, Chuck grinned sheepishly and backed down. ‘No, Mam, no, I’m only having a bit of fun. Of course they didn’t. Well, no more than that lass from that picture, you know, Betty Grable—’

  ‘Chuck!’

  ‘All right, all right, like I said, it was only a joke. Keep your shirt on.’ He turned back to the mirror and carefully combed a stray hair back into place, winking at Theda in the glass.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The New Year’s Eve dance was packed to overflowing. The Wearmouth family were there very early as Matt was one of the organisers, but they were far from being the first. All the seats around the floor were taken and Theda, who had hoped to be able to sit quietly in a corner, had to resign herself to standing with her sister and her friends in a group along the side of the hall. Ranged in a line opposite were the boys, hands in pockets, most of them young miners but with a sprinkling of khaki and Air Force blue among them. There was even a sailor standing there, his cap pushed to the back of his head, legs apart as he surveyed the girls.

  The band was warming up, strange sounds coming from the stage at the end. The club had done them proud, she saw, hiring Phil Mason and his Swingers, a band well known in the area for their lively playing. Most of them played in the colliery brass band too, Phil being especially famous for his playing of ‘The Last Post’ at the Armistice Day parade. This didn’t seem to affect their rendering of ‘In the Mood’. They drew themselves into it heart and soul as they struck up the first quickstep.

  Theda stood back behind Clara and her friends from the munitions factory; she felt set apart from them somehow. Most of her own friends were from the hospital and they were either working or at their own local dos. In any case, she was quite happy listening to the music and watching. In a minute she would go and give a hand in the supper room behind the stage – the Sunday School room it was really, but for tonight there were trestle tables set up with tea urns at one end.

  She watched as Clara was claimed by a shiny-faced young miner from one of the rows, his fair hair slicked back from his pink forehead and smooth cheeks. He was trying hard to look more than his seventeen years, his ‘spiv’s’ tie a flamboyant orange and red against his blue utility shirt. For a minute Theda thought her sister would refuse him but she had been well-schooled in the manners of the dance halls and hesitated only briefly before smiling graciously and accompanying him on to the floor.

  Now Clara was a different girl from the one who had been pleading so passionately with her only a few hours before. She sparkled, dark luxuriant hair dressed high in a roll over her brow and at her temples, and at the back flowing loosely over her shoulders. Her cheeks were no longer pale, her elaborate make-up saw to that, and her eyebrows were darkened even further by eyebrow pencil. She wore a deep blue crepe-de-chine dress, which hugged her figure and ended just above the knees. Theda reckoned it must have wiped out her clothing coupons for the next six months. But then, perhaps she had bought it for her Canadian, Dean whatever his name was.

  Theda herself was wearing a plain black utility skirt with a thin box pleat in front but had lightened it with a white embroidered blouse, and stuck a diamante brooch Alan had brought her just under the collar. She had had the blouse for years. That was the advantage of having to wear uniform for most of the time, your good clothes lasted longer.

  Most of the girls were dancing now, and the floor was filling up. A sedate quickstep, this one; it was still early in the evening. They hadn’t quite got into their stride as yet.

  Theda edged her way along the side of the dance, aiming for the supper room, but before she got there she was stopped by the sailor.

  ‘You dancing?’

  Automatically the response came. ‘You asking?’

  ‘I’m asking.’

  She grinned as he led her out on to the floor, threading his way through the bystanders until he came to a space. He was a good dancer, she realised, holding her firmly but not too closely, concentrating on the music. She relaxed, getting into the rhythm. They circled the hall, passing Clara who winked at her and then grimaced as her partner trod on her toes. On the stage, Matt was talking earnestly to the band leader but looked up as he saw Theda dancing and gave her a pleased smile.

  ‘You live around here?’ the sailor asked, and she waited while they executed an involved turn before replying.

  ‘West Row. In Winton Colliery.’

  ‘That right? Wha’s your name then?’

  ‘Theda. Where are you from?’

  ‘Bishop.’

  The conversation was cut short as the dance ended and the dancers split up, most of them going to their own side of the hall. He grinned at her and murmured thanks and then she was back in the crowd of girls.

  ‘By, it’s a wonder I have any feet left,’ remarked Clara, bending down and rubbing her foot. ‘Take my tip: if you see that one heading for you, hide in the lavatory. He’ll soon make your foot bad again.’

  Matt announced an old-time waltz and then threaded his way through the dancers to his daughters. ‘Howay, then, Clara. I’ll show you how dancing should be done,’ he said.

  The evening was getting underway properly; the hall, which had been cold at first, was warming up. Phil was leading the band in the ‘Blue Danube’ and some of the older people were joining the dancers and circling the floor.

  ‘May I have this dance?’

  The voice ca
me from over her shoulder and Theda jumped. She had been watching her father and Clara and thinking over her conversation with her sister earlier on, her thoughts sombre.

  ‘Oh! I’m surprised to see you here!’

  Ken Collins raised his eyebrows. ‘You are? But you know I often come out here, I stay with Uncle Tucker, remember?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  She stopped speaking as he took her arm and led her on to the floor. She could hardly say that she thought this humble dance, put on by the Working Mens’ Club, wouldn’t be a place she would expect him to frequent. But that was the truth. Yet when she thought about it, Tucker Cornish always came to these things, even if he only put in a token appearance and left early.

  ‘Yes, but what?’ asked Ken as they began to dance. His limp was hardly noticeable but it was there and provided a reason.

  ‘Well, I mean, with your bad leg—’

  ‘Oh, it’s not so bad. I don’t need crutches anymore. Perhaps you’ve noticed I get around the wards under my own steam. Though I may ask you to sit down early if the dance goes on for long.’

  They circled the floor in silence and she was very conscious of his arms around her, the smooth feel of his uniformed shoulder under her hand. She caught the eye of her father as he danced majestically round with Clara on his arm and looked away hurriedly, not wanting to see his speculative expression. The music came to an end and the dancers stood for a minute as the band changed their music for the second part.

  ‘We could sit down, if you don’t mind?’ said Ken.

  ‘Of course, if you wish,’ she answered. She almost called him ‘Doctor’, she was feeling so awkward.

  There were no available seats in the hall and the supper room was still closed. It was another hour before it would open. Ken glanced quickly around and then took her arm.

  ‘All the seats are taken. Shall we go outside? It’s a clear night, we can sit in the car and look at the stars.’

  Oh, dear, Da wasn’t going to like that. Even for the so-called fast girls this was a bit early to be going outside with a chap. Theda’s doubt showed on her face.

  ‘Look,’ he said a trifle impatiently, ‘I’m not about to seduce you. I simply want to sit down for a while, and I would like your company while I do. That’s all there is to it.’

  He did look a little strained, it showed in the tired lines around his face. Theda looked around quickly for her father but he was nowhere to be seen. Oh, well, he probably wouldn’t notice anyway, he was so happy that the dance was obviously going to be a great success.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll come.’

  Outside it was indeed a lovely night, cold and crisp with a clear sky showing the stars and a broad frosty ring round the moon.

  They sat in the car, Theda wondering weakly what she was doing there. The moonlight filtered dimly through the windows, showing only his profile. There was no light escaping from the hall except when the doors opened. And of course the streetlights, which before the war had been lit by gas from the pit, were dark and had been for more than four years.

  A shaft of moonlight lit the top of the hedge close by and Theda shivered with the beauty of it.

  ‘Cold?’

  ‘No, it’s just—’

  But Ken was reaching into the back seat of the car for a rug. There was a sudden commotion as a jeep swept up to the doors of the hall, headlights full on in contravention of the dim-out, and out spilled four airmen, laughing and talking, obviously Canadian and full to the brim with high spirits. They swept into the hall, the doors swinging to sifter them, and shortly afterwards the band began to play boogie-woogie harshly and loudly and insistently.

  ‘They have to let off steam,’ said Theda, as if she was making excuses for them. ‘It must be terrible for them to have to go out over Germany night after night, never knowing if they will make it back.’

  ‘I didn’t realise they came so far away from the base. Did you already know Pilot Officer Ridley before he was admitted to the hospital?’

  ‘No, of course not, I would have said.’

  ‘I just thought . . . you seemed so friendly, you and him?’

  ‘He’s a friendly sort of bloke.’

  No doubt the Canadians had been invited by some of the girls from the munitions factory, thought Theda, but kept it to herself.

  The noise became louder, they could hear the stamping of feet above the music. Ken turned to her and put his arm around her and she stiffened.

  ‘You’re cold,’ he said. ‘Do you want to go back in?’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ she managed to answer, though she was amazed at her reaction to his nearness. A languor was creeping over her and she knew she should get out of the car now while there was still time, but somehow . . . Ken bent his head and kissed her on the lips, gently at first, then more insistently.

  ‘You don’t want to go back in there, do you?’

  ‘I do.’ Her voice was unconvincing.

  ‘I want to talk to you. I think about you a lot,’ he said into her hair. ‘It’s too noisy in there, and too cold here. You don’t really want to dance, do you?’

  ‘My family—’

  ‘They’re having a good time. Look, there’s no one in at Uncle Tucker’s, he’s away. Why don’t we go there? I can make you a cup of real coffee.’

  ‘If you like.’

  Theda’s hesitation was practically non-existent. Of course she shouldn’t go, but not even with Alan had she felt like this, carried along with no will of her own. All the old rules that had been dinned into her were forgotten. She couldn’t believe she was agreeing to go with him into the empty house . . . what was she doing? She wondered what Laura Jenkins would say if she could see her now. ‘A randy lot, these doctors, Theda, never give them an inch,’ she heard her friend’s voice in her head, but the warning was meaningless.

  The feelings – Alan had awakened in her which had lain dormant these last few months – were pulsing through her. Poor Alan. If only she had given way to them. How could she have let some stuffy old rules that belonged in the age of Victoria stop her from making him happy before he went to his death?

  She closed her eyes and Ken saw the emotions chasing across her face in the pale moonlight. She looked lost for a minute and he felt the urge to comfort her, to kiss away whatever made her look so tragic. And it was so long since he had held a girl in his arms and made love to her. Not since Julie died.

  Julie seemed very far away now. She was gone forever, and nothing was going to bring her back. And just now he didn’t know if he wanted to bring her back. This nurse, this girl, was taking over his senses. Life went on. It was trite but true. He kissed her lips and her eyes flew open, large and dark and searching.

  He had been lying, even to himself, he thought. He did want to seduce her. He badly wanted to make love to her. And she lay in his arms, gazing up at him, and surely she wanted him too?

  Ken started the car and manoeuvred it out from behind the jeep. In the background, Theda could hear the band playing ‘If I Could Hold You in My Arms’. A slow waltz, dreamy. She could get out now, she could tell him to stop the car and he would. But she did not. The sound of the music followed them along the lane, diminishing as they turned into the drive of the manager’s house.

  Ken opened the door for her and she climbed out and stood in the porch, the frost making her shiver despite the rug around her shoulders. She had left her coat in the cloakroom, of course. And even now she thought what a complete fool she was being.

  ‘Come on, into the sitting-room. It will be warm in there.’ Ken put an arm around her and led her into the house and through a side door into a room where it was warm, beautifully warm.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said, leading her to a large leather armchair with worn arms, which smelled of pipe tobacco. ‘I’ll only be a minute or two with the coffee.’ She sat obediently, staring into the fire, until the chiming clock on the sideboard struck ten and she sat up, startled.

  While he waited f
or the milk to boil on the range and spooned coffee into the pot, Ken was wondering at himself almost as much as she was. Not that he had brought her here – oh, no, he had wanted to do that, he was more attracted to her than he had been to anyone since Julie had died. But he had sworn he wouldn’t get involved again, never again, not while this rotten war was on. And Theda was a nurse – he had to work with her. But surely there was no harm, not in having a cup of coffee with a woman? He was lonely, that was it, so lonely. And there was no harm. She had been engaged, her sweetheart was dead, and she must have some experience of men. Look at how Major Koestler looked at her, and that American flier too. They had been laughing together that day on the ward, even though Ridley had not long returned from having his burns dressed and must have been feeling a certain amount of pain. Ken shook his head.

  He carried the tray back into the sitting-room, balancing it on one hand as he opened the door. Theda looked round quickly at him. She had risen from the armchair and was standing by the sideboard, looking at the pictures Uncle Tucker had there: Grandma Meg, his Aunt Betty with a baby on her knee, then the baby grown and in his Air Force uniform, standing with his feet apart grinning hugely at the camera.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was just looking—’ Theda said. ‘I hope you don’t think I was prying?’

  ‘I don’t think anything,’ said Ken. ‘Come and sit down and have your coffee.’ She looked so slender in that black skirt and her hair was almost as dark and curled down on to her shoulders, shining in the light from the overhead lamp. As she held out her hand to take the cup and saucer from him he noticed how delicate the bones of her hands were, the nails cut short and unadorned by polish as a nurse’s nails had to be.

  ‘You wanted to talk to me?’ she said, breaking the silence.

  Had he said that? Well, he must have done. What on earth was it he had meant to say? He could hardly say he wanted to make love to her, could he?