Contents
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Donna Douglas
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Copyright
About the Book
A Christmas short story, available only in ebook, from the author of The Nightingale Girls, The Nightingale Sisters and The Nightingale Nurses
Christmas Eve, 1936
On a foggy December night, a pregnant woman walks out in front of a trolley bus and is knocked unconscious.
She is rushed to the Nightingale hospital, and a healthy baby is delivered. But the mother claims to have lost her memory, and cannot believe that the child is hers.
It seems that the Nightingale nurses may need to perform a Christmas miracle.
About the Author
Donna Douglas lives in York with her husband and daughter. Besides writing novels, she is also a very well-respected freelance journalist and has written many features for the Daily Mail.
Also available by Donna Douglas
The Nightingale Girls
The Nightingale Sisters
The Nightingale Nurses
Donna Douglas
A Child is Born:
A Nightingales Christmas Story
Chapter 1
Christmas Eve 1936 was the foggiest night anyone could remember.
A deadening grey pall hung over the streets of Bethnal Green, dense, cold and carrying a metallic tang from the factory chimneys. People inched through it, bumping into each other on the shrouded streets, their heads down, faces muffled in scarves and coat collars to keep the damp air off their chests. No one wanted a bout of bronchitis for Christmas.
A real pea souper, Sydney Allen thought to himself as he nosed his trolley bus through the sparse evening traffic along Burdett Road towards Mile End, hunched over the wheel, peering into the gloom. Thank God it was his last run before he clocked off for Christmas.
He was looking forward to getting home, that was for sure. His missus would have a good fire going, and the kettle on, and she’d be fussing around getting the house straight for Christmas. The kids would be excited too. Bless them, they’d hardly slept for a week. They’d set their heart on Father Christmas bringing them a bike, and Sydney had been worried he might not be able to afford it, but his mate on the bins had come up trumps with an old one someone had chucked out. Sydney had spent the last month putting it together and polishing it up in his mate’s back yard, and now it was as good as new. He couldn’t wait to see the kids’ faces when they clapped eyes on it.
Not long to go now, he thought, as he turned on to Mile End Road. Some people had started their Christmas early, judging by the laughter and festive sing-song coming from behind him. The brightly lit interior of the trolley bus was full to bursting, standing room only, but no one seemed to mind. They were all just grateful to be warm and cosy and heading home. A few sounded the worse for wear as they joined in with the chorus of ‘Silent Night’.
‘Silent Night? We should be so lucky, the row you lot are making!’ the conductor complained, but next minute he was joining in, getting into the Christmas spirit.
Sydney grinned to himself and started humming under his breath. Not long now. Just a little way down the Mile End Road, then a right turn towards Stepney Green station, and they’d all be home…
Suddenly, his headlamps picked out a woman standing on the pavement waiting to cross the road, the fog swirling around her. She had her head down, her coat pulled tight. Afterwards he had no idea what made him do it. Perhaps it was ten years of driving trolley buses in East London that had given him an instinct, but without thinking he slammed on the brakes, just as the woman stepped off the kerb straight into his path.
He heard swearing and shouts of outrage behind him as the passengers tumbled around inside the trolley bus. But he barely noticed them, as he sat shaking behind the wheel, his eyes shut tight in fear of what lay ahead of him.
Chapter 2
‘I hope it’s a quiet night tonight.’
Helen stood at the mirror, fastening her collar stud ready for her night duty. ‘It’s always awful when someone is rushed in on Christmas Eve, isn’t it? You can’t help thinking of their families, and how they must be feeling.’
She glanced at the reflection of her room mate Jennifer Ryan. She sat cross-legged on the bed, studying her face in the mirror of her powder compact. Unlike Helen, Jennifer had finished her duty for the day and was getting ready to go out and celebrate Christmas with her friends.
Helen gave up waiting for a reply and turned back to her reflection to adjust her starched collar. She had only recently moved into the nurses’ home after passing her State Finals, and she was still getting used to it.
Not that Staff Nurse Ryan made it any easier for her. It wasn’t that she was particularly unfriendly. She just seemed to act as if Helen didn’t exist.
She tried again. ‘I suppose it must be even sadder for you on Parry ward? All those children away from their families at Christmas?’
Jennifer shrugged. ‘Sister Parry does her best to make it special for them.’
Helen waited for her to continue, but she went back to powdering her face. Helen sighed. And she thought she was the shy one!
She decided to make one final stab at conversation.
‘Will you be working tomorrow? Or are you one of the lucky ones, going home to your family?’
Jennifer scowled back at her over her mirror. ‘I’m working. Thank God,’ she murmured under her breath, so quietly Helen wondered if she’d imagined it.
‘I suppose I’ll be sleeping through most of it, if we’re busy tonight.’ Not that it bothered Helen too much. She would happily have given the whole of Christmas a miss, if she could.
This was her first Christmas without Charlie. She still missed him terribly, but she forced herself to look forward, not back, because she knew it was what he would have wanted.
All the same, she knew this Christmas would be a test for her. She dearly wished she had her friends around her. Her old room mates Millie and Dora would have cheered her up. Helen missed their laughter, and the way they helped each other through so much heartache. She would have loved to go on sharing a room with them for ever, but they were still students and she was now a qualified Staff Nurse.
She smiled, thinking about how excited they would be as Christmas approached. No doubt Millie would have decorated their chilly attic room with paper chains by now, in defiance of the Home Sister. She would have hidden presents for Dora and Helen under her bed, and it would be all they could do to stop her bursting and telling them what she’d bought. Darling Millie, she always said she preferred giving gifts to receiving them.
Talking of giving… Helen suddenly remembered the post she’d picked up that morning.
‘I almost forgot. A card arrived for you.’ She went to her drawer to fetch it.
Jennifer looked up sharply. ‘For me?’
‘I picked it up with my letters this morning. Mr Hopkins insisted I should take it. He said you hadn’t picked up your post in a few days?’
She handed it over. It felt thick, like a Christmas card. Perhaps it would cheer Jennife
r up, she thought.
Jennifer didn’t take it at first. She just sat there on the bed, staring down at the cream envelope. Then, finally, she snatched it from Helen’s hand, glanced at the writing, ripped it up and threw the pieces into the bin.
Helen stared at her in astonishment. ‘What did you do that for? You didn’t even see who it was from.’
‘I already know.’ Jennifer’s voice was flat. She clicked her compact shut and threw it in her bag, then gathered up her coat. ‘I’m going out,’ she said. ‘Good night.’
‘Good night. And happy Christmas…’ Helen started to say, but the door slammed shut.
Helen stared at the door, then her gaze dropped to the fragments in the bin. Who could have sent Jennifer a card that put her in such a bad mood, she wondered?
She shrugged. It was none of her business, anyway, she told herself as she pinned her cap in place, folding the starched fabric deftly so that not an inch of her dark hair was showing.
But all the time, she couldn’t stop thinking about that torn-up card in the bin. She knew it was none of her business, and that she shouldn’t look. But all the same…
Before she knew it, she was on her knees in front of the bin, picking out the pieces of card and putting them together like a jigsaw on the polished linoleum floor.
She thought it would be a Christmas card, but it wasn’t. It was a birthday card, covered in embossed roses. She dug around in the bin and found some more pieces, enough to put together the scrawled greeting inside: To Jenny, from your loving father.
‘I’ve forgotten my scarf, and I’m not going out in that fog without – what are you doing?’
Helen jumped guiltily at the sound of Jennifer’s voice. Jennifer stood in the doorway, her bag in her hand, quivering with outrage.
Helen jumped up. ‘I’m sorry, I was just looking—’
‘Snooping, you mean!’ Jennifer swooped into the room. Pushing past her, she bent down and gathered up the pieces of card. ‘You had no right. No right at all.’
‘I know … I’m sorry.’ Helen saw the flush of angry colour in Jennifer’s face and knew she’d made a terrible mistake. ‘I was just curious, that’s all.’
‘Well, don’t be.’ Jennifer straightened up and threw the pieces of card back into the bin.
She snatched up her scarf from the bed and headed for the door.
‘I didn’t know it was your birthday?’ Helen said.
Jennifer paused briefly in the doorway. ‘It isn’t,’ she said.
‘But the card—’
‘It’s a lie.’ Before Helen could say any more, Jennifer added sharply, ‘Shouldn’t you be reporting for duty? Miss Feehan won’t be pleased if you’re late.’
‘Oh Lord, you’re right.’ Helen jammed her feet into her stout black shoes and swung her thick navy-blue cloak around her shoulders. By the time she was ready, Jennifer had gone.
Helen hesitated, glancing at the bin. Far from making friends with her new room mate, she had a feeling she had just made things a lot worse.
Chapter 3
As soon as Helen arrived in Theatre, she realised that her hopes for a quiet, uneventful Christmas Eve were going to be dashed.
‘There’s been a trolley bus accident on the Mile End Road,’ Miss Feehan the Theatre Sister greeted her as she took off her cloak. ‘Several passengers hurt, most with shock and minor injuries; they’re being dealt with in Casualty. But a woman was run down.’
‘Oh no.’ Helen shuddered, despite the sweltering heat of the operating theatre. ‘How bad is she, Sister?’
‘She was very lucky. The driver saw her and managed to put the brakes on just in time. But she was pregnant, and she’s gone into labour. Mr Cooper is on his way down for an emergency caesarean. I need you to prep for him as soon as possible.’
‘Yes, Sister.’ Helen changed out of her heavy calico dress and into her Theatre uniform as quickly as she could, then set about preparing the tray of instruments that the consultant would need. She could only imagine Mr Cooper’s dismay at being summoned so late on Christmas Eve. She was surprised the senior consultant was on call, and not one of his registrars or housemen. Perhaps, like Helen, he thought he might get away with a quiet night.
She finished preparing the instruments and had just covered them with a sterile cloth when the patient arrived on a trolley, pushed by a porter and accompanied by Nurse Willard from Casualty.
‘She’s been shaved, and we’ve washed out her stomach, just in case,’ she said.
Helen looked down at the woman. She was short, stocky and dark-haired, with heavy, solid limbs and thick black brows that made her look as if she was frowning, even in repose. Her sallow skin had an ashen tinge and her wide lips were pale and cracked. ‘How long has she been unconscious?’ she asked.
‘Since she came in. Reckon she must have cracked her head when she went down in front of that trolley car.’ Nurse Willard winced. ‘It’s horrible when you think about it, isn’t it?’
‘It could have been a lot worse if that driver hadn’t managed to stop in time.’
‘I suppose you’re right. She was lucky, anyway. I don’t suppose she saw it coming until it was nearly on top of her, in this fog.’
‘Hmm.’ Helen ignored her as she fetched a basin of clean hot water and soap and briskly set about cleaning the woman’s abdomen before the operation. Penny Willard had a reputation as a chatterbox, and she couldn’t afford to waste any time. Mr Cooper wouldn’t be impressed if he arrived and found his patient unprepared while Helen stood gossiping.
Fortunately, Miss Feehan arrived and put a stop to it. ‘Don’t you have other patients to attend to, Nurse?’ she asked. ‘Dawson has work to do, even if you don’t.’
She shook her head as Nurse Willard slouched off. ‘Look at her,’ she tutted. ‘I’ve seen snails move faster. You wouldn’t think Casualty was packed to the rafters with the walking wounded, would you? How Sister Cas must despair of that girl!’
Helen rinsed off the soap, then purified the woman’s abdomen with warm carbolic lotion. She had just applied a perchloride compress when the consultant Mr Cooper swept in. Even in his surgical gown, a cap pulled over his black hair, he still looked like a matinee idol.
‘Thank you, Nurse.’ His blue eyes twinkled at her over his surgical mask. Unlike the other consultants, who tended to treat nurses as if they were no more than another piece of surgical equipment, he was always courteous to the people around him. ‘Right, let’s get this baby delivered, shall we?’
In spite of his confidence, it was a difficult operation. Helen could feel the tension in the room as Mr Cooper worked quickly, constantly checking with the anaesthetist that the woman’s vital signs weren’t dropping away. It was Helen’s job to act as intermediary between the scrubbed nurse and the non-sterile area of the operating theatre, and she found herself crossing her fingers for the poor woman’s safety as she watched the operation nervously from the other side of the Theatre.
It took Mr Cooper less than ten minutes to deliver the baby into the world. He emerged, blue-grey and furious, his tiny fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide open, screaming in protest.
‘At least we know there’s nothing wrong with his lungs!’ Mr Cooper beamed around at them. ‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, it looks as if we might have delivered the Nightingale’s first Christmas baby.’
‘There’s still two hours to go until Christmas Day,’ Dr Little the anaesthetist reminded him. ‘We could deliver another half dozen before then.’
‘Good Lord, I hope not!’ Mr Cooper rolled his eyes. ‘My wife will be furious if I’m not home before midnight. I’ve had to abandon a drinks party in Kensington for this as it is.’
Chapter 4
Christmas morning brought a great deal of excitement on Parry, the Children’s ward. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Sister Parry had been gathering together bits and pieces for the children, and had fashioned stockings out of tubular bandages, which Miss Tanner the Night Siste
r had hung at the foot of each child’s bed during the night. There were exclamations of delight as the children woke up to their very own stocking stuffed with oranges, apples, treacle toffees, pencils, marbles and other marvels.
Meanwhile, the nurses on Parry had a Christmas gift of their own to ooh and aah over.
‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ One of the students, Katie O’Hara, sighed, rocking the new baby softly in her arms. ‘Such a little dote. We should call him Gabriel, because he looks like a little angel.’
‘Don’t let Sister hear you,’ Jennifer Ryan warned. ‘You know what she’s like about getting too attached to the children.’
‘She can’t mind us giving the little chap a name.’ Katie O’Hara planted a kiss on the baby’s downy brow. ‘We’ve got to call him something.’
‘No, but she’ll mind if she catches you cuddling him again,’ said Jennifer. ‘Put him back in his cot before she sees you, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Is there any news of his mother?’ another of the students asked.
Jennifer shook her head. ‘She still hasn’t recovered consciousness.’
They stood around the cot, each silent as they considered how grave the situation was.
‘Just think how happy she’ll be when she wakes up and finds out she has a baby son,’ Katie said brightly.
‘If she wakes up,’ someone else spoke the words they were all thinking.
Katie bent down and fussed with the baby’s blanket, tucking it in around him. ‘Imagine having your birthday on Christmas Eve,’ she mused, changing the subject. ‘He’ll get twice the presents.’
‘Or miss out completely,’ one of the students said grimly. ‘My brother’s birthday is on Boxing Day, and he’s forever complaining people only give him one present.’
‘He’s lucky he gets anything at all, with that attitude!’ Katie replied.
‘When you’ve stopped gossiping, perhaps you can all get on with your work?’ Jennifer cut them off sharply. ‘I know it’s Christmas, but there are still dressings to be changed and beds to be made.’
Donna Douglas Digital Short Page 1
