Christmas Angels

by Nadine Dorries

  The two policemen were each responsible for a different patch of the neighbourhood, and both territories happened to touch borders at the Grapes, which was where Freddie and Norman convened and took their refs break when they were on night duty. The landlord and landlady ensured that they were well looked after and in return the constables turned a blind eye when necessary – to the numerous goods sold over the bar which had obviously fallen off the back of a ship down at the docks; to the card school down in the basement that played for stakes far too high for most working families; and to the late-night drinking which sometimes went on until the early hours. The Grapes sat at the heart of the community and Norman and Freddie were well aware that if they made life difficult at the pub, their own jobs would very quickly become much harder. They depended on the goodwill of the community, plus they relished the warmth of the welcome they received every night in the back room.

  ‘How’s your da, Nurse Tanner?’ asked Norman. Although he had known Pammy since she was a child, he was so respectful of Matron’s strict rule about never using Christian names within the confines of St Angelus that he called her Nurse Tanner wherever he saw her, at work or not. ‘Is he still drinking down the Irish club on a Saturday?’

  ‘You know me da, Norman – a creature of habit,’ said Pammy. She gave the back of Anthony’s hand a reassuring pat as she spoke.

  ‘I don’t know how your mam puts up with him. A lovely woman like that. And to think she turned me down.’ Norman shook his head in mock dismay as though hurt by the memory.

  ‘Well, I’ve no idea why she did that, Norman, a good-looking fella like you,’ said Pammy.

  ‘Ah well, you see, that’s what keeps Stan on his toes and treating your mam like a princess. Because I never married, he’s had to keep looking over his shoulder all these years. Terrified of me, he is. Go back a long way, me and your mam do, Nurse Tanner. Bet she’s never told you about the night me and her went to the Grafton Rooms, has she?’

  Pammy laughed. ‘Actually, Norman, she has. And about how you weren’t allowed in because you were late. You went, but you never actually danced, did you?’

  Barbara and the barman began to laugh.

  ‘Are you coming to the rehearsal at St Chad’s tonight?’ asked Freddie.

  ‘Yes, we both are,’ replied Pammy.

  She’d been responsible for ensuring that everyone at Lovely Lane signed up to the service-wide concert. Nurses, medics, the Lancashire constabulary and the fire service had joined together and were putting on a carol concert on the steps of St George’s Hall on Christmas Eve for all of Liverpool to enjoy. For the nurses, this was in addition to the carol singing on the wards of St Angelus in the days leading up to Christmas.

  ‘Are you coming too, Norman?’ asked Pammy. ‘It’s the reason we’re in here so early. Want to make sure our larynxes are warmed nicely before we go.’

  ‘That’s a very good idea, Nurse Tanner,’ said Norman. ‘But someone has to keep the villains away, so I’ll be staying here while young Freddie gives you all the pleasure of his warbling tones.’

  ‘Is it all quiet in casualty tonight, Dr Mackintosh?’ asked the conscientious Freddie.

  Not only did Freddie need to visit St Angelus to accompany the occasional victim, criminal or prisoner, but the hospital was also on his patch and he could often be found enjoying a cup of tea with Dessie Horton, the head porter.

  ‘You are never out of that porter’s hut,’ Norman would complain.

  ‘I’m intelligence gathering,’ Freddie used to reply, and that was the truth. A recent crime involving the mother of one of the porter’s lads had caused Freddie and Dessie to strike up a strong friendship and Dessie had discovered it was one that worked both ways.

  ‘Well, it was quiet when I left, Freddie, and they know where to call for me if they can’t cope,’ said Anthony as he removed his arm from around Pammy’s shoulders and tapped the top of the wooden barrel for good luck.

  ‘Long may it last,’ said Freddie. ‘At least until I’ve had me refreshments tonight, anyway. And then, with a bit of luck, all the way through to the other side of Christmas.’ He clasped his helmet to his chest and followed Norman to the back room, his mouth salivating at the prospect of ham and chips.

  ‘Where have you two been?’ asked Barbara. ‘This is the second batch of chips I’ve cooked. The first lot dried up on the range and the dog had ’em.’

  ‘Sorry, Babs.’ Norman unhooked the clasp on his cape, removed the coat and draped it over the back of the wooden chair nearest to the fire.

  The room smelt of refried fat and chips. Barbara cooked for the staff, and every night from seven till eight there was pie and chips available for anyone who wanted food and had no one at home to provide it. But she was strict with the dockers. If she thought any one of them was keeping a family hungry by spending his wage in her pub, she would frogmarch him home herself. Weighing eighteen stone and with a tongue as sharp as a razor, she was a force to be reckoned with, and no one, not even in drink, argued with her.

  ‘We wouldn’t be late deliberately, Babs, you know that. There was a little lad missing from Vince Street. The Browns’ youngest. Frantic, they were. I knew where he would be, which was why I was worried. That kid is fascinated by the water. Always on the dockside, he is. I keep telling his da he needs to do something. Anyway, we found him, didn’t we, Freddie? As I thought, stood right on the edge of the dock he was. Tell you what, I didn’t half give him a good hiding. His legs didn’t touch the ground all the way back to the Browns’ house. I told his mam that if that lad is found down on the edge of the Mersey again, I’ll put her no-good bloody husband in a cell for the week.’

  Barbara put her hand to her mouth. ‘It’s so dangerous down at the water. What’s his mam and da thinking, letting him out on his own? Everyone knows the lad is simple, and the water is so deep. It’s straight in deep from the edge and none of those kids on Vince Street can swim. Who can, apart from the bleedin’ fishes. Good job you gave him a good hiding, Norman. I bet he won’t do it again in a hurry.’

  Freddie had taken his own cape off and was pulling the chair out from under the table. He winced as the wooden legs scraped along the ancient slate-tiled floor. He was so hungry, his mouth was watering and he could hear and see nothing but the plate of food before him.

  Babs knew that look. Five hours on the beat, walking or cycling through the streets, meant that they were both always ravenous by the time they called in. ‘Here you go, lads. Your tongue is hanging out of your mouth, Freddie! Come on, get started on it, love.’ She set down two pewter pots of mild next to the plates of food. ‘Get that down you before the phone rings and some other kid has done a bunk. Honestly, you’re here to stop serious crime, you aren’t the welfare.’

  Norman popped a hot chip into his mouth and breathed in sharply. ‘It feels that way sometimes,’ he said.

  Barbara placed a bottle of vinegar in front of him. ‘There, that’s everything, and there are some American ciggies behind the bar that came in off the Norry, if you fancy a packet on the way out.’

  Norman tapped the side of his nose with his index finger. ‘Right you are, Babs. Sounds just the ticket. Where would we be without the Norry, eh? Life would be boring, wouldn’t it?’

  Neither officer needed to be asked twice to get stuck into the food or the mild, and for Norman the gold-foil-tipped cigarettes were a bonus.

  *

  Out in the lounge, Pammy and Anthony were deep in conversation. ‘What is up with you?’ asked Anthony. ‘You’ve been so miserable the past few days. Christmas is less than two weeks away and I don’t know about you but I’m really excited. I haven’t had a family Christmas since before my mum died.’ He’d been invited to spend his Christmas Day with the Tanners, or what would be left of it once they’d both finished work.

  Pammy had been twirling the stem of her glass around and around in her fingers and looked up at Anthony in alarm. She immediately felt guilty. ‘Oh, Anthony, I’m sorry
. I’m missing the others, that’s all, what with Dana being in Ireland and Victoria in Bolton. I feel a bit lost without them. I suppose because I’m the only one who’s actually from Liverpool it was bound to happen sometime, especially at Christmas, but Lovely Lane isn’t the same without them. It’s just so quiet.’

  Anthony squeezed Pammy’s hand and felt his own heart constrict. ‘But you are happy I am here, are you? That we are together? That isn’t making you sad, is it?’

  ‘Anthony, don’t be daft, soft lad. Of course I am happy. Imagine how miserable I would be if you weren’t here. We’re a team, me and you, aren’t we?’

  Pammy checked the bar to see that no one was looking. Babs was fussing over Norman and Freddie and they were all busy talking, her and Anthony forgotten. She placed her drink on the table, leant across and kissed Anthony full on the lips.

  He blushed, just as he always did when Pammy kissed him in public. And then he grinned, because she was the most impetuous and daring woman he had ever met. ‘We are a team,’ he said, his eyes shining, his heart wishing they were somewhere private, ‘and that’s why I worry when I see you feeling sad. When you are sad, I am sad, and my job is to look after you, to make sure you’re happy.’

  Pammy slipped her hand on to his knee and grasped his fingers. ‘I am happy, Anthony. But I’ll tell you what, I’m not the only one. Me dad, how much does he love having you round our house! And me mam, I think she thinks more of you than she does me.’

  Anthony laughed and, leaning forward, kissed his Pammy back. The light in her eyes had returned. He had lifted her out of her melancholy. The four girls – his Pammy, Dana, Victoria and Beth – had been almost inseparable since they’d begun their training and he wasn’t surprised Pammy was lost without them. It was the reason he’d encouraged her to join the services choir, to give them both something to do in the evenings in the run-up to Christmas.

  They all turned around as the shrill ring of the telephone on the bar pierced the air.

  ‘Rightyo, I’ll fetch him now,’ said the landlord into the phone. ‘Norman, it’s your desk sergeant, he needs to speak to you.’

  They heard the clomping of Norman’s size-twelve feet on the slate floor as he made his way over and picked up the handset.

  ‘It’ll be a cat, sir,’ he said into the mouthpiece. ‘But if the cat got in, it will get out again.’

  Only the landlord heard the raised tone of Norman’s superior as he bellowed his response down the line.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Norman sheepishly. ‘On our way, sir.’

  As he replaced the handset, Freddie appeared by his side. ‘Honestly!’ Norman said as he took the cape and helmet Freddie proffered. ‘There’s an empty house in the station commander’s road. He said there were some Germans living there but no one ever spoke to them and yesterday morning they moved out. He thinks they’ve left a cat in a shed out the back, or so the neighbour who backs on thinks, and he is sending us to go and rescue it.’

  Freddie was fastening the chinstrap under his helmet and chewing the last of his mouthful as he did so. ‘I’d rather that than a kid in trouble like the Brown boy nearly was,’ he said.

  ‘Aye, you’re right. At least we have full bellies. Landlord, we are replete.’ Norman mock bowed and made a swoop with his helmet. ‘We shall return tomorrow. In the meantime, how much are the American ciggies?’

  Once the transaction was over, Norman and Freddie made their way out to the bikes they had leant against the outside wall in no particular hurry.

  ‘Night, Norman! Night, Freddie!’ shouted Pammy. ‘I’m on children’s from tomorrow, Freddie, so you will have to find someone else to make your tea on casualty,’ she added.

  Freddie looked crestfallen and Anthony smiled, relieved. Not that he didn’t trust Pammy, or Freddie for that matter – he was a decent young man and a very serious copper who obviously had ambitions in the police force – it was that he just couldn’t help himself. If he could wrap his Pammy up in cotton wool and keep her in a gilded house, he would.

  ‘It will taste nothing like yours, little Nurse Tanner,’ Norman joked back. ‘I shall miss you on casualty, but no doubt you will have a much quieter life on children’s and be glad to see the back of me and Freddie here.’

  Anthony nodded enthusiastically, then checked himself when Pammy shot him a quizzical look and he realized what he was doing.

  Pammy waved to Norman and Freddie. ‘Have a quiet night, lads,’ she shouted.

  4

  It was their regular weekly meeting in Matron’s office and Matron and Emily had just finished discussing which trainee nurse was on what ward and for how long, and who was being moved from days to night duty. Wards and the number of nursing staff, both qualified and trainee, ran down the blackboard on Matron’s wall in neat columns. Each square on the board was filled and had been completed to her satisfaction all the way to New Year’s Day. It was the most satisfying moment of Matron’s week.

  Alongside the staff allocation board lay the bed allocation board. Again, there was a column for each ward, with the number of the ward and the name of the sister at the top. In the past, the wards had been named after the ward sister, but the war and the churn of staff coming and going, off to do their duty for King and country, had put paid to that. Below the sister’s name, the beds were listed by number and next to the number was the name of the patient, their disease or condition and the length of their stay in hospital to date. This last column had been added following an incident on ward four. Matron had blamed herself and it was something she now guarded against ever happening again. Patients marvelled at Matron’s memory. How she knew every one of their names, on every ward. They had no idea how long she spent each day sitting at her desk memorizing them. Sometimes when she arrived back from her rounds she would pick up the chalk and next to a patient’s name would write a note, a memory prodder, of something she had been told that day. Mrs Browne’s daughter getting married on Saturday. Mr O’Hara’s sister died in a Dublin convent.

  Matron opened the tin box on her desk. It had once contained Scottish shortbread and on the lid was a picture of a Scottie dog crouched on a heathery hillside. He looked just like Blackie, who was right now firmly in his basket, well aware that on meeting days, when Emily Haycock was in the office, he was expected to stay put. Matron placed the chalk and board duster back into the tin, opened her desk drawer and slipped the tin inside, out of sight.

  ‘A very productive hour’s work,’ she said as the drawer clicked shut and she turned the key. ‘Time for our little reward, don’t you think?’

  She rang the bell for Elsie to wheel in their customary trolley of tea and walnut cake, which they always took on the chairs in front of Matron’s fire.

  ‘I won’t say no,’ said Emily as she finished copying their deliberations into her large book. When she returned to the school of nursing she would copy the lists on to the blackboard in her own office, and that way, whenever she felt like doing a spot-check on one of the probationers or a student nurse, she could glance up from her desk and know exactly who was on days or nights and what ward they had been allocated to. ‘It’ll give me some extra energy for typing out the off-duty sheets. I’m a dab hand with that new carbon paper now,’ she said, looking up and catching Matron’s eye. ‘It’s a lot more efficient once you get the hang of it – typing it up once and sending carbon copies round to each ward. Even Biddy’s stopped complaining about my technique. She used to say I banged so hard on the typewriter keys to get it through that they could hear me down in the kitchens.’

  Matron laughed. ‘Do you know, it seems to me that every day there’s something new to adjust to or learn. I have no idea where it’s all going to end.’

  Emily dabbed her foolscap sheet with the blotting paper before slamming it shut. ‘I’m glad we’re going to let the ward sisters work out their own off-duty over Christmas. The number of requests are almost too much to deal with. Better that the sisters be the ones to say yes or no, and, re
ally, they can make their own deals with the devil, as long as everywhere is covered.’

  ‘That was a brainwave you had there, Sister Haycock,’ said Matron. ‘Transferring the recuperating children from ward four on to ward three was an excellent idea. Why have I never thought of that before? Sister Tapps can have a proper break at Christmas for the first time in years, we’ll have no pressure on cover for children’s ward and everyone will be happy – especially the paediatric surgeon, whoever that will be over the Christmas break. It will be a quieter Christmas for him too.’

  Emily had grown to enjoy these weekly sessions. It had taken a long time for Matron to trust her, but she had finally managed to convince her that she was not after her job and that St Angelus was as close to her heart as it was to Matron’s.

  ‘Matron, do you think it would be a good idea for you to have a word with Sister Tapps yourself about transferring the children from four to three? Now that we have decided. I don’t think it’s my place really. And I don’t want her to just receive the pink off-duty sheet and wonder what’s happening and where her ward has gone.’

  They both sat down in the armchairs, Matron primly tucking her navy-blue dress under her knees, Emily flopping, as was her style. If she had been anywhere other than in Matron’s office, she would have kicked her shoes off and stretched her toes out in front of the fire.