Coming Home to Liverpool

by Kate Eastham

  Maud gestured for Alice to follow. Once they were in through the door of theatre, they stood one at each side of the high wooden table as Mr Jones positioned his patient.

  When they heard the dull clunk of something on the solid wood of the theatre table, as Mr Jones shifted Sue’s position, Maud exchanged a glance with Alice. They both knew what it would be: some special ‘find’ in the girl’s pocket. Alice slipped her hand in and pulled out a red painted earring, a wooden dice and an empty glass bottle with an etched pattern.

  Maud could see tears springing to her friend’s eyes. ‘You keep them safe, for good luck,’ she soothed. ‘Put them in your pocket for now.’

  Alice nodded mutely and carefully took the items.

  ‘Now, Alice,’ said Maud, as Mr Jones headed quietly to the sink to scrub his hands. ‘Whilst I start to wash the worst of the muck from her face and hands, I want you to go and get a clean nightdress and the big scissors – this dress is filthy and too far gone to go to the laundry, we’ll have to cut it off her.’

  When Alice returned they soon had the ragged dress removed, but they left the grey vest and underclothes in place – even with Maud’s concerns for cleanliness they didn’t have the heart to strip the poor girl of all her worldly goods. Once the clean nightdress was in place, Alice seemed desperate to try and wash the worst of the dirt from the girl’s matted hair but, for now, the best that she could do was go over it with a dampened cloth.

  ‘We’ll make sure we wash it properly when she’s recovering,’ murmured Maud, turning to give a nod to Mr Jones, who’d gone from scrubbing his hands to having his ritual smoke in the corner of the theatre.

  ‘Just stay with her, Alice, a second, will you? Whilst I wash my hands.’

  As soon as Maud was back at the table, Alice stooped to collect Sue’s dress from the floor. ‘I’ll be at the top of the ward if you need anything,’ she said, glancing at Sue for one last time. ‘Just shout.’

  As Mr Jones was finishing his smoke Maud removed the bandage and the lint and then peeled the layers of blood-soaked handkerchiefs from Sue’s face. She was careful with the final one, not wanting to set off any further bleeding just yet. Mr Jones walked around to the other side of the theatre table and leant over to peer at the wound.

  ‘Now, what do we have here? Mmmm, it only just missed the eye, didn’t it? A nasty, vicious wound. What is the definition of a wound, Nurse Linklater?’

  Before she could open her mouth to reply, he continued, ‘Wounds are the divisions of soft parts produced by external direct mechanical force. Classified according to their direction, depth, locality or their mode of infliction. Here we have an open, contused wound caused by a sharp object, and given that the girl was found in the road following a collision with a carriage, there is little doubt the object was a horseshoe. Fortunately, the wound seems clean – thanks to whoever applied that dressing at the scene – and, as you can see, even though the edges of the wound are swollen, they can be brought together quite easily. The eye is very bruised, but seems intact, and all of that should settle with time.’

  ‘Will you be using a fine silk thread to reduce scarring?’ asked Maud.

  ‘I will indeed, Nurse Linklater,’ he replied, his eyes shining with interest. And then he pursed his lips. ‘But I’m afraid there are no sutures in the world that will leave this girl without a substantial disfigurement.’

  Maud nodded. Sadly, she too was aware of that reality. She’d witnessed a number of women at the Infirmary in New York, victims of knife wounds – slashed across the face by vengeful husbands or deranged men.

  ‘But we will do our best for her,’ said Mr Jones. ‘I’ll take my time with the sutures, keep them small.’

  Maud nodded as she checked that all the instruments were to hand, and then she took up the bottle of carbolic acid and sprayed it over the wound.

  ‘Good practice, Nurse Linklater, good practice. I too am a devotee of Mr Joseph Lister, and we need to do all that we can to try and prevent deep suppuration.’

  As Mr Jones explored the wound before commencing his suturing, the unmistakable white glint of a cheekbone made Maud’s stomach tighten. But once he had the first suture in and fresh blood was welling up, she was straight there with clean swabs, taking each one from the pile at her elbow and discarding the blood-soaked ones into a bowl on the floor.

  He was painstaking with the sutures, taking his time with each and every one as his deft fingers continued their work down the long wound on Sue’s cheek, fashioning a scar that would dictate what she saw in the mirror for the rest of her life. Maud could see the sheer concentration on his face. Even when his forehead began to glisten with sweat, he continued to work, only pausing for a few moments when Sue gave a low groan and looked like she might be going to wake up. Thankfully, she settled back into her unconscious state and they were able to finish without calling for Dr McKendrick and his chloroform.

  When the final suture went in and Maud stood back to check the wound, she could see the true extent of it. She almost wept. The scar was disfiguring; she had known women with similar wounds choose to wear a veil rather than expose themselves to the world.

  Maud took a deep breath and swallowed hard to quell the lump in her throat. She could see the side of Sue’s face swelling angrily against the insult of the sutures and she knew she needed to get on and make sure that the area was as clean as possible and apply a good dressing. Giving the wound a final wipe with a clean swab, she gave another spray of carbolic acid. Then, placing one neat square of white lint over Sue’s closed eye and another oblong piece over the long wound, Maud selected a two-inch-wide muslin bandage. She knew that it would be a tricky manoeuvre to secure the dressing and so she asked Mr Jones to hold Sue’s head in position whilst she made two turns of the bandage around her head, crossing the forehead and then down to the nape of the neck, before passing beneath the ear and then obliquely across the affected eye.

  ‘That might just do it,’ she murmured as Mr Jones carefully lowered Sue’s head back down to the table. ‘We’ll need to check that it remains secure, and it might be a good idea to unwrap the whole thing tomorrow just to check on the swelling. Leaving the lint dressing over the wound, of course, if it’s clean and dry …’

  ‘That sounds like a first-rate plan, Nurse Linklater,’ called Mr Jones over his shoulder as he stood washing his hands at the sink.

  Maud could see the slump of his shoulders. He’d done the best job he could with his sutures but she knew that he was probably experiencing the same feeling that burned inside of her – the desire for better methods so that they could fix wounds more cleanly, do less damage. Maud hoped that in her lifetime they would see more improvements in the art of surgery.

  ‘I have something for you, Nurse Linklater,’ said Mr Jones, turning from the sink as he dried his hands. Then, reaching up to a high shelf, he pulled down a book. ‘I want you to have this. It’s a new edition of Timothy Holmes’s A System of Surgery. Read it through, you might find some useful detail. I’m giving a copy to each of my medical students.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Maud, quickly wiping her hands on a clean swab before eagerly accepting the volume. Once she had it in her grasp, she ran a hand over the cover and then looked up and smiled at the surgeon. ‘I will treasure it,’ she said.

  As Mr Jones opened the door to leave theatre she heard him call to the orderlies to come through and move Sue back on to the ward. Michael Delaney came in first, red-faced and shaking his head when he saw the girl with her bandage. ‘Such a bonny young lass,’ he muttered. ‘Such a shame.’ And Stephen Walker followed with his long, mournful face.

  Maud couldn’t stand it. ‘Come on, you two,’ she said firmly, ‘let’s get the girl comfortable in bed.’

  Once she was left alone to clean the theatre, she scrubbed and scoured and sprayed with all her might, venting all of the pent-up fury that she’d kept back from the events of the day. Over and over in her head she could still see Sue bobbing along in
front of her, tantalizingly close. If only she’d managed to get to her in time, stop her from running out. If only she’d been able to grab the boy as he shot away from the bread stall.

  She nearly took the polish off the theatre table, she was scrubbing so hard. ‘And what about poor Alice?’ she murmured out loud. ‘She is clearly fond of Sue Cassidy. What a mess,’ thought Maud, as she took a scouring pad to the tin bowls, shining them up till you could almost see your face in them.

  By the time she’d finished, she was out of breath and the theatre was spotless.

  As Maud walked out, back on to the ward, she saw Alice look up and point to the far end. A careworn woman, with greying hair curled in a loose knot, stood twisting a handkerchief in both hands as she waited by Sue’s bed. It was undoubtedly her mam, and Maud felt for her as she dipped her head to kiss her daughter.

  When she reached the bed, Maud could see that Mrs Cassidy had brought a pink rose for Sue. It lay on the pillow next to her mass of red hair.

  ‘Are you the nurse that found her?’ she asked, and when Maud nodded, tears started to well in the woman’s eyes.

  ‘The flower is lovely,’ murmured Maud. ‘Did you bring it from your stall?’

  ‘I did,’ nodded the woman, wiping her eyes with the flat of her hand before picking the bloom up between her finger and thumb and breathing in the scent. ‘I brought the last of the roses for her, the ragged ones that nobody wants to buy. These are her favourites,’ she said, laying it back down on the pillow.

  ‘I brought two,’ she continued, her voice beginning to steady, ‘but when I heard about the little boy, I gave one to him as well. Poor little mite.’

  Maud glanced to the next bed where the boy had lain. The bedding was still crumpled from the shape of him. On the pillow lay a single pink rose. She felt a stab of sorrow and if she hadn’t been holding fast, for the sake of Sue’s mam, she would have cried. Instead, she took the woman’s hand. ‘What a lovely gesture,’ she said.

  ‘The other nurse,’ the woman said, glancing towards Alice, ‘has told me about the injury, the extent of it … and I know Sue could have been killed outright. But what will it be like for a girl living with that, people staring at her, for the rest of her life …?’

  ‘It will be hard,’ said Maud, ‘I’m sure it will. But it will be up to Sue, in the end, to find the best way she can of managing it.’

  Mrs Cassidy was nodding, and then she started to cry again. ‘Can you take the bandage off, while she’s still out of it? Then I can see it for myself.’

  ‘I can’t, I’m afraid,’ Maud said gently. ‘It’s very important that we keep it sealed with the dressing for at least four days to prevent suppuration.’

  ‘I understand,’ said the woman wearily, and then she gave a huge sigh. ‘I want more than anything to stay here with her until she comes round but I need to get back to the stall. My neighbour on the market, she’s looking after it for me, but she’ll be struggling to run two. And I can’t afford to lose my job, especially now … not with her like this.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Maud kindly. ‘But your daughter will be in good hands, Mrs Cassidy, I promise we’ll take very good care of her – don’t you worry.’

  ‘Oh, I know that for sure,’ she said, glancing up the ward to Alice and then grasping Maud’s hand very tightly. ‘Thank you. And I’ll get in to see her as often as I can, but it might not be every day. If you need me, come to the market. I’m the third stall on the right as you come down the street.’

  Then the woman kissed her fingers and laid them lightly on the bandage that covered half of her daughter’s head and she was gone.

  Maud took a deep breath and straightened her apron, and then she was scanning the bandage for any sign of blood seepage through the dressing. She took Sue’s wrist – her pulse was strong and steady. No cause for concern, as yet, but they’d have to be on guard for signs of any fever. Alice had told her that each of the wards now had a medical thermometer, and she was glad of that. It was reassuring to have an exact measurement of a patient’s temperature and be able to chart it – morning and night.

  As she held Sue’s wrist she felt a movement. The girl was showing some resistance, she was waking up. She was moving her head gently from side to side, emitting a low moan. Maud knew that it was a good sign, the girl couldn’t stay unconscious for ever. But with her awakening would come the awful realization of what had happened to her and the boy. And she would have to be told exactly what she would see on her face – a disfigurement she would bear for the rest of her life.

  Alice appeared beside Maud as Sue moved her head again. Alice looked at Maud, her eyes wide, and then they both turned their attention to their patient, who now seemed to be settling back into her unnatural slumber.

  ‘It’s best for her to get more rest,’ Maud said gently. ‘It will be soon enough for us to start telling her what she needs to know tomorrow.’

  Seeing Nurse Devlin walking down the ward with clean bedding for the boy’s bed, Maud went straight over to help her make it up. The pink rose still lay on his pillow and they both stood looking at it for a moment. Then Maud picked it up gently, between her finger and thumb. ‘We’ll find some water for this,’ she murmured, but even as she spoke, the petals began to fall back on to the bed.

  ‘Ah well, maybe that’s more appropriate, after all,’ she said, looking over to meet Nurse Devlin’s wide grey eyes.

  They both took a breath, and then Nurse Devlin started to collect up the petals and put them in her pocket. ‘I’ll press them,’ she said. ‘Keep them in memory of him.’

  ‘That’s a nice idea,’ said Maud quietly, starting to remove the pillowcase as Nurse Devlin loosened the sheets.

  ‘And roses are special to me, too,’ said Nurse Devlin, pulling off the bottom sheet with one clean movement. ‘After I was born, or so the story goes, Grandma Devlin went out to her cottage garden and brought in an armful of roses. Me mother used to say the smell of them in the room was divine. Well, after that, I had to be called Rose, didn’t I? And every year until she died Grandma Devlin brought me roses on my birthday.’

  ‘That’s a lovely story,’ said Maud with a smile. ‘And did your mother continue the tradition?’

  ‘She did, but then she died herself, just four years later … so.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Maud, reaching out a hand as she stood with the linen bundled in her arms.

  ‘That’s how it goes for many people, isn’t it?’ said Rose Devlin, pressing her lips into a firm line.

  ‘Yes,’ Maud replied, quietly. ‘Yes, it is.’

  As Maud walked back that evening through the city, with her arm linked firmly through Alice’s, she held on tight to her friend. They’d thought that Eddy might be waiting for them, but there was no sign of her.

  ‘No doubt she’ll be running late with a case, but she’ll be along to Stella’s later on and we’ll be able to tell her what happened today,’ murmured Alice.

  ‘What a day, hey?’ replied Maud.

  Alice tried to say something else but her voice caught on a sob.

  ‘Oh, Alice, I’m so sorry about Sue, I know how special she is to you …’

  Alice sobbed once more, clinging to Maud. ‘She’s such a beautiful girl and I know she could have been killed out there on the street … but her face will be such a mess …’

  ‘It’s such a shame,’ said Maud, and then she glanced towards the road and stopped in her tracks, with the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. ‘This is where it happened, about here.’

  They both stared forlornly into the road. It was almost deserted now, just one or two carriages passing by at a leisurely pace. There was no sign of anything any more. The dust had already settled and resettled many times. It was as if nothing had happened.

  ‘Come on,’ Maud said gently, ‘let’s get going.’

  Alice nodded and Maud led her away as she continued to talk. ‘And the boy couldn’t have been more than five years old, and he w
as out on the street. So many children with no homes to go to. When the orderlies came to take him to the mortuary, Michael carried him out from behind the screens wrapped in a blanket with his little feet peeping out. The boy looked just like he was sleeping. And Michael was crying and Stephen was just standing there with his head bowed. It was so sad.’

  Maud gave Alice’s arm a squeeze with her own as they continued to walk. There were no words of comfort to offer, she just needed to let her talk. When at last she fell silent, Maud said gently, ‘But providing Sue comes round properly from her head injury, she is going to survive this. We’ll make sure that she makes the best recovery, we’ll make her strong again.’

  Alice nodded.

  Maud glanced down at her stained cape. She’d tried to sponge it with water from the sluice but it was still a miserable reminder of what had happened that day. She would clean it again when she got back to Stella’s.

  ‘Talk to me, Alice, talk to me about something else, will you? Tell me more about the married man you fell for.’

  ‘Mmmm,’ said Alice slowly, ‘I don’t really know what to say, except the last time we spoke I told him that I never wanted to see him again.’

  ‘Did you mean it?’

  ‘I did then. Funny you should ask, just a few weeks ago I saw him ahead of me, on the street. He didn’t turn around, he didn’t see me. But I was holding my breath, willing him to glance over his shoulder … and just seeing the back of him, it gave me the shivers. So, there you go … I suppose that means I’m definitely not over him.’

  ‘Oh, Alice,’ murmured Maud, ‘I’m so sorry that he’s married.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, it’s just one of those things, isn’t it? At first I kept saying to myself, well, if I’d known he was married, I’d never have gone near. But I was probably lying to myself. There was something there, so strong. You know what I mean, Maud, you have that with Harry, don’t you?’

  ‘I do. But I took a while to trust him. I could see straight away, that second time he was admitted to the ward, you remember, after he’d been knocked out again in one of those bare-knuckle fights. I knew then he was a flatterer, popular with the women … you know the sort.’