A Ward Door Opens: A touching 1950s hospital romance (The Anniversary Collection Book 7)

by Lucilla Andrews

  Fiona had become my great friend since her nightmare. She was obviously unaware of her uncle’s disapproval of me and partiality for Standing, because she fumed openly. ‘That woman! She hasn’t stopped nagging at you.’

  ‘Hush,’ I said. ‘You mustn’t talk about her like that! It’s my fault she has to nag. I shouldn’t be so dumb.’

  ‘Was it your fault the acid cupboard seems to have a spontaneous combustion of dust?’

  ‘Oh, dear. Did you hear that?’

  ‘Since she tore into you a few inches from my open door when Uncle Jock was visiting me, we could hardly not hear! What’s wrong with that cupboard? As I told Uncle Jock, she is always bawling you out about it.’

  I glanced at her. She seemed to have no conception whose side he was on. Ever since he had lectured me in the duty-room, he had treated me with icy formality when he had to talk to me professionally, and had ignored me on all other occasions. ‘I wish I knew what was wrong with it.’ I inserted her bed-cradle and made a tent-end over it. ‘No matter how often I polish the cupboard, and how carefully I keep it shut, the dust somehow gets in.’

  Once the sluice was tidy, I hurried along to re-polish the acid-cupboard. As Standing had said, it was thick with dust. I polished it violently. ‘Just you stay polished,’ I said aloud, ‘because if you don’t, I shall burst into loud tears!’

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend that, Nurse.’ The S.M.O. was in the doorway. ‘The combination of normal saline and leaking acid might lead to a major explosion.’

  I felt as foolish as I must have sounded. Then I realised what he had said. ‘Leaking acid, Dr. Cameron?’

  He opened the cupboard, tested the fit of the door, then examined the many small acid bottles. ‘If the dust is not coming from without, it must come from within and cannot be what you mean by dust. Yes.’ He took out a bottle. ‘This glass stopper is cracked. The vapour will escape and settle as dust on the shelves as the cupboard is closed.’ He handed it to me. ‘Fix it with strapping for the night and send it down for re-bottling in the morning.’

  I thanked him. He gave his usual nod, said good night looking at my cap and walked along towards the duty-room. I went for the strapping, and wished I had noticed the fault for myself. I wondered if Nurse Standing had done so and if that was why she kept on at me about the acid cupboard.

  Apparently it was. Before I went off that morning, she called me to ask if I had put the specific acid bottle into the dispensary basket.

  ‘Yes, Nurse.’

  ‘So you are at last learning to use your eyes, Nurse? Good.’

  I buttoned on my cloak absently, thinking about the S.M.O. She probably would not approve of his line of teaching. I did. A great many of her reprimands sailed over my head; yet I remembered every word he had ever spoken to me. He did not only correct; he helped. I wished I could feel that his showing me the fault in that cupboard proved he had forgiven me for George’s visit. I would so like to think that acid bottle was an olive-branch in disguise, and that his eyes would again light with humour as they had done when we first met. He was so kind, and his advice was so gently given. I was rather disconcerted to discover how sincerely I minded upsetting him.

  George rang me at the Home on the first morning of my nights off. ‘All set for the Pantomime run-through tonight, Maggie? Six-thirty. Medical School Library.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ and I wondered why he had bothered to telephone, when we had spent most of last week fixing this date.

  ‘What are you doing with your nights off, apart from joining me this evening?’ he asked casually.

  ‘Shopping and sleep, today. Tomorrow Avis and I are lunching with one of her aunts, then going to a show. I’ve just got the tickets from Matron’s Office.’

  ‘Avis off? Do you want to bring her along tonight?’

  ‘That’s an idea. I know she isn’t booked.’

  He said I must bring her. ‘Any friend of yours ‒ and so on. I say, how would it be if I rustled up old Charlie or Mike Oxford as a fourth voice? We might go out on the town later.’

  ‘Rustle up the entire glee club if you like, but count me out of the after-rehearsal party. I’ve masses of letters to write and chores to do in my room. Why don’t you just take Avis? She’s fearfully energetic and great fun.’

  ‘That’s quite a scheme,’ he said brightly, as if the idea had never ever occurred to him. ‘But will she mind leaving you to the chores?’

  ‘If she does, I shall have one of my very, very nasty headaches! Relax, George. If there is one thing I do know how to do, it is how to make myself scarce at the right moment.’ And I rang off before he could recover his breath.

  Avis took much more careful handling. At first, she refused point-blank. ‘You and George don’t want a third. And I can’t play a note on any instrument.’

  ‘You can sing in tune. I’ve heard you in Chapel. You aren’t dated, are you? Splendid. You are now.’

  She still hesitated. She was one of the least conceited people I had ever met, and although very cheerful with her own sex, she was extremely shy when any man was present. ‘I’ve got to go to the dentist at four. I may not be back in time.’

  ‘For goodness sake! Are you having all your teeth out, to take that time? Of course, you’ll be back.’

  ‘But George Thanet is used to witty, attractive girls like Helen Carter and Jo.’

  ‘Jo has never at any time been one of George’s young women,’ I said. ‘I’ll admit he had a yen for Helen way back. A very harmless one, though. Anyway, I’ll call for you at six. Sorry I can’t stop now. I’ve got some shopping to do for one of my patients. Miss Ashbrook snapped a knitting-needle last night.’

  I took the needles up to the Wing as soon as I returned from shopping, and asked one of the day juniors to deliver them to Miss Ashbrook. I was on my way down again, when the girl rushed after me. ‘Hey, Blakney! Miss Ashbrook wants you for something, and Sister says you may come up in mufti.’

  Miss Ashbrook was looking really distressed. ‘Dear child, such a disaster!’ She suddenly noticed I was not in uniform. ‘Nurse, I hardly recognise you. What beautiful hair. Come closer and let me see you.’ She reached up and fingered my hair gently.

  We talked hair-styles until she remembered that she had not told me about the disaster. ‘I dropped my spectacles,’ she said, ‘and, alas, one lens is shattered, and I have no spare pair with me. Sister is having my lens repaired at once but it will have to take a few days and I so dislike being idle. Could you spare the time to cast on and knit into the first line for me, now? I can manage the narrow rib without my spectacles.’

  I put down my handbag and parcels, removed my gloves, and as I was an official visitor with Sister’s blessing, I sat down on the locker. For a brief moment as I began the S.M.O.’s sweater, I felt a strange little pang that I did not stop to analyse. Miss Ashbrook was chatting happily, and I had to divide my attention between her conversation and my counting.

  ‘Are you sure this is going to be big enough, Miss Ashbrook?’

  She showed me the list she had written in her exquisite flowing handwriting. ‘Dr. Cameron said that was his measurement. You don’t agree?’

  ‘I think he’ll need more. I used this exact number, and ply, for my brother Charles, and he is much slighter than the S.M.O.’

  ‘He should be in directly to pay his morning visit. Ah, there you are, Doctor! How convenient. Nurse is beginning my knitting for me, and she is a trifle perturbed about the measurements you gave me.’

  He was alone, which was some consolation. I was very scared of Sister Wing who could on occasions be as formidable as Nurse Standing. His eyebrows rose slightly at the sight of a night junior sitting on a locker seat in the middle of the morning, in mufti, with her hair round her shoulders, but his smile was only calmly amused. ‘Good morning, Miss Ashbrook.’ Then he nodded in my direction. ‘Busman’s holiday, I take it, Nurse Blakney? Now, what about those measurements.’

  Miss Ashbrook was behaving as
if this was a friendly social occasion. ‘Nurse has had a great deal of experience in knitting for men, and she feels these may be too small.’

  His brows shot up again. ‘Have you a tape-measure, Miss Ashbrook?’

  She offered him one, instantly. I expected him to measure himself. He offered it to me. ‘I am obviously only an amateur beside you, Nurse. Would you be so kind?’ He touched his white coat. ‘Can this stay on?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Doctor.’ All I could do was pretend he was merely one of my brothers, and get it over quickly. It took only a few seconds. The new figures did not tally with the ones he had given previously.

  Miss Ashbrook shook her head indulgently. ‘How could you be expected to know, Doctor? I am so relieved Nurse was here to point out the fault to me. I should not have known.’ She turned to me, eagerly, ‘Will you be able to finish it, now, dear?’

  I glanced at Dr. Cameron. ‘Shall I take the knitting with me and bring it back later this morning?’

  ‘Don’t stop because of me, Nurse Blakney. I’m not yet here officially. I have to wait until Sister Wing is free to start my round and, having called in on my niece for a few minutes, I thought I’d have a chat with Miss Ashbrook while waiting for Sister.’ He smiled at her. ‘I didn’t expect to find you entertaining so early in the morning.’

  She said she was exceedingly fortunate to have so many kind young friends on the hospital staff. ‘I had no conception until I became a patient in St. Jude’s, how far beyond your allotted duties you doctors and nurses are willing to go.’ She looked at me as I sat, knitting furiously, on her locker seat. ‘I shall often remember the tired little night nurse with great shadows under her eyes, who has never been too weary to forget my foolish errands, help me pick up a stitch, turn a heel, or cast on new work,’ the old lady said. ‘And I shall remember a certain very clever, very busy young doctor who ‒ if you’ll forgive me saying so, dear boy ‒ looks as if it were a very long time since he had an uninterrupted night’s sleep, but never fails to spare a few minutes of his precious time, to have his chat with a lonely old lady.’

  I felt my cheeks burn as I bent over my counting. I glanced at the S.M.O., and was surprised and touched to see the faint dull colour rise in his normally pale face. He said, ‘You’re much too kind, Miss Ashbrook. You mustn’t forget these things work both ways. We like doing things for you and our other patients. We may give a little; we get back twice as much.’

  But Miss Ashbrook was right over one thing. He looked incredibly tired. He did not look strong. Yet Avis called him the Rock of Gibraltar, and I knew all my fellow-nurses shared her view. This reminded me of my brother Dave. Dave was six feet one, which would be short compared to the S.M.O., who must be around six feet five or six, I calculated, knitting away. Because Dave was so hefty, and could lift the most incredible weights, outsiders always considered him the most indestructible member of the Blakney family. He was wonderful about carrying other people’s physical and mental burdens, and was the closest to me of all my brothers.

  Once I told my mother that I thought Dave’s wife would be a very lucky young woman. ‘She’ll always have a fine pair of strong shoulders to lean on. Dave never lets anyone down.’

  ‘He will never do that,’ agreed Mother thoughtfully, ‘but I hope his wife won’t do all the leaning. Even the strongest man has his limits. Dave is the kind of boy to carry on bearing other people’s burdens until he drops. He’ll never drop willingly, but if he pushes himself too far for too long, he might. I hope his wife will be able to stand on her own feet, and, once in a while, lend him her shoulder and tell him to stop and rest.’

  My mother’s words flashed through my mind as I watched Dr. Cameron. It seemed to me that they could be very well applied to him. He worked the most appallingly long hours … He never appeared to take his full time off, brief though that was. He looked as if he needed someone to tell him to stop and rest. I wondered if Nurse Standing would ever do that. I had finished all the knitting I needed to do. Miss Ashbrook said she would be able to manage very nicely without her spectacles now.

  Dr. Cameron opened the door for me. His eyes were smiling. ‘Thank you, Nurse. Sleep well and enjoy your nights off.’ They were only the very ordinary, polite words. But they made my day. I told myself it was absurd to feel so delighted simply because for once he had walked in when I was doing the right, and not the wrong, thing ‒ and I reminded myself of his friendship with Nurse Standing. Nevertheless, when I dropped into bed I fell asleep smiling.

  Chapter Four

  George was leaning on top of the vast grand piano, making pencilled alterations to his script, when Avis and I arrived in the Library that evening. He looked very smart. He had on his best suit, a new Rugger Fifteen tie and his hair had been cut. Avis was wearing an attractive blue mohair dress that suited her slim figure admirably. She had only bought it a week ago, and she had said it would have to be saved for very special occasions. Which seemed to me to prove that this was one. The Library was warm and comfortable, the piano superb, the light very good. But the temperature round the piano was sub-zero for the first half-hour. My companions behaved as if they were total strangers and wished to remain so. Each talked and looked at me, avoiding the other. Neither sang a note. I chatted brightly; they smiled painfully. I told jokes; they did not smile at all. I strummed out some pop tunes to liven them up; they might have been tone-deaf and made of wood. Finally, in sheer desperation, I played one of Chopin’s most solemn marches slowly.

  It did at least rouse George. ‘What’s that in aid of, Maggie? You surely are not considering using it for the Dresser’s Chorus?’

  I shook my head sadly. ‘No. I’m just setting the present atmosphere to music. If we get much gloomier, I shall burst into tears. Come on, you two! Brace up and get cracking or we’ll be here all night. Here!’ I thrust a page into Avis’s hand. ‘Read the Casualty Officer’s Lament out loud, while we try to find a setting.’

  She read like a child repeating a lesson. ‘My white coat is lost in the laundry, my stethoscope’s gone down the drain.’

  ‘Have a heart, Avis!’ George suddenly came to life in defence of his words. ‘That’s not meant to be prose. It should go with a swing.’

  She tried again. ‘What’s this at the end. Bring back something …’

  He walked round and looked over her shoulder. ‘That’s the chorus. Bring back something or other ‒ patella hammer, blood-pressure machine. I didn’t fill it in until we get the tune.’

  ‘Bring back‒’ I murmured trying a few chords. ‘Did you have My Bonny Is Over The Ocean in mind? Let’s try if it fits.’

  ‘Better be “blood-pressure machine”,’ put in Avis, getting interested. ‘It will scan.’

  George put a hand on my shoulder and, with the other, unthinkingly drew Avis closer to the piano. ‘All through, girls. Let it go.’

  It went magnificently. Directly we finished, George seemed to realise he was holding Avis’s arm. His left hand fell to his side like a stone.

  ‘Once more, Maggie.’ He thumped my shoulder. ‘Then we can get cracking on the duet.’ He removed his jacket and loosened his tie contentedly. ‘It’ll have to be a waltz, Maggie. They’ve got to dance.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be hard.’ I squinted at his words. ‘There are plenty to choose from. Who’s singing? Mike Oxford and Carol Maitland?’

  ‘Mike, for sure. Carol’s a bit of a query. She’s a good sort, and says she will if we can’t find another girl with a decent voice, but her State Finals are due the same week and she’d rather cry off.’

  ‘I can understand that.’ I glanced at Avis who was reading through the duet. She did not notice me; he did. He raised his eyebrows, anxiously. ‘There’s quite a bit of singing for Cinderella, Maggie.’

  I played the opening bars of The Waltz of the Flowers. ‘George,’ I kicked him surreptitiously, ‘sing Mike’s part. Avis, wake up! Sing Carol’s part. And let’s see how it sounds.’

  He began gamely. He could just
sing in tune but had nothing like the voice needed to sing that lovely music. Avis very shyly joined in. Her shyness could not disguise the quality of her untrained, but pretty, singing voice. He lowered his manuscript shakily. ‘Blow me down! Avis, you’re streets ahead of Carol, and she’s reckoned to have the best voice in Jude’s.’

  Avis went scarlet.

  I beamed. ‘I’ve always thought that in Chapel. I’ve never understood why you haven’t joined the Musical Society or the Glee Club, Avis.’

  ‘But I don’t know anything about music. I can’t read it. I just like singing.’

  ‘And you just sing, most beautifully. Let’s have it through again. Off you go, George.’

  Her courage increased as she sang this time. The result was so good that when we came to the end I played it again, and George took her hands and waltzed her triumphantly round and round the large empty library. They came back to the piano, breathless and smiling. George said he would see Carol first thing in the morning. ‘She must have first refusal, as she has already been briefed. If she turns it down ‒ which I’m sure she will when I tell her we’ve discovered you ‒ how about it, Avis? Will you be my Cinderella?’

  ‘I’d love to ‒ but I don’t see how. I can’t act or anything.’

  We dismissed her protests. We told her no one expected a high standard of acting in hospital shows.

  ‘But we’re pretty hot on good voices, and we like to keep the standard up,’ added George. ‘So no more “buts”, Avis. And a finer bit of type-casting I never did.’

  She stiffened. ‘Type-casting?’

  I said quickly, ‘You work in Casualty, love. That’s what the boy means.’

  She smiled, but her smile was strained. ‘Of course. I forgot.’

  George’s eyes were troubled. ‘I say, have I put my foot into it, or something? You don’t want to take anything I say seriously, Avis. No one takes me seriously.’

  I sighed inwardly and wished he were near enough for me to give him another gentle kick, before he made matters worse. Avis announced lightly that she would never dream of taking him seriously, and was very honoured to be asked to play Cinderella. He grinned with relief, but the atmosphere had changed again, and we all knew it. Very soon, Avis said she simply must go as she had to telephone her aunt about our lunch tomorrow, and would meet me at late supper.