Christmas for the District Nurses

by Annie Groves

Evelyn laughed harshly. ‘Of course he’s not just a friend. What would I want with just a friend?’

  ‘You’ve got to have friends,’ Gladys said at once. She could not imagine life without hers. She had never had any while she was growing up, after being forced to leave school to help her mother raise her younger siblings. That had all changed since getting to know the nurses. Now she knew she couldn’t be without her female friends.

  ‘Stuff and nonsense. What you need in this business is contacts,’ Evelyn said grandly. ‘That’s what Max always tells me. He’s known for his contacts, and he’s happy to share them with me.’

  Gladys wondered when her sister had become so harsh. What a grim way to look at the world. ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Don’t bother.’ Evelyn tugged on her coat, picked up her little clutch bag that had replaced the old beaded one and made for the door. ‘Don’t wait up, and don’t tell Ma.’ She swept out.

  Gladys stared at the door as it swung shut, her brow creased with concern. On the one hand, her sister was too old to tell off. She was almost twenty. By that age, Gladys had been effectively in charge of the household for years, as well as working full-time at the Victory Walk home. She’d had no time to go gadding about, off to pubs to meet men. So in one way Evelyn probably had far more experience, certainly of that side of life.

  Yet Gladys knew that in many ways Evelyn was still a girl, used to having things done for her, not taking responsibility. Perhaps she had let her get away with too much. After all, Gladys had been only too aware when growing up that her own childhood had been taken from her; she didn’t see why two of them should suffer. Also, it wasn’t up to her to discipline a sister who was only two years younger than she was. That was a parent’s job; but their mother had never shown much inclination to step in, collapsing with bad nerves whenever there were difficulties, and their father had not been seen or heard of for years.

  Gladys was rooted to the spot with indecision. Evelyn was annoying, and hurtfully dismissive at times, and yet she couldn’t truly wish her to come to any ill. The more she became embroiled with Max, the more certain it seemed that things would end badly. Gladys did not want to interfere and yet it seemed increasingly obvious that she ought to do something, rather than sit back and wait for bad news of some kind.

  She was off duty tonight, for a change. The little ones had been fed, washed and the smallest were already in bed. She could say that she was going out to check on the first-aid supplies – her mother had never shown any interest in the details of her work and would be unlikely to question her. Gladys decided to pay her first-ever visit to a pub. She would rather it wasn’t the Boatman’s, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  Gladys was nervous as she approached the building, which huddled against the towpath to the canal. It was only dimly lit by intermittent moonlight and the ever-present searchlights that raked the skies, but even so she could tell that several roof tiles were missing and some of the upstairs windows had been boarded up. Of course, many places were still showing signs of bomb damage, but somehow this seemed more like poor maintenance than a consequence of the Blitz.

  She hesitated as she got to the door. Women didn’t go into pubs alone, particularly ones like this. What if the men inside misunderstood what she was there for? What if Evelyn saw her? She hadn’t thought this through at all but had acted on pure instinct. Truth to tell, she was terrified. But she’d come this far; she couldn’t go back now.

  Cautiously she pushed open the door and stepped inside. It was noisy and quite crowded, mostly with men around tables and clustered at the bar, but a few women stood here and there. None of them was Evelyn. Gladys looked for the telltale bright blonde hair but there was no sign. At one end of the pub was a small makeshift stage, a piano beside it, and a woman possibly in her late twenties was draped along the lid over the keyboard, flashing her heavily made-up eyes at the barman. Perhaps this was Patty. Gladys was unsure whether to ask her if she’d seen Evelyn, or whether that would make things worse for her sister.

  A movement to one side of her made Gladys jump. A young man was coming towards her, his face in shadow until he came closer and caught the light of a lamp, its shade ripped and tipped at a strange angle. ‘Hello, remember me?’ he said kindly. ‘You’re that friend of Mary’s, aren’t you?’

  ‘Y-yes.’ Gladys knew she’d seen him before but struggled to recall exactly when and where.

  ‘I met you down your victory garden one time. I was with Billy Reilly. And Kenny, look, he’s over there, the one in the glasses.’

  She felt a little less nervous as the memory fell into place. ‘Oh yes, of course. Sorry, I don’t know your name.’

  The young man smiled and held out his hand. ‘Ronald. Ron for short. I didn’t expect you to remember.’

  Gladys took his hand and shook it, relieved he had spared her the embarrassment of forgetting who he was. ‘It’s coming back to me now,’ she managed to say. ‘Yes, of course, you said you came here sometimes.’

  He nodded. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

  She started. ‘N-no, no thank you. I wasn’t going to stay long. I just wanted to see if someone I knew was here.’ She was too nervous to drink anything, even if she’d wanted to. She appreciated the offer, though; anyone looking at them would think they had arranged to meet and it was just a normal conversation. ‘I won’t be stopping for a drink. Don’t let me keep you from yours,’ she added hastily.

  ‘Don’t worry, it can wait.’ He frowned. ‘Is it your sister you’re looking for? Didn’t you say she sang here sometimes?’

  Gladys gave a small smile despite herself. ‘You’ve got a good memory,’ she said, impressed.

  Ron chuckled. ‘Not really. I’m always forgetting things at work – just ask Billy. But I remember you seemed worried about her and it stuck in my mind.’

  Gladys nodded, her smile vanishing as she steeled herself to finish what she’d come for. ‘Well, she’s younger than me so I have to keep an eye on her,’ she explained. ‘Is she here tonight? Have you seen her?’

  Ron’s gaze dropped and he wouldn’t meet her eye. He looked as if he was trying to avoid saying something.

  Gladys somehow held her nerve and asked again. ‘Is she? I can’t see her here but was she around earlier?’

  Ron twisted his hands together in awkwardness. ‘Yes,’ he said after a few moments. ‘I saw her at the bar a while ago.’ He sighed. ‘You might as well know the worst. She went out the back with Max – d’you know him?’

  ‘I’ve seen him in passing,’ Gladys said darkly. ‘I wouldn’t say I know him.’

  ‘Best keep it that way,’ Ron said shortly.

  Gladys frowned. ‘I can’t help it. I want to see Evelyn. Just to put my mind at rest, to know she’s all right.’

  He shrugged, and she noticed how kind his face was, even though it was etched with concern, and maybe with a little sympathy. He obviously didn’t like or trust Max. But she couldn’t give up now.

  ‘She’s your sister, so I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘Max won’t want to be interrupted, though. He’s got a proper temper on him. I’d stay well clear if I were you.’

  Gladys gasped. Did he mean that the man might hurt Evelyn? Was she just making things worse by turning up here? ‘I-I’d still like to see her,’ she persisted. ‘Can you help me? Please? I won’t try to talk to this person if you think it’s not a good idea. I don’t want to cause no trouble. But I’m worried about her, I can’t help it.’

  Ron’s face winced with unease. ‘I don’t blame you. All right, come with me, but stay close and don’t make a noise. We’ll go to the side door and see if we can spot her. If she’s on her own you could call out and get her attention. How about that?’

  Gladys nodded. ‘Yes, let’s try that. Thank you, Ron.’ She felt very reliant on the good graces of this young man she scarcely knew. Yet if he was a friend of Billy’s, he must be all right. Billy was as solid as a rock.

  Ron pushed his way through the crowd,
easing a space for her to snake through behind him, keeping a close watch in case any of the drunker men made an unwelcome move. Gladys realised they all assumed she was with him. Well, if it meant they left her alone, that suited her fine.

  At the far end of the noisy bar was a half-glazed door, its frame covered in once-cream paint, now discoloured by nicotine. Ron carefully turned the handle and stepped out into a storage area, open to the elements on one side, facing a rundown courtyard. Barrels were stacked around, crates of bottles heaped in piles, and broken glass glinted underfoot. Hardly the spot for a pleasant drink on a fine evening. The light spilled out from behind them and Ron hastily pulled the door to.

  He held one finger to his lips in an exaggerated fashion so she couldn’t fail to get the message. Then they stood still and listened.

  A low rumble of a male voice – not shouting in anger but clearly displeased.

  Then a higher voice, a woman’s, trying to appease him by the sound of it.

  Another rumble, ending in a menacing growl.

  The woman answering back but not fiercely. A high-pitched laugh.

  Then more low noises, less easy to distinguish, before a shaft of moonlight allowed Ron and Gladys to pick out the couple. They were leaning against the brick wall adjoining the neighbouring property, him tall and burly, her slight and with bright pale hair. He was pulling her closer and she was winding her arms around his neck and looking up into his face. They couldn’t see her expression. He grabbed at her, reaching behind her and pulling up her skirt.

  ‘Come on,’ Ron whispered abruptly. ‘Back in the bar, quick. Before they notice we’re here.’ He pushed Gladys back to the half-glazed door and they fell through into the warmth of the smoke-filled snug.

  Gladys could hardly believe what she’d just seen. Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised; Evelyn had said Max was more than a friend. But to do that, right out in the open, and on such a cold night … what sort of hold did this man have over her sister?

  ‘You all right?’ Ron asked anxiously.

  ‘Y-yes. I think so.’ Gladys found she was shivering.

  ‘You sure you don’t want a drink?’ he asked solicitously. ‘You’ve gone all pale.’

  Gladys shook her head. ‘No, honestly. I’d best be going. I don’t want to stick around and have her see me, not now. But thank you anyway.’

  Ron pursed his lips. ‘Let me just down the rest of my pint and say good night to Kenny. Then I’ll walk you home.’

  ‘Oh really, there’s no need …’

  Ron turned to face her. ‘You’ve seen what sort of place this is. There’s every need. I go as far as the main road anyway – that will take you back to the nurses’ home, won’t it? Is that the direction you’ll be headed for? Well, then.’ He stepped across to the table in the corner, where Kenny was sitting with two other men with their backs to them. Kenny looked up and smiled as if to tease his friend, but his expression darkened as Ron must have told him not to jump to the wrong conclusion.

  Gladys shut her eyes and tried to drive away the image that was now burned on her mind: her sister in the arms of that foul man. How could she? Her little sister.

  ‘Come on.’ Ron nudged her elbow. ‘Time I was going anyway. I’m on the early shift tomorrow. I’ve asked Kenny to keep an eye out for when your sister comes back into the bar – he’ll make sure she gets home all right.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Gladys felt the word was hardly adequate but didn’t know what else to say. ‘I wish I hadn’t seen what we just did. But at least I know the worst now. At least I know.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Spring 1943

  Harry gazed around him at the walls covered in shelves and filing cabinets. This would be his new workplace. He’d never seen himself as a pen-pusher but it looked as if this was what he would become. The desk at which he sat was scratched and dull, and his long legs barely fitted underneath it. Already he felt cramped and uncomfortable.

  Through the one window he could see khaki-coloured vehicles parked close together. Perhaps he could learn to drive one of them in the future. Meanwhile he was stuck here, booking them in and out, keeping records of their maintenance, watching out for when spare parts needed to be ordered. Not budgeting – that was someone else’s job. He had already been told in no uncertain terms the limits of what he was to do, and how frowned upon it would be to encroach on somebody else’s territory.

  Harry sighed and flexed his arm muscles to ease the tension he could sense was building. He should be glad finally to be doing something useful again, not stuck in hospital any more, now back in active service. He had his special ointment to apply to his remaining scars and wounds, and exercises to do in order to improve his arm movement, but as long as he kept going to regular check-ups he didn’t need to be under a doctor’s daily care any more.

  The trouble was, in his mind he had still not fully adjusted to the idea that this was as active as his service was likely to get. Men he had trained with were off fighting in North Africa or the Far East. Some had not made it through, but at least they had seen plenty of action. In his head he was still a fit young fighter, eager for glory, dealing with physical hardships and discomforts as part of the job.

  Harry knew he should be grateful, and if the worst physical discomfort he had to put up with was a bit of cramp in the legs, then he was lucky. He rolled his shoulders to ease the pain in his neck. His injured arm responded with a twinge, but nothing compared to what it used to be like when he moved it. Perhaps those exercises were working and his arm would get back to something like normal, in the end.

  He had to keep believing that. After the drama of the wedding, the stay in the grand hotel and the wonderful warmth of a family Christmas, it had been difficult to wave goodbye and come here to his new base, the closest to his old hospital. He and Edith had always known they would not be able to start their married life living in the same place, but it had been tough to leave her there in Dalston after so many nights together. He shut his eyes for a moment, remembering his beautiful, brave wife. He wondered what she was doing right now. Pedalling that cranky old bike along the bomb-damaged terraces, most likely. He grinned in spite of himself at the image, wishing he was there with her.

  ‘Asleep already?’ came a sharp voice.

  Harry sat up straight and made his expression alert. His immediate boss was a tough woman in her forties, greying hair clipped severely, her army uniform immaculate. He was glad he had made an effort to press his own into sharp creases, but being caught with his eyes shut had probably undone any good impression he had hoped to make.

  Before he could answer, she plonked a pile of manila files on his desk. ‘Requisition orders,’ she said shortly. ‘See that they match what’s actually been done to the relevant engines. Report any discrepancies to me before lunch. That should keep you awake at least.’ Without waiting for a reply she marched out again.

  Harry stared at the folders, his heart sinking. This was what he was in for, until the war ended. His dreams of winning a medal for bravery would never come true. Nobody got a Victoria Cross for perfect administration. Reluctantly he drew his pen towards him and opened the topmost file. So be it. This was the hand that fate had dealt him and he just had to get on with it.

  Peggy welcomed the arrival of spring, the first shoots of green on the bare branches of the trees, the sparrows chirping more noisily, the evenings growing lighter. It meant that she could fit in a walk around the park after her regular shift at the factory, and she relished the exercise after being cooped up inside all day. The air was warmer too and she could pack away her heavy winter coat, wondering if she would be able to have a new one next year. It would make a nice change, but this one would last for another cold season, if she was honest, so she folded it carefully and added some dried lavender in muslin pouches to go in the pockets. She hated the smell of mothballs, and some people said this worked just as well.

  Now she waited for the knock on the door. Peggy had run into E
dith when she was on an early visit that morning and they had decided to go for a walk together after they had both finished work. Peggy had come back to the house first, to change her shoes and try out her latest piece of home-made jewellery, a cleverly cut brooch made from three scraps of plastic and some left-over enamel paint, highlighted with zigzags of nail polish. Peggy was quietly pleased with it. It made her feel smart and modern, even if it was just for a walk with her friend.

  As she pinned it to her lapel, there came the sound of the letterbox. Peggy hurried down the stairs but Mrs Cannon got there first and was already smiling at Edith as Peggy reached the hall.

  ‘Come in, dear. Have you got time for a cup of tea?’

  Edith looked across at Peggy, already in her jacket. ‘That’s very kind, but perhaps we’d better go straight out to make the most of the daylight,’ she said. ‘I’d love to another time, though.’

  Mrs Cannon nodded understandingly. ‘Of course. You are always welcome, you and the rest of your colleagues. I know how hard you work. Is everything all right?’ she added, catching Edith’s expression as the shorter woman turned in the weak sunlight coming through the open door.

  Edith shrugged. ‘Oh, it’s probably nothing.’ She glanced back over her shoulder as Mrs Cannon pushed the door to behind her, keen to keep the warmth in. ‘I’m most likely imagining it.’

  ‘Imagining what?’ asked Peggy.

  ‘It was so quick, I might have misunderstood,’ Edith said. ‘Just across the road there, in one of the houses opposite – I caught sight of someone staring at me as I knocked at your door. A young man, by the looks of him. He didn’t look very friendly. But it could have been about anything.’

  Peggy frowned. ‘Which house exactly?’

  Edith pointed in the general direction. ‘It had a dark red door.’

  Peggy nodded. ‘I know the one. Mrs Bellings lives there. But I don’t know about a young man. She’s on her own. She hasn’t got any children, has she?’ She turned to Mrs Cannon.