Christmas for the District Nurses

CHAPTER FOUR

January 1942

Mary stood in the doorway between the service room and the common room and clapped her hands loudly. ‘Excuse me!’ she shouted over the general hubbub of the nurses enjoying their Saturday morning leisure. Very few had had to work and they were making the most of a few hours with nothing more pressing to do than listen to the wireless or read the paper. ‘Gladys here has something to say.’ She turned to the smaller young woman behind her.

‘Er, yes.’ Gladys cleared her throat. Although she wasn’t as shy as when she’d first started working at Victory Walk, she hated speaking in public. She was grateful to Mary, who had no such qualms, for getting everyone’s attention. Mary didn’t flaunt her upbringing but her family’s money and connections meant that she had never lacked confidence. ‘The thing is, I need volunteers. For the victory garden. What with us having a few frosty nights, the parsnips are going to be ready, and I can’t get them all in on me own. So I’d be glad of a helping hand.’ She blushed furiously but held her nerve to the end of her sentence.

‘Any takers?’ Mary demanded brightly. ‘I’d do it myself but I’ve promised to sort out donations of clothes down at the church hall. Come on now, don’t be backward about coming forward. A lovely fresh morning like this, who’d want to be cooped up inside?’

One look at the faces turned towards her gave the answer – they all did.

‘Cos you’re getting parsnip soup this evening,’ Gladys explained, ‘only there won’t be no soup if there’s no parsnips.’

Belinda sighed dramatically. ‘Stands to reason. All right, I’ll do it. I’m not going on my own though.’ She looked meaningfully at the rest of them.

Bridget put down her newspaper, wrinkling her freckled nose, the crossword only half completed. ‘They’ve made that extra difficult this week,’ she said, pointing at it. ‘I’ll join you. Can’t deprive you brave girls of your soup, can I?’ After over a year in London, her Irish accent was as strong as ever.

This made Edith feel guilty. She wasn’t particularly fond of parsnip soup but it would be filling. ‘I’ll join you,’ she said. ‘And Alice will come too, won’t you, Al?’ Alice was absorbed in a long article in The Times and had barely registered what was going on.

‘Right, yes, of course,’ she said, hurriedly refolding it. ‘Why did you say that?’ she hissed at Edith as they made their way up to their attic rooms to change into their oldest clothes.

‘Because you always spend the weekend with your head in the paper or a book and exercise is good for you,’ Edith replied instantly. ‘Are you going to wear that green wool scarf, Al? Can I borrow it if not? I’ve gone and left mine at Dr Patcham’s surgery. I remember taking it off when I popped in yesterday and then I forgot it.’

‘We could go and collect it later,’ offered Alice. ‘I’ve got my blue one, I’ll wear that.’

‘Thanks.’ Edith disappeared into her small room.

Alice opened her own door and crossed to the small desk on the opposite side, under the dormer window that looked out over the Dalston rooftops. Gaps were visible in many of the terraces where houses had taken direct hits in the air raids, but Alice’s eyes were drawn to a creased and battered Christmas card which stood on her desk. The print of the robin was somewhat the worse for wear, but she didn’t mind in the least. It was nearly a month late, and must have taken a very indirect route, but finally she had confirmation that Joe was still alive – or at least he had been when he wrote the card.

She picked it up and read it again, smoothing the card as she did so. As well as the standard good wishes for Christmas and the coming year, he’d added, ‘I’m looking forward to rereading Lorna Doone.’ That had made her smile. She couldn’t imagine him reading it even once as it was so romantic, let alone twice. So he’d included that to tell her where he was. She knew the book was set on Exmoor, and thought it unlikely any naval ships would be based there – but, of course, it wasn’t far from Plymouth. That would be it.

Setting it down once more, she gave a deep sigh. First Scapa Flow, then Plymouth. Opposite ends of Britain and both cruelly far from Dalston. She knew it could have been much worse: naval vessels were now in North Africa, or India or the Far East. Yet Plymouth felt impossibly far away. ‘Stop it,’ she murmured. ‘You can write to him. He’s alive and well, that’s the main thing.’ She could not quite admit even to herself just how much she missed him, how worried she had been when Christmas came and went without a word.

‘Al, you in there? You ready yet?’ called Edith from the corridor. Hastily Alice grabbed her oldest jumper and began to change.

The victory garden had once been a pair of terraced houses two streets along from the nurses’ home, but they had been totally destroyed in a direct hit in a raid last spring. Rather than let the land go to waste, it had been turned into a plot for growing vegetables. All over London, green spaces were being dedicated to producing food for a nation under siege. Those who were lucky enough to have front or back gardens planted them up. Even the grounds of Buckingham Palace were being put to good use. Closer to home, vegetable plots were to be found in Victoria Park, and allotments were in demand all around the borough.

The hardest thing had been the digging down to find uncontaminated soil. The first few feet were likely to be toxic after the bombing, and so the nurses had set to with determined energy. Stan and Billy had been recruited to help. Harry had come to watch, on one of his few visits home, and had been amazed to find that Edith, with her tiny frame, had been able to wield a spade as well as the rest of them.

‘Hah, you think that just because I’m small that I’m delicate,’ she had laughed. ‘I tell you, riding around on that old boneshaker of a bike, you have to have muscles of steel. That, and lifting patients of all shapes and sizes. Don’t you forget it.’

Now Edith plunged ahead, climbing the slight mound that marked the boundary of the plot. Gladys was already there, a large trug at her feet. She had pitched up the sleeves of her shabby coat, and her hands were muddy. Bridget and Belinda had also arrived before them, and they were taking out trowels from a canvas bag. ‘Here, we saved a couple for you,’ Bridget called.

Alice didn’t mind digging out the vegetables. Her father had been proud of the vegetable plot in the back garden of her childhood home in Liverpool, and her mother would encourage the young Alice to help her pick blackcurrants, which she would then turn into delicious tarts, crumbles and jam. Her parents had written to tell her that they had got rid of the flower beds and planted vegetables and fruit there as well. They’d even started keeping chickens. Alice sighed as she thought of the luxury of fresh eggs for breakfast every day.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Edith.

Alice shook her head and laughed. ‘Just trying to imagine my parents and their chickens. They won’t like it if they make a mess of anything.’

‘I don’t think you can tell that to a chicken,’ Edith replied, pulling out her first parsnip. ‘Look at that, a real beauty. I do miss scrambled eggs though. Do you think we could build a henhouse in the yard, next to the bike rack?’

Bridget laughed. ‘They’d have to be miniature birds, wouldn’t they? I like a boiled egg for breakfast as much as the next person, but you’ll be hard pressed to get away with that.’

Edith frowned. ‘What about over at Jeeves Street? What do you reckon, Al?’

Alice shrugged. ‘I know it’s got a big yard, or small garden, whichever way you want to look at it, but lots of it is taken up with the Anderson shelter. Mattie’s already growing greens on the top of that, and potatoes in old dustbins. She even got radishes to grow on the windowsills last summer. Not sure where she’d fit the chickens.’

‘Ah well, just a thought.’ There was something in Edith’s tone that told them that she hadn’t given up on the idea just yet.

‘Nearly spring and then we can start sowing all sorts of things,’ Gladys said with enthusiasm. ‘I want to try carrots. Maybe some peas and beans too.’ She brushed the worst of the mud from another parsnip. ‘How are you getting along, Belinda?’

The tallest nurse straightened up, dashing her tight black curls from her eyes. ‘There are a few good ones over here. I’m trying not to get too filthy though. Got to look my best this evening.’ She gave them a bright smile.

‘Why, where are you going?’ Gladys always liked to hear about the nurses’ evenings out, as she never had any of her own, caught between the demands of her first-aid duties and the need to look after her siblings as Evelyn was still being difficult.

‘Dancing,’ said Belinda, turning on the spot in a twirl. ‘Peggy and Clarrie asked me to go with them. Any of you fancy coming along? The more the merrier.’

Alice and Edith automatically shook their heads, but Bridget looked interested. ‘I might do that,’ she said. ‘I’ll see what Ellen is doing.’ Ellen had come over from the same big Dublin teaching hospital, and they shared the two-room annexe to the nurses’ home. The home had been full but the superintendent, Fiona, had been eager to recruit more trained staff to her team. They had joined them when the war was already well underway. ‘Where were you thinking of?’

‘West End,’ said Belinda grandly. ‘We can get the bus. We’ll be there in no time at all. After the parsnip soup, of course, we wouldn’t want to miss that.’

‘Not after all this hard work.’ Bridget stood up and stretched. ‘Do you think we have enough yet, Gladys?’

Gladys looked around critically at the now-filled trug and the other bags the nurses had brought along. ‘Yes, that should do. Thank you, it would have taken me hours on my own.’

‘Hours you don’t have,’ Edith said under her breath. She had never known Gladys to have any time to herself and wondered if that would ever change.

‘We can go back and get cleaned up, then pop over to Dr Patcham’s,’ she said to Alice, who was shaking the worst of the earth from her hands. ‘Then I might write to Harry this afternoon.’

Alice nodded. ‘And I might write to Joe,’ she said quietly, unable to keep the delight from her voice.

‘Joe?’ Edith stopped in her tracks. ‘Joe? Have you finally heard from him?’ She was all but hopping on the spot.

‘Yes, at last.’ Alice gave a huge smile, allowing the strength of her feelings to shine through. ‘He’s safe; he’s probably based in Plymouth. He’s alive. I got a card this morning. He’s safe, Edie.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Peggy smiled as she caught sight of Belinda being swirled around the dance floor. Her partner was in a Canadian uniform and the top of his head reached as far as the tall nurse’s ear, but he was full of enthusiasm and she seemed to be having a good time. At least he was keeping to the right beat. It was too bad when you were asked for a dance and the man turned out to have two left feet.

The place was crowded and the air felt hot, despite the coolness of the winter evening outside. Peggy took a moment to compose herself. She had had three different dance partners so far, all of whom had been perfectly polite, friendly even, but she did not feel inclined to seek out any of them again. She didn’t want to give them false hope. She was interested only in dancing, nothing more. She patted her light brown hair into something like its intended shape.

Clarrie whirled by, the skirt of her bias-cut frock flaring out just as it was meant to, emphasising the shape of her calves. In this light, and moving at that speed, nobody would notice that the hem was frayed and the seams much mended. It had lasted for several dance seasons, and would have to last for many more unless the war ended soon. They all knew how unlikely that was.

Peggy grinned and shook her head as Clarrie raised her eyebrows at her and cocked her head a little to one side. She knew it was shorthand for ‘Are you going to dance with any of them again?’ Clarrie could be very protective, which Peggy appreciated, but she still didn’t want to accept a second dance with any of the young men.

She was in no hurry to get back on to the dance floor. Sometimes it was more fun to watch, guessing who was going to dance with whom, or trying to recognise anybody she had met here before. The music was lively and she tapped her feet along with the rhythm, almost without realising it. She knew most of the tunes from hearing them on the wireless, which was on full blast throughout her shifts at the factory.

‘You look as if you like the music.’

A voice sounded from just behind her, and she turned to meet the eyes of a man who was clearly a GI from his uniform. The Americans had begun to arrive now their country had entered the war good and proper and already some people resented their presence, but Peggy had nothing against them. He was taller than her, perhaps by a head. He was slimly built but she could tell he was fit from the curves of his muscles beneath his olive shirt. Something about the way he held himself made her think that he would be a good dancer.

‘Want to have a spin?’ He smiled, and his expression was bright, almost teasing. She thought his accent might be from New York – or as far as she could tell from watching Broadway Melody more than once at the local Odeon. His skin was a warm brown colour, a couple of shades lighter than his eyes, which sparkled as they fixed on her.

Suddenly the idea of standing at the edge and watching the entertainment was not as compelling. ‘Yes, all right,’ she said after a moment. It didn’t do to seem too keen.

His smile broadened as if he knew exactly why she’d made him wait, then he opened his arms and she stepped into them. She fitted exactly. As he began to move to the first notes of the new song, she knew she’d made the right choice. He was an excellent dancer – not flashy, but naturally assured. He made her seem as if she was far more accomplished than she’d ever been before.

‘Do I pass the test?’ he asked lightly, never missing a beat.

This time she didn’t pause. ‘You do,’ she said, tipping her head back and laughing in surprised delight.

‘Oh, I don’t want to go home yet.’ Peggy’s voice was full of regret. ‘Go on, Clarrie, stay for another song. Just one more.’ She gazed soulfully at the entrance to the dance hall as they lingered by the chilly cloakroom.

Clarrie shrugged into her big winter coat with the astrakhan collar. ‘No can do, Peggy. It’s my sister’s last day at home tomorrow and it’s all hands on deck to make her a Sunday roast to remember and give her a proper family send-off. She’ll have my guts for garters if I oversleep and ruin it.’

Belinda shivered theatrically as she pulled on her own big coat. ‘I’ll be too late for curfew but I can get in through the back fence and the common room window. Mary’s going to make sure it’s unlocked. I don’t want to push it too far, though, or they’ll think I’m taking the mickey.’ She buttoned up her cardigan all the way to the neck. ‘Good evening, wasn’t it? I think you’ve made a conquest, Peggy.’ She nodded to the group of American soldiers to one side of the entrance.

Peggy raised her eyebrows. She knew she should deny it and play along, but life was too short – she of all people should know that. ‘He was a lovely dancer,’ she said, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. ‘We only had a couple of turns though.’

‘Six or seven, more like,’ Clarrie said at once.

‘Ooh, who’s counting?’ Peggy didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed that her best friend had noted exactly how much of the evening she’d spent in the soldier’s arms. ‘Anyway they’ll all be off soon, so nothing will come of it. They’re just passing through.’ More’s the pity, she thought.

She fiddled with her clip-on earring; it had become tangled in her hair, which she had worn loose for once. It wasn’t a valuable earring, just paste, but she liked it – it was one of a pair Pete had given her for a birthday years before. She didn’t want to lose it. God knew she had little enough to remember him by.

‘Peggy?’

She was shaken from her memories by the voice at her side. It was the soldier.

‘You want me to walk you home?’ His voice was warm. ‘I’d be happy to do so.’ He gave a small grin.

‘No … no, you don’t need to bother. I’m with my friends.’ She nodded across to where Clarrie and Belinda were tying on their scarves.

‘It’s no bother.’ His smile grew and she had a sharp feeling of certainty that he meant it. Her knees weakened at that voice and those melting eyes. But he was just passing through.

‘Thanks, though.’ She wanted to prolong the moment a little longer.

‘Peggy, come on, we have to get the late bus,’ Clarrie called. People were milling all around them, all keen to catch the transport while they had the chance. The building was noisy, its once-smart gold paint now cracked and shabby in the dull light.

The soldier nodded. ‘You got good friends. I’m glad, cos I wouldn’t want no harm to come to you.’ He reached into his uniform pocket and brought out a small notebook and pencil. ‘Can I write to you, Peggy? Will you write to me? I’ll put down my address here, so you don’t forget me. The name’s James, in case that’s slipped your mind already.’

‘I don’t …’ Peggy was going to protest that there was no point, they’d had a fun evening and that was that, but then she asked herself what harm could it do? Maybe he would come through London again. He might be one of the lucky ones. ‘Yes, all right,’ she said. ‘Here, give me that, I’ll write it down.’ She hastily scribbled down the address of the house in which she lived with Pete’s mother, wondering if it was a betrayal of her late husband.

‘I’ll be sure to take good care of it,’ James assured her, tucking the notebook back into his pocket. ‘You do the same, now.’ His eyes flashed with good humour.

‘Peggy, come on!’ Clarrie was losing patience.

‘I’d better go.’ Peggy felt rooted to the spot. The noise of the crowds seemed like miles away; even the irritated sound of her best friend couldn’t pierce the shell around the pair of them.

‘Be seeing you,’ said James lightly, but in such a way that she knew he meant it. ‘I hope so anyway. So long now.’

‘So long.’ Peggy took a step away, raising her hand in a silly wave. She watched him turn and rejoin his friends, then was conscious of Clarrie tugging on her arm, and the spell was broken. ‘Yes, yes, coming, don’t fuss.’

The three young women hurried from the dance hall, along with scores of others, many in uniform, all buzzing from their night out. The bus stop was only a short distance away and, judging from the number of people there already, one must be due any moment.

‘Thank God for that, I hate waiting around in the cold after going dancing,’ grumbled Clarrie.

‘I know what you mean,’ Peggy muttered absently, her thoughts elsewhere.

‘Yes, you got quite overheated there,’ Clarrie said, raising her eyebrows.

‘Stop it. I was only having a bit of fun. You were dancing with plenty of men yourself – in fact the pair of you were.’ Peggy felt around for the small page from the notebook in her pocket.

Belinda chuckled. ‘Well, that’s why we came out, isn’t it? There were a few decent dancers there. Most of them a bit short for me, though. I don’t think I’ll ever find a man tall enough.’

‘What’s that game they play over there? Basketball, isn’t it? You need a basketball player,’ Clarrie said with certainty. ‘Look, isn’t that our bus? Quick, head for the top deck.’

Swiftly they climbed onto the bus and up the stairs, finding three seats together at the back.

‘What was that last song you were dancing to?’ Clarrie demanded, her eyes sharp as she observed Peggy’s response.

Peggy looked down at her hands. ‘“Whispering Grass”,’ she said slowly.

‘That’s by the Ink Spots, isn’t it? Your favourites.’

‘That’s right.’ Peggy’s mouth curved in a slight smile. They were her favourite singers and that was their best song. She’d never had the chance to dance to it with Pete but had often imagined doing so. She stared out of the window at the dim shapes just visible in the blackout and hummed the tune to herself, oblivious to Belinda and Clarrie’s teasing. They could say what they liked. This had been an evening to remember.

CHAPTER SIX

April 1942

‘I should have guessed this is where you’d be if you weren’t at the home.’

Alice pushed back the sleeves of her old jumper with muddy hands and squinted into the springtime sunshine, unable to properly make out the figure who called to her from the cracked pavement. But she knew that voice, despite not having heard it for far too long.

‘Joe! You’re back! You’re here! Why didn’t you say you had leave?’ She rushed across the vegetable beds of the victory garden and up the little slope that marked the boundary. Then she stopped short. ‘But … you’re injured.’ She took a breath. ‘What happened? Should you be here – haven’t they told you to rest?’ Anxiety creased her forehead as she reached to touch his arm, but then dropped her hand as she realised it was covered in earth. All the same her instinct was to stretch out and make contact, to convince herself that he really was there, and not a figment of her imagination. He was rarely far from her mind, even if there was nothing she could do to ensure his safety.

‘I’m on the mend, don’t worry.’ Joe automatically glanced down at the cast around his left leg, and gripped more tightly onto his walking stick. He hoped what he said was true and that he wouldn’t make a fool of himself by stumbling. Then he looked up again and met Alice’s concerned gaze and smiled broadly. ‘Honestly, I’m all right. I’m much better. It’s just a broken leg and they say it’s going to be fine.’

Alice frowned. Trust Joe to make light of it. She didn’t want to panic him but he must be in pain, and that cut her to the quick. ‘Shouldn’t you at least be on crutches? I’m not sure that a stick—’

‘Alice, don’t worry,’ Joe said hastily. That was the trouble with nurses. They never stopped doing their job. ‘I’ve been on crutches for weeks and I’m sick of them. They get in the way. People fall over them. I’d never have managed on a crowded train. Whereas with a stick, I can get around more easily and yet still get a seat. Works wonders, being a wounded sailor. You should try it.’ His eyes danced with merriment.

‘Maybe I will.’ She grinned, more relieved to see him than she cared to admit, a little more reassured now that he didn’t seem to be in agony. ‘Do you need to sit down now? We have some wooden boxes somewhere …’

Joe looked at the slope and the uneven ground beyond and shook his head. ‘No, and I can’t stay long. I just wanted to see how you were and to find out if you have plans for tomorrow.’

Alice took in how his appearance had changed since she last saw him. He had lost a little weight, she thought, although he was still tall and muscular, but he’d acquired more lines on his face. She could guess that he had indeed been in considerable pain recently. ‘Some of us thought we’d go to the special Easter service at church in the morning. Then maybe a walk, if it stays fine.’ She paused. She didn’t want to dig up bad memories but she had to know. He was too important to her. ‘Go on, tell me, put me out of my misery. How did it happen?’

Joe sighed. ‘All right. We were part of a convoy across the Atlantic and we got hit by a U-boat. I was lucky, I got out with only a broken leg – well, and a few cuts and bruises. Some of my crewmates died.’ She gasped in horror and he hastily continued. ‘We weren’t in the water for long, we got rescued by an American ship, it could have been far worse.’ He looked away, unable to watch her face as she took it in. He didn’t want to see her distress. ‘Then we got brought back to port and I’ve been laid up ever since.’