An Unsuitable Mother

Well, her parents might think they had covered everything, but the letters wouldn’t be coming here. In defiance, she hauled a stool up to her dressing table, and proceeded to write to her beloved, telling him what had just occurred. ‘But you needn’t worry,’ she assured Billy. ‘Nothing and nobody will ever stop me loving you …’

Once the envelope was firmly adhered, and its flap marked with ‘SWALK’ before it was concealed in her pocket for tomorrow’s post, Nell dragged the stool up to her open window, to take solace in the goings-on of the avenue, waving over her sill to the new people, whom she had yet to meet, and chatting to various neighbours until the light began to fade.

Words were terse and far between at the breakfast table the next day. Outwardly cowed, but secretly smug at having the letter to Billy in her pocket, Nell left at the usual time and posted it on her way to work. She was also to slip into the press office during her lunch hour and order two copies of the damning photograph – not purely from any sense of mischief, though certainly this was a bonus – mainly because she did not have any visual record of herself and Billy together, and it was such a good one. The prints would be ready to collect by the end of the week.

Despite having this to look forward to, though, she was, if anything, even more subdued upon coming home that Tuesday evening, for her visit to Billy’s former billet had been fruitless, no letter arriving from his hand.

Still, the fact that she appeared so passive did go someway to healing the rift with her parents. And after all, it was early days, Billy had only been gone forty-eight hours. Undaunted, yet missing him dreadfully, Nell had no need to be ordered to her room that night, but went willingly, pulling her stool to the dressing table and pouring out her heart.

And to her joy, the next day her visit to his digs was to be rewarded by an envelope which sported the endearment ‘ITALY’ – I trust and love you.

Treasuring his letter, and the one which came two days later, she was to read them again and again throughout that week. And also to pore over that memorable photograph, a copy of which was swiftly despatched to Bill, who had said how much he would value it. Thus Nell was to keep herself happily occupied, whilst waiting for her new position to commence.

Finally, the important day came. Instructed to report at eight a.m. to the railway sidings in Leeman Road – which, being at the far side of the network of lines, involved a journey by bus to the station, and then a short walk – Nell arrived in good time, though she was to find two others had beaten her to it. She offered a friendly hello, but being taller and much younger than both, and sticking out like a sore thumb, she felt too self-conscious to say any more for the time being.

The first response was to come from a stocky woman with bobbed auburn hair and a quiet, but mature and amicable way about her, whose smile and the shrewd twinkling glint in her blue eyes more than made up for any plainness. ‘I’m Beata Kilmaster,’ she began, in a soft Yorkshire accent. ‘Are you for the ambulance train as well?’

Before Nell could reply, the third in the group butted in knowledgeably, ‘We’re not meant to call it that, it’s a Casualty Evacuation Train, they’re totally different things.’

‘That’s me told then,’ said Beata, with an arch expression at Nell.

Liking her at once, Nell was now assigned leave to introduce herself. Having done this, she turned expectantly to the self-appointed oracle, whose response was concise.

‘Avril Joyson.’

Nell gave her a nod and a smile, but the latter was secretly for Bill, whom she imagined would have had fun describing this one. Avril’s face was that of a goldfish, cheeks sucked in as if blowing bubbles, and protuberant blue eyes that lacked either warmth or animation. Her tied-back hair was extremely thick and coarse, the colour of hay, and with a tight natural wave. Nell had to bite her lip to prevent herself from bursting out laughing – a goldfish with a thatched roof, Billy would probably have it.

Based only on looks, she much preferred the former woman, who, with her fresh complexion and russet hair, was more like a trusty Cox’s Pippin, and with whom she felt immediately at ease. ‘I wonder which one’s ours?’ She glanced around at the collection of locomotives that chugged and steamed around them, filling the air with their sulphurous hiss. Her query was mainly addressed to Beata, for Avril seemed to be more intent on scrutinising her than the trains.

‘Well there’s one thing, you won’t have any problem hefting patients about. Tall, aren’t you?’

Embarrassed, Nell turned to the speaker, who was looking her up and down quite shamelessly, and tried to shrug off the accusation. ‘Well, taller than average, I suppose …’

‘I can’t think why you’d want to make yourself even loftier with those high heels.’ Avril continued to criticise. ‘And they won’t like that lipstick.’

Already unsure of herself, Nell’s heart sank. Thank goodness she had one person who appeared to like her, as Beata smiled in rebuttal:

‘I don’t suppose the patients will care much, so long as we look after them.’

Thankfully there was someone else for Avril to look at soon, for at short intervals, the rest of the crew began to turn up: a portly mother and daughter duo named Green; a vivacious French woman, coincidentally bearing the surname of French, who could barely make herself understood; two more women of Beata’s age; and seven men.

‘Gosh, they’ve already got their uniforms,’ whispered Nell, as two very aristocratic-looking girls made a tardy appearance. ‘They look rather grand, don’t they?’

But it turned out that the pair had few airs and graces, and from their chummy introduction it appeared they would be more than willing to muck in, even if they were hoping to qualify as state-registered nurses and not mere auxiliaries. One might have guessed from their mannerisms that Lavinia and Penelope Ashton were sisters, but never twins, marvelled Nell, for the first was dark of countenance, the other fair and blue-eyed, the only similarities their height and their wavy hair. During a brief chat with the rest – not instigated by Nell, but by the thoroughbred girls – she discovered that the men were Salvation Army bandsmen, who were to act as stretcher-bearers. All except Avril were very pleasant, decided Nell, as she smiled and shook hands with each in turn. There was no chance to discover much more about her fellow volunteers, for preceding Matron Lennox, Sister Barber came on the scene then, a pretty, delicate-boned woman with fair hair and a heavily freckled face, who grudged them a smile before warning them to pay close attention to what their superior had to say.

Despite the clanking activity from the railway that went on around them, all became attentive to matron, who was starched in dress though not in manner, with pleasant, rather birdlike, features. It was an old-fashioned face, kind, her hair parted in the middle before disappearing under the neat little white cap, conjuring for Nell the spectre of Florence Nightingale.

Upon ascertaining everyone’s name, Matron Lennox was not to mince her own introduction. ‘No woman should offer herself as a nurse unless she is prepared for hard work, self-denial, and to take her share of occupations that are repugnant to every refined and sensitive being.’ Hands clasped before her, her periwinkle-blue eyes rested briefly but effectively on each and every female, allowing her sermon to permeate those ignorant minds. ‘Whether it be your intent to fulfil a lifetime vocation, or whether your services were offered purely from a view of public-spiritedness and only for the duration of the war, the attributes you will need to fulfil your role shall be the same. To whit: –’

To whoo! Nell looked at her feet to stop herself giggling.

– presence of mind, gentleness, accuracy, memory, observation and forethought. No matter what rank you are to achieve, these are essential to the wellbeing of your patients. You may find the way ahead severely taxing, and be especially overwhelmed during your initial introduction to the wards, and fear that there is far too much to learn. But you will not be expected to know everything at once, and, in possession of those qualities, in no time at all you will reach a standard where you can rightly be proud of your title.’ She finished on a smile, then briefly turned away. ‘Very well, Sister, let us show them what they’re in for!’

There followed a procession to the designated train, where Matron was to come to an abrupt halt.

Sister’s eyes penetrated the nearest recruit, who happened to be Nell. But before the latter could grasp her meaning, Beata had stepped forth and opened the door of the van for their superior.

Crushed by naivety, and wondering how Beata could have interpreted Sister’s mute instruction, Nell kept her head down as Matron ushered her group of nurses aboard one of the converted railway wagons, and proceeded to lecture them on what was required.

‘As you can see, even though the workmen have done their part, it is somewhat in the raw.’ Her declaration was unnecessary, for amongst a liberal sprinkling of sawdust were relics of its previous cargo: a wizened carrot and a shrivelled cabbage leaf. Matron began a slow tour, tapping the partitions that separated the ‘wards’ from the rest of the wagon. ‘This will eventually be the doctor’s office, this one for myself, this for the sister, and this is the nurses’ mess.’ She showed them how the stretchers would be installed in racks, one above the other. ‘But before any equipment is installed it will need to be cleaned from top to bottom, and for this it will be all hands to the pumps – so, as I announced earlier, I hope none of you is afraid of hard work. If you are then you’re in the wrong profession.’ She eyed them all with a face that was stern yet fair, as if allowing them this last-minute chance to withdraw.

At Sister’s prompting glare, Nell reacted a few seconds after everyone else. ‘Yes, Matron.’

‘Very well, I shall close by issuing a warm welcome to all, and leave you in Sister’s capable hands!’ And with this she departed.

With their superior gone, Sister Barber then proceeded to give her new nurses all the do’s and don’ts. And the don’ts seemed to be mostly for Nell’s benefit. ‘You’ll be expected to turn up in more sensible footwear tomorrow, Miss Spottiswood, and without lipstick!’

Nell’s humiliation was amplified by Avril Joyson’s told-you-so look, as Sister continued, ‘You won’t feel half so glamorous when you’re swinging the bedpans!’

Initially deceived by the warm smile of welcome and the freckled angelic face with its baby-blue eyes, Nell was quickly learning that this one would brook no nonsense. If Matron was Florence Nightingale, this was Florence Vulture.

‘For those of you who have been nurturing some romantic notion, let me make it plain that you are here under sufferance, and in the most fundamental capacity. Although you may be credited with the title “Nurse”, make no mistake, it is an honorary one. You are here as helpers. Some of you may go on to achieve distinction,’ her eyes flickered briefly to the Ashton girls, before settling on Nell, ‘others are merely here for the duration. But you are all starting out on the same footing, and there will be no lording it over others. I am here to see that you do not kill anyone. We must all of us make the best of it. But let it be known that I cannot abide giddiness or laziness. Neither will be tolerated.’

Having imprinted these opinions on them, Sister Barber began to interview them one by one. On discovering that the Frenchwoman had barely a word of English, she tutted in dismay to herself. ‘What on earth have they landed me with?’

‘Pardon?’ The French woman cocked her ear.

Sister mouthed loudly at her, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Zey send me!’ came the strangled response. ‘I nurse.’

‘But in England – why are you in England?’

‘Ah, mon mari.’ Mrs French groped for words. ‘’E Anglais!’

Sister heaved a sigh. ‘Good Lord, I’ll warrant you can barely count to ten …’

‘Mais oui!’ The other’s face brightened, and she proceeded to count aloud with pride, ‘Wan, doo, tree, four, fahve, sees, sevahn, ate, nahn –’

‘Yes, thank you!’ Sister held up her hand with a look of defeat, and moved on to the next in line. But she was to emit more frustration on encountering Nurse Green the elder, whose hair was snow-white and whose glasses were as thick as jam-jar bottoms. ‘Dare one enquire how old you are? No, please don’t tell me,’ she uttered quickly, ‘I’d rather not know.’ Her expression declared what a bunch of misfits she had been landed with, as she proceeded to interrogate the next.

With one ear to the conversation, Nell was making examinations of her own. First, Beata – was that swollen ankle as painful as it looked? Those plummy girls, who had arrived already in attractive uniform, how would they cope with all the unpalatable things that would be required of them? And Avril Joyson – she had obviously taken against Nell for the crime of being too tall; would she continue to be so obnoxious? What had made her so? But in the midst of trying to fathom Avril’s hostility, her reverie was to be interrupted.

‘And what about you, Nurse Spottiswood?’

Nell snapped back to attention. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Her face like a cold summer’s day, Sister Barber gave an exasperated sigh and brandished a packet of cigarettes at her. ‘You will address me as “Sister”! I asked, do you smoke?’

‘Oh, I won’t at the moment, thank you, Sister.’

The freckled face closed its eyes in lamentation of this gauche response. ‘I wasn’t offering you one! I was trying to ascertain if you smoked! For those of you who do, there will definitely be none of that in uniform!’

Why then, Nell wondered, did Sister herself have cigarettes in the pocket of her own blue dress? As if the other had read her mind, there came a warning that forbade her even to think of offering defiance. ‘The last thing a sick person needs is for his nurse to smell like a chimney!’

Unhappy that the pair of them had got off on the wrong foot, Nell tried to buck up her ideas, as she and the others were sent to a depot to collect said uniform.

Upon receipt, and out of earshot of Sister, Nell made salty judgement on the unattractive dress. It was much more basic than those worn by the aristocratic Ashton girls, with no separate white collar but a cutaway one of the same fabric as the dress, no long sleeves with white cuffs like theirs, but puffed short ones, and there could be no mistaking her for a ‘real’ nurse with the large letters NA emblazoned on her breast. And instead of a neat little organdie cap like Matron’s, or a voluminous starched one with wings to either side like Sister’s, the nursing auxiliaries’ headgear was little more than a white triangle tied at the back. ‘How unflattering,’ scoffed Nell. ‘Like a peasant’s scarf! Still, I suppose we should think ourselves lucky we’re not made to wear black stockings.’

‘It’s not a fashion parade,’ sniped Avril Joyson. ‘We’re here to help the war effort. And I’m not surprised you got taken to task in those high heels.’

But as the one with the goldfish pout minced out of earshot, the trustworthy Beata Kilmaster smiled back at Nell and admitted, ‘I’d love to be able to wear those, but I always have to wear sensible shoes with this leg.’ Nell’s eyes went straight to the other’s distended ankle. ‘And whatever type of shoes that one wore, she’d still be a pain in the arse – pardon my French.’ Beata chuckled in afterthought of the French nurse.

Nell giggled, and knew immediately that despite the age gap they would be firm friends. ‘I only meant about the uniform, when you’re built like I am, you need all the attractive camouflage you can get. I feel like a bag of spuds!’

But there was no time for any more banter, for they had been instructed to return immediately to the train. Once there, enveloped in aprons and armed with mops, buckets of water, soap and scrubbing brushes, the squad was set to work, men on the outside, females within. Nell threw herself into this wholeheartedly, imagining what her parents would say if they could see their daughter on her hands and knees. However, there could be no quibble about social division, because, to her pleasure and respect, the well-bred girls mucked in quite enthusiastically alongside everyone else.

It was obvious, though, that contrary to Avril Joyson painting herself as the dedicated nurse, she deemed these elements of the job beneath her, and it had not escaped Nell’s sharp eye that she had quickly volunteered for the easier task of wiping down the walls – meaning she did not acquire a crick in her neck from having to wash the ceiling, nor sore knees for scrubbing the floor, as Nell herself was suffering.

None the less, working her way along the wagon, with only a piece of sacking to cushion her kneecaps from the hard planking, the youngest one amongst them put in vigorous effort, moving her scrubbing brush back and forth along the dusty grooves, constantly scouring her knuckles and sending them redder and redder, yelping at splinters as she sweated and scrubbed alongside Beata Kilmaster. Her own joints being so punished, Nell marvelled at how poor Beata coped so well with her swollen leg. Casting a glance sideways now, as she uncoiled her aching spine, she noted that Beata’s shoulders were trembling. About to touch her in concern, she then realised that her friend was shaking with mirth, and, grinning along with her, she asked, ‘What on earth’s tickled you?’

‘It’s ironic,’ Beata arched her own back to relieve it, ‘you come and be a nurse to save you from skivvying, and what do you end up doing? Skivvying!’

Nell shared her merriment, but wasn’t certain that she understood. ‘Do you mean you were a domestic servant?’

‘Aye, for fifteen blasted years,’ declared Beata. ‘More if you count the unpaid ones.’

Nell frowned, but was too polite to ask how old the other was. All the same, she calculated that if Beata had been working for fifteen years that would make her around thirty. Realising that she was staring, she said quickly, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were –’

‘That old!’ Beata gave her chesty chuckle and finished Nell’s sentence. ‘It’s all right, I know I must seem ancient to a young lass like you.’

‘Oh, no!’ Nell struggled to explain, her scrubbing brush dripping as it paused idle in mid-air. ‘It’s just that you don’t talk down to me, as most of your generation would.’ Her smile said how much she appreciated this.

The other rejoined with her affable air, ‘I hate being patronised meself, so I never do it to others, no matter what age.’

Nell cast an impish glance to where Nurse Green and her snowy-haired mother worked side by side, and whispered to Beata, ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but Mrs Green looks, well, a bit like Methuselah’s wife!’

Beata shared her mischievous laughter. ‘Her daughter’s about fifteen years older than me, so missus must be at least sixty-five. She’ll get the elbow if they find out.’ Though how she had managed to slip through with her grandmotherly looks was inexplicable to both. ‘It’ll be a shame, though, she’s a damned good worker. She’d make three of Oh-be-Joyful.’

Guessing that she meant Avril Joyson, Nell rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, I noticed she was swift to volunteer for the easier bits. I wonder which of us will be first for the chop. Sister doesn’t seem to like me very much.’

‘She’s all right, she’s just strict,’ advised Beata. ‘I’ve had much worse task mistresses in my time – mindst, I think she’ll be getting rid of poor Frenchy before very long if her mangled English doesn’t improve.’

Nell agreed with a laugh. ‘It’s a shame, she seems so nice. We’ll have to help her.’

‘You might be able to. I don’t know any proper French. I don’t know how she and Green got through the interview. I had a stinker.’

Nell then pointed out an anomaly. ‘When I went for interview, they said we shouldn’t have any domestic duties – at least that was the impression I was given.’

Beata confirmed this, but made a cynical addition. ‘I’ve learned never to take an employer on trust.’

Nell pulled a face. ‘I brought a notebook to write down everything I’m taught, as a reminder, but I won’t forget this in a hurry.’ She winced at the gritty block in her hand. ‘Gosh, this blue-mottled soap’s taken the skin off my hands.’

‘At least there won’t be any germs left.’ Beata’s application was that of an expert.

Nell glanced at her partner’s leg and, with their characters being so harmonious, decided to risk an impertinent question. ‘I don’t mean to be nosey, but what’s the matter with your leg? It looks very painful.’

‘Lymphatic oedema,’ supplied Beata, still working whilst Nell paused. ‘They don’t really know what causes it. I’ve had it since I was about ten. The doctor said then it was either heart or kidneys so I was probably a gonner. But I’m still here, so I reckon it’s not so life-threatening.’ Her grin belied how awful it had been to have such a threat hanging over her for years, until a more competent physician had taken charge. ‘It just swells up from time to time. Bit of a nuisance, but there’s plenty worse off.’

Nell guessed that her new friend was in more dis comfort than she let on, and admired her stoicism. ‘You don’t complain much, do you?’

‘Oh, I have me moments,’ smiled Beata.

Nell was curious to know more. ‘It must have been hard, being in service.’

‘Not so different from this,’ revealed Beata. ‘As far as the hierarchy goes, anyway. I was always at the bottom of the ladder.’

Nell breathed a realisation. ‘So that’s how you knew to open the door for Matron …’

‘Quit slacking, nurses!’ called Sister, interrupting her own task, her ire mainly for Nell. ‘I hope you’re not going to be a troublemaker, Spottiswood.’

‘It was my fault, Sister,’ admitted Beata. ‘I was just explaining to Nell –’

‘If she requires an explanation regarding anything to do with nursing – which is all you should be discussing – then she must come and ask me! And you can dispense with the Christian names, from now on it’s surnames only.’

‘Yes, Sister,’ replied both subserviently, and launched back into their scrubbing.

But Nell was to protest when the gorgon was out of earshot, ‘We’ve both got such long names – and it sounds so unfriendly, doesn’t it? Do you think she’d mind if we shorten them?’

‘Spotty and Killie – I don’t think it’d inspire much confidence in our nursing skills, do you?’ grinned Beata, causing Nell to laugh too. At any event, these names were how they were to address each other from then on.

At the end of a very long day of hard labour, Beata’s leg blown up like a sausage and Nell’s knuckles red and bleeding and still embedded with the odd splinter, the nurses were allowed to go home at five, with the promise from Sister that there was plenty more work and longer hours to come.

‘So what are you going to be doing tonight?’ enquired Beata, as the pair of them limped their way from the noisy railway sidings into an equally grimy road. ‘If you’ve any energy left, that is. Have you got a boy to take you out?’

Nell ceased picking at her ragged fingernails, to cast a secretive smile at her much shorter companion. ‘As a matter of fact I have – but I’m only telling you and no one else. My parents would kill me.’ The twelve-year age gap was as nothing in this quickly established friendship, at least as far as Nell was concerned. ‘But I won’t be seeing him for a while, he’s been sent to London.’

‘You’ll be like me, then,’ Beata smiled up at her, ‘just sitting with your feet up by the wireless.’

At this point a small group of their colleagues caught them up. Having overheard the last statement, the more forthright of the upper-class twins said gaily, ‘No, we can’t have that! We’ve just been discussing starting up a band with those Sally Army chaps – a modern one, I mean, not banging the tambourine or anything! Can either of you sing? We’re going into town for dinner and to discuss names, come and join us.’