Authors: Maggie Hope
Tags: #Nurses, #World War; 1939-1945, #Sagas, #War & Military, #Fiction
A Wartime Nurse (20 page)
‘Nay, Matt, I’ll stay here and make sure we’re ready for the new year.’ Bea shook her head. ‘It’ll be nice to have the house to meself for an hour or two, I can listen to the wireless.’
In the sitting-room, while Chuck had his bath, Theda found herself alone with Clara as Bea had slipped out to see a friend. Clara was obviously waiting for the opportunity to speak to her and Theda’s heart sank. Her sister had a brittle air about her, vivacious and smiling and bright-eyed, but she was obviously having trouble keeping still. She rushed over to the fire and turned to stare at Theda.
‘Are you going to help me?’
Clara hissed out the question, her voice low but insistent. Her face was pale, but for two spots of colour high on her cheeks, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. Why her mother hadn’t tumbled to the truth, Theda couldn’t imagine. Except that she would never ever think it could happen to one of her girls . . .
‘Well?’
‘Clara, I don’t know what I could do, really I don’t.’
‘Don’t tell me that! You could if you wanted to, you a nurse. You must be able to get anything you want, if you would only try.’
‘Clara, I’ve seen girls coming in to the hospital, bleeding, some of them dying, because they’ve done something to themselves, taken something. You know yourself there was Mrs Downs from Winton Village – she almost died after taking something. It’s not worth it, Clara.’ Theda felt like weeping for her sister.
‘Whisht, Dad’ll hear you! Keep your voice down, for God’s sake!’ Clara whispered fiercely. She walked over to the sideboard on the opposite side of the room and stared fixedly at the wooden manger scene Matt had whittled. The baby in the manger was a tiny celluloid doll, an improbable shade of pink, its golden hair painted on along with bright red lips and china blue eyes. Suddenly she lifted her hand and swept the whole thing off the sideboard so that the doll flew across the shiny linoleum which covered the floor and landed, feet sticking up, in the proddy mat by the fire.
‘I swear I’ll go to that old wife in Shildon. I’ve got the money, you know!’
Theda was down on her knees, picking up the tiny figures and scraps of straw which littered the floor. She glanced anxiously at the connecting door to the kitchen but Chuck was singing ‘You Are My Sunshine’ tunelessly as he washed and evidently neither of the men had heard anything, thank goodness. Her mind was working furiously, she had to get Clara to think sensibly.
‘Don’t do that,’ she said, forcing herself to keep her voice down. ‘I promise I’ll see what I can do. But I wish you would just tell them—’
Seeing the desperate misery in Clara’s eyes, she stood up and dropped the figures on the sideboard and put her arms round Clara’s thin shoulders. They were both of them shaking, Clara struggling to recover her self-control.
‘I’ll help you. I will, Clara. I promise. But what do you think Dean would say if he knew what you were planning on doing?’
How she was going to help she had no idea, and immediately after she mentioned Dean she was sorry. It wasn’t a fair thing to do.
Clara moved away from her, turning her back. Theda’s words had had a calming effect on her. Now she had the promise, Theda doubted she had even heard the mention of the Canadian, but she had.
‘Dean’s dead, you know,’ she said, all the passion drained from her. ‘I know it. Violet and me, we went to the camp and asked for him. Missing over Germany, they said. I know what that means. So it’s just me who has to face it.’
Chuck began to whistle, his usual signal that he had finished his bath and was decent again. A few minutes later, the back door opened and they heard Bea’s voice. The girls went through to empty the bath and finish tidying up the kitchen before their mother could do it all herself.
‘You’ll have a fine time with us tonight,’ Clara was saying brightly as they went through the connecting door. ‘I’ll paint the seams on your legs for you if you like, and you can borrow my pink scarf I got for Christmas.’
‘You want nothing with that flighty lot, our Theda,’ advised Chuck. He was in his favourite position before the mirror in the press door, applying a generous coat of Brylcreem and combing his still damp hair into a quiff. ‘The last time me and Norma met her and Violet at a dance, Norma didn’t know where to put herself, she was that embarrassed at the wild way they were jitterbugging. Lord knows where they learned to jump in the air like that, showing all their legs and even their knickers.’
‘They didn’t, did they, Chuck?’ asked Bea, scandalised.
Seeing his sister’s furious face and realising he had said a bit too much, Chuck grinned sheepishly and backed down. ‘No, Mam, no, I’m only having a bit of fun. Of course they didn’t. Well, no more than that lass from that picture, you know, Betty Grable—’
‘Chuck!’
‘All right, all right, like I said, it was only a joke. Keep your shirt on.’ He turned back to the mirror and carefully combed a stray hair back into place, winking at Theda in the glass.
Chapter Sixteen
The New Year’s Eve dance was packed to overflowing. The Wearmouth family were there very early as Matt was one of the organisers, but they were far from being the first. All the seats around the floor were taken and Theda, who had hoped to be able to sit quietly in a corner, had to resign herself to standing with her sister and her friends in a group along the side of the hall. Ranged in a line opposite were the boys, hands in pockets, most of them young miners but with a sprinkling of khaki and Air Force blue among them. There was even a sailor standing there, his cap pushed to the back of his head, legs apart as he surveyed the girls.
The band was warming up, strange sounds coming from the stage at the end. The club had done them proud, she saw, hiring Phil Mason and his Swingers, a band well known in the area for their lively playing. Most of them played in the colliery brass band too, Phil being especially famous for his playing of ‘The Last Post’ at the Armistice Day parade. This didn’t seem to affect their rendering of ‘In the Mood’. They drew themselves into it heart and soul as they struck up the first quickstep.
Theda stood back behind Clara and her friends from the munitions factory; she felt set apart from them somehow. Most of her own friends were from the hospital and they were either working or at their own local dos. In any case, she was quite happy listening to the music and watching. In a minute she would go and give a hand in the supper room behind the stage – the Sunday School room it was really, but for tonight there were trestle tables set up with tea urns at one end.
She watched as Clara was claimed by a shiny-faced young miner from one of the rows, his fair hair slicked back from his pink forehead and smooth cheeks. He was trying hard to look more than his seventeen years, his ‘spiv’s’ tie a flamboyant orange and red against his blue utility shirt. For a minute Theda thought her sister would refuse him but she had been well-schooled in the manners of the dance halls and hesitated only briefly before smiling graciously and accompanying him on to the floor.
Now Clara was a different girl from the one who had been pleading so passionately with her only a few hours before. She sparkled, dark luxuriant hair dressed high in a roll over her brow and at her temples, and at the back flowing loosely over her shoulders. Her cheeks were no longer pale, her elaborate make-up saw to that, and her eyebrows were darkened even further by eyebrow pencil. She wore a deep blue crepe-de-chine dress, which hugged her figure and ended just above the knees. Theda reckoned it must have wiped out her clothing coupons for the next six months. But then, perhaps she had bought it for her Canadian, Dean whatever his name was.
Theda herself was wearing a plain black utility skirt with a thin box pleat in front but had lightened it with a white embroidered blouse, and stuck a diamante brooch Alan had brought her just under the collar. She had had the blouse for years. That was the advantage of having to wear uniform for most of the time, your good clothes lasted longer.
Most of the girls were dancing now, and the floor was filling up. A sedate quickstep, this one; it was still early in the evening. They hadn’t quite got into their stride as yet.
Theda edged her way along the side of the dance, aiming for the supper room, but before she got there she was stopped by the sailor.
‘You dancing?’
Automatically the response came. ‘You asking?’
‘I’m asking.’
She grinned as he led her out on to the floor, threading his way through the bystanders until he came to a space. He was a good dancer, she realised, holding her firmly but not too closely, concentrating on the music. She relaxed, getting into the rhythm. They circled the hall, passing Clara who winked at her and then grimaced as her partner trod on her toes. On the stage, Matt was talking earnestly to the band leader but looked up as he saw Theda dancing and gave her a pleased smile.
‘You live around here?’ the sailor asked, and she waited while they executed an involved turn before replying.
‘West Row. In Winton Colliery.’
‘That right? Wha’s your name then?’
‘Theda. Where are you from?’
‘Bishop.’
The conversation was cut short as the dance ended and the dancers split up, most of them going to their own side of the hall. He grinned at her and murmured thanks and then she was back in the crowd of girls.
‘By, it’s a wonder I have any feet left,’ remarked Clara, bending down and rubbing her foot. ‘Take my tip: if you see that one heading for you, hide in the lavatory. He’ll soon make your foot bad again.’
Matt announced an old-time waltz and then threaded his way through the dancers to his daughters. ‘Howay, then, Clara. I’ll show you how dancing should be done,’ he said.
The evening was getting underway properly; the hall, which had been cold at first, was warming up. Phil was leading the band in the ‘Blue Danube’ and some of the older people were joining the dancers and circling the floor.
‘May I have this dance?’
The voice came from over her shoulder and Theda jumped. She had been watching her father and Clara and thinking over her conversation with her sister earlier on, her thoughts sombre.
‘Oh! I’m surprised to see you here!’
Ken Collins raised his eyebrows. ‘You are? But you know I often come out here, I stay with Uncle Tucker, remember?’
‘Yes, but—’
She stopped speaking as he took her arm and led her on to the floor. She could hardly say that she thought this humble dance, put on by the Working Mens’ Club, wouldn’t be a place she would expect him to frequent. But that was the truth. Yet when she thought about it, Tucker Cornish always came to these things, even if he only put in a token appearance and left early.
‘Yes, but what?’ asked Ken as they began to dance. His limp was hardly noticeable but it was there and provided a reason.
‘Well, I mean, with your bad leg—’
‘Oh, it’s not so bad. I don’t need crutches anymore. Perhaps you’ve noticed I get around the wards under my own steam. Though I may ask you to sit down early if the dance goes on for long.’
They circled the floor in silence and she was very conscious of his arms around her, the smooth feel of his uniformed shoulder under her hand. She caught the eye of her father as he danced majestically round with Clara on his arm and looked away hurriedly, not wanting to see his speculative expression. The music came to an end and the dancers stood for a minute as the band changed their music for the second part.
‘We could sit down, if you don’t mind?’ said Ken.
‘Of course, if you wish,’ she answered. She almost called him ‘Doctor’, she was feeling so awkward.
There were no available seats in the hall and the supper room was still closed. It was another hour before it would open. Ken glanced quickly around and then took her arm.
‘All the seats are taken. Shall we go outside? It’s a clear night, we can sit in the car and look at the stars.’
Oh, dear, Da wasn’t going to like that. Even for the so-called fast girls this was a bit early to be going outside with a chap. Theda’s doubt showed on her face.
‘Look,’ he said a trifle impatiently, ‘I’m not about to seduce you. I simply want to sit down for a while, and I would like your company while I do. That’s all there is to it.’
He did look a little strained, it showed in the tired lines around his face. Theda looked around quickly for her father but he was nowhere to be seen. Oh, well, he probably wouldn’t notice anyway, he was so happy that the dance was obviously going to be a great success.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll come.’
Outside it was indeed a lovely night, cold and crisp with a clear sky showing the stars and a broad frosty ring round the moon.
They sat in the car, Theda wondering weakly what she was doing there. The moonlight filtered dimly through the windows, showing only his profile. There was no light escaping from the hall except when the doors opened. And of course the streetlights, which before the war had been lit by gas from the pit, were dark and had been for more than four years.
A shaft of moonlight lit the top of the hedge close by and Theda shivered with the beauty of it.
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