Queenie (29 page)

But Mr Dobbin was now twiddling knobs and waving a strange metal shape in the air. Suddenly we
saw
a grey and white picture flash across the front of the box and heard the sound of cheering!

‘Oh my giddy aunt!’ Gillian exclaimed. ‘It’s a television set!’

We had all heard of televisions, but none of us had one at home. But here was one of these magic boxes in our own ward – so we could watch the Coronation!

‘It’s all due to Sir David, bless him,’ said Nurse Bryant. ‘He’s ordered a set for every single ward, so that none of the patients should miss the Coronation. And we can see it too, eh, Smithy? Isn’t it marvellous?’

‘We’ll be able to watch it all?’ I said.

‘It’ll be just like being up in London,’ said Nurse Bryant. ‘In fact, you’ll have a much better view!’

A sudden hope made me shiver. ‘Oh Nurse Bryant, is every hospital having a television – even a sanatorium?’

‘It depends if they’ve got a consultant as generous as Sir David,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t think so.’

I
would. I willed there to be a television in Nan’s ward with every fibre of my being. ‘And we’ll watch the Coronation together, Nan, just like we planned,’ I whispered, shutting my eyes tight and clenching my fists, making the strongest wish I could manage.

‘Elsie? You won’t see anything with your eyes shut, silly,’ said Nurse Bryant.

For the first day ever we weren’t pushed out onto
the
veranda. Our beds were crammed together, mattresses touching, in a little line in front of the television. Angus was put at an angle to help him see better. The nurses propped the rest of us up with extra pillows, so that we felt a little dizzy and dis-orientated. We all stared at the tiny grey picture, straining to hear the commentary.

‘That’s Richard Dimbleby talking,’ said Nurse Bryant, showing off her knowledge to Nurse Smith. ‘I’ve heard him on the radio. He’s very good.’

He was telling us about all the lords and ladies going into the great big church.

‘That’s Westminster Abbey,’ said Nurse Bryant, determined to give us her own commentary.

We stared at all the posh people in their stiff outfits. Michael waved to them and we all half expected them to wave back. Hundreds of posh people crammed themselves into Westminster Abbey, while thousands and thousands of ordinary folk cheered outside in the rain. I narrowed my eyes, concentrating fiercely, searching the grey crowds – madly looking for Nan and me.

The commentary went on and on, and grew just a little bit boring. Where was the Queen? She was the one we all wanted to see.

Then, at last, we saw the coach.

‘The golden Coronation coach,’ said Nurse Bryant –
but
it was a disappointing grey on the screen. The horses were all whitey-grey. The Queen herself was pale grey, even her curls and lipstick. I couldn’t help feeling terribly disappointed.

The others pointed and called enthusiastically, still enchanted by the little television picture. I was interested when we went inside the abbey with the grey Queen, and I liked the grand music – but there was so much talking in between. Nurse Bryant and Nurse Smith still watched, absorbed, but we children all started fidgeting and whispering amongst ourselves. Then, eventually, a man in a long robe held the crown high above the Queen’s head and solemnly lowered it, cramming it down on her forehead. A voice rang out: ‘God save the Queen!’ and soon the whole abbey was echoing it.

‘God save the Queen!’ said Nurse Bryant and Nurse Smith, standing up in deference.

We couldn’t stand, of course, but we all said ‘God save the Queen’ too, though Babette and Maureen went into peals of giggles afterwards.

Queenie came wandering into the ward, clearly wondering why we weren’t out on the veranda. She eyed us all warily, alarmed because our beds weren’t in their usual positions.

‘Here, Queenie,’ I said, clicking my tongue at her encouragingly.

She hesitated, not quite sure what she wanted to do, but then readied herself and jumped up onto my bed.

‘There, darling Queenie,’ I said, reaching for her.

She butted her head against the palm of my hand, wanting me to make a fuss of her.

‘God save our Queenie,’ I said, and Martin and Gillian and Rita and Angus all said it too.

‘Elsie! Show some respect,’ said Nurse Bryant, but she wasn’t really cross.

We watched the Queen make her way slowly out of the church, holding her head very stiffly and carefully, and then she got back into her coach while the crowd outside cheered and cheered. She smiled a little now, and gave elegant waves as if she were languidly fanning herself. We all waved back now, Martin messing about, fluttering his eyelashes and pursing up his lips.

Then all the posh people filed out of the abbey into the rain, and the solemn voice told us who everyone was all over again. They all looked the same except for the large black Queen of Tonga, Queen Salote. She got a really big cheer because she kept the roof of her carriage down so everyone could see her.

‘Oh my, what a treat!’ said Nurse Bryant, rushing round giving us all a hug.

There was another treat for supper too. We were all given a wonderful plate of creamy chicken.

‘It’s special Coronation chicken,’ said Nurse Bryant. ‘The recipe’s been in all the papers. Oh, God save our cook as well as our Queen!’

I’d only ever had chicken at Christmas before. It was white and tender and it didn’t have any fat at all. I decided it was my absolute favourite food. It was a bit of a struggle saving some for Queenie, but worth it when I did. She ate it up with immense relish, mewing for more.

We thought Mr Dobbin would come and pack the television back in its box. It was such a thrill when we realized that it was here to stay. We were pushed in early from the veranda now, our beds crammed together at five o’clock so that we could watch
Children’s Hour
on the television.

We thought it was all wonderful, but I liked the puppet Mr Turnip best, with his little dancing walk. I begged some wool from Mrs Rhodes and tied long strands to Albert Trunk’s legs, but no matter how I pulled he couldn’t get the knack of walking. I got cross with him and gave him a little tap. I only meant to give him a tiny smack for being uncooperative, but he tumbled right off the bed and disappeared.

‘Oh Albert Trunk!’ I said, reaching out desperately with my arm.

‘Whoops! You’ve lost him now, Gobface,’ said Martin. ‘Oh dear, I can just see him upside down on
his
silly head. Watch out he doesn’t get swept up with the rubbish.’

‘Stop it! He won’t be swept up,’ I said, wriggling myself inch by inch to the edge of my bed.

‘Oh yes he will,’ said Martin. ‘He’s rubbish now, all dust and gunge. They’ll throw him away.’

‘No they won’t. They’ll just send him off to be fumigated,’ Angus called, trying to comfort me.

It only made me more agitated. I knew they probably wouldn’t throw Albert Trunk away. Even Nurse Patterson had given my pyjamas back eventually. But they were so strict about dirt and germs, they
might
just take Albert Trunk off to be fumigated – and then he would come back smelling horrible again.

I looked around for Queenie. She was right at the other end of the ward, pacing the empty spaces where our beds were when we weren’t watching television.

‘Queenie! Over here, Queenie girl. Fetch! Fetch Albert Trunk for me,’ I called.

Queenie looked up and gazed at me balefully. ‘Don’t try to treat me like a silly little dog,’ she said, and stalked off.

‘Then I’ll fetch him myself,’ I said determinedly.

I edged slowly across my bed, taking hold of my splint and dragging my bad leg along with me.

‘Don’t!’ said Gillian. ‘You’re not supposed to do that! You’ll bust it!’

‘I have to get Albert Trunk,’ I gasped, sweat prickling under my arms with the effort.

‘The nurses will come along soon. They’ll pick him up,’ Gillian told me.

‘But then he’ll be fumigated.’

‘No he won’t! They only do that for our stuff when we first get here in case we’ve got bugs from home,’ said Gillian.

‘I didn’t
have
any bugs!’ I said indignantly.

The rush of anger gave me a little strength. I shoved hard, and then I was teetering on the very end of the bed. There were barely two inches between my bed and Martin’s – just enough room for me to slide my arm down and fish up poor Albert Trunk.

‘
Don’t
, Gobface.’ Martin was sounding a little panicked now. ‘You can’t reach him and you’ll only hurt yourself.’

‘No I won’t,’ I said, with one last thrust – and then my body shifted into thin air, and the whole of me went hurtling downwards and landed with an almighty thump on the floor.

‘Nurse! Nurse! Nurse, come quick! Elsie’s fallen!’ Gillian shrieked.

I lay very still.

‘Oh no! She’s killed herself! It really
is
the Bed of Doom!’ said Martin.

I was so stunned I couldn’t work out whether he
was
right or not. Was I dead? I couldn’t seem to move. I couldn’t see anything. My ears seemed to be the only bit of me that was working. Perhaps I was a ghost now. Was heaven a land above a magic tree? But how could I climb the ladder? My poorly leg was far too heavy – and my
other
leg throbbed too. No, it didn’t just throb, it hurt unbearably – and it seemed to be crumpled in an odd way, kicking out weirdly at the knee as if I were trying to do the Charleston.

I heard a weird slithering noise. I opened my eyes and saw Nurse Bryant propelling herself towards me underneath my bed.

‘Oh my Lord, Elsie Kettle! What have you done to yourself?’ she gasped.

Nurse Smith frantically pulled the beds to one side so they could get at me properly. I was so scared I tried to roll away from them, but a terrible pain shot right up my leg – my
good
leg – to my hip.

‘Please don’t be cross,’ I whimpered. My voice seemed to have broken too. It was just a tiny whisper.

‘I’m flaming
furious
,’ said Nurse Bryant, but she was touching me very gently and tenderly all over, tutting when she got to my legs. I hoped she would twist my good leg back into place for me, the way I manipulated my celluloid dolls’ legs when they got stuck the wrong way, but she didn’t even touch it.

‘My leg hurts,’ I said.

‘I dare say it does. You’ve clearly broken it,’ said Nurse Bryant. ‘Better run for Sister and Sir David, Smithy. Someone senior needs to assess this little jobby. Heaven help us if the tubercular leg is broken too. Oh Lordy, they’re going to have our guts for garters.’

‘It wasn’t your fault!’ I said. I couldn’t bear the thought of getting any more nurses in trouble, especially not Nurse Bryant, who was my second favourite after Nurse Gabriel.

‘It’s our job to look after you and to stop you flinging yourselves out of bed. Whatever possessed you, child?’

‘I was trying to reach my elephant! He tumbled out of bed because he wouldn’t walk like Mr Turnip,’ I said, starting to sob.

‘God save her, she’s not making any kind of sense. Is she delirious?’ asked Nurse Smith.

‘No, this one’s always mad as a hatter. Will you run for
help
, Smithy,’ said Nurse Bryant, but she fumbled for Albert Trunk under the beds and sat him on my chest. ‘There now, here’s Jumbo Doo-Da come to cheer you up.’

‘He’s Albert Trunk,’ I sniffed, clutching him fiercely.

‘Lie still now. No moving at all until you’re properly assessed,’ said Nurse Bryant. ‘Especially don’t try to move your head.’

‘Has she broken her neck, Nurse Bryant?’ Martin asked.

‘Oh Elsie, we
told
you not to do it,’ said Gillian.

‘Yeah, we told you,’ echoed Rita.

‘Maybe you’re
all
broken and you’ll have to be in a plaster bed like Angus,’ said Martin.

‘No she won’t,’ said Angus. His voice was quavery but he spoke as clearly as he could. ‘Don’t worry, Elsie. You’ll be all right. And if you
do
have to go in a plaster bed, it’s not too terrible. It just gets a bit itchy, that’s all. Don’t get upset, please.’

I swallowed hard. ‘Thank you, Angus. You are a true friend,’ I said hoarsely.

‘Now now, Elsie, don’t try to speak,’ said Nurse Bryant. ‘But you’re right, Angus is indeed a true friend. Plaster beds aren’t so very dreadful, but I don’t think you’ll need one. As far as I can see, you’ve simply broken your good leg, though heaven help us if your bad leg is broken too.’

Nurse Smith came scurrying back with reinforcements, including Sir David himself, in his shirtsleeves. I got really scared again, but he was so gentle, feeling me all over and then supervising the nurses as they lifted me back into bed. I was wheeled along to be X-rayed in the main hospital, my splint taken right off. Oh, the joy of getting that leg free again, though it looked alarming, like a little white
matchstick
. My other leg was even more worrying, kicking out at its new awkward angle.

‘Clean break, thank goodness,’ said Sir David.

They operated the next morning. I was told to breathe into a horrible rubber mask.

‘I don’t want to!’ I protested, but someone held it hard over my nose and mouth, and I suddenly slipped into a dream world. There was Nan, her arms outstretched, sitting me on her lap and giving me a big hug. She told me again and again that I was her own special girl and she loved me so, in spite of my legs – and when I looked down, I saw they’d both grown enormously into huge crooked giant legs stretching right across the carpet, the feet pressed hard against the wall, terror legs that made me scream.

‘Now now, Elsie, calm down, my little love,’ said Nan.

Then her voice changed. ‘There now, Elsie, it’s all right. Calm down, dear.’

I opened my eyes, and there was
Nurse Gabriel
, her white nurse’s cap outlining her head like a halo.

‘Is it really you, Nurse Gabriel?’ I mumbled. ‘You’ve got your uniform on.’

‘Yes, because I’m on duty in the men’s ward, but I came haring across in my lunch break to check on you. I heard you’d been wilfully flinging yourself out of bed, you daft banana!’ She gently poked me on my nose.