Christmas for the District Nurses Read online

  CHRISTMAS FOR THE DISTRICT NURSES

  Annie Groves

  Copyright

  Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

  Copyright © Annie Groves 2019

  Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

  Cover photographs © Jonathan Ring (models), Lebrecht Music & Arts / Alamy Stock Photo (background)

  Annie Groves asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008272272

  Ebook Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008272289

  Version: 2019-10-04

  Dedication

  Heartfelt thanks to Teresa Chris, Kate Bradley and Penny Isaac, without whom the stories of the district nurses would never have been told.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Keep Reading …

  About Annie Groves

  Also by Annie Groves

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER ONE

  December 1941

  ‘I don’t see why I have to do it. Why can’t you?’

  Gladys shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew that there would be no point in getting angry with her younger sister. That never achieved anything. ‘Because I’m on duty this evening,’ she said calmly.

  Evelyn threw up her hands, groaning theatrically. ‘Of course you are. You’re always on bleeding duty. Proper saint, you are. How did they ever manage without you?’

  Gladys took the two steps necessary to cross their tiny kitchen and reached for her gabardine coat that hung on the back door. She still hadn’t grown out of the thrill of putting it on, of having her own uniform. She’d waited long enough to be able to join the Civil Nursing Reserve. She was damned if she was going to let her sister make a drama out of nothing, yet again. ‘What’s so important that you can’t make a bit of stew?’ she asked.

  Evelyn scowled. ‘I was going to do my hair.’

  Gladys laughed. ‘Do what to it? Didn’t you just do it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand,’ Evelyn snapped meanly. ‘It’s not as if you ever took any trouble with yours. Look at it, just hanging down straight, all flat and horrible.’

  Gladys shrugged, pulling on her heavy coat. She knew her mousy-brown hair was lank but she was far too busy to spend hours curling it in papers or hunting down bleach or whatever smelly substance it was that Evelyn used to lighten her carefully coiffured locks. ‘Not much point when it’s mostly hidden by my cap,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Exactly.’ Evelyn pouted. ‘You’re always down that blasted first-aid post, when you aren’t running round after those district nurses in their precious home. You never have no time for us no more. I have to do everything and it’s not fair.’

  ‘Not fair?’ Gladys couldn’t bite back her instinctive response. ‘I tell you what’s not fair. Having to miss nearly all my schooling cos Ma couldn’t cope with all seven of us. Working my fingers to the bone for you lot when I was only a kid myself. Only learning to read when I started work at the nurses’ home. Even that was just good luck in that two of them made time to teach me. Now, when I finally get a chance to do nursing like what I’ve always wanted, you still expect me to cook for you first, so you don’t have to give up an evening doing your hair.’

  Evelyn wasn’t impressed. ‘Oh, not that again. Poor old Gladys. You’d have hated school anyway – I know I did. So count yourself lucky.’

  ‘Pity you didn’t make the most of what chances you had,’ Gladys said, taking out a pair of navy gloves from her coat pocket.

  ‘I don’t need school learning for what I’m going to do.’ Evelyn’s eyes flashed boldly.

  Gladys paused. This was new. ‘What do you mean?’

  Evelyn folded her arms in defiance. ‘I’m going to go on the stage.’

  Gladys stood still and stared. ‘You’re going to what?’

  ‘Go on stage.’ Evelyn sounded more defensive now. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Glad. I’ve got a good voice, I have, and I’m going to be famous like those film stars. I could be the next Vivien Leigh.’

  ‘Your hair’s the wrong colour,’ Gladys pointed out. Typical, she thought. She herself had a good voice, and it wasn’t being boastful to think so, because one of the district nurses who was really musical had told her so. But she wasn’t daft enough to imagine she could go on stage with it. A few carols around the home’s piano were enough for her. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to go. There’s a bit of lamb on the cool shelf in the larder and potatoes under the sink. Make sure they all wash their hands before they eat. Oh, and by the way,’ she halted briefly before stepping out into the cold of the December evening, ‘you might have to wait before you start your stage career. The government’s just brought out a law saying that every woman who’s not married between twenty and thirty has to sign up for war work. I don’t think they count singing.’

  Evelyn snorted. ‘You’re just jealous. I’m not twenty yet, anyhow.’

  ‘Not far off, though,’ Gladys shot back. ‘You’ve got, what, about eighteen months to become a star, then you’ll have to sign up for the Land Army or whatever.’

  ‘Never! I’ll break my nails.’ Evelyn looked aghast. ‘But I tell you what, I shan’t ever do what you do. I think it’s disgusting, all that blood and all. You don’t know who half those people are or anything.’

  Gladys smiled, unmoved by her sister’s final comment. She carried on smiling as she made her way along the back lane and headed towards the first-aid post, which was in t
he nearby church hall. She didn’t care what anybody else thought. She had believed that nursing was beyond her wildest dreams and yet here she was, about to start a shift in a job she loved. It didn’t matter that she’d already done a day’s work, cleaning and cooking at the nurses’ home. She truly could not think of a better way to spend her evening.

  ‘You awake, Billy?’ Kathleen turned over on the narrow mattress and shook the shoulder of the man lying next to her. ‘It’s nearly time for your shift.’

  Billy groaned. ‘Just two minutes’ more kip, Kath.’ He stretched, his feet pressing against the cold wall of the small room. He’d often wished he was taller, but now he realised his average height was a blessing. He wouldn’t have fitted into Kathleen’s bed otherwise. Strictly speaking he shouldn’t have been there at all.

  ‘It’s no good, Billy. I can’t hold back the clock. Shall I make us a cup of tea while you get ready?’ Kathleen was half out of the bed but he pulled her down to him again and stopped her.

  ‘Let’s wait a bit. Let’s have a cuddle, warm me up before I have to go out.’ He smiled up at her, scarcely able to credit his good fortune. Here they were, together at last. It wasn’t exactly as he had imagined it, squeezed into a tiny bedsit instead of their own home, but he didn’t care. As long as he had Kath with him, he could move mountains.

  She sighed. ‘Not long now and we’ll have a proper big bed.’

  ‘That day can’t come soon enough,’ Billy agreed, moving his feet so they didn’t touch the freezing wall. ‘We’ll deserve it an’ all. Lord knows we’re due a bit of comfort, you and me.’

  Kathleen hugged him, pressing her face into his dark hair, cut short but still with a bit of curl to it. She still had to pinch herself sometimes. Despite the disappointment of having to postpone their wedding, she counted herself lucky to be in his arms. She didn’t care about the poky room. She had never known much better, and soon they would have their own home, a real house with a separate bedroom for her little boy, and their own yard out the back which they wouldn’t have to share with anyone.

  She shifted slightly, careful not to make too much noise. Her landlady lived downstairs and didn’t approve of Billy coming to visit, although she generally turned a blind eye. Sometimes Kathleen felt guilty that they had pre-empted their wedding vows. But after the horror of what had happened, she couldn’t bear the thought of never having had Billy in her arms, not knowing his love. Life could be snuffed out at any moment.

  For years she had lived in a small downstairs flat on a side street in Dalston. She had moved in when she’d married her first husband, Ray, full of hope for the future. That had soon vanished when she realised what sort of man he was – mean, unreliable, violent. She’d been blinded by his good looks, although everyone had warned her. She hadn’t listened. The only good thing to come out of the marriage was her boy, Brian, who would be three in the new year. Now Ray was dead, killed down at the docks where he’d been trying to cash in on the black market.

  Kathleen had tried to show some respect for him; he was her son’s father and she wanted to do the right thing. However, she had been harbouring her secret love for Billy ever since the scales had fallen from her eyes about Ray. They had been at school together and, once Ray had disappeared, supposedly to find work, she would never have managed if it hadn’t been for Billy helping her out, along with their good friends around the corner, the Banham family.

  She had been overjoyed when Billy had proposed. He’d announced it at a Banham family christening and it had brought tears to her eyes when she saw how happy her closest friends were for them. Finally it looked as if their life together could begin.

  Billy had always lived with his mother, who had been thrilled to hear that her son had at last become engaged to the love of his life. However, she felt she was too old to cope with a toddler around the house. Billy had understood. He had planned to move in with Kathleen after they married, even though her place was really just one big room with a back kitchen and a shared privy in the yard. He was out most of the time anyway, working down at the docks in Limehouse, or on ARP duty in the evenings.

  They’d fixed the date even while the Blitz had rained down on the streets around, causing havoc, destroying houses, roads, entire families. They had been under no illusions about the danger, but one day in the summer their plans fell apart.

  Kathleen had been at home with Brian when she heard the familiar wail of the air-raid siren, which had sounded practically every night for months on end. ‘Off we go, then,’ she’d said to her little boy, hurriedly bundling him into his siren suit and snatching up the bag she kept in readiness by the front door. Together they had hurried to the local church hall, set up for those who had no Anderson shelters in their gardens. At the last minute she had decided it would be quicker to push him in his old pram, and that meant she could load the shelf underneath it with his teddy bear and wooden bricks, extra food, and a few of her own essentials.

  Never had she been so thankful to have acted quickly. When the all clear came the next morning, they had returned to a scene of devastation. Jeeves Place had taken a direct hit, and Kathleen’s home was nothing but a pile of smouldering bricks. She could see straight through to the yard and the houses that had backed on to it. Neighbouring properties had lost all their windows, some of their roofs and brickwork. The smell was indescribable.

  ‘This your place?’ a kindly policeman had said. ‘Afraid you can’t come any closer – it’s not safe.’

  ‘But … my things,’ she had gasped. ‘All my clothes, all my boy’s clothes, they’re in there.’ Even as she said it, she recognised that they had very little left behind worth saving.

  ‘You can come back later when we’ve made it secure,’ the policeman had suggested. ‘Do you have anywhere you can go in the meantime?’

  Kathleen had gulped, taking in the changes to her old street. Its narrow pavements were shrouded in dust and rubble, a few residents grey-faced with shock standing at the far end beyond the cordon. ‘Y-yes, I think so.’ She hoped the Banham household was still standing. She didn’t think her shaking legs would take her any further.

  She had the desperate urge to get Brian away from all of this before he could realise what was going on, that the only home he had ever known was now in ruins. ‘We’ll go to my friends,’ she had said, and swung the pram around as fast as she could.

  It was a matter of minutes before she arrived at the Banhams’ front door, which was still mercifully in place. Jeeves Street had taken a pounding earlier in the summer and there were gaps in its once-solid terraces, but the house she sought was intact. True, the air stank of fires and brick dust and, worse, an underlying stench of decay and rust. But the Banham home, for years her sanctuary, stood firm.

  Mattie, her best friend, had cried with relief and hugged her hard before pulling her into the heart of the house, the big kitchen, with its view over the awkward wedge shape of not-quite-garden. Flo, Mattie’s mother, had immediately set about making tea and pouring precious orange juice for Brian, as Mattie still got extra for nursing her younger child. Kathleen had collapsed onto a chair, relieved beyond measure that she was safe and so were her closest friends and their children. Mattie’s father, Stan, was an ARP warden in the same section as Billy, and Flo promised to inform him at once that they were in one piece. ‘We thought you would be,’ she said. ‘We knew you went to the church shelter whenever the siren went, no matter what time of day or night. We all squashed up into our own shelter, packed in like sardines we was.’

  Kathleen had stared around, taking in Mattie, her face tear-streaked, with her daughter Gillian pulling at her sleeve, and younger child Alan grizzling from his cot in the corner – the one that Gillian and Brian used to share when they were smaller. Flo looked worried but resolute, as usual. Only then, once Kathleen had her cup of tea and could see that Brian was chatting away happily to his teddy, did it occur to her that everything would have to be changed.

  So the wedding was po
stponed until Kathleen and Billy could find somewhere to set up home together. That was easier said than done. Both wanted to stay in the area; as well as Billy’s mother, his work was relatively close by. Kathleen had family down in Haggerston but wasn’t close to them. They had all but washed their hands of her when she had married Ray against their advice, and although she sometimes visited her mother, it was more out of duty than anything else.

  She and Mattie had often talked about taking Brian, Gillian and Alan out of Hackney to somewhere safer in the countryside; as mothers of such small children they would be eligible to be evacuated with them. Yet it was hard to leave Mattie’s parents. Both of Mattie’s brothers had joined up when war had broken out, Joe in the navy and Harry in the army. Harry had vanished at Dunkirk and for many bleak months everyone believed he was dead, but he had survived … just. He was still recovering in hospital, and was in no position to help his parents should they need it. Mattie’s husband Lennie had been taken prisoner at the same time and nobody could say when he would be home, though they all talked determinedly of ‘when’ and not ‘if’.

  Mattie and Kathleen had worked together to keep the household running smoothly, while everyone kept their ears to the ground in case word of a house or flat came up. Even so it was many months before Stan got wind of anything likely.

  Then, in November, he’d been on duty one night when there had been an accident with a gas main and he had helped to evacuate a nearby block of flats. A grateful elderly resident had confided in him as he slowly walked her towards a WVS mobile canteen so that she could have a warm drink on the chilly evening.

  She was worried that her sister’s house would be broken into by looters. The sister had left it to go to her daughter’s, and wouldn’t be coming back as she was too frail. How could she find reliable tenants? She didn’t know what to do for the best. Stan had offered to put her in touch with the ideal young couple.

  Now Kathleen turned in Billy’s arms, thoughts of the new house filling her mind. It was between her old flat and Butterfield Green, an open space which would be good for Brian to play in come the better weather. It had two bedrooms upstairs, a large one at the front big enough for a proper double bed, and a smaller one at the back. Downstairs was a front parlour, a kitchen that was more like a scullery, and, an unexpected luxury, a lean-to bathroom at the back, with a copper for hot water and no need to step outside on a cold night. It was more than they could have hoped for.