Christmas for the District Nurses. Annie Groves
of straight dull brown hair out of her eyes. ‘Yes, you’re right. I try to stop her but she don’t listen. They let her do a bit of singing and she thinks she’s going to be a star. I’m just an old killjoy who’s out to spoil her fun. She don’t see how she’s being taken advantage of. All those men from the docks who go there … I worry about her, but the more I say, the more she sneaks out.’
Alice’s face creased in sympathy. ‘I bet you do.’
‘Think I’ll have some of that meself.’ Gladys reached for the glass bottle. ‘I try not to have it too often so it’ll last, but now and again I give in.’
‘You deserve it. You work so hard,’ Alice said. ‘Doesn’t it smell lovely? All fresh.’
Gladys took a sip, closed her eyes and nodded. ‘I feel better already.’ But Alice could see she was putting on a good front, and the worry had not left her eyes.
‘Are you on first-aid duty tonight?’ she asked.
Gladys shook her head. ‘No, not until tomorrow. Thought I’d go down to the victory garden and fetch some more potatoes.’ She sighed again. ‘That’s the other thing, all the shortages. I know I shouldn’t say it but it gets me down sometimes. Always wondering how we’ll manage. You nurses out on the district all day long, you need to be well fed, but I dread not finding enough food for you all.’ She looked around in case anyone else had heard her confession.
Alice realised that Gladys felt the weight of the world on her slender shoulders. She had grown up with such heavy responsibilities and there had been no let-up since. The war did that to everyone; despite trying to maintain a cheerful outlook or – failing that – a stoic one, it was only natural to feel despondent sometimes. The campaigns in the East and in North Africa were in trouble, the U-boats were preventing supplies from crossing the Atlantic, and rationing was biting ever harder. No wonder Gladys was slumping against the counter.
On top of that, just when she might have expected some help at home from her sister, the opposite had happened and Evelyn was refusing to pull her weight. Not only that, she was actually a cause of extra worry. It was not fair.
‘Shall I come with you later?’ she offered, feeling it was a barely adequate response.
‘Oh no, you don’t have to do that,’ Gladys said at once. ‘You done enough hard work for one day, you don’t want to be out grubbing about for potatoes.’
‘I don’t mind, I like it,’ Alice said. She took another sip of cordial. ‘Reminds me of helping out my parents when I was little. At least, I thought I was helping.’
Gladys brightened. ‘If you’d like to, then I won’t say no.’
Alice finished her drink and gave a satisfied smile. ‘It’s made such a difference, having that garden,’ she said. ‘You have worked miracles with it.’
‘Ain’t just me, you all help out,’ Gladys said immediately.
‘You do the brunt of it,’ Alice pointed out. ‘You’re too modest, Gladys. You think about what we need, work out when and where to plant it, and then pick it when it’s ready. We really just do what you tell us.’
At last Gladys gave a quick grin. ‘I like it too, really. It helps me to think, straightens out my head when I don’t know what to do with myself.’ She drained her glass. ‘Thanks, Alice. I’d better finish here and go to help Cook with the evening meal, but I’ll see you later.’ She picked up her cleaning rag again.
‘Right you are.’ Alice made her way back through the common room and into the hall, wondering how Edith’s interview with Fiona had gone. With luck she was up in her room right now, writing to tell Harry the good news. That’s what we all need, Alice thought to herself. Some good news. It seems like a long time since we had much of that.
‘What are you doing on Saturday evening?’ Mary asked a few weeks later. They were in the common room after a particularly tiring day. Alice couldn’t have said why; it was still hot, although no more than it had been for much of the summer; her patients were demanding, but only as much as they usually were. It was that background sense of constant unease, the drip-drip-drip of depressing news on all fronts. She hadn’t been able to shake it off properly.
‘Let me guess,’ Mary went on, settling herself in a comfy chair. ‘Sitting in your room reading a boring book. Or sitting down here reading a boring newspaper.’
‘They’re not boring,’ Alice began in protest but Mary took no notice.
‘Doing the crossword and then listening to more news on the wireless. Same as you do every day. Well, how about a change?’
Alice looked warily at her friend. ‘What sort of a change?’
Mary beamed. ‘Charles can get us tickets for the last night of the Proms. How about that? Wouldn’t you like to come?’
‘Really?’ Alice perked up. ‘Edie, did you hear that? Do you fancy a night out at the Albert Hall?’
Edith came across to join them, her expression slightly dubious. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t know much about that sort of music. I might not like it as much as some of the others.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Mary briskly. ‘It’ll be Beethoven, everyone likes that. It’s fun, Edith, it won’t be stuffy, I promise.’
Edith shrugged. She had been thinking of Harry’s latest letter with news about his forthcoming operations. If they went well then he would be recuperating through the autumn, and perhaps they could set a definite date for their wedding after that. A Christmas wedding – that would be perfect.
‘I don’t know …’
‘Oh, go on, Edie,’ said Alice, almost laughing as she realised it was usually the other way around, Edith begging her to go out for once in her life. ‘You might enjoy it. I’d love to go, Mary. It’s very kind of Charles. Are you certain we won’t be in the way – don’t you want him to yourself for an evening?’
Mary generously shook her head. ‘This is too good an opportunity to waste. Edith, you’re coming along and that’s that. It’s so exciting. I used to go all the time before the war – of course that was when it was in the Queen’s Hall, but that got bombed. I was afraid they’d cancel the whole thing but it started up again and better than ever, because the Albert Hall is so big. It’s good for boosting morale. Look at it like that, if you’re worried you won’t like the music.’
‘It’s all right for you, you grew up playing the piano and having singing lessons,’ Edith retorted. ‘We didn’t have so much as a harmonica in our house. If anyone sang too loud, my father clipped them round the ear. It puts you right off.’
Mary would not be dissuaded. ‘All the more reason to start now, then,’ she said smartly, standing up once more. ‘I’ll write to Charles straight away, before you change your mind.’
The staff car cautiously weaved along the damaged roads, past Hyde Park and through the centre of London, headlamps shaded because of the blackout, but as far as Alice was concerned it was as good as being in a sports car. It had been ages since she’d been in any kind of private vehicle. Even though she was crammed in the back with Edith, it felt like a decadent luxury.
The skies were lit by anti-aircraft spotlights, a far cry from the pre-war bright lights of the West End, and yet there were revellers out on the streets, making the most of a raid-free Saturday night on the town. Men and women in uniform alternated with those in civvies, some linking arms and wandering along singing.
In the front passenger seat, Mary was singing as well. She’d picked up the stirring melody of the sea shanties in the second half of the programme and was improvising her own version, tapping out the rhythm on the dashboard. From anyone else this would have been annoying, but Mary had a fine voice and it was all part of the evening’s fun.
Alice caught a glimpse of Charles’s face as he looked quickly across at Mary, before turning