Sheelagh Kelly - An Unsuitable Mother

It was ten thirty in the morning when she finally staggered home. She had been on her feet for well over twenty-four hours. ‘Don’t wake me,’ she begged her mother in piteous tones, ‘not even for food. I just want to sleep.’ And she had only the energy to wash down a few bites of toast with a gulp of tea, and to undress for bed, before oblivion claimed her.

She was to sleep for all of that day, only rising in order to eat some supper, then it was back to bed again for the rest of the night.

‘You deserve the rest,’ agreed her mother.

This was quite some indulgence. Unfortunately, others were to be less so, for when Nell arrived for work a day later, it was to an impeachment. In this she was not alone, in fact all of those involved in the evacuation process had shared a similar supposition that they had given of their best and would be forgiven for catching up on their sleep. Now, they were assembled in Matron’s office, to be roundly disabused of this notion by a representative of the Ministry of Health.

‘Dereliction of duty! There is no other term for it,’ lectured the woman, who paraded judiciously before them in her hoary tweed suit and severe bun, her tone and expression relaying that they could at any moment be taken out and shot. ‘What if our soldiers should say, ‘Oh, I can’t be bothered to fire my gun today, I’ve done my bit now, I think I’ll go and have a nap?’ Where would the country be then?’

How unfair, thought Nell, after we slaved – though neither she nor any of the nurses dared protest that it was hardly the same, but were to stand there meekly and accept every criticism.

‘What would have been the plight of those needing instant evacuation?’ continued the official. ‘Would they have been left to their fate whilst their dilatory so-called nurses caught up on their beauty sleep? A shambles, a complete shambles! You should be thoroughly ashamed!’ Having worked herself into a froth, the tyrant then began to prowl up and down and to eye them one by one. Nell shrank expectantly, but it was Nurse Green the elder who attracted the first bullet. ‘How old is this nurse, Matron?’ the frowning official spun around to enquire.

Retaining her ladylike demeanour, Matron Lennox had been quietly seated at her desk throughout, and seemed hesitant to reply for the moment, for she had in fact been covering up for certain members of staff. Eventually, though, the birdlike face above the erect starched collar was to state with immense diplomacy, ‘Mrs Green is perfectly competent.’

‘I did not ask that!’ The woman snapped her attention back to Mrs Green. ‘How old are you?’

Mrs Green muttered the answer into her ample bosom.

‘Speak up, woman!’

The white-haired one snatched an uneasy glance over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses, finally to admit, ‘I’m sixty-seven.’

‘Good grief! No wonder you failed to turn up on time. It’s quite obvious you achieved this post under false pretences. Were you not aware when you applied that there is a maximum age limit? And for good reason!’ The official shot a look at the others then, and in the same breath sniped, ‘Though I fail to understand how the rest of you could possibly have an excuse – what is yours?’ she suddenly aimed at Frenchy.

The attractive dark head was tilted in question. ‘Pardon?’

The official frowned and leaned towards her. ‘Are you a foreigner?’

‘She’s French,’ Matron quickly explained before too much damage was incurred to her crew. ‘Married to one of our boys.’

‘Can she not reply for herself?’ The official regarded Frenchy with disdain, and when nought was forthcoming, save a look of confusion, she concurred with a yap, ‘I thought as much – can’t even speak English! Why wasn’t the Ministry informed of this?’

In the face of such rude demand, Matron was cool. ‘I should have thought the Ministry to be already aware, considering that it was the body responsible for sending Mrs French here in the first place. It has always been the official assertion that, despite my having forty years’ medical experience, neither I nor colleagues of equal rank are entitled to a say as to whom may be employed under the emergency measures.’

‘Well, I do have a say!’ clipped the interrogator, looking back at Nurse French. ‘And that makes two of you whose services are no longer required!’

Matron tried to save the day. ‘Despite her difficulty with our language, Mrs French is qualified in her own country – she did provide the appropriate references – and she hasn’t killed anyone yet.’

‘I’d prefer not to wait until she does! What else shall we find?’ The official’s eyes then began to examine each of the others, as shrewd and pitiless as a bird of prey. Caught in such sights, Nell’s heart fluttered like a sparrow.

But, by some felicitous quirk, neither she nor anyone else was to be singled out, and the final word of caution was for the benefit of all. ‘This will not happen again! I do not care that you are here on a voluntary basis, if you are to do the job then do it properly ! Do I make myself clear?’

The nurses mumbled assurances.

‘Very well! That will be all, Matron.’ The raptor clamped a file under her wing, and made to leave the train. ‘I’ll trust you to dispense with those two. Good day!’ And with three strides she was gone.

‘I’m very sorry, Nurse Green, Nurse French,’ murmured matron, ever the lady, not considering it a loss of prestige to apologise in front of others. ‘But it seems your cover is blown, as they say. I’m unable to keep you on. Though I’m bound to add you have turned out to be far more capable than many I could mention, and it’s a great shame.’ She shook her neatly groomed head, and sighed at having her rank so affronted. ‘Apparently I’ve been granted no choice in the matter.’

With the victims’ pragmatic response, the rest of the nurses were instructed to go about their work, and began to file out of Matron’s office.

‘Nurse Spottiswood, a word if you please!’ Matron signalled for her to remain behind, and when there were just the two of them there, said without preamble, ‘How far along is your pregnancy?’

Thoroughly jolted, Nell immediately coloured up, the red travelling to her roots as she hung her head but did not deny it.

‘There’s not much you can hide from me, my dear. I’ve been aware of your condition for some weeks, but at Sister’s instigation I decided to let it pass for a while.’ She noted the sharp upturn in Nell’s demeanour that indicated surprise. ‘Despite what you may think,’ she now revealed sagely, ‘Sister Barber is very attached to you, and thinks you have the right temperament to make a good nurse. It was her opinion that your current circumstances didn’t appear to interfere with your work, and so we allowed you to carry on for a month or so, as in the natural course of events you would be leaving us soon enough anyway. But now it has begun to show …’ Matron cocked her head in sympathy, and repeated her former enquiry. ‘So, tell me, how far on are you?’

‘I’m not sure,’ whispered Nell. ‘But it was back in August that I last … had relations.’

‘Good heavens!’ Matron looked astonished. ‘Why, you must be almost ready to deliver. Have you received no medical attention?’

Trying to fight back tears, Nell shook her head.

‘I suppose you’ve been wearing a tight corset hoping it would go away,’ guessed her superior, rather stern of face again, and still battling incredulity. ‘Well, you’ve certainly managed to hide it remarkably well until now!’

But, as Nell started to weep, she clicked her tongue, adding, ‘You poor creature,’ and rose from her desk to lend a handkerchief and words of comfort. ‘It’s probably because your bump is evenly distributed around the sides that you were able to hide it – and taller girls like yourself do seem more able to carry it off. You’re not the first to hide a pregnancy, and you certainly won’t be the last. At least you’re not trying to deny it. I’ve known plenty who refused to accept they were carrying a baby even as they were giving birth! I’m just amazed that you’ve managed to continue with your work so uncomplainingly.’