Annie Groves - The District Nurses of Victory Walk

‘Will do.’ Mary waved cheerfully and her lively rich brown curls bobbed around her face.

Kathleen Berry tried to shut out the sounds of her baby son’s screaming. She’d tried picking him up and carrying him around, changing his nappy, offering him cold water, feeding him herself, taking him outside, bringing him back in. Nothing helped and now he was working himself up into a proper state. He lay in his makeshift cot, waving his fists in the air, his face an angry red. She didn’t know what to do. She hoped the nurse would get here soon. She was so frightened.

Her mum had told her not to have anything to do with Ray Berry, that he was a feckless charmer who’d love her and leave her. Kathleen had defended him staunchly. He’d never treat her like that, her mother was just listening to the gossipy old women who had nothing better to do than spread cruel rumours that were without foundation. They were just jealous because they weren’t young any more and had probably never had the attention of a man as good-looking as her Ray. She knew he’d do right by her.

And Ray had – she had his ring on her finger to prove it. No matter how tough things got she was never tempted to pawn it – it was too precious to her, it stood for everything they’d promised to each other. He’d done his best to provide for her but it hadn’t been easy. People were too quick to believe the gossip and he found it hard to get regular work. One day he’d told her he was going down the docks to see if anything was to be found there, and that had been the last she’d seen of him. One of his mates had dropped round to say he’d signed up for a merchant ship and had set sail that very day. It was too good a chance for him to miss.

Kathleen knew he’d be back, but the trouble was he hadn’t sent home regular wages. She was never sure what she would get, if anything at all, but she hated to ask anyone for help. She hadn’t known for certain that she was pregnant before he left – she didn’t want to get it wrong and so she’d waited to tell him. He’d set sail without realising he was soon to become a father.

Now she was stuck with little Brian in this rundown house, which was all she could afford, although if truth be told she couldn’t really even do that. She didn’t even have the whole place to herself – she had the ground floor, with its badly lit front room, cramped kitchen and even more cramped back kitchen, with its doorway into the back yard where there was an outside privy, shared by several families. Upstairs lived the Coynes, who trampled around on the bare boards with no regard of her need to sleep. Then again, they heard Brian’s cries all day and night as clearly as she did.

‘Shush, shush,’ she said, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. ‘Mummy’s here. The kind nurse will come soon, she’ll make everything better, just you wait and see.’ She fervently hoped this was true. Wearily she leaned over the baby and took him up into her arms again, noting that he was still far too hot. ‘Mummy’s going to stand in the door with you, see if that cools you down.’ She shoved open the flaking front door and leant on the creaky frame, grateful for the light breeze to fan their faces, even if it blew rubbish down the narrow street. Bits of old newspaper tumbled by. She was so tired she could have slept standing up, if she didn’t have little Brian to look after.

Brian’s cries gradually turned to sad whimpers, but she knew it was because he was too tired to cry lustily any more rather than because he felt better. Anxiously she pressed her hand to his forehead. No, still hot. It wasn’t right. Why was he like this? Was it something she’d done, or hadn’t done?

Kathleen bit down on her lower lip. It wouldn’t help if she went to pieces. It wasn’t as if she had many people to turn to. Her mother would say it served her right for marrying that good-for-nothing. Besides, her mother had four other children to see to, and three more grandchildren to fuss over. Kathleen knew she was a fair way down the list of her mother’s priorities. Sometimes she wondered if she’d been switched at birth as she couldn’t remember a time when she and her mother had got along. They were just too different, even before she’d met Ray. She knew she was quieter, more serious than her mother, who had a loud voice and coarse laugh. Her other siblings had had no such problems, and Kathleen had ended up distant from all of them as a result. She had one good friend who lived on the next street but she couldn’t expect her to be round every time something went wrong – which seemed to happen more and more. ‘It’s just you and me, Brian,’ she breathed, feeling better for admitting the frightening truth. If only Ray were here.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there when there was a rattle of wheels behind her. Turning, she saw it was a tall figure in a navy cloak on a bike that had seen better days. There was no mistaking the woman’s hat though. It was the nurse, at last.

‘Mrs Berry? I’m Nurse Lake. Alice Lake.’ Alice dismounted from the bike and propped it against the house, pausing to take the Gladstone bag out of the basket. ‘Hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.’

Kathleen could have cried with relief. ‘Come in, come in,’ she said, stepping back inside the house with its meagre furnishings. She perched on a wooden chair, Brian in her arms, and left the one decent armchair for Alice.

Alice took it, noticing that the cushions were faded and frayed, but had been carefully mended. The young mother before her wasn’t far off her own age, she guessed; maybe a couple of years younger. But her face was creased with lines of worry and she looked as if she hadn’t slept properly for a very long time. ‘Well, Mrs Berry, what seems to be the trouble?’

‘Oh, it’s Brian here.’ The words came tumbling out now. ‘He’s ever so hot, he’s been like this since yesterday, and I can’t calm him down. I don’t know what it is. You don’t think … you don’t think …’ She could barely form the words to name her deepest fear. ‘Could it be typhoid, Miss? They had it down Shoreditch way. Took them awful bad, it did, and people died and everything. I couldn’t bear for it to be typhoid, not my Brian, he’s only four months old …’ She hated to cry in front of anyone, let alone a stranger, and hastily cuffed away a tear that she could not hold in.

Alice recognised that her first task would be to reassure the mother. If she were anxious then her baby would surely pick up on this and react badly. All the way over here on the short journey she’d been wondering what she would do or say, but now her training kicked in.

‘I’d be very surprised if it is typhoid,’ she said immediately. ‘But why don’t you let me take a look? How about you put him to lie here on this cushion and we can see what signs of illness he has.’

‘He’s dreadful hot, Miss.’ Kathleen set the small body on the cushion and, true to form, Brian started up his piteous screaming again.

‘Oh, young man, what can we do for you, eh?’ Alice gently laid her hand on his forehead and agreed that he was indeed very hot. She reached across to her bag. ‘I’m just going to pop this thermometer in his mouth. There, that’s not so bad, is it?’ The baby stopped crying in surprise at the sensation of the cool thermometer. Alice carefully checked the time and withdrew it. ‘Yes, you’re right, it is a little high, but not as high as we’d expect for a case of typhoid.’ She next checked his pulse and breathing, as the first thing the doctor would look for in her report was his TPR: temperature, pulse, respiration. She then pulled up his little shirt and observed his abdomen. ‘Well, there’s no telltale rash. Those two things make me doubt it’s typhoid, Mrs Berry. Tell me, have you been to Shoreditch recently?’