Annie Groves - The District Nurses of Victory Walk

Stanley Banham pushed open the door and inhaled the delicious smell of his wife’s beef stew. ‘That’s something to come home to!’ he exclaimed, going across to peck her quickly on the cheek, as he wasn’t given to big shows of affection.

Flo Banham beamed. Now all was right in her world. She just hoped it would stay that way.

Gwen wove her way along the busy street, automatically dodging the boys running messages for their employers, the housewives shopping for food, the small children too young to go to school. Her mind was whirling and she longed for the peace and quiet of her room at the nurses’ home to think about what she’d just heard.

She’d met up with her old friend Miriam for a cup of tea in a café just off Kingsland Road. Miriam, as always, was immaculately turned out, far more fashionable than Gwen had ever been, even when she’d been young and cared about such things. Miriam’s smart navy suit with wide white-trimmed collar put Gwen’s serviceable old brown jacket to shame.

However, Miriam had looked troubled and Gwen soon found out why. Miriam’s husband ran an upholstery factory not far from the café, and for years the business had been growing steadily. Now there was a change in the air, and unrest among some of the people working there. ‘It’s that Oswald Mosley, he stokes them up,’ Miriam complained. ‘He tells them it’s the Jews who are behind the threat of war, that it’s all our fault. Damn the man. You know his followers are doing disgusting things, pinning pigs’ heads to the synagogues, defacing our shops. It’s made Jacob really worried. Now, when he goes to business meetings, he says some of his former contacts ignore him.’

‘Mosley’s lot talk about peace though,’ Gwen pointed out.

‘Gwen!’ Miriam had been shocked. ‘You’re never telling me you agree with the Fascists? If you do, you’re not the woman I thought you were.’

‘No, no, of course not,’ Gwen said hurriedly. ‘It’s just that I can’t bear the thought of another war. You know what it’s like, you lived through the last one.’ She sighed. ‘I want to believe there’s hope that it won’t happen. Surely there’s still a chance?’

Miriam had raised a beautifully shaped eyebrow at her friend. ‘And if you believe that, Gwen, then again, you aren’t the woman I thought you were.’

They had changed the subject, turning to news of Miriam and Jacob’s son Max, who was in New York, partly for business and partly taking advantage of the chance to see the world. ‘I think he’s met a girl,’ Miriam confided. ‘He won’t say much – he never does. But a mother can tell.’

Gwen had nodded sagely, even though she had no children of her own.

Now she strolled slowly back to Victory Walk, her unease increasing with every step. She wanted so badly to hope that there wouldn’t be another war. What had happened twenty-five years ago had been unbearable and she didn’t think she could go through it all over again. She glanced at the street sign, thinking that it would be a hollow victory indeed if it was all to start up once more. But she was a realist, not a dreamer, and Miriam’s words had confirmed her growing fears. Miriam wasn’t given to despair; her own life had taught her to make the best of things. So if she was gloomy about the future, Gwen took it very seriously.

She valued her time with her friend. It was a respite from the hard daily work of a nurse, and also it was wonderful to chat with somebody her own age. Fiona Dewar was sensible and kind, but as superintendent of the busy nurses’ home she rarely had a moment for a casual chinwag. Gwen sighed. She couldn’t blame the other nurses for being young – after all, she herself had once been their age. But she could blame them – or at least some of them – for their silliness.

That Mary Perkins for a start. Heaven only knew how the girl had managed to qualify as a nurse. She had no common sense at all. To be fair, Gwen could see that she was good with her many elderly patients, warm and friendly. But she was as daft as a brush. She seemed to believe whatever anybody told her, whether it was likely to be true or not. How on earth had she ever passed her exams?

Then there were those new arrivals. Gwen prided herself on being a good judge of character and she could sense that Edith Gillespie had trouble written all over her. As yet she’d done nothing, but then she’d only been at the home for a week. Gwen decided to keep a very close eye on that one. She didn’t like disruptive influences in the home – that meant everyone was on edge and therefore didn’t work as well. That in turn might mean one of them could make a mistake, possibly a fatal one. She couldn’t allow that.

She was less sure about the other young woman, the taller one with the dark blonde hair. She was much harder to read. So far she’d shown herself to be competent and steady. Fiona had let slip that she had outstanding references. However, she gave very little away. She hadn’t shown any tendency towards flightiness, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t lurking there underneath. Gwen decided to keep a close eye on her as well, just in case. You couldn’t be too careful in this profession.

Pushing open the door to the nurses’ home she was greeted with a whoop of joy from somewhere on the lower-ground floor, probably the common room, and then there was a loud burst of laughter. Two seconds later Mary Perkins and that new girl, Edith, came skidding out into the corridor, hastily turning their run into a walk when they saw her glowering at them from the front porch.

‘I’m glad to see you are enjoying yourselves,’ Gwen said firmly, ‘but I must remind you that there is to be no running along the corridors. What if someone were to come down the stairs, possibly carrying something sharp?’

Mary Perkins nodded. ‘Of course. We were just pleased to find out that we’ve got the same free time this week.’

Gwen moved to one side to let them past. She doubted the pair would be spending their leisure hours studying together, or doing anything useful. She closed her eyes briefly. She really mustn’t condemn them out of hand, and yet she reckoned they didn’t have two ounces of brain cells to rub together between them.

‘Oooh, look, they’re definitely Canadian.’ Mary perched on her stool to one side of the Paramount’s dance floor, eyeing the crowd. She nudged Edith, who was looking the other way, trying to catch a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors.

‘Careful! You nearly had my ginger beer.’ Edith adjusted herself on her stool. She knew it was a mistake to wear a white frock out dancing, it showed every smudge and spill, but she couldn’t resist showing it off. It had a tight waistband, full skirt and deep stiff collar, and she reckoned it was her best chance of looking suave and sophisticated. Being so short, she often felt like a schoolgirl. The downside of this frock was the pressing need to avoid anyone who might knock over a drink on it. Such as Mary.

Mary herself had piled her hair high and wore an equally arresting dress in turquoise silk, designed to draw attention to her curves. It was drawing the attentions of the Canadians right now, and two broke from their group and made their way over.

‘Excuse me, ladies, but would you care for a dance?’ asked the taller one, and Mary immediately jumped off her stool. Edith took in his friend, a pleasant-enough seeming young man, slightly more bashful but evidently keen to hit the floor. ‘Shall we?’ she said, carefully putting her glass on a small side table.

‘Gosh, you’re a good dancer,’ Mary said after the Canadians had reluctantly retreated in order to catch their breath. ‘I can see you’ve done this before.’ The loud hum of many young people enjoying themselves almost drowned out her voice.