Never While the Grass Grows

‘You have been busy?’

‘Well, yes—people have accidents all the time, you know, Father.’

‘Indeed yes—I read only recently a most interesting article… Do you not wish to marry, Octavia? How old are you?’

‘Twenty-seven, Father.’

‘Your mother had been married five years… You have had the opportunity, I imagine?’

‘Oh, yes—several times. But I never seem to meet the right man.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’ll go and make some coffee, shall I?’

‘That would be nice. I should like you to be married, Octavia. I’ve never been very good with money, as you know, what little I have is getting used up rapidly.’ He frowned. ‘Books have become increasingly expensive… There won’t be much left for you, my dear.’

She smiled at him fondly. ‘Don’t worry, Father dear; I’ve got a good job, and I earn enough to keep myself—just you go on buying all the books you want. Anyway, you get fees for your articles, don’t you, and all that coaching you do.’

He brightened. ‘Ah, yes—I’d forgotten. What a comfort you are, Octavia. Your mother would have been proud of you.’

While she made the coffee she thought rather wistfully of her mother who had died ten years ago or more; a pretty, still young woman who had known how to manage her husband without him realising it; it was only since her death that he had become so withdrawn. A pity I haven’t got a brother thought Octavia. She and her father got on splendidly and were devoted to each other, but sometimes she reflected that he would have managed quite well without her. Her fault perhaps for working away from home, but she had a good job now, with a chance of stepping into Sister Moody’s shoes when that lady retired; the thought was somehow depressing. While she drank her coffee she reviewed the various men who had wanted to marry her; none of them were exactly what she was looking for. She wasn’t quite sure what that was, herself, but she supposed she would know when she met him. She sighed gently and went to the kitchen to wash the supper things and then to bid her father a quiet goodnight before going upstairs to bed.

It was over breakfast the next morning that Mr Lock wanted to know why she didn’t change her job. ‘I realise that you would have to remain in nursing, because you don’t know what else to do, do you? But why not strike out, my dear? Go abroad, travel, see something of the world.’

She stared at him, a little surprised, ‘Me? Father, where would I go? There are jobs enough in the Middle East, but I don’t want to live there, and it’s not all that easy to go to Australia or New Zealand now—work permits, and so on, you know. I’d love to travel, though.’ She wrinkled her forehead in thought. ‘I could get a job with some rich elderly type who wanted to travel, but I should be bored in no time. I think I’ll stay where I am.’

Her parent passed his cup to be refilled. ‘Until you marry,’ he commented.

Her father’s unexpected interest in her ruffled the serenity of her weekend just a little. She did the shopping in the little town without her usual interest and although she accepted an invitation to have coffee with a chance acquaintance, she had to make an effort to take an interest in the conversation. Perhaps, she reflected uneasily, she had been drifting along and getting into a rut and should make an effort to get out of it before she no longer wanted to. She pondered about it during Sunday too, sitting beside her father in church, looking attentively at the vicar while he preached his sermon and not hearing a word of it.

She went back to London in the early evening, leaving her father quite happily immersed in his books, although he paused in his reading long enough to wish her a good journey back and expressed the hope that she would be home again soon. He said that every time she went home and she smiled at him now and said that yes, she would be back again in two weeks provided Sister Moody didn’t want to change her weekend.

She reached the hospital just as most of her friends were coming off duty and because she was still feeling a little unsettled, she went along to the Sisters’ sitting room to share their after supper tea. It had been a busy weekend, Sister Moody told her gloomily, although that lady’s idea of business and her own didn’t quite agree. ‘I shan’t come on until one o’clock tomorrow,’ declared Sister Moody. ‘I could do with a morning in bed—you’ve an evening, haven’t you? So there’ll be two of us on until five o’clock, it usually quietens down by then.’

Octavia agreed pleasantly; she hadn’t found that Casualty ever quietened down, but she didn’t say so. Presently she went to sit with her own particular friends, to listen to the day’s gossip and talk the inevitable shop. It was as they were drinking the last dregs of their tea that Connie Wills, the junior Sister on Men’s Medical, remarked: ‘That nice old Charlie—you remember, Octavia? He’s going on Thursday.’

Octavia put down her cup. ‘He can’t be—he’s not fit—where’s he going?’

‘Well, it all turned out rather well. I know he’s not fit, but someone—some man or other has offered him a job, living in—caretaking and so on. It’s just up Charlie’s street, and he’s promised that Charlie shall be looked after and not allowed to work until he’s quite well. Marvellous, isn’t it?’

‘That’s funny,’ chimed in the Sister, on Women’s Surgical. ‘Remember that little lady you sent us the other evening—the one you’ve been visiting? Well, she’s got somewhere to go to, too. She’s not to be discharged yet, but when she is, she’s been offered this job helping the housekeeper in some house or other. All very vague, but quite OK, so John Waring tells me.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ Octavia forgot her own vague problems in the pleasure of knowing that the unfortunate pair were to have more cheerful futures, after all. ‘Tell Charlie I’ll come to say goodbye, will you? I’ll never get away in the morning—Monday…’ she wrinkled her pretty nose, ‘but I’ll pop up and see Mrs Stubbs in the evening.’

They all went to their rooms after that, stopping to chat as they went, reluctant to bring their brief leisure to an end until Sister Moody, passing Octavia and a handful of the younger sisters still chatting outside their rooms, remarked sourly: ‘Don’t forget it’s Monday tomorrow.’

They exchanged speaking glances and when she was safely in the bathroom with the taps running, Octavia observed: ‘Do you suppose we’ll be like her in twenty years’ time?’

‘Not if I can help it,’ declared Connie. ‘I votes we get married.’

‘Chance is a fine thing,’ said Octavia.

They all looked at her. ‘You’ve no reason to complain, Octavia, there’s always someone or other dangling after you. It’s us plain ones who worry.’

They all laughed as they broke up, but in her room, sitting on the side of her bed, Octavia mulled over that remark and felt a vague disquiet again. She was lucky, she knew that, but only because she was pretty—she knew that too, without conceit—but there would come a time, she supposed, when no one would dangle after her any more. Perhaps, she decided, hopping into bed, she should take the very next chance that came her way.

CHAPTER TWO

CASUALTY remained busy for the next few days; over and above the steady stream of broken bones and heads, street accidents, small children with beads up their noses and down their ears, and elderly persons with aches and pains with which they hadn’t liked to bother their doctors, there was a bad fire in a high rise block of flats close to the hospital, and as well as some of its badly injured inmates, there were a number of firemen to be treated for the effects of smoke. Sister Moody, beside herself at having to work really hard, with little or no chance of taking refuge in her office, became as cross as two sticks, and because of that vented her vexation on the nurses. Octavia kept a tight hold on her patience and temper and breathed a sigh of relief when her superior took herself off for her weekend. True, they were now short of her services, but since these had been both grudgingly and sparingly given in the first place, it really didn’t matter. Peace and harmony reigned once more even though they were all run off their feet.

It was Sunday evening, as Octavia sat writing up the books, when the Sister on Men’s Medical put her head round the door. ‘Still here?’ she wanted to know. ‘Who’s relieving you?’

‘Gill Sedgewick.’

‘Her?’ said Rhona ungrammatically. ‘Let’s hope she remembers. Ever since she got married and took to part-time, she seems to think she’s conferring a favour coming at all.’ She came right in and perched on the desk. ‘I say, Octavia—remember Suzy Preston?’

Octavia ruled a neat line and without glancing up said calmly: ‘Well, of course I do, seeing she was a friend of mine—still is. I heard from her the other day—somewhere in Yorkshire, where she lives—she’s gathering a wardrobe together and up in the clouds over that new job.’

‘Well, she’s not now. I just happened to be in the office this evening and Miss Bellamy and Mr Yates were in her office with the door open and I couldn’t help over-hearing—actually, I did have to strain my ears a bit—Suzy’s got an appendix and can’t join the ship, and he was trying to persuade Miss B. to let him have someone in her place.’

‘He’ll be lucky. Poor old Suzy.’ Octavia closed the Casualty book with a flourish. ‘Where is she?’

‘At home. Of course Mr Yates will get his own way—he always does; I mean having a brother who’s a director of the shipping company helps a lot, and they always have our nurses, don’t they? It’s only a week before sailing time, besides, they think it impresses the passengers if they have one of us. After all, St Maud’s is one of the best teaching hospitals in the country.’

Octavia piled her books neatly and got up. ‘Oh, well, good luck to him. I must telephone Suzy, though. What rotten luck; she was so thrilled about it, too.’ She sighed and glanced at her watch. ‘I’m famished. I hope Gill comes soon. I must just see if the nurses are OK.’

She was with them when her relief arrived, and ten minutes later she was speeding out of the department, intent on getting away before another patient arrived.

Over supper there was a good deal of discussion about Suzy. She had caused quite a sensation when she had resigned to take a post as ship’s nurse, besides stirring up a good deal of envy in her colleagues’ bosoms; now the whole thing had fallen through and there was a good deal of conjecture as to what would happen. Rhona, repeating the conversation she had overheard, declared that one of them would find themselves on board the SS Socrates before the next week was out. ‘For depend upon it,’ she pointed out, ‘old Yates will get his way, he always does—you know how he cuts his way through red tape and official forms when he’s a mind to do so.’

They all left the table presently and wandered upstairs to the Sisters’ sitting room in the nurses’ home, to drink their bedtime tea and gossip, and Octavia went off to telephone Suzy, primed with enough questions and messages to keep her going throughout the night. But few of the questions were uttered; Suzy was in hospital, said her mother, under observation. She had had to give up her new job and expected to have the offending appendix removed within the next twenty-four hours. She had high hopes of being given a chance to re-apply for the job when she was well again.

Octavia offered sympathy, sent the most suitable of the messages and went back to the sitting room, where she told her news and settled down to write to Suzy. Everyone had messages, so she scratched away busily for several minutes, begged a stamp from someone and went along to post her letter.

The postbox by the hospital entrance hadn’t been emptied yet; she slid the envelope inside, passing the time of day with Henry the night porter, and started back through the hospital. She had reached the back of the entrance hall when the Consultants’ room door was flung open as she drew level with it, and Mr Yates came out. She wished him a polite goodnight without slackening her pace and then was halted in her tracks by his: ‘Sister Lock—the very person I wanted to see. Will you come in here a minute?’

He held the door open and she went past him with a wordless calm which showed nothing of her sudden panic of mind while she tried to think why he should wish to see her at such a strange hour. Had something gone wrong in Casualty? She cast her mind back through the day and tried to remember if anything really awful had happened. True, she had had words with the laundry, and she had told one of the porters off for wanting to go to his dinner in the middle of transporting a patient to the operating theatre—surely he hadn’t gone on strike? Her unease grew when Mr Yates lifted the receiver and asked for Miss Bellamy; something must be hideously wrong, but when that lady entered the room there was nothing in her impassive features to offer the smallest clue. She felt a little better when they both sat down and invited her to do the same, but she was quite unprepared for Mr Yates’s opening remark.

‘We are wondering if you would agree to taking Sister Preston’s place on board the SS Socrates, Sister Lock. Probably you know that she is to have an appendicectomy tomorrow and at such short notice the shipping company are quite at a loss. My brother has asked my help in the matter and naturally I have discussed the matter with Miss Bellamy.’ He paused to glance at the lady, who returned the look with an imperturbable one of her own. ‘You seem to be the most suitable person to fill the gap; you have had a good deal of experience in theatre and the wards, and your record in Casualty is excellent.’ He glanced at Octavia and then at the ceiling. ‘A fortnight, you understand, and very pleasant work, I believe. After that time they should be able to find a nurse to take over until such time as Sister Preston can return to her duties.’

Octavia felt a surge of excitement at her learned companion’s proposition, but she didn’t allow it to show. ‘Would I have to take the fortnight as part of my annual leave, Miss Bellamy?’

‘Certainly not, Sister. You are to take two weeks’ unpaid leave, as of course you will be paid while you are on the ship, and if you are worrying about Casualty, Sister Phipps can take over for that time; it just so happens that there will be no Sisters for her to relieve then.’

Octavia still hesitated and Mr Yates said briskly: ‘No need to think it over, Sister, it’s all quite straightforward—besides, you will see something of the world.’ He coughed. ‘The Mediterranean is delightful at this time of the year, pleasantly warm, and so much of interest to see.’

Just as though he were offering me a cruising holiday, thought Octavia, and said aloud: ‘Clothes?’

‘Uniform will be provided. I understand that the nurses and ship’s doctors get a certain amount of shore leave.’ Mr Yates looked vague. ‘I’m sure you will know what to take.’

She cast him an amused glance and suddenly, for no reason at all, felt lighthearted about the whole affair. After all, why not? Life hadn’t been much fun lately, she never met anyone…oh yes, she had, though, the bad-tempered giant in Casualty; he had arrived with no warning and gone again before she could discover anything about him. Oh, well, ships that pass…her thoughts were arrested by Miss Bellamy’s calm voice asking her if she wished to accept the offer.