Pack Up Your Troubles. Pam Weaver

would have been right if it was still 1939. The unwritten rule for nurses had always been that women who married would give up the profession but the war had left hospitals alongside many other institutions with severe shortages of manpower. Connie felt sure that by the time she’d gained her nursing badge, the ‘no married women’ edict would be a thing of the past anyway. Not only that, but the new government was pressing ahead with a country-wide health service which would be free to all, regardless of income or status, at the point of need. Things were changing. They were indeed entering a brave new world.

      Now that she was really going, Connie was thrown into a hive of activity. She’d found the list of things she was supposed to bring with her to the hospital and set off into town. Ga said nothing when Connie came back with her purchases but she shot her one of her dark looks. As a child, they had terrified her and even now they made Connie feel a little uncomfortable, but she was determined not to let the old lady spoil her excitement.

      ‘So you’re going to run out on your mother after all,’ said Ga when the two of them were alone in the kitchen. Connie was making a pot of tea and when Ga walked in she’d asked her if she wanted one.

      ‘I’m not running out on anyone,’ said Connie calmly. ‘Mum’s given me her blessing.’ Her great aunt tightened her mouth disapprovingly. ‘It’s time to think about me,’ Connie pre-empted. She hated herself for feeling the need to justify her own actions. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake, but she knew what Ga was like.

      ‘Me, me, me,’ Ga taunted. ‘Never mind about anyone else.’

      Her cheeks flaming with anger, Connie shoved the cup in front of her, slopping some of the tea into the saucer. As she poured her own cup she could hear Ga rubbing her knee and letting out little sighs of pain and discomfort. It took everything Connie had not to stalk out of the room or to round on Ga with some cutting comment but she didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of a fight. She wasn’t going to allow Ga to spoil her last few days at home so there would be no more rows. Ga could harrumph and disapprove as much as she liked but Connie was going to be a nurse no matter what she damn well said.

      Sally Burndell blinked at the piece of paper in her hand. She turned over the envelope and looked at the postmark. Worthing 6.30 p.m. Posted last night and locally. She could feel the tears pricking her eyes as she read it again. There was no name at the bottom of course, but whoever sent them seemed to know an awful lot about her. It had been bad enough when she’d got that awful letter from the secretarial college but when she’d applied to the one in Brighton and been refused there as well, she’d been devastated. As the panic rose within her chest, her heartbeat quickened. She lowered herself into a chair. And read it again. ‘I do not wish to cast aspersions …’ What did aspersions mean? Sally wasn’t sure but it didn’t sound good. ‘Do you think it wise to flirt with other men while Terry is away? If I wrote and told him what you were up to, he’d realise you are a tart.’ They were all signed ‘a well-wisher’. How could someone be a well-wisher and yet write such nasty things? What if this person wrote to Terry? Going to the dances had only been a bit of fun. She never even let another boy kiss her and she always went straight home after they’d finished, either with Connie or Jane. If only she knew who had written such hateful things she would have it out with them. The letter trembled in her hand and as she gave way to her sobs, she was so glad her mother was out shopping. She couldn’t bear it. How could anyone be so cruel? It was all lies. Wicked, wicked lies!

      Connie missed Kez. Jane was a good friend but there was something about Kez … She walked up to the lane with Pip most days in the vain hope that they might be back, but she was always disappointed. And what about that pram? Then it crossed her mind that Simeon might have told the Frenchie about it so on her way back from the shops, she headed towards his workshop. She knocked on the door even though it was already open. ‘Hello …’

      ‘Nearly done,’ said a voice deep inside. He stood up from behind an upturned bicycle frame, and spun the wheel. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I thought you were the owner come back for the bike. Connie, isn’t it? What can I do for you?’

      Already her heartbeat was gathering speed. His sleeves were neatly rolled up to his biceps and his shirt was open to the waist. She could see at once that he had an athletic build. He was as attractive as ever, despite his dirty clothes and oil-smudged face. ‘I – I wondered if you knew when Kez and Simeon would be coming back?’ she flustered.

      He shook his head and taking a piece of rag from his pocket began to wipe his hands. ‘I don’t think they know themselves.’

      Connie nodded and turned to go. ‘It’s just that I’m moving away for a bit.’

      ‘If I see her, shall I tell her where you’ve gone?’

      Connie quickly explained about her nursing. The Frenchie seemed impressed. ‘Good for you. If I see them, I’ll tell them,’ he promised and their eyes locked.

      ‘There seems to be no end to your talent,’ she laughed nervously, waving her hand towards the mobile shop taking shape at last. ‘Now here you are mending bicycles.’

      ‘This is my proper job,’ he smiled. ‘I was only helping Simeon out. It was a good idea, wasn’t it?’

      ‘Your idea, so he said,’ Connie grinned.

      ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten. Brilliant, wasn’t it?’ and they both laughed.

      Connie was suddenly distracted by her old doll’s pram hanging on a hook by its handle on the wall behind him. It had been painted a lovely shade of maroon and the hood seemed new.

      ‘Oh yes,’ said the Frenchie following her eye. ‘Simeon said you wanted that for your little sister. Simeon painted it and put on a new hood. I’ve repaired the wonky wheel and he asked me to paint something nice on the sides. I’m afraid I haven’t got around to it yet. Sorry.’

      ‘No, no,’ she smiled. ‘That’s fine. I wanted it for Christmas, so there’s plenty of time. How much do I owe you?’

      ‘I’m not sure yet,’ he said. ‘I’ll send the bill around to the nurseries if that’s all right?’

      She nodded.

      ‘I suppose I’d better cover it up,’ he said. ‘In case your sister comes to the workshop.’

      ‘That might be an idea,’ she said. She was getting flustered again.

      ‘Will you call for it?’

      ‘I don’t want to put you to too much trouble,’ she said breathily. Their eyes met and the spell it cast was only broken when they both heard a footfall beside the door.

      ‘Ready yet?’ said a man’s voice.

      ‘Almost,’ said the Frenchie, returning to his bicycle repair. Connie turned to go and as she reached the door he called after her, ‘All the best, Connie.’

      The hospital had a very distinctive smell, a cross somewhere between strong disinfectant and boiled cabbage.

      Her first task when she’d arrived at the nurses’ home was to go to the central stores and be kitted out with her uniform. She was given three dresses, all pale blue, with detachable buttons which were fastened through a button hole with a split pin. She had two belts the same colour as the dresses; three white aprons, stiffly starched, two plain white caps and two pink laundry boxes each with a leather strap. The sister giving out the uniforms, a gaunt looking woman with thin grey hair, explained that laundry day was Tuesday.