Authors: Pamela Evans
‘I can understand how you must be feeling and I expect I’d be exactly the same if it was me, but you can’t ignore it and you don’t need me to tell you that,’ Connie advised sympathetically. ‘You’re one of the strongest people I know, May. You’ll get through this.’
‘But if it’s in the other lung, they can’t remove that one as well, can they?’ she said. ‘So what are my chances of getting better?’
‘There are other things they can do besides surgery,’ Connie reminded her, struggling to stay positive because there was still no cure for this vile disease. ‘I didn’t have a lung removed and I recovered.’
‘Mm, there is that.’ May looked worried. ‘Oh Connie, how can I tell Mum and Dad? They’ll be devastated.’
‘They’ll have to know.’
‘Maybe I can leave it until I’ve been to see the doctor,’ she suggested.
‘They’ll be very hurt if you deceive them,’ Connie said. ‘They are tough old sticks. Stronger than you think. They’ll want to know. You are their child; it’s only natural.’
‘Everything you’ve said is true, but I seem to have lost my spirit,’ May confessed. ‘I just want to hide away somewhere and let the illness do its worst. I don’t feel as though I have it in me to fight back.’
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ said Connie. ‘The May Stubbs I know would never say a thing like that.’
‘I’m tired,’ said May.
‘And we both know why, because we’ve been there before,’ said Connie. ‘So get down the doctor’s before the flaming thing takes a hold.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ sighed May wearily. ‘I’ll have to pay up and see what the doc has to say.’
It was as May was pretending to be brave as she was giving her parents the horrible news that her courage returned, albeit temporarily.
‘It’ll be all right, honestly,’ she tried to assure them. ‘I’ve beaten it once and I’ll do it again. I’m as strong as a horse, so you must try not to worry.’
‘As if we would worry,’ said her shaken mother in an attempt at humour.
‘It might not take so long to shift this time,’ May suggested.
‘Maybe not,’ said her father.
‘There might be some new and better treatment available now,’ added Flo.
But it was all just empty talk because none of them knew how serious the problem was. May found herself courageous and feeble in equal measures. It wasn’t so much the fear of death as the misery of illness that bothered her.
The doctor examined her but didn’t make a diagnosis. Instead he sent her to the hospital for an X-ray and gave her a sick note for work, telling her that she must stay away from people until she had the result. He told her to take things very easy and eat as much good food as she could, which was no easy task as rationing was biting even harder.
Here we go again, said May to herself as she came out of the doctor’s surgery, which was actually the front room in his house. But she did feel better for having faced up to it; stronger somehow and more able to cope. Whatever came, she would accept it with as much fortitude as she could muster.
George could hardly contain his excitement as he got off the train at Paddington and headed for the underground, his kitbag slung over his shoulder. Because he had served for more than three years in the Middle East, the army had given him some home leave, and a change of posting. He wouldn’t know where he was going until after this leave, but all he could think about now was getting home. No one knew he was coming, so he would give them a surprise.
He was dying to see Joe, and his mother of course, and absolutely longing to see May, especially now that their relationship had changed. He was a little nervous too about the latter, because it would be strange after a lifetime of being just friends and he wanted to get it right; he didn’t want to disappoint her.
Heading down on the escalator, the familiar warm, acrid draught of air blowing in his face as he headed for the platform, he thought how wonderful it was to be back in London.
The first disappointment was the lukewarm reception he received from Joe, who was out playing in the street when George arrived and was called in by his grandmother after the two of them had had a chat.
‘Why do I have to come in, Gran?’ asked the boy. ‘We’re playing hopscotch and I’ll miss my turn.’
‘Look who’s here,’ she said, looking at George. ‘Your daddy’s come home.’
‘Oh, ’ello,’ said Joe casually, glancing at his father then back to his grandmother. ‘Can I go out again now please?’
‘No you can’t,’ said Dot, also disappointed at his reaction. ‘Surely you want to stay in and talk to your dad?’
‘Can I do it later?’ asked Joe in a matter-of-fact manner. ‘Everybody is out playing today and we’re having a really good game.’
‘Joe,’ admonished Dot sternly. ‘Your daddy has come a long way across the sea to see us.’
The boy looked at George with just a glimmer of recognition. ‘What was it like on the boat?’ he asked dutifully.
Appalling was the honest answer to that, but he couldn’t tell a five-year-old boy that the ship was overcrowded with troops, and smelly and uncomfortable, and that he was seasick for part of the journey, so he said, ‘It was all right.’
‘I’ve seen boats on the river when Auntie May takes me to Richmond,’ said the boy. ‘Please can I go out again now that I’ve talked?’
‘No you can’t,’ said Dot.
‘But they’ll be waiting . . .’ he objected.
‘Let him go,’ said George. ‘We can talk later on when he comes in.’
‘Can I Gran?’ Please can I?’ asked Joe, looking towards his grandmother for confirmation.
Dot tutted and didn’t look at all pleased. ‘Well . . . if your father doesn’t mind, then off you go,’ she said.
‘Thanks,’ he beamed, and tore off, slamming the door behind him.
‘Sorry, son,’ Dot said. ‘It wasn’t what you could call a warm welcome, but he’s just a little boy.’
‘I’m glad to see that he’s well and happy,’ said George, ‘and I can remember how I used to love playing out. The kids are in their own world out there in the street. I know I used to be.’
‘I have tried to keep you alive in his memory, and so has May,’ Dot told him. ‘But it obviously hasn’t worked too well.’
‘I’ve got ten days,’ said George. ‘Plenty of time to get to know him all over again.’
‘Before you disappear again.’
‘Still, as long as I come back like the proverbial bad penny, you won’t hear me complaining,’ he told her. ‘It’s better than the alternative, anyway.’
‘Not half, but I want you back for good.’
‘All in good time, Mum. Meanwhile, what time does May get in from work? I can’t wait to see her.’
Dot bit her lip. ‘I’m afraid you can’t see her, son,’ she said, looking worried.
His brows knitted in a frown. ‘Why not? Has she gone away or something?’ he asked.
‘No, she’s at home, but she isn’t well,’ she explained. ‘They think she’s got consumption again.’
The blood drained from his face. ‘Oh no,’ he said, shocked. ‘How awful.’
‘Yes, it’s horrible,’ sighed Dot. ‘We’re all worried sick.’
‘I must get round there right away to give her some support,’ he said, moving as though to leave the room.
‘No, son, you can’t,’ said his mother, grabbing his arm. ‘Because of the infection.’
‘I’ll take that chance,’ he said. ‘I have to be there with her. She’ll be needing me.’
Dot restrained him more firmly. ‘No, George, you can’t see her because of Joe,’ she said. ‘You’ll be putting him at risk if you have physical contact with her. If you catch it he might pick it up from you. She isn’t seeing anyone at all at the moment. Not until she’s had the result of the X-ray.’
He sat down and held his head. ‘Oh Mum, what a blow,’ he said thickly. ‘And how terrible for May.’
‘Yes, we are all dreadfully upset about it,’ she told him sadly. ‘There isn’t anything we can do to help, either.’
‘I can cheer her up, though,’ he said. ‘Have you got any writing paper?’
‘Not as such because of the shortage,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got some bits of scrap paper that I’ve saved.’
‘That’ll do if you can spare me a bit,’ he said. He was trying to keep cheerful, but he was shaken to the core by the news about May.
Although May had worked hard to get herself into a state of readiness for bad news, she was still paralysed with fear as she sat waiting for the result of the X-ray, painfully aware that her life hung in the balance. Her appointment with the doctor had been made for after surgery so there was no one else waiting, for reasons of possible infection.
It was a month since she’d had the chest X-ray done and during that time she had knitted socks and several pullovers for the troops, done a few make-do-and-mend jobs on her own clothes and tried not to let herself sink into a mood of negativity, which wasn’t easy with such a huge issue on her mind, especially as she was alone in the house for much of the day while her parents were both at work. There was a saying about too much isolation bringing about morbidity, and she’d had to battle with that on a daily basis.
She’d been enormously cheered this past week or so by letters from George written on scrap paper and put through the letter box. Although she was desperately disappointed about missing his leave – he was going back this morning – his little epistles brightened up her life no end. Her mother posted her replies through the Baileys’ letter box for her.
It was heart-warming to feel loved but she was aware of a responsibility too, because George would be as devastated as she was if she did have the illness. She didn’t want to upset him, even though she knew the situation was beyond her control. She’d promised to write and let him know.
‘May Stubbs,’ said the doctor, opening the door of his consulting room.
Feeling as though her legs were about to buckle beneath her with nervousness, she followed him in.
May was crying when she emerged from the surgery. She paused and blew her nose, tried to compose herself, then ran as fast as she could down one street and up another, tears streaming down her cheeks. Stopping briefly because she had a stitch, she raced onwards until she reached her destination, rapping the knocker as hard as she could.
Dot Bailey opened the door.
‘May, dear,’ she said worriedly, seeing the tears and fearing the worst.
‘Has he gone, Mrs Bailey?’ May asked.
‘Yeah, a few minutes ago; you’ve only just missed him, love.’
‘Thanks, Mrs B,’ she said and tore in the direction of the station, leaving Dot in a state of anxiety about the result of the X-ray.
He was sitting on a bench on the platform reading a newspaper with his kitbag on the ground beside him. She flew down the stairs and rushed up to him.
‘George . . .’
‘May,’ he said, leaping up, his expression a mixture of joy and fear. ‘What . . . what happened?’
‘Oh I’m so pleased I managed to catch you. I thought I’d missed you,’ she said, gasping because she was out of breath.
‘So . . . tell me please, and put me out of my misery,’ he begged ardently.
‘I don’t have it,’ she said, still weeping with relief. ‘I don’t have TB again.’
‘Oh May, really?’
‘Yes, really,’ she confirmed. ‘The X-ray was clear. The doctor thinks I was a bit run down and that was making me feel poorly; that and my imagination running wild and making me feel sick and exhausted. He’s given me a tonic and said I should be feeling better in a week or so.’
George was wet eyed too as he took her in his arms. They had both waited so long for this. It was one of those ineffably wonderful moments.
‘I’m so pleased for you, but the timing is rotten. I’m on my way back to camp,’ he said hoarsely.
‘At least I was able to see you before you disappear again,’ she pointed out.
‘Yeah, there is that,’ he agreed, ‘but there isn’t enough time to get married.’
‘We can do that the next time you are home,’ she said, grinning. ‘If you ask me nicely, that is.’
‘May,’ he said, barely able to speak for emotion. ‘Will you marry me?’
‘I certainly will,’ she said, her voice drowned out by the sound of the train rumbling in.
As this station was the end of the line, they had a few precious moments together before the train headed back into central London. Once George had gone, May walked home happily via the Co-op to tell her mother her double good news, then called on Mrs Bailey for the same reason. After an awful few weeks, life was very bright indeed again.
It was January 1944, and after another make-do wartime Christmas, people were weary of waiting for the eagerly anticipated second front. To add to the gloom, Londoners found themselves under attack from the air again at night after nearly three years of relative calm. They were out of the habit of sheltering, and it was hard to have to climb into those dark, damp holes again.
‘I don’t think I’ll bother to go down the shelter,’ said Dick Stubbs on the first night of the air raids since the lull. ‘I’ll take my chances up here.’
‘Oh no you will not,’ his wife pronounced. ‘I’m not having you asking for trouble. That’s just plain stupid.’
‘She’s right, Mr Stubbs,’ added Connie, who was understandably nervous of air raids having lost her grandfather and her home to one. ‘Best not to chance it.’
‘Consider yourself told, Dad,’ said May with feigned cheeriness. ‘You don’t have a hope against all us women.’
‘The story of my life,’ he said. Everyone was behaving with false jollity. ‘I’ve always been short of male allies.’
‘Never mind. You’ll be all right when George comes home,’ May reminded him. ‘You’ll have a son-in-law to take your side then.’
‘It can’t come soon enough for me,’ he said.
‘How do you think I feel then?’ responded May, grabbing her gas mask, coat and blankets and heading out of the back door into the garden. ‘But even apart from getting you some male support in the family, everyone is sick and tired of the war now and we want the boys home.’
‘Surely the Allies’ invasion must start soon,’ muttered Flo, collecting her coat. ‘Why don’t they get on with it?’
‘Because it’s such a massive operation to organise, I suppose,’ her husband suggested. ‘They’ll want to make absolutely certain it doesn’t go wrong. Nobody wants another Dunkirk.’