Henrietta Sees It Through (16 page)

Lady B picked up her coffee spoon

At the word ‘stab' Lady B picked up her coffee spoon and jabbed me in my bad arm.

‘All the same,' I said, ‘I don't see how you can call a German plane a pleasure, pointed or otherwise.'

Always your affectionate Childhood's Friend,

H
ENRIETTA

 

 

 

April 19, 1944

M
Y
D
EAR
R
OBERT

Doctor Rival, much to everybody's disappointment, is one of our friends, and he sometimes drops in here on his way home of an evening. A few nights ago he was sitting by our fire while he and Charles were engaged upon one of those sardonic, disillusioned conversations which doctors are so fond of.

‘I think,' said Charles, measuring a meagre dose of whisky into his glass, as though it were cough mixture, ‘it is time we had a “Salute the Doctor” week.'

‘I couldn't agree with you more, Charles,' said Doctor Rival. ‘I have felt for some time that the country ought to show us some mark of its esteem and gratitude.'

‘Instead of which,' said Charles, ‘they are going to take our practices away from us, and keep us so busy filling in forms we shan't have time to look after the sick.'
*

‘I am seriously thinking of becoming a Quack in the Brave New World,' said Doctor Rival dreamily.

‘My dear Rival,' said Charles, ‘you have taken the very words from my mouth. I shall have my photo in the local papers with “Cures Guaranteed” written underneath. What line do you propose to adopt?'

‘Herbs,' said Doctor Rival simply. ‘Practically all my cures will be effected through the post, and I shall sit cosily at home writing my memoirs.'

‘It's a funny thing,' said Charles, ‘but people really prefer Quacks. I don't mean Osteopaths,' he added hurriedly, for Lady B was rising from her chair in wrath, ‘I mean Quacks,' and he got up to see Doctor Rival, who was about to leave, to the front door. ‘I sometimes wonder why we waste all those years in hospital.'

‘That's the first time I've heard Charles grumble since the war started,' said Lady B, while he was out of the room.

‘It's the whisky,' I said. ‘He does like a drink at seven and it's running short. But he is tired. I'm trying to keep him in bed for a weekend.'

‘What's the good of keeping me in bed for a weekend?' said Charles crossly, as he came back into the room. ‘If people know I'm there they'll come and drag me out in my pyjamas. Don't be a fool, Henrietta.'

‘And that's the first time I've ever heard you speak crossly to Henrietta. You
do
need a holiday,' said Lady B. ‘Come and stay the weekend with me. You can say you are going away and nobody need know where you really are. Henrietta can come too, and I'll give you your breakfasts in bed.'

‘I think I'd better stay at home and keep people at bay,' I said. ‘And, honestly, Lady B, darling, I wouldn't really enjoy myself lying in bed and listening to you rushing up and downstairs with trays.'

And so it was arranged. At first we were pleased and excited about it, but by Friday the impending parting was
hanging over us like the Sword of Damocles. I packed Charles's last pair of silk pyjamas and stowed away some neat little parcels of rations. Charles came staggering upstairs under a load of books and tobacco, as though he were about to be marooned on a desert island.

‘You know, Henrietta,' he said, sitting down on the edge of his bed and letting the books and tobacco cascade to the floor. ‘I feel quite upset about leaving you. Are you sure you'll be all right?'

‘Of course I shall. I'll give Evensong the weekend off and have cosy little women's meals on trays.'

‘And you'll remember about the clinker in the boiler?'

‘I'll remember. Goodbye, Charles; you won't forget me, will you?'

Charles kissed me fiercely, picked up his suitcase, and left the house.

At about eleven o'clock Lady B rang up to say she'd been sitting on Charles's bed and they'd had a lovely talk.

‘Did you talk about me?' I said suspiciously.

‘We just touched on you,' said Lady B. ‘I've given him some hot milk now, and tucked him up for the night.'

The house seemed very quiet and I tiptoed up to bed. The nicest thing about that night was that the telephone rang twice and each time I was able to say, ‘I'm sorry, but the Doctor is away,' quite firmly.

A lovely talk

The next morning Lady B rang up to say Charles had woken up for early-morning tea and a biscuit, but had dropped off again directly afterwards, and she was going to let him bide. At noon she rang up to say he was still sleeping.

‘He isn't dead, is he?' I said anxiously.

‘Oh, no, Henrietta. He's asleep, and looking so nice.'

‘Do you like his pyjamas?'

‘They're lovely.'

‘You didn't notice the patch, did you? It's on the seat.'

‘Well, no. But I'll have a look when he goes to the bathroom.'

The weekend dragged slowly on. Lady B reported at regular intervals. Charles spent the whole of Saturday sleeping, and came down to dinner in his dressing gown. On Sunday he sat reading in a chair all day. ‘He's very quiet,' said Lady B. ‘You don't think he's fretting, do you, Henrietta?'

‘No, no. Being silent is Charles's way of enjoying himself.'

On Monday I was digging in the garden and looked up and saw an anxious face looking over the wall. ‘Charles!' I said.

‘I just wanted to ask about the boiler,' said Charles in a hoarse whisper.

‘Well, as a matter of fact, it's out.'

Charles gave a strangled cry. ‘Oh, Henrietta! How could you?'

‘It just went out, Charles. Are you enjoying yourself? You look terribly well.'

‘It's heaven!'

‘Doctor Brown!' cried a voice from the road. ‘Thank goodness you're back! My wife has got the most awful
cough. I hardly got a wink of sleep all night. When can you come and see her?'

‘I'll come now,' said Charles sadly.

Always your affectionate Childhood's Friend,

H
ENRIETTA

 

 

 

*
A White Paper on the proposed N.H.S. was a matter of fierce debate at this time and Charles was one of 25,000 doctors who had recently received a questionnaire on the subject.

 

 

 

May 3, 1944

M
Y
D
EAR
R
OBERT

We all feel guilty because Cherbourg has saved us from the Flying Bombs, which is silly, really, because you might just as well feel guilty because you haven't had appendicitis, but there you are. Civilians can never enjoy immunity if they have it. The people who have never heard a siren feel apologetic towards those who have, and those who have been in only a few raids feel apologetic towards those who have been in a lot, and those whose windows have been blown in feel apologetic towards those whose houses have been knocked down, and so on. Charles says it shows an unhealthy mentality, and the last war taught him to be thankful when nothing was falling on his own head and not to worry about things falling on other people's, but Charles is a mountain of common sense and always has been.

The minor ills which accompany London Raids are now ours. People saying, ‘You folk down here don't know there's a war on' is one, and Evacuees is another. Little Mrs Simpkins came round yesterday with a letter from the Billeting Officer saying she had got to have three.

‘Three, Henrietta!' she said, handing me the letter, and then she sat down and burst into tears.

I put my arms round her. She felt very frail and small. ‘Don't cry,' I said; ‘perhaps you'll get a Mother Who'll Help.' This is the forlorn hope of all Hostesses in Reception Areas, but though they sometimes get Mothers, they don't often get Help.

‘I'm being very foolish,' said little Mrs Simpkins, wiping her eyes, ‘and very wicked, too. We're so lucky down here not having any of these dreadful Flying Bombs, and of course the children must leave London, but I'm getting an old woman, Henrietta, and I find the house without any help all I can manage. I haven't felt very well lately, and I'm so afraid of Breaking Down.'

‘You mustn't have them,' I said, kissing her little withered cheek. ‘I'll tell Charles.'

‘No, Henrietta, no. Please, I really mean it,' said little Mrs Simpkins, sitting up very straight. ‘This is Total War,' she said, her eyes flashing, ‘and my three Evacuees are one in the eye for Hitler, if you know what I mean, dear.'

‘But if you break down it will be one in the eye for Mr Churchill.'

‘I shan't break down,' said little Mrs Simpkins firmly. ‘I feel much better since I had my little weep, though I must say, I hope it never reaches Goebbels's ears.'

‘I don't think it will.'

‘And it isn't that I'm in the
least
afraid of having a Stroke,' said little Mrs Simpkins, glaring at me; ‘but who, I ask you,
who
understands Alexander's stomach as I do?'

‘Nobody.'

‘I shall manage,' said little Mrs Simpkins, putting a small handkerchief embroidered by Christian Indians in Lahore away in her bag. Then she kissed me, picked up
her basket and left the house. I watched her going down the garden path, a small, frail, gallant figure; one of the unsung heroines of the war.

After lunch I went to the Billeting Office myself. Mrs Whinebite was there, having a row with the Billeting Officer. ‘It's a scandal!' she shouted as I opened the door.

Having a row with the Billeting Officer

‘It's better than Germans in your house, isn't it?' hissed the Billeting Officer. ‘It's better than the Gestapo, isn't it? Isn't it better than Rape?'

‘
Really!
' said Mrs Whinebite, and flounced out.

‘What do
you
want?' said the Billeting Officer crossly.

‘An Evacuee.'

The Billeting Officer put on his spectacles and looked at me. ‘Well, you can't have one,' he said. ‘You're exempt.'

‘I know. But I'm stronger than some of the people who've got them.'

‘I'm not worrying about you, my dear woman,' said the Billeting Officer. ‘It's Charles. I want to keep him fit to look after all these people.'

‘I wouldn't let it bother Charles.'

‘Well, I'll put your name down,' said the Billeting Officer in a grudging way, rather as though I'd asked for a bit of salmon for the weekend, ‘but I can't promise.'

Outside the Billeting Office I ran into Mrs Whinebite. ‘Have
you
got any Evacuees?' she said.

‘No.'

‘Really, Henrietta!' said Mrs Whinebite. ‘You ought to be ashamed.'

And so I am, of course.

But I am determined not to end on a Sour Note and also to get this letter to you finished because, at the end of the week, I have got to go into a nursing home and have my arm tweaked, and I shall then be too sorry for myself to pen a line to anybody.
*

The worst of going with Charles to see a doctor is that the doctor is always more interested in Charles than he is in me. Once, a long time ago, when Charles used to have time to go about with me, he came with me when I had to have a tooth stopped, and the dentist placed the drill firmly on a nerve in my tooth and then looked over the top of my head and began telling Charles a funny story about a mutual patient.

When Charles and I were ushered into the presence of the Great Bone Chief, he and Charles immediately began talking about the Beveridge Report. I sat by the fire and warmed my hands, and began to hope we might get out without my arm being looked at at all, but after a time the Great Bone Chief caught sight of me and said: ‘Ah, yes; of course. Take off your jersey, please, and sit here.'