Olga - A Daughter's Tale (16 page)

“
For a few minutes Olga,” she said ”I’m back home in Jamaica”. That night I cried bitterly for the loss of the best friend I’ve ever had.

******

These days I spend most nights listening to the wireless for news of the war in Europe. It is so frustrating that I know more about what is going on there than how my daughter and sister are managing in London. It is months since I have heard from either of them and I feel helpless because there is nothing to do except pray.

We now know Germany is bombing London relentlessly and the loss of life and injuries, as well as the devastation to the city, is enormous. I read in the Gleaner of how people have to go to use the underground tube stations to shelter from the bombs. They often sleep there all night and then have go off to work the next morning trying to avoid unexploded bombs or fractured gas mains. How dangerous is all sounds.

I wonder if Olga has to do this too.

What amazing people Londoners are, what spirit they have. The paper said it’s not true about people starving in England because there was no food. Irrational, I know, but the thought of Olga starving worried me almost as much as her being hurt.

England needs more fighter planes badly because she is up against such terrible odds and Jamaica has agreed to send a squadron of twelve planes. Six have already been sent and another six promised. The whole island is being asked to rally together to collect money so we can supply the promised six as soon as possible.

The Daily Gleaner has set up the Jamaica Bombing Planes Fund and is encouraging communities to raise whatever money they can for the Fund with dances, concerts, fairs, sports events, etc. and every time £5,000 is raised it is sent to London to purchase another plane. There have been some unusual ways of collecting money. One elderly lady who has a dog called Pip had the bright idea of strapping a collection box to his back.

“Pip’s own Bombing Plane Fund, please give generously” it says on the collection box. It’s difficult to walk past Pip without putting a penny or two in his box. I find it heart warming to see how even the poorest people are giving what they can towards the Fund; their generosity is humbling.

The mother country tells us that the Germans don’t regard black people as proper people and see them in same light as Jews and their fate would be the same as the Jews so thousands of men enlisted to help Britain win the war. Thank God Sydney is too old to fight, and Boysie failed his medical because of his asthma.

There are now United States air force and military bases in Jamaica and I see soldiers driving through Kingston and often hear planes flying overhead. People are very afraid because we’ve been told that the Germans want to get control of Jamaica because it is a stepping stone to the coast of America. The war is affecting us here on the island. Some goods like petrol, butter, flour, rice and oil are in short supply so we are only allowed to buy small quantities at a time.

Of course, the cost of goods has also gone up a lot; but the rich are still able to afford most things. Thank goodness, Lucy is able to supply us with fresh food and we have plenty of fruit we can pick from the trees. We burn candles at night because, like London, we have blackouts too and have to keep curtains closed at night so that planes going over can’t see our lights although I don’t understand why if they are American planes.

Sydney said tonight he was sure Olga was safe; he says if there was bad news the hospital would have informed us and, of course, he is right. That is some comfort. I pray to the Virgin Mary every night to keep my daughter safe and well.

******

Olga’s Diary

Dear Diary

What did I do wrong
: The water in my bath was so hot the bathroom was thick with steam, burning my skin and I could barely see the bath taps. But I didn’t want to cool it down, I wanted it as hot as I could bear it.

Earlier Moores had said she’d meet me at the pub, but wasn’t there when I arrived. So, I got my ginger beer from the barman and sat down. The pub was busy and noisy and though I’d been there a few times before, this was the first time on my own.

From where I was sitting I saw John in the other bar with a group of friends. His name was John Edward, Captain John Edward, and he’s a doctor in the army based just outside London. Before the war he was a senior doctor at St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington. Very popular, everyone knows him and he has a reputation for being a bit of a ladies man. I’d seen him on a few occasions - in the pub and sometimes in the hospital. Moores would often tease me about him saying I had a crush on him and, it was true, I did like him a lot, but he’d never even notice me.

I’d been sitting there for half an hour and Moores still hadn’t turned up so I decided to get one more drink. I decided I’d go back to the Nurses’ Home if she hadn’t arrived by the time I’d finished it. I felt a twinge of disappointment when I went up to buy my ginger beer because I couldn’t see John in the other bar.

I returned to my seat and the next thing I knew he was sitting opposite me. He smiled at me but I was overcome with shyness.

“
Olga, isn’t it?” he said loudly so I could hear above the noise. Goodness, I thought, he knows my name.

“
Yes, it is”.

I was getting a really good look at him now. I’d never seen anyone so handsome, except, of course, film stars, but most of them were dark haired. John was slim and fair-haired and he had such a lovely smile. By now I was hoping Moores wasn’t coming because I wanted John all to myself. He told me he had three days leave before he had to report back to the army. I could see some of the other girls in the bar looking, a bit jealous I thought, at us and I felt so proud that he seemed interested in me.

My initial shyness was gone and I was surprised by how easy he was to talk to. I told him where I came from and all about my family and he talked about his life in the army. We talked like two people who had been friends for ages. He offered to buy me another ginger beer and while he was at the bar I went to the ladies toilet.

As I came out he was standing in the passage waiting for me and took hold of my hand.

“
Come with me, Olga, I want to show you something.”

We went down the passage, in the opposite direction of the bar and John opened a door and we were in a small dirty yard where there were lots of beer barrels and crates of beer. He closed the door and I wondered what we were doing here.

Then he pushed me against the wall of the pub and started kissing me very roughly. With his knee he forced my legs apart and I was frightened because I knew then that something bad was going to happen to me.

I tried to push him away from me but the weight of his body had me pressed against the wall.

“
Stop, please stop, you’re hurting me” I pleaded still trying to push him.

“
Stop struggling and it won’t hurt” he said.

He pulled my dress up and my knickers down. He’d undone his trousers and by now I was crying

“
Please, don’t” I said, my fists punching his shoulders. I looked at him and he was smiling and then he covered my mouth with one hand and forced himself inside me.

Suddenly terrible, terrible pain, as he repeatedly pushed himself into me. The pain was so bad I wanted to pass out. I prayed to God to let me pass out so I could not feel it any more. After a few minutes I felt his body relax.

Again I said “Stop, you’re hurting me” and he laughed.

“
It’s OK, Olga, I’m finished now”. He buttoned up his trousers and then went back inside.

For a few minutes I stayed in the same position I’d been in throughout my ordeal, leaning against the wall because I couldn’t stand up properly on my own without its support. I could feel fluid running down my thighs but was afraid to go back inside to the toilet to clean myself up.

There was a door in the yard that opened straight onto the street. I tried to run back to the nursing home but my legs were shaking so much I couldn’t. I kept my head down all the way back not wanting anyone to see my tears or to make eye contact with me because I thought they would know what had just happened to me.

I felt so ashamed and humiliated and tried to think what I had done or said in the pub to make such a bad thing happen to me, but I couldn’t think of anything.

I stayed in the bath until it was cold, crying for Mammie.

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Dear Diary

I have physical pain and yet I feel numb too. How can that be?

I’m not the person I was before. That Olga has gone. I cannot concentrate on anything I am asked to do and am always being scolded by Sister Tutor. She asks me

“
What’s wrong with you, are you sick?”

I can’t tell her. I don’t tell anyone.

“
If you don’t pull your socks up there will be no point in sitting the first year examination again” she tells me. I don’t care any more. I have nightmares now and am too frightened to sleep. When I close my eyes, I see it all happening again, so I stay awake.

I want to go home, but I can’t.

******

Dear Diary

Matron called me to her office. I’m not surprised. I know my work has not been good lately. I was hoping she would tell me I could go home. Dr Randall, who carries out some of the three monthly student medical examinations, was sitting behind Matron’s desk. He spoke first.

“
I’m sorry to have to tell you Nurse, you are pregnant and I’m sorry but you’ll have to leave St Giles”.

The room started spinning and I don’t remember what happened next, except I was sitting down and Matron was giving me sips of water from a glass. I was in shock. I couldn’t believe what Dr Randall had said. Neither of them asked me any questions, which was just as well because I didn’t have any answers.

“
I don’t know how I got pregnant” I told them and I started crying. Matron was very, very kind and said

“
Leave things to me, I will arrange everything”.

Later Moores came to my room and asked me what had happened, so I told her what Dr Randall said.

She asked me who the father was and I said

“
I don’t know”.

But she didn’t believe me,

“
You must know who made you pregnant Olga, after all you it’s not like you know a lot of men. What man have you been with?”

And then it began to dawn on me that maybe it had been John Edward. I had never mentioned to anyone what happened that day in the pub, even when I saw Moores the next day I didn’t tell her. But now I told her everything. By the time I’d finished, she was crying and came over and hugged me tight.

“
Oh, Olga, I’m so sorry. I let you down. It would never have happened if I’d been there.”

Still holding me she asked hadn’t I realised afterwards that I might be pregnant.

I told her “No. Mammie brought us up very strictly at home and we never talked about things like that, so I had no idea how babies were made. When my sister Chickie was pregnant we were never allowed to discuss why she was getting bigger and bigger. We knew she was going to have a baby but Mammie never told us how babies were made. We were always told that babies were sent by God and delivered to the mother. That was the sort of upbringing we had”.

“
Oh Olga”, Moores said, “and you a nurse. Never mind, my family know a doctor who will get rid of it for you. It won’t help you get your job back but at least you won’t be burdened with a baby and can go back to Jamaica and your family won’t know anything about it.”

I knew Moores meant well, but I was horrified by her suggestion.

“
But, I would know. I can’t do that. It would be a sin.”

When I went to bed I thought about my family. There had been so much gossip about us over the years, so many scandals and I didn’t want to be another one. When I thought of Mammie I ached to put my head on her lap, just once more, and feel her hand stroking my head like she did when I didn’t feel well.

I don’t feel well now Mammie.

Then I said my prayers and prayed for God to forgive me for my wickedness and the shame I had brought on my family

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Report

Miss Olga Josephine Browney

by

Miss Geraldine Franks, Superintendent,

Catholic Refuge for Friendless Girls, Barclay Road, Fulham, London

Olga Browney was referred to the home by Miss Mary Norton, Matron, St Giles Hospital, Camberwell. Throughout the interview Miss Browney sat on the edge of her chair with her head bowed.

I told her that the first thing we had to do was to complete a registration form for her and she would have to tell me something about herself. As she answered my questions her voice trembled and her hands shook and when she mentioned her mother she started to cry. Miss Browney has made it clear she does not wish her mother, or any member of her family, to be informed about her situation. She says she does not want to hurt them.