and handkerchief to wear over her hair, along with everything she would need to treat the little boy. They had to minimise all risk of contamination, even though it meant carrying around extra items and added to the length of the visit.
Mrs Bell had queried why this was necessary to start with, but Edith promised her it was set down in the strict guidelines for such a case. She also required a bowl of disinfectant and a nailbrush to be left outside the bedroom door so that she, Mrs Bell or the doctor when he came could ensure their hands were clean going in and going out. Mrs Bell had protested. ‘Where can I put that without the other kids knocking it over? This ain’t a hospital where you can see what’s going on. The older boys sleep in that room opposite, and they’ll stick their noses into everything.’
Edith had looked around and noticed a small bookshelf at her head height; she was on the short side. ‘That might do,’ she said.
Mrs Bell had tutted. ‘We ain’t got many books and, those we have, the little darlings scribble all over, so we put our good ones up there. I’ll have to put them in me and Terry’s room, otherwise they’ll draw animals all over the pages.’ She removed the precious copies of Pears’ Cyclopaedia, the Bible and the Children’s Everything Within.
Now Edith carefully reached for the bowl, standing on tiptoe, making sure not to dislodge the envelope she had to leave for the doctor containing the patient’s report and chart. Grimly she thought that the people who devised the guidelines might have meant well but they hadn’t reckoned on big families living in confined spaces. And this was one of the luckier households.
Finally they were ready to go into the little bedroom. It was warm inside, but Mrs Bell had left the window open as instructed, so that what passed for fresh air around Dalston could freely circulate. On the narrow bed under a threadbare candlewick bedspread lay a little boy, propped on pillows and scarcely making a sound. Edith gently crouched beside him. ‘How are you feeling, Vinny?’ she asked.
‘Hot,’ he whispered.
Edith turned to Mrs Bell, lingering in the doorway. ‘Could you fetch him a glass of cold water?’ she asked, reaching for the tray set on the battered dressing table. All the crockery and cutlery that Vinny used had to be kept separate, so as not to infect the rest of the family, although that presented another hurdle for his mother.
Glad to be of use, Mrs Bell set off back downstairs, and Edith could properly assess her patient without causing his anxious parent even more worry. As she would with every case, she took his temperature, pulse and respiration, and noted them for comparison later. ‘Oh, you are a spotty boy,’ she said softly. ‘How am I going to recognise you when you’re better, eh? You’ll look so different.’ The little boy tried to smile but he was clearly too exhausted.
Edith shut the window and then set about sponging him down, noting that his spots were actually fading slightly. Perhaps he was turning the corner. ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked encouragingly. ‘Maybe Mummy can bring you some beef tea.’ But he shook his head.
She went on to check his eyes and ears in case of any extra complications. ‘And have you had a pain in your tummy?’ she wondered, knowing that any disturbances of that kind could indicate still further problems. Wearily he shook his head once more, and turned his face into the pillow.
Edith swiftly finished her work and was just opening the window again when Mrs Bell returned, glass in hand. She had put on the flannel overall that Edith had lent her so that her own housecoat wouldn’t spread infection throughout the rest of the home. ‘See if you can get him to drink it,’ Edith urged. ‘He might still be off his food but he’s got to keep up his fluid intake. That’s more important than getting him to eat anything. Maybe some thin soup, when his appetite returns.’
Mrs Bell sat on the bed and looked at her boy with exhausted, concerned affection. ‘He’s a good little chap usually. Loves his pie and mash.’
Edith smiled. ‘It might be a while before he manages any pie. Mash would be good though, with beef gravy if there’s any going. But whatever you do, don’t let anyone else eat his leftovers or they might still catch this and we don’t want that.’
Mrs Bell’s shoulders slumped. ‘That’s easier said than done. We can’t afford to waste food. There’s too many mouths to feed and that’s a fact.’
Edith nodded in acknowledgement. The guidelines insisted that a patient’s leftover meals should be burnt or flushed down the lavatory, which was fine if you had a bathroom upstairs, but far from easy if not. Again the rules were hard to apply in circumstances such as these. ‘Just do your best,’ she said encouragingly. ‘You’ve managed very well so far. Having a mother who is prepared to go to all these lengths makes a great difference – you’d be surprised. I know all these rules seem silly, but they work. I do believe he might be on the mend.’
Mrs Bell’s expression changed to one of hope. ‘Really? Do you think so?’
Edith bit her lip, wondering if she had said too much too soon. After all, it was only an impression she’d formed and she wasn’t the doctor. However, she had seen such cases before and knew what to look for. ‘It’s early days,’ she cautioned, ‘but I’d say his spots have gone past the worst. Also his temperature is down a notch even though he feels hot. So keep on doing what you’re doing, and we’ll see how he goes on.’
Mrs Bell hurriedly wiped one eye. ‘Thank you, nurse,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know what we’d do without you.’
‘There’s a message for you,’ Mary greeted her on her return.
For a moment Edith’s heart flew to her mouth and her pulse quickened, but then she damped down the feeling. The one person she most wanted to hear from would never write to her again.
‘Looks as if it’s from Peggy,’ Mary went on, oblivious to what Edith was thinking. ‘I haven’t seen her for ages, have you?’
‘No,’ Edith replied, taking the envelope and sticking it in her skirt pocket while she set down her bag. ‘Blimey, my arm’s aching from carrying all that extra stuff. So many infectious cases at the moment – or is it just me?’
Mary shrugged. ‘I had two confirmed of measles today, and one suspected case. I shall have to notify the school. What a palaver. Fancy some tea?’ she added, heading for the stairs to the common room.
‘I’ll see you down there,’ said Edith, knowing she would have to sort out her bag first.
When she eventually joined her friend, several other nurses had gathered on the same table, comparing measles cases.
‘It’s so hard on the mothers,’ said Belinda, a tall, dark-haired nurse who had joined the home in the New Year, fresh from her QNI training, but who was now thoroughly used to working on the district. ‘They all say the same thing – they wish they’d never come back after being evacuated. They think that if they’d stayed away in their billets, the children would still be all right.’
Edith sat down. ‘That’s daft, though. You can catch measles as easily out in the countryside as in the city. It doesn’t care who it infects.’
Alice agreed. ‘Yes, of course, but it’s true that the parents feel awful and blame themselves. Anyway, it will be the end of term soon and perhaps some families will go back to where they were evacuated because of the threat of invasion.’
Mary immediately turned on her. ‘Don’t talk rot. There won’t be one.’
