Steady Now Doctor (4 page)

Suddenly Andy understood a whole range of things. His mother's barrage of words were just a protective screen. Perhaps, before, he'd been too young to appreciate this. Now she had achieved something, it didn't sound much, just a write-up in the local rag, but the important thing was it said that she was a professional actress. He wondered now whether the balance of things between his mother and father would change. He would just have to wait and see.

His mother stayed in her room for the rest of the afternoon and only came downstairs at about six o'clock. “Be a good lad and fetch some fish 'n chips,” she said in a voice that was quite foreign to Andy. They had just time to eat them before the actors' coach called to pick her up for yet another performance.

His father was working late again and had not yet appeared home.

Andy admired his father greatly, and fully realized the long hours he put in at work. He wondered if his father's colleagues put in anything like the hours his father did. His father seemed to be working later and later every night.

He had kept one portion of fish 'n chips back ready to heat up when his father came in, grumbling, at about 8.30 p.m., looking weary and exhausted.

Poor dad, thought Andy, and for a moment as he looked at his father, he thought he had cut his cheek.

He was about to say something to him, but then, as his father turned away, Andy realized that it wasn't blood or a cut, it was lipstick. He said nothing, but hoped his father would find it when he went upstairs to wash, remove it and then the matter wouldn't come up.

He couldn't bear to think of the consequences, but his working late, and staying on at the office, did now have a new interpretation.

By the time his father came down his face was clean, thank God, and Andy gave him the warmed fish 'n chips, at the same time handing him the local rag with the story of his mother's success.

His father read it, then whistled between his teeth. “So the old girl's hit the headlines. I wonder what she'll be like to live with now?”

Andy, feeling strangely protective towards her, said nothing.

For the next few days Andy looked around trying to find somebody to cycle to Blackpool with him.

Anybody who was almost a friend at Metson College had just sneered at the idea, they were off on their hols to their villas in exotic places like the South of France.

In the end, he could find no one, and when he was reaching this stage he felt strangely cheerful. He was on his own, but that wasn't so bad. He was free, he could go where he liked, stop when he liked, and was glad that no one was going with him.

He was older now than on his last trip, the war had finished, there was no black-out, but still rationing, and more cars on the road.

He still had all his old cycling and camping equipment, but again had to borrow a framed rucksack; his shorts were a bit tight, but were good enough. He had to give his bicycle a good service as it was getting a bit rusty, although the plastic wood handle grips were as good as ever.

He pored over maps to see where he might go, first of all Blackpool, of course, to see his grandma.

In the couple of weeks he had to prepare for his trip there was a quietness in the house he had never experienced before. His parents hardly spoke, it was as if they were almost frightened of each other.

Before it had been the dominant father and the shrewish housewife, and now it was the working father and the actress wife.

Although they hardly spoke it wasn't because there was animosity between them, there was even a relaxed atmosphere. It was quite eerie.

Having collected all his stuff together, Andy set off for Blackpool. It took him a good four days again and was just as hard as it had been the last time, just good old Grandma and her high teas with brawn, pressed tongue, potted shrimps, trifle and salad.

He stayed for a week. At the end of the promenade at Squires Gate, he spotted a boy of his own age with a rugby ball, struck up a friendship and they ran up and down the sands day after day throwing the ball to each other, side stepping imaginary opponents and scoring innumerably unopposed tries. He liked staying with his grandma and grandpa Butcher, his mother's parents. They were said to be as different as chalk and cheese. Andy felt that this was a mistake, and that the saying itself was a mistake. There was many a piece of cheese he had eaten that was almost indistinguishable from chalk, particularly from his mother's larder. To say his mother was frugal was an understatement, nothing edible was ever thrown away. There would be about six resident different dishes with gravy in that might become useful, old mashed potato that could easily be fried up and several jams that only needed the mould scooping off the top to be all right.

Andy himself had once written on the blackboard quite legibly with something hard, which on full examination turned out to be an old piece of cheese.

It was much safer to say his grandparents were very different. They had retired to Blackpool from Sheffield, fulfilling a dream of spending their last days in a bungalow near the sea.

Andy's grandfather had been in banking. He was always referred to as an ex bank manager, but he probably had only been a senior clerk, whereas grandma Butcher had been the daughter of a bank manager and always felt slightly superior towards her husband.

In Sheffield they had belonged to everything, the church, the Mothers' Union, the bowling club, the choir, and in younger years the operatic society. His grandfather had been treasurer of a dozen clubs or societies. They could not walk down any street in the town without bumping into at least half a dozen people they knew.

They were given a huge retirement party by friends and business associates, with even the mayor attending, and everyone envying them escaping from the soot and grime of an industrial town to Blackpool and the seaside, and it was not just Blackpool ordinary, they were going to, it was South Shore, Blackpool, and if you put down Squires Gate on a letter addressed to them instead of South Shore, it would reach them and this was almost on a par with living at Lytham St Anne's.

They might as well have moved to Siberia.

From being people of importance in Sheffield, they became just an old couple living in a bungalow at Blackpool. Living off the crumbs of visits by their children and grandchildren.

They were always hospitable, and having the family evacuated to stay with them as evacuees during the early part of the war was one of those strange bonuses that wartime sometimes throws up.

One of Andy's happiest pre-war memories was when convalescing after an appendix operation, he had a whole week there on his own, and grandma Butcher had taken him to the pictures in Lytham St Anne's to see Jeannette McDonald and Nelson Eddy in technicolour in the film
Smiling Through
. The song
When Those Two Eyes of Blue Come Smiling Through
, he never forgot, and for many years he fantasized about rescuing Jeannette McDonald from situations where no other man than he dared to go.

His grandma Butcher was a very large heavy woman, round, and smelling of powder and perfumes. She was far too large to get into an ordinary bath, so once a fortnight she went by bus to Lytham St Anne's for a Turkish bath and a massage.

In later years, Andy used to wonder what it was like for the lucky person who was designated to unpeel, bath and massage her.

His grandfather, on the other hand, was a tiny thin very studious man who only lost his temper if he found that you were sitting reading on the toilet when he was waiting to go in.

He was so thin that one day in bed his hip had got caught in grandma's flowing nightie and tore it.

Every day his grandfather read a book, and every day he went to Boots Library where he was a member, to draw out another book and each and every book was about travel and adventure.

Andy often wondered what went on in this little man's head, as he hardly ever spoke, just sat and read. Was he paddling up the Amazon, climbing Everest, as Andy himself had been rescuing Jeannette McDonald from impossible situations years before?

He must have accumulated a huge fund of knowledge over the years, but he didn't seem able to discuss it, share it, or pass it on. He had always wanted to travel, so a lifetime as a bank clerk in Sheffield was for him akin to keeping a lion in a small metal cage.

As far as Andy was concerned, they were always good to him and spoilt him a bit, and he always enjoyed going there.

His grandmother always cried when he left, whilst his grandfather just looked up from his book and nodded.

Andy left Blackpool wandering down the western route home. Chester, which he marvelled at, Bridgnorth where he camped in a farmer's field and was asked to dinner where they were all very sophisticated, smoked black Russian cigarettes and drank wine. It was very good of them to ask him. They were all in dinner jackets and long dresses and although he was just in shorts and a rough shirt, nobody patronized him, and they all seemed interested in his journey and what he was doing.

He also visited Shrewsbury, Ludlow and came down as far south as Worcester.

He thought it was all quite beautiful. This was the sort of England he had read about in books. He particularly liked the battered regimental flags hanging in the Cathedrals in Chester and Worcester and wondered what tales they would have to tell if they could speak. From Worcester he managed to make it home in a day, wondering what sort of reception he would receive from his parents.

It was a Saturday, the day he arrived home.

They were both in, but hardly acknowledged his arrival, as they were going at each other hammer and tongs, about nothing. What had happened just before Andy had left home had been a temporary lull in a longstanding war.

Andy sadly put away all his gear and went up to his room, hearing the continual raised voices from downstairs. He had no idea what the issue was. He had a mental picture of ships - men-of-war firing broadsides at one another.

In the mail waiting for him was confirmation that he had accommodation in the student hostel attached to St Jane's Hospital.

He looked forward to leaving the battlefields of home to have a room of his own and independence, but at the same time he had a dreadful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Would he be able to cope as a medical student, and what would be required of him?

Chapter 3

Disaster

Elsie Howard had gone overboard in preparing and equipping Andy for medical school.

A steady pile of clean washed pressed clothes grew in his bedroom. In addition, she had stitched his name label to every article, even handkerchiefs and towels.

“Mum,” Andy protested, “I'm going to medical school, not to boarding school.”

His mother jerked upright in one of her attacking moods.

“Have you ever lived in the community before,” she snapped.

“No,” said Andy, “but er.”

“There's no but about it,” said his mother, “don't give opinions about things you know nothing about.”

Andy tried desperately to think of some situation where his mother had lived in the community and gained her experience. He was going to challenge her then thought better of it. What he couldn't see anywhere amongst the piles of clothes and equipment, was his rugby gear.

“Mum,” he said tentatively, “I can't see my rugby kit anywhere.”

“You won't,” said his mother, not turning her head. “I want you to give it up. You played far too much rugby at that expensive college you went to. If you'd spent more time studying, you might have done better.”

Andy nearly exploded. He had one of his strange energy surges. He gripped his mother's shoulder, his face almost touching hers, and in a loud, but controlled voice, he said, “The only reason I got into St Jane's was because I had my 1
st
XV colours. If I'd played for Surrey or England I would have had a Scholarship. Even if I didn't want to play rugby, which I do, I would have to at St Jane's, everybody has. Please find my kit now, if you've got rid of them,” he broke into a sweat at the thought, “Dad will have to buy me some more tomorrow.”

His mother was staggered by the authority and the force of this boy man she had brought into the world. She looked and was scared of the situation she had created.

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder, snarling in defiance. “That,” she said, “is absolutely disgusting. Do you mean to tell me that to be a doctor first of all you have to be good at rolling in the mud? In fact, I've never heard of anything so disgusting.”

She had regained her composure now.

“If that's the way you feel,” she said, “you can get yourself ready for this precious medical school.”

“Mum,” said Andy, his voice still raised, “where are my rugby things?”

“Find them if you can,” said his mother, and stalked out of the room.

Andy searched the house from top to bottom. There should have been his boots, almost new; two pairs of shorts, one white one blue; two pairs of 1
st
XV socks; one pair of 2
nd
XV socks; one 1
st
XV shirt and one house XV shirt. You couldn't just hide them anywhere. He had only seen them yesterday, she hadn't had time to send them to a jumble, she couldn't have burnt them, but where? Then he had a thought, dismissed it, then thought he had better make sure - the dustbin. The top was filled with broken egg shells, tea leaves, and old newspapers, then he saw a piece of cloth, pulled it, and yes it was his rugby bag with all his kit in. ‘God,' he thought, ‘if I'd have waited until tomorrow the dustmen would have had them.'

Andy's mother ignored him as he walked in with his kit, and made a point of not speaking to him for the rest of the day. The next morning, however, she was busy ironing and packing for him, just as if nothing had happened.

Both his mother and father drove with him to the medical school that evening. It was the closest that Andy had felt to them.

His mother almost on good terms with his father, but of course, a back seat driver. “You're going too fast, mind that cyclist, d'you know you almost went through a red light there?” But overall it was a bit subdued, they were a bit subdued, their lives were going to change. For the first time his mother and father would be alone together. Andy felt a mixture of anxiety and excitement, and despite all its battles, he would miss home.

They arrived at the Medical School Hostel, some converted houses in what was once a fashionable London area, now much down-market, but only 400 yards from the hospital. Nobody has ever found the mythical elephant graveyard where they go to die, this area was noted as the one in which all the old prostitutes came to die. Looking at the battered wrecks lining the street Andy estimated that their average age was about eighty, and wondered who would want to touch them.

There were about six other families unloading sons or daughters as they arrived at the hostel; a few parents a bit red eyed. “Huh,” snorted Andy's mother, “I had no idea that the accommodation was mixed, that will lead to no good.” Andy's father gave him a grin and a wink.

Andy's mother inspected his room and the common rooms, sweeping round imperiously looking for dust traces. She ran her finger over the top of pictures and skirtings, with Andy and his father following behind.

“She's playing Queen Victoria,” said his father.

The rooms were arranged in groups of four, each room had a desk with a chair, chest of drawers, wardrobe, single bed, and a wash basin. An easy chair with an overhead light was by the bed and an angle poise lamp on the desk. The four rooms shared a common bathroom with a bath and shower and a kitchen with electric stove, sink and four storage cupboards.

There was a row of clothes washing machines. One glance at them by his mother was enough, “Don't go playing with those,” she said, “bring your washing home.”

There was also a large common room, a small TV room and a bar in an alcove off the large common room. There were three or four superior looking youths at the bar clasping great pints in one hand and looking contemptuously at all these new people unloading and weeping, or both. Forgetting that it was only a year ago when they were in exactly the same situation.

Andy's mother laboriously unpacked and stored away his clothes, and then took a cardboard box full of tins, jars of jams and marmalade, coffee, tea, and condensed milk and arranged them all neatly in his individual kitchen cupboard.

They returned to his room now, all a bit awkward with one another.

His father sat in the easy chair blowing his nose, his mother sat on the bedside, Andy stood impatiently wanting to be off to explore on his own, but at the same time, not really wanting them to go.

“Well, we'd better be off,” said his father in a strange sort of husky voice, and with obvious signs that he had enlisted in the red-eyed brigade. His mother, as if loath to leave, made one more final inspection of everything, keeping her face away from the two men.

When she turned round, to Andy's surprise there were tears running down her face, she accepted his embrace warmly. This was only the second time that he ever remembered warmth and embrace from his mother, the other time being when she saw her write-up in the local rag.

A quite different mother from usual said, “Please don't go and disappear like your sister Lettice.”

“Of course I won't,” said Andy, “I'll phone, and it's going to be a giant who will have to stop me coming home for Sunday lunch.”

His father just shook his hand, too choked to speak and by now at least a sergeant major in the red-eyed brigade and, so they went.

The next two weeks for Andy couldn't have been fuller. There was a Freshers Party, where everybody was friendly, and hundreds of societies to join or not to join. He had his first introduction to the dissecting room, where formalin preserved bodies bore no relation to human beings, and were to be his constant companions for the next two years.

As part of an introductory course, like animated penguins in their short white coats, they were given a tour of the hospital proper, wards, operating theatre, and outpatients. They almost felt like doctors, nodding to patients as they walked through the wards. Life was absolutely tremendous. He had no idea that it could be so good. He had meant to go home on his second weekend, but no one else was, and there was so much to do that he rang his parents, and though they both said they fully understood, they did sound disappointed.

The rugby was exciting with nearly everybody playing, and the teams took a great deal of sorting out. There was a shortage of hookers, and Andy finished up by being selected for the extra ‘A' XV, which wasn't bad for a start, as they were the gods of the 1
st
XV. The whippets, which was really the name for the 2
nd
XV, the ‘A' XV, the extra ‘A' XV, the ‘B' XV, the extra ‘B' XV, the ‘C' XV and the School's XV, which was a bit of a mixture of all seven playing the top rugby schools mid-week.

Not a great beer drinker, Andy had to down his pints with the rest. On their train journey back from a game in Bedford, full of beer at the end of Andy's second week as a student, rolling drunkenly around in their railway compartment, somehow they managed to smash a window, which meant calling the guard. The guard called the railway police, who took all their names and the name of their medical school. It was far more sobering than any egg flip.

“Forget it,” said an experienced clinical student, “nothing will happen,” but Andy couldn't forget about it, and worried about it all over the weekend.

He was not in the least surprised to be summoned from the physiology lecture on the Monday morning by a porter with a message that the Dean wanted to see him in his office urgently.

Andy was puzzled that he was the only one sent for, as there were at least three people from the same fracas attending the lecture.

He made his way nervously to the Dean's study. The Dean, who had interviewed him, had retired, and this was a new broom Dean, a neurologist. He had already thrown out two of the medical school's rugby internationals as he felt that ten years was too long a period to spend at a medical school getting a degree.

Andy felt that it was terribly unfair for just him to be there. He was in fact sitting down when the window was broken, perhaps they were going to see the others later.

In a few minutes the Dean's secretary called him into the office. He was surprised when the Dean got up from his desk, shook his hand and said, “Come and sit down Andy,” pointing to a large leather upholstered chair. The Dean returned to his desk.

“Andy,” he said in the kindest of voices, “unfortunately I have some very bad news for you. The coach your mother was travelling in to a troop concert last night was involved in a traffic accident. Sadly four of the cast, of whom your mother was one, were killed instantly.

“I am so sorry to have to be the bearer of such sad news, but please be assured that everyone here will help in any way possible.”