Our Country Nurse: Can East End Nurse Sarah find a new life caring for babies in the country?. Sarah Beeson

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      ‘Found him, Mrs Underdown,’ I called as I gently lifted the boy out of the cupboard.

      Mrs Underdown rushed in and let out a huge sigh of relief quickly followed by shouting. ‘Dean, you tiresome child! You know you’re not to wander off and now look at you. You wait till your father gets home, you little horror.’

      ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ gasped Miss Moon. ‘What shall we do? We’ll have to take him to hospital and get the doctor to saw it off.’

      Dean let out a wail and started hitting the pan with his fists.

      ‘No need for that,’ I said calmly. ‘Can you find me some cooking oil please, Miss Moon.’ The dutiful great-aunt raided every kitchen cupboard until she returned with an old bottle of vegetable cooking oil in her trembling hand. I addressed the saucepan head. ‘Hello, Dean. I’m a nurse. I want you to hold still while I put some oil into the saucepan to get your head free. It won’t hurt but it will feel a bit sticky,’ I told him.

      And a minute or two later a curly-haired, rather oily little boy’s face appeared. His nose was a bit squashed but he looked perfectly fine. I rubbed his head with a tea towel.

      ‘Look at the state of you,’ cried Mrs Underdown as she hugged him to her chest, getting oil all over her clothes. ‘Home now. You’re going straight in the bath.’

      ‘Not my fault. Soldier told me to,’ he whined as his mother tucked him under her arm and strode out of the kitchen.

      ‘Stop making up silly stories,’ she scolded him. As she reached the doorway she turned and tried to compose herself. ‘I’m sorry, Nurse. It’s not usually like this.’

      ‘Happy to help,’ I replied, washing my hands in the sink.

      ‘Thank you,’ said Mrs Underdown as she turned on her heel and stormed off, her Aunty Elena following behind her in a complete tizzy.

      ‘That boy’s a bit soft,’ said the pregnant mum who’d been eager to try my carrot cake. ‘No wonder Yvonne’s flustered. She’s got a boy talking to himself in corners like a loony and a husband that’s not far off his dotage.’

      I turned to her and said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name?’

      ‘Oh, yes. I’m Jackie Bowyer and that one’s Stacy,’ she indicated to her infant. ‘We’re neighbours sort of. My husband, Trev, keeps the garage opposite your digs. We live over the shop so to speak.’

      ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Bowyer. When’s the baby due?’

      She now took a big bite of the carrot cake. ‘November. Gosh, this is tasty, Nurse. Much nicer than Miss Elena’s dry old fruit cake,’ she said, giggling. ‘Here, girls, try a piece,’ she called to the other mums handing the plates around as a group of mothers descended upon us, feeding themselves with one hand and crumbling bits of cake and popping it into the eager mouths of their tots.

      ‘Do you serve cake at the baby clinic too?’ asked Mrs Bowyer with a wry smile as she scooped up her baby, who was rooting through the contents of her large fuchsia shoulder bag and chewing the edge of a packet of Benson & Hedges. ‘Oi, Stacy, you’ll get them all soggy,’ chided her mother, wiping the drool-covered pack on her jeans before she pocketed them. I really hoped she wasn’t smoking during her pregnancy.

      The door opened and in lumbered Mrs Bourne with little girls in tow.

      ‘Sorry we’re late. Have we missed the singing again?’ she asked wearily.

      ‘Don’t worry, you’ve made it for the most important bit. The nurse brought some cake,’ answered Mrs Bowyer.

      ‘That’s music to my ears. Run off and play, you two,’ she told her children, planting glittering lipstick-smeared kisses on their foreheads before flopping down into a chair. ‘Nice to see you again, Nurse,’ she said, multi-tasking as she massaged her own pregnant belly with one hand and gobbled some cake with the other. ‘You’ve been the talk of the village,’ she told me through a mouthful of crumbs.

      ‘Have I?’ I asked, trying to sound amused but feeling suddenly anxious.

      ‘I should cocoa,’ said Mrs Bowyer, laughing. ‘Trev’s mum kept him chatting at the garage till past supper time, telling him all the juicy details after you trounced old Mother Bunyard.’

      ‘How old is baby Stacy?’ I asked, trying to change the subject.

      ‘Are you kidding me?’ continued Mrs Bowyer, undeterred. ‘My mother-in-law is Doris Bowyer. Her and Miss Loopy Loo Elena have been under the thumb of Martha Bunyard for years, though in truth Doris is no better than she ought to be. And then you come along, same age as all of us, your first month in the village and it’s a bloody revolution.’

      ‘That’s a huge exaggeration,’ I said, trying to laugh it off.

      ‘Don’t be modest, Nurse. I can tell you’re not going to be snooty like some of them. I think you should stick to your guns – don’t let them old biddies rule the roost.’

      ‘She’s quite right, Nurse,’ said Mrs Bourne softly. ‘They needed taking down a peg or two. Would it be greedy to have a tiny bit more cake?’

      ‘With pleasure,’ I said, giving her another slice. ‘I could make some apple cake another time.’

      ‘You can come again,’ said Mrs Bowyer, winking. She looked at her watch, ‘Gosh, it’s nearly 12. Better get back to do the lunch or Trev the Rev will be giving me my marching orders,’ she said with a chuckle, retrieving Stacy from the corner where she’d dragged her mother’s handbag and emptied out lipstick, face powder, loose change and tampons. Mrs Bowyer shook her head and started putting her paraphernalia back in the bag. ‘Oh no! My pill’s gone. Stacy, what have you done?’ she cried, opening up her child’s mouth with a finger. ‘Nurse, Nurse. I think she’s gobbled my pill.’

      ‘Contraceptive pill?’

      ‘Yes. What’ll happen to her?’

      ‘She should be fine. But let’s ask the doctor to check her out. He’ll probably tell you to keep a close eye on her for 24 hours.’

      She nodded. ‘You must think we’re a right load of Calamity Janes,’ she said without her usual giggle, her forehead furrowed.

      ‘Not in the least,’ I said. ‘Come over to clinic with me now and we’ll call the doctor and get him to see Stacy straight away.’

      ‘Thanks, Nurse. Whatever they say, I like you,’ Mrs Bowyer assured me.

      ‘You’re not still taking your contraceptive pill are you, Mrs Bowyer?’

      ‘No, I haven’t got round to chucking ’em away from before we started trying for Stacy,’ she laughed. ‘Mind I wish I had been taking them, though now this one is on the way, it’ll be very welcome.’

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