Staffordshire to live with him. He’s on his own, as well.’
‘Ah,’ said Sally.
‘You talk some sense into her,’ came the father’s voice. ‘She’ll do better among her own people where she grew up, instead of biding among strangers, worriting
herself away on her own.’
‘I’ve lived here over twenty-five year, and he still talks about me being among strangers,’ Mrs Burdett murmured. ‘And I’m not moving.’
Her father brought in the tea. ‘And I’m not such an old fool I can’t guess why,’ he said. ‘You’m all alike, you women; clinging on, when there isn’t a
hope in hell.’
Mrs Burdett’s nostrils reddened and her face fell as she looked towards the dresser where a group of photographs stood, all of sturdy, handsome young men. ‘Oh, my poor lads, my
bonny, bonny lads. There must have been a mistake. There must be one of them left! There must be one.’
She whispered it, and in her lustreless eyes was something near, Sally thought, to the edge. Not quite sane. Her father glanced at her and saw it too, and a shadow passed over his face. With no
words of comfort for either of them, Sally could only repeat: ‘Oh, Mrs Burdett!’
She stayed over an hour, listening intently to the old man’s tales of the family and trying to understand him. Mrs Burdett hardly spoke and Sally said little enough herself, but being
there seemed to be enough to show sympathy, to the father at least.
The wind had freshened and there was a thin crescent moon when they opened the door.
‘Yow’ll never find your way. It’s nearly pitch black,’ the father said, with an anxious glance at his daughter. ‘I’ll get the hurricane lamp and walk with
you.’
‘No,’ Sally said. ‘I know the road like the back of my hand. I could walk it blindfold.’
But he insisted on lending her the lamp, at least. To save argument she took it, and rather than give him the chance to change his mind again and come with her she walked quickly away, into the
darkness and the cool air that caressed her cheeks like a lover.
What a strange turn her life might have taken on the night of Lizzie’s wedding. If she’d actually believed he was serious she might have given Will a lot more encouragement. If
he’d really liked her as much as everybody seemed to think she might even have ended up married to him. Then she’d have been another Mrs Burdett, in widow’s weeds and probably
living in the same house as his mother, related to the old man who’d given her the lamp, maybe even with a bairn clinging to her skirts.
If, if, if. But fate takes strange twists and turns, and had decreed otherwise. It seemed to be part of the divine plan that she should nurse, and for all its trials she was beginning to be
happy in nursing, and would no doubt be nursing for the rest of her life, or until she was too old.
She looked up to the vastness of the sky and watched a cloud drift over the moon, obscuring its faint glow, and was glad of the lamp to light her three miles of mystical solitude. Odd that she
should feel such transcendent calm after poor David’s death and after visiting a mother almost driven to madness by the loss of her sons. But no matter how deep they are or how much they
consume us, what are our human troubles after all, measured against the ageless earth, the boundless sky, the stars, the eternal, immortal, imperishable universe? What do they signify, compared to
that?
Her mother was frantic when she got in, but Sally cut through her protests. ‘Mother, I’ve just understood something,’ she said. ‘We can’t be beaten. I can’t
tell you how I know it, but I do. In the end, we’ll win through.’
Back on duty early the following morning, she went straight into the sluice to read the Esbach’s albuminometers. There were six of them. It was the night nurse’s
job to set them up, to fill up each glass tube with the patient’s urine to the first mark, top up with reagent to the second mark, mix
‘Ah,’ said Sally.
‘You talk some sense into her,’ came the father’s voice. ‘She’ll do better among her own people where she grew up, instead of biding among strangers, worriting
herself away on her own.’
‘I’ve lived here over twenty-five year, and he still talks about me being among strangers,’ Mrs Burdett murmured. ‘And I’m not moving.’
Her father brought in the tea. ‘And I’m not such an old fool I can’t guess why,’ he said. ‘You’m all alike, you women; clinging on, when there isn’t a
hope in hell.’
Mrs Burdett’s nostrils reddened and her face fell as she looked towards the dresser where a group of photographs stood, all of sturdy, handsome young men. ‘Oh, my poor lads, my
bonny, bonny lads. There must have been a mistake. There must be one of them left! There must be one.’
She whispered it, and in her lustreless eyes was something near, Sally thought, to the edge. Not quite sane. Her father glanced at her and saw it too, and a shadow passed over his face. With no
words of comfort for either of them, Sally could only repeat: ‘Oh, Mrs Burdett!’
She stayed over an hour, listening intently to the old man’s tales of the family and trying to understand him. Mrs Burdett hardly spoke and Sally said little enough herself, but being
there seemed to be enough to show sympathy, to the father at least.
The wind had freshened and there was a thin crescent moon when they opened the door.
‘Yow’ll never find your way. It’s nearly pitch black,’ the father said, with an anxious glance at his daughter. ‘I’ll get the hurricane lamp and walk with
you.’
‘No,’ Sally said. ‘I know the road like the back of my hand. I could walk it blindfold.’
But he insisted on lending her the lamp, at least. To save argument she took it, and rather than give him the chance to change his mind again and come with her she walked quickly away, into the
darkness and the cool air that caressed her cheeks like a lover.
What a strange turn her life might have taken on the night of Lizzie’s wedding. If she’d actually believed he was serious she might have given Will a lot more encouragement. If
he’d really liked her as much as everybody seemed to think she might even have ended up married to him. Then she’d have been another Mrs Burdett, in widow’s weeds and probably
living in the same house as his mother, related to the old man who’d given her the lamp, maybe even with a bairn clinging to her skirts.
If, if, if. But fate takes strange twists and turns, and had decreed otherwise. It seemed to be part of the divine plan that she should nurse, and for all its trials she was beginning to be
happy in nursing, and would no doubt be nursing for the rest of her life, or until she was too old.
She looked up to the vastness of the sky and watched a cloud drift over the moon, obscuring its faint glow, and was glad of the lamp to light her three miles of mystical solitude. Odd that she
should feel such transcendent calm after poor David’s death and after visiting a mother almost driven to madness by the loss of her sons. But no matter how deep they are or how much they
consume us, what are our human troubles after all, measured against the ageless earth, the boundless sky, the stars, the eternal, immortal, imperishable universe? What do they signify, compared to
that?
Her mother was frantic when she got in, but Sally cut through her protests. ‘Mother, I’ve just understood something,’ she said. ‘We can’t be beaten. I can’t
tell you how I know it, but I do. In the end, we’ll win through.’
Back on duty early the following morning, she went straight into the sluice to read the Esbach’s albuminometers. There were six of them. It was the night nurse’s
job to set them up, to fill up each glass tube with the patient’s urine to the first mark, top up with reagent to the second mark, mix
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