The Woman Who Saw Jesus At The End Of The Ward

Elsie was brought in on a wheelchair. She had on a flimsy blue mac despite the cold February weather and she still had her slippers on. My legs are cold, she said, they were in a hurry and didn't dress me properly. The ambulance man wheeled her to the side of the bed and put her small suitcase on the bed. We helped her out of the wheelchair, sat her on the bed and I pulled the curtains round on the runners hanging on the ceiling. I helped her to undress from her mac, jumper and skirt and put on a pink brushed nylon nightdress that I found in her bag. I took off her slippers, folded her clothes and lay them in the side compartment of her bedside locker.

I don't know why I am here, she said, as I helped her into bed and tucked the bed coverings around her, folding the white sheet over the cream blankets. You are here, I answered, because someone at the nursing home noticed that you were bleeding, and the doctors want to investigate why so that they can treat you. Where am I? she said. I answered that she was in a surgical ward at the hospital. Elsie lay back against the upright pillows and smiled. That's okay then, she said, I am in the right place. Yes, I replied, you really are in the right place.

She slowly sighed. I come here a lot don't I? she said. Yes Elsie, I answered, I remember you coming in a few months ago. We sent you back to the nursing home. I am so sorry to see you again. She answered, that's fine, I remember you were a good nurse, it's good to see you again. After hanging a 'Nil By Mouth' sign above her bed, I took her temperature writing the results on her chart at the end of the bed. I told her to lie still and the doctor would see her in a while then finished unpacking her bag. In it were some tights with a name label for 'Mary' sewn inside. They were certainly in a hurry to pack her off from her care home.

I was on the late shift the following day and started at one-thirty. At handover it was reported that nothing could be done further for Elsie, it was just a matter of time, we would give her all the TLC we could. There she was propped up in the same bed. She smiled at me, asked me if I had a good evening. I said it was great, I had watched TV with my children and husband. How did you get here, she asked. By bicycle, I answered, as always. She said that she used to ride a bicycle when she was younger, she used it to get to work, she worked in a munitions factory in North London during the war but that was a long time ago.

I sat down in the chair by her bed and saw that she hadn't eaten any of her lunch. Are you hungry Elsie? No she said, I don't have an appetite. The ward waitress took her tray away. She told me that her family would be visiting her that evening. She asked me to sit her up straighter against her pillows, and then gave a large smile and sighed happily. I can see Jesus at the end of the ward. He's waving to me. Look! Look! Over there. She pointed. I looked but there was nothing, just a sink, a paper towel dispenser and a mirror. Then she started laughing loudly. Oh it's good, she said, everything is going to be alright. My husband is there with Jesus. He is smiling and telling me to be happy because we will be back together soon. Can't you see? They are both waving to me. I held her hand. She broke it away from my grasp and started waving to the end of the ward, to the unknown.

The next day I was on early shift. Elsie's bed was empty and made up for a new admission.

Shame and Scandal In The Family

Gail was woken up by her mother. “I want you to get up early today because we are going on a long journey to see Nanny. She's been taken into hospital and I think it is very important for us both to go and see her. Daddy can't come because he has to go to work so we are going without him. As he won't be driving us in our car, we are going by bus and it will take a long time.” Gail was just over two and a half years old. She still sometimes got taken around in a pushchair, although her parents were using this less and less. 

“Are we going as soon as I get up?" 

“Yes, so go and have your wash now for me and I will get you some cornflakes before we go”.

Gail went to the bathroom and splashed some water on her face and hands, then went back to her bedroom where Mum had laid out on the bed her best Sunday suit of a lilac skirt and top, her white ankle socks and her black patent leather shoes. She thought that this must be a very important visit as she would not normally wear Sunday clothes on a weekday. This was Tuesday; she knew it was Tuesday as Daddy had told her yesterday that it was Monday, and Tuesday always follows Monday. She learned this at Nursery School. Today must be very special as Mummy was not going to work, she was not going to Nursery School and she was going to wear her Sunday best suit. Mum came in and helped her to dress and told her that soon she would be a big girl and be able to dress herself, Gail found doing up the buckles on her shoes difficult and was worried that she would never be able to do it herself.  She shared this worry with Mum, who smiled a little. 

“Don't worry Gail, I am sure that as you get older it will come more easily to you, you just wait and see”.

Fully dressed, she climbed down the stairs and went through the front room into the kitchen. Her bowl of cornflakes was on the table and Mummy was standing by the sink.

“As it is a special trip Mummy can I take my new handbag to show Nanny? She hasn't seen it yet.”

“Your new handbag? Of course! Nanny would love to see it!” Gail finished her cornflakes, got down from the table after Mum said that she could, and went back to the front room where she found her new handbag hidden behind the settee where she had left it when going to bed the previous evening. It was a lovely handbag just like Mummy's, made of blue plastic with a handle over the top and a flap which fastened over the top with a butterfly clip. There were three plastic blue flowers attached to the front.

She told people proudly that three flowers were the right amount, four would have been too many. She had heard her Mum say this to someone else about buttons on her coat, so copied her, it was the right thing to do, the right thing to say. Inside the bag she had put her little purse which contained a silver sixpenny piece. The bag, purse and sixpence had been given to her by her Aunt and Uncle. When they had given it to her her Mummy had told her to say “thank you” and to give them both a “thank you” kiss. Her mother said this every time someone gave her something and that she must not forget to do this.

Mum put her into her pushchair and said they might be doing a lot of walking so it would be sensible to take it. They didn't use the bus stop close by but took a longer walk into the village centre.

“We can catch the long distance express bus here”, her mother explained. It stops at less bus stops so it can go faster. The bus arrived and Mum took her out of the pushchair, folded it up, carried it up the step of the bus and stashed it in the luggage compartment. Gail walked in and took a seat by the window and watched the world whoosh by, buildings, trees, cows: and later on as they entered the conurbation of Greater London, she saw the scene slowly changed to one of thick traffic, terraced houses, gasometers, small parks, rows of shops, lots of red buses and crowds of people.

After what seemed an eternity to Gail they got off the bus outside a huge building with lots of people coming and going through an large open entrance. “We are going to catch an underground train now”, said her Mother. “It's a train that travels underground in a tunnel, you have never been on one before, but don't be afraid, its really quite safe”. Gail wasn't afraid at all. She was very excited at this new experience and enjoyed standing on the escalator to travel down to lower levels, standing on the platform lit by lights enclosed in a low curved ceiling, and looking at the metal rails in a black ditch lower down to the platform. She felt the wind rise in the tunnel just before the train arrived, heard the noises of the train, saw sparks and smelt the burning of electricity. The train stopped and the doors opened automatically, she stepped onto the train and Mum carried on her pushchair. They sat on the seats next to the doors which closed automatically behind them.

The train made a rhythmic slow clicketty clacketty noise as it ran over the tracks into a long dark tunnel. She had never done anything like this before. They stopped at a few stops, and at the next one Mum got up and they stepped off the train, stood on the escalator again, moving up to the weak Winter sunshine. Mum put her back in the pushchair and wheeled he towards a large multi storied building with a large gaping entrance. On entering Mum went to a table with some women sitting behind it and spoke briefly with them. She nodded seriously, then looked at a notice on the wall, Gail couldn't read it; she didn't know how to read.

“That's where Nanny is!” said Mum, “Come on!”, and she pushed her into a lift. Gail didn't like lifts, but she had got over the stage where she screamed if anyone tried to take her in one. She had done this when she had gone into hospital to have her tonsils removed, now it seemed like a long time ago.

The lift went up a few floors and they got out into a long corridor which Mum pushed her down; they stopped outside a door with a window obscured by a half open Venetian blinds.

“Here she is! Here's Nanny” said Mum as she opened the door , “Get out, and I'll fold it up”. Gail got out and they entered the room. It seemed huge to her. On one side was a window opening onto a view of a lot of buildings a long way away on the ground. There was a sink and another door half open onto a bathroom. At the end of the room was a single bed, and in the bed was Nanny lying propped up against some pillows and covered up to her waist by white sheets and a green blanket. Gail felt a little shy, and hid herself behind Mum.

“Hello Mum”, said Mum. “How are you? Don't be shy Gail, say hello and give Nanny a kiss. I don't know why she is so shy, Mum, she was quite outgoing on the journey here”. Mum went to Nanny and gave her a kiss on the cheek, so Gail copied her and kissed Nanny as well. Mum pulled out a little stool from under the bed for Gail to sit on and Mum sat on a larger chair by the bed. Mum and Nanny talked for ages; Gail couldn't understand it all and got bored so she went over to the window and looked at the metropolitan scene below. After an eternity Mum got up to leave and told Gail to kiss Nanny good bye, which meant that they were leaving.

Gail suddenly had a good idea. She took out the purse from her bag and whispered that she wanted to give it to Nanny as a present and held it up.

“Oh that's such a lovely thing to do Gail. Look Mum, Gail is giving you sixpence as a get well present.”. She took the coin from Gail's hand and pressed it into the thin, bony hand of the bedridden woman who became a little red eyed.

Gail and Mark walked down the front path and rang the door bell. They had just had an argument about what they were about to do. Mark didn't want to spend Sunday afternoon with her parents; he wanted to spend it with Gail on their own together in their new flat. They had only just got married a few months ago after all and Sunday was the only day off that they had together. Gail had pointed out that they hopefully would have a whole lifetime of Sundays to spend together and she really did want to see her parents again after a gap of a few months.

Her Dad opened the door and ushered them in. Mum was cooking a joint of pork for their Sunday lunch; the whole house smelt of roasting meat. They were very glad to see them, made them feel welcome and Gail felt content by being in her old home again. The lunch was eaten, the washing up done communally and the family sat down in the front room and chatted. Dad was very happy to show them the things he had bought since he had last seen them.

“I have bought some more records, would you like to have a look? Here they are”. He selected a thin handful from his main collection housed in a piece of wooden furniture hanging on the wall. Gail had designed this cabinet and he had built it himself when Gail still lived at home. A hi-fi turntable lay on the one shelf which ran into a cabinet where long playing records were vertically stacked; wires ran from the turntable to a couple of speakers attached either side, hanging higher up on the wall. “You still got that old thing we built together, ha! Its still on the wall, hasn't fallen off yet!”.

“Of course” he replied, “you designed it well, and I built it with care. It's a good piece of solid furniture, it will last a lifetime. It means a lot to me”.

He handed over his selection to her and she thumbed through it. “Trini Lopez? I didn't think you would have liked him Dad? A bit Spanish isn't it?”

“No actually Gail you are wrong. He was born in America, the Hispanic connection came from his Father who was Mexican. Shall I put it on?”. Gail nodded in agreement. He placed the disc on the turntable, placed on the dust bug device to keep it clean, lifted the arm which started the turntable and carefully set the stylus on the run-in grooves; round and round went the black disc and the music started.

“Would you like a tin of beer Mark? It's nice to have a drink on a Sunday afternoon”, said Dad. He didn't really need to ask. Mark suddenly looked very happy and nodded in agreement. A tin of cold Tartan beer and a glass for each person was placed on the coffee table. Mark was the first to start drinking, pulled off the tab, pwsshh, and poured half of the fizzing amber liquid into his glass.

“I'm so glad that you both enjoy married life, you both look so happy with each other” said her Dad. “You are both very sensible and taking things slowly; getting secure housing, steady jobs and waiting to start a family when you are totally ready, not rushing into things”.

“Why would we rush, we want to enjoy our time together” Gail answered. “Oh I see, you are talking about having babies, have you started on that subject already? Of course we will wait to have children, we just aren't ready for that, we are far too young and we haven't even got a permanent place to live yet. I hope you aren't hinting for grandchildren already Dad! Isn't it a bit early for that?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course it's far too early, I am so glad you are waiting, You might even not want children at all”.

A new track from the record started to play through the speakers, Shame and Scandal In the Family. Gail's Mum sat up in her chair. “It doesn't always work like that. Some people don't wait.”

“Are you going to go on about your brother again?” said Dad.

“Not really, not 'go on', I was just thinking again because of what you said and the music you are playing”. Gail laughed “yes, she was a bit young, it seems impossible to believe it”. Gail looked at Mark, “Of course, you don't know, do you. Welcome to our family!” Mark took a swallow of beer and asked

“What do you mean? I don't understand.”

Mum took over, “My brother started a bit early with his family”, she laughed and  took a swill of her beer, "he was fifteen years old and his girlfriend was twelve, and thirteen by the time the baby was born. They are married now and have two children but at the time it was considered scandalous.”

“I said she was pregnant didn't I” said Dad, “She was standing by the sideboard at your Mum's that Sunday afternoon. I saw her looking very big for a twelve year old, I said afterwards to you that she was pregnant, and you just laughed at me. But I was right, we all found out a few weeks later. You probably don't remember it exactly Gail, I think you were only about two at the time. Of course your Grandmother was stupid as usual. She went bananas, overreacted like she always does, the next thing we know, Mark, is her other son came home one afternoon and couldn't get in as usual by the backdoor, it was locked. Through the glass he could see her lying down on the floor with her head on a cushion inside the open door of the gas oven, she was trying to gas herself. He smashed the door down and dragged her into the garden, went round to the neighbours who had a phone and called an ambulance. They were in time, took her to hospital and saved her life.  In those days it was coal gas and poisonous.”

They all took a swallow of beer.

“Its a good job he got there in time then” said Mark.

“They got married later on, they are very happy together now” said Mum. “It just seemed like a very abrupt beginning, they were far too young”.

“Someone should have told them about condoms” said Dad, “or not to do it at all, they never spoke about that sort of thing in those days. But it's something that you will never stop and life goes on”. He looked at Mum, “trust your mother to try and top herself”. Suddenly Gail remembered her trip to the hospital all those years ago.

“Was that when we went by bus and tube to visit her in the hospital? I don't remember a lot about it but I do remember that she was in a private ward on her own and I gave her sixpence from my new handbag.”

“That's right Gail, we did go, you were still in a pushchair and you were out of nappies. I am surprised that you remember those details, about the sixpence and hand bag, that's amazing!”

“Now it all makes sense to me, I never knew then why she was in hospital. I was too young to know." Gail took a swill of beer and remembered her Nan's red eyes when she gave her the sixpence. It was a gift to welcome her back to life and show her that her family cared about her. Gail suddenly felt very emotional.

 

Luuk and Olivia

 

There was a small altercation in their relationship when Olivia discovered that Luuk had been writing an erotic novel online with a woman she did not know from a foreign country somewhere in Europe. Three chapters had been produced and put on Luuk's blog and the woman had published them also online elsewhere. Luuk had quietly started a smaller, hidden section on his main blog. There it was open to the world, a named collaboration between Luuk and this woman. There were three chapters staring out at her from the screen; Luuk had said nothing to her about it. Well is it difficult to say to your wife “By the way darling, I am going to be directly communicating in an erotic way with another woman, you don't mind do you ?”.

Olivia was very confused: did now know how to respond. How did Luuk get to the stage with a woman online where they wrote erotic stories together? Her mind went overtime trying to work out the many different ways this could have happened. They must have had online discussions, you don't just talk to an unknown person online and then just say “Hey! How about we write an erotic story together!”. How do you start a conversation like that: there had to have been background discussions, online liaisons, toing and froing, exchange of emails containing the text and exchange of ideas and ...well what else? Was he getting his rocks off on this? Luuk was supposed to be her husband, her lover – would he walk up to someone, anyone, a stranger in the street and say “Hello let's write an erotic story together!”. No that wouldn't happen. So what makes it any different or easier online. What sort of private life did he have here? She felt small, ignored and insignificant; her husband was treating her as if she didn't exist and had no value to him; she didn't matter.

Olivia felt the need to talk to Luuk  about it. But he said it was nothing, and the whole thing had turned into a disaster as he had to write most of it himself because his writing partner could speak hardly any English and sent her contribution in French. He had nothing else to add. That was it. He was insensitive to her feelings and spoke in a matter of fact way way, dismissing the whole thing as trivial and insignificant. This didn't seem enough explanation to her. If the woman couldn't speak much English how could the conversation between them have ever got to the stage where they were discussing sex together. The whole matter was floating in an empty pit of unanswered questions that he simply dismissed as easily as he hid his writing. Olivia put it to the back of her mind. Their real life relationship was fine, harmonious and stable and she really loved him: they had great times together. She would have been stupid to ruin this for the sake of an invisible liaison tentatively floating over the empty, anonymous darkness of the internet which she didn't truly know anything about at all. The matter died down but she could not help but sometimes taking a private look back on screen on what he had done. The questions were still there unanswered, the doubts did not go away, and the knife was still cutting her; it hurt and she tried, she really tried, but she could not forget.

Olivia wanted to fill her time more creatively so she bought a keyboard. She had learned a little music at school and had played violin in an orchestra and taken exams which she had passed with some merit. She had asked for piano lessons as well but the school would not give these to her as she had already had free violin lessons and her parents then would have definitely not paid for more. So now she had more time on her hands it seemed a good time to have a go. The keyboard and stool came recommended from Amazon and she stocked up on tutorial manuals, scale manuscripts, song scores and Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music Grade 1 exam papers. It was fun to start with, notes on the treble staff with the right hand above middle c were easy as she knew this notation from playing the violin, but the bass staff played below middle C was a lot harder. She didn't know these notes at all; they had different names on the manuscript and went on different lines to those above middle C; it was hard to get her right hand to do one thing while her left hand had to do something differently reading off the notes below middle C which she didn't know. Her brain just didn't work like this. Instead of structured and stepped daily practice she played what and when she felt like doing which wasn't very often. Her enthusiasm fell exponentially.

With Luuk invariable sitting at the table in his own world, tapping away at his keyboard and her playing, shut away within her earphones she felt isolated. She didn't want Luuk to hear her mistakes and the keyboard idea drifted downhill. The furthest she got was managing the melody of Imagine with the right hand and filling in the bass notes with the left hand when she could, and it wasn't always successful, maybe hardly ever; so she never played openly without head phones except for once when Luuk seemed interested and she played an AMRSM Grade One piece for him, right hand only, and it wasn't perfect so she went red in the face. But as he remarked, he couldn't do it all and was amazed that she could play even a little. His remark boosted her ego somewhat but she still felt a little bruised. All Olivia wanted to do was love Luuk and impress him, present an interesting image, intrigue him. She wanted his love back; his opinion was important to her because she loved him so much, so very much, a precious love.

Her need to impress him inspired her to write again. A few years ago she had written some short pieces and put them on some sharing sites, but the sites had closed down and a continual flow of successive computer breakdowns and replacements had meant that they had disappeared into the clouds and just lay gently in her memory. So she started again, writing short stories and saved them on a blogger site. If she wrote again perhaps she would impress Luuk a little and he would take her more seriously. The tally of her page views gradually climbed so at least some people had liked it she quietly noted, congratulating herself; she popped an internal champagne bottle. Luuk was a willing editor, they used to edit each other's work and this nurtured a mutual ambience; Luuk and Olivia the writing team, Luuk and Olivia the editing team, Luuk and Olivia the entertainers. It felt good to be together in this way.

One black, cold, windy January night they were lying in bed. She lay flat and stared up at the ceiling watching the moving shapes of the spirits moving round, the ouija dances, floating her imagination round with them. She could hear the trees bending violently and was anxious for the safety of the garden fence; she heard it creaking. Last year it had cracked in the strong gusts and it had cost over a hundred pounds to repair it. Her mind was going round and round in circles about everything under the sun and moon; she lived through past situations, this time acting them out in a different way where she was in total control of the outcome so that she came out on top, not on the bottom as before. She said the right thing, did the right action; she was successful, not like in real life. In her head she remembered and talked through past conversations, in hindsight was able to say the right thing. She had an answer to all the bullies, to all the conversations that went wrong. Why couldn't she have said it at the time? It was too late now, far too late. Blackness was everywhere.

Neither of them could sleep. It was two o'clock in the morning. Luuk sat up in bed and put on the light hanging from the ceiling. He knew she was awake because of her tossing and turning in the sheets. They had become completely tangled. He started talking just to make sure she was really awake and suggested that they wrote a story together, a joint collaboration. He had been thinking about it for a long time, he said, and he was just putting out feelers to see her reaction. He didn't sound very enthusiastic; it was just a matter of fact thing of not much importance and little consequence, they could do it slowly and gradually. It could be, perhaps, a novel alternating between two people and structured around how they communicated with each other, perhaps meeting regularly in a certain place, or letters or travelling on a bus, a train. Olivia could not have heard anything more wonderful. This was so good to hear; her heart soared to think that he thought enough of her to propose this invitation. Did he think that she was good enough that he would lower his standards to write with her? He said they should think over what to write about, there was no rush, just take it slowly at a relaxed pace and there would be inspiration when they least expected it.

Then she remembered his sexual writing companion. Was he suggesting this because he had a guilty conscience he wished to spread a cooling salve on? Maybe in hindsight he had felt that his dalliance had been wrong after all; that if he wrote something together with Olivia it would make everything alright again. She then suspected that there had been something between them after all, and that he was doing this to square his own guilty feelings. Now he had suggested this new collaboration it only reinforced her suspicions that something had been going on between him and the mystery woman.

She tested the water.

“Why don't we write about the relationship between a dominatrix in Rotterdam and a sub in Ipswich? The sub could have found her through the internet and we can describe their interaction by the letters they write to each other, you know, one writes, the other responds?”

“No, no, no” he relied, “I don't want to do that, it's not good to write about sex like that, it cuts down on what sort of readership you can get and where you can put the story when it's finished. I don't want to include sex. I just wanted a more ordinary, everyday sort of thing”. Olivia immediately thought that Luuk was showing his true colours; to write about sex with a stranger was okay, but not with his own wife. If writing about sex cuts down in the scope of the readership why did he write about sex with mystery woman but didn't want to write about it with her? Luuk was part of the adult world but he expected her not to be part of that world with him. She thought that he was considering her just as a child. She felt hurt, inadequate and insignificant.

It really hurts when you are deeply in love with someone when they do so much to make you doubt that love.

Julia

 

Julia rubbed the loose flour off her hands using her apron and turned round from the kitchen work surface to face them all. Her Mother was smiling and said, that's great, she would love to do it, of course she will, thank you. Julia had no choice in the matter. The deal was struck, it was all decided for her by Colin, well known family friend of her parents. She was to work as his kitchen aid on Saturday afternoon next, when he was doing the catering preparation for a private evening party being held at a local school hall. I've seen her make that pastry, he said, she looks competent, I think she will work hard. I'll pick her up in my van at two-thirty. Her Mother continued to smile;  her Dad said that she was very lucky to be offered the chance to earn some money.

He pulled up in his van at two-thirty, told her Mother he would look after her and return her safely in the early evening, and they drove off to the school. She occupied herself as instructed by setting out buffet plates, washing salad and doing the things needed for the party. He drove back to his house to pick up some more things. He arrived back with several boxes of sausage rolls, quiches, vol-aux-vents, hams, paper plates and cups, more things for the buffet. He loaded them onto a work surface and asked Julia to sort them on the buffet table. She stopped washing the salad and walked over to him.

I told my wife you were here, he said winking at her, she said to me aye aye, she's here is she? And he winked at her again. Julia hated being winked at, and especially by him. It felt sinister like he was sharing an adult conspiracy with her, where he was in charge and writing the rules as he went along and she was a responding automaton. She felt uneasy and not in control. But it must be okay as her parents knew him and they had sent her here, arranged it all, they must have agreed to it, they must have trusted him and she felt that she must trust him too.

She got busy with the preparations and the time flew by. The Winter late afternoon dusk set in;  Colin switched on the lights in the kitchen and party room. She could see them reflected in the windows  and the blackness beyond. It was a separate world placed in an isolated, silent universe.  The lonely school rooms spread out and away, past the walls an emptiness, a void, a silent darkness where nothing existed; Julia and Colin were the only people.

He stood behind her, held her shoulders and spun her round. Come on Julia, he said, gissa kiss, come on love, gissa kiss and looked encouragingly at her, his eyes full of optimistic promise. She turned cold and her emotions froze to stone. Adrenalin pumped through her. Was this part of the agreement her parents had made with him? Perhaps it was, she'd better not make them angry.

She reached up and pecked him on the cheek as she would a family member. Not like that Julia, he said, do it better than that! He grabbed her face and pulled her to him and opened his mouth right onto hers and kissed her hard. He smelt stale, foul and sharp, of sweat and old burnt rubber, his face bristle rubbed sharply on her skin. It was horrid and she didn't know how to cope. His breath was hot, wet and smelly. He finally let go and she pulled away.

He then got hold of her upper arms and spun her round so that she she stood facing away from him: he put his arms round her waist and held her close, rubbing her breasts and pulsating his middle up and down her back, making weird grunting noises. He was holding her so tight she couldn't move, the only movement coming from their two bodies pulsing in unison from his rubbing. She was very scared. He then made one longer grunt and weakened his hold on her letting her pull away. He smiled, it's okay Julia, we'll get on with the work. She was glad what ever it was he was doing had finished; she felt guilty, had she been the cause of it? Was it her fault? She didn't know.

They both got down conscientiously to the job and and finished the preparations; they finished around seven o'clock and he drove her home. Her Mum and Dad were waiting for her. They hoped that she had worked hard, oh yes, said Colin she was a very willing and hard worker and she earned herself four pounds. Four pounds! How generous you are Colin! What a lot of money, how generous, what a lucky girl, I hope you said thank you to Colin. He replied, yes she did, she really earned her money. Her Mum stood with a big smile on her face. Julia stood quietly to one side and said nothing.

Julia was thirteen years old.

Eleanor

The doctor pressed his stethoscope slowly and firmly into Ana's belly over and over and over again,  then unhooked it from his ears, hung it around his neck, straightened up away from the examination couch and let out a long slow sigh. The room became silent. After what seemed forever he said

“I can't hear a heart beat”. Ana went numb and cold. “Have you felt much movement lately?”

“I haven't felt anything for a week now”. The midwife replied to the doctor:

“If there has been no movement for twenty-four hours you are able to refer the patient straight away to prenatal”. She looked at him and their eyes passed unsaid messages.

“Go and sit in the waiting room Ana. I need to make a phone call then I will call you back in.” Ana's legs took her to the waiting room but she wasn't controlling them.

He called her back in.

“I have phoned prenatal and you are to go straight there now. They are expecting you and will put you on a better monitor than my stethoscope. Sometimes the baby moves into an awkward position, which probably has happened with you and the monitor will be able to pick up a weaker heartbeat. You have nothing to worry about, it happens a lot.” Ana felt numb and confused, found it hard to talk, even think. This was new territory. She managed an “OK”, put her coat on and walked out of the surgery to where her husband Ian was sitting waiting for her in their car. She got in, faced him and started to loudly sob, burying her head in her lap.

“What's happened?” he said stonily. After a few minutes she composed herself enough to get out her words.

They can't hear the baby's heart beat. I have to go to the hospital to be put on a monitor. Sometimes the baby moves and it's difficult to hear the heart without a closer listen”.

“Right now?”

“Right now”.

“But this is my week off, I wanted to go to the coast”.

“We need to go now”.

“Ah, I am sure its OK, they will pick up the beat, then we can go somewhere nice.”

“Yes, I'm sure we can.”

The drive to the hospital was silent and grey. Ana was in a fog and he said nothing. The nurse at the hospital strapped some probes around her belly and switched the machine on. They could hear Ana's heartbeat, the flow of the amniotic fluid and other grainy background noises.  On other side of the machine a graph printed out. The nurse didn't say anything. She ripped off the print out and left the room and came back after what seemed a long time with a senior midwife who informed her that:

“The graph isn't clear enough. We think there is still a heart beat but it isn't showing. Just to be sure we want to give you an ultrasound and keep you in overnight. We have a bed ready for you. Where is your overnight bag? I can't see it with you.”

“I didn't bring an overnight bag. I came straight from the ante-natal surgery at the Doctor's. I didn't think that I would be kept in.”

“That's OK, we can lend you a gown, and perhaps you, Ian, can drive back home and collect a few things for Ana, a nightdress, dressing gown, toiletries, hairbrush, maybe a book or some magazines?

“How long are you going to keep her in for if she need all that?” he replied incredulously, a cynical laugh in his voice.

The nurse wheeled her to a four bedded ward in prenatal section where she changed into a hospital gown. It was a faded pink from many washings and printed with silly little springs of pink roses, repeated monotonously all over, had an opening  that flapped freely at the back. Ian remarked that the gown was meant for old ladies with incontinence and this wasn't how he expected to spend his holiday, and why is she being kept in if there is a heartbeat? She could come home and perhaps be seen tomorrow?

“I don't know Ian, I don't know.” Ian drove back to their house with the arrangement he would be back for the visiting time of 7pm with an overnight bag for her.

“But I find this odd, I wanted a nice holiday.”

With her hospital gown wrapped round her she was taken in a wheelchair to the Ultrasound department, and she lay on the couch. The technician moved the paddle slowly around her body, taking measurements and photographs. There was a grainy, grey, still image on the screen; Anna asked no questions, the technician said nothing. She switched the machine off, wiped the paddles and gave a long slow sigh. A porter wheeled Ana back to the ward.

Mid afternoon came and the Obstetrician did his general ward round with his entourage. When he reached her bed they pulled the curtains round. He asked her if she had had any headaches in the last week. She said yes, she had a really bad one about a week ago, so bad that she had to go bed because of the pain. He nodded wisely in agreement. Then the really bad news came. He had something sad to tell her. He didn't know why, it was not known why, they never knew why these things happened, but the umbilical cord had separated from the placenta, and we had, in fact, lost the baby. Stunned, she immediately collapsed into the bed and buried her face in the pillow, her sobbing could be heard all over the ward. Where her face touched the pillow it became soaked. She felt much pain inside, a black twisting, a cloud of grief, her brain was sore and swollen, and her body was sliced and ripped by a sharp paring knife.

“We are going to find you a quiet side room on the delivery ward and start it off tomorrow.” She nodded, not really knowing what “start it off” meant, but logic and instinct told her an induced labour, a labour without a live baby, a horror she still had to endure.

Ian appeared at 7pm and she saw through the open ward door that he was intercepted by a midwife in the corridor who said something to him and he nodded in response. He walked over to her bed and they collapsed together in grief. The midwife pulled the curtains round.

The next morning she was in her quiet side room with an intravenous drip attached to her arm. They gave her some pethidine and she lay drifting in and out of this world. She was in a beautiful, sunny park with paths between flower beds and singing birds.  A man and woman holding hands were walking towards her smiling, saying hello, she recognised them as relatives that had now died. They were relaxed, tall, healthy and happy, strong and young. The woman had on a purple, pleated dress that she had seen her wear years ago when she was a child and they were still alive. She tried to say hello back but as her mouth said the words she said them in the real world and it woke her up. Ian said yes? Are you OK? And there she was, back in her side room.

A few hours passed and nothing was happening. The midwife said she was going to puncture her membrane and asked Ian to leave. She then produced a large crochet hook from a sterile pack and asked Ana to lie with legs wide apart. She then felt up Ana, deep inside and Ana became scared at the new sensation of having her insides ripped out from within.

“Now, now, Ana, this is just going to feel odd, there's no need to be scared.” But Ana was scared and she yelled out in fear at the unpleasant, painful feeling. There was a ripping sensation within her like lightning shooting sharply through the sky, and then a hot warm feeling as the amniotic fluid poured out onto the pad underneath her. The midwife probed round a bit further with the hook and some more fluid poured out.

“There, that should do it” and she withdrew the hook. I hope so, thought Ana, grateful that she had stopped.

After that the contractions started quite quickly, gentle at first but growing exponentially until there was a sharp strong burning feeling all over her belly. It was very painful and she grimaced as each wave of contraction started, continued for a bit, before falling off. It hurt. Then she felt a big tightening as what felt like the baby 's head pass lower down inside her.

“Ian, call the midwife please”. She was put on a trolley wheeled into the labour ward. The whole delivery team, masks, gloves, gowns were waiting for her.

They lay her down, covered her middle with a large scrunched up green cloth so she couldn't see what was happening; the midwife stood in front of her between her leg.

“You are ready to go now Ana, as each contraction comes I want you to push down hard while the contraction lasts.” Ana did her best as quietly as she could, but it wasn't easy and the head didn't come out. She couldn't feel when one contraction finished and the next one started. It was all one big panic.

“Just one more push Ana”, so Ana pushed as hard as she could and when she thought she couldn't push any harder, the midwife slashed swiftly and sharply down with a scalpel. Ana screamed with the pain and shock and her right leg kicked out in reflex. The midwife stood back quickly so as not to be kicked, but not quick enough, as Ana's foot engaged with her belly. Red blood splattered on the white sheet.

“Why did you have to do that?”

“It was to make the labour easier for you Anna. Now be a good girl and we will start again with the pushing”. Ana pushed again, again and again, it was all one big pain. Then they told her that the head had crowned and this was it. She gave one almighty push, grunted from within and felt the head come out, there was some tugging and some fiddling from the other side of the sheet, some weird sensations and then she was told it was over.

“The baby is out?”

“Yes, the baby is out”

“What was it?”

“What do you mean, what was it?”

“A boy or a girl?”

“I didn't look, wait", she fiddled around a bit with the green sheet, "oh, girl”.  Ana froze; this was what had happened in her dream four months ago, a case of deja vu.

“Can I hold her? Can I see her?” The midwife laughed at her.

“Of course not, don't be so silly, she's not for you to see.” Ana looked at Ian who had been standing by her side all through this, she thought he had seen, I had not seen. The placenta was delivered manually and the midwife pressed down hard on her belly to get every bit out. There was a lot of squeezing.  It hurt a lot. She was pleading

“Please stop, it hurts, please stop, I can't take any more”. 
"We have to do it, we have to get everything out." Ana lay back and let them do what they wanted; she had had enough.

They wheeled her to a private ward with a name plate on the door, her name written on it and next to it was a large red star drawn with a thick felt tip pen. From here she could here the newborn babies crying from the nursery. Her contractions were still going on and the pain was sharp. There was a big bunch of flowers delivered. She looked at Ian: “Did you send these?”

“No. I am just as much a part of it as you. I wouldn't send flowers." He was now sobbing into her shoulder.
" I saw her, I just saw my dead daughter. She had black hair".

Saturday Morning Pictures

All week long I used to look forward to Saturday mornings: no getting up early, no school, comics delivered and reading in bed. But when the day came, I was always disappointed with the anti-climax. Mum used to cut herself off in the kitchen all morning, banging around with pots and pans, doing mysterious things; I could never work out what she found that was so interesting that she could do it all morning. When I went into the kitchen she used to encourage me to leave again as though she didn't really want me there. In the afternoon she “had her bath”, soaking in the water for hours so it got cold, then I was supposed to “Jump In” to have my bath. Just jump in Sarah, the water's still warm. By then the water was cold, grey and murky with a layer of dissolved bath cubes; the stale smell of lavender lying in the air. I never fancied it. After this she shut herself away in her bedroom in front of a violet ray lamp trying to “get a tan”, curlers in her hair which were shrouded in a heated bag powered with hot air though a tube from a pump, a sort of small, home hair dryer. It was called a “Ronson Escort Hairdryer 2000”. I thought she looked alarming. This was all to look good for my Dad, who was never there on Saturdays. He worked all day and got back for his evening meal which she spent all day cooking when not in beauty parlour mode.

I walked to school everyday with Debbie. On this particular day we talked about what we did at the weekend, and she described the exciting things she did on Saturdays. She talked about “Saturday Morning Pictures”. I had “been to the pictures” sometimes with my Mum and Dad. We went straight from school on Tuesdays; Mum took along a package of jam sandwiches for my tea, and sometimes Dad bought a large bag of toffee popcorn for me. I used to love the popcorn; some bits stuck together with the toffee sauce making a larger lump. I once found a huge lump when we were watching the film “Fantastic Voyage” with Raquel Welch (1966), where a scientific team was shrunk and injected into a man's body to blast away a blood clot on his brain. I saved this huge lump, only to eat it once the team had been injected into the man's blood stream. These were exciting days. We used to go into the cinema when we were ready and not when the film started. We used to enter when the film was halfway through and leave when the film was on its second showing, we got up and left when Dad said, “Right, this is when we came in”. They had never heard of, or looked at the cinema timetables printed in the local press.

Debbie invited me to go to Saturday Morning Pictures with her on the following weekend. I got very excited at this and said that I would love to go. She was very precise and regimented on how we should go. She had it all planned out like a military exercise. I had to take along two shillings. This would be spent as follows: sixpence for the bus fare there, sixpence admission cost, sixpence for sweets and sixpence for the bus fare home. We were to go on the 320 bus at 9.30am ready for the start at 10.30. I needed to get this money from my Mother. That day after school I asked Mum if I could go. She thought I was a little young at the age of eight to go out without an adult, but because I was going with Debbie it would be OK, but I was to do exactly as Debbie said, because she was very sensible and reliable. Debbie was a few weeks younger than me. I think she envisaged a morning without me, which encouraged her to agree with the plan. I told her about the two shillings requirement and she looked less enthusiastic. She concurred anyway: perhaps she thought it was a price worth paying.

Saturday morning came and we queued up at the bus stop at 9.20am, in accordance with Debbie's itinerary. Debbie was very smartly dressed with her grey gaberdine mac precisely buttoned, her extremely white lacy socks and black polished shoes. I had on my second hand woolly coat, dirtier old socks and scruffy blue Clark's sandals. But at last I was going out; I was so excited! We got on the bus, it was an adventure not to be with my Mum, I saw the World in a whole new panorama. There were some more children that I recognised from school, how come all these children knew about Saturday Morning Picture and not me? I gave the bus conductress my sixpenny piece and she gave me a ticket, I had my own ticket! I put it in my purse. The bus arrived in the town centre and there it was, The Odeon, the centre of the known world, such an exciting place to go to. There was a long queue of children queuing outside as the doors hadn't been opened yet. We took our place at the back of the queue; there were a lot of children, all primary school age and all under the age of eleven. We made a lot of noise and fooled around.

Then the doors opened and we filed in, each handing over our sixpenny piece to the lady with a blonde beehive and nylon overall sitting in the ticket booth. Each child was given an admission ticket which we had to give to the lady at the door, you couldn't get it without a ticket and once you were in, that was it, you stayed in, you weren't allowed to leave. If you left you had to pay another sixpence to get back in; no one left again. Before we went in we bought our sweets. Some children bought their sweets before they entered the cinema; perhaps they knew somewhere to buy cheap sweets. We knew of no place like this, so Debbie and I bought ours in situ. She told me to definitely buy a Barratts Sherbet Fountain, also some little chocolate bars, some pink shrimps and some Trebor BlackJacks and Fruit Salads. I thought that this would cost too much but she had worked out the costings and yes, I found out that it was possible to buy all these sweets for sixpence. So I did.

We entered the main hall and there were hundreds of children inside; it was very busy and noisy, a bit like entering into the mouth of hell. Each child was laughing and screaming loudly and trying every seat in the auditorium for size. There were two ladies in overalls and a taller man in a suit organising everybody and getting us seated. When we were all finally sitting down he stood at the front and made a hushing sign with his finger in front of his nose. A miracle occurred and everybody was silent. He then pointed to the screen and before the lights dimmed a film showed of a young Queen Elizabeth trotting around on a white horse in full red blue and brass royal regalia, surrounded by many cavalry guardsmen in red uniforms and white helmets with feathers. The national anthem was played which we had to sing along to, and we all had to stand up in respect of her, the Brownies had to give the Brownie salute. I was not a Brownie even though I really would have liked to have been one (my Mum wouldn't let me) so I gave the Brownie salute anyway; and if you were a boy in the Cubs you had to give the Cub salute.

Then we sat down and the main features started including cartoons, a weekly adventure serial, a film about animals, something on travel for children; all appropriate stuff. This signalled the fun to start with the Sherbet Fountains. A Sherbet Fountain consists of a tube of cardboard filled with sherbet powder, tapering off to one end with a twisted end in which is inserted a hollow liquorice tube. We got the liquorice tube loose in the twisted end then suck through the hollow liquorice tube a quantity of sherbet which we then blew into the air aiming at the person in the row in front. This was great fun. All through the performance there would be some sherbet being blown around, The air was thick with it. I don't know what the cleaner must have thought about this each week after the event, but we were allowed to do it, no one told us off or not to do it. I expect that when you add up the profit from selling hundreds, even thousands, of Sherbet Fountains over a year, that the management thought it lucrative even taking into account the cleaner's wages. At the end of it all we queued up again at the bus stop to spend our last sixpence to get home.

Debbie and I went to Saturday Morning Pictures for a few months. On my last visit I lost my purse with the precious sixpence for my bus fare home. I was in total panic. How was I supposed to get home? Would I ever leave? Would I be trapped here for ever watching the ghosts of lost film stars flickering in black and white on the screen? Would I be made to clear up with the cleaner the remains on the sherbet powder floating around on the upholstery. Would my parents even miss me? I was very, very worried and even got a bit frightened. Good old Debbie, reliable Debbie, dependable Debbie came to the rescue by telling one of the two lady helpers my predicament. The lady said that she would lend me the sixpence that I needed, but I must, must, must pay her back the next week. She was always here, every week and she would see me the next week. I nodded gratefully in agreement. I could go home! I would not be trapped in the cinema; thank you! Thank you! But I was naughty. I did not go back the next week; I never went again and I still owe her that sixpence; wherever she is now.

The Jury

Being a Court Clerk I did not normally act as Jury Bailiff, but because it was summer there were more Ushers off work than normal and there was a shortage of staff; so when I was asked to step in to fill a gap during a Crown Court trial I didn't mind at all. I am a multitasker and was pleased to have a new experience.

I was given a black gown to wear which made me feel very important. I sat on a side bench in Court until the Judge had finished summing up the case and had directed the jurors as to what was expected of them in their civic duty. Then I appeared in the witness box and took oath to keep them safely in a private and convenient place, to prevent them from speaking to anyone else and not to speak to them myself except to ask them if they are agreed on their verdict. I then took them through a side door into the ante room, into the lift down a floor, down some steps and along numerous corridors to the deliberation room. Here there was a mini toilet suite, a hot drinks making facility and a long table set out with paper and pens, neatly surrounded by twelve chairs which I had prepared earlier. I took from them each their written lunch requests and then turned to leave the room preparing to lock them in.

As I was leaving I felt a hand on my sleeve which was attached to a very worried, nervous female juror who had a big problem; she looked very flustered and red faced and she was flapping about all over the place. Her problem was that she had parked her car in the public car park next to the court but had only paid and displayed for a half day on the optimistic assumption that she would not be selected for a trial. Much to her unhappiness she had been selected a trial and now would probably get an enforcement notice for parking for the afternoon without paying. Could I go to her car and top up her ticket? I panicked inside; why did she have to do this on my first day? Why me? I told them all to postpone their deliberations, locked them in and went to discuss this with the Chief Usher who was not very pleased. He said she was told clearly to pay for a day's parking, she didn't listen, she was a stupid... then the adjectives turned into something not fit for publication. Oh go on then, take her money, buy her ticket, top her off, it's all the same to me, I've had worse problems, he mumbled.

I went back, unlocked the door, took her to one side, took the appropriate cash and car keys with her permission, made the parking legal again, returned to the Juror's room and told her all was now well. She was now very happy and they all sat down. I took the meal requests to the canteen and an hour later wheeled in the meal trolley. All was well and I locked them back in and took my seat in front of the door to keep them safe and unmolested. I carried on by reading the Guardian and picking at my fingernails. No one would get past me; those Jurors would be so safe in my care.

A couple of hours later they banged on the door and informed me that they had reached a decision. All systems go! I informed the court which resat and the phone call came through to take my jury up. I herded them together and walked them back along the corridors, up the steps and into the lift up to the ante room behind the main courtroom. Prudence made me count them just one more time, nine, ten, eleven... no twelfth person? Oh. One more count, nine, ten, eleven, there was no twelfth person! Where was Juror number twelve? What had I done? How could I have lost a whole person between the jury room and the court? Had this person been kidnapped by a crime mafia to sabotage the trial? I was definitely panicking now: where had I lost this person, thoughts swirled around in my head that I had messed up the whole trial, ruined it, damaged the progression of British justice, all because of my incompetence. My bowels turned to water and my heart to ice. I had been told once that running a Crown Court trial cost thousands of pounds per hour.

I looked sheepishly at the remaining eleven and instructed them to remain in the ante-room and to look after each other. I was supposed to be protecting them, wasn't meant to leave them, but didn't know what else to do. I ran back to the lift, jumped down the steps into the corridor and unlocked the juror's room door and there she was standing. The missing person was the pay and display parking woman. I was so glad to see her. When we all left previously she had nipped into the restroom and been forgotten about and once again she was red faced. I was very glad to return to the ante room with her and take my jurors safely into court to deliver their verdict.

Being called as a Juror is compulsory in England as a statutory duty and going to Court can be stressful for anybody; this woman clearly had more than her fair share of excitement that day. I wish it hadn't been with me though.