‘Pass those cakes along, Flora. Do you want them all to yourself?’
Flora laughed as she passed the plate of iced fancies along to Mrs Larch. The sound of the children chattering away as they sat on the long benches, at the equally long table in the church hall, was deafening. Aunt Pru came towards her with a huge pot of tea in her hands. ‘This is for the grown-ups. Come on, lass, I’ve all the cups laid out on that table at the back.’
‘Oh, Aunt Pru, give me that before you drop it. You couldn’t have put the table further from the kitchen, could you?’
Aunt Pru let out a howl of laughter, her too-thin body shaking with the force of it. ‘You know me. Allus working backwards.’
As she followed her, Flora let her worry over Aunt Pru drift from her as she took in the bunting hanging from the ceiling, and the balloons floating around, as the children hit them from one to the other. All around her was a sea of joy.
Flora thought she would always remember this day, Wednesday, 13th November 1918, the first day they could all gather to have a tea party to celebrate the end of the war, with the signing of the Armistice two days ago. Her own joy gripped her stomach. Surely her Cyrus would be home soon?
But home to what?
How things had changed in the last couple of years. After her allowance from Cyrus’s pay had stopped about a year ago, with no reason given – other than that there was an error in the authorization, so payment was suspended until such time as this could be sorted out – she and Aunt Pru had eked out a living from what they could earn teaching, which was little more than a couple of pounds a month. Aunt Pru could only manage one lesson a week: a one-to-one with the shopkeeper’s son, who, though he went to school, struggled with learning to read. She was doing an amazing job with him and was finding a way to unlock his understanding. As for herself, there was the class in this hall, which was thriving; and her music lessons, which had recently brought in more money, as she was teaching the children of a wealthy family, who could afford to pay the proper going rate. It had been one of her neighbours who had got her the job. She cleaned for the family and had told her employer about Flora. Her hope now was that this kind of work would grow, as word about her spread amongst the better-off.
Getting a job wasn’t easy. Aunt Pru’s health had never recovered; if anything, it had deteriorated, and she wasn’t strong enough to look after Alice full-time. And so the work that Flora did get had to be somewhere she could take Alice with her or, as with her pub job, work at night when Alice was asleep.
One of the measures taken, to help her cope, was to sell her house and live in Aunt Pru’s, which was bigger. That had been a wrench for them both. Aunt Pru had never wanted to return there, and Flora had so wanted to have a home for Cyrus to come back to.
The price she got for her house was far below the market value, and she’d only been able to put a small amount in the bank, after paying the debts she owed. But that had dwindled weekly and was nowhere near enough to set up home again in the near future.
‘Eeh, lass, that were a big sigh. I thought we said we’d forget our troubles for the day. You can’t change owt by worrying, lass. Perk up and enjoy yourself.’
As she smiled at Aunt Pru, a voice called over to her, ‘’Ere, Flora, ’ow about we clear the tables and you play us a tune. Let’s have a good old London sing-song, eh?’
‘Yes, that’s a good idea, Mrs Harper.’
Flora’s playing of singalong songs at the local pub had been another source of income for her, over the last few months. She’d mastered such songs as ‘My Old Dutch’, ‘Down at the Old Bull and Bush’ and ‘On Mother Kelly’s Doorstep’, as well as many more, and always enjoyed her weekly stint. It had become a good source of income, if unpredictable. Not being a drinker as such, she refused the offer of drinks from the locals, but had put a saucer on top of the piano. The odd farthings they dropped in for her made a difference to what she earned. The landlord gave her an amount according to his takings; if they were good, then she would receive three shillings, but if bad, then she had been paid as little as one shilling.
By the time the party came to an end, all the adults, apart from Aunt Pru, Mrs Larch and Flora, were rolling drunk.
‘Eeh, look at the mess. We’ll be here till dawn, but it was worth it. What a night!’ Aunt Pru looked exhausted as she sat looking around the hall.
Mrs Larch nodded, her hands on her hips and giving her big smile. ‘And to think, our boys will be com— Oh, I’m sorry, Prudence. It’s that drop of beer I had, making me tongue loose before I think what I’m saying.’
‘Naw, don’t be sorry – we should rejoice about those returning. Me lad gave his life and it cut me in two, but these lads who are coming home have done just as much. We’re to take care of them when they get back. It’ll take a long time for them to get reet, after this lot.’
‘Look, I don’t know about you two, but I’m tired to my bones. Let’s lock up and come back in the morning. We can get more willing hands then, when they’ve all slept off the drink.’
‘You’re reet, Flora, I don’t reckon as I can lift a finger to owt. I just need me bed. Give me your arm, lass.’
Though there was nothing of Aunt Pru, the weight she put on Flora’s arm as she tried to help her up deepened Flora’s worry about her health. The strength seemed to be ebbing from Aunt Pru as the days went by. There had never been anything specific that Flora could put her finger on, to say what was wrong with Aunt Pru’s health. She ate regularly, though little; she no longer vomited, as she had when she first began to fail, but she was weak, lacked energy and tired easily. But as Flora looked into her Aunt Pru’s face now, fear gripped her. Aunt Pru’s lips had turned blue. Her heart! Oh no, I should have realized. The symptoms were staring me in the face!
If only they could have afforded a doctor’s visit. But in reality there wasn’t too much that could be done for a weak heart, other than the care she already gave Aunt Pru. But now that Flora was sure she knew what was happening, she would take even greater care of her. And, in the hope that something could be done, when her darling Cyrus returned and was able to claim his back-pay, she would ask to use some of it to get Aunt Pru seen by Kenneth Carmichael, the physician who had attended her father.
As the weeks went by, very little news filtered through about the prisoners-of-war. Trainloads of soldiers, both able-bodied and wounded, arrived every day, and families were reunited. Always there seemed to be a party going on somewhere, as people felt the need to celebrate every homecoming. For Flora, this brought in extra money, as she was engaged almost every night to play the piano. Every part of her ached from the long hours, but the ache in her heart was the hardest to bear.
She longed to hear that Cyrus was on his way home, though the latest that she had read yesterday had given her hope. It appeared that the regiments of British soldiers who had got to Germany were beginning to reach the prisoner-of-war camps and organize medical care and the return home of the prisoners. But it warned that this would take some time, as the processing of prisoners wasn’t an easy task. At last! And whatever else, at least now I know that Cyrus is truly being cared for and treated well.
But there was another worry that seemed to outweigh all the joy of the war ending, and was posing a greater threat to life than the war itself had done: the spread of flu. The papers had been full of its devastating effect across the globe, and now London was in its grip, with the pandemic escalated by the returning soldiers probably carrying the virus home with them. Already hundreds had died, the hospitals were full and there was a backlog of bodies in the morgues, as the funeral directors couldn’t cope.
And now the flu was in their street! A young boy, who lived only doors away, had been taken ill. Terrified for Alice and Aunt Pru, Flora decided that playing at the pub and for parties had to stop. There was too much of a risk, amongst the crowds of people. If she could, she would lock her door and keep it locked, but as always the spirit of everyone was to keep going, no matter what.
As if her thought had been heard, a loud banging on her door made Flora jump. The door handle turned and Mrs Larch walked in. ‘It’s me ’usband, can you come and ’elp him, Flora. ’E can’t breathe.’
Flora stood still, unable to react.
‘You’re a nurse, you must be able to ’elp, love. Please, I’m at me wits’ end!’
Looking from Alice to Pru, Flora’s heart told her not to do this, but she couldn’t refuse, even though she knew there was little she could do. ‘I’ll get my coat and be along in a moment – you get back to him. Aunt Pru, don’t touch the door knob, and keep Alice away from where Mrs Larch stood, as she may be carrying the virus. If you feel strong enough, get a bowl of hot water and disinfectant and wash the door knob and the door. I’ll be back soon, but neither of you are to come near to me until I have bathed and put my clothes in the boiler.’
‘Eeh, lass.’
‘I know, but try not to worry. As long as we take precautions, we should be all right. I’m taking this tea towel with me, to use as a mask. I’ll be back soon.’
The sound coming from Mrs Larch’s living room was pitiful. The heat in the room was stifling, as a fire blazed up the chimney. Mr Larch lay on the sofa, his body covered by a blanket. His hoarse gasps as he struggled for breath echoed around the room.
‘I’m going to tie this tea towel around my mouth, Mrs Larch. Now don’t worry, it is normal nursing procedure to wear a mask, and you should do the same. But, first, open all the windows and doors.’
‘But he’s cold.’
‘That’s the fever. I think he has pneumonia.’
‘Oh, God love us, no . . . No!’
‘Do as I say. And then help me to strip him. We have to bathe him in cold water to bring his temperature down. Have you any aspirin? They say it is helping with the symptoms if a patient takes a higher dose than normal, every four hours.’
As Mrs Larch went round opening windows, Flora stripped the blanket from Mr Larch and began taking off his soaked pyjamas.
‘I have aspirin. I never thought to give it to ’im. I take it for me ’eadaches.’
‘Right, we’ll deal with his temperature first. Bring me a bowl of cold water, then get as many pots of water boiling on the stove as you can. Once we have cooled him down a little, we need to close the windows and then fill the room with steam, for his breathing. But at the same time keep dousing him in cold water, to cool him.’
‘Will ’e live?’
The question, asked of her many times in the past, was one she couldn’t answer. ‘Let’s do all we can to give him a chance. Do as I say – and hurry.’
Her tone was one of command and Mrs Larch responded.
An hour later, with her body soaked in sweat, Flora thought she heard a change in Mr Larch’s breathing, but not for the better. Now it was even more laboured, and when he exhaled, a distinct rattle could be heard. Oh God, help him. But in her heart she knew there was no help to be had, as this was what they termed the death-rattle. Within minutes it ceased, and a silence filled the room.
‘I’m so sorry, I—’
Exhaustion, and grief for Mrs Larch, caused Flora’s tears to tumble and, as she thought of Freddy, the pain in her heart increased and racked her body with sobs. Mrs Larch’s arm came round her. ‘You did all you could.’ After a moment, as the shock of what had happened ground into her, Mrs Larch began to sob. ‘Bert . . . Bert.’
Flora pulled herself together. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea, and then go for the doctor. They are duty bound to come to certify a death, even if we can’t pay.’
‘Ta, love, and ta for all you did, for my Bert.’
‘Cover him with the sheet, and then, when I come back, we need to scrub the room from top to bottom, and you need to bathe, and boil your clothes and all the bedding. It may be wise to burn Bert’s pyjamas. I – I know all of that is the last thing you want to do, but we must. The virus spreads like wildfire, and we have to take every precaution we can.’
Mrs Larch nodded. ‘I’ll make a start now. Forget that tea, love, you go and fetch the doctor.’
As Flora left the house, despair entered her. Why, why? Haven’t we all been through enough? Didn’t enough people die in the war?
Mr Larch had worked hard throughout the war years. His job on the railway was considered an essential one, but one he had to do with very few other workers, as the younger ones had volunteered to go to war.
He and Mrs Larch had no children, and now she was going to be truly alone. Except that maybe, as she was the heart of the community, looking out for others and like a surrogate mother to all the kids, they would rally round her and make sure she was all right. Yes, Flora knew that would happen, and the thought comforted her.
But how many of them would this flu epidemic slaughter before it was finished? Please God, keep us all safe, especially Aunt Pru and my little Alice.