facts when dealing with our own families, though we’re quick to make pronouncements on strangers. I’ll see her on Monday, and we’ll get to the root of the trouble, whatever it is.’
‘I’m very grateful to you, Mr Kydd,’ she said simply.
‘Glad to be of help, my dear. Now, as you want to stay on as houseman on obs and gynae, I’ll get another contract drawn up for you with the management committee for a further six months. There’s just one thing I should point out to you, Shelagh.’ Was that a gleam of mischief behind the half-moons? ‘You’ll be senior houseman this time, and your junior will be Dr McDowall, who’s senior to you in all other respects. An unusual situation, as you’ll agree.’
‘
Dr McDowall
?’ Shelagh exclaimed in astonishment. ‘But how – I mean he’s a medical registrar!’
‘Not permanently. He plans to go into general practice eventually, and feels he needs to recap on obs and gynae – so he’s taking demotion for six months as a houseman. Very good man in his field, and will be an asset on the team, to deal with our diabetics and asthmas and epileptics – oh, and that reminds me, I intend to do a caesarean section on our Mrs Blake next week. It’s one of those difficult questions, a choice of two evils. Would the baby stand a better chance inside its mother, or in the Special Care BabyUnit? After a discussion with McDowall, I’ve come down on the side of the latter. Do you agree?’
‘Yes, sir, I most certainly do,’ she said, getting up from her chair and shaking the hand he held out to her.
‘Good luck, my dear. Actually, I think our friend McDowall could learn a lot from you. And I’ll see you in Outpatients with Mrs Hammond on Monday.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘It’s early days as yet, Phyllis,’ said Mary Whittaker. ‘Up to about six months you’re allowed to break down and weep in the supermarket, but after that you have to buck up, or you become a bit of a bore. I know, I’ve been through it.’
Phyllis Maynard, who remembered when Tom Whittaker, a friend of Ben’s on the town council, had died, appreciated her friend’s frankness, but did not yet feel ready to face the world.
‘People are very kind, Mary, and I get asked to coffee mornings and bring-and-buy sales, but to be quite honest I’m always tired, and I find company even lonelier than solitude.’
‘Ah, you poor dear, take it from me, you
will
find that it starts to get better,’ said Mary. ‘Look, have youheard about this new Christmas choir that Jeremy North’s getting together? He’s such a nice, humorous man, isn’t he, and so full of enthusiasm – why don’t we both join, it will be good for us, and brighten up the winter evenings.’
‘I’m dreading Christmas, Mary.’
‘Oh, my dear, Christmas will come and go like it always does, and in the New Year you’ll start to look ahead again. Come on, let’s go and have a coffee at Edward’s.’
Getting her mother to the clinic was not easy, and Shelagh needed all her forbearance. Bridget refused to hurry over breakfast, having resisted her daughter’s help in producing an early morning specimen of urine into a plastic jug which Shelagh then poured into a small sterile labelled container. She then refused help in getting dressed in her clean, lavender-scented underwear – Directoire knickers and lisle stockings held up by suspenders dangling from a belt beneath her long woollen vest, and a petticoat. She must be the only woman in Everham who still wears such outdated undies, thought Shelagh; whoever would know that we’re into the 1960s? She wondered where Bridget would shop when the old-fashioned ladies’ outfitters in North Camp finally closed its Edwardian doors. When at last she helped her mother into the car, the two were scarcely on speaking terms, although Shelagh did her best to be patient.
The outpatients department was at the front of the building, and consisted of a series of examination rooms with a large
‘I’m very grateful to you, Mr Kydd,’ she said simply.
‘Glad to be of help, my dear. Now, as you want to stay on as houseman on obs and gynae, I’ll get another contract drawn up for you with the management committee for a further six months. There’s just one thing I should point out to you, Shelagh.’ Was that a gleam of mischief behind the half-moons? ‘You’ll be senior houseman this time, and your junior will be Dr McDowall, who’s senior to you in all other respects. An unusual situation, as you’ll agree.’
‘
Dr McDowall
?’ Shelagh exclaimed in astonishment. ‘But how – I mean he’s a medical registrar!’
‘Not permanently. He plans to go into general practice eventually, and feels he needs to recap on obs and gynae – so he’s taking demotion for six months as a houseman. Very good man in his field, and will be an asset on the team, to deal with our diabetics and asthmas and epileptics – oh, and that reminds me, I intend to do a caesarean section on our Mrs Blake next week. It’s one of those difficult questions, a choice of two evils. Would the baby stand a better chance inside its mother, or in the Special Care BabyUnit? After a discussion with McDowall, I’ve come down on the side of the latter. Do you agree?’
‘Yes, sir, I most certainly do,’ she said, getting up from her chair and shaking the hand he held out to her.
‘Good luck, my dear. Actually, I think our friend McDowall could learn a lot from you. And I’ll see you in Outpatients with Mrs Hammond on Monday.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘It’s early days as yet, Phyllis,’ said Mary Whittaker. ‘Up to about six months you’re allowed to break down and weep in the supermarket, but after that you have to buck up, or you become a bit of a bore. I know, I’ve been through it.’
Phyllis Maynard, who remembered when Tom Whittaker, a friend of Ben’s on the town council, had died, appreciated her friend’s frankness, but did not yet feel ready to face the world.
‘People are very kind, Mary, and I get asked to coffee mornings and bring-and-buy sales, but to be quite honest I’m always tired, and I find company even lonelier than solitude.’
‘Ah, you poor dear, take it from me, you
will
find that it starts to get better,’ said Mary. ‘Look, have youheard about this new Christmas choir that Jeremy North’s getting together? He’s such a nice, humorous man, isn’t he, and so full of enthusiasm – why don’t we both join, it will be good for us, and brighten up the winter evenings.’
‘I’m dreading Christmas, Mary.’
‘Oh, my dear, Christmas will come and go like it always does, and in the New Year you’ll start to look ahead again. Come on, let’s go and have a coffee at Edward’s.’
Getting her mother to the clinic was not easy, and Shelagh needed all her forbearance. Bridget refused to hurry over breakfast, having resisted her daughter’s help in producing an early morning specimen of urine into a plastic jug which Shelagh then poured into a small sterile labelled container. She then refused help in getting dressed in her clean, lavender-scented underwear – Directoire knickers and lisle stockings held up by suspenders dangling from a belt beneath her long woollen vest, and a petticoat. She must be the only woman in Everham who still wears such outdated undies, thought Shelagh; whoever would know that we’re into the 1960s? She wondered where Bridget would shop when the old-fashioned ladies’ outfitters in North Camp finally closed its Edwardian doors. When at last she helped her mother into the car, the two were scarcely on speaking terms, although Shelagh did her best to be patient.
The outpatients department was at the front of the building, and consisted of a series of examination rooms with a large
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