3
Well, that question had been answered. Alex’s first impressions had been correct; Maisie Canavan was a stunner.
As Fenton led them up the stone steps to the middle floor, he remained distracted.
Instinctively, he had tried to assess her reactions to their group.
Although Alex had occasionally been told he was good-looking, he couldn’t see it himself, being far too familiar with the face in the mirror.
His features were regular, he supposed: brown hair, a square jaw, eyes that were a boring, dull grey.
Of the others, he thought the girls would probably like Dr McMullen and Dr Sheridan – if they thought about such things.
To be fair, Midwife Canavan had seemed equally uninterested in all of them.
‘Labour ward!’ Fenton pronounced, leading them down a side corridor in the middle floor – directly above the antenatal clinic, if Alex’s sense of direction was correct.
The unit had been designed to be modern, fresh, and clean, and Alex felt a wave of pride that Belfast had such a wonderful hospital.
Maternity didn’t tend to be a priority for fundraisers, and they had heard last week that this place had been built thanks to the dedication of men like Professors Lowry and Lindsay, who had campaigned tirelessly for the funds.
‘Right!’ Fenton pronounced. ‘A Ward next. Follow me! You too, Sheridan!’
Fenton was the arrogant type, his tone dismissive. He knew very few of the new doctors’ names yet, despite the fact they had now met on multiple occasions. I dread to think what he’s like with the women.
A Ward was well laid out, with a small sepsis ward – currently empty – to the left, a couple of single rooms, and a main bay at the end of the inner corridor.
Sister Campbell – whom he’d met earlier in the week – was there, alongside two other midwives – both young and pretty.
Peggy Cassidy and Priscilla Gildea, he recalled.
They’d do well in a music hall act, Alex thought idly.
Peggy and Priscilla, the Singing Midwives of Belfast. They’d both been at the reception on Wednesday.
Shaking himself out of his random musings, he greeted them all, noting that, while Peggy Cassidy was as neutral as Maisie had been, Priscilla Gildea had a decided twinkle in her eye as she greeted the new doctors.
Plus, she’s the only one with a Protestant name.
Maybe he should keep his options open, after all.
He stifled a sigh. So much for his determination to focus only on the new job, ignoring the pretty girls for now. I have the attention span of a rabbit.
At lunch he sat with Dan Sheridan, chatting casually with him as they ate. Dan’s father was a GP, which partly explained why he had chosen medicine.
‘What about you, Alex?’ Dan asked mildly. ‘Have you doctors in the family?’
‘Not a single one!’ Alex declared cheerfully. ‘My father owns a manufacturing business – parts for ships, that kind of thing. We live up the Cliftonville Road.’
‘Ah, right. We’re near Queen’s – my da’s patients are mostly South Belfast. I’m an only child.’
‘At least you do have a doctor in the family. I went into it with very little idea about what it would be like.’
‘Let me guess – lofty notions of doing good?’
They shared a wry smile. While such moments did happen, they were sometimes drowned out by the noise of paperwork, of exams, of incomprehensible policies to be followed.
Alex set down his knife and took another sip of tea. ‘We’ll be grand.’
‘We will.’
After a brief but companionable silence while they both continued to demolish the lunches they’d bought, a notion seemed to occur to Dan. ‘So how did your ones react when you chose medicine?’
Alex grimaced. ‘Not well. I’m an only child too.
There’s only me, my parents, and my granda in the house.
That meant I was expected to take over running the plant, you know?
’ He shook his head. ‘We got there in the end, but it was tough going for a while.’ Tough going.
A strange way to describe the months of pressure – of arguments, and threats from Father, and pleading from Mother.
Was it worth it? God, he hoped so. The years of training – between university and placements – had been hard at times, but he knew he couldn’t give up, as many had.
He had fought for this path, and would see it through no matter what.
‘Well I got no grief about medicine,’ Dan responded, ‘but—’ He glanced about briefly, adding in a quieter tone, ‘My mammy was determined to marry me off. Kept introducing me to girls she thought were suitable!’ His eyes were dancing.
‘Nightmare!’ Alex had every sympathy for him. ‘My ones are a bit the same, especially my mother. So long as I marry a girl from our church, they’ll be happy.’
Dan raised an eyebrow. ‘But will you be happy?’
Alex shrugged. ‘Never really thought about it. I suppose so, as long as she’s nice enough.
’ He grinned. ‘If my mother knew what I’d been up to in Edinburgh she wouldn’t be too impressed!
’ Brief memories flashed through his mind – of the girls he’d gone out with there, and the things he had done with them. Oh, yes, he’d had a good year.
‘Aye, well, sometimes you have to push against your parents, do what’s right for you, not them.’ There was some edge to his tone that Alex thought was unusual. Was there something going on between Dan and his parents? Whatever it was, it had sparked curiosity in Alex.
‘You were in Dublin, Dan. Is that right?’
‘I was. Great city. I maybe should have stayed there. Plenty of jobs, and they’re unlikely to get sucked into this damn war.’
‘It’s a bloody nightmare, so it is.’
‘Aye. It all seems real now – the Navy, the evacuation. And they brought that emergency legislation through Westminster about conscription,’ Dan said, a worried look on his face.
‘Doctors are exempt, you know.’ Still, there was a sick feeling in Alex’s stomach too.
The Great War was recent enough for it to be talked about by people who knew.
Both Alex’s uncles had been killed in 1917, leaving Father as the only Lowe left of that generation.
Granda, Father, and me. On his mother’s side there was an elderly aunt who lived in a home in England, and nobody else.
Just the five of us. Compared to most families he knew, his was tiny.
‘Aye. Doctors and farmers. Something odd about that.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Alex shrugged. ‘I wonder if my ones will say anything about the fact that being a doctor means I won’t be sent to the front line.’
‘But sure it doesn’t include us at all.’ Dan seemed to be considering his words carefully. ‘These six counties, I mean.’
Northern Ireland. Those on the opposite side of the political debate – as Dan surely was – didn’t like the term, Alex knew.
They preferred to continue thinking about Ireland as a whole, even though the island was now split into two separate countries – the six counties of Northern Ireland, and the twenty-six that made up the Irish Free State.
For the first time in nearly a year, Alex found himself having to go carefully. Dan was a potential friend, even if their political views were different. Stick to the facts.
‘Aye – they said all along that it would only be brought in for men in England, Scotland, and Wales.’
Dan sighed. ‘Aye.’ He looked right, to where Fenton was rising. ‘Lunch break is done, it seems.’
‘So it is.’ Alex drained his cup, then stood. ‘Let’s do this.’
* * *
‘It’s Maisie, Mammy! Maisie’s home!’
Maisie couldn’t suppress a smile as she heard the excitement in her wee sister’s voice. It was nice to be welcomed, nice to be noticed. As the middle child in a family of seven, she had grown up not being noticed very much at all.
But the oldest two – Michael and Maolíosa – had become adults, married, and left, leaving Moya as the eldest in the house for a while.
Then Maisie too had left – not to marry, but to spend a year in London training as a midwife, thanks to Granny Canavan’s generosity.
Unlike her older siblings, though, she had come back.
And now Moya was married – her wedding to John-Joe O’Keeffe having taken place a few weeks ago. That meant Maisie was now the eldest child in the house – a position she was enjoying.
Having gone round the back entry to stow her bike in their tiny yard (complete with outhouse), Maisie had just entered by the kitchen door – straight into wee Molly, her twelve-year-old sister, who was washing dishes.
The dinner was on, and Molly was tidying up the bowls, boards, and knife used to prepare the various vegetables.
‘Well, Molly!’ She grinned. ‘How was school today?’
Molly grimaced. ‘Boring. And don’t tell me,’ she added fiercely, ‘that it’s better than the mills. I’m sick of hearing everybody yappin’ on at me to be grateful.’
‘Then I won’t even mention the mills.’ Setting down her work bag, Maisie picked up a tea towel and started drying the dishes.
‘Did you hear the latest about Poland?’ Molly’s brow was furrowed. ‘Them Germans are nearly at Warsaw, so they are.’
‘I did.’ Instinctively, she wanted to reassure the girl, who would always be the chile of the family. A week ago, she’d probably never heard of Warsaw. ‘Poland’s very far away, like.’
‘Aye, but Britain’s in it, which means it all could come here.’
‘I’m sure yer man Hitler isn’t even thinking about a wee island like Ireland, out on the very edge of Europe. If you sailed out from Donegal, the next place you’d find would be Canada!’
‘Is that right?’ Molly seemed to think about it for a moment. ‘I’d love to go somewhere.’
‘Where?’
‘Somewhere. Anywhere. Somewhere other than school and Mass and home.’
Maisie squeezed her shoulder. ‘Then you will. We’ll make it happen. Once you’re twenty-one you can do what you want. And before that I can take you places in Ireland. Have you ever been to Dublin?’
‘No. Dublin would be good.’
‘Then we’ll go there. Me and you. On the train.’
Molly’s eyes lit up. ‘That would be class!’