Farewell To The East End

street, looking as though he did not quite know what to do next. A bicycle was propped against the railings.
    ‘You must excuse her. She does not like …’
    Then I recognised him. It was the copper whom Chummy had knocked over when she was learning to ride her bicycle and who had also accompanied the police sergeant in his investigations about the stolen jewellery. I burst out laughing.
    ‘Oh, it’s you. We seem to meet a lot. What do you want this time?’
    ‘I’m not here on police business. You can tell Sister and calm her fears. I’ve brought a bicycle back, that is all. I told the nurse I would.’
    ‘Which nurse?’
    ‘I don’t know her name. The very tall one.’
    ‘Chummy. What are you doing with her bike?’
    ‘I sent her back by taxi, because I did not think she was in a fit condition to ride.’
    ‘What?’ I exclaimed, thinking he meant that she was drunk. ‘When?’
    ‘This morning at about six o’clock.’
    ‘Good God! Where did you find her?’
    ‘In the Docks.’
    ‘In the Docks! Drunk and incapable in the Docks, at six o’clock in the morning! My God! This is a side of Chummy we knew nothing about. She’s a dark horse. You wait till I tell the girls. Was it a wild party, or something?’
    He was smiling. He was an interesting-looking man who was probably younger than he appeared. He had an ugly-attractive sort of face, and a scar ran up the side of his cheek almost to the cheekbone. This might have made him look grim, but as he smiled his dark eyes danced with humour.
    ‘No. It was no party, and she was not drunk. I am not sure of the details, but apparently a baby was born on one of the ships, and your nurse Chummy went to deliver it.’
    I knew nothing about the drama of the night and stared at him in amazement.
    ‘I saw the nurse staggering along the quayside as my colleague and I were talking with the nightwatchman. It had been a stormy night, and he said that she had climbed up the rope ladder. So presumably she had to climb down again. When I saw her, she looked as if she were on the verge of collapse. She hardly knew where she was going. So I told her not to ride the bike and ordered a taxi. I am now returning the bike,’ he added more formally, ‘and would like you to sign for it.’
    I signed, and he thanked me and turned to go. But then he hesitated and half turned back.
    ‘I was wondering …’ And then he stopped. Silence.
    ‘Yes? Wondering what?’
    ‘Oh, just thinking …’ Another silence.
    ‘Well, unless I know what you are thinking, I can’t help you, can I?’
    ‘No, of course not.’ More silence. ‘How is she?’
    ‘Who? Chummy?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Well, I don’t know. I didn’t know there was anything wrong with her.’
    ‘I’m not sure. I hope not. She looked all in when I saw her, and …’ His voice trailed off.
    ‘Oh, that’s nothing, I assure you. We are frequently “all in”. Sometimes the work gets very heavy, and we are often out for long hours. It can be quite exhausting, sometimes. But we get over it. Chummy will, you’ll see.’
    ‘I hope so.’ Another long silence, in which he looked as if he wanted to say more. I waited.
    ‘Look, tell her I brought back the bike …’ He stopped again;
    ‘ … I felt responsible for her in a way this morning, when I saw her staggering along the quayside. She hardly knew where she was going and would have killed herself on a bike in the East India Dock Road. I suppose I just wanted to reassure myself that she is all right now.’
    ‘Well, I honestly don’t know. And if you will excuse me, I have to go. I have the morning visits to make, and it’s getting late. If you want to know how she is, you had better come back later.’ He nodded. ‘But come back when you are not on duty, and not in uniform. You might meet Sister Monica Joan again!’

    A few days later we were relaxing in our sitting room. The pressure of work had subsided. Then there was a knock at the door. Trixie groaned.
    ‘Here comes trouble. Someone in labour. Who’s on call?’
    She came back a few minutes later with a wicked grin on her face.
    ‘There’s a young man to see you, Chummy.’
    ‘Oh whoopee! It must be my brother, Wizard Prang ! He’s on leave from the RAF. Pilot, you know. Commissioned officer and all that. Don’t know what he does, actually, now that the war is over, but he seems to enjoy it. Ask him to come up, old girl. Not too fast. We’d better tidy up, eh, girls?’
    Cynthia, Chummy and I