Farewell To The East End

was fully absorbed with a dish of jelly and blancmange. Mrs Fortescue-Cholmeley-Browne approached her graciously.
    ‘Can I introduce myself?’
    Sister Monica Joan looked up sharply.
    ‘Induce yourself? What! Induce yourself? My good woman, let it be known that I do not at all approve of inducing. A baby should come naturally, and the vast majority will, without the need for all these inductions. And what is a woman of your age doing being pregnant? It’s indecent. And now you are asking me if you can induce yourself. Are you planning an abortion? Is that what? I tell you, it’s illegal, and I’ll have nothing to do with it. Be off with you.’
    Poor Mater, shaken to the core, returned to her husband’s side.
    ‘I’m never going to get over this, never,’ she murmured.
    ‘Stiff upper lip, old girl,’ retorted the colonel. ‘This can’t last for long, and then they’re going to Sierra Leone, I understand.’
    ‘Thank God for that. Best place for her,’ said Mater emphatically.
    Sister Julienne was quietly thrilled at the way Chummy had developed. Many girls had come to Nonnatus House aspiring to be medical missionaries, but somehow Chummy would always stand out in her mind. She gazed at the tall, happy girl standing at the other side of the room and fondly remembered her awkwardness when she first came to the convent, falling over things or walking into stationary objects. Above all she remembered Chummy learning to ride a bike with that nice boy Jack helping her. That was when the girl’s true mettle first became apparent – she was indomitable. Sister Julienne chuckled to herself as she looked across the room at David, the policeman Chummy had somehow managed to run into and almost knock unconscious. So this was how the good Lord had planned it!
    Sister Julienne was a deeply romantic soul, and she smiled to herself again as she remembered Jane and the Reverend Thornton Applebee-Thornton. Perhaps God had needed a bit of help there! She had never tried matchmaking before, but when the reverend gentleman had come from his mission in Sierra Leone to study the midwifery practice of the Sisters as a model for the medical services he wanted to introduce into his mission, she had shamelessly thrust Jane into his company. The success of her little plan had been spectacular. And now Chummy was going out to join them in Sierra Leone as the first trained midwife, while David had applied to the police force there.
    Sister Julienne smiled around her at the happy faces, at Mrs B, in her element amid all the catering, Fred ambling around, moving chairs, clearing up, and obviously making wisecracks for the benefit of all. She looked across at the nurses from St Tommy’s, who were roaring with laughter at the policemen, and thought how delightful it was to see young people enjoying themselves. And then her gaze fell on the frigid face of Mrs Fortescue-Cholmeley-Browne. This isn’t right, she thought. I must go over and have a word with her.
    After the usual pleasantries, Sister Julienne went straight to the point.
    ‘Mothers and daughters seldom understand each other.’
    ‘What makes you say a thing like that?’ said Mrs Browne guardedly.
    ‘Experience.’
    ‘Experience? You have no children.’
    ‘No, but I have a family. I am one of a family of nine, and I saw the tension between my mother and her five daughters. None of us lived up to her expectations. She did not attend any of their weddings. Not one! And when I took religious vows, she was outraged. I was embarrassing the family, she said. So you see, I know all about misunderstandings between mothers and daughters.’
    Mrs Browne sat silent. She was not going to be drawn. After a moment’s pause, Sister went on.
    ‘Camilla is a fine young woman. You can be very proud of her. She has the makings of nobility in her. She has strength of character, steadfast pursuit of her goal and above all mental and physical courage. These are the qualities that built the British Empire.’
    Sister Julienne had scored a goal. Mrs Fortescue-Cholmeley-Browne came from a colonial family. Her father had been official adviser to the Raj and administrator of Bengal. Her husband, the Governor of Rajastan. She knew all about the qualities that had built the British Empire. After a pause, she said, ‘Well, I wish I could see it.’
    ‘You will, I assure you. Mothers and daughters always draw closer to each other as the years pass. Camilla and David …’
    Mrs Browne butted