Farewell To The East End

of tea.

    Footsteps were heard on the stairs, and a man entered. He was youngish, cleanly dressed and carried a black bag. They met in the hallway and shook hands. He introduced himself as Dr Fuller.
    ‘And I understand from Terry, the barman, that you are Miss Masterton, my patient’s only living daughter?’
    Julia nodded.
    ‘I wish we had known about you a year ago. He said his family was dead.’
    Julia felt herself blush with shame, and did not know what to say. Together they went into the sick room.
    Expertly he examined the emaciated body. Julia winced to see the rib-cage exposed, with barely any flesh covering the bones. The doctor felt for enlarged lymph glands and neck rigidity. He palpated the chest at various points and listened through his stethoscope to the heart and the sounds of laboured breathing. He tested for muscular strength, which was almost nil. He looked into her father’s eyes, and at his fingernails, which were a curious shape, Julia noticed. He examined the sputum in the pot. He said, ‘You are doing nicely. Warmth, good food, and rest are what you need. I’m glad your daughter is here.’
    ‘Yes. She has just come for the day. It’s her day off work. It’s nice to see her. A nice surprise.’
    ‘I was hoping she would be staying,’ said the doctor pointedly, knowing that Julia was just behind him.
    ‘Oh no, no. She’s got her own life to lead. She’s doing well as a telegraphist. I don’t want to be a drag on her. She’s got her own friends, her own life.’
    ‘I see,’ said the doctor with a sigh. ‘Well, I will return again in a few days.’
    In the sitting room, Julia informed the doctor that she did intend staying, but had not told her father of her decision. She wanted to know more about his condition, and said that her four brothers and a sister had died of tuberculosis. The doctor told her that Mr Masterton had probably had a primary infection of the tubercle bacillus for many years, which had passed unnoticed. Any symptoms, such as fever or coughing, would have been put down to ’flu. However, about a year previously, a secondary infection had probably occurred, involving the mediastinal glands. ‘I’m afraid that tuberculosis is now widespread throughout his lungs.’
    Julia asked what treatment was available.
    The doctor explained that treatment consisted of rest, warmth, good food, plentiful fluids, inhalations, postural drainage, fresh air and syrup of codeine linctus, and that later he would prescribe morphine.
    Julia asked if her father would get better. The doctor looked unwilling to reply, but she insisted.
    ‘I must know.’
    ‘A year ago, my partner and I advised your father to go for six months’ sanatorium treatment in the Swiss Alps. But he refused. He said he could not leave the pub for so long.’
    ‘Typical,’ said Julia angrily. ‘He could never leave his pub, not even to save his own life. But do go on.’
    ‘The clean air of the Alps might have saved his life, but it is too late now. Anyway, he seemed to improve for a while, or at least stabilise, and his decision seemed to be the right one. But two months ago he deteriorated rapidly. There is no drug available at this advanced stage that will effect a cure. In some cases, injection of sodium-gold thiosulphate is beneficial in diminishing the lung deposits, but we tried the gold injections weekly, with no effect. Your father, I am afraid, has now reached the stage of advanced phthisis, from which recovery cannot be expected.’
    Julia sat quietly looking at the floor. She was not really surprised, just deeply sad.
    ‘Can he go to a sanatorium now? The air of Poplar is notoriously bad, you know.’
    The doctor smiled. ‘Yes, I know, but there is no evidence that the air of Poplar causes tuberculosis. People living in ideal surroundings get the disease and do not recover. But your father cannot be moved now. It would kill him.’
    Julia thought of her mother, toiling across Europe, a two-day journey by boat and train, with a sick child who had died shortly after arrival, and agreed with the doctor. ‘So what can be done?’ she whispered.
    ‘You can make his life as comfortable as possible. He can eat what he likes, if he can eat at all. He can get up if he feels able to. Keep him warm. Inhalations are very soothing. You will need a nurse. I recommend the Nursing Sisters of St Raymund Nonnatus, an order of nuns who have worked in these parts for many years.’

    Julia set about the