Farewell To The East End

massive task of tuberculous nursing with no knowledge or experience whatsoever. She did not tell her father of her plan to stay because she thought his pride might make him refuse her. Instead, she told him a story about having lost her job, and being unable to find another; that she had no money to pay the rent, and had been turned out of her lodgings.
    Her father immediately said, ‘That’s hard, girl, you can come and stay here, of course, until you get on your feet again.’
    After that he accepted her continued presence without question. He provided her with money to run their small m’nage, to pay Mrs Weston for her cleaning, and to pay the doctor and the nurses, and for medicines. In fact, he was very generous, saying things like, ‘Get yourself something pretty, a nice blouse or something. A young girl likes pretty things.’
    He still kept a strict control of pub accounts. Ill as he was, and despite the fact he never went into the bar, he seemed to know exactly what was going on. Every morning Terry had to come upstairs and go through the previous day’s sales. He had to give the number of customers in the bar, the number of sales and the quantity of stock consumed, and all was reckoned against the cash in the till, which was counted and entered in the ledger. Julia watched all this and marvelled that her father was so much in command. He seemed stronger while Terry was with him, and his mind was clear and focused. She also realised that it was only by maintaining such strong control that a publican could avoid being robbed by his staff. With hundreds of glasses of liquor being sold to customers every evening, it would be the easiest thing in the world to skew the money. Her father seemed to know from the daily sales what stock remained, and he placed all the orders himself and signed all the payment cheques. He was known by everyone as the Master, and his daughter came to admire his business acumen greatly. Her father would sink back on his pillows, exhausted and sweating, after Terry had gone; frequently he was coughing and trembling all over and needed his linctus and a cooling drink to get him over the ordeal. One day he said to Julia, ‘Them doctors don’t know anything about business. Wanted me to go away for six months, they did. That would have been a good day for the jackals if I’d gone, wouldn’t it? There would have been nothing left by the time I got back.’ He chuckled at his own astuteness, although Julia wondered what there was left of him through not going away to a sanatorium.

    The doctor had advised she contact the Nursing Sisters, and as soon as Julia saw the heavy figure of Sister Evangelina lumbering upstairs she recognised her as the nun who had come to nurse her brothers when they were ill a decade previously. Sister was out of breath and grumpy by the time she got to the flat. She went straight to the sick room, sat down and demanded a cup of tea. Julia had expected a nun to be all holy water and prayers, but her opening remarks were about money.
    ‘I will come each day, if you want me to, but it is going to cost you something, I warn you. We are an Order who nurse the poor. The Master of the Master’s Arms is not poor. If you want me, you will have to pay handsomely, so that we can treat the poor for nothing. Take it or leave it and yes, two sugars please.’
    Mr Masterton chuckled, which brought on a fit of coughing. Sister Evangelina sat drinking her tea, but watching him over the top of her teacup with an experienced eye. Eventually he was able to splutter, ‘I agree, Sister, name your figure and I’ll double it. There are thousands round here who can’t afford to pay for the medical treatment they need.’
    ‘Thousands?’ she snorted. ‘Tens of thousands would be nearer the mark. We see them all the time.’
    She stared aggressively at Julia, who felt very small and didn’t quite know what to make of the big nun.
    ‘I suppose you don’t know anything about good nursing, or any nursing at all, for that matter?’
    Julia shook her head.
    ‘No. I thought not. Ignorant girls. Dizzy young things. It seems to be my fate always to be landed with these flibbertigibbets. Well, I suppose you are better than nothing, so let’s get on with it. Postural drainage is what the patient needs. Potions and pills and linctuses are all very fine, but they won’t get the phlegm out of his lungs. Postural drainage,’ she added emphatically and stood up. Julia was obliged to