Farewell To The East End

take a step backwards.
    ‘In the bar I saw several trestle tables. That is what we need. Go to the bar and get the men to bring one up,’ she commanded Julia, who stood looking bewildered. ‘Go on, go girl. Don’t stand there gawping. And we will need a mattress.’
    ‘A mattress?’
    ‘That’s what I said.’
    ‘But we’ve got a mattress.’
    ‘We will need another one. Now go on, go on. I haven’t got all day, you know.’
    Hastily Julia ran down to the bar. She was quite overwhelmed by the big nun, but she told two men to carry a trestle table upstairs, and then to fetch a mattress from the attic. The Sister looked at the equipment and grunted with satisfaction.
    ‘Right, you fellows. Leave the table like that with the legs folded in, and lean one end against the bed, sloping gently – further up – yes that will do. Now pull that chest of drawers up to wedge it so that it can’t slip. That will do nicely – now put the mattress over it. Good lads. Perfect.’
    She glared hard at Terry.
    ‘It’s Terry Weston, isn’t it?
    He nodded.
    ‘I thought as much. I knew you when you were about thirteen – you had eaten too much of something that didn’t agree with you and couldn’t get rid of it. Constipated for a fortnight, you were. I had to give you two enemas to shift it. Hope that taught you a lesson.’
    Terry blushed scarlet, and the other man sniggered. Mr Masterton also laughed, which brought on the coughing again.
    Sister shooed the men away, and when the coughing had subsided, she said gently, ‘Now, Mr Masterton, we have to get some of that fluid off your chest. I want you to lie head down on the mattress. I am going to palpate your back, and show your daughter how to do it. I will help you to get into the right position.’
    Julia marvelled at the gentleness of Sister Evangelina as she handled her patient. After behaving in such a brusque manner, it was unexpected. The nun was kind and respectful in every way as she helped Julia’s father to get up and to lie face downwards on the sloping mattress. She explained that the position would drain fluid out of his lungs. ‘Now I am going to palpate your back, cupping we call it, and massage from the lower lungs to the upper lobes, to try to shift some of the muck. We will need a bowl or a chamber pot for you to spit into, so fetch one, will you, nurse – I mean Miss Masterton?’
    Julia did as she was bidden, then Sister began to work on her father’s back. ‘Watch me carefully,’ she said, ‘In a minute I am going to ask you to do it.’ Her father coughed uncontrollably and brought up copious amounts of frothy fluid, streaked with thick ropes of greenish phlegm. ‘You will feel better after this,’ said Sister Evangelina to the sick man. ‘Now come here, Miss Masterton. You have a go.’
    Julia was terrified of touching her father’s back, which looked so thin and fragile, but she could not disobey this commanding woman. ‘That’s right. Shape your hands like cups and slap from lower to upper lobes; keep going – round the sides also. Now some massage. You have the idea. You have a feel for it. Ten minutes is enough. Now cover your patient, he must be kept warm.’ Then to Julia’s utter astonishment the nun smiled and said, ‘Good girl. Well done.’
    To Mr Masterton she said, ‘This must be done every day, twice a day. Your daughter can do it, and afterwards you must lie for about twenty minutes head down. It will make you feel a good deal better. I am going to leave you now, but I will call each day.’
    Once they were in the sitting room, Sister turned to Julia and said abruptly, ‘This will not cure your father. Nothing will cure him short of a miracle. But it will make him feel easier. Eventually he will drown in the fluid which accumulates in his lungs, but in the meantime it is our duty to make him as comfortable as possible. Apart from which I usually find that such drastic treatment encourages the patient into thinking that something positive is being done. This stimulates hope.’
    She grunted and humphed, gathered up her things and plodded heavily downstairs. In the bar she called out, ‘I’ll be back tomorrow, Terry. In the meantime, keep ’em open, then you won’t get bunged up again,’ to the immense discomfort of the poor fellow and the hilarity of the lunchtime customers.

    Julia nursed her father for three months, and during that time she grew to understand him more. His reticence and reserve appealed