Farewell To The East End

she told me the tragic story of the tuberculosis which had claimed nearly all her family, and lastly her little girl, aged six. The mother had nearly gone mad with grief, she had doted so on the child.
    I told Sister Julienne that I had seen Miss Masterton in the pub, and something about her had caught my attention, perhaps the look in her eyes.
    ‘Yes, there is something in the eyes of a woman who has lost a child that sets her apart from others. The grief and pain never go away. And for Miss Masterton it was all the more terrible because she was advised to be tested for the tubercle bacillus herself. Blood tests were taken showing that she was a carrier of the bacillus, and had been for a long time, but had never shown any signs or symptoms and had never succumbed to the disease herself. It is probable that she had infected her own daughter.’

THE ANGELS

    While she could vividly remember things from long past, Sister Monica Joan’s short-term memory seemed to be getting shorter and shorter. She appeared to have forgotten completely the unpalatable fact that she had been before the Court of the London Quarter Sessions on a charge of larceny only a few months previously. The prosecution had alleged that she had stolen jewels from Hatton Garden and initially all the evidence had pointed to her guilt. But a surprise witness proved her innocence. The trial had been a shock, to say the very least, for the convent, but for Sister Monica Joan it was as though it had never happened. She was her old self, delightful and entertaining, in her conversation, but in her behaviour she was becoming increasingly eccentric and unpredictable.
    Sister had a niece, more accurately a great great niece, living in Sonning, Berkshire. They had not met or communicated for many years. One day Sister decided to visit her niece, and what is more she determined that a pair of fine Chippendale chairs which she had in her room should be presented to the woman as a gift. Accordingly, she left Nonnatus House early one morning while the Sisters were at prayer, and before Mrs B the cook or Fred the boiler man arrived. How she carried two chairs downstairs is impossible to conjecture, but she did.
    Out in the street, she carried one chair to the corner and then came back for the other. She proceeded in this fashion to the East India Dock Road, where a policeman approached and asked her if he could help. Sister Monica Joan did not like policemen. She exclaimed, ‘Tush, out of my way, fellow,’ and rammed the chair leg into his stomach. The policeman decided to let her get on with it.
    Sister reached the bus stop and sat down to regain her breath. A bus came, and the conductor, being a kindly soul, helped her on with her two chairs and put them in the luggage hold. When they reached Aldgate, he helped her off and pointed to where she could catch a bus to Euston, where she would have to change onto another for Paddington Station.
    It was approaching rush hour when the bus trundled into Paddington. The bus stop was some distance from the railway station, so Sister left one of the chairs (Chippendale, of enormous value) at the bus stop whilst she carried the other to the station. Then she left that one in the station forecourt, and returned for the second. Once in the station things became easier for Sister Monica Joan, because she found a porter who loaded the chairs onto his trolley and took them to the train bound for Reading, were she would have to change onto a branch line for Sonning.
    Meanwhile at Nonnatus House the alarm was raised. Sister Monica Joan was missing, and no one had a clue where she had got to. Mrs B was in tears. The police were informed but could offer no help. At lunchtime a phone call was received stating that a policeman had reported seeing a nun at six o’clock in the morning in the East India Dock Road, and that she had rammed a chair leg into his stomach.
    ‘A chair leg!’ cried Sister Julienne incredulously. ‘What was she doing with a chair leg?’
    ‘She was carrying a chair,’ replied the duty policeman.
    ‘But that’s impossible. She is ninety, and it was in the East India Dock Road, you tell me.’
    ‘I’m only telling you what the constable reported, ma’am. I’m not making anything up. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do. We’ll keep an eye open for this missing nun, and if we have any more reports of her activities, you will be informed. Good day to you, ma’am.’
    Sister went hastily to