"Perhaps you should." The emphasis was definitely on the pronoun. "Definitely," said the small voice in Sister Frances' mind.
Lucille's words after they had delivered Mrs Chawla's baby that September morning had had a profound effect on her. She had set out that spring on a quest to become more worldly, to learn more about her patients in order to understand them better. Though of course, the world extended far beyond London. A world beyond her wildest dreams, a world she'd only really seen in encyclopedias or on the black and white television in the parlour at Nonnatus House. Reading magazines would not tell her about Mrs Chawla's world. She needed to immerse herself, into the colour, the magic, she needed to dive in. An idea began to formulate in her mind. She slipped out of her cell and padded her way down the stairs to Sister Julienne's office. She knocked on the door, humming to herself, nervously.
"Come in!" Sister Julienne chirped in reply.
"Hello Sister Julienne," Sister Frances called apprehensively as she entered the room.
"Is all well?" Sister Julienne asked, motioning to her to take the seat in front of her.
"Yes, quite well," Sister Frances replied, "I was wondering, if I could ask you something?"
"Of course," Sister Julienne soothed, "you know you can talk to me whenever you need to."
"Oh, it's nothing like that, don't worry," Sister Frances replied, noticing the concern on her Superior's face. Sister Julienne tried and failed to maintain a neutral expression. As much as she loved her young consoeur, she knew another was irreplaceable in her life.
"You know that I want to broaden my understanding of my patient's and their lives," Sister Frances began, "and in particular, those whose world is so different from mine. For some, no amount of reading will ever help me to understand them."
"I'm listening," Sister Julienne murmured.
"The other day, Nurse Anderson and I delivered Mrs Chalwa's baby. A neighbour had called us as she was in the middle of a complicated labour with no trained help. If we hadn't arrived when we did, both her and the baby might have died. There seems to be a reluctance amongst the Asian women of Poplar to come to us, whether it's through apprehension, or cultural or language barriers, I don't know. But they are entitled to the best of care, and we are able to provide it. We should be providing it," she added firmly.
"I believe there was somewhat of a publicity drive amongst the Asian communities some years ago," Sister Julienne replied, "with limited success from what I remember. There was a time we were using the backs of those leaflets as scrap note paper."
"Leaflets are important Sister, of course, but I wonder if a more personal touch wouldn't work in this instance," Sister Frances continued in earnest.
"Go on," Sister Julienne encouraged.
"What if we offered evening classes," Sister Frances suggested.
"We have regular classes Sister Frances," reminded Sister Julienne.
"Yes, but these would be different," Sister Frances persisted, "these would be just for the Asian mothers, it might make it more appealing to them, especially if we hired a translator. It would be for them to find out about us but it would also be for us to learn about them and their customs and what they need from us."
Sister Julienne sighed, "It does seem like a sensible idea Sister," Sister Frances' face lit up in response, "however these are, testing times financially, and your classes would incur extra costs, money which we don't have." The two nuns nodded at each other in mutual understanding. "That's not to say," Sister Julienne continued, "that we should dismiss it out of hand. Why don't you plan the first one on the strict understanding that you find some means to cover all future costs. In truth, without that, they couldn't take place."
"I'll see what I can do!" Sister Frances chirped enthusiastically, "thank you Sister Julienne," she added.
"My pleasure as always," Sister Julienne replied, "was there anything else?" she quizzed.
"Oh no, that was all, Sister, thank you," Sister Frances replied as she saw herself out of the office.
"Where do people get money from?" Sister Frances mused as she walked back up the stairs to her cell. "Well, when one can't work, and that's legal?" The smallest flicker of a smile spread across her face at the thought of her charming a wealthy, and handsome, benefactor, and then felt guilty at desiring both characteristics in a person. "Of course," it dawned on her. The Local Council. She would ask Mrs Buckle. She half considered bounding back down the stairs to ask Sister Julienne for permission but as she rose from her chair she stopped herself. "No," a strong, confident voice rang in her head, "I'm doing this."
The following weeks of Sister Frances' life whizzed past her like a whirling dervish. Her evening classes for the Asian mothers had become a roaring success, Miss Higgins had taught her a few words of Punjabi and she'd been trying to say "hello" and "goodbye" in Urdu, Gujarat, and Tamil each week, learning more as she went along. The classes had grown, and thanks to the funding from the Council, she was confident that they were able to continue for as long as required. She had also learned from Mrs Gupta but one horrific consequence of the partitioning of India, an event that occurred she had been too young to remember or understand. For the first time in many weeks, Sister Frances felt content within herself, even stretching to a small sense of pride in what she had achieved.
Elsewhere in Nonnatus House, the topic on everyone's lips, at least discreetly, was Trixie's letter to The Times concerning the Abortion Act, and her upcoming appearance on BBC Radio. Despite the uncertainty of feeling amongst the Community, the midwives, the nuns, and Cyril, all assembled in the parlour, crowding round the radio in order to hear the broadcast. As the voice of the woman they knew and loved so well passionately spoke up for her beliefs, a mixture of feelings rippled through the assembled party. Pride, apprehension, admiration, dilemma.
After the broadcast ended, Phyllis, who had tuned in on her car radio, ran into the parlour and called, "Well, did you hear it?"
"We did," Sister Julienne replied, an uneasiness in her voice.
"She spoke well," Cyril confirmed.
"She was very brave," Lucille added.
"Yes she was," Nancy continued, "but those men, how dare they! They haven't got a clue what it's like when you have to make the hardest decision of your whole life." Nancy swallowed before continuing, "but I have."
"Why, what happened?" Phyllis asked, kindly.
Aware there was suddenly a stiff tension in the room, Nancy continued, "I didn't have an abortion, I didn't know what an abortion was. I had a baby. Don't look at me like that," she added in response to the stares from the assembled company.
Sister Frances was suddenly very aware of the face that she had pulled in reaction to Nancy's news. A knotting sense in her stomach added further to the guilt.
"Nurse Corrigan," Sister Julienne said gravely, "come with me please."
Sister Frances shot a look at Sister Julienne as she began to leave the parlour. It was contorted in a way she had never seen. Nancy reluctantly clambered to her feet and followed Sister Julienne out of the parlour. Once they were out of sight and sound, the whole room let out a collective held breath.
"Cripes," Sister Frances broke the awkward silence.
"I don't know what to say," Lucille replied, a look of horror painted across her face.
"Well, I suggest that we say nothing at all," Phyllis advised, "we know nothing of the circumstances, and idle chatter and gossip will get no-one anywhere."
"Let us pray for her, and her child," Cyrill suggested.
After the prayers, the assembled company soon went their separate ways. As Sister Frances walked along the corridor, she saw Nancy disappear up the far end. She made to give chase, but the sound of Sister Julienne's voice from within her office stopped her.
"Could I speak to Sister Hilda please, urgently, on a matter of some delicacy."
The door was slightly ajar. Sister Frances crept as close as she dared and listened intently.
"Ah, Sister Hilda," Sister Julienne remarked, a sense of relief in her voice, "are you alone?"
Depending on the speaker on the other end of the line, their voice often carried in Sister Julienne's office. Sister Frances desperately listened for Sister Hilda's reply.
"Yes, quite alone," Sister Hilda replied, "what's happened that's so dreadfully awful that it couldn't wait until I return tomorrow?"
"I've just received a terrible shock," Sister Julienne replied, "Nurse Corrigan has alerted us to some rather alarming news."
"What's happened to the poor lamb?" Sister Hilda replied, quietly enough that Sister Frances could not hear the exact words of the reply. The tone of it was recognisable enough that she could fill in the blanks herself.
"She has a child, conceived when she was sixteen at the orphanage in Cork. The child, a girl, lives in an orphanage, here in London, run by the Sisters who recommended Nurse Corrigan to us. We have been lied to, deceived. We have taken in a girl of dubious character under false pretences," Sister Julienne replied, the venom rising in her voice with every syllable.
"Goodness," Sister Frances breathed, "she's going for it."
There was a pause. Sister Hilda, sat at the Mother House, attempting to form a reply. Sister Julienne, sat at her desk, attempting to temper her anger. Sister Frances, slumped against the wall, her heart racing, anticipating, waiting.
"Do we know anything about the father?" eventually came Sister Hilda's reply.
"I know nothing of the circumstances from which the pregnancy arose," Sister Julienne confirmed.
"Well, we can't blame Nurse Corrigan," Sister Hilda continued.
"What do you mean?" Sister Julienne asked, "who else do we blame?"
Sister Frances leant even closer into the wall.
"Surely even you know that it takes two to tango," Sister Hilda replied.
Her remark was unacceptably jovial for the situation in her superior's opinion, who snapped back, "You will retract that remark, Sister."
"Well," Sister Hilda continued, thankful for the distance between Chichester and Poplar, "the man who got Nurse Corrigan in the situation she finds herself in has to be blamed, as do the nuns who falsified her references. If you want someone to be angry with, aim your venom at them. We all make mistakes Sister, we all find ourselves in situations that we would rather not find ourselves in. But you cannot judge a person by their past mistakes. She is training to be a midwife. She presumably wants a better life, for her, and for her daughter. What would any other mother want or do?"
"But no hospital will employ or even train an unmarried mother, I can't have her working with us," Sister Julienne continued.
"What would you do," Sister Hilda retorted, the venom rising in her voice as fast as Sister Julienne's, "if tomorrow, Trixie, or Lucille, came to you and told you that they were pregnant out of wedlock? Throw them out into the street? Ruin their nursing careers? Or would you do everything in your power to help them because they are two girls whom you know and love? I feel I know you well enough to know the answer to that question. And I hope you would do the same for any girl. I remind you, we are all women!"
Sister Frances heard enough of Sister Hilda's tirade to get the jist. She silently cheered in admiration of the Sister she loved.
"That's an entirely different matter," Sister Julienne snapped back, "they would be being honest."
"If the dishonesty is the problem, not the conception, then blame the nuns. They're the only ones who've lied. Nurse Corrigan was honest about her child," Sister Hilda continued. As she did so however, her mind flittered back to her own, very big, secret.
Sister Julienne hated to admit it, but she knew Sister Hilda was right. She took a moment to compose herself before continuing, "It has been a long and challenging day. We both need to reflect on these events and what is to be done to resolve them. Your wisdom and guidance will be appreciated when you return. I apologise," she finished.
"I will draw on all my experience in these matters," Sister Hilda replied, truthfully, "see you tomorrow."
"Good night Sister," Sister Julienne finished.
Replacing the receiver, Sister Hilda breathed an audible sigh. How close she had once come to being in Nurse Corrigan's position. Too close. Sister Julienne slumped onto her desk, her head in her hands. More than prayer was going to need to guide her tonight. Sister Frances slipped away, unheard, unseen, down the end of the corridor. A mixture of real and created conversations whirled through her mind. She was glad she was not in the position her senior Sisters found themselves in. The world was a challenging place.