A/N. I have attempted to write this chapter with sensitivity, without losing realism, in a way true to the characters involved. However, despite my best efforts it won't be a light, and may not be an easy, read. You have been warned.
Sister Hilda soon realised that she had spoken far too soon when she'd thought that nothing as disastrous as Sister Monica Joan escaping to the Outer Hebrides could possibly happen during this tenure as Sister-in-Charge of Nonnatus House. Sister Julienne had only been away for two and a half days and she'd already had to deal with the aftermaths of Sister Frances' acquisition of two types of vermin from Lisbon Buildings, a distressed Local Councillor, a rogue landlord, Nurse Corrigan's disappearance, and a cold-hearted Catholic nun. She'd made herself eat some supper and was sitting on her bed, not entirely sure whether she wanted a good cry or a stiff drink. She suspected that the midwives had something strong stowed away but, as appealing as a glass from the top self was at that moment, she did not dare ask them to share. On reflection, what she really needed to do was share the burdens of the last few days. She did not want to admit that they were getting to her, but she would have to swallow her pride eventually.
"Oh and that," she said out loud.
She still had not reconciled with Sister Frances, and given that the first proper conversation she had had with her was to admonish her for throwing a dead rat across Violet Buckle's shop, the frostiness had not really thawed between them. She knew Sister Frances was in her cell. She could not put it off any longer. Taking a deep breath, she hauled herself up off her bed. She opened the door, checked that the coast was clear, before sliding out, gently stepping down the corridor, then rapped her knuckles on Sister Frances' door.
"Come in!" Sister Frances called from within.
Sister Hilda entered the room and said with a smile, "are we vermin-free in here?"
Sister Frances responded with a giggle and Sister Hilda soon found her body enveloped within the folds of Sister Frances' habit. The two women stood for a moment, content in each other's embrace, warm and safe in each other's arms.
"I've missed you so much," Sister Frances admitted, "is everything alright?" she added, seeing the expression on Sister Hilda's face as they broke apart.
Sister Hilda shrugged her shoulders, unconvincingly. In response, Sister Frances took her by the hand, and gently guided her onto the side of her bed, before joining her. Sister Hilda took Sister Frances' other hand in hers, looked her in the eye, and with a sense of vulnerability asked, "Can I tell you a story?"
"Of course," Sister Frances replied.
"Firstly though, I need to apologise for the way I treated you, after the last time we spoke," Sister Hilda began, "I over-reacted." Her voice choked in her throat. Sister Frances' arm slowly and gently found her waist. "I thought it would be easier now, after all this time, but the pain has never gone away."
"Did something happen to you?" Sister Frances asked, replaying the triggering elements of their previous conversation over in her head.
"I," Sister Hilda began, tears beginning to well in the corner of her eyes. Sister Frances placed her own handkerchief in Sister Hilda's lap and then tightened her grip around her waist. "There was, I was, I was in the family way," Sister Hilda managed to stammer, just as she had managed to to Scott all those years ago.
"You became pregnant?" Sister Frances gasped, the final word barely above a whisper, "now I understand why you were so upset with me."
"I didn't want to admit it, but I knew as soon as I realised I had missed a month," Sister Hilda replied, "Then, as now, even at an age when I rather thought I would be experiencing the change of life, Mother Nature showered me with regular gifts." Sister Frances' face shifted awkwardly, a slight tinge rose in her cheeks. Noticing, Sister Hilda allowed herself the tiniest smile, before continuing, "well, what do you call your periods then?"
"I try not to talk about them, if I'm honest," Sister Frances admitted. "Was Lt. McBride the father?" she asked, returning to the crux of the matter.
"He was," Sister Hilda sniffed, "but he didn't want to know," she added, anticipating Sister Frances' next question, "he was already married, with three children, and was about to be redeployed to the Far East. I was just one in a long line of girls he'd used and abused whilst he'd been on active service."
"Oh Sister Hilda!" Sister Frances moaned pitifully.
"I thought I'd finally found a man who loved me," Sister Hilda sniffed, picking up Sister Frances' handkerchief and dabbing her eyes, "after spending my childhood as the only girl in the family, wanting nothing more than for her father to notice her, to love her as he loved her brothers, even just to take some interest in the little, blond-haired, blue-eyed, person in the pretty dresses who resided under his roof, I thought I'd found a man who wanted me. Once again, I was wrong, once again, I was hurt by a man I loved."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Sister Frances said awkwardly.
"I was so stupid, stupid, and naive, and ignorant," Sister Hilda weeped, "I wish it had never happened."
Sister Frances pulled her quilt out from underneath them and wrapped it around their shoulders. Sister Hilda snuggled herself, childlike, into Sister Frances. Slightly perturbed by the exchange of roles, Sister Frances began to stroke her tenderly. They sat in silence for several minutes. Eventually, Sister Frances plucked up the courage to ask the inevitable question, "What happened to the baby?"
"When Scott left us, I tried to get rid of it," Sister Hilda began, "he'd told me that gin and a hot bath would work, so, knowing no different, I bought a bottle of bootleg spirit from a spiv down the Docks, went back to my lodgings, downed half the bottle and then ran the bath as hot as I could stand. All it did was make me vomit and nearly pass out on the washroom floor. Urgh, and the hangover the next morning was horrendous," she added, slightly more cheerfully.
Sister Frances' face was tinged with pity and sadness. She now had an inkling of an understanding of Nancy's words in the parlour earlier that week.
"As we both know," Sister Hilda continued, "to kill an unborn child means that you have to practically kill the mother, so of course, I remained with child." After a moment she added, "watching young Louise Wrigley trying to do away with herself with pills and a bottle of gin, the memories it evoked." She paused again to compose herself. "It's why I knew I had to volunteer with the Samaritans. When one has been there," her voice trailed off.
"Were you suicidal?" Sister Frances asked, horrified.
"I could see very few ways out of the situation I was in," Sister Hilda replied gravely, "and by the time I had reached fourteen weeks, I was becoming truly desperate. I'd heard that once a pregnancy had reached twelve weeks, it generally stuck. Though one day that week, something, I don't know what, made me walk into a church. I hadn't been since I left school, but I went and sat at the back and prayed for an answer to my problems. I didn't know what I was praying for, I don't really know if it was a real prayer. I just asked for help. For something to happen."
"And did it?" Sister Frances asked.
"In a manner of speaking," Sister Hilda replied. "Three days later, I began to bleed."
"Oh!" Sister Frances replied.
"I'd just finished work for the evening," Sister Hilda continued, "and was walking home when I felt the most awful pain in my lower back, like the tightest, squeezing, cramp you can imagine. By the time I got home the pain was radiating through my abdomen, down my legs, I've never felt anything like it. I knew I was bleeding heavily before I was confronted with what I saw when I reached the lavatory. I didn't really understand at the time what was happening, but I knew something must have been wrong with the baby. Nobody ever told me what a miscarriage was," she added in response to Sister Frances' confused, quizzical, look, "Nanny barely told me what menstruation was, never mind anything else."
"What did you do?" Sister Frances asked.
"I cleaned myself up as best as I could, then began to search the place for old towels, newspapers, anything I could use to protect my bed. I stripped the bottom sheet off the mattress and began to layer the paper and towels across it. I was bent double by this point, the aspirin I'd taken was doing nothing to soothe the pain. I'd even contemplated drinking the rest of the spirit, but I couldn't face a single mouthful. I found a hot water bottle and put that in my bed to use as pain relief. I then put my nightdress on, climbed into bed, wrapped a towel around my middle and knotted my nightdress above my waist to prevent it getting bloodstained. And then I sat under my quilt and waited. I waited to lose my child."
Sister Frances felt Sister Hilda snuggle tighter into her. She knew she was crying.
"I was in a room full of people, separated by only the scrap of curtain that encircled our private spaces," Sister Hilda continued, "and yet I have never felt so alone as I did in those few hours. The pain was awful. At one point, I folded my flannel washcloth as small as it would go and bit down on it against the searing pain in my lower back and abdomen, trying not to scream, or cry out. I couldn't risk being detected. No-one else could know."
"I'm so sorry," Sister Frances soothed, "I can't imagine how you must have felt."
"While I was carrying them, they were the last thing I wanted," Sister Hilda sniffed, tears running down her cheeks, "but while they were slipping away, they were the only thing I wanted."
"What happened?" Sister Frances pressed.
"I lost the baby in the early hours of the morning. I just felt something go. Everyone else was asleep at that point so I briefly flicked on my torch underneath my quilt. And there they were. A tiny, but near-enough perfectly formed human being, lying, unceremoniously, in a pool of mess on top of the London Evening Standard. I picked them up, dried them on a towel and held them in my hand. Have you ever seen a foetus that young?" Sister Hilda asked.
"No," Sister Frances admitted.
"They fitted across my palm," Sister Hilda indicated on her hand, "they looked so formed, so human, so very beautiful. I put my baby in a match box, hid it in my drawer, then bundled up the mess and threw it in the fire. It was early December and you needed a fire going all night in that place, so all the evidence was soon gone. I remade my bed, put my thickest pad and my oldest panties on, made some warm milk and cried myself to sleep. I thank the Lord that I was surrounded by heavy sleepers that night," she added.
"Was there no-one you trusted enough to confide in?" Sister Frances asked.
"The shame of being an unmarried mother in the 1940s was even worse than it is now. As WAAF girls, we were expected to be respectable. I was from a respectable background. I could never admit what had happened. I hadn't until now," Sister Hilda replied.
"What happened to the baby?" Sister Frances asked.
"They're buried in, of all places, All Saints' Churchyard," Sister Hilda replied.
"Our local parish!" Sister Frances exclaimed.
"Yes, there is an irony to it all," Sister Hilda admitted. "After the miscarriage, I told one of the other girls to say I was sick, and once everyone else had gone, I took the baby and walked round the district trying to find a suitable place to bury them. They needed a Christian burial, I'd decided. I walked through the churchyard, it had been closed to burials for decades, but at the corner of the church, I noticed where something had tried burrowing. I didn't want to take a coal shovel or something else from the lodging house that might be missed, so all I had to dig the grave was a dessert spoon. I know, it sounds ludicrous, doesn't it?" she said in response to Sister Frances' shocked expression.
"No, just very, very sad," Sister Frances replied, "but you were so brave," she added, kindly.
"I scooped out some of the soil from the hole, and slipped the match box inside, covering it up as well as I could so that no-one would notice a disturbance. I said a prayer, thankful that my child would always be close to God, and then I left. I didn't return until just after we moved to Nonnatus House," Sister Hilda admitted with a sigh.
"Why did you not go back?" Sister Frances asked.
"I didn't want to be reminded of what had happened nor did I want to imagine what might have been," Sister Hilda replied, "just thinking about the dates concerned was bad enough. I expect they'd be about the same age as you now." Sister Frances nodded in conformation. "That and I left the East End not long after, I thought, for good," Sister Hilda concluded.
"Where did you go?" Sister Frances enquired.
"Just after New Year, there was an opportunity to transfer out of London to work on one of the RAF bases. I needed to leave, so I volunteered immediately. I was posted to RAF Tangmere, which is a few miles from Chichester," Sister Hilda replied.
"Chichester," repeated Sister Frances, the cogs of her mind whirring as she did so.
"Ah, you've seen where this is going," Sister Hilda confirmed, the faintest trace of a smile beginning to creep across her face.
"Do go on," Sister Frances pleaded.
"I'd been there nine, ten months I suppose, when I came back to the barracks one night to find one of the other girls bent double in pain. She'd had an affair with the Squadron Leader, and had managed to conceal her pregnancy. She was in labour and panicking, she was only six months gone at the time. I had to go and get help. Thankfully, one of the squadron was from Chichester and knew of the Order, so he phoned the Mother House for a midwife. It was an awful night, howling winds, rain lashing down, and the roads nearby were flooded. The nuns did not have a car at the time, so the RAF sent an armoured patrol vehicle to fetch someone. I, in the meantime, was left dealing with active labour. I did what I did when I miscarried, put newspaper and towels on the bed, found whatever pain relief I could to give her, made sure there was hot water and that the place was as clean as possible. Eventually, I saw out the window, a young Sister Julienne, being lifted out of the vehicle by some of the Flying Officers. They carried her, and her bags, across the flooded base. I'll never forget the look on her face!"
"I can imagine," Sister Frances grinned.
"I asked if I could stay, to help," Sister Hilda continued, "and Sister Julienne said that I could, and that she was very impressed with the preparations that I had made for her. I didn't tell her how I knew what to do, of course."
"What happened to you colleague?" Sister Frances asked.
"The baby came too early," Sister Hilda replied mournfully. Sister Frances nodded in understanding. "She had complications during the birth and was sent by ambulance to hospital in Chichester. She never came back to the base. Sister Julienne did all she could. When the ambulance had gone, I asked her if we could pray together. I don't know why, it just seemed right. That, and she had had a profound effect on me. This young, beautiful, goodness she must have broken some hearts, caring, patient, loving, holy, woman. A few weeks later, I asked if I could visit the Mother House and meet the Sisters, and as soon as I walked through the door, I felt a sense of belonging that I had felt nowhere else in the world. I continued to spend time there and I then joined the Order in the autumn of 1944. The rest, as they say, is history."
The two nuns sat in silence for a moment, until Sister Frances whispered, "thank you, for telling me your story."
Sister Hilda sat herself more upright and turned herself round to look straight at Sister Frances. She stared at her young consoeur with a mixture of confusion and bewilderment on her face. Eventually she said, "you're not judging me. After everything I have done."
"No," Sister Frances replied, "I'm not."
"But, but," Sister Hilda stammered, tears beginning to leak from her eyes, "I was the one who mentored you, I didn't deserve, I shouldn't."
"Shush," Sister Frances soothed, as she wrapped Sister Hilda in a quick, tight embrace before staring her straight in the eye, "our past shapes us, moulds us, makes us who we are. And for that reason, we cannot escape it. But it does not have to define us. How we choose to use our experiences, to shape our present, and our future, is what matters. I now know and understand you far more than I ever thought I would. I have always admired you, respected you, looked up to you. And nothing you have told me tonight, or any other night, will change that. If anything, what I now know has enhanced all those feelings. You have taught me to follow my heart, to do what is right, to be brave in the face of adversity, and you have taught me the power of love."
"I hoped that you might learn something of the world from my tale," Sister Hilda replied, "I see you have, once again, far exceeded my expectations. My dear child, I'm so proud of you," she added with a smile, patting Sister Frances on the shoulder. A feeling hit her almost immediately. But she couldn't take the words back now.
Astutely, Sister Frances threw her arms around Sister Hilda, and, grinning mischievously, replied "When have I ever let you down?"
"No more will be said about the rat," Sister Hilda whispered into her ear as she melted into her consoeur's arms once more.