"Notting Hill Housing," came the reply in a male voice, formal in nature but tinged with Liverpudlian.
"Hello," replied Sister Frances, "could I speak to the Reverend Bruce Kenrick please?"
"Speaking," the man replied, "how may I help you?"
"Hello Reverend, my name is Sister Frances of the Order of St Raymond Nonnatus, in Poplar" she began, "I was wondering if I could talk to you about your work."
"You're a nursing Order, aren't you not?" Reverend Kenrick replied, suspiciously, "what provokes your interest in social housing? And indeed so far west?"
"Earlier this week I delivered a baby to a mother who is currently living in appalling conditions in a damp, vermin-infested, condemned, tenement block. Whilst we have tracked the landlord of this particular tenement down and confronted him with the problem, there are so many other families here in the East End who are struggling to survive in similar conditions. It isn't right. Everyone deserves a safe place to call home. I want to do something about it. But I cannot do it alone." Sister Frances completed her monologue and waited with nervous anticipation.
"And what sort of thing had you in mind, Sister?" Reverend Kenrick asked.
"I want to do whatever it takes, show whoever needs to see, whatever they need to see, to help my patients," Sister Frances asserted.
"Three weeks I visited an eight-roomed house just a few hundred metres from where I am sitting now," Reverend Kenrick began, "living in that house, with a leaking privy, a faulty gas stove and only intermittent running water, where twenty-three men, women, and children. The mould was thick enough on the walls that one could write one's name in it. We have managed to move some of the families into more suitable lodgings, but others still remain there. We informed the police and the council about what we found. They already knew the situation. The landlord was known to the former, the latter had condemned the building in 1958. Those in power see and do precious little. And this is why I'm here," he finished.
"This is what my colleagues and I see in Poplar and Stepney and Bow every day," Sister Frances replied, the excitement rising in her voice, "action needs to be taken across the whole of London. No, not just London, the whole country, wherever there is a problem."
"Sister Frances, why don't you come here and discuss things, I think I have something of interest for you," Reverend Kenrick suggested, "would tomorrow suit?"
"I would have to gain permission from my Superior," Sister Frances replied, slightly crest-fallen, "she is currently away on retreat and does not return until tomorrow."
"I understand, of course," Reverend Kenrick replied, "vow of obedience and all that. When you've gained her permission, contact me, and we can come to some arrangement."
"When?" Sister Frances questioned.
"I have faith in you Sister," Reverend Kenrick replied in a tone that, even over the telephone, was obviously influenced by a wry smile.
"Thank you," Sister Frances replied, "I'll be in contact in due course."
"Until then Sister, God bless," Reverend Kenrick answered.
The bell for Vespers had begun to toll as Sister Frances replaced the telephone receiver. Scampering back upstairs to collect her prayer veil and breviary, Sister Frances slid into the chapel just as Sister Hilda intoned, "Oh God, come to our aid."
"Oh Lord, make haste to help us," the assembled congregation replied, though Sister Frances did so more heartily than usual.
Sister Julienne's return the following morning brought a sense of relief to Sister Hilda and one of excited anticipation to Sister Frances. By the middle of that afternoon, the news that Nancy had been granted permission to remain at Nonnatus House had permeated to every corner, and by suppertime, cakes and bottles of Corona Pop had found their way into the kitchen. Before Compline, the whole household assembled in the parlour for the first time in many months, sharing the treats, enjoying each others' company. Games were played. Jokes and stories shared. Warmth and security emanated from the assembled company. Yet despite the joviality of the room, Sister Frances could not help thinking of Doreen Norris, safe for now, at the Maternity Home, but sooner rather than later would have to return to Lisbon Buildings.
"Are you alright, precious?" Lucille's kind voice interrupted her thoughts. Lucille flipped the top off a limeade and handed it to Sister Frances.
"I'm just thinking," Sister Frances replied, before taking a swig of her drink and elaborating no more.
The following afternoon, between lunch and setting out on her afternoon visits, Sister Frances took a detour via Sister Julienne's office, knocking on the door excitedly.
"Come in," called Sister Julienne, "ah, Sister Frances," she added as she entered the room. Sister Julienne raised half an eyebrow as the young nun strode purposefully into the office, took a seat without invitation, and began to say,
"I am intending to meet with a Reverend Bruce Kenrick, at his home, in Notting Hill. He has a proposition for me," she finished assertively.
Sister Julienne stared at Sister Frances in stunned silence. The longer the silence continued, the more Sister Frances became aware of the abruptness of her tone. Eventually. Sister Julienne replied, "are you asking me, or are you telling me?" There was a crispness to her voice, the verbal equivalent of autumn's first cold morning, not unpleasant but enough to send one shivering.
"I'm telling you," Sister Frances asserted, "in the hope of receiving your blessing."
"And who is Reverend Kenrick?" Sister Julienne asked, the tone of her voice no warmer.
"He is the founder of an organisation called the Notting Hill Housing Trust. They work to rehouse people in the area who have nowhere suitable to live. I have told him that I see people living in similarly poor conditions here in the East End, and want to do something to help them. He said that he had an idea that might be of interest to me, and would like to discuss it. I told him that I could not meet him without your permission, and that I would contact him, when I had gained it," Sister Frances finished, the last five words said far more quietly and more hesitantly than the rest of the speech.
Sister Julienne drew herself up in her chair and leaned forward over the span of her desk. Sister Frances' confident demeanor was beginning to neglect her. Eventually, Sister Julienne responded, "you already have a number of commitments Sister Frances, not only to the Nursing and Midwifery care for the District, but also your classes for the Asian mothers, and your household chores, and your spiritual obligations, and your partaking in the Communal Life here at Nonnatus. We do all rather like to spend time with you," she added more gently.
"I do not know yet what Reverend Kenrick has in mind," Sister Frances replied, earnestly, "if he wants me to be too involved, I'll politely decline," she promised, "I just want to know what can, or cannot, be done."
"Clergymen can be very persuasive characters when they want to be," Sister Julienne warned, "especially if they're on a mission, which Reverend Kenrick seems to be. Remember, you are first and foremost, a Sister of the Order of St Raymond Nonnatus, to whom you have sworn a vow of Obedience. You don't have to obey everyone, mind," Sister Julienne added with the faintest hint of a smile wrinkling the corners of her mouth.
"Am I to deduce that I have your blessing for this endeavour Sister Julienne?" Sister Frances asked, apprehensively.
Sister Julienne's smile broadened admirably at the woman standing before her and said, "I trust your conscience and your judgement Sister."
"Thank you," Sister Frances replied, and headed out of the office door and down the corridor, not without inserting a few skip-steps as she did so.
Over a week had passed, and October had definitely arrived, by the time that a mutually-convenient time had been found for Sister Frances to go to Notting Hill to meet Reverend Kenrick. Bracing herself against the driving wind and rain, Sister Frances headed out of Nonnatus House, turning back over her shoulder to appreciate her own home, when she saw Sisters Julienne and Hilda, unable to resist waving her off, as though she was off on her first day at big school. As the Tube rattled ever westward, she wondered what she might find Up West. She'd never been further west than St Paul's Cathedral, and all she had heard of West London from the nurses were details about Trixie's favourite clothes shops or shows she'd been to see at the theatre when her Godmother from Portofino had been visiting. She didn't imagine that the world in which Reverend Kenrick worked had much in common with Trixie's West End.
Having alighted as instructed at Ladbroke Grove, Sister Frances followed the hastily-scribbled directions that Reverend Kenrick had given her over the telephone towards Blenheim Crescent, soon finding herself standing before number 115. Sister Frances stared up at the edifice before her. Number 115, like many around it, was a four storey Georgian townhouse, its bricks were smoke-blackened to a shade of dark umber, juxtaposed by its white, although peeling, sash windows. There were a series of stone steps up to the door, tinged slightly green with damp. Dead on her appointment time of eleven, Sister Frances skipped up the stairs and rang the doorbell.
Almost immediately a man, who could have been any age between forty and sixty, appeared at the front door. His hair was a nondescript shade, neither light nor dark, and combed over his broad forehead with a sharp side parting. He had kind, dark eyes, a chin that looked like it had been carved to a point, and was wearing a checked shirt, open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up, workmanlike. He smiled broadly at the young nun standing before him and said, "you'd better come in out of the cold, Sister Frances."
Reverend Kenrick led Sister Frances into the house. Immediately, Sister Frances registered how the internal temperature was barely above the external. Despite the grandiose nature of its façade, the house seemed to be in a state of dishevelment. Her immediate observations gathered between the front door and the back parlour which doubled as Reverend Kenrick's office registered damp in the walls, woodworm in the banisters, cracked floor tiles, and a rotten window frame. She hadn't really considered where a man involved in rehousing work might live, but it was not a place like this. Like those of whom he helped, this house seemed to be decaying too. Yet this man was helping everyone else.
Reverend Kenrick motioned to Sister Frances to take a chair in front of his desk. He then settled himself into his own chair, which creaked under his weight as he did so. A pot of coffee and two cups were sitting all ready on the desk, and he reached over and poured. Taking her first mouthful, Sister Frances was surprised by the deep, smoky richness of it. This was definitely not Nescafé.
After a moment, Reverend Kenrick, announced, "welcome, Sister Frances, to Shelter."