Dear Delia,
I'm afraid you've got me imagining Mother Gertrude in a hideous Christmas jumper with tinsel on her wimple singing 'Good King Wenceslas' and it is NOT an image she'd have thanked me for! If she ever read this she'd have me kneeling in the chapel in lieu of supper, saying 'Our Fathers' and praying to the newborn baby Jesus to cure me of my wilful disrespect (and that would be if I was very lucky and she was truly in the Christmas spirit, for though she had a certain soft spot for me as her fencing star and captain of the hockey team she wasn't a bit shy with the cane she kept in her desk no matter who you were, or how minor the infraction. Sadly she was of the 'beat the body to save the soul' school of thought).
...Well, no, I suppose she wouldn't. I still forget when I think of school that I am a grown woman now and cannot be made to do penance for my cheek! In which case I shall embellish the imagining further by adding a glass of sherry and a tipsy game of charades against the priest! Oh dear I really am being dreadful now. I suppose Mother Gertrude must be quite old now and I should think on her more kindly.
Christmas day was busy as I still had rounds to do and a delivery to attend, but we all had a lovely day even so and Barbara was delighted with it all. I had quite a time of it trying to sneak the stockings up secretly though. Barbara's was no trouble; she went off to bed early and went straight to sleep (just as a good girl should on Christmas Eve! Her father clearly trained her well) so I could just slip in under the pretence of going to the bathroom once I heard nurse Crane's snores and leave the stocking hanging from the bed post. I left a set of gift wrapped embroidered handkerchiefs for Nurse Crane as well (she doesn't seem to approve of whimsy or indulgence so a stocking or even a box of chocolates was out of the question, but it seemed a little mean to leave her out altogether so I thought a nicely presented, practical present might just do the trick).
Trixie's stocking presented much more of a challenge. It seemed she was quite as determined as I was to be the last one awake, sitting up with her magazine as it got later and later, though I saw her glance at the clock every few minutes and I was sure she was as tired as I was. Eventually, when I got up for my third mug of bournvita (more because moving around and having something to do with my hands when I got back would help me stay awake than because I really wanted it) she gave up the pretence and said 'for heaven's sake Patsy, how's a girl supposed to play Santa around here if you won't go to sleep?' After that I confessed my own secret mission and we had a giggle over ourselves, both waiting impatiently for the other to go to sleep so we could get on and play Santa's little helper. In the end Trixie brought out the decorations which were her own surprise and we worked together to turn our bedroom into a real Santa's grotto with holly and tinsel and even a miniature Christmas tree. She did bring up the idea of leaving a trail of sparkly tinsel stars leading from Barbara's room to ours, but the nun's get up at 4.30 and Sister Evangelina would not be at all pleased if she tripped over them on her way to the chapel, so we contented ourselves with draping tinsel over Barbara's headboard and leaving a note 'from Santa' saying to come through to our room at 8am instead.
When Trixie saw her and Barbara's stockings she insisted I needed one as well, and although I protested that it wasn't necessary she found one of her own real stockings that had a ladder all down the back and hung it on my bed post. I tried pointing out that it was unlikely that a troupe of elves would arrive to fill it before morning but she just gave me one of her best enigmatic smiles and said 'Oh Patsy, surely you can't be doubting Santa Claus! You be careful or you'll find a lump of coal in there in the morning. Now go to sleep like a good girl. Don't you know better than to ask how Christmas miracles happen?' I couldn't think how Trixie was planning to fill it and the pale snakey stocking looked ever so strange dangling there, as if I'd just thrown it off when I got changed that night and it caught there, but I stopped arguing and did as I was told. By that point I was so tired I was asleep before I could think any more about stockings or anything else, and the next thing I knew my alarm clock was going off and it was Christmas morning.
I switched it off quickly so it wouldn't wake Trixie, but she'd been up later than I had and was still fast asleep with her head under the pillow, so for a while I had the morning all to myself. Even though I had helped construct it I was a little awed by how magical the room looked. It really did look like a scene from some wonderfully traditional picture postcard family Christmas and it made me feel so fond of Trixie, knowing she had been going to do all this by herself.
I put my bedside lamp down on the floor on the side of my bed furthest from Trixie's to try and keep the light from waking her while you and I exchanged gifts, so in the end your image of me sitting under a Christmas tree opening presents came true! In the real version I was rather bigger than you imagined and the tree was rather smaller, but I'm sure I could never have been more delighted with whatever toy your little Patsy was unwrapping than I am with your scarf. Oh Deels it's beautiful, thank you so much! And so soft and thick it feels almost like being given a hug when I put it on. I'm simply thrilled to bits that you made it for me; it is far and away my favourite present. I'm sure I won't notice the cold in it even if I'm cycling out into a blizzard!
Barbara was as excited as a little puppy when she came in at 8, her arms full of her stocking and parcels for me and Trixie and the tinsel we put over her headboard decorating her hair like a halo. It wasn't until she was bouncing on the end of Trixie's bed saying 'Merry Christmas Trixie! Oh look, you have a stocking too! Oh do wake up! Did you two do all this? It's magical!' that I remembered my own stocking, and sure enough, when I went round the bed post to look it was heavy and lumpy at the end, as if Santa really had been in the night. When we got round to opening them I discovered from the top down: a tin of liquorice 'mighty imps', a bar of Fry's Five Boys, three walnuts, a shiny new penny and an orange. Trixie was watching me with a comical expression: 'Santa decided to give you the most traditional stocking of them all Patsy!'
Then I pulled out the pack of cigarettes stuffed in the toe and she burst out laughing 'well, mostly traditional. I'm told a proper stocking ought to include some manner of prayer book, but I pulled a few strings and had Santa leave you those instead'.
I know they are all things she either had herself or managed to find in the kitchen (in the case of the fruit and nuts) but it rather felt as though Trixie really had managed to conjure up Father Christmas!
As soon as the gifts were exchanged we all had to get a move on and get ready for our morning rounds, but even that had an air of jollity about it as in honour of the day we were starting later than usual and only paying essential visits instead of the full roster (after all, how many people want their Christmas day interrupted with home inspections and delivery pack drop offs that could as easily be done the next day?). There are always Christmas babies to be delivered as well of course, and between us we brought into the world a Nicholas, two Carols and a Noel throughout the day. Trixie says if she ever finds herself giving birth on Christmas day she's going to call the child Summer just to get away from the Christmas name clichés!
Your Christmas morning sounds lovely and I'm so glad you liked your gifts! Barbara is delighted that you are putting the shells to good use, and I will be sure to pass on your thanks to everyone when I see them. I'm sure Mrs Buckle will be charmed with the use you're putting her gift to, and don't worry, the nuns would never look badly on bringing joy to others with what you have been given (and really, who could begrudge children a piece of gingerbread at Christmas?). As for Timothy and the cubs, I strongly suspect that they will all be rather full of themselves to learn that you think their pictures good enough to display on your wall! Jack was playing the ghost of Marley, so I'm afraid you may find it a little difficult to make out his face clearly under all that grey paint (but he did an excellent job wrapping his own chains and the bandages round his head don't you think? He is still very keen on first aid and was most disappointed that he wasn't there to see the ambulance when Alfie broke his leg!).
I am especially glad that you liked my gifts. As much as I would love to take the credit as a wise, wish granting guardian angel there is no great mystery in how I knew what to get you. The simple fact of the matter is you as good as told me exactly what you'd like the last time I saw you, so there is no need to feel discomfited! As to why the jug made you feel so strongly… well I think that is perhaps a sign that your more recent memories are surfacing. I'm honestly not sure what to tell you for the best (does telling you about memories you don't have yet interfere with your own recall? I don't want to confuse things for you), but I can't leave you feeling so conflicted if I might be able to help. Of course I don't know exactly what you would have been feeling about it all, but just before your accident you had been planning to move out of the Nurses' Home and into your own flat. It was something you were very excited about and when you told me your dream of what your new home was to look like you described flowers on the windowsill (where they would always catch the light) and china with a nice, modern pattern. That's what made me think to send those gifts in the first place. Perhaps the jug brought something of that memory back and the sadness was disappointment about your change in circumstances? After all it must be quite an adjustment to go from being at the beginning of a grand adventure of independence in London to returning to your childhood home and getting used to the role of invalid.
But that dream isn't lost forever Delia, it's still here for you if and when you are ready for it. I'm sure the hospital would be delighted to have you back, and if your memories all return I doubt you would even have to formally resit your exams. Even if they don't, I'm sure it wouldn't stop you from nursing if that's what you want, it just might take a little longer to get back to where you were. You should discuss it with your Doctor, I'm sure he'd be able to help you even if your mother doesn't like to talk about it. Perhaps he might be willing to go so far as to arrange some part time work at a small cottage hospital or even his own surgery so that you could start rehabilitating to nursing practice? It might help you to feel less frustrated while you're convalescing and help your mother come round to the idea of you returning to nursing?
As to our holiday, I don't think March too early at all. After a winter of smog here in London a little brisk sea air will be just what the doctor ordered to clear away the cobwebs, and I dare say we shall manage well enough if it's a little chilly. We can go in search of local art galleries and tea shops if the weather is too bad to stroll along the seafront, and we can always eat our fish and chips inside! When I was in my first year as a student nurse I took a trip down to Brighton with a few of the other girls for a little seaside sunshine. It was the middle of July so we'd all packed our bathing suits and sun dresses, but it rained solidly the entire time and got so cold that we half expected to wake up to find frost on the windows (although that was probably due to the lack of heating in our hotel and the fact that we didn't have a decent coat or proper jumper between us more than a real indication of temperature). We ended up spending most of the time wrapped up in the bed sheets for warmth, playing games of scrabble and cluedo (both of which we discovered under one of the beds, presumably abandoned by some former holiday maker) and sneaking fish and chips past the reception desk to eat in our bedrooms, but it was still ever so jolly and we came back as full of beans as if we really had had a weekend of sunbathing and ice creams. I think holidays are what you make of them, so as long as we make sure to take a pack of cards I'm sure we will manage a fine seaside holiday whatever the weather!
Love,
Patsy
... ... ...
Dearest Deels,
Should I have told you in my last letter that we had been going to move into a flat together? You said yourself, lots of girls share flats, it needn't have meant anything and omitting that fact felt almost like a direct lie after you asked about the jug. But I've spent all these weeks telling you how very jolly life here at Nonnatus House is and I'm not sure how I could explain it to you now without you guessing at the truth. I'm still too afraid you will be horrified by it to dare to do that. Would you believe the story I told Sister Julienne, that I wanted to move out simply to get some life experience? That you and I were moving in together as a matter of convenience? You did hint that you might like us to share a flat when (when! Not if!) you return to London, but you also didn't believe I would ever want to (oh Deels, you darling. The irony of that part of your letter would have been almost funny if it wasn't so upsetting).
I was so close to telling you that we had been going to be room mates before you left, to say we could be again when you came back if you wanted to (after all being close to you even as just a friend would be better than not being near you at all)… but then you said it was frightening how well I knew you and I'm not sure if that was a light hearted joke or whether it might have been revealing a genuine discomfort. Perhaps I should back off a little bit. It's so easy to fall into the habit of talking to you as I always have, especially as you remember more and more and sound so much like yourself. I hated telling you that you felt so strongly over your present because you were simply disappointed about not getting your flat. How am I going to explain things if your memory comes back in little bits and pieces? I hate lying to you Delia, you of all people.
But it's better this way, and I hope you would see that too, if you were here to comment on it all. I must keep on reminding myself that there are no guarantees. Even when your memories return (because after your last letters and your reaction to the jug I have to believe that they WILL return) it still might turn out that you don't want such an intimate relationship as we had, and I am determined to be alright with that, no matter how much it hurts.
It feels almost like we are back at the beginning all over again, when I was falling more and more in love with you but was trying to convince both of us that my feelings were purely platonic because I didn't know yet whether you could ever feel that way for another woman, let alone for me. Now here we are again and I feel as though I should be able to be surer this time, but I'm not. Only it's worse now because I truly know what I stand to lose if it doesn't go the way I hope. You said that I seem like the sensible one of the two of us and I suppose it's true, I have always been the more cautious. I think I see the world as more dangerous than you do and facades have been my way of life since early childhood. But for all that, had you suggested going for a seaside holiday in the Arctic (or for that matter, skinny dipping in the queen's own private boating lake) I couldn't have turned you down if it meant I got to see you sooner.
All my love,
Patsy