As Anne approached puberty with all its attendant problems things did not improve - indeed they became steadily worse. Being very attractive, she had no shortage of boyfriends, and in the early summer of '63 what I dreaded came to pass.
Eddie and I were visiting his Auntie Nell, a handsome and vivacious lady of around fifty eight, one Sunday evening, when the telephone rang. It was Mother asking us to come home as soon as possible. She sounded very distraught and I could hear Anne sobbing in the background. We drove home as fast as we could and there we heard the whole story. Yes! you have guessed it, she was pregnant. But what was distressing her most was not the fact that she was expecting a baby but the fact that, in her heart of hearts, she did not really want to marry Campbell, the father of the child. After she had told him that she was expecting a baby he had put her on the bus home, and she had seen him go into the club for a drink with another girl. Anne was right, of course, but she did marry him, although not due to pressure from me. My initial response was to take her in my arms and cuddle her and reassure her that all would be well.
What a difficult time was to follow for all concerned! On the one hand, Mother advised Anne to marry and try and make a go of things. Eddie, on the other hand, did not want her to marry, as her boyfriend was a Protestant, but neither would he agree to make a home for her and her baby with us, which was my wish. I knew this would not work in the long term, but it would have given Anne time and space to allow her to plan for the future of herself and her child.
As I said, Anne did marry and in a Protestant church. Eddie was furious and absolutely forbade me to attend the ceremony, and even took the other children on an outing - an unusual occurrence for him - so that I would not be tempted to take them along. I did not actually go to the service but went along to the little reception afterwards to wish them luck - they were to need it.
How miserable I felt as I sat in the little living-room. How miserable and ashamed. Ashamed because Anne was getting support, not from her own family but from her husband's. I did not know what to say to anyone. I was fighting the tears, as I had done for weeks, and which I was to continue to do off and on for a long time. Her in-laws were so kind both to Anne and myself. I was not miserable because Anne was marrying who she did, but how she did - so quietly, with no one to support her, and I felt so useless because I had been unable to help her in the way I wanted and which I felt was right. I was also miserable because, although I was still fond of Eddie, I saw there was a fundamental difference of outlook between us that was to increase as time went on.
For a while Eddie tried to prevent myself and the children visiting Anne, but in that I would not obey him, and he eventually gave up the struggle. Soon after that Anne and her husband moved down to Newcastle for a time, so that gave an opportunity for passions to cool and emotions to settle.
In January 1964, Anne gave birth to a little baby boy - another Nicolas, and brought him home when he was about one month old. Eddie showed no interest in the baby but neither did he raise serious objections, as he knew the situation was only temporary until she found somewhere to live, which she soon managed to do - near Campbell's mother in Dalkeith. Campbell had remained in Newcastle where he was working. All went along quite smoothly until early one morning in May while I was in the surgery, the phone went. It was Anne: "Mummy, come quick. The baby's dead". "Right darling, I'm on my way". Trying to keep calm, trying to stop my hands from shaking, I had to 'phone around to get some one to take over, 'phone my Mother to tell her and then drive out to Anne. It seemed to take forever; but I drove in a very controlled manner because I felt that if I let my control slip, even a tiny bit, I would lose it completely and probably smash the car - and that would not be much help to anyone. At long last I reached Anne's house and took her in my arms. She was stunned and practically dry-eyed, with almost zombie-like reactions. We sat and held each other's hands most of the day but with all the coming and going there was not much peace to grieve. It had been a cot death. When she went to look at him in the morning he had been lying peacefully in his cot - dead. No warning, nothing to indicate he was anything but well. At night a healthy baby; in the morning, death. Sleep well young Nick. Goodbye my first grandchild.
The next few days were fraught with anxiety and grief. The Police came and went, as did friends and neighbours, while we waited for the results of the post-mortem. The result, when it eventually came, was as expected - no adequate cause for the death could be found and it was classed as a cot death.
* * * * *
The summer of '64 came and went as quickly as most British summers do and soon we were into Autumn and early winter. All was fairly quiet on the domestic front as far as I can remember and then in early November I received a 'phone call from Dr Dougall to say that he had a slipped disc and would be off work for some time and would I take over the practice? I agreed, of course, and for the next three months ran the practice single handed. This entailed being on call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. There was a delightful little lady Mrs Hyndman and her family living on the premises. She acted as caretaker and did the filing etc. She had been there for some time and was very reliable and knew all the patients, so was a great help to me and everything ran very smoothly. I saw Dr Dougall several times during this period while he was a patient in the Princess Margaret Rose Orthopaedic Hospital. He improved greatly and on 7 February '65 he 'phoned me to say that he was feeling very well and cheerful and would be starting work on Monday 9 February. That suited me well and so on the Monday I had a more leisurely start to the day. After seeing the children off to school I was having a second cup of tea when the 'phone rang. It was Mrs Dougall in distress "Could I take over the practice again?" "Yes of course, but why?" "It's Hamish. He's dead!" "I'm so sorry, but what happened?" I said, "He was so well and cheerful on Saturday, when he 'phoned". "He seemed fine when we woke this morning, I drove the boys to school as usual and when I got back, he was dead."
What could I say to comfort anyone in those circumstances except to take over the running of the practice and save her the administrative worries as much as possible? We notified the Executive Medical Council and they asked me to carry on holding the fort until a decision was made as to the future of the practice, and this I did.
When, four weeks later, the Executive Council advertised the practice vacancy I decided to apply and was duly called for interview on the 31 March. I remember the occasion well and how frustrating it was. I was ushered into the room and asked to sit at the head of a long table, around which sat a miscellaneous group of people. After a few, a very few questions from the chairman, concerning my experience, he then asked the other committee members - there must have been about fifteen of them - if there was anything they wanted to ask me. Each one in turn asked me the same question - the meaning was the same although the words were slightly different.
"How would I manage at home with the children?" "How would I cope if they were ill?"
Not how would I run the practice or what changes would I make but how would I run my HOME? Was it really their business?
I soon felt as if the gramophone needle had stuck as I answered the question again and again and again. Towards the end my mind was almost numbed and I was answering as briefly as I possibly could. I was also a trifle resentful as, from the very beginning, I had the feeling that they had already made their decisions. I may be wrong but somehow I don't think so.
A couple of days later I received a notification that my application had been turned down and the practice dispersed between three different doctors. I decided immediately to appeal against their decision and set about compiling a letter to the Scottish Home & Health Department. In this I stressed how much I had already worked for Dr Dougall, how well I knew the patients etc. and yet again that I was able to organise the domestic situation so that I would be able to give my "wholehearted attention in the practice".
On 15 April I received a letter from St Andrews House to say that a hearing was desirable and would be heard on 17 May '65 at 11.15a.m. in St Andrews House. I was told to bring witnesses and any documents relative to the case and that I would be sent a copy of the Executive Council's report with their reasons for the initial decision. I was to wait a long time for that report but in the meantime, unbeknown to me, the patients had set up a petition, organised by Mrs Hyndman, the caretaker, requesting that I should be given the practice. I continued with the routine work and the days passed but still no report on which, for a large part, I intended to base my case. After several phone calls it eventually arrived on 14 May - the Friday before the hearing, which was to be held on Monday the 17th. This did not give me much time to prepare my appeal but it gave me my first line of attack.
And now we come to the actual appeal. wWat a difference from the first interview. In the room there was a long narrow table with a small table across one end - like an elongated T - at which sat three distinguished-looking gentlemen. On one side of the long table sat the three doctors among whom the practice had been divided and on the other side sat, or rather stood, myself. I felt totally confident and self-assured and after the initial introductions it was up to me. I was in charge of proceedings and my opening gambit was one of attack.
"Before I start", I said, "I want to make a complaint. I was told I would receive a report from the Executive Council stating their reasons for refusing my application. This I did not receive until Friday 14 May. It was dated 29 April, but I did not receive it until 3 days ago. There has been little time to study it and obtain any necessary documents."
I then went through the report point by point and called various witnesses to support my claims. Indeed I felt a bit like Perry Mason, and my ego got a great boost early on in the procedure, when I overheard one gentleman of the committee whisper to his neighbour: "She is doing awfully well, isn't she?"
My second point was the discrepancy in the figures the Executive Council had regarding the amount of work I had done for Dr Dougall. They were all wrong - in fact nonsensical, partly due to the fact that Hamish had failed to notify them when he was off sick or on holiday and I was in charge. They had obviously not believed my first application. Anyway, to prove my point I was able to call on Mrs Dougall and Mrs Peterken, who had been the caretaker from shortly after I started working at Rankeillor Street in February 1954 until 1963.
The next point which I attacked (and which annoys me greatly even now) was the question of need. They had decided that the other doctor's needs were greater than mine. What did they know of my need? Because I was married they supposed I did not need the money. We had a large house and family and, as Eddie had a poorly paid job, we relied on my income to pay the ever increasing-bills. To prove my point I called Dr Dougall's mother as a witness. It went something like this:
Myself addressing Mrs Dougall senior - "Would you tell the committee your name?"
"I'm Mrs Netta Dougall, Dr Dougall's mother"
"Would you tell these gentlemen how often I took over the practice for Hamish?" "You took over the practice at short notice on many occasions - more so over the last few years. Hamish had great faith in you and knew he could rely on you to run the practice and was quite happy to leave the practice in your hands."
"Is it true you are a friend of my Mother's and have visited the house many times?" "Yes, I play bridge with your Mother".
"Could you tell the Committee what you know of my home life and financial affairs?" "Well, I know that you still have three children to look after. Your house is large and probably difficult to heat. Also I realise your husband does not earn a great deal and as a family you have become dependent on your income to supplement his earnings."
"Thank you very much Mrs Dougall. You have been a great help".
Their next point was that it was essentially a male practice. Not so. For the last eleven years there had been two doctors in the practice, Dr Dougall and myself. And here the patients' petition came in useful and to prove my point I called a patient, Mr Jack Mitchell, the headmaster of the Primary Department of the Royal Blind School.
"Your name is Jack Mitchell?", said I. "It is". "And you are headmaster at the Royal Blind School, Junior Department?" "Yes". "Could you tell the committee what it is you have brought with you?" "Yes. It is a petition signed by the patients requesting that you be allowed to keep the practice". "How many have signed the petition, do you know?" "I have counted them, and one thousand, two hundred and six have signed it". "And do you know the proportions between male and female signatures?" "Yes, it is exactly fifty-fifty". "On the occasions when you have been sitting in the waiting room, have you ever heard anyone complain when I was taking the surgery instead of Dr Dougall?" "No, on the contrary. Many times I have been sitting in the surgery and a patient would ask who was on duty and, when told it was yourself, would say: "Oh good, I was waiting to see her", and occasionally if Dr Dougall was on duty they would say: "I'll come back tomorrow when Dr White is on." "So, you don't know of anyone who resented the fact that I was a female doctor?" "No". "And you never noticed if there were more men in the waiting room when Dr Dougall was on duty and more women when I was?"
"No. It seemed to make no difference".
"Thank you very much Mr Mitchell".
I then addressed the committee going over each point again, and finally reminded them that I had been in sole charge of the practice for six months and the numbers had not decreased at all, and that this is a very unusual occurrence after the death or retirement of a practitioner.
On the final statement I rested my case and went home exhilarated and still confident.
The next few days dragged by as I waited for their decision until, on 21 May, the telephone rang. It was my friend Dr Munk shouting excitedly down the line: "You've got the practice! You've got the practice!" "Are you sure? How do you know?" "I have a patient who is a secretary for the Executive Council and all the girls in the office there have been rooting for you, and as soon as they heard the result they 'phoned me to tell me the good news. It is not strictly ethical so don't tell anyone yet but everyone is so excited and pleased for you. My dear, isn't it marvellous?"
It certainly was.
The next day I received official confirmation, but with a slight difference. I only received those patients allocated to one of the other doctors albeit the main part of the practice in the Newington area. The patients in the more outlying areas were still to go to the other two doctors. But patients have a mind of their own and, with very few exceptions, they all re-registered with me and the size of the practice did not diminish at all, in fact it continued to grow.
I believe I was the first woman doctor ever to appeal to the Scottish Medical Committee at the Scottish Office and to win. I feel it was a worthwhile battle to have won because I'm sure that the true reason I was turned down in the first place was that I was a woman.
* * * * *
And so now I had a practice of my own to run as I liked, and I determined to be "a good doctor" as good a doctor - as it was within my power to be. Because I would now be working full-time, all the time, I at least knew when I would be working and so in some ways found it easier to organise things at home. Mother was still relatively fit and independent and the children were growing up. Nick was 12, Vivienne 8 and Douglas 7. Eddie had found a good local which was a very friendly place, more of a club than a pub. It was run by a Mr and Mrs Cornhill and we made many long-lasting friends there, and also held quite a few impromptu parties of our own at 200 Morningside Drive, when Eddie brought back a group of friends.
One such occasion I remember well. It was the evening Celtic won the European Cup in 1967. I had been to evening surgery and had been sitting at my desk, twiddling my thumbs, so to speak. Not a single patient arrived. They were all at home watching television or listening to the radio. At 7 pm sharp I closed up and set off for home. As I drove I felt an air of excitement in the streets and as I approached 200 I saw a Celtic flag flying from the upstairs window, and Nick and his pals waving Celtic scarves and cheering to everyone who passed by. Eddie was in the Gillsland celebrating, but later phoned me to come and join him. There everyone was very excited and cheerful, and you would have thought we had won the war all over again and not just a football match.
It was decided to carry on the party back at our house and a large group of revellers arrived at 200. Soon Eddie was thumping away at the piano; boogie woogie, dance music, everything. How the younger children did not wake up, I'll never know! Soon everyone was up dancing and when I stood up to dance with a friend called Peter Troth this was too much for Toro, who very quietly and sneakily nipped Peter's ankles. I laughed and laughed, but Peter never allowed me to forget how Toro came between us.
The year 1965 was a memorable year for other reasons than the fact that I won my appeal. It was the year we went on camping holiday to Brittany. Being unable to afford a holiday in a hotel, we had of recent years gone camping to various points of the U.K. Great fun; but this year we decided to venture further afield. There was Eddie and I, the three younger children, and Auntie Nell. We had two tents - the smallest of the Modern Villa type tents and a ridge tent, plus all the equipment for cooking, eating, sleeping: i.e. gaz stove, folding camp beds, sleeping bags, Billy cans, tin opener, cutlery, tea, water carrier, washing-up towels - in truth, everything but the kitchen sink. All this was piled on top of the car - a Cortina - and the boot was full of clothes and towels, mostly packed into plastic bags, buckets and spades, rubber rings - you name it; we had it. We set off on the long drive down to Southampton feeling, and no doubt looking, like a lot of tinkers.
The first night we spent at Bolton with my friends Sheona and Harry which was very relaxing. We had arranged to stay the next night at a bed and breakfast place in Southampton before embarking for Brittany in the morning. When we arrived at Southampton we drove around looking for sign posts to Sotten, which was the address the proprietor of the guest house had given us. No luck, and the children were by this time jumping up and down on the back seat chanting, "Rotten Sotten, Rotten Sotten". We asked a passing policeman the way to Sotten, only to be told it was a common abbreviation for Southampton. We did feel fools, but he directed us to the correct address. When we arrived at the terraced house I got out of the car, and rang the bell and waited. I rang again and waited. Eventually I heard noises and the door was slowly opened, and there stood our landlady - her hair in curlers, her stockings rolled down to her ankles, and her feet in slippers. "Yes! What do you want?" says she. "We've come for bed and breakfast", says I. "What's your name?" "Dr White, and I wrote to you booking for myself and family". "No you didn't". "Yes, I did. I have your reply here", I said, showing her the letter. After much discussion and repetition we discovered that there was a discrepancy between the date and the day of the week. She would not take us in and so we were left with nowhere to sleep. We decided to blow some of our hard-earned holiday money on a night at a posh hotel and rolled up in front of this beautiful building. As we stepped out of the car, the doorman came down the entrance steps to help us with our luggage. Not a change of expression passed over his face as he opened the boot of the car and found not suitcases but a collection of plastic bags! He majestically carried them up the entrance hall and we followed on behind - and a motley looking crew we were. Eddie was wearing a black beret (he did have shirt and trousers as well), and myself and the kids were wearing T-shirts and shorts. Nell was the only respectable looking member of the family. Once ensconced in our rooms, we all gave way to the giggles which were difficult to stop and the slightest remark, however unfunny, would set us off again. We had time to wash and brush up before dinner, during which we all looked and behaved impeccably until, while we were sitting in the lounge having coffee, Nick came in (having been to our bathroom) waving a paper bag before him and saying in a loud voice: "See what I found in the bathroom. What could it be for?"
It was, of course, a bag in which to dispose of used sanitary towels.
He was hastily shut up and told to put it back where he found it, but not before the tendency to giggle had once more raised its ugly head, and it was with great difficulty we managed to keep our faces straight and carry on a normal conversation.
We went to bed tired but happy and the next day set sail for Brittany. The first two days were overcast but warm, and on the third day "the grey lady decided to lift her skirts", and the sun came out, and for the rest of the holiday we had brilliant sunshine. Everyday we went on a picnic to a different little bay or beach, taking with us delicious French bread, a variety of cheeses and cold meats, a bottle of wine and lots of fruit - mostly huge juicy peaches. Nicolas unfortunately managed to get badly sunburnt and for two days was quite unwell, but his main problem with the sun was an unbearable itch. We gave him antihistamine tablets and covered him with creams and lotions but nothing seemed to help.
Every evening we put the two youngest children to sleep in one tent and then Eddie, Nell and myself sat on camp chairs, either outside or in the other tent, drinking wine and discussing everything under the sun. Nick was at an age when he liked to listen to and take part in adult conversation, and so joined us most nights and could hold his own in any debate.
Perhaps I should mention one shopping expedition we made to Dinard. It was Vivienne's birthday so we went to buy her a birthday present. She had no clear idea as to what she wanted and we went from shop to shop until, at long last, we arrived at a little gift shop, where we were served by a small white-haired elderly man wearing pinstriped trousers, black coat and bow-tie. We explained the situation to him and he took 'Mam'selle' round the shop, showing her item after item, talking to her all the time. Eventually she made her purchase - an inflatable canoe - and he ushered us to the door and watched us go down the street: "Au revoir, Mam'selle Vivienne, Au Revoir". He was so charming and showed such patience to a little girl, I have never forgotten him. I wonder if Vivienne has?
The rest of the holiday passed happily and peacefully but relatively uneventfully; playing on the beach, shrimping in rock pools, with a fair amount of sightseeing between beaches. We arrived home after two weeks; brown (or red as the case may be), but relaxed and with happy memories.
I have recounted this holiday in some detail because, to my mind at least, it was the last occasion on which we were really and truly happy together as a family. I don't mean I was miserable all the time or that, in fact, we did not have some happy times together - we did - but somehow they were not the same - we were no longer a unit.
* * * * *
After our holiday we were soon back into our usual routine. I was busy with the practice where I was trying to make some changes and improve the premises, but I did my best to find time with the children bringing them with me on calls if necessary and taking them on outings at weekends. By this time I was in a rota with five other single-handed doctors, which meant I was only on duty one weekend out of five; ie. from 1 o'clock on the Saturday until Monday at 7a.m. The weekend on duty was hectic but not impossible, as I am sure there were not so many out-of-hours calls in those days, and it was marvellous to have the weekends free for shopping or trips into the country. Unfortunately Eddie did not often join us as he really was not keen on the outdoor life, but we all enjoyed walks and picnics or trips to the beach in the summer.
The next couple of years passed relatively uneventfully, but gradually and almost imperceptibly relations between Eddie and Nick began to decline. Nick had been hurt and bewildered by the tensions between Anne and Eddie, especially at the time of her pregnancy and marriage. How can you adequately explain these things to a sensitive and highly intelligent boy in his early teens? I couldn't. Eddie tried to, by using the dogma of the church as his back-up, but I did not see it that way. I could understand his disapproval of the marriage outside the church but I could not support him in this, for I felt that if the whole situation had been handled with love and compassion, as I am sure the Church would have advocated, she would never have married Campbell. Anyway, the damage was done and I tried to put it behind me, but Nick was affected by it and as he grew older he became more questioning and of independent mind, liking nothing better than long discussions on religion, philosophy, world affairs - anything and everything.
When he was around fourteen he began to think seriously about what he would like to do and came up with the excellent idea of joining the Boy's Navy. He set about making enquiries, got all the necessary forms, filled them in and sent them off, all on his own initiative. He went for his interview and sat the necessary examination and then all that was required was his father's signature. And Eddie would not give it.
Why, I will never know. The three of us sat in the upstairs sitting room; Eddie, Nick and myself, and I saw my son demolished. It was as if his soul was being stripped bare. I knew Nick was being irretrievably hurt. I could almost see the future of indecision, frustration and rebellion that was to be his. If ever I was clairvoyant it was that day, as I saw how terrible were the wounds inflicted on Nick and yet, what was said? Nick was crying and I was crying. I could not believe what I was hearing but the strange thing is, I cannot remember anything Eddie said, except: "Don't worry. I'll not let your laddie go to the Navy". I cried, "But I want him to go. It is the best thing for him". But he wouldn't listen. He just would not listen. I ran out of the room several times to try and recover my composure but it was useless. I just could not get Eddie to hear what I was saying and all the time he was shouting terrible things at Nick - as if the boy had wanted to do something wrong, instead of having made a conscious and sensible decision and carried his plan through to its conclusion, except for that one fateful thing - his father's signature.
Even the following morning when I started to weep again, all Eddie could say was: "Don't worry, I'll not let your laddie go to the Navy". "I'm crying because he is not going", I replied, but it was no use. I just could not make him understand.
* * * * *
From then on relations between Eddie and Nick slowly but steadily began to deteriorate. Nick began to do less well at school, he began to make difficulties about going to Mass, he began to question the dogma of relgion and, horror of horrors, he began to grow his hair long. In some ways Eddie thought this was the greatest sin of all as it was a visible sign of his rebellion but truthfully, of course, Nick's rejection of the Catholic faith was what hurt Eddie the most. His faith was absolute and he just could not understand how a son of his could not believe as he did. "The Church says you must go to Mass every Sunday and to Mass on Sunday you will go as long as you are under my roof", was what I would hear from the kitchen every Sunday when Eddie was trying to force Nick to go to Mass. I found it increasingly difficult to support Eddie in this as I don't believe one can force people to believe in anything - they must find their own way in life, both spiritually and otherwise. They will in all probability make mistakes but hopefully they will learn by them and not repeat the same mistakes again. Anyway, as like as not, there would be tears and I would try to persuade Nick to come along - just for the sake of peace if nothing else.
Peace was what I began to long for. Harmony amongst the family was becoming a thing of the past and I became increasingly torn - not just in two, but into seemingly countless pieces. Trying to keep the peace between Nick and Eddie; between Eddie and my Mother (who, although she tried not to interfere, did find it difficult when she felt her grandchildren were being unjustly treated); trying to buffer the two younger ones from the disharmony; and then going to the surgery with a smiling face and helping to lighten the load of the patients and solve their problems. I don't know what I looked like but at times I felt a hundred years old. I must have been remarkably resilient because I was not unhappy all of the time - at least on the surface - and then the inevitable happened.
Nick took Eddie at his word, and one day he went out and did not come back. He did not come back that night, he did not come back the next day, he did not come back that night. He had been away two whole days and two nights before Eddie would let me notify the police. I don't know how to describe my feelings at that time. It was like a terrible nightmare from which I was struggling to wake up. All the time I was fighting to control my imagination - not letting myself think of all the possibilities of what might have happened to him. After all, he was only fifteen and quite young- looking for his age.
Although it was two days before we notified the police, I had not been inactive. I had phoned all his friends that we knew and followed up all the clues that they could give me. I had called round to those not on the phone - all to no avail. Eddie in the meantime had been carrying on as usual, as if nothing was wrong. He was afraid of what people would think. He went to work in the morning and to the Gillsland in the evening, as was his wont. I honestly don't know if he was worried or not, but when the police came he was very reluctant to see them and it was only after one of the officers said to me: "I suppose you have a husband, Doctor", that I managed to drag him into the sittingroom to speak to them.
The days went by and we still heard nothing. I had enlisted the help of a dear friend Ernie Epps, whom we had met at the Gillsland, and he took time off from his business to go round all the cafes in town to see if anyone knew of Nick or his whereabouts. He went to the ice-cream factory where Nick had had a part-time job and followed up several leads from there - but it was of no use. Nick seemed to have disappeared.
As time went on, it became even more confusing - do you worry more or do you worry less? One minute you worry less because at least he is not lying seriously ill in hospital, or worse - cold on a mortuary slab. The next minute you worry more because he has disappeared; it seems, from the face of the earth, and you feel you will never see him again. And your imagination must be kept under control at all costs.
And then, after one week it was, I came home one evening to find Nicolas siting in Granny's sittingroom, looking rather dishevelled but all in one piece. His first question was: "Where's Dad?" "In the Gillsland I expect". And then the tears began to flow. His and mine, and Granny's too. Later that evening Eddie arrived home. There were questions and answers, recriminations but very little comfort, and more tears, of course.
After that night and until Nick was 16 a sort of truce was called, but Nick refused to go to Mass or cut his hair and after his sixteenth birthday he left home - never to return if he thought his father was there. At times I thought my heart would break, but it didn't and life went on.
* * * * *
One of the things that kept me going at that time was the Gillsland, and all the many friends I made there. I would go down about twice a week for an hour or two, after a 'phone call from Eddie asking me to join him and his friends - Peter Troth, a salesman; Stevie Rutter, an architect; John Hodge, a Police Inspector; and many more. Last but not least, and not quite of the (clique) was Ernie Epps.
I well remember the first time I met him. It was at one of our impromptu parties. Eddie had brought home a number of friends from the Gillsland and had started to play the piano. Ernie went to sit down when he uttered a loud cry and started up onto his feet. I started to laugh, of course, and he was a trifle hurt until we examined the chair together and found the offensive weapon - a needle.
At another party we had, which was going on rather late, Nick burst into the room - he had not yet left home - and pointing to everyone in turn, said: "You can go home now, and you, and you. Not yet Ernie - you can stay, but you and you". It caused quite a sensation, I can tell you, and everyone quietened down and went home like good little boys.
From the very first Ernie and I were drawn to each other. He was big and tall with a resounding laugh - ebullient is a word used to describe him, but he was also sensitive and kind. We looked at things the same way and, most of all, he could give me the comfort that poor Eddie could not give. He also listened and heard what I was saying - what a relief that was! He had problems of his own - show me the person that hasn't - and so gradually we were drawn closer and closer together.
When did I first fall in love with him I have asked myself, and although I cannot remember the exact moment I suspect it was from our first meeting. I knew that when I was near him I felt happy. When I did not see him I felt lost. If he was in the same room, but not in my company, my hands would sweat and start to shake until he came over and spoke to me and then I would relax and feel at peace. It is hard to describe that feeling of oneness with another person but we never lost it, not until he died, and since then I have been alone even in company. If he was in the bar at the Gillsland and I came in looking for Eddie he would stand up with his arms wide open and give a roar of welcome: "Here is Pam, make way, make way", and give my shoulder a gentle squeeze in place of the big hug I knew he wanted to give. Always the gentleman, he did his best to behave correctly and not to cause me embarrassment or Eddie unnecessary pain.
Until one notable occasion, that is. It was a Saturday night about 10.30 or 11 pm when I had a very worried phone call from Mr Cornhill of the Gillsland Hotel. He had found Ernie sitting on the wall outside the Hotel with an injured elbow, refusing to go home or to the Infirmary until Mr Cornhill had contacted myself. Eddie and I drove down and collected him and brought him home. He was more than a little drunk but when we got his shirt off and I examined his elbow I found that it was well and truly dislocated. There was nothing for it but to take him to the Infirmary, which we did. Because he had been drinking they decided to try and correct the dislocation under local anaesthesia. We waited for him and eventually he came walking down the corridor with his arm in a sling and looking rather sheepish. The doctors had been unsuccessful in their attempts at realignment and he was to come back the next day, Sunday, for a general anaesthetic.