No Compromise

Ethel leaned heavily against the shop door.

How could she break this news to mother and family, even come to terms with it herself? She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath of the bitter cold air, immediately regretting doing so, and then pushed open the shop door. The bell chimed behind her.

Mother was attending customers, but looked up at once, realizing from Ethel’s expression that something wasn’t right. “What’s the matter, lass?” she burst out.

“Heavens!” thought Ethel,” is it that obvious?” Thank goodness for the customers. It would give her a little time to compose herself. “I’ll just slip up and take off my hat and coat and pop the kettle on. You could do with a cup, being alone in the shop for so long. The others will be home in a few minutes and can look after the shop for a while.”

That might have bought a few minutes, she thought, but there was still the weight of telling Mother, of telling them all, the news - news she had not herself come to terms with.

Mother had struggled hard for the years after Father’s death to bring up the five of them and to keep the shop going. Ethel was the eldest, apart from Florrie, who was willing enough to do everything she could, but who was so painfully slow and awkward, besides being hopelessly deaf. It was Ethel Mother turned to for support, Ethel she confided in, Ethel who took over the shop and to whom Mother wrote when ordered away by the doctor.

Then there was the family. Just how would they cope? And what of her own future: of her hopes, of her friends, of her passionate love for this place; of the long wonderful summer evening walks; of the still, beautiful chill of winter days like today, and the evening family gatherings round the fire place.

But what choice did she have?

She went down and filled the kettle from the shop stove. One or two customers had drifted in and were keeping Mother’s attention. Then the others burst in, free from school.

“May, will you take care of the shop? Phyllis, see to the rest of the potatoes Florrie is getting ready for chips! Mother and Florrie need a bit of a break. Joe, you go and see to the firewood and kindling for upstairs’ fire and for the shop tomorrow.”

For once she was thankful for her mother’s few absences (that doctor was a good man!). The younger ones were used to her being in charge and didn’t seem to resent being bossed about. She could do without an argument today of all days.

Eventually the three of them were seated round the upstairs kitchen table. Ethel had taken care to shut the door. Florrie was so deaf she wouldn’t hear anyhow and really needed her afternoon break. Still Ethel hesitated. She felt in a dreadful situation. Should she have asked the doctor to call in and explain, after all? No, this was her problem and her family’s. It must be faced, and now rather than later.

“Well then, our Ethel, what have you got to say?”

“Mother, the doctor is very worried about how my cold has been hanging on. It’s his opinion that it will soon do real harm. He knocked here and there on my back and sides until I thought there wasn’t a blessed spot he hadn’t banged at. And then there he was putting that freezing instrument over my chest and back and looking so very serious. At last he tells me to put my things back on, and invites me to sit at his desk. “Ethel,” he says, “ there’s no kind way of telling you this. You’re on the way to a serious bout of bronchial pneumonia. You’re to stay home, keep well rugged up, and you’re not to go out-doors at all. I’ll write a note to your employer and you’re to take this prescription to the chemist now. In two weeks’ time, unless the coughing gets worse, young Joe is to call here and tell me how things are. You’re not to come yourself. If need be, I’ll come to you. Nor is your mother to come – she’s too busy. Just how she manages, I don’t know, and she’ll have more worries over the next few weeks. Which brings me to the worst part of what I’ve got to say. You must leave here, leave England. It will be the death of you. I will not be responsible for you during another winter and I doubt any other doctor in his right mind would take on that responsibility. Now: there you have it, dear. I’m so sorry. You must go to the warmth of South Africa or Australia. Canada and America are no place for you. I know it’s eventually your decision – and of course your family’s – but you’re a young woman now, and a determined one.”

“Well, our Mother, there I was - stunned helpless, just gawping at him. He could see how it was and kindly let me sit a while. Eventually, the reality of what he had said got through to me. He was wise enough to know I would be offended if he came bothering you, and that it would be less brutal if I told you myself.”

“Doctor”, I said when I regained my wits. “do you know anyone you could write to in South Africa or Australia, and provide me a reference? Someone who might meet me at the boat and find me a room somewhere safe?”

“As a matter of fact, I know a wonderful family in Sydney, Australia. I’ll write to them at once.”

There was a long silence. Eventually Mother said: “Well, there it is then. You must go to Australia. Eventually we must all follow. You’d best tell the family your news when we’re settled round the fire tonight.”