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Authors: Catrin Collier
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call in and see her on my way back.’
‘A woman should go with him,’ Tina pressed urgently. ’Mrs Moore will need some sympathy ...’
A fleeting expression of annoyance crossed Tony’s face and Tina fell silent. Ever since her family had detected the signs of budding mutual infatuation between her and William Powell, her father and brothers had dedicated themselves to keeping the pair of them apart.
‘If Charlie comes with me to the hospital, Laura can go with William to Mrs Moore’s.’ Trevor’s attention was fixed on Charlie as he walked slowly down the stairs with Alma, still wrapped in his coat, in his arms.
‘She’s just regained consciousness.’ Laura followed Charlie into the café.
‘Go with William to her mother’s house.’ Trevor gave his wife an absentminded peck on the lips much to the delight of the customers. ‘You’ll know what to say to her.’
He held the door open for Charlie to carry Alma outside.
‘I can’t go to hospital,’ Alma protested vehemently as Charlie deposited her gently on the back seat of Trevor’s car before walking around and climbing in next to her.
‘I don’t think you have any choice in the matter, young lady.’ Trevor extracted the starting handle from beneath the seat and handed it to Tony, who was fussing round them. ‘You’re very ill, and you’ll be even worse if we don’t sort you out –and quickly.’
The cottage hospital on the Common was a long, low, colonial-type structure built on the top of the hill that overlooked the town. Flanked by the big semis and detached houses of the crache it was high enough, and far enough away from the collieries to ensure a plentiful supply of good clean air –a commodity often in short supply in Pontypridd.
‘I haven’t paid a subscription to the Cottage,’ Alma gasped, biting her lip and grasping Charlie’s hand in an effort to control the pain.
Trevor turned the corner by the old bridge, pointed his ancient car up the hill and pressed the accelerator down to the floor. ‘You pay me my penny a week.’
‘Yes, and the penny a week for the Graig Hospital, but I’ve never been able to afford the guinea a week for the Cottage,’ she repeated dogmatically, wondering why
Trevor was finding it so difficult to understand. ‘I should go to the workhouse.’
‘There’s a better operating theatre in the Cottage than the Graig. Your father was a miner, wasn’t he?’
‘The union membership doesn’t cover widows and orphans my age and we’re –’ she clutched Charlie’s hand again, crushing his fingers as the pain became almost too great to bear.
‘Yes it does,’ Trevor contradicted flatly turning a sharp left through the gates of the hospital.
‘Are you sure?’ Alma’s eyes were rolling and she could only speak in short staccato gasps, yet her primary concern was still money.
‘You have my word. You will not get a bill either for the hospital or my services. Is that good enough for you?’ Trevor wrenched the handbrake of the car. ‘Can you manage?’ he asked Charlie.
Charlie nodded, lifted Alma out of the car and followed Trevor up a short flight of steps on to a veranda and through a pair of glassed wooden double doors into the foyer. A nurse stepped briskly out of an adjoining room. The expression of annoyance on her face was replaced by a smile when she saw Trevor.
‘Dr Lewis,’ she curtsied to him as he explained the situation and called for a trolley and porter.
A few seconds later Charlie laid Alma on the trolley and watched as Trevor, the nurse and a porter wheeled it down a corridor that led to the hidden recesses of the hospital.
Left to his own devices he paced across the hallway. Trying to ignore the overpowering smell of disinfectant, he hesitated below a brass plaque that commemorated the opening of the hospital.
Concerned only for Alma, Trevor had disappeared without a word, and Charlie was uncertain whether he was expected to wait or not.
A clock set high on
‘A woman should go with him,’ Tina pressed urgently. ’Mrs Moore will need some sympathy ...’
A fleeting expression of annoyance crossed Tony’s face and Tina fell silent. Ever since her family had detected the signs of budding mutual infatuation between her and William Powell, her father and brothers had dedicated themselves to keeping the pair of them apart.
‘If Charlie comes with me to the hospital, Laura can go with William to Mrs Moore’s.’ Trevor’s attention was fixed on Charlie as he walked slowly down the stairs with Alma, still wrapped in his coat, in his arms.
‘She’s just regained consciousness.’ Laura followed Charlie into the café.
‘Go with William to her mother’s house.’ Trevor gave his wife an absentminded peck on the lips much to the delight of the customers. ‘You’ll know what to say to her.’
He held the door open for Charlie to carry Alma outside.
‘I can’t go to hospital,’ Alma protested vehemently as Charlie deposited her gently on the back seat of Trevor’s car before walking around and climbing in next to her.
‘I don’t think you have any choice in the matter, young lady.’ Trevor extracted the starting handle from beneath the seat and handed it to Tony, who was fussing round them. ‘You’re very ill, and you’ll be even worse if we don’t sort you out –and quickly.’
The cottage hospital on the Common was a long, low, colonial-type structure built on the top of the hill that overlooked the town. Flanked by the big semis and detached houses of the crache it was high enough, and far enough away from the collieries to ensure a plentiful supply of good clean air –a commodity often in short supply in Pontypridd.
‘I haven’t paid a subscription to the Cottage,’ Alma gasped, biting her lip and grasping Charlie’s hand in an effort to control the pain.
Trevor turned the corner by the old bridge, pointed his ancient car up the hill and pressed the accelerator down to the floor. ‘You pay me my penny a week.’
‘Yes, and the penny a week for the Graig Hospital, but I’ve never been able to afford the guinea a week for the Cottage,’ she repeated dogmatically, wondering why
Trevor was finding it so difficult to understand. ‘I should go to the workhouse.’
‘There’s a better operating theatre in the Cottage than the Graig. Your father was a miner, wasn’t he?’
‘The union membership doesn’t cover widows and orphans my age and we’re –’ she clutched Charlie’s hand again, crushing his fingers as the pain became almost too great to bear.
‘Yes it does,’ Trevor contradicted flatly turning a sharp left through the gates of the hospital.
‘Are you sure?’ Alma’s eyes were rolling and she could only speak in short staccato gasps, yet her primary concern was still money.
‘You have my word. You will not get a bill either for the hospital or my services. Is that good enough for you?’ Trevor wrenched the handbrake of the car. ‘Can you manage?’ he asked Charlie.
Charlie nodded, lifted Alma out of the car and followed Trevor up a short flight of steps on to a veranda and through a pair of glassed wooden double doors into the foyer. A nurse stepped briskly out of an adjoining room. The expression of annoyance on her face was replaced by a smile when she saw Trevor.
‘Dr Lewis,’ she curtsied to him as he explained the situation and called for a trolley and porter.
A few seconds later Charlie laid Alma on the trolley and watched as Trevor, the nurse and a porter wheeled it down a corridor that led to the hidden recesses of the hospital.
Left to his own devices he paced across the hallway. Trying to ignore the overpowering smell of disinfectant, he hesitated below a brass plaque that commemorated the opening of the hospital.
Concerned only for Alma, Trevor had disappeared without a word, and Charlie was uncertain whether he was expected to wait or not.
A clock set high on
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