Free Love for the Matron by Elizabeth Houghton

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    Elizabeth glanced down at her notes. “She ’ s been putting the younger ones there,” she said slowly, “but we could use the end ward on the Children ’ s Ward for them. Sister Moffatt wouldn ’ t be too keen, but no doubt she would co-operate.”
    “Little Miss Muffett you can safely leave to me. When she was younger she used to blush scarlet when the children a s ked her what she had done with her tuffet and why she was afraid of a poor little spider that had never hurt her ... of course, they would always choose an awkward moment, as children delight in doing.” He sighed. “E ls a Moffatt has been here for nearly twenty years ... it makes me feel dated somehow.” He stood up. “I must get on with my round or else my Ward Sister won ’ t be speaking to me. What are you doing with her during the upheaval, or is that an impolitic question?”
    Elizabeth got to her feet to escort him to the door. “I was going to ask her if she would like an early holiday this year,” she admitted.
    “Why not ask Sister Ross?” he suggested.
    “Because medical ward personnel are never very happy about taking over surgical cases,” Elizabeth pointed out.
    “I hadn ’ t thought of that, but I suggest you ’ re very tactful in how you explain the situation to Sister Allison ... she does rather regard herself as the Senior Sister, Miss Graham.”
    “Why do you always address me as Miss Graham, Doctor Gregory? I notice that none of the staff call me Matron if they can help it.” After she had spoken Elizabeth wished she hadn ’ t.
    He stopped in the doorway and now he turned and looked at her. “I ’ ll answer the last part of your question first ... it ’ s less personal. The majority of the older members were here as long as Miss Brown was, and to them there has been no other Matron, partly because she was such a personality, but also because she was the only one they had known. You ask me why I don ’ t. I suppose I could say that most of the women I ’ ve known who have held such a post have been elderly and grey-haired and matronly ... I mean matronly here in the sense of their physical appearance ... and you don ’ t come under any of those headings, do you, Miss Graham? Does that answer you satisfactorily?” Then as Elizabeth was silent, he went on: “Could I suggest that you mention your programme of alterations to Mr. Hingston? I know you haven ’ t met your senior surgeon yet, but that ’ s because he ’ s been away with a touch of ‘ flu. I believe he intends coming in today. Thank you for the tea ... Matron.”
    William Gregory walked away, leaving Elizabeth wondering whether he was being facetious at her expense or not. Rather reluctantly she went back to her desk and dealt with her letters, putting to one side the ones she would reply to personally. There were two that must have been intended for Miss Brown, and Elizabeth put them back in their envelopes thoughtfully. She would ask Margaret Smith to send them on. One had been very brief, written in a very shaky elderly hand:
    ‘ Dear Matron,
    Can an old woman be allowed to say thank you and bless you? I thought I was alone in the world with no one to care whether I went on living or not ... no children or grandchildren left in this country and most of my friends as ancient and decrepit and crochety as myself. Having met you I ’ ve been counting my blessings ever since, and I ’ ve been helping at the Darby and Joan Club and, bless them, they tell me I ’ m a dab hand at it. So I think I might enjoy living a while longer ... thanks to you, dear Miriam Brown. May your shadow never grow less. . . ’
    The other was longer and told of the writer ’ s attempt to take a fresh hold on herself and face up to the job of caring for her husband and children, and ended with: ‘ I hadn ’ t thought of what I was doing as being selfish or cruel until you showed me and you have my promise that I ’ ll never try to end it like that again.