Legacy (4 page)

Chapter Seven

After the fiasco of the labour ward Gabrielle was placed in Accident and Emergency and loved it. She loved not knowing who or what would come through the swinging doors; she loved the buzz. She describes her days as being adrenalin fuelled and hectic. To her this was what nursing was all about, not watching women debase themselves pushing out goo-covered babies.

During training Gabrielle's home life remained constant, her mother asking about her studies and enquiring if she had met any young men. Luckily her mother was usually bent over the sewing machine so couldn't see Gabrielle's face as she lied and said she hadn't met any. Her siblings ran in and out from the back garden, the noise was piercing as they played whatever new game they had invented. Gabrielle was relieved to be living away from this madness, children babbling and shrieking incessantly gave her a headache. Every time she went home she vowed never to succumb to having children of her own. She always felt that that no one should ever be expected to put up with noisy children. Not to mention endure the miracle of life.

One evening an unannounced caller gave away her talk of never having had a boyfriend in Derry. She was almost ready to prepare for bed when a knock came to the door, assuming it was travellers or worse the priest she let her father answer it. This was a mistake because her father was to invite the caller in and it certainly wasn't a traveller, or the priest. It was a boy she had been dating in Derry and had told no one at home about.

Her father had sent this boy to the sitting room. It was a room that they seldom used except when they had their best company. Whoever he was had obviously impressed.

Her father told her that her visitor was.

“A lovely chap, very posh, called
Harry.
”

Gabrielle went puce at the very mention of his name; she hoped her parents didn't notice. Her mother rose and wiped away the threads from her sewing off her dress,

“Gabrielle go and greet your guest,” she ordered.

As she walked into the living room she found Harry sitting awkwardly on the settee,

“Hello,” she said feigning surprise “what brings you here?”

“I decided it was high time I met your family,” said Harry making her cringe.

As if on cue her mother walked into the room.

“Hello,” she said in her authoritative voice reserved for visitors or trouble, “I'm Gabrielle's mother, pleased to meet you.”

Harry jumped to his feet and went over to shake her mother's hand.

Gabrielle was delighted with Harry's show of manners because she knew her mother would appreciate it.

“Harry Thornton, pleased to meet you Mrs Caulfield.” “Have a seat John's just preparing some tea,” said her mother.

“Thank you,” he answered sitting back down on the settee.

“You have a beautiful home Mrs Caulfield,” he remarked. Gabrielle wasn't convinced that her boyfriend's comments were genuine. His parents were doctors and lived in one of the most affluent areas of Derry. Whilst Gabrielle's home was tastefully decorated, fashionable and clean she doubted it would impress Harry.

“Gabrielle didn't let us know she had plans so I can only apologise for not expecting you,” her mother said.

“That's entirely my fault Mrs Caulfield we actually didn't have any plans. I just decided to call on the off chance that Gabrielle would be free. It's so rare to get a weekend off these days.”

“Really Harry? May I ask what line of work you're in?” her mother enquired.

“I'm a doctor; I work in Altnagelvin as well.”

“I see,” said her mother “so you're obviously very busy, well we're delighted you could take the time to call.”

“Gabrielle, why don't you go and help your father, Harry would you rather tea or coffee?”

“Coffee please if it's not too much trouble.”

Mum remembers hurrying to the kitchen to find her father rattling and banging plates,

“What's keeping you?”

“Just checking to see what biscuits we have.”

“Do you need a hand?”

“No, no, you go up to your guest. I've found some shortbread.”

“Grand thanks for your help.”

“Gabrielle, one more thing, he seems a nice lad, I just wondered if he's…………….”

She didn't let him finish, she already knew what her father was getting at,

“For God's sake, if you must know he's Protestant,” she said, storming off.

Doctor or not, now she knew now that her parents would not be impressed. She suppressed a fleeting thought that they didn't have any shortbread and made her way back into the living room.

“Aye that's what I thought,” mumbled her father.

She joined her mother and Harry in the living room where the conversation was flowing. Being the woman she was her mother had a keen interest in current affairs and she was glad to have someone to discuss them with.

“Gabrielle, we're just talking about the situation in Derry.”

At the time, the British Army were a considerable presence in the city but it wasn't anything Gabrielle was particularly interested in. She was already bored and let them resume their conversation.

Finally her father came in carrying a tray with four cups and saucers, milk and sugar.

“Gabrielle will you do the honours?” he asked.

“I'm just going to get some biscuits, shortbread okay for you Harry?”

“It's my favourite Mr Caulfield,” Harry replied.

“Grand,” her father eyes twinkling went to fetch the shortbread.

Two minutes later her father returned with the plate of shortbread. He approached Harry first.

Harry's face registered shock but immediately recovered, thus drawing Gabrielle's attention to the plate.

To her absolute horror when she looked at it she didn't see any shortbread instead a plate filled with tiny chunks of roughly cut stale bread. If this wasn't bad enough, rather than use the plates they had reserved for guests or even their own everyday plates it was clear that her father had gotten this ‘plate' from the local skip. It was a mass of cracks and chips with filthy brown marks clinging to its edges and to top it all off was sopping wet. Gabrielle was mortified and still cringes when she recounts the tale; even more so when Harry obviously not wanting to offend took a piece.

Her mother was silent. Clearly she was horrified too but quickly regained her composure. All of a sudden Harry jumped up,

“I do apologise, Mr and Mrs Caulfield, Gabrielle, but I've just realised I have an appointment.”

Looking flustered he swiftly added “I really must go.”

With that he got up and made towards the door.

“That's a shame,” her father said feigning disappointment, “I'll see you out, maybe you'll come for a good Irish dinner the next time?”

That was the first and last time
Dr Thornton
ever called for Gabrielle.

Boyfriends came and went over the years, if they were Protestant and met her father they usually went. Her father had his unique disposal methods and each poor young man was sent away red faced.

Gabrielle's father came from an idealistic world, he despised those who looked down on others, to him no one person was better than another. A person was distinguished by how they conducted their life and how close to God they were, but only in a Catholic way. A person should always be judged on their decency, honesty and integrity. A sense of humour also helped, but if none existed then so long as the other three were in abundance it could be sacrificed.

Chapter Eight

Gabrielle had come from a cosseted world; the safe familiar walls of the hospital reinforced this. But even she couldn't help observing how much life was changing in Derry. The city was rapidly becoming awash with armed soldiers, navy and police. A cloud of tension hung in the air even on the calmest days. She was no longer comfortable using her free time to explore the city and tended to stay close to the nurses home.

It was in Gabrielle's final year of training that a civil rights movement had called a march on the streets of Derry. She didn't know it then but she was about to become involved in a historic day. The marchers came out to protest at the perceived inequalities experienced by the Catholic people of Derry. It was conducted in the fashion of civil rights marches that had gone before in America and would highlight the Catholic people's struggles.

The general consensus at the time was that Catholics in Northern Ireland did not get equal rights in housing, education and jobs. Gabrielle didn't doubt their argument but had never felt subject to any form of inequality; so unlike most of her contemporaries she would not be joining the March. From an early age it had been instilled in her that a good education would carry one anywhere. She saw that all her friends had gone on to university and all of them herself included were in the process of gaining entrance into one profession or another. She hadn't experienced any inequalities nor had anyone she knew.

Gabrielle had never stood back to examine the wider picture. Growing up in an almost solely Catholic area meant that schools and houses were good; they never had to share these with another community. Catholics in other areas that were not as segregated as hers perhaps felt differently. Gabrielle was solidly ambiguous towards the plight of these people and suspected that little would change that.

Almost 20 years after the Catholic civil rights movement Gabrielle spoke to a colleague from a Protestant background that had grown up in the Shankill area of Belfast. By all accounts her upbringing was similar to Gabrielle's except for the inequalities, not on Gabrielle's part however. It seemed her colleague had lived in inferior government housing, had limited prospects of work and had grown up in a situation of abject poverty and little aspiration. Inequalities were across the board, they were a matter for the working classes; a class that Gabrielle was determined never to be a part of. If only she knew.

Keen to witness the march Gabrielle's mother suggested they go for tea in the City Hotel. The hotel overlooked the marcher's route and would allow them to get a good view as it passed. Nothing on this scale had happened before in the northwest of Ireland and her mother wanted to say that she had seen it. So on that freezing Sunday; Gabrielle was accompanied by both her parents on her journey to Derry. That day was to become known as Bloody Sunday.

Gabrielle remembers her father taking the familiar journey extra cautiously. All along the road little patches of ice danced in front of the car, on each sighting he would mutter, “black ice, it's the most dangerous thing drivers face”. Her mother as usual rolled her eyes and tutted. His slow driving was one of the many things she chastised him about. On this occasion she claimed that they would have been quicker walking.

When they eventually reached Derry anticipation radiated from the very pavements the air was charged with positivity. It seemed that thousands of people had taken to the streets to join the march. Gabrielle and her parents were simply there to observe. Strict instructions were given to her father to collect them from the hotel in precisely an hour and a half. This would allow plenty of time to watch the march unfold. No real consideration was given to what her father would do in that time, even now Gabrielle cannot remember. She can only assume that he went home.

They were fortunate to get a window seat at the hotel. They sipped their coffees ensconced in the comfort of the lavish lobby. From here they watched as the march passed.

Gabrielle saw the marchers carry huge banners emblazoned with slogans demanding equal rights. The street was lined with Saracens, a type of armoured car used by the British Army. To some it may have looked ominous but to the people of Derry it didn't; armed soldiers were now a familiar sight. They watched the passage of the March in silence as it made its way towards the Bogside, the area where the marchers would meet.

It didn't seem long until the chants of the demonstrators were overtaken by gunfire and angry screams. Gabrielle immediately knew that something was wrong, the sirens began to blare as more and more military swarmed the streets. She had never seen anything equal to this before and shock surged through her. The voices around them in the hotel became raised and some people rushed out. Inside the hotel mirrored the streets outside; pure pandemonium.

Within minutes the news that shooting had broken out got through to them. Wails of a new siren different to that of the police siren, confirmed that people were injured. The noise was deafening as the screams of the ambulance competed against the Saracens.

Even as a trainee Gabrielle knew protocol and she would be expected to report to the hospital. She gathered up her belongings and prepared to leave. Sure enough just as she was fastening her coat the radio began to call for any medical personal to make their way to the hospital.

Outside she saw ambulances, police and people race by. It was like a warzone, she did not dare imagine what would confront her when she made it to the hospital.

When her father came to collect them from the hotel, he looked shaken yet his face was alight with relief when he saw they were both safe. He had obviously been worried, another indicator that something very wrong was unfolding outside. Her parents were clearly unsure whether she should offer her services but she convinced them that protocol meant that she had little choice.

On reaching the hospital, Gabrielle was confronted by scenes of carnage. That day they dealt with 12 gunshot victims. This was made all the worse as in addition to the gunshot victims one poor young man had been suffocated in the skirmish that ensued. It was Gabrielle's first experience of such wounds but over the next few years she would become as familiar with gunshot victims as she would be with fractures.

She soon became immersed in a new brand of nursing; one that her training had not prepared her for. She was to become accustomed to rubber bullets forcing eyes out of sockets, shootings, kneecappings, tarring and featherings and the ultimate carnage - bomb victims. Her patients would range from police to innocent civilians, and even IRA men all of whom she was expected to treat in a moment's notice. In work Gabrielle was no longer shock able as she had learned to expect anything and everything.

Being so young it didn't take long before Gabrielle began to wish for an easier post, even the labour ward would be an improvement on this. Yet she can proudly say that despite wanting an easier post, she did her level best for all the people she treated, those who were innocent, and of course the instigators. When I ask her how she could do that she simply replies that she was a nurse, it was not for her to judge any individual. She was there simply to treat, God could do the rest. The smells, sights and sounds of those years were a far cry from the glamorous career she had envisaged and a premonition of her own glimpse into hell.

It was the bomb victims who stayed with her, they were so charred their bodies were unrecognisable; the percentage of burns so high that sometimes even pain relief was futile. She inwardly grieved with their families; no one should have had to endure such suffering. She can close her eyes even now and be transported to those dark days in Accident and Emergency; the smells once again assailing her nostrils, the mutilation of innocence seizing her sight, the anguished wails of the bereaved assaulting her ears. She will forever carry a little piece of their torment with her alongside her own.

In those days she was determined not to let these atrocities remain in the foremost regions of her mind. Yet they stayed with her somewhere. In Mum's recent tales she can recount each and every experience, she never forgot them. I think she found a convenient little shelf in her brain and alongside Patch, Matron and anything else that could harm her she stored them there and continued with her day to day living. Unfortunately for Gabrielle someday all the horror would come to the forefront of her mind and the shelf it was placed on would collapse.