I don’t know how I got to know Mrs. Downie because she was exclusive. “Come to tea and bring your doings,” she invited. For the moment my “doings” were effigies of the two Doctors. The ‘Ups’ bought wooden dolls for me at the village shop in Stillfield. I adapted and costumed them to mimic characters. Tea was set in the big bay-window of Mrs. Downie’s room. Her fine room at the end of the east…
A gaunt creature, wobbling between dignity and weakness, made her first appearance on the terrace. She chose the lounge chair that was between one occupied by a woman with transparent ringed hands and another containing an abnormally clerical parson, with a collar like a retaining wall. When the new patient was tucked, pillowed, hot-water-bottled and smelling-salted, she turned to the clergyman. “My first time up.” Silence. “I am free of temperature and cough!” Still silence.
Dr. Bottle bustled down from London. Nothing so delighted her as to get some patient a little out of the ordinary. “Youngest yet!” she purred, leading the way to the largest, most expensive room in the San. A young couple followed carrying a baby, a pitiful little wreck. Both parents cried aloud as they came. This was their firstborn. “Pierre, Pierre, Petit Pierre!” they moaned. A little white cot had been put in the centre…