The Long Hot Sunderland Summer

Gilly Dunmawe was having a great day.

The three year old giggled in an excited manner as she contentedly played in the back garden of her family home, while the sun belted down on her long blonde hair.

The house was positioned high on the Sea Road, just before the street began its meander down towards the hazy, shimmering Seaburn shoreline in Sunderland.

The high walled, ivy laden garden retreat was an enclosed haven.

It had a rockery and a lawn with grass which was as smooth as a carpet. It had a warmth but it also had a blissful coolness to it which contrasted with the sweltering heat on the outside.

Gilly could safely play and create her own imaginary world of princesses, heroines and knights in shining armour who would always ride to the rescue.

And almost always, the hero was Sir Rob of Roker - the very name Gilly’s mum gave to her late father.

The garden had a tiny waterfall, a rainbow of flowers in stunning colours, and statues of cherubs in brilliant white.

Not that Gilly noticed. She was busy organising her own pretend party.

‘You want cuppa tea, Daddy’ she said in the best English that her toddler voice could manage.

She positioned every one of her Pippa dolls in a perfect circle, each with a tiny cup and saucer.

There was Mummy doll, Daddy doll and Gilly doll as well as all their friends.

Gilly poured equal amounts of ‘pretend tea’ to each of her plastic playmates.

’Daddy drink. Daddy be strong,’ she urged one of her dolls.

Seconds later, something very strange grabbed her attention.

A tiny but colourful army of ladybirds was marching across the lawn and Gilly was trying her best to pick them up. ‘Come here ladybirds,’ she screamed excitedly.

‘Gilly, stop,’ said the toddler’s mum Sharon who snapped out of the semi sleep she’d been catching in the nearby deck chair.

Ladybirds were an unusual and unexpected side effect of the ridiculously hot 1976 English Summer which was showing no sign of abating.

There were millions of them and they were getting in people’s faces, clothes and hair. They looked like a giant moving carpet.

The last thing Sharon needed was her daughter picking up some weird infection from a bug.

It was one of many uncomfortable aspects of the heatwave along with melting road surfaces, a constant haze over the sea and a never ending feeling of burning heat coursing through your body.

Plus there was the constant thirst and the almost impossible task of keeping water, lemonade, or any fluids cold, even with a copious amounts of ice cubes.

It was mid June. The temperature had not dropped below 85 degrees Fahrenheit for days.

There had been no rain, precious little wind or cloud cover, and a daily stream of people heading to the beach.

The weather was perfect for a three year old without a care in the world. Gilly thought it was heaven to have the sun belt down on her face every day.

It was a different story for Sharon. The weather was no comfort for a widow with a three year old.

It had only been four months since Sharon’s husband Rob lost his fight to a combination of pneumonia and cancer.

He tried so hard to keep going, but his body couldn’t keep up with his passion for life.

He closed his eyes for one last time on a cold February morning, with a final smile for the wife who had been everything to him.

Sharon wept for days and woke up each morning, hoping it had been a bad dream.

But it wasn’t. Each day brought a fresh challenge of trying not to show any outward emotion.

Inwardly, Sharon was a wreck. She was lost and desperately trying to find answers to why she was a widow at just under 40.

‘When is Aunty Debs coming?’ the inquisitive younger asked. She was hoping for a new playmate because Mummy was sad - again.

For now, Gilly busied herself with tidying up the exquisite but tiny angel wings she had made for her Daddy doll. She was so proud of them.

‘Soon sweetheart,’ Sharon replied, stroking her daughter’s hair, hoping her words were correct and Debs could arrive soon to help her cope with a toddler as well as her sorrow.

Sharon’s face was white from grief, as if in a defiant protest against the scorching heat.

‘Rob would have lo …..’ she thought before correcting herself.

The chime of the doorbell was a welcome relief. Sharon rose to answer the door and greet her lifelong friend with a hug.

‘I can’t keep this up ' she sobbed quietly into Debs’ shoulder.

‘Hey,’ Debs replied, lifting her friend’s head with both hands, ‘you are doing brilliantly. Stop being so hard on yourself. One step at a time.’

She stepped back to look into Sharon’s eyes, wiped her tears and said: ‘Brave face. Come on girl. For Gilly.’

Sharon nodded and composed herself.

The two women headed back into the garden where the excited three year old shrieked ‘Aunty Debs! Aunty Debs!’

Gilly jumped in to the arms of the visitor and the pair were soon engrossed in a game of Catch on the pristine lawn.

Sharon watched and smiled as she remembered the days when Rob would race round in his wheelchair with his daughter laughing hysterically in his lap.

She reflected on how she’d had the perfect life. Rob and Gilly would be playing together while she pottered round the kitchen, making panackelty, pies or a sumptuous stew.

She smiled at the memory of her husband spending time teaching Gilly her alphabet, her numbers and how to say Ha’way.

There were other words too.

‘Aye aye’, Gilly would say before her dad corrected her.

‘No, it’s why aye pet’, he would tell her before clapping his hands when his beautiful daughter repeated the words.

But each time that Sharon raised her hopes of it all being real, the picture would fade. She hated descending back into reality and the sorrow it caused.

Debs was a godsend. She finally left after many hours of tending to Gilly, making tea and sharing a glass of wine with Sharon.

‘You are a perfect friend, ‘ Sharon told her best pal as she left the house late in the evening.

‘Nonsense. It’s what friends do,’ Debs said in hushed tones. She kept her voice down after successfully getting Gilly to sleep minutes earlier.

Sharon waved her friend off before locking the door. She knew she had to face up to a world she hated.

She dreaded the oncoming nighttime when she knew she would get precious little sleep.

Sharon would only drop off after hours of sobbing or staring listlessly at the ceiling. She repeatedly asked herself if the pain would ever stop, before nodding into dreamland.

Sharon woke from a fitful sleep to the warm breeze blowing through the navy blue curtains. It was 7am on a new day but the heat had not abated. If anything, it felt hotter.

Even the daily screeching from the local seagulls seemed lethargic.

She fell back into the safety of the blankets on the huge bed and pondered on the day ahead as she stared at the ceiling.

In truth, it was likely to be no different to the others she had fought through, she said to herself.

Gilly was a delight to raise, but Sharon was still bitter at the thought of doing it all as a single mother.

She questioned life’s fairness as she stared even more intently, and lay a moment longer.

Finally, she blew out her cheeks and rose to check on her daughter in the next room. There was silence as she approached the door with its sign which said ‘a little princess lives here’.

‘She must have slept in,’ thought Sharon who was still half asleep herself.

Sharon opened the door to find Gilly spread like a starfish, sheets kicked away from her body, cuddling her favourite Teddy Bear, and with her mouth wide open as she dozed.

She left the sleeping toddler to her dreams and set off downstairs.

She steeled herself for the prospect of making a breakfast which Gilly would enjoy - and she herself would endure just to keep going.

Scrambled eggs on toast was the dish which was soon set out on the wooden kitchen table and there was still no sign of movement from Gilly.

‘That child,’ said Sharon, in an exasperated tone. ‘She could sleep for England. Gilly! Come on sleepy head!’ There was still no reply.

Sharon climbed the stairs once more shouting, in a playful voice, ‘you rascal. Mammy’s coming for you!’

She opened the door to find her daughter in exactly the same position she had been in earlier - spread out like a starfish.

‘Come on now, little one,’ said Sharon as she moved to nudge Gilly. All she got from the three year old was a pained groan.

The realisation kicked in almost immediately as Sharon touched her daughter on the head.

Gilly was running a fever, and not just any fever. She was burning up. ‘Mammy, I don’t feel good,’ said Gilly in a pitiful and faint voice.

Sharon did a quick examination of her child. She asked ‘Where does it hurt sweetie?’

She soon established that Gilly’s problem seemed to be coming from her right leg.

‘Oh my God, oh my God’ shouted the mother, before lifting Gilly and taking the toddler downstairs to the phone.

Sharon called for a doctor while Gilly fussed and cuddled her, all the while saying ‘ow Mammy, ow Mammy’.

The three year old was doubled up and cradling her leg, whimpering. ‘It’s ok sweetheart’ said Sharon who was now calling the only friends she really knew who would be there in an emergency, Debs and Alison.

Dr Cartwright arrived first and Sharon passed her child to the young doctor.

He had examined Gilly before and had a mannerism that the child liked. He was friendly and he treated her like a grown up.

But today, Gilly was struggling. Dr Cartwright noticed that her leg was swollen and red. ‘Hello Gilly’, he said. ‘How is my favourite patient doing today?’

For once, the child was in no mood for a chat. She buried her head even deeper into her mother’s chest. ‘Let’s see if we can find the problem,’ he added.

Dr Cartwright went about his business as Sharon explained to him how she had found her daughter barely moving in bed.

His focus was razor sharp as he examined the girl who was clearly in distress.

‘Okay Gilly,’ he finally said. ‘How would you like a ride in an ambulance?’

Sharon let out a gasp and put her hand to her mouth before asking a string of questions.

It was at that moment that Alison arrived and gave her pal a hug. Gilly would normally have run as fast as she could and jumped in to Alison’s arms. Not today.

The three year old managed a weak smile before burying her head back into her mum’s lap.

Within minutes, Debs had turned up and the two friends set about helping in any way they could.

Debs called every one of Sharon and Rob’s relatives to break the news while Alison followed the ambulance in her car.

Inside the ambulance, a terrified Sharon feared the worst. Gilly was lying flat on the makeshift bed and her head was lolling to and fro as the vehicle sped through the streets, lights flashing.

The journey to the hospital seemed to take an age. It was high speed and yet slow motion at the same time.

On arrival, a trolley team waited to take Gilly straight to a private room for examination while Dr Cartwright, who had made his own way to the outpatient clinic, pulled Sharon to one side.

‘It is early days and I could very well be wrong but I think she has osteomyelitis,’ he said to Sharon.

Her head was swimming. What was osteomyelitis? What does it mean for Gilly? Will she live? How can this be happening to me?

‘It is too soon to worry,’ said the doctor. ‘They will examine her thoroughly before they make any decision.’

It wasn’t what Sharon wanted to hear. She wanted answers and she wanted them now.

Gilly was whimpering in the nearby room and Sharon rushed to the side of her poorly daughter.

‘Mammy’, said the toddler, holding out her hands as she lay on the bed. Sharon rushed forward to cuddle her child and said ‘I’m here baby.’

Gilly was given painkillers and seemed to be more settled, but the pain lingered and so did the sweat coming from her fevered brow.

Sharon was torn. Should she leave Gilly’s side to get answers or stay and soothe her only child. The answer came from a different source when Alison walked in the room.

‘Aunty Ali. I poorly,’ said Gilly who had a little more life in her than hours earlier.

Alison smiled a warm smile towards Sharon and they shared a knowing hug, before Alison said: ‘Go! Get a break. Get answers. Do whatever you need to do and I’ll keep this one occupied.’

Sharon hated every smell the hospital threw at her. There was the aroma of disinfectant, processed food, sweat from the heat. All of it repulsed her.

All of it convinced her that life was not fair.

Sharon searched for a senior doctor and all she found was room after room of staff, all of them deep in talks or medical preparations.

Eventually, Dr John Andrews caught up with her. ‘I have searched for you for quite a while, Mrs Dunmawe,’ he said. ‘I have examined Gilly.’

‘Please give me some good news Doctor,’ Sharon said. She was desperate for something to cling on to, something other than the despair she’d felt since Rob passed away.

‘We think she has a blood infection. Can I ask, has she injured or cut herself lately?’

‘She does it all the time,’ said the concerned mother. ‘Doctor. What are you talking about? What is wrong with her?’

‘She has a condition which affects the organs of children. There is no easy way to say this but we think she has osteomyelitis’.

At worst, Gilly might die. She might need to have her leg amputated, Dr Andrews indicated.

At best, she would spend months in hospital and may have to learn how to walk all over again.

The most likely outcome was probably somewhere in between, the doctor added. But first, she needed to fight through the fever to give her any chance.

Sharon spent hours aimlessly staring at the blonde hair, blue eyes and pained face of her little girl.

She wanted to take it all in, just in case these would be the final moments she had with the last person she truly loved in her life.

She smiled the brave smile of a woman who did not want to scare Gilly. It was also the smile of a grieving wife who had spent months mastering the facade of looking in control, when the reality resembled a scene of total inner bedlam.

She was devoid of tears. She was exhausted and yet sleep was an impossible dream for Sharon while Gilly lay alone in her hospital bed.

Sharon settled into a daily routine of ward visits, canteen snacking and pouring through magazines between each set of visiting hours.

She knew the hospital all too well. She and Rob shared moments in the lavender garden while he fought for life.

She settled in to another reading session on the very bench where she had cuddled in to her husband months earlier.

The searing heat took its toll and within minutes, Sharon dropped into a fitful sleep.

It was filled with one dream. A simple dream.

An arm slipped gently round her waist and a calm Sunderland voice whispered: ‘Don’t worry pet. I’ve got this.’

A startled Sharon woke from her slumber and tried to piece together what had just happened. She looked round. There was nothing. She had the whole garden to herself.

She had no logical explanation. The heat made her sleepy once more and the heady scent of lavender lulled her into another dream.

‘Haway pet. Be strong. Gilly will get through this and you will be the best mother she could ever ask for.’

‘But I am worried. I don’t know how to help her. Come back Rob. I can’t live without you.’

‘I am always here pet. I am always watching out for you and Gilly.’

‘Why did you have to go Rob. It’s not fair. I feel empty.’

‘I am closer than you think. My beautiful wife. Do you hear me, Mrs Dunmawe. Mrs Dunmawe.’

Sharon woke to find the face of Dr Andrews standing over her.

‘I am sorry to wake you Mrs Dunmawe but I think you should come with me.’

‘Why! Please tell me nothing is wrong,’ Sharon pleaded in a panicking voice.

But Dr Andrews was adamant. ‘I think you should see this for yourself.’

The doctor led Sharon back to Gilly’s bedside where the little girl was eating vociferously and smiling a beaming smile.

‘Mammy! Mammy! I not poorly any more. Look, look.’

Gilly jumped in to her mother’s arms and said ‘Love you mammy’.

Sharon tearfully pulled her daughter into her chest. No words would come from her mouth. Instead, she stared towards the doctor as if to say ‘what is going on?’

Dr Andrews shrugged his shoulders and indicated that he was just as puzzled. But Gilly had the answers.

She played on the bed with her Daddy doll. She talked to the little figure with the angel wings, and said: ‘Thank you Daddy. I love you too.’

Then Gilly turned to her mother and said: ‘Daddy says bye and he loves you forever.’