#ctmshare

[procrastinatingalways]

Next chapter of my fic with random Turnadette stories is up. This one from an outsiders perspective, Trixie! What does the interactions she has with both of them in Season 2 Ep 7 make her think. Trying to work on inner monologues of other CtM characters in prep for another fic so sorry if this is a little different.

[cooldoyouhaveaflag]

IT LIVES. 

Omg I’m so sorry this took a billion years. 

Prompt 49: “You’re so bloody (fucking) hot when you’re mad” is up! 

This one just really didn’t want to comply to Turnadette realness, so I was struggling, but I think we got there! Hope you enjoy! This one is lots of kettles, so BE WARNED. ;P 

[beatrix-franklin]

Final Memories [A Call The Midwife Fan Fiction]

Something I've definitely learned over the last year or two is that you never know whether the last time you saw someone will be the last time, a morbid thought I know and something I’m trying not to dwell on right now. But this got me thinking about Sister Evangelina's death and the character's last memories with her and wanted to explore this as it wasn’t shown on screen for all characters. This is different to anything I've written before so I hope I've done this justice. 

This explores Trixie’s, Shelagh’s and Patrick’s final memories with Sister Evanglina, but I may continue this with other character’s if it’s recieved well. 

The news of Sister Evangelina’s death sent shockwaves through the Nonnatus family. She’d slipped away in her sleep, pain free and peacefully which many found comfort in. In the days following her death Nonnatus was kept afloat by everyone’s final memories of Sister Evangelina.

For Trixie, the final time she had seen Sister Evangelina was early in the morning on the day of her death. She’d just got in from a long and tiring birth in which life teetered on the edge. She couldn’t face going to bed just yet so, in the absence of alcohol she’d trudged to the kitchen in search of Horlicks. She’d fallen asleep, slumped on the table before she’d even taken the first sip, tiredness consuming her the moment she’d sat down.

“To bed with you gal,” a voiced barked from behind her, pulling her out her slumber. “I don’t know why you Nurses have to indulge yourself with Horlicks before bed when you’re clearly too tired to even lift the kettle.”

“It’s better than indulging myself with gin,” Trixie had muttered under her breath in response, hoping Sister Evangelina hadn’t heard her, knowing it would result in another lecture, one she was too tired to face. But instead of the onslaught she expected she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, surprising her somewhat.

“You know your problem? You don’t believe in yourself enough. You’ve gone months without a drink, just because you’ve had a bad evening it doesn’t mean you have to drink yourself to sleep. You’re better than that.” Trixie had opened her mouth to question how she knew, but stopped herself, everyone knew she was the eyes and ears of Nonnatus. Instead, she grabbed her hand and whispered a quiet thanks, trying to hide the tears that had formed.  Sister Evangelina took the handkerchief from her pocket and dapped Trixie’s eyes gently.

“Now now, enough of this, you know I don’t do tears. To bed with you, you’re clearly tired enough.” Her tone was firm, but without malice, in a way that only Sister Evangelina could achieve. Trixie simply nodded in response and turned to leave but before she could Sister Evangelina took the hankie she’d just used wipe Trixie’s tears and placed it in her hands. “Just in case you need it again.” She’d said with a small smile.

When the news of Sister Evangelina’s death broke Trixie reached to her pocket and curled her fingers around the handkerchief, thumbing the corners slightly before drying her tears with it, just as Sister Evangelina had done so that morning.

-

Between Angela reaching her terrible twos, Timothy constantly needing help with his increasingly challenging schoolwork and the surgery being busier than ever, Shelagh hadn’t managed to drop by Nonnatus as often as she liked, something she now regretted as she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper conversation with Sister Evangelina. So, for Shelagh, her final memory of Sister Evangelina was a brief one. The last time she’d seen Sister Evangelina had been at the Tuesday clinic, a few days before her death. The clinic was busier than ever, the Nurses and Sisters were completely stretched to their limits and all were feeling the strain of the last few months. Mrs Penny had rung in sick that morning so Shelagh had no other option than to take Angela to clinic with her, hoping she would just sit quietly and play with the other children by the doll’s house. But Angela was determined not to be parted from her Mother that morning and cried every time she wasn’t by her mother’s side, constantly needing the comfort of physical contact. Shelagh had no choice but to work with her Daughter perched on her lap, if only to save the clinic from her incessant crying. The moment she saw Sister Evangelina walk into clinic she took a deep breath, preparing herself to be reprimanded, something which she didn’t have the energy for that day.

“You indulge that child too much Mrs Turner,” Sister Evangelina started, seeing no need for a customary greeting, she never saw the point in wasting time on pleasantries when there was work to be done. “Put her down so you can do your job efficiently please.” Her tone irked Shelagh and rather than letting go of Angela she held her tighter.

“She’s perfectly okay as she is Sister, I’ll be able to do my job more efficiently if she’s quietly sat on my lap and not disgruntling the other mothers by crying constantly.” Shelagh retorted through gritted teeth.

Sensing her mother’s shift in mood Angela began to stir and removed her head from the crook of her mother’s shoulder. On seeing Sister Evangelina she immediately perked up, and her drooping bottom lip was soon replaced by a gummy smile. She jumped off her mother’s knee and ran straight to the Sister, who couldn’t resist giving her a quick cuddle.

“Now who’s indulging her?” Shelagh smirked.

“I’m sure Miss Angela will be perfectly okay helping me today Mrs Turner, now get organized the mother’s will be arriving soon.” Without another word Sister Evangelina had made away to the weighing station, hand in hand with Angela. Over the course of the day Shelagh kept glancing over to where Angela stood with Sister Evangelina, smiling fondly as she watched the pair interacted. In the days following Sister Evangelina’s death Shelagh thought about that day a lot. She regretted that she’d been so short with the Sister, had she known it’d be the last time she’d see her she wouldn’t have spoke to her in the way she had,  but she couldn’t dwell on that as she knew that you can never know when you’re seeing someone for the last time.  So instead she decided to focus on that day for the joy it held and the knowledge that on that day her daughter had a final precious memory of the Sister that meant so much to her; even if her daughter was too young to remember she would ensure when she grew older she knew of that day and Sister Evangelina’s memory would forever be kept alive within the Turner household.  

-

Patrick’s final memory had also come from that day. He’d found his wife stood in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea, giving herself five minutes away from the madness of the clinic. It was then he noticed the bags under her eyes on the way in which her shoulders slumped slightly, almost as if she no longer had the energy to keep herself upright. He made a mental note to himself to ask Timothy to babysit one night so he could take Shelagh out and give her a much-needed night off from being a Nurse and Mother and simply allow her to be his wife.

“Penny for them?” the sound Patrick’s voice pulled Shelagh out her trance.

“You’d pay twice as much not to hear them,” Patrick simply shook his head in response, he’d give every penny he had to hear Shelagh’s every thought. He quickly glanced around the small kitchen to ensure no one was about; confirming the coast was clear her pulled Shelagh into his embrace, allowing her to rest her head on his chest knowing she’d find comfort in the steady beating of his heart.

“Tough day?” he asked, placing a kiss in her hair as he did so.

“Angela won’t stop crying and I’ve had Sister Evangelina criticizing my parenting skills yet again,” she sighed.

“I’m sure she’s not criticizing you dear,” Shelagh looked up at Patrick at his words, ready to disagree with him but before she had chance he had caught her lips in a gentle kiss. “You know I’m right,”

“I need to get back to work,” she sighed “so do you.”

“Shelagh,” Patrick called as she began to walk away, she turned to look at him and his eyes conveyed everything he was about to say.

“I know,” she whispered back in response and made her way back to her desk, leaving Patrick to watch her retreating form.  Unbeknown to the couple Sister Evangelina had been watching their interaction from afar and caught Patrick as he followed his wife back to work.

“You look after her,” she told him sternly, “she’ll never admit it but she’s struggling right now, she needs you. You look after her,” she repeated, “you promise me that.”

“Sister, on our wedding day I vowed to love and protect her and I have no intention of breaking them vows. I promise you that.” Patrick replied.

“Good,” was the final word spoken by Sister Evangelina to Patrick that day. 

When he learnt of Sister Evangelina’s death, Patrick thought back to the final promise he made to her, knowing it was more poignant now. And as Shelagh broke down in his arms that evening, finally allowing herself to cry, he held her tightly as if he could hold the broken parts of her together, and prayed to the God he struggled to believe in, that Sister Evangelina could see that he would dedicate every day to fulfilling his final promise to her.

[mg-bsl381]

Learning from the Cradle

This idea has been lying dormant in my head since the end of series 6 but it suddenly erupted out of my brain with a little visual prompting.  Many thanks to @m-t-b-lover for this photoset:

https://m-t-b-lover.tumblr.com/post/164111593774/christmas-countdown-2017-135-whose-get

I’m sure after reading this little story, you will guess which photo inspired me!

I hope you like it :)

Learning from the Cradle

Shelagh had fallen asleep and Patrick could see the exhaustion written across her face.  Shelagh had been bearing the brunt of family life as a succession of complex deliveries and run-of-the-mill ailments of winter had kept Patrick constantly busy for days on end.  Angela was becoming more wilful and asserting her independence more since the arrival of her baby brother.  The combination of a determined three year old and a teenage boy with hormones off the scale did not make for a peaceful household.  Patrick felt guilty that he had left Shelagh to cope alone but her understanding of his work made it a little easier for him.  Marianne had never understood and it had caused friction between them over the years.

Patrick watched Shelagh sleep, it was something he loved to do.  A part of him still wondered how he had gone from a lonely widower struggling to juggle work and fatherhood to this life he led now.  Even in his wildest dreams he could never have imagined this.  His beloved Shelagh had brought joy and love into his life and so much more.  She loved Timothy as if he was her own but also acknowledged that he’d had another mother.  It was important to her that Timothy never forgot Marianne.  Patrick believed Shelagh would be a natural at motherhood but it was only when he saw her nurture of Angela that he understood what a special gift she had.  He had seen in the short months since Teddy’s arrival that Shelagh made no distinction at all between their three children.  Her love was total and constant for all of them.  

Baby Teddy was asleep but although he had been fed Patrick could see his son was restless.  The little boy started to stir and Patrick knew that if he cried Shelagh would be awake in moments.  He reasoned that the baby was unlikely to be hungry so Patrick carefully scooped him out of his moses basket and wrapping him in the blanket carried him to the door.  He paused just before opening the door and glanced back at the bed.  Shelagh had not stirred but he could see she was now deeply asleep.  He was just about to leave the room when his eye was caught by something.  Perfect, he thought and picked up the item, tucking it under his arm.  Taking utmost care he opened the bedroom door and closed it just as softly behind him.  

Patrick walked slowly downstairs and into the kitchen.  He made himself a cup of tea and went through to the sitting room.  He settled himself on the sofa and snuggled Teddy into his chest.  The baby was still sleeping but fidgety, so Patrick pulled the roll of paper out from under his arm.  With one had he gently shook it out and opened The Lancet at the first page.  In soft, measured tones Patrick began to read aloud.  

He was fascinated by the myriad articles he read over the next hour or so.  Advances in medicine were a source of amazement and delight to Patrick.  He was sadly now more sceptical of new drugs than he had once been.  Thalidomide was still a raw wound and one that would take many years to heal.  As he read, he remembered another night.  Reading The Lancet to soothe another baby, one whose circumstances were so different from his own child’s.  Baby Susan Mullucks had defied his expectations and clung at life with the tenacity of a limpet.  In many ways she was just like any other child but not in all.  

Teddy stirred as Patrick had paused in his reading to reflect on little Susan.  Patrick turned the page and began reading the next article that held absolutely no interest to a young baby.  Maybe not now but one day, he thought.   A son as a doctor was not just a dream but could in a few years become a reality.  Timothy had expressed such an interest a few years back when Patrick was at a very low point with his faith in his abilities as a doctor severely shaken.  His eldest son was now excelling in sciences and was looking likely to pass his upcoming exams with flying colours.  A career in medicine beckoned for Timothy but what of this little one and Angela too?  Who knows but a man could dream after all.

Patrick pulled Teddy closer to him as his eyelids started to droop.  The Lancet slipped from his fingertips as he slipped into a deep sleep.  His tea lay cooling and forgotten.  Upstairs the rest of the family slept peacefully.  

Several hours later Patrick was woken by fingers brushing his fringe off his face.  He blearily opened his eyes to see Shelagh leaning over him.  She looked so well rested that he rubbed his hand across his eyes to check he wasn’t dreaming.  A gentle kiss to his forehead proved to him that this was real as did the damp squirming bundle in his arms.  Teddy had sensed his mother’s presence or more likely her milk and was now wide awake and working himself up to ear-splitting volume.  Patrick quickly shifted over on the sofa and Shelagh settled herself next to him, unbuttoning her nightdress as she did so.  Within moments the sound of hungry suckling filled with room as Teddy settled down to a feed.  

Shelagh pushed at the abandoned copy of The Lancet with her foot and turning slightly raised an eyebrow at Patrick.  He shrugged and commented that The Lancet was the premier publication for inducing a soporific effect in a young baby.  Shelagh chuckled softly and commented on the usefulness of improving medical knowledge over counting sheep as an aid to sleep.  She thanked Patrick for his thoughtfulness in letting her get some much needed rest.  Patrick mused that maybe his nocturnal reading of The Lancet may help their tiny son in the long term but they would leave him to make his own mind up about that.  Only time would tell if learning from the cradle would be beneficial but it was certainly working with Timothy.

[snoopctm]

Finally here is Chapter 3. I haven’t forgotten this story! I’ve been working on this for a while, and now it’s ready. I expect to have maybe 2 or 3 more chapters of this, all in this “month, year” vignette style. I hope you enjoy it!

Thanks as always to everyone who reads this, and anything I write!

[kienova66]

6x02 Coda

Because who needs to do the million projects you have due in the next ten days when you can write fanfic instead?

------

He can’t seem to keep his hands off her once he knows. It’s terribly distracting, the way he comes up behind her when she’s attempting to get through cooking without gagging, just to find his hand slipping about her waist. Or when the surgery is empty save for the patients ensconced in the maternity home and he stands behind her while she puts files away, fingers hovering over her belt, pressing softly into the fabric of her apron and uniform dress. She can’t be mad, scoffing slightly through giggles as she shoves him away more often than not, cheeks flushing crimson. She’s not ready for anyone else to know their little secret quite yet, apart from her husband and Sister Julienne.

It isn’t that she doesn’t love the attention, because she does, but she’s still wrapping her mind around the new reality that she finds herself in which makes it difficult. She chastises Patrick softly one night when they’re lying in bed and he’s stroking over her abdomen in circles.

“You’re not even touching where my uterus is,” she murmurs into the dark, voice thick was exhaustion that comes from growing a new human while constantly being ill. He chuckles against her neck, pressing a sloppy kiss to her exposed collarbone as he increases the pressure on her stomach just slightly.

“I know,” he answers into the twilight. “I just figured if I moved my hand much lower you would say I was being indecent. Especially in places where anyone could walk in and see,” he smiles against her skin. She can’t help but let out a soft laugh at his reasoning, snuggling backwards until she’s pressed completely against his chest, his arm encircling her until he’s clinging to her.

“You’re ridiculous,” she mumbles, yawning as her body quickly drags her to sleep.

She wants to tell the children, unsure of how to approach it, but knowing that sooner or later they’re going to find out. She’s surprised Timothy hasn’t brought up anything yet, the boy wise beyond his years and as observant as Sherlock Holmes in the way he approaches everything. She doubts Angela will understand aside from thinking there will be a new little one to push around in her pram that she got for Christmas. Shelagh won’t have the heart to tell the girl no until the baby is actually there, knowing her instincts to protect the fragile new life will prevent her from letting her daughter play with the infant.

She says as much late one evening after he presses his hand to her belly in his office, eyes filled with so much mirth even though there’s nothing to feel beneath her clothes yet, his fingers barely grazing the fabric. She can’t help but kiss him then, knowing he’s just as excited, if not more so, than she is in some ways. She hears him chuckle for a few moments even after she leaves the room, knowing he’s picturing their son’s disgusted expression when he will inevitably contemplate how his little brother or sister came to be. She shakes her head, letting her own fingers press against her stomach as she puts some files away.

“You’re going to have a lot of people to love you little one,” she murmurs. She can’t wait until she gets to feel an answering movement from within at the words.

[alwaysmilingsam]

Some Timtrick based on the synopsis for episode 4 

[procrastinatingalways]

Here is my latest chapter of missing scenes for Turnadette, this one set in their extended engagement era. The way Patrick reacts when he notices Shelagh embroidering the baby's nightdress got me thinking that they had to have already discussed having children and led to this scene. https://archiveofourown.org/works/51840268/chapters/131526928

[cooldoyouhaveaflag]

Prompt 47: “You can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen, because guess what? It did!” is up! 

This was supposed to be a funny little piece about Tim, but it turned into a serious conversation about teenage sex, and honestly, I think that’s better. Just to be clear, Tim is NOT having sex in this fic, it’s just discussed more than I think it has been in other fics. Also, this is Tim/a female classmate that I made up, not Tim/Magda. 

Anywho, I hope you enjoy! 

Also, I already know what the plots are for the last three prompts. There’s one fluffy, one smutty, and one angsty. :) 

[beatrix-franklin]

Possessive [A Turnadette Ficlet]

More a missing scene than full fic, just something I wanted to explore a little. I don’t even know if it makes sense but it’s something nevertheless, I haven’t done anything for Turnadette lately and was beginning to miss them! I imagine this scene to be set not too long after the wedding, a little bit of unsure Shelagh. 

The evening began as any other, Patrick and Shelagh had fallen into a routine relatively quickly and both relished in the normality of it. Shelagh sat tucked into Patrick’s side on the sofa as one arm draped lazily around her shoulder. He read the lancet and she read whatever book had piqued her interest at the time. However, on this particular evening Patrick became restless, it had been a busy week at the surgery and he felt like he’d barely seen his wife. He tossed the Lancet to the floor and the thud it caused when it hit the floor caused Shelagh to look up from her book.

“Everything okay dear?” she asked.

“I’ve just missed my wife, that is all,” Shelagh had learnt what the look in Patrick’s eye meant. Before she had to chance to respond Patrick began to trail a line of kisses down Shelagh’s neck and stopped when he got to her collar bone. “mine,” he murmured against it before gently sucking, marking her as his in the best way he could.

“You’re so possessive,” Shelagh chided, though her voice held no hint of annoyance.

“I’ve only possessive of what is mine,” Patrick hummed as he continued his ministrations against her neck. Something about the statement seemed off with Shelagh, she was slowly getting used to Patrick’s affections towards her, and he’d claimed her as his many a time, however this time uncertainty rose within her. Much to his dismay she pushed Patrick away from her and her brows furrowed together.

“Is everything okay darling?” Patrick asked, stroking her cheek gently as he did so.

Shelagh simply nodded her head.

“Shelagh, if something is bothering you, if this is too much, please know that you can tell me.”

“It’s daft,” she whispered, more to herself than Patrick.

“Darling,” he pleaded. Shelagh took his hands within hers and began to rub circles there, giving herself an excuse not to look him in the eye, and bringing herself comfort.

“All my life I’ve prided myself on being my own person, on belonging to no one but myself,” Shelagh echoed the words spoken by Sister Julienne on her wedding day.

“But?” Patrick prompted.

“But when I’m with you, when you call me yours, when you mark me as your own,” Shelagh couldn’t help but blush at her own words, talking about certain things were still very new to her. “It feels right, like I finally belong, but how can I belong as someone else’s but not as my own person? Is that so very wrong?” She shook her head, immediately regretting having said anything, as she said the words they barely made sense to herself, she daren’t know what Patrick thought of her.  “I told you it was daft.” Patrick used his finger to lift Shelagh’s chin very gently so that he could look her in the eye.

“It’s not daft Shelagh. But you do belong to only yourself. You’re my wife, not my possession. You belong to me as my wife, my partner, my lover,” Patrick took a moment to admire the way in which Shelagh’s cheeks pinked again, he found it incredibly endearing. “But you’re also Shelagh, mother, Nurse, friend, Midwife, you are the sum of everything that makes you the most wonderful person to walk this earth. And I thank the Lord every day that you fell in love with me.” Tears fell both their cheeks as Patrick spoke. It still seemed very surreal that they were allowed to voice their love so openly

“And you’re MY husband,” Shelagh choked through her tears and marked him in the same way he had done to her minutes ago. That night both celebrated that their hearts and souls belonged to one another, and one another only. 

[mg-bsl381]

February Dawn

I was tagged by @lovetheturners in a post about the first line of a work in progress -

“Shelagh had known cold winters as a child growing up in Scotland and had vivid memories of the winter of 47 when the lack of coal made things extremely difficult but this was something else altogether.“

This gave me the incentive to finally finish the story. 

I hope you like it.

February Dawn

Shelagh had known cold winters as a child growing up in Scotland and had vivid memories of the winter of 47 when the lack of coal made things extremely difficult but this was something else altogether.  It was early February and it had been cold since Christmas but since then the temperature just kept dropping and dropping.  Shelagh dreaded every time Patrick went out in the car as the roads were treacherous.  She also feared for the midwives out all hours on their bicycles.  She remembered going to deliveries in the smog where you could barely see your hands on the handlebars.  Somehow things seemed much worse waiting at home rather than being out and about because there was work to be done.

That night it got colder and colder with every hour that passed.  The day had been too cold to go outside with baby Teddy and so she hadn’t been able to take Angela to nursery.  Both children had been fractious as they had been cooped up indoors for too many days.  Timothy made it back from school but he was frozen to the marrow when he returned home.  Luckily the house had central heating but Shelagh was questioning the wisdom of buying such a spacious house.  She loved the house but the old flat would have been so much easier to keep warm.  Patrick hadn’t been home since breakfast as there were patients who needed him.  Babies were still being born despite the plummeting temperatures.  He had managed to phone to say he had been called out to a delivery and hoped he wouldn’t be back too late.

Angela had gone to bed but soon woke up as she was cold.  Timothy had found the same thing when he went to bed.  Shelagh found them both more jumpers to sleep in and more blankets and eventually they both slept.  Shelagh waited up for Patrick but she was exhausted after a long day so she too went to bed.  She slept fitfully worried about Patrick and also Teddy.  The night was too cold for a young baby.  Even with the central heating kept on through the night the boiler was struggling to cope with the bitter cold.  

Teddy woke up for a feed and Shelagh knew that he was colder than he should be.  She wrapped him in another shawl and fed him.  He seemed more settled after his feed and went back to sleep in her arms.  Shelagh gently laid him on the bed and then dragged the cot close to the bed, so she could reach out and touch him.  She wrapped him warmly and laid him down in his cot.  Satisfied that her baby was alright, Shelagh went back to sleep only to be woken a short while later by a cold Angela.  Shelagh knew she needed to keep her daughter warm, so she brought her into bed with her.  With Angela now warmed up, the little girl soon fell back to sleep.  A while later Shelagh woke to hear a knock at the door.  She climbed out of bed shivering in the chill air and opened the door.  Timothy stood in the door way wrapped in a blanket shaking with cold.  Shelagh ushered him into the bedroom and he was soon snuggled up in the bed fast asleep.  

Shelagh checked on Teddy who was comfortably warm and walked over to the window.  Pale streaks of pink lit up the grey skies and she knew that it would soon be dawn.  She heard the sound of an engine in the stillness of the night and craned her neck down the road.  She saw headlights and the familiar shape of Patrick’s car.  She quickly wrapped herself up in her dressing gown and hurried down the stairs.  She flung open the front door to greet her husband.  Shelagh felt the cold air hit her lungs like a shower of needles.  She gasped as she struggled to breathe clasping at the door frame to stop herself collapsing.  Patrick came up the path as quickly as his feet would allow him.   He caught Shelagh in his arms and quickly carried her through to the sitting room, kicking the front door shut as he did so.   He sat her on the sofa and talked to her softly until her breathing was back under control.  

Shelagh noticed the streak of blood on his face and asked him how the delivery had gone.  He sighed and told her of the night that had been one of the toughest he’d faced in years.  Its similarity to Mave Carter’s labour with the haemorrhage and the fight to save the mother while they waited for the ambulance to arrive.  Both mother and baby were now at St Cuthbert’s and it was out of his hands.  It was touch and go for both of them but hopefully they would pull through.  Nurses Franklin and Crane had been marvellous with both of them keeping calm despite the increasing desperation of the situation.

Shelagh kissed Patrick’s forehead and smoothed his hair.  She knew he was replaying the events of the night in his mind.  She whispered to him that she was glad he was home.  He reached out and clasped her hand and she felt the iciness of his fingers.  She reluctantly let go and went to make him a cup of tea.  She filled him a hot water bottle and wrapped it in a towel to warm his feet.  Experience told her that if his hands were cold his feet would be freezing.  Shelagh knew Patrick was exhausted but their own bed was filled with sleeping children.  She went upstairs to the airing cupboard and collected an armful of spare bed linen.  Blankets and eiderdowns filled her arms so she could barely see to walk down the stairs.

She went back upstairs to collect Patrick’s dressing gown from the bedroom and check the children were still sleeping soundly.  She left the door slightly ajar so she could hear Teddy if he cried.  She found a flannel in the bathroom and returned to Patrick downstairs.  She filled a bowl with warm water and gently washed the blood from his face.  She knew that having a blood streaked face was a reminder of Italy and tonight had been challenging enough for him.  He sighed as she cleaned his face and leaned into her touch.  Shelagh explained that the children had ended up in their bed as it was so cold.  

While Patrick changed out of his suit and into his dressing gown, Shelagh made up the sofa into a makeshift bed.  With the lamps lit and the warmth from the radiator the room was cosy and comfortable.  The old gold coloured sofa wasn’t really long enough for Patrick or wide enough for both of them but it didn’t matter.  Shelagh snuggled next to Patrick trying to get him warm but her actions had the opposite effect than she intended.  She felt a cold hand slide beneath her dressing gown and slide up her leg.  She shivered even though her skin was still covered by the nightdress.  She wasn’t sure if it was from the coldness of his hand or the anticipation of his touch.   Patrick’s lips found Shelagh’s and his stubble was rough against her lips as he kissed her.  Shelagh knew that Patrick really should sleep but welcomed his touch and let her body warm him.  Shelagh knew that Patrick’s mind was in turmoil from all that he had witnessed during the delivery and only she could help him chase the shadows from his mind.

Shelagh was woken by a weak sunlight streaming through the gap in the sitting room curtains and Timothy holding a crying baby Teddy in his arms.  She adjusted her dressing gown as she sat up and pulled the eiderdown up around her and a gently snoring Patrick.  Timothy quickly disappeared with a mutter about putting the kettle on for some tea.  Shelagh got Teddy latched on and he sucked hungrily.  His bottom was damp but she would deal with that after he was fed.  She stroked Patrick’s hair with her free hand and felt his arms tighten around her.  

Timothy brought in tea and then collected Angela.  He carried her downstairs still wrapped in a blanket and rubbing sleep from her eyes.  Patrick woke and was shocked by the late hour.  He phoned Nonnatus only to be told of the fresh snow that had fallen just after dawn and that the roads were now impassable.  Sister Julienne informed him that she had taped a note to the surgery door explaining to ring the doctor if there was an emergency.

For the remainder of the morning, the Turner family were snuggled up on the sofa together, buried under a mound of blankets and eiderdowns.  Shelagh told stories of the Scottish winters of her childhood.   Both she and Patrick reminisced about the winter of 47 and whether this winter was colder still.  Eventually the family stirred from the sofa got dressed into their warmest clothes.  Shelagh made a big pot of soup to keep them warm.  

The snow had stopped falling and Timothy looked longingly out at the snow covered garden.  Angela pleaded with Patrick to be allowed out to play in the snow but was only outside for a short while.  She was so well wrapped up that she could barely walk but her giggles at her father and brother’s antics were a joy to hear.

Patrick had intended to help Angela build a snowman until a snowball hit him on the shoulder.  Timothy was not going to get away with behaviour like that and Patrick retaliated with a direct hit of his own.  Soon their competitive streaks were in full force with a flurry of snowballs whizzing across the garden.  Angela had retreated inside and watched the fun from the warmth of the house.  Shelagh held Teddy in her arms and watched through the window.  The cold was too much for a baby but she didn’t mind.  Patrick worked so hard and it was good to see him having fun with Timothy.  

Eventually the cold took its toll on the male Turners and they left the churned up snow of the garden for the warmth of the house.  After changing into dry clothes, the family once again snuggled up on the sofa together with hot chocolate and an almond sponge.  

Patrick had periodically checked with Sister Julienne on how things were but the extreme cold had kept the residents of Poplar at home.  He was not called out until the following morning when a brief rise in the temperatures caused people to venture into the streets, the resulting falls kept Patrick very busy indeed.

Every winter the family would reminisce about the snow day, a day full of stories and snowballs.  It was a rare day in their busy lives and was fondly remembered by the whole family, except for Teddy who had been only a small baby in February 63.

[snoopctm]

Here’s another short chapter. I had originally intended to write this all from Shelagh’s POV, and the rest of the story will be, but I had this little idea about Patrick in 1954 and decided to put it here. It’s another one of those “what a difference the years make” types of moments. I hope you enjoy it!

Thanks, as always for reading!

[alice1nwond3rland]

Have you all been…speculating?

Freaking Shelagh Turner, who doesn’t approve of speculations or even gambling

[kienova66]

Since you're interested in history, it would be interesting to have an AU story involving Turnadette with Timothy and Angela as kindertransport children during WWII. You always have great stories! Keep up your writing.

First off - Thank you for the compliment. Really. You’re spectacular. Secondly, you have NO IDEA how excited I was to get this as a prompt. (I may have jumped around at work when I read it.) As someone that teaches history and that has taught about this particuar section of history to multiple grade levels it was great to combine it with something else I love - writing and fanfiction.

For anyone else who is reading this, there are a giant pile of notes at the end of the story regarding the history of the Kindertransport if you’re interested in learning a little more about the reality of 1938 in Europe and Britain. ALSO: Please excuse my German. It is based off a dictionary and google translate. :)

–

“Nehmen Sie Ihre Schwester, gehenSie jetzt,” the words were barked out by the angry looking matron as she tiedcards to each child’s jacket, thrusting the infant into his arms. He looked up,confused as to what was going on as the entire population of the orphanage washastily shuffled out the door and towards the waiting trucks, an anxiouslooking woman with a clipboard standing next to the closest vehicle.

“Sind Familien auf sie warten?”the matron called, shoving a sobbing little girl into the arms of one of themen who was loading the trucks.

“Die meisten von ihnen,” came the clipped answer. “Beeil dich bitte.” He swallowed, hard, worried at thestatement. Would there be someone to meet him at the other end of the journeyhe was about to go on? Would they be able to care for him? Would they treat himwith detached concern with a hint of resentment like the matron of theorphanage, or would they welcome him like the parents that lived in therecesses of his memory, taken just days after his sister was born? He felthimself being lifted into the truck, settling the baby on his lap, holding hertight to him as the truck lurched into motion, heading for the train station.

The next day and a half flew by,filled with trains, adults speaking in rushed German, French, and English. Theolder children talking in hushed whispers, speculating what was happening,catching the rumblings of tension from the adults as they passed through cityafter city before ending up in a dreary train station, rain pattering againstthe windows as they were shuttled off the train, crowded onto the platformwhere uniformed men and women stood with clipboards and pens, rigid in the seaof children and anxious looking adults that lined the opposite end of theplatform.

“Es wird sein in ordnung Angelika,”he whispered, kissing the top of the baby’s head, watching how she lookedaround, unsure in the new surroundings. She scrunched up her nose beforeyawning, cuddling into the worn coat that adorned her brother’s slight frame. Hestrained his ears to listen, unsure of the dialect that the uniformed man wasusing as he bustled about the children, nudging them into a semblance of orderbased on the numbers that were pinned to their coats. He felt exhausted, thepanic from the last few days finally catching up with his young body, the fearof falling asleep to only find that something disastrous had happened havingkept him away for the majority of their journey.

“Timotei Kronecker!” the man yelled just as he felt himselfsway on his feet slightly. Shifting the baby in his arms he raised a hand,allowing himself to be pulled from the crowd and towards the group of adults atthe other end of the platform. “And I’m guessing the little one is AngelikaKronecker,” the man muttered, looking down at his clipboard before tapping thewoman at the typewriter on the shoulder.

“Got both of the Kronecker’s from Wijsmuller-Meijer’s batch in Vienna,” the mansaid, checking their names off his list. The woman turned, her kind eyesscanning over their haggard appearance as she gently reached out and checkedtheir number cards.

“Patrick Turner!” she yelled, glancing around the throng of adults as adark haired man moved towards her. “And Shelagh Mannion!” A blonde woman camefrom the opposite direction, her eyes wide.

“Mr. Turner, if you could show me your identification please,” the womaninstructed, accepting the piece of paper she was passed as the man ran a handthrough his hair, dark eyes looking over the children with care.

“They look exhausted,” he said, frowning.

“I’m afraid their journey was very short notice. Things in Europe areturning south quickly,” the woman replied, checking a few boxes before passingPatrick a paper to sign. “And Miss Mannion, if I could see your identificationtoo please.” The woman pulled the paperwork from her purse, a sob catching inher throat.

“The poor darlings,” she murmured, following Patrick’s actions of signingthe required documents.

“I’m afraid they don’t have much, they’ve both come from an orphanagethat had to be liquidated quickly. All the children are Jewish from that area,”the woman went on, signing a few things of her own before pulling two singlepieces of paper out, one for each child, which she passed to the two adults infront of her.

“Of course,” Patrick mused.

“All right,best to get this sorted. Timotei, you’re going to gowith Mr. Turner,” the woman said, rising from her chair only to crouch downnext to him, her grey skirt clinging to her legs. Timotei cocked his head,unsure of her words as she reached out and gently took Angelika from his arms.“Miss Mannion, you’ll be taking Angelika.” The adults exchanged a glance beforenodding, Shelagh reaching out to take Angelika who was falling asleep, andPatrick reaching for Timotei’s hand.

“It’s all right Tim,” Patrick said, bendingdown until he was eye-level with the boy. “You’re going to be all right. Ipromise.” Gently, he tugged the boy’s hand, leading him out of the crowdedstation with Shelagh not that far behind. “Do you think he understands what’sgoing on?” Patrick questioned, looking back at the blonde woman who wasfollowing him, tears in her eyes as she cuddled the little girl close.

“I don’t think any of them understand,” sheanswered, voice shaking. The air that hit them when they made it to the streetwas cold and damp, the occasional frigid raindrop splattering onto the greypavement. Shelagh shivered, pulling her coat tighter around herself andAngelika as she walked towards the bus stop at the other end of the road,leaving Patrick and Timotei to head in the opposite direction. It took a momentfor the boy to realise his sister was no longer with him, his little heelsdigging into the concrete and his hand frantically trying to rid itself ofPatrick’s grip when he noticed.

“Nien! Nicht ohne meine Schwester!” Timotei yelled, tears springing to his eyes ashe tried to escape, managing to pry himself away from Patrick as he raced downthe road towards Shelagh, grabbing her legs and holding on for dear life. Shelooked shocked, her blue eyes staring down at him with sorrow and trepidation.Patrick raced after him, eyes affright as he reached her side.

“Tim!” hescolded, lungs heaving.

“Nicht ohne meine Schwester,” the boy sobbed, holding tight. “P-please.”It was the only English word he really knew. He had heard it from a man not farfrom the orphanage a few times. The man had disappeared a few weeks before.That was when the matron had started talking about trains and protecting thechildren. He hadn’t understood it. He still didn’t. But he knew it was a way toask for something. A way to beg. He felt the woman’s hand in his hair then,stroking over his head, a cry coming from her throat.

“He doesn’twant to leave his sister,” she muttered, looking over at Patrick, tears slidingdown her cheeks.

“You speakGerman?” Patrick asked, resting his hand atop Shelagh’s on the boy’s head.

“Only alittle,” she confessed. “Enough to know he wants his sister.” Patrick sighed.

“What arewe supposed to do?” he questioned. He had never met the woman before, havingbeen so wrapped up in his studies at medical school that the thought of findingsomeone to spend his life with was far from his mind. He couldn’t remember thelast time he had gone dancing or out with his colleagues for a drink. Hedoubted he would have found this woman regardless, her eyes crystal clear andfilled with more emotion than he thought a person could convey in one look.

“I don’tknow,” she confessed, sniffing slightly.

“Pleasedon’t think me forward Miss, but maybe we could grab some tea. Get the childrensomething to eat and… maybe we will be able to figure something out given alittle time and something in our stomachs?” Patrick offered. Shelagh nodded, ashaking breath leaving her.

“Lassuns essen. Wir gehen zusammen,”Shelagh said, stumbling over the words slightly as she tried to speak to theboy who looked up at her, eyes watering and nose running. He nodded his headagainst her skirt, allowing Patrick to pry him away and wipe his face with ahandkerchief he pulled from his pocket as they moved down the street towards acafe.

Patrickordered them food while Shelagh tried to clean the children up slightly in thebathroom, washing Timotei’s hands and passing a damp cloth over Angelika’sfeatures before changing her nappy with the supplies she had luckily brought inher bag. The soup that awaited them on the table warmed Timotei as he drank it,his eyes drooping with each sip. He desperately wished to sleep, but was scaredif he closed his eyes he would never see Angelika again. The same thing hadhappened with his parents. He had gone to sleep with a loving family, andawoken an orphan with a screaming baby in the next room. Despite his bestefforts he nodded off, listing sideways until he was pressed against Patrick’sarm, his breathing low and even.

“What if welet them see each other once a week?” Patrick offered, wrapping his arm aroundthe boy and pulling him in close. “I live in Poplar but I could come to you ifthe journey is too far with a little one in tow?”

“I’m justin Stepney so it isn’t that far. Maybe we could meet halfway? Or one week oneof us travels, and the next the other? My Godmother is in Poplar so we may bethere on occasion anyway,” Shelagh answered, rocking Angelika as the littlegirl slept. “Can I confess something to you Mr. Turner?” she asked after a beat.

“Of course.And… if we’re going to be seeing one another on a regular basis for the sakeof the little ones  please call mePatrick.”

“Patrick…I’ve no idea how to raise a baby,” she said, straight faced. The table wasengulfed by silence for a moment before he burst out laughing, Shelagh’sgiggles intermingling with the sound.

“I’ve noidea either,” he agreed, rubbing the tears from his eyes as he continued tochuckle, glad that both children were asleep. They exchanged information afterthat, Patrick insisting they split a cab back to their respective districts asthe sky opened up once again, soaking the late afternoon in a frigid downpour.He gathered Timotei into his arms, carrying the boy out to the taxi, watchinghow gingerly Shelagh settled Angelika into her lap once she was inside. Hecouldn’t help but smile, the terror in his heart subsiding at the picture thesleeping children made.

XxX

The firstweek was a near disaster. Timotei cried daily, begging for his sister and,despite Patrick’s attempts at reassurance that they would see her after churchon Sunday, the little boy’s language barrier made it near impossible for him tounderstand. It wasn’t until the boy saw his sister again, perched on Shelagh’ship on the steps of the church, that he calmed, racing up the concrete until hecould grab onto the woman, reaching for the giggling baby girl instantly.

“He’s beeninconsolable,” Patrick confessed, eyes rimmed in dark circles as he traversedthe entryway of the parish until he was standing next to the younger woman. Shesmiled up at him, her own eyes encircled in the red of an exhausted parent.“How has Angela been?” Shelagh laughed, shaking her head.

“Angelika,”she said, grinning up at him. “Although, I do admit, Angela is more to my taste.”She knelt down, passing the girl to her brother carefully before standingagain. “She’s been lovely. If only she would sleep through the night. Or formore than two hours at a time. I thought a child of her age would have a moreregular sleep schedule by now. Although, I’m sure the upset of the journey andleaving her home has been a nasty shock.” Patrick nodded, leaning against theentryway as Timotei cuddled Angelika.

“I’vestarted calling him Tim,” he mused. “Every time I try to say his name, it endsup coming out Timothy. I thought maybe a nickname would be better.” Shelaghchuckled, nodding, mirroring his position as she stifled a yawn behind herhand.

“I wouldn’tgive her up for anything. Especially with the things I’ve been hearing aboutthe Germans but… this will get easier, won’t it?” she whispered, looking upat Patrick.

“It will.In time,” he assured her.

XxX

The springand summer flew by, things easing until there was a regular schedule for bothadults and their respective charges. Timotei quickly picked up enough Englishto communicate, adapting to being called Timothy with startling clarity as soonas he realised he wasn’t going to lose his baby sister in the days they spentapart. Patrick was kind to him, bought him new clothes and gave him his ownroom and his own bed. He had been used to sharing with another boy at theorphanage and sometimes Angelika to boot, but he revelled in the freedom ofbeing able to move in his sleep.

MissMannion quickly became ‘Auntie Shelagh,’ the boy taking to her as much as hehad to Patrick after the initial shock wore off. She doted on him, sneaking himsweets when Patrick wasn’t looking during their weekly outings, running aroundthe park with him whenever he asked. Angelika giggled constantly, learning totoddle after the adults and her brother with clumsy steps.  

September came quickly, the adults in Poplargrowing grim and frightened as the radio boomed out a message from a manTimothy didn’t know, the words “Britain is at war with Germany” echoing aroundthe community. He didn’t understand what it meant. He tried asking, but Patricknever explained, his own expression dimming when he received a letter in thepost one morning. The man picked up the phone, calling a number and waiting.

“I know itisn’t Sunday but… I need to speak with you. I’ve a letter from the ArmedServices Act…”  

In lessthan an hour the boy found himself playing with Angelika in the garden of aconvent, a gentle looking nun watching over them and crawling about on thegrass with Angelika when she was pulled down by the girl with littlehesitation, a laugh echoing out of the woman’s lungs. Shelagh had placed a handon the woman’s arm before following Patrick into the building.

“You’vebeen conscripted?” Shelagh asked once she closed the door to the office theyhad been leant by her God mother, Sister Julienne. Patrick nodded, face grim ashe held the letter out to her.

“I’m notsure how quickly they’ll ask me to go. I know I’m going to pass the medical…and will probably be placed in the medical corps because I’m a physician but…what am I to do with Tim? I know it is a lot to ask Shelagh. More than I shouldever wish to have to ask you. But I was wondering –”

“Patrick,you know I’ll take him in a heartbeat,” Shelagh answered, grabbing his hand. “Ijust… I don’t know if they’re going to let me. Single foster parents… we’rerestricted to one child. I don’t know if they will let me and –”

“Let’s getmarried.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think better aboutthem. Shelagh stared, eyes wide. He had been thinking about asking if he couldcourt the woman for a while, her gentle yet fiery nature complimenting his ownin a way he never thought possible. The way she cared for Angelika and Timalike, melted his heart, his pulse pounding every time he thought of her intheir time apart. Sundays, a day he had always dreaded, attending church onrote rather than because of actual devotion, had quickly become the day helooked forward to each week, knowing that he would see the woman across fromhim for a few hours.

“Are… areyou sure? We can try and look for another way if –” she stumbled, fidgetingwith her hands against the fabric of her skirt.

“I’m sure.I… I’ve been meaning to ask for weeks if… if you would like to see oneanother… more. For more than just the children getting to see each other. Astwo people that could… well… fall in love,” he rambled, suddenly nervous.Patrick felt his palms start to sweat, desperately trying to keep himself fromrubbing the back of his neck.

“You… youthink you could… love me?” The words sounded so shocked and unsure that itnearly broke him.

“I alreadyknow that I do,” he replied, crossing the few inches between them until hecould seize her hands in his own, holding them close to his heart. “I think Istarted falling in love with you the moment you told me you had no idea how toraise a baby. You were so pure and honest in that moment Shelagh. I had nochance of not loving you.” She responded by leaning up to kiss him, standing onher toes until their lips met.

XxX

He shippedout mere weeks after they married, holding her tight to him as long as possiblebefore pulling back to drop kisses on the foreheads of both children.

Hecherished the letters Shelagh sent, even as they broke his heart. Angelika, whoresponded to Angela more than her initial given name, had cried for him everynight for a month. Timothy had become subdued at home even as he attendedschool, learning English and mathematics with gusto.

The wardragged on. For nearly five years he found himself trudging through Europe,only allowed on leave every six months or so to go home and see his littlefamily. Shelagh and the children spent the majority of the war in Scotland on afarm owned by her cousins, safe from the constant threat of Nazi invasion andbombings that struck London. Every time he returned to the mainland he wantednothing more than to run back to the boat and return to Britain, shaking in hissleep at night in Italy as bombs rained down, as casualties piled into themedical tents.

When 1945hit and the call came that the war was over he fell to his knees and prayed,sobbing into the dirt ground of the hospital tent.

Shelagh andthe children were waiting for him at the docks when his boat finally landed inEngland two months after the war came to its official conclusion. She had broughtthe children back to London at the start of 1945 once the worst of the Nazithreat was over. She stood on the wooden pier, skirt blowing in the wind andhighlighting the swollen belly she had, a product of his last leave fromservice two months before Christmas. Timothy, now twelve, stood nearly as tallas his adoptive mother, looking more like Patrick than the man had thought waspossible. Angela, a bouncing six year old, raced towards him the minute hisfeet left the gangplank, throwing herself in his arms with a scream of “DADDY!”

Shelagh wason him next, peppering his face with kisses and pressing as close as her stomachwould allow.

“You’ve gotthem right? You’re discharged? They can’t take you back?” she rushed, lettingout a sob when Patrick pressed the discharge papers into her waiting hand.Timothy hugged his father from the other side, a sigh escaping the boy.

“You needto take care of Mum, I was worried I would be delivering a baby myself beforeyou got back. Sister Julienne would have been so cross if that was myintroduction to human anatomy,” Timothy mumbled, causing both of the adults tolaugh. He took his sister’s hand, leading her down the docks and towards thestreet.

“Well youwon’t have to wait long,” Shelagh whispered as Patrick wrapped an arm aroundher shoulders, starting to guide her back towards their flat. He raised aneyebrow, looking down at the woman he never would have imagined to be his wifehad anyone asked him before the war. Had he never been listening to the radiothe night foster parents were called for; had he never applied; had he neverwanted to keep the children who now walked in front of him happy and togetheras much as possible, he never would have gotten the life he now found himselfin.

“Why’sthat?” he asked, revelling in the weak British sunlight that streamed throughthe streets of Poplar as they walked. She grinned up at him and it was onlythen that he noticed the slight perspiration at her hairline, her eyesbetraying the pain she was in.

“I’ve beenhaving contractions for the last few hours.”

—-

AUTHOR’S NOTES

Quick notes regarding the historythis story is based around (mainly because I’m a history teacher and was soexcited to get this as a prompt because I could use my fandom love AND myhistory love in the same thing)

I took a few liberties with thisbecause of the way my writing muse wanted me to go. First let me apologise forchanging Tim and Angela’s names/spelling of them but chances are theAnglo-spelling of their names would not be common among Austrian-Jewish familiesin the 30’s.

Single parent homes were NOTapproved for members of the Kindertransport in 1938/1939. It was preferable forchildren to be placed with young/middle aged couples or elderly couples duringthis transition as long as they fit the requirements for being foster parentsfor the duration of the unrest in Europe. Although many children had decenthomes (500 applications were put in during the first call out for parents) manydid not have a safe new life in Britain as the reason for volunteer families tooffer up their homes was never taken into account. (Each child was given £50for their eventual return trip which often never occurred).

The first transport began on December 1, 1938from Berlin to England and the last Kindertransport left from the Netherlandson May 14, 1940. However, the last transport from Germany left on September 1,1939 – the same day that Germany invaded Poland. World War II was declared onSeptember 3, 1939 between Britain/France (and quickly the commonwealth) againstGermany. The National Service (Armed Forced) Act was declared the same day,calling for all fit men from ages 18-41 to be conscripted into service for theBritish military.

Geertruida Wijsmuller-Meijer was credited with helping to save over10,000 children through the Kindertransports. She fought with Adolf Eichmann,the man who would later go on to organize the transportation of the Jewishpeople to concentration camps, particularly Auschwitz. He first told her thatshe could have no children for the program, and then gave her 600 in one day,expecting that she would not be able to have them transported in his short timelimit. Geertruida managed to have all 600 transported out of Austria to GreatBritain and The Hague beginning December 10, 1938. Following this mass export of children inDecember of 1938, she continued to transport Jewish children out of Germanyseveral times a week until the invasion of the Netherlands and the closure ofEuropean borders at the outbreak of World War II.

THANKS FOR READING! <3

[alwaysmilingsam]

An idea of how the big spoiler secret may play out - wanted to get it out before we find out for certain in three days!!!!!!!