Snippets

Evelyn

A/N: This short story is fact based fiction, all of the characters appearing and mentioned in the story are - or were- real people as are the quotations. The matron, nurse, presenter and crew are the only fictional characters. The date of the interview is set in 2011, and the historical event took place on 13th July 1955 in Holloway Prison. London.

                                                                   EVELYN

'Quiet Please! Please be quiet! This is a hospice, and you are disturbing the patients with your noise."

The hushed shout from the outraged matron brought to a silent halt the chaos of men and film equipment bursting through the entrance doors. An elegantly coiffured lady in her late thirties, sporting a genial smile appeared to squeeze out of the tangle of men and recording gear and approached the distraught matron, holding out her hand in greeting.

'I am so sorry matron. We intended no disrespect and will be as quiet as mice from now on. ...I am Olive Parsons, the presenter. Thank you for letting us interview Evelyn.'

The corners of the matron's mouth rose in a faint smile as she took hold of the proffered hand and became aware of Olive's heavy foundation make-up, the purple Stella McCartney trouser suit and LK Bennet shoes.'

'You are welcome. I know who you are from watching you on TV, but who are all these others?' The matron nodded towards the bunch of apparent hooligans crowding her doorway.

Olive threw back her head and laughed. 'Oh them! They're our crew.' She extended an arm, indicating a small, dapper man earnestly consulting a clipboard with a young lady wearing a fluffy jumper and extremely tight jeans. 'This is our director and his assistant, the others are the camera, sound and lighting team.' Olive took charge, grasping the matron's elbow to lead her further into the building and away from the door.

'How is Evelyn,' she asked, 'I understand it's her birthday today?"

'She's 84 and very inquisitive, but she tires easily. With so many of you, I'm not so sure...'

Olive squeezed the matron's arm. 'Don't you worry; we'll be very careful and considerate. We have to set up the lights, sound and camera before we interview. How would you like us to do this?'

Over the next twenty minutes the director and his assistant, followed by the film crew went in one by one to introduce themselves to Evelyn and set up their various equipments. Olive was the last to enter, with the crew following her discreetly back into the room to commence the interview.

In a glance, Olive took in the frail person in the bed, propped up by pillows in a sitting position, her thinning, combed-back steel grey hair above sunken cheeks and coarse skin, lined by hardship and greyed with age. The lady sat with her hands resting on the counterpane in front of her.

The presenter caught her breath at the sight of once strong hands now reddened and deformed by disease into bony claws. She also took in the lady's smile of recognition, and the fierce, intelligence lurking behind the pale, blue eyes that were fixed unflinchingly upon her.

Olive sat in the upright chair beside the bed and rested one hand lightly over the bundle of skin and bones that were the remnants of Evelyn's right hand. Her heart beamed out to this fragile old lady in a genuine smile.

'Hello Evelyn, I'm Olive Parsons. I'm here to spend a little time with you and to wish you a happy birthday from all of us at Look North. You do watch the programme don't you?'

The lady snorted, then her lips parted to emit a light, but pleasant cackle. 'I know who you are, I see you everyday on TV. Fancy you coming to see me here on my birthday.' Her voice was firm, carrying a lilt of excitement.