A House for Sister Mary

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘Dear boy, thank you, but not at my age! I shall enjoy watching you. Come along!’ There was nothing we could do but return to Ward Three with her. She smiled fondly on us as we moved on to the floor. The students running the radiogram chose that moment to put on one of our very few waltz L.P.s I waited until we were well away from Sister Mary.

  ‘Robert, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I’d be obliged if you didn’t say anything. My godfather dislikes having his affairs discussed, and so do I.’

  ‘I didn’t mean about that. I won’t spread it around.’ I looked up. ‘Oh, hell, Robert, you know very well I’m trying to say I’m sorry.’

  The corners of his mouth turned down in a derisive smile. ‘I expect you are. No one likes making a fool of himself.’

  Having asked for that, I had to take it. We finished our dance in silence. Nick came over directly the music stopped, and Robert took himself off.

  A little later I told Nick about the nightingales in our wood, and he instantly insisted I took him down to hear them, which I did. He did not ask why I had changed my mind, and I did not tell him. But when he began to kiss me I suddenly realised Robert had indirectly done us both a good turn. Then, as Nick kissed very well, I stopped thinking about anything else for quite some time.

  Chapter Three

  OBSERVATION RIVALS THE UNITED NATIONS

  The train from Astead raced past apple and cherry orchards covered in blossom and hop gardens that were still forests of bare poles, the brown earth newly hoed and the young hops invisible. The bricks of the oast-houses were orange in the late afternoon sunshine, and in the fields beyond the orchards the ewes were half asleep with one eye on their lambs. The lambs were chasing each other round in circles. The pylons straddling the country from the downs ahead to the coast behind us looked like petrified giants carrying milk-pails.

  We had the carriage to ourselves, but only Harriet had done much talking. Our taxi had dropped Sister Mary at the Fergusons’ house in Wylden before taking us on to Astead. Jill Collins had in her handbag for Matron the main set of Mat Unit keys newly labelled Wylden House. The spare front- and back door keys had been left with Frank.

  We were in the outer suburbs before Jill roused herself to discuss our future plans for Sister Mary’s cottage. Jill produced a list of the many people who had offered their help as decorators. ‘We’d better form a committee. Right?’ I nodded and Harriet grunted. ‘If only a third of these people join us we should be able to get that place perfect without it costing Sister Mary more than the price of paint and brushes. But it’ll need spring-cleaning before any painting can start. Mr. Martin marries in three weeks, and Sister hopes to move in the week after. There should be a week-end in between. How would it be if we three made a fixed date now to get down and clean up that week-end?’

  ‘Suits me, Nurse, if I’m off,’ I said, expecting Harriet to echo this, as it was an idea that had already occurred to us and we had roughly agreed on.

  Harriet was vague. She thought she might have to go home that particular week-end for some family celebration. ‘May I let you know, Nurse?’

  ‘Any time.’ Jill made a note in her diary.

  Home Sister came down our front steps as our taxi drew up. ‘Welcome back, Nurses! That is, I should have said, “Welcome back, Sister Elizabeth and Nurses!” ’

  Jill looked startled, as if, like myself, she had forgotten her promotion. Home Sister gave Harriet and myself our room numbers, then escorted Jill to the Sisters’ Home next door.

  ‘There goes your chum “Hurricane Jill”, and a chum no longer, mate. We are back in St. Barnabas’ Hospital, London.’ Harriet looked at the assorted blocks across the road. ‘Democracy may have raised its naive head in the Mat Unit, but it’s still a dirty word up here.’

  ‘I can’t see Collins allowing the fact that she’s now a member of the upper classes go to her head.’ I put down my bags to study the new Mary. I had seen it going up without bothering to look at it properly. I felt now as if it belonged to me. ‘Imagine, Harriet, that came out of Nick’s head. Isn’t it wonderful? It seems to be floating.’

  ‘Hasn’t he rather overdone the glass? And why did he have to put it on legs?’

  ‘So that the ambulances can drive right in.’

  She said she supposed that was a point, but she was not sure she would like to be up on that top floor when the east wind was blowing up river. ‘What’s that hideous mass of scaffolding over there? Another of your golden wonder boy’s dream children?’

  ‘Yes. The new kids’ block.’

  ‘That going to keep him around the old firm?’

  ‘Yes.’ I smiled at my thoughts. ‘Let’s get our keys.’

  The portress was new to us. ‘Nurse H. H. Jones? I thought Home sister said Nurse A. H. Jones?’

  I read the many notices in our hall while Harriet was sorting this out. One particularly drew my attention. ‘Harriet, isn’t the Cricket Club dance the week-end you have to go home?’

  ‘Had you forgotten?’ She turned, smiling.

  ‘Yes. Not that it matters. I’m not dated. You?’

  ‘I haven’t a date for it yet. I will have. That’s why I wasn’t tying myself down to a jolly scrubbing week-end. I adore Sister Mary and would do anything for her, but there are limits!’

  The portress finally produced our keys and a sheath of yellow roses.

  ‘You Nurse Anna Rowe, Nurse? Then these come for you.’

  Harriet read Nick’s card over my shoulder. ‘Ringing tomorrow evening to find out your off-duty, eh? A fast worker,’ she murmured, ‘and smooth. Very smooth.’

  We had not yet had time for a private postmortem on Saturday night. During the party I had managed to tell her Nick was nothing to do with Mr. Norris, which had rather annoyed her, as she said quite honestly that she detested being wrong. Going up in the lift, I suggested we unpacked quickly and had a good natter before supper and meeting up with the other girls.

  ‘Sorry, Anna. I’ve got a date.’

  I was curious. ‘Who with? And why didn’t you tell me before?’

  ‘Forgot. Charles Devon. He’s one of Blakelock’s housemen. He was down on Saturday, and I danced with him quite a bit. I don’t expect you noticed,’ she added, not unkindly. ‘You were not exactly with us that night. By the way, how did you enjoy the nightingales?’

  ‘Very much.’ We laughed at each other. ‘You heard them too?’

  ‘Duckie,’ said Harriet, ‘you know me! I don’t need nightingales.’ The lift stopped. ‘Must fly or I’ll be late. See you at breakfast.’

  ‘Sure. Have a good time.’

  ‘I always do.’

  That was true. Harriet, despite or possibly because of her comfortable curves, had more dates than any other girl I knew, and enjoyed them all with equal enthusiasm. I should have guessed she would fix up something for her first evening back, and as I had Nick’s roses for company I was perfectly happy to potter on with my unpacking and then go over to supper alone. There were a few girls I knew by sight, but not one I had ever worked with, at the senior table in the nurses’ dining-room. The girls asked politely if I had enjoyed midder and where I was now working, then chatted among themselves. I felt nearly as strange as when I was a new junior out of the P.T.S., but much more alone, as in those days I had my whole set of fellow-juniors to support me. Only three of my original set now remained in the hospital; two were at present on holiday, and the third was on night duty.

  I walked all round the outside of the hospital after supper. Having admired the new Mary from all external angles, I felt much happier and strong enough to go into Casualty and read through the massive residents’ list on the porter’s lodge outer wall. As we had approximately ninety consultants and each one had at least two and often four attached residents, the list took some reading. Robert Gordon was one of Mr. Blakelock’s registrars. Mr. Blakelock was a consultant general surgeon. I was delighted to see that his list of wards did not include Observation.
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  My first reaction on seeing Sabina Wardell at close quarters next morning was to wonder if all our men were blind. She was tall, slim, and blonde, with regular features and a perfect skin. Next I wondered why she had taken so long to be made a sister. Jill Collins had taken longer, but that had been from her own choice. She had consistently refused promotion until the Mat Unit closed. I had not heard of Wardell’s turning down any other sister’s job, and those things generally got round. She might have been waiting for a plum post like Observation, and her now having it showed Matron had a high opinion of her. Yet, though I had not troubled to think on it before, it did strike me as odd she should have spent four years senior staffing in Elizabeth, and when Matron wanted a new Sister Elizabeth she had offered the position to Jill. Certainly Elizabeth was a gynae ward, where Jill’s long midder experience would be invaluable, but, as Wardell would have known the ward inside out, I should have thought her the ideal person for the job. Very odd, I decided, watching Wardell’s lovely, composed face as she listened to the night girl. Some time I must ask someone about this.

  Sister ignored me until the report was over. She raised one eyebrow.

  ‘I understand you were junior staff nurse in Florence Ward before doing your midwifery, Nurse Rowe.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  Her large grey eyes considered me impassively. ‘I have read your reports from Sister Florence and the former Sister Mary.’ She paused. I waited, expecting some more comments. None came.

  I said, ‘Yes, Sister.’

  She looked at a file on her desk. ‘You will be my second staff nurse. Nurse Addy will be your senior, Nurse Trimmer your junior. You will work with your own team. Nurse Addy will explain your work and introduce you to your patients and team as I have now to see Matron.’

  She handed me a detailed work-list, diagnosis, treatment, and team-list, the ward off-duty rota, and a copy of our twenty-four-hourly shift system without another word. She did not address a single non-professional remark to me for the next couple of weeks.

  On my third day I asked Nurse Addy, ‘Does Sister ever talk? Or is she just allergic to redheads?’

  Addy I had worked with previously. She had been my senior on nights when I was night relief in Arthur Ward three years ago. She was in her second, and normally final, year as senior staff nurse. ‘Don’t ask me, love!’ she retorted cheerfully. ‘I haven’t found out any of her likes or allergies yet. She’s only been with us seven weeks.’

  The Observation Ward occupied the top floor of the new medical block. Though technically a general ward, it was made up of two long rows of single-bedded small wards lying off a centre corridor. The twenty-eight rooms were divided among us three staff nurses, and each patient was nursed only by his or her nursing team. As Addy took over the ward in Sister’s off-day, my team had the extra room. Our rooms were One to Ten, Trimmer’s Eleven to Nineteen, Addy’s the rest. Observation had a larger nursing staff than any other ward or department in the hospital, but no first-year students were included among the nurses.

  The ward had been open eighteen months, and was the first Barny’s ward built and equipped to treat patients under near-sterile conditions. There was not one unrounded corner in the entire ward and not one window that could be opened. We worked in purified air provided by our own highly complicated air-conditioner, and the temperature was always early summer in the rooms and spring in the corridors and outhouses. We wore gowns, masks, special shoes that never stepped beyond the ward, and often sterile gloves, all day. Every time we went from one patient to another we changed our gowns. On a normal week’s laundry list the Observation nurses’ gowns numbered around five hundred. Often the figure was higher. One cupboard that in another ward would have been a full-sized linen-room was devoted to gowns alone.

  There was not a broom, brush, dustpan, mop, or duster in the place. All the cleaning was done with vacuum cleaners of varying sizes; every bedpan and bottle was sterilised after use. The sluices had as many huge sterilisers as our theatres. The washing-up machines in the ward kitchen were set to boil for twenty minutes after each meal.

  On my first morning Addy said, ‘There’s just one thing to remember: whatever it is, it’s got to be boiled before and after use.’

  We did not admit infectious patients, the whole idea being to prevent our patients being infected by any stray bug floating in on the air, on or from their nurses and doctors, the very few and carefully vetted medical students allowed near them, or their own visitors. Addy warned me, ‘If you only think you are getting a cold or a septic finger for God’s sake report it, and don’t come near us until you are cleared, or you’ll get chucked out of Observation so fast you won’t know what’s hit you. And watch your team, and above all your visitors. You’ll have to be ruthless, but you’ll have everyone from Old Julius downwards to back you up. No bugs are allowed in Observation, and that is official.’

  We had patients of both sexes, including children from eight upwards, officially from every firm in the hospital, but mainly, for obvious reasons, from the surgical side. Addy said the three men who kept us most busy were Sir Julius Charing, our senior consultant surgeon and one of the pioneers in kidney grafts; Mr. Browne, our top cranial surgeon; and Mr. Bunney, a thoracic surgeon. Sir Julius and Mr. Bunney were contemporaries. Mr. Browne, known throughout Barny’s as Brown-plus-E, had once been one of their students. He was in his forties, though he looked much older, and along with another younger pundit, Mr. Muir, head of our Ophthalmic Department, he had first demanded the Observation Ward several years ago. Messrs. Browne and Muir were great friends and determined men. They had talked, lectured, coaxed, bullied, and eventually swung the great Sir Julius to their side. Even Sir Julius had had a tough time with his more conservative colleagues, and was reputed to have said later that he understood how Lister must have felt when he first suggested his carbolic spray. ‘After all I have had to listen to about our having excellent results without all this a-sterile nonsense, I’m only surprised I’ve not had a lecture on laudable pus!’

  Inevitably, once Observation had been open long enough to show the excellent results that could be obtained by the new technique, every pundit in Barny’s and a good many outside, wanted our rooms. Addy said, ‘The United Nations had nothing on us. Your Mr. Mulligan in Room One had a lung out last week. He’s a Brazilian, despite his name. They flew him to us from Buenos Aires. Mrs. Lee, the head tumour in Fourteen, is Chinese. From Singapore. And my little Tina ‒ the nice little kid in twenty-eight ‒ and her mum in twenty-seven are New Australians. They were Poles. They settled in some small town in Queensland, and when it was found Tina had to have a new kidney the whole town clubbed together to pay all their fares. Dad’s come along too. He’s in our flat. Mum’s donating her left kidney. I’ve got that on this afternoon.’

  All our patients had one thing in common. In hospital language, they were ill ‒ which meant very ill indeed. A scarlet D.I.L. (Dangerously Ill List) label on the outside of a door was the rule, not the exception. And as the close relatives of any Barny’s D.I.L. patient could stay in the hospital throughout the danger period, Observation had its own ‘relatives’ flat’ at the far end of the corridor beyond the lifts and stairwell. The relatives had their own gowns, masks, and overshoes. None of their flat windows could be opened since shock and worry makes people cold, in that flat the temperature was always set at midsummer.

  ‘Well?’ asked Addy one evening at the end of my first week. ‘What do you think of it now?’

  ‘Fascinating and frightening.’

  ‘I know. After eighteen months I’ve got used to living on the edge of the next crisis. All I’ve not got used to is not being able to open a window.’

  That was still bothering me. ‘Not that the air doesn’t smell fresh. I keep smelling the sea. Are they pumping in ozone along with our nice aseptic air?’

  ‘Something like that. Must be very health-giving as the sickness rate of Observation nurses is nil. You finished? It’s time for
report.’

  Sister did no actual nursing, as all her time was occupied with administering her very complex ward, dealing with the consultant medical rounds, and with the many relatives and their problems. But from her very detailed reports she knew everything about every single patient, and, though her attitude appeared so detached and her manner so reserved, her professional insight and computer-like memory were most impressive.

  I mentioned this to Nick when he rang me for the second time since my return to London.

  ‘Your ward sister is a pal of Jill Collins?’ he queried, and before I could answer, went on, ‘Anna, my sweet, you’ll have to take that girl in hand!’

  ‘Jill? Why?’

  ‘I’ve been remembering that bronze outfit she wore the other night. The line was fine, but the colour was impossible for her.’

  ‘Nick,’ I said, amused, ‘with your interest in fashion you ought to try dress designing.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be any good at that, darling!’

  ‘Why not? When you’re so keen on colours?’

  He said sadly, ‘I have another weakness that would stop me from getting to first base. You’ll keep this to yourself ‒ but I have strong, but strong, heterosexual inclinations.’

  ‘Which, of course, you do your best to keep under control.’

  ‘Care to make a small bet?’

  That rang a bell. I only placed it after we had discussed which show we wanted to see on my next free evening and he rang off. I went slowly back to my room, thinking of Robert in the kitchen that party evening.

  Harriet was waiting with tea. ‘Why so glum? The golden boy had to call off your next date?’

  ‘No.’ I exclaimed, thinking of Robert.

  She laughed. ‘Charles says Blakelock has no patients in Observation. Just as well.’

  ‘I’ll say. And how is Charles?’

  ‘Dandy! He’s dated me for the Cricket Club dance. You going to get the golden boy to take you?’

  I hesitated, not wanting to sound smug. The Cricket Club dance might be amusing but it was nothing special, and if I had that week-end off I did want to go down to Wylden. I said evasively, ‘It’s an idea. I’ll think about it.’