A House for Sister Mary

by Lucilla Andrews

  I had not intended talking shop, as Nick was an outsider, but he had brought up the subject of Observation and asked if I had any interesting patients. ‘Is this Elkroyd one of our chaps?’

  ‘On your buildings? No. He’s from the North. A honey of a man. He talks as little as Sister. They should get on well.’

  ‘And do they?’

  ‘My dear man, don’t ask me! I work for a problem Sister. I’m not sure yet which she’s made of ‒ ice or iron. And Tom Elkroyd hasn’t been in long enough for me to have found out yet what’s on the other side.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him. Or shouldn’t I ask? I know how you nurses feel about professional ethics.’

  He did not know that from me, as I had never mentioned the subject to him, but as he had been in and out of Barny’s for three years it was a reasonable assumption that he had had another girl friend on our staff, and possibly several. No one had yet told me about her, or them, probably because I had not yet discussed him with anyone but Harriet. If I was right, it was only a question of time before someone took me on one side and said she didn’t want to worry me, but she thought I ought to know …

  I said, ‘I can’t tell you what’s wrong with him as I honestly don’t know. He’s in for observation.’

  ‘Who’s he under?’

  ‘A pundit called Browne.’

  ‘Brown-plus E?’ He tapped his head. ‘Trouble up here?’ I nodded. ‘Poor chap. I saw Browne today, making for your block when I was talking to your hearty pal with the lamentable colour sense. Jill Thing. I ran into her in the park.’ He grimaced. ‘Why does she have to wear old sacks? And if she must, why no ashes?’

  I smiled. ‘She’s a trained nurse. Too hygienic.’

  ‘God! It oughtn’t to be allowed! And if her clothes weren’t enough to wreck my day, she showed me some curtain patterns she had got for your old Sister Mary. Pretty little pastels! Ugh! She’ll ruin that cottage!’ He emptied the wine-bottle between our glasses. ‘You’ll have to stop that, Anna.’

  ‘How can I? Sister Mary thinks a lot of Jill, and she may like pretty little pastels. Even if she doesn’t, I can’t stop Jill. I never see her now she’s a Sister. I wish I did. I miss old Jill.’

  ‘Then why don’t we have another party? Do you know a man called Peter Graveny?’

  ‘Vaguely.’ Peter Graveny was a paediatric registrar. ‘Friend of yours?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll get hold of Peter, and you can contact Jill. Then we can both go to work on her colour sense. Or is that out on the ethics count, too?’

  ‘Officially, yes.’ He had obviously had another girl friend in Barny’s. ‘I doubt that’d bother Jill so long as the party takes place outside Barny’s. Why don’t you ask her yourself? I think she’d prefer to have it from you.’

  He seemed surprised. ‘Would that be all right with you, sweetie?’

  ‘Fine.’ Not only a nurse, I thought, but possessive. ‘Any time.’

  ‘Then I’ll talk to Peter and let you know.’

  His conversation was telling me so much about his former girl friend (or friends) that I wondered how much mine told him about David. I suddenly realised this was the first occasion I had remembered David since returning to London, despite the many opportunities for recalling the past that must have presented themselves to my subconscious down every hospital corridor, in the canteen, the park, on the riverside terrace, or even crossing the road from the Home. David used to admire the view from Casualty yard in our early days, and then happen to cross the road when he saw me coming down our front steps. Later still in our front hall. Yet I had forgotten it all.

  It now astonished me that a man who had played such a vital part in my life for so long should have vanished as finally and as easily as a stone in a pond. There had been ripples at first, and the first ripple had seemed a tidal wave. Had it really been that? Or had I not only allowed, but encouraged self-pity and pique to distort the truth? I did not know the answer. I did know that I owed a great deal to Nick, and felt a great rush of gratitude and affection for him. ‘It’s sweet of you to organise this party.’

  ‘Darling, I could have an ulterior motive. You are less likely to run out on me from a quartet. Do you truthfully have to be back by midnight tonight?’

  ‘Yes. I told you, I haven’t a key.’

  ‘Why not? You’re senior enough to get late leave for the asking. Who are you really afraid of, Anna, me? Or yourself?’

  I said, ‘You may not believe this, Nick, but I was late off and in such a hurry to get a bath and change that I forgot.’

  He was briefly put out, and then he laughed. ‘I believe you, darling. Don’t ask me why, but I do.’ He dropped his hand over mine on the table-top. His touch was light, but that contact was enough to have us both more relaxed and at the same time more aware of each other. ‘I think I’m in love with you, darling. I’m not sure, but I think I am. How about you?’

  His honesty did not offend me. On the contrary, I liked it. ‘I’m not sure either, Nick.’

  ‘I suppose you wouldn’t care to find out?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘no thank you. Sorry.’

  He did not let go of my hand. ‘I didn’t think you would. You don’t, do you?’

  ‘No.’ Again I thought of David and the rows we had over this. It was a relief to know this time the fight was not going to start. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘My sweet, I’ve been around. For the record, why won’t you? Because you’re a nurse? Or does it go deeper?’

  I had to think. ‘Probably a bit of both. Before I started nursing I never used to understand why people had to leap into bed for kicks. You don’t have to get drunk to enjoy a drink. If you do finish the bottle in a hurry you end up being sick all over the floor. And I’ve known much the same happen to other girls a few mornings after a night in the wrong bed.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to happen ‒’

  ‘Nick, dear, save your breath if you are going to start talking contraceptives to me. I’ve just finished midder, remember? The Pill aside ‒ and in my book that hasn’t been in use long enough for anyone to be dead certain what it does or doesn’t do ‒ I don’t just think there’s no such thing as one hundred per cent safety ‒ I know. Ask any midwife or obstetrician. You should hear the number of girls we hear and their pathetic “But Nurse, we were so careful!” ’ I paused. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen a baby being born?’

  He shook his head, watching me intently. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Some women have a moderately easy time, which means it only hurts like hell for a little while. Some, a lot, have it tough. It hurts like hell for hours, and in bad cases, days. That’s hard enough when a baby’s wanted, and, remember, it comes after nine months which aren’t exactly a joy-ride. Few normal women enjoy the steady thickening of their figures, the nausea ‒ if it’s no worse ‒ of the early months, the weight and fatigue of the final months. But, if the baby is wanted and normal, once it arrives the situation more than evens up. Women are realists, perhaps because they have to be. They don’t expect something as good as a baby for nothing.’ I smiled involuntarily. ‘You should see the face of a woman when she has her first baby in her arms for the first time. She practically glows with happiness. But when the baby is unwanted ‒ and I’ve seen dozens ‒ then the whole business is unadulterated hell. Childbirth turns degrading as well as agonising and when the baby’s there an even worse hell starts. I know lots of babies get adopted,’ I went on, now grimly, ‘and I’ve seen how mothers look when they sign the adoption forms. Maybe they are doing the only right thing, and people say they forget. I wonder. How can you ever forget the child that has grown inside you for those nine months? The pain? The holding it in your arms and seeing exactly what you’ve done?’ He was silent. ‘Then there’s the other side. When I worked in Cas we had about six women a week carried in after back-street abortions. They came in more dead than alive, and a good many died. Lots were my age and younger.’ I drank some wine. ‘A hell of a pri
ce you pay for a few kicks, but maybe you have to work in a hospital to know exactly what the bill for those kicks can look like. That makes it easier for a nurse to remember when a party hots up, or one is feeling glum, or the moon’s shining and some man you are fond of comes out with the old blackmailing routine, “If you really loved me … blah, blah, blah.” Of course there’s just one answer: “If you really loved me you wouldn’t ask me to risk it.” But one seldom remembers that at the time, unless, as I say, you happen to be in my trade and have inside information.’ Then I realised how long I had been talking. ‘Nick, I’m sorry. You don’t rate this outburst. Not that I don’t mean it and it isn’t true.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I don’t rate it, but we don’t have to go into that. I don’t mind your letting fly. I like it. You’ve been making a lot of sense.’ He moved his hand at last and fiddled with his glass. ‘Do other nurses feel as you do?’

  ‘Expect so. Some, anyway. Why?’

  He said deliberately, ‘I don’t hold with mixing the past and present any more than I have noticed you do. But as you are bound to hear this sooner or later, as you work with her, I’d rather you heard it from me.’ He then intrigued, astonished, and did not wholly please me by telling me he had had an affair with Sabby Wardell last year.

  My astonishment was short-lived. It was obvious that Nick’s roving eye would have noticed her, and, having done so, of course he did something about it. Being such an extrovert, he had to unburden to me. He said, ‘I call it an affair. To be honest, darling, that’s only to salvage what’s left of my ego. I didn’t even get to first base. We ran around for quite a while, but’ ‒ he shrugged ‒ ‘it didn’t work out. I didn’t know why not, then. You’ve just let in the light. Why couldn’t she have done that?’

  I kept silent. He didn’t want an answer from me. He was chatting this out with himself.

  He went on, ‘You say you don’t know if she’s made of ice or steel. Sweetie, you’re not alone! I tried. I could not make contact. So I moved on. I didn’t particularly want to, but there didn’t seem anything else to do. I won’t say she had me off my food’ ‒ his smile was half-derisive ‒ ‘but it was another of those damned close-run things!’

  ‘Poor old Nick!’

  ‘I survived.’ He sat back, watching me. ‘Now you know her name, how about telling me his?’

  I told him David’s name. I did not enlarge on it.

  ‘Just a couple of sitting ducks ripe for the rebound, darling.’ He raised his glass to me. ‘Will you weep on my bosom first or shall I weep on yours?’

  I studied my Ward Sister with new interest next day, and though it was hard to credit any man could lose interest in her lovely face, the more I saw of her on duty and Nick off, the more I understood why their relationship had never got off the ground. Temperamentally they were totally dissimilar, and if Nick had tried to force the pace as he had with me, I was not surprised she should have slapped him down hard. Then she probably took great umbrage. She took umbrage very easily on duty when she suspected a resident of not treating her with the respect she felt her position deserved. I suspected she had thought herself just another name in Nick’s little black book and resented that fiercely. She might have been right about that. I didn’t know. I did know she was a very determined young woman who knew how to say no, and did not hesitate to say it when she saw fit, at the risk of making herself unpopular. I was with her in her duty-room one evening when the Senior Medical Officer, our top resident, came in to announce we could in future expect double our usual number of medical students, as we had so many excellent teaching cases in the ward. Wardell flatly refused to allow even one more in Observation. ‘I am sorry, Doctor. I will not have my patients disturbed. They are too ill.’

  The S.M.O. said politely, ‘I appreciate your concern, Sister, but we have to provide our students with the best training we can give them.’

  They argued for twenty minutes. The argument was ended by Warden’s threatening to resign unless her wishes in her own ward were respected. She clearly meant it, and as Barny’s sisters had considerable power in their own wards ‒ good ward sisters were precious, and Wardell was a very good sister ‒ the S.M.O. reluctantly stepped down. He walked off, very angry. Wardell showed no emotion at all as she turned to me, ‘As I was saying, Nurse Rowe …’

  Briefly I had thought of Nick’s easygoing nature. I had already discovered he did not mind being pushed around by a woman, providing the pushing was done gently, but Wardell had no patience for velvet gloves. I thought of the S.M.O.’s expression just now, and could guess what he was saying to his colleagues. This was not the first scrap Wardell had had with a resident. It was then I finally understood how she had managed to remain unmarried despite her appearance. We all knew the men talked about us as much as we talked about them. Once any nurse got a reputation for bitchiness she might have her problems, but they would not include the problem with which Harriet battled non-stop, which was how to get enough free evenings off duty to satisfy her many would-be dates.

  I had not told anyone about my conversation with Nick, but as it became common knowledge in our Home that I was being dated by him and it was a safe bet Wardell had heard, I did wonder if it would have any effect on her attitude towards me in Observation.

  If she had heard, she did not show it. She continued to treat me as politely and distantly as ever. She greeted my reports on my patients, whether good or bad, with an impassive, ‘Thank you, Nurse Rowe.’

  Mrs. Bird was still alive, and that was about all we could say about her. On her fourteenth post-operative night, after expressing my anxiety, I asked, ‘Why isn’t she picking up, Sister? It’s high time. And I do believe she now wants to live.’

  ‘So it would seem, Nurse Rowe. Please continue.’

  I had to go on. When I reached Mr. Elkroyd I had more than usual to report. His condition was slowly deteriorating, and he had had a great deal of pain in his head that day. I ended, ‘I don’t like the look of that man, Sister. He seems to me to be going downhill fast.’

  ‘Not very satisfactory,’ she agreed. ‘Is that all, Nurse? Thank you.’

  Harriet was in her room and changing to go out when I got over to the Home. ‘Wardell’s not a woman!’ I stormed. ‘She’s just a super-efficient nursing machine, and cold, cold as charity!’

  ‘As she’s running probably the most difficult ward in Barny’s, dear, isn’t it just as well she can keep a cool head. Sorry’ ‒ she opened the door ‒ ‘must fly! Julian’s waiting downstairs!’

  ‘Which one’s Julian?’

  ‘My tame C.O. (Casualty Officer) who dates me on Tuesdays.’ She stopped, one foot in the doorway. ‘You fixed up the Cricket Club dance with Nick?’

  ‘No. Remember I told you he’s gone up North on business? And, actually ‒’

  ‘So you did! Edinburgh or somewhere. He’s building a hospital there. Won’t he be back in time?’

  ‘Yes, but ‒’

  ‘You want to wait until he’s back. Suit yourself. See you.’ She shot off and down in the lift leaving me cursing myself for being a moral coward. I calmed my conscience by answering Nick’s latest letter.

  He had been away several days, and wrote me long, amusing letters almost daily. His friend Peter Graveny had been on holiday, so we had not had that party with Jill before Nick left town. In the letter I had had that morning he wrote that he had heard from Peter and about the Cricket Club dance. ‘Peter says why don’t we make a foursome for that dance and then go on elsewhere?’

  I now knew my off duty for that week-end. I was free, but had not yet seen Jill to tell her. I had twice rung the Sisters’ Home, and both times she had still been on duty. There was still plenty of time, so I had shelved things for the present. Of course, the obvious person to get a message to Jill was Harriet, as she worked in Cas. Cas was the hub of the hospital, and there Harriet saw everyone. Observation was a closed little sterile world apart.

  My letter to Nick explained why Jill and I would
have to miss that dance, and having got that off my chest I felt much better until I began thinking about Mrs. Bird and Tom Elkroyd. Then I had to go and find Addy for consolation. She made cocoa, and we grumbled about Wardell and talked Observation until long after midnight.

  I was about to leave when one of the theatre staff nurses put her head round Addy’s door. ‘Any cocoa going? I’m parched.’

  She was on night call, and had already been called back twice since nine o’clock. ‘Two perforated appendices. They’ll find us a third.’ She kicked off her shoes wearily. ‘They always do.’

  ‘Which firm?’ I asked after we had sympathised with the tough life of the theatre girls.

  ‘Blakelock’s. He didn’t come in. The S.S.O. did it with Robbie Gordon and a brand-new houseman who kept dropping things. The S.S.O. got so narked I thought he’d crown the lad with the other skin retractor. Wish he had, the ham-handed lout! Sister Theatre nearly had hysterics and the dressers were hysterical. They were laughing their silly heads off behind their masks.’

  I said, ‘And how did Robert Gordon take it?’

  ‘He just looked over his glasses a couple of times and got on with the job. Someone had to. But, I say, girls ‒ you’re from Observation! Tell me! Is it true Sabby Wardell had a flaming row with the S.M.O.?’

  Addy and I exchanged glances. We had had a fine time taking Wardell apart, but she was our ward sister. ‘What about?’ asked Addy. ‘Anyone told you about this, Rowe?’

  ‘No.’ I was honest. ‘No one has said one word about this to me. You’d better tell us, Paddy.’

  Robert was another person I had not seen since returning from the Mat Unit. According to Addy, Mr. Blakelock seldom, if ever, sent us patients, which gave me an additional personal reason for liking my new ward. I was more fascinated by my work than at any period in my nursing life, but, being still so new to the many new techniques we used in Observation, and to working under the strain of constant barrier-nursing, and having so many D.I.L. patients, I found my first month as physically tiring as my first training year, and far more tiring mentally. What my team and I did could most literally make the difference between life and death to our patients. I was in charge; I had to watch the girls as well as myself. Sister, not unreasonably since she had three staff nurses, left the nursing in our three pairs of hands. She checked on our work, but the actual work was ours.