by Emma Fraser
The likes of her! Pay to train as a nurse! It was, of course, impossible. But neither was she going to work as a ward maid. She could just as well have stayed in Skye as come all the way to this unfriendly city to do that.
She wanted to punch him. He was no better than her, yet he was treating her as if she were a pauper. She thought about arguing but one look at the smirk on his face told her she wasn’t going to get her foot on the step, never mind all the way to the Lady Superintendent’s office. She walked away, holding her head high. She wasn’t going to let that stuffed-up jackass see that he had upset her.
She tried other hospitals, too, but they weren’t prepared to take her on either, either because she didn’t have the right qualifications or because she wasn’t the right sort, she didn’t know. Eventually someone suggested she try the workhouse in Craigleith. They were looking for nurses in their infirmary wing and it wasn’t a sought-after job. Better-educated girls preferred to work in a proper hospital.
And that was how, three days after she’d arrived in Edinburgh, she found herself at her first interview.
Matron Yellowlees was a stern-looking woman in a black dress with a stiff white collar. ‘Tell me why you wish to work here,’ she said.
Jessie hid her sweating hands in her lap. ‘I want to train as a nurse and I know of nowhere else that will take me,’ she admitted. ‘All I’ve ever wanted is to be a nurse.’
The matron raised an eyebrow, but her severe expression relaxed a little. ‘The work’s hard. I’ve just taken over and the current state of affairs here can’t be allowed to continue. The wards are a disgrace, and there is only one trained nurse to cover them all and teach you. We have another nurse but she works in the children’s ward. You’ll be expected to cover it as well on her day off. The rest of the nursing is supplied by the female inmates and, I must warn you, they have no liking for work.’
‘I’m used to hard work, Ma’am.’
‘You must call me “Matron”. You’re in a hospital now.’
Matron steepled her fingers, and studied Jessie with a mixture of hope and resignation. ‘How much schooling have you had?’
‘Until I was fourteen, Ma’am – I mean, Matron. I was supposed to go away to get more but my mam got sick and I couldn’t. But I can read and write, and I even know some Latin.’
‘Where is your mother now?’
‘She died, Matron, of consumption.’ Jessie wasn’t sure if that was the whole truth. Perhaps if Dad hadn’t died and Archie hadn’t left, Mam would have fought harder to stay alive. ‘My mother delivered the babies on Skye and I helped her. I never lost one.’
Matron’s mouth twitched. ‘And why do you think that was?’
‘My mother said the most important thing was to keep everything clean, Matron. She said that you could leave it to God after that.’
‘Did she indeed?’ Matron scribbled something with her pen on a piece of paper. ‘Very well, then,’ she said, putting her pen down and peering at Jessie over wire-framed glasses. ‘I’ll give you a trial. The wage is twenty-five pounds a year. You’ll buy your own uniform. You’ll be woken at five thirty and be on the wards by six thirty. You’ll work until eight in the evening with half an hour for luncheon and half an hour for supper. Lights out at ten thirty. You’ll have a room in the attic and one day off every two weeks. Any studying must be done in your own time. In addition to your nursing duties you’ll have other tasks. We have five wards here, as well as the children’s ward, and you’ll work on all of them. Sister Hardcastle will keep an eye on you but you’ll be responsible for overseeing the female inmates who work in the infirmary, as well as ensuring that the kitchen delivers adequate food to the patients. You’ll also be responsible for ensuring that there’s a regular supply of clean linen from the laundry. Despite your enthusiasm, you may find the work too strenuous. The last nurse left after a month.’
Jessie’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might jump from her chest. At last she had the chance to become a proper nurse. She didn’t care how hard it would be as long as she was being trained. And the fact that she would have her board and lodging was a bonus. She didn’t know how much longer she could have put up with the cramped and disorganised – if no longer filthy – conditions in Maggie Simpson’s house.
‘I won’t leave, Matron. I promise.’
‘In that case, Probationer MacCorquodale, when can you start?’
Jessie came back the next day with her bags and her nurse’s uniform. She didn’t even care that it had taken almost all of her remaining money to buy it: it was beautiful and she couldn’t wait to wear it.
An inmate took her up to a room in the attic. There was just enough space for an iron bed, a wardrobe and a side table with a basin, but it was all hers. She had to stand on tiptoe to look out of the tiny window but she could see the hospital fields. The anxiety and fear that had been swirling in her stomach since she had left Skye began to ease.
‘Mrs Luck says you can have your meals in the kitchen. Sister Hardcastle and Matron have theirs in the parlour. Breakfast is at six, dinner at one and supper at five.’
‘Thank you…?’ Jessie prompted.
‘Me name’s Sally.’
‘How long have you been here, Sally?’
‘Two years, pet. My man got put to the gaol a while back and I couldn’t get no one to take me on, not with the kids and me having no place to stay, so we came here.’
‘And do you like it?’
A flash of disbelief crossed Sally’s face. ‘Naebody comes here if they can help it, Miss, but at least I ken ma bairns are getting fed. They’s with a family noo that can feed them and send them tae school.’ She dabbed her eyes with a grubby sleeve.
‘They’re not with you?’ Jessie was shocked.
‘No, Miss. The littlest children get fostered out. I hasnae seen mine these last twelve months. I keep telling masel they’re better aff whaur they are.’
That wasn’t right. Surely it was best to keep a child with its mother. ‘Don’t you have family who can help?’ Jessie asked. In Skye, when a mother and father died, someone always took in the remaining children. Usually it was a grandparent or an older sister, but if there was no one a neighbour would do it. Edinburgh was a strange place indeed.
‘No, Miss. I did once, but they washed their hands of me when I married my man. They said he was nae guid and it turns out they was right. I’m no gaun tae crawl back to them now.’
‘How many people live here, Sally? Do you know?’
‘I’m nae guid wi numbers. Hundreds anyway. Maybe as mony as a thousand.’
Jessie was stunned. So many people without a home of their own. How was it possible?
Sally shuffled her feet and looked towards the door. ‘If that’s all, lass, it’s almost time for me supper. If I’m late there might not be any left. Sister Hardcastle said to tell you she’ll see you on the fever ward tomorrow morning.’
‘Thank you, Sally. I’ll find my way to the kitchen when I’ve unpacked.’
Jessie hung her uniform carefully, standing back to admire the stiff white apron and the starched collar and sleeves. Then she put away the rest of her clothes and laid her hairbrush on the table. Finally she set her notebook and the textbook Dr MacKenzie had given her next to the brush. Her new life was about to begin and she felt dizzy with excitement.
Chapter 16
The next morning, Jessie washed using the bowl of water that had been left outside her door and dressed in her uniform. Her fingers fumbled as she wound her hair into a tight knot. She jabbed pins into the stray locks that wouldn’t do as they were told, then spent another twenty minutes trying to coax her nurse’s cap into the right shape. Even though it had taken her far longer to get dressed than she’d expected, she was still twenty minutes too early for breakfast. She held the hand mirror that had belonged to Mam at arm’s length and studied herself. Unfortunately she could see only bits of herself at a time. Her cap wasn’t perfect, but she thought she looked smar
t in her light blue uniform – even with the thick stockings and stout shoes. If only Mam, Dad and Archie could see her now! They’d be so proud of her. Thinking about them brought a lump to her throat and she blinked rapidly. She wouldn’t cry. Tears never did anyone any good. In her mind’s eye, she saw Mam looking down at her and smiling. She could almost hear her saying, ‘Well done – but what have you done with your hair, child?’ She wanted to giggle as she remembered Mam’s shock when Jessie had tried to straighten her hair with the iron from the stove. She’d been silly then, but now she was seventeen and knew better.
After a breakfast of thick, lumpy porridge and toast in the kitchen, Jessie found her way to the fever ward. She paused at the entrance to the cavernous, dimly lit room. Apart from an inmate, who was leaning on a mop, and the patients, who were eating at a long table in the middle of the ward, there were no nursing staff.
She took a deep breath and entered the room. The smell of urine and sweat hit her instantly. The windows were tightly closed and the fire at the end of the room gave out more smoke than heat. Jessie walked to the first window and flung it open. The air outside was cleaner than it was in the centre of Edinburgh and she drew in deep lungfuls.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ a voice snapped behind her.
She spun around to find a severe woman in a sister’s uniform glaring at her.
‘Close that window at once! Don’t you realise there are sick people in here who can’t afford to catch their deaths?’
Jessie was sure that their congested chests were more likely to get worse from the smoke in the room, but she held her tongue. The woman in front of her must be Sister Hardcastle and could dismiss her with a flick of a bony hand if she wished. Reluctantly Jessie closed the window, smoothed her apron and dropped a curtsy.
Sister Hardcastle walked a circle around her while the patients looked on with mild interest. ‘Your cap is squint. Straighten it immediately.’
Jessie didn’t know how she was supposed to do so without a mirror but she did her best. Sister Hardcastle clicked her tongue, tugged the cap off Jessie’s head, did something to it with a few deft movements and put it back. ‘Learn how to fold that cap, Probationer, before you come on duty tomorrow.’
It seemed strange that she was more concerned with Jessie’s cap than with the stench and the filth on the ward, but she was thrilled to be called ‘Probationer’. In a few years, God willing, people would call her ‘Sister’ and probationers would curtsy to her. She would put up with anything to have that happen.
‘I’m sorry, Sister,’ she said.
‘I don’t know how much Matron explained about how things work here, but I’d like you to start by sorting out this ward and the female fever ward next door. I’ll be back to check on you later.’
Jessie bobbed again. She couldn’t wait to begin.
As soon as Sister Hardcastle had left, Jessie looked around the ward, wondering where to start. The smell was unbearable. In the middle of the room there was a large pewter tub and when Jessie inspected the contents, she was horrified to find it almost full of urine.
Her shoes sticking to the dirty floor, she walked over to the nearest patient. He was lying in a rumpled bed that stank of urine, sweat and faeces. It must have been days since he was last washed and there were another twenty or so like him in this room alone. For a moment she felt overwhelmed. Then she remembered what Matron had said about the inmates helping. She needed them if she was going to put everything to rights – there would be no assistance from Sister Hardcastle.
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said, to no one in particular, and went in search of the female fever ward. It was only a little cleaner than the male ward but at least six women were doing nothing but chatting to one another. They all looked healthy enough to be out of their beds.
To her relief, she spied a familiar face pushing a grubby mop listlessly over the floor.
‘Good morning, Sally.’
Sally stopped her mopping and leaned on the pole. ‘Hello, hen.’
‘I need some women to help me,’ Jessie said. ‘Who should I ask?’
‘There’s no many that can be bothered, lass, although there’s a few who could do with getting off their arses.’
‘I need as many as you can persuade.’
The other women shook their heads when Sally asked them to help so in the end there was only Jessie and her. First they got rid of the communal piss-pot that the men used in the night. Then, together, they washed and changed all of the beds, demanding that those men who could do so get up and dress. Jessie met with resistance at first, but with a mixture of wheedling, shaming and downright bullying from Sally, only around half remained in bed, tucked under clean sheets and laundered blankets.
‘By God, Miss, for such a wee lassie ye ken hoo tae work,’ Sally said. ‘Ma ain body is aching mair than it has in years.’
‘This isn’t hard, compared to what I’m used to.’
Just then Sister Hardcastle appeared, but if Jessie had expected praise for her efforts, she was disappointed.
‘Have you taken the temperatures and pulses of the patients yet, Probationer MacCorquodale?’
It was on the tip of Jessie’s tongue to say of course she hadn’t – when would she have had the time? But of course she couldn’t say that. ‘I’ll do that now, Sister,’ she said instead.
‘You do know how?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Good. When you’re finished here, move on to Women’s Fever. After lunch there’s the north and south wings. As it’s your first day, I’ll see to the whooping-cough ward.’
Over the next months, Jessie learned to dress wounds and bathe patients without lifting them from the bed. She had nursed children and adults through every kind of fever and infection, and had even assisted in theatre. She studied every textbook she could lay her hands on and memorised symptoms and treatments until she believed she could recite them in her sleep.
Slowly she had managed to cajole increasing numbers of the female inmates to help her. At first they’d been reluctant, but when they saw that she worked alongside them, only stopping for meals, they gradually came round. Eventually they began to take an interest in the work and developed a liking for teasing Jessie. Increasingly the wards rang with the sound of their ribald humour.
The consultant physician, a man with a florid face and an unnerving squint, came three times a week to do rounds with the lady doctor and Sister Hardcastle. As soon as he’d left, Jessie would write down everything he’d said in her notebook. It was the third she’d filled since she’d arrived and she was proud of it.
She missed the fresh air and big empty skies of home but she’d gradually become accustomed to the noise and smells of Edinburgh. For the first few months she’d been lonely. On her day off she would walk the streets or go to the Botanic Gardens, where she would sip tea in her new sprigged-muslin dress as if she were a lady. Sometimes, when the weather was fine, she’d sit in the workhouse gardens and watch the inmates as they tended the vegetable patches. Mr Dickson, the head gardener, had taken a liking to her and she would always leave with a piece of fruit or a tomato in the pocket of her dress.
Her favourite place was down at Newhaven Harbour. Whenever it wasn’t pouring with rain, she’d walk down there to smell the sea. Even the squawking of the gulls delighted her. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine she was back on Skye. She would take off her shoes and wade into the water, revelling in the feel of the wet sand squishing between her bare toes.
A little further up, at the pier, women sold fish from the heavily laden baskets they carried on their shoulders. Although Jessie had no money to buy from them, or the wherewithal to cook a fish, she would talk to them and, for that short time, her loneliness would ease.
She was neither one thing nor the other at the workhouse: too elevated to be friends with the workhouse inmates, but too lowly to be considered company for Sister or Matron, although recently Matron had taken to invit
ing her to the parlour for tea.
Sometimes Jessie bought farthing sweeties for the children, but apart from the muslin dress, she had spent very little. She saved her wages in a jar on her table, not sure what she was saving for but knowing that one day the money would be useful. She’d discovered the library where she could take out books for free, and in the evenings, when work was finished for the day, she would read by candlelight until she found it impossible to keep her eyes open.
She had been at Craigleith for six months when she met Tommy.
The nurse who usually covered the children’s ward was on a day off and Jessie had just finished making the beds when a dark-haired man with a cheeky grin appeared at the door.
‘Tommy!’ the children squealed, jumping out of bed and running to throw their skinny arms around his legs. Even little Jock, who hadn’t said a word since his mother had died three months earlier, was hanging onto the man’s hand as he sucked his thumb.
‘What are you doing here?’ Jessie asked, flustered for some reason she couldn’t put her finger on. ‘No visitors on the ward without Sister’s permission.’
‘Oh, I’m not a visitor, am I, Jock?’ He swung the little boy into his arms. At the same time Maisy dipped a hand into Tommy’s pocket and brought out a paper bag in a way that suggested his appearance with sweets was a common occurrence.
It was on the tip of Jessie’s tongue to confiscate the sweets and dole them out at appropriate intervals, but one look at the anticipation on their faces was enough to make her change her mind. The little mites got few enough treats as it was.
Jessie studied him. He had taken off his cap when he’d come into the room, and his thick hair was awry. He had a long nose, which looked almost too big for his face, and a wide mouth that turned up at the corners. His brown worsted trousers were too big for him and were held up with a worn leather belt. His shirt had a hole in the shoulder and another near a button, but his boots were reasonably new, although they were badly scuffed.