When I got home, guess what, there was Sydney waiting for me in the sitting room. I have never been so pleased to see my brother in my whole life. I threw my arms around him and hugged him. He looked embarrassed and surprised because his presence doesn’t usually make me so happy but things have been very uncomfortable between AM and me.
Sydney said “Aunt Martha has been telling me how much she has enjoyed having you here and feels you should stay on and enroll in Madame Verschaka’s School of Dance in September”.
She also told him that if war did break out he could rely on her to get me on the first available boat going to Jamaica, providing of course Sydney left enough money “to cover that eventuality” as she put it.
He asked me what I thought and I said I wasn’t too keen on the idea and, thank goodness, Sydney agreed. In fact, he said his instructions from Mammie were to bring me home “safe and sound”.
AM looked crushed.
Later, while Sydney and I were out walking I told him what I did during the day to keep busy and all about my new friend Joanne. I told him about seeing Roy McKenzie and the money he’d lent me. Sydney said he had heard Roy was in London and would go and see him. I told Sydney I liked London a lot, even though the people weren’t very friendly, but I wouldn’t want to stay here if I had to live with Aunt Martha.
“It’s obvious you’re not happy living with her”.
I told him how I do a lot to help her; I told him about her drinking but I left out the bit about Mr Kitchen staying overnight and her blaspheming. Sydney put his arm round me.
“Olga, I’m sorry you’ve been so unhappy. Look, I’m here for two weeks. I have to do some business but then, once that’s done, we can have a good old holiday together.”
I thought to myself afterwards, it’s a funny old world, who would have thought that the day would come when I’d actually be looking forward to having a holiday with Sydney.
******
Dear Diary
Fate steps in: Three days later two things happened one after the other.
First, Sydney got a big discount, bigger than he anticipated, on some bicycles he ordered for the shops and the second thing that happened was that he took ill and was rushed, by ambulance, to St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington with appendicitis. Hours later his appendix was out and he was being looked after by Nurse Megan Lloyd who comes from Wales.
My “good old holiday” with Sydney is now being spent sitting by his bed every day in St Mary’s watching the nurses do their work while he sleeps. I noticed that the patients have a great respect for the nurses, which is nice, and as I like the idea of helping people get well, a plan was beginning to develop that would mean I could stay in London and make Mammie and the family really proud of me.
When I thought the time was right I mentioned to Sydney I would like to become a nurse. His immediate reaction was definitely not, you’re going home with me and no arguing. So I enlisted help. Joanne and Nurse Lloyd. Sydney had taken a shine to Joanne and she pointed out to him the benefits of being a nurse and how it would help our community back home when I returned to Jamaica a fully qualified nurse whose training had been in a big London hospital. It took both of them to persuade Sydney to at least have an interview with Matron at St Mary’s. When AM heard her reaction was disbelief.
“A great hospital like St Mary’s only takes white, middle class young ladies to train as nurses” she told us.
“They would never accept a coloured person so don’t waste your time seeing Matron just to be told no.”
She was right, but, for the wrong reason. Within five minutes of sitting in Matron’s office she announced I couldn’t study nursing there because I didn’t have a school leaving certificate but suggested we try the smaller St Giles Cottage Hospital in Camberwell.
“You’ll have more success there because not too long ago and before it became a hospital, it used to be a workhouse and they’re not so particular about their nurses”, AM told me, when Sydney was out of earshot.
We had an interview with Matron at St Giles, and shortly afterwards I was offered a place on a residential three month basic nursing programme, but first I had to have a medical.
******
Dear Diary
Good news: I’ve been offered a nursing place and the best part of my new job is that I’ll be living in the Nurses’ Home at the hospital so don’t have to live with AM any more. Oh happy days!
I could see Sydney was proud of me and I knew Mammie would be too in spite of being disappointed that I wouldn’t be going home now. I had to promise Sydney that if war broke out I would come home immediately. He gave me enough money for my fare and to keep me going until I got my first month’s wages which was going to be £2 a month. He also bought all the books I needed for studying, plus three pairs of thick black stockings and my black shoes. The rest of my nurses’ uniform would be provided by the hospital.
The night before Sydney left to go home he took Joanne and me to the theatre to see the Ivor Novello musical, The Dancing Years, and afterwards we had supper in a posh late night restaurant.
If I hadn’t met Joanne I’m not sure I would have chosen to become a nurse, but knowing that she would be close by helped me to decide and that was a big comfort, not only to me, but to Sydney too, I think. He could reassure Mammie that I had at least one good friend. Sitting at the dining table watching them dance together, I thought wouldn’t it be just perfect if one day Joanne became my sister-in-law. Something else to pray for Olga.
******
Chapter twenty one
Olga’s Diary
Dear Diary
St Giles Hospital: I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Not too long ago I was spending my mornings sitting on a park bench in Regent’s Park feeling sorry for myself and now I’m standing in a line with other student nurses listening to Sister.
“These are the rules for student nurses and I expect you to commit them to memory” barked Sister as she handed each new student nurse a rule sheet.
A stout, straight talking woman from Yorkshire with grey hair and voice that only seemed to have one volume, loud.
“It is my pleasure to guide you through your nursing training until you become fully qualified nurses” Sister Tutor was referring to us by our surnames and when someone asked why, she said that’s how it is in hospital.
“We don’t use Christian names, only surnames”.
Honestly, I don’t like the idea of someone calling me Browney.
RULES FOR NURSES
walk at all times, only run in case of fire
stand when a senior member of staff enters
always open the door for the doctor
never overtake a senior member of staff on the stairs
no make up on duty
hair not to reach your collar
nails must be short
black stockings only when on duty and no ladders in them
low heel shoes
on duty by 7.00 am
in bed by 10.30 pm
I felt uncomfortable and awkward in my student nurse’s uniform, my black frizzy hair poking out at different angles under a heavily starched white cap which needs four hair grips to hold it in place. My grey dress had a little white collar which fastened tightly round my neck and was nearly choking me and over the dress I wore a starched white apron with a wide belt around my waist. I didn’t like the feel of the thick black stockings on my skin and the thick black rubber soled shoes felt like lead weights on the end of my feet.
There are nine other student nurses in my group but Alison Moores, Ethel Richards and me are friends already. I don’t really know why because we are so different.
For a start Moores is aristocracy from top to bottom; she talks beautifully and I think she sounds very posh, she’s tall, with dark hair, which used to be long before Matron told her she would have to cut it before she started her training. Moores has a perfect peaches and cream complexion, is very confident, elegant, and lo
oks more like a film star than a student nurse. Her parents are rich and they make some kind of cold cream for women and sold in jars by the thousands. They sent her into nursing because they said she comes from a privileged background and should give something back to society. Ethel asked her why she wasn’t doing her training at one of the big teaching hospitals and Moores said she had thought about it but preferred to be amongst real people in a smaller hospital.
Ethel is from the East End of London, only 5 ft tall with, lovely twinkling green eyes that always seem to be smiling, a round face framed with red curly hair and a cockney accent which I don’t understand sometimes and when she smiles she shows off a set of perfectly even white teeth. Sometimes she reminds me of Vivie because she’s not frightened of any form of authority, neither Sister Tutor nor Matron. Ethel says it’s because she grew up with five brothers and because she’s the only girl in the family she always had to fight for what she wanted. And then there’s me. One day I asked Moores how she had described me to her parents and she smiled as she said:
“Slim, not very tall, brown skin, not particularly pretty, short frizzy black hair which she wears with either a blue or yellow ribbon, slightly bushy eyebrows above huge brown eyes that seem to be in a permanent state of astonishment at everything she sees or hears, a beautiful smile and a soft voice that fits like a glove with her gentle manner”.
Isn’t that a lovely description?
It’s funny Moores comes from a very rich family and she’s not stuck up or anything. I’m the only coloured person in the whole of the hospital, as far as I know, and people do stare at me sometimes. Moores tells me not to worry about it.
“They stare at you because you’re a novelty Olga, that’s all”.
Ethel says she doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her and neither should I, but sometimes I feel a bit uncomfortable.
******
Letter to Mammie, Kingston,
from
Olga, Nurses Home, St Giles Hospital, Camberwell, London
Dearest Mammie
The weeks fly by, such a lot to do and learn. We are on duty from 7.00 in the morning until 7 in the evening with only a coffee and lunch break. Please don’t worry about me because I am happy, tired but happy, and I have made friends with two other student nurses.
So far I have learnt about hygiene, how to take a temperature, how to stack linen, how to put a bandage on a patient and how a treatment tray should be laid up. Once a week we spend a morning on the ward and one of my jobs is to feed the patients.
Oh Mammie, I love it so much, the patients are so grateful when you do something for them. Sister Tutor praised my bed making the other day, you see Mammie it’s important to make beds properly with the sheet corners turned in and the open ends of the pillow slips mustn’t face the door into the ward – the sewn end must face the door.
The top sheets are folded over the counterpanes and have to be the same width and the fold has to be sixteen inches. I find the best way to check is to measure from my fingertips to my elbow.
Matron is fierce and Sister Tutor stern and doesn’t smile at all. I find it difficult to remember things so now I carry a note book around with me and write down as much as I can, especially the things I don’t understand. When I meet Joanne she explains the things to me that I’ve been too frightened to ask Sister Tutor to repeat in case she thinks I’m stupid.
Lectures are nearly always when we’re off duty and in one of our first lessons I met Henry who scared the life out of me. Henry’s a skeleton that hangs from the ceiling in the lecture room and we have to memorise the names of each bone in his body. Sometimes when I look at all those bones I think of cook. If she could see Henry, I bet she’d love to get her hands on his bones for her Obeah man.
I got into trouble the other day as I was preparing the patients’ tea and I was holding the loaf of bread against my chest while I was trying to slice it with a knife and Sister Tutor was furious with me.
“Don’t you have any common sense and realize how dangerous it is to try and cut bread like that”.
And then she showed me how to cut it on the table. I told her I’d never cut bread before because either cook or Cassie did it. Sister Tutor said nothing but gave me a very funny look. I’m not lonely any more Mammie because I have three good friends now and that’s all I need.
Your loving daughter Olga
******
Chapter twenty two
Olga’s Diary
Dear Diary
War: Moores and I were in Oxford Street shopping for a new dress for her date that night with an army officer, when the air raid siren went. We’d just reached John Lewis when it sounded and we knew it meant we were going to be bombed by the Germans. Suddenly people started running like mad in all directions including us. Terrified we hopped onto a bus without even knowing where it was going just to get off the street.
By the time we got back to the hospital we had learnt it been a false alarm, but our relief didn’t last long because we were told that Britain was finally at war with Germany. There’d been lots of talk about war before but I wouldn’t listen.
I don’t want to go home, I want to stay and become a nurse, but I made a promise to Sydney and Mammie so, sooner or later Olga, you’re going to have to leave. Moores and Ethel say I should go; at least I’ll be safe in Jamaica. I told them I was frightened of being bombed, but I don’t want to return home not having achieved anything after spending six months in England, especially as it has cost my brother a lot of money.
A few days later, great big silver barrage balloons hanging from cables were seen in the sky all over London. They were to stop the German bombs from hitting their targets in the city. I thought they looked like big silver elephants. One of our first jobs when we started our training was to put black material over the windows so that at night time no light from the hospital wards could escape and the Germans wouldn’t be able to see London from the air and drop their bombs.
We have all been given a gas mask and Sister Tutor demonstrated how to put it on. You have to thrust your chin forward pulling the black rubber over the face and up over the forehead leaving your eyes peering out from the two holes. They’re horrible smelly things and I tore mine off, I couldn’t breathe with it on.
Then we had to fill out a form so the Government could issue everyone with an identity card.
And now ration books have appeared, although nurses don’t have them because we eat at the hospital. Ethel’s family are poor and she says ration books are a wonderful thing because food is distributed evenly and poor families like hers, get the same as rich ones like Moores.
But some days I’d be so hungry my mind would start thinking about the food markets back home where you can buy lovely meals very cheaply. I find I’m dreaming of gungo peas soup with large pieces of yam and salt beef, vegetables and lovely dumplings or salt-fish and ackee or chicken with rice and peas and yam with half a boiled plantain. And in the end I just feel hungrier than ever. Now I’ve developed a taste for sugar sandwiches.
******
Dear Diary
Unhappy news: War doesn’t make any difference to Sister Tutor; she’s still very strict and only has to raise an eyebrow to show her disapproval about something I’ve done or haven’t done.
This morning I broke a thermometer and have to pay 6d out of my wages to replace it. I’m not thinking about the war, all I can think about is passing the exam at the end of the three months.
Moores, Ethel and I test each other whenever we have time and if I get really stuck on something, Joanne helps me. Matron wants to see me. I can’t think what I’ve done wrong.
******
Later: I couldn’t stop shaking waiting outside Matron’s office. When I entered she told me to sit down and I knew it was bad news. She never tells nurses to sit down, we always have to stand to attention as if we’re on parade like soldiers in the army.
“I have some bad news for you Olga” she said in such a kindly voice it b
arely sounded like her.
“I’m afraid you cannot go home to Jamaica. Because of the war the Government has banned all non essential travel out of Britain which means you will have to stay until the war ends”
I suddenly burst into tears.
“It’s not so bad really, is it Olga. Think how proud your family be will when you do return home as a fully qualified nurse” she said.
Then she sat down beside me and put her arm round my shoulders and I cried even more. I was crying so much partly because Matron was being so kind and calling me Olga, instead of Browney, but also because, although I wanted to stay and finish my training, now I had no choice in the matter, I had to stay and suddenly I had such an urge to see Mammie and my sisters.
“I’m sure the war won’t last long and in the meantime we need you here”.
“Yes Matron, thank you Matron,” I sobbed.
I was still crying as I reached the door to leave and she called out to me. “Wait, I nearly forgot”. She was holding a sheet of paper in her hand and there was a little smile on her face.
“Congratulations, Browney, you passed your first exam”.
*****
Mammie’s (Becky) Diary
At last, I have been able to talk to Olga on the telephone, not that I could hear very much because the line was poor and crackly and we only had three minutes. The tots and Birdie all managed to say hello and tell her they loved her. At least now I know she’s well and safe, but her place is here at home.
Olga - A Daughter's Tale Page 10