A Sister's Life: The ups and downs of life as a 1950s Theatre Sister (Nurse Jane Grant Book 3)

by Jane Grant

  She looked at me and then away again. I hated to see her misery. Don began to put the cups down while she sat rigidly. The air was thick with unspoken words.

  Don gave her one quick glance, and I knew he had grasped the whole situation.

  He sat down. ‘Did you hear Lottie Johnson wants to sell her pony, Rhona?’ he said casually. ‘Dad and I wondered if you’d like him. He’s quite young still. Lottie needs a bigger one, she’s been putting on weight.’

  ‘I don’t want a pony,’ said Rhona. ‘Or anything.’

  ‘I think that’s a bit sweeping,’ he said offhandedly.

  There was another silence. ‘I really ought to be getting back,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, must you? I’ll ring up.’

  ‘Well, you know my number.’

  ‘You’re on this weekend then?’

  ‘Yes.’ I turned to Rhona and said in a low tone, ‘I know how you feel. I’m glad I’ve seen you. If there’s anything I can do ‒’

  ‘There’s nothing anybody can do,’ she said shortly.

  I went out then, turning at the door to catch Don’s eye. We smiled at each other, and I saw he was holding Rhona’s hand.

  Chapter Twenty

  The gym looked very different on this Friday; this was the very last time she would see it, thought Mrs McKie, adding a hasty proviso, ‘God willing’. It was crowded with disabled beings, but today they did not depress her. Grannie Rowbotham was striding about with her crutches, Mrs Berrymore laughing as she swung forward boldly on hers. Even Mrs Terling was answering back cheekily to the red-haired physiotherapist as she stumbled along; and Steve, pushing hard on his reading desk, was told by his doctor, looking in from the ward, ‘That’s fine. We’re going to beat this, Steve, you’ll see.’

  Mrs McKie was taken for quite a long walk; as she was partially weight-bearing she no longer felt insecure, and the red-haired girl took her right outside the building and round to the other door.

  The fresh air and sun seemed full of promise; when I am home, she thought, I will go right round the farmyard every day.

  Back indoors, she practised climbing up and down stairs according to the instructions of her teacher. Hold banister, up good leg; up crutch, up bad leg. Down; down crutch, down bad leg, down good leg. ‘But the safest way of all,’ said the red-haired girl, ‘is to go up and down on your bottom.’

  Next she was set on weight-lifting. Seated on a bench, a strap round her bad leg, she lifted a weight by swinging the leg. A little boy of about seven was also on this exercise, and she invented rhyming numbers. ‘One is one, have a cream bun. Two is two, I’ve lost my shoe.’ The little boy got quite excited and waving his leg, wildly invented what to him was the height of humour. ‘Six is six, I’ll give you the stick.’

  Back in the ward, the edict came down from Sister that she might have a real bath. Nurse Ling took her to the bathroom and let her soak, and when she got back to bed the ward physiotherapist came round. Wonder of wonders, in the middle of sweating and straining, her leg rose to full height.

  ‘Mrs Berrymore! Mrs Kane! Grannie! Look at me!’

  They all looked and applauded.

  ‘Hold it,’ said the physiotherapist. ‘Now hold it again.’ She could even hold it for a moment on its descent.

  She began to feel a wild elation. Now, now at last, she was on the road to normality.

  The ward became very frivolous after lunch, Mrs Berrymore complained that the fish had been a bit off. ‘And the chips were like little boards,’ said Mrs McKie.

  ‘The peas was nice,’ said kindly old Grannie Rowbotham.

  ‘Oh well, they can’t do much with those,’ said the Mum, and they all went into giggles. These were increased by Mrs McKie asking what on earth was that thing left on the lawn. It must be a relic of the fête, ‘but it looks,’ she said, ‘just like a dead moose.’ Putting on her distance glasses, she saw amidst the merriment of the others, that the dead moose was a lump of sacking with wooden supports, the remains of the coconut shy.

  The laughter, which Mrs Berrymore said was making her legs ache, ceased instantly on the entrance of Theo.

  ‘How are you, Betty? I had a slack day and I thought I’d just run down. I heard you were coming out quite soon.’

  ‘We’re all going home tomorrow, aren’t we lucky?’ said Mrs McKie looking round the group. Strangely enough, they all seemed much more her friends than Theo did.

  Theo sat down and rattled off a lot of news. To begin with, she said, she was preening herself on her judgement. When asked what on, she replied why, Teddy and Rhona, of course.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you know it was definitely on?’

  ‘No, Theo. I think you must have got hold of the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘Definitely I have not. I went into the doctors’ room today, and I heard Teddy outside in the passage talking on the phone.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Ringing up Rhona. He didn’t know I was there, of course. He said something about going out for a spin in his new car, and then, “Come on, Rhona, snap out of it”, and then that weedy HS of Tredegar’s came in and shut the door so I couldn’t hear any more.’

  ‘Well, all I can say, Theo, is that I haven’t heard anything about it.’

  ‘You wouldn’t, my dear. They never tell their mothers. But believe it or not, I was absolutely right when I got the affair going with those tickets for the Ball.’

  Mrs McKie was so annoyed with Theo’s self-satisfaction and her assumption that she knew more about Rhona’s affairs than her own mother did, that she said snappily; ‘What I heard was that she danced with Camden all the evening.’

  ‘Oh, my dear! You get everything wrong! Well, I can tell you for a fact that Camden is leaving. He’s got a Consultant’s job at the Royal Downshire. So put Peter out of your head for Rhona, my dear. He’s far too old for her in any case. And how’s Don’s affair going?’

  ‘It seems to be on again,’ said Mrs McKie shortly.

  ‘These nurses are very tenacious,’ said Theo.

  Next morning they all woke early and started packing. The families had been told to come for them at nine o’clock. The little gay night nurse came round and kissed them all goodbye, and after breakfast they dressed and hopped round the main ward, saying goodbyes to patients and nurses.

  They thanked Sister conventionally, and she replied conventionally in her deep drawling voice; ‘Well, take care of yourselves.’

  ‘Oh I will,’ said Mrs McKie hurriedly. ‘I don’t want to come back here any more.’ The next moment she could have bitten back her words, feeling they were so rude, but Sister only smiled cynically.

  When they assembled in the end ward to sit on their beds and wait for release, their talk was all about little nothings. The moment of joy was so terrific that they did not look beyond it to the long months of crutches and exercises, aches and pains, setbacks and frustrations.

  Angus arrived at 9.02 am, to be told ‘You’re late!’ Mr Berrymore followed, and young Rowbotham, and the Mum’s daughter, flushed and bossy. Then the real goodbyes began.

  ‘Goodbye, my dear. Hope you get on all right.’

  ‘Don’t do too much at first.’

  ‘Look after yourself.’

  ‘I do hope Maureen’s baby is a boy.’

  ‘I’ll think of you on Friday at the X-ray.’

  ‘Do try and take it easy.’

  ‘Goodbye, then. It’s been ever so nice knowing you.’

  ‘I’ve been so happy in this ward this week. Really quite sorry to leave.’

  ‘I know. I shall miss you all.’

  ‘Goodbye, then.’

  ‘Goodbye, my dear.’

  ‘Goodbye. Best of luck.’

  And they parted, never to meet again.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I stood with Don on the steps of the entrance hall, having escaped from the theatre for a few minutes in order to say goodbye to his mother. She was wheeled up, Mr McKie walking
beside the chair, and we all helped her into the front seat of the car. Rhona had run back to the ward for a writing case that had been left behind.

  ‘And now I hope we don’t see you again for a bit,’ said Mr McKie. ‘Or your blooming hospital.’

  ‘You’re going to see her on Sunday week,’ said Don.

  ‘Well, we’ll try to keep Ma away from the gate between now and then. Or you may have to take her back with you.’

  ‘If you make the surroundings sound so lethal I shan’t come,’ I said. ‘Do I get danger money?’

  ‘We’ll let the bull out,’ said Don. ‘Then you can forget the gate.’

  ‘Goodbye, my dear,’ said Mrs McKie. ‘I’m so glad we shall see you again soon.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at twelve,’ said Don.

  ‘That’ll be lovely. Now I must rush. The wind’s a bit variable upstairs.’

  I did not know how variable. When I got back to the theatre a storm had blown up. As I changed my shoes in the office, Maitland rushed in.

  ‘Oh ‒ you are back. I should think you’ve said goodbye well and truly!’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said placatingly. ‘I didn’t think I’d been long.’

  ‘Mr Morley wants to put a manipulation on.’

  ‘Oh well, that’s all right, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s not all right,’ she said, colouring. ‘It means extra work. The theatre will have to be prepared again.’

  ‘No, it won’t. There are several manipulations, aren’t there? We don’t wash the theatre down between each one.’

  This being a fact she could not deny, Maitland rushed off on another track. ‘It’s always the same. I’ve never had any cooperation from you since the day you came!’

  I sighed. ‘If you’re in that sort of mood,’ I suggested, ‘stay here and cool off, and I’ll go into theatre.’

  ‘What do you mean ‒ “that sort of mood”? I can’t say a thing to you. You immediately lose your temper and insult me.’

  This was too much. ‘Oh, stick your head under the cold tap,’ I remarked, and turned to walk out, but I was caught up at the door by Maitland.

  ‘How dare you talk to me like that? Unless you apologize at once, I shall go straight to Matron’s office!’

  ‘Oh, Maitland, don’t be so silly.’

  ‘Very well. You’ve left me no option.’

  Her hands were trembling, and there were spots of red on her cheeks; as she turned I saw her back was rigid and her head shook a little. The next moment she had stormed out of the theatre.

  I stayed in the office for a while, wondering what on earth had caused this last outburst. When I was calmer I went into theatre and started on the day’s work.

  Morley had decided that today his houseman should undertake a minor operation, the removal of a nodule. Unfortunately the young man was in such a state of nerves that he took half an hour to put in five skin sutures. This put the list behind, and I was late going to lunch.

  At about two-thirty I went back to theatre and saw Maitland was in the office. She looked up, turned bright red, and called; ‘Will you come in here for a minute, Sister?’

  I walked in, prepared for another upheaval. ‘Before you start,’ I said, ‘may I point out that I didn’t go to lunch till a quarter to two.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ she said stiltedly, and there was a long pause. At last she said slowly, ‘I decided not to report you after all. I thought you had been a little hasty and probably regretted it.’

  ‘Regretted what?’ I asked blankly.

  ‘Please let us forget the whole incident. I intended to request Matron to ask for your resignation.’

  I thought ‒ Am I supposed to thank her for this act of forbearance? But I said nothing. She went on; ‘But on the whole I can quite see that it is only your manner that is at fault.’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ I said curtly. ‘But you needn’t have bothered. I’m giving in my notice this weekend.’

  Her face changed completely. The rigid lines collapsed into a smile. ‘Oh, my dear,’ she said in a considerate voice. ‘I’m afraid my manner must have been at fault. I have had rather a worrying time lately, with Mother, and all this extra theatre work.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said, trying to respond.

  Maitland got up and came round the desk. She put a hand on my arm. ‘But of course you know I always say theatre work needs a specialized temperament, and I quite understand if you feel you can’t manage to go on.’

  Shall I tell her, I thought? It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I was leaving to get married, but when it came to the point I found I could not destroy her moment of triumph. I said meekly: ‘I do find I’ve had enough of it, Sister.’

  ‘Well, my dear, if you ever find you need a reference ‒’ she rattled on, beaming, ‘‒ but on the other hand, I do think that perhaps you are more suitable for ward work. It’s no disgrace, you know ‒ I myself have had times when I find it particularly trying to work in a theatre.’

  She hurried out, apparently revivified by her victory.

  I thought what it would be like to be Maitland. To have no private life except a love-hate relationship with her mother. To desire above all things a good marriage, which became more and more unlikely as the years passed, and to be unable to form any other relationship because you have nothing to give but fear and anger. To be afraid of the responsibility of your job, and afraid of losing it to someone better, and for these two fears to make you hand out trouble and get back resentment from your inferiors, and dislike from all your colleagues. To have nothing to look forward to except the certainty of growing old and weak, and if once irritability failed as a safety valve, to deteriorate into a nervous breakdown.

  I thought of all these things, and determined for the rest of my time with her to try and remember them.

  Everyone was so welcoming on Sunday and so eager to please, that I was overcome. After lunch, Rhona went to answer the telephone, and as the call took some time, Don and I cleared away and I started to wash up. Mrs McKie hopped out into the kitchen on her crutches and sent Don away, saying she wanted to talk to me.

  ‘I’ll dry up,’ she said, picking up a cloth.

  ‘Are you sure you can manage?’

  ‘Oh yes. The sink and the ironing board are two of my jobs. I can stand on one leg and get a little support.’

  We talked about the future, and she told me that they had decided to give Don a house as a wedding present. ‘It’s only two farm cottages, it’s been standing empty. But if you like it, it will convert beautifully.’

  I began to thank her, but she said farmers always had empty cottages, now so little labour was used. ‘We can’t sell, you see, in case we get the wrong people on our land.’

  Later we went to see the plain white-faced pair of cottages, sitting on the edge of a farmyard and screened by fir trees.

  Don produced the key and we went inside and decided how to carry out the conversion.

  Then we walked in the fields amongst the Jersey cows with large eyes and gentle ways, and Don gave me some instruction about them. In the piggeries a sow with a family came up and nuzzled his pocket, and he explained rather shamefacedly that he usually brought her an apple.

  I had to be shown the tractor, and I was given a lecture on the respective merits of reversible ploughs, mounted ploughs, and trailer ploughs. I told him he showed much more enthusiasm for the interior of the tractor than he had for the interior of the house.

  When we got back, Don was taken off by his father to look at a cow that was expected to calve, and Mrs McKie went to have a rest. Rhona took me up to her room, and as soon as we were alone with the door closed she said with rather a flushed face; ‘That was Teddy ringing up.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said casually. ‘What’s his news?’

  ‘It’s rather embarrassing. He wants me to go out with him and I don’t really want to.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I sort of left it open.’

&n
bsp; I considered for a moment. ‘Look ‒ Don wants to take me to the County Show. Why don’t you ask Teddy to come along too and make up a four.’

  ‘I should think that’s the last thing he’d want to go to.’

  ‘Well ‒ that makes two of us,’ I said. ‘He can keep me company.’

  ‘All right. I said I’d ring him back when I sorted things out.’

  ‘It would be better than brushing him off,’ I said. ‘I think he’s kind of sensitive.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rhona. ‘I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, because he’s been rather sweet. When I was in the ward collecting some things Mummy had forgotten, he came up and asked me if I’d seen Peter, and I said I wasn’t seeing Peter any more. Then he carried the things to the car for me and on the way he said, “Let’s have an anti-marriage club. You and me are founder members. I’ll not marry Angela and you not marry Peter.” I said it was a sort of compulsory club, wasn’t it? All we can do is think about them. And he said “Well, let’s start not-thinking. Five minutes every day at first”.’

  ‘I think Angela hurt him a lot,’ I said. ‘And he’s really such a nice person.’

  It was touch and go whether I got my day off for the County Show, but Maitland being unable to drum up a crisis, I found myself on the day waiting on the steps for Don and Rhona. As they drove up, Teddy came running across the courtyard from the doctors’ quarters, carrying a bunch of envelopes and small packets.

  ‘Had to collect my mail,’ he explained, as he got in the back of the car with Rhona.

  ‘What an awful lot of mail,’ she said.

  ‘It’s three days’ accumulation.’

  ‘All girlfriends?’ asked Don.

  ‘But of course. They write in code.’ He began to read out; ‘Invaluable for Nervous Headaches and Gout. Do you suffer from Heartburn? Do you?’ he asked Rhona.

  ‘What’s heartburn?’

  ‘Try these six tablets and find out. Every one of these letters is a tender entreaty for my patronage.’

  ‘You grand old Patron.’

  ‘Aren’t I? Except that every doctor in the country gets them every week.’