Nurse Ronnie's Vocation

by Felicity Hayle

  "Isn't there some sort of job I could do in one of your father's businesses?" she asked, knowing that Cunningham Senior had his finger in a great many commercial pies.

  Charles looked a bit worried. "I'm sure Dad would

  like to fit you in somewhere, but you'd have to be—well, sort of qualified in some sort of way," he explained deprecatingly. "You see, we have to depend on our secretaries such a lot. You know, besides the old shorthand and typing lark, mutts like me have to have someone who can lay their hands on anything we want to know— else where would we be? Now my secretary, Sandra, dashed pretty girl too, she turns up the answer to any-thing I care to ask her, and within the hour—and she's always right too, that's the amazing thing. But if you go to one of these college places and get some diplomas or whatever they call 'em I'm sure the old man would find a place for you somewhere."

  Ronnie had no time nor the money for college courses, but on the way home she saw a second-hand shorthand manual lying outside a bookseller's window. A few minutes' glancing through its pages, however, were sufficient to convince her that not in a thousand years could she master those hieroglyphics.

  All these efforts occupied some weeks of alternate hopes and fears, during which the only thing that brightened was the weather. When she had time to shake herself out of her gloomy thoughts Ronnie discovered that even London could be lovely in the spring and that she herself was still young. But not young enough to be able to shrug off the responsibility of mounting bills and Toby's ill-health.

  In the end she was forced into submission and the acknowledgement that Aunt Mary had been right. It seemed that nursing was the only thing left, and accordingly she wrote to the Matron of the North-Western Hospital.

  If she had imagined that because nurses were in short supply admission to the service would be hers for the asking, Ronnie found that she was mistaken. Even after the paper formalities had been completed and she was

  granted an interview, acceptance was by no means certain, she found.

  She got off on the wrong foot at that interview. To begin with she was a few minutes late for her appointment. That was Charles' fault. He had offered to drive her out to Swiss Cottage where the hospital was, and as he did so by way of Hampstead Heath the time schedule went a little astray. Then he insisted on kissing her for luck right under what Ronnie was to learn a few minutes later were the windows of the Matron's office.

  Miss Henshall, the Matron, turned out to be a very quiet, dignified person with disturbingly intelligent eyes which had a habit of studying people in a silence which usually stung them into embarrassed and foolish utterances. Ronnie was no exception, and she found herself blurting out all kinds of unnecessary details as to why she was late for her appointment.

  When she had finished Matron proceeded to give her such a eulogistic discourse on the standards of the nursing profession that Ronnie was quite sure she could never measure up to them, and in one of the long silences wondered what on earth she could try next, since this application seemed sure to fail. In answer to the direct question : "Do you feel you have a vocation for nursing, Miss Forbes?" although she was quite sure she hadn't, she managed to say : "I like helping people," which at least was true.

  After that there was another long silence while the Matron perused a whole sheaf of papers attached to the back of the application form on which Ronnie recognised her own writing. 'Goodness I' she thought, 'surely Aunt Mary couldn't have written all that?' She certainly couldn't have written all that number of complimentary things, Ronnie thought, as the silent reading continued and her hopes dwindled accordingly.

  At last, however, those alert eyes were raised from

  the papers and Matron said coolly : "Well, Miss Forbes, I am prepared to admit you to our Preliminary Training School for a trial course. If you shape well at the end of that you will be admitted to St. Chad's as a junior or probationer nurse. I am afraid you will find the preliminary course rather like going back to school, and most of your classmates will be a great deal younger than yourself—we usually take girls at eighteen or so. But I have no doubt you will settle down with them. There is a new course starting on Monday next. You will not wear uniform until you have passed through the course, but I am sure I can rely on you to wear quiet and suitable clothes. You will—"

  Ronnie hardly heard the rest of Matron's remarks She was filled with relief to be at least over the first hurdle.

  Going to St. Chad's Preliminary Training School was like stepping into another world, Ronnie found— a world of strange contrasts. It was difficult for instance to imagine how the crowd of giggling eighteen-year olds who were her classmates could ever develop into responsible nurses. She felt immeasurably older than they were, and yet biologically far less well informed. There was only one other girl nearer her own age. She rejoiced in the name of Fleur Flourish, and was universally known as Flossie. She was the daughter of a street trader in Chelsea, and together with absolutely no class-consciousness, had an honesty which matched Ronnie's own, a robust sense of humour and a determination to become a nurse.

  At first the work was deceivingly simple, but it progressed with alarming rapidity, and Ronnie was occasionally out of her depth.

  "What's the difference between a gynaecologist and an obstetrician?" she would whisper to Flossie when

  they were doing their weekly tests; or : "How do you spell 'Haemorrhage'?" And Flossie usually knew—or if she didn't, she sounded as if she did.

  The practical work was more interesting, Ronnie found. She enjoyed sessions when they took each other's temperatures and pulses or had blood specimens taken for classification on a tour of the path labs.

  It was a short, crowded, comprehensive introduction into the many fields of work which lay behind the hospital wards, and had the desired effect of weeding out the keen from the superficial. Three girls who started the course fell by the wayside, but of those who completed it none were disqualified. Ronnie, who knew that her paper work had not been wholly satisfactory, sighed a great sigh of relief when at last she donned her nurse's uniform and joined the little procession of student nurses attending the Matron's office for their posting to the wards.

  "Here comes the pep talk !" whispered Flossie as they stood arraigned before Matron.

  In the course of what Flossie irreverently called the pep talk Matron said : "I hope none of you nurses has gained the idea from current television programmes that hospital wards are the breeding ground for romance? I can assure you that nothing is further from the truth at St. Chad's."

  "Old spoilsport !" Flossie breathed. "I can't wait to get my hooks on the first good-looking houseman I meet."

  Ronnie's lips twitched. Flossie had an incurable habit of falling in love. In fact she took to falling in love like a duck to water, and each of her affairs left as little mark on her as water on a duck's back. Flossie was good fun, though, and Ronnie hoped they might be posted to the same ward.

  They were lucky, for a moment or two later their

  names were called. "Nurses Flourish and Forbes will report to Sister Young on Connaught--Women's Surgical Ward."

  Sister Young they found lived up to her name. She was quite young, small and attractive, but there was about her an air of briskness and a look in her eye which warned them that her reputation in the hospital as a bit of a martinet was not undeserved.

  "This is Connaught," she said, preceding them through the swing doors. "Twenty-two beds in the main ward and two in the side ward."

  The big ward was bright with spring sunshine and gay with flowers tastefully arranged on all the central stacks. The bed-quilts were alternately green and orange, and the bed-curtains were of a gay cretonne pattern of nasturtiums.

  The scene brought forth a spontaneous 'How lovely !' from Flossie which evidently pleased Sister, although she quickly effaced her smile of pleasure and said : "I like my ward to look nice. But that is just a little extra that I expect from my nurses and in no way excuses any slackness or inefficiency."r />
  Ronnie did not speak at all. Something curious was happening inside her. It was as though as she entered Connaught Ward she was coming home. She knew that her term of duty there would be short—before she was through with her training she would serve in many wards; but there would never again be a moment quite like this. She felt sure at last that this was her niche— somewhere in all the complicated field of medicine there was a place for her. She knew now what Matron had meant when she talked of 'vocation'

  After a lightning tour of the ward and its offices Sister Young turned them over to two other young nurses who were preparing the trolley of mid-morning hot drinks in the ward kitchen. "Nurses Flourish and Forbes," she

  introduced them. "Nurses Danby and Graves are nearing the end of their first year's nursing and should know the ropes by now. They will put you in the way of things. You may help them take round the hot drinks. After that study the list of patients on special diets. Such patients must never be given anything to eat or drink by a junior nurse except under the supervision of a senior. That is most important. Then you should get to know the names of the patients and acquaint yourselves with their operative treatment. When the hot drinks are finished, Nurse Graves will show you how to pack the drums for sterilisation. Being a surgical ward we use a great number of dressings, and when Staff does the dressing round one of you can stand by—"

  It was all very complex and confusing at first, but now that she had at last come into contact with the patients Ronnie began to see some sense in all the theory she had tried to assimilate in P.T.S., and she found the experience stimulating.

  "Oh, my poor feet !" Flossie groaned when at half past twelve they were sent down to the dining hall to get a meal. "You look as fresh as a daisy, Forbsie-- aren't you tired?"

  "The trouble with you Londoners is that you've forgotten how to walk," Ronnie said complacently, tucking into the plate of food before her. She was not a very good cook herself, so that any meal set before her that she had not had to prepare was welcome.

  A few minutes later they were joined by Danby and Graves. The twelve-thirty sitting was composed almost entirely of junior nurses. By that time the patients' meal trays had been distributed, the meal eaten, and the task of collecting up the trays was that of the ward orderlies. By the time the juniors got back on the wards at one o'clock the patients were ready for their toilet round before being settled for an afternoon nap. This was all

  part of a set pattern of routine that before very long Flossie and Ronnie came to take as second nature. That first day, however, the two new nurses ate their lunch undeterred by the knowledge of the next job ahead of them.

  "What's Sister really like?" Flossie sat back from her empty plate.

  "Not so bad as long as she doesn't catch you slacking," Nurse Danby told her.

  "At least she's always willing to explain things and teach you," Nurse Graves chipped in. "Some of the Ward Sisters think the juniors never ought to aim at anything higher than hot drinks and the sluice room."

  "But she's got one thing," Danby said thoughtfully. "Don't you ever let her find you making eyes at the housemen—or the consultants either, come to that, though most of them are too old anyway."

  "What's the houseman like?" Flossie enquired with interest.

  "Oh, rather a poppet really. His name's Alan Pickering, and they say he's rather clever, but Sister practically keeps him under lock and key !" Nurse Graves ended with a giggle.

  That first day seemed like a week before it ended, and it left the two new recruits exhausted mentally as well as physically. "There's so much to learn !" Ronnie wailed. "And Sister expects you to know it all before you start !"

  Nurse Danby, who was going off duty at the same time, gave a warning. "You haven't seen anything yet— this has been a quiet day. You wait until it's ops day or —worse still—surgeon's round."

  "That really is something !" Nurse Graves corroborated.

  They were soon to learn the truth of those warnings. The sort of peace that they first encountered on

  as

  Connaught Ward only occurred on about two days out of seven, and on the other five the work was hard and gruelling, even for the newcomers who only had to tackle the most menial tasks.

  Flossie grumbled. "I don't mind being rushed off my feet for the patients' sake, but all this spit and polish and bowing down and worship when there's a consultant in the offing makes me sick !"

  Ronnie heartily agreed with her. In fact with her usual dislike of beating about the bush she had had the temerity to argue the point with Sister, and had got her knuckles sharply rapped for her pains.

  The point in question had been the duty allocated to one of the most junior nurses of standing guard at the ward door whenever a consultant was doing his rounds. "Wouldn't it be better if I got on with the linen room?" she asked, with the best intentions in the world.

  "Nurse Forbes !" Sister's tone cut the air with a crackle. "I don't know what you were taught in P.T.S., but you don't seem to have assimilated the fact that a nurse's first duty is to obey her Ward Sister without argument."

  After that Ronnie subsided, but it still seemed to her that a lot of valuable time was wasted doing jobs that were of no use to anyone. "Surely even if a man is a consultant he can open a door for himself ?" she muttered to Flossie.

  "Oh well, I don't mind," Flossie said. "It's a good excuse to do nothing for a bit and get an eyeful of man for a change. Not that most of them are much cop. But there's a new one this morning," she cheered up.

  "Oh, who's that?" Ronnie enquired. They were having their nine-thirty break and so had time for a few minutes' gossip.

  "Danby said it was Sister's pet boyfriend—been off duty for six months or more."

  "I thought there was a special hoo-ha going on," Ronnie nibbled at her biscuit. "What's his name?"

  "Dunno," Flossie replied. "Danby just called him `His Nibs,' so I s'pose he's one of the high-and-mighty ones."

  "Glad it's you on the door, then," Ronnie grinned. "I shall enjoy myself quietly in the sluice."

  But her quiet was soon invaded by an urgent message. Some X-ray photographs which ought to have come up had not done so, and she was dug out of her seclusion to go and fetch them.

  There was some delay in producing the plates and when she got back the ward door was closed, so she knew the round had commenced.

  Flossie swung the door noiselessly. "Buck up !" she whispered. "They've nearly got to Mrs. Stevens."

  `They' consisted of the usual cortege on these occasions—the consultant in dark lounge suit, the registrar and the houseman in varying lengths of white coat, with Sister and the staff nurse as attendant acolytes.

  Ronnie's task was simple enough. All she had to do was to hand her folder to the staff nurse, who would in turn hand it to Sister, who would pass it on to Alan Pickering at the precise moment when the great man's examination needed the production of photographic evidence.

  Ronnie sped down the ward so as to reach Staff before the little procession moved on to the next bed, which was Mrs. Stevens'. Unfortunately, just as she approached, the doctors decided to move to the other side of the patient's bed, and so for a moment they were advancing in Ronnie's direction. She pulled up—or tried to—not because there was any danger of a collision, but because of something else ...

  With a ghastly certainty she felt her foot slip from under her and knew that she was going to measure her

  length on the floor. In the split second before her head hit the floor with a resounding crack she had enough time to realise that her first impression had been right.

  The hint of amusement and mockery in a pair of light grey eyes watching her downfall belonged to none other than the 'Government Wallah.'

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE was completely dazed for a moment. Two horrified faces bent over her as Danby and Graves hauled her to her feet and between them frog-marched her out of the ward.

  In her ears a cool, incisive voice said : "Really, Si
ster, can't you arrange for your nurses not to swoon on the ward?"

  If she could have doubted the evidence of her eyes, that voice left no room for doubt. She would have known it and the hint of amused mockery anywhere.

  The two nurses dumped her in the light armchair in the ward kitchen which was there for the use of the night nurses in their free periods.

  "What on earth did you do that for?" Nurse Danby demanded.

  "Sister 'll be furious ! I wouldn't be in your shoes for anything, Forbsie !"

  "What did she do?" Peggy, the ward maid, demanded, all agog with interest.

  "Well, she took one look at His Nibs and fainted at his feet !" Nurse Graves giggled a little.

  "Gosh !" Peggy's eyes widened. "I know he's a smasher, but I never knew anyone knocked out like that before !"

  "Did you faint, Forbsie?" Danby asked.

  "No, I didn't," Ronnie retorted crossly. "You are a pack of idiots. My foot slipped or something—I don't

  know. All I do know is that my head aches like fun. D'you suppose—"

  Before she had time to finish the sentence the kitchen door opened and Alan Pickering, the houseman, came in. "Now then, what's all this about?" he asked. "His Nibs has sent me specifically to enquire after Nurse Forbes' state of health. No bones broken, I hope?"

  "No, I'm quite all right, thank you, sir," Ronnie sat up. "I've just bumped my head a bit, that's all."

  Alan Pickering was a pleasant-faced young man with laughing blue eyes. They were twinkling with amusement now, and Ronnie felt irritated. Why on earth should he jump to the same conclusion as these silly girls?

  "My foot must have slipped," she said, and his smile widened to a positive grin. Nevertheless he ran gentle, exploratory fingers over the back of her head. "Seems all right," was his diagnosis. "Report sick if it goes on aching badly—but it should be all right in an hour or two. I'll go back and report to His Nibs that Nurse Forbes is not seriously hurt, shall I ?"

  Ronnie nodded and waited for him to go. But he paused at the door and delivered one more remark. "By the way, how did he know your name?"