The Nightingale Nurses

by Donna Douglas

It wasn’t just the patients who were discussing Mrs Lovell’s powers.

  ‘There must be something to it, don’t you think?’ Katie O’Hara said, as they polished spoons in the kitchen ready for inspection. Every Tuesday morning, every piece of cutlery, plate, cup and saucer had to be taken out of the cupboards, washed, dried and set out on the table in the middle of the ward for Sister Everett to check. She would then inspect each piece closely, count them all and note the figure on a list which remained locked in her desk drawer, never to be referred to again.

  No one could work out why the inspection had to be done, but no one dared question it either. It was just put down as one of Sister Everett’s Little Ways, like her pet parrot and her custom of leading the patients in rousing spirituals on her harmonica every Sunday morning.

  ‘She definitely has powers,’ Katie went on. ‘I don’t like the way she looks at me, as if she can see right in here.’ She tapped her temple.

  ‘I’m surprised she can find anything going on between your ears!’ Amy Hollins snorted. She and the other third-year Sheila Walsh were emptying the cupboards, arranging cups and saucers on a tray. ‘Honestly, O’Hara, you should listen to yourself. You’re so silly and superstitious. I expect it’s that backward little village you come from.’

  ‘Take no notice of her,’ Millie whispered, seeing Katie’s hurt expression. ‘I suppose it would be nice to know what the future holds, wouldn’t it? I’d love to know when Seb is coming home from Berlin.’

  ‘I’d like to know if my Tom is going to propose to me,’ Katie said.

  Millie laughed. ‘Steady on! You’ve only been courting five minutes!’

  ‘Two months, actually,’ Katie replied primly. ‘And it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together, if you know it’s true love.’

  Millie sent her a sideways smile. She wondered if Katie’s boyfriend Tom knew that she was planning their future so seriously. Millie had only met him once but he didn’t strike her as the type to settle down.

  ‘What about you, Hollins?’ Sheila asked. ‘Don’t you want to know if your mystery man is going to pop the question?’

  Hollins smiled enigmatically but said nothing. She picked up the tray and carried it out of the kitchen.

  ‘I wonder who he is?’ Katie whispered, as the door closed behind her. ‘It’s not like her to be so mysterious, is it? I’ve heard he’s a millionaire.’

  ‘I really don’t care,’ Millie shrugged. ‘She’s so spiteful, I’m surprised she’s even got a boyfriend.’

  Mary Ann Lovell was at it again that afternoon. As Millie finished the tea round, she was annoyed to see one of the other patients, Mrs Penning, perched on the edge of her bed, hand outstretched. Mary Ann’s neighbour, Mrs Wilson, leaned forward listening eagerly.

  ‘Never!’ she was saying. ‘Go on, what else does it say?’

  ‘It says you’ll soon be coming into money,’ Mary Ann Lovell intoned gravely, drawing Mrs Penning’s palm closer to her face.

  ‘Ooh, did you hear that? Coming into money, eh? Maybe you’ll come up on the football pools.’

  ‘If my husband don’t get his hands on it and spend it all before I get home!’ Mrs Penning said gloomily.

  Millie glanced around the ward. Amy Hollins and Sheila Walsh had sneaked off to the kitchen for a gossip, while Sister and Staff Nurse Crockett were tending to a patient behind some screens at the far end of the ward. All hell would break loose if they found patients wandering about.

  ‘What are you doing? Get back into bed at once.’ Millie tried to give her voice the right note of stern authority. None of the women took any notice of her. ‘You’ll catch a chill,’ she tried again. ‘And you know Sister doesn’t like you out of bed.’

  ‘Oh, never mind Sister. She’s not here, is she?’ said Mrs Penning carelessly over her shoulder.

  ‘Have you had your palm read yet, Nurse?’ Mrs Wilson asked, turning to her.

  Millie caught Mary Ann’s challenging gaze. She looked every inch a gypsy, her grey-streaked hair framing a weatherbeaten face.

  She held out her hand. ‘How about it, my wench?’ she invited.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Go on, where’s the harm?’ Her voice was as low as a man’s, throaty from too many cigarettes.

  ‘She’s right,’ Mrs Wilson said. ‘It’s only a laugh. Gawd knows we could do with it in this place!’

  Mary Ann trapped Millie in her gaze. ‘You never know, I might have good news for you,’ she rasped. ‘Here, let me look—’

  ‘What on earth is going on here?’

  Millie froze at the sound of Sister Everett’s footsteps advancing briskly towards them.

  ‘Why are these women out of bed, Benedict?’ she demanded. ‘Did you give them permission to wander around the ward?’

  ‘No, Sister.’ Millie studied the polished toes of her shoes.

  ‘I’m surprised at you,’ Sister Everett scolded. ‘I turn my back for five minutes, and you allow my ward to descend into chaos. Explain yourself, Nurse!’

  ‘I – I—’

  ‘It wasn’t her fault, Sister,’ Mrs Penning broke in. ‘I wanted to get my palm read, that’s all.’

  ‘Not this nonsense again?’ Sister Everett turned to Mary Ann. ‘Does this look like a fairground? Do you see any gypsy caravans? Any sideshows?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘No, this is a hospital ward, full of sick patients. And I’ll thank you to treat it as such. I will not have you reading palms or consulting tea leaves or gazing into crystal balls, or whatever other mumbo-jumbo nonsense it is you carry out. Is that quite clear?’

  She and Mary Ann glared at each other for a moment.

  ‘Ain’t my fault if they want my dukkering,’ the gypsy mumbled, her expression truculent. ‘I got the gift, see.’

  ‘Well, I’d rather you didn’t use it on my ward.’ Sister turned to Millie. ‘Get Mrs Penning back into bed at once. And then you can go and give Mrs Allen her liniment.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Mary Ann said carelessly, examining her fingernails. ‘She’ll be dead before sunrise.’

  There was a shocked silence, broken only by the distant sound of a pro rattling bedpans about in the sluice.

  Sister Everett recovered her composure first. ‘What utter codswallop! This has gone too far. It’s bad enough that you persist in this silly fortune-telling, but to upset my patients . . .’

  ‘I know what I know,’ Mary Ann insisted stubbornly. ‘The fates don’t lie.’

  ‘I don’t know about the fates, but our consultant seems to think she is doing very well,’ Sister Everett retorted. ‘And I would put modern medicine over your hocus-pocus any day of the week.’ She turned to Millie. ‘Well? What are you standing there for? Stop gawping and go and fetch that liniment, girl, or you won’t need a fortune-teller to tell you what lies in store for you!’

  ‘Excuse me, Nurse, I’m just about to take my break. I don’t suppose you could spare threepence for a cuppa?’

  Dora managed a weary smile at Dr McKay’s joke. Two weeks on, and the doctors still hadn’t tired of making fun of her.

  Word had quickly spread around the Casualty department about the case of mistaken identity, and everyone had thought it hilarious. Even Sister Percival had cracked a smile. Dora didn’t think she would ever live it down.

  ‘How was I to know Dr Adler had come back from Switzerland on the night train?’ she said to Penny Willard. ‘He didn’t even look like a doctor.’

  ‘I know,’ Penny replied with a sigh. ‘That’s because he doesn’t have a woman to look after him.’

  There was something about Dr Adler that brought out all the nurses’ maternal instincts. Penny could often be found sewing buttons on his shirts, while Sister Percival turned a blind eye whenever he spent the night stretched out on a wooden bench after a late shift because he was too exhausted to go home.

  ‘He’s so dedicated,’ she explained. ‘And brilliant, too. He could have been an eminent professor
in any medical school in the world, but he chose to stay here and care for our patients.’

  Brilliant and dedicated he might be, but he also had a wicked sense of humour. And he’d found the right partner in Dr McKay. The pair of them could often be found plotting mischief together.

  And Dora seemed to be their particular target. Only that morning, she had spent five minutes calling across the waiting room for a patient called Buttock, until she’d seen Penny Willard with her head down behind the counter, doing her best not to laugh, and realised that the doctors had filled the emergency treatment list with a lot of fake notes featuring silly names.

  ‘Sorry, Nurse,’ Dr Adler chuckled, his big shoulders shaking. ‘We couldn’t resist it.’

  ‘You’re like a couple of schoolboys,’ Dora sniffed. ‘And you wouldn’t do it if Sister Percival was here.’

  ‘Now there’s an idea.’ Dr McKay’s brown eyes gleamed behind his spectacles. ‘I’d like to see Percy standing in the middle of the waiting room, calling out for Mr Bighead.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare!’

  Dr Adler and Dr McKay looked at each other.

  ‘Is that a challenge? We love a challenge, don’t we, David?’ Dr Adler said.

  ‘We do indeed, Jonathan.’

  ‘Then why don’t you take on the challenge of looking after some of these patients, instead of wasting time playing silly beggars?’ Dora said.

  ‘Ooh,’ Dr Adler pulled a face. ‘I think Nurse Doyle has just issued us with a reprimand, Dr McKay.’

  ‘I think Nurse Doyle has been spending too much time around Sister Percival,’ Dr McKay agreed.

  Dora sighed and shook her head. ‘You two are the giddy limit.’ She started to search through the notes for the next patient. ‘How are we supposed to know who’s who, with all these daft names you’ve put in? And you could have made up better names than some of these,’ she added, waving a piece of paper at them. ‘I mean, who would ever believe someone was called Pearl Button?’

  ‘Did you call, Nurse?’ came a timid voice from the other side of the waiting room.

  Dora flushed bright red, but Dr McKay kept a completely straight face as he called out, ‘I’ll see you now, Miss Button.’

  Dr Adler waited until the door of the consulting room had closed before he roared with laughter. ‘Oh, Nurse Doyle, your face! That will teach you, won’t it?’

  Dora turned away, just as the doors opened and Nick came in, half carrying her brother Peter who was limping badly, his teeth clenched in pain.

  Dora rushed over to them. ‘Pete? What’s happened?’

  ‘He took a tumble down the basement steps when he was taking some rubbish down to the stoke hole,’ Nick explained. ‘Mr Hopkins reckons he might have broken his ankle.’

  ‘Sit him down.’

  Peter gave a yelp of pain as Nick lowered him on to the bench. Dora bent down and rolled up his trouser leg.

  ‘It looks swollen. Does it hurt when I touch it?’

  ‘Jesus!’ Peter jerked away. ‘What do you think?’ he hissed.

  ‘All right, Nurse. What seems to be the problem?’ Dr Adler stood behind them.

  ‘This is my brother, Doctor. He’s a porter here. He thinks he might have broken his ankle.’

  ‘Let’s take a quick look, shall we?’ Dr Adler kneeled down, but Peter moved his foot away.

  ‘’S’all right,’ he said stiffly. ‘I can wait, if you’ve got other patients to see?’

  ‘It won’t take me a minute to check you over. If it’s a simple sprain, your sister can bandage you up and send you on your way—’

  ‘I said, I’ll wait!’ Peter’s green eyes flared. He shared Dora’s colouring and features: a freckled face, wide, obstinate mouth, and ginger hair flattened under his hospital porter’s cap. ‘Besides, I’d rather see the other doctor.’

  ‘Pete?’ Dora frowned.

  Dr Adler’s smile became tense. ‘I can assure you, Mr Doyle, I am as adequately qualified as my colleague to diagnose a sprained ankle.’

  ‘All the same, I’d rather see Dr McKay.’

  ‘And why’s that, Mr Doyle?’ Dr Adler asked softly.

  Peter shot him a filthy look. ‘Because I don’t want your dirty Jew hands on me,’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘Peter!’ Dora gasped. ‘You apologise to Dr Adler at once—’

  ‘It’s all right, Nurse Doyle.’ Dr Adler slowly straightened up to his full height. ‘I’m sure Dr McKay will be available shortly,’ he said. His expression gave nothing away, but Dora could only guess how hurt and humiliated he must be feeling.

  As he walked away, she turned on Peter. ‘How dare you say that to him? Dr Adler is a good doctor, one of the best in this hospital.’

  ‘He’s still a yid though, ain’t he? I’m not having him touching me.’

  Dora looked at Nick. His mouth curled with the same disgust she felt.

  ‘What’s happened to you, Pete? You’re not like my brother any more. When did you get so full of hate?’

  But she already knew the answer to that one. It was the day he’d joined the Blackshirts.

  He wasn’t the only one to get sucked in by Sir Oswald Mosley and his British Union of Fascists. They had started to creep into the East End a few years earlier, recruiting their members from working-class men who had no jobs, no hope and no future. Somehow they managed to convince them that it was immigrants, especially the Jews, who were responsible for their plight. Before long many had joined the ranks of Mosley’s black-shirted army. They handed out leaflets, held rallies and marches, made speeches and sold The Blackshirt newspaper on street corners.

  More worryingly, many of them had taken to harassing Jews on the streets, attacking innocent people, smashing their windows and setting fire to their shops.

  Dora hoped Peter had more sense than to get lured into those kind of activities. But looking at him now, his pondwater green eyes full of malevolence behind their ginger lashes, she wasn’t so sure.

  ‘I don’t need a lecture from you,’ he muttered

  ‘No, you’d rather listen to those Blackshirt mates of yours!’ Dora shook her head. ‘What would Mum say if she heard you talking like this? It’s not how she brought you up, Peter Doyle, and you know it!’

  ‘Nurse Doyle?’

  She looked round. Sister Percival had returned from her break and was bearing down on her.

  ‘There are other patients to attend to, when you’ve quite finished?’ she reminded her severely.

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ Dora shot a look back at her brother. ‘I’ll deal with you later,’ she promised.

  She was so mortified, she could hardly face Dr Adler for the rest of the day. It wasn’t until they were together in the consulting room treating a delivery boy with a dog bite that he said, ‘How was your brother’s ankle? Was it fractured?’

  Dora shook her head, eyes fixed on the patient as she cleansed the wound. ‘Just a sprain.’

  ‘I thought as much.’ Dr Adler nodded wisely. ‘I daresay he’ll be relieved he doesn’t have to miss out on any of those marches the Blackshirts are so fond of.’

  Embarrassed heat flooded Dora’s face. ‘Oh, Doctor, I’m so sorry.’ She blurted out the words she had been practising in her head all day. ‘He should never have said those terrible things to you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Nurse, I don’t hold you responsible for your brother’s opinions.’ Dr Adler gave her a weary smile. ‘And he didn’t say anything I haven’t heard before. Living in the East End these days, you get used to people spitting at you and calling you names in the street.’

  Dora stared at him in disbelief. ‘But you’re a doctor!’

  ‘In here, I am. Out there, I’m just another – how did your brother put it? – dirty Jew.’ His mouth twisted. ‘To them we’re all the same. People to hate. People who don’t belong.’

  ‘But you do belong here!’ Dora said.

  ‘I used to think so, but now I’m not so sure.’ Dr Adler’s dark eyes were serious as they hel
d hers. ‘Look around you, Nurse Doyle. Look at your brother. I’m telling you, the East End is changing. And if Oswald Mosley and his Blackshirt thugs get their way, soon there won’t be any room for the likes of me.’

  Chapter Ten

  EVERY MORNING SISTER Sutton planted her bulky frame beside the front door of the nurses’ home, her Jack Russell terrier Sparky at her side, inspecting the girls like troops going off to battle.

  ‘Is that lipstick you’re wearing, Hollins? Take it off immediately, you’re a nurse, not a showgirl. Doyle, do something about your hair. If you can’t get those curls inside your cap I’ll cut them off for you myself.’

  Of course Millie didn’t escape her gimlet-eyed attention.

  ‘Benedict, your cap is crooked,’ she pronounced, swooping on her as she hurried past. Sister pulled it off Millie’s head and stuffed it back into her hand. ‘Go back upstairs and do it again. You’d think after nearly two years you’d be able to get it right.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  As a result, Millie was late for breakfast and barely had time to manage a crust of bread before she had to rush off to the ward for seven o’clock.

  The night staff were still serving breakfast when she arrived on duty with Katie O’Hara and Amy Hollins.

  ‘It’s been pandemonium,’ Pritchard, the student who had been looking after the ward overnight, skimmed past them carrying a plate of bread and butter. ‘We lost one last night.’

  ‘Who?’ Amy asked. But Millie’s eyes were already drawn to the corner bed, hidden behind its tell-tale screens.

  ‘Mrs Allen,’ she said.

  Pritchard frowned at her. ‘How did you know?’

  Millie and the others exchanged worried glances.

  ‘She had a heart attack in the early hours,’ Pritchard went on. ‘It was so unexpected.’

  ‘I’ll tell you who did expect it,’ Katie muttered, nodding towards Mary Ann Lovell. She was sitting up in bed, sipping her tea and chatting to Mrs Wilson in the next bed, completely unconcerned.

  ‘It’s just a coincidence, that’s all,’ Millie said.

  ‘Or that woman put a hex on her.’ Katie shuddered. ‘I’m telling you, I’m not going anywhere near her again!’