by Yeadon, Jane
Tom looked up from the table, his jaw dropped. ‘What did you do that for? I thought we were going to have a competition. See who’d be the first to sink their boat.’ Resting his elbows on the table, he put his hands over his head. ‘Anyway, I can’t make mine,’ he said, trying to rub away a tell-tale tear. ‘It’s rubbish.’
26
TIME FOR SOME PATIENTS’ SUPPORT
Mrs Collins had been lying on the sofa looking at her feet as if she hadn’t seen them from this angle lately. Hearing Tom, she struggled to her feet. ‘Shh! Don’t be such a softie. Look, I’m sure I could have a go. Nurse’s far too busy to show you again.’
At the sight of a small boy in distress, formality went out of the window. ‘I’m not so busy that I can’t show you again, Tom,’ I said, joining him at the table. ‘Anyway, Mrs Collins, you’ll need to learn how to make them the proper way as well. So please sit down again and watch. And keep that leg up.’ I turned to Tom. ‘Now, whenever you see your gran sitting down, you just remind her to do that in case she forgets.’
‘Sure will.’ Tom brightened. ‘But I’m only here in the mornings. Who’ll mind her after that?’
Mrs Collins laughed. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ve nobody here to look after but myself.’ She nodded at a photograph of a man in a flat cap looking sternly out from a highly polished silver frame. ‘Now that my Norman’s gone.’ She sighed and looked out of the window for a moment. ‘I do miss him. He was right good at scrubbing the stairs.’
‘I take it you do them now?’ I was casual.
‘Of course. I take my turn.’ She sounded defensive.
‘I’ll be back at the end of the week,’ I said, leaving the flat a little later than planned. As I went down the steps I was sure that Mrs Collins cleaned them more often than she admitted, but I couldn’t think of a way to change that. Remembering Tom’s armada of Queen’s pokes was much more satisfying.
Hands on hips, he’d surveyed them with a big grin whilst his granny said, ‘Now that’s what I call ship-shape. Maybe you’ll be a sea captain when you grow up.’
Tom narrowed his eyes and stuck out his chest as he strutted back to the sofa. Tucking in beside Mrs Collins, he said, ‘And I bet you I’ll be good at sinking them too. I’ll show you how tomorrow but, Granny, let’s just sit and watch telly so you can rest that leg.’
Throughout the course, clinical instructors had occasionally accompanied us on our rounds. They were experienced district nurses, qualified in teaching best practice, and were so friendly and helpful it was easy to forget that we were students. However, our practical exam, watched over by Miss Cameron, was bound to be different.
‘Would you mind a visit from Miss Cameron?’ I asked Mrs Henderson. ‘Our practical exam’s next week and she says she’d like to catch up with you as well as see how I manage caring for you.’
‘As if I didn’t,’ said Hilda, banging down a basin so that the water slopped over the edge. ‘Honestly! I should sit that exam. I bet I’d pass with flying colours.’ She rolled her eyes and stomped out of the bedroom, her high heels sounding like castanets racky-tacking.
‘Don’t worry about Hilda,’ said Mrs Henderson. ‘She’s just getting over a bad weekend. I know you’re going to be fine. We haven’t had a failure yet.’
Mrs Collins was just as reassuring. She looked pleased when I’d said Miss Cameron had especially asked to see her. ‘Apparently your leg might be the highlight of her day,’ I told her. ‘She wants to see how well I dress it.’
‘Och! You’ll pass with flying colours, and Nurse,’ she said, taking my arm and looking at me earnestly, ‘don’t you worry about Tom. You’ll never believe it but the couple in that flat opposite noticed you were calling. They came and offered to take him to Blackford Pond so that he could get a proper sail for his paper boats. Actually, I think he prefers terrorising the swans,’ she gave an unconvincing tut, then went on, ‘but he comes back happy as Larry, with colour in his cheeks too, and as well as that, my neighbours say he’s great company and saves the pair of them from sitting at home getting bored with each other.’
‘Did you know them before?’
‘No. Not really. Norm and me always kept ourselves to ourselves.’ Mrs Collins spoke slowly. ‘Maybe we should have been a bit more like them. They’re using their retirement to help other folk. D’you know, they’re even taking my turn on the stairs till my leg gets better.’
‘Well, it’s certainly on the mend. All that rest you’re giving it’s doing it good. Look, Mrs Collins, before you know where you are, you’ll be off walking to Blackford Park with your new pals. You’ll just not need to sprint for the first wee while.’
Mrs Collins had a pewter tray. I was worried that the paper bag holding all the dressings hadn’t looked professional but hadn’t wanted to imply criticism. Now that we’d a comfortable relationship, I asked if we could use the tray.
‘It would be more hygienic and we’d see what was there,’ I’d explained. ‘Then I can see what’s needed before we run out.’
‘Certainly. What a good idea. I’ll give it a good clean and it’ll be ready for you tomorrow. We’re a team, you and me,’ she’d said.
I was touched by the way she’d thrown herself into the spirit of things. She’d provided a spotless damask hand towel to cover the tray’s dimpled base, her finest Tupperware containers for the gauze swabs, cotton wool and crepe bandages. The bottle of Savlon and a random appearance of zinc and castor oil jar might have thwarted her a bit, but she rallied with the Sofra-Tulle and plastic apron. ‘I’ve put them on bonny plates,’ she said, ‘and I’ll always be sure to have a pan boiling to sterilise your forceps.’
I looked at the tray. ‘My tutor will think she’s getting a cup of tea,’ I said.
Tea was probably the last thing on Miss Cameron’s mind as I introduced her to Mrs Collins, who said, ‘I’m sorry there’s only one good chair.’ With the cheerfulness of the floating-through-the-airwith -a-wand Cookeen Fairy advertisement, she showed her to the mock-leather chair. It had been so well polished that Miss Cameron sat down, then, fearing she might fall off, took a tight grip of its arms.
Oblivious to anything but being the perfect patient, Mrs Collins, wreathed in smiles, lay on the sofa. ‘I always lie here. Nurse Macpherson says I’ve got to rest with my legs up.’ I thought the imitation mischievous, but Mrs Collins was unstoppable. ‘She’s a caution, says I need to improve my reading.’ She picked up and waved a copy of The Scotsman. ‘And this makes better boats as well.’
‘Ha ha, I think you mean poke,’ I said, advancing with the tray and setting to my task.
Blithely, my patient continued, ‘I wasn’t for having a nurse, but I can see how daft that was. My leg’s fair come on since she started dressing it. Look.’
Gingerly, Miss Cameron eased herself forward. ‘Yes, that looks fine, healing round the edges – always a good sign.’ She sat back quickly, then ventured, ‘Tell me, Mrs Collins, do you ever wear support stockings?’
Blast! I’d never thought of that.
Miss Cameron continued, ‘They’re a good idea. They really help with circulation. I wear Elbeos.’ Knuckles white on the chair arms, she risked stretching out her legs and looking at them complacently. ‘I have done since I started nursing training. With all our work keeping us on our feet, I thought I’d be prone to problems like varicose veins, so often the curse of our profession.’ Tucking those well cared for pins under the chair, she added, ‘Look after your legs, I say.’
Hoping mine without the Elbeo bonus weren’t about to fall off, I finished the dressing with much smiling and sly winking from Mrs Collins. I hadn’t bargained on a discussion involving Miss Cameron’s legs, but there certainly was nothing wrong with their agility.
Visit over, the tutor practically shot off the chair. ‘Thank you so much for your co-operation,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘And remember, those stockings really do help.’
I was hard pushed to keep up with her as she skipped back
down the tenement stairs.
At their foot, she glanced at her watch. ‘We’ll easy walk the distance. It’s probably quicker than taking a bus.’ She sniff ed the air and took a deep breath. ‘I must say it’s good to get away from being stuck inside, and I always enjoy meeting the patients. But we mustn’t linger. Let’s go.’ She set off, her arms and box-pleated skirt swinging as if she was a marching Wren.
I’d grown to love my district with all its variety of patients. Their wry humour and stoic outlook played a big part in helping them cope with their different ailments. But even if the area was rich in character, it couldn’t always hide its poverty.
Passing a pawn shop, Miss Cameron noted, ‘I bet there’s not too many of them up north.’
I could have said the same might apply to the shabby-looking place we were approaching and reputed to be a knocking shop, but as she sped past she took my mind completely off it.
‘How will you get on in Fortrose?’ she asked.
‘Fortrose?’
She stopped for a moment, turned round and blinked at me in her earnest way. ‘Yes, Miss Macleod was telling me there’s soon going to be a vacancy there. Of course, you’ll know it’s on the Black Isle. Handy for Inverness and, personally, I think it would suit you very nicely.’
I was so surprised I must have just gaped. I knew there was a vacancy coming up there but hadn’t dared to think I’d get it. Mulling it over, I’d to practically run after Miss Cameron who, as if regretting discussing my future, had hurried off again.
But at least she took the time to wait outside Mrs Henderson’s house. Usually I clattered down the steps to alert any rodent of a human presence but I didn’t get the chance today. I’d run out of steam but Miss Cameron hadn’t, and was now forging ahead.
‘Sometimes I’ve met rats here,’ she mused. ‘Nasty little things. I don’t know how often we’ve contacted the sanitary inspector about them, but they keep coming back. The ideal thing of course would be to re-house the family, but Mrs Henderson says she likes it here.’ Miss Cameron shrugged. ‘Makes you wonder, but who are we to judge?’
She was about to knock on the door when it was pulled open.
‘I heard you coming,’ said Hilda. A blindingly white nylon overall replaced her crossover pinafore, the rollers and headsquare had been jettisoned to allow the rare sighting of peroxide curls. Even her voice had changed. Had it not been for the missing front tooth, I might not have recognised her.
‘Miss Cameron!’ She all but curtseyed. ‘May wurrd. How naice. Come this way.’
We trooped after her into the bedroom, where a fire blazed and Mrs Henderson was sitting up looking cheerful, if unfamiliar, with teeth I didn’t know she possessed.
Miss Cameron sat on an armchair, I supposed taken from another room and in her honour. She said, ‘Just you carry on, Nurse Macpherson. Mrs Henderson and I have a lot to catch up on.’ Beaming, she continued, ‘And I must say, my old friend, you’re looking especially well. Wearing your hair with that band suits you.’
‘Nurse Macpherson got it for me.’ As my patient pulled on her red winceyette pyjamas, she added, ‘Suggested these too. They’re much easier to put on than a nightie and they’re warm, so that saves the coal. Thrift, eh, Miss Cameron? We know what that is, don’t we?’
‘Yes – the younger generation have a lot to learn,’ Miss Cameron was plainly having a lovely time but my patient’s loyalty was undiminished.
She said, ‘Well, that’s so, but we’ve to move with the times too. And I must say, we’re enjoying Nurse Macpherson’s company. We love her bright chat, don’t we, Hilda?’ But the home help had gone, saying we’d want privacy.
Now, instead of her eagle eye and gossip, I’d an examining tutor. I’d also two thick fresh towels, face cloths, new lavender-scented soap and a basin with the price ticket still attached. Carrying out general nursing care today had become a bit surreal, with my patient so bent on extolling my virtues I nearly gagged her with one of the spare face cloths. Eventually, running out of steam, she turned a bright gaze on the tutor.
‘Miss Cameron, d’you ever listen to Nina Simone?’
‘I’ve heard the students speak about her, but no.’ If I hadn’t associated the tutor with old-fashioned inclinations, I’d have sworn she sounded wistful. ‘They say she’s a wonderful performer, but I missed out on getting a ticket when she was here recently. How d’you know about her?’
With the air of a conjuror, Mrs Henderson pointed to the radiogram. ‘We’ve got her in there and now that Nurse’s finished giving me that lovely wash, she’ll put her on.’
‘I’ll leave you to it whilst I tidy things away,’ I said as Nina cranked up and her sounds filled the room. Miss Cameron had been perched on her chair as if listening to a sermon, but by the time I’d returned, she was settled in the chair gazing into the fire, apparently lost in a reverie.
A small hand conducted over the counterpane whilst in the distance Hilda warbled with heart-felt conviction, ‘I put a spell on yooou.’
When the LP finished, Miss Cameron stood up, stretched and dropped her shoulders. A dimple appeared. Her voice was even softer than usual as she said, ‘I know the students think I’m an old fuddy-duddy and I’ve always thought The Beatles and Rolling Stones made an awful racket, but d’you know, I must get that record.’
Then she patted Mrs Henderson on the shoulder. ‘Th ank you, as ever. I can’t think of a better place for my students to come for their training and I can see you’ve made a great bond with this one. Now come along, Nurse, we really must go.’
Following her out, I noticed her step was light and her bum had a slight wiggle, making the skirt box-pleats give a particular swing. Maybe she was remembering wearing a kilt and Highland dancing, but I prefer to think that Miss Cameron was getting in the groove.
27
CATCHING UP
Miss Cameron practically skipped into the classroom. Maybe it was because it was our last day and she’d be getting a break, or maybe she’d good news about our exams.
I glanced over at the castle which, in a fine drizzle, looked particularly indomitable and impregnable. The view made me think of an Edinburgh which wore history like fancy-dress, and having found it fitted, kept it on. Right now, however, the future was more important, with our tutor holding the key to it.
She cleared her throat, checked her skirt’s box-pleats were in place, paused as she adjusted her spectacles, then smiled.
‘I’m delighted to tell you that you’ve all passed the exam.’ She allowed the class a small buzz of self-congratulation before continuing, ‘So now you’ll be heading to your own districts where, I trust, you’ll remember all we’ve taught you. For me, anyway, it’s been an enjoyable experience although,’ she scratched the back of her neck, ‘I’ve a slight concern you might find it strange working on your own without the back-up you’ve had here. I’m guessing you’re going to miss that – for a while anyway.’
Without any practice, we chorused, ‘Of course. And you too.’ Our shy, modest, serious little tutor deserved respect. We weren’t being craven. What class wouldn’t be influenced by a dedication shown at every tutorial, or passion for delivery of compassionate professional care?
She cocked her head. ‘Actually, I’ll probably see most of you from time to time as all but you, Nurse Macpherson, are going to work near here.’ She pulled herself up to her full five-foot height. ‘So, girls, do remember I’m always here and happy to help with any problems you might have.’ She considered me for a moment. ‘Of course, I know you can’t do that, but I understand Ross-shire has a splendid network of nurses and,’ she pursed her lips for a moment before adding, ‘Miss MacLeod is a very modern thinker.’
An open file lay on the table. It was there each time we reported on our visits to her and was presumably a record of our own work. She glanced over it, nodded, then closed it with something of a flourish. Giving it a final tap, she said, ‘There! You know you’ve been lucky. You are the last Queen’s
qualifying nurses that I’ll be tutoring.’ She altered her tone slightly. ‘I can’t think that the content of the next course will be very different, but it won’t be graced with the Queen’s name. So, you be proud of your qualification and its name, and good luck.’
It was good to be back in Ross-shire, but I was struck by the irony of douce Miss Cameron choosing to live in Scotland’s busy capital whilst trendy Miss Macleod stayed in quiet Dingwall, where I was now heading.
On the day of my return to Conon Bridge, she’d left a message on my answering machine. ‘Welcome back and congratulations, Sister Macpherson. Miss Cameron tells me that you’ve passed the course. I look forward to seeing you at tomorrow’s staff meeting and if you want to use your own car, that’s fine. Dr Duncan and I have decided that anybody wanting to use their own transport can now do so.’
Fortrose wasn’t mentioned. Maybe Miss Cameron had made a mistake. I hadn’t liked to pursue the matter because she’d blushed as soon as she’d said it. Anyway, Miss Campbell was prone to that, and as I was in the middle of my practical exam, there were other things to think about. Afterwards there never seemed a chance to find out more.
Still, I’d love the chance to work there. ‘Suit you very nicely.’ I was sure I remembered Miss Cameron saying that.
I’d seen Fortrose and had been beguiled by the little town’s simple layout, shops and sturdily-built houses. There was an ancient cathedral near the High Street. Only a fraction of it remained but its red sandstone spoke of another time, long before the Victorian houses fronting the main road were built. The nearby sea gave the air a taste of salt and iodine, whilst the clear high call of gulls above the harbour sang in my ears long after I drove back to my Conon Bridge home. I wondered was it likely to remain that.
Three months away from Ross-shire didn’t seem very long, but in that time, spring had called, breathed new life into the countryside, left the larch, rowan, wild cherry and birch trees clad in green and then made way for early summer. The gorse bushes painting the road verge in gold splashes owed their ripening colour to it, and it gave a perfect day.