So much for things not tallying. ‘How do you know? From Sonia?’
‘Sister Theatre on the quiet. She’s quite palsy with me now. She’s fun. But keep all this to yourself. She’s no more impressed with the sunstroke routine than the rest of us, but, as Sister Mark gave Sonia a final stern warning last week, agrees it’s a tactful solution.’
I said drily, ‘I suppose nobody’s thought of giving Johnny Druro a stern warning?’
‘Why? It hasn’t been his fault. He’s had to be in and out of Mark all the time because that’s his job. You can imagine how much this has been discussed down here. Well, not even Sister Mark considers poor old Johnny has been anything but perfectly correct. That wretch Sonia has had him in a tough spot. She wouldn’t leave him alone.’
‘At the risk of sounding olde worlde, I’d say her fiancé was in a tougher.’
She shot me a queer, worried glance. ‘You could be right. They do say ‒ oh, damn!’ It was the telephone-bell. ‘Bound to be calling me back!’ She ran down the corridor, was back in a few seconds. ‘As I thought. A flaming awful case! I’ve to fly. See you at supper ‒ I hope.’
I had to unpack, make up a new cap, and adjust the fit of the fine new staff nurse’s belt Matron had given me. For a little while when Phil left I did nothing but sit on my bed, watch the trees outside my window, and think about Johnny and Sonia.
I had just reached the conclusion they were both hard as diamonds and would suit each other very well when I remembered how he looked while waiting at the desk in that scarlet dawn three nights ago. I would have preferred not to remember that, yet, once there, I could not get it out of mind. I started on my unpacking.
The annexe might look gay and slightly unreal, but was as much a part of Simeon’s as any of the London blocks. When I walked into Mark at five to five, if I ignored the view outside the French windows, I could have been walking into Lister on day duty.
The patients, like the nursing, medical, and lay staff, came down through the parent hospital. They were not convalescents; the annexe was a general hospital, and our convalescent homes were elsewhere.
The Mark patients could have been brothers of the men I had left behind in Lister. They had the same type and severity of illnesses, the same predominantly London voices. The furniture and equipment were arranged identically in all Simeon’s wards. At first sight the only obvious differences were the names on the backs of the wheel-chairs and Sister Mark’s figure. Sister Lister was very slim.
Sister Mark, the most senior ward sister in the hospital, had had her first lace bow under her chin before our present Matron started training. She was short and stout, with curly grey hair, thick spectacles over which she always peered when annoyed, and a militant manner that was reputed to cause even our Professor of Surgery to quake like a junior pre-clinical student.
‘Well, Nurse Francis?’ She looked me up and down. ‘So I’ve got you back, have I? I trust you have now learnt never to deposit fish-bones in the pig-bucket?’
I had forgotten the mistake I made as a raw first year in Mark. ‘Yes, Sister.’
‘So I should hope if you are now to be my acting staff nurse! Well? Why are you standing about, child? I understood you were here to work?’
‘Yes, Sister,’ I repeated meekly.
‘Then start reading through the report while I give my nurses their evening work! You are not dawdling round on night duty now! Get on, child! Move! Move!’
‘Yes, Sister.’ I thought of the many nights in Lister when the only time I sat down was to write the report at the double in the early morning. ‘Thank you, Sister.’
Every Monday and Thursday the new patients arrived from London in a convoy of ambulance coaches that took back the discharges. Mark, being an acute general surgical ward, had a high turnover. Nine men had gone out, seven had come in, that afternoon.
The team system of nursing was used in all our wards. This entailed all the nurses in training in each ward being divided into teams under a team-leader, the most senior nurse in each case. Each team was allotted so many patients, and nursed those patients exclusively from their admission to discharge. The system was very popular with both nurses and patients, who all enjoyed the sensations of belonging to one another.
As staff nurse my work was part nursing, part administration. After the full-time nursing of night duty and my training years, I had a definite feeling of being odd-man-out while I listened to Sister allocating the new men to the team-leaders. It felt most peculiar to have no special-patients of my own, to see the wary glances the other girls were giving me, and to realize that for the first time in my nursing life there was no one in the ward with whom I could exchange a gossip, grumble, or laugh. In smaller hospitals I had heard that the barrier between the trained and the still in training was so low as to be occasionally non-existent. In a large training school such as our own, with over five hundred nurses in training, the dividing-line was very marked. The fact that I had only crossed it overnight did not matter at all. I wore an official belt.
Sister looked over her glasses. ‘I thought I told you to read the report, Nurse, not fall asleep. You aren’t going to be any use to me asleep! Might as well have stayed in London! Well! How much have you taken in?’ She proceeded to hurl query after query at me. ‘So you were reading, eh? That’s something. Now let’s get down to the diagnosis list.’
Before I had been half an hour in the ward all the patients were somehow aware I had come off nights last night and arrived down that afternoon. That did not surprise me. I was used to patients. I would not have been surprised if one of the Mark men had told me in which railway carriage I had travelled and the name of the engine-driver. So I had no reason to feel shaken when the elderly man with thick white hair in the corner bed by the door announced his sorrow at hearing Staff Nurse Dinsford was poorly. ‘Not coming back, they say. Shame. Still, changes must be made. I hope you’ll be well pleased with your new job, Staff Nurse Francis.’
The evening raced by. Sister sent me to early supper. ‘Unfortunately, I have to attend a special Sisters’ Meeting at seven-thirty. I shall then go straight to my own meal and be back in time for Prayers. You are sufficiently experienced to take charge for that hour, even though this is your first evening,’ she added in a voice that left no room for argument.
‘Yes, Sister.’ I sounded far more sanguine than I felt. The work itself was not worrying me, it was so identical to Lister. What was upsetting was the prospect of the surgeons’ evening rounds. They were still held up in the theatre; Sister had said the Senior Surgical Officer would not be in until after Prayers, but Johnny, our registrar, and the two Mark house-surgeons were due to arrive directly the list was over. With the help of the report-book, I should be able to answer the housemen’s questions. I was not so sure about our Mr Druro.
Phil arrived in the dining-room as I was leaving. We met at the serving-hatch. ‘How’s it going, Kirsty?’
‘ “As well as can be expected,” dear.’
‘Splendid. Johnny left the theatre for Mark twenty minutes ago, You’ll have missed him.’
‘That will ruin my day,’ I murmured brokenly.
The two housemen were leaving Mark when I got back. I recognized one as a theatre dresser last spring, but could not remember his name. He nodded my way, went on with his conversation.
Sister had her cuffs on. ‘The evening rounds are done, Nurse. Here is tomorrow’s theatre list.’ She pinned this to her wooden file box. ‘Will you take down and re-pack Burgess’s dressing before tidying beds with the team-leaders? The residents’ rounds delayed my getting back to him.’
Nurse White, the senior day nurse, was waiting for me when I reappeared from behind Burgess’s drawn curtains. ‘When would you like me to help with my team’s beds, Nurse Francis?’
‘Can you give me ten minutes?’ I explained why. ‘How are your girls getting on with the routine?’
She was at the end of her third year. We had not worked together before, bu
t knew each other by sight. ‘A bit behind. They’ll catch up.’
‘Good. I’d like to have everything fine when Sister gets back from her meeting and supper.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘Sister’s gone to both?’
‘Yes. Why? Doesn’t she usually? I thought Sisters’ Meetings were a must.’
She hesitated. ‘I think they are ‒ but ‒ well, Sister Mark doesn’t always seem to bother with them. She hasn’t left the ward at all for anything but meals for the last few weeks ‒’ She broke off as if suddenly appreciating that she might be giving too much away. ‘We’ve been so busy.’
‘So I hear.’ I was very curious to get the nurses’-eye view on the Johnny-Sonia story, but my fine blue belt prevented my asking questions, or having them answered.
I went down to the sterilizing corner, tied my mask more tightly, turned up the heat of the largest sterilizer, dropped in the various dishes and bowls I wanted for my dressing-trolley. The water reached the boil instantly. I rinsed free of sterilizing solution the necessary instruments, arranged them in a smallish kidney dish, slid it into the water, closed the lid, then flicked over the large glass and wood egg-timer on a shelf just above. The first grains of sand trickled through the narrow waist.
‘I’m afraid there’s been a change in tomorrow’s theatre list, Staff Nurse. We’re doing that man Elvis first after all. Will you tell Sister ‒’ Johnny’s voice at my elbow stopped abruptly as I turned slowly to face him. ‘Nurse Francis?’ he snapped, looking from my masked face to my belt. ‘Are you our new staff nurse in here?’
His disapproval was so patent I did not just stiffen, I bristled. ‘Yes, Mr Druro.’
‘What about Lister?’
‘Nurse Farwood has taken over.’
‘And you’ve been promoted. Congratulations. I hadn’t realized we were so short of staff nurses.’
He was probably infuriated by the thought of anyone in Sonia’s place and said the first thing that came into his head. Still, as I told Phil later, I doubted he could have made a nastier crack if he had sat up all night working on it.
I let it go. I had to. I was on duty. ‘I’ll tell Sister Mark about Elvis.’
‘Of course.’ The way he was looking me over reminded me of Sister. ‘How long will you be down here?’
‘As far as I know, while Nurse Dinsford is off sick.’ I glanced from the nearly empty timer to him. ‘She’s got sunstroke.’
His expression went blank. ‘So I believe.’ He scowled at the timer. ‘You using that sterilizer? Any instruments in there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then unless you want them to boil to a jelly, hadn’t you better do something about getting them out?’
I could gladly have crowned him with that egg-timer. I had to say between my teeth, ‘I’ll take them out now, Mr Druro. Thanks for reminding me.’
He did not answer. He walked off.
For a couple of seconds I looked at his broad, straight shoulders. And I had wasted good energy brooding over all that was pure and sweet in his nature because he had seemed human the other night in Lister. Human! Huh! Sonia was the right girl for him, and she could have him with my love.
Sister Mark was not at all pleased with me when she returned to what I thought was a tidy ward. A night shade was crooked; she found dust at the back of a top shelf in the sluice; an unmarked vase of flowers was on the flower-shelf in the clinical room.
She dismissed the day nurses, then dealt with me. ‘I expect my staff nurse to supervise as I would supervise, Nurse Francis. In future, be good enough to keep that in mind.’
The theatre lights were blazing when I went off. The theatre was directly opposite Mark across the ramp. A gowned porter came out pushing an empty oxygen cylinder. He left the door open. In the lighted corridor behind him the full cylinders against the white wall looked like a row of penguins.
‘Off, Staff Nurse? You’re lucky.’
I stopped. ‘I thought you’d finished for to-day?’
‘You weren’t the only one. Then that young Mr Druro had to go and shoot hisself. I dunno. Quiet they said it’d be when they fetched me down here. Quiet! Cor! Get more peace back at the Elephant.’
I said slowly, ‘Did you say Mr Druro has shot himself?’
‘That’s right, Nurse.’ He jerked a thumb. ‘Talk about a carry-on! The S.S.O.’s fixing him up now.’
I had to take this one step at a time. I felt so extraordinarily queer. ‘Is he bad? Where did he get the gun?’
‘Nah. Not too bad. The S.S.O. he reckons it’s not more than a flesh-wound back of the arm. It were a twelve-bore, see. That young Mr Druro was having a day out with two of the other student lads ‒ going after pheasants, they say ‒ and he tripped. Not having the safety-catch down, his shotgun it went off, and he caught it back of his right arm.’
The relief that overwhelmed me was absurd and maddening. ‘Some relation to our Mr Druro?’
‘That’s right, Nurse. His young brother. He come down with that last lot of lads from the Medical School. Lively youngster. Puts me in mind of our Mr Druro when he were a lad.’ He wagged his head appreciatively. ‘Regular terror, he was! You’d not credit it now he’s turned that serious.’
I could credit it. ‘Is he in there too?’
‘Watching, like. He was in Cas when his brother walked in. His mates had tied up his arm. Our Mr Druro was real shocked.’
‘Shocking thing to happen when it’s your brother.’
‘It weren’t that, Nurse. What upset him real bad was that safety-catch being left off. He may have been a bit of a lad hisself, but he never made no mistakes like that.’
That was something else I could credit. ‘Good thing there was a hospital handy. I hope all goes well. Goodnight.’
‘’Night, Nurse.’ He trundled his cylinder off down the ramp. I walked on to our hut with legs that had turned to jelly. I tried to persuade myself this was only because I had had such a hectic day, packing, travelling, unpacking, working. That would have made sense, if I had not been trained to recognize the physical symptoms of shock even when they applied to myself.
When Phil came into my room a little later I was still lying fully dressed on my bed.
‘Kirsty, what’s wrong? You look green. Richard rung you?’
I smiled and sat up. ‘Alas, no. He must be busy.’ Then I realized the odd fact that she had immediately blamed him for my colour. ‘Why pick on him?’
She said she had had a disorientating evening and could not be responsible for anything she said. ‘Know why I’m late?’
‘Yes. A theatre porter told me. I didn’t even know Johnny had a brother. Did you?’
‘Lord, yes. Nice boy. Name’s David. He’s been down here about a month. Looks just like Johnny, only much younger, as you’ll discover tomorrow. He’s warded in Mark pro tem, but won’t be in long. His wound was messy, not serious. Bone only chipped.’ She stretched wearily. ‘I must have a long, long bath. Shall I run one for you?’
The telephone rang constantly while I was in the bath, but no one called me. The hot water revived me. I decided I was a very nice girl with a generous nature to have been so shocked by the thought of Johnny taking a gun to himself. My subconscious must have a soft spot for him because of that night in Lister. And Phil’s subconscious must have the reverse for Richard, since she had blamed him instinctively for my being all of a tremble. My thoughts amused me. I was in a very good mood when I left the bathroom.
‘Like some cocoa, Phil?’
‘Give me ten minutes to set my hair and I’d adore some.’
I decided to kill time by ringing Richard. That was something I had never done before, and it would be fun to surprise him. With luck, I would contact him just before he started his night rounds.
Sid, the night porter on the Simeon’s switchboard, recognized my voice at once. ‘So you’ve left us, Nurse Francis? And what can I do for you?’
‘I’d like to talk to Mr Bartney if possible, please. Or is the gene
ral theatre working?’
‘Not tonight, Nurse. Quiet for once. Hold on ‒ I’ll check the board.’ There was a pause. Then: ‘Ever so sorry, Nurse. Mr Bartney’s out.’
‘Out? On a Monday night?’ It was not Richard’s free evening.
‘That’s what my board says, Nurse. He’s due in at eleven. He’s left a number.’ He reeled off one on the Chelsea exchange. ‘You could try there.’
‘I don’t think I’ll bother, thanks, Sid. It’s not important. No, no message. ’Night.’
I replaced the receiver absently. Richard had said nothing about having his evening changed this morning, and if he was free, why had he not rung me? And what was he doing in Chelsea? As far as I knew, he had no friends there. Perhaps Bill Yates had asked him to make a last-minute switch, and he had gone out for a meal with one of the other men. Chelsea was full of eating-places. I was getting worked up because my crazy shock over Johnny had left me in a dither. This was what came of paying attention to one’s subconscious. I dismissed the matter and went back to make the cocoa.
Chapter Five
JOHNNY TURNS GALAHAD
David Druro was in the bed next to old Mr Varden in the corner. He was twenty-one, built on the same hefty lines as his brother, with the same curly brown hair and tobacco-coloured eyes, but his face was a boy’s face.
I did not care much for the prospect of nursing him until I met him. He was a cheerful, friendly young man, and, apart from the physical resemblance, seemed so unlike his older brother that I liked him very much.
As he was a student, and a very minor case for Mark, Sister decided not to allocate him to the nursing teams and made him my specific charge. Consequently I came to know him very well in a very short time. Before the end of that week I heard all about his current girl-friend, a blonde student physiotherapist in Simeon’s proper, his passion for rugger and fast cars, and the country rectory where his parents lived and had raised their four sons.
Flowers from the Doctor Page 6