The First Year

by Lucilla Andrews

  Matron supervised me with an expressionless face. When the bath was over she told me to make an operation bed in the Missing Link, set a dry-dressing trolley, a trolley for tepid sponging, a tray for a hypodermic injection.

  One of the other examiners stood at my elbow as I laid the trolleys. Once she stopped me. ‘The top of that trolley is supposed to be sterile, Nurse. You touched it with your unsterile elbow.’

  My heart sank. I murmured, ‘I’m sorry, Sister,’ and wheeled the trolleys over to Matron for her inspection, and then noticed I had forgotten to put the ice-bucket on the tepid-sponge setting. I saw that Matron had noticed the mistake too. She wrote something on the piece of paper in front of her. Then she beckoned me. I was sure it was to tell me to stop wasting her time; but she only said, ‘Will you please make a starch poultice and apply it to my arm, Nurse?’

  I answered mechanically, ‘Yes, Matron,’ and walked away in complete despair. There was now no doubt; this was the end. I had never yet been able to make a decent starch poultice, no matter how often I had practised. I had bought pounds and pounds of starch, and wasted the lot. I stood staring unhappily at the long table on which was arranged all the apparatus we might need, and wished and wished that I had never been so stupid as to think I wanted to be a nurse. How could I hope to be a nurse when I knew my starch would go lumpy? And how could I dare apply the inevitable mess of a result to Matron’s arm?

  A quiet voice beside me murmured, ‘You are, of course, looking for a suitable tray on which to set your poultice, Nurse Standing?’ Sister P.T.S. looked thoughtfully at the dozens of enamel trays. ‘Yes, that one will not be required by anyone else,’ she added, although I was too dumbfounded to say a word; ‘so carry on with it, Nurse, and do not be discouraged if your starch congeals as previously. You merely have to continue stirring the boiling mixture and it will clear.’ She vanished as discreetly as she had arrived, but not before she had helped me pull my scattered wits together. But for her well-timed advice, when, as ever, the starch clung to my spoon in an ugly lump, I should certainly have burst into tears. Under the effect of her inspiration I stirred feverishly, and suddenly the liquid cleared to the right glassy consistency. I poured it on to the square of linen I had cut, and the starch set at once. My hands shook when I applied the finished poultice to Matron’s arm, but she made no comment. When I had removed the poultice Matron nodded at Sister P.T.S. and wrote something else on her paper.

  Sister touched my arm. ‘You may go now, Nurse. Wait outside with the other nurses.’

  I obeyed her thankfully and joined the post-mortem that was going on in the hall. My friends groaned with me. ‘Poor Rose! Starch! We all know what that means for you!’

  I told them how Sister P.T.S. had helped me, and was very relieved to find that she had done the same to all the others. ‘She kept popping up like the Demon King,’ whispered Angela, ‘and saying she was sure I was looking for just this ‒ or just that ‒ and handing me the very thing before I realized I hadn’t got it. The old girl’s human after all!’

  The list of results was put up by Sister just before tea. She pinned it to the board, then stood back, and for once made no attempt to quell the small riot that followed her action.

  Angela pushed her way to the front. ‘We’ve all passed, girls!’ Then when the noise died down again she said, ‘Good Lord! Look who’s top!’ She thrust her body through the crowd and thumped my shoulder. ‘Good for you, Rose! But how ever did you do it?’

  Josephine peered incredulously at the list. ‘I never would have thought it! Rose,’ she turned to me almost accusingly, ‘you must have stayed awake for once!’

  The other girls were equally shocked, but I don’t think any of them were as shocked as I was. I stared at the list blankly, feeling there must be a mistake somewhere; then I noticed Sister’s amused expression. Sister said, ‘You have all done quite nicely, Nurses. And, Nurse Standing, I congratulate you. I agree with Nurse Forbes; you have stayed awake for once. May I suggest that you continue to do so for the next four years? By then it may well become a habit.’ She smiled at us. ‘Well, Nurses, this is where we part company. I wish you all every success in your training. Come back and see me when your training days are over, and tell me what you plan to do. I always like to follow the future nursing careers of the young nurses I have in my school.’

  ‘But, Sister,’ protested Angela, ‘that’s four years off.’

  ‘And that you think,’ replied Sister quietly, ‘represents a near life-time?’ She shook her head. ‘The years will pass before you are aware that they have started. They will be short, exciting years, in which you will certainly work harder, and possibly enjoy yourselves more, than in any other period in your lives. So do not waste your training-years, Nurses; make the most of every minute, because you can only train once. To quote your modern phraseology, you are going into the hospital on a one-way ticket; and you are now members of perhaps the most honourable profession for women in the world. We are very proud of our profession,’ she added sincerely, ‘and very proud of our hospital. I hope I shall always be able to be as proud of each one of you as I am this evening.’ Then, without another word, Sister P.T.S. walked out of the hall and out of our lives.

  There was silence when she left us. It was Josephine who broke it. ‘She’s not just human, Angela; she’s a honey.’

  We had no time to discuss Sister P.T.S.’s heart of gold, as the senior Sister Tutor, who had now taken us in charge, appeared just then with another list. ‘You will no doubt wish to know in which wards you will be working when you return from your week’s holiday, Nurses.’ She fixed her list to the board. ‘I have Matron’s permission to show you this now.’

  Sister Tutor was a stranger and not the old friend we now considered Sister P.T.S., so we did not crowd round her to read the new list. When she left us Angela again appointed herself as official announcer. ‘I’m going to Martha ‒ good! Sylvia ‒ you’re in Henry. Gill ‒ you’ve got William Brown ‒ watch out for Sister William Brown, she’s a horror! Josephine and Rose, you are together, you lucky things! And you’re both going to Francis Adams.’

  Josephine asked me what was Francis Adams. ‘Must be male ‒ but surgical or medical?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m still hazy which ward is which.’

  ‘Angela’ll know.’ She raised her voice. ‘Angela! Come over here! What’s Francis Adams?’

  Angela squeezed a path to us. ‘Men’s acute surgical.’ Then she looked at me and began to laugh. ‘Rose, dearie! Do you realize what that means?’

  ‘Should I?’ I could not see any joke, but I was so happy this evening that I was ready to smile at nothing. ‘Nice ward?’

  ‘You may not think it,’ she spluttered, ‘but Josephine may like it. So let me warn you, Rose. Francis Adams takes all the acute surgical emergencies. Three guesses whose ward it is?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ I sat down on the window-sill behind me. ‘No, Angela. It’s not one of the S.S.O.’s own wards. Don’t tell me that.’

  She said that was exactly what she was going to tell me. ‘Francis Adams and Susan are his babies. He’s in and out of those two wards all the time. What do you think of that?’

  I pushed my cap back on my head. ‘I think that’s one of the most depressing bits of news I have heard in my life.’

  ‘Nurse!’ Sister Tutor had materialized again and was standing in front of me. ‘What is your name, Nurse? Nurse Standing? Indeed. Well, allow me to tell you, Nurse Standing, that nurses do not perch on polished window-sills or allow their caps to slide down the backs of their necks. Kindly remember that from now on you are supposed to comport yourself with dignity.’

  I jumped to my feet and pulled my cap forward. ‘Sorry, Sister, yes, Sister.’ When she had gone on again I turned to the girls. ‘This is where we came in. She looks as bad as Sister P.T.S. has been until to-day.’

  Angela said not at all. ‘Sister P.T.S. wears velvet gloves compared to the ward sisters and the tutors. ‘Pros.
,’ she assured us cheerfully, ‘get the iron-hand therapy.’

  I said I could hardly wait. ‘Somebody tell me just why we’ve bothered about this exam!’

  Josephine said she was past bothering about anything. ‘But I adore the prospect of you comporting yourself with dignity, Rose. I’d go through a lot to see that. Let’s go and have some tea.’

  Chapter Two

  AN AFTERNOON IN FRANCIS ADAMS

  The Senior Probationer in Francis Adams was called Nurse Erith. On our first morning on duty she waited for us in the nurses’ changing-room. ‘Which one is Forbes?’

  Josephine said, ‘Me, Nurse.’

  ‘Right.’ Erith consulted a list. ‘You’re to do meals and kitchen all this week. Standing, you are to be ward pro.’ She told Josephine the work she must do, then looked at me. ‘The left side of the ward is your concern; I do the right; but the extras and the outside bits are your responsibility. That means the sluices, bathrooms, clinical room, changing-room, duty-room; the cleaning of all the trolleys, sterilizers, screens, and wheel-chairs.’ She ticked the words off on her fingers ‒ she had to use both hands. ‘Got that?’

  ‘Just about, Nurse.’

  She nodded. ‘Good. And one more thing ‒ the flowers. Whatever you do, Standing, don’t forget to do the flowers.’ I promised to remember the flowers.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with them? Just change their waters?’

  ‘And see that they are fresh, take off the dead leaves, trim them ‒ things like that. You do them in the clinical room, and they shouldn’t take you long ‒ see.’ She walked across to the clinical room and gestured to the rows of flowers in vases that would have stocked a well-sized florist’s. ‘They shouldn’t take you long,’ she said again; ‘you have ten minutes in which to get them done; that’s from eight-fifty to nine each morning. Official flower-time. And they must be in by nine sharp. Don’t forget that, either.’

  I gazed at the mass of flowers and felt a little weak. ‘No, Nurse.’

  ‘You had better not,’ she replied grimly. ‘Sister Francis Adams has a thing about flowers. Dead flowers send her right up the wall.’

  Josephine and I exchanged glances. I said, ‘Yes, Nurse.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ continued Erith, ‘something you must know, Forbes. Do see that every single glass, cup, and saucer is out of the ward by nine. We open then for the surgical and teaching rounds. I take the screen in front of the door down as nine strikes, and if there’s another thing that sends Sister Francis Adams up the wall it’s seeing a dirty glass in the ward when it’s open. Sister Francis Adams,’ she repeated confidentially, ‘has a thing about used crockery.’

  Josephine and I exchanged another glance, as Josephine said, ‘Yes, Nurse.’

  Our thoughts must have been obvious from our expressions, because Erith added, ‘It’s all right, girls. Don’t get too worked up. Sister Francis Adams isn’t at all bad really; she just has a few things.’ She considered us both and seemed to be making up her mind about something. Then, apparently reaching a decision, she went on, ‘Sister can be quite sweet at times, and the patients adore her; but the person you want to keep an eye on is our staff nurse. Sister is in charge, naturally; but the staff nurse does the actual running of the ward, and it’s her job to keep an eye on the pros. So the person you girls have got to deal with is Staff Nurse Bennings.’

  Josephine asked warily, ‘What is Staff Nurse Bennings like, Nurse?’

  Erith hesitated. ‘She’s a ‒ very good staff nurse. She’s bright, too. Won the gold medal for her year. She’s been staffing here for the past eight months. If she stays on at Martin’s she’ll certainly end up as a sister, if not as matron. She’s a girl with a future.’ But she had not answered Josephine’s question, and we all knew it.

  I said, ‘Does Staff Nurse Bennings have “things” too, Nurse?’

  Erith smiled. ‘Does she not! But I won’t waste time telling you what they are, as you couldn’t keep count, and she’ll certainly tell you herself! But take my tip, girls, and try to get on Bennings’s good side. If you do that life in Francis Adams can be ‒ quite peaceful.’

  ‘After which,’ I told Josephine, as we scurried off to our various jobs, ‘I really can hardly wait. I’ve not only got an irate S.S.O. to cope with ‒ but a dragon of a staff nurse as well.’

  Josephine laughed. ‘Would you rather be back in the P.T.S. with Mrs Clark?’

  ‘Dear Mrs Clark! I tell you, Jo, I’m really homesick for ‒’

  ‘Nurses!’ A cold voice behind us made us spin round. A slight, very attractive, dark girl in a staff nurse’s uniform stood watching us. ‘Nurses, since you are fresh from the P.T.S., you may possibly not be aware of the behaviour expected from probationers working in our wards ‒ although I feel sure that Sister P.T.S. was at great pains to explain that behaviour to you. So will you allow me,’ continued Staff Nurse Bennings, ‘to remind you that we do not permit our nurses to laugh and chatter in the ward corridors. Do not let me catch either of you behaving like a couple of giggling schoolgirls again.’

  We chanted, ‘No, Nurse.’

  She looked us over. ‘Which is Nurse Standing?’

  I said I was.

  Her eyes dwelt reflectively on my face, but she merely murmured, ‘Your cap is crooked,’ and walked past us into the ward.

  The day raced by, and after it the days that followed. The first week was over before we realized it had begun. Josephine rushed round and round the ward pushing breakfast, dinner, and tea trolleys; making porridge; cutting bread-and-butter; filling water-jugs; marking fluid-charts; collecting used crockery. I galloped up and down the long forty-bedded ward, made beds with Sister or Nurse Bennings, cleaned, dusted, polished, clicked castors straight, cleaned again, scrubbed more enamel bowls and kidney dishes than I would have thought necessary for the use of the whole hospital, scrubbed mountains of mackintoshes; changed flowers’ waters, breathed heavily on the glass vases to aid my polishing, learned the trick of keeping the acid cupboard shining ‒ you leave the door slightly ajar, and the vapour from the acid escapes into the atmosphere and does not cloud the polish ‒ and became ruthless with semi-faded flowers. I chucked everything doubtful out. The vases were all numbered with bits of sticky labels, which I kept forgetting and rubbing off in my desire to make the vases gleam. I was equally bad at remembering who had given me which bunch to put in water. As it was a men’s ward, this was not important ‒ I discovered ‒ as the men were not at all fussy about flowers and incredibly good-humoured. ‘That’s all right, Nurse. I’ll have them Michaelmas daisies even if they don’t come from my missus. Look a treat, they do.’

  The men helped me with other things, too. They kept a keen eye on my routine. ‘You’ll pardon my mentioning it, miss, but you ain’t done those wheel-chairs and it’s seven minutes to nine. You’ll have that Staff Nurse creating at you again if you don’t get ’em done afore nine.’

  One morning a new patient lit a cigarette after I had cleaned the ashtrays. His neighbours scolded him as smartly as Bennings scolded me. ‘You put that out, mate. Now!’ The poor man was surprised.

  ‘Why? It says we can smoke till nine.’

  ‘That,’ replied the old hands, ‘is as may be. But if you leave some ash on your ashtray and the Sister or that Nurse Bennings spots it our little Nurse Standing’ll catch it good and proper. So we don’t smoke after Nurse Standing done the trays ‒ see, mate?’

  The newcomer said he saw, and stubbed out his cigarette, put the butt away in his locker, and blew on the tray. ‘That looks good and clean, eh, Nurse?’ he asked anxiously as I raced by with my duster. ‘Wouldn’t want to get you young ladies into no trouble.’

  I thanked him gratefully. ‘I hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘Not me, Nurse. You got your work to do, and quite enough, too, if you was to ask me.’

  The other men nodded. Hard, they told each other, hard ‒ that’s what a young nurse’s life was! On the go all day, and no mistake. And what
with the Sister and that young Staff Nurse carrying on the way they did all the time ‒ well, it just went to show that it was real hard for a young lady. ‘And that Nurse Bennings, she’s only a slip of a girl herself ‒ but you notice the way she never misses nothing?’

  Higgins, a docker who had come in for an appendicectomy, scratched his head thoughtfully. ‘You mind what we used to say in the Army, mate? It was always the young ’uns as made the worst N.C.O.s. Talk about strict, eh? An old ’un might wink an eye; a good young ’un with his eye on the R.S.M.’s badge ‒ never.’ He looked up the ward, then sat forward. ‘Nurse Standing, can you come here a tick?’

  ‘Of course.’ I went over to his bed. ‘Something I can do for you, Higgins?’

  ‘Not me, miss,’ he hissed in a stage whisper, ‘but you see that lampshade over Twenty-four. You missed it when you was doing the shades. It’s got some soot on it, an’ I just caught the Sister taking a look at it when she was taking Twenty-four’s pulse. You best nip up and give it a wipe over, miss.’

  ‘I will. Bless you, Higgins. Thanks.’

  I went straight to the lampshade. Sister glanced up from her watch. She saw what I was doing and gave an approving little nod. ‘Good. I was afraid you had missed it, Nurse.’ She returned her attention to her pulse-taking. I went back to fetch more flower-vases and waved at Higgins as I passed his bed. He grinned. ‘Saved by the bell, eh, Nurse?’

  I smiled back. ‘Thanks to you, yes.’

  ‘What I would do without the men,’ I told Josephine later as we drank our morning cocoa, ‘I can’t bear to think. They keep me on the straight and narrow; tell me when my cap is crooked; when I’ve messed up my apron; what time it is; whether Sister or Bennings are blowing up for something; and what to do next. It’s like having forty extra pairs of eyes and forty spare brains. I’m not nursing them ‒ they’re nursing me!’