The First Year

by Lucilla Andrews

  The staff nurse burst into the room while I was still thinking this over. I noticed none of the theatre nurses walked anywhere. They seemed to explode into action as if as full of steam as their sterilizers.

  ‘How are you feeling, Nurse? All right now? Good. I’ve told Sister Francis that you felt off-colour, but got yourself out of the theatre like a sensible child, and so didn’t upset anyone. Now get changed and back to Francis, but don’t fret about rushing as they aren’t expecting you for a while. I’ve got to get back to my own clearing up, so I’ll leave you to it. I just wanted to check up that you were all right.’

  I said, ‘Thanks awfully, Nurse ‒ I’m quite all right, but I’m afraid ‒’ then I had to stop as one of the theatre porters hammered on the door. ‘Casualty wanting to speak to you, Nurse Griffith.’

  The staff nurse groaned, ‘Oh, no! Not another case this evening, Jervis! I can’t bear it. I’m coming.’ And she was gone again.

  I removed my theatre clothes, combed my hair, fixed my cap, and returned to Francis with mixed feelings. If that pleasant staff nurse had not treated me as an angel child it would not have been so bad. I wondered what she would say when we next met ‒ if the S.S.O. mentioned the subject. But wouldn’t he have to mention it as he was S.S.O.? He was so keen on maintaining discipline and so on ‒ I did not see how he could avoid complaining. I felt sick for the second time that afternoon; this time, unfortunately, there was no chance of my fainting away. I walked into Francis on legs in which the bones felt as if they had been turned to water.

  Sister Francis was writing at her table. I stood in front of her with my hands correctly behind my back. ‘I’ve come back from the theatre, Sister.’

  She glanced up. ‘Feeling all right again, Nurse? Good.’ She consulted her work-list. ‘You have had no tea yet, Nurse Standing, so will you first go to the kitchen and ask Elsie to prepare you a tray? Eat your tea in the duty-room, then report to me again.’

  I said hastily, ‘I’m not at all hungry, Sister ‒ honestly.’ I felt quite overwhelmed with guilt at the prospect of sitting down to tea in the duty-room on such a busy evening. ‘I would much rather not have tea, thank you.’

  Sister put down her pen. ‘Nurse Standing, I was not asking if you wished to have tea; I was merely telling you to go and have it.’ She took up her pen again and took no further notice of me. I murmured my thanks and shot down the ward to the kitchen, feeling very small and highly impertinent.

  In the kitchen Josephine was laying the supper trolley. ‘So you’re back! How are you, Rose? We heard you fainted too.’

  Elsie propped her fists on her broad hips and glowered. ‘And I suppose you’ve come to tell me as Sister wants me to make you tea, Nurse?’

  ‘I’m afraid she did say that, Elsie. I’m awfully sorry. I hope you don’t mind. I don’t really want it, but Sister says I must.’ Elsie frowned horribly and said what things were coming to she wouldn’t like to say, she was sure.

  ‘What with suppers at six-thirty instead of six, and tea for Sister’ ‒ she stormed round the kitchen ‒ ‘and tea for Nurse Standing and a cup of coffee with no sugar for old Sir Henry!’ She slapped a cloth on a tray. ‘Well, really, I don’t know, Nurse! What am I running, that’s what I’d like to ask? A kitchen or a cafe?’ She thrust some cut bread under the grill and lit a match. ‘Hard or soft, duck?’

  ‘Hard or soft what, Elsie?’

  ‘Eggs, duck,’ she said patiently. ‘Do you like ’em hard or soft?’

  ‘But I don’t want an egg,’ I protested; ‘Sister just said tea.’

  Elsie called on the ceiling to witness the goings-on from which she, a hard-working ward-maid, was forced to suffer. ‘When I makes you tea,’ she announced, filling a small saucepan with hot water, ‘you eat what I gives you and no nonsense or I go straight to Sister and ask for me cards. Sister knows as I’m going to give you an egg. I always gives an egg when I makes tea for a nurse what’s missed it; so you eat what you’re given, duck, and no more saying you can’t eat this and that!’ She lit another gas burner. ‘You young nurses! All alike! Think you can keep going on nothing!’ She turned on me. ‘And you, Nurse Standing, standing there looking like a ghost with a waist like a match-stick and saying as you don’t want an egg! Never heard anything like it! Never! And, what’s more, I won’t have it! Not in my kitchen! So what’s it to be? Hard or soft?’

  I smiled at her. ‘I give in. Middling, please, Elsie.’

  She shook her head at Josephine. ‘No pleasing some people, eh, Nurse Forbes?’

  In a few minutes’ time I ate a peaceful and enormous tea in the duty-room. When I returned the tray with thanks Elsie scrutinized the remains. ‘Don’t know where you put it all, Nurse Standing, I’m sure! Now you get out of my kitchen and perhaps I can get on with my work!’

  Sister was half-way up the ward, making beds with another of the nurses. She told me to help her with the rest of the beds. ‘Nurse Blake, go and help Nurse Bennings with the operation cases.’

  Bennings was hidden behind one of the eleven sets of drawn curtains that hid the operation cases, and I had not set eyes on her since my return from the theatre. I was glad not to see her; I did not expect her to be as tolerant about my faint as Sister. Josephine had told me how scathing Bennings had been on her own return. ‘Honestly, Rose ‒ you’d think I passed out on purpose, just to make a scene!’

  To my surprise, Bennings said not one word to me either that night or later. Not one word about my faint, that is; she said a good deal about my inefficiency as a junior pro. in the ward.

  ‘All the same, I don’t get it,’ I told Josephine as we sat drinking coffee in the canteen after lunch next day; ‘I should have expected Bennings to make hay out of my passing out too. But not one harsh word about it have I had. Maybe we’ve misjudged her.’ I stirred my coffee, thoughtfully. ‘Maybe she’s got a heart of gold beneath her young battle-axe exterior. After all, think how wrong we all were about old Sister P.T.S.’

  Josephine hooted with laughter. Being Josephine, she managed to do this discreetly. ‘Rose, you can’t truly believe that? My dear, she’s just biding her time for reasons of her own. Bennings hasn’t got a heart of gold ‒ she hasn’t got a heart at all. She’s just a highly efficient nursing automaton. I’ll bet she runs on oil.’ She looked round the canteen. ‘She’s just like her beloved young man. I noticed in the theatre yesterday ‒ he’s got about as much sensitivity as a machine. Really, we, at least, don’t have to worry about the effect of automation on the hospital world; we’ve got it already.’ She remained staring across the canteen. ‘But how I wish I could have seen his face when he picked you off the floor of his private room, Rose! I’d give a lot to have seen that! I have to hand it to you, Rose. I’d never have had the nerve to pass out in there.’

  ‘But I didn’t pass out in there on purpose,’ I protested, ‘and I don’t think he actually had to pick me off the floor. I’m quite hazy about it all, but I do remember coming to on that bench, so maybe he just gave me a shove on to it. Be honest ‒ can you see any pro. choosing that spot for a laugh? I may be daft, Josephine ‒ but I’m not as daft as all that.’

  A voice over our head inquired, ‘Is that for the record, Nurse?’

  We both looked up. The large, dark-haired student who had been in the basement that evening when I upset Mrs Clark was standing by our table. He beamed at us, then gave an affected bow. ‘Afternoon, all! Is this a private session, ladies, or may a lowly student man join in?’ Without waiting for a reply he pulled a chair from the next table and sat down between us. ‘I’ll shove off if you have strong views on drinking with the Medical School, but if you can stand the strain may I introduce myself? Name of Martin ‒ William Davis Martin.’ He half rose, bowed as before, then subsided and nodded affably at me. ‘I had the pleasure of meeting you before, Nurse.’

  I said, ‘Oh, yes. You did.’ I caught Josephine’s eye. ‘I met Mr Martin one evening when we were still in the P.T.S.’

  The
student nodded again. ‘We ran into each other, as you might say. Tell me, Nurse, how’s that wax character getting along? Lost any more legs recently? And do tell me something else, about which I am agog. I have no shame and I could not help overhearing what you were saying to each other just now. So do, I beg, tell Uncle all! What’s all this about the surgeons’ room?’ He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Don’t tell me that our golden-haired boy has taken to luring young blondes in there between cases? Or, rather, do tell me that he has! Because that would be one bit of gossip, ladies, that would rock Uncle and my namesake of a hospital to its aged foundations.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake! It was nothing like that! Anything but ‒ so please, Mr Martin, just forget what you heard. There’s no gossip value in it at all ‒ I just made the heck of a mistake! And, to be honest, the S.S.O. was pretty decent about it, and the least said the better ‒ for me. This,’ I told him sternly, ‘is right off the record. Please.’

  He laughed, ‘Relax, love ‒ my lips are sealed. No cause to panic ‒ but do tell me all, nevertheless.’

  There seemed no alternative; so I did as he asked. When I finished he laughed again. ‘I must admit I’m disappointed. I was hoping that I had stumbled on the finest bit of gossip I had heard in years.’

  Josephine spoke to him for the first time. ‘Are you so fascinated by gossip, Mr Martin?’ Her tone was cool.

  He looked at her, then grinned. ‘But fascinated, Nurse. What else can a character be when his finals are looming on him? Must have something to keep the mind otherwise occupied or one goes right up the wall.’ He sat back. ‘Some characters heave rugger balls about; others hit the bottle; others chase the girls; a few neuros flog the books non-stop and get nervous breakdowns. All a question of temperament. Now me ‒ I natter. Gossip. I get around, keep my ear to the ground and my fingers in every pie. It amuses me, serves as a high-powered counter-irritant. But I can take a hint, girls ‒ particularly when it’s handed me straight in the teeth. Gossip’s out. So let’s get down to facts and be matey. I’ve told you my name. Care to tell me either of yours?’

  Josephine’s prim expression faded with a speed that surprised me. She smiled charmingly. ‘Why not? I’m Josephine Forbes, and this is Rose Standing.’

  He shook hands with each of us in turn. While he was still shaking my hand he glanced up, then stood up. ‘Afternoon, sir. Something I can do for you?’

  The S.S.O. was standing behind Josephine’s chair. ‘Yes, if you would, Martin. Forgive my interrupting your coffee, but, seeing you here, I thought I might as well get those tickets you mentioned from you now. I’d like a couple, please.’

  Bill Martin said he would be delighted to oblige. ‘I have ’em here, sir.’ He produced a book of tickets from his breast-pocket, tore off two at the perforated edge, and handed them to the S.S.O. ‘Glad you’ve decided to come, after all. Should be a good show. We’ve got hold of a decent band for a change.’

  The S.S.O. said he was glad to hear it and produced some money. ‘I hope the Rugger Club becomes solvent again after this. Thanks, Martin.’ He had been regarding Josephine and me with the complete lack of recognition that we now expected from every man in a white coat. Consequently I was genuinely shocked when he wished the top of my cap a ‘Good afternoon, Nurse Standing,’ and walked on, pocketing his tickets.

  Bill Martin sat down and scratched his head. ‘Well, well, well. So Jake Waring’s coming to the Rugger Ball. What do you know about that, girls?’

  Josephine asked what there was to know. ‘Don’t the resident staff traditionally go gay at these affairs?’

  ‘Traditionally,’ agreed Bill, ‘they do. But Jake has long been the exception proving every rule in this dive. Most of the chaps here work hard when they can’t get out of it, and play hard whenever they can. Jake goes along on the work angle; but so far no one as yet has seen him play. History, although you two don’t realize it, has just been made. Fact. I’ve been Hon. Sec. of the Rugger Club for the past two years, and this is the first time I’ve sold him a brace of tickets for anything or heard of anyone else doing the same. And if anyone else had done it I should have heard because I hear everything.’ His black hair was now standing on end. ‘Now, of course, the next thing I want to hear is who’s the lucky woman?’

  Josephine said brightly, ‘Our staff nurse in Francis?’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘You got your money on Jenny Bennings?’ He looked at me. ‘How about you, Nurse Standing? Did you get an insight into any of this in your sojourn in the surgeons’ room?’

  ‘All I got out of the surgeons’ room was a dose of sal volatile and a stern warning that if I didn’t keep my eyes open one of these fine days I’d walk into real trouble.’

  He considered this in silence for several seconds. ‘You know, love,’ he said mildly, ‘he could be right there.’

  A friend hailed him from the other side of the canteen. ‘Bill, got any more of those tickets with you? I’ve made a sale for you over here. What’s my cut?’

  ‘You buy me a beer you mean, Nigel!’ Bill stood up. ‘Nice to have met you, girls. See you around.’ He moved over to the other table.

  Josephine watched him go. ‘I wish we weren’t in our first year.’ She sighed. ‘I wish we could go to these dances.’

  ‘Can’t we? As first-years? I didn’t know that.’

  She said it was out of the question. ‘There are dozens of unwritten laws that say so. Erith told me.’

  I smiled. ‘Well, I can’t truly say that that is one set of laws that will bother us. We don’t know anyone here to ask us to dances.’

  ‘Rose, we know this man Bill Martin now.’

  ‘And so, I’m dead sure, does every nurse in the hospital. He’s the matey type. But, personally, I don’t much mind if we have to be Cinderellas for one year; my feet couldn’t take a dance. Can you imagine facing Bennings the morning after a jolly night out with the Rugger fifteen?’ I shook my head and stood up. ‘No. Not for me. I need early nights and two good feet to stand the pace of Francis Adams.’

  Josephine pushed back her chair. ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t let us really go to town, here,’ she said thoughtfully, as if it was really important to her.

  ‘Then stick to strict tempo, Josephine ‒ or olde-time dancing ‒ or even the minuet. You still have to be on your feet, and mine aren’t the feet they once were. But, now I come to think of it, I’d like to be a wallflower at that ball for a spell. I’d adore to see Jake Waring jiving with Bennings. If I could sit down and watch …’

  Josephine had an inspiration. ‘Maybe that’s why Bennings hasn’t beaten you up about fainting as she did me. Maybe he told her all about it, and asked her to the ball ‒ and, consequently, filled her with the milk of human kindness.’

  ‘It’s rather a long shot ‒ but perhaps you are right. It is peculiar that she shouldn’t have mentioned it. As he and she are pals, she may know all by now.’

  Josephine had quite convinced herself now. ‘And he has to take either a staff nurse or a sister, and she’s the best-looking staff nurse, so ‒ obviously, Rose ‒ that’s it!’

  ‘Why does he have to limit his choice? Can’t he take anyone out of their first year?’

  ‘Goodness, no! Not possibly.’ She was so definite that I laughed. ‘No, seriously, Rose. I’m right. Erith told me. Nurses in training and the senior residents live in different worlds. Everyone insists on that. Tradition, etiquette ‒ the lot.’

  ‘Suits me,’ I said cheerfully, ‘very nicely.’ And the funny thing was that then I honestly believed that statement.

  Chapter Four

  HUNCHES CAN BE RIGHT

  By the end of that week even Josephine had changed her mind. ‘She couldn’t be so foul if her love-life was under control, Rose. I obviously jumped to the wrong conclusion. Whoever the S.S.O. has asked to that dance, it can’t be Bennings. She gets worse by the day.’

  ‘You mean she gets worse by the hour!’ I hung my corridor cloak on my peg i
n our changing-room in Francis. ‘Oh, Lord! That’s her calling me now. What didn’t I finish before that lecture?’

  I soon discovered. Bennings was waiting for me in the ward doorway. ‘Nurse Standing, the sluice-room was a disgrace when I went in just now. Did you not dust the high shelves? You did? Well, you did not do it properly. Go and do them all again.’

  A few minutes later she came into the sluice. ‘Nurse Standing, the top of the acid cupboard is dusty. You must polish it again before you start your routine work.’

  I said, ‘Yes, Nurse; sorry, Nurse.’

  Half an hour later she came into the kitchen. ‘Nurse Standing, are you going to take all morning to give out those drinks? Your routine is all behind! When will you learn to move quickly?’

  That night even Erith admitted that Bennings was out-Bennings-ing herself these days. ‘I know she’s always had a thing about junior pros., Standing, but I’ve never known her have such a thing as now. You seem to get in her hair, so do try and keep out of her way as much as possible. That’s the only technique left to a pro. when someone like Bennings gets cracking on her. And console yourself; you do get on all right with Sister Francis, and it’s the sister who writes your ward report ‒ not the staff nurse.’

  ‘Thank the Lord for that! But just tell me, Nurse ‒ how do I keep out of her way? She is my little shadow; she sticks closer than a brother. So ‒ how?’

  Erith grinned sympathetically. ‘I know. I’ve seen that. Still, perhaps you can fade into the background tactfully; worth a try. By the way, is she getting you down?’

  ‘She doesn’t reduce me to tears of sorrow,’ I replied, ‘just blind rage.’

  Erith said that was the way to take the Benningses in the nursing profession. ‘No point in letting them get under your skin. And they don’t last for ever. Sooner or later you move on to another ward and don’t see them again.’