An Unsuitable Mother

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Flushed with indignation, Nell shifted uncomfortably in her new sensible shoes, as Matron proceeded with her waspish rendition.

  ‘You might flatter yourselves that you are nurses – indeed, others might address you by such a term. I shall not. In these times of emergency the word has gained inflated value. If you were worthy of the title, you would have made the grade for it, whatever the effort. The qualifying examinations are prepared on a minimum curriculum, and if you cannot attain this simple standard, then your intellect is exceedingly limited.’

  Nell could not help but emit a gasp. The matron’s cold gaze rested upon her for a few seconds, though her lecture was to remain universal.

  ‘Be that as it may, you should all be able to hold one rule in your minds. And it is a vital rule. Whilst you are in this hospital, never, I repeat never, presume to undertake actions that are beyond your capabilities. You may watch qualified nurses at their work, some of you might learn from them … as to the rest of you … I myself will attempt to inculcate the rudimentary syllabus.’ A heavy sigh insinuated just how tiresome this would be. The way she looked down her nose and stared into each and every face was extremely unnerving. No one deserved such discrimination, the friends agreed later, once out of range of this termagant; even the normally docile Nurse French pouring forth a string of Gallic invective, after Nell had translated the gist for her.

  ‘I’ve never been so insulted,’ breathed a distempered Nell to the others. ‘And I’m not stupid! I went to grammar school.’

  ‘So would I have done, if we’d had any spare cash for the uniform,’ muttered an equally incensed Beata. ‘I passed the scholarship.’

  ‘Same here!’ lobbed Green the younger. ‘What about you, Joy, did you pass?’

  ‘Yes!’ Joyson was eager not to be judged a dunce, though the way her eyes flickered told that she was lying, which made Nell feel a twinge of sympathy. Having got to know her, she had learned that, apart from the vice of laziness and her blunt opinions, there was no real malice to Avril.

  ‘And so did me mam, didn’t you, Mam?’ finished Green junior.

  Similarly nettled as the younger ones, Mrs Green’s white head gave a nod of confirmation. ‘My poor dad could hardly scrape the funds to feed us all, let alone for school books and pencils.’

  ‘Well that’s just it!’ objected Nell. ‘I don’t think Matron’s exceptionally bright if she couldn’t even make any allowance for those of us who are unable to afford the exams. I’ve never been spoken to like that in my entire life – why, it’s as if she regards us as scum!’

  And, indeed, this was further exemplified at midday, for they were forbidden to eat in the dining hall – even though it was raining – and had to huddle under the bicycle shelter, with no means of alleviating their aching feet – though this was not to be endured for very long. ‘Dinner-hour’ being a luxury of the past, after wolfing down their lunches in fifteen minutes it was back to the grind.

  During that most testing of fortnights, they were required to learn all the names of poisonous gases that might be used by the Germans, and to avoid these themselves by deploying their respirators in seconds. This latter seemed to be the sole functional thing they were allowed to do, for only those who were full probationers had any actual contact with the patients. But even in practising on each other, the auxiliaries were constantly reminded that they were the poor relations.

  Or not so poor, as one of the ‘real’ nurses was quick to accuse. ‘I think it’s a disgrace that you’re earning so much without a single qualification! We all had to spend years passing exams and paying our dues, and you swan in earning more than probationers – and no cleaning to do!’

  ‘You could have fooled me,’ muttered Beata, which is what young Nell would have said if she had not been so overwhelmed by the amount of antagonism.

  All this being so, having made their protest, the trained nurses chose to tolerate the auxiliaries, and were kind enough to teach by example the various aspects of their work. Along with asepsis and antisepsis, and the precautions to obtain these, came methods of resuscitation, including those which took place in the casualty department. For some reason matron had not objected to these ignorant individuals coming along there, nor to the operating theatre. Nell thought perhaps she knew why: Matron hoped they would take fright at the horrible injuries, and thus she could be rid of them. Determined not to give this awful woman the satisfaction, she steeled herself not to faint at the bloody scalpels and bone saws, and was quite delighted that her friends managed to do the same – although all were very pale when they emerged. But these ordeals seemed to have no purpose other than for Matron’s gratification, for in the main it was one lecture after another, and a lot of scribbling in notebooks.

  After being previously lauded for her skills at first aid, Nell had to relearn almost everything she had been taught, any polite query seen as insubordination and earning a severe dressing-down. She certainly knew her place now, and that was as a slave to the authorities, for they demanded to know her every whereabouts – even after working hours, when she was expected to keep her superiors informed of her movements so that they could contact her in an emergency. ‘It’s worse than being at home,’ spluttered Nell, only half joking. ‘At least my parents allow me freedom to visit the lavatory!’

  As a matter of fact, Thelma and Wilfred had been persuaded to allow a little more than that lately. The incident in Scarborough forgiven, if not completely forgotten, their daughter had been allotted leave to go and watch the newly formed Bedpan Swingsters perform on an evening. Had they known the chosen venue was a pub, undoubtedly they would have been less lenient. Not about to enlighten them, Nell kept a ready cache of peppermints to disguise the combination of stout and cigarettes that were consumed during the lively performance. Everyone agreed that it was such a delight to let one’s hair down after Matron’s authoritarian regime and obvious detestation of them.

  The latter continuing unabated, it was a very long fortnight at the County Hospital – and to exacerbate Nell’s misery, during that period there came news that the Germans had finally bombed London itself, in broad daylight. How she was to fret until Billy’s letter arrived to assure her he was safe! Though her relief over this was to be somewhat short-lived, for that daring attack was only the beginning of a murderous blitz on the capital, and every night after this, as Nell perused her darling’s latest letter before going to sleep, she was to dread it would be his last.

  There was to be some respite on the work front, however, when the fortnight at the County Hospital came to an end and the recruits moved on to the Infirmary. This was only a short walk along the same route until the road diverged, yet miles removed in style from the handsome redbrick building of their previous post, the institutional block straddled between the brown River Foss and the cocoa works, both of which could be smelled on the air. Here they hoped to gain practical experience with the elderly. It came as something of a damp squib, though, to learn that this was the type of patient on whom they would be concentrating: hardly the romantic ideal some of them had treasured.

  ‘It used to be the old workhouse till they changed the name,’ whispered Beata, upon catching Nell’s look of shock at some of the inmates they encountered on their way along the drab corridors that hummed of stale cabbage and decaying humanity.

  Nell was glad to be taken under the elder’s wing, for she felt very nervous under the vacant, sometimes malevolent, gaze of those whiskery old men with crumpled shirt collars and crumpled faces, grease-stained ties and baggy suits. But she tried not to show it, deporting herself with dignity as exemplified by Sister Barber, for she wanted to appear as mature as the rest. Did nothing faze those Ashton girls?

  Apparently it did bother Joyson, though. ‘I don’t really mind,’ she began, her expression telling, ‘but I’d rather feel I was doing something for the lads who are defending us.’

  ‘Some of these old chaps would have been soldiers once,’ Beata told her.

 
; ‘Maybe in the Crimean War,’ scoffed Joyson, nose in the air as she bustled along, trying to act the professional. ‘I doubt they’d know one end of a Spitfire from the other.’

  ‘And do you?’ came Lavinia Ashton’s forthright demand.

  Joyson grew shirty. ‘I’m just saying what a great job the RAF boys have done, and I’d like to pay them back, that’s all.’

  The others shared a look here. They were well-acquainted with Joyson’s penchant for airmen, having seen her flirting with squadrons of them around the bars.

  ‘God knows we need them after that mess at Dunkirk,’ she added, being immediately heckled for such a defeatist attitude.

  Too fixed on her surroundings, Nell had not really been listening to Joyson’s moaning, but this had her full attention. ‘I admire the RAF too,’ she shot back. ‘But everyone’s doing their part!’ She envisaged poor Bill as he lay on that beach under fire, pictured him now as wave after wave of the Luftwaffe pummelled his home town, night after night, thousands of people killed and injured …

  Perceiving her fears, Beata tried to dispel them, though in doing so she addressed everyone. ‘Did you hear on the wireless last night, a hundred and eighty-five German planes shot down over London – in a single day! We’ve certainly got ’em on the run …’

  But Nell was to remain apprehensive as the group made their way past vast dormitories of chronic infirm and the mentally ill, to rendezvous with the master and matron, wondering just how bad the superintendent of such an institution might be.

  Surprisingly, and to everyone’s great relief. Miss Fosdyke turned out to be as pleasant and fair-minded as their own matron on the trains, having the knack of not speaking down to them whilst retaining her own authority. There would be nothing to fear from this one, felt Nell, looking back into the kind, reassuring and ladylike face, which was directed at each girl in turn, not addressing them en masse, but asking each individual why they had not applied to go on the register – leaving aside the Ashton twins, who had.

  When it came to Nell’s turn, she replied that it was purely the expense that was prohibitive. ‘I should hate for it to be a hardship on my parents,’ she told Matron respectfully. ‘But, like everyone here, I just wanted to do my bit for the war.’

  As usual there was some difficulty in ascertaining Nurse French’s thoughts and feelings, but the others, who had by now achieved a certain camaraderie, helped by explaining to Matron what Nell had recently discovered for them: that Frenchy was in fact a fully qualified nurse in her own country, and it was only her inability to grasp the language that was the barrier – and only then the speaking of it, for she understood instructions well enough. Considering that as an auxiliary she would not be entrusted with drugs, and that her manner was kind and caring, her mode of communication was of little handicap.

  Matron accepted all of their answers without criticism – and was even complimentary. ‘I can tell you are all intelligent women. Perhaps once you are acclimatised you will decide to make that extra sacrifice to attain registered status. In any event, we are very glad to have you all here, short as your stay might be. The care of the chronic sick and elderly is a greatly neglected field, but it is very rewarding.’

  They were to find that hers was a different persona altogether than Matron Lennox’s quiet way, more outgoing and amusing, as she shepherded the group on a brief tour of the infirmary. ‘And it will be brief, I’m afraid,’ she informed her entourage. ‘Our peripatetic MO is due to arrive for his rounds at any moment.’ Even so, she did appear to have sufficient time to introduce the recruits to others along her nimble way, not merely staff but inmates.

  ‘This is one of our longest serving residents – I do beg your pardon for walking on your nice clean floor, Blanche,’ she said, as politely as to an equal, whilst steering her party around the elderly woman in the shapeless cotton frock and long bloomers, who was on her hands and knees scrubbing the corridor and mumbling to herself.

  The old girl lifted a beautiless, wart-bedecked face, appearing not to notice the rest of her audience, but smiling brightly at the one who had spoken. ‘You’re all right, miss!’ Then immediately going back to scrubbing the floor, jabbering to herself as the group moved on. ‘Late, late, always late, never did a day’s work in your life, not worth a candle …’

  Her mumbling was fading into the distance, Matron explaining that Blanche had been born here, when she interrupted herself to accost another. ‘One moment, Cissie Flowerdew! I can see you, trying to slope off.’

  Mop and bucket in hands, about to run, her victim wheeled around to portray the aura of a simpleton, the face framed in cropped brown hair held with a grip at either temple, and her lumpish torso clad in a similar shapeless blue frock to the last woman. Then Cissie came hurrying up with a repentant smile, her head cocked to one side, as she gave an answer that was well-rehearsed. ‘I wouldn’t know him again, Matron! He had his hat pulled down over his eyes and –’

  ‘– a long black coat to his ankles!’ finished Matron Fosdyke with grim amusement. ‘My word, this chap does seem to be a regular suitor, doesn’t he?’ Turning to the recruits, she offered an explanation, whilst encompassing the inmate in her reply. ‘Sister tells me that Cissie is expecting another happy event in the new year, isn’t that so, Cissie?’

  ‘Aye, Matron.’ There was no further attempt at guile.

  Shaking her bonneted head, Matron issued a benign smile. ‘We’ll say no more about it for the moment. You may go back to work now.’

  ‘Baby number four,’ she explained to her party when the offender had clomped away. ‘Cissie works as one of our ward maids, she’s been with us for twenty years, entered when she was pregnant with her first child – someone took advantage of her when she was little more than a child herself, and it was deemed safer to keep her here for her own protection. How wrong we were! Every now and again she manages to give us the slip, and every time the same excuse: “Ah wouldn’t recognise ’im again, nurse,’ e ’ad ’is ’at pulled down over ’is eyes an’ a long black coat to ’is ankles!”’ The group broke into a unified smile, much disarmed by Matron’s feigned Yorkshire accent.

  ‘Every one of the children has a different father, though,’ Matron added, in her clipped fashion. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to work that out when you see them. They remain with us until they’re old enough to enter the orphanage. You’ll probably meet her last one in the nursery ward – right, onwards!’

  Nell exchanged glances with Beata as the group surged off again, one of them hopping rapidly ahead each time they reached a door, and opening it for their leader to go sailing through. It was apparent that, despite her hearty kindness towards the inmates, Matron would condone no slapdash behaviour from those who should know better. For her arrival on each ward was met with much deference, and even when her eyes and mouth showed satisfaction, no one dared put aside their awe until she had gone.

  Nell was by now feeling overwhelmed, and not a little dispirited, for not only did many of the occupants wear the identical and uninspiring uniform, but a similar expression. Even those not confined to bed could hardly be termed mobile, the odd one or two shuffling like tortoises from one end of the ward to the other, the rest seated on uncomfortable chairs. All wore the same look of resignation, as though condemned to a dungeon, their skin wrinkled and papery and slightly yellow, like plants deprived of sunlight. How bored the poor things must be, sympathised Nell, with only a square of sky to view, no pictures on the walls, not even a splash of colour to cheer them, just polished floors, crisp white linen, and endless rows of beautifully made beds.

  Yet not all was gloom, for some of the old people still had their wits about them, and engaged the visitors in a few moments of playful chat. Then, after racing around in Matron’s slipstream for a while, Nell and the other auxiliaries were to receive the honour of shadowing the visiting MO on his rounds. And even if forced to stand to the rear of those more worthy, they were to pick up much information, though some of it amu
singly suspect.

  ‘And how is Mrs Grant this morning?’ enquired the eminent man, upon his satellites being gathered around the current bed.

  Its elderly occupant leaned forward and summoned him with a bony finger, as if to pour some confidence into his ear. ‘The city walls are made of shit.’

  ‘Really? They’ve stood up to it well,’ replied the doctor, without batting so much as an eyelid, whilst Nell and her friends tried not to choke on their mirth.

  There were to be many such opportunities for amusement during that tour, some grossly embarrassing ones too, and some so intensely sad they made Nell want to cry, and to wonder if she was really cut out for such a commitment.

  She was to pose this question to herself again later, when she and her fellows were handed to the care of their very own Sister Barber, under whose judicial eye they were to endure ward training. Many of the duties they had done before, such as bed-making, which was terribly frustrating when one wanted to get to grips with the real job. But as it seemed to be paramount on the list of rules, or at least as important as hand-washing, Nell proceeded to do as she was told. She must have done something right, for after first making up empty beds, she and the others were allowed to make one with someone in it. After showing her pupils the correct way to roll an infirm patient from side to side, to check for signs of pressure, and how to sponge the person down, Sister divided them into pairs, and instructed each to follow her example.

  Nell would much rather have been paired with Beata than Joyson to undertake the blanket bathing of Mrs Wrigley, but without a choice in the matter she was determined to shine. Thankfully the elderly lady was compliance itself, and not one of those who screamed blue murder like the poor Ashton girls had been landed with. But despite her ruttly chest, Mrs Wrigley raised not a grumble, as she was manhandled about the mattress and generally used as a practice dummy. Thankful for this cooperation, Nell voiced appreciation to Mrs Wrigley whilst trying not to make her cough worse, wondering throughout if Sister would admonish her for gossiping. But Sister appeared to be content to let them go about this in their own way for a while, and a lot less keen on pointing out their faults at every turn, as she had done at first introduction two weeks ago. Though coming to know her so well, Nell had the suspicion that this was just a ruse, and that Sister was merely saving all her complaints for later. Thus attuned, she determined to rob her of any chance to grumble.