It was many years since she had had a proper holiday – since before the war, in fact, when her parents had taken her to Wales. She would not have been enjoying one now, but for the generosity of Beata’s aunt and uncle. Having deliberately avoided her own relatives since that terrible time, for fear that any contact would disrupt her carefully maintained temperament, she could hardly impinge on their hospitality now. But the thought of being cooped up in her bare little room for a week provoked nightmares, and so she had dropped a hint to her friend, who had in turn dropped a line to an aunt and uncle in Lancashire, asking if they would consider it a cheek if Nell were to call. Far from it, they had been delighted to accommodate her, and so off she had gone. The weather turned out to be lovely, and there were places galore to walk and to climb or to splash, and with Beata’s relations being such good company, before she knew it the vacation was over, and she was back at work to be greeted by an outbreak of dysentery.
Whether Staff Nurse Cloughton had anything to do with its spread was impossible to prove. Suffice to say that a whole children’s ward with incontinent bowels was not the kind of welcome to raise one’s spirits. Still, Nell declared, she would rather an entire fortnight of being up to her neck in diarrhoea than one hour in Staff’s company, and she was very much relieved when she was paired with Beata to transport the afflicted children by ambulance to the isolation hospital up the road.
Actually, it was not the best part, for the ultimate joy was to find themselves far removed from the austere workhouse building, if not in distance then in ambience, their little patients to be housed in one of the open-fronted pavilions that were set in verdant grounds. In fact, apart from the obvious effects of the dysentery, the whole atmosphere was an extremely pleasant one.
There was little chance to enjoy it at first, with their charges so poorly, but even so, it was nice to be able to feel the fresh air whilst one was working, and to see the sky. And by the miraculous aid of antibiotics, plus diligent nursing, the children were soon well on their way to recovery, and the nurses able to chat with them.
‘I remember coming to visit my mother in that bed you’re in,’ Nell overheard Beata tell a little boy, in an effort to coax him into accepting the drink she had brought.
‘Did you, Nurse?’ In spite of his debility, he showed interest. Nell, too, as she handed out drinks to others.
‘Yes, and I brought her a bottle of stout, and sat here and watched her drink it, so just pretend this is stout.’
‘And did it make her better, Nurse?’ came the wan little voice.
‘It certainly did. So, come on now, there’s a good lad …’
‘Was that true about your mother?’ asked Nell hours later, when they had laboured to make all their charges comfortable, and all were settled down for what she hoped would be a peaceful night.
‘Well, I made it up about it being the very bed she was in,’ admitted Beata, her voice low so as not to disturb the children. ‘But yes, they used to put the TB patients in here before Fairfield opened, and I did come to visit her. My God, what we would have given for penicillin in those days …’
Nell was eager to hear more, but there was sadness in her friend’s eyes. So, much as she would have loved to sate her curiosity, she chose not to pry, and murmured agreement about this phenomenal drug, as she glanced around at those who had benefited from its influence. ‘Yes, it’s so wonderful to see them all so quickly recovered – though for once I’m glad we’re not allowed to give injections.’ It was bad enough having to hold down the screaming beneficiary, the viscosity of penicillin making it extremely painful to transfuse.
Then, after a moment, she asked, ‘Did you mean what you said before, about wanting to swap places?’
‘And work here?’ mused Beata. ‘Aye, I wouldn’t mind it.’
‘Mm, me too,’ agreed Nell. ‘Although, I’m not saying I’m unhappy where I am. Matron was right when she said the old people can be very rewarding.’
‘Yes, I just love scraping somebody else’s shite from under my fingernails,’ agreed Beata, but her smile conveyed that she knew what her friend meant.
‘It’s just that after being here in these lovely working conditions,’ added Nell, after she had ceased chuckling, ‘seeing how the other half live, I can’t say I’m looking forward to going back to those dreary wards – and I’m absolutely dreading the thought of being stuck with that ruddy Cloughton!’
But, upon their return to the Infirmary after the outbreak of dysentery had been stemmed, Nell was ecstatic to find that a stroke of luck had removed the staff nurse from her life – or at least an ambulance had, to a mental institution – following belated intervention by Matron. It transpired that the glowing references which Cloughton had brought with her from other hospitals had been granted as a means of getting rid of her. Thereto, all thoughts of leaving were banished from Nell’s mind. Pleasant as her stint at the fever hospital had been, after six years she felt too much at ease here, trusted and liked by her peers and, more importantly, the patients. The only home she had, it would be imprudent to abandon it.
So contentment was restored, at least for a few weeks. Then she was to receive a devastating blow. It was not so much the series of deaths that had taken place recently that affected her, for, sad as these were, Nell had learned to switch off her emotions where the old folk were concerned, considering that she had done her utmost to make their last days restful. It was not so much the inconvenience of being dealt another surprise departure at the end of her shift either. Death was no respecter of how tired a nurse might be after caring all night for her slumbering flock, nor how problematic his visitation might be to her. But Nell could not help give a sigh as, just as she was about to snatch a much-needed cup of tea in the lull before the bedpan rush would start, she noticed that another of her old ladies had passed away, clutching a large section of dung in her fist.
Abandoning any idea of tea, Nell dealt with this in philosophical fashion, before going along to the office. The usual night sister was off sick, and others were taking it in relay to stand in. It was currently Sister Barber’s turn, hence Nell allowed a little flicker of humour to play about her lips as she popped her head in to enquire:
‘What have you put in your report about Mrs Casey?’
Somewhat engrossed, Sister Barber looked up from her desk. ‘I’ve written “comfortable”.’
Nell gave a straight-faced nod. ‘She is comfortable. She’s dead.’ Laughingly informing Sister as to the circumstances, she concluded, ‘I don’t know how long she’d been holding it, but it took the very devil to prise it out.’
Sister Barber shared her weary amusement, then said they had better organise the old lady’s removal. ‘But whilst I’ve got you here, I’d better tell you …’ The way she bit her lip told Nell that she had been putting this off. ‘I’ll be leaving at the end of the month.’
‘Oh no! You can’t mean it …’ Nell’s dismay was genuine. After so many years together, she would miss her. Plus, this was the kind of job where one needed to like and trust one’s colleagues. ‘Gosh, I will be sorry to lose you.’
Sister Barber showed equal regret. ‘I’ll be sad to go too. But I don’t care for the sound of this new National Health Service they’re proposing, I think there’ll be a lot of rigmarole once it’s set in motion –’
‘But surely it’s marvellous for everyone to have free treatment and medicine?’ Nell could not help contradicting, having known Sister long enough to risk such a liberty.
‘We’ll get all sorts of improvements to the hospital, not just to benefit us, of course, but primarily our patients.’
‘That part of it is extremely good, yes,’ agreed Sister Barber, her tone firm, whilst her face retained a look of caution. ‘But I think there’ll be far too much interference from the bureaucrats. Plus, my husband’s fed up of us hardly ever seeing each other, so we decided this is as good an opportunity as any to make our little ambition a reality. We’re going to give up the pub a
nd set up our own nursing home.’
In spite of her own disappointment, Nell saluted her. ‘It’s a brave step.’
Sister conceded as much. ‘That’s why I’ll need competent nurses such as yourself and Killie, ones I can trust to leave in charge. It’s shameful to poach you from Matron, but if you should feel like a change …’ She cocked her head.
Nell’s lips parted, half of her flattered at being considered suitable for such a responsible role, but the other half of her feeling it would be a wrench to leave. It was certainly tempting from one aspect, for Sister’s departure would mean having to acclimatise herself to the idiosyncrasies of a new superior. Had Staff Nurse Cloughton still been a menace, she might have jumped at this chance to get away, but things were working smoothly again now, and Nell had grown too fond of many of the residents not to include them in her decision. ‘Thank you very much for the offer, Sister. I’ll certainly consider it –’
‘– And then forget all about me.’ The pretty freckled face was roguish.
‘The one who taught me all I know? Certainly not!’ Nell grinned back at her.
‘I haven’t even broken the news to Matron yet,’ admitted the other. ‘So don’t say a word.’
Nell was honoured to have been forewarned. ‘Of course not. But we’ll certainly miss you anyway,’ she added warmly. ‘I mean it – and good luck.’
‘I haven’t gone yet! And neither have you.’ With a tart expression, but fondness in her sharp blue eyes, Sister rose as if meaning business. ‘So, as there’s no one else here, we’d better go and sort out Mrs Casey, the poor old girl. Then you can fetch us both a cup of tea, and we can go through these reports together – so’s you can advise me of any other calamity that needs to go in them.’
The wards were to feel rather empty after Sister Barber had gone. Her replacement was quite pleasant, but totally lacking a sense of humour, which in this line of work was cardinal. Before the leaves had even begun to turn, both Nell and Beata were regretting their decision to remain, and so took to discussing their options. As good as it would be to work for Sister Barber, both agreed that there would be better prospects of a pension elsewhere. Consequently, both were to acquire positions at the fever hospital, and then to hand in their notice.
Ever the lady, Matron Fosdyke spoke of her regret in accepting their resignations, especially after sharing with them so many crises during those war years. But she also voiced understanding of their desire for a fresh start, and wished them all best wishes in their new role. ‘And there will always be a place here, should ever you feel the need to return.’
Taking leave of Matron was one thing; explaining to Connie and Cissie was another matter, but Nell promised to come and visit both whenever she had a day off. Then, bearing gifts, and the hard part behind them, Nell and her friend ventured forth to their new workplace.
10
‘Welcome to the home for overworked nurses,’ was the greeting, upon them entering the doors of the City Fever Hospital. But Nell and Beata laughed, and said their colleagues did not know what work was.
This was true, for though there were acute and geriatric cases there, there were not nearly so many, and apart from the times when there was a polio epidemic, or other seasonal outbreaks, the work on the fever wards was much less gruelling, with no lengthy medicine rounds to put up with. And best of all was the chance to vary shifts in the main building with ones in the open-fronted pavilions in the grounds. Of course, there were difficult aspects to face, one being the hostility of parents when arriving in an ambulance to take their child away – Nell knew well enough how harrowing such a parting was – but somehow she was able to placate them by vowing to do all that she could to make their child well, and, with her gentle smile, to convince them to trust her. In addition, there was the fear that she herself could fall prey to contagion. But one was willing to tempt fortune in return for a happier workplace, and to put up with the regulation of changing gowns whenever one left the infectious wards, for the great reward of seeing a child recover after one had properly nursed them.
And when a child did not recover, well, it was all extremely sad, of course, but over the years Nell had learned not to hijack the next-of-kins’ grief, and how to manage her own emotions. Ever in mind was the fact that this was not her child, and any tears she might shed were in the privacy of home.
Both night and day sisters were lovely to work with, the elderly Sister Fawdington being exceptionally polite, and never abusing her authority by treating them as personal servants, always begging a cup of tea rather than demanding it. It was a pleasure to serve her. She was very kind to the patients too, and Nell knew she must have stayed up for hours knitting all the little gifts for those who were forced to spend Christmas in hospital. The festive season was particularly touching in there, the nurses coming round with lanterns and singing carols, and the wards gaily decorated. From the top to the bottom, everyone was good to work with, the only downside being the terrible cook. But, to be fair, ingredients were still few.
Other than this, life was brighter than it had been for some time. At least, inside the hospital. In the outside world things were to remain extremely dire: on top of severe frost, the New Year swept in with a transport strike, an upshot of this being more shortage of coal and food than ever, and the additional hardship of a reduction in the meat ration.
But Nell had resolved never again to be cowed by such trivia. ‘How can you reduce nothing?’ she roared with laughter at those colleagues who grumbled. ‘I haven’t had meat in years! When it’s a choice between Dobbin or Moby Dick, I think I’ll stick to lentils.’
‘Fine chance of anything else with this cook of ours,’ snorted Jean Wintringham, to whom Nell had taken very quickly, and who was wading her way through another unpalatable bowl of such broth that January morning. ‘I wonder if there’ll be any improvement when they nationalise us?’ A moment was given over to discussing the nationalisation programme, which the government seemed so set on, and the medical profession so against.
But again Nell countered with humour. ‘I doubt it’ll make a ha’porth of difference to us nurses, they’ll still work us like donkeys. We should be issued with nosebags instead of this crockery.’ She wrapped her hands around her cup, pleased for once to be in the main block instead of those frost-encrusted pavilions outside.
Jean recalled something then. ‘Eh, Spotty, did I tell you about that lovely wooden farmyard set I got for our Tony?’
‘Ooh no!’ Nell showed immediate interest, for toys were in very short supply. ‘Where on earth did you get that?’
‘There was a knock on the door the other day,’ told Jean, ‘and there’s this German POW standing there with this lovely thing he’d carved – beautiful it is, all the little animals with moving legs and what-not. A bit steep at six bob, mindst –’
‘You mean to say you bought it?’ Nell could hardly believe her ears. ‘After those thugs killed your husband?’
Jean blushed a little, but explained, ‘Well, where else would I get such a thing? I mean, you wouldn’t see my lad go without on his birthday, would you? He’s suffered as much as the rest of us – you’d do the same if you were a mother.’
Would I? thought Nell, who thought it appalling that former enemies were still in the country and allowed to pedal their wares. Before she could issue an answer, though, Beata gave warning that Sister was coming, and all began to rise.
But Sister Fawdington bade them to remain seated. ‘Do excuse me from barging in on you like this, my dears, but I just thought I should let you know that a replacement has at last been found.’ She had been overdue to retire for some weeks. ‘So I shall probably be leaving tomorrow evening.’
They voiced their sorrow at seeing her go, and waited for her to tell them about the new appointment.
‘Her name is Sister Pike, and she’ll be starting tomorrow morning. I’m not acquainted with her myself, but she is by all accounts a very good nurse, and was highly decorated for her
services during the war in India.’
‘I wish I was in India,’ sighed Nell, tossing a worried glance from the window at a sky that held threat.
‘You’re joking, dear, surely?’ enquired Sister, prompting a chuckle from Nell at the silliness of her remark, and brief conversation on the bloodletting that was going on there – and in numerous other countries for that matter.
‘No, I only meant on the weather front. There looks to be a ton of snow up there, just waiting to drop on me the moment I set foot outside.’
‘I reckon it’s too cold to snow,’ said Wintringham.
‘Well, I don’t think I’ll hang around to find out.’ Nell took decisive action, and, excusing herself to the sister, jumped up and went to put on her coat. ‘See you tonight, ladies!’
The blast was icy as she exited the outer door of the main building, and sliced her to the bone as she galloped home through the dark morning. As predicted, snow had already begun to flutter down, and she was glad to be almost there – though it was small comfort to arrive, for her room was not much warmer than outside.
A thick layer of frost had formed an exquisite pattern on her window, making it impossible to see out, and her breath remained white on the air. Meagre warmth though her clothes might afford, she was reluctant to exchange them for an even thinner nightdress, nor even to take off her coat for now, as she hurried to ignite the two gas rings. Shaking the kettle to check its contents, she heard the chinking of ice. Deciding this would melt, she placed it on one of the rings, then went to light a fire, and afterwards hovered about whilst waiting for these sources to deliver warmth. Last night she had tipped her last bit of milk powder into a jug and mixed it with water in readiness for the morn. The sharp particles of ice that were now encrusting its surface were hardly commensurate to a hot beverage, and so when the kettle boiled Nell took her tea black, then crouched over the hearth, where the house brick that she used to warm her bed had already been put by – though at this rate both she and the brick would take a long time to heat through.
An Unsuitable Mother Page 27