‘Hello.’ The red-haired girl barely looked at her. Millie knew she hadn’t got off to the best start, waking her up in the night like that. It was entirely her fault; she hadn’t even remembered they were getting a new room mate until the poor girl started screaming.
She had tried to apologise that morning as they queued up for the bathroom, but the girl had barely spoken to her. Millie hoped it was just first-day nerves, and she wouldn’t turn out to be as unfriendly as Helen Tremayne. They had shared a room for three months and the only time they spoke was when Helen was taking Millie to task for her untidiness.
The door opened and they all rose to their feet as Sister Parker entered the room and made her way to the raised dais at the front of the classroom. The class skeleton, christened Algernon, dangled limply beside the blackboard behind her.
‘Good morning, Nurses,’ she greeted them. ‘Welcome to the Nightingale Preliminary Training School. As your Sister Tutor, I will be teaching you basic nursing skills and preparing you for life on the wards during your first three months of training. Should you be fortunate enough to pass your preliminary examination,’ she fixed Millie with a meaningful look over the top of her glasses, ‘you will be returning here for weekly lectures for the next three years. These will be fitted in with your nursing duties on the wards, until you pass your hospital and state examinations and become nurses at the Nightingale.’
A ripple of excitement ran through the classroom. Sister Parker clapped her hands, demanding silence.
‘Really, Nurses, if you’re going to chatter like monkeys every time I say something, we shall never get anywhere.’ Once everyone had calmed down, she continued, ‘Usually at this time we will be having lectures on anatomy, physiology, nutrition, first aid and so on. But as it is the first day in PTS for most of you –’ again she glanced at Millie ‘– we will commence by getting to know each other. You will go around the class and each tell me your names and where you come from. Then later in the morning, we will have a visit from the bookseller and you will be able to purchase some textbooks. I will advise you on what you need. Now,’ she swung round to face the bespectacled pro on the far end of the row, who looked as if she was about to burst into tears, ‘we will start with you. Name?’
‘J-Jennifer Bradley, Miss. I mean, S-Sister.’
‘Do speak up, Bradley. You’re not a mouse.’
A couple of the girls in the front row sniggered unkindly as poor Jennifer Bradley turned puce with shame. Sister Parker rounded on them.
‘Since you seem so sure of yourselves, perhaps we should start with you instead?’ she said with a lift of her brows.
The morning dragged on. Millie idly practised drawing the human heart on a corner of her notebook as they went around the class introducing themselves.
And then it came to her neighbour’s turn.
‘My name is Dora Doyle, and I come from Bethnal Green.’ She said it with an air of defiance, her chin lifted, her unmistakable cockney accent ringing around the room.
All eyes turned to Millie then. ‘Amelia Benedict,’ she introduced herself. ‘But you can call me Millie.’
‘You most certainly cannot,’ Sister Parker snapped. ‘All nurses are to be addressed by their surnames at all times.’
As the girl behind her started to recite her name, Millie noticed a girl with plaited brown hair in the front row turning to look at her with interest. She stared at her for such a long time that Millie glanced down at the bib of her apron to check she hadn’t spilled anything down herself.
They stopped for a tea break in the middle of the morning. As the other students chattered together, Millie noticed Dora Doyle standing by herself, looking out of the window over the courtyard, lost in thought.
She was so intriguing, the way she scowled out at the world from under that extraordinary red hair of hers, as if she was afraid of nothing and no one. And yet the way she had screamed out in the night, anyone would think the Devil himself was after her.
Millie went over to her, determined to break the ice. But before she’d had a chance to say hello, the girl with the plaits elbowed her way between them.
‘It’s Lady Amelia, isn’t it?’
‘Millie, actually.’
She smiled triumphantly. ‘I thought I recognised you! You were presented at Court last year, weren’t you?’
Millie frowned at her, trying to place her face with its turned-up nose and pert mouth. ‘Were you there?’
‘Well, no, actually – but I saw your photograph all the time in Tatler. My mother and I follow the Season every year. I’m Lucy Lane, by the way. My father is Sir Bernard Lane. Lane’s Lightbulbs?’ She waited expectantly. Millie tried to look impressed.
‘I was thinking of doing the Season myself last year,’ Lucy went on, ‘but the headmistress of my school was determined I should stay on. She wanted me to take the Common Entrance Exam, you see. She told my father I was easily bright enough for Oxford . . .’
Millie put on her best listening expression, the one she had cultivated from endless cocktail parties, while she searched for Dora out of the corner of her eye. She was nowhere to be seen.
‘. . . and I have to share a room with the most dreadful Irish girl. So common, I can’t tell you,’ Lucy droned on. ‘Terribly religious, too. I could hardly sleep last night for the sound of those rosary beads clicking. Who are you sharing with?’ she asked, pausing for breath at last.
‘Doyle.’
‘Really? Poor you!’
‘Why do you say that?’ Millie asked, puzzled.
‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s hardly our sort, is she?’ Lucy gave her a conspiratorial smile.
‘Our sort?’
‘You know what I mean.’ Lowering her voice barely a fraction, she added, ‘I wonder if we could get Doyle to swap with me? I’m sure she and O’Hara would get on. Then we could share. It would be so much fun, wouldn’t it?’
Millie couldn’t think of anything worse. But mercifully she was saved from replying as they were summoned back into the classroom.
Chapter Seven
BY THE TIME they returned from their break, the bookseller had set up his stall in the classroom, with boxes full of textbooks on display. The new girls swarmed all over them. Millie, who already had all her books from her first stint in PTS, sat at her desk watching them.
‘Sister Tutor says we don’t need to buy all of them, but I thought I might as well.’ Lucy Lane sidled up to Millie, her arms full of books.
She nodded politely but her eyes were fixed on Dora as she picked up one of the books, flipped it open then quickly shoved it back into the box again.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Lucy gave her a knowing smile. ‘It’s pitiful, isn’t it?’
Millie glanced at her. ‘What is?’
‘Doyle, of course. Look at her, staring at those books. Like a starving dog at a butcher’s shop window. It’s obvious she can’t afford to buy anything.’
Millie looked back at Dora. Poor girl. She herself was so used to having anything she wanted, it hadn’t even occurred to her that someone might not be able to buy a few books.
‘Look, Sister Tutor is talking to her now.’ Lucy craned forward eagerly. ‘I bet she’s asking her why she hasn’t bought anything. Let’s listen.’
‘I don’t want to,’ Millie said, turning her head away. But it was impossible to miss what was being said.
‘You know, Doyle, if you are unable to afford new textbooks, we do have a few available secondhand. They’re rather worn and a little out of date, I’m afraid, but at least they are better than nothing.’
Her words made all the other girls stop dead and turn around.
‘Oh, heavens, how embarrassing!’ Lucy giggled. ‘I’d simply die if that were me, wouldn’t you?’
Millie felt mortified for Dora, whose face flooded with colour up to the roots of her fiery hair. She couldn’t hear her mumbled reply, but Sister Parker said, ‘Very well, but you will need textbooks
if you are to continue with your preliminary training. And you will certainly need them if you are to pass your state examinations.’
‘Honestly, I really don’t know what some people are even doing on this course if they can’t buy a couple of books.’ Lucy tossed her plaits indignantly. ‘If you ask me, she’s taking a place that should have been given to someone who can afford to be here.’
She said it so loudly Dora whipped round to look at them. Millie found herself caught in the full force of her baleful stare.
‘Oh dear, do you think she heard us?’ Lucy smiled maliciously.
Soon afterwards it was time for lunch. Millie immediately made a beeline for Dora, but she was out of the classroom before she could catch her.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t fast enough for Lucy Lane, who followed her into the courtyard. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘About us sharing a room—’
‘Then please don’t,’ Millie cut her off sharply, and hurried to the dining block, leaving Lucy standing open-mouthed behind her.
Dora didn’t go to the dining room for lunch, but she returned for the practical session that afternoon. Her defiant expression was back in place, her mouth a tight line. But as Millie edged her way between the other students to stand beside her, she could see the wariness in her green eyes.
The practical sessions took place in a room, which was set up like a small ward with eight beds, a sterilising room and a sluice room. At one end of the ward was a cupboard containing bowls, instruments and linen. Screens and stainless-steel two-tier trolleys were parked at the other end. Large, colourful diagrams of various parts of the human body decorated the walls.
‘Today we will be teaching you how to make a bed, with and without a patient in it,’ Sister Parker announced.
Sister Sutton will be pleased, Millie thought. Maybe if I learn to make my bed properly this time she’ll stop stripping it off every day.
She watched carefully as Sister Parker placed two chairs at the end of the bed. Then she and her assistant began to strip the bed, taking off the sheets and blankets one at a time, folding them in three and draping them carefully over the chairs. As they worked, she kept up a running commentary.
‘You notice how we shake the sheets and blankets as little as possible? That is to avoid creating dust in the air and spreading infection.’ She placed the last blanket over the chairs and surveyed the stripped bed with satisfaction. ‘Now we will show you how to make it,’ she said.
Once again, she and her assistant moved in perfect time with one another, like partners in a graceful dance, drawing the sheet tight, tucking in perfect corners and turning down the counterpane so that it was completely even.
‘You see how we are pulling the sheet tight, so there are no wrinkles?’ She demonstrated with a sweep of her hand. ‘Does anyone know why we need to do this?’
‘So it looks tidy?’ one of the students ventured.
‘Because it prevents pressure sores,’ Lucy piped up.
‘Very good, Lane. Pressure sores are the result of bad nursing, nothing else. While on the wards, we expect you to be absolutely vigilant.’
After the demonstration, the Sister Tutor paired the students up to try it for themselves. Naturally, Lucy Lane put herself forward first. She looked annoyed when Sister Parker paired her with Jennifer Bradley.
‘Poor girl,’ Millie whispered to Dora. ‘I wouldn’t like to be Lane’s partner.’
‘Really? I thought you two were the best of friends,’ Dora replied coldly.
‘Shhh! Quiet, Nurses! You should be watching and taking notes, not gossiping!’ Sister Parker frowned at them.
Lucy already looked every inch the professional nurse in her immaculate uniform, her cap set straight on her smooth chestnut-brown hair. And she performed the whole procedure perfectly, her movements brisk and assured.
Unfortunately she was let down by her partner. Jennifer Bradley was a bag of nerves. Sweat gleamed on her brow as she struggled to keep up with Lane’s fast, fluid movements. By the time they’d finished, it looked as if they’d been fighting on the bed, not making it.
‘Hardly a good first effort,’ Sister Parker tutted. ‘You should learn to work together. It is not only easier on your back, it will also make the whole process much faster and smoother.’
‘That was all your fault,’ Lucy hissed as they rejoined the group and another pair took their place.
‘I – I’m sorry.’ Jennifer’s lip trembled.
‘Leave her alone,’ Millie said.
‘But she was useless!’
‘She was doing her best. You can see she’s nervous.’
‘She shouldn’t be here if she’s not up to it.’
‘If it was up to you, none of us would be here,’ Dora muttered.
‘Nurses, please!’ Sister Parker shot them a warning look. ‘If I hear another word you will all be going to explain yourselves to Matron.’
Lucy glared at Dora, but said nothing.
Sister Parker and her assistant then demonstrated how to make a bed with a patient in it, using Mrs Jones, the life-sized dummy. Millie groaned. She had done battle with Mrs Jones during her previous stint in PTS, and always came off worst.
Sister Parker knew it too. ‘Benedict, you can go first. As you’ve already spent three months training, you should be able to show everyone how to do it.’ Her eyes gleamed with malice behind her pebble spectacles. ‘Doyle, you can be her partner.’
‘Look, about earlier . . .’ Millie tried to say as they took their places, but Dora cut her dead.
‘We’re supposed to be getting on with this, remember?’ she hissed back.
They faced each other across the bed, ready to begin.
‘Remember to speak to the patient,’ Sister Parker reminded them. ‘You must explain every procedure as you do it.’
Millie eyed Mrs Jones apprehensively. She seemed decidedly uninterested in what was about to happen to her.
She took a deep breath. ‘Now, Mrs Jones, Nurse Doyle and I are going to change your bed for you,’ she said brightly. ‘So if you could just move your arms and legs for me . . . that’s wonderful.’ So far so good, Mrs Jones seemed to be co-operating for once, her limbs tucking in nicely around her. Encouraged, Millie grasped her shoulders. ‘Right, now I’m going to turn you on to your side towards me – oh, bugger!’
Just as it all seemed to be going so well, Mrs Jones took on a life of her own. Millie made a lunge for her as her dead weight tipped forward, slipped out of her grasp and started to roll off the bed. It was only Millie’s knee catching the dummy under the chin that stopped her from hitting the ground head first.
She froze there, legs buckling under Mrs Jones’ weight, still propping her up by one knee. She looked across the bed and saw Dora standing there frozen with the draw sheet in her hands.
For a second they stared at each other in horror. Then the corners of Dora’s mouth began to twitch.
‘No, Benedict, that isn’t the way to do it,’ Sister Parker sighed. ‘Try it again, only please avoid kicking the patient in the face this time. And no profanity!’
Millie heard a snort from the other side of the bed. When she looked up, Dora was busily tucking in the sheet, her head down. But her shoulders were shaking. Millie desperately tried to hold in her own laughter, but when she looked down and saw Mrs Jones staring up at her, her glassy smile still in place, she broke down.
‘Are you quite all right, Benedict?’ Sister Parker asked.
‘Sorry, Sister . . . choking fit . . . be all right in a minute.’
‘Really, Nurse, I hardly think it’s appropriate to cough all over the patient, do you?’ Sister Parker frowned. ‘Go to the sluice and fetch a glass of water. Go with her, Doyle.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
They didn’t dare look at each other until they were safely in the sluice. Then they both burst into fits of laughter.
‘Oh, my God.’ Millie leant against the door, holding on to her aching stomach. ‘I think
I’ve given myself an internal haemorrhage.’
‘That’s nothing to what you’ve done to poor Mrs Jones,’ Dora replied.
‘It’ll take more than a clean sheet to put her right, that’s for sure!’
They doubled up, helpless with laughter, hands over their mouths so no one would hear their muffled shrieks. They were still giggling five minutes later when Katie O’Hara knocked on the door.
‘Sister Tutor wants to know if you’ve choked to death?’ she called out.
At least the disaster helped break the ice. As they filed off to the dining room for their tea break, Millie made sure she gave Lucy Lane the slip and joined Dora instead. A few of the pros from her previous PTS set had come down for their tea, and Millie felt a twinge of envy as she listened to them swapping excited stories about their first day on the wards.
‘Don’t you wish you were with that lot?’ Dora asked, helping herself to a slice of bread and jam.
Millie nodded. ‘I feel such a fool, having to repeat PTS. I haven’t even dared tell my family yet.’ She could guess what her grandmother would say about it. ‘It isn’t fair. I could have passed if only it hadn’t been for . . .’
‘What?’ Dora asked.
‘I can’t tell you. It’s too awful.’ Millie shook her head, trying to suppress the memory. ‘It was the worst moment of my life.’
‘Oh, go on. You can’t leave me in suspense!’
Millie hesitated. If she didn’t tell Dora herself, she was bound to hear it from someone else. Like so many of her mishaps, it had already passed into hospital legend.
‘During the final practical test, I had to demonstrate a soap enema solution,’ she said.
‘And?’
‘And I did it very well. I got it all right until the last minute, and then—’
‘Go on.’
She closed her eyes, shuddering at the memory. ‘It wasn’t my fault. The wretched syringe just sort of exploded in my hands. It went off all over the place. The poor examiner was covered.’
‘You didn’t!’ Dora put her hand over her mouth.
‘I did.’ Millie nodded. ‘It wouldn’t have been so bad if the examiner hadn’t been Sister Hyde.’
The Nightingale Girls Page 6