It was only twelve o’clock, but that was dinnertime for the patients. In the kitchen each probationer was given a knife and fork – for one hopeful moment I wondered if we were to eat first – then I saw that the potatoes had been boiled in their jackets and it was our task to skin them. ‘Hurry up, Girvan, they don’t want them stone cold.’ I fumbled and hacked and lost control of the hot slippery potatoes and kept Staff Nurse impatiently waiting.
On the ward Sister herself served the dinners; the pros ran up and down the beds with loaded trays. I repeated the number of each plate frantically to myself as I scuttled along, but I still gave a plate of greasy stew to a gastric case and suffered the full force of Staff Nurse’s wrath as she snatched a loaded fork from the woman’s lips.
After dinner I had to wash up; I was told to bring the two bowls of soapy water into the ward and put them on the coal box. I had to force myself to plunge my hands into the water and touch other people’s greasy knives and forks and plates. As I was drying the pudding plates I heard the patients in the beds nearby tittering. Harris looked up and laughed. ‘Oh, you do look funny, Girvan – dabbing at them like that – get hold of the wretched things and give them a good wipe.’ My face burned.
By the time I had finished, my six-thirty bread and fish had long been forgotten and I was faint with hunger, but we were still not allowed to go; yet again I was sent for the duster. It was a quarter past one before Sister read the afternoon off-duty list and dismissed us. We washed our hands and left the ward.
At our luncheon, which was called dinner, the boiled mutton was served to us, but the vegetables were put in large dishes on the table – they were almost finished before I realized I had to ask for them to be passed and help myself. At the end of the meal the nurses had to pile up their plates, knife, fork, spoon and glass, and carry them themselves to the hatch in a greasy pile; it was all very unpleasant. Juno and I ate so slowly we were left in the room with the maids clattering noisily in the background; we decided we would have to learn to chew faster. But at least we were off duty for the afternoon, until five o’clock.
I had scarcely looked at the outdoor uniform when I had unpacked; now I struggled into the grey alpaca dress and picked up the hat – it was a bonnet. Juno came in, holding hers in her hand. ‘However can we go out in these? Suppose we meet someone we know!’
I said at last, ‘I don’t suppose we’ll meet anyone we know in Spitalfields, and we can’t stay in all afternoon.’ I raised the bonnet and put it on my head. It was a small square straw trimmed with black velvet, with a floppy bow right in the centre at the front and a long gauze veil hanging stiffly down from the crown at the back. Two wide white ribbons had to be tied in another bow under the chin. When we had finished Juno and I stared side by side into the mirror at our astonished faces peering out from between the two enormous bows.
Juno’s sudden grin flashed out. ‘Well – lead me to the fancy-dress party!’ And we both looked so funny I began to laugh; she joined in and soon we were gasping and holding our sides as we giggled uncontrollably in the hot stuffy bedroom. The horrors of the morning receded as we pulled on our black cotton gloves and set out again, still chuckling.
But beyond the side gate of the hospital our lightheartedness evaporated. This was a very different London from the spacious squares and avenues of the West End. The buildings were packed closely together, the streets were narrow and smeared with horse dung; and an unpleasant miasma compounded of ammonia, sulphur and other odours I could not identify assaulted our nostrils. Above our heads the brightness of the September sun was tarnished by the smoke and fumes of factories and workshops. I pulled my skirts more tightly around me as we passed small grubby children with dirt-encrusted faces playing in the filthy gutter. A group of men lounging against a wall stared boldly at us and before I dropped my eyes, I saw the dark greasy line behind them on the bricks where they had leant and smoked their pipes so often before. There was a rattling on the cobbles and a rickety barrow trundled round the corner towards us; the man pushing it peered out from between the drooping brim of his cap and an enormous walrus moustache. Two wailing cats followed him round and one of the small children cried out, ‘Ay, Ma, it’s the cats’ meat man!’ A woman with a shapeless swollen body waddled out of a doorway and headed towards the barrow; as we drew level with it we smelt the stench of half-rotten meat. Another half-starved cat streaked past our ankles and began to jump up at the cart, yowling like a banshee; we hurried past, faces averted from the noisome cargo, and almost ran round the corner.
But the next street revealed the same low, mean houses, the same grubby children crouched beside the pavement and a couple of men lounging by a favoured wall; the only difference was the addition of a group of women gossiping in soiled shawls. As we came towards them one stepped down into the gutter and straddled the grid. She raised her skirts above her dirty bare ankles and we watched in horror as the stream of liquid splashed down into the drain below. One of the lounging men nudged the other and guffawed and his taller companion called out, ‘Ow much, Ma – while yer got yer drawers off ready?’
Juno’s face turned fiery red, she seized my arm and dragged me, half-running, down the street. I almost stumbled over the children, and jerked hastily away as the sour unwashed smell of them filled my nostrils. Juno panted, ‘How frightful, how frightful – how can people live like that?’ I could not reply.
We turned another corner and thankfully found ourselves on Commercial Road East. At least here there were some decent-looking men and women among the ragged ones, and most of the females had covered their heads – though some only with their husbands’ flat caps. There were shops too, with respectable-looking shopkeepers – I saw a straw-hatted butcher smile at a neatly dressed customer as he reached for a heap of quivering white folds. ‘Arf a pound o’ dressed tripe, missus – coming up.’
Juno said, ‘We had a footman who used to eat that stuff – with vinegar. He let me taste some once – said it was cow’s stomach.’
The bloody sides of beef seemed to waver and sway above me; I clutched desperately at Juno’s arm. ‘Look – a bus, let’s get up on top and away from this place.’ We scrambled up the stairs, clutching our flapping cloaks about us, and collapsed on to the hard wooden seat. A slight breeze fanned our hot cheeks as we jolted forward.
Juno tugged her bonnet straight. ‘We’ll book to the terminus – at least we’re resting our feet.’ I nodded. I felt tired and sick.
We treated ourselves to tea and buns in a respectable-looking cafe near Aldgate, then boarded a tram for the return journey. At five o’clock I climbed the stairs to Allsop Ward, my heart sinking.
Chapter Four
As soon as I pushed open the big ward doors Staff Nurse pounced. ‘You’re almost late, Girvan – the washing-up’s waiting from tea – get on with it, then come and find me.’ I steeled myself to tackle the dirty cups and saucers, but at least they were not greasy.
When I had finished I found Staff Nurse in the sink room where she was piling soap and towels and bowls of hot water on to a trolley. I stood helplessly by as she moved quickly from cupboards to sink. ‘Come along, we’ve got a new admission to wash and get to bed.’ As I trotted behind her I heard her muttered complaint. ‘What a time of day, that wretched Armstrong – always waits till after tea to send ’em up.’
We unloaded our bowls on to the locker beside an empty bed and rushed back to the ward entrance where a small female child crouched on a wooden chair, gasping for breath, her spindly legs dangling. As we came forward the haggard grey-haired woman beside her stirred and sent the smell of stale urine wafting from her skirts. My nose wrinkled in distaste but Staff Nurse appeared not to notice. ‘All right, Mother, we’ll see to her now – can she walk?’
I stared at the woman as her toothless gums mouthed a ‘Yes’ – surely she was far too old to be this child’s mother? But Staff Nurse was on the move. ‘Up you get.’ The child slithered off the chair, her head hunched over her chest;
the woman reached out a tentative hand but Staff Nurse was already propelling the child forward through the lobby. She called back a curt ‘Visiting on Sunday’, then snapped at me, ‘Screens, Girvan, quickly.’ I ran ahead to find the heavy red screens and drag them round the empty bed. Before I had finished she was bundling the child out of her ragged frock and shawl and dumping them on the floor. ‘Put those in the drawstring bag – they’ll all have to be sent for fumigation, she’s got scabies as well as bronchitis.’ I picked up the smelly clothes with my fingertips and dropped them as quickly as possible into the bag.
‘Help me lift her, Girvan.’ Staff Nurse had wrapped the child in an old blanket so I picked up the edge gingerly. ‘For goodness’ sake get hold of her properly, or you’ll drop her.’ I tightened my lips and grabbed a larger fold and somehow the child was transferred to the bed. Staff Nurse rolled her over on her back and for the first time I saw her face: I gasped, she was so ugly. Her face seemed to cave in between a bulging, knobbly forehead and a jutting chin and the two frightened eyes stared out either side of a rudimentary squashed nose. Staff nurse glanced at me. ‘Take a good look, Girvan – you’ll see plenty more like her in this hospital. Some men should be shot for what they do to their children.’
I was aghast. ‘You mean – she’s been hit?’
‘Of course not, she was born like that – specific disease.’ Her voice was heavy with meaning and although I had no idea what ‘specific disease’ was I drew back hastily.
Staff Nurse said impatiently, ‘She’s not infectious with it now – Armstrong’s no fool, he’ll have checked her over pretty thoroughly – he’d have warned us to take the usual precautions if they’d been necessary. No, it’s the scabies we’ve got to watch out for.’ She pulled back the blanket and revealed the child’s arm – it was a mass of red blotches. ‘I’ll have to pare her fingernails down, she’s been scratching – look at that!’ I could not take my eyes from the arm where patches of skin had been ripped off to expose the raw red surface below; in between the patches, foul sores oozed pus. I wanted to gag as the child wheezed on. ‘Armstrong’s dug the mites out with a needle – thinks he got most of them.’
I breathed, ‘The mites?’
‘That’s what causes it – they burrow under the skin to lay their eggs, then of course it itches so the patient scratches and Bob’s-your-uncle. We’ll tie gloves on her as well.’ Staff Nurse worked quickly, washing the child and patting her dry in sections. My skin crawled as she handed me back the towel and I flinched away. ‘For goodness’ sake, Girvan, scabies is nothing – we can soon cure it with cleanliness and plenty of ointment – it’s the bronchitis that’ll cause the trouble, poor little so-and- so.’ She bent down over the child. ‘What’s your name?’
At last a thread-like whisper came: ‘Edie.’
‘Now, Edie, don’t worry, we’ll soon have you better.’ Staff Nurse rubbed the ointment briskly on – how could she bear to touch this child? ‘Now it’s your turn, Girvan – you can do the head, it’s sure to be alive.’ I stared at her blankly. ‘Nits, of course – I’ll tell you what to do.’ I stood as if in a nightmare as Staff Nurse tied a mackintosh cape round the child’s shoulders then handed me the second bowl. ‘It’s the right temp now – remember always to test it, especially with children. I’ve put the soda in already, you rub in the soft soap then give her hair a good wash before you go through it with this.’ She held up a metal comb with narrow teeth very close together. ‘Do it bit by bit, but you won’t get them all out today, and you’ll have to pull, the little beggars stick like glue. Keep dipping it in the carbolic as you go.’ She pushed through the screens and left me.
I looked desperately round, but there was no help for it, so I took a deep breath and pulled the child to the edge of the bed. I got the matted hair washed somehow as the water in the bowl went darker and darker in colour. Then I dipped the comb in the dish of carbolic and began to tug at the tangles. The child whimpered and moaned, but I tugged grimly on. As I withdrew the comb I saw that tiny round whitish objects were caught between the teeth; I plunged them into the carbolic. When I spotted the small brown creature clinging like a crab to the comb I choked as I jumped for the disinfectant. But I had managed to comb almost the entire head by the time Staff Nurse came back. She stood watching me finish, then she laughed out loud. ‘For goodness’ sake, Girvan, don’t look so scared – after all, they can only bite you! And to think you’re paying that skinflint of a matron a guinea a week for the privilege!’ She laughed again and I winced at her jeering tone. ‘You picked the wrong hospital for your Lady Bountiful act. The East London works on sweated labour – it’s well known for it – I knew that when I started, but at least I’m not such a fool as to pay to be sweated! Towel her dry properly – we’d normally saturate the lot in carbolic solution now, but as she’s got bronchitis already we’ll have to rely on you tooth-combing her twice a day.’ She smirked at my horrified face. ‘After the first year you’ll wonder why you made such a fuss! You can try meths next time.’
Meths? I thought wildly, am I meant to set fire to the child’s head?
‘It dissolves whatever the little devils stick themselves on with – remind me tomorrow.’ I gave a weak nod. ‘And let’s have a bit more of the “Thank yous”, Girvan – mind your manners.’
Manners! How dared she speak to me so, she with her common accent and coarse laugh? But I managed to get out, ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you Staff. I thought you lot all had nannies to teach you your Ps and Qs.’ She rustled off; angry and resentful, I stumbled after her. My feet were on fire and the backs of my calves were taut with pain; tears began to fill my eyes – how could I ever stand another three hours in this hellish place? Staff Nurse glanced round and I saw the triumph in her expression. I forced my tired legs to move faster and my face became a rigid mask – I would not break down before a woman of that class.
I ran backwards and forwards on my burning feet carrying the patients’ supper trays. I offered soup to a patient who wanted bread and milk then gave an egg to a woman in the middle of the ward who instantly began to spoon it greedily into her mouth. Another woman asked for her egg; I ran back to the kitchen where Harris exclaimed impatiently, ‘There aren’t any more, Girvan, patients bring their own – why ever didn’t you look? I pencilled the right number on it. You’ll have to go and tell Number Nine what you’ve done.’
Number Nine’s lips tightened as I faltered through my explanation. Then she glared at the yolk-smeared mouth of the woman in the next bed and whined, ‘I wouldn’t ’a minded so much if you’d a given it ter one o’ me pals – but ’er!’ I limped back to the kitchen with burning cheeks.
After supper I was set to sweep again while Fraser washed up. The ward seemed to grow longer and longer and wider and wider – I felt as though I were sweeping the Mall, and I still could not collect the dust together in one place for my shovel.
As soon as I had finished Staff Nurse ordered, ‘Harris, take Girvan to the sink room – she can empty and wash out the bed pans for the rest of you. Tell her exactly what she must do.’ In the stench of the sink room I tipped away the unspeakable contents of the heavy bed pans as they were thrust into my hands and as I clumsily scrubbed them clean I tried desperately to focus my nostrils only on the smell of the disinfectant I had poured into the soapy water. Harris came in with yet another reeking burden; teeth clenched I reached out for it but she shook her head. ‘It’s the typhoid’s stools – they’ll be teeming with germs.’ She lifted the carbolic solution and tipped some in, then she rammed down the lid again and swished the whole pan round before she placed it on the shelf. ‘Leave it for at least fifteen minutes before you throw it away.’ She seized three more empty pans and disappeared.
I gazed in horror at the rounded white earthenware pan as it stood on the shelf, decorated with its menacing blue ‘T’ and ‘teeming with germs’ – and I would have to empty it and plunge my bare hands into the sink to wash it clean. It was too
much; I could not stay here in this prison any longer – I had been a fool to think I could ever learn to nurse. I began very carefully to dry my work-reddened hands, and as I did so I excused myself to the uncaring walls: ‘I don’t want to be a nurse, I don’t want to be a nurse,’ and an echo answered me, Lance Benson’s gentle voice: ‘I don’t want to be a soldier, Lady Helena – Helena – Helena.’ I stood and wrestled with the memory – how could I desert now?
My tears dripped into the sink as I forced my hands back into the dirty water.
I kept my face averted as another pile of stinking pans was thrust into my outstretched hands, but I heard Harris’ cheerful voice, ‘Thanks, old thing – I must say it’s nice being able to dump them on you, it’s speeding us up no end.’ Her starched skirts rustled out as I began to empty each one in turn. At the end of fifteen minutes I took hold of the typhoid bed pan with both hands and forced myself to tip the contents away. When it was white and clean and drying on the rack I felt a little better; I stared at it hanging there and whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Lance – I will stick it, I promise.’ Then I went out to the ward for prayers; it was eight o’clock.
So once again I fell to my knees on the hard floor and heard Sister’s flat voice pray for the hospital and all within its walls. I tried to picture Gerald so that I could pray for him, but his face was a blur behind my closed lids and receded further and further from me, until in desperation I turned instead to my brother. ‘Oh Guy – please God keep Guy safe,’ and his friendly face and loving dark eyes seemed to smile at me in reply, and I was comforted.
In a daze of tiredness I stood with the other probationers while Sister walked from bed to bed in the darkened ward, inspecting each chart in the flickering light of the candle carried by Staff Nurse. Then I was ordered to do the inventory. ‘Mind you find every piece of silver, Girvan – one knife, one fork, one dessert and one teaspoon per patient – and there’s thirty patients, in case you haven’t noticed – lay them all out on the coal box in fives.’
Song of Songs Page 20