Then she was back on the bedpans and bottles. ‘But I did the bedpans this morning, Staff Nurse.’
‘They’ve been used again, Winton.’
‘Oh.’
‘And there’s the bandages to be washed, they’re soaking in carbolic over there. Do get a move on, Winton.’
When she saw the bandages May felt sick – she thought she could have faced the bloodstains with stoicism, but the foul, yellow-green streaks of pus were another matter altogether, and she had to force herself to pick up the reeking slimy mass. She closed her eyes tightly and threw them into a sink full of hot soapy water. But eventually they had been scrubbed and hung out to dry and there was the exquisite relief of leaving the smelly sluice and being sent to cut bread for the patients’ dinners. Once in the kitchen May would have been in further trouble had not Maudie come to her rescue and shown her the correct way to handle the knife – and even then the slices were either too thick or too thin.
Still, Staff Nurse’s rebuke was followed by a summons to the ward, and May spent a hectic but interesting half hour rushing round with trays and plates of dinner, soon realising her worst mistakes would be either put right or concealed by the patients themselves: the more Sister harangued the junior pros the more the men closed ranks on their behalf. After dinner May scurried round the ward again with her broom, and then was sent to Sister to be dismissed for her own dinner.
‘Nurses Sellers and Winton, you will be off-duty until five. You may go now.’
May’s face lit up – three and a half hours without any scrubbing, sweeping or dusting, what bliss!
As they left the ward she said to Sellers: ‘I was expecting another dressing-down from Sister. I seem to have made one mistake after another today.’
Sellers was reassuring. ‘Well, it’s obvious you’ve never done much housework but you’ll learn. And you’re really very lucky to be starting on Simeon – Sister’s very fair, she only tells you off for what you have done wrong.’
‘Well, I seem to have given her plenty of scope.’ May’s voice was rather downcast.
‘Don’t worry. Sister Simeon is a good teacher, she really looks after her pros – after all, she came on early today specially, because it was your first day.’
May tried to look grateful, but privately she felt that she would prefer rather less consideration from Sister in future. She changed the subject.
‘Nurse Sellers, are we allowed to go outside this afternoon?’
Sellers stared at her. ‘Of course we are! This isn’t a prison.’
‘But I suppose we have to have a companion if we do go out?’
‘Goodness – wherever do you come from? This is London, you know, not Casablanca. There are some areas, Limehouse, for instance, the Chinese quarter, that people say are dangerous at night, but personally I’ve always found them very respectful. I don’t suppose you’ll get dragged into an opium den in the middle of the afternoon. No, there’s no problem about going out – it’s if you don’t get back by five o’clock that the trouble starts!’
By now they were at the dining room, and separated, May taking her place at her lowly table where she looked in dismay at the plate of watery stew and soggy potato that was slapped down in front of her. But she felt positively hollow inside, so she raised her knife and fork, remembering as she did so the delicious lunches sent up by Chef at Stemhalton. A wave of homesickness threatened to engulf her, but she fought it down and reached for the bread.
Chapter Eleven
As she came out of the dining room May caught sight of Alice Rydal slowly climbing the stairs; she hurried after her and caught her up.
‘Were you thinking of going out for a walk this afternoon, Miss Rydal?’
Alice looked horrified. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it! My feet are on fire and my legs ache; I’m going to lie down and have a rest until I have to drag myself back at five. I’m not walking a step further than I have to. I’ve had the most disastrous morning: if it wasn’t Sister nagging me it was that awful Staff Nurse, and the wretched wardmaid – I only asked her to clean the broom properly next time!’ Her voice was one long wail of protest.
May commiserated, but although her calves were feeling a little strained, her determination to venture outside and sample the delights of three hours of freedom in the East End was unshaken.
In her room she pulled her uniform cloak around her and tied the strings of the curious little bonnet under her chin. Her face looked back at her from the mirror as though decked in fancy dress and she stepped out of the door and set off down the corridor feeling like an actress in a play – ‘Madam, the nurse has arrived’ – a domestic melodrama, perhaps? By the time she had reached the main door she felt stifled in her cloak, but unless she clutched it tightly round her it slid off her shoulders and flapped around her skirts.
There were lots of people moving purposefully about the large courtyards, and at first May expected any minute to be the subject of a stern challenge – ‘Nurse, wherever do you think you’re going? – but no one showed the slightest interest in her, and she realised with a jolt that she was just another anonymous uniformed figure. Yet mingled with this new and disconcerting awareness of her lowly status there was a sense of emancipation: to be just one more scurrying figure among seven hundred had its compensations. She saw the main entrance ahead and, like a hound heading for open country she rushed under the archway and out onto the pavement. Outside the noise was deafening. Loaded drays and wagons piled high with goods clattered and rumbled over the granite setts, their cargoes swaying perilously, while a tram sped whining down the centre of the road. May stood quite still and stared.
‘’Scuse us, ducks.’ A woman carrying two large baskets elbowed her out of the way, and May jumped back flattening herself against the hospital railings. She looked up; directly in front of her, suspended against the blue, smoke-smeared sky was a tracery of masts and yards and soaring cranejibs, rising above the long, blank wall of the docks. Before, all her attention had been focused on the hospital; now she began to take in its surroundings.
May looked to the left – the dock wall was unbroken; she turned in the other direction and saw it curve away from her, and the distinctive shape of a clock tower. She took a firm hold on her cloak, waited for a second tram to pass and then stepped out into the road, dodged through a gap in the traffic and made for that promising curve. Just beyond it was the dock entrance. She peered through the open gates and spotted men trundling loaded trolleys and boxes hanging suspended, swaying in the air beside the looming bulk of a hull. But as she leant forward there was a clatter of hooves and she hastily jumped aside as a laden cart bore down on the entrance. The driver grinned and touched his cap, and May was surprised, then realised he was saluting her uniform and smiled quickly back.
She looked around her: the high dock wall continued on the other side of the gateway, but across the road were the grey-green leaves of shrubs in a public garden, with a stream of traffic turning down beyond it. She walked along the main road to see more and there was the steep incline running down to the dark mouth of the tunnel – the tunnel which ran under the Thames itself. The Thames! Crossing the tunnel road May took the next turning and walked briskly down. She negotiated a junction and found herself passing under the iron balconies of several ugly blocks of flats; but the road continued to slope down, so she was convinced she was heading in the right direction. There was a sharp turn left and then, quite suddenly, the road stopped and the river began.
The water moved gently against the stones with a soft, slapping noise, and as she watched a sailing barge glided past, closely followed by the panting, puffing disturbance of a little paddle steamer which sent ripples up the causeway. May gazed entranced at the shining river. Then a cloud crossed the sun, the water turned leaden and dull, and the spell was broken. She turned away and walked back up the street, more slowly now, and her legs began to remind her of their busy morning.
When she came in sight of the clock above the c
entre arch of the dock gate she saw that it was still only half past two, so she veered away from the hospital entrance and set off down the East India Dock Road. She was fascinated by the variety of the shops and buildings and eating houses, and was constantly getting in people’s way and being jostled as she stopped to stare, already convinced that the East End was an altogether livelier and more exciting place than the West.
She paused to read the menu emblazoned across the front of one eating house: ‘Meat pie, Pie crust and potatoes’ – that was plain enough, but whatever were ‘Saveloys’? And were German sausages different from British ones? And why did you eat them with Pudding, and Black Pudding, at that? She must ask Chef to explain when she next saw him. A most appetising smell was drifting out of the doorway, and May’s mouth began to water. She peeped in, but the room was dark and crowded with men and women talking in high Cockney voices and gesticulating with their knives and forks – it seemed like a foreign world and May felt suddenly very shy and out of place. Her nerve failed her, and she was stepping back from the threshold when a voice from inside called: ‘Miss Winton, over here!’ Astounded, she peered into the gloom and saw a blue-bonneted figure waving from a small table in the corner – it was her sad-faced companion of breakfast, Nurse Carter!
May stepped inside and threaded past the busy tables.
‘How very lucky, a girl’s just left, there’s a spare seat – I was so hungry this morning, and that cabbage was nasty, wasn’t it? I’m Ellen Carter, by the way.’ The words came out in a rush.
May murmured, ‘How do you do? My name is May Winton,’ and sat down. Ellen Carter was working her way through a piled-up plate of round brown objects accompanied by mashed potato and peas, all liberally doused with thick gravy. May gazed at the plate longingly and decided to waste no more time.
‘How do I order?’
‘There’s a man,’ said Ellen vaguely. ‘He tells you what’s good today – these are faggots, apparently, they’re very tasty, but they cost more if they’re hot, so if you haven’t much money…’ She looked at May, suddenly worried. ‘Oh, I didn’t think perhaps that’s why you weren’t coming in!’
May hastily reassured her and, the waiter appearing at that moment, ordered the same as her companion.
The faggots, though lacking the subtlety of the food May was accustomed to, were a great improvement on their lunchtime stew, and although she and Ellen could not actually identify the meat used they decided there were onions in them somewhere. Since the waiter recommended the Currant Roly Poly as well as the jam Pudding they compromised on both and washed them down with strong sweet tea.
‘How did you get on this morning?’ May asked.
Ellen’s face fell, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, it was dreadful, that wretched Sister just shouted at me all morning – and when she wasn’t shouting the Staff Nurse hissed – you know, she was just like a gander we’ve got at home,’ Ellen lengthened her neck and flapped her arms in a parody, while hissing loudly across the table. Embarrassed, May looked round at their fellow diners, but they seemed oblivious to Ellen’s antics, and May reddened at her own embarrassment. Ellen, rapidly restored to cheerfulness, reached for her purse. ‘We’ve still got some time left, shall we explore? This is the first time I’ve ever been in London, except for my interview with Matron. I must say, it’s very interesting. Have you ever been here before?’
‘Not to this area,’ May said cautiously. ‘I live in the country, most of the year.’
‘So do I, all the year. My father’s a stationmaster in Devon. It’s only a very small station, but very pretty. I helped out at the cottage hospital nearby, but I felt like a change. What does your father do?’
May hesitated, then said, ‘He doesn’t do anything, actually, – well he rides round to see the tenant farmers sometimes, but only when he feels like it.’
Ellen’s eyes widened. ‘Goodness, are your family some of the Idle Rich?’
May said apologetically, ‘I suppose we are.’
‘Oh, you don’t have a title, do you?’
‘I don’t, but my father does.’
‘What a shame, I was hoping you might be Lady May – it would have sounded impressive in my letter home!’ Then she leant forward and whispered, ‘Really, it’s just as well – my father’s a Socialist, though he wouldn’t want the Railway Company to know, so he wouldn’t at all approve of my dining out with the aristocracy – even if it was only on faggots and peas!’ Ellen threw back her head and laughed out loud, and after a moment May joined her.
The next hour passed rapidly. May found it far pleasanter walking with a companion, and Ellen shared her enthusiasm for all the new sights. They stopped, and stared, and tripped over the paving stones because they weren’t looking where they were going, and generally got in people’s way. But the East Enders, although they pushed their way past, seemed mostly easy-going and friendly, and several times they were addressed as ‘Nurse’ to their great pride. They looked in shop doorways and gazed at the puffs of steam escaping from Poplar Baths, speculating on what ‘slipper baths’ were, Ellen maintaining people must get into the bath wearing their slippers, while May contended it must mean that you actually bathed your slippers, instead of yourself. Then May read out the legend on the statue of Mr George Green, Shipbuilder, only to find Ellen, eyes brimming, gazing at the sculpted dog at the foot of the statue, wailing softly.
‘Oh his dog, it’s the image of our Sammy at home!’
May, who had begun to understand the mercurial nature of Ellen’s temperament, hastily seized her arm and whisked her across the road in search of distraction.
They were just tasting the delights of the edge of the Chinese quarter – ‘Oh, May – pigtails, a man with a pigtail!’ – when they saw a clock and May remembered that she had to be back on duty fifteen minutes early, so they started trotting, May in her anxiety setting a spanking pace. Ellen clasped her side and complained of a stitch, but May noticed that she had no difficulty in keeping up, and still had eyes for her surroundings, so she decided that Ellen’s frail appearance must be deceptive.
Gasping for breath and sweating under their long cloaks they swept past the gloomy gaze of the tortoise and up to their rooms to tidy themselves. Then May headed for Simeon Ward, and left Ellen to enjoy whatever St Katharine’s chose to offer their nurses in the way of tea. Ellen’s hopes were not high but the unscheduled meal on the Dock Road had obviously not damped down her appetite, and May felt a pang of envy – she was hungry again too. But the thought of an angry Sister Simeon was amazingly invigorating, and she ran up the stairs to the ward as fast as she dared.
Hot, clammy air enveloped May as she entered the ward; the high collar, which she had scarcely noticed over the afternoon, cut into her neck, and her shoes began to feel several sizes too small. May had a sudden vision of the airy, cool drawing room at Allingham, windows flung open to the terrace; and she thought of the pleasure of strolling in the gardens on a warm evening such as this. The ward windows were open, but the air was heavy and still; it had the stale, used-up feel of the city. The fire had been allowed to die down, but it still glowed sullenly in the central pillar, adding unwanted warmth to the atmosphere.
Sister’s chair was empty, and May stood irresolute until she saw her emerge from the screens round a bed further up the ward. She was followed by Bates, pushing a trolley and looking utterly miserable. Sister was as erect as ever, her apron smooth and white, her cap crisp and fresh; she seemed totally unscathed by the heat. The sight stiffened May’s pride and she stood to attention by the table.
Sister Simeon looked her up and down, said: ‘Your cap is crooked, Nurse Winton,’ then sent her off to Staff Nurse, who directed her into the sluice.
‘There’s a lot of cleaning to do, Nurse, just get on with it.’
Besides the inevitable bottles and bedpans there was a pile of dirty bowls and slimy rubber tubes, and the smell was nauseating. May gazed up at the tightly closed high window, then made up h
er mind. She pushed the table across to the sink, clambered up and over the draining board to the window sill. She stretched up and tugged the latch; at first it would not budge, then it gave with a sudden jerk and almost tipped her into the sink full of bedpans. Despite the still evening the atmosphere immediately smelt less foul. As she turned to climb down she saw a red-haired young man in a white coat grinning at her from the doorway. May did not return his smile.
‘Would you like some help, Nurse?’
Before he could move, May, mindful of Home Sister’s warnings and remembering the last time she had been assisted in her climbing, spoke coldly.
‘No, thank you. Please close the door as you leave.’
He blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it again and went out, shutting the door behind him. Relieved, May jumped down to the floor and began to attack the bedpans.
A couple of minutes later the door opened and Sister looked in.
‘Who opened that window, Nurse Winton?’
May felt slightly apprehensive, but was determined to stand firm on this issue.
‘I did, Sister. It smelt in here.’
‘Did you open it by yourself?’
‘Yes, Sister, entirely.’
Sister Simeon actually smiled. ‘Then make sure you close it a again before you go off duty: the night nurses are not so athletic. Now, as soon as you’ve finished in here and helped with the patients’ suppers and done the washing up, come to me on the ward. I want you to assist with the evening dressings.’
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