A House for Sister Mary

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘And very pleased to have you with us, dear,’ said Sister Mary.

  Nick caught my eye and grinned sheepishly. After tea he tried to corner me alone several times before Robert and I left, but I was still too peeved by his attitude to Robert and refused to be cornered.

  Sister Mary had decided dear Mr. Gordon was another dear friend who could safely be entrusted with Jill’s news. Driving out of Wylden, Robert said he had heard it was on the cards previously, and could see only one snag.

  ‘Elizabeth’s going to lose a very good sister.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ The same thing seemed likely to happen to Observation. I kept that to myself. ‘I can’t see Jill not nursing. Think she’ll work down here?’

  ‘Why not? Till she has a baby. Astead General’ll jump at her. Like most hospitals, it’s short of trained nurses.’ We were stopped by the traffic, so he looked at me. ‘You didn’t know their affair was brewing?’

  ‘No.’ I did not enlarge on that, as to do so would mean mentioning Nick. Remembering how I felt directly after David, I had no intention of letting Nick, Sabby Wardell, or even Astead General crop up again in our conversation. Instead I asked about Tom. ‘I suppose you had no chance to hear how he’s taken the news?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I saw him before I left. I put on a sterile glove. He took it as expected and has signed his consent form.’

  ‘What ever time did you leave London? The men weren’t seeing him till early this afternoon.’

  ‘I don’t know. I pushed off after seeing him. There wasn’t much traffic then. By the way, Tom gave me your message yesterday. Thanks for bothering, but that talk I wanted to have with you isn’t ‒ wasn’t ‒ all that important. In fact, not important at all now.’ The traffic was starting up, but he was still watching me. ‘I expect you can follow why?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said and left it at that. Obviously Sabby had told him the whole truth in the canteen on Wednesday, and that was why he had looked so black when I called him back to see Tom. I guessed he had felt that, as no one else in our immediate circle had the courage to tell me Sabby and Nick were engaged again, he had better do it. It would have been much easier for Jill, Peter, or even Harriet. After last week-end Jill and Peter must have been aware of the true situation ‒ which explained their evasive attitudes to me yesterday. And, unless I was much mistaken, Harriet, who heard everything in Cas, and sensed the things she did not hear, must have gathered something was going on from her faithful Stan, if not from Peter himself. With the maddening clarity of hindsight I now saw she had tried to drop me the odd vague hint. I suspect Robert had met with a similar silence from his friends in the Doctors’ House. It was all an exact repetition of what had happened over David. People convinced themselves they were keeping quiet out of kindness when what was actually silencing them was lack of courage.

  ‘Sorry!’ Robert swerved sharply to avoid an overtaking motor-cyclist who would otherwise have removed our off-side wing mirror. Another shot by. ‘Any more leather boys coming up?’

  I looked back. ‘Five.’ They roared past. ‘Some Cas somewhere is going to be busy tonight.’

  ‘Strange how keen people are to get into an A.R.R. Our Cas was beginning to hot up already when I left. Monday’ll see its usual Bank Holiday shambles.’

  I said, ‘I’ve detested Bank Holidays since one Whit Monday two years back. I’ve never seen so much blood about. It was worse than the E.N.T. theatre on tonsil days.’

  ‘Not two years ago; three, if you mean the Whit Monday that coach overturned on a double-decker bus?’

  ‘That’s the one.’ I winced at the memory. ‘Were you there? I don’t remember that.’

  ‘I was there,’ he said grimly. ‘I was one of the A.h-s.’s (Accident house-surgeons) all that jolly week-end. That Monday was the first time our morgue filled up in one day since the last war. Weren’t you in Eighteen? With the women? Dave was in Twelve. I was in Eleven.’

  Dressing-rooms Eleven and Eighteen stood opposite each other, and the doors were always open, but I could not remember him there at all. Looking back now, I could see rather than remember myself on that occasion, as I no longer seemed to have anything in common with that other girl. I could see David as clearly, and our that-time S.S.O. in his shirt-sleeves with blood on his mask. He had long discarded his stained coat. I could still smell the sweet sickly smell of fresh blood on wooden benches. We had had to use the benches when we ran out of stretcher-trolleys. Yet I could not picture Robert anywhere in that scene.

  ‘You were? Sorry, but I don’t remember,’ I said again, and again we were silent for miles.

  We were in outer London when he broke the silence to say Joe Yates was returning tonight. ‘Someone remembered the holiday and wired him. He’s booked by Muir for tomorrow. I’m back with Blakelock. I’m hoping the S.S.O.’ll let me back on “dry” from tonight. I’d rather work than hang around as “walking sick”.’

  ‘Yes. That’s no joy. So you’ve left Observation.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Tom aside, I’m not sorry.’

  As Blakelock never sent us patients and Observation with or without Sabby would be haunted for him, that figured. But the prospect of Observation without him so upset me that I dared not risk even a formal personal regret. ‘Tom’ll miss you.’

  He glanced at me without comment. He did not speak again until he had said goodnight when he dropped me at the Home. The clock outside Cas struck nine as he drove on.

  The hands of the cranial theatre clock stood at nine next morning when Tom Elkroyd was wheeled in fully conscious and holding my hand as I walked beside his stretcher trolley.

  As the double doors shut and sealed themselves a row of dark-blue lights came on over the sinks. They would remain on throughout the operation, as always in any of our theatres when an operation was being performed under a local anaesthetic. The theatre staff were glad of the reminder, since being so accustomed to working on unconscious bodies, the surgeons were apt to discuss everything from the job in hand to their hobbies, or what would be served for the next meal. We had a few surgeons who disliked any form of conversation while operating, but they were in the minority, and even they sometimes gave vent to a ‘Good God! Look at the mess in here!’ or ‘What the hell can I do with this? It’s long past repair!’

  The gallery was nearly full, though the intercom was switched off. Mr. Browne never lectured on conscious patients.

  He had briefed me earlier in the privacy of the theatre duty-room. ‘Your job is to keep his mind off what I’m doing inside his head. Talk quietly, as much as you wish. If he wants to talk let him. If he drops off from time to time, which he may, so much the better. The table’ll be high enough for him to see you through the cut-away face rest. Sit where he can see you easily, and sit still. It’s going to be a long day.’

  Tom’s condition that morning seemed to me to have deteriorated sharply in the last thirty-six hours. Addy was in charge as Wardell’s holiday had begun, and directly the night report was over, until the theatre porters arrived, I was occupied with Tom’s final pre-operative preparations. I spoke to Betty Elkroyd for a few seconds before we left.

  The smile in her eyes was as determinedly cheerful as her manner. ‘We’ll have the band playing tonight, Nurse! Isn’t that right, then?’

  ‘I’ll say!’ I sounded as hearty as Jill. ‘What are you going to do? Sit out on our sun-roof? It’s another lovely day.’

  ‘Maybe this afternoon, Nurse. I’ve got me a date this morning. Happen you’ll know that?’

  ‘Not I! Who’s your date?’

  ‘Happen you’ve dropped brick, love,’ said Tom slowly, moving his swathed, shaved head with very great care my way. ‘Our Mr. Gordon’s taking my Betty out to Zoo, seeing as they’ve taken him off the job with that bad hand. He come and asked if I’d mind.’ His words were now so slurred they were hard to follow. ‘I said I reckoned it was fair ‒’ He stopped as Addy came in. ‘Time, then?’

  During the earlier part of his op he tol
d me Betty had always wanted to visit the Zoo, and he had mentioned that to Robert last night. ‘The Sister let him come in for chat, late like.’ He paused. ‘Gone now, has she?’

  ‘For three weeks. You been to the Zoo, Tom?’

  ‘Oh, aye.’

  We talked about zoos in general, and then, as he was getting tired but wanted to be talked to, I told him more about the cottage, how it looked now, and then how beautiful the country had looked. ‘You can’t imagine how many orchards they have down there. In spring there is blossom for miles. It’s like a whole world in glorious Technicolor.’

  ‘I’d like my kids to see that. My Betty’s had a fancy her and me’d move into the country when kids have grown up.’ His eyes looked inward. ‘We’d not reckoned on this lot. How they doing, then?’

  I glanced at the surgeon’s hands and wished I had not. ‘Getting on nicely.’

  A little later a sound puzzled him. ‘Don’t they have this theatre sound-proofed? I fancy I can hear lads working with drill. Got a building job near?’

  Dr. Wallace and his assistant, our Resident Anaesthetist, were sitting by me. The R.A.’s eyes met mine. I said, ‘I expect you can hear them working on the new children’s block. It’s just across the way from here.’

  ‘Sounds right close.’

  ‘It does,’ I said, ‘doesn’t it?’

  Tom’s eyes closed as Mr. Browne stopped drilling and Sister Cranial Theatre handed him the special saw. The instruments on her trolley looked more like a set of carpenter’s tools. On her second and still covered trolley she had waiting the instruments that would be used inside Tom’s brain. He had slid into a light sleep when Mr. Browne laid back the skull flap. A theatre nurse removed the first instrument trolley and pushed forward the second.

  Tom woke. ‘Still at it, are they?’

  ‘Yes. Comfortable?’

  ‘I’m all right, then.’

  His head was as open as an egg with the top turned back. Mr. Muir had now joined Mr. Browne. Joe Yates and Henry Todd were actively engaged in their assisting; the housemen only were momentarily standing back with their gloved hands high. Tom could just have woken from a normal sleep. He knew the surgeons were there, but, as he could neither see nor feel them, he was content to take them on trust. Had he been able to see in the magnifying mirror reflecting the operation to the gallery, phlegmatic and sensible though he was, I suspected the shock might have killed him. Looking in that mirror was like looking at some anatomy text book’s pictures of the brain. I could see it easily from my chair. I looked at it from time to time only because that was my job. I admired surgeons and surgery, but surgery had sickened me from my first year, and it still did.

  Time stood still. After a lifetime it was noon; another lifetime and a few empty spaces in the gallery showed it was the lunch hour. When I next looked up Robert was sitting at the end of the front bench. I told Tom. He was now desperately tired, but his eyes lit up.

  ‘Back from Zoo, eh?’

  About twenty minutes later he began blinking. ‘What’s up with lights, then? Power cut?’

  The lights had not changed.

  ‘Could be. I hope not. It won’t matter if it is, as this theatre has its own emergency lighting. That may not give us much light, but it’ll give Mr. Browne and Mr. Muir enough.’

  Mr. Muir was listening. He said jovially, ‘A wee bit dark, isn’t it, laddie? Why not try and have another little sleep?’

  Tom shut his eyes obediently and soon went back to sleep. He woke briefly after a little while. His eyes were very dazed and his speech was almost unintelligible. I bent closer to catch his mumble.

  Mr. Browne asked, ‘All well, Nurse?’

  ‘It’s his left foot, Mr. Browne. He’s got pins and needles.’

  Sister Theatre nodded to me to stay where I was and raised an eyebrow at one of her nurses. Tom sighed contentedly as she rubbed his foot, and he dozed off again.

  By three Mr. Muir’s work was done, and the final and most dangerous stage of that dangerous operation remained ahead. Word had got round the hospital, as it always did, and though it was Saturday afternoon and the students were free, the gallery had filled up. There was not a spare inch on the benches, the connecting steps, or the gangways. A line of uniformed sisters had appeared on the back bench. I noticed, without it registering, that Sabby Wardell, in uniform instead of being away on holiday, was sitting between Sister Eyes and Sister Henry. Tom’s hand in mine was limp, and his face was grey. Dr. Wallace and the R.A. were almost constantly on their feet. Then and for another hour and a half, Tom’s life was most literally in the small neat hands of Mr. Browne.

  Later, Helen Addy asked, ‘How big was it?’

  ‘This size.’ I measured part of one little fingernail. ‘It was right down where he said it would be and he got it out intact. I was there and watching, but I don’t know how he did it. He couldn’t risk feeling around; he was working blind. Directly it was out, Tom changed.’ I snapped my fingers. ‘Like that! If I hadn’t seen it I shouldn’t have believed it. His speech picked up, he could see more clearly …’ I paused. Then I said, ‘When it was all over and old Muir was making one of his wee jokes to Tom about his bonnie white bonnet, Browne-plus-E flopped on a stool and let his arms dangle, and every bit of him sagged. He looked like a little old man.’

  She said kindly, ‘He’s only in his forties, but he’ll be that before his time. Can you imagine the strain of operating non-stop for eight hours and ten minutes, knowing all the time one wrong move could kill a man? Oh, my dear, what a day! And what a wonderful ending! You’ve seen Betty Elkroyd?’

  ‘Yes.’ I was smiling. ‘Just now. She looked so happy. She couldn’t talk. She kissed me.’

  ‘Bless the girl! She kissed me when I got Sister Theatre’s message and told her Mr. Browne was on his way up with good news. He didn’t mind my jumping the gun. That poor woman has been in hell all day. It was good of Robert Gordon to take her out. He made her have some lunch. Did he get to the theatre?’

  ‘This afternoon.’ I then remembered Sabby, and asked if Addy knew why she was not away.

  She got up to close the duty-room before answering. ‘Keep this to yourself, as it isn’t official yet. It will be shortly. Wardell stayed to see Matron ‒ to resign. That’s why she had to get into uniform. Matron sent for me after seeing her. She’s offered me this ward. Needless to say, I jumped at it.’

  I was delighted and said so. ‘How soon is Wardell leaving?’

  ‘Matron’s letting her go now. She hopes to marry in about a month. She told me this yesterday. She says her future husband refuses to let her work, and, anyway, she didn’t think Observation could be combined with marriage. And incidentally’ ‒ she smiled wryly ‒ ‘I have learnt a sharp lesson about listening to tittle-tattle! It’s not Robbie Gordon! I actually asked. He’s just an old friend. They knew each other as children. You know that?’ I shook my head dumbly. ‘Her father was an ardent fisherman, and as a child she spent all her summer holidays near his home in Caithness. She gave me the lot yesterday! Like all shy people, once she got herself talking she couldn’t stop. The only thing she didn’t tell me is the name of her future husband. I just know he’s an outsider.’

  ‘Nick Dexter.’

  ‘No! Yes? Good God! What about you?’

  I grinned. ‘I don’t give a damn!’

  She studied me closely, then grinned back. ‘Well, well, well! So it was him all the time? No wonder she’s been so tetchy lately! And this afternoon she made her final appearance in Barny’s uniform. Taking it off’ll be no mean wrench for her. Will he appreciate that?’

  ‘I dunno; I doubt it. I could be wrong. I generally am.’

  ‘You are not alone, love. Half Barny’s is lined up with you.’ She opened the door. ‘I must now get back to running this ward, and you must get off and have some food. Off you go, and don’t come back until tomorrow morning!’

  ‘I’m not off till six. Can’t I come back when I’ve eaten?’


  ‘No, dear,’ replied Addy pleasantly. ‘Your Nurse Vint is to special Tom until Nurse Carter takes over for the night. I have asked for, and been sent, a relief staff nurse. Everything is under control. Away with you, and have a good evening!’

  ‘Yes, Sister,’ I said, smiling. ‘Thank you, Sister.’ I was not wholly teasing her. I recognised a sister’s voice when I heard one. I knew I was listening to the voice of the new Sister Observation. It had a very nice sound. Wardell had been a very efficient sister. Addy was going to make the type of sister who was later made Matron of Barny’s. Observation under Addy would be a very happy as well as a very high-powered ward.

  Betty Elkroyd came out of her husband’s room as I left the changing-room. She said he was sleeping and she had slipped out to ring her parents as she had promised. ‘Our Dad’s going to be in call-box up road at quarter to six. He said to ring him, whatever. Eh, love ‒ he and our Mum’s going to be right glad with news.’ Her eyes were wet, and she flicked her cheeks with the back of one hand. ‘Our Dad’ll know all’s well when he hears me sniffing. Always cry when I’m happy, I do.’

  ‘Give them my regards, and tell them from me your Tom was wonderful throughout his op.’

  ‘Aye. He’s a good man.’ She sniffed. ‘Like your chap. He was right nice to me today. Had me all round monkey house and chucking buns at bears! Like a pair of kids, we were. He stood me dinner. Right nice he was,’ she repeated. ‘You’ll do all right with him, love, like Tom and me.’

  I was too taken aback for pretence. ‘Betty, you’re wrong. He’s not ‒’

  ‘Your chap? Get away, love. You’re not telling me you don’t fancy him! I can see as you do, though my Tom’s not been right certain. Takes a lass to see how it is with another lass, eh, love? And a chap to see how it is with a chap. Trust my Tom to see right even when his eyes were right poorly’ ‒ she mopped her eyes again ‒ ‘and told me from start, he did! That Mr. Gordon fancies my Nurse Rowe, he says. Can’t see enough of her, he can’t. Any time my Nurse Rowe’s on job he’ll be up for summat, like. Happen it’s as well the Sister’s his old mate, my Tom says, or she’d have him out on his ear!’ My expression made her eyes widen. ‘Hasn’t he told you, love? And you’ve not told him? What you waiting for then?’ She nudged me encouragingly. ‘Grass to grow greener? Eh ‒ that’s daft! And look at time! I mustn’t keep our Dad hanging around!’