by Jane Yeadon
‘Yes, it’s a fine sight. Nay problem. You’re sorted. Looks as if you’re going to be fine, Marie. And what about you, Cynthia, have you much to unpack?’ Even if she had a very savvy way I felt I should ask. After all, we were supposed to be members of a caring profession.
‘No. I’m used to travelling light. Actually, I’ve done a fair amount of getting about so I’ve got it down to a fine art.’ She gave a modest cough. ‘When work could spare me in London I’d pop over to Paris to visit the parents. They moved there a few years ago. Daddy’s in the property business and—’
Cynthia’s life history was cut short as a leprechaun knocked on the door and danced in, bringing the tea drinkers with her. They looked about with a benign interest.
‘Well, hello there! I’d say this is another grand place for a party – that is, of course, if you like parties, but sure, doesn’t everybody?’ The sprite’s face was chalk white, her green eyes full of mischief.
Marie looked shocked. ‘Oh!’ She clasped her hands. ‘Parties! When on earth will we have time for those? They say midwifery training’s awful hard – desperate!’
‘It’s just a matter of application and hard work,’ said one girl, her eye makeup at odds with the tired grey cardigan tenting her from the neck down. ‘When I was standing in for Sister in theatre, it was a worry until I got a bit of experience, then it was so easy I could have done it blindfolded. I’m Margaret, by the way.’ She wrung our hands in a no-nonsense way.
Resisting all her attempts to flatten it, the imp’s hair stood up in black spikes. ‘Ach now, eyesight’s a quair and handy thing but I’m sure these girls are not wanting to be hearing any of that oulde theatre stuff you’re always on about. Are we not all beginners again?’ She spoke lightly and hopped on dancer’s legs to the window to see out. ‘Some view! We’re lucky – some of the others look over the other side onto the hospital grounds. It’s grand too – particularly if you’re interested in hen houses pretending to be annexes.’ She scrubbed her nose. ‘They set off the general hospital and maternity nicely!’
She opened the window and, ignoring Marie’s squeals, leant out. A chill wind piled in carrying with it the sound of traffic passing far below. ‘Would you think anybody out there might be heading for a bit of fun? Maybe even the theatre.’ Closing the window, she turned back. ‘Not your kind, of course, Margaret,’ she said, crossing her fingers in both hands and holding them aloft as if to do the Highland Fling, ‘but the fun kind. I wouldn’t be wanting much of the other.’
‘I’m pretty sure it’ll be difficult to avoid,’ Cynthia spoke up, straightening and addressing the troops. ‘This maternity hospital only accepts births which might prove difficult. Of course, theatre experience will be tremendously useful. I’m jolly glad I’ve had plenty of it.’
Margaret looked at her thoughtfully and stuck out her chin. ‘And where would you have done your training then?’
‘The London Hospital.’
‘And which would that be?’ asked the imp, idly examining her fingernails.
‘I’d have thought everybody knows about The London Hospital. It’s got such a wonderful reputation. Surely you must have heard of it.’
‘I can’t say I have,’ said Margaret, ‘but maybe that’s because we girls,’ she gestured at the group, ‘were so busy thinking we’d a grand training where we were.’ She took a deep breath, making the tent billow. ‘Isn’t that right?’
The others nodded vigorously whilst the imp put in, ‘Mind you, I’d have to say, excepting yourself, Sister Margaret, the Royal let us go very easily.’
‘Some easier than others,’ a cheerful butterball of a girl spoke up. ‘What about the blood, Seonaid?’
The imp waved a careless hand. ‘Ach, Lorna, you’ll be meaning the blood transfusion? Just because I didn’t get straightaway to the fridge and eight bags turned into liver? And after all the fuss, didn’t I get my whole family to sign up as blood donors. They were a perfect match, all eight of them.’
Whilst I hoped Seonaid’s family wasn’t her size or there’d be nothing left of them, Cynthia gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘I presume you mean the match was numerical?’
‘That too,’ Seonaid said carelessly. ‘Anybody can make a mistake. Anyway, you’re not so perfect yourself, Lorna. Was it not yourself who set off the fire alarm when a medical student got too close?’
‘Had to put out the flame somehow,’ laughed Lorna, patting her bun as if to stop it escaping. Even if her clothes were dowdy, she had the air of a mischievous cherub with rosy cheeks and blue eyes magnified by spectacles, full of fun. ‘I was doing him a favour.’ She cocked a bright look on Marie and myself. ‘So where did youse train then?’
Marie sighed and brushed away a tear. ‘G-galway.’ She made it sound like Brigadoon. ‘I loved it but I wasn’t anything special there, not like Margaret and Cynthia with all that theatre experience.’
Both girls took her respect as a matter of course whilst the others turned to me.
‘Aberdeen.’ I tried to mumble it.
‘Ah, sure now, we’ve all heard of Aberdeen,’ crowed the imp and did a little skip.
3
A MATRON CALLS
‘I’ve got two tickets for a Showband tonight. Would you fancy coming?’ Unlike some, Seonaid had slept well, was fully refreshed and jumping with energy. Just watching her skips and leaps was exhausting.
‘For Heaven’s sake! Would you settle down now? Sure this is only our first morn’ and already you’re planning heading out for an evening of fun. Let’s concentrate on finding the lecture room instead.’ Margaret spoke with the command of a theatre sister about to get the team concentrating on the fascinations of a swab count.
We’d breakfasted in the Home’s dining room. It led directly from the reception area and with its big light-filled space, pine panelling and chrome service area, was more like a large restaurant. It also catered for the general hospital so the place was full of other users, marked by their different uniforms and busy in conversation.
We, however, had to be somewhere else. Margaret might not have had a seniority badge but we trooped behind her as, assuming natural leadership, she led the way.
Miss MacCready had given directions to the maternity hospital. ‘Through from the dining room and straight ahead. The classroom’s as easy to find as the nose on your face.’
Dressed in green, designed to dazzle and arguing with the night porter about a key, the receptionist was an easier find than this room, a poor relation tucked by the back door of the maternity unit and reached by a covered concrete job of a walkway. There were silo-like changing rooms off it. They were for the non-resident Belfast girls, some of whom had now joined us in the classroom and were about to take seats. Like us, they wore blue uniforms with aprons tied in crosses at the back.
Margaret pulled on hers, hawser-like and checked her sausage curls were still in curfew zone under her cap. Her lipstick was smudged. Maybe wearing a theatre mask blunted makeup skills below eye level. Undaunted, she said, ‘I was thinking, Seonaid, it’s early enough to be gadding about and maybe we should be giving some thought to these instead.’ As she passed it she nodded at a blackboard where the words ‘Lie’, ‘Attitude’ and ‘Position’ were written, then she moved to stake a claim on the front row.
‘That’s the first lecture of the day over then.’ I joined Seonaid, who’d made a beeline to the back. ‘Mind these words do look kind of interesting but not half as much as – what did you call it?’
‘Showband. Had you not any in Sin City?’
‘Pipe Bands,’ I said, remembering their skirl and finding it hard to equate the memory of them playing in the Union Street Gardens with vice or fast living. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if there was a side of the city that I never saw but wish I had.’
‘Well I’ve never been there. Still, I’m thinking you’ve taken a bit of granite over with you. See?’ Seonaid nodded at Margaret and Cynthia who, square-jawed, were vying for position nearest the l
ectern. Lorna was sitting behind them and giving them the attention of someone studying life under the microscope.
‘The apron ties make them look like a pair of St Andrew’s flags too, but from the back I suppose we all do.’
‘But they’ll be the biggest.’ Seonaid patted her knees as if encouraging them to grow then leant forward. ‘Sweet Jesus! Why would you want to be sitting so near the front? It’s right under the line of fire!’ She shook her head. ‘Not for me – that’s for sure.’
‘Me neither,’ sighed Marie, sliding in beside us. ‘And where do they get that poise? They’re both so full of it.’ She pulled on her earlobe, her first and most definite action glimpsed since arrival. ‘And are they not just made to be matrons now?’
‘Built for it for sure but they’re bound to improve. Anyway,’ Seonaid angled her head towards Marie and momentarily pulled one knee as if limbering up, ‘I’ll tell you something that’s more important, and that’s you should stop all this worrying. Have you not qualified to be a state registered nurse? You’re every bit the same as all of us here. And was that not a lot to cope with?’ She sucked her lips and scissored her ankles. ‘Now that was stressful. D’you know, before my finals I even gave up a whole month’s dancing.’
‘Sssshh!’ Marie rolled her eyes as a tutor strode into the room.
She was so like my favourite no-nonsense Edinburgh auntie with her brisk walk, precise Scots accent and corrugated iron hair I sat up, surprised, and rubbed my eyes.
‘Good morning, Nurses. And a very warm welcome to The Royal Maternity Hospital.’ She was tall and wore a cap banded the same green as her dress. Her gaze had the look of approval you’d give to a tray of finely-baked scones. ‘I’m Miss Harvey and I’m your main tutor. You will have others but your training is my responsibility, which won’t be too much of a challenge, I imagine, given that you’re all registered nurses and as such, know the payoff of study, endeavour and professional behaviour.’
It was so like a precursor to a temperance and morals homily, I’d to check it really wasn’t Auntie Rita giving a pre-holiday lecture – but Miss Harvey was real enough. In her own tutorial right she turned to the blackboard and tapped the three words there. ‘I’ll be discussing these with you as soon as you swear your oath of allegiance. Matron should be coming in to oversee this formality as well as to meet you. She’ll be any minute now.’
She consulted her fob watch, the wall clock for good measure, then looked around. ‘So as we’ve got a minute or two this might be a good chance to practise a bit of public speaking through introductions because, as you probably know, part of your training will be running antenatal classes. I need to make sure you’re comfortable and clear doing this.’
There was a squeak of horror from Marie which was easily traced. ‘Let’s start with you, shall we? Just a little personal stuff, please. No more than a few words.’
Reluctantly Marie stood up, face crimson. ‘I’m from Tip-pip-erary – and me name’s Mary.’ She gave a hysterical giggle, blew her nose and sat down.
Miss Harvey glimmered. ‘Well that was certainly brief and to the point, Mary.’
Cynthia’s hand shot up. ‘She’s actually Marie.’
Miss Harvey’s gaze fell upon Cynthia; her tone was cool. ‘Apart from her advisor, you would be?’
Cynthia cleared her throat, stood up and advanced. ‘It’s probably best for voice delivery,’ she explained, elbowing the tutor aside. Then, placing her hands on the lectern, she addressed the class in full oratory mode. ‘I’m Miss Brown-Smythe – spelt with a “Y” – and I’m here today because I see midwifery training as an essential part of career progression in a caring profession of which I am proud to be a member. Now I don’t want to take over,’ she tucked her hair behind her ear then encompassed everybody with a grand sweep of her hand, ‘but I’d be happy to take any questions about myself from the floor.’
‘Thank you, Nurse Smythe, I’m sure there’ll be plenty opportun- ity for that in the future but right now, unfortunately, we haven’t that much time for such an honour.’ Miss Harvey turned to Margaret who was straining at the leash.
I tuned out knowing she would be as big a gas bag as Cynthia and wondered what I should say.
Everybody said midwifery was hard work but I needed the qualification to be that district nurse which had always been the ultimate goal. The idea of caring for people well away from scary matrons and strict sisters held great appeal.
Surely birth couldn’t be all that complicated even if doommongering colleagues in other training schools swore that studying to become a midwife was on a par with, if not worse than, actual labour. I wondered how career-minded girls bent on a child-free future would know.
Anyway, Belfast was sure to present a colourful change, an exciting prospect and somewhere far away where a bit of fun and adventure might soften the necessary training. I supposed I could hardly say that though.
‘Girl with the red hair, please.’
‘I’m Jane Macpherson and I trained in Aberdeen.’
Gales of laughter swept the classroom. I looked round, astonished by the reaction.
Miss Harvey was cool. ‘I’ve never thought of Aberdeen as being hysterically funny.’
‘It’s just that Jane sounds like Janet in the telly’s Dr Finlay’s Casebook,’ Margaret said, wiping her eyes with a man-sized hanky. ‘It’s amazing. So like that cute old housekeeper.’
‘Wonderful, I’m sure, but I imagine she’s her own person. Ah!’ She started. ‘Matron! Sorry we didn’t hear you come in.’
Some say you can grow into a job and since every district nurse I’d met was dumpy and cheerful I reckoned I was halfway there already. It was only a matter of passing midwifery to get the happy bit.
Matrons were different. Certainly the woman striding into the room, with her stiff manner, collar, cuffs and cap, looked as if she came from a heavily regulated past. Perhaps her career was influenced by crisp nannies with starch intent. Certainly, she was neither dumpy nor was she cheerful.
‘I’m not surprised with all that hilarity.’ She purse-strung her mouth. She spoke quietly but her uniform was so royally blue it shouted authority. ‘We could hear you from my office – and that’s upstairs!’
Behind Matron was someone no less important if a lot shorter. It was just as well he wore a red tie. With his measured tread and Bible clasped to his breast he could have been mistaken for an undertaker.
‘Good morning, Nurses,’ began Matron, adjusting her brilliantly white cuffs before clasping her hands as if in benefaction. ‘For those of you not privileged enough to have been born in Ulster, let me congratulate you on coming here and choosing our fine hospital for your midwifery training.’ She spoke to a distant object somewhere at the back of the lecture hall.
For a woman of indeterminate age with a job of huge responsibility , her brow was remarkably smooth and just fractionally creased as she paused to allow her companion, beadle-like, to advance on the lectern Miss Harvey was hurriedly lowering.
She took the floor again. Getting underway she spoke in the clipped tones of someone used to being listened to with respect. ‘As I’m sure you appreciate we may only be six counties, but the North of Ireland is a different country from the South and as such we governing bodies expect you to take an oath of allegiance to this part of the United Kingdom. We need to do this right away and are pleased to have Mr Coates from Stormont, our Parliament, with us today. He has the power and, indeed, authority to oversee this ceremony.’
Ensuring everybody’s attention with a mine-sweeping gaze, she stepped back so that we could all concentrate on a lectern now occupied by a Bible capped with the bushy eyebrows of a very small person. ‘So, without further ado, I’ll hand over to him.’
‘Oh, wait a wee minute.’ Miss Harvey stooped to further adjust the stand.
‘Thank you,’ he said curtly as if resenting her height, then, spearing his elbows enough to allow him leverage, he leant forward and tapped the Bible.
‘Now, I’m presuming nobody here has a problem taking this oath because if you do, this’s the time to say so.’ The eyebrows waggled like busy caterpillars.
A short silence was broken by Cynthia who put up her hand as if halting a convoy.
‘Yes?’
She held an eloquent silence, then drawled, ‘Even if I do come from across the water, I’m a British citizen and, as such, a loyal subject, so I’m not clear why I need to take this pledge, and I’m sure I’m speaking for everyone else.’ Like a general mustering troops, she gestured to the rest of the class, which, sensing conflict, perked up.
Mr Coates’s face went as red as his tie and he held more firmly onto the Bible. Then he stepped out from behind the lectern and stuck out his chin. His voice was combative as he huffed, ‘I’d suggest it’s a courtesy at the very least and since you come from “over the water” [he made it sound like a contagious disease], you won’t have lived with the problems of a divided country or realised the importance of unity in a working environment.’
There was a chilly silence broken by Margaret who stuck up her hand. She was sweetly reasonable and all for her own particular harmony.
‘Well, I’m from the South. Strong Baptist, actually, so I can see the necessity of it – so of course I’ll be taking it.’ She stood up then advanced on the lectern with a winning smile. ‘Now what do we do?’
‘Oh well – I suppose if we must, we must,’ said Cynthia with bad grace.
‘We’ll take you last,’ the civil servant made a line of his mouth, ‘so that you have plenty time to consider making this pledge.’ This allowed Cynthia, short of a drum roll, to eventually make her pledge sound the loudest.
‘He looks as if he could do with a big fart,’ Seonaid muttered as, processing duties over, the man of God in government left, the Bible tucked under his arm giving him a righteous air.
