‘Stand up when she walks in, nurses,’ Mrs Duffy had told them. ‘As a sign of respect.’
Almost before Mrs Duffy had finished speaking, the door opened and the girls rose as one as the tallest, most forbidding-looking woman Dana had ever set her eyes upon marched into the room. It was as though the atmosphere in the sitting room crackled with the starch of her dress and exuded a sense of importance. She was a large stout woman, and beneath her tall, overly frilled and rigidly starched cap her hair was short, thick and jet black, with the occasional streak of silver daring to break through. Her lipstick was bright red, and the contrast with the blackness of her hair mesmerized Dana.
Her navy blue petersham belt had a silver buckle which was so highly polished that it glinted in the weak morning sunlight streaming through the window. Her starched collar was so stiff it looked as though it could support the weight of a bridge, and her shoes gleamed bright. Dana looked down at her own shoes and felt embarrassed.
‘Welcome, ladies.’ Sister Tutor had spoken. The new nurses sat frozen in fear. Unperturbed, she continued. ‘Welcome to St Angelus Hospital. I am Sister Ryan and I will be known to you as Sister Tutor for the next three years. Over the next twelve weeks, you will attend your preliminary training, which is known as PTS. We shall be seeing a lot of each other.’ She paused for breath and looked around the room, seeing the familiar spectacle of white, terrified young faces.
‘You will attend the nursing school each day and spend your weekends studying either here or in the nurses’ home, or wherever you like. The weekends are your own. I do not treat my probationers like children, because when you are on the wards I expect you to behave like adults. However, if any one of you fails to study at weekends and does not pass the preliminary exam at the end of the twelve weeks, you will not be given a second chance. Mrs Duffy will know your result before you do and will have your bag packed so fast that it will be waiting for you on the other side of the front door by the time you get back here. Do you all understand that?’
She paused again.
‘I don’t think I heard anyone say “Yes, Sister Tutor”?’
The room remained silent until one voice chirped up with a very confident ‘Yes, Sister Tutor.’ It was Beth. Pammy, Victoria and Dana gave each other a look.
‘Thank you, nurse.’ Sister Ryan smiled down at Beth. ‘Don’t think for one moment that I don’t mean what I say. It happened twice last year with two nurses in the Easter intake. Let’s try and break the cycle, shall we?’
Dana felt herself begin to shiver and wished that Sister Ryan would move away from the fire. She was blocking the heat with her huge frame.
‘This morning I am here to ensure you understand a few very basic rules and show you the route from Lovely Lane to the St Angelus school of nursing. I’m also going to introduce you to the nursing director, Sister Haycock, and the tutorial staff. You, girl, what is your name?’ Sister Ryan pointed at Pammy.
‘I’m Pamela, miss,’ Pammy replied with a smile. ‘But everyone calls me Pammy. There’s no one in Arthur Street ever called me anything else.’
‘Really. Is that a fact? How amusing.’ Dana suspected that there was something not quite right about Sister Ryan’s tone of voice and she and Victoria shot each other a worried frown.
‘And who would I be?’ Sister Ryan was addressing Pammy once again.
‘You are, er, miss,’ said Pammy, nervously.
‘OH NO I AM NOT!’
Sister Tutor shouted so loudly that all the new probationers shot upright in their seats. ‘You are Nurse Tanner and I am Sister Ryan and you will never speak to me again without addressing me as either Sister Ryan or Sister Tutor. Do you understand that?’
‘Yes, miss,’ replied Pammy, quickly and nervously.
‘WHAT DID YOU SAY?’ Sister Ryan’s voice bellowed out across the room. Dana felt her mouth dry and she was sure she was going to be sick.
‘Sorry. I’m sorry, Sister Ryan.’ Pammy looked as though she had shrunk into her seat and Dana thought that she might be about to cry.
‘You are not Pammy, not to anyone at St Angelus anyway. You are Nurse Tanner and that is the only name anyone here will ever, ever address you by regardless of where you are. Whether it is here in the sitting room, in the kitchen, passing by in the corridor and very definitely at all times within the confines of the hospital grounds, you are Nurse Tanner.’ Sister Ryan’s look swept the semicircle of terrified faces before her. ‘Now, what is your name, girl?’ she asked Pammy again.
Pammy’s voice broke and trembled. ‘I’m Nurse Tanner,’ she whispered.
‘Nurse WHO?’
‘Nurse Tanner,’ Pamela responded, slightly louder.
‘That’s better. And who am I?’
‘Sister Ryan,’ whispered Pammy.
‘WHO?’ the voice boomed again.
‘Sister Ryan,’ said Pammy. Dana and Victoria could see the tears welling in her eyes.
‘Every one of you, understand this. You no longer have a Christian name when you are in the environs of St Angelus. Your Christian name has been amended to Nurse and you will only ever refer to each other by your surname. Do you all understand?’
A row of heads frantically bobbed in response.
‘You only ever refer to patients by their surname and you accord every patient, no matter how lowly, the respect he or she deserves. Each time you address a patient, you will begin with Mr or Mrs or Miss and then you will follow with a surname only. Do you all understand? Christian names are overly familiar. They are for family and social use only and they shall not be spoken, regardless of whom they belong to, in St Angelus. Is that all clear?’
Dana felt her knees begin to tremble. Sister Ryan’s strident tone was in such contrast to that of the gentle Mrs Duffy, that it was making her feel very uncomfortable, and she was beginning to wish she hadn’t shovelled up the buttered toast crusts which the other girls had discarded before she had left the kitchen. Back on the farm, waste was a sin. No one ever left a crumb, never mind a whole crust. She could hear her nervous stomach rumbling and was sure that everyone else must be able to as well.
‘Now, let us begin with our first lesson. Folding your cap.’
Dana broke out in a cold sweat. In all the confusion over her cape and her purse, she had left her cap in her room. She remembered placing it on the bed while she hung up the cape and put her purse into her dressing-table drawer. Everyone else was picking up the caps they had laid out on their knees.
God in heaven, why didn’t I notice I’d forgotten the cap instead of worrying about the toast, she thought to herself frantically, her skin prickling in fear.
Pammy noticed at the same time. Shielding her face from Sister Ryan, she mouthed ‘Put your hand up’ and made a small upward stabbing gesture with her own raised hand.
Dana wanted to be anywhere but in that room. Helping with the milking on a cold, wet, muddy morning on the farm was suddenly a vision of comfort and bliss. Right now, she would regard feeding the chickens as the cold rain soaked through her hair and wet her scalp as a treat. She imagined that she could smell the raw aroma of cows in the shed, freshly in from the field, and it was where she wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world.
‘Go on,’ Pammy mouthed. ‘Quick!’
Dana tentatively raised her hand. It barely reached above her head and trembled like a leaf in a stiff breeze.
‘Yes,’ said Sister Ryan, as she gave a deep sigh. ‘I was waiting for the inevitability of this. It happens in every single intake. I had even wondered who it would be. Funny, I thought it might be Nurse Tanner here.’
‘I’ve left my cap in my room, Sister Ryan,’ Dana said.
Her voice was so faint that Sister Ryan left the fire and strode across the room to stand in front of her seat. She leant forward and placed one of her hands on each arm of the chair. Then she bent down, her face only inches from Dana’s own, and spoke in a voice so cold and intimidating that Dana began to tremble visibly.
<
br /> ‘You. Have. Done. What?’
‘I have l-l-left my c-cap in m-my room,’ Dana managed to squeak once again.
There was an audible intake of breath from around the room, with the faintest sound of a stifled giggle from the direction of Celia Forsyth, who was sitting next to her new best friend, Beth. Dana thought it was quite possible that she might faint, as she was feeling very light-headed. She could smell Sister Ryan’s breath and it wasn’t helping. Then, suddenly, Sister Ryan spoke in an altogether softer voice.
‘Run along and fetch it then, there’s a good girl, and I’ll get Mrs Duffy to bring us all a nice cup of tea and some biscuits before we walk up to the hospital. On second thoughts, you run along and fetch it for her, nurse.’ Sister Ryan had turned to address Celia Forsyth, who stared back open-mouthed. ‘Chop chop. We haven’t got all day. You’ll miss out on the bourbons if you aren’t quick.’
Celia rose slowly from her seat and took a nervous step forward. ‘Yes, Sister Ryan,’ she said, taking another tentative step, half expecting Sister Ryan to tell her to sit down. That she was only kidding, that Dana had to collect her own cap, but she didn’t. She simply looked at Celia and smiled.
As the sitting-room door closed behind her, Sister Ryan straightened and walked back to the fireplace. ‘That’ll teach her to laugh when I am speaking. Never did like bullies.’
Dana had to clutch the now vacant arms of her chair to prevent herself from falling backwards.
Chapter nine
Dessie stood in the yard with his clipboard in his hand, marking each of the twenty-one wicker laundry baskets off his list one by one. It was the first thing he did each day as the porter lads drank their tea in the lodge, waiting to be allocated their wagon for delivery. Each basket travelled on eight wheels and was propelled along the corridor by two lads, one at either end. The January wind whistled through the yard and Dessie tucked his scarf down inside his buttoned-up brown porter’s coat.
‘Dessie.’ The voice rang out from the opposite side of the yard.
Dessie looked up, pushing his cap back from his brow with the end of his pencil, and saw young Jake running across the cobbles towards him. He was almost out of breath by the time he came to a halt.
‘Dessie,’ he gasped, grabbing the handle of a laundry basket to steady himself. Putting one hand on his hip, he bent over to breathe and laughed as his cap tumbled off on to the cobbles.
‘Blimey O’Reilly, what’s up with you, lad? I don’t have to ask why you can’t take that grin off your face. I would be the same if I’d had a windfall from the pools. Have you told your mam yet? She must be wondering where that new-fangled washing machine came from. Where’s she put it? Surely to God it didn’t fit in the house?’
‘It did,’ Jake replied. ‘She’s put it in the middle of the kitchen with a cloth over it and she’s using the top like a table. You can’t get in our kitchen on wash day now: it’s full of women watching the rotor turn and the electric mangle go round. My underpants have never been so keenly inspected. I haven’t told anyone about the win, Dessie, only you. That’s not why I’m grinning. I’ve just heard you are going to make two of us into under-porters. Is that right, Des? The lads are talking about it over the tea.’
Dessie slipped his pencil behind his ear and tucked the clipboard under his arm. The wind was cutting and so he pulled his coat tighter across him to keep it out. ‘Aye, lad, I may be. Tell you what, I’m gagging for a brew. Was there any left in the pot in the lodge when you came flying out like a bat out of hell?’
‘Stop changing the subject. Do I have a chance, Dessie? Do I? You know why I’m asking. Even with my windfall, I can’t ask Martha to marry me on a porter lad’s wage, unless we live with my mam or hers and I know Martha wouldn’t want that. She could have anyone, Dessie, you know that. I need to catch her and make her mine while I can. Will one of the jobs be for me? You know I could do it.’
Dessie wasn’t going to keep Jake hanging on any longer than he had to. ‘Aye, lad, you’re top of my list, one of my best workers. Anyway, I wouldn’t hear the last of it from your mam if I didn’t, would I now? But, listen here. Eight of those lads in there are going to be disappointed. They are all good workers and want to get on, so for now, keep it to yourself. Your first week’s under-porter’s pay should be at the end of the month, but not until I’ve made the announcement. I have to clear it with Matron first.’
Jake groaned at the mention of Matron’s name.
‘Aw, come on now, she’s not that bad,’ said Dessie. ‘Just a lost soul who’s never been lucky in love, that’s all.’
‘Is it any wonder?’ said Jake. ‘Any man would be terrified of waking up to find his balls chopped off if he was sleeping next to that battleaxe. Her bark is worse than her own dog’s bite.’
Dessie picked up the clipboard and his eyes scanned the list. ‘While ye’re here, you may as well get a wagon out and get some linen delivered.’
‘Can I do the theatre block first? Go on, Dessie, let me.’ pleaded Jake.
Dessie tapped him playfully on the top of his cap with the clipboard. ‘Now, that wouldn’t be anything to do with the fact that the theatre is next door to the consultants’ sitting room where a certain young Martha works, would it?’
Jake grinned from ear to ear.
‘Aye, go on with you, but don’t dally and don’t tell anyone else what I just told you or you’ll get me into trouble with Matron. It’s not definite until she signs it off, but she never really disagrees with me.’
Jake swung a basket around by the handle. ‘Just keep your hand on your tackle while you’re talking to her,’ he laughed. Then, bent almost double and pushing his shoulder and his full weight against the cart, he began to push the trolley past Dessie and across the cobbled yard towards the theatre block, negotiating the dips in the yard with the skill of a man twice his age.
Dessie watched him go. Without removing his fingerless gloves, he took his tobacco tin out of his pocket, lifted the lid and removed a roll-up he had made when he was eating his breakfast earlier that morning. A small flame illuminated his face as the loose Rizla paper caught alight. Slowly exhaling the smoke, he smiled with satisfaction as Jake successfully manoeuvred the trolley in through the heavy theatre block doors.
‘Has Jake taken a trolley on his own?’ asked a porter lad, approaching Dessie with a mug of tea in his hand. ‘Here, Tom sent this out to you. He said you would be freezing your knackers off out here.’
Dessie laughed. ‘Blimey O’Reilly, everyone is suddenly very interested in the welfare of my wedding tackle.’
The lad looked confused. ‘Why, what did Jake say? He shouldn’t be pushing that trolley on his own, Mr Horton, he’ll make the rest of us look bad. If Matron thinks one lad can manage a full basket, she’ll ask you to sack half of us.’
‘Never mind about that, lad. Let’s get inside where it’s warm. Then I can tell you lads who is working where today.’ As Dessie threw his cigarette stub into a puddle, the lad pressed him further.
‘What did Jake say about your wedding tackle, Mr Horton?’
‘I have to go and see Matron and he was worried that she might chop it off, if I’m not careful. With Matron being a bit sharp like. It’s not my tackle Matron is after, though. She would have no interest in me or any man, even if he was Laurence Olivier himself, I am absolutely sure of that.’
‘What do you mean, Mr Horton?’
The lad was fourteen and straight out of school, the son of a soldier Dessie had served with during the war. It was the Merseyside way. On the docks, in the hospital and in the factories. Workers looked after their own. The lad waited for a response.
‘Nothing, lad,’ said Dessie. ‘Nothing at all.’
*
Jake almost threw the linen into the theatre linen store and then whizzed down the corridor towards the sitting room with the empty basket. He could have leapt for joy when he saw that the theatres were busy and there were no consultants in the room. He knocked
on the kitchenette service door and Martha opened it, with a tea towel in her hands.
‘What are you doing here? You’ll get me shot, you will.’ Despite her stern tone, her smile lit up her eyes, telling Jake she was delighted to see him.
‘Got a cuppa?’ he asked. ‘I have news, Martha, and I’m bursting to tell you.’
‘Go on then, what?’ said Martha, pouring boiling water from the urn into the teapot.
‘I think Dessie is going to give me a job as an under-porter.’
Martha’s face lit up. She threw the tea towel on to the table and clapped her hands together.
‘Dessie said that? Jake, that’s the gear. Can I tell me mam when I get home?’
‘Well, it has to go through Matron first, she has to approve it, but it’s what Dessie wants to happen. You know what this means, don’t you, Martha?’
Martha looked at Jake with a blank expression on her face and dropped her hands into her apron pocket. ‘No, what? Well, I suppose it means you’ll have more money, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, but it’s not just that. It means that I will be able to plan for my future.’ He didn’t dare say our future. He didn’t want to push Martha too quickly or scare her away.
‘Well, fancy that,’ said Martha, putting the heavy earthenware teapot on to the table. ‘A man of means, you’ll be.’ Her heart was beating faster but it had taken a dip of disappointment when Jake had said my and not our.
‘I don’t know about that, but won’t it be great? You won’t be walking out with a porter’s lad any more, I’ll be a proper under-porter. They are making new jobs now, you know. There’s going to be a porter just for the theatres, they’re getting so busy.’
Martha crossed her arms and smiled at Jake’s enthusiasm. ‘There’s no stopping you, is there? You’ve only just found out you’re going to be made an under-porter and already you’re casting your eye elsewhere.’
She turned to pick up a cup and saucer from the tea trolley and as she did so Jake caught the ties on the back of her apron. Feeling braver than he ever had in his life before, he spun Martha round and without even thinking about what he was going to do, he kissed her.
The Angels of Lovely Lane Page 12
