by Jane Grant
I was glad of this opportunity of studying Sir Nigel at leisure, for when he came round Marion Ward, the Female Medical Ward on which I was working, I saw him only in the distance. Sister Tutton, a fair fluffy little woman, had an absolute passion for him, and Staff Nurses were strictly excluded from his rounds. However, shortly after I got back from my Study Days, Sister herself went off on one, and I was told that, after careful instruction on her part, I should be permitted to escort Sir Nigel.
‘He’s a very strict man, Nurse. You must appear tidy, and see that the ward is immaculate. He is particularly keen on tidiness. He reported one Staff Nurse to Matron because there was a bed table in the middle of the ward.’
‘Yes, Sister, I’ll be very careful.’
‘He must have a bowl of water in the ward to wash his hands. I’ve got some special towels for him here, they are for his use only. Don’t let that horrid Dr Symes use them! Open each window along his side of the ward. He insists on fresh air for his patients. And do keep the tops of their lockers completely clear. He likes to see nothing on them, nothing at all.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Another thing, stop Mrs Rogers talking to him about her farm, and asking him about his. Last week it was all Jersey cows. I couldn’t get a word in, and he did not have proper time to have his tea comfortably. Oh, by the way, he is very fond of sardine sandwiches.’
‘Yes, Sister. I’ll get some, Sister.’
Scared stiff, I hurried on to the ward after lunch on the day of Sir Nigel’s round, and consulting my notebook, began to direct the ordering of the ward as if it were a major military operation.
‘Open all those windows at once!’ I said sternly to one timorous first-month Student Nurse. Turning pale, she rushed away to carry out my commands.
‘Nothing is to be on top of the lockers. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Nurse.’ Two Juniors scurried around, while I went into the kitchen to see that the sardines were in readiness.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Nurse,’ said the orderly, a particularly moronic type. ‘Were those for Doctor? I gave them to Mrs Welsh for her dinner.’
I feverishly rooted around in my pocket for some money. ‘Look, Kate, go and get some at once. Or get something, anything, to put in Doctor’s sandwiches. Tomato, cucumber, anything.’
‘Okay, then,’ said Kate brightly.
‘Oh – and Kate – would you at the same time get me some doughnuts for my party tonight.’
Kate, with none of the sense of urgency shown by the Student Nurses, ambled off, and I returned to the ward just as Sir Nigel entered it half an hour too early. I was so dismayed that I blurted out the instruction from Sister that was next on my list and very much on my mind.
‘I’m so sorry. I haven’t got your special towel ready, sir.’
‘Oh, that thing,’ said Sir Nigel easily. ‘I never use it anyway. I just wanted to see Mrs Rogers to ask her about that AI for her Jerseys. One of mine might be needing it.’
He walked down the ward and was soon sitting on Mrs Rogers’s bed and deep in conversation about farming, while the two Juniors at the far end were still sweeping treasured items off lockers and stuffing them inside, hindered by the protesting owner-patients.
Having had a good gossip about AI, Sir Nigel proceeded leisurely with his round, minus all his housemen and registrars, while I continued to send frantic messages in every direction to try and round them up.
‘Try Casualty for Dr Moore. Tell Dr Baker Sir Nigel is here –’
‘Where shall I try for Dr Baker, Nurse?’
‘He may be in the dining-room still.’
This last direction was overheard by Sir Nigel.
‘Young Baker? Oh, try Sister Dewes on Rachel. He’ll be having coffee with her.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said weakly, and to the Junior in an urgent tone, ‘Ring Rachel at once.’
‘Don’t hurry the lad,’ said Sir Nigel. ‘I’m quite happy.’
In the first bed was a girl with intestinal trouble. Turning on the bedside lamp, I noticed to my horror that it was flickering. It would be just my luck if the bulb went in the middle of the examination.
Sir Nigel began to examine her. ‘Is there really as much movement in the abdomen as there appears to be?’
‘Is it the light flickering, sir?’
‘Ah, thought there was something funny,’ he said laughing heartily. ‘Know about the doctor who was taking a pulse. “Either my watch has stopped or you’re dead”.’
The patient and I both laughed sycophantically. Sir Nigel ambled on to the next bed, remarking as he did so: ‘It’s terribly draughty in here, Staff. Can’t we have a few of these windows closed?’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said, astonished, and began to close windows as hurriedly as I had had them opened.
He followed me and laid a friendly hand on my shoulder.
‘Don’t get in such a state, my dear. Did you hear about the kangaroo who went to the psychiatrist. He was very worried because he wasn’t as jumpy as usual!’
He dropped into easy conversation with the next patient.
‘How’s that boy of yours in Germany, Mrs Place?’
‘Oh, he’s lovely, Doctor. Had a letter from him today with a photograph. Standing outside his hut, he is. Would you like to see it, Doctor?’
‘Love to.’
‘Oh dear, Nurse has tidied it away.’ She leant over and almost stood on her head in her endeavour to find the photograph in the locker cupboard. ‘Nurse has been having such a tidy this morning, Doctor. Now I can’t find nothing.’
‘Let me try,’ said Sir Nigel gallantly. He put his hand inside the cupboard, and a stream of miscellaneous objects fell on the floor.
‘M’m. Quite a tidy, wasn’t it?’
He looked at me, and I smiled in response to the twinkle in his eye. ‘I was told you liked the lockers tidy,’ I said.
‘Sounds like some of Sister’s propaganda.’
A stream of anxious doctors were by now hurrying on to the ward; they were all very disquieted when they saw the honorary had already got through half his round.
‘Hope you had a nice cup of coffee, old fellow?’ said Sir Nigel to the blushing Baker.
The round over, I was detained by John Baker, who wanted to discuss a treatment. I looked round for Sir Nigel and saw he had already gone.
‘He’s thanking his stars he doesn’t have to stay to tea,’ I said to John. ‘Come and eat up all the scoff I provided for him.’
He followed me towards Sister’s office. ‘Well, it’s a great relief to have got that over,’ I said.
‘Yes. But he’s not a bad old stick, is he?’ said John.
‘I think he’s sweet.’
The door of the office was open as we walked through. Sir Nigel was sitting in the best chair, watching the kettle, which was on the boil.
‘Been called a lot of things before in my time,’ he remarked. ‘Can’t remember being called “sweet” before.’
I made the tea and began to pour out. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m afraid we’ve run out of sardines, sir,’ I began apologetically, handing the plate of sandwiches.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ he said. ‘Sardines every week. I should start swimming if I had any more. What’s that you’ve got in that paper bag? Doughnuts? My favourite, Staff!’
The whole bag of doughnuts which I had got for my party quickly disappeared.
Chapter Five
My last few weeks seemed to fly by. The frustrations and irritations of my work seemed negligible now, and I felt real regret at leaving the ward.
Phyllis became steadily gloomier at the thought of leaving Michael and applying herself to a new job, for surprisingly enough to us, her romance with Michael showed every sign of being the real thing. Mary and I both thought it would be a good idea for her to get away for a while to see if her feelings lasted.
One Saturday evening when I was in charge of Marion Ward, Mary came up to see me. We were having coffee in the S
ister’s room, soberly discussing our prospects, when a loud din assailed our ears. Looking out of the window, we saw a milling crowd of students round the Nurses’ Home, which faced our part of the hospital.
‘I suppose they’ve won their match,’ said Mary resignedly.
We watched from the window while some eight or ten students, all well filled with beer, stormed in sheer high spirits the Nurses’ Home, giving each other legs up to climb on to the high window sills.
‘Oh, what jolly good fun,’ I said, and sighed.
‘A bit juvenile, don’t you think?’ said Mary. ‘I mean, why not just walk in at the door?’
We looked at each other and felt very, very old. The next moment there were loud cheers from the students as two or three of them made an entrance through the windows of the nurses’ sitting-room.
The gaunt bustling figure of Sister Fisher could now be seen, hurrying across the grass to the scene of disorder.
‘Here comes the CO to repel troops,’ I said.
By the time Fisher had reached the Nurses’ Home, the students had all disappeared inside it. She rushed to the front door, but found it closed and bolted. Hammering on it with the knocker, she called out the name of Home Sister.
A moment later, Home Sister, looking red and flustered, appeared at the open door. After a short discussion, Sister Fisher entered the Home, to reappear alone a few minutes later.
We learnt afterwards that she had not found a single student on the premises. What was even more strange, not one of the nurses she questioned, who were all sitting quietly reading and knitting in the sitting-room, had seen or heard anything of a student the whole evening!
The day before we went on a fortnight’s leave, prior to taking up our appointments as genuine St Bernard’s Staff Nurses, an incident occurred which did not seem significant to me till I thought about it afterwards.
I was rushing along the corridor to my ward, being late on duty as usual, with my hands tucked inside my cloak, when out of a lecture room ahead of me came a twittering, giggling, mass of Student Nurses, all up for the day from the Training School.
They saw me when I was still some distance away, and in an instant there was perfect silence. With awed faces they observed my belt; their eyes dropped before mine, and they squeezed themselves flat against the wall, making themselves as small as possible, so that I could pass them without inconvenience to myself.
I went through that crowd of little embryos without giving them a smile or even a glance. Why should I? I was only occupied with the fact that I was two minutes late, and that we had a hell of a day before us in the ward.
It was only much later that a picture presented me of myself, four years earlier, with a cap that would not stay at the angle, and shoes that squeaked, and a heart full of alarm and despondency, flattening myself against a wall while one of the Great, one of those Beings I could never hope to equal, had passed by without looking at me.
I thought then that I really might, in view of what was in store for them, have given those poor innocents an encouraging smile.
That afternoon Mary, Michael and I, saw Phyllis off on to the train. She was weeping bitterly, and Michael looked pale and distracted. It was as though Phyllis was going to another planet, instead of fifty or sixty miles to the resort where she was going to do her midder.
‘I’ll write,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ll write soon. And look after Mike for me.’
Mary and I looked doubtfully at Michael.
‘I think he’ll be able to look after himself,’ I said gently.
When the train pulled out, we went gloomily back to the hospital, and started packing to move our things to our Staff Nurses’ rooms, ready for when we came back from our fortnight’s holiday.
‘Mike is a sweetie, isn’t he?’ said Mary. ‘I do hope Phyllis doesn’t break his heart.’
‘I think she seems quite keen,’ I replied.
‘Oh, she always does. Till someone else rolls along.’
‘Crumbs – am I looking forward to my holiday?’ I yawned. ‘Next time we come through these sacred portals we shall be fully fledged Staff Nurses.’
Chapter Six
My first day on Out-Patients did not seem to have a very auspicious beginning. I went to the Superintendent of the department to report. Sister Wright had the appropriate nickname of Sourpuss, as she was one of those women who really looked like a cat. She had great eyes set in a round face, and if you really looked hard enough you could almost see her whiskers. In spite of this, and of the fact that the ‘Sour’ portion of her nickname was not undeserved either, she was extremely attractive, though the charm of her cat face was somewhat spoilt by the downward pull of her mouth, and the straight frown marks between the eyes.
‘Good morning, Nurse,’ she said with marked coolness, when I presented myself to her. ‘You, I believe, are for the Minor Operating Theatre. How much theatre experience have you had?’
She was, I knew, playing with me as a cat plays with a mouse, because she knew perfectly well that the month I had had at the end of my first year was my entire theatre training. She also knew and bitterly resented the fact that, as soon as her Staff Nurse got a grounding in theatre work, she would be shunted off to one of the smaller theatres, and so on till main theatres was reached. Because of her dislike of this system, the nurse on Minor Ops was given a terrible time, and constantly supervised and nagged, so that in actual fact she achieved quite unwittingly an excellent training for the more arduous theatres.
I now regarded Sourpuss warily. ‘Four weeks, Sister.’
‘That, I presume, was at the beginning of your training?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Now I suppose you expect to run the entire theatre yourself?’
To this I deigned to make no reply. Silence seemed to be my best policy. But I was not to escape so easily.
‘Well – do you?’ she asked sharply.
‘No, Sister,’ I said, in what I hoped was a reasonably calm voice.
‘H’m,’ she said. ‘Well, go along there, then.’ She waved me out and resumed her paperwork.
I felt extremely angry, but as I slammed the door, not too hard, but hard enough to release some of my gall, I began to feel some excitement at the prospect of running my own little theatre. What if it was known contemptuously as the Dissecting Room, it was to be my home for a few months anyway, and I was to be in charge of it.
I went through the doors marked ‘Theatre No Entrance’ and found the office. The whole place was tiny, the corridor barely admitting a trolley. The theatre itself was minute, and the sterilising room was hardly big enough for a nurse and a trolley combined, while the dirty dressings room would in fact not admit a trolley and a nurse at the same time, and the nurse who cleaned it had to stand inside, with her trolley in the passage. Rumour had it that the whole place was constructed out of a couple of spare cubicles left over after Out Patients had been built.
I knocked on the office door; an anxious face appeared almost immediately round it.
‘Phew – I thought you were Sourpuss. Come in. You must be Grant, I’m O’Connor.’
This was the Staff Nurse I was taking over from.
‘We’re just having a cuppa, come on in.’
The office already had in it O’Connor and two housemen, and it was difficult to know how I was going to get in, and when I did where I was going to sit. But it seemed O’Connor was a past master at packing people in. If one person sat one way and one another, it appeared that the room would hold as many as eight.
The two housemen left soon after introductions had been performed, and I eased off the desk and sat in one of the vacated chairs.
‘We’ve only got two moles and a circumcision this morning, and a couple of whitlows this afternoon, so you’ll start off easy,’ explained O’Connor. ‘I hate Potter’s clinic though, that’s Thursdays, We get twenty or so plasters down here – the mess, my dear!’
Potter was the Orthopaedic Surgeon.
; ‘What’s it like here?’ I asked.
‘Oh, all right, but Sourpuss chases you round a bit. She’s not too bad though; always fair. Watch Walters on the second floor; she’ll pinch your staff if you’re not careful.’
The morning was spent looking round the theatre and learning by far the most important thing in a theatre – the foibles of the various surgeons. ‘Look out for Anderson,’ said O’Connor. ‘He’s only just got his fellowship, so unless you are annoyed with him and do it on purpose – don’t call him Doctor Anderson. I always do just as he’s leaving, whenever he’s made me run around. Leslie’s a honey – he’s the dental bod, does a short gas session on Tuesdays.’
And so the list went on, and at lunch time I was quite convinced that my time would be spent in placating ogres who would report me to Matron at the drop of a hat.
I met Mary at lunch, and her first morning had been most awe-inspiring too. The Sister in Casualty was one of the St Bernard institutions, a thin spare little woman, who ran the unit with a quiet chilly efficiency. Her rebukes to wrongdoers, whether doctors or patients or nurses, were spoken in a soft voice that left the culprit weak and trembling, Mary had felt all morning as though such a castigation was likely to descend on her head, although she afterwards learnt that was the way of Wilkins, who always took some time to adapt herself to new staff.
‘It’s like sitting on the edge of a volcano,’ said Mary. ‘Wee Willie watches everything you do with an eagle eye, and when I had an itch under my cap I couldn’t scratch it, because I felt she was watching my slightest move.’
‘I hate going to new places,’ I replied. ‘I absolutely loathe it. You feel such a fish out of water.’
I related the painful interview I had had with Sourpuss. ‘I must have felt all of two inches high when I walked out. Honestly, it was ghastly.’
‘Apparently,’ said Mary, quite unmoved by my highly coloured account of my humiliation, ‘apparently Sourpuss’s beau was killed in the war and she’s never been the same since. I was talking to Hills, who knew her as a student, and he said she was the life and soul of the place then. Perhaps –’ she paused diplomatically. ‘Perhaps Jane, you should hint at your – er – unhappy circumstances and broken heart. Then she might be a bit more sympathetic.’
