by Jane Grant
Then I thought of the times we had smiled indulgently on Phyllis when she had kept two or three men dangling after her; why shouldn’t he do the same? But I couldn’t really understand it still.
‘You’re just taking this all too seriously,’ I told myself sternly, ‘and after tonight you won’t go out with him again.’
As I went into the theatre, I was met by an anxious-faced Junior.
‘Where have you been?’ she twittered, ‘Sourpuss has been ringing up every five minutes since half past four. She sounded in a fearful mood!’
‘What did she want?’ I asked, alarmed.
‘She wants to see you at once, as soon as you come in.’
I looked at the clock nervously, it was nearly a quarter to five.
‘I’ll go straight up and see her.’ I fled upstairs.
Sister Wright sat at her desk, the two spots of high colour on her cheeks indicated that her temper had been well aroused. As I entered and closed the door behind me, her cutting voice said: ‘Well, Nurse Grant, how long have you been in the habit of taking three-quarters of an hour over your tea?’
‘I didn’t, Sister. I didn’t leave here till ten past four.’
‘I’m not interested in what time you left, Nurse. If you went to first tea you were due back on duty at half past four.’
She was being so grossly unfair, that at any other time I should have remained silent, but my overstrung nerves jerked me into replying: ‘I frequently take only ten minutes for my tea. Sister, and often don’t have any at all.’
‘I’m not at all interested in what you frequently do, Nurse. I’m just asking you to be punctual.’
She looked away from me at some papers, and for the second time that day I felt close to tears, but this time they came without my willing them, in fact I had to bite my lip hard to stop them.
‘However,’ pursued Sourpuss, ‘I wanted to see you about your work. I am fairly satisfied with what you have done. As you know, usually the Staff Nurses leave here after two or three months, and go on to one of the other smaller theatres. They have an outbreak of staphylococcus in the Children’s Theatre, and Matron thought it would be a good idea to close it temporarily for cleaning and redecorating. Naturally,’ she smiled cynically, ‘we are to take over the work for about a month.’
She looked at her list again.
‘Now, most of your Monday cases are septic, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Well, that is the day Mr Mitchell does abdominal surgery, so I’ve arranged for the septic cases to be done in Casualty. This weekend I want your theatre cleaned thoroughly, and the extra instruments and so on to be brought over to you.’
She went on with the various arrangements that were to be made. We were to keep our Thursday orthopaedic session, and the Tuesday dental and circumcision one, but were to have no minor plastic or septic sessions at all. They were to be held in Casualty.
I though Mary would bless us.
At the end of the arrangements Sister Wright coughed slightly.
‘Sister Trevelyan will naturally come over with her theatre, but I thought that you would be able to take over the Staff Nurse’s post. Will you manage with just the two of you, do you think?’
This was a great pat on the back, and I nodded joyfully.
‘Then perhaps you could go over and see Sister and find out what she wants transferred.’
She went back to looking at her notes, and I read in this my dismissal.
‘Yes, Sister,’ I said, ‘and – er – thank you, Sister.’
She looked up and gave me one of her rare smiles.
‘I hope you’ll do well, Nurse,’ she said kindly.
All thoughts of Phil took the background now. I knew I had done well enough for my time for promotion to be halved, although it was really through unforeseen circumstances. I had enjoyed running the little theatre, having my word taken as law, and being able to do things the way I thought best, for although Sister Wright was a bit fierce, she had in no way interfered with me.
I went over to the main surgical block, where on the ground floor were the two children’s wards with the medical and surgical divided by the theatre. As I went in I was immediately struck with the spaciousness of it. Compared to my little theatre, it seemed like the wide open spaces.
I knocked on the door of Sister’s office. There was a scuffle inside, and Sister Trevelyan poked a face round the door.
‘Oh, Nurse,’ she said, trying not to sound too relieved. In the background I saw one of the housemen who at the moment was her particular boyfriend, and a cloud of tobacco smoke.
‘I won’t keep you a moment, dear,’ she said, and in an unconscious gesture, straightened her cap. ‘Would you go and look at the instruments and see what you haven’t got that you need?’
So saying, she closed the door again. I went and stared at the instruments. Half of them looked like old-fashioned torture implements, and the other half as if they ministered to the hobby of some crazy inventor. None of them meant anything at all to me.
If only I had known that in a few months I should be teaching junior nurses by saying: ‘Look – if only you use your common sense when dealing with instruments, and think of the shapes you have learnt in anatomy –’
I didn’t know that that would be my standard remark, coming out pat without thought, when I was dealing with clueless juniors, and now there was no one to say it to me, so I gazed at all the foreign shapes and sizes of stainless steel, and as I gazed, my new-found confidence drained away.
When Sister Trevelyan tore herself away from her boyfriend eventually, she found me looking glumly at the cupboard.
‘Sister,’ I said desperately, ‘I don’t know any of these, and I’m sure we haven’t got any of them.’
‘That’s all right, me dear,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Let’s take the whole lot then.’
She was a happy soul, this Sister, and an attractive young woman. ‘We won’t need these lung retractors, or any of the chest stuff.’ She dismissed a shelf of instruments with a wave of her hand. ‘Sir Richard is going to wait till we get back here for any chests. He does hate change you know,’ she added confidingly.
Eventually we sorted everything out, from linen to drums, from drums to gloves, from gloves to surgeon’s boots.
When I left, it was well past my supper time. I went back to Minor Ops, and tried frantically to rearrange some shelves, but at nine o’clock nothing at all seemed straight.
I couldn’t face it any longer, as it was I would be half an hour late for Phil. I ran over to my room and changed quickly. My face in the mirror was not reassuring, it looked drawn and tired.
‘Oh golly,’ I thought, ‘how I hate this place! I hate the continual rush and strain. I hate the feeling of insecurity. I hate Phil most of all for making me feel like this.’
I put on my coat and walked down to the deserted hall, through the dark court, and over to the central gate. I saw his car outside on the road, and saw the glow of a lighted cigarette. And then I knew I couldn’t face him. I turned round and hurried back to the Home, gradually walking faster and faster till I was running. I went up to my room and fell on my bed breathless and distraught and it was then that the long suppressed tears came, slowly at first, but gradually more and more, till I was sobbing as if my heart would break.
Chapter Ten
The next day I felt low and disagreeable. The small cleaner got a blasting for doing the office floor before I had done my paperwork; the Junior got a rocket for appearing on duty one minute late; and the porter had a roasting for not collecting the dirty laundry on time.
I closed the door of the office with a bang, and tried to settle down to the innumerable scraps of paper. The Off Duty; the Operation Book, the quota of Drums to go to the steriliser.
‘What’s got into ’er ’ead?’ asked the porter quite distinctly of the cleaner.
‘Got out of bed the wrong side shouldn’t wonder,’ she replied.
&nb
sp; The cleaner was an indomitable little woman, a true Cockney, and quite unmoved by all the various crises that turned the theatre upside down daily. When I had finished all the paperwork I could, I walked into the theatre. The Junior who had been talking to the cleaner didn’t move.
‘Yes – four years ’e was a prisoner – this wor me ’usband, Staff. And the Germans you know they used to taunt the men, and say what they’d do when they got ’ere. One of ’em went up to ’Arry and poking ’is old finger in ’is face, ’e says: “Next veek we’ll be in England and I vill be making lof to your wife.” – ’Arry does the German accent smashing.’
‘Yes, Mrs Denning – but –’
‘And ’Arry says, ’e says – “You ain’t seen my wife, cock, or you wouldn’t be so keen”.’
I laughed, forgetting my role of martinet for the moment.
The telephone rang. ‘Staff, this is Bell here.’
Bell was a pleasant registrar for plastic surgery. He went on: ‘Has the kids’ theatre arrived yet?’
‘No, sir. Not till Monday.’
‘What have got today then?’
‘Two knee injections this afternoon, and a couple of biopsies.’
‘Well, look, dear – can I do a rodent ulcer this morning? I’d do it in Casualty, it’s only a small one by the eye, but I think I may need a skin graft, so it will probably save time to have a general.’
‘What about the anaesthetist –’ I began, repressing a sigh. I had hoped to have the morning for clearing up the mess of the previous night, and Bell, though he was such a nice man, was extraordinarily slow as a surgeon.
‘Yes, yes. That’s all fixed. The patient’s name is Horrocks. He’s on Esther. Shall we say about ten-thirty? All right?’
‘Ten-thirty. All right, sir.’
I put down the receiver and went back to the theatre, where the Junior was still clearing up.
‘Nurse, could we put this tray in the instrument cupboard?’ she asked. ‘It’s so in the way here.’
She pointed to the tray of heart stimulants that I had often cursed, as it was on one of the few available window sills. The ampoules were continually falling over and breaking, and in some way the tray contrived to be always in the place that you wanted to be free.
Had I been in a less perverse mood, I should have agreed heartily and confined the tray to the depths of the instrument cupboard, but I was still feeling disagreeable. So biting back my assent, I read the unfortunate junior a homily on always being prepared for emergencies. Just because we hadn’t needed it for ten years, I said, that was not to say we wouldn’t need it the next minute.
The girl sighed heavily, and started the niggling job of cleaning it.
‘We have a case at 10.30, a rodent ulcer,’ I told her. ‘So get the theatre ready, will you?’
‘What do you want for the case?’ she asked.
I felt she was deliberately trying to annoy me.
‘The usual things, Nurse,’ I said tartly. ‘The scrub-ups to be laid, the anaesthetic room to be prepared, and the surgeons’ clothes ready. Mr Bell takes Ten in boots, and Thirty-eight trousers and Seven-and-a-half gloves.’
I went off in a huff to ring up Sister Wright and tell her of the new addition to our list, and then settled back grumpily to tidy out the cupboards.
I was just putting the finishing touches to the cupboard, trying to make the instruments that had formerly taken up four shelves look as if they only needed one, when Sister Wright came in. She looked round the theatre and at the new space I had tried to create, and after a few grumbles about lack of room, disappeared. She always did her round about the same time, so it was safe to have coffee now and hold court for any of the men who cared to come in.
I asked Mrs Denning if I could have my coffee, and settled down to do the weekly ordering. How many bars of soap did we need? How many rolls of gauze? Had two tins of scouring powder been enough the previous week? And how did the cotton wool last out? All of this I enquired of Mrs Denning, for although it was by no means her job, she knew everything that was needed, and after the first two weeks I swallowed my pride and stopped searching around for all the various things we needed. Instead I asked her.
‘I should get a bit more coffee if I wuz you, Staff,’ she said.
‘If I can get it.’
‘Well, if not I’ll step up to Fird Floor, they usually ’ave a bit to go begging.’
‘Mrs D.,’ I said sternly, ‘you’re a scrounger.’
‘Yus, I know,’ she replied placidly, ‘but I 'ate to see fings going to waste.’
‘Hullo, fishface,’ said a voice from the door, and looking up I saw Mary.
‘Hullo, ducky! I thought you’d gone off.’
‘Finished the old nighters, anyway,’ she said, plonking herself down in a chair. ‘I’ve got till Thursday,’ she added. ‘Think I’ll sleep the whole time.’
She yawned loudly.
‘Have some coffee, that’ll wake you up.’
The coffee stimulated her enough for her to give me a lively account of last night’s events on Casualty.
‘Oh, Jane, it was a hoot! We had a razor gang in.’
‘A what?’
‘A razor gang. Two, in fact.’
‘This night duty has gone to your head.’
‘No, honestly. This boy came in with razor cuts you see, and I went to call Penny, and when I got back all his mates had come to see he was all right, so there was old Joe Muggins here sitting in the middle of six barbarians who looked as though they’d like to start practising on me. Well, anyway, we’d just done this boy up with ten stitches, when there was a scuffle in the hall, and in walks another lot!’
‘Crumbs! I’d have sent for the police a bit sharpish.’
‘Well, it transpires that this was the rival gang who had been sharpening or rather blunting their razors on the first boy’s face. But the first lot had decided that they didn’t like the other gang’s face either, so that lot came in for running repairs.’
‘Wait a minute,’ I said, rather muddled. ‘Group A came in with a casualty, followed by Group B with further casualties.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mary cheerfully. ‘So there was old Penny and I dabbing iodine on one group, while the other lot stood there fingering their cut-throats. I did admire old Harry, you know. He said to this particularly uncomely youth who was the leader of the first lot, “I won’t touch any of you unless you’ll promise you won’t have another bash tonight.” I was afraid they were going to carve him up honestly. They all sort of growled but eventually promised and snarling at each other belted off.’
‘You’ll need a bodyguard there soon, won’t you?’
‘Well, that wasn’t all,’ said Mary sipping her coffee. ‘We were just recovering our shattered nerves when there was a terrific uproar in the hall, and we shot out, thinking the razor boys hadn’t been able to resist each other, and saw two dirty great cops and a boy. He was a hoot, honestly, apparently he is a getaway driver. When the bobbies saw him sitting in a nice fast sports car just up the road from a jeweller’s, they thought they’d play safe and run him in.’
‘What did they bring him in to you for?’
‘Well, it seems he rather resented this suspicion, and tried to get out of the car and make off, and somehow or other cut his hand through the window – but the funny part was he was really waiting for his girlfriend who works in an all-night café, and so he kept telling them and they said they were going to book him for Grievous Bodily Harm.’
‘Who had he Grievous Bodily Harmed?’
‘Oh, one of the coppers had a black eye. So he said, “GBH? Me? Oh come off it, mate. The beak knows I’m the quiet kind, wouldn’t hurt a copper not for anything. If you don’t treat me right, you lot, I’ll sue you for molesting!”’
‘What did the wretched police say to that?’
‘Oh, they just told him to pipe down. Then he said they made him sick. “Here am I,” he said, “the sort of bloke that keeps you in bu
siness and you can’t even treat me right”.’
‘What an adventurous night you had!’
‘Adventurous!’ exploded Mary. ‘I feel as though I’d been through three mills and back again.’
At this moment my eye fell on the clock, which gave me a violent shock.
‘Golly! Look at the time. It’s time I sent Sam to get that patient.’
I got up and hurried to the door. As I reached it, it opened in my face. Mr Bell stood there with Michael Hall.
‘Just in time,’ said the Registrar jovially. ‘Goody goody gum drops.’
He walked over to the coffee pot and helped himself, then opened the lid and looked at the remains.
‘Hard cheese, Mike. I’ve had the last. Mrs D.!’ he yelled through the open door, ‘What’s the coffee posish?’
‘Oh, sir, ’old on. I’ll nip over and get you some. First Floor’s isn’t bad.’
‘Mrs D.! ’ he exclaimed with mock solemnity. ‘You’re a thief and I disapprove strongly. Here’s the pot. Full, mind you, I’m thirsty.’
Mr Bell was a tall amiable young man, who had the charm of treating idiots and geniuses, VIPs and Juniors, with the same placid good-humour. He also had the endearing trait of never getting ruffled.
As we all settled down again, Mary stood up and said in rather a stiff voice, ‘I must be off. See you on Thursday, Jane.’
As she went out I was just about to ask her to wait a minute, so that we could arrange some meeting for Thursday, but at that moment I happened to look at Mike, who had stood up at her departure and who was gazing at the closing door behind her with a very odd expression.
There was a moment’s silence which seemed awkward, then I broke it by saying: ‘I’ll – I’ll send for your patient, sir.’
I left the room and checked the theatre to see if everything was ready, and said to the luckless Junior: ‘Will you stay in the theatre? Mr Bell won’t need a scrubbed nurse, and it will give me time to organise some more cupboard space.’
She wriggled and said unhappily: ‘Well, Staff, I’ve never seen one before.’
My waspish humour had returned, and I snubbed her with the usual retort: ‘Well, now’s your time to learn, isn’t it?’
