More From A Nurse's Life: More drama, love and laughter from a 1950s nurse (Nurse Jane Grant Book 2)

by Jane Grant

  ‘Oh, Sister, it’s quite, quite ghastly. You’ve no idea. I’m continually in the doghouse.’

  ‘Oh, come now, not as bad as that surely.’

  Phyllis launched into a highly coloured account of night duty. She made a night on the post-labour ward sound even more lurid than her account of it in her letter to me. ‘Twenty little treasures all yelling their heads off ... I could kill the little bundles of joy by six o’clock.’

  She went on to tell us a story about night duty in a small ante-natal ward in an old part of the hospital building.

  ‘The equipment’s all out of the ark; none of the sterilisers work properly, and there’s one particular one, used for the bed-pans, which is always going wrong. It takes about two hours to come to the boil, and when it does you get scared stiff because there’s a terrific hissing of steam and clucking of pipes. One night I turned on the steam and went on the ward, we were very busy, and there was an enormous woman called Mrs Mount. Well named too. She was just on the point of producing her eighth child, so I rushed off to telephone the Labour Ward and sent for a porter to get a trolley. Then I had to toss all Mrs Mount’s belongings into a suitcase, while she was bidding affectionate farewells to everyone on the ward. She was so stoical about it all, when I asked her how long; she said first of all, “Oh, within the hour”, and then just as the porter was pushing her off on the trolley, she waved and said, “I’ve got about ten minutes, I should think.” This scared me stiff as I thought she would produce in the lift. Well, all this occupied my mind, and when I was conscious of my surroundings again, I looked around, and there was a huge pool of water coming under the door. So I rushed to the door, opened it, and there, stretching along the corridor, was a great surging river. It was that ruddy bedpan steriliser. I managed to get to the tap and turn it off, then I waded to the end of the corridor thinking of all the communicable diseases to be carried by bedpans, and to my horror, there coming round the corner, was Night Sister.’

  ‘Crumbs, Phyllis, how did you get out of that one?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather, because she was a terrible old besom, and she stood there and all she said was, “Wet, isn’t it?”’

  ‘Ah, these sisters can face anything,’ said Sister Trevelyan.

  ‘I'll say,’ said Phyllis. ‘She peeled off her shoes and stockings and waded to the sterilising room. Then she said, “Oh good, you’ve got a gulley here. Now what we want is one of those whooshy things they have in theatre.” While I stood there like a stuffed prune, she rushed off to telephone theatre. Then she came back and said she had asked one of the nurses to bring it down. “Then we can make her stay and help,” she said cunningly.’

  ‘I always admire the way Phyllis escapes the consequences of her most shattering mistakes,’ I said.

  ‘I admire Sisters,’ said Phyllis, smiling charmingly at Trevelyan. ‘I thought if that’s the way they react to disasters, they jolly well deserve to be Sisters.’

  Sister Trevelyan bowed. ‘Oh, we’re a grand breed,’ she said. ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘Oh, Sister hitched up her skirts and waded in, and while we were all whooshing away at the mess she kept telling us it reminded her of the floods they used to have in India. “Not a little trickle like this, either,” she said contemptuously. “We used to have a real river, with the crockery and the bedding all floating past.” She seemed quite sorry in the end that the water was got rid of so easily.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what you’ve got to complain of,’ said Trevelyan. ‘Seems to me it’s all fun and games. Wish we had something as dramatic and exciting in this dull old theatre.’

  ‘It’s so ruddy exhausting,’ said Phyllis. ‘Apart from mums and babies being awkward you have to spend such a lot of time avoiding Matron. I’ve worked it to a fine art now, I’ve made friends with Matron’s maid, and I get an advance note of her schedule. Once I’ve got this information, I can work out where Matron will be at any minute of the day. When we know she’s at Clinic, we have a rest and a quick cuppa in the nursery. Only sometimes she outwits us, and we hear her coming, and then you should see how the teacups disappear. One moment there are six steaming teacups all over the place in full view, and the next there are a few wisps of steam coming from behind the dirty linen basket or from the foot of a baby’s cot. Another good hiding place is behind the jar of cord powder and spirit bottles.’

  ‘After all this,’ I said, ‘I feel quite inclined to do midder after all. You make it sound quite fun.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Phyllis. ‘You work till you drop and for all that you’re so humiliatingly poor. It’s a ghastly shock after staff nurses’ pay to go back to about eleven quid a month.’

  She went on to give a highly coloured account of ante-natal and post-natal clinics. ‘We spend the time trying to escape from Sister Tutor, because we’re so tired of being told the best methods of Palpating, and how to tell a Multigravida from a Primigravida. Then you have to fill in forms, extracting from the patients all the details of their previous confinements, sexes, methods of feeding, weights, and where the happy events took place. The thing is, they can never remember any of these facts. It gets so wearing. There’s one doctor in a cubicle taking the more complicated cases. He’s nearly killed in the rush every time, because everybody wants to chaperone for him.

  Trevelyan laughed. ‘Oh well, I felt just the same way about midder. But don’t give up. Do Part Two, it’s so much nicer.’

  ‘That’s what everyone says,’ Phyllis pointed out, ‘but what I say is, nicer than what? I mean you couldn’t get anything worse than Part One.’

  ‘You’ll quite enjoy it after the first three months of shock,’ Trevelyan replied confidently.

  ‘Oh, Sister, I hope so. I do hope so,’ said Phyllis wearily.

  ‘Ah well,’ said Sister. ‘You go along and take this poor girl out of it. You have my fullest sympathy, my dear,’ she added as we got to the door. ‘Oh, Grant – can I have a word with you for a moment?’

  ‘I’ll see you in my boudoir,’ I muttered to Phyllis.

  ‘I saw Sister Wright this morning,’ said Trevelyan. ‘Did you know Straker’s leaving?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘She’s getting married. It’s all rather rushed, because he has got a job in Nigeria.’

  ‘Oh? How exciting!’

  ‘Well, the point is, there is a vacancy in main theatres. O’Connor’s going there, and I rather think you’ll be moved to ENT theatres next week.’

  ‘Oh, Sister!’ I exclaimed in genuine regret. ‘I’ll be sorry to go.’

  ‘I’ll be sorry to lose you, but still – don’t take this as official, but I’m almost sure that’s what will happen.’

  I was overcome by differing emotions, regret at leaving the little theatre, fear of the unknown, and pride at being selected for this promotion. Before I could say anything, Sister changed the subject.

  ‘By the way, is that Mike Hall’s ex-girlfriend?’

  ‘Ex?’ I queried in amazement.

  ‘Well, I thought it was ex,’ said Trevelyan. ‘He seems to be seeing enough of Mary Ross to make it serious.’

  She stopped when she saw my face of horror.

  ‘It’s only what the grapevine says,’ she added hastily. ‘Of course ninety-nine per cent of the time they’re well out.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ I said. ‘I don’t think anyway that Mary’s seen much of him. The only person she’s been going out with lately is me.’

  ‘And with all due respect,’ said Trevelyan laughing, ‘you’re rather a poor substitute.’

  She seemed to want to remove the former impression, because she added, ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s nothing in it.’ She turned away slightly, to indicate our talk was at an end. ‘See you around plaster tomorrow.’

  I accepted my dismissal, left the theatre and walked over to my room. In spite of her last assurance, I did worry over the information she had heard. Just supposing
it was true – but I didn’t see how it could be. Mary spent most of her evenings with me, and just recently neither of us had been out with anyone.

  Then I thought of various little incidents, like Mary’s enquiries about Phyllis’s affair, and her annoyance at Phyllis’s flirting. Whereas before like me, she had viewed it all with a good-humoured tolerance, now whenever I mentioned Phyllis, she said something mildly critical about her.

  When I reached my room I must still have been looking serious, because Phyllis said hastily, ‘What’s the matter, Jane?’

  I roused myself with difficulty. ‘I’m being moved next week to ENT.’

  ‘Oh crumbs, poor you,’ was the comforting reply. ‘I wonder how you’ll like that. They say Sister Brooke is cuckoo.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s as mad as a hatter,’ went on Phyllis cheerfully. ‘Ever so nice, of course. Just bats.’

  ‘I’ve not come across her before,’ I said nervously.

  ‘She swims a lot,’ said Phyllis happily, ‘and if she doesn’t have time to change, she just puts her uniform on over her wet swimsuit. I’ve heard a thousand stories about her and I’m sure they’re all true,’ she added consolingly.

  ‘The prospects sound pleasing,’ I said ironically. ‘A crazy theatre Sister – that’ll be just too helpful.’

  ‘She takes about six months to get used to anyone.’

  ‘Six months!’

  ‘Yes, and the whole of that time she chases you around like billy-o. The men all hate her, she drives them up the wall.’

  ‘You’re cheering me up no end.’

  ‘Oh, never mind. Once she gets to like you she’ll eat out of your hand. Now let’s get ready for David, shall we? Are we taking the tea?’

  I changed, and we went shopping. Phyllis as usual ran out of money, and I had to fork out for the rest of a very exotic tea.

  ‘It will be heaven sitting on a river bank somewhere, and eating sausage rolls and cream cakes,’ she mused. ‘I hope David isn’t boring.’

  We met him outside the main gates; he was sitting in his car looking very self-conscious. Phyllis immediately leapt into the front seat beside him, while I sat in the tiny back one with, as Phyllis put it, my knees neatly tucked behind my ears. There seemed to be no intention by the designer that anyone who sat at the back should have any legs.

  ‘It’s like that in all these sporting cars,’ said David, rather embarrassed. ‘They don’t really cater for passengers.’

  ‘I’m quite all right,’ I said smiling politely, and crammed myself in as best I could.

  The afternoon was very uncomfortable for me in more ways than one. It seemed to me that David was obviously very ill at ease in his forced outing. It might have been all right with Phyllis alone, but the presence of a third party cramped his style.

  Phyllis, however, appeared oblivious to all this, and chatted amiably most of the time.

  ‘‘Let’s go to Henley,’ she cried.

  ‘‘It’s rather far, isn’t it?’ I suggested.

  ‘‘Oh no. It isn’t far, is it, David?’

  He muttered something in which I distinguished the words, ‘Forty miles – West – masses of traffic to get through.’

  ‘‘Oh well,’ said Phyllis cheerfully. ‘Let’s go to Richmond. I’ve set my heart on sitting on a river bank under a weeping willow to eat my sausage rolls.’

  We went to Richmond as directed, and ate our tea, though without the weeping willow. It was peaceful sitting on the grass and watching the water flow by.

  I watched Phyllis’s charm beginning to work on the stiff, tongue-tied David, loosening his tongue and melting his stiffness. Before tea was over he was teasing her with spiders and asking her questions about her love life. She avoided these neatly, and flattered him by saying with evident sincerity and wide brown eyes fixed on him, that she thought he looked very young to have a fellowship.

  ‘So Mike Hall’s the man, is he?’ he said after a pause in the conversation.

  ‘Oh!’ cried Phyllis, diverting the conversation. ‘Look at that boat. Do let’s have a boat, David! It would be such fun.’

  ‘You haven’t got time,’ said David. ‘As soon as you’ve had your tea, we shall have to scoot back to St Bernard’s, so that you can meet Mike at six.’

  ‘Mike won’t mind waiting,’ cried Phyllis. ‘I should so love to go in a boat.’

  ‘Okay,’ said David, standing up. ‘Let’s be late for Mike, damn him. Let’s not turn up for Mike at all.’

  There was a moment’s silence, then Phyllis hurriedly began to collect the cups, thermos and remains of food. I helped her stow them into my bucket bag.

  Without a word, David led the way back to the car, and we all stowed in. He drove back rapidly, answering Phyllis’s chatter in monosyllables.

  We reached the hospital at ten minutes to six. As David helped Phyllis out, he remarked: ‘You’ve got ten minutes to get yourself up for Mike.’

  Phyllis ignored this pointed remark. ‘Well, thank you, David, for a lovely afternoon.’

  I too thanked him.

  ‘The pleasure was mine,’ he said with a return to stiffness.

  ‘What an old toad,’ said Phyllis, as we went in. ‘It was like being out with a maiden aunt all afternoon.’

  I thought this very unfair, as my sympathies had been entirely with David.

  We went back to my room, and Phyllis took a long time putting on a face. When she was ready to go out, she seemed deliberately to hang about, as if she was going to be late for Mike so as to confound David. But at last she went, and I was left to recover from my nerve-shattering day.

  At about nine o’clock I prepared the tea for Mary, who I expected to come along as soon as she was off duty. When she did come in, she looked very pale and drawn.

  ‘Hullo, old dear,’ I said. ‘Char’s up.’

  ‘Have you seen Phyllis?’ she interrupted.

  ‘Yes. We had a ghastly afternoon. She made David Anderson take us out.’

  ‘But where is she now?’

  ‘She went out with Mike,’ I said rather surprised. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ cried Mary. ‘Why indeed – why when she’s got the whole male world at her feet does she have to choose Mike to play around with?’

  ‘Mary – she’s very fond of him.’

  ‘So she says. She always says that. But I’m different. I’m not made that way. I couldn’t play around with ten men at a time!’

  ‘‘I know,’ I said reasonably. ‘You’re normal and Phyllis is the exception.’

  ‘But why Mike?’ cried the distraught Mary.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I love him,’ she said, burying her face in her hands.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Mike’s a lucky boy,’ I said, trying to keep calm. ‘You’re the second person who’s sworn undying affection for him today.’

  ‘Oh, Jane,’ said Mary despairingly, ‘what am I going to do? It all seems quite, quite hopeless.’

  ‘What’s the situation? Does he love you?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s awfully fond of Phyllis, but I don’t think he wants to marry her. I just don’t know.’

  ‘Have you seen much of him?’ I asked curiously.

  ‘Well, not a lot. He comes up to see me in Casualty quite a bit. I really got to know him on night duty. He used to come and talk for hours.’

  ‘You never told me,’ I said selfishly.

  ‘I know. I didn’t tell anyone because – well, you know –’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ I said. ‘You never discuss the ones you really care about.’

  We talked about him then until far into the night, at least Mary talked. She seemed to find relief in just telling me everything he had ever done. Personally, I got rather bored with hearing an account of his prowess since he started to talk at the age of eighteen months, up to his coming head of his year in the last exams.

  At last her fund of anecdotes seemed exhausted and she went off to bed. I thou
ght curiously what an extraordinary situation this was. I thought too what misery was going to come to one or both of them.

  I wondered what Mike’s feelings were. I guessed that Phyllis had a slight lead on Mary. But what man could really fall for Phyllis when he saw her attitude to all men?

  So reflecting, I fell asleep.

  As Sister Trevelyan had predicted, I saw her amid a sea of plaster the following day. Halfway through the morning I had my expected summons to Sister Wright and my transfer confirmed.

  ‘I should go over and see Sister Brooke this evening, if I were you. She – er – likes to get to know her staff.’

  A slight smile hovered round Sister Wright’s mouth. She wished me good luck in a way that made me think I should need it. I thanked her and muttered something about being sorry to go.

  Sister Trevelyan spent the remainder of the day trying to initiate me into the wonders of ENT surgery. Tonsils, Caldwell Luc’s, Mastoids, swam around in my mind, until I got muddled with it all and cried out for her to desist in case she put me in a bigger panic than I was already in.

  When I went off duty at six o’clock, I went over to the ENT theatre. This was on the top floor of the surgical block, and had been one of the original theatres built, as O’Connor had told me, in the year dot.

  ‘Still,’ she added, ‘thank your lucky stars you’ve got main drainage there.’

  The place was without doubt badly laid out, but the equipment was good, and the theatre had the name for being well run.

  I entered the rather tatty doors, with the usual sign ‘Theatre Private’ on the porthole windows. As if at a signal, on my entering the dead quiet of the place was shattered by a roar and clatter of instruments.

  A voice shouted: ‘Who put the fenestration picks on the tonsil shelf?’

  A little voice replied weakly, ‘I – I did, Sister.’

  ‘Might I ask why, Nurse?’ went on the angry voice. ‘What possible good will these do in the throat?’

  There was an embarrassed and apologetic murmur.

  ‘Oh, you girls!’ exploded the scolding voice.

  More banging and clattering, and then the shattering slam of a door. I peered out from behind a cupboard where I had taken refuge, and gave a set smile to a group of white-faced nurses, who were standing staring disconsolately at the instrument shelves.