The First Year

by Lucilla Andrews

  I nodded dumbly, still keeping my eyes screwed shut. Better he should think that I was tired and my hand sore.

  ‘Want to cry?’ His voice was so kind. ‘Then why not go ahead? Here.’ I felt a handkerchief being thrust into my good hand. ‘You go ahead and don’t mind me. I see quite a few tears in my day’s work. They help one let off steam.’ He touched my shoulder lightly, then I heard him move away.

  His gentleness was the last straw. If he had told me sternly to pull myself together I might have managed it. As it was, I wept into his fine clean handkerchief.

  He spent a long time washing his hands at the sink. He turned both taps full on, and the sound of running water drowned the sound of my weeping. When I had mopped my face he strolled back and stood in front of me. ‘Better now?’

  ‘Much.’ I sighed the way you do sigh after a crying-jag. ‘I’m so sorry. Thank you for your handkerchief. I’ll send it to the laundry, then give it back to you.’

  He put on his white coat. ‘Don’t give that another thought. Now’ ‒ he hitched a high theatre stool closer with one foot and sat down on it ‒ ‘I want that dressing and strapping to stay on until I see you again. Try to keep it dry. I’ll look at it in three days’ time.’

  ‘Will I be able to go on duty to-morrow night, Mr Waring?’

  He took his stethoscope out of his pocket and swung it over one hand. ‘You can’t go on duty until I take those stitches out, Nurse.’

  I said weakly, ‘Oh, no.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, yes. Don’t look so crestfallen, Nurse. I appreciate that Margaret is a perpetually busy ward, but Matron will find a substitute. We are none of us indispensable.’

  I said nothing. I just looked at him and thought how idiotic were those words. He was, and always would be, indispensable to me.

  He was watching me more closely than I guessed. ‘You seem to disagree with me, Nurse?’

  ‘No.’ I was too miserable to care about truth. ‘I don’t disagree and I don’t think that I’m indispensable. I was only thinking how busy we all seem to be at night and how much difference even the lack of one junior pro. ‒ that is, probationer ‒ can mean to Night Sister.’

  ‘I say “pros.” too, Nurse. Everyone in Martin’s does. And I do understand your anxiety. But let me reassure you, if only on one count. You will not be inconveniencing this present Night Sister, since this is to be her own last night on night-duty.’

  I stared at him. ‘Night Sister coming off?’ I forgot his senior position in my genuine interest at this bit of nursing gossip. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘It’s quite official knowledge ‒ from 9 p.m. to-night. So you haven’t heard yet?’ I shook my head, and he followed his first announcement with the equally staggering one that Night Sister was going back to Casualty to help Nurse Davis. ‘Nurse Davis is taking over as Sister Casualty very shortly, at which time Night Sister is moving to Matron’s Office here. The present Sister Casualty’s plans have altered slightly, and she is resigning a little earlier than was originally expected. No doubt you heard Sister Casualty was resigning?’

  I looked at the strapping on my hand. ‘Yes, I heard that.’ He was silent. As I could not face seeing the happiness I was so sure must be in his expression, I asked my hand who was taking over the hospital at night.

  ‘The present Night Assistant, Nurse Dulain. And Nurse Bennings is being promoted from Francis Adams to become Night Assistant. Nurse Bennings,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘is an excellent nurse. The surgical side will be reluctant to lose her, but no doubt the hospital in general will benefit by her new appointment.’

  I said, ‘Yes, Mr Waring.’ And if I sounded doubtful I was beyond caring. Bennings on nights was simply too much! I still had two more months to go. Nurse Jones stood between Night Sister and myself; no one, with the possible exception of Sister Margaret, was capable of standing between Bennings and her juniors. Life on nights was going to be sheer murder.

  He climbed off his stool. ‘If you feel all right, Nurse, I think perhaps I should leave you. I still have several wards to visit. Sister will be back shortly for you.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I am quite all right.’ I looked up and saw he was watching me again. I did not mistake the concern in his expression. Jake was a good doctor and he cared about his patients; I had seen that previously. I was now his patient, and temporarily he cared about me; that is, he cared if I fainted, felt sick, pain, or burst into tears ‒ until my stitches came out.

  ‘I must beg to differ, Nurse. I think you are very tired and rather shocked. The sooner you get to bed the better.’ He stood straight, squared his shoulders, and put his hands in his pockets. His stethoscope was now dangling round his neck. He was standing directly under the cold, bright theatre light, and the remorseless, shadowless brilliance of that light illuminated every line in his face and exposed the weariness in his eyes. He had said I looked tired; he looked desperately so himself to-night. I did not know his age; I guessed it to be round thirty-five. He looked years older. The years of constant work and responsibility had left their mark on his face; the harsh theatre light, turning his fair hair to white, added to the score. I thought, This is how he’ll look when he’s old, but I won’t be about to see it. And then I thought, I will always remember him as he is now in this neat, silent theatre, which seems so much a part of him and where everything is white and still and the only sound is the beating of my own heart, which was making such a noise that I feared he must hear it. And above all, I thought, I’ll remember his kindness to-night, the gentleness of his touch, and the concern with which he was still watching me.

  I had to say something, so I said I would be fine after a night in bed.

  He nodded absently. ‘Sister’ll fix you up in Nightingale. They’ve several beds.’ He roused himself. ‘I’ll take those stitches out in ten days’ time. They will very possibly’ ‒ his lips lifted in a small smile ‒ ‘be the last surgical job I do in this hospital. My contract terminates nine days from to-night; but, as I’ve put those stitches in, I’d like to finish off the job myself. But I should add’ ‒ his tone altered and became formal ‒ ‘that you do not have to accept my services for that if you prefer otherwise. Mr Embry will then be S.S.O., and you are quite at liberty to ask that he do the job for you.’

  I said, ‘I ‒ don’t mind who takes them out. Thank you.’ He inclined his head.

  ‘I did not imagine that it would be material to you. I’ll arrange a time with Home Sister and see to it myself.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Waring. Thank you very much.’

  He did not answer. He merely nodded again at my automatic response, then walked out of the theatre. I sat and waited for Night Sister. There was nothing else I could do. In a short while she returned and took me to Nightingale Ward.

  I spent only one night in Nightingale and the next morning was allowed to return to my room in the Night Nurses’ Home. I was able to be up, had to wear a sling, and became officially a ‘Home Patient’. That meant that I was free to wear mufti, wander where I liked in the hospital grounds, but must not go out of the hospital without permission. I was also expected to go to bed early and take reasonable care of my health. If I had not been so utterly wretched because of Jake I should have enjoyed those ten days. Home Sister was kind and fussed over me, her one patient, like a motherly old hen with one chick. She took me over to Casualty to see Jake on the third morning, shepherding me across the road to the hospital as if I was two and a half. I was not in Jake’s presence for more than five minutes. He said he was satisfied with the condition of my wound, ordered a fresh dressing and strapping, which Sister Casualty applied. As Home Sister and I were leaving the Hall we ran into Night Sister, now an Office-Sister-elect. She gave us an amicable smile. ‘You and I are playing truant, Nurse Standing. How’s the hand?’

  When I had replied Home Sister asked Night Sister how she was enjoying returning to her old post.

  ‘Very much, thank you, Sister.’

  Home Sister s
aid she was pleased to hear it. ‘I am spending this coming week-end with old Sister Casualty. She will be so interested to hear all the news about her beloved department and that you are temporarily back, Sister. I shall be sure and tell her. And I know she will be as delighted as we all are to hear of Miss Mercer’s new appointment.’

  I gaped openly at Home Sister, wondering if she was being facetious, but the old lady seemed to be talking seriously. We said good-bye to the ex-Night Sister and walked on. As we reached the Home a Mail van drew up at the door and a postman followed us up the steps. He was carrying two large parcels. Sister turned. ‘I am sure you are very busy, Postman. Shall we take those from you here?’

  The man grinned. ‘Much obliged, lady. Ta.’

  Sister accepted one and offered me the other. She read the name on her parcel.

  ‘Miss Mercer ‒ how exciting. Whose is yours, Nurse?’ I twisted it round with my good hand. ‘Miss Mercer too, Sister.’ Wedding presents, obviously, I thought gloomily. No wonder Home Sister looked so thrilled; she took a motherly interest in all of us and was clearly enchanted by this romance.

  She said happily, ‘I expect this is Sister’s new uniform. She said she expected that it would arrive to-day.’

  I had to question her now. I had been longing to do so for the last few minutes and waiting for an opening. ‘Uniform, Sister? For Sister Casualty?’

  ‘Naturally, Nurse. St Martha’s sisters wear a totally different uniform to our own.’

  I asked carefully, ‘St Martha’s, Sister? Is Sister Casualty going to St Martha’s?’

  She beamed at me. ‘Is it not splendid, Nurse? We are naturally sad to lose such a brilliant young sister, but we hope to have her back later. This is the most wonderful promotion, and our Matron was consequently only too pleased to assist Sister by releasing her from her contract here. Sister Casualty is a very young woman for such a post, but she has a Diploma of Nursing, and this,’ added Home Sister rather sadly, ‘is a young woman’s profession nowadays. And rightly so. Rightly so. Hospitals need young Matrons and Assistant Matrons, and we must all move with the times. I do not have to tell you how proud we all are that one of our sisters should be chosen from so many applicants to be the new Assistant Matron at St Martha’s.’

  I looked at her blankly ‒ and dropped my parcel.

  ‘Nurse! Careful!’ Her expression relaxed as I picked it up. ‘But you have only one hand. I mustn’t scold you for doing your best.’

  My best! I was not sure what I was doing. As soon as Home Sister told me I was free to visit any of my set on day-duty I went up in the lift to my old floor. I found Angela off duty.

  ‘Oh, good, Rose! I hoped you’d drop in. How’s the hand? Jake Waring going to save it for you?’

  ‘So they tell me. Angie ‒ have you heard about ‒’

  She cut me short. ‘Bennings? So help me, have I not! Talk about insult to injury. Here I have just had her for the last three months in Francis and now we’ll be on nights together! Seen Josephine?’

  ‘Not yet. Why? She off too?’ I had not seen either of them until this meeting with Angela. They had both had days off on my first sick day, and yesterday had not been off until evening when I was in bed in the night home.

  She said Josephine was off in more ways than one. ‘She’s with Matron now. Resigning. Bennings has been the deciding factor. She and Gus fixed up another wedding date last evening.’

  ‘So she’s going after all.’ I sat down on her bed. ‘Angie, how the old place is changing!’

  ‘I don’t know about that. No one else is leaving.’

  ‘How about Sister Cas.? And the S.S.O.?’

  She rocked with laughter. ‘Dearest Rose, what does it matter to the likes of us if high-powered sisters and surgeons quit? We’re still in our first year, remember? Just a couple of juniors. And we won’t really miss Josephine, because since the return of Gus we haven’t seen her off duty. No, dearie. You and I will stagger on up the years, growing older and wiser ‒ and who knows? One of these fine days we may even take Bennings with a smile. A girl can get used to anything.’

  I said flatly, ‘I suppose so.’

  She looked at me curiously. ‘What’s the trouble, Rose? You don’t sound your usual mad self. Hand hurting?’

  I had to have some excuse so I said, yes. ‘It aches ‒ all the time.’ Which was true of my heart if not of my hand.

  By the end of those nine days I had worked myself into an absurd state of anticipation. At least I was going to see him once more. I was going to make the most of that meeting. I was going to say good-bye to him properly, and if possible ‒ if I had the courage ‒ I was going to thank him for the times he had helped me. Times like that afternoon in the surgeons’ room, when he never told anyone I had gone into the wrong room; times like that evening in Cas., when if he had reported me it would have meant my discharge. Somehow I must show him that I was grateful. Even if Home Sister was with me, I decided, I would find some way.

  Home Sister went with me to have my stitches out; I had endless little speeches ready, which I had rehearsed in my room, and I was filled with the courage that accompanies desperation. Neither my speeches nor my courage were needed. When we reached the Hall Nurse Davis said, ‘Mr Waring has asked Mr Embry to take over Nurse Standing, Sister. Mr Waring left the hospital last evening. He asked me to be sure to give you his best wishes.’

  The wishes were for Home Sister; no one sends messages to first-year pros. I did not bother to acknowledge them, and Sister and Davis would have been shocked if I had. Mr Embry, the new S.S.O., removed my stitches efficiently and fairly painlessly, told me that I might have the rest of the day and night off, and could return to Margaret on night-duty the following night.

  Home Sister told me to go out. ‘You have been in the hospital for far too long, Nurse Standing. You need a change. Have you friends in London? If so, pay them a visit. But do not ask one of your friends here to come for a walk with you; you will only talk hospital shop and you need to get right away for the day. I know your hand is better, but I consider you look very peaked and pale. If you know no one in London go to the Zoo, have lunch out, or go for a long bus-ride somewhere. Do not let me see you back in the hospital until this evening.’

  I had no desire to go anywhere, but, not having the energy to disobey, I went back for a handbag and a hat, made up my face with more than usual care to boost my flagging morale, and left the Home. And then I did not know where to go. I climbed on to the first bus, rode for an hour or so without being conscious of where I was or what I was doing. When the conductor bellowed, ‘All change, here!’ I got out and took another bus back. It was only midday when I was back in the shadow of Martin’s. I did not dare go in after what Home Sister had said, and I was wondering vaguely where to go for lunch when I recollected Bert’s invitation. I certainly needed a ‘cuppa’ and a quiet sit-down. I would go to Bert’s.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A VISIT TO BERT’S

  Bert recognized me at once. ‘Hallo, miss! Not seen you for quite a while. How you been keeping?’

  ‘I’ve been on night-duty. Then I cut my hand and had a few days off sick. I’ve got a holiday now until to-morrow night, so I thought I’d take myself out to lunch. You do do lunches as well as morning coffee and supper?’

  He mopped his counter and said I was dead right, I was. ‘You couldn’t choose a better spot for lunch, miss. Care for another mixed grill? I mind as you fancied your grill the night your young gentleman fetched you in here. And how would Dr Martin be keeping, miss? Not seen him lately either.’

  I said I had enjoyed my previous grill very much and would be delighted with another. ‘Dr Martin’s very well, but very busy, I gather.’ I saw the inquiring look he gave me, and smiled. ‘Dr Martin isn’t my young man, Bert. He’s just a ‒ well ‒ friend of mine.’

  Bert slapped his cloth down on his counter. ‘You don’t say, miss! That Dr Martin’s a one an’ all. There’s a cheerful young gentleman for you,
and no mistake! The things he’ll say! Always a smile and a bit of laughter when that Dr Martin’s around. So he’s settling down to the work now, is he? I can tell you, miss’ ‒ he leaned confidentially on his counter and began maltreating his ears again ‒ ‘I see it happen so often. These young student gentlemen come in here as wild as you please, and then they make ’em doctors, and the next thing you know they’ve turned quiet and serious-like. But he was a one, that Mr Martin,’ he repeated reminiscently. ‘Never seen the like of him when it comes to having a bit of a lark! Ready for anything, he was! An’, for all that, he got a good head on his shoulders; always knew what he was doing, he did. Dead crafty, he was, miss. I can tell you. He’d come in here of an evening, full of it all. He’d say, Bert, this, and Bert, that; and sometimes I’d say, “Never!” But he always turned out to be dead right. I often tell my missus, “That young Mr Martin,” I’d say, “can see further into a brick wall than many who’d reckon he was just a card!” Never knew that Mr Martin tell me something as was wrong once, I didn’t.’

  I thought, didn’t you? I did. But I merely smiled again and agreed that Dr Martin was an amusing companion.

  Bert said he was keeping me too long. ‘You take a seat at one of them tables, miss, an’ I’ll see to your grill. Care to look at a paper while you’re waiting? Help yourself, miss. Got some of the dailies there and a few books if you’d prefer. You young ladies like to look at one of them glossy books, I understand.’

  I thanked him and took the first magazine off the pile he was offering, not because I wanted to read it, but because I did not want to hurt his feelings. The cafe was half empty. I walked down to the table at which Bill and I had sat, then, on an impulse, turned back and sat in the one behind. I chose the seat which Jake had used. Then I opened the magazine and stared at the pages without seeing one word. So he was gone, without even troubling to say good-bye. Well ‒ what did I expect? We were strangers. Our lives had only touched professionally, nothing more; all the rest was in my imagination. The only thing to do was to take a grip on my imagination, to push all my thoughts of Jake into a mental pigeon-hole marked ‘Jake Waring,’ and close the small door. I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes. That was all that was left for me to do. That, and weep the tears I had been resisting all morning. I could control them no longer. I half opened my eyes and squinted around. There was no one sitting in front of me, and through the window at my side I noticed the street was empty, except for a coster’s horse and barrow. The horse’s face was buried in a nose-bag.