War Nurse

by Sue Reid

  “Go away,” she mumbled.

  “It’s half past six!” I said, but she just groaned and pulled the sheet up over her head. I couldn’t see the twins.

  No time to lose. I tore back to my room. I looked at the rectangle of starched white cloth in despair – already it was crumpled from all my attempts to fold the wretched thing.

  I felt like bursting into tears. My very first morning and I was going to be late.

  Nurse Mason came to my rescue. “Give it to me,” she said. I was so surprised that I just handed it to her. I watched as she laid the rumpled rectangle out on the bed, smoothed out the creases and expertly folded it – three neat pleats on each side. Then she pinned it on my head.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, feeling awfully small. The merest glimmer of a smile flickered across my roommate’s pale face.

  I watched as she carefully pinned on her own cap. Unlike me, of course, she’d remembered to make it up the night before. She patted her hair. Not that she needed to – there wasn’t a single strand out of place under the crease-free cap.

  I just do not know what to make of Nurse Mason!

  After breakfast I made my way down to the medical ward where I was to work – Ward B. I was feeling very nervous as I walked down the long corridor, my rubber-soled shoes noiseless on the lino. I’d already got lost once. Outside a pair of double doors, I stopped. Taking a deep breath, I pushed them open.

  Before you reach the ward you have to pass Sister’s office. There’s a window in the office, so that the Sisters can look into the ward and see everything that’s going on. Not that our Sister needs it, though – Sister Rook has eyes in the back of her head.

  Beyond the office stretches the ward proper – two long rows of beds, one down each side of the room. I counted twenty – ten on each side – but quite a few of the beds were empty. There were screens leaning against the wall. These are pulled round the patients’ beds when they need some privacy – like when they’re being given a bedbath, or having a dressing changed. Most of the patients were sitting up in bed, bowls of water and shaving foam in front of them. Two men dressed identically in shapeless blue suits – the hospital “blues” worn by all patients allowed up – were playing cards at the ward table.

  I’d arrived on the ward punctually at 7.30. Another VAD was already there. It was Nurse Mason.

  There was one other person in Sister’s office. A pair of beady eyes looked up at me from under a QA’s long, flowing cap. “Another raw VAD,” they seemed to say. “What am I to do with them?”

  At 7.35 Molly appeared. I listened as she stammered out her explanation. She’d got lost, she said. Found herself on the Surgical ward. Was sent down here. Sister nodded, as if she’d heard it all before.

  “All my girls know that I will not tolerate lateness,” said Sister Rook severely, when we were all assembled. Her gaze rested on Molly. I felt my toes curl inside my shoes. It could so easily have been me.

  She took us through our duties. “We have our own ways of doing things here,” Sister said. This, I was soon to learn, fell far short of the truth.

  Top of Sister’s list was cleanliness. “I expect the ward to be thoroughly cleaned. I will not tolerate dust. It’s dirty and spreads disease,” she announced.

  The beady eyes rested on us again, as if daring us to contradict her.

  “Yes, Sister,” we chorused.

  Untidiness was next on Sister’s list. She looked at me as if she’d guessed how untidy I am. I blushed. Wish I didn’t blush so easily.

  Trolleys were being wheeled into the ward now, and Nurse Mason and I were sent off to give the patients their breakfast.

  “Nurse Smythe, I’d like a word with you,” I heard Sister say to Molly as Nurse Mason and I scuttled off. As I went from bed to bed, trying not to spill the sloppy porridge, I saw Molly shoot past us into the annexe at the end of the ward. When she came out again her eyelids were pink. I wondered what Sister had said to her. I did feel sorry for Molly then.

  After the patients had finished, we darted round the beds again, removing bowls and mugs. One of the men sitting at the table winked at me – I smiled at him, hoping he couldn’t tell how nervous I was feeling.

  Next we had to do the cleaning. There’s an awful lot of it – and we VADs have to do it all – every day. I was quite surprised when I discovered this. In the civilian hospital where I’d done my training the cleaning was done by wardmaids. In a military hospital, Molly told me, it’s usually done by orderlies of the Royal Army Medical Corps (RAMC). But most of ours have gone out to France.

  Before we could start we had to pull out all the beds – awfully heavy, as most had patients still in them. After that out came all the lockers.

  Now we had to sweep up all the fluff.

  I went over to the annexe where I’d been told the cleaning things were kept. I looked around helplessly. Over by the wall, I could see an odd long-handled thing and a large tin of polish. I couldn’t see anything else.

  I poked my head out of the annexe. Sister was nowhere to be seen.

  Very well then – I’d improvise. I ran some water into a sink – it was cold. Again I searched for a mop – but all I could find were some old rags. Was I supposed to use them?

  “Nurse Langley!”

  I jumped.

  “This is not how we do the cleaning. Oh dear me, no!” Sister sighed impatiently and opened a tall cupboard. I already knew it was empty, but I didn’t dare say so. Sister stared into the empty cupboard in disbelief.

  Did she apologize? Oh no! “Run along,” was all she said abruptly.

  Run where?

  “Be quick about it,” she added. “Medical Officer’s round at nine.”

  The “MO” was the doctor, I knew. I ran.

  Somehow I managed to scrounge what we needed, and up and down that ward we went again, first one side, then the other, sweeping up the dust and blanket fluff. Then we had to polish the floor using the long-handled thing – it’s called a “bumper”.

  All the time we were doing this the patients egged us on: “That’s it, miss, you’ve got a very good swing there, miss. . . Wish I had muscles like you, miss.” My cheeks were flaming now, and it wasn’t just the exertion.

  Now for the locker tops. After I’d scrubbed the first one thoroughly, I began to put the patient’s things back inside.

  “Not like that,” cried Sister. The army had its own way of doing this, I discovered – even the patients’ clothes and wash things have to be laid out in a certain way.

  As I carefully folded the clothes in the way I’d been shown, Sister walked by clucking, “Hurry up, Nurse Langley, we don’t have all day.”

  My arms were aching, my back hurt – and I was sure that Sister Rook had it in for me. The patients had gone very quiet but I felt that they were on my side.

  We still had the polishing to do. All the brass needed a good shine, apparently – every tiny bit of it – even doorknobs, bed castors and keyholes! Sister says this is very important, but I can’t understand why. Neither can Molly, and when Sister was out of earshot (chatting on the wards is not allowed) we had a bit of a grumble about it.

  It was nine o’clock. Time for the Medical Officer’s round. I was standing at the foot of a patient’s bed when the MO entered the ward with Sister. He must have walked past me at least twice on his round – and each time I swear he looked straight through me, as if I didn’t exist. Sister was hanging on his every word. It was all “Yes, Major”, “No, Major” as they went round the ward together. But he’s a doctor, I thought, puzzled. Why did Sister address Dr Roberts as “Major” – it wasn’t as if he was a soldier? Later, Molly explained. “The doctors and surgeons here are all in the RAMC. They have military ranks, just like soldiers in the army.” Honestly, there’s just so much to remember!

  At ten o’clock my first shift ended and I was sent of
f for my break. At one I was back on the ward and then I was on duty again until eight. By that time I was so tired that all I wanted to do was crawl out of the ward on my hands and knees.

  One of our QA Staff Nurses – Nurse Winter – smiled at me as I left. “You poor kid,” she said sympathetically. “Your first day and the worst shift of all.”

  It was the worst shift I thought, as I made my way back along the corridor. We VADs get a three-hour break during the day. Molly was lucky – hers was at five – so she’d already finished for the day. I made my way into the VADs’ “mess” for supper.

  I slid into my seat. Nurse Mason was there, but I couldn’t see Bunty or the twins. As I picked tiredly at my food – corned beef and potatoes again – I wondered where they were. I wanted to find out how they’d got on today – our first day on the wards. I wondered if they felt like me – too tired to know what I felt. Nurse Mason looked tired too. She gave me a tiny smile, but I don’t think either of us said a word through the whole meal.

  Tuesday 5 September

  On Ward B Sister’s eye is on us constantly, and if she’s not hovering, it’s Matron. Sister Rook treats us as if we know absolutely nothing. All our Red Cross training – it doesn’t seem to count for anything here. It’s almost as if we’ve never even been on a ward before.

  And then there are the patients. These are sick soldiers who’ve been sent to us from forces billeted in the area. Sick officers are nursed separately in their own block. None of the soldiers have been in action yet. Many of them don’t look any older than Peter, and some of them are such teases.

  They’ve already given us nicknames. They’re really cheeky. I’ve not discovered what mine is yet. To my face it’s always “miss” – never “nurse”.

  They like to play jokes on us too. And today it was my turn.

  I’d just slapped polish on the floor and was struggling to get the bumper moving when I heard a hoarse voice behind me.

  “Miss, I’d like a bedbath.”

  It was Private Porter. “Now, Private, you know this isn’t the time for your bath,” I said, trying to sound both firm and sympathetic at the same time.

  “Oh, please, miss,” he said. “I spilt me tea all down meself.”

  I had a lot to do before the MO’s round and Private Porter’s a large man. I did not want to stop and give him a bedbath. I did not have time to give him a bedbath. But I had no choice.

  “I’ll just see what the damage is,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. Dutifully I marched over to the screens and began to pull one of them over to the Private’s bed. The screen was big and heavy, and it wobbled dangerously as I hauled it across the ward. I was just going back for another one, when I heard a second voice call plaintively: “Miss! Miss!”

  This patient wanted a bedbath too!

  “Me too, miss.” I whirled round again.

  This patient was sitting, fully dressed, at the ward table. As I looked at him, he shut one brown eye in a long, slow wink. Only then did I realize that they were teasing me! I felt such an idiot.

  Unfortunately for me, Sister had heard all the fuss. “What’s going on here?” she asked, bustling into the ward. “Well?” she said, looking at Molly, Nurse Mason and me in turn. “Nurse Langley – I should have known,” her face seemed to say, as her eyes rested on my scarlet face. I stuttered out an explanation.

  “Private Porter wants a bedbath.”

  “It’s not time for his bath,” she said, eyebrows raised.

  “I . . . I know, Sister,” I said feebly. “He says he spilt his tea. I . . . I mean. . .” I didn’t know what to say. How could I tell Sister that they’d been teasing me?

  “Hmph,” she said, and I saw her vanish behind the screen by the Private’s bed.

  I don’t know what went on behind the screen, but Private Porter didn’t say anything more about a bedbath after that.

  Me, I returned to the bumpering. I seized the handle in both hands. I’ll show them, I thought furiously. I’ll show them that I can do something well. Ward B’s floor was going to get the best polish it had ever had. Slowly I heaved the bumper back and forth, puffing from the effort. Suddenly I found that it was gliding easily over the floor. I turned to find a pair of strong male hands gripping the handle next to mine.

  “Sorry about that, miss,” the Private murmured. “We didn’t mean to get you into trouble with Sister.”

  Whispering, he told me that his name was Private Barrett and then he asked my name. He looked sad when I just said “Nurse Langley”. We’re not allowed to tell the patients our first names. It’s another hospital rule and not to be broken. Not ever.

  Wednesday 6 September

  This morning Nurse Winter showed us how to sterilize the instruments. Dressing bowls, forceps, bandages, scissors – everything has to be sterilized to prevent our patients from picking up infections. We have two sterilizers for this on Ward B. One for all the instruments, the other for dressing bowls. Things like bandages and dressings are sterilized in the autoclave in the operating-theatre suite.

  After Nurse Winter had shown us what to do, we all had a go – Nurse Mason, Molly and me.

  When it was my turn, I scrubbed my hands thoroughly – our hands have to be spotlessly clean too! – and then I lifted the lid of one of the sterilizers and popped in the instruments. When it had done its job, I lifted the lid again, pulled down the handle and watched the water drain away.

  Then we watched as Nurse Winter whisked a pair of forceps out of a jar of disinfectant. “Cheatle forceps,” I murmured, looking at the long-handled scissor-like instrument with the curved blades.

  Nurse Winter looked at me. “Quite right, Nurse Langley. Can you tell me what we use them for?”

  I could!

  “To pick up other sterile objects – like swabs or other instruments,” I said automatically.

  “Would you do that for me now?”

  I took the pair of forceps and carefully plucked out each instrument from the sterilizer in turn, tipping the surplus fluid back inside. One by one I placed each item on to the dressing tray.

  “Thank you, Nurse Langley,” she said when I’d finished. “You did that very well.” It was only a little thing but I did feel pleased.

  On the notice board this afternoon, BIG warning. Colonel’s inspection in the morning. Before we went off duty, Sister told us just how important this is. The Colonel’s the most senior-ranking doctor in the hospital. We’re all on our toes!

  Thursday 7 September

  Today was my first Colonel’s inspection. What a to-do it is – and to think we get put through this every week!

  Everything had to be absolutely spotless. I thought we already did a thorough job, but this morning I found out what a clean ward really is. The “up” patients lent us a hand, but even with their help, it was a rush to get everything done in time. Five minutes before the Colonel was due, my reddened hands squeaky clean, fresh apron donned, I scurried back into the ward. In front of me, one of our “up” patients ambled slowly across the room to his bed.

  Ash was spilling off the end of his cigarette on to the sparkling linoleum. The Colonel would have our guts for this, I thought, despairingly.

  A man with bristly ginger hair hauled himself up in bed.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Private Barrett?” Corporal Smart wheezed.

  “Corporal!” Private Barrett leapt to attention.

  “Colonel’s inspection, you dozy soldier!”

  “Corporal!”

  “At eleven!”

  “Corporal!”

  “So jump to it, soldier!”

  Private Barrett stubbed out his cigarette in the tin hat dangling on the locker by his bed. At that Corporal Smart’s face turned puce! Private Barrett winked at me, and loped off to clean up the mess, the tin hat swinging in his hand.

  At eleven o’clo
ck on the dot the big ward doors swung open and in walked the Colonel, escorted by Matron and what seemed to me to be half the hospital staff. The “up” patients stood stiffly to attention in front of their beds. As the Colonel entered, an order rang out and they clicked their heels smartly together. I felt as if I was on parade – not in a hospital ward at all.

  I watched as the Colonel stopped at each patient’s bedside; he was listening intently to Matron, but I could tell that he’d miss nothing. I looked round the ward, feeling almost too scared to breathe. The floor shone, but was it really clean? Each bedstead gleamed, but had we polished them thoroughly enough? Each shiny bed castor was lined up with the one next to it. Our sickest patients lay very still under the smoothed-down sheets – they looked almost as scared as me.

  The Colonel stopped and ran a white-gloved hand over a locker. We all drew in breath together. The Colonel turned his gloved hand over and inspected it.

  My heart began to thump. Almost I felt as if it was me who was being inspected.

  The glove was spotless, and the Colonel walked on again. It seemed we’d passed – this time.

  Friday 8 September

  Private Barrett was discharged back to his regiment this morning. I was sent to the store to get his kit and take back his hospital “blues”.

  “Goodbye, Kitten,” he whispered slyly to me as he left. I went beet red. How did Private Barrett find out my nickname?

  Today we got our first week’s pay. For this we all had to line up at Company Office and one by one we were given our wages.

  “Langley,” barked a voice when it was my turn. I stepped forward and something was pressed into my hand. I looked down. £1 didn’t seem a lot for all our hard work, but it was the first money I’d ever earned and I felt quite proud. Not everyone felt the same it seemed, for as we were walking away, I heard a VAD say in a piercing voice, “Oh, I could never manage on this! So lucky that I don’t have to.” I wished she’d stop banging on about it. Not everyone has parents rich enough to send them an allowance. Nurse Mason was standing nearby. Her face was absolutely stony.