The Country Nurse Remembers

by Mary J. Macleod

  So my school days ended.

  Perhaps Bristol would be all right, I thought. At least I would be able to see the four-year-old Robert quite often as he grew.

  No Longer ‘The Child’

  An ordinary morning in early September marked the last day of my childhood. I was no longer ‘the child’.

  My case was packed.

  Everything that I owned was to go with me, it seemed. I did not have much anyway: a few clothes, some school notebooks, a sewing box and a few books. It appeared that, from now on, Meadow View would not be classed as my home and nothing of mine was to remain there. The nurses’ hostel would be my home instead.

  I waved to Mum and Robert and Tig from the car window as Dad drove me towards the rest of my life.

  Into the Big, Wide World of Work

  The Nurses’ Home

  Dad was quiet as he drove me towards Bristol and the next phase of my life. I wondered idly if he would miss me.

  He was still very busy. The war had been over for four years now, and several of his workmen had returned from the fighting. They were all trying to get the Works back to its previously neat and tidy appearance, but Dad also had to ensure that there was a greater capacity for the treatment of waste water to meet the demand from an unexpected population increase. When people mentioned the boost in the birth rate, they spoke darkly of the presence in Bath during the latter part of the war of hundreds of attractive American GIs and the gullible girls who fell for their charms and their money, only to be left with ‘illegitimate’ babies when these young men went home.

  We also still had Admiralty personnel stationed in some of the hotels in Bath. Foreign workers, too, seemed to have popped up from nowhere (actually from the erstwhile occupied countries) to help in the rebuilding of the shattered city; many people who had been bombed out were returning to their repaired homes or to the hastily constructed prefabs, so people were flooding into the area.

  All these factors meant that Dad and his men were almost as busy as they had been during the war itself, when fire-watching and Home Guard duties had been added to the daily workload of the few who were not called up.

  We drove into the outskirts of Bristol, another city ravaged by sustained bombing. Everywhere you looked, there were reminders of that terrible time: huge swathes of open ground where houses or offices had once stood and the shored-up ends of rows of terraced houses; rebuilding was in progress, and children were playing among piles of rubble and the remains of buildings. As in Bath, many such sites were softened by buddleia bushes and foxgloves, which seemed to flourish in any disturbed soil or piles of broken concrete.

  I did not know Bristol at all, having returned only once since Dad had taken me away from the stucco bungalow, and that was for my initial interview at the hospital. I had been far too nervous then to notice anything of my surroundings.

  ‘Where do we have to go, exactly?’ asked Dad, as we approached the huge bulk of the hospital building.

  ‘I think we have to go straight to the nurses’ home in Tyrell Street,’ I replied, naming a very steep, narrow side street.

  We found the address and drew up before a green door over which were the initials of the hospital: B. R. I.

  ‘I’ll just drop you off here,’ said Dad. ‘I’m blocking the road.’

  He put my belongings on the pavement, and, with a wave and a call of ‘good luck’, he was off.

  At that moment, the door opened and a group of girls came out, laughing and chatting. When they saw me, one said, ‘Oh. A new girl. Watch out for the Dragon!’ And with these less-than-reassuring words, they ran off to catch up with the others, who roared at some joke.

  I looked at the closing door. Should I ring or just open it and go in? At that moment it started to rain, so I pushed my belongings in through the doorway and followed, shutting it behind me. With the closing of that door, with Dad and the world I knew on the outside and me there alone on the inside, I felt it was the ending of something and the beginning of another: but the beginning of what?

  Working—yes.

  Freedom from home—yes.

  But it was also something more. Perhaps at last I might be someone in my own right. I would certainly not be just ‘the child’.

  New Acquaintances

  I was standing in a bare hallway with two staircases leading up from one side. On my right was a window with the word ‘Reception’ over it. A large woman with bleached hair, wearing a green overall, peered at me.

  ‘Name?’ she barked.

  I approached. ‘Brown,’ I said.

  ‘Two Browns. Which are you?’

  ‘Julia’

  ‘Ah. You will be in room 23 with Nurse Webster and Nurse Cleeve.’

  ‘Are they new, too?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course. Only the new nurses have to share. Up those stairs—third floor, along the corridor, turn left, fourth room on the right. Here is a list of house rules. Any misdemeanour will be reported to the Matron.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘What do I have to do when I have unpacked?’

  ‘If you want to eat, go to the dining room.’ And with that she closed the window and returned to her knitting. Was this the Dragon?

  It felt like the first day at a new school. Where was all this freedom about which I had dreamed? I pushed the list of rules between my teeth, as I needed both hands to carry my case, coat, sewing box and a small cardboard box of school books. At least I would know what the rules were here, and, to someone who had been subject to many incomprehensible rules, that at least was a comfort. I struggled up the stairs, along the corridor and eventually found room 23.

  I knocked (it was instinctive) and waited.

  The door was flung open by a hefty, rather forbidding young woman.

  ‘You Brown?’ I was to learn that Nurse Webster did not waste time on unnecessary words.

  ‘Yes, that’s me,’ I replied, teeth still clamped around the rules, trying a nonchalant approach to cover my apprehension.

  ‘In,’ she instructed, holding the door open. ‘First name?’

  ‘Julia.’

  ‘Oh, very posh.’

  ‘Well, not really. Just my name.’ I could see that I was going to have to be very careful with … It occurred to me I didn’t know her name.

  ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Natalie,’ she replied.

  The door opened again, and a small, thin girl entered. She stopped when she saw me.

  ‘Oh, hello. I’m Anna Cleeve. You must be Brown.’

  ‘Yes. Julia.’ This seemed better.

  Anna smiled and pointed to the third bed. ‘That one will be yours. I had to have the one by the window. My asthma, you know.’

  I didn’t know, of course, but I would learn that asthma was only one of a dozen or so illnesses from which Anna was sure she suffered. I began to put my clothes into the small chest beside my bed. There was only one wardrobe, so I hesitated before opening it.

  ‘Not much room,’ said Natalie. ‘Not mine. All Anna’s.’

  I took my few things out of the old case.

  ‘Gosh! That all you’ve got? Bad as me. ’Spect you left a lot at home. That right?’

  ‘Oh, yes. That’s right.’ I was doing it again. Pretending. They might think that my parents were mean if I told them that this was all I had.

  Why was I sticking up for home and parents again? I don’t know, even now.

  Conversation was stilted and intermittent. Although they had met some hours earlier, I think we were all wary of one another and I was afraid that I would not fit in. I seemed to know nothing about the things they were discussing. Anna knew the names of all the doctors and where the wards were and what to choose (when there was a choice) in the dining room, while Natalie had firm views on the type of training that she hoped we would get and voiced her intention of asking to be put on a surgical ward right away. Anna tried to tell her that we would go where we were sent, but Natalie would have none of it.

  I looked at my
‘rules’ and saw that it was supper time.

  ‘Is it all right if I go and have supper?’ I asked

  They gaped at me.

  ‘Of course. Why not? We are coming, too.’

  ‘Where do we have to sit?’ I asked, as we collected our food from the counter.

  Again, they looked at me as though I had two heads. ‘Anywhere you like, of course,’ they answered in unison. I saw Natalie shake her head, and Anna seemed highly amused.

  I began to see that within the rules there was a freedom that was understood by the others. Although they were new, like me, I was less at ease in this new environment. Natalie and Anna must have thought me very odd at the time.

  We sat at the end of a long table where a number of second-year student nurses were eating and chatting. None of the snippets that we could hear were about work, and I would learn that you left your work at the door, so to speak, unless something out of the ordinary had happened.

  A Senior Sister came into the dining room and clapped her hands.

  ‘Sister Tutor,’ hissed Anna.

  Sister Tutor peered round. ‘Are there any new nurses here?’

  There was a chorus of ‘Yes, Sister.’ I glanced around and was delighted to see a familiar face—Margaret from my school was there, and I smiled across. She made signs that we should meet after supper.

  Sister Tutor was speaking. ‘All first-year nurses are to see me in the hall at eight p.m. for uniforms, and you will be allocated your wards for tomorrow.’ And out she swept.

  Anna and Natalie led the way to the hall. How did they know where it was? Out of politeness, I sat beside them but kept looking for Margaret.

  Sister Tutor and two Senior Nurses, who were carrying piles of uniforms, walked onto the little platform.

  ‘Good evening, Nurses.’ Sister was addressing about fifteen of us, but I felt proud to be called ‘Nurse’ for the first time. She went on to allocate wards and shifts for the following day, and then the nurses handed out the uniforms. We had been measured at the interview and were now given about six plain white dresses, a maroon cape, a mauve belt and round pieces of starched linen.

  ‘You will now watch Nurse Trendier as she shows you how to construct your caps.’

  We learnt how to bend, button and form the caps, were told to be on the ward by 6:30 a.m. and then she bid us goodnight. Off went Sister and the Senior Nurses.

  ‘What do we do now?’ I asked Natalie.

  ‘Take this lot to the room,’ she said, as though addressing an infant.

  ‘I mean after that,’ I persisted.

  ‘Whatever you like, of course, so long as you are in by eleven p.m.’

  ‘You mean we can go out, if we like?’ It was already 8:45 p.m.

  Natalie looked hard at me. ‘You don’t know anything, do you?’

  What she said only confirmed what I was beginning to realise. I still had so much to learn about being considered an adult, about making decisions for myself—even little ones. This was something that I had rarely been allowed to do. Other girls about my age seemed so capable, so confident and worldly-wise.

  I shrugged, assuming a nonchalance that I did not feel. ‘I just thought it was a bit late and we have to be up early.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll wake us, don’t worry.’

  ‘Who will wake us?’ As soon as I had asked, I felt foolish. Here was something else that they knew and I didn’t.

  ‘Mrs. Smith. The Dragon.’

  ‘Right.’ I wanted to know if the woman at reception was the Dragon, but I didn’t dare ask any more questions and seem even more of an idiot.

  Just at the right moment, Margaret appeared. ‘Found you,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a natter.’

  We found the sitting room, a large, sparsely furnished room. We sat and swapped impressions, and I found that, although she seemed much more confident than I felt, she too was a bit lost in the new environment. She came from a happy home in Bath and had not been away from her parents before.

  ‘I miss home already,’ she laughed. ‘I don’t know anyone except you. I wish we were in the same room.’

  I did not miss home (but I didn’t tell her that), but I too wished we were ‘bunked’ together.

  ‘Do you think we could ask to be changed?’ I queried.

  ‘Doubt it. That would mean other people having to change.’

  We chatted on. At school, we had been in the same year but not the same class and we did not have the same circle of friends, but here we were, both glad to find a familiar face, and we formed a friendship that evening that has lasted (albeit at a distance later in our lives) into the present.

  I made my way to my bed and was asleep in no time, probably exhausted by all the new impressions or perhaps because it was eleven o’clock and I was not used to staying up so late.

  The First Working Day

  ‘Five-thirty, nurses!’ the Dragon shouted into the room. Then—bang!—the door slammed shut.

  I woke with a start.

  The echo of ‘Five-thirty, Nurses’ passed on down the corridor, getting quieter as the distance increased.

  I was out of bed like a flash, into my dressing gown and off to the bathroom while the other two were mumbling and yawning.

  ‘You’re keen,’ said Natalie on my return.

  ‘Well, we have to get up and have breakfast and then be on the ward by 6:30, don’t we?’

  ‘You bothering with breakfast?’

  I looked at Natalie in disbelief. ‘Are you not?’

  ‘Nah. Have mine at coffee break.’

  Passing up the chance of a meal was madness, I thought.

  Anna said, ‘I can’t eat breakfast. My hiatus hernia, you know.’

  Breakfast was quite substantial, if hurried, and then all who were on duty made their way across the gardens to a back entrance to the hospital. Now I knew why we were issued with capes: it was cold and wet running across those gardens.

  Just inside the door stood a Senior Sister. Each nurse who passed gave her name, and it was ticked off on a sheet. Woe betide anyone who had not left enough time to get to her ward by 6:30 a.m!

  I made my way to the medical cardiac ward, which was a male ward, made up of two rooms each with fifteeen beds. It was right at the top of the building, with a panoramic view of the town—bomb damage included. I would learn that there was no time to look out of the windows anyway.

  I reported to Sister Verne, a bustling woman with quick movements whose starched apron crackled as she walked …

  ‘Yes, yes. Nurse Brown. Morning bedpans have been done, so you will be making beds with Nurse Tripp, and then you will do lockers and wash the bed patients. You might get backs done before coffee time.’

  All this left me in a complete panic. I had hardly heard it all: my mind was trying to catch up with the last instruction as the rest were being fired at me.

  ‘Brown!’

  I turned. I had never been called by my surname before. Behind me was a smart third-year nurse who was looking at me.

  ‘Let’s get started. Have you ever made a bed before?’

  ‘Only my own,’ I replied, being unconsciously literal.

  She laughed, thinking that I was purposely making a joke.

  ‘Well, you won’t have done hospital corners, then.’

  What were hospital corners?

  I soon found that there was a special way to strip an empty bed (if the patient had gone to the toilet, perhaps) and a different way for an occupied one; that each pillow was replaced with the open end away from the door, and that hospital corners were a very neat way of tucking the bottom sheet in; that a turn-over of the top sheet had to be exactly eighteen inches and that the other end at the foot was turned back by the same amount.

  I had been silent throughout, but then I asked, ‘Why do we turn the top sheet back at the foot?’ It looked uncomfortable to me.

  ‘So that we can turn it around at the evening bed-making if the top has got messy.’

  Many patients, who wer
e not too ill, read newspapers to pass the time, and the newsprint blackened the sheets (newsprint in the post-war years was very unstable). There were strict rules about clean sheets. If a long-stay patient had spilled anything or perhaps a wound had leaked, or there had been an ‘accident’, a clean sheet was allowed; but generally clean linen was doled out to one side of the ward one day and the other the next. Usefully, I learnt how to help a patient ‘up the bed’ while he hauled on the overhead handle, which was on the end of a rope hanging from the bent metal hoist, which was nothing at all like the hydraulic hoists in hospitals today. If the patient was not capable of this, the two of us had to move him about by holding him in the approved way. Some patients could be eighteen or twenty stone (252 or 280 pounds), and we were expected to manage. It was apparently possible, ‘if you do it properly’, we were told. This attitude led to many slipped discs and strained muscles in the nurses of the day. Luckily for us, there were no large patients in at that time.

  ‘Doing lockers’ involved removing any rubbish from the locker top, removing the water glass and jug and wiping the top with some foul-smelling antiseptic solution.

  What had not been mentioned (and so far I was only doing exactly as I was told—there was no time for extras) was that doing lockers also involved taking the jugs and glasses to the ward kitchen, washing them, filling the jugs and returning them to the ward.

  ‘Nurse Brown!’ Sister appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘You have not laid up the trolley for washing the patients yet.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sister,’ I apologised automatically. ‘What do I …?’ But she had gone.

  What on earth did ‘lay up a trolley for washing the patients’ mean?