Hospital Corridors

by Mary Burchell.

  “So in spite of the personal complications, you’ve already managed to establish friendly relations with the most unlikely one of the Dominion people?”

  She looked surprised.

  “I don’t understand! Is he attached to the Dominion staff?” She found she liked the idea immensely.

  Morton Sanders looked at her curiously.

  “My dear girl, don’t you know who he is?”

  Madeline shook her head.

  “No. Although I’ve spoken to him, and even danced with him, I don’t know his name.”

  “You don’t?” Suddenly Morton Sanders seemed to find that immensely amusing in a slightly malicious way. “Why, that’s Nat Lanyon—one of the most brilliant surgeons attached to the Dominion. He was more or less engaged to your sister, wasn’t he?”

  CHAPTER II

  “Nat Lanyon!”

  With astonishment and something like dismay Madeline gazed after the man who had so profoundly impressed her, and, although she did not say so aloud, the thought rose irrepressibly in her mind. “How could Clarissa prefer the meretricious charm of Gerald Maine to that interesting, dominating creature?”

  “So you had no idea who he was?” Morton Sanders was regarding her with amused interest.

  “None at all.”

  “And doesn’t he know who you are either?”

  “I—suppose not” Suddenly her connection with Clarissa seemed of most disagreeable importance. “I don’t see how he could. We met quite casually and names were not exchanged.”

  “Well, cheer up!” He had evidently noticed the rather dejected note in her voice. “We can’t be held responsible for the vagaries of our relations.”

  “No, of course not,” Madeline agreed. But she could not help thinking that one could suffer a good deal of embarrassment and annoyance on account of them.

  As she stood in her own cabin a minute or two later, pinning on her cap and belting her overall round her, she reflected with astonishment how completely Morton Sanders’ careless disclosures had altered the future picture for her. She had thought of herself at the Dominion as alone among strangers—an almost exciting anonymity which would imply a new life in every sense. And now she found that, for good or ill, she was to have Nat Lanyon among the doctors, Mrs. Sanders among the patients and Morton Sanders, apparently, among the visitors.

  Madeline laughed a little vexedly. She had so much hoped that she was to see the last of Mrs. Sanders, if not of her attractive son.

  “Well, that’s life!” she told herself as she went across to Mrs. Sanders’ room. “At least, a nurse’s life. It’s to be hoped I can take them all in my stride.”

  Not until later did she have an opportunity to consider the larger problem of Nat Lanyon. And after some reflection she decided that, if she saw him again to speak to before they docked in Montreal, she would tell him that she was going to nurse at the Dominion, but she would not tell him that she was Clarissa’s half-sister.

  After all, his unfortunate affair with Clarissa was his own private business, and unless she had to make any disclosures, she thought she would trust to her name not being so very uncommon and hope that he need never know how closely she was connected with what must have been a wounding and humiliating experience.

  The stop in Quebec was not a long one and during the early hours of the morning they moved on up the river. So that almost before the midday sun was streaking the waters of the St. Lawrence with gold, the high peak of Mount Royal, the mountain which dominates and gives the name to Montreal, appeared on the horizon.

  As the last stages of the long journey slowly unfolded, Madeline was more moved and excited than she would have believed possible. Montreal might not perhaps have quite the story-book beauty of Quebec—it might not even have quite such a dramatic history—but it was, Madeline knew, one of the greatest cities of the Empire, glorying in its piquant Anglo-French character, and known proudly throughout the New World as the Paris of North America.

  In addition to all this, it was to be her home for at least a year.

  During the last hours on board, Mrs. Sanders, who was still inclined to confuse the duties of a nurse and a personal maid, found so much for Madeline to do that she missed some of the actual drama of arrival. But presently the great ship docked, the formalities of disembarkation were complete, and, trembling with excitement, Madeline walked down the gangway in the wake of Morton Sanders and his mother.

  There followed a long and rather wearisome wait in the big Customs shed, while baggage was checked and examined. And then at last they were free to drive away from the docks into the crowded streets of Montreal.

  It had been arranged that they should go first to the hotel where Morton and his mother were to stay, and that the taxi should then take Madeline on to her final destination.

  As they neared the centre of the city and the moment of parting was evidently approaching, Mrs. Sanders roused herself to give Madeline the attractive melancholy smile which she usually reserved for her son, and to say,

  “Has Morton told you that I shall probably be coming to the Dominion myself?—as soon as we can arrange things through our doctor here.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Sanders.” Even at this point Madeline’s air of sympathetic attention did not flag. “I do hope they’ll be able to make you quite fit again.”

  Mrs. Sanders said quickly that she thought that was too much to hope, but that possibly they would be able to help her a little.

  Then they arrived at the hotel, five-sixths of the luggage was taken off the taxi, and good-byes had to be said. Unexpectedly, at this juncture, Mrs. Sanders took Madeline’s hand in hers and said,

  “Thank you, my dear. You’ve been such a comfort to me.” Bravely resisting the desire to retort that Mrs. Sanders had been small comfort to her, Madeline said a friendly good-bye. And then for a moment her hand rested in Morton’s. He smiled down at her, and those lazy, attractive eyes seemed to appraise her all over again.

  “Don’t forget to keep some of that off-duty time for me,” he whispered mischievously.

  “I’ll try,” she whispered back again, and then wondered why she had been so ill-advised as to permit an air of friendly conspiracy between them.

  However, at least Mrs. Sanders did not appear to have noticed anything, and the next moment the door was closed upon her and the taxi started once more.

  Again Madeline leaned forward with interest and, as she did so, the driver turned his head to enquire in French if she had just come over from England. The few foreign words did more than anything else to make Madeline realize that she was really abroad, in a city that boasted a distinctly foreign character.

  Her own French, though not much used of late years, was reasonably fluent, and she explained that she came from the north of England and that she had never been in Canada before. At that—still speaking French, though with an odd English word or phrase thrown in here and there—the driver proceeded to describe the layout of Montreal, gesturing frequently to make himself clear, with a fine disregard for any confusion of traffic signals.

  It was all very interesting. Madeline gathered that they were driving up West Mount, the smaller of the two mountains round which Montreal is built, but she was secretly relieved when the driver pointed ahead to a large and imposing building, with the information that this was the Dominion Hospital. She had been somewhat afraid during the last ten minutes that she might arrive there as a casualty, rather than a prospective nurse.

  Nothing could have been in greater contrast to the rather old-fashioned, shabby bulk of All Souls. But, as Madeline gazed at the immensely tail, modern building, with its austere but beautiful lines, its long, shining windows which gave back the reflection of the early evening sun, and its well-laid-out gardens, she knew that, in some curious way, here was a link with the familiar, often-reviled but somehow dear All Souls, where she had had her training.

  Under this splendid roof the same rhythm of activity went on. The same fears, the same hopes, the
same drama. Here life was ushered in and death held at bay as long as possible. The outer shell might be different, but the spirit—the flame of service which burnt steadily within it—were the same. It gave one a curious feeling of coming home, and Madeline found there was a tightness in her throat because of it.

  The taxi stopped at the imposing main doorway and Madeline glimpsed a lofty, beautifully proportioned entrance hall, panelled in light wood and what looked like dark green marble. Then a porter came out and, on hearing that she was a new nurse, directed the driver to take her round to the West Wing, where the Nurses’ Home was situated.

  The entrance to the Nurses’ Home was less imposing but remarkably pleasant, Madeline thought in that first moment. Large swing doors admitted her to what might have been the hall of a big country club. And when she and her luggage had been deposited at the reception desk, a small, bright-eyed little woman, with a brisk manner and a marked French accent, told her that Miss Onslow, the Superintendent of Nurses, would see her.

  In her correspondence with the hospital, Madeline had gathered that the Superintendent of Nurses corresponded to the Matron at All Souls. She was therefore secretly much surprised when she was ushered into a pleasant office, where a slightly built, youngish woman in uniform rose, shook hands with her and said,

  “How are you, Miss Gill? You’ve certainly come a long way to be with us.”

  Madeline responded suitably to this, wondering meanwhile if, in spite of the uniform, this were really Miss Onslow or perhaps Miss Onslow’s secretary. Somehow she seemed so—so—Madeline groped for the right phrase and could only find “unlike a Matron”.

  Her own Matron at All Souls had not by any means been the dragon of popular fancy. But there had been about her an aura of reserve and remoteness, a barrier which one did not cross. One approached Matron (and then only when bidden); one did not sit and chat with her. And, while her strict justice was tempered with both humour and kindness at times, one always thought of her as slightly removed from the ordinary run of mortals.

  Miss Onslow, on the contrary—for Miss Onslow it was—seemed immensely interested in Madeline’s journey, and spoke of her own hope of going to England one day, almost as one girl to another.

  There was, however, nothing casual about her when it came to professional matters. She seemed to recall every detail of Madeline’s experience, as outlined in her own letters, and she explained rapidly and clearly the minor differences between British and Canadian training which necessitated the extra year in a Canadian hospital for any British nurse who wished to become also a Canadian Registered Nurse.

  “Very little of it will be entirely new ground to you, Pm sure,” she told Madeline with a smile, “and I hope you’ll soon feel completely at home here. Now I’m going to hand you over to Miss Edney, who will be your immediate neighbour in the home. She is also a student nurse in her last year, and she’ll be able to tell you everything you want to know about the life here.”

  Miss Onslow then picked up the white telephone at her elbow and asked for Miss Edney to come down to her office. While they waited, she handed Madeline some typewritten sheets, saying,

  “You can read those at your leisure. They are the hospital rules, and look much more complicated and fearsome than they really are in practice. As you’ll find, they are based on the necessity for smooth running in a community of this sort, and on the convenience of all. Ah, here is Miss Edney.”

  A slight tap on the door had heralded the entry of Eileen Edney, whom Madeline knew on sight she was going to like. She was small, she was red-haired and white-skinned, and she had the gayest and frankest smile Madeline had ever seen.

  Miss Onslow made the introduction and then, having told Madeline to report to her office at ten the next morning, she dismissed the two girls.

  “Come on—your luggage has already been taken up,” the red-haired girl said, catching Madeline by the hand in a friendly way. “This is the lift. We’re on the top floor, thank goodness. It gives one a view and it’s quieter.”

  In the lift there were several other girls in uniform, and, even as they rose eight floors to the top of the building, Eileen Edney contrived to effect a few introductions, adding each time she presented Madeline, “She’s come all the way from England,” as though she were a little proud of her exhibit.

  As they got out and walked along a polished airy corridor with doors on either side, Madeline said,

  “I notice no one addresses anyone else as ‘Nurse’ here. Don’t you use the term?”

  “Hardly at all.” The other girl shook her head. “Some of the older doctors still say ‘Nurse’ or ‘Sister’—and of course the patients do when they don’t know one’s name. But otherwise we’re ‘Miss So-and-so’. The same as the surgeons here are ‘Doctor’ like the physicians. Back in England you call them ‘Mister’, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Madeline, nearly adding, “of course”, but remembering in time that in a new country one must learn new customs. Then her companion opened a door at the end of the corridor and stood aside for Madeline to enter.

  But Madeline remained in the doorway, catching her breath on an exclamation of sheer delighted surprise.

  At All Souls she had had a rather ugly little room, to which she had become resigned and of which, in the end, she had been almost fond. It had never occurred to her that in this hospital she would have anything different from the standard high white bed and the utilitarian furniture which seemed to her all part of hospital life. Certainly she had never expected what she now saw—the kind of pretty bed-sitting room which any girl would be charmed to have for her own.

  “But it’s enchanting!” she cried, slowly taking in the attractions of the chintz-covered divan bed, piled with cushions, the fitted bookcase, the built-in furniture which left so much space, and, above all, the wide, shining window which gave one a superb view of the city, clear away to what Madeline already recognized as the harbour bridge.

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” The other girl seemed gratified by Madeline’s delight. “We reckon we have the best nurses’ quarters in the whole of the city.”

  “It just couldn’t be lovelier!” Madeline said earnestly, and sat down on the divan, to look around her and enjoy to the full her new, unexpected possessions.

  Eileen opened a door and said,

  “This is our bathroom. My room is just beyond it. We share the bathroom between us.”

  “Just the two of us?”

  “Yes. Just the two of us.”

  Madeline laughed incredulously, and the other girl glanced at her curiously.

  “Back in England nursing is treated in a rather Cinderella-ish sort of way, isn’t it?” she said.

  National and local pride immediately impelled Madeline to make some defence of the situation.

  “No, I wouldn’t say that exactly. It’s a respected profession, and although most improvements quite rightly go to the patients first, I do know that in the more modern hospitals great efforts are made to improve the nurses’ quarters and conditions too. But most of our big teaching hospitals are old, you know. It’s only if you’re building an entirely new place, starting from scratch, that you can have anything as lovely and—and enlightened as this.”

  “Well, I guess you’re right,” her companion conceded. “This place was finished less than a couple of years ago, and conditions were nothing like the same in our old building, it’s true. Now, do you want to be left alone to do your unpacking?”

  Madeline said she would much rather Eileen stayed and told her more about life at the Dominion, if she had time.

  So Eileen very willingly installed herself in the comfortable armchair by the open window, while Madeline began to unpack.

  “What do you want to know about first?” she enquired obligingly. “Hours, duties, meals, personnel, snags?” Madeline laughed and said she had better know about the hours of duty first.

  “Three shifts of eight hours each,” was the succinct reply. “Seven in th
e morning until three in the afternoon, three until eleven at night, and eleven until seven the following morning. Next?”

  “Oh—what did you say next? Duties—I’ll find those out when I’m attached to a ward. They are much the same anywhere. Meals? I suppose—”

  “Pretty good, on the whole,” her companion conceded. “We have a very pleasant dining-room on the ground floor, and an extremely good sort of canteen service, in case you miss the regular meal times. The coffee is excellent, but I don’t expect you’ll think very much of the tea. It might rank as a snag for you, I suppose.”

  “I can bear it. What are the other snags?”

  “Mostly just the usual ones of community life,” Eileen said. “Though I will say Miss Onslow reduces those as much as she can. In addition to our big communal drawing-room downstairs, we have ‘date parlours’ where we can meet our boy-friends on our own, and that sort of thing.”

  Fleetingly, Madeline tried to visualize Matron’s reaction to “date parlours” and failed.

  “Then you can’t think of any serious snags?” she suggested with a smile.

  “Only—perhaps—Miss Ardingley, if one happens to work under her. She’s in charge of the Private Patients’ Pavilion. She’s usually known as Frightful Flossie, which I know is very childish. But her name is Florence, and you know how these things grow up,” Eileen ended rather apologetically.

  Madeline, who had not been a student nurse for nothing, remembered exactly how these things grew up and said so. But she asked with some curiosity in what way Flossie was Frightful.

  “Well, she has open likes and dislikes among her nurses,” Eileen said, “and I don’t need to tell you what bad feeling that can cause. And then, although she’s wonderfully efficient—I’ll give her that—and a splendid organizer, she curries favour, at the expense of her staff, with the most important of the private patients.”

  “I see.” Madeline was suddenly visualizing Mrs. Sanders in this atmosphere. “But wasn’t it rather a mistake to put her in charge of the private patients, if that was her weakness? I mean, she could have used her special gifts just as well in one of the other wards, where there wouldn’t be any temptation to discriminate.”