A Ward Door Opens: A touching 1950s hospital romance (The Anniversary Collection Book 7)

by Lucilla Andrews

  I was half-way through my cleaning routine when the saline steriliser hissed over. I dried my hands on my now limp gown, adjusted the heat, drew off the surplus saline, and was mopping the small steaming pool on the floor when Dr. Cameron came in quietly.

  ‘Have you seen my sphygmomanometer, Nurse?’ he asked.

  ‘I may have put it away with the others, Doctor. I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it might be yours.’

  ‘It’s not marked.’

  His tone made me look at him properly. He sounded so peculiar. He was back in his white coat but had forgotten to remove the mask that still hung round his neck. The arc lights over the table were off, but the main, brilliant, shadowless lights were more than enough to show the tired lines of his face and his colour. He was not white; he was grey. He did not notice my anxious glance. He leaned against the wall just by the door, folded his arms and gazed straight ahead of him, as if lost in thought. I took another look at him before hurrying off for his machine. I found I had put away two sphygmomanometers. Only one was marked ‘Theatre’. I offered him the other. ‘Is this yours, Dr. Cameron?’

  He roused himself with an obvious effort. ‘Yes, thank you.’ He moved from the wall, then swayed slightly but unmistakably.

  I pulled forward one of the high Theatre stools. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ I suggested diffidently.

  ‘I’m all right, thanks. I have to be going.’ He swayed again. This time, he instinctively put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

  I went like lightning for the rarely used surgeon’s chair. It was brought forward for long, intricate operations on the hand. When I had it behind him, I said quietly, ‘Don’t you think you should rest for a moment, Doctor?’

  He took no notice of my question. I was not even sure he heard it. He looked as near to collapse as anyone I had ever seen. I said quite firmly, ‘Doctor, I think you are going to faint. Will you sit down, please.’ I took his arm and more or less pushed him into that chair.

  He did not resist. He sat down heavily, leant back and rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m not fainting, Nurse, thank you. Just ‒’ he dropped his hand and smiled apologetically ‒ ‘falling asleep. I’m so sorry. Could you get me a glass of water?’

  I gave him the water in a medicine glass. ‘Would you like me to call Nurse Gill? Or Mr. Yates?’

  ‘I’d much rather you didn’t. They have quite enough on their hands as it is. I’m perfectly all right, thanks to you.’

  But he looked ill.

  ‘Can I get some sal volatile or glucose?’ I remembered Gill’s talk of tea. ‘Or tea? I believe there is some in the Surgeons’ room.’

  ‘Don’t bother, thanks, Nurse. You’ve got work to do, too. If there’s some going in the Surgeons’ room I’ll push off. Tea will be the answer.’ He half-rose, sank back and smiled self-derisively. ‘When the floor loses its propensity to tilt at an angle of forty-five degrees.’

  At that, I hesitated no longer. The sal volatile bottle was in the small cupboard by the X-Ray lamp. I read the maximum dose on the bottle and measured it out, added water, took it back to him. ‘Don’t you think you should have this, Doctor? And then I’ll get you a cup of tea.’

  ‘Thank you, Nurse.’ And he drank it obediently. His colour improved a little, so I felt it was safe to leave him. I rushed away to find Gill and get her permission to go into the Surgeons’ room for the tea.

  ‘That you, Blakney?’ she called softly as soon as I reached the Theatre corridor. Her voice came from the anaesthetic room.

  ‘Yes, Nurse, please ‒’

  ‘It’s all right, I don’t want you. I just wanted to let you know there’s a cup of tea waiting for you on the duty-room desk. I’ve just taken the men theirs. Help yourself and carry on. I’ve had mine and am getting on in here.’

  ‘Yes, Nurse. Thanks.’

  I did not say more, to save time. I knew she would not object to my taking his tea into the empty Theatre. I had seen her do much as I was doing, for one of the Surgical Registrars after a marathon list. I dashed into the duty-room, emptied roughly half the contents of the sugar-basin into the waiting cup and took it back to the Theatre. ‘I’m afraid it may be a little sweet, Doctor.’

  He sat upright and accepted the cup. ‘Thank you. I am sorry to be giving you so much extra work. How about you, Nurse? Have you managed to have some?’

  ‘Nurse Gill left a cup for me in the duty-room,’ I answered evasively, but with truth. As I hoped, he was satisfied. I had to turn off the saline steriliser as it had boiled long enough. I glanced back at him, wondering if he would mind if I went on clearing up while he still sat there. ‘Would you mind if I carried on?’

  ‘Of course not.’ He sipped his tea and gave a tiny grimace. ‘May I ask ‒ and please don’t take this as a criticism, it’s only curiosity ‒ how much sugar did you put in?’

  ‘Only half the sugar basin, Doctor.’

  His grin made him seem ten years younger. ‘And how much sal volatile did you give me?’

  ‘The maximum dose, Doctor.’

  ‘I see you believe in heroic remedies.’

  I pulled up my mask to protect my face and went on with my work. ‘Have you to clear the Theatre alone, Nurse?’

  ‘Nurse Gill is doing the anaesthetic room. She will be in to do her instruments soon.’

  ‘Do you like surgery?’

  I hesitated, feeling that to tell the truth and say I preferred medicine might sound like polite insincerity. ‘I find it very interesting. I do rather miss the patients.’

  The tea must have tasted nauseating; he was drinking very slowly. ‘Ever assisted before?’

  ‘No. There are so many dressers about in the day.’

  ‘That’s so.’ He waited while I drained the steriliser, then as I began to remove, dry and stack the bowls and kidney dishes, he asked simply, ‘Did it worry you?’

  There was a cloud of steam between us. ‘Not too much. I didn’t have time to think about it. But I could never be a surgeon.’ I looked at him as the steam faded. ‘Dr. Cameron, is that boy going to be all right?’

  He did not answer at once. He looked into his cup. ‘One can’t make any prognosis until he comes round. He won’t do that for at least another hour. That’s why I’m up. I went to see him before I came back for my machine.’ He paused again. ‘There’s no more we can do for him until he comes round. We’ve just got to wait and hope.’ He stood up, slowly. ‘And I had better go and leave you to get on with your work in peace. I must apologise again for causing you so much bother. I can’t imagine why I should have come so close to passing out. I’ve never fainted in my life.’

  ‘Isn’t it because you’ve been over-doing it?’ I said impulsively.

  ‘Nurse,’ he said gravely, ‘do you realise what you’re doing? You are diagnosing. Nurses don’t diagnose. Haven’t you yet learnt that to do so, is inexcusable? And to be right in your diagnosis is doubly inexcusable.’ He smiled. ‘And, of course, you’re quite right.’

  Nurse Gill pushed open one half of the double doors but did not come in. She did not see Dr. Cameron, for he was standing just beside that open half. ‘Blakney, have you swallowed your tea-cup? I’ve hunted high and low in the duty-room. What have you done with it?’

  He glanced at me sharply, then walked round the open door. ‘Is this it, Nurse Gill?’

  She smiled placidly, ‘I didn’t see you, Doctor. Yes. Thank you. Where did you find it?’

  He told her the truth. ‘I’m exceedingly sorry, Nurse Blakney.’ He turned back to me. ‘I wouldn’t have had it if I had known it was yours.’

  When he had left, Nurse Gill settled on a high stool to dry and polish her instruments. ‘I’m not at all surprised he nearly cracked,’ she announced thoughtfully, ‘I’m only surprised he hasn’t done it before. Very lucky you were in here. If he had fainted, a man of his height could hurt himself badly. I only hope this will make him drive himself less hard. These conscientious men all think they are made of iron. Jock Cameron was exactly the s
ame when he was last here. I was in my third year in Casualty when he was warded with virus pneumonia. He came in to help the Professor, looking ghastly. I forget exactly how high his temperature was when Sister Casualty took it.’

  ‘What happened, Nurse?’ I asked. I was glad she was so preoccupied and would not notice my expression.

  ‘The Professor took one long look at him and a few minutes later he was on his way to the Wing in a wheel-chair.’

  Oddly enough, it had never dawned on me that Standing might have known him previously. ‘Was he very ill, Nurse?’ I asked.

  ‘For a few days. He responded well to the antibiotics. He vanished somewhere on sick-leave and was back in the wards before we realised he had left the Wing. He must have been pretty bad because Nurse Standing specialed him for a couple of days.’ She shook her head over her hands. ‘That was a bad year for him. Three months later his only sister was killed and he had to leave in mid-appointment. As you’re in the Wing, you’ll know all about that.’

  ‘Yes, Nurse.’

  Her words explained so much; he treated Standing as an old friend because that was precisely what she was. And having ‘specialed’ him would be an extra bond between them. I had ‘specialed’ eight patients in my nursing life. I still had letters from those patients; and I felt still as if they belonged to me and I to them.

  The dawn crept slowly into the hospital that morning, as if afraid of what it might find. Night Sister stopped to talk to me when she did her six a.m. round of the Wing. ‘I know you’ll be glad to hear that boy Merricks has come round, Nurse Blakney. His condition is as satisfactory as can be expected. The Residents have at last gone to bed.’

  I looked at the corridor clock. Ten past six. Perhaps Dr. Cameron would be able to catch up on sleep tomorrow night. Then I realised tomorrow was now today.

  When Avis and I walked along to look at the post after breakfast, I asked if she had heard from George about Carol Maitland.

  ‘Yes. She wants to stand down.’

  ‘That’s splendid! You’ll be marvellous in the part!’

  She said flatly, ‘I’m not sure I’m very keen after all.’

  I gasped, ‘Avis, you can’t back out! George is relying on you.’

  ‘I expect he’ll find a substitute.’

  ‘You need a good sleep,’ I said cheerfully. ‘It’s not like you to be so glum. When you wake up tonight, you’ll feel different.’

  She said, ‘I’ve rather lost interest in playing Cinderella.’

  We had reached Matron’s Office and the row of pigeonholes in which our post was sorted. An Office Sister stood by the pigeonholes, talking to Sister Wing, so I could not ask Avis to explain her final remark. The Office Sister glanced round. ‘Here is Nurse Blakney now, Sister.’

  Sister Wing turned majestically. ‘Then I may as well speak to Nurse before I mention the matter to Matron, Sister. Thank you. Nurse Blakney, I would like a word with you. Will you come back to the Wing, please? We can talk in my duty-room.’

  That tray of rusted needles suddenly assumed nightmare proportions in my mind. Sister Wing walked by me in silence. When we went up in the lift she broke the silence to tell me my cap was a disgrace. I opened the gates for her when we reached the Wing. She marched ahead to her duty-room. ‘Come along, Nurse Blakney,’ she barked without looking round. ‘Come in, and shut the door.’

  In Jude’s, those words invariably heralded trouble. I obeyed her nervously. I had already glimpsed the needle-tray lying on her desk. I shut the duty-room door, and stood in front of Sister Wing’s desk with my hands behind my back in the correct manner. To my relief she said she wanted to talk to me about the suggestion I had made to Nurse Standing concerning Miss Mason’s convalescence. ‘I appreciate your desire to be helpful, Nurse Blakney, but in future would you be good enough to consult me, before making any plans for my patients? I happen to be the Sister of this Wing,’ she said drily.

  I apologised meekly. She lectured me a little longer on the subject of young nurses who proposed hare-brained schemes without consulting their parents or experienced Ward Sisters, then, in the same tone, she allowed that there might be a degree of common-sense in my proposal. She did not mention the needles until she told me I might go. She only mentioned them then, to ask me to take the test-tube to the Path. Lab. on my way out.

  I ran down the Wing stairs two at a time. Avis was lingering in the alcove at the foot. ‘What did she want?’

  ‘It was only a domestic problem,’ I explained quickly and added, ‘Poor Fiona has nowhere to go where she’ll get a homely and not professional welcome, as in a convalescent home or hotel.’

  ‘Sounds just the job. Will your family mind?’

  ‘Not they. The parents will welcome her as they do all our friends. Hold on ‒’ she had been about to turn off the main corridor to take one of the side doors leading to the grounds ‒ ‘I’ve got to go via the general Path. Lab.’

  I showed her the tube and request form which I had been holding under my cloak because it was a cold morning. It was only when I flapped the form at her that I noticed it was signed by the S.M.O. All such requests had to be signed by some doctor. I wondered when he had done it, and if it had been before he came into the Theatre. Standing must have explained what it was all about before she got his signature. He had probably been convinced I had made another careless mistake ‒ and on past showing I could not blame him.

  Avis glanced incuriously at the test-tube. ‘I’ll come along and wait outside.’

  There were two pathologists in the outer laboratory when I went into their department. One stretched out a hand for my test-tube. ‘Where are you from, Nurse?’

  ‘The Wing, Doctor.’ I gave him the form.

  He glanced down, nodded, and passed the form to his colleague. ‘Jock Cameron seems to have a strange case of rusting in the Wing on his mind.’ I had reached the door when the other pathologist murmured humorously, ‘Not the only thing in the Wing old Jock’s got on his mind, eh, Gervase. Good man, Jock. High time he ‒’

  I did not wait to hear more.

  George had joined Avis. He must have been searching the hospital to find her, because we were well off our beaten track. He greeted me with an unsmiling ‘Hi, Maggie.’ He looked upset; Avis had on her best touch-me-not expression.

  ‘Hallo, George,’ I said. ‘How goes the show? When’s the next rehearsal?’

  He hesitated. ‘We had one fixed for tomorrow evening. Half an hour earlier, same place. I was hunting round for you two girls to let you know. But Avis says nothing doing.’

  Avis then said she was sure she would be quite hopeless and would ruin the whole show. ‘And besides,’ she went on stiffly, ‘after nearly three months on nights, I simply won’t have the energy for rehearsals and things.’

  George looked contrite as well as gloomy at the thought of imposing on an exhausted night nurse. However, I knew she was one of the most energetic and apparently tireless girls in our Training School.

  ‘Rehearsing is frightfully tiring,’ I agreed heartily. ‘And there’ll have to be masses of rehearsals. It really is a lot to ask of any night girl. It’s all right for me; I just sit at a piano and snooze off when I’m not playing. But you’d have to carry the show with Mike Oxford.’ I ignored the agonised glances I was now getting from George. ‘I think you’re quite right to back out, Avis. Mind you, it may mean George will have to cancel the whole business for want of a Cinderella, which will be tough on the patients ‒ but there it is.’

  He suddenly caught on, and hastened to confirm what I had said. ‘Maggie is right, Avis. I shouldn’t have badgered you into it. It’s not fair on a night girl. Of course, it will be a bit of a let down for the patients and staff ‒’

  Avis had clearly been steeling herself to further resistance. She looked utterly taken aback. ‘But you’ll have Carol Maitland?’

  George needed no help from me now. ‘Is it fair to ask her to risk failing State? It might mess up her whole career. The two d
ates are too close for safety.’

  ‘There must be another girl who can sing?’

  ‘Avis, this is a hospital, not a branch of the Sadler’s Wells Opera Company,’ he said gently.

  ‘Is there really no one else?’ She looked directly at him for the first time since I had joined them.

  ‘No. I wish I could persuade you to believe that, Avis.’

  She smiled far too brightly. ‘Is that so difficult for you? I’ve always heard you are the most persuasive man in Jude’s.’

  ‘Isn’t it a mistake to believe all you hear?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I don’t.’ She smiled again. ‘But as I can’t let the patients down, I’ll have to believe what you say about Cinderella. I’ll do my best.’

  He was obviously too disturbed by her attitude towards him personally to feel any triumph at gaining his point. ‘That’s great. Just great,’ he repeated flatly. ‘Tomorrow. Medical School Library. Six o’clock. Can you get permission to get up two hours early?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She turned to me. ‘Can we, Maggie?’

  ‘Yes. If we promise to be in bed by ten. Incidentally, what time is it, now?’ I slid my hand into my bib pocket, although I was in no hurry to go anywhere. My fingers closed round my watch. ‘Oh, dear! Have I left my watch in the Wing? I’ll have to fly back while Sister is visiting Matron’s Office. Forgive me ‒ don’t wait, Avis. I may be held up.’ I shot off, hoping my absence would give them the opportunity to clear the air. Something had happened since they had that dinner together, and it had not happened during that evening. All the next day she had glowed with happiness.

  The Wing was out of bounds. I stayed on the Wing stairs for about fifteen minutes. When I risked returning to the Home, I went straight to bed. Avis and Jo both looked quietly into my room a little later. I watched them through my lashes and pretended to be fast asleep. I knew I would not be able to get anything out of Avis yet; I would have to go very carefully with her. Jo’s face flickered disturbingly through my sleepy mind. She was so sure of herself; so determined. It was odd about those needles. I knew I had not made any mistake. I also knew it would be quite impossible for me to prove that I had not.