Back in the East End the autumn passed in a rush. It was mid-December when Matron summoned May and told her she would be changing wards, and going to Martha. May was pleased. Martha was a large women’s surgical, taking in accidents and emergencies, and always busy, but she wondered why Matron was taking the trouble to tell her in person; then she saw them, on the desk, two white tapes. Her heart jumped. Matron picked up the tapes.
‘You will go to Martha as Probationer One, Nurse Winton. Here are your strings.’
‘Thank you, Matron.’ May’s reply was formal, but she almost skipped out of the office. Some nurses had to wait three full years for their strings, most at least two and a half – she had been given hers already!
The next day she presented herself before Sister Martha, with the absurd little bow tickling her chin. Sister Martha was elderly, and severe of expression. She looked May up and down, then sent her about her duties.
For the next few days May was on tenterhooks. Sister Martha did leave the ward from time to time, but only when Staff Nurse was present. Then, two days after Christmas, Staff went off at twelve, for her half-day. At two o’clock Sister Martha beckoned May to her table.
‘I am going off duty, now, until four. I leave you in charge, Head Nurse Winton.’ Sister got up and left the ward.
May stood still, shaking slightly. She looked down the long rows of beds, at the slowly moving patients and the briskly moving nurses, and felt a mixture of acute apprehension and pure joy. For two hours the ward was hers. No matter that Sister had chosen the quietest day of the week to leave her, and that she would certainly be no further than the Sisters’ Sitting Room. She, May, was in sole charge.
Chapter Twenty Three
May soon discovered that being in charge of a large and busy ward, albeit for only two or three hours at a time, was not an unadulterated pleasure. She had taken responsibility on her previous night duty, but only for herself; now she seemed to be constantly pestered by subservient pros, all anxiously waiting to be told what to do next. In an emergency she had to make the immediate decision of whether to summon help or try to cope from her own resources. Inevitably, she made mistakes, especially in dealing with Pearson, the very inexperienced Pro Five. May began to feel a distinct sympathy with Sister Simeon in her own early days, and at least May only had to cope with the problem for a short time: Sister Simeon had had to face it continually.
In the first weeks May found herself watching the ward clock with mingled apprehension and longing: longing for the relief of being able to hand over the reins to Sister Martha or Staff Nurse Lee, apprehension about what they would find to criticise in her conduct of the ward. May had to admit that though she did not enjoy them, their criticisms were usually justified. However, she did learn by her mistakes, and the decisions she had at first made from panic became more calm and considered. A pattern began to emerge as she looked at the routine of a busy ward through the eyes of authority. Sister Martha was shrewd and competent, but there were certain moves which she made which May would have liked to alter, and she began to think tentatively about how she would run the ward if she were in control. Her fourth year at St Katharine’s, when she would be a Staff Nurse and so in charge of much of the daily routine, became a goal to be anticipated.
By the end of January, May had ceased to watch for the return of Staff or Sister when she was left as Head Nurse, and knew that soon she would be looking forward to their absences. Nevertheless, she was relieved that Sister Martha was in her sitting room when one of the porters arrived with a message to prepare a bed for a bad accident case.
‘Cor, she’s a real sight, Nurse, proper turned me stummick, and that don’t turn easy. She’s bin scalped, sure as I’m standin’ ’ere, blood everywhere.’
May flew for Sister, and both were waiting with the necessary equipment by the screened bed when the stretcher came up, Dr Rawlings in hovering attendance.
‘We stopped the haemorrhage in the Receiving Room, Sister, but we’ll have to take the compress off again and do a thorough clean up before we can safely stitch it. Her hand’s badly crushed as well.’
‘How did it happen?’ Sister asked as the woman was transferred.
‘At work – she’s a machine minder at the boneyard.’
Sister said, ‘She caught her hair in the belting, I suppose?’
The house surgeon nodded. ‘And then tried to free it with her hand – but we’ll deal with that later.’
Sister stood back. ‘I’ll leave you to assist Dr Rawlings, Nurse Winton, I have to serve dinner. Call me if you need me.’ She moved off.
As the house surgeon removed the temporary bandage it became clear that most of the woman’s scalp had been literally torn off. When she saw the white skull showing through the blood May had to suppress a momentary surge of nausea. She had helped with similar cases in the Receiving Room, but never one as bad as this. Then the woman began to moan weakly and May had to take hold of herself. She spoke reassuringly to her, wiping the blood from her eyes with one hand while handing Dr Rawlings the instruments with the other. He was quick and confident; when the arteries began to spurt he transfixed each one in turn with a harelip pin, and twisted a suture round it. Then, ‘Take the scissors, Nurse, we’ll have to get this hair off.’
But as May reached to cut off the matted, bloody hanks of hair the woman suddenly reared up in the bed and screamed.
‘No, no, not me ’air, don’t cut me ’air!’
May was astounded that she should have the energy to worry about her hair in such a state, while Dr Rawlings was impatient.
‘Come along now, Missus, we can’t get you cleaned up and mended with all this in the way.’
The woman tried to twist away and moaned. ‘What will my Billy say? What will ’e say? All me luvely ’air.’
Rawlings placed firm hands on her shoulders and said, ‘Get it off, Nurse.’
May wielded her scissors quickly. She knew it was necessary, yet felt like a traitor as she saw the woman shake with a series of convulsive shudders. The house surgeon nodded to the instrument tray and May reached for the razor and silently shaved as much as she could of the area around the wound. As soon as she had finished May spoke soothingly to her, but the woman lay limp and unresponsive, seeming to have lost heart with the loss of her hair. Dr Rawlings put out his hand and May gave him the threaded needle; with quick stabs the piece of scalp was sewn back on.
‘Cyanide gauze, Nurse. I’ll leave you to do the bandage, while I have a look at this hand.’
May wound the bandage firmly round the cranium, and put a turn or two under the chin to keep everything tight. Dr Rawlings glanced up as she finished and nodded approvingly. ‘I expect Matron was pleased with your bandaging in the hospital exams, Nurse.’
May smiled at him and spoke clearly to the woman. ‘We’ve finished your head now, my dear, Doctor’s just making your hand more comfortable and then we’ll get you undressed and into bed properly for a nice sleep.’
The woman twitched, but made no sound. May was worried by her torpor.
‘I think we’ll try irrigation, with carbolised water, Nurse, for this hand.’
May groaned to herself. Dr Rawlings was a great believer in irrigation, but it was a nuisance to the nurses. Unless everything was positioned precisely the bed became soaked and the sheets had to be constantly changed – still his patients did seem to heal better. She fetched the necessary equipment and assured the patient she would soon feel a soothing trickle on her injured hand. The woman’s clothes were removed with the minimum of movement, and she was soon tucked in, with only her damaged arm and bandaged head exposed. Her face was as white as her bandages.
May reported back to Sister who listened to the details of the treatment, raised her eyebrows at the irrigation, then said, ‘You or Staff Nurse had better do the daily dressings, Nurse Winton, as there’s always a possibility of oedema in these cases – watch for any bogginess around the wound.’
May nodded, then venture
d a comment. ‘The patient seemed unduly disturbed at having her hair cut off, Sister.’
Sister Martha gave May an old-fashioned look. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be very enthusiastic about that, either, Nurse Winton.’ Her voice was dry.
May flushed, but persevered. ‘She seemed to be standing up to the pain very well, Sister, but when she heard the scissors she did appear to be excessively distressed. And then she just seemed to give up.’
Sister Martha was grudging. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Nurse Winton, but when you’ve seen as many of these accidents as I have you’ll know all women hate to lose their hair.’
May had to be satisfied with this.
An agitated woman appeared at the ward doorway half an hour later, claiming that her daughter had been carried in. It emerged that the scalped woman was a Mrs Dolly Hills, and that her mother had been minding her two babies for her while she was at work. Sister Martha allowed Mrs Jones a quick glimpse of Dolly and then shepherded her firmly out. Like her daughter, Mrs Jones bewailed the lost hair.
‘Lovely ’air she ’ad, Sister, like spun gold it were, she could sit on it. Ever so proud of it, she was – ust’er spend ’ours brushin’ it. I don’t know what ’er Billy’ll say, he worshipped ’er ’air, ’e did straight.’
Sister Martha was short. ‘He’s very lucky that his wife is still alive. Visiting is on Thursday, Mrs Jones.’
As the disconsolate mother left, Sister turned to May. ‘Really, all this fuss about hair – if the woman had been less vain of it in the first place she’d have covered it up more securely, then the accident might never have happened.’
May suspected Sister was right, but could not help sympathising with Mrs Hill’s despair. She would never admit to pride in her own golden mane since Archie had teased her unmercifully as a child. ‘It’s almost red, May, it’s going red, I can tell – why don’t you have normal hair like Emily’s?’ But she knew she would have shed bitter tears at its loss. She redoubled her efforts to reassure Mrs Hills that her crowning glory would grow again, and very likely with a nice curl in it: ‘That’s what often happens after accidents like yours.’ Dolly Hills smiled wanly. May admired the woman’s stoicism – she was very brave during the ordeal of her daily dressings – but the low-voiced lament for her lost locks continued.
May was off duty on the Thursday afternoon, but an indignant Staff Lee greeted her on her return.
‘Honestly, Winton, we were furious! That wretched scalp woman’s husband came in, and instead of saying, “How are you?” or thrusting a few wilting pansies into her hand before complaining about the kids like any normal husband would have done, he just stood there, staring at her, went quite white, then said, “You’re not my Dolly any more,” and walked out! just like that, with all the other visitors there as well. I’ll say this for Sister, she caught him at the entrance and gave him a good talking-to, but I don’t think she made much impression. He kept saying, “She’s not my wife, not with no hair,” and marched off.’
For one fleeting moment May wondered whether Harry Cussons or even house surgeon O’Halloran would have paid her such assiduous attentions had she been completely bald. then she recollected herself and joined Lee in her paean of indignation. Lee finished with, ‘Really, the more I see of them the more I wonder why women ever bother to marry men!’
May murmured, ‘The lack of any alternative, I suppose,’ but Lee had already swept off. In any case May knew it was a waste of time arguing with her since Lee and Ada were firm disciples of Mrs Pankhurst; they had even informed Matron one day that they were going to chain themselves to the railings of No. 10 and they hoped she had no objection. Matron had apparently said none at all, since it was their day off, but when they came back she would order an immediate operation for the removal of their swallowed keys. ‘She had quite a glint in her eye, May,’ Ada had said afterwards, ‘so we just helped to carry the banners.’
As was only to be expected, May found Dolly Hills very dismal that evening, and there was a worrying rise of temperature. However, her wounds were healing satisfactorily, and May even managed to raise a tremulous smile with an account of her activities on her afternoon off.
The next visiting day, though, May had cause to understand exactly why Dolly Hills was so disturbed at the loss of her hair. Staff was off and Sister had gone for her tea, leaving May in charge, during the latter half of visiting. May was in the kitchen checking the inventory, a hated Sunday task which explained Sister Martha’s willingness to leave May in control, when she heard raised voices from the ward. She was already in the corridor when a flushed and panting Pearson arrived.
‘Head Nurse, come quickly please, this awful woman visiting Mrs Hills…’
May rushed up the ward to be confronted with a scene more worthy of the music hall than a well-regulated hospital. Dolly Hills had flung herself back on her pillows, hands covering her face, her round bandaged head looking small and pitiful as she sobbed. Her mother was standing in front of her, one arm stretched protectively across her daughter, the other shaking in a fist at a brawny Amazon who stood, hands on hips, shouting a tirade.
‘’E’s not your Billy now, ’e’s mine, fer good! You snatched ’im off me, Dolly Jones, and wed ’im, right under my nose – Church an’ all – well you’ve ’ad ’im now,’ she leant forward. ‘No man wants a woman ’oose bin scalped, ’oose ’airless!’ The last word was spat out in a reptilian hiss.
Dolly gave an agonised moan and the visitors at the surrounding beds sat transfixed, mouths ajar and eyes agoggle, waiting avidly for the next round. May walked forward, placed her hand on the woman’s arm, and spoke quietly.
‘Excuse me, madam, but I think you are disturbing my patients, would you kindly leave?’
‘No.’ The woman swung her forearm and jerked May’s hand away as though it were no more than a gnat. ‘I’m ’aving my say. I got rights – ’e were in my bed last night, so I wants yer wedding ring!’
There were gasps from the women around. May, completely at a loss, prayed fervently for Sister Martha to come back. Then Dolly’s hands shifted slightly and May caught a glimpse of her stricken face. It was enough. She drew herself up to her full height, pointed to the door and said, ‘Out, now.’
The woman turned and glared straight at May. The issue hung in the balance as May held her gaze level. Then the woman’s eyes dropped, she gave a defiant toss of her head and stamped off down the ward. May let out the breath she had been holding and felt her legs trembling with the reaction. But there was Dolly to be considered. She spoke firmly to Pearson.
‘Fetch the screens, Nurse. Mrs Hills and her mother would like a little privacy. Then bring two cups of tea.’
The other visitors turned hastily back to their relatives, and there was a sudden obscuring buzz of conversation. Behind the screen Mrs Jones gripped her daughter’s uninjured hand, while May supported the shaking shoulders. Much of May’s own anger was directed against the absent Billy, but the two women seemed not to feel this.
‘’E’s soft, Billy, allus ’as bin, an’ Big Liza gets ’em drunk, she drinks sumfink awful, Nurse. She’s done it with other women’s ’usbands, too. But what about me kids? I won’t be able ter work fer months, with me ’and like this!’
Mrs Jones calmed her. ‘Me and yer Dad’ll see ter them. don’t you worry, Dolly.’ She turned to May. ‘It’s ’er ’air, yer see, Nurse, ’e’s funny about a woman’s ’air, is Billy.’ As she spoke May recalled the menacing figure in the ward, and the great pile of improbably brassy but undeniably impressive hair under the bright red hat.
Dolly wailed, ‘’E wouldn’t care tuppence fer ’er if she ’ad no ’air – ’e’s got more sense than that!’
Privately, May had no such faith in the good sense of the errant Billy, but between them she and Mrs Jones managed to soothe Dolly, and May went back to the interrupted inventory. Pearson was in the kitchen washing up.
May sagged against the dresser and said, ‘Thank goodness she went qui
etly.’
Pearson turned from the sink. ‘Wasn’t she awful? But I’m not surprised she went without a struggle, you should have seen your face, Nurse Winton, I was terrified, let alone her!’
But May wondered what she would have done if the woman had simply refused to leave – the thought of a physical set-to in the middle of the ward at visiting time was just too terrible to contemplate. Had she been wise to risk a direct confrontation?
However Ellen, when regaled with the whole story that evening, was reassuring.
‘You had a perfect right to tell her to go, and you were in uniform, and on your own ground. She would have been very hard-faced to stand firm.’
‘But Ellen, she was hard-faced – I almost feel sorry for that wretched Billy, though he seems such a sap. Dolly should tell him to go, and good riddance.’
Ellen disagreed. ‘He is her husband, May, and the father of her children. They owe each other some loyalty – perhaps he’ll come to his senses.’
‘When I told Sister Martha about it she was furious; she’ll never let Big Liza in again. She was particularly annoyed because Dolly’s sprung a temperature now.’
May was off-duty the following Thursday, but she heard from Staff Lee what had happened. Big Liza had arrived at the ward entrance with a bottle of gin poorly hidden in her shawl – ‘Already half-empty, Winton.’ – Sister Martha had fortunately posted Pearson as look-out, so Sister and her lieutenants had barred the way. ‘It was like the Battle of Thermopylae all over again, Winton, but with a very big female Xerxes.’ But on this occasion victory had been with the Greeks, and Big Liza had turned tail and been escorted off the premises by a porter, who had instructions to lower the main portcullis against her in future. Mrs Jones had apparently been even more distressed than her daughter, and had vowed vengeance. As the top of her scrawny bun barely reached Big Liza’s brawny shoulders this seemed unlikely of achievement, but feeling in the ward ran high on Dolly’s behalf.
Mayfair Rebel Page 21
