An Unsuitable Mother

Its elderly occupant leaned forward and summoned him with a bony finger, as if to pour some confidence into his ear. ‘The city walls are made of shit.’

‘Really? They’ve stood up to it well,’ replied the doctor, without batting so much as an eyelid, whilst Nell and her friends tried not to choke on their mirth.

There were to be many such opportunities for amusement during that tour, some grossly embarrassing ones too, and some so intensely sad they made Nell want to cry, and to wonder if she was really cut out for such a commitment.

She was to pose this question to herself again later, when she and her fellows were handed to the care of their very own Sister Barber, under whose judicial eye they were to endure ward training. Many of the duties they had done before, such as bed-making, which was terribly frustrating when one wanted to get to grips with the real job. But as it seemed to be paramount on the list of rules, or at least as important as hand-washing, Nell proceeded to do as she was told. She must have done something right, for after first making up empty beds, she and the others were allowed to make one with someone in it. After showing her pupils the correct way to roll an infirm patient from side to side, to check for signs of pressure, and how to sponge the person down, Sister divided them into pairs, and instructed each to follow her example.

Nell would much rather have been paired with Beata than Joyson to undertake the blanket bathing of Mrs Wrigley, but without a choice in the matter she was determined to shine. Thankfully the elderly lady was compliance itself, and not one of those who screamed blue murder like the poor Ashton girls had been landed with. But despite her rattly chest, Mrs Wrigley raised not a grumble, as she was manhandled about the mattress and generally used as a practice dummy. Thankful for this cooperation, Nell voiced appreciation to Mrs Wrigley whilst trying not to make her cough worse, wondering throughout if Sister would admonish her for gossiping. But Sister appeared to be content to let them go about this in their own way for a while, and a lot less keen on pointing out their faults at every turn, as she had done at first introduction two weeks ago. Though coming to know her so well, Nell had the suspicion that this was just a ruse, and that Sister was merely saving all her complaints for later. Thus attuned, she determined to rob her of any chance to grumble.

Sister had other ideas. Gathering everyone around the bed that Nell and Joyson had just stripped and changed between them, after first excusing herself to the patient, she prowled the scene, checking that all castors were turned inward, the corners of the sheets were all neatly tucked in, the top one was folded over the counterpane to the regulation measurement, and the dirty linen had been deposited in the bin. Finding no fault with any of these, she then canvassed the group. ‘Do all of you consider that Mrs Wrigley has been satisfactorily provided for?’

Feeling nervous as her peers ran their eyes over her work, Nell was relieved that none of them spotted anything wrong.

‘Nothing wrong at all?’ queried Sister. ‘Then where is Mrs Wrigley to deposit her sputum – on the floor? This is not a saloon bar!’

Additionally reminded by the old lady’s chest noises, Nell realised with dismay. ‘Sorry, Sister, I took the cup away to wash it and forgot to fetch it back. I’ll go –’

‘It’s no good remembering it later! Mind to the task, Nurse, anticipate your patient’s every requirement! If they should have to ask for anything then we are not doing our job.’

‘Yes, Sister …’ After paying such care to the handling of the old lady, and feeling proud of her efforts, Nell felt slightly less so now.

Sister Barber then turned her attention to the lower bedding, again excusing herself to Mrs Wrigley as she pulled aside the covers to emit a sound of accusation. ‘This draw sheet is not taut enough! A few shuffles from Mrs Wrigley and it will form rucks!’ She was levelling her criticism at Nell again. ‘And what do rucks make?’

‘Bedsores, Sister!’ came the unified chant.

‘And a bedsore is to be regarded as an abomination – there will be none on my ward!’

Nell’s lips parted to object, and she waited for Joyson to admit that she had been the one responsible for not tucking her side in properly, whilst Nell had been more focused on the patient. But the real culprit merely gazed straight ahead and let her take the blame, as sister emoted, ‘This is sheer laziness! Do it again, properly!’

‘Just my luck to get partnered with her,’ muttered Nell from the side of her mouth to her friend Beata, as the group was dispersed to other tasks. Having tried to discern over the past few weeks if there was more to Joyson than met the eye, she had soon discovered that there wasn’t. She was as shallow and lazy as first impressions had implied. No matter that they enjoyed friendlier relations now, she would always let you down. ‘The treacherous cat. I get into enough trouble without taking the blame for Joyson too.’

But despite that telling off, Nell was to learn a great deal that morning, Sister proving to be very informative as she instructed her pupils in the accurate taking of temperature, pulse and respiration; the cleaning and sterilisation of appliances and instruments; what to observe in a patient’s posture, appetite, evacuations, colour of face, pain, effect of medicines; how different ailments required different management – heart and chest patients being propped up with pillows, others laid flat – and so on, these things being scribbled down in notebooks – for it was impossible to remember them all – and taking them right up to dinnertime.

Though not banned from eating inside this hospital, the recruits had already taken the contingency of bringing sandwiches, and now chose to eat these in the fresh air. At least it was fine, and there was a much nicer outlook here on the bench of a small nearby park – if a little chilly, for it was now well into September.

‘Golly, it’s a real eye-opener, isn’t it?’ exclaimed Penelope Ashton. ‘Some of the old girls are fun, though, with the things they say!’

‘Oh, and what do you make of Ciss?’ interjected Lavinia. ‘Four babies, how scandalous!’

‘It’s a blasted disgrace,’ declared Joyson, opening her sandwiches. ‘Allowing her to have one after the other like that! They should have her sterilised.’

Unsure as to her own stance, Nell looked to Beata, predicting a kinder opinion.

But, ‘It’s the poor little kids I feel sorry for,’ said her auburn-haired friend, for once unable to defend the indefensible. ‘There’s enough illegitimate babies being produced in the so-called normal world, what with lasses throwing themselves at soldiers, without having to put up with it in there too. I’d keep her locked up permanently if it were up to me. It makes me boiling mad.’

‘La pauvre imbecile,’ murmured a dissident voice from further along the bench.

‘Well, you’d expect that from her,’ muttered Joyson under her breath. ‘The French are always at it.’

Nell was examining her sandwiches without much enthusiasm, when she noticed her mentor frown and hold the miniature suitcase containing her own lunch to her ear.

‘What’s up, Killie?’

‘I’m sure I can hear – why, it’s like scratching.’ Looking puzzled, Beata opened the case in cautious fashion, to reveal a seething mass of ants. With a yell of disgust, she threw it to the ground, the ants in a panic as they continued to swarm over the jam sandwiches.

‘Well, that’s my dinner down the swanny,’ came her dismal utterance.

‘No it isn’t, you can share mine!’ Nell offered them brightly.

‘Nay, I’m not depriving you,’ Beata tried to refuse.

But Nell exerted friendly pressure. ‘Honestly, there are too many here for me. They’re meat paste. I don’t even feel like eating any of them, the stench in there has made me feel so queasy.’

‘Oui it eez very, er, pongy,’ agreed Madame, pinching her nose and making the others laugh with affection.

Despite her own geniality, Nell’s face remained wan, and it seemed all she could do to nibble on her sandwich. ‘I swear I’ve not felt right since I entered that blessed place.’

Grateful to be fed, Beata shifted from one plump buttock to the other. ‘I wonder when those luncheon vouchers will make an appearance.’ They had been promised some at the outset.

‘To be honest,’ said Joyson, viewing her own sandwich distastefully, ‘I couldn’t even stomach roast beef and Yorkshire pud, having seen the dirty habits of those old folk.’

Nell’s face buckled in laughter. ‘Yes, did you see what that old chap did with his business?’

‘Ah, non!’ Frenchy begged her not to elaborate.

‘They can’t help it.’ Beata assumed her usual virtuous character, addressing herself mainly to Nell. ‘You’ll be old yourself one day. Just thank your lucky stars your family isn’t impoverished and you won’t end up in here. It’s not very nice having to put your nearest and dearest into an institution.’

Nell looked chastened. ‘Is someone you know in the Infirmary?’ she tendered.

‘My Aunt Lizzie. She went senile, started being a hazard to herself, so we had no choice …’

Having contributed to the mockery, Nell felt ashamed and silly, and innocent. ‘Of course, I’m sorry if we offended you, Killie. My grandmother went a similar way, but we were able to nurse her at home.’

‘Then she was lucky,’ announced Beata, taking another bite of her sandwich.

Nell nodded thoughtfully over her own abandoned lunch. ‘I’d never imagined there were people so unfortunate until today.’

‘Aye, well, it’s one thing to be forced to end your days in the Infirmary, another to have been born there, like Cissie’s children. I don’t know which is worse. But you can’t allow your feelings to show in our job. If we treat them all with equal respect, then at least we can leave them with a bit of dignity. I always put meself in their position – the old folk, not the unmarried mothers,’ she added hastily with a chuckle, then was serious again. ‘I just think how I’d like to be treated. You know how you were mentioning the other week about not talking down to people just because they’re younger than you – I hate people who treat the elderly like little children.’ As Joyson rose to wander about the grounds to enjoy a crafty cigarette, Beata leaned towards Nell and muttered pungently, ‘She’s a bugger for doing that, I’ve noticed – pardon my cursing,’ she added at Nell’s sparkle. ‘It just makes me mad.’

‘You’re very wise,’ admired Nell. ‘I think if I stick by you I won’t go far wrong.’

Whilst the others went for a stroll around the compact gardens, she was to remain with Beata, who was obviously keen to rest her leg.

Having had her earlier questions answered as to the cause of Beata’s swollen ankle, and many more personal ones besides during their three weeks together, Nell decided to chance another.

‘I noticed when Matron asked us why we only wanted to be auxiliaries, you gave a similar answer to mine …’

‘That I was too skint to go on the register?’ Beata nodded. ‘Well, I could hardly tell her the real reason.’

Insatiably curious, Nell sat up. ‘What was that?’

‘I wanted to join the WAAF but they wouldn’t have me – I failed the medical.’

‘Why, you surprise me! I think you’ll make an exemplary nurse.’

Beata shook her head in self-doubt. ‘I fought against it for years, and now look where I am.’

‘But why?’ pressed Nell.

‘You’re a nosey little bugger, aren’t you?’ But when Beata turned to her, the small blue eyes were twinkling.

‘Sorry.’ Nell formed a regretful smile. ‘It’s just that I’m interested in other people’s lives – especially people I like.’

‘Well,’ her friend looked upon her warmly as she explained, ‘I can’t think it’ll be all that scintillating, but if you really want to know …’ And she proceeded to reveal how, throughout her life, from the age of ten, she had always seemed to be nursing one relative or another. ‘Whenever anybody fell ill, it was always, “Send for our Beat”. I got a bit sick of it at times, you know …’

Nell commiserated. ‘But still, it’s a shame you couldn’t afford to go on the register and be a proper nurse.’

‘Oh, I daresay I could’ve done the same as one of my sisters. She put herself into domestic service so’s to be able to save up for her true vocation. My money always seemed to be frittered away – anyway, what constitutes a proper nurse? I might not have the right qualifications, the right uniform, but nobody could care more about a patient’s welfare than I do – and I reckon you’re the same type, that’s why you’re still here after seeing all those poor demented souls in there.’ Her auburn head made a gesture at the Infirmary.

Pleased to be so well regarded, Nell thought she now saw the reason for Beata’s unmarried state at such ripe age: she had been too busy caring for others to make a life for herself. But she did not press for verification, for it was a question too far, and much too personal, and she had no wish to point out that that was where she and her friend differed.

So, lifting her face to the sun, she closed her eyes, daydreaming of Billy, enjoying this moment of peace after the chaos of the former workhouse, only the drone of a Halifax bomber interrupting the quiet.

Finally, though, Beata glanced down at the case that had contained her lunch, and saw that the ants had completely left it, though she dealt it a final bash just to make sure. ‘We’d better get back to work, else Matron’ll have ants in her pants.’

Nodding, her young companion rose, and, along with the rest of the group, strolled back to the Infirmary, looking forward to the afternoon.

4

They were to see many more ants during the next few weeks, for the old workhouse was infested with them. It was as well that Nell soon grew too familiar with this small army for them to bother her, and similarly those old men who had so frightened her at first, for it appeared that she would be there much longer than anyone had expected. The casualty evacuation trains might all be ready, with beds made up and their crews fit for action with a mound of surgical dressings at hand, but there seemed little urgency to call upon their newly acquired skills.

Though these were still very modest, the probationers and auxiliaries were gleaning more knowledge by the day, being permitted to witness the work of experienced nurses, and to practise, practise, practise those things that would be expected to be second nature to them in weeks to come: the insertion of catheters, the administration of enemas and medicines, giving injections – though only the Ashton sisters were allowed to have a go at the latter – meting out food and stimulants, dressing wounds, making a poultice, and even helping to lay out the dead. Nell had already changed her mind about going back to clerical work after the war, having decided that this would make for a much fuller and more satisfying career one day.

For now, though, she and her fellows were still mainly confined to the routine of changing filthy bedding, washing backs, handing out false teeth, trying to interpret the barely intelligible language of the stroke patients, and listening to old people’s objections over the food they had been given. Some might consider it drudgery, but Nell had made it her mission to get to know all the patients, to take an interest in their personalities and not just their ailments, and to converse with them as one might a peer, as she clipped their toenails and attended their bodily functions. Ditto the permanent residents, such as Cissie Flowerdew, whose situation had intrigued her so much that she had secretly delved into dusty ledgers to find out more about her. Sadly they had little else to tell about this poor simple woman, other than the entry ‘imbecile’ beside her name, and the date of entry. Yet by bothering to pause and chat with the subject herself, a persistent Nell had discovered that Cissie’s hopes and dreams were not dissimilar to her own.

‘I’m going to have a big white wedding!’ a pregnant Cissie delighted in telling the listener. ‘He’s coming back to collect me any day – do you want to be my bridesmaid, Nurse? I’ll need lots of bridesmaids.’

And instead of tittering, Nell felt quite sad that Cissie would never realise those dreams, and had answered kindly that she would regard it an honour. Any banter that might be exchanged was not at the expense of the victim, and any amusement lacked malice. On the contrary, she found herself looking forward to her next day, when she could give Cissie the length of gay ribbon she had decided would cheer her up. Indeed, there were to be many yards of ribbon handed out to brighten the other old ladies’ drab lives, which used up most of Nell’s pocket money, but was considered well-spent.

If there were any elements of this institution that Nell abhorred – apart from death, of course – it would be Ward Three, which housed the mentally deranged who could be violent, though none towards her so far, and the ward devoted to venereal disease. Just to find herself amongst such degraded individuals for the first time was sufficient ordeal. But horror was to be heaped upon horror for those compelled to watch as a man’s private member was exposed – in itself enough to set Nell’s cheeks aflame – and an instrument like a miniature umbrella then inserted into it. Face burning with embarrassment, unable to turn away lest she be dubbed a prude or a coward, Nell tried to bolster herself with the thought that it was far worse for the unfortunate victim than it was for any of his audience. But this did not make it any easier, and she hoped her experience on this ward would be brief.

What on earth would Billy have to say if he knew? Though she had no intention of telling him, or her parents. Nell doubted either of the latter would know of the existence of such horrific diseases, what with the upright lives they had led. Why, she herself had never guessed beforehand. This job had certainly broadened her education, though she would have preferred to remain ignorant of some things. Still, there was always humour to be found in any situation, and she could not help blurting an unintentional laugh in front of her friend Beata as they washed their hands for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

‘I’m just trying to think of an answer for when my mother asks what I did at work today,’ she explained to her friend, who cracked a similar smile.

‘Aye, it’s not really polite conversation to say you watched a man have an umbrella shoved up his willy,’ said Beata. ‘Let alone recommend it as a spectator sport.’

‘I could have died of embarrassment!’ Blushing at the thought, Nell covered her face with the towel, before heaping admiration on her friend. ‘Whilst you didn’t even flinch.’

‘Oh, don’t go accrediting me with special powers, it’s just that I’ve seen a lot of ’em – a lot of the same one, anyway,’ Beata corrected herself, as Nell burst out laughing again. ‘I had to nurse my bedridden uncle, amongst others, bath him and everything. So there’s nowt much else can startle me. Not that Uncle Teddy had anything so horrible done to him as that poor chap.’ Then she cocked her head and reflected. ‘Mindst, some days I would’ve liked to ram a proper umbrella up him, the nasty old sod.’

Nell’s eyes watered from merriment. ‘Oh, I’m so lucky to be working with you, Killie, you’re such a joy!’ And her words were truly heartfelt.

But still, her main source of joy was in the receipt of Billy’s letters at the end of the day. With no time to visit the Preciouses each lunchtime now, she had to wait until after work, travelling a mile out of her way in order to retrieve a few mundane lines of news. Yet she would have gone to the ends of the earth for the row of kisses that always embellished Billy’s short letters.

It was immensely worrying, though, to think of him in that terrible blitz inflicted on the south. Though nothing in comparison, the air raids had become more frequent around York as well, and October had seen the first two deaths, though on the other side of the city to where Nell lived. Moreover, the bombs were getting to be a little close to home; last week one of them had descended quite near to Aunty Phyllis’s, falling between two houses and half-demolishing both. And although, thankfully, the occupants had escaped with burns and fractures, it was all very un settling, for Nell was personally acquainted with these victims.

Had England thought she had seen the utmost that Goering could unleash, there came a change of tactics, and the worst raid of the war, this time upon Coventry. Stunned from the news, the fledgling nurses were still discussing this during their lunch hour at a restaurant in town, none of them able to fathom the scale of the destruction, nor how it must feel to confront so many casualties. A thousand dead, God knew how many more injured, rank upon rank of them being ferried to the first-aid post, of which there was one at the Infirmary.

‘I mean, where would one start with numbers such as those?’ Lavinia Ashton looked anguished. ‘Whom would one treat first? We’ve never been given any real practice – all right, we’ve applied one or two bandages, et cetera, but in the scheme of things they were small-fry. We’ve never been put to the test. I’m afraid I might not come up to scratch when faced with something so massive as Coventry …’

Nell was afraid of this too, and was deeply thoughtful as she devoured the contents of her plate. After two months of visiting the Infirmary, her senses were no longer so acute to the disagreeable sights and smells, and the queasiness that had initially marred her appetite had waned.

‘Well, it hasn’t put you off your meal,’ reproved an amazed Joyson, breaking the serious atmosphere, having been studying Nell’s gluttonous attack on the suet dumplings that Beata had left on the edge of her plate. ‘By you can eat like a horse!’

Suddenly aware that everyone else at the table was eyeing her in fun, Nell reddened and paused in her lusty consumption. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend anyone … I’m just ravenous with all that hard work.’

‘You eat all you like, love.’ Between sips of tea, Beata stuck up for her.

‘Yes, you jolly well deserve it,’ chipped in Lavinia, backed by her sister.

‘I’m glad to see them go, I never could stand suet.’ Beata shuddered and grimaced.

‘What did you order dumplings for, then?’ countered Joyson.

‘Because I wanted the stew that came with them,’ retorted Beata. ‘If that’s all right with you?’ She and Nell had been looking forward to this hearty meal, which could be had for only a shilling – including a pudding – and had attempted to sneak off by themselves. They had not minded Frenchy and the younger Nurse Green and even the Ashton girls tagging along, but Joyson was bad enough at work without having to suffer her at meal breaks. ‘Eh, she’d argue with her own reflection, she would,’ came her assertion to the others.

‘I ’ate zem too,’ declared the attractive Frenchy. ‘I ’ate all Angleesh fud.’

Joyson turned on her. ‘What will you be having for your Christmas dinner, then? frogs’ legs and snails, I suppose?’

Whilst Frenchy struggled for a reply, the questioner was criticised by Green, though not for her xenophobic assumption. ‘Heaven help us, Joy, it’s over a month away!’

‘Whatever it is, it’ll be a damned sight better than t’other Christmas I spent with Uncle Teddy,’ quoted Beata. ‘Pork ribs and cabbage – eh, he were that tight he’d make Scrooge look like Good King Wenceslas.’

‘Never mind, you’ll be able to buy yourself something tasty with all these extra three and sixpences you’re getting,’ said Green. The auxiliaries had lately received a rise.

‘Well, all I want for Christmas is to see some action.’ Feeling self-conscious at being the only one left eating, Nell had laid down her cutlery and now sat back with a look of frustration. ‘It’s so annoying being all dressed up and nowhere to go.’

How she was to regret those words! For at half past eight that same evening, just as she was relaxing into a steamy bath, fantasising over Billy, her mother banged frantically on the door.