The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Ten



HELEN HAD BEEN assigned to Holmes, the Male Surgical ward, for the next three months of her training. Another senior student, Amy Hollins, had been assigned with her. Helen had hoped that by working together they might become better friends. But no matter how friendly she tried to be, Amy treated her with the same mistrust as all the other girls did.

She was in a particularly bad mood on that morning, as she and some of the other second years had been caught by Hopkins the Head Porter coming home from celebrating Ellis’ birthday, and they had all received a dressing down from Matron.

‘I hope you didn’t have anything to do with it?’ she hissed at Helen as they served breakfast to the patients.

‘Why should I want to get you into trouble?’ Helen asked.

‘It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? We haven’t forgotten what you did to Peggy Gibson.’

Helen sighed. That name had haunted her for over a year. ‘Peggy Gibson was dismissed because of her own stupid mistake—’

‘Which you couldn’t wait to tell your mother about!’ Amy snapped back. ‘She’d still be here, if you hadn’t betrayed her.’

‘Hollins! Tremayne! Stop gossiping and take this to Mr Nicholls in bed five. You can discuss your social life in your own time,’ Sister Holmes snapped at them.

What social life? Helen thought, ignoring the black look Amy sent her as she whisked past with a tray. She was never included in the other girls’ plans. And even if she had been, her mother would never have allowed her to go anywhere.

‘Your mate’s a little ray of sunshine this morning, isn’t she?’ Mr Denton commented later when Helen arrived with her trolley to dress his leg. ‘Practically threw my breakfast at me, she did.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Denton. I’m afraid she’s – um – had some bad news.’ Helen pulled the screens around the bed. It wasn’t really a lie, since Amy and the others had had their leave cancelled as punishment.

‘All the same, that’s no reason to take it out on the rest of us. Some of the poor old crocks in here aren’t exactly having a picnic themselves,’ Mr Denton said. ‘Take that Mr Bennett. Now he really has got something to moan about, wouldn’t you say, Nurse? I’d like to see your pal Nurse Hollins have to put up with his piles for a week.’

So would I! Helen thought, keeping her head down, arranging bowls and swabs on her trolley so Mr Denton wouldn’t see her smiling to herself at the thought.

But he did. ‘That made you laugh, didn’t it?’ He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Nurse, I won’t tell anyone. I’ve seen the way she snaps your head off, too. I don’t know why you don’t clock her one sometimes. I reckon you must have the patience of a saint.’

‘I don’t know about that, Mr Denton. Now let’s take a look at that leg, shall we?’

Helen carefully took off the splint and steeled herself to examine what was left of Mr Denton’s leg. He had undergone an emergency amputation a week earlier after trapping it in machinery at the timber yard where he worked. He should have been on the Orthopaedic ward, but he’d been transferred to Surgical due to a lack of beds.

Even after seeing it every day, uncovering the red, angry-looking stump was still a shock to her. He seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Not a pretty sight, is it?’ He smiled grimly.

‘It’s getting a lot better. The wound is clean and there’s no sign of infection around the stitches,’ Helen said briskly. ‘It’ll be even better after I’ve cleaned it up for you.’

It was just such a tragedy to happen to a young man, she thought as she cleaned it carefully with soap and water. He was only twenty-three, fit and strong. Life could be so cruel sometimes.

Not that Mr Denton saw it that way. He was grateful just to be alive.

‘So it’s looking all right, is it, Nurse?’ he asked, as he always did.

‘Fine, Mr Denton. Healing up very nicely.’

‘That’s all down to you, that is. You really look after me.’ He watched her dabbing the wound gently. ‘You’re an angel, you know that?’

‘It’s my job, Mr Denton.’

‘I wish you’d call me Charlie.’

‘You know that’s not allowed.’ Helen finished cleaning his wound and reached for the bottle of methylated spirit. ‘Now brace yourself, Mr Denton. This might sting a bit.’

‘Sting, she says!’ he hissed between clenched teeth, as Helen applied the spirit. ‘Forget what I said about you being an angel, Nurse T. You’re a demon, that’s what you are!’

Helen smiled. He cursed her every time. ‘Don’t be such a baby, Mr Denton. It’s for your own good.’

‘True enough, I suppose.’ He watched her as she applied powder to his leg to dry it. ‘When d’you reckon I’ll be up and about?’

‘You’d have to ask the doctor that. But we usually aim to get you exercising as soon as possible after your wound has healed, and you’ll be fitted with a temporary prosthetic after about a month,’ she quoted the chapter of the medical book she’d been studying the night before. She hadn’t done a stint on Orthopaedics yet, but she’d been reading up on amputations since Charlie Denton had arrived on the ward.

‘A month!’ he groaned. ‘Oh, well, I suppose it’s not that long when you think about it. I’m a lot better off than that poor bloke who came in last night.’

Sister Holmes had told them about the emergency head injury that had been admitted the previous evening. A young man, Mr Oliver, had been brought in with a compound depressed fracture. He’d been in theatre for most of the night and was now recovering in a private room at the far end of the ward.

‘Motorbike accident on the Mile End Road, so I heard,’ Charlie Denton said. ‘How is he, do you know?’

‘He’s as well as can be expected,’ Helen replied. Not that she knew much about it – only the staff nurses were allowed to nurse the patients in the side wards.

‘Well, I hope he pulls through. Poor bloke, I don’t think he’s any older than me. It just goes to show, doesn’t it? You have to make the most of every minute, because you never know if it’s going to be your last.’

He was silent while Helen replaced his splint, lost in his own thoughts. But by the time she’d finished he’d cheered up.

‘Anyway, nothing can upset me today,’ he said brightly. ‘It’s visiting day. My Sal’s coming in to see me.’

Helen had heard a lot about Charlie Denton’s Sal in the week he’d been on the ward. He talked about his fiancée all day, every day. She had never met a man so besotted.

‘I can’t wait for you to meet her, Nurse,’ he said, as Helen pulled the screens back. A few beds down Amy was doing the drinks round, reciting the list to Mr Bennett.

‘We’ve got tea, coffee, cocoa, hot milk, cold milk, Ovaltine . . .’ she intoned in a bored voice.

‘I’m telling you, I was a lucky man the day she agreed to marry me,’ Charlie Denton said.

‘I’m sure she’s a lucky woman, too.’ He seemed like quite a catch to Helen, well built and handsome, with coppery-fair hair and warm blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled.

His smile faltered now. ‘I dunno if she thinks she’s so lucky. Reckon she might think she’s got a pretty bad deal, what with my one leg and all.’ He looked down at it. ‘She didn’t bargain for that the day she said she’d marry me, did she?’

‘What do they say, Mr Denton? “In sickness and in health”?’ Helen reminded him, carefully arranging his covers and tucking them in around him.

‘I hope you’re right, Nurse.’

Amy arrived at the end of the bed next to his. It was occupied by Mr Nicholls, a very elderly hernia patient who was also very deaf.

‘What do you want to drink?’ she bawled at him.

‘What have you got?’ he bawled back.

‘Same as we had yesterday. And the day before. And the one before that, you silly old goat,’ Amy muttered. Then she pasted a smile on her face and said aloud, ‘We’ve got tea, coffee, cocoa, hot milk, cold milk, Ovaltine—’

‘What?’

‘Tea, coffee, cocoa, hot milk—’

‘What?’

‘I said hot milk—’ Amy was getting red-faced with the sheer effort of shouting.

‘Did you say Bovril?’

‘No, I said—’

‘I’d like a Bovril, dear, please.’ Mr Nicholls settled happily back against his pillows. Helen and Charlie exchanged amused glances.

‘You’ll have a bloody tea and like it.’ Amy sloshed some into a cup and shoved it at him, then moved on to Charlie Denton.

‘What do you want to drink?’ she asked.

‘What have you got?’ he asked.

Amy jerked her head towards the next bed. ‘Didn’t you hear me telling him?’

‘Sorry, Nurse, I don’t like eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.’

It was all Helen could do to keep a straight face as Amy rolled her eyes and began, ‘We’ve got tea, coffee, cocoa, hot milk, cold milk, Ovaltine—’

‘I don’t think I fancy anything, thanks, Nurse.’

‘Then why did you make me go through the list?’

‘I thought you might have something different.’

‘Well, we haven’t. And you’d better get a move on, Tremayne. Sister Holmes says it’s nearly time for Sunday prayers.’ Amy shot them both a dirty look and then moved on.

‘It wouldn’t hurt her to crack a smile, would it?’ Charlie said.

‘I told you, she’s had bad news.’

‘All the more reason to do it. It makes you feel better, doesn’t it?’ He looked at Helen consideringly. ‘Like you. You’re always smiling. And yet I can see you don’t feel like it half the time.’

‘I don’t know what makes you say that.’ Flustered, Helen tidied her trolley. ‘Anyway, Nurse Hollins is right about one thing, I can’t sit here all day. I’ve got to get on if we’re going to have this ward ready for visitors.’

‘Quite right.’ Charlie grinned. ‘I need a wash and brush up if I’m going to be seeing my Sal. She doesn’t like a man looking scruffy. Don’t want her to think I can’t look after myself, do I?’

After they had said Sunday prayers and sung a hymn with the patients, the rest of the morning was spent cleaning the ward, changing beds and smartening up the patients ready for visiting hour. By two o’clock, the visitors had started to arrive. Wives, girlfriends, mothers, fathers, friends, all gathered outside the closed doors, their faces pressed eagerly against the glass, smiling and waving at their loved ones inside the ward. Sister Holmes was on the other side of the doors, checking her watch and ignoring the imploring looks of the people outside.

‘Still three minutes until two o’clock.’ She looked up and down the ward, satisfying herself that everything was as it should be, and that both ward and patients were ready to receive visitors.

It should be, Helen thought. The floors shone, the windows sparkled and the beds were all neatly made, with each sheet folded down exactly ten inches, thanks to Sister Holmes and her tape measure. The whole ward smelt of polish and disinfectant. The patients had all been scrubbed and polished ready for inspection too. They were sitting up in bed in their fresh pyjamas, hair neatly combed, waiting for their visitors to arrive.

If they ever arrived. Sister Holmes took great pride in her ward and was fussy about who came in. She insisted on inspecting every visitor as they walked in. If they were too scruffy, they had a whiff of alcohol about them or she didn’t feel they had a good enough reason to be there, she would send them away.

‘Now remember, Nurses,’ she warned them. ‘You must be on your guard and vigilant at all times. No more than two visitors’ to a patient, and if you see anyone sitting on a bed, they must be ejected at once.’

The clock struck two. With obvious reluctance, Sister Holmes opened up the doors and began issuing the visitors’ cards. Each patient had two cards; if more than two visitors had the audacity to turn up, one had to wait outside until another came and handed over their card, like a relay race. Helen had known fights to break out in the corridor when one loved one felt another had overstayed their time.

There were also nurses strategically placed up and down the ward to spy on the patients and make sure the rules were kept. They had to keep an especially careful eye out for any food being handed over. Fruit and sweets were allowed, unless the patient’s diet forbade it – and it was amazing how many soft-hearted friends and relatives tried to bring them in anyway, thinking they were doing them a kindness – but other food had to be taken straight to the ward kitchen. If not it would end up rotting, and Helen had scraped mould out of patients’ lockers too often to want that to happen.

She was told to station herself at the linen cupboard. As she headed up the ward, Charlie called her over.

‘Nurse! Sorry to trouble you, but could you do me a favour?’

‘What is it, Mr Denton?’ Helen approached, praying he wouldn’t ask for a bottle or a bedpan. Sister Holmes expressly forbade any to be given out during the two-hour visiting period, because it made the ward look untidy. Poor patients who missed her strict deadline had to cross their legs and hope for the best.

‘Could you help me sort these covers out, please? I want them arranged to hide – you know, make it less obvious. Could you do that?’ He looked at her pleadingly.

‘Of course I can.’ Helen carefully arranged the covers around him to disguise his missing leg.

‘Thanks, Nurse. Don’t want to scare my Sal first time, do I?’ He beamed gratefully at her. ‘Got to give her a chance to get used to the idea, like.’

‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Mr Denton.’

‘She’s not here yet.’ His gaze strayed to the doors. ‘She’s meant to be coming in with my mum. I expect their bus is late again.’

‘I expect so.’

As she counted and recounted the linen in the cupboard, Helen kept an eye on Charlie Denton. Once or twice she saw him sit up as a woman walked through the doors at the far end of the ward, only to slump back again when she headed for someone else’s bed. Helen found herself watching the doors too.

After half an hour she was about to go over and ask if he would like a cup of tea, when a large, handsome, middle-aged woman strode into the ward. From her ruddy cheeks and the sandy hair curling out from under her hat, Helen guessed this was Mr Denton’s mother.

‘Charlie love!’ her voice boomed out. Sister Holmes looked up from her desk, eyes narrowing beadily on the woman who had dared to disturb the peace of her ward. Even during visiting time, it was as quiet as a library.

Helen watched her pull up a chair at her son’s bedside and begin unloading her bulging shopping bags. Magazines, a tin of toffees, a bag of grapes, apples and bananas, were all piled on to Charlie’s bedside locker. But when she pulled out a bottle of stout, Sister Holmes swooped in.

Helen was watching the ensuing altercation when Amy appeared from the other side of the linen cupboard.

‘Sister wants you to do the tea round.’

‘But she told me to stay here and keep an eye on everyone.’

‘Well, she’s changed her mind, hasn’t she?’ Amy said nastily. ‘Anyway, I did the wretched round this morning, so you can have the pleasure now.’

Reluctantly, Helen took herself off to the kitchen to put the water on to boil and get the tea ready. She did it far more quickly than usual, almost scalding herself as she poured boiling water into the urn in her rush to get back to the ward.

Serving the visitors tea was a new idea Matron had come up with. Usually Sister Holmes would have resisted anything that involved making them feel remotely welcome. But Matron was allowing them to charge visitors a few pennies a cup, which went towards raising funds for Christmas decorations and gifts.

As she clattered the trolley from bed to bed, serving tea to the patients and their visitors and collecting the money in a tin, Helen kept trying to steal glances up the ward towards Charlie Denton. He and his mother were deep in conversation.

‘You’ve short changed me,’ a voice complained, bringing her back to the present.

‘Pardon?’ Helen looked around vaguely. A woman was holding out her hand. In her palm were two large copper pennies.

‘You’ve given me tuppence,’ she repeated. ‘I gave you sixpence. That’s threepence change.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ Helen absently reached into the tin, took out a threepenny bit and handed it to her.

‘What’s this? Not Tremayne making a mistake, surely?’ Amy sidled up to her, smiling nastily. ‘What’s got into you today?’

Finally Helen reached Charlie Denton’s bed.

‘Nurse T!’ He smiled up at her, but his blue eyes had lost some of their sparkle. ‘Mum, this is the nurse I was telling you about. The one who’s been looking after me.’

‘I’m pleased to meet you.’ Mrs Denton caught Helen’s hand in an iron grip. Her own hands were as big and rough as a man’s. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for looking after my Charlie. When he had that accident, I really thought I’d lost my little boy for sure . . .’ She let go of Helen’s hand and fumbled for a handkerchief in her coat pocket.

‘Come off it, Mum! You’ll make me a laughing stock.’ He rolled his eyes at Helen. ‘Does your mum ever embarrass you like this?’

You have no idea, Helen thought. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs Denton?’ she offered soothingly.

The bell for the end of visiting time rang out a few minutes later, and the visitors filed out. Helen didn’t have the chance to speak to Charlie until it was time to serve the patients their evening meal.

She made sure she served Charlie. She was worried about him. Since his mother left, he had flicked listlessly through his magazines and not said a word to any of the other patients.

She wondered if she should mention his fiancée. But as she put his plate of boiled fish and mashed potatoes in front of him, he blurted out, ‘Sally decided not to come. Reckons she just can’t face seeing me in pain like this.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t blame her. I’d be the same if it was her in this hospital bed.’ His eyes grew misty. ‘She’s such a soft-hearted girl, my Sal. She cares too much, you know what I mean?’

Helen knew it was wrong to judge. ‘Judge not lest ye be yourselves judged’, as the Bible said. But she couldn’t help thinking that if her fiancé had just survived a near-fatal accident, wild horses wouldn’t have kept her away from his bedside.