Yes Sister, No Sister Read online

  ‘Guess what? I’ve had a letter from my father and I can go back to Bombay and teach swimming. Isn’t that wonderful?’

  ‘You mean, leave here?’

  ‘Yes. Oh bliss! No more sick people, no more urine or bile or sputum. Goodbye shit, hello happiness,’ I sing.

  Judith lowers her book. ‘I remember you telling me how useless your life in India was – how you could hardly wait to get away and do something worthwhile.’

  ‘That was before I knew what it’s like.’

  ‘But Jen, you’ve always been so enthusiastic about nursing.’

  I sit on her bed. ‘Yes, I know. But I’m not now. The thought of leaving here is bliss. You’ve said many times that we’re just slave labour and you’re right.’

  ‘But you’ve been doing a lot more than maid work, haven’t you? You’re pretty senior and I thought you were doing more interesting things.’

  ‘Well, I am. But still…’ I hesitate. I have forgotten all the things I don’t like about India.

  ‘Anyway,’ Judith says, ‘We can live out next month. I was talking to Sandy and Jess and they think the four of us should get a flat together. What do you think?’

  ‘That would be nice but I don’t think I’ll be here.’

  ‘Think about it. You don’t have to write to your Dad just yet do you? Sleep on it.’

  I go back to my room and fall asleep dreaming of Breach Candy and diving off springboards into clear blue water.

  The next day, Mrs Tubbs goes home. I am doing a dressing when Sister Pearce comes in and says, ‘When you’ve finished that dressing, Nurse Ross, will you come out into the foyer. Mrs Tubbs wants to say goodbye to you.’

  Ma is sitting in a wheelchair waiting to be taken to an ambulance. ‘I couldn’t go without saying goodbye to you, and a big, big, thank you. Your cheery face and sweet ways right helped me along, they did. Every time summat went wrong, there you were, calm as a cucumber and making me feel everything would be OK.’

  She takes hold of my hand and squeezes it. ‘Here, I made this for you.’ She thrusts a mound of blue wool into my hands. ‘It’s a bed-jacket like the one you liked. I chose this colour to match your eyes.’

  Tears come into my eyes. ‘Oh, thank you, Ma. It’s lovely. I shall treasure it. I’m sad to see you go but – don’t you dare come back!’

  Sister Pearce is standing to one side and we open the main doors so the porter can push Mrs Tubbs through.

  ‘Is it alright to accept this present?’ I ask.

  ‘She made it just for you so it would be ungracious to refuse. It’s money or expensive presents we can’t accept. Mrs Tubbs thought the world of you, as do many of the patients, I might add. You seem to cheer them up.’

  That night, I meet with Judith, Sandy and Jess to discuss taking a flat together. The thought of living out is exciting and we stay up late talking about it.

  ‘What about Marie?’ I ask.

  ‘Her calling might suffer if she lives out so she wants to live in,’ Judith says as she raises her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Besides, even though she’s not quite the clot she used to be, I still couldn’t live with her.’

  ‘Will your father let you live out?’ I ask Sandy.

  ‘I put my foot down. I told him I am nearly 21 and old enough to make up my own mind. I also told him to get a house-keeper as I am not spending my days off doing housework any more.’

  ‘Good for you! How did he take it?’

  ‘Well, he was surprised at first and then came around. I said I would still visit frequently but he’d have to find someone else to run the house.’

  Judith says, ‘I’ve got a copy of the Yorkshire Evening News and marked some of the furnished flats for rent that are on a tram route to here. When can we all go and look at some?’

  It turns out that we are all a two-five on Thursday so we plan to go flat hunting. I write to my father.

  Dear Dad,

  Thank you for your letter. Please thank Tom for his offer and while the prospect of coming back to a job in Bombay is appealing, I still want to be a nurse.

  Love Jenny

  P.S. Four of us are going to live out. Can you lend me some money to buy a scooter?

  Chapter 14

  15 Waterford Gardens

  Bramwood, Leeds

  15 March 1954

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  I am writing to tell you my new address, though if you still send letters to the Infirmary, I will get them. Yes, we’ve moved out – Judith, Sandy, Jess and me. Marie decided to live in, which is a good thing as she and Judith don’t get on and, anyway, it’s difficult to find a flat for more than four.

  We looked at several flats and chose this one coz a) it has nice furniture, b) it is on a tram route, c) it is big, d) we can afford it. It is £4 a week and so that is only £1 each a week. We get more money living out so I think I will be getting something like £20 a month.

  We have the main floor of a big detached house with a nice garden full of shrubs. There are three more flats upstairs but they have another entrance at the back. Our entrance is what used to be the original front door. It has stained glass windows and is very grand. It opens into a big hall and off this is a living room that we could entertain the queen in. It has a high ceiling with ornate plasterwork and a picture rail that gathers dust. There’s a fireplace with a gas poker so it’s easy to light a fire. We can draw the long velvet curtains across the bay windows, light a fire and be really cosy. And the armchairs are so comfy!

  There’s two big bedrooms and a bathroom with one of those deep baths with feet. Judith and I share one room and Sandy and Jess the other. We had to bring linens but everything else is provided. So I’m glad I brought that sheet and towel set from Bombay and Amma has lent me a couple of blankets. I splurged and bought myself a quilt so I’m nice and warm in bed.

  The kitchen is at the back and has a door into the back garden where there’s a coal bin. It’s enormous (the kitchen I mean, not the coal bin) and has a table in it so we can eat there as well as in the main room. There’s a fairly new gas stove with an eye-level grill and bags of cupboards.

  We all put money into the kitty for coal and food but we don’t need much food as we can still eat at the Infirmary. Jess and I are both a five-to tonight and we made a sort of risotto but it didn’t taste very good. Sandy is the only one who can cook something other than scrambled eggs and junkets.

  We’ve made a work list and we’re taking it in turns to clean and shop etc. Sandy is organising us!!

  There’s a tram every ten minutes to the Infirmary and it only takes ten minutes to get there so if we get the 7am tram we can be on duty at 7.30 all right. We change at the hospital and we each have a locker there. There are bathrooms too, so we can have a bath and save the hot water here. We have to put a shilling in the meter to get hot water and the bath uses a lot.

  We take prelims next month. If we pass we get a purple stripe on one sleeve. I’m glad to hear that Anthony can do the crawl. I wish I were there to see him.

  Love Jenny

  15 Waterford Gardens

  Bramwood, Leeds

  20 April 1954

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  I’ve bought it!! Went out last week, did a test ride and I collected it the next day. I looked at Vespas too but decided on a Lambretta because I like the look of it better. It is very safe and, yes, I have a crash helmet. In fact, I have two but I can’t carry a passenger until I’ve passed my test, which is next week. I have to have L-plates on until then.

  It is so wonderful and many, many thank yous. I went for a ride in the Dales on my day off. It is so nice to get out of Leeds and see green fields. I stopped to watch a sheep cleaning her lamb that had just been born. It was so sweet!

  It was a bit cold on the scooter but of course the windshield helps and I have a pair of motorbike gloves to keep my hands warm. I keep it in the garage here and the bike shed at the Infirmary so it’s never standing out in the rain for long. I’ve learned how to ta
ke the spark plug out and clean it. That’s the main thing that goes wrong.

  30 April. I didn’t get this finished but will write more now and post it tomorrow. I passed my test so now the others fight over who is going to ride on the pillion. I don’t have to leave until nearly 7.15 to be on duty for 7.30 so that’s an extra 15 minutes in bed.

  You wanted to know more about Sandy, Jess and Judith. Well, Sandy is the eldest and keeps us in order! She has run a house for her father so she knows how to cook and clean. She makes sure we do. She’s a bit of a chatterbox. Jess is a small lass and we call her ‘Wee Jess’ but she doesn’t like that as she’s self-conscious about being four foot eight inches. She says the patients don’t think she is capable of lifting them or doing things for them. She was born with a cleft palate and a hair lip, which she had repaired of course, but she speaks with a sort of whistley lisp. Judith is the clever one – always has her nose in a book. I don’t know why she’s in nursing as she should be in university. She doesn’t get very good reports as she questions everything and the sisters don’t like that. She thinks the way they run the hospital is inane.

  Sorry to hear Fergie has been sick and I hope he is better soon. Give my love to everyone.

  Love Jenny

  15 Waterford Gardens

  Bramwood, Leeds

  10 June 1954

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  I’m writing this on duty as I am doing nights at the Ida and Robert Arthington Hospital, known as the Ida. It is the convalescent hospital for the Infirmary and it’s in Cookridge – way out in the country. It used to be a TB sanatorium so the wards have verandas – big enough to put all the beds out on them if we want to. There are only four wards and I’m on a male ward with some kids in the sideward. Most of the patients are getting better and sleep all night so for once, I have the chance to sit down.

  I am really grateful for the scooter as I can ride straight here instead of going to the Infirmary and then being taken here by bus. It saves me an hour. Boo hoo. I scratched it. On the garage door.

  There’s a bunch of university students in the other flats and we all go out together. If we’re off on Saturday we go to the university Union dance. We’ve been to the pictures several times and sometimes we get fish and chips and eat them in our flat, as it’s the biggest. We are having a party next Friday and some medical students are coming as well as the usual gang.

  Yes, I am careful on the scooter and, no, I don’t go too fast and, yes, I always wear my crash helmet. Don’t worry!! I offered to take Amma for a ride on it but she declined for some reason!!

  A patient has just had an asthma attack so that’s all the time I have.

  Love Jenny

  15 Waterford Gardens

  Bramwood, Leeds

  5 September 1954

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  Wow, we’ve nearly finished second year! I never thought I’d make it but time is flying by. We’re in second block so we have every evening off and Sundays. Which is nice because I have a boyfriend! His name is Nick and he’s an architectural student in his third year. In fact, we all have boyfriends but none of them serious, so don’t worry.

  Block is quite interesting as we are learning more about the diseases that afflict us. We had a doctor give a lecture on tropical diseases, which are quite nasty so watch out! We’re also learning about specialities, like eyes, and we each get to spend time in various clinics. All except Rose Cottage, the VD clinic, we don’t go there.

  We also visited the special units at LGI, though students don’t work there. There are only two dialysis units in the whole of England and we have one of them. Boast, boast! We are the north of England centre for the treatment of tetanus too. The patients are on curare and a respirator until they recover so there is always an anaesthetist on the ward.

  Nick and I went to Buckden on the scooter on Sunday and had lunch in the pub there. Then we walked along the Wharfe. It was a beautiful day and the colour of the trees was spectacular.

  The ward allocation lists have gone up and Judith and I are both in theatre when we have finished block.

  Love Jenny

  Chapter 15

  General Set:

  2 Rampley sponge forceps

  2 Parkers clamps

  2 Mayo’s needle holders

  6 Bland Sutton clips

  2 pairs Mayo’s scissors

  1 pair Kocher’s assistant scissors

  24 Holstead artery clips

  2 very end tetra clips

  4 large towel clips

  2 No.3 knife handles

  2 abdominal suction ends

  2 Lanes retractors

  1 appendix retractor

  1 diathermy lead

  2 Mohnihan clamps

  6 cholecystectomy clips

  4 Littlewood tissue forceps

  1 pair bent-in-flat scissors

  1 pair cataract scissors

  2 Babcock tissue forceps

  2 end tetra clips

  4 side tetra clips

  4 small towel clips

  1 No.4 knife handle

  1 thoracic suction end

  2 Lanewideck retractors

  1 diathermy clip

  4 large towel clips

  JUDITH AND I enter the theatre doors at 7.30am to find two other student nurses, Burton and Mackie, junior to us, also starting today. I have worked with Burton before; she is one of the clumsiest girls I have ever met and she is always in trouble for dropping things, spilling things or falling over things. We stand around at a T-junction of corridors with doors off each side, wondering what to do. I have been as far as the short arm of the T when I have accompanied patients into the anaesthetic rooms here, but the long corridor holding the actual operating theatres is an unknown. The place is bustling with people in white, wearing masks, but no one takes any notice of us.

  ‘What do you think we should do?’ I ask Judith.

  ‘Wait here, I suppose, until someone comes to find us. We can’t go wandering around dressed like this.’

  In a few minutes, a figure in a white dress and a butterfly-type cap appears. ‘I’m Sister Jackson,’ she says, ‘Theatre Superintendent. Come with me and I’ll show you where to change.’

  We are ushered into a room full of lockers, with toilets and showers at one end. Jackson points to a rack of white, short-sleeved, V-necked dresses. ‘Put one of these on. No slips, stockings or suspender belts. There are only four sizes so find the nearest fit. Put your uniforms into an empty locker. I’ll he back in a few minutes.’

  I find a dress that fits but is too long. Then I notice the tie-belts and when one of these is on, my dress is not too bad. It is comfortable anyway, and I’m glad to be rid of the stiff collar. I don’t know what we wear on our feet but when Jackson comes back, she points to a row of white plimsolls and says, ‘Find a pair of those that fits and then keep them in your locker. They can go in the laundry once in a while.’

  We all find a pair of plimsolls and put them on. They feel cold and uncomfortable.

  ‘Now make sure your hair is all concealed under one of these,’ Sister Jackson says as she hands us each a square of soft white cloth. ‘You can either make it into a turban or wear it like mine. You don’t need to wear a mask unless you’re actually in a theatre. Now, I will show you round briefly but as the lists are about to start I don’t want to take you into a theatre.’

  We follow Jackson as she walks briskly down the main corridor and points out theatres that are numbered one through six. Each pair has a sponge room in between and a door with a glass window in it. We peer into one. I see autoclaves run down one side and sinks for scrubbing instruments down the other.

  We turn to retrace our steps and walk down to the other end of the corridor. Suddenly, a tall man in white trousers and top and white Wellington boots comes out of a theatre. He says to Sister Jackson, ‘Sister, I must have a theatre this afternoon.’

  ‘Mr Townsend, you know very well the theatres are all booked until six o’clock. You
can have one then.’

  He falls on his knees in supplication. ‘But Sister, if I don’t get a theatre this afternoon, the patient will die!’

  ‘Mr Townsend,’ Jackson says firmly, ‘get up and don’t brandish a shroud at me. If the case is so desperate then rearrange your morning list.’

  The surgeon gives a sort of snort and goes back into the theatre. Jackson walks on saying, ‘Sometimes they behave like spoiled little boys!’

  We enter the instrument room. It is lined with glass-shelved cupboards holding equipment that would look at home in a blacksmith’s forge if it weren’t so shiny. On to the table in the middle, Jackson places a metal crate filled with neatly arranged instruments.

  ‘This is a general set. Before you can do anything useful, you must know the name of each of these instruments and the order in which they go in the set. I will give you an hour or two. When I come back I will dump the set out and you each must be able to name the instruments and put them back in the right order.’

  She leaves us with a list. Judith says, ‘Right. We must be careful not to disturb them until we know what each one is. This is a Rampley sponge forcep. Look, it has a circular end and a ratchet on the bottom. Next is a Mohnihan clamp – it has serrated edges and is quite big.’ She takes each instrument out, names it, describes it and then we rehearse by someone randomly picking one for us to identify. Judith remembers the set after one rehearsal but she patiently helps us all so that when Sister Jackson returns we feel more or less ready for the test.

  ‘Before we play with the set, come and have coffee,’ Jackson says. ‘We have it all together in the sitting room. The surgeons have their own room but they usually join us as it’s more lively.’

  The sitting room is full of white-clad figures and without identifying uniforms, I cannot tell who is a sister, who is a surgeon or who is a technician. We four are huddled over our coffee when someone joins us.