Nightingales at War Read online

  She was still cursing quietly over it when the door opened and a dark-haired student nurse stuck her head round.

  ‘I just wanted to remind you, Sister will be on duty at eight and we’re supposed to be ready – oh, I see you’re having a bit of trouble.’ She came forward, her hands outstretched. ‘Would you like me to help?’

  ‘Thanks,’ Dora replied, handing it over.

  ‘There’s a knack to it,’ the girl said. ‘You have to take this corner over to this edge, you see? And make sure this crease is at the front, like so . . . there.’ She folded it deftly.

  ‘Thanks – I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?’

  ‘Kowalski. Devora Kowalski. All my friends call me Dev.’

  ‘I’m Nurse Riley. My friends call me Dora.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you. Pass me your pins and I’ll fix it in place for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Dora handed over the pins she’d remembered to bring with her. ‘Sister Sutton used to despair of me because my hair was always escaping. She used to say if she saw another ginger curl poking out she’d shave my head!’

  Nurse Kowalski’s brows lifted. ‘You’re a Nightingale girl?’

  Dora nodded. ‘I took my State Finals nearly three years ago.’

  ‘The same time I started training.’

  ‘So you’re in your final year?’

  ‘I would be, if it weren’t for this wretched war. Our training has been “officially suspended until further notice”.’ She quoted the words with a grimace.

  ‘Bad luck.’ Dora remembered how she couldn’t wait to take her Finals and be able to wear the hospital badge and finally call herself a real nurse. ‘This war’s a nuisance all round, ain’t it?’ she said.

  ‘It is,’ Dev agreed with a sigh. ‘But at least they’ve let us come back to London now, which is something. It was so dull when the students’ home moved down to the country.’

  ‘Is Sister Sutton still in charge?’

  ‘Yes – worse luck!’ Dev’s nose wrinkled. ‘We all thought she might retire when the war started, but she’s still here. And she’s got even worse since we arrived back in London. Now she can nag us about remembering our gas masks as well as everything else. And as for that awful little dog of hers . . .’

  ‘You mean Sparky?’ Dora laughed. ‘For gawd’s sake, don’t let Sister Sutton hear you calling him that!’

  ‘Well, he is awful,’ Dev said with feeling. ‘Nasty, bad-tempered creature. I swear he lies in wait for us at the bottom of the stairs so he can nip our ankles. He made a hole in my stocking the other morning. And then Sister Sutton had the cheek to tell me off about it!’ She finished pinning Dora’s cap and stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘There,’ she said. ‘I think that’s straight enough. Now hurry up, or Sister Dawson will report us. She’s an angel, but she still likes things done her way!’

  They hurried back to the main Casualty Hall just as Helen Dawson was coming on duty. It gave Dora a jolt to see her friend in the uniform of a ward sister. The severity of the grey dress suited her, emphasising Helen’s tall, willowy figure, while the starched linen bonnet tied in a bow under her chin framed the perfect oval of her face. When Dora had first met her back in their student days she had thought Helen the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, and she still thought it now.

  Dora immediately stood to attention beside Dev Kowalski, her hands folded behind her back. She and Helen might be friends off duty, but while in uniform Sister Dawson was still Dora’s superior.

  ‘Welcome to Casualty, Nurse Riley.’ Her greeting was formal, but Dora caught the hint of warmth in her brown eyes.

  ‘Thank you, Sister.’

  ‘I must say, we’ll be glad to have an extra pair of hands, won’t we, Kowalski? And I know you’ve worked in Casualty before, so your experience will be useful.’

  ‘I hope so, Sister,’ Dora replied.

  ‘You might notice a few changes since you were last here,’ Helen said. ‘The department has been extended over the past year or so, and we now have two further emergency treatment rooms and a gas cleansing station. Although fortunately we haven’t had to put it to use so far,’ she added. ‘We also have some extra consulting rooms, and a recovery ward at the end of the corridor.’

  Dora frowned. ‘Aren’t patients transferred up to the main ward, Sister?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘Not unless it’s completely necessary. We don’t have the staff to look after them, you see. Which is why we’re so pleased to have you.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’

  Dora turned to see Dr McKay the Senior Medical Officer approaching them. He had been in charge of the Casualty department ever since Dora started training at the hospital. He was in his mid-thirties, dark-haired, with a sharply intelligent face and horn-rimmed spectacles that completely disguised his terrible sense of mischief. Dora knew from experience that there was never a dull moment with David McKay. He was also a brilliant and dedicated doctor.

  ‘Good morning, Nurse,’ he greeted her with a grin. ‘First day back, is it?’

  ‘That’s right, Doctor.’

  ‘It’ll be good to have you.’ His dark eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. ‘Although I daresay you’ll notice there have been quite a few changes around here.’

  ‘Sister Dawson was just telling me about them, sir.’

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed. Quite a lot has changed around here. Although some things are a little harder to spot than others. Isn’t that right, Sister?’

  He glanced at Helen. She didn’t meet his eye, but Dora could see the delicate pink colour rising in her friend’s pale cheeks.

  ‘Anyway, um, as I was saying, I’m sure you’ll find your way around soon enough.’ Helen lost her composure for a moment, her blush deepening as she stumbled over her words, much to David McKay’s amusement. Dora saw the grin lighting up his face as he sauntered away. Poor Helen, she thought. Her friend was desperately trying to keep their romance a secret for the sake of hospital rules, but he looked as if he wanted to shout it out to the whole world.

  Helen pulled herself together and gave Dora her instructions for the morning. She was to assist in the General Surgical Outpatients clinic.

  ‘Dr Jameson will be taking the clinic. I’m sure you remember him?’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ Although if it was the same Simon Jameson she recalled, he had been a humble medical student when Dora had last seen him.

  Helen finished giving the nurses their orders and dismissed them. As they watched her walking off, Dev whispered, ‘Poor Sister Dawson, she was trying so hard to stay professional. Dr Mac really shouldn’t tease her like that.’

  Dora looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Can’t you tell? They’re madly in love.’

  Dora hoped her face didn’t give her away. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Oh, everyone knows,’ Dev said airily. ‘I think it’s such a silly rule that they aren’t allowed to be together, just because they both work here.’ She sighed. ‘Poor Sister Dawson, I think she deserves some happiness. You do know what happened to her, don’t you? Her husband died of scarlet fever, just a few days after they were married. But of course you’ll probably remember that, won’t you?’ Dora made a non-committal reply, and Dev went on, ‘She married him in hospital, didn’t she, knowing he was going to die? Don’t you think that’s romantic?’

  Dora gritted her teeth to stop herself from snapping at the girl. There was nothing romantic about the way Helen’s heart had shattered into a thousand pieces after Charlie’s death. Nor was there anything romantic about watching her struggling through every day, until finally it all became too much for her.

  Dora had been convinced her friend would never recover, but then David McKay had come along and with his doctor’s skills, put Helen’s heart back together.

  But Dora knew her friend well enough to realise that she would be mortified to think everyone was gossiping about her.

  ‘Can you show me the way to Outpatients?
’ she asked, changing the subject. ‘And then you can tell me all about Dr Jameson . . .’

  It was indeed the Simon Jameson she remembered. He arrived a minute before his first patient, handsome, ruddy-cheeked and fair-haired, his white coat stretched over his broad rugby player’s shoulders.

  ‘Bless my soul, if it isn’t Nurse Doyle!’

  Dora smiled. ‘It’s Nurse Riley now, Doctor.’

  ‘So it is. I heard you’d got married. Such a loss to the rest of us.’ He pulled a face that was more comical than tragic.

  Dora laughed. ‘Go on with you! As I recall you always preferred blondes.’

  He grinned back at her, looking even younger than his twenty-four years. ‘Trust you to remember that!’

  His good humour helped Dora to feel more confident. But she was still trembling with nerves when the first patient, a post-gastrostomy, was brought in to have his stitches removed. It was all she could do to stop her hands from shaking as she carefully cleaned the gastrostomy tube and handed it back to Dr Jameson.

  But once she’d got used to it, it didn’t seem so daunting. Dora soon fell back into the swing of things, losing herself in the business of cleaning and sterilising instruments, checking and cleaning wounds, changing dressings and administering massages. Many of the patients were post-operative cases whose wounds had become infected. Dora swabbed them out and dusted them with antiseptic powder, holding her breath behind her mask so she didn’t have to breathe in the awful smell.

  ‘It’s the war,’ Dr Jameson said. ‘The idea is to send post-op patients home as soon as possible these days, instead of allowing them to recover on the ward. The trouble is, most of them don’t look after themselves or bother to keep their wounds clean, and then they end up just as bad as they were before.’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘But who are we to question, eh, Nurse? Now, who do we have next on the list? We’d best get a move on, I’m due up on the ward in half an hour.’

  ‘Sorry, Doctor.’ Dora fumbled through her notes, immediately flustered. ‘I’ll try to be quicker.’

  ‘It’s no trouble, Nurse. It takes a while to get back into the swing of things, doesn’t it? Besides, it’s not as if there are any dire emergencies waiting for my attention upstairs.’

  He was just as kind the first time she had to give an intramuscular injection. Her hands started shaking again, but fortunately the patient was face down on the bed and didn’t seem to notice.

  Dr Jameson gave her a knowing smile. ‘Dear me, Nurse, I wasn’t sure if that needle was going to end up in the patient’s buttock or the mattress!’ he commented afterwards.

  The rest of the day was just as busy, and by the time Dora’s shift finished at five, she was so tired she could barely move.

  She was in the cloakroom, trying to massage the life back into her aching feet, when Helen came in. In contrast to Dora’s own bedraggled appearance, Helen looked as fresh and uncreased as she had first thing that morning.

  ‘Hard day?’ She smiled at Dora.

  ‘I’d forgotten what it’s like being on your feet all day,’ Dora groaned. ‘I’m going to have blisters the size of footballs by the end of the week.’

  ‘Methylated spirit should help.’ Helen smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to speak to you much today, but we’ve been busy as usual.’

  ‘That’s all right, Sister.’ Dora grinned back at her. ‘I don’t expect you to hold my hand!’

  Helen grimaced. ‘You don’t have to call me that when it’s just the two of us!’

  ‘I might forget in front of the other nurses if I don’t.’ Dora remembered something then, and added, ‘By the way, I wanted to warn you Kowalski seems to know all about you and David.’

  Helen looked stricken. ‘Does she? How? I thought we’d been so careful.’ She shook her head. ‘It must have been David. He can’t resist teasing me. I’ve told him about it, but he can’t seem to stop himself.’

  ‘He can’t help it if he’s besotted with you, can he?’

  Helen smiled reluctantly. ‘All the same, he shouldn’t flirt in front of the nurses. It’s only a matter of time before Matron finds out about it.’ Her smile faded a fraction. ‘Although I don’t suppose it matters, as he’ll probably be gone before too long.’

  Dora looked at her sharply. ‘I thought he’d deferred his call-up?’

  ‘Only because he thought he’d be needed here. But now he’s talking about signing up for the Medical Corps.’ Helen bit her lip. ‘I honestly don’t know how I’d cope if he weren’t here. It’s bad enough my brother being in the RAF, without worrying about David, too.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Dora said quietly.

  She bent her head on the pretext of putting her shoes back on, but she could feel her friend watching her.

  ‘Oh, Dora, I’m sorry,’ Helen said. ‘Listen to me going on about my silly fears, when you’re going through just the same thing. How is Nick? Have you heard from him?’

  ‘Not for a while.’ Dora kept her head down, still tying her shoelaces.

  ‘Poor you, you must be so worried.’

  Dora took a moment to compose herself, only looking up when she could trust herself to smile. ‘Oh, you know Nick. He can look after himself,’ she replied breezily. ‘Now, I meant to ask you, can you help me practise my injections? I made a right mess of my first one earlier.’

  She looked into Helen’s warm brown eyes, willing her to get the message. Fortunately, her friend was wise enough to understand what Dora was trying to say to her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course I can help you.’

  Chapter Five

  JENNIFER HAD NO idea making a bed could be so difficult, but the Red Cross instructor seemed to be making a right meal of it.

  ‘Where possible, bed making should be done by two persons,’ the woman intoned at the front of the class. ‘You must make sure you have everything to hand, and always ensure the patient is not exposed to any draught . . .’

  Her gaze swept the room. She was in her fifties, her iron-grey hair tucked up into her navy blue cap. The uniform did nothing for her, Jennifer thought. She decided there and then that if nursing meant putting her feet into those ugly brogues, then she would have none of it.

  ‘Blimey, I’ve never heard so much fuss over making a bed, have you?’ she whispered to Cissy, who stood at her side.

  Cissy nudged her. ‘Shh, you’ll get us kicked out before we’ve even started!’

  ‘Place a chair a yard from the foot of the bedstead,’ the instructor continued. ‘Remove the pillows and untuck the bedclothes . . .’

  Jennifer tried to listen attentively as the woman went on to explain how to make a bed with an immobile patient lying in it, but it was all too much like school for her liking, and she found her attention wandering.

  She looked round the church hall. It was full of young girls like her and Cissy, plus a middle-aged woman in a tweed suit who looked like a spinster librarian.

  ‘Take off the bedclothes one at a time, folding the upper corners to the lower corners, lift and place them on the chair . . .’

  Jennifer’s gaze snagged on a young girl standing at the back of the class, her back pressed against the wall. She was an odd little thing. It was hard to tell if she was pretty or not as her face was mostly hidden behind a drab curtain of mousy hair. Her slight frame was swamped by a shapeless skirt and blouse.

  She caught Jennifer staring and looked away quickly, ducking her head.

  ‘Now it’s your turn.’ Jennifer came back to the present just in time to hear the instructor’s final words. ‘Get into pairs, please, and we’ll take turns making a bed without disturbing the patient.’

  Jennifer grabbed Cissy’s arm straight away. ‘I hope you were listening to what she said, because I wasn’t,’ she whispered.

  ‘I tried,’ Cissy hissed back. ‘But it can’t be that difficult, can it?’

  As it turned out, it was harder than it looked.

  The dummy was s
urprisingly heavy, with contrary limbs that seemed to flop about exactly where Jennifer didn’t want them. How had the instructor made it look so easy? she wondered, as she struggled to loosen the bedding while the dummy leaned drunkenly against her shoulder.

  And it didn’t help that the teacher stood over them, barking instructions. ‘No, no, roll the soiled sheet towards the patient’s shoulders . . . tuck the ends of the clean sheet in before you try to lift the patient . . . support her, for heaven’s sake!’ The back of Jennifer’s neck began to prickle with sweat as the instructor kept up a running commentary of criticism.

  Finally, it was over. Jennifer and Cissy eyed each other despairingly across the bed as the teacher inspected their work with a disapproving frown. ‘Well, you didn’t let the patient fall out of bed, which is something,’ she sighed. ‘But no self-respecting ward sister will tolerate those wrinkled sheets. The patient would have bedsores in no time.’ She looked around the room. ‘Would anyone else like to try? How about you?’ She picked out the mousy-haired girl standing at the back. ‘And you.’ She pointed at a middle-aged woman. ‘Come on, don’t be shy. You’ve all got to have a go some time.’

  The girl stepped forward to the centre of the circle, her gaze fixed on the ground. Close to, she looked even more odd. Behind her curtain of hair was a little face with a pointed chin and wide-spaced grey eyes the colour of dirty dishwater. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up, not even a dab of powder, Jennifer noted with astonishment.

  She and the middle-aged spinster seemed nervous at first as they faced each other across the bed. But once they started, they quickly got into their stride. They worked in perfect unison, removing pillows, untucking bedclothes, folding the upper corners to the lower corners then lifting them carefully, the girl putting her half down on the chair before the older woman did hers.

  The instructor watched them approvingly. ‘Very good,’ she said. ‘You see how they’re working together? It makes the job so much easier.’

  The girl deftly rolled the soiled sheet down and had the clean sheet smoothed in its place before her partner had even managed to lift the dummy’s shoulders.