As soon as I pushed open the big ward doors Staff Nurse pounced. ‘You’re almost late, Girvan – the washing-up’s waiting from tea – get on with it, then come and find me.’ I steeled myself to tackle the dirty cups and saucers, but at least they were not greasy.
When I had finished I found Staff Nurse in the sink room where she was piling soap and towels and bowls of hot water on to a trolley. I stood helplessly by as she moved quickly from cupboards to sink. ‘Come along, we’ve got a new admission to wash and get to bed.’ As I trotted behind her I heard her muttered complaint. ‘What a time of day, that wretched Armstrong – always waits till after tea to send ’em up.’
We unloaded our bowls on to the locker beside an empty bed and rushed back to the ward entrance where a small female child crouched on a wooden chair, gasping for breath, her spindly legs dangling. As we came forward the haggard grey-haired woman beside her stirred and sent the smell of stale urine wafting from her skirts. My nose wrinkled in distaste but Staff Nurse appeared not to notice. ‘All right, Mother, we’ll see to her now – can she walk?’
I stared at the woman as her toothless gums mouthed a ‘Yes’ – surely she was far too old to be this child’s mother? But Staff Nurse was on the move. ‘Up you get.’ The child slithered off the chair, her head hunched over her chest; the woman reached out a tentative hand but Staff Nurse was already propelling the child forward through the lobby. She called back a curt ‘Visiting on Sunday’, then snapped at me, ‘Screens, Girvan, quickly.’ I ran ahead to find the heavy red screens and drag them round the empty bed. Before I had finished she was bundling the child out of her ragged frock and shawl and dumping them on the floor. ‘Put those in the drawstring bag – they’ll all have to be sent for fumigation, she’s got scabies as well as bronchitis.’ I picked up the smelly clothes with my fingertips and dropped them as quickly as possible into the bag.
‘Help me lift her, Girvan.’ Staff Nurse had wrapped the child in an old blanket so I picked up the edge gingerly. ‘For goodness’ sake get hold of her properly, or you’ll drop her.’ I tightened my lips and grabbed a larger fold and somehow the child was transferred to the bed. Staff Nurse rolled her over on her back and for the first time I saw her face: I gasped, she was so ugly. Her face seemed to cave in between a bulging, knobbly forehead and a jutting chin and the two frightened eyes stared out either side of a rudimentary squashed nose. Staff nurse glanced at me. ‘Take a good look, Girvan – you’ll see plenty more like her in this hospital. Some men should be shot for what they do to their children.’
I was aghast. ‘You mean – she’s been hit?’
‘Of course not, she was born like that – specific disease.’ Her voice was heavy with meaning and although I had no idea what ‘specific disease’ was I drew back hastily.
Staff Nurse said impatiently, ‘She’s not infectious with it now – Armstrong’s no fool, he’ll have checked her over pretty thoroughly – he’d have warned us to take the usual precautions if they’d been necessary. No, it’s the scabies we’ve got to watch out for.’ She pulled back the blanket and revealed the child’s arm – it was a mass of red blotches. ‘I’ll have to pare her fingernails down, she’s been scratching – look at that!’ I could not take my eyes from the arm where patches of skin had been ripped off to expose the raw red surface below; in between the patches, foul sores oozed pus. I wanted to gag as the child wheezed on. ‘Armstrong’s dug the mites out with a needle – thinks he got most of them.’
I breathed, ‘The mites?’
‘That’s what causes it – they burrow under the skin to lay their eggs, then of course it itches so the patient scratches and Bob’s-your-uncle. We’ll tie gloves on her as well.’ Staff Nurse worked quickly, washing the child and patting her dry in sections. My skin crawled as she handed me back the towel and I flinched away. ‘For goodness’ sake, Girvan, scabies is nothing – we can soon cure it with cleanliness and plenty of ointment – it’s the bronchitis that’ll cause the trouble, poor little so-and- so.’ She bent down over the child. ‘What’s your name?’
At last a thread-like whisper came: ‘Edie.’
‘Now, Edie, don’t worry, we’ll soon have you better.’ Staff Nurse rubbed the ointment briskly on – how could she bear to touch this child? ‘Now it’s your turn, Girvan – you can do the head, it’s sure to be alive.’ I stared at her blankly. ‘Nits, of course – I’ll tell you what to do.’ I stood as if in a nightmare as Staff Nurse tied a mackintosh cape round the child’s shoulders then handed me the second bowl. ‘It’s the right temp now – remember always to test it, especially with children. I’ve put the soda in already, you rub in the soft soap then give her hair a good wash before you go through it with this.’ She held up a metal comb with narrow teeth very close together. ‘Do it bit by bit, but you won’t get them all out today, and you’ll have to pull, the little beggars stick like glue. Keep dipping it in the carbolic as you go.’ She pushed through the screens and left me.
I looked desperately round, but there was no help for it, so I took a deep breath and pulled the child to the edge of the bed. I got the matted hair washed somehow as the water in the bowl went darker and darker in colour. Then I dipped the comb in the dish of carbolic and began to tug at the tangles. The child whimpered and moaned, but I tugged grimly on. As I withdrew the comb I saw that tiny round whitish objects were caught between the teeth; I plunged them into the carbolic. When I spotted the small brown creature clinging like a crab to the comb I choked as I jumped for the disinfectant. But I had managed to comb almost the entire head by the time Staff Nurse came back. She stood watching me finish, then she laughed out loud. ‘For goodness’ sake, Girvan, don’t look so scared – after all, they can only bite you! And to think you’re paying that skinflint of a matron a guinea a week for the privilege!’ She laughed again and I winced at her jeering tone. ‘You picked the wrong hospital for your Lady Bountiful act. The East London works on sweated labour – it’s well known for it – I knew that when I started, but at least I’m not such a fool as to pay to be sweated! Towel her dry properly – we’d normally saturate the lot in carbolic solution now, but as she’s got bronchitis already we’ll have to rely on you tooth-combing her twice a day.’ She smirked at my horrified face. ‘After the first year you’ll wonder why you made such a fuss! You can try meths next time.’
Meths? I thought wildly, am I meant to set fire to the child’s head?
‘It dissolves whatever the little devils stick themselves on with – remind me tomorrow.’ I gave a weak nod. ‘And let’s have a bit more of the “Thank yous”, Girvan – mind your manners.’
Manners! How dared she speak to me so, she with her common accent and coarse laugh? But I managed to get out, ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you Staff. I thought you lot all had nannies to teach you your Ps and Qs.’ She rustled off; angry and resentful, I stumbled after her. My feet were on fire and the backs of my calves were taut with pain; tears began to fill my eyes – how could I ever stand another three hours in this hellish place? Staff Nurse glanced round and I saw the triumph in her expression. I forced my tired legs to move faster and my face became a rigid mask – I would not break down before a woman of that class.
I ran backwards and forwards on my burning feet carrying the patients’ supper trays. I offered soup to a patient who wanted bread and milk then gave an egg to a woman in the middle of the ward who instantly began to spoon it greedily into her mouth. Another woman asked for her egg; I ran back to the kitchen where Harris exclaimed impatiently, ‘There aren’t any more, Girvan, patients bring their own – why ever didn’t you look? I pencilled the right number on it. You’ll have to go and tell Number Nine what you’ve done.’
Number Nine’s lips tightened as I faltered through my explanation. Then she glared at the yolk-smeared mouth of the woman in the next bed and whined, ‘I wouldn’t ’a minded so much if you’d a given it ter one o’ me pals – but ’er!’ I limped back to the kitchen with burning cheeks.
After supper I was set to sweep again while Fraser washed up. The ward seemed to grow longer and longer and wider and wider – I felt as though I were sweeping the Mall, and I still could not collect the dust together in one place for my shovel.
As soon as I had finished Staff Nurse ordered, ‘Harris, take Girvan to the sink room – she can empty and wash out the bed pans for the rest of you. Tell her exactly what she must do.’ In the stench of the sink room I tipped away the unspeakable contents of the heavy bed pans as they were thrust into my hands and as I clumsily scrubbed them clean I tried desperately to focus my nostrils only on the smell of the disinfectant I had poured into the soapy water. Harris came in with yet another reeking burden; teeth clenched I reached out for it but she shook her head. ‘It’s the typhoid’s stools – they’ll be teeming with germs.’ She lifted the carbolic solution and tipped some in, then she rammed down the lid again and swished the whole pan round before she placed it on the shelf. ‘Leave it for at least fifteen minutes before you throw it away.’ She seized three more empty pans and disappeared.
I gazed in horror at the rounded white earthenware pan as it stood on the shelf, decorated with its menacing blue ‘T’ and ‘teeming with germs’ – and I would have to empty it and plunge my bare hands into the sink to wash it clean. It was too much; I could not stay here in this prison any longer – I had been a fool to think I could ever learn to nurse. I began very carefully to dry my work-reddened hands, and as I did so I excused myself to the uncaring walls: ‘I don’t want to be a nurse, I don’t want to be a nurse,’ and an echo answered me, Lance Benson’s gentle voice: ‘I don’t want to be a soldier, Lady Helena – Helena – Helena.’ I stood and wrestled with the memory – how could I desert now?
My tears dripped into the sink as I forced my hands back into the dirty water.
I kept my face averted as another pile of stinking pans was thrust into my outstretched hands, but I heard Harris’ cheerful voice, ‘Thanks, old thing – I must say it’s nice being able to dump them on you, it’s speeding us up no end.’ Her starched skirts rustled out as I began to empty each one in turn. At the end of fifteen minutes I took hold of the typhoid bed pan with both hands and forced myself to tip the contents away. When it was white and clean and drying on the rack I felt a little better; I stared at it hanging there and whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Lance – I will stick it, I promise.’ Then I went out to the ward for prayers; it was eight o’clock.
So once again I fell to my knees on the hard floor and heard Sister’s flat voice pray for the hospital and all within its walls. I tried to picture Gerald so that I could pray for him, but his face was a blur behind my closed lids and receded further and further from me, until in desperation I turned instead to my brother. ‘Oh Guy – please God keep Guy safe,’ and his friendly face and loving dark eyes seemed to smile at me in reply, and I was comforted.
In a daze of tiredness I stood with the other probationers while Sister walked from bed to bed in the darkened ward, inspecting each chart in the flickering light of the candle carried by Staff Nurse. Then I was ordered to do the inventory. ‘Mind you find every piece of silver, Girvan – one knife, one fork, one dessert and one teaspoon per patient – and there’s thirty patients, in case you haven’t noticed – lay them all out on the coal box in fives.’
I searched and counted and searched again until at last I was only missing one teaspoon. I stared round the kitchen helplessly – two of the probationers were making custards, chattering as they stirred, I kept murmuring, ‘Excuse me, excuse me,’ as I peered again and again into the grill pan and under the oven and back again to the empty sink. At last Harris broke off her conversation and glanced up from her saucepan. ‘What are you short of?’
‘A teaspoon.’
‘Try the pig bucket.’ She gestured behind the door and turned back to her companion: ‘And do you know what Sister Corley said to her? – I would have died honestly – she said…’ But I had seen the faint gleam of silver; recklessly I plunged my hand in among the slimy potato peelings, thrust the spoon at the dishcloth and scuttled off to the coal-box lid.
Staff Nurse counted carefully then gave a nod. ‘Put them away now and then go and tidy the linen cupboard.’ In the close little cubbyhole I fumbled with the coarse sheets; I tried to refold one but it flapped away from me and went crooked until in desperation I bundled it up any-old-how and leant crouching against the hard edges of the wooden shelves, waiting for release.
It came with the padding footsteps of the night nurses. Sister dismissed us and I followed the other probationers to the dining room, gave my number and slumped into a seat. Juno arrived panting and angry after grace. ‘The cow kept us late, now we’ve all got black marks – God, what on earth are we doing in this place, Helena?’ A maid rammed two plates down on the table in front of us. On each was a square of tripe. My gorge rose as I looked at it. They had bullied and harassed us all day, and now they fed us with cow’s stomach – I closed my eyes. A shrill cockney voice opposite asked, ‘Dontcher wannit, then?’ I looked at the round red face and silently shook my head. ‘Give it ’ere, ducks – you’ll get in trouble with Sister else.’ A rapid glance to right and left, a piece of deft sleight of hand and my cow’s stomach had vanished from under my nose.
‘Thank you,’ I said weakly.
‘Pleasure’s mine, duck – pass us the vinegar again, would yer be so kind?’ I passed the vinegar.
Over the bowl of porridge which followed Juno made plans for securing a bath. At the end of supper she used her large frame to jostle her way to the doorway, then as soon as we were out of sight of the Home Sisters she broke into a trot, calling over her shoulder, ‘I’ll book it for you after, Hellie.’
In the thankfully piping-hot bath I scrubbed and scrubbed myself; I felt dirty all over. I wanted to wash my hair in the basin but there was a banging at the door. ‘Come on, there’s two of us waiting.’ I thrust my damp arms into the sleeves of my dressing gown and came out. As I walked down the corridor I heard the shout behind me, ‘And empty the bath next time, you slut!’ I threw myself into my bedroom.
I was struggling into my nightdress when Juno thumped on the door, burst in and flung herself down on the bed. She kicked her slippers off and began to massage her toes. ‘My feet, Hellie, my feet! And that bloody Home Sister went through my drawers and pinched my cigarettes – she’s emptied the whole case – how dare they do things like that?’ She glared at me, then asked, ‘What was your evening like, Hellie? I swear mine was even worse than the morning. The ghastly staff nurse trapped me in that foul-smelling sink room all evening. I was only allowed out to the kitchen – and that was crawling with cockroaches. I never got near any patients after the washing up.’
‘I wish I hadn’t.’ I shuddered. ‘I had to help Staff Nurse wash a little girl who’d just been admitted – she was so dirty, and she was covered in vile sores. And Juno, she was such a hideous-looking child - Staff Nurse said it was her father’s fault, she was born with a “specific disease”.’
Juno’s eyes widened. ‘Good God, Hellie - we’ve not got to nurse patients with that, have we?’
I repeated, ‘She didn’t say what it was, just a “specific disease”.’
Juno said grimly, ‘I can guess what they mean by that all right.’ She shuddered, then, as I stared at her blankly she leant forward and hissed, ‘Syphilis!’
‘Syphilis?’ I echoed – I had dim memories of Miss Ling’s stories of the Greek myths. ‘You mean the man who had to push a rock up a hill, and every time he got it to the top it came rolling down again?’
Juno gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Lord, Hellie, you are dumb sometimes – that was Sisyphus – no connection, though for all I now he may have had it too. No, syphilis is what men get off tarts.’
‘Off tarts?’
‘Tarts, whores – women men pay to let them do things to them – come on, Hellie, you must know what men do with women, after all, you’ll be getting married soon.’ My face was burning hot. ‘You mean some women let men do that to them – just for money – not because they, they care about them?’
‘Oh Hellie – I forget you’re so much younger than me – they can’t care about them, they pick up strangers – Mama told me – it happens all the time.’
My belly lurched. ‘How horrible!’
Juno went on, ‘But sometimes the tarts have got this loathsome disease – they get it off sailors and such like – and then they pass it on to all the men they go with.’ And suddenly I remembered Munich and the pretty girl I had seen on Papa’s arm – she must have been one of those, he had paid her to do that… ‘But Juno, when Papa came to fetch me once from Munich – I saw him, with a girl like that…’
Juno grunted. ‘The old so-and-so, I bet he kept that dark from Mama! But don’t worry, Hellie, men of our class can afford to buy women who are clean – but I suppose they don’t have much choice in the East End.’ I was still very shaken. ‘But – why do they do it?’ Juno looked at me and said patiently, ‘For the money, of course. It’s got to be easier than slaving away in a place like this, for instance. Though I don’t suppose any man with halfway decent eyesight would pay much for that beast of a Staff Nurse,’ she added thoughtfully.
‘No, I mean the men, why do they want to do something like that with a strange woman?’
Juno stretched her arms until her shoulder joints cracked. ‘Oh, why do men do anything, Hellie? I suppose they just feel like it.’
We were plunged into darkness; it was ten-thirty. ‘This bloody place!’ I heard Juno swearing in the gloom. ‘Wherever are my slippers?’ We both began to scrabble on the floor and bumped into each other. ‘Ouch, mind where you’re going, Hellie. I hope they haven’t switched off the lights in the water closet or I’ll be pissing all over their lino – ah, got them.’ She muttered and swore as she pulled them on. ‘I’m going to have to find some way of hiding my cigarettes – I’ll never stand this place otherwise. Goodnight, Hellie, see you in the morning, worse luck!’ The door banged behind her and I heard an indignant cry of ‘Nurse’ as Juno cantered down the corridor.
As I lay in bed that night I recalled the child’s ugly face, and thought of what Juno had told me. Then I remembered Gerald’s clean-cut profile as he had stood on the terrace at Hatton and said: ‘There is not, and never has been, any woman but you.’ And I was comforted, and fell asleep clasping his ring.