May felt a quickening of the pulse as she jumped down from the cab outside St Katharine’s at the end of September. As soon as her bags were upstairs she rushed to the Nurses’ Sitting Room, where Minnie Emms squealed with pleasure at her return, and made haste to regale her with the latest gossip, amid constant interruptions from several other pros who had even better tales to tell.
Ada and Ellen had just gone off for their annual holiday, but news had arrived that Alice Rydal was not returning. May was hardly surprised: she only wondered that the girl had stayed as long as she had done. She was always complaining and had frequently threatened to leave. More unexpected was the announcement by quiet Flossy Allen that she was breaking her contract in order to be married at Christmas to a young man who worked in her father’s grocery shop. ‘Better be a slave to one man than to forty.’ Her voice was resigned and May wondered whether she really wanted to marry at all – or did it just seem the less unacceptable of two alternatives? But Flossy insisted her mind was made up, and May knew she had found the persistent, harping correction by Sisters and Staff Nurses hard to bear. May fortified herself by planning mutiny, while Ellen was too mercurial of temperament to stay depressed for long, but it had obviously been too much for Flossy. Then she confided to May one night that she was frightened of greater responsibility, ‘I’m terrified of making a mistake, and killing someone.’ Her face was grey as she spoke and May stopped trying to persuade her to think again. So only trenchant, argumentative Ada, gentle Ellen and cheerful, slapdash Minnie remained with May of the original six.
May enjoyed her work on the gynae ward. Sister Dorcas was a law unto herself. Totally committed to her patients, she fought for them through thick and thin, and she never judged the women in her care. At first May had been deeply shocked at the arrival of self-induced miscarriages: women obviously determined not to bear more children and risking their lives to avoid it. But Sister Dorcas, sensing her recoil, called her away from one patient’s bedside and spoke to her privately.
‘Of course it’s wrong to set out to deliberately destroy life with a knitting needle – and a dirty one at that – but before you pass judgment try and imagine the state of mind a woman must be in to attempt something so unnatural and so dangerous. Look at their faces, Nurse Winton, look at their exhausted bodies, listen to them talking amongst themselves; then ask yourself how you would feed and clothe and shelter a dozen children on a pound a week – that is, if you’re quick enough to get it out of your husband’s hands before it’s spent at the pub!’
May recognised the truth of what Sister Dorcas was saying, but she still argued. ‘But why do they do it then? I mean,’ she floundered, then ploughed on. ‘They must know if they do certain things, well, what causes…’
Sister looked at her pityingly. ‘You have a very romantic view of men, Nurse Winton. Oh, there are some who will restrain themselves if their wife’s health is at stake, but the great majority – well, they’re stronger, they earn the wages, even if they don’t always part with them, and if they don’t get what they want at home they’ll find some poor creature of the streets, and what wife wants that to happen?’
May was shocked to the core, but she made an effort to understand, though she said to Ellen that evening, after they came off duty, ‘But what about the young girls, who aren’t married, why do they allow themselves to get into that situation?’
Ellen was more tolerant. ‘Remember their lives have not been as sheltered as ours – who knows what pressures have been brought to bear? Besides,’ she hesitated, and her pale skin flushed pink, ‘if they loved the man they were with – it is not just men who feel desire, May.’
May blinked, then remembered how she had felt when Harry Cussons had so caressingly unbuttoned her glove, how would she have felt if… Feeling suddenly at sea she opened her mouth to question Ellen further, then hastily closed it again as she recollected that Ellen had been engaged – her fiancé had died of pneumonia the year before she had come to St Katharine’s. She couldn’t talk of this to her, it would revive painful memories. She began to speak instead of the projected Royal Visit, which had just been announced.
By the time May was due to leave Dorcas she had faced up to the shattering of many long-held prejudices, and had learned things which would have appalled Lady Clarence. On the last day before she was due to change, Sister Dorcas expanded her knowledge even further. Sister called her into her sitting room and posed a direct question:
‘Nurse Winton, in future years you may find yourself, as a nurse, faced with a desperate woman who has just given, birth, and to whom the possibility of yet another pregnancy is a nightmare – what would you do?’
Three months ago May would have had no difficulty in answering. Now she paused, looked at Sister Dorcas, and eventually admitted, ‘I just don’t know, Sister. I don’t know.’
This admission of defeat appeared to satisfy Sister Dorcas. She leant forward. ‘In that situation I advise the use of a sponge, well soaked in vinegar, placed in the appropriate position – at the appropriate time.’ May stared at her, with dawning comprehension. ‘For medical reasons, of course. Remember that, Nurse Winton, always for medical reasons, otherwise you will have the whole weight of the establishment descending on your head. And don’t, under any circumstances, give this advice while still in training, leave that to me. Come now, Nurse, don’t look so surprised. How many women in your rank of society give birth to more children than they wish? And they have all the money and domestic assistance that they need. You may go now, Nurse.’
As she left May remembered Lady Canning’s cry, ‘How could Della have been so careless!’ and another piece of the jigsaw fell into place. So it had been deliberate – had Della Hindlesham known of Harry Cussons’ proposal to herself and decided not to risk losing him in the future?
May’s next ward was a men’s medical, and May told Ellen privately that it was just as well. ‘After three months on Dorcas I’d begun to think of the male of the species as nothing more than a selfish, vicious brute; but I suppose men are only like us really, just a little different.’
Ellen’s eyes danced. ‘Oh, they’re certainly different, May, even you must have noticed that!’ May laughed at herself.
Still, she was glad she was no longer on Dorcas when Lady Clarence’s letter arrived telling of the death of her little grandson, and of Emily’s heartbroken grief. May wrote long letters of grieving sympathy to her step-sister. Emily replied herself, saying how grateful she had been for her mother and step-father’s presence over the long exhausting summer months. ‘Mamma has been a tower of strength, May, I could not have continued without her. I am so glad you told her to come in the spring – she admits she would never have taken such a step of her own accord; we are both grateful to you.’
At the end of November preparations got under way for the Royal Visit. A new wing was to be opened by the Queen herself. Matron decreed that every part of the hospital must be scrubbed and re-scrubbed.
‘Though I just can’t believe,’ Ada exclaimed one evening, ‘that Her Majesty will stick her august nostrils into the “dirty” sink in Job’s sluice room, yet Staff Nurse said to me today, “I’m sure I detect a stain around that plughole – remember, Nurse Farrar, your work must be fit for the gracious lady herself to inspect!”’ The spectacle of Ada, hands on hips, elbows akimbo, trying to imitate Staff Robson’s genteel tones was too much for May and Ellen – they rolled on the bed, helpless with laughter.
Ada said indignantly, ‘Well, I don’t think she’ll go in there, do you? You know how Job sluice smells when the wind’s in the north.’
Ellen mopped her eyes and said soothingly, ‘I’m sure you’re right, Ada. But I suppose Sister Job keeps on hoping.’
Hosea, May’s own ward, was in the new wing, and so definitely due for an inspection. The nurses’ hands were red and raw from scrubbing and cleaning, while the elderly ward maid had claimed republican sentiments and refused to do a stroke more than usual. This had left May with the job of dismantling and cleaning the gas stove, and she incurred Sister Hosea’s wrath when she failed to reassemble it correctly. May, hot, filthy, and exhausted, had finally suggested to Aggie that she might just possibly find herself able to discover some lurking monarchical tendencies in return for a pound of winkles from the stall near the main gate. The addition of jellied eels to the bribe sealed the bargain, and on May recklessly throwing in a jar of cockles Aggie managed a toothless rendering of the National Anthem as she reassembled the stove.
‘You’re an old hypocrite, Aggie.’
Aggie winked at May and licked her lips. ‘I’ve allus bin partial to shellfish.’
The great day finally arrived. Sister Hosea, her collar so stiffly starched that she could not lower her chin, lectured the men into abject submission and arranged her minions in ranks behind her.
The Queen was as unpunctual as May remembered from her visits to Stemhalton, and Sister Hosea was quivering like a jelly by the time the retinue entered the ward. The nurses bobbed respectfully. Her Majesty uttered a few gracious words to Sister, listened with her sweet smile to the stammered reply, then prepared to cast her glow over the patients. But just as she was about to move her eye alighted upon May; she paused, turned to Matron and spoke softly to her. Matron’s voice was clear.
‘Nurse Winton, step forward please.’
May moved forward and dropped into her court curtsey, feeling very strange as her blue-striped galatea swept the shiny linoleum floor of Hosea Ward. The Queen was gracious.
‘Your grandmother told me I might see you here, Miss Winton. How are you enjoying nursing?’
May, conscious of Sister Hosea’s barely suppressed gasp of astonishment, replied, ‘Very well indeed, Your Majesty.’
‘But not, I think, the meals at St Katharine’s!’ The Queen laughed, a clear silvery peal. May, aware of Matron’s raised eyebrows and the furious glare of the Hospital Chairman, wished the floor would open up beneath her, but it remained rock solid and the Queen was waiting for a reply.
‘The nature of our nursing duties is such as to encourage an appetite, Ma’am.’ The answer was the best compromise between diplomacy and truth that May could manage on the spur of the moment.
The Queen turned to the red-faced Chairman. ‘Miss Winton begs for food hampers, you know, from her grandmother’s chef. You really must feed your nurses better in future, Sir James.’ Sir James looked apoplectic, but the Queen did not choose to notice. With a last kindly word to May she moved on to the first patient.
After the procession had left the ward the other Hosea pros looked at May with mingled awe and compassion.
‘My God,’ said outspoken Evans, ‘You certainly move in exalted circles, Winton, but I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes when Matron sends for you tomorrow morning.’ A sentiment with which May could only agree.
The expected summons came the next morning, delivered in a biting voice by Sister Hosea, who had obviously recovered her composure and was determined to show May that hobnobbing with the royal family cut no ice on her ward.
As May entered Matron’s office she noticed that the Hospital Chairman was present. Matron merely told her that Sir James wished to speak to her, then sat back in silence. The Chairman fixed his basilisk gaze on May and launched into an oration in which he informed her that every luxury was lavished on the nurses of St Katharine’s, and that she had been guilty of base ingratitude and shameful disloyalty in daring to complain. As soon as he had brought his tirade to a resounding conclusion he turned to Matron and indicated that he had finished with her probationer. May was absolutely furious, and determined not to leave the field of battle without firing her own fusillade. Who did this man think he was? How dare he sit there and treat her like a naughty child out of a schoolroom? She acted quickly. Before Matron had time to dismiss her she had launched into her reply, her voice cold and her tone controlled.
‘Since you were present, Sir James, you must be well aware that I did not complain. However, as you have given me this opportunity to expand on the situation,’ at this point Sir James appeared to be trying to indicate that he was not, in fact, offering any such opportunity, but May merely raised her voice slightly and continued as if he had not spoken, ‘I must say that it is true that I, and all the other nurses who can afford to do so, supplement our rations here.’ By now the Chairman had given up expostulating and was staring at May with a bemused expression on his face; she was encouraged to further flights of rhetoric. ‘How would you like to scrub forty bedpans on one sardine, Sir James? And come off duty tired and hungry after a long day to be faced with gristly mince and porridge, cold porridge? And on nights, why, not only do we have to cook for ourselves, but to make anything like a reasonable meal we have to buy extra food – whereas at Guy’s the night staff are served with a freshly cooked meal in the dining room, halfway through their duty – and they have a swimming pool! Why can’t we have one?’ May’s voice rose indignantly on this last demand. She paused for breath and Sir James seized his chance, and his hat.
‘Swimming has nothing whatsoever to do with nursing! Matron, I have an urgent appointment, but I trust you will endeavour to make this young lady see the error of her ways. Good morning.’ He had surged through the door before either of the women could reply.
May was flushed with triumph at the rout of her opponent – until she looked at Matron’s impassive face. Her spirits sank, but she seized the initiative again, smiled sweetly and said quickly, ‘Thank you so much, Matron, for allowing me to present the nurses’ case to the Chairman in person.’
Matron gave her a level stare, then said, ‘The pleasure was mine, Nurse Winton. I have frequently expressed my concern on this matter to the Board, though not, I admit, with quite your fervour. Maybe you will have more success. However, I do feel it was perhaps a mistake of strategy to demand a swimming bath at this juncture – it is generally better to concentrate on one theme only in a situation like this. Still, you’re young yet, you will learn. Possibly you could mention the pool next time you dine at the Palace? Will you send in the nurse waiting outside, please?’
A week later two sardines were served for breakfast, and the supper porridge was offered hot, with a choice of an apple or an orange. It was generally agreed that, between them, May and the Queen had scored a major victory; but May felt she never would understand Matron.