‘I’ve never been so insulted,’ breathed a distempered Nell to the others. ‘And I’m not stupid! I went to grammar school.’
‘So would I have done, if we’d had any spare cash for the uniform,’ muttered an equally incensed Beata. ‘I passed the scholarship.’
‘Same here!’ lobbed Green the younger. ‘What about you, Joy, did you pass?’
‘Yes!’ Joyson was eager not to be judged a dunce, though the way her eyes flickered told that she was lying, which made Nell feel a twinge of sympathy. Having got to know her, she had learned that, apart from the vice of laziness and her blunt opinions, there was no real malice to Avril.
‘And so did me mam, didn’t you, Mam?’ finished Green junior.
Similarly nettled as the younger ones, Mrs Green’s white head gave a nod of confirmation. ‘My poor dad could hardly scrape the funds to feed us all, let alone for school books and pencils.’
‘Well that’s just it!’ objected Nell. ‘I don’t think Matron’s exceptionally bright if she couldn’t even make any allowance for those of us who are unable to afford the exams. I’ve never been spoken to like that in my entire life – why, it’s as if she regards us as scum!’
And, indeed, this was further exemplified at midday, for they were forbidden to eat in the dining hall – even though it was raining – and had to huddle under the bicycle shelter, with no means of alleviating their aching feet – though this was not to be endured for very long. ‘Dinner-hour’ being a luxury of the past, after wolfing down their lunches in fifteen minutes it was back to the grind.
During that most testing of fortnights, they were required to learn all the names of poisonous gases that might be used by the Germans, and to avoid these themselves by deploying their respirators in seconds. This latter seemed to be the sole functional thing they were allowed to do, for only those who were full probationers had any actual contact with the patients. But even in practising on each other, the auxiliaries were constantly reminded that they were the poor relations.
Or not so poor, as one of the ‘real’ nurses was quick to accuse. ‘I think it’s a disgrace that you’re earning so much without a single qualification! We all had to spend years passing exams and paying our dues, and you swan in earning more than probationers – and no cleaning to do!’
‘You could have fooled me,’ muttered Beata, which is what young Nell would have said if she had not been so overwhelmed by the amount of antagonism.
All this being so, having made their protest, the trained nurses chose to tolerate the auxiliaries, and were kind enough to teach by example the various aspects of their work. Along with asepsis and antisepsis, and the precautions to obtain these, came methods of resuscitation, including those which took place in the casualty department. For some reason matron had not objected to these ignorant individuals coming along there, nor to the operating theatre. Nell thought perhaps she knew why: Matron hoped they would take fright at the horrible injuries, and thus she could be rid of them. Determined not to give this awful woman the satisfaction, she steeled herself not to faint at the bloody scalpels and bone saws, and was quite delighted that her friends managed to do the same – although all were very pale when they emerged. But these ordeals seemed to have no purpose other than for Matron’s gratification, for in the main it was one lecture after another, and a lot of scribbling in notebooks.
After being previously lauded for her skills at first aid, Nell had to relearn almost everything she had been taught, any polite query seen as insubordination and earning a severe dressing-down. She certainly knew her place now, and that was as a slave to the authorities, for they demanded to know her every whereabouts – even after working hours, when she was expected to keep her superiors informed of her movements so that they could contact her in an emergency. ‘It’s worse than being at home,’ spluttered Nell, only half joking. ‘At least my parents allow me freedom to visit the lavatory!’
As a matter of fact, Thelma and Wilfred had been persuaded to allow a little more than that lately. The incident in Scarborough forgiven, if not completely forgotten, their daughter had been allotted leave to go and watch the newly formed Bedpan Swingsters perform on an evening. Had they known the chosen venue was a pub, undoubtedly they would have been less lenient. Not about to enlighten them, Nell kept a ready cache of peppermints to disguise the combination of stout and cigarettes that were consumed during the lively performance. Everyone agreed that it was such a delight to let one’s hair down after Matron’s authoritarian regime and obvious detestation of them.
The latter continuing unabated, it was a very long fortnight at the County Hospital – and to exacerbate Nell’s misery, during that period there came news that the Germans had finally bombed London itself, in broad daylight. How she was to fret until Billy’s letter arrived to assure her he was safe! Though her relief over this was to be somewhat short-lived, for that daring attack was only the beginning of a murderous blitz on the capital, and every night after this, as Nell perused her darling’s latest letter before going to sleep, she was to dread it would be his last.
There was to be some respite on the work front, however, when the fortnight at the County Hospital came to an end and the recruits moved on to the Infirmary. This was only a short walk along the same route until the road diverged, yet miles removed in style from the handsome redbrick building of their previous post, the institutional block straddled between the brown River Foss and the cocoa works, both of which could be smelled on the air. Here they hoped to gain practical experience with the elderly. It came as something of a damp squib, though, to learn that this was the type of patient on whom they would be concentrating: hardly the romantic ideal some of them had treasured.
‘It used to be the old workhouse till they changed the name,’ whispered Beata, upon catching Nell’s look of shock at some of the inmates they encountered on their way along the drab corridors that hummed of stale cabbage and decaying humanity.
Nell was glad to be taken under the elder’s wing, for she felt very nervous under the vacant, sometimes malevolent, gaze of those whiskery old men with crumpled shirt collars and crumpled faces, grease-stained ties and baggy suits. But she tried not to show it, deporting herself with dignity as exemplified by Sister Barber, for she wanted to appear as mature as the rest. Did nothing faze those Ashton girls?
Apparently it did bother Joyson, though. ‘I don’t really mind,’ she began, her expression telling, ‘but I’d rather feel I was doing something for the lads who are defending us.’
‘Some of these old chaps would have been soldiers once,’ Beata told her.
‘Maybe in the Crimean War,’ scoffed Joyson, nose in the air as she bustled along, trying to act the professional. ‘I doubt they’d know one end of a Spitfire from the other.’
‘And do you?’ came Lavinia Ashton’s forthright demand.
Joyson grew shirty. ‘I’m just saying what a great job the RAF boys have done, and I’d like to pay them back, that’s all.’
The others shared a look here. They were well-acquainted with Joyson’s penchant for airmen, having seen her flirting with squadrons of them around the bars.
‘God knows we need them after that mess at Dunkirk,’ she added, being immediately heckled for such a defeatist attitude.
Too fixed on her surroundings, Nell had not really been listening to Joyson’s moaning, but