Finally she was asked to pack some dummy chocolates into a box while once more they timed her with stopwatches. ‘The chocolates are actually made of plaster of Paris, so I advise you not to taste them,’ the leader of the group said, permitting himself a small smile, though the expressions on his companions’ faces showed it was a joke that had grown whiskers from constant repetition. ‘Pack them in exactly the same order as the box on your left, and once more, please do not begin until I tell you to.’ His assistants then placed a full chocolate box on her left, an empty one in front of her and set down a wooden tray containing the plaster ‘chocolates’ on her right. Madge sat studying the layout of the full box, her hands poised over the dummy chocolates until she heard the word ‘Go’ and the faint click from their stopwatches, then scrambled to pack the chocolates into the individual frilled paper cups inside the box as quickly as she could.
When she had completed all the tests, the three of them conferred briefly, their impassive faces still giving Madge no hint of how well or badly she had done. The woman added something to the notes she had been making on Madge’s form and then ushered her back into the corridor. Mrs Sullivan was waiting for her, and having studied the form – Madge herself was not permitted to see it – she gave a brief smile and said, ‘Congratulations. Subject to a satisfactory medical, you have been passed as suitable for employment at Rowntree’s.’
Madge felt no elation or excitement at that, only relief that she would not have to go home and tell her parents that, uniquely among the members of her very large family, she would not be working at the factory. Whether because Madge’s hands were too warm, or because she hadn’t shown enough dexterity and speed when posting shapes on the formboard, or simply because it was the only place where they were currently short-staffed, Mrs Sullivan told her that, providing her medical examination did not reveal any unexpected problems, she would be assigned to work in the Card Box Mill, where they made the boxes for the Rowntree’s chocolate assortments and made and printed the packaging for all the company’s brands.
She then led Madge along the corridor to a suite of rooms with a sign reading ‘Occupational Health Department’, and left her in the care of a nurse. The rooms were light and airy, with a strong background smell of carbolic disinfectant. Madge was first seen by an optician, a man in his thirties wearing horn-rimmed spectacles and a spotted bowtie, who shone a light into her eyes and then had her read a series of letters of diminishing size from a chart on the wall. She rattled them off right down to the end of the bottom line, and would have told him the manufacturer’s name in tiny print at the bottom had he not held up a hand and said, ‘Thank you, Miss Fisher, your eyesight is marvellous.’
She returned to the nurse, who scrutinized Madge with the air of a horse dealer assessing a filly, and then rattled off a series of questions. ‘Ever had any serious medical complaints? Ever been in hospital? Ever suffered fits, blackouts or seizures? Any of your family suffer from TB? Any family history of mental illness? Do you suffer from ringworm or any other skin complaint?’ As Madge replied ‘No’ to each question, the nurse made a note on the pad in front of her. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘take off your dress so I can examine you. If you’ve got any skin complaints, then we’ll have to treat them before you can begin work.’
Madge hesitated, embarrassed, but then took off her outer clothes and stood there in her underwear, acutely aware of how old, patched and mended it was. ‘Hold out your hands,’ the nurse said. ‘And now turn them over so I can see the other side.’ She also checked Madge’s back, neck and legs for signs of any skin conditions, felt the glands in her neck and parted the hair on her scalp. ‘Just checking for nits,’ she said. ‘All right, no problems there. Now I just need to measure your height and weigh you.’
Madge stood in front of the wooden measure fixed to the wall while the nurse checked her height. When Madge stood on the scales, she saw the nurse frown as she adjusted the weights until the scale was in balance, and then read the figure. ‘Seven stone four,’ she said. ‘A bit light for your height. You need to put a bit of weight on.’
‘Why’s that?’ Madge asked.
‘Because if you’re too thin, you’re more likely to be ill. That means you’re more likely to be off work and that costs Rowntree’s money.’
‘Not me,’ Madge said. ‘I’m never ill.’
‘Just the same,’ the nurse said. ‘Tell your mam that I said you need a bit more weight on your bones. Now, get dressed, and then you just need to see the dentist and you’re done. It’s the next room down the corridor from this one. Just knock and walk in.’
The dentist had a fully equipped surgery and Madge looked around with interest, tinged with more than a little fear. She might never have been to the dentist herself, but she’d heard enough scare stories from people who had to be very nervous about it. The dentist bustled in, all brisk efficiency. ‘Now, let’s have a look at those teeth of yours, shall we, Miss Fisher?’ he said, steering her into the leather chair and then pressing a foot pedal to recline it. ‘All right, open wide.’
She felt herself go rigid as he leaned over her with a dental mirror in one hand and a thin steel probe in the other. ‘Just relax,’ he said. ‘I promise you, I’ve done this before and I’m not going to hurt you.’ She was grateful for his attempt to put her at ease, though it did little to soothe her nerves. He fell silent as he began to probe her teeth. Madge had just begun to relax a little when she felt a stab of pain as he tested one of her back teeth. A few moments later, she yelped at another twinge from the opposite side of her mouth.
The dentist checked the last few teeth, then brought the chair upright again. ‘I’m afraid those two teeth are going to have to come out,’ he said.
Madge felt the blood drain from her face at the thought. ‘But it’s the first time I’ve ever had teeth out,’ she said, with a tremor in her voice. ‘In fact it’s the first time I’ve ever been to a dentist.’
‘From the state of your teeth, I rather thought it was,’ he said. ‘But don’t worry. We’ll give you an anaesthetic – some gas – and you won’t feel a thing.’ He gave her a brief professional smile that did little to reassure her. He then asked her when she’d last eaten, and luckily – if that was really the word, Madge thought, as she peered over his shoulder at the frightening-looking steel implements in the sterile cabinets behind him – she’d been too nervous to eat breakfast before she left the house that morning. The dentist studied her pale, frightened face for a moment. ‘Do any of your family work here?’
She nodded. ‘My father, three brothers and six sisters.’
He smiled. ‘Then I’m sure we can spare one of them from their work for half an hour. I’ll send word for one of your sisters to come and sit with you.’
The dental nurse took her back out to the waiting room and sent for Madge’s sister Rose, the next in age to her, to come from the Card Box Mill. Rose arrived ten minutes later, glad of any interruption to the monotonous routine of the working day, and sat with Madge, making nervous small talk until it was time for her to go back into the surgery.
The nurse helped Madge into a white gown and settled her back in the chair. She felt like a very small child as two men loomed over her, the dentist behind her and a red-faced anaesthetist with the ruptured veins of a heavy drinker in front of her. He wheeled a metal stand with two tall gas bottles over to the chair and checked the gauges and settings. ‘Is that laughing gas?’ Madge asked, half frightened and half intrigued.
‘No,’