No One Wants You (13 page)

As that untroubled summer drew to a close, and I realised that there were no more parties imminent, I thought that it
would
be a great idea if I had a birthday as well. But I did not want just any old birthday. I wanted a 21st birthday. I thought that if I was 21 years of age I would be more acceptable to everyone. My birthday was due, so I put the word out that I was going to have a 21st party in November. But there was a problem. I was only 20 years of age. A wait of over twelve months seemed interminable. I just could not wait another year, so I decided to risk it. I pretended that it was my 21st birthday, in November 1968. I wanted to get lots of birthday cards, and have a birthday party of my very own. Up until that year, it was as if my special day had never existed. I was just the maid at the parties of other people’s children, where I had to cook, or more often than not, clean up after it was over. At the parties of Mrs Cooke’s children I even bought presents out of my wages of two pounds and ten shillings per week.

My friend Eileen had what she called a ‘great wee flat’, just off Shaftesbury Square. When most of the furniture was removed to the bedroom, there would be lots of room for dancing. The flat was above a home bakery shop, called ‘Whites’. That was to be the venue.

That was the first problem solved.

My boss, Anne Woods, said that she would pay for all the food. She ordered loads of vol-au-vents and other fancy confectionery, from the bakery on the Ormeau Road, which was quite famous at the time.

Music was needed, but this was not a problem as someone was always eager to bring along their black plastic Dansette portable record player, and all the girls were expected to loan a representative section of their record collection suitable for both slow and fast dancing.

Of course, I could not invite any family members, as I was an only child whose parents were dead. That had been my story for two years and would be for quite a lot of years to come. I was sticking to it, rigidly.

I had noticed that 21st birthday parties, in particular, had a certain importance to the adult family members. I also noticed that the person who had reached the magic age of 21 became a very acceptable member of the larger society of his extended family and friends. They got lots of birthday cards and gifts, but it was the birthday cards that meant the most to me.

On the morning of my special day, as I came downstairs to prepare breakfast, Anne Woods and her children were waiting by the table. They greeted me, singing a very harmonious version of ‘Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday, dearrrrrrrrr Celine, Happy birthday to youuuuuuuu!’

Then Anne Woods handed me an envelope. I knew that it would contain a birthday card for me. I opened the card and a pound note fluttered to the ground, but it was the words that I noticed. ‘To Celine, Best wishes on your 21st birthday, from Desmond, Anne and the children.’

I was overcome by a wave of emotion. As I cried, a feeling of great joy engulfed me.

This was a feeling that I had never experienced before. As I stood there crying, Anne Woods and her children sat at the table smiling. I think that they may have been a little shocked by my response, but I was too out of control to notice. This was for me the very first time that I had ever received a birthday card or present for my birthday.

For the rest of the day, I floated on air. I grew more excited as the evening approached. I was free at six o’clock. By then, I was already dressed in my light blue slim-line satin dress, fully made up and warmly covered in my heavy dark overcoat, to keep out the smut-laden, freezing Belfast fog.

As I ran all the way to Eileen’s flat, I could hear the low droning sound of the foghorns coming from the harbour. Eileen and I worked like beavers to get the place ready.
Monica
then arrived with her record player and her 18-year-old brother Eamonn, who was instructed to play some records, to create some atmosphere. As the first sounds of Eamonn’s treasured copy of
Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
LP began to filter around the flat, all work stopped. Three girls rounded on him, all yelling at the same time, ‘Take that record off the turntable, yeh little twit yeh, nobody will be able to dance to that rubbish. Put on some decent rock and roll.’

The preparations were complete.

Eight o’clock arrived.

There were no guests.

I began to feel nervous.

I began to realise the risk I had taken. What if nobody at all came to my party?

At twenty past eight, everyone seemed to appear at once. While there was no alcohol, there was lots of music and dancing and everyone was chatting to each other. The music was non-stop and got louder as time passed. The atmosphere was terrific. For the first time in my life, I was the centre of attention. I was thrilled.

The party came to an end just after eleven o’clock. After everyone had left, and with just Eileen and myself remaining in the flat, we spent a few gossip-filled hours discussing the events of the evening, from beginning to end. Eileen got everybody that came to the party to sign a small autograph book, which I still retain to this day. Some of the entries are funny rhymes, others are a bit more poignant.

Oranges grow in Florida,

Peaches grow there too,

But it takes a place like Balmoral Road,

To have a twit like you.

From Michael.

To Celine,

It matters not, how straight the gait,

How charged with punishment, the scroll,

I am the captain of my fate,

I am the master of my soul.

Wishing you a bright and happy future, Mary Lester.

Celine,

Have many friends, and treat them well,

But never to them your secret tell,

For when your friends become your foes,

Around the world, your secret goes.

Best wishes for the future, T. Grosset.

I still have all the cards I received that day. I will always keep them, to remind me of those special friends who celebrated, what for me was MY FIRST BIRTHDAY, even though they thought that it was my 21st birthday. I feel sad that I had to pretend, but it was my belief then that I was accepted only, as they knew me. To tell them the sad saga of my existence, before they knew me, would have put up even more barriers than those that already existed.

I spent two years in Belfast altogether. I was as happy there as I ever was at any time or place, in my life. But the instinct in me to pursue a career in nursing was very strong. I had applied to do nursing in some of the hospitals in Belfast, but I never got past the written entrance examination stage. I was always turned down because I had failed the written examination.

While my written English left quite a lot to be desired, I was not to be dissuaded from my goal of working as a nurse. I felt frustrated by these written entrance examinations and I had heard that some hospitals did not require them. I mentioned this to just about everybody I met as this time.

One evening I met a girl who told me that her sister was a nurse in a hospital in London. I asked her if she thought that her sister might help me to train as a nurse there. She promised me that she would get her sister to meet me the next time that she came home to Belfast.

She was true to her word, and her sister called to see me about six weeks later. She was as nice to me as I could have hoped for. She told me who to apply to, what references I needed and what examinations I would need. My heart almost stopped for an instant.

‘Examinations?’ I shrieked.

‘Yes, just a medical,’ she added casually.

‘No written exams to be done at the start?’ I enquired further.

‘No, not at the beginning,’ she told me.

That is all I wanted to hear.

I was definitely interested. Interested wasn’t the word, I was ecstatic beyond belief. I duly got the application forms and filled them in.

Anne Woods, my employer, and Father Bernard wrote two glowing references for me. I went to Anne Woods’ doctor for a medical examination. The medical examination was very general. There were no specifics. My prospective employers did not ask for a gynaecological examination, so consequently they did not receive one. My gynaecological records left quite a lot to be desired.

I sent my application to the Central Middlesex Hospital in North London. From the time I sent the envelope, I had the paint worn off the door, just grabbing at the post each day, to see if I had been accepted.

Two weeks later I received a reply. I gingerly opened the envelope.

This was a big risk for me. If they refused me, I know I would have been inconsolable.

The answer was, ‘Yes’.

I was shocked.

I couldn’t believe that they had accepted me, almost unconditionally. They hadn’t asked if I had parents or any other nasty questions about my past.

I wrote a letter of acceptance immediately and posted it off.

I was on my way. I could not believe it.

I resolved, there and then, to be the best nurse that the Central Middlesex Hospital had ever produced. I was so grateful to them for accepting me. I think everyone was pleased for me. I received a reply by return, stating that I was to present myself at the nurses’ home attached to the hospital, two weeks from the date of the letter.

There was no great fanfare for my leaving. I gave Anne Woods two weeks’ notice, which I worked through. I had a few more clothes than I had when I came to Belfast, but very little more money. I planned out my journey to London with Desmond Woods’ help, because once again I had no idea how to get to London. Desmond said that he would pay my fare to London by way of a bonus for doing such a good job while working for him. He also said that he would take me to the ferry.

So, on August 4, 1969, I boarded the ferry at Larne, just north of Belfast, bound for Stranraer in Scotland. I would take a train from there to Crewe in England, where I would change trains for London.

A period of my life had closed.

I could leave behind all the people that I had told lies to. I was able to clean the slate and that suited me just fine.

I have never been back to Belfast since that day in 1969, although I have remained in touch with some of my friends of that time, over the years.

EIGHT

A Time for Fun

I ARRIVED AT
the nurses’ home attached to the Central Middlesex Hospital on a Sunday afternoon. I was to start my preliminary training school lectures the very next day.

The person in charge of the home was called the home sister. She was expecting me and immediately put me at my ease, while being polite and business-like at the same time. She showed me to my room, told me to unpack and relax a little. She said that she would then return and show me around what was to be my home for at least the next one to two years. I was thrilled. I was not afraid. In fact, I was looking forward to the challenge.

She later gave me a tour of the building, which included the sitting room, the dining room and the kitchens. She gave me a brief run-through of the rules. The most important rule was that I had to be in my room by 12 o’clock at night. No overnight visitors and no men friends were to be entertained on the premises. Those rules suited me perfectly. She assured me that I would learn by experience.

The residence was home to all sorts of nurses, from the type of trainee nurse that I represented, all the way up the ranks to the matrons at the top. I was to learn that a hierarchy existed, but I was used to living at the very bottom of a hierarchy, so that would not cause me any problems. For
example
, the dining room had a ritualistic code of conduct, whereby the junior nurses were sectioned off from the sisters and matrons. I recognised this class distinction from my previous institutional experience and resolved to avoid getting caught up in its politics. During my training, if I had a bad morning on the ward making mistakes, I made sure not to make eye contact with that particular sister while she was in the dining room after work.

I was also to later learn that I, myself, did not want to remain at the bottom of the pyramid. That day, I realised that I had some ambition in me. I shocked myself but I was also pleased. I wanted some respect for myself.

I started my preliminary training schedule at the Central Middlesex School of Nursing. My salary was 14 pounds per month and my accommodation and my meals were all taken care of at the nurses’ home.

I would have to do some of my training on the ward and some of it doing block periods of study, which were lectures away from the ward. There were to be written and practical examinations at the end of the first year. I found that the world of medicine had a language all of its own. For a young, almost illiterate, girl some of the words were real tongue twisters. I kept repeating them to myself until I got them right. Spelling them was an altogether more difficult task. I persisted. I would get the better of this new terminology at all costs. It took a lot of hard mental work. I loved every minute of it. Even after one month, I knew that this was the career for me.

From the very first day that I went ‘on the ward’ I felt that it suited me very well. I felt needed by the patients. I remember my first ward placement, when I was about 20, was a male cardiac ward. We had to wash a male patient and the other nurse was explaining his anatomy to me. I had seen all these things long ago but I had to pretend I didn’t know and that it was all new. I think that I could empathise
with
the pain and discomfort that they were feeling because of my past and I was able to respond sympathetically. Subconsciously, I needed to be needed. I liked the feeling of being needed. It gave me a sense of purpose. As I continued my training, I realised that looking after my foster-mother and Mrs Cooke had been good preparation. In some ways I had been a nurse since the age of 12.

Now I was in a situation where I could help everyone who was sick, on a daily basis, but now it was my choice. I was definitely in the right business.

While I enjoyed working as a nurse, I found that, in some ways, I enjoyed the social life attached to the nurses’ home even more. The communal sitting room was where everybody congregated when they had nothing else to do. The first time that I ventured there on my own, I was made so welcome by all the other nurses that I had no inhibitions about going there after that.