The Angels of Lovely Lane (26 page)

He shot up in his chair. ‘The doctor who saw her last night and took the history hasn’t mentioned rheumatic fever. I know, because I’ve read his notes twice. It is so common, it would have been the first thing he asked her.’

He picked up the notes and scanned the entry from the admission doctor to reassure himself that he hadn’t missed anything.

‘Mind you, the poor sod had been working five days and nights, straight through.’

‘Maybe he didn’t ask?’ said Victoria.

The doctor looked at Victoria in surprise and then jumped up from his seat and strode down the ward. She caught up with him just as he reached the bed and heard him ask, ‘Mrs Mulhearn, did you ever have rheumatic fever as a child?’

‘Oh, yes, doctor. I was laid up with it for over two years. Couldn’t move a muscle, I couldn’t. The doctor in Ireland said it was the worst case he had ever seen. Ready for me to die, they was.’

Staff Nurse approached the end of the bed. ‘Time for you to go with the first lot for coffee, Nurse Baker, and thank you. I will take over here now.’

Victoria almost floated down the ward. She had been a nurse for only hours and yet she was already in love with her job. She felt closer to her mother than she had since the day she died. Her heart cramped as she looked back at Mrs Mulhearn. If only someone had correctly diagnosed her mother. Would her tragic death have been avoided? And, if it had, would Victoria even be here today in Lovely Lane?

As soon as Sister Haycock discovered that Pammy had been allocated to ward two, with Sister Antrobus, she demanded a meeting with Matron.

Known among the hospital staff as the Anteater, and military trained, Sister Antrobus had a reputation fiercer than that of any other ward sister in St Angelus. A trail of abandoned careers pointed to the fact that it was a reputation well earned and fully deserved. More nurses had given up partway through their training after a short spell on ward two than on any other ward. Her height, her width, her steel-grey hair and matching grey eyes perfectly complemented her stern personality. Sister Antrobus was both demanding and unforgiving.

Before the new training syllabus for professional nursing qualifications was introduced at St Angelus, nurse training had been Matron’s responsibility, and it still was in many hospitals across the country, where the matron had been allowed to resist change. At St Angelus, Matron saw losing control of the new school of nursing as an affront to her own status. She was also of the opinion that Emily Haycock, always a pushy one, went too far with the board of trustees and got her own way a little too often. Although Emily, as director of nursing, was responsible for the training of the new probationers, the wards and every other aspect of running St Angelus remained firmly under the control of Matron.

A reply from Matron to Emily’s demand arrived promptly, calling Sister Haycock for an early-morning meeting.

‘Don’t you let her eat you, now,’ Biddy joked, just before Emily left. ‘You know her bark is worse than her bite.’

‘Don’t joke about bites. You know she brings her flaming dog to work with her and he sits all day in a basket behind her desk.’

‘I do,’ Biddy almost shouted, impatient to disclose a piece of gossip that up until now she had forgotten. ‘He bit Matron’s housekeeper the other day and she hit him with the mop. Matron near went mad, so she did, and threatened to sack her. More worried about the dog she was than Elsie’s leg, but Elsie’s still here. That’s what I mean. Matron’s all bluster.’

‘I heard about that,’ said Emily. It was an understatement. Everyone had heard. The dog, Blackie, was a fierce and bad- tempered Scottie dog who put the fear of God into everyone when he was sent out on to the grass for his two-hourly comfort break. Office doors could be heard clicking shut and hurried footsteps scuttled across polished concrete floors. No one crossed Blackie’s path. In the administration block, he was as powerful as Matron herself, and the confident way he strutted and held his head high told everyone that he knew it too.

‘Here, take a biscuit, and if he gets a bit bolshy, throw it to him. Better that than your ankle,’ said Biddy.

‘Shall I do the same with Matron?’ asked Emily. ‘Shall I throw the biscuit at her if she gets a bit bolshy?’

As she walked into Matron’s office, Emily saw Blackie sit up in his basket to inspect her. She felt the biscuit in her pocket and it gave her some comfort.

‘Good morning, Sister Haycock. What can I do for you?’ Matron didn’t stand up. She remained behind her desk, looking down at a letter on her blotter. ‘Lie down, Blackie,’ she said, coolly. Emily waited politely for her to finish reading the letter and noticed that her dark, tightly styled hair was, as always, rigidly in place. A style which had never altered, not even by an errant wisp, in the years since Emily had first met her when she arrived at St Angelus. Now she was director of the school of nursing and responsible for all probationer training. This had provided her with an armoury of confidence and self-belief she had never before possessed. It was a change in attitude Matron had found disconcerting.

Emily knew that she had not been Matron’s choice for the job, anything but. The huge changes imposed by the government had not been Matron’s choice either. She had fought those tooth and nail and had even written a letter of protest to the Prime Minister. She would have preferred to continue in the old way, as a voluntary organization, as they had before the war and before the introduction of the NHS. Who would have thought the government would begin to exert such control over the running of hospitals?
As you have no experience of working in a hospital, Prime Minister, I feel that maybe you should leave the running of them to those of us who do
, she had written.
The methods prescribed by Florence Nightingale have served us all well until now
.
Regarding nursing as a professional qualification is a nonsense. It is a vocation
.

She had also remonstrated with the trustees, now under the control of the Liverpool Hospitals District Board. The government was interfering there too.
These girls marry and then that’s the end of it. We don’t allow nurses to be married. Nursing is for dedicated women. A job for life
. Matron had argued with members of the new board until she was blue in the face, but it was no use. The winds of post-war modernity were sweeping across the country and had arrived at the steps of St Angelus.

Emily had decided before she had walked into the office that, Blackie or no Blackie, she would stand her ground and take no nonsense from Matron. All the same, as she approached the administration block she felt a familiar weakness in the knees. Every nurse who had ever worked under Matron’s authority knew that feeling.

‘Shall I sit, Matron?’ she asked, with an airiness she certainly didn’t feel. Despite the biscuit in her pocket, her earlier confidence had stubbornly remained at the door.

Matron glanced up. Her olive complexion made her appear ageless although her hair, once jet black, was now shot through with grey. She looked Emily up and down with her dark and unforgiving brown eyes. It was her way with every nurse she met. Always looking for a crease or a stain on an apron, or a pair of shoes that required a polish. Now there was hurt in her eyes too as she examined Emily.

She had promoted Nurse Haycock to ward sister herself, only to have her stab her in the back and apply for the position of the director of nursing as soon as it became available. A position of which Matron did not approve, as everyone knew. It was almost as though Emily were waiting to apply for Matron’s own job. Matron knew it, and she thought everyone must know that Emily Haycock was most definitely after her post. But although she might think Matron was heading for her dotage, she was wrong.

‘We just have to be one step ahead of that little madam, don’t we, Blackie?’ she had confided, as they waited for Emily to arrive. ‘We aren’t stupid, are we? She is plotting to combine the roles of director of nursing and matron. We just have to be a little bit smarter than she is, don’t we, boy?’ If she had to accept a director of the school of nursing, Matron would much rather the post had been filled by an outsider. Someone she could have taught her own methods from day one, but so much more than that, someone she could have made her friend. Matron so badly needed a friend.

‘Please, do sit.’ Matron raised her eyebrows as Blackie growled, but it was just a warning shot. His wicker basket creaked and crackled as he settled down. Emily craned her neck to check that he had in fact lain back and was not slipping out. Blackie saw her, lifted his head and bared his teeth before he closed his eyes. His ears remained pricked.

‘How are the new intake progressing?’ Matron asked with a chilly politeness, as soon as Emily was seated. ‘It’s their first day on the wards, is it not?’

‘It is, Matron, and that is why I asked to speak to you. If you don’t mind, I would like to ask for your advice about a very delicate situation.’

Matron visibly thawed and a smile almost reached her lips. This was more like it. Emily Haycock was seeking her guidance, rather than charging off with her own ideas.

She leant forward and put her elbows on the desk. ‘I am happy to help, as you know. Of course I am. I looked after the probationers for forty years until the government thought it knew how to run my hospital better than I. What can I do to help? Would you like some tea? Shall I ring for Elsie? Blackie, no!’ At the mention of Elsie’s name, Blackie had growled.

Emily almost took the easy way out. Should she accept the tea? Ask imaginary questions, butter Matron up? Pander to her sense of superiority and self-importance? Would that serve any purpose? With a heavy heart, she decided it would not. The problem would still be there and it was one she had to fix. It was her responsibility. Her new probationer nurses must take priority. She would try as hard as she could to charm Matron, but her girls must come first. She took a deep breath and began.

‘The problem is a little delicate. I... er, I... well...’ Her voice wobbled and almost deserted her. ‘I have grave concerns regarding the conduct of Sister Antrobus on ward two. You may not be aware of this, but she has been directly responsible for three resignations from the school of nursing in the past year.’ Her confidence returned and she eased into full flow. ‘Placing a probationer nurse on her ward is as good as saying goodbye to that nurse and I’m afraid I have to step in. I cannot allow this to continue. I have tried to speak to Sister Antrobus myself, but she simply will not...’ She stopped mid-sentence as Matron raised her hand. The warmth that had been in the room just a few moments earlier had vanished in a flash.

‘Indeed, I am aware that you’ve tried to speak to her. She told me. I had wondered if you were aware that qualified staff are my responsibility, not yours?’

Emily swallowed. She was very aware that this was the case and wished it weren’t. There was a difficult disconnect between the school of nursing and the general day-to-day operation of the hospital. If she had responsibility for the placement of the probationer nurses, she was sure, there would be far fewer problems. Blackie fixed her with a beady eye. The change of atmosphere in the room had made him positively bristle.

‘I thought that you would already know, Matron. However, when it comes to the placement of probationer nurses, it would make my job impossible if I couldn’t have any dialogue with the ward sisters. I assure you, I have a very good relationship with everyone on all of the wards, except for Sister Antrobus. She refuses to acknowledge the effect her manner has on probationers. Indeed, having been a nurse on her ward myself in my younger days, I can say that her style of nursing has a negative impact on patients too.’

Matron drew an audible intake of breath. It was one thing to criticize a ward sister for her failings and how they affected nursing staff, quite another to involve the patients. She placed the letter she had been reading back into its envelope with a calmness that concealed her inner flare of anger. Sister Antrobus was the nearest she had to a friend. Matron had appointed her, and they shared a dedication to the job as well as to the status of single women. Both vehemently opposed any notion of married women being allowed to nurse. Nursing and St Angelus were their life. They occasionally had lunch together. Matron was looking forward to cooking for Sister Antrobus this Friday evening. She thought a great deal of Sister Antrobus. In fact, she thought of her a great deal. It had worried her at first how much she thought about her, but she had decided that it was her own personal secret and no one else knew.

‘Sister Haycock, I can assure you that I have received no complaints regarding Sister Antrobus, and having visited her ward only yesterday I can say with absolute confidence that I wholly approve of her
style
, as you call it. I had no idea that we were teaching our probationers
style
these days.’ Her nose wrinkled in disdain.

Emily knew. Everyone knew, from nurse to porter, about the close relationship between Matron and Sister Antrobus. It was the basis of smutty jokes in the lodge among the porter’s lads. Emily knew there wasn’t a probationer who wouldn’t have heard the hints within her first week. It was why Emily wanted to treat Matron gently. She would not tolerate a word of the gossip. In fact, any probationer nurse who did utter a word of jest at the expense of Sister Antrobus and Matron would find herself in Emily’s office. Respect was the first thing Emily drilled into her probationers. For patients and for each other. For the doctors and senior nurses on the wards. For the teaching staff at the school. For Matron and Sister Antrobus, and especially for the people who kept the hospital running, Dessie, Biddy, Elsie and all the orderlies and domestics.

‘Matron—’ Emily never got the chance to ask her question. Matron cut her off yet again.

‘Who is the probationer on ward two?’ she asked abruptly. As though the name would make any difference at all to the overbearing behaviour of Sister Antrobus.

‘Nurse Tanner.’