The Nightingale Girls (5 page)

The Home Sister led the way up to the top of the house, where the staircase became so narrow she could hardly squeeze her ample body up it. Dora puffed along behind, not daring to stop to draw breath.

As Sister Sutton went, she recited a litany of rules and regulations.

‘Lights out is at ten o’clock sharp, and you are expected to be back in the nurses’ home by then unless you have a late pass. Although why any respectable girl would want to be out after that time I have no idea,’ she said. ‘Laundry day is Monday; in the morning you must strip off your bed and put your sheets and towels in the bags at the end of the corridor. Personal items are to be put in your own laundry bag and left out for collection on Tuesdays and Thursdays. While a probationer, you must not leave the hospital grounds in uniform. And while in uniform you will behave with the decorum that befits the good name of this hospital. Which means no make-up or jewellery, no laughing, no speaking loudly, and strictly no talking to men. Is that understood?’

Dora nodded, but she was beginning to wonder if she would ever remember all the rules of the nurses’ home, let alone take in any medical knowledge.

Sister Sutton stopped so suddenly Dora almost collided with her, and threw open a door to reveal a long attic room with three beds tucked into the eaves. A small dormer window cast a dim patch of wintry light on to the bare polished floorboards.

A nurse sat on the bed at the far end of the room, her stockinged feet up. As Sister Sutton barged in, she shot to her feet so quickly she nearly hit her head on the sloping ceiling.

‘What are you doing here, Tremayne?’ Sister Sutton demanded.

‘Please, Sister. I’m off duty until five.’

‘So why are you skulking about up here?’ Sister Sutton sniffed the air. ‘You weren’t smoking, were you?’

‘No, Sister.’ The girl towered over Sister Sutton, as tall and slender as the Home Sister was short and wide. Her dark hair was coiled in a smooth bun at the nape of her
long, elegant neck. Dora tucked a frizzy curl behind her ear and wondered if she would ever get her hair to look that neat.

‘You know I do not allow smoking in the rooms. If you must smoke, do it downstairs in the library or outside like everyone else.’

‘Yes, Sister.’ Sparky jumped up at the girl’s legs, clawing at her black woollen stockings, but she didn’t flinch.

Dora could feel her tension as Sister Sutton inspected the room through narrowed eyes. ‘And what’s this?’ She pointed to the far corner. ‘Why is this bed in such a mess?’

Dora looked at the immaculately made bed with its perfectly turned down sheet and neat corners, and wondered if she was seeing things.

‘Where is Nurse Benedict?’ Sister Sutton asked.

The tall girl cleared her throat. ‘It’s her day off, Sister.’

‘Disgraceful! You nurses get far too much time off.’ Sister Sutton went over to the bed, tore off the bedclothes and, with a great effort, upended the mattress on to the floor. Dora looked at the dark girl, but her gaze remained fixed on the worn rug at her feet.

Sister Sutton stood back, breathing heavily. ‘Tell Benedict if I ever find her bed a mess again, I will send her straight to Matron. Is that clear?’ she said.

‘Yes, Sister.’

‘And you,’ Dora jumped as Sister Sutton swung her attention back to her. ‘Let this be a lesson to you. I will not tolerate slovenliness in nurses. If you can’t keep yourselves neat and tidy, how on earth do you expect to care for patients?’ Once again, Dora felt the full force of her gaze, raking up and down, looking for faults. ‘Well?’

‘I – I don’t know, Sister,’ Dora stammered.

Sister Sutton tutted and shook her head. ‘This is Doyle,’
she said to the other nurse. ‘Please help her settle in.’ She turned back to Dora. ‘Get changed and go down to supper at eight. Your training will begin at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. Tremayne will show you where to go. Come, Sparky.’ She left, slamming the door behind her.

Dora stared at it. ‘Blimey, is she always like that?’

‘Sometimes she’s worse.’ The girl picked her way across the room. ‘Here, help me sort out this bed.’

‘I’m Dora, by the way,’ she introduced herself as they hauled the heavy horse-hair mattress back on to the bed.

‘Helen. But we’re not supposed to use Christian names on the wards, only surnames.’ She pushed the mattress into place and stood back, smoothing down her blue-striped dress. ‘There, that’ll do. Benedict can do the rest when she gets in. You can put your things in that chest of drawers.’ She nodded towards the corner of the room.

‘I’ll unpack later.’ She didn’t want Helen Tremayne to see her few poor belongings. She sounded so posh, Dora was sure she would look down her nose at her.

‘Suit yourself, but you’ll have to have everything folded and put away before supper, or Sister Sutton won’t be pleased. And you’d best get changed, too.’

Dora watched Helen as she rolled down the sleeves of her dress and deftly fastened them at the wrist with neat starched cuffs. She wondered if all nurses were as cool and brisk as her. If they were, Dora didn’t stand a chance.

She warily eyed the neatly folded pile of clothes on the bed – three blue-striped dresses, several white aprons and bibs, collars, cuffs and a laundry bag. On top of it all sat a square of white fabric starched like cardboard, which she had no idea what to do with.

Dora carefully unfolded the dress and shook it out. It
was so freshly laundered, she wanted to hold it up to her face and breathe in the clean, starchy smell. But with Helen Tremayne watching, she could only hurry to get it on.

It was easier said than done. The dress was thick and heavy, lined with calico, and reached almost to her ankles. The room was chilly, but by the time she’d put on her dress and black woollen stockings she was sweltering.

‘What do you do when it’s hot?’ she asked.

Helen shrugged. ‘You just put up with it, same as you do everything else.’

Dora struggled to fasten up her cuffs. The studs were small and fiddly, and her hands became clammy with panic.

‘Do you want any help?’ Helen offered.

‘Thanks.’ Dora studied the other girl as she fastened the studs. Even her severe uniform couldn’t disguise her striking beauty. Her face was a smooth, perfect oval, with huge dark eyes framed by thick lashes.

She would be even more beautiful if she smiled, Dora thought.

She wasn’t the easiest person to talk to, either. Dora tried again to make conversation with her. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘I’m in my second year as a student.’

‘What about Benedict?’

‘She’s still a pro – a probationer, I mean. That’s what we call students in their first year. Pass me your collar.’

Dora handed it to her and lifted her chin so she could fasten it. ‘Thanks – ow! That hurts!’

‘Nothing I can do about that, you just have to get used to it. Putting Vaseline on your neck helps if it rubs too much . . . There, that’s done.’ She paused. ‘What’s this around your neck?’

‘It’s a hamsa. A kind of lucky charm. A friend gave it to me.’

‘It won’t be very lucky for you if Sister Sutton catches you wearing it,’ Helen warned. ‘You’d best take it off and keep it somewhere safe.’

Dora removed the chain from around her neck, wrapped it in a handkerchief and placed it in the empty drawer that had been allocated to her. Meanwhile, Helen deftly fashioned the mysterious square of starched fabric into a neat cap.

‘I’ll never get the hang of that!’ Dora sighed as she watched her.

‘Of course you will. Everyone does.’ She placed the cap on Dora’s frizzy hair. ‘Have you brought any pins with you? It doesn’t matter, I’ve got some spares. Although you might have to do something about your hair.’ She frowned. ‘It’s supposed to be hidden at all times, and you’ll never get it all under your cap.’

‘I’ll have to shave my head to do that,’ Dora said mournfully.

Helen Tremayne’s mouth curved slightly, the first hint of a smile Dora had seen. ‘I don’t suppose it will come to that.’ She jabbed a pin into the cap, narrowly missing Dora’s left ear. ‘There, that’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.’

Dora checked her reflection in the scrap of mirror over the chest of drawers, and a bubble of excitement started to rise inside her. She could scarcely believe the transformation. In her smart striped dress, with her collar fastened tightly under her chin, and her hair almost hidden under her cap, she looked almost like a real nurse.

‘I’d best go, I’m due back on the ward in ten minutes.’ Helen’s voice broke into her daydream. She was on the other side of the room, ramming her feet back into her shoes. ‘Make sure you’re in the dining room for eight
o’clock.’ She threw her cloak over her shoulders and hurried for the door. ‘It’s block three, this side of the courtyard. Out of the main doors, then turn right. And whatever you do, don’t be late.’

WHEN HELEN HAD
gone, Dora quickly unpacked her belongings, shoving them into the empty drawer. She didn’t have much, just underwear and a couple of dresses, plus all the things she had been told to bring for training – black stockings and stout black shoes, blunt-ended scissors, pens and pencils and a watch.

She suppressed a shudder as she placed the watch carefully in the drawer. Alf had made a big song and dance about buying it for her. He’d presented it to her in front of all the family, and she’d had to pretend to be grateful and let him put his arms around her and listen to everyone say what a good, generous man he was.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself. You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you any more.

At eight o’clock prompt, she made her way to block three as Helen Tremayne had directed. She followed the sound of clattering crockery and excited chatter down the corridor, and found herself in the brightly lit, noisy dining room, reeking of overcooked cabbage and disinfectant. It was the size of a gymnasium, and laid out with several long tables. At the far end of the room, steam belched from a serving hatch where a large woman in a white overall was doling out loaves of bread, bowls and huge enamel jugs of cocoa.

Each of the long tables was crowded with young women in a different-coloured uniform – some royal blue, some striped, some purple. Over by the window, away from the
hustle and bustle, a group of women in grey uniforms ate their meal in dignified silence, served by a maid.

Dora’s stomach rumbled in anticipation; she had been too nervous to eat the sausage sandwich her mum had made her at lunchtime.

Sister Sutton was waiting by the door. ‘You’re late,’ she greeted her. ‘And your cap is crooked. Go over there and sit with the other probationers.’

As she made her way across the room, Dora noticed Helen Tremayne sitting at a table with a group of other nurses in striped uniforms – second years, she guessed. Dora waved but Helen stared straight through her and went on eating.

Dora found a seat at the end of the probationers’ table, where a dozen or so nervous-looking girls sat casting sidelong glances around them. Unlike the other pros at the table, they all wore blue armbands, denoting they were in Preliminary Training and not yet let loose on the wards.

As she sat down, an excited-looking pro came back from the hatch bearing a bottle of Daddies Sauce, like a trophy.

‘Look what I’ve got,’ she grinned.

‘Quick, before the seniors get hold of it!’ The girls at the far end of the table passed it around eagerly, watched in bewilderment by Dora and the other new students.

‘The senior students get first dibs on everything,’ the girl opposite her explained. ‘The pros have to make do with whatever’s left. And being new, we’re right at the bottom of the pile.’

‘How do you know that?’ the girl beside Dora asked.

‘My sisters trained here. One of them is a staff nurse on the Male Orthopaedic ward now.’ The girl was plump and dark-haired, with a sweet, round face and a lilting Irish accent. Dora wondered what Sister Sutton had made of her.

Their food arrived in front of them. The girl next to Dora poked squeamishly at the contents of the bowl. ‘What is this horrible stuff, anyway?’

‘Dripping,’ the Irish girl said, digging her knife in and ladling a dollop on to her bread. ‘Try it, it’s delicious.’ She sank her teeth into the crust, her eyes closed in bliss.

‘It looks disgusting.’ The girl grimaced. ‘I’m sure my mother would just die if she knew I was eating such awful food.’

‘You’ll get used to it,’ the Irish girl mumbled, her mouth full. ‘My sister reckons you get so hungry you end up eating whatever they put in front of you.’ She filled her cup with cocoa and offered the jug to the student next to her, a timid-looking girl with spectacles.

Before she could move to take it, the girl beside Dora reached out and grabbed it, then filled her own cup. ‘Ugh, this is revolting too.’

‘We wouldn’t know. We haven’t had a chance to find out.’ Dora sent her a sideways glance. The girl was pretty, with neatly plaited shiny chestnut-brown hair and a disdainful expression. Her small nose pointed towards the ceiling, as if permanently turned up at the world and all it had to offer.

‘Sorry, did you want this?’ The girl offered her the jug. Dora took it and handed it back to the timid-looking girl, who smiled shyly across the table at her.

Over supper, the new students chatted amongst themselves, swapping stories of their schools, their families, and how they had come to be at the Nightingale. Dora found out the Irish girl was called Katie O’Hara. She had come over from a tiny village in Ireland to train at the same hospital as her three sisters. ‘It was either that or become a nun!’ she laughed.

She also found out the girl with the turned-up nose was
called Lucy Lane. She was an only child, her father had made a fortune manufacturing light bulbs, her mother did charity work, and she was simply the best at everything. Dora felt her eyelids begin to droop as Lucy listed the prizes she had won at her school, from needlework to Most Polite Pupil. If they’d given a prize for talking the hind legs off a donkey, she would have won that too.

‘Everyone expected me to go on to university after school, but I decided I wanted to be a nurse,’ she announced. ‘It’s such a worthwhile profession, isn’t it? And of course, once I’d decided on nursing, I had to come to the Nightingale. Everyone knows it’s the best teaching hospital in the country. Only the best will do for me, Daddy says.’