An Unsuitable Mother. Sheelagh Kelly

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      They were to see many more ants during the next few weeks, for the old workhouse was infested with them. It was as well that Nell soon grew too familiar with this small army for them to bother her, and similarly those old men who had so frightened her at first, for it appeared that she would be there much longer than anyone had expected. The casualty evacuation trains might all be ready, with beds made up and their crews fit for action with a mound of surgical dressings at hand, but there seemed little urgency to call upon their newly acquired skills.

      Though these were still very modest, the probationers and auxiliaries were gleaning more knowledge by the day, being permitted to witness the work of experienced nurses, and to practise, practise, practise those things that would be expected to be second nature to them in weeks to come: the insertion of catheters, the administration of enemas and medicines, giving injections – though only the Ashton sisters were allowed to have a go at the latter – meting out food and stimulants, dressing wounds, making a poultice, and even helping to lay out the dead. Nell had already changed her mind about going back to clerical work after the war, having decided that this would make for a much fuller and more satisfying career one day.

      For now, though, she and her fellows were still mainly confined to the routine of changing filthy bedding, washing backs, handing out false teeth, trying to interpret the barely intelligible language of the stroke patients, and listening to old people’s objections over the food they had been given. Some might consider it drudgery, but Nell had made it her mission to get to know all the patients, to take an interest in their personalities and not just their ailments, and to converse with them as one might a peer, as she clipped their toenails and attended their bodily functions. Ditto the permanent residents, such as Cissie Flowerdew, whose situation had intrigued her so much that she had secretly delved into dusty ledgers to find out more about her. Sadly they had little else to tell about this poor simple woman, other than the entry ‘imbecile’ beside her name, and the date of entry. Yet by bothering to pause and chat with the subject herself, a persistent Nell had discovered that Cissie’s hopes and dreams were not dissimilar to her own.

      ‘I’m going to have a big white wedding!’ a pregnant Cissie delighted in telling the listener. ‘He’s coming back to collect me any day – do you want to be my bridesmaid, Nurse? I’ll need lots of bridesmaids.’

      And instead of tittering, Nell felt quite sad that Cissie would never realise those dreams, and had answered kindly that she would regard it an honour. Any banter that might be exchanged was not at the expense of the victim, and any amusement lacked malice. On the contrary, she found herself looking forward to her next day, when she could give Cissie the length of gay ribbon she had decided would cheer her up. Indeed, there were to be many yards of ribbon handed out to brighten the other old ladies’ drab lives, which used up most of Nell’s pocket money, but was considered well-spent.

      If there were any elements of this institution that Nell abhorred – apart from death, of course – it would be Ward Three, which housed the mentally deranged who could be violent, though none towards her so far, and the ward devoted to venereal disease. Just to find herself amongst such degraded individuals for the first time was sufficient ordeal. But horror was to be heaped upon horror for those compelled to watch as a man’s private member was exposed – in itself enough to set Nell’s cheeks aflame – and an instrument like a miniature umbrella then inserted into it. Face burning with embarrassment, unable to turn away lest she be dubbed a prude or a coward, Nell tried to bolster herself with the thought that it was far worse for the unfortunate victim than it was for any of his audience. But this did not make it any easier, and she hoped her experience on this ward would be brief.

      What on earth would Billy have to say if he knew? Though she had no intention of telling him, or her parents. Nell doubted either of the latter would know of the existence of such horrific diseases, what with the upright lives they had led. Why, she herself had never guessed beforehand. This job had certainly broadened her education, though she would have preferred to remain ignorant of some things. Still, there was always humour to be found in any situation, and she could not help blurting an unintentional laugh in front of her friend Beata as they washed their hands for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

      ‘I’m just trying to think of an answer for when my mother asks what I did at work today,’ she explained to her friend, who cracked a similar smile.

      ‘Aye, it’s not really polite conversation to say you watched a man have an umbrella shoved up his willy,’ said Beata. ‘Let alone recommend it as a spectator sport.’

      ‘I could have died of embarrassment!’ Blushing at the thought, Nell covered her face with the towel, before heaping admiration on her friend. ‘Whilst you didn’t even flinch.’

      ‘Oh, don’t go accrediting me with special powers, it’s just that I’ve seen a lot of ’em – a lot of the same one, anyway,’ Beata corrected herself, as Nell burst out laughing again. ‘I had to nurse my bedridden uncle, amongst others, bath him and everything. So there’s nowt much else can startle me. Not that Uncle Teddy had anything so horrible done to him as that poor chap.’ Then she cocked her head and reflected. ‘Mindst, some days I would’ve liked to ram a proper umbrella up him, the nasty old sod.’

      Nell’s eyes watered from merriment. ‘Oh, I’m so lucky to be working with you, Killie, you’re such a joy!’ And her words were truly heartfelt.

      But still, her main source of joy was in the receipt of Billy’s letters at the end of the day. With no time to visit the Preciouses each lunchtime now, she had to wait until after work, travelling a mile out of her way in order to retrieve a few mundane lines of news. Yet she would have gone to the ends of the earth for the row of kisses that always embellished Billy’s short letters.

      It was immensely worrying, though, to think of him in that terrible blitz inflicted on the south. Though nothing in comparison, the air raids had become more frequent around York as well, and October had seen the first two deaths, though on the other side of the city to where Nell lived. Moreover, the bombs were getting to be a little close to home; last week one of them had descended quite near to Aunty Phyllis’s, falling between two houses and half-demolishing both. And although, thankfully, the occupants had escaped with burns and fractures, it was all very un settling, for Nell was personally acquainted with these victims.

      Had England thought she had seen the utmost that Goering could unleash, there came a change of tactics, and the worst raid of the war, this time upon Coventry. Stunned from the news, the fledgling nurses were still discussing this during their lunch hour at a restaurant in town, none of them able to fathom the scale of the destruction, nor how it must feel to confront so many casualties. A thousand dead, God knew how many more injured, rank upon rank of them being ferried to the first-aid post, of which there was one at the Infirmary.

      ‘I mean, where would one start with numbers such as those?’ Lavinia Ashton looked anguished. ‘Whom would one treat first? We’ve never been given any real practice – all right, we’ve applied one or two bandages, et cetera, but in the scheme of things they were small-fry. We’ve never been put to the test. I’m afraid I might not come up to scratch when faced with something СКАЧАТЬ