Our Country Nurse: Can East End Nurse Sarah find a new life caring for babies in the country?. Sarah Beeson

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      ‘What, trust mothers with their own records?’ she said in horror.

      ‘Yes, they can keep hold of them and give in their card when they get their baby weighed, or to me when we do checks and then return it to you before they leave,’ I told her.

      ‘Well, I never …’

      ‘You must know practically every mother and baby in the village,’ I suggested.

      ‘I certainly do,’ confirmed Mrs Martha Bunyard.

      ‘You will be the face of Totley Clinic – the first point of contact. I would like every mother who comes through these doors to get a warm welcome.’

      ‘Well, I’m sure I can rise to the task, Nurse,’ she snapped.

      ‘Perfect,’ I enthused. ‘Please do ask every mother if they would like to see me. Clinic is much more than getting a baby weighed, don’t you think?’

      I knew she didn’t think that in the slightest but, who knows, in time maybe even Methuselah would come round. I was going to keep a careful eye on Mrs Martha Bunyard and her friends to see how they spoke to the mothers. It was our clients who were the most important people at clinic, not the health visitor and not the ladies who volunteered.

      ‘Mrs Bowyer,’ I began, ‘Perhaps you could run a little refreshment station for me,’ I asked. ‘I’m sure you must have lots of catering experience. Keeping our hard-working volunteers, mothers and their little ones hydrated is vital, don’t you think?’

      ‘Certainly, Nurse. I’ll ask Mrs Farthing if I can use the kitchen.’

      ‘What a good suggestion, thank you.’

      And she too scuttled off to take up her new role with a few mutterings and sly glances in my direction.

      ‘Now, Miss Moon, would you mind setting up a play area for me, to help keep the toddlers amused?’

      ‘I will, Nurse,’ she replied gently. ‘I know exactly where the toy box and the play mats are. I often help my niece at Mums and Toddlers on a Wednesday.’

      ‘Thank you,’ I said, beaming. ‘I’d like the mothers to have the opportunity to sit down for a rest and a chat with each other as much as anything – it is after all their baby clinic. And please do encourage the mums to come and talk to me about anything. Nothing is too much trouble. I won’t be in the consulting room from now on – I’ll be at my table over there, so any parent can see me if they want to,’ I told them.

      Ten minutes later the ladies of the parish were all busy with their new roles. I noticed the timid little lady who was employed to sell the tins of baby milk doing a steady trade with barely a word spoken. Now, then, how to tackle the volunteers who weighed the babies? With my usual gusto I charged over to wrestle with my next problem.

      ‘Hello, I’m Sarah Hill. Mrs Kettel, isn’t it? How’s the weighing going today?’

      ‘Very well, thank you, Nurse. I’ve weighed half a dozen babies already.’

      ‘That’s great. I wanted to ask your opinion on something.’

      ‘Go ahead, Nurse. I’ve been weighing babies at this clinic for the last eight years. I’m a dabster at it,’ said Mrs Kettel proudly.

      ‘Goodness me, what a long time. Do you think the clothes on the baby enable you to note down the most accurate weight?’

      ‘It depends, Nurse. In the winter the woollens certainly weigh more,’ said Mrs Kettel thoughtfully. ‘Not to mention when they do their business in their nappies.’

      ‘Yes, I imagine that makes quite a difference,’ I said.

      ‘I should cocoa,’ said Mrs Kettel with a chuckle.

      ‘What do you think we can do to get the most accurate weight?’ I asked.

      ‘Not much you can do, Nurse, except weigh them burr,’ Mrs Kettel said warily.

      ‘Burr?’ I enquired.

      ‘Starkers, Nurse. In the all-together,’ mocked Mrs Kettel.

      ‘Ah, well, we understand each other perfectly then,’ I replied. ‘Please, set up three or four changing tables with a few of those plastic bowls for the babies’ clothes to go in when they’re burr,’ I suggested with a glint in my eye, pointing to the unused equipment.

      ‘Are you taking the mickey, Nurse?’ asked Mrs Kettel with raised eyebrows.

      ‘How else can we ensure we get the most accurate weight?’

      ‘But what if they widdle or worse in the scales?’ she enquired.

      ‘It’s not the end of the world if they do. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of experience with that sort of thing. It’s not something that would put you off your stride, is it?’

      ‘Oh, no,’ said Mrs Kettel. ‘I’ve seen it all, Nurse.’

      ‘Perfect. Keep some cleaning things near to hand so you can clean up easily. We wouldn’t want the mothers to be embarrassed, would we?’

      ‘Oh no. Most natural thing in the world, Nurse. You leave it to us,’ she assured me.

      ‘Excellent, thank you.’

      I was determined to say hello to every parent who came to clinic at the very least. When I wasn’t chatting to a mother I was on my feet to greet them as they came past Mrs Martha Bunyard and co. But to my surprise the ladies seemed to have taken to their new roles. If appearances were anything to go by then they were having a jolly time greeting mothers, peeking at the babies and getting a little bit of village gossip.

      ‘How’s it going?’ I breezily asked Mrs Martha Bunyard.

      ‘Very well, Nurse,’ answered Miss Elena Moon before she could get a word in. ‘We think it’s much better this way, don’t we, Doris?’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ added Mrs Doris Bowyer. ‘Helps the shy ones come out of themselves a bit. Sometimes you could barely get a hello out of some of the girls and now they’re right jawsy.’

      ‘Yes, I don’t know why we didn’t do it like this before,’ finished Miss Moon.

      Mrs Martha Bunyard scowled at her friends’ new-found enthusiasm.

      ‘That’s very good.’ I grinned. ‘So, let’s check. You greet them, especially taking a bit of time with newcomers to explain they can come and get the baby weighed and talk to me about anything.’

      ‘Yes, yes, yes, Nurse. We’ve been sending you over a steady stream, haven’t we?’ barked Mrs Martha Bunyard.

      ‘Yes. Very well organised,’ I praised. ‘And you are recording all the names in the book as they arrive, giving out the clinic cards and adding in any missing information like date of birth or their address?’

      ‘All in hand, Nurse. You leave it to us,’ Mrs Martha Bunyard said firmly.

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