At the Coalface: The memoir of a pit nurse. Veronica Clark

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СКАЧАТЬ was, because by now I knew it was time to move on, although it didn’t stop the nerves rising inside my stomach. I was still in my early twenties – in many ways I was still learning – yet at the pit I knew I’d be in charge of thousands of men. I’d always been confident in my own nursing world of hospitals and sterile wards, but this was a different type of nursing – this was industrial nursing, which I’d never done before. But I wasn’t proud. I’d ask for help if I needed it.

      Although I realised it’d be a whole different ball game, I trusted my father and his judgement. Ultimately, I knew he wouldn’t have recommended me if he didn’t think I was up to the job.

5

       A Miner’s Nurse

      I was a complete first and a bit of a curiosity at Brodsworth Colliery – a female nursing officer in charge of 3,000 men – but the National Coal Board was trying to improve its safety record after the pits had been nationalised nine years previously. Now that I’d been hired, the health of the Brodsworth miners was down to me. I’d work in a preventative role as well as being there to treat the men.

      Before I’d arrived, the miners relied on a bloke called Bert, a tall, slim and authoritative man in his mid-forties. He’d been at the pit for donkeys’ years and was a trained first aider. He was also the man you went to in an emergency. It was 1956, and Bert was so trusted and highly respected that all the people in the village would call on him rather than use a doctor. To be honest, I didn’t blame them because what Bert didn’t know wasn’t really worth knowing. His office was an old wooden hut situated by the shaft side. The hut was cramped and dark and as far removed from sterile hospital wards as you could get. Nevertheless, Bert, who had a mop of thick, dark, curly hair, would expertly bandage and generally patch the men up in the dim light and dusty surroundings. If it was a serious injury then he’d pack them off to the hospital, or call for one of the Coal Board doctors, but Bert was always the miners’ first port of call in an emergency.

      He was also very obstinate and viewed me, just 24 and a mere slip of a girl, with extreme suspicion. He resented the fact that I was heading up the brand new medical centre, because his male ego wouldn’t allow him to accept orders from a young lass. The centre was being built specially but he disliked the idea so much that he refused to come out of his hut even to take a look at it. I’m sure the curiosity must have killed him, but he was a stubborn old goat and he refused to budge an inch. Despite this, I looked up to Bert because he was so knowledgeable.

      I’d been brought up in Woodlands, the village attached to Brodsworth Colliery, and my father – Harry Smith to everyone else – was a senior official there. Dad was respected, and everyone knew I was his eldest daughter. By this time, my brother Tony had started at Brodsworth as a trainee cadet, so the men called me either ‘Harry Smith’s eldest’ or ‘Tony Smith’s sister’. I was never called by my actual name, despite my protests. Sometimes the men couldn’t even be bothered to refer to me by the family name, and instead called me ‘the head girl from Woodlands school’. I’d come off the hospital wards and never done industrial nursing before, so I was also a little intimidated by the miners and my surroundings. The medical centre was still being built, so I got to choose the colour scheme.

      ‘I think I’d like a nice canary yellow,’ I said as I surveyed the plans. The man was horrified and his mouth fell open as though I’d asked him to paint it candy pink. To say the men on site were appalled by my choice of colour would be an understatement.

      ‘Yellow!’ one of the miners shrieked, shaking his head in dismay. ‘But we normally have navy blue on the walls.’

      I turned to face him. I was only young and I knew I was a woman working in a man’s world, but I was also very determined.

      ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘And navy blue is a horrible, dark colour. I need it to be light and welcoming, so I’d like it painting yellow, please.’

      I nodded my head as though that was my final word on the matter. Despite many objections, my wish was eventually granted, much to Bert’s disapproval. I’d not consulted him, but I could just imagine him sitting over in his dreary dark wooden cabin, rolling his eyes in despair. As soon as the medical centre opened, I realised it was going to be hard to win the men over because, instead of coming to me, they continued to consult Bert. Now it was a battle of wills.

      ‘Have you heard? She’s only gone and painted it bloody yellow!’ one of the men grumbled as he passed by my window early one morning.

      I was up and running, but with no patients to treat and yellow walls to boot, I knew I had my work cut out. The medical centre held all the latest equipment, including a state-of-the-art steriliser, but try as I might, I couldn’t get Bert or his team of first-aiders through the door. And then fate intervened. One day, I stretched over the autoclave – the device used to sterilise equipment to a very high temperature – when I caught my right arm against it. The burn was painful because it was deep and it had penetrated through several layers of skin. Also, because it was my right arm, it was impossible for me to dress with a bandage. With no one else to turn to, I walked across the pit yard towards Bert’s hut. I tapped lightly on the door. As he opened it, I could tell he was shocked to find me standing there. He also seemed a little suspicious, as though I was trying to trick him.

      ‘Sorry to bother you, Bert,’ I began, ‘but I wondered if you could take a look at my arm, please? I caught it on the autoclave. It’s really painful and it’s my right arm … I can’t dress it properly.’

      I was so busy trying to explain that I hadn’t noticed that Bert had left the door ajar and had sat back down. I took it as a signal to go inside.

      ‘Tha needs to be more careful,’ he grunted as he pulled out a roll of bandage from a nearby drawer. He expertly dressed my wound as his dark curly hair flopped around his face, hiding his expression.

      ‘I’m really grateful, Bert.I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’

      He looked up at me and nodded, but he was a hard man to read and I wondered if he thought I’d burned my arm on purpose. I hadn’t, of course, and it was painful all the same. I winced as he tied the bandage, and he nodded to indicate that he’d finished. I wasn’t quite sure what to do so I stood up and turned to leave. As I did, Bert spoke.

      ‘It’s a nasty wound, that is. Tha better come back tomorrow so I can change t’dressing.’

      I turned and smiled gratefully.

      ‘Thanks, Bert. I really appreciate it.’ And I did. I also saw a chink of light. Maybe Bert wasn’t such a tough nut to crack after all.

      The following day I went back to have my dressing changed, and the day after, until soon I’d visited Bert for the best part of the week. Early one morning, I was told an official would be visiting the medical centre. I asked Bert if he could come over to me instead, but he wasn’t keen. He’d already made it plain that he didn’t approve of me or my canary-yellow walls.

      ‘Please, Bert. I’ll get into trouble if I’m over here with you and not over there,’ I said, pointing at the medical centre. ‘It’ll only take a minute, and then you can leave.’

      After much deliberation, Bert decided that he would indeed come over to dress my wound. I think a small part of him really wanted to see the inside of the centre, but his male ego wouldn’t let him cross the threshold without good reason. Of course, Bert changed my dressing to his usual high standard. As he packed up to leave, I took a chance.

      ‘While СКАЧАТЬ