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

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СКАЧАТЬ see Ann or Tony again,’ he threatened. I realised he was angry and still hurting over Mum. ‘After all she’s done, after all I’ve done for you …’ he said, his voice choking with emotion.

      ‘What? So why are you charging me to come home for the weekend, then?’ I argued.

      Dad looked at me and reeled back in horror. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

      ‘Elsie? A month’s wage just to come home for the weekend? Well, I couldn’t afford it. That’s why I’ve not been back to see you, even though I’ve been really, really homesick,’ I snapped, willing my tears to go away.

      It was clear that he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about, so I explained all about Elsie and the monthly wage I’d handed over on my first visit home.

      Dad gasped in disbelief. ‘What? And you really thought I’d charge my own daughter to come home for the weekend?’

      ‘Well, that’s what she told me, so I paid her in full – my first month’s salary!’

      I could see Dad was trying to process what I was saying, and then the penny dropped. Elsie had lied to me and kept the money for herself. Dad vowed to deal with her later but I could tell he was hurt and disappointed in me.

      ‘I can’t believe you thought I’d charge you,’ he said, slumping down into a chair at the kitchen table as though the stuffing had been knocked clean from him.

      ‘I didn’t know what to believe. That’s why I never came home – I couldn’t afford it.’

      He was still trying to digest the news but he gave me a hug and promised to sort something out. Although we’d talked it through, it took him a few months before he eventually calmed down. He wished me well and insisted I was welcome home any time. To make matters worse, before I left the house I saw my coat. It was on the back of Elsie’s daughter, who I presumed had also been hoodwinked by her wicked mother. Although I’d wanted to rip it off her, I held my head high, left the house and never said another word. I realised Dad was stuck with Elsie, because he needed to work to feed Tony and Ann. Still, after our conversation he watched her like a hawk. He slowly built a case against her, which was strengthened when she later stole and sold his best suit and gold pocket watch.

      ‘I threw her out,’ he later explained. ‘You were right; I think she’d been stealing from me for a long time.’

      I felt for Dad, because he’d only taken her on so that he could work to keep a roof over our heads. Now he was back to square one again.

3

       Mishaps on the Wards

      I returned to London and began work at Hammersmith Hospital, which, unlike Huddersfield, was a post-graduate school. Everything about it seemed better – the building, the wards and my wages, which doubled from a paltry £2 a month to almost £4.

      The hospital was also massive in comparison – three times the size of Huddersfield. Before, I’d been able to navigate the wards in less than half an hour, but Hammersmith was so big that it took me three hours just to walk around it all. The main entrance was incredibly grand and housed a small shop just inside the foyer. The corridors cut through the building like arteries, carrying doctors, nurses and patients, and in some places they seemed up to half a mile long. The hospital had specialised units and modern wards spread out over four blocks, and you had to cross a yard to access each one. There was maternity at one end and A&E at the other, mirroring both life and death.

      Unlike my old hospital, the maternity ward housed a neonatal unit for premature babies. This was cutting-edge medicine at the time. At Huddersfield, all premature babies had to be rushed to Sheffield for specialised treatment, but in London it was all under one roof. There were also units for radiotherapy and diabetes patients. The place was swarming with post-graduate students, nurses and doctors. Before, there’d been just one matron in charge, but at Hammersmith there was a deputy and a stand-in matron too. It was similar with the sister tutor. At Huddersfield there had been just one, but in London there was one with three under-tutors to support her. I felt totally out of my depth.

      As students, we were expected to do everything, usually the jobs that no one else wanted to do. I worked on the children’s ward, where I had the unenviable task of delousing young patients. Initially, I felt totally frustrated because I was treated like a country bumpkin, but after three months working in the children’s ward I transferred to the geriatric ward, where I made a real name for myself after mixing up all the patients’ false teeth. I’d spent three hours cleaning them, and once I’d finished I was delighted. I popped them back inside the sterilised bowl and made my way back up to the ward. However, the smile was soon wiped off my face by Sister.

      ‘Er, how do you know whose teeth are whose?’ she said, pointing towards the bucket.

      I looked at her and then down at the dozen sets of teeth, all spotlessly clean but now hopelessly jumbled up.

      ‘Oh,’ I replied as my heart sank to my knees.

      I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to match the rightful owner to each set, but it was an impossible and thankless task. Some of the patients were elderly and suffered with dementia, so, upon seeing a better pair of dentures, they claimed them even if they didn’t fit. At one point a fight almost broke out. In the end, it took me the best part of the day to try to fit each person to each set, but it taught me the importance of labelling.

      Shamed by the teeth débâcle, I transferred from geriatrics to the medical ward, where I worked a series of night shifts. But it wasn’t long before I made a name for myself again. One evening, I was asked to clean out the sluice. It was a horrible task, and as soon as I entered I recoiled at the stench of urine. It was so strong that it choked the back of my throat. I immediately spotted the culprits, a dozen half-full Winchester bottles of urine that had stunk the place out. Pinching the end of my nose and trying not to breathe in too deeply, I emptied each and every one of them, sterilised the bottles, lined them up on the side in a neat row and wiped down the surfaces. Exhausted but satisfied I’d done a thorough job, I returned to the ward, where the nurses on the day shift were just about to take over. Once I was off duty, I headed back to my room where I flopped straight into bed. I was so tired that I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but moments later I was woken by the sound of someone banging furiously at my door.

      ‘You need to come to the ward – Sister wants to see you,’ a voice called from the corridor.

      ‘But I’ve just finished my shift and I’m in bed!’ I protested, pulling the blanket up over my head.

      ‘I don’t care. Get dressed and come to the ward immediately!’

      I didn’t know who the voice had belonged to, but as I heard their footsteps disappear off down the corridor I sat upright in bed. Even in my hazy slumber I knew it was an order rather than a request. I was thoroughly shattered but I dragged myself up, pulled on my uniform and headed back up to the medical ward. By the time I arrived Sister was waiting for me with both arms folded. She looked absolutely furious.

      ‘Is this her?’ a man’s voice called from behind. I dipped to the side to try to see where the voice was coming from, and that’s when I spotted them – the professor and a line of junior doctors. They were all staring at me.

      ‘Yes, this is the one,’ she snapped, her eyes not leaving me for a second. ‘When I asked you to clean the sluice, СКАЧАТЬ