An Unsuitable Mother. Sheelagh Kelly

the correct way to roll an infirm patient from side to side, to check for signs of pressure, and how to sponge the person down, Sister divided them into pairs, and instructed each to follow her example.

      Nell would much rather have been paired with Beata than Joyson to undertake the blanket bathing of Mrs Wrigley, but without a choice in the matter she was determined to shine. Thankfully the elderly lady was compliance itself, and not one of those who screamed blue murder like the poor Ashton girls had been landed with. But despite her ruttly chest, Mrs Wrigley raised not a grumble, as she was manhandled about the mattress and generally used as a practice dummy. Thankful for this cooperation, Nell voiced appreciation to Mrs Wrigley whilst trying not to make her cough worse, wondering throughout if Sister would admonish her for gossiping. But Sister appeared to be content to let them go about this in their own way for a while, and a lot less keen on pointing out their faults at every turn, as she had done at first introduction two weeks ago. Though coming to know her so well, Nell had the suspicion that this was just a ruse, and that Sister was merely saving all her complaints for later. Thus attuned, she determined to rob her of any chance to grumble.

      Sister had other ideas. Gathering everyone around the bed that Nell and Joyson had just stripped and changed between them, after first excusing herself to the patient, she prowled the scene, checking that all castors were turned inward, the corners of the sheets were all neatly tucked in, the top one was folded over the counterpane to the regulation measurement, and the dirty linen had been deposited in the bin. Finding no fault with any of these, she then canvassed the group. ‘Do all of you consider that Mrs Wrigley has been satisfactorily provided for?’

      Feeling nervous as her peers ran their eyes over her work, Nell was relieved that none of them spotted anything wrong.

      ‘Nothing wrong at all?’ queried Sister. ‘Then where is Mrs Wrigley to deposit her sputum – on the floor? This is not a saloon bar!’

      Additionally reminded by the old lady’s chest noises, Nell realised with dismay. ‘Sorry, Sister, I took the cup away to wash it and forgot to fetch it back. I’ll go –’

      ‘It’s no good remembering it later! Mind to the task, Nurse, anticipate your patient’s every requirement! If they should have to ask for anything then we are not doing our job.’

      ‘Yes, Sister …’ After paying such care to the handling of the old lady, and feeling proud of her efforts, Nell felt slightly less so now.

      Sister Barber then turned her attention to the lower bedding, again excusing herself to Mrs Wrigley as she pulled aside the covers to emit a sound of accusation. ‘This draw sheet is not taut enough! A few shuffles from Mrs Wrigley and it will form rucks!’ She was levelling her criticism at Nell again. ‘And what do rucks make?’

      ‘Bedsores, Sister!’ came the unified chant.

      ‘And a bedsore is to be regarded as an abomination – there will be none on my ward!’

      Nell’s lips parted to object, and she waited for Joyson to admit that she had been the one responsible for not tucking her side in properly, whilst Nell had been more focused on the patient. But the real culprit merely gazed straight ahead and let her take the blame, as sister emoted, ‘This is sheer laziness! Do it again, properly!’

      ‘Just my luck to get partnered with her,’ muttered Nell from the side of her mouth to her friend Beata, as the group was dispersed to other tasks. Having tried to discern over the past few weeks if there was more to Joyson than met the eye, she had soon discovered that there wasn’t. She was as shallow and lazy as first impressions had implied. No matter that they enjoyed friendlier relations now, she would always let you down. ‘The treacherous cat. I get into enough trouble without taking the blame for Joyson too.’

      But despite that telling off, Nell was to learn a great deal that morning, Sister proving to be very informative as she instructed her pupils in the accurate taking of temperature, pulse and respiration; the cleaning and sterilisation of appliances and instruments; what to observe in a patient’s posture, appetite, evacuations, colour of face, pain, effect of medicines; how different ailments required different management – heart and chest patients being propped up with pillows, others laid flat – and so on, these things being scribbled down in notebooks – for it was impossible to remember them all – and taking them right up to dinnertime.

      Though not banned from eating inside this hospital, the recruits had already taken the contingency of bringing sandwiches, and now chose to eat these in the fresh air. At least it was fine, and there was a much nicer outlook here on the bench of a small nearby park – if a little chilly, for it was now well into September.

      ‘Golly, it’s a real eye-opener, isn’t it?’ exclaimed Penelope Ashton. ‘Some of the old girls are fun, though, with the things they say!’

      ‘Oh, and what do you make of Ciss?’ interjected Lavinia. ‘Four babies, how scandalous!’

      ‘It’s a blasted disgrace,’ declared Joyson, opening her sandwiches. ‘Allowing her to have one after the other like that! They should have her sterilised.’

      Unsure as to her own stance, Nell looked to Beata, predicting a kinder opinion.

      But, ‘It’s the poor little kids I feel sorry for,’ said her auburn-haired friend, for once unable to defend the indefensible. ‘There’s enough illegitimate babies being produced in the so-called normal world, what with lasses throwing themselves at soldiers, without having to put up with it in there too. I’d keep her locked up permanently if it were up to me. It makes me boiling mad.’

      ‘La pauvre imbecile,’ murmured a dissident voice from further along the bench.

      ‘Well, you’d expect that from her,’ muttered Joyson under her breath. ‘The French are always at it.’

      Nell was examining her sandwiches without much enthusiasm, when she noticed her mentor frown and hold the miniature suitcase containing her own lunch to her ear.

      ‘What’s up, Killie?’

      ‘I’m sure I can hear – why, it’s like scratching.’ Looking puzzled, Beata opened the case in cautious fashion, to reveal a seething mass of ants. With a yell of disgust, she threw it to the ground, the ants in a panic as they continued to swarm over the jam sandwiches.

      ‘Well, that’s my dinner down the swanny,’ came her dismal utterance.

      ‘No it isn’t, you can share mine!’ Nell offered them brightly.

      ‘Nay, I’m not depriving you,’ Beata tried to refuse.

      But Nell exerted friendly pressure. ‘Honestly, there are too many here for me. They’re meat paste. I don’t even feel like eating any of them, the stench in there has made me feel so queasy.’

      ‘Oui it eez very, er, pongy,’ agreed Madame, pinching her nose and making the others laugh with affection.

      Despite her own geniality, Nell’s face remained wan, and it seemed all she could do to nibble on her sandwich. ‘I swear I’ve not felt right since I entered that blessed place.’

      Grateful to be fed, Beata shifted from one plump buttock to the other. ‘I wonder when those luncheon vouchers will make an appearance.’ They had been promised some at the outset.

      ‘To be honest,’ said Joyson, viewing her own sandwich distastefully, ‘I couldn’t even stomach roast beef and Yorkshire pud, having seen the dirty habits of those old folk.’

      Nell’s face buckled in laughter. ‘Yes, did you see what that old chap did with his business?’

      ‘Ah, non!’ Frenchy begged her not to elaborate.

      ‘They can’t help it.’ Beata assumed her usual virtuous character, addressing herself mainly to Nell. ‘You’ll be old yourself one day. Just thank your lucky stars your family isn’t impoverished and you won’t end up in here. It’s not very nice having to put your nearest and dearest into an institution.’

      Nell