Bittersweet (3 page)

T
he Shire & City of Corunda was a kinder and richer rural area than most in Australia, sitting as it did on the southern tablelands three hours by express train from Sydney. It produced fat lambs, potatoes, cherries and pigeon’s blood rubies, though the Treadby rubies, found on cave floors and the like, had run out, leaving the Burdum deposits without rival world-wide.

At this altitude Summer gathered her bounty and departed for other climes at the end of March; April was the beginning of a rather English-flavoured autumn, complete with imported deciduous shrubs and trees as well as a passion for gardening in all styles from Anne Hathaway to Capability Brown. So April Fools’ Day saw the first nip in the air, and the leaves of the native evergreens had that tired, dusty look beseeching rain. The Rector dropped his daughters off outside the main entrance of Corunda Base Hospital and let them carry their suitcases inside unaided, his grey eyes full of tears. How
empty
the Rectory would be!

Though the Latimer sisters were not to know it, Matron Gertrude Newdigate had only been in her job for a week when
they arrived, and she was not amused. When she took the Corunda post there had been no mention of new-style nursing trainees, a big reason why she had decided in Corunda’s favour. Now —! Sydney had been in turmoil over the radical change in nursing, and Matron Newdigate wanted no part of it. Now —!

A glacial figure in white from head to toes, she sat behind her office desk looking at the four young women standing to face her. Expensively and fashionably dressed, all wearing Clara Bow lipstick, powder and mascara, their hair bobbed short, pure silk stockings, kid shoes, purses and gloves, an English inflection in their voices that spoke of a private school …

“I have no suitable accommodation for you,” Matron said coldly, the starch in her uniform so dense that it creaked when she breathed deeply, “so you will have to go into the disused sisters’ cottage the Superintendent, Dr. Campbell, has been forced to refurbish at considerable cost. Your chaperone will be Sister Marjorie Bainbridge, who will live with you but in some degree of privacy.”

Her head, encased in a starched white organdie veil that stood out like an Egyptian headdress, moved just enough to cause the silver-and-enamel badge pinned at her uniform throat to flash: the insignia saying Miss Gertrude Newdigate was a fully registered nurse in the State of New South Wales. Could the girls have identified them, they would have noted that other badges said she was a registered midwife, a registered children’s nurse, and a graduate of the School of Nursing at the world’s second-oldest hospital, St. Bartholomew’s in London. Corunda Base had got itself a very prestigious nurse.

“Officially registered nurses,” Matron said, “are called sisters. The title has nothing to do with nuns, though it came into being centuries ago when nuns did nurse. However, with the dissolution of the monastic and conventual orders under Henry VIII, nursing was relegated to a very different kind of woman — the prostitute. Miss Florence Nightingale and her companions had to surmount incredible obstacles to gain our modern profession its due, and we must never forget that we are her heirs. For three and more centuries nursing lay in disrepute, the province of criminals and prostitutes, and there are still
men
in authority who think of nurses that way. It is far cheaper to employ a prostitute than it is a lady.” The pale blue eyes shot icy rays of terror. “As Matron of this hospital, I am your ultimate superior, and I give you warning that I will not tolerate any misbehaviour of any kind. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Matron,” they chorused in awed whispers, even Edda.

“Blood relationship and names,” the voice went on, growing crisper. “I have decided that you will keep your blood ties among yourselves. Your nursing companions in this hospital have neither your money nor your privileges nor your education. One of the things I personally detest most about you is your upper-class appearance and accent. Your — er — air of superiority. I do suggest you tone it down. Names … As hospitals cannot permit confusion, you will all nurse under different surnames. Miss Edda Latimer, you will become Nurse Latimer. Miss Grace Latimer, you will become Nurse Faulding, your mother’s maiden name. Miss Heather Latimer, you will become Nurse Scobie, your mother’s first married name. Miss Katherine Latimer, you will become Nurse Treadby, your mother’s maiden name.”

The starch creaked as Matron drew a long breath. “Formal instruction in the sciences and theories of nursing will not commence until July, which means you will have three months to grow accustomed to the duties and routines of nursing before you open a textbook. Sister Bainbridge is your immediate superior, responsible for your day-to-day tuition.”

A light knock sounded on the door; in bounced a cheerful-looking woman in her late thirties whose face was devoid of lipstick or powder; she looked at Matron like a half-starved, fawning dog.

“Ah, in good time!” said Matron. “Sister Bainbridge, please meet your charges — Nurse Latimer, Nurse Faulding, Nurse Scobie and Nurse Treadby. Kindly go with Sister, girls.”

Given no opportunity to get their breath back, the four girls followed Sister Bainbridge out.

Sister Marjorie Bainbridge wore the same stiffly starched Egyptian headdress veil of white organdie as Matron did, but thereafter bore no likeness. Her uniform was a long-sleeved dress done high to the throat with detachable celluloid cuffs and collar; her ample waist was encircled by a rubberised dark green belt that sprouted lengths of white tape ending inside her pockets; to these, they would learn in time, were attached her bandage scissors, a mouth gag in case of epileptic fits, and a tiny tool kit inside a change purse. Her starched uniform was of narrow green-and-white stripes, her beige stockings were thick lisle, and her shoes black lace-ups with two-inch block heels. An outfit that added no charms to her
square figure, or made the sight of her huge bottom any smaller as it moved like a soldier’s on parade, up-left, down-right, up-right, down-left, not the slightest suggestion of femininity about it. In time the girls would grow so used to the look of a disciplined nurse’s bottom that they acquired it themselves, but on that brisk, chilly April morning it was a novelty.

A five-hundred-yard walk brought them to a sad, dilapidated wooden house that had a verandah across its front. Matron’s use of the word “cottage” had led them to expect something small and dainty, but this looked more like a barn squashed to one storey by a steam hammer. And if Superintendent Campbell had incurred “considerable cost” in refurbishing it, then even Edda’s eagle eye failed to see where. To compound the building’s unsuitability, it had been partitioned off in sections that gave it the interior of a block of flats, and the four new-style trainee nurses were not plentifully endowed with space — or comfort.

“Latimer and Faulding, you’ll share this bedroom. Scobie and Treadby share that one. The two rooms you can access are this bathroom and that kitchen. My quarters are through that locked door cutting off the rest of the hall. Once I’m in them, I am not to be disturbed. I’ll leave you to unpack your cases.”

And off she went, through the locked hall door.

“Well, starve the lizards!” said Kitty feebly.

“Pretty austere,” said Tufts, sighing. They were standing in the kitchen, a small apartment serviced by a gas stove but nothing else labour-saving.

Grace was priming herself for a bout of tears, gazing wet-eyed at the small wooden table and four hard wooden chairs
around it. “I don’t believe it!” she whimpered. “No common room except four hard chairs in a kitchen!”

“If you cry, Grace, I’ll personally feed you to the dogs,” said Tufts, running a gloved fingertip along the top margin of the stove. She grimaced. “I could forgive the lack of a new coat of paint, but no one has
cleaned
our quarters properly.”

“Then that’s our first job,” said Edda, sounding remarkably happy. “Just think, girls! They don’t want us here.”

Three pairs of eyes flew to Kitty, the fragile one — how would she take this news she had to know, and the sooner the better?

“Bugger the lot of them, then!” Kitty said in a strong voice. “I’m darned if a Latimer is going to be beaten by a parcel of over-complacent female dogs!”

“Bitches, you mean,” said Edda.

Kitty giggled. “What they don’t know is that they’re in the amateur league when it comes to bitches. We’ve had a lifetime of Mama, who could teach Matron lessons in bitchery.”

Tears dried, Grace stared at Kitty in wonder. “You’re not down in the dumps?” she asked.

“Not so far,” Kitty said, grinning. “I’m too dazzled at the thought that I’m finally leading a life of my own.”

“What do you think of Matron, Edda?” Tufts asked.

Grace answered. “A battleship in full sail, so she’s accustomed to firing salvos at things so far away she can’t even see them on the horizon.”

“I’d rather say that to her, we mean extra work” from Tufts. “According to Mrs. Enid Treadby, Matron took this job to round off her career in a place where she could afford to retire.”

“Why save that gem to tell us now?” Edda asked. “It’s vital information, Tufts!”

“I never think of repeating gossip — I can’t help it, Eds, honestly! You
know
that.”

“Yes, I do, and I’m sorry for flying at you — Grace, stop bawling like a motherless calf!”

“Matron is a detestable woman, and so is Sister Bainbridge,” Grace said through sobs, tears running down her face. “Oh, why didn’t Daddy send us to a Sydney hospital to train?”

“Because in Corunda Daddy is someone important, so he can keep an eye on us,” Tufts said. “Sore bums from hard chairs, girls, and no common room. I wonder if there’s a hot water heater hiding anywhere? This is a hospital, after all.”

“No hot water in this kitchen,” said Edda, grimacing.

Kitty came out of the bedroom she was to share with Tufts, holding up a green-and-white-striped object so starched that it resembled a sheet of cardboard. Clenching her right fist, she began to punch its two layers apart. A laugh escaped. “This is as bad as punching the hide off a slaughtered lamb.” Putting the dress down, she produced a sheet of white cardboard. “I think when this is punched apart it will be the apron.” She laid into it with her fist. “Oh, look! It must wrap right around and over the uniform — only the sleeves will show. But I realise why our stockings are homely, knitted black wool.”

In the midst of repairing her lipstick and powder, Grace looked up. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Oh, Grace, don’t be so thick! Why do you think Matron delivered us that sermon on nuns and chastity and prostitutes?
She was really saying that for the next three years we have no sex, even if statistically we are female. No flirting with any of the doctors, Grace, whatever else you do. Matron Newdigate would forgive your killing a patient far ahead of your conducting yourself like a whore. That’s why we’re going to be wearing ugly uniforms and thick, knitted black stockings. I’d be willing to bet that no touch of lipstick or powder will be allowed either.”

“Cry again, Grace, and you’re dead!” Edda snapped.

“I want to go home!”

“No, you don’t!”

“I loathe cleaning up messes.” Then Grace brightened. “Still, by the time I’m twenty-one I’ll be registered, and able to do all sorts of things without permission. Such as marry whoever I want, and vote in the elections.”

“I suspect the hardest thing we’ll have to do is learn to get along with the other nurses,” Edda said thoughtfully. “I mean, who are they? None of us has ever been in hospital, nor do our parents mix with hospital people. I found Matron’s instructions to tone ourselves down ominous. I inferred that she meant we are a distinct cut above the other nurses socially and educationally. The last thing in the world we’ve ever been is snobby — Daddy would be appalled, especially with Mama as an example.” She sighed. “But unfortunately people tend to judge books by their covers.”

Tufts aired her knowledge of local facts yet again. “The nurses are all from the West End, and rough as bags,” she said.

“Well, we start by removing phrases like ‘rough as bags’ from our speech,” said Edda — oh, Tufts could be exasperating!
The trouble was that she wasn’t a talker, so none of the others expected her silence to conceal information.

“I always thought using a dinner napkin added dreadfully to the laundry,” Kitty said cheerfully. “I mean, you can wipe your mouth with your hand, and if your nose is runny, you have your sleeve to wipe it on.”

“Very true,” said Edda gravely. “We’d better get in training to wipe mouths and noses as well as wounds, for I very much doubt there will be dinner napkins. Men’s handkerchiefs too, girls. No wisp of lace.” She huffed. “Fool things anyway, women’s hankies.”

Kitty cleared her throat loudly. “I know I get down in the dumps, girls, but I’m not a coward. No amount of West End nastiness is going to defeat me. Nursing doesn’t attract me the way it does you, Edda, because for you it’s the next-best thing to Medicine. But I think I can
grow
to love it.”

“Good girl, Kitty!” Edda cried, applauding the little speech. In front of her very eyes Kitty was unloading the cargo of childhood. She’s going to get
properly
better, thought Edda, I know it in my bones. So frank about Maude, so aware of the dangers lurking anywhere in Maude’s vicinity. After Maude, West Enders were nothings.

“I’m long past my grief at not being able to do Medicine,” Edda said now to Kitty, worried that her plight was being exaggerated in Kitty’s mind. “Nursing is more sensible, and our new-style training means we won’t be ignoramuses who know how to bandage, but not why. Think of me as an old war horse — the slightest whiff of ether has me whinnying and stamping the ground. In a hospital I’m
alive
!”

“Speaking of whinnying and stamping the ground, does Jack Thurlow know you’re going nursing?” Tufts asked slyly.

The shaft went wide; Edda grinned. “Of course he does. And his heart isn’t broken any more than mine is. The hardest part will be keeping Fatima exercised up to Jack’s expectations. I daresay I’ll be riding more on my own in future.”