Rainbow's End (30 page)

‘Nurse, the third bed along . . . the top sheet isn’t absolutely straight and it could be tucked in a lot tighter! Do it at once, please.’

Sister was a big, commanding woman with a big, commanding voice. Ellen flew to obey and when the patient said in a small voice, ‘Not
too
tight, nurse, or ’tis worse’n a strait-jacket!’ she said quietly, ‘Just for five minutes, Mrs Williams, then I’ll come and ease it off again. But you know what Sister’s like.’

‘Aye, like a bleedin’ sergeant-major,’ Mrs Williams said. ‘Worse. Still, she ain’t on the ward for long, I’ll say that for ’er. Prefers to sit in ’er office, a-writin’ reports.’

‘Well, someone’s got to do it,’ Ellen said, tucking in the erring sheet. ‘There, it’s just like a geometry lesson now, that’ll please her.’

Sister boomed, ‘That’s
so
much better, nurse. Now come up here and take Mrs er-er’s bedpan away if she’s finished with it.’

‘Yes, Sister,’ Ellen said, scurrying. She took the bedpan, swished the curtains back around the patient’s bed and walked swiftly back up the ward towards the sluice. If I ever get to be a Sister, she told herself, at least I shall learn the patients’ names – it’s so rude to call everyone
Mrs er-er
.

By the time she returned to the ward Sister had taken herself off once again. A twice-daily visit seemed to be her idea of how to run a ward – fortunately, the patients and nursing staff thought. As soon as Ellen was sure that Sister wouldn’t pop back with another command she went round loosening sheets, passing patients their knitting or magazines and pouring glasses of water. Another of Sister’s foibles was that she didn’t like to see beds or lockers untidy, and since untidiness included any sign of human occupation it was a frequent joke amongst the staff that if Sister had her way the patients would all be turned out of the ward to spend the day as best they might in the corridors or waiting-rooms, so that the beds could be made up entirely flat, the locker-tops could be totally empty and there would be nothing for her nurses to do except to tidy and polish all day.

‘Nurse, I’m awful sorry but could I ’ave that bedpan back? Only I din’t like to say . . . not in front of Sister . . . I’d not finished me sittin’.’

‘Right, Mrs Allyson. I’ll bring it in to you on my way out because I should have finished half an hour ago and I really do want to get home before midnight! I’ll just check that Nurse Watkin’s on the premises.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, nurse,’ poor Mrs Allyson said. ‘I should’ve thought . . . but you know how it is . . .’

‘I certainly do,’ Ellen said fervently. If Sister still frightened her, how much worse it must be for these poor patients, who were bed-bound and unable to help themselves, and who lived in awe of most of the ordinary nurses and auxiliaries, let alone the more senior ranks. ‘It isn’t your fault; Sister shouldn’t try to hurry you.’

She went back to the sluice and brought a clean bedpan, swished the curtains closed this time and made determinedly for the end of the ward. Nurse Brown had gone on time, sliding out quietly just before Sister’s inspection was due to start, but no doubt Edna Watkin was on the premises, probably changing. It would not do to leave the ward without cover, but it really was time she was leaving. She had promised Tolly she would walk home with him, though a nursing orderly had about as much chance of getting away on time as a nurse did.

She must not run on hospital premises of course, except in a dire emergency, but most nurses had perfected a style of walking which was just under a run and which covered the ground almost as swiftly. Ellen employed this gait as soon as she had checked that Nurse Watkin was ready to take over and had explained how each patient was.

‘Mrs Allyson’s got a bedpan. Sister whipped her off it too soon,’ she ended. ‘Give her another ten minutes, then see if she still needs it, would you? Oh, and Mrs Williams’s leg was oozing at two o’clock, when I checked her dressing. Better keep an eye.’

‘Right,’ Nurse Watkin said. She was taking notes on one of her stiff white cuffs, a practice much frowned upon by senior staff. ‘Anything else, Docherty? No one been down to theatre?’

‘No, though Mrs Potter will be going down tomorrow, all being well, so try to see she gets a good night’s sleep. She may need some help . . . she’s very nervous, I know.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Nurse Watkin said. ‘Thanks, Docherty. You’re off now for a couple of days, aren’t you? Get some rest. Anyone nursing under Sister Crawford needs it.’

‘Thanks,’ Ellen said. ‘See you later in the week, then.’

She took her cloak off the peg on which it had hung and arranged it round her shoulders, but didn’t fasten it. It was a lovely sunny evening, she had noticed that much every time she passed an open window, so she wouldn’t need the cloak for warmth, but she knew that to go out without it would be frowned on, no matter how pleasant the weather. And anyway, it was neat and professional looking, and although she would shed her stained apron, her cuffs and stiff collar, and her little cap, she would have to retain her dress, which usually managed to get marked during the course of the day.

Outside the ward Ellen took a deep breath. She enjoyed nursing, but there were enormous disadvantages. Some Sisters were truly the angels the patients thought them, but others were really dreadful, spending as much time devising ways of humiliating their nurses as they did taking care of their patients. And doctors could be difficult too, critical, rude, overbearing. And of course occasionally there were difficult patients as well. Women who bullied you, lied, cheated, tried to get you into trouble for the sheer pleasure of being ‘one up’ as they put it. But they were few and far between; it was mainly the senior staff who made the lives of those working under them so hard.

I came into nursing to make people well again and that’s what I am doing, Ellen reminded herself as she went sedately down the stairs, whilst all the time she was longing to break into a run or worse, to leap aboard the banister and go from top to bottom in one glorious, rapid swoop. She was late – would Tolly wait? But sometimes, her thoughts continued, reverting to their previous topic, it did seem as though Sister Crawford didn’t care about the patients at all. She would willingly sacrifice their comfort, perhaps even their lives, for the sake of a neat and tidy ward and nurses who jumped to obey her slightest command.

Ellen came to the bottom of the stairs and walked across the wide foyer where patients wandered, looking up at the printed notices, and emerged through a side door into brilliant sunshine. She smiled, because it was such a lovely evening and because she had the next two days off, and saw Tolly. He had waited! He was leaning against the wall, gazing ahead of him with a dreamy look on his face and even as she watched, his fingers played an imaginary scale on his trumpet and he smiled into the distance.

‘Tolly . . . I’m out!’

It sounded pretty silly put like that, but Tolly turned at once and smiled at her. He had the happy knack, Ellen thought, of looking at everyone as though they were very important to him. Once, she had read a good deal into that look of his, but not any more. Tolly was the nicest feller she knew, but she was beginning to realise that he was also a deeply contented person. He enjoyed his work, which was just as hard as hers and just, she thought rather bitterly, as unrewarding at times. He loved the Army and was willing to work for it in any way he could, and he loved his music. In fact, if Tolly had to choose it would be his music first, the Army next and his work last, Ellen decided as she walked across the tarmac which separated them. She herself would come a long way behind – not even fourth in the queue, she suspected, but tenth or twelfth.

But there; I joined the Army for Tolly’s sake and ended up loving it for its own sake, Ellen reminded herself. And I became a nurse for Tolly’s sake and now, if I leave, it will be because I’m not always allowed to be a good nurse, so there seems little point in it after all. There are other careers which are as useful – perhaps more useful. I must ask Tolly . . .

Her thoughts broke down in confusion; it had been so natural, so easy, to turn to Tolly with her problems, when really she should not do so. He likes you, but no better than he likes a dozen others, she reminded herself crossly. Stop being dependent on him, start depending upon yourself for a change! If you need advice about changing your job ask your mam, or another nurse . . . not Tolly, on no account Tolly.

‘Ah, here you are at last! My goodness, they work you girls like navvies. I don’t know how a slender thing like you stands the strain, indeed I do not. Now shall we go straight home or shall we have a bit of a walk down by the Mersey? It’s such a glorious evening and I’m off for the next two days, as you are, so I thought we might walk in the fresh air for a while, buy some fish and chips, find a glass of lemonade or a cup of tea . . .’

He was smiling at her, taking her arm . . . how can I not love him? Ellen cried silently to herself. How can he not see that I love him? But if he saw, he never commented or allowed it to spoil their friendship – she should be grateful for that, at least.

‘Well, Ellie? Home or the waterfront?’

She looked up at him. His curly nut-brown hair, brushed smooth when he left the hospital, was already beginning to curl again, and his hazel eyes smiled gently into hers. He was looking down at her, his eyebrows rising, his face enquiring. She could tell he was hoping she would go walking with him, would enter into his pleasure in the sunny evening. But why should she? She was tired, jaded, depressed . . . and in love. To be with him was heaven in some ways, hell in others. And she knew him so well! He would take her out, be kind and loving to her, talk to her, tease her . . . and it would mean precisely nothing.

‘Oh, Tolly, I don’t know! I’m awfully tired . . .’

‘Right, home then,’ he said. He spoke with unimpaired cheerfulness and Ellen promptly felt a mean beast. Did he want her to feel like that? She doubted it. Tolly was truly thoughtful for others, it was a way of life with him.

‘No, it’s all right. If we can have a sit-down when we reach the waterfront then I’ll recover . . . I’ll enjoy meself. In fact, why don’t we catch a tram instead of walking? We’d be there in half the time . . . and I could sit down.’

The longing in her voice made him laugh but he put a hand beneath her elbow and steered her out of the hospital grounds and over to the nearest tram stop. ‘You’re sure? You wouldn’t rather go home? Only I don’t mind, honest, if you’re worn out . . .’

‘I’m not. Oh wonderful, here comes a tram . . . shall we go on top?’

On top was cheaper, but they enjoyed it better anyway. They climbed the curly stair and collapsed into a seat. A man and woman, already seated, smiled at them. They think we’re a pair of young lovers out on the spree, Ellen thought sadly. If only they knew!

‘Well, Ellie, tell me what kept you. I suppose it was that Ward Sister of yours – dreadful woman. Now I was late too, because . . .’

He went on talking and Ellen, looking sideways at him and laughing at the right moments, stopped listening and began to think about the young man next to her. He was fond of an outing after work, particularly in the summer. And in the winter he would go to the cinema or to a stage show, to a concert, to a band practice. At one time she had invited him home often, but she did not do so much any more.

Tolly had been orphaned when he was four or five and had been brought up in the Ragged Boys Home where he had been, he assured her, very happy. The boys were adequately fed, well clothed, looked after. The superintendent was a harassed but kindly man who took the boys in his charge on outings six times a year and camping in the Lake District for three weeks every summer. He was a music lover and had encouraged Tolly to play an instrument. First a flute, then a bugle and finally a trumpet.

Tolly hadn’t been a Salvationist as a boy either. In fact, music had brought him to the Army. He had watched and listened to the band as a lad, had followed them around the streets and finally, when he was playing the bugle well enough, he had approached them. He wanted to join them, he said, more for the music than anything.

The band leader had no sons of his own, only daughters who, though they were good Salvationists, had no interest in music. He invited Tolly along to the Citadel to a service and before long Tolly was attending every Sunday of his own accord.

And soon he was playing with the band, though only as a favour, when they were doing a band practice. His command of the bugle, they said, was excellent; he would be a first-rate musician one day.

And it went on from there, Tolly had told Ellen, when they had begun to talk about themselves. He had got a job, saved up to buy a uniform, borrowed a trumpet from one of the bandsmen and had practised, practised, practised, putting his heart and soul into his music.

But once he was fifteen he had to leave the Ragged Boys Home, because there were other motherless boys who needed a roof over their heads. So one of the bandsmen offered him a room. Tolly lived with Mr and Mrs Flaxman for three very happy years, but then they moved away from Everton to live with their married daughter and Tolly took a room in an ordinary lodging house. He was there still, not because he was particularly happy, but because it was cheap, reasonably clean and because he spent very little time there. All his energies, which were considerable, were given to his music and to helping youngsters, who had no one but themselves to rely on, to come to terms with their lives.

‘Here we are,’ Tolly said, as the tram drew to a stop by the pier head. ‘Are you rested? Shall we have that cuppa now, or later?’

‘Now,’ Ellen said firmly. ‘I’m sorry, but if I don’t sit down for a bit I’ll just keel over, go straight off to sleep. Where’s a tea-shop?’

‘Tell you what,’ Tolly said suddenly. ‘Why don’t we go out to Seaforth on the Overhead Railway? That way you’ll be sittin’ down for a while. We can find a tea-shop when we get there. And walkin’ on the sands is better than walkin’ here, wouldn’t you say?’