At the Coal Face Page 4

  ‘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, did you, er, throw anything away?’

  I remembered the dozen stinky bottles on the side.

  ‘Just some bottles of urine,’ I muttered.

  ‘Well, yes. And those bottles just happened to be 24-hour specimen samples that the professor and his doctors were waiting for the results from.’

  My mouth formed the letter O as I felt my heart plummet, because I’d done it again. Once more, my exploits had become legendary. My distinctive red hair had marked me out from the other nurses, but not in a good way. Everyone, it seemed, remembered the young redhead nurse who’d thrown away a dozen important samples. It was such a serious offence that I was called in front of Matron to explain myself. I felt my legs tremble as I stood before her.

  ‘In future, please would you enquire what is asked of you rather than take it upon yourself to decide what needs to be done,’ she said, scowling at me from her desk.

  ‘Yes, Matron. Sorry, Matron,’ I replied, almost curtseying my way out of the door. I was just relieved to have escaped an even worse punishment.

  In total there were fourteen nurses who, like me, had transferred from other hospitals. The other nurses had trained from scratch at Hammersmith and, because we were taught separately to them, they thought they were a cut above. In turn, there was a kind of camaraderie between the transfer nurses, who looked out for one another. At that time, the nurses’ accommodation was situated directly across the road from Wormwood Scrubs. We were told to keep our curtains shut to stop the prisoners peeping in at us, and the prison siren would often sound to alert us every time a prisoner had escaped.

  One evening, it’d just started to get dark outside when I heard the siren wail. I immediately went through the protocol of locking the fire-escape door in a bid to protect my patients and stop a would-be escapee from seeking refuge inside the hospital. But the latch on the door was broken and it wouldn’t lock. To make matters worse, my ward was on the ground floor and, with only my patients for company, I felt extremely alone and vulnerable. In a panic, I ran to the ward telephone to call a friend who I knew was working in the ward above.

  ‘I can’t lock the door, Joyce. The latch is broken!’ I gasped. ‘Can you come down here and try to help me secure it?’

  Joyce had already secured her ward and had a junior nurse working alongside her so she popped downstairs to see what she could do.

  ‘I can’t lock it either!’ she said in a fluster. ‘What shall we do?’

  By now we were both terrified that the ward would be invaded by a dangerous criminal. I looked around for a weapon to protect us with, and that’s when I spotted it resting up against the wall in a corner of the room – a long, old-fashioned umbrella with a big, heavy wooden handle.

  ‘This should do the trick,’ I said, sizing it up in my hands and gripping it like a rounders bat.

  We stood there, one of us on either side of the door, watching, waiting and listening out for the escaped convict. My heart thumped hard inside my chest as adrenalin coursed through my veins, and that’s when it happened. We heard a slight noise, then urgent footsteps on the other side. I held the umbrella aloft, poised and about to strike, when the door suddenly creaked open and a strange man stepped through. Joyce gasped out loud, so I shut my eyes and brought the weapon down with all my might. The force of the blow was astonishing as I struck the man bluntly on the top of his head, causing the wooden handle to reverberate through my hands.

  WHACK!

  ‘OWWWW!’ the intruder cried as he staggered inside. He tried to regain his balance and put out a hand to grab against something, and that’s when I noticed his bowler hat. It’d been smashed by the brolly and was sitting on top of his head like a squashed flat cap!

  ‘What on earth …’ I gasped. I realised that it wasn’t a convict at all, but a gentleman – and a well-to-do one at that.

  ‘You almost killed me!’ he wailed dramatically, still staggering. Joyce and I ran over and, grabbing him under each arm, sat him down in a chair.

  But I was still a little cross. He was right, I could’ve have killed him, but it was his own stupid fault for sneaking in through the fire exit!

  ‘You shouldn’t have come in through there,’ I said, gesturing towards the door. ‘What on earth were you thinking?’

  ‘There’s a prisoner on the loose!’ he gasped. ‘I knew the door was broken so I thought I’d get inside fast.’ He winced as his fingers bobbed gently across the top of his head feeling for blood. There was none.

  ‘I know there’s a prisoner on the loose! That’s why I hit you – I thought you were him!’ I huffed.

  But the more I looked, the more I thought I recognised him. I’d definitely seen his face somewhere before.

  ‘Anyway, who are you?’ I asked as I surveyed the top of his head for damage. There was none, but his bowler hat was ruined.

  ‘I’m the dean of the hospital,’ he replied curtly, ‘and now I’ve got an almighty headache, thanks to you and that thing.’ He pointed at the umbrella in my hand. I propped the offending item back against the wall, and took a guilty step away from it.

  The dean stood up and stomped out of the ward as my jaw hit the floor. I turned to Joyce, my face a picture of pure horror. In the background a patient coughed but, other than that, you could’ve heard a pin drop as we all watched him leave.

  ‘Joan,’ Joyce gasped, putting her hand against her mouth. ‘You’re going to be in so much trouble.’

  Thankfully, the dean never told a soul about my vicious assault on him, and after that I tried to keep my head down. A few weeks later, I was still trying to keep a low profile, when I wandered through a ward. I noticed a friend of mine standing at the other end of it, weighing a skinny old man on a large set of scales. This particular nurse was a good laugh and well known for practical jokes, so I decided to get my own back. Tiptoeing quietly behind them, I edged my shoe along the back of the scales as they both stared at the dial, waiting for it to settle. I suppressed a giggle and silently pushed down my foot to try to get a reaction. With enough force I’d managed to add on another stone to the skinny fella. My colleague spotted me lurking behind the patient and grinned, so the man turned to face me. You can imagine my shock when I recognised him – it was the dean of the hospital, again! He was being weighed before a minor operation.

  ‘You!’ he said, pointing a bony finger at me. ‘What is it about me that you can’t leave alone?’

  I shook my head, trying to think of an explanation. Then I noticed the faint flicker of a smile as he began to laugh. Lucky for me, the dean had a good sense of humour.

  ‘Oops!’ I smirked as I walked away.

  My reputation as Calamity Jane went before me and soon I was transferred again, this time to the surgical ward. A young man, who was the same age as me, had been admitted for an emergency appendix operation. At that time, patients had to be shaved down below for such things and normally it was a job for the male porter. However, on that particular day he was off, so
it was left to me. I grabbed what I needed, including a razor, shaving cream and a bowl of warm water, and pushed the trolley towards his bed. Some of the other male patients had already been shaved and so, when they heard the telltale squeak of the trolley, they knew what was coming. They were also total wind-up merchants, and as soon as I’d drawn the curtain around the poor boy’s bed the banter started.

  ‘Hey, this is her first time. Watch out! She might nick you!’ one called.

  I pulled the curtain aside slightly and gave him a stern look. It didn’t work.

  ‘She’s new to this sort of thing,’ warned another, ‘but don’t worry, son, if anything drops off and falls on the floor, we’ll pick it up for you.’

  With that, the whole ward dissolved into fits of laughter. More comments followed but I held my nerve and tried to get on with the job in hand, namely shaving the poor lad’s private parts. I tried not to look at him as the razor shook in my trembling hand. He flushed bright red and pulled the pillow out from underneath his head and covered his face with it. I wasn’t sure if it was through embarrassment or downright fear! It took a little longer than expected, but eventually he was as smooth as a newborn babe.

  ‘Thanks, Nurse,’ he offered, smiling weakly as I popped the razor back into the bowl and covered him up with the bed sheet.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I replied, blushing a little.

  As I drew the curtain, the metal rings scraped against the metal pole, signalling that I’d finished. The rest of the ward looked up and it started all over again. I walked out to a series of catcalls and light teasing.

  ‘Look, Arthur, she’s blushing!’

  ‘No, I’m not. Now go to sleep. You’re supposed to be ill!’ I laughed, pretending to scold them.

  The young lad had his operation, and a week later he was ready to leave hospital. Before he did, he beckoned me over.

  ‘I just wondered if you’d like to go out with me some time, on a date or something,’ he asked nervously.

  His question jolted me because I hadn’t expected it. At first I wasn’t sure what to do, but I told myself that he was no longer a patient so what harm could it do?

  ‘Er, that’s fine,’ I agreed.

  ‘Great. Here’s my number, if you want to call me.’

  I took his number but I never got to go on the date. I didn’t even make the call because, just days later, his mother was on the phone to Sister calling me all the names under the sun.

  ‘She’s corrupted my boy! She’s shaved him downstairs and now she wants to go on a date with him!’

  I was duly summoned to Sister’s office, where I was asked to explain myself. Thankfully, Sister was sympathetic and nodded throughout. She was a natural blonde so knew what it was like to be me.

  ‘It’s the hair,’ she remarked. ‘People remember you. His mother certainly did because she told me she didn’t want “that red-haired bitch” going anywhere near her son!’

  I clasped a horrified hand to my chest – I was absolutely mortified.

  ‘But he asked me out, not the other way around,’ I protested.

  ‘I know, but I also think he became a little bit infatuated with you after you shaved him down below. So I think it’s best all round if you decline his offer, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  She was right about the hair; it was a total hindrance.

  One day, I’d accompanied Matron and the consultant on his ward rounds. The doctor examined a man who’d been having trouble with his hearing, and, after a few moments, he turned to me.

  ‘Nurse, I need an auroscope.’

  I nodded and went towards the office at the back of the ward. I returned clutching the morning paper, but Matron and the doctor looked at me a little baffled.

  ‘What’s this?’ the consultant asked as I handed over the newspaper.

  ‘Today’s horoscopes … in the paper?’ I muttered, realising in a split second that I’d just dropped another clanger.

  He tried his best not to laugh but I could see that he was having great difficulty. It was a good job he saw the funny side because Matron’s face looked like thunder – she was absolutely furious with me for showing her up.

  ‘I want to make him better, Nurse, not tell his future!’ the doctor chuckled.

  I felt myself blush as he walked away.

  The night shifts were long and sometimes seemed never-ending. Often, a few of us would wander down to an open-air swimming pool in White City to get a bit of fresh air. One day, I was with two colleagues when a chap named Peter came over to talk to us. He was tallish, around 5 feet 10 inches, with jet-black hair slicked back. He also wore glasses, which I thought made him look terribly sophisticated. He told us he was there with a friend called Bob who had a good job working for an oil company in Kuwait. Peter seemed keen on my friend, a beautiful brunette called ‘Jimmy’ James. I never did find out her Christian name because she insisted that everyone call her ‘Jimmy’ for short. Meanwhile, Bob was sweet on Jo, a blonde, so I was the redheaded gooseberry in between the four lovebirds. One day, Bob asked if we’d like to go to a lido in Ruislip. I wasn’t keen because I knew I’d be the odd one out, but Jimmy and Jo were so excited that I agreed to tag along. However, I soon became bored so I decided to burn the hairs off the legs of the men with a cigarette just to get them to move.

  ‘Ouch!’ Peter said, patting the scorched skin of his leg. It made me smile.

  I wasn’t a total lost cause because I had a sweetheart of my own, an American Air Force photographer called Bill. Mum had a holiday home down on the coast in Hastings, and that’s where I’d arrange to meet Bill. He’d bring me coffee and endless supplies of stockings, but in London I was all alone. The five of us went out a few times but eventually Jimmy dumped Peter for a Guards officer, so one day we found ourselves thrown together. I secretly liked Peter because he was different to everyone else. He was strong-willed and knew his own mind. He also refused to be swayed by others, and I admired that in a man. However, it also meant that we always ended up doing what he wanted to do.

  ‘Let’s go to the pub,’ he suggested one afternoon as we strolled past one.

  ‘No, I don’t really drink,’ I explained.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame. You’d better wait outside for me, then,’ he replied, before heading inside the door.

  I was so headstrong and independent that I wasn’t used to having a man tell me what to do, so his manner had shocked me. But I also quite liked the fact that he was authoritative and good-looking, so I let it go and followed him inside.

  ‘Why do you wear glasses? Are you short-sighted?’ I asked as we sat down at a table with our drinks.

  Peter adjusted his glasses and began to explain.

  ‘No, when I was a baby I had a problem with one of my eyes – it turned inwards. I had it corrected but it didn’t work, so now I only have limited vision in it. Although this one,’ he said, pointing towards his left eye, ‘is absolutely perfect!’

  I loved Peter’s honesty and found his uncomplicated view on life totally refreshing. But Mum wasn’t as keen. They were both strong characters, with big personalities to match, so they constantly clashed.

  ‘He’s an arrogant bastard!’ she muttered underneath her breath one evening – loud enough for me to hear.

  At that time, Peter was a qualified plumber working for the council, but Mum had always wanted me to marry a doctor, so she thought he was beneath me. To make matters worse, Peter’s mum didn’t like me very much either, so we had a battle on our hands just to stay together as the mum-in-laws plotted and planned to split us up.

  ‘I wish we could get away from here,’ I sighed as we sat together in the pub.

  I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Peter, and he with me, too, but the constant nagging and interference from both sides had put a strain on our relationship. Instead, we tried to stay out as much as possible. We’d go to the pictures, for drinks, or we’d simply take our bikes and cycle alongside the River Tha
mes. Peter was a football fanatic, a QPR supporter. He lived close to their ground so he’d go down there every Saturday. In the evening, we’d go out for dinner – usually a fish restaurant because it was his favourite. Sometimes we’d take a picnic and meet up with our friends Bert and Joan. The four of us would take a bus to Uxbridge, which had wide-open spaces where Peter and I were able to kick off our shoes, run barefoot through the grass and relax in the sunshine – anything to stay out of our mothers’ ways.

  As it got closer to my SRN (State Registered Nurse) exams, Peter tried to help me revise. He’d look through the textbook and fire questions at me. Over the months, he’d become so knowledgeable about all things medical that I’m certain he knew just as much as I did.

  ‘You’d make as good a nurse as me!’ I teased, throwing a cushion at him.

  ‘Well, I’ve got the legs,’ he laughed, flashing me an ankle.

  As my twenty-first birthday drew close, Peter decided that I should start saving up.

  ‘Just a few bits … for your bottom drawer,’ he suggested.

  ‘Was that a marriage proposal?’ I gasped.

  Peter arched one eyebrow. ‘Well, maybe I should get you a ring first?’

  I tried not to laugh. Instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a kiss. Peter wasn’t the type to go in for the full bended-knee marriage-proposal bit, so this was as good as it got.

  ‘All right, I do!’

  We visited an old-fashioned jeweller on Uxbridge Road, where Peter spent £8 – a fifth of his monthly wage – on a single solitaire diamond ring. We were officially engaged on 23 February 1953, but we didn’t have a party because we couldn’t afford one. When he finally slipped the ring on my wedding finger I was so happy, I thought I would burst. I passed my SRN in June 1953, and 18 months later I married my beloved Peter the week before Christmas, on 18 December 1954. We were wed at St Luke’s church in Shepherd’s Bush. I bought my wedding dress from Shepherd’s Bush market for £5 and 5 shillings. The veil and headdress cost me a further £3, but I didn’t care.