The Serial: A Rowan Tree In My Garden Day 46

Irene would settle in a chair with another to put her feet up on, cover herself with a ward blanket and say: “Keep a watch out for Sister”

THE NIGHT SISTERS

Like bats they flew the corridors of night In their black cloaks visiting each dim lit ward in turn, these winged creatures of mercy, the Night Sisters.

Wherever they momentarily lingered their high frequency senses sent out fine pulsating waves, invisible antennae feeling for trouble.

Around nine months after starting to train as a nurse came my first stint on night duty. It lasted for three consecutive months, beginning each night at 9pm and ending at eight in the morning.

In any two-week period there were several nights off. This was looked forward to by the nurses and seen as a mini holiday.

We all lived in Dudhope House, a beautiful old mansion about a quarter of a mile distant from the hospital proper. It was set in tree-studded grounds and was a peaceful place for sleeping in the daytime.

It stood at the opposite end of Dudhope Park from the hospital and walking through the park was the quickest, easiest and most pleasant way of getting there.

Parks were not considered to be the safest places for single women to wander through, especially in the dark and it was usual for six or seven of us to walk across it together, chattering and laughing all the way, our black and scarlet capes swinging as we went.

Apart from the difficulty I had in sleeping through the day, I liked night duty. In some ways the regime was not quite so strict. There were usually two nurses to a ward, a senior and a junior.

If the ward was exceptionally busy, say on admissions day, an extra nurse was supplied. Every so often a night sister would pay the ward a visit to see that all was in order. You never knew when she might appear.

The house doctors were on constant call so if you really felt you were in need of one for a patient, there was a number to call and one of the doctors, resident in the their quarters, would be there in minutes.

I was allocated Ward 10, the ear, nose and throat ward, as my first ward on night duty. I was just back from two weeks’ holiday so felt up for the challenge.

It had been two wonderful weeks rediscovering my childhood up in Aberdeenshire on my aunt and uncle’s farm. Herman and Rosalia were still there, even although the war had been over for several years.

I revelled in air smelling of peat smoke, in the endless sky bathed in northern light with the unreachable mountains on the far horizon. I enjoyed once again helping out with the animals.

On sunny days I was given the job, out on the peat moss, of placing cut peats into small pyramids so the wind could blow through and dry them out. There was always at least a slight wind there and I never tired of seeing it flutter through the white silky tufts of bog cotton that contrasted so vividly with the dark brown peat.

Accomplice

Ward 10 was run in a slightly different way to the general wards. One side was female, the other side male. In between was a high-ceilinged room with windows giving a good view of each from where we night nurses sat.

My senior was Irene MacDonald, who had not long to go before finishing her training. She was around 28 years old, a bit overweight, cheerful and laid back. She had a lovely smile and eyes that crinkled when she laughed.

She did not treat me as a junior at all, more as an accomplice and as if she had always known me. She expected me to know more about nursing and life than I actually did.

On my very first night there, after all the evening chores were seen to, she gave me the keys to the maid’s quarters and said: “Now, Margaret, go and lock up the maids.”

She gave me instructions and said: “You’ll easily manage it.” I think, with hindsight, that this was really her job but I didn’t realise it at the time.

When I returned from this strange experience, the ward was quiet.

A large proportion of the patients were children who were either in to get their tonsils removed the next day or had just had them out the previous day.

Rather to my surprise they all seemed to sleep quite well. Working with Irene, most nights followed a similar pattern. After the ward had settled and the first night visit from sister was over, Irene would settle herself in a chair with another to put her feet up on, cover herself with a ward blanket and say: “Keep a sharp watch out for sister.

“If you hear her footsteps coming along the corridor, wake me, otherwise only wake me if there is something you really can’t cope with in the ward.”

I was astounded at her daring but obeyed orders. If she had been caught by night sister the consequences were dire.

Occasionally, we had a busy night when we would have to call out the house doctor. Irene didn’t seem to mind this at all and, before he came, would tidy her hair, apply lipstick and straighten her dress and cap.

With him there was talk of long walks on Broughty Ferry beach and somewhat clandestine meetings in the doctor’s quarters. One night the doctor made an unannounced call before he went to bed. He was worried about a patient.

Emergency

I heard his footsteps in the corridor and hastily woke Irene. Entering, he pretended not to see the two chairs close to one another and the hastily discarded blanket.

Irene, still groggy from sleep, said: “Oh Doctor, how nice to see you and what a lovely evening; just look at that full moon.”

“I think if you look closer, Irene, it’s not the moon at all but the reflection in the window of that Chinese shaped lantern they have as a lampshade.”

To give Irene her due, when woken she was most attentive to her patients and knew exactly what to do in an emergency.

We worked well as a team in the mornings, getting everything ship-shape for the day staff and taking time to encourage the children to eat up their plates of cornflakes.

I thought it was rather a barbaric way of treating the wee souls but knew there was a reason for it; if they were going to haemorrhage the sharp cornflakes would start it off.

Mostly, they went home the day after getting their tonsils out and the doctors wanted to make sure they wouldn’t haemorrhage when they got home. (More tomorrow.)