The Serial: A Rowan Tree In My Garden Day 47

As I watched, scarves of mist were shifting over the river and the sky behind the Fife hills was getting brighter by the minute

All in all, I was happy in Ward 10 and long after it was over, I kept friendly with Irene. She finished her training at the end of that year and about a year after she left I got an invitation from her, still unmarried, to visit her home and see her new baby boy. Her people were well-to-do and had a lovely house set in a beautiful garden. The baby boy was gorgeous. I wished he were mine. I was rather surprised at the attitude of her parents.

At a time, in the early 50s, when it was still a huge disgrace to have a child out of wedlock, they seemed completely unperturbed and doted on the baby.

Early on, during my first night duty, I made another friend. Chrissie had stepped somewhat into the background. She hadn’t come on night duty at the same time as me and recently had become more and more taken up with the Seventh Day Adventists when she was off duty.

My new friend, Esther Menzies, was a very different girl from Chrissie – dark-haired, dark-eyed, pretty and very outgoing, if somewhat muscular for a girl.

I kind of think she adopted me and tried to get me to go swimming with her, or fencing.

After a night on duty I felt too tired to enter into serious activity. Anyway, neither of these things were my scene. Name change I did go out with her some mornings, however. Esther was responsible for a name change for me. All the nurses I knew called me Margaret.

It was not the custom, in the DRI, to call nurses by their second name only, as they did in some other hospitals, for which I was glad.

I would not have liked to be called Pollock because I didn’t like the name. What Esther did, however, was to call me Polly: soon everyone was calling me Polly.

I rather liked that name as there were many Margarets in the hospital but no Pollys. I quite liked to feel unique.

One bright morning, after coming off duty, Esther said to me: “Polly, let’s go down to the docks today. My brother is a sailor.

“His ship has just docked in Dundee harbour and I would really like to see him.”

I agreed to go. This would be an adventure. There was much bustle about the docks and Esther was not a bit afraid to go up to a couple of sailors coming off the ship she knew her brother John was on and ask if they knew him and, if they did, where she might find him. “What’s his second name?” one sailor asked. “Menzies.” Esther replied. She pronounced Menzies the Scottish way: those were English sailors.

“Never heard of him, “they said in unison, “but you can come with us if you like.”

Esther, realising that it might be her pronunciation of the name that might be the problem, gave the English version.

“Make up your mind,” said one of the sailors. “You don’t even know what your brother’s name is; pull the other one.”

They both guffawed and I suddenly realised we just shouldn’t be there and was keen to get away as soon as possible but, nothing daunted, Esther asked several other sailors until one who knew him told her he had gone into town.

I remained friendly with Esther all that second year of my training, although I found it impossible to keep up with her.

She had the strength and stamina of a wild pony and seemed to require very little sleep. Happy atmosphere Later, when we were on day duty again, she got me to go occasionally to the Palais, with its twinkling reflective ball lights and its many, many dancers.

There I mostly sat, a wallflower, with my head down, half hoping and half not wanting someone to ask me up to dance.

Even after all the lessons with Ralph I still hadn’t mastered ballroom dancing but I did enjoy the music and the happy atmosphere of the dance hall.

For some reason, that I have forgotten, I got a move from Ward 10 before my first stint of night duty was over. I was sent to Ward Eight, a busy male medical ward.

After my long time in Ward 14 I had grown to like male wards. I can’t remember who the senior nurse was but I don’t remember any problems between us so we must have made a good team.

It was a very busy ward when I was there and we were on our feet most of the night for something or other.

Often it was for one of the older men who, although quite rational during the day, could have delusions at night.

One I remember regularly went fire fighting, another chased hedgehogs and we nurses would have to gently coax the gentlemen back into bed.

We reassured them that there was no fire, there were no hedgehogs, that they were dreaming: it wasn’t always easy.

Some men had to be in cots with the sides put up at night to keep them from wandering.

We had all sorts of male patients, young and old but I don’t remember much trouble from any of them: nurses were respected.

I recall one night in particular while I was in Ward Eight. It had been quieter than usual. The slow light of dawn began to permeate the ward.

I rose from my chair at the nurses’ table in the middle of the ward and wandered over to look out of one of the tall second storey windows of this grand Victorian building that dominated the city. Changing colour I remember thinking then, how could anyone see Dundee as ugly or uninteresting.

As I watched, scarves of mist were shifting over the river and the sky behind the Fife hills was getting brighter by the minute, changing colour from pale gold to rose pink, with here and there a hint of Arctic green.

It was early September and the first tinge of frost was in the air. An early arrowhead of geese flew inland from the islands on the river, making for the golden stubble fields beyond the city.

Below me the sleeping houses were slowly coming to life with a spurt of smoke here, a spurt of smoke there.

The morning was breathless with excitement at the absolute clarity that can come with the northern early morning light.

I looked down to my right and there, glowing in this light rose was that turreted Scottish castle at the edge of the park.

I could see in my mind’s eye Bonnie Dundee of ancient days riding on his charger on the old cobbles and his lady wife looking out of the castle window for his return. (More tomorrow.)