The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,10
her, without you turning her into some kind of hoyden as well? Next thing we know she’ll be wearing trousers and keeping the company of Bohemians like your sister Victoria. And who do you think will want to marry her then?’
‘Benedict, are you listening to me?’ Matron’s voice snapped her back to reality.
‘Yes, Matron. Sorry, Matron. You were saying?’
‘I was saying, Benedict, that this is your last chance. If you fail PTS again, I will have no choice but to dismiss you from the Nightingale.’
‘Yes, Matron. I understand.’
‘Do you, Benedict? I wonder.’
‘I do, Matron, honestly. I will try very hard indeed to get through PTS and become a credit to this hospital.’
She really had no choice. It was either that or return to Billinghurst with her tail between her legs and get married.
‘In that case, you’d better get back to the nurses’ home and prepare to start your training again.’ Matron made a note in her file and closed it. ‘Perhaps if you apply yourself rather more to your studies and less to your social life, you’ll have better luck this time, Nurse Benedict.’
Dismissed, Millie headed out of the office where a trail of dejected-looking nurses were nervously waiting in the corridor for their turn to meet Matron’s wrath, and went downstairs. She immediately headed round to the back of the nurses’ block, to the narrow, overgrown strip of ground where the student nurses sneaked off for a cigarette away from the watchful eye of the Home Sister.
Glenda Pritchard, a girl from her set was already there, shivering with cold as she puffed on a Craven A. She started nervously as Millie rounded the corner of the building.
‘Oh, it’s you.’ Glenda put her hand to her chest, sagging with relief. ‘I thought it was Sister Sutton on the warpath.’ She handed Millie her cigarette. ‘How did it go with Matron?’
‘Well, she didn’t send me packing, which is something.’ Millie took a long drag and blew the smoke out in a steady stream. ‘But I have to retake PTS.’
‘Poor you!’ Glenda looked sympathetic. She was what Millie’s grandmother would have called an ‘unfortunate-looking’ girl, with glasses and buck teeth. ‘But at least you don’t have to go home.’
‘True.’ Millie hadn’t been looking forward to seeing the triumph on her grandmother’s face when she arrived back at Billinghurst. ‘But I’m not looking forward to spending another twelve weeks with Sister Parker either. She hates me.’ Millie took another drag on the cigarette and passed it back to Glenda.
‘She doesn’t hate you. She just thinks you’re hopeless, that’s all.’
‘Thank you. That makes me feel so much better.’ After three months on PTS with Glenda, Millie knew the other girl meant well, but she could be a bit tactless at times. ‘I’m so envious of you lot. You’ll all be starting work on the wards while I’m stuck with the new students.’
‘Damp dusting the practice room every morning,’ Glenda reminded her.
‘Listening to all those lectures,’ Millie sighed.
‘And doing battle with Mrs Jones!’
‘Don’t remind me!’ Mrs Jones was the dummy patient they used for practice sessions in PTS. Millie always seemed to end up wrestling with her. Once Mrs Jones’ arm had come clean off in her hand. She’d thought Sister Parker was going to explode with rage.
‘I wonder if you’re really cut out to be a nurse, Benedict?’ she would say to her almost every day, peering at her over the top of her pebble-thick spectacles as if she were a specimen in one of the jars lined up on the shelves of the classroom.
Millie couldn’t help being accident-prone. Objects just seemed to take on a troublesome life of their own in her hands.
Like that wretched enema solution. Heat rose in her face at the thought of it. For the past week she’d had nightmares about seeing the soapy water dripping off the examiner’s chin . . .
Glenda Pritchard dropped the cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with the heel of her stout shoe. ‘A few of us are off to celebrate our last night before we start on the wards. Come with us, if you like?’
‘No, thanks.’ Much as Millie usually enjoyed a night out, the thought of listening to everyone chattering about their new ward allocations only made her feel worse. ‘I think I’ll stay in and study.’
‘You, study? That’ll be the day!’ Glenda scoffed.
‘I’m serious. I’m going to be a model student from now on.’
‘If you say so.’ Glenda grinned. ‘But I give it a week.’