The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,14
be very lucky for you if Sister Sutton catches you wearing it,’ Helen warned. ‘You’d best take it off and keep it somewhere safe.’
Dora removed the chain from around her neck, wrapped it in a handkerchief and placed it in the empty drawer that had been allocated to her. Meanwhile, Helen deftly fashioned the mysterious square of starched fabric into a neat cap.
‘I’ll never get the hang of that!’ Dora sighed as she watched her.
‘Of course you will. Everyone does.’ She placed the cap on Dora’s frizzy hair. ‘Have you brought any pins with you? It doesn’t matter, I’ve got some spares. Although you might have to do something about your hair.’ She frowned. ‘It’s supposed to be hidden at all times, and you’ll never get it all under your cap.’
‘I’ll have to shave my head to do that,’ Dora said mournfully.
Helen Tremayne’s mouth curved slightly, the first hint of a smile Dora had seen. ‘I don’t suppose it will come to that.’ She jabbed a pin into the cap, narrowly missing Dora’s left ear. ‘There, that’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.’
Dora checked her reflection in the scrap of mirror over the chest of drawers, and a bubble of excitement started to rise inside her. She could scarcely believe the transformation. In her smart striped dress, with her collar fastened tightly under her chin, and her hair almost hidden under her cap, she looked almost like a real nurse.
‘I’d best go, I’m due back on the ward in ten minutes.’ Helen’s voice broke into her daydream. She was on the other side of the room, ramming her feet back into her shoes. ‘Make sure you’re in the dining room for eight o’clock.’ She threw her cloak over her shoulders and hurried for the door. ‘It’s block three, this side of the courtyard. Out of the main doors, then turn right. And whatever you do, don’t be late.’
Chapter Five
WHEN HELEN HAD gone, Dora quickly unpacked her belongings, shoving them into the empty drawer. She didn’t have much, just underwear and a couple of dresses, plus all the things she had been told to bring for training – black stockings and stout black shoes, blunt-ended scissors, pens and pencils and a watch.
She suppressed a shudder as she placed the watch carefully in the drawer. Alf had made a big song and dance about buying it for her. He’d presented it to her in front of all the family, and she’d had to pretend to be grateful and let him put his arms around her and listen to everyone say what a good, generous man he was.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself. You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you any more.
At eight o’clock prompt, she made her way to block three as Helen Tremayne had directed. She followed the sound of clattering crockery and excited chatter down the corridor, and found herself in the brightly lit, noisy dining room, reeking of overcooked cabbage and disinfectant. It was the size of a gymnasium, and laid out with several long tables. At the far end of the room, steam belched from a serving hatch where a large woman in a white overall was doling out loaves of bread, bowls and huge enamel jugs of cocoa.
Each of the long tables was crowded with young women in a different-coloured uniform – some royal blue, some striped, some purple. Over by the window, away from the hustle and bustle, a group of women in grey uniforms ate their meal in dignified silence, served by a maid.
Dora’s stomach rumbled in anticipation; she had been too nervous to eat the sausage sandwich her mum had made her at lunchtime.
Sister Sutton was waiting by the door. ‘You’re late,’ she greeted her. ‘And your cap is crooked. Go over there and sit with the other probationers.’
As she made her way across the room, Dora noticed Helen Tremayne sitting at a table with a group of other nurses in striped uniforms – second years, she guessed. Dora waved but Helen stared straight through her and went on eating.
Dora found a seat at the end of the probationers’ table, where a dozen or so nervous-looking girls sat casting sidelong glances around them. Unlike the other pros at the table, they all wore blue armbands, denoting they were in Preliminary Training and not yet let loose on the wards.
As she sat down, an excited-looking pro came back from the hatch bearing a bottle of Daddies Sauce, like a trophy.