The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,78

for gossiping.’

‘Oh, go and boil your head!’ Katie muttered as her sister bustled off.

But no one had told Glenda Pritchard it wasn’t the place for gossiping. Speaking in a rushed, excitable whisper, just low enough to escape the staff nurses’ sharp ears, she kept up a constant stream of chatter to Dora and Katie as she rushed in and out with the bedpans.

‘I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I found out I was coming here. Everyone says Male Orthopaedics is the best ward. I’ve heard it’s full of handsome young men with sports injuries, all laid up with nothing to do but flirt with the nurses.’ She blushed. ‘It’s a bit different from Gynae, I can tell you. Oh, poor you, having to wash all those bedpans! I’m so glad I don’t have to do it any more. What do you think of Sister? She’s lovely, isn’t she? So much nicer than Sister Wren on Gynae. She was utterly spiteful. You’re meant to warm those bedpans under the hot tap, by the way . . .’

Dora allowed Glenda’s voice to wash over her as she got on with washing the bedpans. Her arms were pimpled with cold, and she had to grit her teeth together to stop them from chattering.

After the bedpan round, she and Katie were sent to scrub out the bathrooms and clean the patients’ lockers. Then they had to pull the beds into the middle of the ward to clean behind them.

‘I thought they had a ward maid to do the cleaning?’ she whispered to Katie.

‘They do, but the nurses still have to do a proper clean at least once a week,’ Katie replied, clattering her mop into the galvanised bucket, which earned her a sharp look from her sister Bridget.

‘Do you have to make so much noise? You’re disturbing the patients,’ she warned.

‘Look at her. Thinks she’s the Rose of Tralee.’ Katie pulled a face. ‘I wish she’d skid on this wet floor. That would give me a laugh! Is it lunchtime yet? I’m starving, and I think my back’s going to break.’

Dora was used to hard work, so the cleaning didn’t bother her. And the patients were so friendly, it made her job a lot easier. Most of them were recumbent on iron frames, or encased in plaster. Many had nothing more serious than a sports injury, while others had congenital deformities. Denied even the chance of sitting up and looking around them, they were dependent on the nurses for entertainment. They chatted to Dora as she went about her work.

Sister Blake seemed pleased with her. ‘You’re doing a good job, Doyle,’ she complimented her. ‘As you’ve probably gathered, most of the patients on this ward get rather bored and starved of excitement. They welcome a friendly face and a bit of chat. It’s a very important part of nursing, keeping their spirits up. But just be careful, some of the younger ones can get cheeky sometimes,’ she warned.

Dora didn’t understand what she meant until later that afternoon. She was carrying a pile of fresh linen from the cupboard when Mr Hubbard, a young man with a dislocated shoulder, called her over.

‘Can you spare a minute, Nurse?’ he asked.

Dora glanced around. There were no other nurses in sight.

‘Shall I fetch someone?’ she asked.

‘No, you’ll do. Could you take a look at something for me? Only I’m a bit worried.’

Dora looked around again. Sister Blake and Staff Nurse O’Hara were behind the screens with another patient. Staff Nurse Martin was in the kitchen. Even Glenda Pritchard and Katie were nowhere to be seen.

She remembered what Sister Blake had said about them all working together to help the patients. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to his bed, feeling very important in her uniform.

‘What is it you wanted me to look at?’ she asked, in her best bedside manner voice.

‘This!’ Mr Hubbard threw back the covers. He’d unfastened his pyjama bottoms to expose himself. ‘I think you should give it a close examination, Nurse.’

Dora took one look at the naked white appendage hanging there limply and jumped back in panic, sending his water jug flying. Laughter exploded all around her, ringing around the ward. Everyone was in on the joke.

‘What’s going on?’ Sister Blake appeared from behind the screens. ‘Nurse, explain yourself!’

‘I . . . I . . .’

‘Sorry, Sister, it was my fault,’ Mr Hubbard grinned, whipping the sheet back to cover himself. ‘The other lads put me up to it. We