The Secret Armour Read online

  In most hospitals, when any male doctor or student examines a female patient, a nurse has always to be present. Any nurse, seniority being immaterial, the main fact being that another woman is present. This was an unbreakable rule at Benedict’s, but one that took up a good deal of the nurses’ time. The various Sisters in whose wards I had worked had all felt I could better use that time scrubbing mackintoshes or turning out cupboards.

  Alice said, ‘I like chaperoning. It gives my legs a rest, and I can think beautiful thoughts without being bawled out by Sister or the Staff Nurse for “day-dreaming again, Nurse Fell!” ’ She heaved herself off the bed, walked over to my dressing-table, and frowned at her own reflection. ‘I wish I felt bilious at night,’ she went on mournfully; ‘a diet of soda bic. would do me a power of good. I touched eleven stone on the tubercle scales this morning.’

  ‘I shouldn’t let it worry you,’ I said, ‘your curves suit you’ ‒ which was true ‒ ‘and you can have my stomach with pleasure. Never in my life have I been as green as in the small hours this morning, and never do I wish to be.’

  She turned round and stood over me. ‘But I thought you enjoyed the night?’

  ‘So I did.’ I thought it over. ‘Now I’m not sure why, but I did. I’m quite looking forward to to-night.’

  ‘Soda bic., Sister Willy B., and all?’ She shook her head. ‘Like I said, Maggie, arrested development. I’m going to bed.’

  She went out to her room, and in a little while I heard her go along to the bathrooms. I sat on in my armchair and did nothing. I discovered I was far too tired to get undressed and go to bed myself. As far as I could tell, I would still be sitting there when Elsie, our floor maid, came to call me at seven that night. I thought sleepily about the night, and I smiled suddenly as I realized that in the last twelve hours I had done, for the first time, the kind of work, which, in my pre-hospital ignorance, I had imagined was what ‘nursing’ involved. If I had not lain my cool hands on fevered brows in William Brown I had at least tip-toed through dimly lit wards, turned pillows, offered soothing drinks, done dressings, or, rather, dressing.

  I thought about the S.S.O.’s brother. I always liked dark men, although I am dark myself. I thought about him some more, and decided I was glad there had been no room in the Private Wing. What was his name? David St Something Corford. Nice name, David. He was nice, too. Mallinson was nice. So was Night Sister. They were all nice. My head dropped forward and jolted the back of my neck. The jolt reminded me of Sister Willy B. She was not nice.

  A couple of hours later Home Sister woke me and said really, Nurse Howard, it was high time I was in bed and asleep.

  The next night raced by; and the next week passed as quickly. My inside adjusted itself to night duty, and I forgot I had ever had any other existence. You get a peculiar outlook at night. You feel an oddity, and are quite content to be one. It’s the business of getting up in the dark, going to sleep by day, the light-headedness of the small dark hours, the heavy exhaustion of midday. As I had discovered after my first night, night duty has compensations. There is an affinity between the patients and night nurses; an affinity far stronger than the mutual patient-nurse tie that is present in the daytime. Patients always have favourite nurses, and on every day shift there is ‘My Nurse So-and-so,’ but the night staff are invariably ‘Our Night Nurses, ever such sweet girls.’

  I saw very little of David Corford once each night had begun, which in hospital language means after Night Sister’s 10 p.m. round. He was in and out of the kitchen during the milk-heating periods, but he slept well, and never again interrupted our early morning tea-time.

  I had been on for fifteen nights when Mr Vanders, the orthopaedic surgeon, decided to re-open his wound.

  Nurse Mallinson said, ‘Old Vanders meant to do it last week, but couldn’t fit him in. Why do you suppose people will ride motor-bikes?’ she added not inconsequently, since we had had seven motor-cyclists admitted as emergencies to Willy Brown in the past three days. ‘I hope to goodness we don’t get any more for a day or so, or our David will go farther down the list. Not that he seems to mind,’ she frowned slightly, ‘he seems quite happy.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that, Nurse?’

  ‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘nothing. On the face of it. Only, well, it’s so out of character.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Nurse.’

  ‘You wouldn’t. It was before you came on. He used to talk a good deal to Samson ‒ your predecessor ‒ and she being a solemn old soul repeated it all to me, since, according to her code, no junior should hide anything from a senior!’

  ‘I’ve never worked with her,’ I said, ‘but I’ve heard she takes life seriously. I imagine it’s because she’s so much older than the average pro.’

  ‘Could be,’ she said, and stirred her tea thoughtfully. Then she smiled. ‘I’m sorry I’m waffling, but I always waffle at this hour. My point is this: David Corford was raising all hell his first half-dozen nights to get things done. Sort of “Take-the-damn-thing-off-if-you-must-man-only-be-quick” attitude. He nearly drove old Samson up the pole with his narking. That was why he agreed to come in here in the first place. He couldn’t wait for the Wing. Then there was that hold-up your first week, old Vanders’ sore throat, now this rush, and instead of breaking up the ward there’s the young man pottering round your kitchen with never so much as a grumble or a harsh word. I tell you, Howard, it’s agin nature!’ She glanced at me almost curiously. ‘Or is it?’

  ‘Perhaps he’s just got hospitalized, Nurse?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She did not sound very certain.

  I asked what Mr Vanders was to do.

  ‘Have a look-see, I gather, and go on from there. Might change his plate, but I doubt it.’

  ‘Where did he have it put in, in the first place?’

  ‘Some U.S. Navy hospital. The Yanks pulled him out of the water the time he got the original wound, at the end of ’43. It’s all in his notes. Read them up some time when you have a moment. They make interesting reading.’ She stood up. ‘I’m going to visit my friend Langley.’ On her way out she hesitated. ‘Corford’s dead lucky to have struck old man Vanders. If anyone can give him a good leg again Mr Vanders’ll do it.’

  ‘He’s very good?’

  ‘Terrific. The best in Benedict’s, and that, Nurse Howard,’ she mimicked Sister Tutor perfectly, ‘is the best in the world.’

  I grinned. ‘Yes, Nurse.’

  The following night David Corford’s name was on the list for the next day’s cases.

  ‘Der Tag,’ he said, as I brought in his morning tea. He grimaced.

  ‘Poor Mr Corford. It is rotten luck having to wait all this time, and then go through all this again.’

  He drank some of the tea. He did not look up when he spoke again. ‘It could be worse. There are certain compensations.’

  ‘There are? Have you become reconciled to life in Willy B.?’

  His face wore an odd expression, and his voice sounded puzzled. ‘Hardly that. But ‒ yes ‒ I think there are compensations, even in dear Willy B.,’ he smiled faintly, and then his expression and voice returned to normal. ‘One thing I always say about life, dear Nurse Howard, is that it’s an ill-wind that blows nobody any good, and really you never can tell.’

  I heard Mallinson race along the balcony that ran parallel with his room. I knew she would be wanting me to make her spinal beds with her.

  ‘You never can, Mr Corford, and that’s a fact. All right if I come back in half an hour to do your skin prep?’

  ‘That’ll be fine.’

  When I reached the door he called me back. ‘I say, Nurse Howard …’

  ‘Yes, Mr Corford?’

  ‘I was wondering …’ Again he hesitated, and again I heard Mallinson’s quick footsteps and now her voice, ‘Anyone seen Nurse Howard?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Corford?’

  ‘Er, how many preps do I have to have? This is the third go?’

  ‘Mr Vanders likes
four, I’m afraid.’

  ‘God help my poor defenceless germs,’ he said fervently. ‘I’ll see you later, then?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Corford.’

  Mallinson was annoyed, as I had expected. ‘What in the world have you been doing all this time, Nurse?’ I said I had had to explain to Mr Corford about the pre-operative treatment for his leg.

  ‘You had to do WHAT? My good girl, don’t be so absurd. That young man knows almost as much about the treatment of femurs in various stages of disrepair as old Vanders himself! He spent eleven months in an orthopaedic ward last time.’

  I could not think of anything else to say but, ‘I’m sorry, Nurse.’

  ‘Well, never mind that now, and let’s get on with those beds! It’s ten-past seven, the day staff will be charging on any moment, and we’ve still eleven left to do.’

  There was not a great deal of time for thought then, but as we stripped the bedding, turned mattresses, plumped mountains of pillows, I did wonder what it was David Corford had been going to ask me when he changed his mind and filled in with that question to which, as Mallinson said, he so obviously knew the answer. I thought I would find out when I went back to do his leg.

  I did not find out because at twenty-five past seven we had another emergency in, and Nurse Mallinson told me to admit the new patient. ‘The day second-year can fix up young Corford; it’ll take you till prayers to wash the new chap, he’s filthy.’

  I went to bed early that day. Half-way through the afternoon, I woke up to find the sun on my face. I was too lazy to get out of bed and do anything about it. I lay and cursed night duty, the hospital, and nature for providing that brilliant sunshine when I had to sleep.

  I thought about Willy Brown, whether there had been any more admissions, why admissions always had to come in half an hour before I was due off duty, if Sister Willy B. had noticed that I had forgotten to fill in the religion of my morning’s admission. I decided that this was a pointless thought ‒ Sister Willy B. never missed anything! And then I thought about David Corford.

  I did not go properly to sleep again, and when Elsie called me over three hours later I was still thinking about David Corford.

  Nurse Mallinson briefed me after the report that night. ‘Mr Corford is only just round, Howard. You’ll have to keep a special eye on him, as I’ve got that new laminectomy in my spinal ward. I’ll have to be up this end most of the night. Go into that boy’s room roughly every fifteen minutes, and get me at once if you think his plaster is getting tight, or he’s having pain. I’ll get down to see him myself as often as I can, but he’s your baby. All right?’

  The small ward was filled with the scent of ether and wet plaster of Paris. David slept heavily. He had gone to sleep within a few minutes of recovering from the anaesthetic, and for the first few hours of the night he made no move.

  It was half-past two in the morning, and I was outside in the corridor, when I heard him draw his breath in sharply. I went quickly through the open doorway. ‘Hurting much, Mr Corford?’ I asked.

  ‘A bit,’ he said briefly.

  I walked over to his bed and looked down at him. His face was grey, his features were pinched, his forehead wet. I felt his radial pulse. It was fast, but the beat was strong and regular.

  ‘I’ll just have a look at your plaster, and then I’ll get Nurse Mallinson. She’ll give you something for the pain.’ The plaster looked tight, but not too tight. His toes were warm and a good colour. I found Mallinson quickly and told her.

  ‘Bound to be hurting a lot now,’ she said, ‘it’s hours since he came round. Mr Vanders wants him to have a quarter.’ She fumbled in her pocket and unpinned the drug-cupboard keys. ‘Will you get the morphia and the drug-book, Howard, and I’ll scrub up. We’ll give it now.’ David opened his eyes as we came into the room: ‘I don’t think I really need anything, thanks, Nurse Mallinson.’ I glanced across at Mallinson. She did not hesitate; she said, ‘I should have this injection if I were you, Mr Corford. It won’t do any harm, and Mr Vanders wanted you to have it. Also,’ she said gently, ‘we are going to have to move that leg of yours a little, in a short while, and I’m afraid it may hurt you.’

  He said, ‘You’ve talked me into it, Nurse. Will my arm do?’

  ‘Beautifully.’ She nodded at me. ‘Roll up his pyjama sleeve, please. Let your arm go loose, Mr Corford.’

  When it was over and we had signed the drug-book she murmured, ‘Stay with him until it works, Howard,’ then she walked back to the bed and felt his pulse.

  ‘Sorry if I bulldozed you into that, Mr Corford.’

  He smiled faintly. ‘A real chip off the old block, eh, Nurse Mallinson? Thanks all the same.’

  She went out quietly and closed the door behind her. His eyes were closed again, and he must have thought he was alone. For he said, ‘God! Of all the ‒!’ The three words he used were words I had never heard, seen written, or knew the meaning of. I did not know what, if anything, to say, so I said nothing. A few moments later his right hand reached out to his locker top. ‘Where’s that blood-stained handkerchief?’

  It had fallen on the floor. I picked it up, and put it in his outstretched hand. ‘Here it is, Mr Corford.’

  He opened his eyes immediately. ‘Oh, Lord! I didn’t know you were still here!’ Then he apparently remembered why he had wanted his handkerchief. He lay back on his pillows, one arm across his eyes. ‘I’m sorry to be making all this fuss, Nurse.’

  ‘You aren’t making any fuss,’ I said, ‘and, anyway, old wounds always hurt more than new ones.’ Someone had once told me that; I did not know if it was true, but I had to say something. I was desperately sorry for both his pain and his annoyance that I should have seen him cry.

  He said, ‘If I have to be infantile I would as soon have you in on it as anyone else. All the same,’ he said, with a touch of his normal self in his manner, ‘I would have preferred someone else to have been in on my little outburst. I do apologize for my language.’

  ‘Well, you needn’t,’ I said honestly, ‘because I did not understand one word.’

  He moved his arm from his face and smiled up at me. ‘My dear Nurse Howard! My very dear Nurse Howard! You are quite incredibly naive, and quite incredibly sweet!’ He stopped smiling and frowned, ‘But I must have shocked you with my unmanly lapse?’

  ‘You didn’t. A good many tears are shed at night in a place like this.’

  ‘Are they?’ he asked curiously. ‘In Willy B.? Do the men cry much?’

  ‘A fair amount,’ I said. ‘I’ve only been on a short time, but still I’ve seen quite a few weep, and Mallinson tells me it’s pretty usual.’

  ‘Does it upset you much?’

  I thought a moment before answering. I decided this was a time for truth. I said ‘Yes.’

  ‘My dear.’ I was standing near his bed; he reached out and caught one corner of my apron skirt. ‘You are so nice.’

  I smiled down. ‘And the injection is taking a very nice hold on you, Mr Corford. How’s the leg now?’

  ‘Doing all right.’

  ‘Then if you’ll excuse me’ ‒ I glanced down at my apron which he still held ‒ ‘I’ll tell Nurse Mallinson and we’ll do the moving.’

  ‘Anything you say, Nurse Howard. But there’s just one thing …’

  ‘Yes, Mr Corford?’

  ‘Don’t blame the dope.’ He dropped his hand, and it lay heavily over the side of his bed. ‘Don’t blame the dope,’ he said again. ‘Now bring on the First Torturer.’

  The next day was Saturday, and Sister William Brown was off duty for the week-end. Night Sister was waiting in the office with the day Staff Nurse when Mallinson and I arrived in William Brown that night.

  ‘I’m going to take Nurse Howard from you for to-night, Nurse Mallinson,’ Night Sister announced. ‘Nurse Fell will take her place.’ She turned to me. ‘I want you to special a patient in Judson Ward to-night, Nurse Howard. Have you ever specialed a patient before?’

  ‘No, Sister
.’

  I saw Mallinson shrug her shoulders and mouth at the Staff Nurse, ‘Just my luck.’

  Sister swept me away along the corridor and down the inside lift. ‘This patient has a fractured tib. and fib., as well as a fractured base. I think he will be good experience for you, and since you are used to fractures at the moment, you should be able to manage nicely.’ She smiled swiftly. ‘You will have to, since I have no more senior nurse I can conceivably spare.’

  She led the way along the endless, rubber-floored corridors, explaining as she went. She told me what I should see, what I must do. She made me check on my pen and my watch, then handed me a written list of the treatment the new patient was receiving.

  Chapter Three

  GEORGE ASKS ME TO A PARTY

  Judson Ward was the cranial ward. Like the fracture wards in William Brown, Judson had one small room which was used either for private or dangerously ill patients. The man in it to-night was the latter.

  The bed was hidden from the door by the inevitable red screen. The bedside lamp, which now stood on the floor, was dimmed by a red shade-cover. A second-year nurse stood by the bed-table, filling in the chart. She glanced round and came over at once with the chart.

  Sister asked quietly, ‘How is he to-night, Nurse?’

  ‘Not yet conscious, Sister.’

  Miss Selsom nodded and took the chart. ‘Thank you, Nurse. I’ve seen the report. Nurse Howard will take over from you now. Will you tell Sister Judson that I will be out to see her in a minute?’

  The second-year said, ‘Yes, Sister, thank you, Sister,’ mechanically. She looked back at the bed, hesitated as if she was going to say something, then changed her mind and went out.

  Night Sister shook her head over the chart. ‘Go on with this every quarter of an hour, as I told you, Nurse,’ she said, then walked quietly over to the bed.

  She stood in silence, watching the unconscious man carefully. She pulled out her watch and checked his pulse-rate, then looked back at his face. When she looked up again her eyes were puzzled. She drew me away from the bed, beyond the screen, to the door. ‘I may be rash, Nurse,’ she murmured, ‘but I feel far more cheerful about this poor lad now. I know the chart looks bad and he should be round. But he’s got a good heart. A good, young heart. And I think,’ she said slowly, ‘I think he’ll get away with it. I think he’ll come round all right. Fairly soon. There’s something about him ‒ he just hasn’t got the look.’