Our Country Nurse: Can East End Nurse Sarah find a new life caring for babies in the country?. Sarah Beeson
bohemian air, this health visitor wore no jewellery except a gold wedding band and a three-stoned diamond ring, but she was just as smart and graceful.
I wondered if excellent deportment had been a prerequisite to health-visitor training in days gone by. Both my new colleagues were tall and filled with quiet confidence – at a little over five foot I couldn’t help but feel that I didn’t quite measure up in more ways than one. Stand up straight, Sarah, I told myself, stretching myself out a little more and trying to look at ease in my new surroundings. In Hackney I could be nose to chest with an outright East End gangster and not turn a hair and yet here I was inwardly quivering like a school girl. Get a grip, I told myself, as I forced my nerves down and returned their friendly smiles with a big grin of appreciation at this amiable welcome.
‘Ah, Mrs King. You’ll see our newest addition, Miss Hill, is with us bright and early,’ Miss Drummond informed her.
Mrs King placed the wooden tray she’d been carrying onto her desk. I noted the hand-embroidered tray cloth with delicate lace edges, all laid out with a white china tea service patterned with bright green hens and foliage. Standards were clearly very high at Totley Clinic; no upturned tea chest and illicit stash of shop-bought biscuits for them.
‘I had a feeling we’d see you sooner rather than later, Miss Hill,’ proclaimed Mrs King with a smile. ‘Hence the extra cup and saucer this morning,’ she explained as she poured out the tea. There was also a stack of delicious-looking shortbread on the tray, which made my depleted appetite suddenly reappear.
‘Shortbread?’ she enquired. ‘I made it yesterday evening while dinner was in the oven,’ she told me, offering me the plate.
‘Really! I had a Vesta curry on a tray in front of the telly and watched Upstairs, Downstairs,’ I replied, astonished, and helping myself to a piece. Sarah, why did you say that, I scolded myself, shoving the shortbread into my mouth to stopper it. Homemade shortbread – my, it was so good.
‘Oh yes, that James Bellamy is quite a dish, isn’t he?’ said Miss Drummond with a smile. ‘Etty went to bed early and I had the place to myself. Just me, Upstairs, Downstairs and a large gin and tonic – one of life’s lovely moments.’
‘Yes, it was a good one,’ agreed Mrs King. ‘Even the boys watched it with Jack and me – but I don’t think they’d admit it to their school friends. Then they both disappeared and camped out in the summer house all night again. I could hear Led Zeppelin drifting across the lawn until well after midnight; good job we don’t have any neighbours at our place but I don’t know what the hens think of it. Jack had to threaten to chuck a bucket of water over the pair of them to get them out of their sleeping bags and on time for the school bus this morning,’ she said with a laugh.
‘You’ve got two boys?’ I asked.
‘And a girl, Harriet, but she’s at Glasgow now doing History,’ answered Mrs King. ‘But David and John are 15 and 17 and can let themselves in after school now, which is fine as long as the cupboards are well stocked. Teenage boys never stop eating.’
Three children, a husband and livestock to take care of and she works and finds a spare minute to make homemade delicacies – was she superhuman?
‘Sit yourself down, Miss Hill,’ instructed Miss Drummond, showing me my very own desk in the corner nearest the door.
I’d never had my own desk before and here I was at a little after eight o’clock in the morning on my very first day as a health visitor sitting in a rather swish swivel chair in front of my desk drinking tea and eating homemade shortbread. It was all I could do not to swirl around and around in excitement. My eyes devoured my new office space – I’d been provided with a blotter and a wicker filing tray. Brand new pens and notepads were all laid out for me, on top of which was a set of keys for my drawers. I reached into my bag and pulled out the green leather mug and letter opener I’d commandeered from my dad’s desk and popped them in pride of place. I suddenly felt a little wave of importance and pleasure under-laced by the feeling I was playing at being a grown-up, with my new Mini and Ivy Cottage – what had I done to deserve any of it? I looked at my white telephone and thought any minute now there will be that call when they tell you it’s all been a terrible mistake and they don’t want you after all – that none of this is yours. But thankfully the phone didn’t ring. Enjoy the moment, I told myself.
‘Now you have your Mini. Did they give you a log book?’ enquired Miss Drummond. I nodded. ‘Good, good. Don’t forget to keep your petrol receipts and mileage up to date or dear Miss Presnell will want to know why. Have you met our manager yet?’
‘No,’ I replied.
‘She’s not a bad sort. Miss Presnell doesn’t bother us much does she, Mrs King?’ called out Miss Drummond without pausing for a response. ‘And she doesn’t take too much nonsense from the top brass. Though to be honest she only comes out to the sticks on high days and holidays,’ she added with a laugh. I saw Mrs King smile and arch an eyebrow at our colleague’s account of our superior officer.
‘And at 70 new pence to the gallon it’s not a bad deal,’ continued Miss Drummond. ‘Where did you train?’
‘Hackney,’ I answered.
‘Ooh, I like a girl who’s trained at a proper hospital. I started out in the Wirral and then New York before I came to the Garden of England.’
‘My parents lived in Sevenoaks for a few years and I went to school near Sunridge for a while.’
‘You’re practically a local then. You’ll know your russet from your cox,’ she chortled.
‘We haven’t got anything too gruelling for your first day. Miss Drummond and I have hearing tests at nine o’clock and I’m sorry that we’ll be out for most of the day. We’ve got a list of your patch and a big map of the area ready, you can reconnoitre the district a bit before you hit the road,’ explained Mrs King, handing me over a folder.
I eagerly opened the huge map and saw the wide expanse of countryside. ‘You’ll be doing Totley, the outskirts of Malling, The Meadows and the surrounding areas. At the moment that’s about 800 babies and children under five plus the elderly visits we undertake.’
I looked up at her eyes wide. ‘Eight hundred,’ I repeated.
‘And counting,’ she smiled, ‘not forgetting visits to the elderly to keep an eye on their general health. You’re also the school nurse for St Agatha’s and the Meadows Infant and Junior Schools. There’s a weekly clinic in Totley but luckily for you there’s only a monthly clinic run with the GP in The Meadows and at the RAF.’
‘That’s very fortunate,’ I uttered. Eight hundred children, I thought. Eight hundred! But secretly I couldn’t wait to get started. I wanted to know each one of them right now.
‘So, you sit tight for today and answer the phone. You need only go out if there’s an emergency,’ added Miss Drummond. ‘You’ve got your first clinic for Totley tomorrow afternoon, Mums and Toddlers on Wednesday and RAF clinic on Thursday – best you gen up on those. We’ll let you loose on some clients in the middle of the week; there are a few referrals from Dr Drake, our Totley GP, to work through. His scrawls take a fair bit of deciphering, so do ask if you have any questions. All the client records for your patch are in these boxes if you need to look anything up,’ she told me, tapping the two wooden index boxes already on my desk.
‘Righto,’ I replied. My fingers itching to get to work on the doctor’s referrals and plan my week.
‘And if you get a spare few minutes at lunchtime maybe toddle down to St Agatha’s Primary to introduce yourself. Mr Hopkins the headmaster is very nice and Reverend Shepherd generally pops in to have lunch with the children on a Monday. It’s all rather jolly,’ Miss Drummond informed me as she gathered up her bag.
‘Enjoy your first day,’ added Mrs King. ‘We’ll try and pop in again in a few hours and see how you are doing. I’m sure Flo will be clucking around you anyhow.’