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In 1941 and at the tender age of 16, I was working at St. Josephs in Sheffield which was run by the Roman Catholic sisters of Charity (the ones with big curly hats). The home accommodated girls/women from 3years to around 28 years and I worked on a ward of 26 patients. All apart from one were non-mobile, being severely physically and mentally handicapped. We worked from 7.30am to 8pm, was allowed 2 hours off and earned the grand sum of £1 per month. We had one day off per month when I, fortunately, could take the two buses and one tram to get home to Langold in Nottinghamshire. I was only 18 miles from home but others came from further a field such as Scotland.
Looking after others was second nature to me having been brought up to do this from an early age, but the work at St. Josephs was physically and emotionally exhausting. We had to dress, feed, wash and nurse the patients. On saints days the Sisters would not be present and the laundry closed. Unfortunately the patients would run out of the large towelling nappies if we didn’t wash them out by hand so this is what we did. One little girl who was blind was unable to swallow food unless we held her nose so feeding her took a very long time. Another little girl had a beautiful head of curly hair. Sometimes a new arrival came with nits that we had to try to remove using combs. Very few of the patients had visits by relatives and for this a locker was kept with clothes for them to wear. Only four of the patients ever had visitors whilst I was there.

The Blitz in Sheffield
I didn’t get to see much of Sheffield at the time but I remember the large barrage balloons that were high in the sky all around, meant to deter any airborne attack. They didn’t work however and I was in Sheffield during the second wave of bombing (I think1941?). We had to slide the patients down to the cellars, balancing the stretchers on banisters on either side of the stairs. Land mines and incendiaries and bombs dropped all around us, some very close. We could hear the ‘ack ack’ of the anti-aircraft fire and saw the devastation afterwards. Many houses had to be shored up with wood along City Road.
Looking back at this time I still get upset thinking about the patients at St. Josephs. Although they didn’t know me I became very attatched to them. We knew them all by theie Christian names.
Looking back on this experience, it was probably not the best introduction to nursing and I didn’t follow it up, something, which at times I regret. It was very hard work and in a way, very isolating. It ended after a month of continuous night shift (without any break) followed by a bad attack of influenza where my parents were called to see me; I lasted a couple of months longer but then returned to my Mum and Dad in Langold, Notts.

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