大象传媒

This story has been submitted to the People's War site by Angela Cutting of Leicester City Libraries on behalf of Edna smith and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

CHAPTER 3

So I yearned to do some real nursing - life was far from the Florence Nightingale image of my dreams. Then came an evening when I was on duty alone with the ward sister. She was a pleasant but rather remote character, always referred to as "the Duchess' although whether she had any legitimate claim to that title none of us really knew.

One of our patients was a middle aged major who had sustained horrendous facial injuries in a bomb explosion. I had never seen these because he was swathed in bandages but I knew that even the experienced nurses shuddered when they had to dress these wounds. Sister came to me and said "Prepare the trolley nurse, I want you to help me change the Major's dressings". I quailed at this appalling prospect but, as I arranged the dressing drums and instruments, I became determined that she should not know how terrified I felt. We approached the bed together, and I took up my position beside her. She removed the bandages and I will make no attempt to describe what I saw. Suffice It to say that I knew that if I turned my eyes away, I would never have the courage to look back. So I stared, almost without blinking, passing everything that sister asked for, and pressing my knees hard together so that I should not sway. I felt my face burning and could see sister's eyes glancing at me through her long lashes.

The entire episode lasted perhaps twenty minutes - to me it seemed like forever. At last it was over and sister said, "Clear up the trolley, nurse, and then make tea for us both, and bring it into my office". She made no reference to the incident but I knew from her manner that I had passed the test, and it still seems to be one of the proudest moments of my nursing life. From then on, I became a senior nurse.

The next morning my training began. No more cleaning and dusting; instead I seemed to be learning new skills without respite. I practised giving injections to a cushion, I administered drugs, sterilised instruments, studied diets - everything was expected of me, and, most importantly, I learnt how to dress wounds. Now I began to use the dressing drums that I had packed so laboriously. This took considerable skill, because opening them exposed the contents to infection, and they might well be opened twenty times before they were repacked. On the trolley was a jar of liquid disinfectant containing a pair of small forceps and having unclasped the drum, I opened it slightly, and using the forceps, whipped out a piece of lint, which I spread out, and then collected such dressings as I thought I should need, and closed the lid again in the minimum of time. Any unused dressings were later collected up for re-sterilisation. I remember only too well how much discomfort I inflicted on my patients, through sheer ignorance and inexperience. How tolerant those servicemen were.

CHAPTER 4

We were all so young. Staff and patients alike, none of us was much over thirty, many of us were in our teens. We nurses did everything we could, but we had so little to work with little equipment, little technology, little expertise. Inevitably, whatever we did, there were three main outcomes:
Some men made a complete recovery and we classed these as our successes. But it was strange success to discharge them back to their regiments, back to the front lines, and all that that might mean.
Some were discharged and invalided out of the services. They took with them their artificial limbs, their facial disfigurements, their damaged eyesight and the pain of internal injuries.
And some died, and when this happened the body was placed on a stretcher draped in a Union Jack, a forage cap on top. We lined up to watch the little cortege pass down the ward, and blinked back the tears which it was so unprofessional to shed.

Nursing was very hard. We had a few sulphanilamides, a few drugs, but no antibiotics. Many wounds were infected before they reached hospital, and, in some of the worse cases, maggots were crawling over them. Our sense of inadequacy could have become depressing if we had had time to think about it. As it was, we worked a 12 hour day, with 2 hours off duty if the situation permitted, and one free day a week, liable to be changed at short notice.

One excitement was the arrival of our first supply of penicillin, just recently made available. We had one small bottle of the precious yellow liquid, to be used only for severe conditions, and kept in a refrigerator at all times. It was used only by injection, but was considered a wonder solution. More supplies came in due course and certainly helped.
Much of our work was done to a background of air raid sirens screeching to warn us of approaching enemy aircraft. There were the sounds of explosions, and often shrapnel pattering on the roofs which were thin, and became peppered with holes through which rain ran and descended on the beds. When this occurred we covered them with rubber sheets, and rivulets of water ran down onto the floor. The wail of the all clear sirens was a relief, but raids in the vicinity were frequent, and normally no-one could remember whether we were in a period of "alert" or "all clear". This was not so much because we treated the raids casually, but more because the fear which we all felt, but did not express, caused our adrenalin to flow and heightened our general awareness, so that we lived life to the full and were able to deal physically and emotionally with more contingencies.
There was a strict rule that staff off-duty should not take a bath during an "alert" - this was more to protect our modesty than our safety. It did, however, put great pressure on the bathrooms during the 'safe" periods so there was no chance of wallowing in hot water to ease weary limbs.

Convoys of wounded arrived at any time, it seemed to me that mostly they came shortly before I was due off-duty, making that impossible. The men were frequently coated with mud and always ravenously hungry. Some were in a state of shock, others were very cheerful, pleased to be alive and away from the battle front. I still remember vividly an evening when we admitted two Polish airmen. They spoke no English, but that made little difference because both had fractured lower jaws, and their lower teeth had been wired to the top teeth, to keep the jaws in place until treatment was available. Hence they could not open their mouths, and my first task was to record their particulars. I tried sign language to discover their names, dates of birth and all the usual rigmarole, but they were not interested in this; all they did was to mime eating and drinking - they were obviously very hungry. At last one of them understood what I needed and, using pen and paper that I had provided, wrote PRZYBYSZ, followed by, presumably, his date of birth, written with the year first, then the month and then the day. I took the paper triumphantly to sister who looked at me witheringly and said "That can't be right nurse, try again". I was tempted to suggest that perhaps she would like to try, but discipline didn't allow that. Anyway we had eventually to settle for this spelling, and we pronounced his name phonetically "Prisbis". He seldom responded to this, and we later learned that the true pronunciation was nothing like this, so he had no idea that we were addressing him.

The next task was to provide these two with food. But how could we do this? Fortunately both had lost teeth, so we decided on a liquid diet, to be sucked through the gaps with a drinking straw. It was now late in the evening, and there was not much food in the kitchen, but we collected various oddments - cooked vegetables, minced meat, gravy, milk, bread and porridge. All of this we rubbed indiscriminately through a sieve, diluted it to a consistency that would go through the straws and stirred it all together and heated it. It must have tasted abominable but it was devoured with relish - mug after mug of it - until our wrists ached and appetites were satisfied.

When a particularly large convoy arrived, the staff on duty were unable to cope alone, and off duty staff were called in to help. Frequently all the beds were occupied, but this presented no problems; we had a pile of spare mattresses which were then placed on the floor between the beds, and down the middle of the ward, and we knelt on either side to make them up with pillows, sheets and blankets. It was awkward to reach the beds for treatments because the trolleys were out of reach but we became accustomed to this. I laugh when I hear now of complaints of lack of hospital beds!

CHAPTER FIVE

Most of our patients were surgical cases, of course. Many had lost limbs and parachute regiments were particularly prone to having legs blown off. Others had severe internal wounds and yet others, facial injuries including horrendous burns, which I indicated previously. These were treated in our plastic surgery ward.

All had had traumatic experiences of war and, young as we were, we had to try to deal with mental and emotional problems. Nightmares occurred regularly when, in sleep, incidents of battle were relived. I remember one young officer who had had both legs amputated and who would search his bed, crying out that he had lost his rifle. If we did not go to him immediately he would try to get out of bed quite unaware of his surroundings and the fact that he could not stand; his anxiety was heartbreaking.
It wasn't only the patients who suffered mentally; families and friends who visited were distressed beyond measure when they saw the injuries. Young wives and girlfriends realised that their lives, too, would never be the same again. Many of them visited regularly and devotedly, but eventually a high proportion could not face the future with a partner who was broken physically or mentally and terminated relationships. This may seen cruel but they, too, were young, and one could not but sympathise with them in the difficult decisions.

As far as I can remember there was no psychological service to offer any support. It was left to other patients to help, and this some of them did magnificently, sitting and talking with great patience, and with the understanding that only other sufferers could feel. I was frequently at a loss to help, especially when I saw young men in tears - I just did not know how to cope.

But despite all this, the wards were happy places too. There was much fun and laughter and kindly banter. Men flirted with the nurses and teased the sisters and mimicked the doctors. The weekly visit of members of the Salvation Army was a highlight, because they brought small luxuries, including cigarettes (smoking was allowed on the wards!). Although the men laughed about these uniformed, elderly women, they were really held in great respect and affection even if this was not admitted.

Then there were the evenings out. In their wisdom the authorities had decided that patients who were sufficiently mobile and fit should be allowed out in the early evenings to visit the local pub for a drink - this was less than a quarter of a mile down the road. The reason for this privilege was that, theoretically, it would help to rehabilitate them and prepare them for return to active service. This was a noble motive with a disastrous outcome. Wounded servicemen wore a light blue uniform known as "hospital blue" so they were easily identifiable and in addition many were bandaged or on crutches. Other drinkers treated them like heroes and bought them drinks which frequently didn't mix well with the drugs they were taking, so many returned to hospital far from sober.
This offence was severely disciplined and could, and indeed sometimes did, lead to discharge from hospital. So, rather than risking this, we nurses did our best to get them into bed, often still fully clothed, and tuck them up, hoping that they would sleep before a sister discovered them. Most of the sisters were off-duty by now, so usually we were successful, but sometimes the men would sing rather than sleep, or become unpleasantly amorous and throw out their arms, revealing their blue jackets. If we colluded with all this we, too, were subject to discipline, so it was a relief when everyone was safely asleep. I wonder what the R.A.M.C. officers would have done in our situation; I really think that they should have taken some responsibility for the situation they had created.

The men who were in hospital for long periods were also allowed out locally during the daytime, and this did help them psychologically. The community was very kind to them, and some were invited into their homes. But one patient was unfortunate. He was admitted absolutely covered with splinters of shrapnel embedded into every part of his body, and these had to be picked out one by one with a pair of forceps. It was a delicate and laborious procedure, and took weeks to complete. It was so time consuming that the forceps were kept on the locker, and any senior nurse with a few minutes to spare would remove a few pieces. At last we had removed all that were visible and he was allowed to take a walk. While he was out, the sirens sounded and a bomb exploded near to him as he lay in a gutter for protection. He returned, full of apology, with yet more shrapnel in his neck!

We were a military hospital, but we also admitted air raid casualties from the local area. Most of these were later transferred to civilian hospitals, but we dealt with initial treatments, and of course the casualties arrived at all times of the day or night, and numbers were unpredictable. No one, to my knowledge, was ever refused admission - this would not have occurred to us.

CHAPTER SIX

As I became more experienced I was trained in "specialising'. I was given almost sole charge of critically ill patients and, although it was a considerable responsibility, I enjoyed these assignments. There was, however, one part that I did not enjoy.
As I have explained, the central corridor of the hospital stretched for three-quarters of a mile. Almost all of my nursing was on Officers Ward B, the second ward from the entrance. The operating theatres were at almost the far end, over half a mile away. So, when one of my patients had surgery, I had to push him on the stretcher on this long trek, sometimes with a male orderly to help, more often alone. On arrival I notified the theatre that we were there and then waited until the theatre staff were ready to take him, and I then trailed back along the corridor.

The theatres had no recovery rooms, so when surgery was over the patients were placed back in the corridor to await collection. The ward was notified and off I went again. When I arrived and located my patient, I had a difficult decision to make. This was to decide whether I thought he was in reasonable physical condition for the return journey, If I was not satisfied I reported this to one of the theatre staff and an argument ensued. It was here that I learned how to stand my ground because if I arrived back on the ward and the patient was in poor shape the sister would be very angry, and I should be severely reprimanded.

Eventually we reached an agreement and an orderly and I strapped the patient to the stretcher which had no side pieces and set off. Fortunately there was always an orderly for the return journey because it frequently happened that the anaesthetic began to wear off, and the patient would become restless and fling his arms and legs about. With luck we could hurry on, but if there was a chance of his slipping off, it was necessary to stop and try to hold him down with one hand and push with the other. He would also be liable to shout or swear, anaesthesia being crude in those days, and the pandemonium in the corridor was very embarrassing for me the orderly would take it in his stride.
I was greatly relieved when we reached the ward and my patient was safely in bed again. Then my important work began, because he was frequently critically ill for several days at least, and with advice from sister and the M.O. I had to deal with emergencies as they arose - there was no intensive care unit. Nowadays, modern technology helps and crises can often be treated with a better outcome. I sometimes had to live with the knowledge that, had I been better trained, I could have been so much more efficient - but this was war.

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