大象传媒

Matron said, 鈥淣ow dear keep your hair tidy, that way I can tell you from the others鈥�. Of course there was another dear soul with the same surname as mine and three similar.

Let me see what I remember about the same named. She was short, wore thick glasses and had whalebone in her corsets, YUK.
In those days we did not have much freedom and I was elected to run a nurses dance. Of course I was young and good looking then and knew how to dance.

Our old gramophone in the nurses home only had one record鈥︹�ugene Onegin and I tried to teach this girl to dance. It was just as well she had whalebone in her corsets, it was better to hang onto when I swung her round than the fat that bulged over. I can still feel it under my hand.
The Matron and the old spinster ward sisters, didn鈥檛 have married ones in my day, were horrified at our being in close contact with the local soldiers, they sat in a huddle in one corner, noting who the doctors danced with. Gawd 鈥� elp that nurse next day and who was missing probably snogging in the corridor.

Wonder if that was why I never got promotion.
It could have been when Matron and I , moving quickly round the grounds in an air raid, nipped too quickly with a dear departed, hit an ice patch and say no more, who was the biggest stiff in the garden bed,鈥�.ME.

On the wards for breakfast we used to serve dried egg and dried egg. The soldier boys, blue boys we used to call them. They wore hospital blues, used to make me cry, saying we nurses had eaten all their bacon ration.

One evening at the beginning of night duty, I noticed there was, what would now be called, a,鈥udge nudge, wink wink, going on, up and down the long hut, with beds ranged down both sides. But being busy took no notice.

At night Sister did her rounds and it was not unusual for a soldier to keep cavey so that all beds were tidy. This night was no exception. It was when the All Clear came from the man on the look-out. After I had seen her off the ward and turned the lights out, and sat down at my desk, that all hell broke loose.

The men started saying naughty things about my shape and as I tried to quieten them, hands shot out and touched my apron, then it was 鈥漡ive us a kiss鈥�, 鈥渨hat about a smacker鈥�, 鈥渃an I have my back rubbed鈥� and so on. The last thing I remember was when a young lad called me to his bed, took my hand and said 鈥� Nurse, nurse, you have eyes, yes eyes like the yolks of eggs鈥� Then it happened.
They threw everything that was liftable at me. Soap, wet flannels, boots, slippers, tooth-brushes, pillows, magazines, the lot.
I hope you will never know what it鈥檚 like to be hit on the side of the face by a wet flannel.

NO! NO! they didn鈥檛 throw their bottles at me there were not enough of those to go around.

It turned out they thought I was a good sport, they wanted some fun and I didn鈥檛 really mind, although I had to work the rest of the night with a wet stiff collar, made my neck sore.

The soldier boy who said I had eyes like the yolks of eggs, wonder why? He died a few days afterwards of his War Wounds. I hope I cheered him up.
This story was submitted to the 鈥淧eoples War Site by Rod Aldwinckle of the CSV Action Desk on behalf of Stella Richards and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the terms and conditions of the site.

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