´óÏó´«Ã½

On Sundays we went out on the wards. Our chief job on the wards on a Sunday was to do bedpans and blanket baths, but at least it got us used to being on the wards.

We were allocated different wards. I was under the age of eighteen — I was seventeen and a half; and the policy was that this age group went to either Private Block or Children’s Ward — why I do not know — so we had to wear a red band on our arm. I went on to Children’s Ward and I enjoyed it. We had to go across from the main hospital to the ward and my first impression was the noise because all the children were standing up, shouting, talking and playing. There I learned quite a lot about children.

The first child I handled was John — a small boy with a cerebral tumour. He was so top heavy I was terrified to let go of him. Shortly afterwards he died.

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Becky Barugh of the ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Patricia Davies and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

See more of Pat's stories:

• 1) I suppose it was inevitable…
• 3) The unchanging rota
• 4) Othopaedic Wards
• 5) The Miners
• 6) Keeping coffee warm in the sterilizer
• 7) Mouth gags and tongue clips
• 8) Dear Flower Girl
• 9) Theatres
• 10) The Nurse’s Home
• 11) The ‘Guinea Pig Club’
• 12) Mice in the washing and other tricks
• 13) Enamel washbowls on your heads
• 14) Extra Work
• 15) Shake and Shake…
• 16) Little Nurse
• 17) A lot of things were introduced during the War
• 18) Only two nights off
• 19) Making and Breaking
• 20) My little bucket and I
• My visit to post-War Germany

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.