Leeds General Infirmary. - Yes sister, no sister: my life as a trainee nurse in 1950s Yorkshire

JENNIFER CRAIG

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Published in 2010 by Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing
A Random House Group company
First published in the UK by The Breedon Books Publishing
Company in 2002

Copyright Jennifer Craig 2002, 2006, 2010

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This book is dedicated to Registered Nurses everywhere

This book is a work of non-fiction based on the life, experiences and recollections of the author. In most cases names of people have been changed to protect their privacy. However, it is impossible to conceal that the authors matrons were Kathleen Raven and Grace Watts, and that her tutors were Mrs B.M. Morley, Miss A.H.K. Bird and Miss Amy Squibbs.

In my outdoor uniform, February 1953. Cotton dress, starched cap, purple-lined woollen cloak to be worn in all weathers.

T HIS STORY IS based on my experience of training as a nurse at Leeds General Infirmary between 1952 and 1956 and of subsequently working there as a staff nurse, a night sister and a ward sister.

The events I have described are true. I have tried to give an accurate picture of the nursing procedures we followed at that time before they are lost to history. The pantomimes, surgeons behaviour, housemens antics and patients are, I hope, faithfully portrayed. The dialogue is, of course, fictitious. I have tried to capture the way people talked rather than give verbatim records.

To all nurses and doctors who worked at the hospital during the 1950s: I hope you enjoy this account and accept it in the spirit in which it is offered as a memorial to times we shall never see again. We were great, werent we?

To all nurses and doctors of today: I hope you read this with interest as you discover some of your historical precedents. I trust your work is as interesting for you as it was for us and I hope you are having as much fun as we had.

To the general reader: I may have given away a few trade secrets of what went on behind the starched uniforms, but only to reveal the essential humour and humanity of a great Yorkshire hospital. You have to remember that the majority of doctors and nurses, who essentially ran the hospital, were under thirty. If their youthful shenanigans shock you, I assure you that their patients always, yes always, came first.

A NURSE AT LAST! I see myself comforting those in pain; soothing fevered brows; saying, There, this will make you feel better; carefully changing dressings and efficiently plumping pillows so that a patient lies back with a sigh of gratitude.

Requirements:

three pairs of black stockings

one pair of flat, black serviceable shoes

a selection of safety pins and studs

a packet of white kirby grips

two plain silver tiepins

one pocket watch with a second hand

one pair regulation nurses scissors

five pounds, ten shillings and sixpence for text books

six exercise books, pens and pencils

two draw-string laundry bags clearly marked with name

A uniform, piled on my bed, consists of a short-sleeved, purple- and white-check cotton dress with pockets every-where. As well as waist pockets it has breast pockets, plus slots for holding pens and scissors. A separate rigid, round white collar is held on the dress with a safety pin and fastens with a stud at the front. The starched apron has a bib held up by tiepins and a waistband that also fastens with studs. Black stockings and shoes complete the outfit. Stocking seams have to be straight. I twist to check before attaching them to my suspender belt.

I admire the reflection of a nurse in the mirror. Can this be me? I wish I was tall, slender and glamorous, like the images of young women presented to me in Womans Own, but I am not. I look more at home in hiking boots and a rucksack than in a little black dress and pearls. Shes a sturdy lass is how I am described.

I straighten my back, turn from side to side and pirouette. Look at me, I want to shout to the world. Look at me. Im a nurse. I re-read my letter of acceptance:

Dear Miss Ross,

The Board of Governors of the Leeds General Infirmary is pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a student nurse in their three year programme leading to State Registration. Please report to 4749 Hyde Terrace on December 3, 1952 in the afternoon. The uniform you were measured for will be in your room; please put it on when you arrive.

My long, navy woollen cloak with a purple lining has purple straps that cross at the front and fasten at the back. In it I look exactly like the war posters declaring Your Country Needs You, which show a nurse in such a cloak. No cap yet. Two oblongs of white cloth, the size of a nappy, starched to the consistency of plywood, lie there on the bed. The mysteries of their construction are yet to be revealed.

A chain fastens my brand-new pocket watch into one of my breast pockets and I stick the scissors and a pen in the other. Wearing a short-sleeved cotton dress in winter in an unheated room is like wearing a bathing costume in a windy bus station. Even the cloak does not keep me warm. I put on a cardigan, pick up one white, starched oblong, safety pins and kirby grips and go down the three flights of stairs to the main floor.