nearly said her sister’s name.
The song was a popular one and, before Connie had finished playing it, virtually everyone was singing.
‘Play us something else,’ one of the other nurses encouraged Connie.
‘Yes, do,’ another begged, and Connie acceded willingly to their pleas.
They were all of them enjoying themselves so much, an increasingly bawdy element creeping into their choice of songs, that none of them noticed at first that Sister Jenkins, who was in charge of the nurses’ home, was standing by the open door.
Gradually the singing died out as the singers became aware of Sister’s presence but Connie, with her back to the door, had no notion of the disaster about to befall her until she turned round to find out why the singing had suddenly stopped.
‘It is strictly forbidden for any nurse to touch the piano without permission, as the notice on top of the piano keys would have told you.’ Sister informed Connie coldly, adding, ‘You will present yourself in my room at seven tomorrow morning.’
‘You’ll really be in for it now,’ Vera told Connie warningly after Sister had gone.
‘If Connie is to be punished, then we should all be punished,’ Mavis chipped in. ‘After all, we were singing.’
‘There’s no rule against singing,’ Vera pointed out smugly. ‘And anyway, none of us asked Connie to play. It isn’t our fault if she wanted to show off.’
‘Vera, that isn’t fair,’ Mavis protested.
Numbly Connie listened to what they were saying. They had all been singing, but she was the one, as Vera had just pointed out, who had been playing the piano!
Hesitantly Connie knocked on Sister Jenkins’ door, trying to swallow back her nauseous fear as she heard her call out sharply. ‘Come!’
‘So, Nurse Pride!’ The cold, pale blue eyes surveyed Connie dispassionately. ‘This is not the first time you have brought yourself to our attention with your bad behaviour.’
Connie felt her heart jolt against her ribs. Ma Deakin had been right when she had told her that the hospital would be a safe haven for her, and Connie had no wish to leave it.
Sharing a room with the others gave her the same feeling she used to have when she was with Ellie and their cousins: a feeling of warmth and happiness, and of somehow belonging. The thought that this feeling might now be taken away from her was making Connie sick with fear and panic. But being Connie, she was far too stubborn to show it.
‘So! Have you anything to say for yourself?’ Sister asked grimly, folding her hands together on the desk.
Connie could only shake her head.
Sister sighed. ‘Nurse Pride, the piano was a gift to this nurses’ home, from a very religious gentleman. And, as such, it is only used on very special occasions, and with permission! When did you learn to play?’
It was very unusual for the class of girls who trained at the Infirmary to have such an accomplishment.
The question caught Connie off guard, and automatically she responded truthfully, ‘My mother insisted on us having lessons.’
‘Indeed. Well, in future, I trust that her indulgence and my own forbearance will result in your humility and regret,’ Sister announced sternly.
Connie held her breath. Was that it? Was she not after all going to be dismissed and sent packing?
Sister, who had a fair idea of what Connie was thinking, reflected that if she had not already made up her mind that Connie was showing all the signs of turning out to be a first-rate nurse – and a first-rate theatre nurse, at that – then she would, indeed, have been told to go.
The ominous rumblings of war were growing ever louder. It was unthinkable, of course, that they should go to war with Germany. But the Government had insisted that every hospital in the country had to prepare itself for that eventuality, which meant that they could not afford to turn away a probationer with any kind of promise.
For war meant injured men. Injured men needed skilled and dedicated nursing. And more than that, many of the poor souls would need operations. Mr Clegg had made it clear that he wanted Matron to give priority to providing him with skilled operating theatre nurses. In Sister’s opinion, Probationer Pride did not realise how very fortunate she was!
All this talk of war was extremely disturbing, and Sister Jenkins, for one, hoped that good sense would prevail and that the Germans would recognise their folly and cease their sabre-rattling forthwith!
The other three were waiting anxiously for Connie when she got back to their room.
‘What happened?’
‘What did she say?’
‘Are you to leave?’
‘I can’t answer you all at once,’ Connie complained, trying not to feel hurt that Vera should be the one to ask if she was to leave, and, moreover, that she should show so little concern at the prospect.
‘I am to stay,’ she told them firmly, only just beginning to believe and accept her reprieve herself.
‘Oh, Connie!’
‘Connie!
‘Lucky you!’
As all three of them hugged her, Connie felt tears prick her eyes. For all that Vera complained constantly about the long hours, and the hard work, and everything else, Connie knew that, compared to the way she and Kieron had lived, her current life was a huge improvement. She got regular meals, she had equality with her peers, and she was even paid – albeit a very modest sum. But best of all was the fact that the hospital was clean; their room was clean; her clothes and her own self were clean! In fact, even the privies were spotlessly clean.
You had to have lived somewhere like Back Court to truly value something as simple as cleanliness, Connie acknowledged.
‘No more getting in trouble,’ Mavis told her mock-sternly.
‘No more getting in trouble,’ Connie agreed, and meant it.
She wondered if Mavis was as aware as she was herself of the fact that both of them spoke rather better than their fellow probationers? Vera teased her sometimes about what she called Connie’s ‘posh’ accent, but Connie had noticed that it wasn’t just her own mother’s insistence that all her children spoke the King’s English properly, that set her just a little bit apart from Vera and Josie. And, it was obvious that, like Connie herself, Mavis had received a far better education than the others, and had better table manners.
Connie could still remember how shocked she had been the first time she had seen Kieron eat a meal. Kieron! What was she doing thinking about him! He and the life she had lived with him were things she wanted to forget and pretend had never existed. Just thinking about Kieron was enough to bring back all her dread and fear of Bill Connolly.
Never did she want to return to that life, and she had been more mortally afraid than she wanted to admit to herself, never mind her friends, that, that was exactly what might happen to her.
Only now with her future here at the Infirmary safe, could she allow herself to recognise how terrified she had been of being sent away.
‘I’m sure Sister makes us do all this scrubbing just to punish us,’ Connie complained wearily to Vera, as she dropped her scrubbing brush into the bucket beside her, and wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of carbolic. ‘We’re supposed to be learning to be nurses, not scrubbing ward floors,’ she grumbled.
‘Cleanliness is the first law of good nursing,’ Vera mimicked, repeating Sister Jenkins’ favourite mantra.
‘Don’t