Authors: Jane Yeadon
Then she patted Mrs Henderson on the shoulder. âTh ank you, as ever. I can't think of a better place for my students to come for their training and I can see you've made a great bond with this one. Now come along, Nurse, we really must go.'
Following her out, I noticed her step was light and her bum had a slight wiggle, making the skirt box-pleats give a particular swing. Maybe she was remembering wearing a kilt and Highland dancing, but I prefer to think that Miss Cameron was getting in the groove.
Miss Cameron practically skipped into the classroom. Maybe it was because it was our last day and she’d be getting a break, or maybe she’d good news about our exams.
I glanced over at the castle which, in a fine drizzle, looked particularly indomitable and impregnable. The view made me think of an Edinburgh which wore history like fancy-dress, and having found it fitted, kept it on. Right now, however, the future was more important, with our tutor holding the key to it.
She cleared her throat, checked her skirt’s box-pleats were in place, paused as she adjusted her spectacles, then smiled.
‘I’m delighted to tell you that you’ve all passed the exam.’ She allowed the class a small buzz of self-congratulation before continuing, ‘So now you’ll be heading to your own districts where, I trust, you’ll remember all we’ve taught you. For me, anyway, it’s been an enjoyable experience although,’ she scratched the back of her neck, ‘I’ve a slight concern you might find it strange working on your own without the back-up you’ve had here. I’m guessing you’re going to miss that – for a while anyway.’
Without any practice, we chorused, ‘Of course. And you too.’ Our shy, modest, serious little tutor deserved respect. We weren’t being craven. What class wouldn’t be influenced by a dedication shown at every tutorial, or passion for delivery of compassionate professional care?
She cocked her head. ‘Actually, I’ll probably see most of you from time to time as all but you, Nurse Macpherson, are going to work near here.’ She pulled herself up to her full five-foot height. ‘So, girls, do remember I’m always here and happy to help with any problems you might have.’ She considered me for a moment. ‘Of course, I know you can’t do that, but I understand Ross-shire has a splendid network of nurses and,’ she pursed her lips for a moment before adding, ‘Miss MacLeod is a very modern thinker.’
An open file lay on the table. It was there each time we reported on our visits to her and was presumably a record of our own work. She glanced over it, nodded, then closed it with something of a flourish. Giving it a final tap, she said, ‘There! You know you’ve been lucky. You are the last Queen’s qualifying nurses that I’ll be tutoring.’ She altered her tone slightly. ‘I can’t think that the content of the next course will be very different, but it won’t be graced with the Queen’s name. So, you be proud of your qualification and its name, and good luck.’
It was good to be back in Ross-shire, but I was struck by the irony of douce Miss Cameron choosing to live in Scotland’s busy capital whilst trendy Miss Macleod stayed in quiet Dingwall, where I was now heading.
On the day of my return to Conon Bridge, she’d left a message on my answering machine. ‘Welcome back and congratulations, Sister Macpherson. Miss Cameron tells me that you’ve passed the course. I look forward to seeing you at tomorrow’s staff meeting and if you want to use your own car, that’s fine. Dr Duncan and I have decided that anybody wanting to use their own transport can now do so.’
Fortrose wasn’t mentioned. Maybe Miss Cameron had made a mistake. I hadn’t liked to pursue the matter because she’d blushed as soon as she’d said it. Anyway, Miss Campbell was prone to that, and as I was in the middle of my practical exam, there were other things to think about. Afterwards there never seemed a chance to find out more.
Still, I’d love the chance to work there. ‘Suit you very nicely.’ I was sure I remembered Miss Cameron saying that.
I’d seen Fortrose and had been beguiled by the little town’s simple layout, shops and sturdily-built houses. There was an ancient cathedral near the High Street. Only a fraction of it remained but its red sandstone spoke of another time, long before the Victorian houses fronting the main road were built. The nearby sea gave the air a taste of salt and iodine, whilst the clear high call of gulls above the harbour sang in my ears long after I drove back to my Conon Bridge home. I wondered was it likely to remain that.
Three months away from Ross-shire didn’t seem very long, but in that time, spring had called, breathed new life into the countryside, left the larch, rowan, wild cherry and birch trees clad in green and then made way for early summer. The gorse bushes painting the road verge in gold splashes owed their ripening colour to it, and it gave a perfect day.
‘Gorse is a terrible plant,’ my old crofting friend Mr Munro had once told me. ‘There’s no feeding in it and the prickles give sheep Orf…’ He’d scratched his head, looking for a way to describe the word, then settled for, ‘… Impetigo of the mouth.’
No wonder it was the scourge of crofters struggling to halt its relentless march. Still, I couldn’t help but savour the flowers’ coconut scent coming through the car’s open window. I knew that if Jock had still been employed as a roadman he wouldn’t have let the plant grow so prolifically along the road, and I was sure that’s why none grew near the Duthie house.
Then I saw the brothers. They were standing outside the hen run, apparently having an amiable conversation with , it had to be, Dally and Dally at their feet. From time to time, the hens would look up enquiringly, as if about to give a considered reply. I had to stop even if it would make me late for Miss Macleod’s meeting.
‘It’s the wee nursie!’ Jock gave a welcoming cry and elbowed Willie, who’d immediately dropped his eyes, seemingly fascinated by the ground.
He managed a modest, ‘Aye,’ before hurrying into the house, followed by a faithful hen. He’d have been quicker had he not been wearing such big wellies. Sound floated through the open door. I wondered if the brothers left their telly on all the time. Was I was hearing the BBC test card music? If so, the Duthies must really like telly!
I must have unnerved Willie. Disappointed, I wandered over to a fenced-off piece of ground and noticed a row of flourishing plants. ‘Hey, Jock. I didn’t know you were a gardener. I wasn’t even aware that you had a garden, but that looks like a great crop of tatties.’
Jock beamed. ‘That’s Willie’s work. He’s never been much of a gardener before, but he’s been watching Percy Thrower on the telly. As soon as the bonny days came, he’s been out making that garden.’ Jock drew breath. ‘And d’you know, Nursie, he’s feeling so much better these days, he’s been able to dig out that patch and
now
he’s planning growing more – depending on what the gardening manny says.’
I wished I had Mr Thrower’s powers, then I could get Willie out of the house again, but I was running out of time so I said how pleased I was to see both brothers. ‘Look, I’ll need to go, Jock. Give my regards to Willie, will you?’
Jock glanced at the house, sighed, then said, ‘I’m coming out to have look at that car of yours. I’m thinking you’ve a new one.’ He went up to it, looked it over carefully and, putting a horny hand on the bonnet, gave it a salutary pat. ‘Man! Is that no a daft colour,’ he said, grinning at the black hand print he’d left on the Imp’s white paintwork.
‘Hoy!’
It was Willie. He was going so fast it was a wonder his wellies didn’t leave a rubber vapour trail. He was waving with one hand, whilst in the other he held a small cardboard box. ‘This is for you, Nursie,’ he said breathlessly, handing it over. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, tucked both hands behind his dungaree bib and smiled shyly.
‘Aw, Willie!’ I opened the box and saw half a dozen shiny brown eggs, the occasional bit of feather stuck to a bit of dirt giving provenance. ‘Oh my! These look wonderful.’
‘Its no from me. It’s from the girls,’ he said, and hurried away.
‘Aye well, ‘said Jock, nodding approvingly, ‘don’t eat them all at once, Nursie. You were once telling me they could make you explode inside.’
Hurrying now, I put the car’s accelerator pedal down. When I reached Dingwall’s outskirts, I might have forgotten to take it off, had it not been for a line of eccentric-looking cars pulling aged caravans and coming towards me. Men in rough attire, comfortable with driving in the middle of the road, waved as I pulled in to let them past. Dingwall’s tinkers were on the move.
I wondered if the bell-tenters were with them, or had they thrown in their lot with Bell. Sister Shiach might know. Hopefully she’d be at the meeting.
Her new car was. Identified by Jomo peeping out from the driver’s window of a large estate, it straddled two of the Headquarter’s parking areas. I put the Imp well away from the estate, following the example of other car owners.
I was sure I knew them, but going into the meeting room, I stopped short. This group of nurses looked different. They wore blue, open-necked dresses, made in a light, easy-care material verging on skimpy. Black shoes were gone, replaced by sandals.
The plastic white detachable collar on my heavy-duty dress made my neck feel sticky and uncomfortable. ‘Summer’s arrived and you’re like a fashion parade,’ I said, envying the group’s easy attire even if I thought Miss Cameron would have fainted at the hem lengths.
Sister Shiach said, ‘Yes, there’ll be a new dress for you too. Miss Macleod thought we needed a change of image. Wants to make us feel comfortable as well. Of course, some of us weren’t keen at first, but you know how it is with our modern-thinking boss.’ She gave a small smile. ‘Welcome back. How was Auld Reekie?’ She seemed a tad pre-occupied and didn’t wait for an answer.
At least the room’s seating plan hadn’t changed. I took my usual place between Daisy and Ailsa.
‘Ah! Modern ways,’ mused Daisy, who looked years younger. She looked at her knees as if in surprise that she actually had ones. ‘It’s easy seen that Miss Macleod hasn’t had to bend over to give injections lately.’
Ailsa nudged me and whispered. ‘Sshh! Keep it dark. Daisy’s so pleased she’s able to give them easily now, she’s practically signed up to join the local darts team.’
‘And what about you, Ailsa?’ I asked, ‘What’s new?’
‘Nothing much. Things are pretty much the same as when you left here,’ she said carelessly.
Daisy, taking a keen interest in our chat, leant over and said with a twinkle, ‘Don’t you believe a word of it. She hasn’t even bought a car. Not like me!’ Daisy was smug, then mischievous. ‘But of course she hardly needs one, not when she’s got Charlie to ferry her about.’
‘The ambulance man?’
Ailsa was deprecating. ‘Ach! He’s just a friend. Really, Daisy. You’re just an old gossip.’
Daisy bridled. ‘No, I’m not. Otherwise I wouldn’t have to cover such a lot of your Saturdays when you and Charlie go dancing in Strathpeffer.’
‘I’m presuming you don’t go by ambulance?’ I said.
Ailsa poked me. ‘Never mind me. I hear there’s a vacancy in Fortrose. Would you fancy that?’
I nodded. ‘It’s been mentioned in despatches but nothing concrete.’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Ailsa, bobbing her head vigorously. ‘But, hey! Here comes the boss. Wonder what new tricks she’s got up her sleeve and, pardon the analogy but see her hemline, I bet it’s been given another hike.’
‘Ah! Sister Macpherson. You’re back.’ Miss Macleod came into the room. Her welcome, as brief as Sister Shiach’s, was nevertheless warm, but she seemed a lot more excited about the contents of the clear polythene bag she was carrying.
‘These are disposable syringes,’ she said, holding up the bag as if it was a prize exhibit and she was addressing the winners. ‘And not only that but we’ve disposable needles to go with them as well. So today’s good news, Sisters, is that there’ll be no more complaints about getting painful injections from blunt needles.’
‘What a waste!’ muttered Daisy.
Miss Macleod was swift. ‘No it’s not, especially when you consider the expense and trouble having to boil up everything. And then, there’s the time you’ll save. No, Sister Mackay, I’m afraid you’ll just have to accept progress. Like everybody else, you’ll just collect your supply at the end of our meeting. I think you’ll find this new method will be invaluable.’
Daisy squashed, subject closed, Miss Macleod cleared her throat then continued, ‘Now, I’ve been thinking.’
A small groan swept the room.
‘Watch out!’ murmured Ailsa, and Daisy clicked her teeth.
Undeterred, Miss Macleod looked round the room and frowned. ‘You know, I’ve often thought that this room’s not set up properly. Rows of chairs make it far too formal. Doesn’t lead to shared discussion and, as we all know, talking’s good.’ As complete silence greeted this, she put her hands together as if orchestrating a ceilidh. ‘So let’s get the chairs in a semi-circle and see if that’s any better. I know Sister Shiach’s got a case history she’d like to discuss. Once we’re organised she can talk about it.’
Concerned eyes took in the sister whose unusual anxiety showed in her worried face and nervous scratching of a dimpled arm. She waited for the noise level of scraping chairs moved by irritated people to stop. Then she went to stand behind her chair and, shaking her head in mock despair, began. ‘It’s actually more of a brainstorming session. I kinda need a bit of advice. You know, in our line of work, it can be difficult not to judge but I see a pair of my old patients reeling home from the pub every other day.’ She looked away, as if picturing the scene. ‘They’re an old couple and, frankly, have been treating their bodies abysmally all their lives. Yet they seem none the worse for it and actually I don’t need to visit them any longer.’ She nodded at me. ‘Sister Macpherson knows who I mean and, in fact, had quite a part in getting them to operate independently.’
I shifted uncomfortably whilst she deliberated for a moment then added, ‘For better or for worse, they do seem happy, and I don’t grudge those old rascals their happiness.’ She sighed. ‘But it seems so unfair that I’ve got a much younger patient and she and her husband are never going to be able to do that. She’s dying of breast cancer.’