Memoirs of nurse Ena

In her diary she charts her journey from a freshly qualified junior to an experienced war-time midwife.

Ena penned the story after she gave up nursing to become a housewife in Swindon but she never forgot her time on the wards.

Ben, 84, said: "She loved nursing and she was very good at it."

He had no idea Ena had even kept a record until he found it years later on a shelf in his Toothill home. "She used to do things quietly, knitting, embroidery and writing," he explained. I knew she was writing but she never advertised what."

The couple met in 1936. Ben's sister Evelyn, also a nurse, was a friend of Ena's and would often bring her to the family's Bruce Street home for weekends.

When Ben was sent to serve in France with the British Expeditionary Force he and Ena began writing to each other.

"We fell in love through the post and then I proposed via a letter too," he explained.

The couple married in Ena's home county of Derbyshire in 1945 before moving to Rodbourne Cheney, Swindon, in January 1946.

In 1947 the couple's son Andrew was born, followed by Margaret in 1948 and Alison in 1953.

Ben and Ena emigrated to South Africa in 1975, returning to Toothill in 1983. Ena died in 1994.

Six years later Ben found her leather-bound diary. He said: "I want people to read it because it is so interesting and really well written. I thought it would be a real eye opener for nurses today things were so different back then."

This article first appeared in The Nursing Times

The year was 1933 and the salary was £20 per annum. I was starting my nurse training.

The list of items I needed to bring with me included a medium-sized trunk, 12 white studs, one pair of dressing forceps, one pair of dressing scissors and two strong linen bags marked with my name, for laundry, also crockery, and a tray for breakfast in bed on the one day off.

St Charles was a large London County Council hospital. The main building was a grim, stone Victorian structure with eight blocks of three-storey wards, linked by a wide windowed corridor. There was to be a trial period of three months, when probationary nurses attended lectures and were shown procedures in a classroom. After a written and practical test we were then to spend three years on the wards.

While in the preliminary training school, uniform was a white coat and a starched white square pleated at the back and fanned out but covering all of the hair. Nearly all of us were fresh from school so didn't find it difficult to absorb lectures in anatomy, physiology and hygiene. Days off were usually spent swotting with an occasional day 'up west' and an even rarer visit to the cinema. At the end of the probation period one girl failed the exam so ten of us left training school to go on to the wards.

It was with some apprehension that I made my way to Ward B1 to report to sister. This was a babies' ward with 24 cots, including side wards for isolation cases. Babies were admitted suffering from marasmus, gastro-enteritis, bronchopneumonia and skin infections and were often so debilitated that they soon died.

I had little to do with the care and treatment as my tasks were mainly domestic in those first weeks. There were no ward maids or nursing aids in those days. Occasionally I would be allowed to change a baby's nappy.

On days off I was so tired that I spent much of the time sleeping. Sometimes, with a friend, we would spend 3d (roughly 1p but worth a lot more) on a bus ride to Oxford Street and spend a few hours around Selfridges and other stores. Very occasionally for a treat, we would have a coffee and a snack at Lyons' Corner House, but with only £20 pay to last a year, it was more sensible to have hospital meals which were plain and plentiful.

There were lectures to attend, sometimes in off-duty periods. The medical officer's lecture was on Wednesday evenings and was quite an ordeal as no one was at their best at 8.30pm after a day's work. But we still had to take notes and hand them into the sister tutor.

On the ward, sister appeared to ignore me and used to give instructions to me via the staff nurse, usually to do some chore like washing the walls or cleaning medicine cupboards. I often wondered how such tasks could help my nursing career. But at least sometimes I was asked to feed the older children and I enjoyed this but found the condition of the children depressing.

I looked forward to letters from home and to a day to go home to Chesterfield to visit my parents and sisters. However, it proved to be rather a disaster. I only had a few hours at home. My train arrived back half an hour late, so it was past midnight when I signed in at the Porter's Lodge. Next morning I was called for an interview with the matron who told me off. I felt very dispirited. How could I help it if the train was late? Evidently there was no excuse.

New postings were displayed on a blackboard at the top of the stairs leading to the nurses' dining room. My name was among them. I was to report the next day to C2 Ward.

This was a female medical ward and was a welcome move.

The staff were more friendly than on my last ward and willing to help and teach me. The sister was strict but fair.

Some of the patients were very ill and needed very careful nursing. I was sure the experience would be helpful and it was rewarding to notice ill patients showing signs of recovery. Occasionally in spare moments there was time to read the case-papers, to look up the diagnoses and treatment in the textbooks, so that a picture of cause and effect was gradually built up.

However I was still very much a junior nurse with plenty of menial tasks to do. When doctors did their rounds, it was the junior's job to place screens around new patients' beds, ready for examination. The screens were heavy wooden frames on wheels.

As weeks went by I began to feel less exhausted with the routine daily work and started playing tennis on my day off on the courts in front of the new nurses' home. I now had my own bedroom with a fitted washbasin and we now had a kitchen on each floor.

After a few months I was transferred to Ward B3 which was for female patients suffering from pulmonary tuberculosis. It was rather a shock to find that the majority of patients were in the 17-30 age group. And that, in spite of the treatment, there was a high mortality rate.

One of the more unpleasant duties of a junior nurse was emptying and cleaning the sputum mugs. Most of the patients were bedbound, so plenty of bed-making, blanket-bathing and general nursing were necessary. Treatment really consisted of alleviating symptoms as they occurred including linctus for the cough and liniment for rubbing chests.

At that time the treatment mainly used was artificial pneumothorax. This produced collapse of the lung allowing the affected lung to rest and hopefully recover. It was only possible if the disease was confined to one lung and no other lesions were present.

Today the purity of milk is taken for granted and good conditions of housing and sanitation generally prevail. Then, in 1933, most patients had to be instructed in personal hygiene and infectious cases admitted to hospitals or sanatoria.

When their temperature had subsided, fresh air was the order of the day and beds were wheeled out on to balconies when the weather was suitable. Antibiotics and sulphon- amides which dramatically altered treatment of TB patients were not available until the 1940s.

I became a patient myself during my spell on this ward. Staff nurse noticed that I had a heavy cold and cough and sent me to the home sister. As I had a raised temperature, it was thought advisable for me to be 'warded' and, as there were few facilities for sick staff, I spent a few days in a side ward, off one of the main wards. A few months earlier a nurse had developed TB after working on B3 and so early precautions were taken in my case. Fortunately it turned out to be a false alarm.

Now it was my turn to do night duty. One of the advantages was that leave was four nights each month so that it would give nurses like me who came from outside London the chance to go home for a few days.

Night staff were called at 7.30pm and, after prayers and breakfast, we were on duty at 8.20pm. There were meals at 11 to 11.30pm and from 3 to 3.30am, with juniors relieving the second year nurses at mealtimes. We went off-duty at 8am, dinner was served at 8.30am and we went to bed at noon.

On her first night duty, a junior nurse was a 'runner' that is, she 'ran' between two wards, which were opposite each other off the main corridor. She helped generally on both wards and relieved the senior nurses for meals. I was a runner on wards E1 and F1, which were both male wards. The former was for renal and bladder cases and the latter was for surgery and casualty.

Both wards were very busy, as emergency cases seemed to arrive particularly at night. My first emergency was a young man admitted to F1 and I was sent here and there to help prepare him for an operation on a perforated gastric ulcer.

Mornings were hectic when there was so much to do in a short time. Night nurses were expected to serve breakfast, take temperatures, make beds, do dressings and give medicines between 6 and 8am.

Night sister visited the ward at around 7am, when she was taken around the beds and given a report on each patient. Some nights could be very peaceful with most patients sleeping well and no emergencies. At these times nurses would be able to write up lectures, or pack dressing drums and these would be taken to the theatre for use in the morning.

However, these occasions were rare and normally nights were a hectic rush of treatment procedures, injections and emergencies to prepare for theatre. It was a relief when 8am came to go off duty and talk over the night's happenings with a friend.

After finishing nights I was allocated to the boys' ward with patients suffering from ear and eye infections. Mastoiditis was quite a common complaint and indeed a mastoidectomy was the first operation I attended with a patient. I tried to reassure the small boy in the anaesthetic department. When he was wheeled into theatre I was told where to stand to watch the operation. The diseased bone was chipped and drainage inserted, the wound packed with iodoform gauze and a dressing applied.

The boy was wheeled back to the ward by a porter and I was at his side. He was put back to bed, packed with hot water bottles and observed until he came round from the anaesthetic.

My training was passing very quickly and it was time for my annual holiday and I looked forward to three weeks at home and to visiting friends. But village life seemed dull after the busy hospital and the company of other nurses. My friends were scattered, working in factories and shops, and didn't seem interested to hear of my experiences.

But too soon it was time to return to London.

As the train neared its destination I wondered if my name would be on the notice board and, if so, which ward would it be?