Shadows of the Workhouse

“All righ’, all righ’, Miss Perfic’ly Ghastly, keep yer wig on, but don’ ask me ’a git worked up. I’ve seen them bugs too offen ’a gi’ excited.”
    At that moment the Sisters entered the kitchen, and wanted to know what was going on. I gave a graphic account, dwelling on the vast numbers of bugs, and my sleepless night, perhaps just exaggerating a little.
    If I had expected cries of sympathy and horror, I was to be disappointed.
    Sister Evangelina humphed. “Well there are bugs in all the tenements and in many of the houses. I’m surprised you haven’t seen them before. Don’t make a fuss. They won’t hurt you.”
    Sister Bernadette added, “I was delivering a baby one night, by gaslight. I looked up and the gas mantle, which was fixed to the wall, had a circle of black around it, just as you have described. This was on the wall over the woman’s bed!
    Sister Julienne, who had kept her hand firmly over her mouth, to prevent herself from laughing, I suspected, especially after Fred winked at her, said: “It’s a bit of a shock to us all, when we first see them. You have to understand that they live in buildings, and do not infest human beings. The real danger is that they are suspected of carrying typhoid, but as there has not been an outbreak of typhoid since the nineteen-thirties, I think you are quite safe. As for your never going back there, I’m afraid that is out of the question. You are going back this morning, to treat Mr Collett’s legs.” With that she left the kitchen to start her morning’s work.
    I dug my nails into the palm of my hand and clenched my teeth. I had hoped to be relieved of treating Mr Collett. If he had been told that another nurse would be taking my place, he would have had to accept it, and not see me again. What could I do? Nothing. But Sister Julienne was as firm as she was saintly and I had no choice but to go back. I realised I would have to take a grip of myself.
    Cynthia whispered to me, “Come on. Let’s go to the clinical room, away from Fred.”
    Her soft voice was reassuring, but her first words unexpected. “Now come off it. It isn’t like you to get so worked up. If bugs are in all the tenements, we must work with them all the time, only we don’t see them. Out of sight, out of mind. Now forget about it. You will probably never see them again.”
    I knew she was right. Her slow, gentle grin put everything into perspective, and we laughed together as we got our bikes out and pumped up the tyres. District work tends to blow the cobwebs away.
    Mr Collett was smiling and happy when he opened the door. “Welcome, my lassie, and I hope you had a good night’s sleep. Yesterday evening was the happiest time I’ve had for ages.”
    I didn’t tell him that I had been awake half the night, but wondered what his thoughts would have been if I had never come back. He would have suspected something, and supposed that he was to blame. I didn’t like to think of the hurt he would have suffered.
    As I undid the bandage, I remarked: “These ulcers are improving – why did you not have regular treatment before?”
    “Well, I didn’t like to bother anyone. I’ve had them for years, and always bandaged them myself. I had to see the doctor about my eyes, and he saw I was limping a bit and asked to see my legs. Then he arranged for you Sisters to come. I didn’t ask for treatment. I never thought they were bad enough.”
    They were the worst leg ulcers I had seen, and he didn’t think they were bad enough to justify a nurse’s treatment! I asked him how they had started.
    “It was gun wounds during the war. They healed up all right, but there was always a weakness. As I got older, little patches started, and then spread. But I can’t grumble. My legs have been good to me most of my life. You expect these little things as you get old.”
    Little things, I thought, I wouldn’t call these ulcers “little”!
    The mention of gun wounds made me think of the recruiting sergeant, who had been driven from my mind by the bugs. “Last night, before I left, you said you would tell me how you met the recruiting sergeant.”
    He settled back comfortably in his big wooden chair. That morning he began a story that he continued in subsequent visits, often over sherry in the evening.
    “Well, I was fifteen, going on sixteen, and I reckon if I hadn’t met him, it would have been a life of crime for me. There was no work, and I’d met a lad who was into