Hello reader!

As this archive is full of original work based on the 1960s I thought I'd experiment by moving the setting on by twenty years. What does this mean for our favourite characters? Well, they've moved on too. This fanfic focuses on the perspectives of new recruits, Mandy Thwaite, Assitant Receptionist and Kerry Wilshaw, Student Nurse.

None of this would be possible without the inspiration from the talents of Keith Richardson, Ken Horn and the wonderful cast and crew of the original series.

So, please sit back and return to The Royal!

Chapter One: How Not to Impress Your Boss.

MANDY:

Starting a new job is never easy, I thought as I pulled on my coat, ready to face the day. I'd managed to beat the alarm clock before it woke me up and had the satisfaction of casually turning it off as I wound myself out of bed and stuffed my feet into my slippers. I wasn't usually a slippers kind of girl, but they'd been a last minute present from Dad some weeks before and I felt guilty not using them.

I grabbed some muesli from the cupboard and flicked on the TV, just as TV-Am was introduced, its cheery music lifting the weariness from my head. I didn't particularly like watching TV in the mornings but I knew I had to make an effort with my new job. I listened vaguely to Angela Rippon discussing the NHS with David Frost and the team but paid little attention to it. It wasn't my priority. Not to put too finer point on it, but I hadn't exactly 'left' my last job. Its what I told my Dad had happened but the reality was very different.

I shoved a mouthful of muesli into my mouth as I sat at the kitchen table, looking at my acceptance letter. "St Aidan's Royal Free Hospital" read the signature. I'd seen the hospital many times as Dad drove me back and forth from the high school but never really thought much of it. It was just a Victorian red-brick building with a green turret and big white windows. Elsinby was famous for its old fashioned-ness, people flocked for miles to see it, then promptly moved on to Whitby after realising there wasn't much here.

Anyway, on that morning I was determined to make the right impression, so I chose my least offensively coloured outfit from my wardrobe; a pale pink pussybow blouse and magenta skirt with my full shouldered denim jacket and gold clip belt, styled my hair as best as I could from its crazy curls and pulled on my boots. They looked a bit out of place but I was more concerned about getting to work than worrying about how they looked.

My stomach was in that horrible lurching mode, where every mouthful of food feels like it might just regurgitate without warning. I took a barley sugar from Dad's jar by the fridge hoping that it would soothe my stomach and for a while it did, until I looked at the clock and realised it was fifteen minutes slow. TV-Am disappeared from the screen as I frantically threw my lunch (ham sandwiches with a can of Tizer and an apple) into a carrier bag and dashed out the door, fiddling with my keys.

"Having trouble there, Mandy love?" Mrs Phelps, our dotty if well-meaning neighbour had seen me desperately trying to lock the door and came over to assist me. She was a funny looking lady in her early seventies and was always lecturing me about "More haste, less speed".

"Take your time, love, there's no rush!" She insisted.

"There's so much rush…I have to get to work!"

"Well, slow down, lass. They can wait for you."

"No they can't!" I twisted the key around in the lock. Success! I swung my leg over my scooter and started it.

"You be careful on that thing! I saw enough accidents in my day!" She warned, shaking her finger at me.

"I will, don't you worry, Mrs Phelps!"

I kicked the scooter encouragingly and she sprung to life, tearing off down the street. It gave me such a thrill to weave in and out of the traffic, as the cars sat stationary in a jumbled queue. No one quite understood how the road system in Elsinby worked. Drivers came from all directions and somehow managed to get to their destination without any accidents. The tourists and townies were the worst. They were very impatient and hated the slow pace of our seaside escape, refusing to move for trawler stock and locals.

I continued my journey at my own pace, keeping my eye on the time. Whatever happened, I was going to be at least three minutes late. My hair was whipped back by the wind and I hoped I looked at least a little bit attractive as I raced along the roads. I weaved around the corner by the Esplanade and heaved a sigh of relief as the hospital came into sight, glowing warmly in the sun.

There was a little yard for ambulances and several cars; a smart Mercedes, a Ford Consort and an VW Golf, where a plaque on the wall declared "DOCTORS ONLY". Assistant receptionists didn't qualify. I brought my scooter to a halt and swung myself back off. It was a lovely warm day with crisp blue skies and little tufts of cloud high over the sea.

My boots were tight on my feet from the pedals and I was relieved to be able to swap them for my new Etam shoes. They were cute and pink with a little polka dot bow. I couldn't resist them when I saw them in Etam's window. I used the seat to balance and quickly switched them over, storing my boots in the hidden compartment on the back of the scooter.

"I hope you're not intending to park that monstrosity there." A cold voice startled me and I almost fell off the seat. It came from a woman dressed in the most unflattering clothes I had ever seen. She looked like a teacher from a horror novel. All long face, pinched cheeks and currant like eyes.

"No, I'm just changing my shoes." I replied as placidly as I could.

"I see. There's a shed at the back for your…motorbike."

"It's a scooter. Thank you."

She wasn't impressed with my response. Her mouth tightened and she walked off toward the entrance. I felt like kicking myself. What if she was my boss? Great impression, Mandy, I thought.

Having found the shed and stored my scooter away safely, I headed into the hospital building. It was very different to how I'd imagined. Still very old in that cottage hospital fashion, with floral wallpaper, wooden panelled walls and a little coffee table surrounded by chairs in rows. To my right was the desk; obviously built 70 or so years before, it was tall and heavy in a dark shade of mahogany. A little bell was perched on the end with a paper sign above that read "Press Bell for Attention". So I did.

A little head of ashen blonde hair popped up and I immediately realised as she made a gesture to the phone that the woman was talking to someone.

"One moment, Dr Amrit" she murmured, rifling through the papers in front of her. "Can I help you love?" She looked at me directly.

"I'm the new assistant receptionist." I mouthed, not wanting to interrupt the conversation.

"What? Sorry?" She mouthed back, creasing her brow.

"I'm the new assistant receptionist."

She shook her head and turned slightly toward the wall as though looking for something.

"Yes, Dr Amrit. I'll make sure I send that report over this afternoon. Who's your secretary? Mandie?"

It was natural to assume that she was talking to me, or so I thought.

"Yes?"

The woman waved her hand dismissively and grabbed at a piece of paper pinned to the board behind her. A look of relief spread across her face, which, considering her age-I guessed her to be in her forties-she looked very young. She had a girlish glow to her cheeks, aided by a spot of rouge, her eyes were deep blue and framed by a deeper blue eyeshadow and heavy mascara and the ashen blonde hair was styled in a Farrah Fawcett fashion, flicked around her face.

"Manti? Mundy? Oh…AMANDA. I hear you now. Sorry about that, Dr Amrit. Yes, you too, sir. Good afternoon." She put the receiver down and sighed deeply, "sorry about that. Where were we?"

"I was trying to say, I'm the new assistant receptionist." I explained, happy to be able to introduce myself at last.

"Of course you are!" She beamed, casting her eye quickly across the calendar of Elsinby scenes pinned to the wall. "Maddy, wasn't it?" She wound around the counter and greeted me properly with a handshake. Her wrists were decorated with bangles and two rings were bound to her second finger on her left hand.

"Mandy. Close enough." I smiled at her.

"I really should take more care when I'm writing things down," she chuckled, "nice to meet you Mandy."

"I hope I'm in the right place." I added.

"If that place is The Royal, then you're absolutely right. I'm Lizzie Turner." She confirmed. "Most people know me as Lizzie Hopkirk. That was me maiden name. Then I was Lizzie Kennoway, but you don't need to hear about all that." I was led into a little kitchen area with a set of cupboards and a shelf of 1960s crockery, the sort of stuff that was now being chucked out by the bucketload in favour of cheap Argos replacements. Lizzie had a set of Berylware laid out on a table, spoons and sugar pot neatly arranged. The table was attached to the wall, like the ones in old caravans and she set to making tea with a kettle, indicating for me to take a seat.

"This is nice." I commented, looking around at the old fashioned decoration.

"Yes, could do with a lick of paint, but that's not high on the hospital list." She told me, pouring tea into a green cup and saucer.

"I forgot to ask you, Mandy. Do you like tea or coffee?"

"Both." I took a sip of the tea. Lizzie was obviously a fan of sugar, as she'd made my tea with at least two spoonfuls.

"Me dad used to work here," she went on, "he was a porter for years, then it was me Uncle Jack and of course there was always Alun til he found his real-life Georgy Girl." She sighed at the memory. Whoever Alun was, he'd obviously been popular. I noted a photograph on the wall behind Lizzie of a chubby older man with a younger dark haired man and a younger Lizzie in the centre. Lizzie caught me looking and turned around, laughing."Yes, that's our Alun and my Uncle Jack. I probably have a picture of my dad somewhere. He were very popular." A sadness cast across her eyes and I thought it best not to pursue the conversation.

"You'll have to excuse me, Mandy. I do love a natter."

"Suits me." I replied, relieved that my new boss wasn't the stick thin woman I'd argued with in the yard, "someone needs to keep informed of hospital goings on. I'm cool with chatting. I like chatting too." I finished my tea and pulled my blouse straight.

"Well, I won't pretend this job is easy. It isn't, but I hope you'll stay. So," she clapped her hands, "this is the little kitchenette we've got here. There's a proper kitchen down the corridor, but that's for nurses, really. You can keep your packed lunch in the fridge here, or in the big fridge down the corridor. Just don't give your lunch to Steve or Mervin, they've a habit of eating the lot." She grinned and went back to the main desk, putting away little packets in drawers.

"How long have you been here?" I asked, looking at the photograph again. It had to be from the sixties judging by Lizzie's outfit.

"Almost twenty years now." Well that certainly made sense, I thought. "I wouldn't be anywhere else, let me tell you."

"No?"

"No, no chance. Look at me now, eh? Employing me own staff. Used to be just little me, a brew and the typewriter! Now look," she gestured vaguely at two big crates that blocked one of the cupboards. They were labelled as RAMP, whatever that meant. "You'll have to show me how to use these newfangled commuters."

They had computers! I wasn't expecting that. I'd spent some time using them at the office and then again briefly at Ashfordly, but I wasn't sure about admitting this to Lizzie who seemed really uncomfortable about having them.

"I can't make head nor tail of 'em. It's all a blur to me." She shook her head and her flicks bounced against her face. I wondered how she felt about the changing world? She'd made an effort to keep up with the fashions in her full shouldered purple blouse and navy skirt, far more conservative than the outfit she'd worn in the photograph of her younger self but didn't seem quite at ease about discussing the new technology.

"Well, I en't had much experience with 'em either. We'll just have to figure it out together." I told her, hoping that it would reassure her.

"Sounds good to me, Mandy." She finished putting the packets away and turned to face me, assuming a more businesslike manner. I quickly stood up and unbuttoned the cuffs on my blouse, indicating that I was ready too. "Right. Now, the rules. I expect they'll have been the same in your last job, but even so. We don't have a clock-in system here at the hospital, but I do expect you to be punctual. I will understand however if there are incidents involving burst tyres and such." She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. I was stunned. How did she know I had a scooter?

" I used to ride a scooter myself in the Sixties, I know the marks well." She pointed at my tights, where sure enough there was a smudge on the inside of my ankles.

"My dad didn't approve. I almost broke my leg once."

"Really?"

"Yes-and I didn't wear a crash helmet. I hope you do, Mandy."

I hadn't that morning. I usually did but it had been such a faff to get ready. Plus I was already late. I thought it better not to mention it to Lizzie, who despite her confession seemed more like an auntie than a boss.

I nodded a response and she was satisfied. "Good. So I'll expect you in by eight, kettle on, ready for a brew. No chewing gum in the office, the last girl we had used to chew it and stick it underneath my desk. Oh and if you want to smoke I'd prefer if you didn't do it in here. You can go outside the entrance or to the Quad. It's a lovely patch of ground in the centre of the building-used to be the convalescence garden."

I'd heard a lot about the convalescence garden. It was supposed to be the most relaxing place in Elsinby. Apparently all that could be heard was the sound of seagulls cooing and the waves rippling against the shore.

"I don't smoke."

"Good thing too, what with all these news reports now. They're saying that it's really bad for your health."

"I know, I've seen them too. I tried it once, just didn't like the smell. Put me right off." This was true, I hadn't told my Dad but my friend Karen had offered me a cigarette at school. It made me cough and heave for the next few minutes and I'd never wanted another.

"Well, that's a relief. I've never smoked either. There's no specific uniform here, we're not like those modern hospitals down South, but we do like you to look presentable. No jeans, you know?" Her blue eyes clocked my shoes. I personally thought that they were okay but by the look on her face I could tell she wasn't fond of them. "You sure you're going to be comfortable running around in those all day?"

"yeah, I tried them on in Etam, broke them in over the weekend. I'll be fine." I insisted but even as I said so I felt a pinch on my big toe. Nice one, Mandy.

"I've got a spare pair of flats in the cupboard, just in case." She tapped one of the smaller cupboards and then gestured at the phone. "Now, if the phone rings, answer it brightly with "hello, The Royal, how may I help you?" There's a direct line to all our doctors." A row of photographs was set up over the cupboards with the doctors' name underneath each one. "So, we've got five doctors here, on call, two at night. Dr Anderson, Dr Purdi, Dr Williams, Dr Menzie and Dr Ormerod."

Dr Anderson was what my dad called a scruff, Dr Purdi was smartly dressed, Dr Williams! My stomach lurched, she had been the woman in the car park, the sour faced pin thin stuff of nightmares; I couldn't believe she was a doctor! Dr Menzie was apparently based off site, according to Lizzie and only visited when the hospital was overly busy. The last photograph was of a fairly young doctor, in his late twenties early thirties who had dark chestnut coloured hair and the most captivating big green eyes. I was stunned. He looked like something out of Smash Hits!

"His dad used to work here." Lizzie continued, she seemed to be as smitten as me, "very respected, he were. Nice to see his eldest son inherited his lovely personality."

"What was he like?" They say you can tell a lot about a man by his father and I wasn't about to miss the opportunity to find out more about Dr Tom Ormerod.

"Smart, well spoken. Bit of a dish to tell you the truth, but don't tell anyone I said that." She blushed.

"His son looks like he's in the same mould." I grinned at her and she nodded.

"You could be right there, Mandy. But enough daydreaming about dishy doctors. Let's get you started." At last, I thought, she's going to start training me. Yet somehow I couldn't take my eyes off of Tom's picture. The photo had been taken by a professional, I decided. The light fell softly on the background and Tom had a slightly serious look, with just the hint of a smile. From what Lizzie had said I doubted whether his dad had been as serious. There was a tap on my arm and Lizzie brought me to the centre of the desk. "So I thought I'd start you off easy, Mandy, with a bit of filing! Pop your bag down there," she instructed and I kicked it under the desk. "Nicely done. If you could start filing these. We need to find a place for all these bits of paper. I can't believe the amount of paperwork they now want us to fill out. Like we haven't got one hundred and one other things to do? Still, least it keeps us running. Oh and watch the cabinet," She pointed at a huge old filing drawer stacked against the wall, "it eats fingers."

I wasn't sure whether she was joking or not so I laughed, albeit nervously and set to sorting the papers. She was right, there was no organisation in place, everything seemed to be shoved in folders that had no reference whatsoever. Despite this, Lizzie was cheery and didn't appear to mind that I was completely lost. "I'm gasping for a cuppa." She said after twenty minutes had passed, "want one?"

"Thanks." "Just help yourself when you want a cuppa. I keep this place well stocked with tea. At least, my husband does. He picks things up, here and there. You know."

"Yes, I do. My dad does the same." This was half true. When dad could be bothered he did help out on the trawlers and cargo boats that came into the harbour but he usually spent much of the day in the Richard III on the seafront, "making business contacts" he said.

"Birds of a feather and all that. We'll get on just fine, Mandy. I can feel it." She smiled again and poised the kettle over the cups. "how d'you like your brew?"

"Milky. Two sugars." I answered, too distracted by the paperwork. Some of it was as old as 1969!

"Two sugars? You'll rot those pearlies of yours." Lizzie's high pitched voice was filled with shock. "I don't normally. I just need the energy." I gabbled. I didn't need a sugar fix but I needed something to help me get through the mountains of paper in front of me.

"Late night last night?" Lizzie asked.

"No! No, nothing like that! I'm just not really a morning person, you know?"

She nodded. "I do know. You should have been here twenty years ago…" She was speaking in her whimsical voice again. I got the feeling she liked talking about the past, which suited me fine as I was keen to learn as much as possible.

She ran her fingers around her cup and saucer, looking down into it, "No lie-ins then. I was up by six, in by seven and the doctors were here on the dot every morning. Things have changed a lot. Now our doctors are on call all the time" She broke off as a doctor strode into the lobby. I recognised him as being Dr Purdi. "Good morning, Dr Purdi."

"Morning Lizzie! Do you have my patient notes?" he asked in a deep voice.

"Of course." Lizzie grabbed at a set of notes on the counter and flicked through them, "I got some of that Assam tea, you know. Really nice it is, oh and Roddy took me to the new tandoori on the High Street. Such a lovely place, amazing food. Very exotic!" I wasn't sure that Dr Purdi quite understood why Lizzie was telling him all of this but he took it all in good faith.

"Well, that's good to know, Lizzie. Thank you."

She handed him the notes.

"Shall I put your lights up?"

"Not just yet, Lizzie. Dr Ormerod in already, is he?" My hand hovered over a paper headed DHA, 1971.

"Course he is. Never stops, does he?"

Dr Ormerod was already in the building? My heart started to race and I rapped my chest. No, Mandy. You cannot have a crush on Dr Ormerod.

"He's not the only one! See you."

" Oh, I should introduce you!" Lizzie clasped my shoulders warmly. "This is Mandy, my new assistant. Mandy, this is Dr Purdi."

"Hi," I muttered nervously. My heart was still thumping from the news that Dr Ormerod was in the hospital.

"Nice to meet you, Mandy. Don't push her too hard, Lizzie!" He warned.

"You're joking! We've all got to start somewhere, haven't we?" She released my shoulders.

"Absolutely, nice to meet you, Mandy. Thanks for these; I'll be in my office." He walked off. He wasn't bad-looking either.

"Do you live on tea?" I asked as she handed a cup to me.

"Pretty much. You need it in this place. Gets draughty, you know? How's the filing coming along?" She looked over my shoulder and nodded approvingly.

"I don't know why we keep half that stuff. It never comes in useful. In twenty years I've never seen one person open that cabinet over there." She gestured at what I was intending to call the cabinet of doom.

"The one that eats fingers?"

"No, the big one over here." She stood next to the biggest one of all which stood as a border between the kitchenette and the reception area. "Doctor's stuff, I'm sure."

Nevertheless it intrigued me. I'd loved mystery books in my childhood.

"Can I have a look? I'm not scared of a filing cabinet."

Lizzie shrugged genially. "Go ahead. Keys are in the little box by the counter."

I took the keys from the box, they were marked "BIG CUPBOARD, STATIONERY CUPBOARD, DOCTORS SUPPLIES AND CABINET 1". I turned the keys around and slotted the key for Cabinet 1 into the lock, twisting it open. The cabinet drawer rolled out, producing a lot of dust and I waved it away, peering in at the contents, which consisted of mainly old newspaper articles. I spotted a familiar face on the first one and then realised it was actually Tom's father, the man Lizzie had referred to.

"Says here Dr Ormerod saved four children from a house fire 'going above and beyond the line of duty' and a train crash involving Dr Nick Burnett and Nurse Marian McKaig?"

"Oh, I remember that," Lizzie recalled, "we had a house full that day. You've never seen so many casualties. I remember we had to call up Ashfordly General for extra beds!" She looked at the article, "oh yes, that were terrible that crash. There were a married couple. Thankfully they both survived and Mr Carnegie, he were the administrator, he treated them to a night in the private suites."

"That was generous," I said, "there's a lot here about Dr Ormerod, isn't there? This one says about a tragic cliff accident." I showed her the clipping. Her eyes dulled slightly and she lowered her voice.

"Best not to mention that in front of our Matron. It was her sister."

"Right. I'll bear that in mind." I turned back to the cabinet, reeling off more and more articles about the infamous Dr Ormerod. "Blimey, he was quite a hero, weren't he?"

"I suppose you could say that, yes. He were very brave. He had a lot happen to him but he just kept on going. Nothing stopped him." She took another sip of tea, but her solemn expression remained.

"You'll probably see them around. They often pop in." She added, her tone brightening.

"They pop in? To see the hospital? Why?" I couldn't understand why it would be such an attraction.

"They're part of the fabric now. You ask anyone about Dr Weatherill and they'll all say the same. She's got the premature baby unit named after her."

"So she's…"

"Dr Ormerod's wife, yes." Lizzie confirmed, "and she's a patron for the hospital. Honestly, I don't know how she does it."