Half an hour later, having scrubbed the Receiving Room floor until it shone, Ada and Ethel returned to the nurses home, made themselves a glass of cordial each and retired to Ada's room.
"You look rather deep in thought," Ethel remarked after the two friends had sat in silence for a few moments.
"I'm wondering," Ada began, "what brought Rosalyn to us this evening?"
"The impending threat of labour," Ethel teased.
"Nurse Bennett," Ada scolded, "there is no need to be facetious. You know exactly what I mean."
"Fear. Shame, she is unmarried. No female friends or relatives nearby. Not knowing where to find a handywoman, or whatever they're called. Where are the nearest midwives?" Ethel rattled off.
"The New Women's Hospital in Marylebone I would imagine," Ada replied.
"That's five miles away!" Ethel gasped, "no woman in labour would dare make such a journey, even if she could afford the fees."
"No, you're right," Ada admitted, "Miss Luckes might know."
"Now what are you up to?" Ethel enquired, watching the cogs whirring behind Ada's eyes.
"Giving birth is the most natural thing for a woman to do," Ada began, "but yet it is one so fraught with danger, so many things that could go wrong. Women need to feel safe when they give birth. If Dr Culpin wasn't here this evening, would you have had any idea what to do to help Rosalyn?"
"Not really," Ethel replied.
"Dr Champneys and his Midwives Act has meant that women who have been delivering babies in their communities, passing their wisdom and knowledge down from mother to daughter, are now no longer able to carry out their work for fear of being penalised," Ada continued, "or at least that is the theory. Women like Rosalyn, who don't know where to find a midwife, or cannot afford one, will come to us for charitable assistance."
"But childbirth isn't an illness, Ada," Ethel replied.
"Rosalyn would have been ill if she had had complications left untreated," Ada insisted, "what if there had been a haemorrhage? Or a retained placenta? How many nurses in this hospital would know how to deal with such complications?"
"They wouldn't, they'd ask a doctor," Ethel replied.
"Precisely the problem," Ada remarked, "we would have had to ask a man. Like we did today, we had to have Culpin and Ingrams prodding and poking our patient, whereas if we were midwives we would have been able to manage that straightforward delivery ourselves. It was not fair on Rosalyn having to give birth with men present."
"Are you suggesting that we all train as midwives?" Ethel asked.
"Not all of us," Ada assured, "but at least those who work in the Receiving Room should have some idea about what to do if another Rosalyn comes through our doors."
"Are you volunteering?" Ethel enquired.
"Yes, yes I am," Ada replied, "I'm going to ask Miss Luckes first thing in the morning."
Ethel grinned and rose from Ada's bed, stiffened her back, held her head proudly and in her best Miss Luckes impression drawled, "Babies, Sister Russell? Oh no, we cannot possibly involve ourselves with those. One never knows where it might lead."
Ada's composure shattered and she began to giggle, "you should show some respect for your superiors Nurse Bennett."
"Hark who's talking," Ethel teased.
"I respect Miss Luckes' authority, it doesn't mean that I don't challenge it occasionally," Ada replied, mischievously.
The following morning Ada made her way along the corridor to Miss Luckes' office, coming to a halt in front of the large wooden door. Straightening her uniform, she then knocked firmly and confidently.
"Enter," came Miss Luckes' formal reply.
Ada entered the room, closing the heavy door to behind her. Miss Luckes silently motioned to her to sit down at the chair in front of her desk, before straightening herself up slightly in her own chair. Ada obliged.
"How can I help you Sister Russell?" Miss Luckes asked.
"Last night, after hours," Ada began, "Drs Culpin and Ingrams carried a young woman, barely past childhood, into the Receiving Room. She was in labour. The four of us, the two doctors, myself and Nurse Bennett, delivered her daughter on the Receiving Room floor. She had been found collapsed outside the hospital. I imagine she came to us because she knew of nowhere else to go."
"Hmmmm," Miss Luckes murmured, her eyebrows rising inquisitively as she did so.
"Neither Nurse Bennett nor I knew what to do," Ada continued, "and Dr Ingrams wasn't much use either." Ada ignored the disapproving scowl that had flickered across Miss Luckes' face at her assessment of Dr Ingrams' competence. "We had to rely on Dr Culpin's experience of, lambing." This time, Miss Luckes' scowl of disapproval merged into one bordering on revulsion. "The handywomen she might have once gone to are now no longer permitted to practise, if she didn't know of a midwife, she would have come here hoping for a nurse to help. As it was, she had to suffer the indignity of labouring and birthing in front of two men."
"What are you suggesting Sister Russell?" Miss Luckes asked.
"That Rosalyn may not be the last labouring woman who comes through our doors looking for help. And that we must be in the best position to provide such help."
"We treat the sick Sister Russell," Miss Luckes replied tartly, "pregnancy and childbirth are not illnesses."
"Yet maternal mortality is so high," Ada snapped back.
Miss Luckes looked momentarily taken aback at this challenge to her, but after a moment of silent contemplation suddenly saw the truth in Ada's words. Allowing her face and posture to soften, she said, "What do you suggest we do?"
"That at least some of us receive midwifery training, ideally with a view of becoming certified midwives," Ada proposed, "but at the very least, those of us who work in the Receiving Room on a regular basis should have some idea about how to help a labouring woman, deliver a baby safely, and be able to spot potential complications quickly enough that we can alert the doctors on duty."
"And which nurses are you recommending for this training?" Miss Luckes asked.
"I would like to volunteer myself in the first instance," Ada insisted, "as Receiving Room Sister, I feel I should lead by example."
"And who is to take your place at the helm?" Miss Luckes requested, "you will have to be absent from your post for some weeks, if not months. I cannot afford to take another Sister from her ward and we are busier than ever."
"Nurse Bennett is more than capable of taking my place," Ada replied immediately.
"Are you quite sure?" Miss Lickes replied, slightly taken aback, "she does not have the same levels of experience as yourself or the other ward Sisters."
"No she does not," Ada agreed, "but she is knowledgeable, caring, calm under pressure, quick thinking, meticulously organised and has an excellent rapport with staff and patients. This is a perfect opportunity for her to prove herself."
"If you are sure," Miss Luckes continued, knowing in her heart the answer, "there is an Order of nursing nuns, the Sisters of Raymond Nonnatus, based in Poplar. They are engaged in both district nursing and midwifery, I believe."
"Really?" Ada remarked, her face lifting in delight.
"If you are serious, in both your intentions and Nurse Bennett's capabilities, I will make enquiries on your behalf," Miss Luckes suggested.
"I would be most grateful if you did so," Ada replied.
"I will alert you to any arrangements, if and when they are made," Miss Luckes promised.
"Thank you Miss Luckes," Ada acknowledged, and took her leave with a spring in her step.