1957

I woke in a bed with springs almost pushing through the top of the mattress. The mattress itself was grubby and had a few unsavoury stains on its surface. The curtains that hung over a small window were once yellow but now everything above the windowsill had been bleached the colour of curdled milk from the sun. The room itself was a bomb site, clothes lay scattered in little mole hill piles across a carpet which looked like it had never been acquainted with a vacuum. There was a wardrobe adjacent to the bottom of the bed but one of the doors had a broken hinge meaning I could peer in and see a collection of hanging suit jackets, trousers and ties. He lay next to me sprawled out on his stomach, one arm was strewn out to the side, showing his dark haired armpit. He had a crop of dark hair on his head too, and down below. He was more hair than man. He was a real man's man, the type to treat a lady but not to deny them desires of a common prostitute. He was what I needed, he was my cure.

I rolled over onto my stomach tentatively, guarding my breasts from the hard springs in the shabby mattress. I felt the pain then, the feeling of bruising between my legs. I would need to have a look at the damage with a hand mirror later. Unfortunately I had seen a few examples of sexually induced injuries before – I had also seen the horror of infection. I sat up slowly, putting the weight onto the tender areas. I covered myself with the scabby quilt. I should be feeling good, I should be bright and chirpy and ecstatic. Instead all I felt was grief and pain. I had made love with a man but it had felt as though I had been charged by an elephant. I remembered the pain, the feeling I was going to be torn open when he inserted his hard, erect penis into me. It was so impressively thick, but impressive in the same way new technology was not in the way that it had been attractive to look at. A penis is a vulgar looking thing no matter what, but an erect penis, like a veiny sausage, is not something I wished to see again.

A lump rushed into my throat and tears spouted from my eyes even though I wasn't aware I had been upset. It didn't work, I wasn't going to change like this. All I felt was pain. I still wasn't a normal person, a heterosexual one. I was still wrong , still broken.

I was almost late onto the ward, Matron would have hung, drawn, and quartered me if I had been. We were exceptionally busy. There was a sister I had worked with for the past two years, she used to say it was the same every Christmas time. People got too drunk and ate too much rich food- although how that caused pneumonia I would never know. Despite the fact she blamed every illness on the time of year Sister Macintosh would still have been wrong as this busy spell came in early November. I was still fixing my bun into place with a bobby bin determined to be difficult when Matron cornered me.

"Nurse Mount."

She was aiming for me. I glanced, as subtle as I could, over Matron's head to glance at the clock further down the hallway. Ten to, and handover was at exactly seven am, I had managed to pull myself into some sort of shape and get myself into the London with time to spare. However, if she wasn't about to lecture me on timekeeping then I wasn't sure why she would corner me.

"May I see you in my office at ten am sharp- Sister has already excused you."

With that she turned on her standard, inch heeled shoes and swept back down the corridor.

For the rest of the morning it boggled me. I miscounted on the stocks of Morphine and had to go back to the drugs store to count the twenty odd viles once more, which also meant recalculating the mg we had in total. I later dropped a sterile syringe and had to take blood once more from a very annoyed young man with fainting spells. He was one of the choir boys at the cathedral and very urgent to get back to his solo training.

Finally, after countless temperature checks, blood pressures and the refreshing change of an appendix check, my watch red five to.

My first nurses watch had been a gift from my father, silver with my name engraved along the bar with covered the pin. My Father had unfortunately missed the irony of a watch that read 'Patience'. I no longer used that watch, I didn't want any harm to come to it. I had received it the day I graduated a whole five years ago, at only twenty one years old.

I mused over this while I sat outside the Matron's office. I had been so young – the majority of nurses were young, not yet ready to settle down- but I had been very young. I had always known where I wanted to go in life and had skipped finishing school in order to become a nurse. My father hadn't been at all surprised although he was a little annoyed he couldn't persuade me to carry on the family tradition and go to a good finishing school, become a proper young lady.

I was called into the Matron's office a few moments later. The office was a small and fairly modern room. Unlike the majority of the hospital's furnishings this room didn't look as though it was from my grandfather's day. The desk she sat behind was oak, and unstained, it brightened the room considerably just by being there. Matron gestured that I should sit on the small dining chair in front of her desk. She smiled at me, took a sip of tea and began to talk.

"Nurse mount, you came to us in…. December of 1949? Is that correct."

I nodded although the matron had stopped glancing at the sheet of paper in front of her and now looked ready to speak again.

"You have been with us through your probation, eight years service at the London. Sister tells me you are confident and highly competent, you exceed expectations of a nurse of your age and we must congratulate you on your maturity and efficiency."

"However, I have called you here today as your hard work has not been unnoticed. I had my concerns when we took you on so young but you have proved us wrong to assume that. I believe because of this that you will make a fantastic mentor for a young probationer."

My eyes widened, a mentor for a young nurse- someone to help her through her training, to teach her and observe her on the wards. Matron raised her hand, stopping me from speaking and telling her how grateful I was for the opportunity.

"She seems a good young nurse but she is being transferred from her local teaching hospital- Cardiff. Now we know the probationer's first language is welsh, not English. We don't know to what extent this will affect her ability to nurse in an English hospital. She seems a very keen learner and a pleasant young girl. Nurse Busby will meet you at the beginning of the day on your own ward, she will observe to begin, carrying out only simple tasks. If there are any problems you can report back to myself or the sister in charge. I am sure you will not let us down Nurse Mount."