‘What beats me,’ he said, ‘is that they all go on as though they had been doing it always.’
This was true; for each one learnt her part or her office very quickly, and carried on her work with a sense of responsibility and without self-consciousness.
The orderlies showed a great power of endurance. Many of them remained at work for four and a half years, while others stayed for three or two years. It was rare to have any one leave under one and a half years. Miss Anderson, Miss Nicholson, and Miss Paul nursed right through. They were among the first to come and the last to go. Miss Chance and Miss Tanner gave four years, many months of which were spent in the operating theatre. Miss Joyce Ward joined up at the beginning, aged sixteen, as a messenger, and finished in November 1919, as head financial clerk. There were many others who did equally well, and more than one girl asked to have a vacancy reserved for her before her last term at school was ended. There were failures, but they were allowed to go and were forgotten. There were disappointments, but they were grieved over in silence. The bulk of the girls inspired pride and admiration in those who looked on.
The management disliked rules, and none were drafted for the guidance of the staff. It was desired that they should be free when off duty, and the trust reposed in them was not abused. The orderlies were asked only to take one late pass a week, and they generally fell in with this request; but they appreciated the freedom of the life they might lead, and used to say how lovely it was to be able to go out without being asked where you were going to. Some supervision and some advice were given to those who were younger and less experienced; but the absence of rules and regulations was insisted on, and girls who could not do without them, were advised to return to their mothers. Rumour in the main office had it that the Doctor-in-Charge disapproved of mothers and of marriage, and that you should keep your mother from her, and never, never on any account allow your parents to write to her. The fact was that, acting on the principle that they were adult people, doing responsible work, the Doctor-in-Charge did not write to their parents without their knowledge, and whenever a letter came from parents, even though it contained a request for secrecy, the orderly in question was invited to come and discuss it. From the Doctor-in-Charge’s point of view, it was impossible to treat these young women as children, or carry on a correspondence which concerned them without their knowledge, and they would have had little confidence in a chief who acted in such a manner.
It was strange how the kindest of parents thought it proper to control the actions of women well over age, and how younger brothers, uncles, brothers-in-law and the family doctor would think that they had a right to interfere in her business, and would invite the Doctor-in-Charge or the Matron to conspire with them. One could not help sympathising with healthy girls who were made to relinquish the work in which they were successful, and a life which they enjoyed, because ‘Mother was dull at home’ or ‘Father likes to have his girls with him in the evenings,’ or ‘She has been away long enough.’ No one could blame the girls so coerced if they were bitter and discontented, or the others if they ‘strictly forbade’ their mothers to interfere. But on the other hand, there were parents whose self-sacrifice and devotion equalled that of their daughters. They gave them their freedom generously, watching them develop with pride, and finding compensation in their happiness and in the knowledge that they were successful and appreciated.
From time to time, an effort was made to interest the orderlies in public questions and to educate their communal sense; but they viewed these attempts as mild peculiarities on the part of those senior persons who made them, and, smiling and polite, they discouraged them.
In January 1918, the Bill enfranchising women passed the House of Lords, and early the next morning the Doctor-in-Charge was on the steps of her office. She made known to Sergt. Robertson her desire to have the flags run up.
‘Certainly doctor,’ he replied. And then hesitated.
‘I was not aware, Doctor, that it was any special occasion.’
The significance of the occasion was explained to him, and the whole place was soon gay with bunting.